#i like being able to see my blood test results in advanced so i can mentally prepare for the doctors appt

[kitchensunflowers]

.

[for-those-who-wait]

Would love to see more of your android Hunter au! Love the idea it just won’t leave my head…

A question I would have for this is Hunter still like a replica of Caleb? Sorta like an Astro boy type thing going on here or what? If so what’s the story behind that if you are willing to share.

Never played become human, despite years of saying I will bc it looks made for me jksskkm, so sorry if I’m missing something there.

Yes I'm so glad!! I'm a very big fan of it and I am very tempted to write something for it (I too have been possessed)

The short answer is that Hunter was made in Caleb's image—as close as Philip could get! Very much an Astro boy situation where he's made as a sort of replacement that was programmed to experience, interpret, and interact with the world exactly as a human would.

As for the long answer and the story behind it, my thoughts are "take canon and replace witches with androids" and that's your initial argument between Philip and Caleb. I haven't thought about it too much but my initial idea is that before the revolution, they both lived in Detroit and worked with androids, and both worked at CyberLife (Caleb because he's naturally fascinated with them and Philip because he's just following in Caleb's footsteps [call it brotherly bonding or unhealthy obsession, take your pick!]), but it's Caleb that sees the early signs of deviancy and sees something more within androids that Philip just can't fathom (that being the capacity for free thought and will). Philip sees this as a betrayal—How dare you see humanity in these machines! How dare you try and extend the sanctity of the human soul to these inhuman bodies of plastic!—and like in canon, he kills Caleb for that betrayal.

Now this all happened in the late 2010s and early 2020s because for some reason, Detroit: Become Human is in a technologically advanced version of our world where CyberLife was founded and androids were first created in 2018 (the actual game and android revolution take place in 2038). I think it would be a few years until Philip does kill Caleb, let's say 2027 or so (because androids pass the Turing test in 2022 and 2027 is the year that a million androids have been sold, so the concept of deviancy was able to marinate a bit and I think that's enough time for the signs to start popping up and for Elijah Kamski, the CEO of CyberLife, to start being weird and existential about it).

So it's 2027, Caleb is dead, Philip is never considered a suspect, is never tried, and the murder is never solved. He is so incredibly not well (my man needs magical levels of therapy and his ass is not getting it). At this point, Philip has been working at CyberLife long enough to have a pretty high status. He totally has the authority and the power to request a custom android to be built off-the-books, probably because of threats or blackmail or whatever other abusive tactics he can pull as a superior to most employees at the company. Because it's freaking weird to make a child android in the image of your brother that was mysteriously murdered.

But Hunter is made like a regular factory-set android with no personality, no emotions, etc. but Philip of course knows exactly how to fix that (he's been working at CyberLife for nine years, he can do these things). It's his version of a sort of middle finger to Caleb, giving an android emotions and free will. Kind of like "Hey, you know how you thought androids were capable of having human emotional intelligence and conscious individual thought and a soul and humanity? Well actually I'm going to give these 'emotions' and this 'humanity' to your android and show you that they aren't real." And he does this by just being the absolute WORST android/child/whatever caretaker in the existence of the entire world in every single possible way because "See? Its blood is blue and it's not dying when I bloodlet it, it's clearly not human. Ah, see how it's become completely catatonic as a result of repeated trauma? Clearly this is just malfunctioning software. It's obviously just broken. See, Caleb? See how wrong you were about androids having humanity?" This man is evil and stupid

Hunter doesn't have Caleb's memories or anything, and let's call the tooth gap a manufacturing error from doing things under the table that Philip (who doesn't do chassis repairs) can't fix without CyberLife setting off alarm bells. It's probably in 2028 or 2029 that Philip packs up and moves to Gravesfield and that leads to the rest of what I talked about in my other post, where Hunter is completely isolated and kept ignorant of the ongoing revolution come 2038, and still doesn't obtain freedom until a long while after that

Thank you for the ask!! I will happily ramble about this AU whenever somebody asks about it. You should totally play the game if you can. I'll be the first to admit it's got issues as a civil rights allegory (thanks, director David Cage) but it is a fun time and such a cool concept and the characters are great and we love Detroit: Become Human in this house. Sorry if any of the terms weren't explained well, I will happily specify more so if anything is unclear, just let me know! Planning on making more content for it at some point :))

[procyongaaay]

As someone currently heavily pregnant (34 weeks) with a very much wanted baby... All of this.

Miscarriages are really common. I had 3 early miscarriages before this pregnancy.

It's normal to take a while to get pregnant. So much sex Ed focuses on how not to get pregnant that a lot of people think they're broken if they're trying for a baby for 6 cycles and haven't gotten pregnant yet. Yes there's chances of getting pregnant but it doesn't happen right away. On average it takes a year to successfully conceive if you're in your 20s, 2 years if you're in your 30s, and potentially longer in your 40s, though what kind of shape you're in at that point will likely have more impact than specific age at that point. That's the minimum time you've had to be trying for before they'll start looking for fertility issues most of the time.

I've suspected I've had SPD for a few months but I've had multiple drs hand wave it away as "probably just round ligament pain". Like no I have that too and I know what that feels like it's not the same. I've got a connective tissue disorder that makes things like SPD much more common... And it's not that uncommon to begin with.

And absolutely the thing about being treated like a vessel for the baby is a thing... Like I went into the ER with bad abdominal pain in upper right quadrant and a few other symptoms that were worryingly similar to preeclampsia. They checked on baby and did a urine test and said it's not baby related so you're good to go home. Might be a gall bladder issue or maybe a kidney infection, but it's not going to hurt baby so don't worry about it. Like ok??? If it's gall bladder or kidney related maybe let's look at treating that? Do some blood tests? Anything? Nope. Just sent home with Tylenol and told if it gets bad again go to someone else and get an ultrasound on my gallbladder to see if I have gall stones or the like.

And I've been bugging my dr to get an ultrasound on kiddo for weeks because I'm supposed to have one at week 32, but they didn't want to give me one for literally no reason? Like baby is showing signs he might come early, and we were told that he might be early because he's big (97th percentile at anatomy scan at 24 weeks), but when I brought that up I was told "well a lot can change in 10 weeks, he might not be that big". Ok and? You know how well know? Do the god damn ultrasound. My spouse needs to give work notice if kiddo comes early. They need minimum 2 weeks advance notice to change dates of parental leave. And if kiddo is gonna be early we need to know. So yeah I know there's no guarantee he's gonna be early. But that doesn't mean we don't need to know if he is. My family is predisposed to really big babies. I've had several blood relatives born in the 10-12lb range, and none under 8lbs. Chances are he's gonna be a big baby. Maybe big enough C section may be necessary. And if so *we need to know ahead of time* and it's rediculous that I need to fight them on this. The only reason I was able to convince them to send me in for an ultrasound this time was because I've not done my glucose challenge yet (been too sick to do it mostly) and depending on results of that it can affect baby's growth, so they finally gave in and are giving me the ultrasound. But yeah none of my reasons for wanting an ultrasound matter apparently. V frustrating... And tbh this is the much better dr. I've already switched drs once because my previous dr was a dismissive ass, and these guys are much better, and even they have some issues tbh.

But all that to say. You never realize how much everything is till you experience. Pregnancy is really fucking hard on your body. Birth even more so. But even just pregnancy is exhausting and painful. Like having a flu for 40 weeks plus having a little creature inside you that starts moving and kicking your organs halfway through, then tries to kill you on its way out. Human pregnancy is extremely parasitic even compared to the vast majority of mammals, and the arms race between very parasitic offspring and the parents body's need to survive is why we have lower fertility rates than most animals, and why we menstruate when most mammals don't. Our entire species has been shaped by how hard pregnancy is, but people still pretend it's nothing and easy and a beautiful miracle and that anyone who says otherwise is just ungrateful... It's really rediculous.

And it's still worth it. But it's not something I would ever push on someone against their will. If there's one thing that's cemented my pro-choice stances more than anything else in my life, it's the experience of being pregnant myself. I chose this. I wanted this. I can't wait to meet our son and see what kind of amazing human he's gonna be. But it's not easy. It's not fun. And i can't imagine someone being forced into this when they don't want/can't care for a baby that'd be so incredibly fucked up. I live in a country where thankfully that's not a worry but it's still so utterly fucked up to even think about.

And for the people who try to say shit like "oh well you can always put the baby up for adoption etc"... Imagine if someone was like hey so there's a chance that someone else could maybe live if you crash your car into this wall going 50kph (throw back to that moderate car crash), and oh btw, you now have no choice, you have to crash your car even if the other person is already dead because if you didn't you'd be a murderer and be charged for it. Make it make sense!

the thing is like. i get that it's scary and makes people who do desire to get pregnant uncomfortable when we talk about the brutality and violence of pregnancy and the damage that pregnancy can do to your body

but you deserve to give informed consent to that process.

the lies around pregnancy - that it's inherently safe, that it doesn't do you permanent damage, that it's only extremely rare for people to die of pregnancy complications, etc like

all of these are lies constructed so that more people will get pregnant w/o knowing all that

there needs to be more talk about the impact of miscarriages and how common they are, how different abortion processes are and how accessible they are

but also like. talking about how pregnancy fucks your body up should not be taboo

this is a process that permanently changes most people's bodies, and that's even if the pregnancy doesn't do them like. severe illness or injury

and i just think everybody should have a right to KNOW that

bc to live in a society that intentionally obscures and hides facts about a completely optional and dangerous process does so for a reason, and that reason is based in a very sinister ideology that does not value bodily autonomy or informed consent

[bamf-jaskier]

So I’ve been having a lot of thoughts about how imbalanced Geralt and Jaskier’s relationship is in the show and while I might make another post about it, I don’t think anything shows that better than by comparing the Djinn scene in The Last Wish vs the show. 

For the set-up to meeting the Djinn in the books, Geralt and Dandelion are fishing together. They are both holding onto a line in and manage to haul in a 12 foot long catfish by working together and on the other line they have in the river  Jaskier pulls out the Djinn’s amphora. In the show, Geralt is hunting the Djinn in an attempt to try and get some peace of mind. Jaskier happens to run into Geralt and watches as Geralt pulls out the Djinn. 

Scene from The Last Wish:

“Ha!” Dandilion exclaimed again, proudly. “Do you know what this is?”

“It's an old pot.”

“You're wrong,” declared the troubadour, scraping away shells and hardened, shiny clay. “This is a charmed jar. There's a djinn inside who'll fulfill my three wishes.”

The witcher snorted.

“You can laugh.” Dandilion finished his scraping, bent over and rinsed the amphora. “But there's a seal on the spigot and a wizard's mark on the seal.”

“What mark? Let's see.”

“Oh, sure.” The poet hid the jar behind his back. “And what more do you want? I’m the one who found it and I need all the wishes.”

“Don't touch that seal! Leave it alone!”

“Let go, I tell you! It's mine!”

“Dandilion, be careful!”

“Sure!”

“Don't touch it! Oh, bloody hell!”

The jar fell to the sand during their scuffle, and luminous red smoke burst forth.

The witcher jumped back and rushed toward the camp for his sword. Dandilion, folding his arms across his chest, didn't move.

The smoke pulsated and collected in an irregular sphere level with Dandilion's eyes. The sphere formed a six-foot-wide distorted head with no nose, enormous eyes and a sort of beak.

Compare that to the scene from the show: 

Jaskier: Wow. Wow. What is- What is that?

Geralt: [inspecting the stopper] It’s a wizard’s seal. The djinn.

Jaskier: Do you mind if I- [He grabs the pot.]

Geralt: Jaskier...

Jaskier: Take back that bit about my fillingless pie. Take it back and then you can have your djinny-djinn-djinn.

Geralt: Let go.

Jaskier: No! No, let go, you horse’s arse! [Geralt accidentally pulls out the stopper. Jaskier upends the pot, nothing happens.] Hm. That’s a bit of an anticlimax. [A sudden breeze ruffles their hair.] Or is it?

Now, it’s important to note that the dialogue is actually quite similar when Geralt and Jaskier are arguing about taking the jar and the seal. However, where it really differs is the context. 

In the show, Geralt finds the Djinn and Jaskier takes it from him without asking and Geralt is clearly annoyed by this. 

In the books, Dandelion finds the amphora and Geralt doesn’t believe it’s a Djinn while Dandelion does and Geralt tries to warn Dandelion of opening it because he considers it dangerous. 

It’s the difference between Geralt being genuinely annoyed at Jaskier vs Geralt being concerned for Dandelion’s safety. There is a weird amount of contention between Geralt and Jaskier in the show that makes their relationship feels honestly unhealthy in many ways. 

Scene from The Last Wish:

“Djinn!” said Dandilion, stamping his foot. “I freed thee and as of this day, I am thy lord. My wishes—”

The head snapped its beak, which wasn't really a beak but something in the shape of drooping, deformed and ever-changing lips.

“Run!” yelled the witcher. “Run, Dandilion!”

“My wishes,” continued the poet, “are as follows. Firstly, may Valdo Marx, the troubadour of Cidaris, die of apoplexy as soon as possible. Secondly, there's a count's daughter in Caelf called Virginia who refuses all advances. May she succumb to mine. Thirdly—”

No one ever found out Dandilion's third wish.

Two monstrous paws emerged from the horrible head and grabbed the bard by the throat. Dandilion screeched.

Again, Compare that to the scene from the show: 

Jaskier: Djinn, I have freed thee, and as of this day, I am thy lord. Firstly, may Valdo Marx, the troubadour of Cidaris, be struck down with apoplexy and die. Secondly, the Countess de Stael must welcome me back with glee, open arms, and very little clothing. Thirdly-

Geralt: Jaskier! [He grabs the back of Jaskier’s top and pulls him backward.]

Jaskier: Wha-

Geralt: Stop! There are only three wishes.

Jaskier: Oh, come on, you always say you want nothing from life. So how was I supposed to know you wanted three wishes all to yourself?

Geralt: I just want some damn peace!

Jaskier: Well, here’s your peace! [He throws the pot to the ground where it breaks. Geralt bares his teeth and growls before he bows down to collect the pieces, missing the fresh cut on his forearm. The wind intensifies and Jaskier raises a hand to his throat.] Geralt… Geralt… it’s the djinn! [Geralt casts a magical sign at the black, transparent smoke rushing by. Jaskier doubles over and clutches his throat.]

Geralt: Jaskier. [Jaskier vomits blood.]

Again, while the dialogue is very similar, especially in the case of Jaskier/Dandelion some of it being word for word in fact, Geralt in the books tries to protect Dandelion while the only thing Geralt focuses on is the wishes themselves. As well, in the books, Dandelion’s injury in the books is due to his own folly and arrogance while in the show, the writers make it indirectly Geralt’s fault. 

It’s another weird choice that seems to suggest a dislike and a hostility between Geralt and Jaskier. It seems that even subconsciously Geralt doesn’t want Jaskier around. 

Scene from The Last Wish:

“A troubadour,” repeated Chireadan, looking at Geralt. “That's bad. Very bad. The muscles of his neck and throat are attacked. Changes in his vocal cords are starting to take place. The spell's action has to be halted as soon as possible otherwise…This might be irreversible.”

“That means…Does that mean he won't be able to talk?”

“Talk, yes. Maybe. Not sing.”

Geralt sat down at the table without saying a word and rested his forehead on his clenched fists.

Again, Compare that to the scene from the show: 

Chireadan: His throat was attacked. If the spell’s action isn’t halted as soon as possible, that damage might be irreversible.

Jaskier: Wha- [vomiting more blood]

Chireadan: And the longer he goes untreated, the more likely it is to spread. He could die.

Jaskier: [gasps] Fuck! Geralt.

Geralt: Uh... Yeah, we won‘t let that happen. [pats Jaskier’s back]

In the books, Geralt shows genuine concern for Dandelion and is heartbroken by the idea that he might not be able to sing again. Remember, in the books, Dandelion’s injury is a result of his own folly and Geralt still feels this obvious and clear sadness. In the show--he just has this awkward grimace and pats him on the back. He almost seems to be there out of a strange sense of duty and doesn’t seem to feel too much guilt about his part in Jaskier’s injury. 

Even when they are reunited after Yennefer heals Jaskier, it is very different in the two mediums (I actually want to do another post about Yennefer in Bottled Appetites vs The Last Wish)

Scene from The Last Wish:

“Dandilion!” Geralt shouted, holding Krepp back, who was clearly getting ready to perform an exorcism or a curse. “Where have you…here…Dandilion!”

“Geralt!” The bard jumped up.

“Dandilion!”

Again, Compare that to the scene from the show: 

Jaskier: Oh, Geralt. Thank the gods. I might live to see another day. We need to go. 

Geralt: Jaskier, you’re okay.

Jaskier: I’m glad to hear that you give a monkey’s about it.

Geralt: Let’s not jump to conclusions. What happened?

Geralt and Jaskier are overjoyed to see each other in the books meanwhile in the show Geralt is just...okay about it. 

And it’s really strange because Netflix!Geralt can show emotion when he wants to, he does with Yennefer in Bottled Appetites and Rare Species, he shows fear when she is with the Djinn and care when they are in the tent together and yet --- this emotion is not extended to Jaskier. This isn’t simply a difference of Geralt’s characterization.

In the show, the writers created an imbalanced relationship between Geralt and Jaskier where Geralt never asked Jaskier to be there. The bard is constantly inserting himself into Geralt’s life when he is not wanted and testing Geralt’s boundaries without permission. He almost seems like an invader in Geralt’s life and it makes it so that I honestly can’t believably see Geralt and Jaskier traveling together for 20 years. 

Dandelion and Geralt protect each other, care for each other and worry about one another. Even from the beginning of the Djinn incident, they were fishing together. Geralt and Jaskier on the other hand have a relationship where Geralt begrudgingly tolerates Jaskier while Jaskier plows along blindly. It’s not healthy on either side. Geralt is putting up with someone he doesn’t seem to have a genuine connection with and Jaskier is pushing boundaries and constantly talking to a man who has no interest in listening. 

There is no reciprocal relationship between Geralt and Jaskier and I think in the end that’s why there is this hostility between the two of them.

[merakiaes]

Hate You, Hate You Not - Armitage Hux

Pairing: General Armitage Hux x reader

Requested: By anon. 

Prompts: #1 & #58 from the fluff-list. 

Warnings/notes: (SHOULD I MAKE A PART 2 WITH MORE ROMANCE IN IT?) This ended up being much longer than I planned so it's most likely very boring and dull😭 Might be a bit, if not a lot, out of character since this is kinda my test-run for Hux and Star Wars in general. Getting the characters mannerisms in might take some practice. Not proofread so I apologize in advance for any mistakes. This is the first time ever that I write for Star Wars and the first time in like 5-6 months that I’m writing in general so I’m a bit rusty. Please reblog and leave comments to keep my motivation going and let me know if you’d like to be added to a Star Wars taglist <3 

Wordcount: 5632

Summary: One of Kylo Ren’s many tantrums results in your room being inhabitable for a night, which in turn results in you having to share a room - and bed - with the person you hate the most. 

Everyone who had ever, at some point in their lives, worked alongside Kylo Ren in his quest to bring the Order to power, knew how much of a hassle and inconvenience his temper, or lack thereof, could be.

Not much was needed for him to lose his cool and it happened on a much too frequent basis than what was considered normal for a man in his early 30s, at least according to you.

Of course, however, you couldn’t actually tell him that, nor could you think it, with the risk of him probing your mind.

So every time he came back from a failed mission and completely obliterated your hard work, you could do nothing but bite your tongue, clear your head and repair the damages like you’d done oh, so many times before.

That’s what you got for being one of the highest-ranked engineers of the Order, you supposed.

But on this day you would’ve, for the first time in your life, very much preferred to repair the damages left behind by your tantrum-prone leader like you always did. Because if that punishment had to be compared to the one you were now facing, you would’ve chosen the former without even a shadow of a doubt.

But, unfortunately, that was not an option this time around, as the room that had fallen victim to the sizzling beam of Kylo Ren’s lightsaber was your bedroom.

Well, not originally, of course, but sparks had flown from the totaled control panels and a piece of supposedly fireproof metal scrap had caught on fire before you and the other engineers reached the room for a damage-control, starting of as a small flame and then proceeding to spread like wildfire as fire did, in ways completely unbeknownst to you as, like already mentioned, the place was supposed to be safe from fires.  

The licking flames had managed to melt through several walls before you got to the scene, and one of those walls was the wall to your bedroom.

It was late when it happened, only fifteen minutes before you were supposed to end your shift, and as you were on the verge of having a mental fucking breakdown, you personally requested an audience with Kylo and were granted permission by him after a very carefully-worded explanation to start early in the morning.

But that only took care of one of your problems, and only temporarily at that. Now you were left with the issue of finding other sleeping accommodations since your room was currently not habitable. You had no choice but to ask for another room and, of course, Hux thought that to be the perfect time to crack a sarcastic joke about throwing you into one of the prisoner cells.

You had never, in all your years of being alive, glared so fiercely at another human being as you did then. And in your moment of anger, you accidentally let your walls down and let your thoughts run freely through your head – your annoyance directed at the General, but also at Kylo Ren, being exposed.

You felt it before you saw it – that little prickle in your head, that little sting of your mind being probed – and only a second later, Kylo Ren turned his masked head in your direction, walked up to you with patronizingly slow steps and spoke:

“I think you’ll find that General Hux’s quarters will suffice for the night, until repairs can be done to your own. He has more than enough space for both of you.”

He turned his head to look at the baffled man standing behind him, all of the attitude he had previously been harboring against you now completely melted away.

“Isn’t that right, General?” Kylo continued asking, giving him the time he needed to regain his composure.

The general in question had never been very good at holding his tongue, not even when receiving orders from superiors, and was quick to protest.

As anyone would’ve been able to guess, that didn’t go very well, and you weren't even gonna try hiding the satisfaction you got from seeing Hux be force-choked against a wall for speaking out of turn.

No matter how good both of you were at hiding your spiteful thoughts toward him, Kylo knew how much the two of you hated him. And more than anything, he knew how much you hated each other.

Kylo had become very predictable to you during the time you had been there and you knew his ways good enough to know that he wouldn’t have wasted petty energy in putting the two most hateful people he knew in the same room if he hadn’t been pushed to do so.

You knew that you weren’t the reason in this scenario, despite the fact that he had probably felt your spite directed towards him, which only left one option; and that option was the bitter, infuriatingly stubborn ginger currently walking by your side.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye and glared, clenching and unclenching your fists at your sides in the same manner you had been doing ever since Kylo had ruled his decision final and dismissed you for the night.

His eyes remained trained on the metallic corridor that seemed to be stretched out for miles in front of you and your blood boiled at the sight.

You would’ve lost your shit if he’d had the nerve to even consider looking at you after putting you in this situation, but at the same time, you were also on the verge of losing your shit about him having the audacity to ignore you.

You wanted to scream at him like you’d never screamed at anyone before, but you knew that doing that would only fuel the petty grudge Kylo had against the two of you and give him more ways to cause you torment. The only thing you and the general would ever have in common was not wanting that.

But still, what harm could a tiny bit of friendly banter do?

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you, Armitage?” The question you’d been sucking on for the past few minutes finally slipped out into the air, making your anger known.

“Don’t call me that.”

“My apologies.” You sarcastically shot back with a dry laugh. “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you, general?”

“No, it was awfully tempting.” Was all that he replied, his eyes not once flickering and neither his stone-cold scowl nor fast-paced stride faltering.

Well, you might have absolutely despised each other but in the very least, you never bothered lying to each other. That had to count for something, right? Not that either of you cared.

No more words were exchanged, and that was probably for the best. Engineers and stormtroopers all moved out of your way as the two of you marched through the corridors, side by side, knowing better at this point than to get on your bad sides when you were together and this obviously angry both with each other and in general.

Soon enough, you finally reached the corridor in which Hux’s sleeping quarters were located and once the mechanic doors slid open, you pushed yourself past him into the room before he even got the chance to react.

He fumed behind you as he watched you make yourself at home, dropping your dirty jacket on his perfectly made bed.

“You’ll take the floor, then?” You asked as you turned around, crossing your arms over your chest and shooting him a forced smile.

“Hardly.” He spat, eyes narrowing, and you scoffed, rolling your eyes in return.

“You must be a real hit with the ladies with those manners.”

At that, he stepped further into his room, allowing the sensory-triggered door to shut behind him, successfully shutting the two of you in together.

“I don’t have time for fooling around with women.” He spat out the last word with such malice that you automatically raised an eyebrow.

“Well, that explains it.” You mused, the corner of your lip tugging upwards ever so slightly.

“Explains what, exactly?” His eyes narrowed further, and this time it was his turn to cross his arms.

“That stick you have up your ass.” You wasted no time in shooting back, and before he got a chance to reply, you continued. “I know this might be news to you seeing as you’re, well, you, but gentlemen are supposed to sacrifice their comfort and offer themselves to take the floor when a lady, due to unfortunate circumstances, is forced to stay in their room.”

You sarcastically smiled at him and sank down his bed, something that he, judging by the snarl overtaking his face, didn’t appreciate.

“You, a lady? That will be the day.” He scoffed. “Even calling you a woman is a stretch with your mannerisms.”

You could only roll your eyes.

“Well, I’m not sharing a bed with you.” The glare that had temporarily been exchanged for a teasing smirk returned to your face. “I’d rather share a bed with Millicent.”

As you said that, you picked up a single strand of cat hair from his bed, held it up for further inspection and raised your lip in disgust.

He stared at you dead serious, hands clasped behind his back and eyes burning holes into the side of your face.

“You’re allergic to cats.” He pointed out, making your head whip back around to face him with a glare equally as fierce as the one you were met with.

“Yes, that’s my point.” You deadpanned. “But it would seem that said point just went right over your thick-skulled head.”

“Do you think I am any happier about this than you are?” He scowled, and you stood up, slowly approaching him and coming to a stop right in front of him.

He took a small step back, a move that made your lip tug upward ever so slightly. The fact that he was so obviously not as tough as he wanted people to believe gave you a special kind of satisfaction and he knew it, judging by the way he only turned stiffer after that.

“You should be.” You smiled sweetly at him, keeping your eyes connected to his. “Because you’re sure as hell lucky I haven’t choked the life out of you yet for getting us into this situation in the first place.”

He glared and you glared right back, challenging, no, daring him to fight back. You knew that he wanted to, you could see that he wanted to, but in the end, not even he was that stupid.

So he said nothing, and once you realized you had finally managed to successfully back him into a corner, you backed away from him again and plastered on another forced, overly sweet smile.

“Now, I need to take a shower. I reek of burnt plastic.” You stated flatly and pushed past him, making a beeline for the one extra door in the room that you could only assume was his bathroom.  

You heard the squeak of his shoes rubbing against the floor as he quickly turned around behind you, and then came the determined steps and the proximity of his body closing in on you. However, before he got the chance to object or reach you, you entered his bathroom and slammed the door shut in his face, smiling contently to yourself as you listened to the muffled string of curses that followed.

You didn’t spend any more time thinking about it, though, not wasting any time before doing what you came in there to do.

You got out of your horrid-smelling clothes, released your equally as nasty-smelling hait from its ponytail and stepped into the shower.

If there was one thing you appreciated a little extra about living at the Starkiller Base, it was that everyone used the same scented soap. Because that meant that you wouldn’t have to go around smelling specifically like Hux, but rather just like you always smelled.

Once you finished washing your hair and body, you had to stop and think for a bit.

Your clothes obviously still reeked and needed a proper wash before they could be worn again, and you obviously couldn’t go naked.

After much thought back and forth, you finally settled with your own leggings as they were the one piece of clothing from your previous attire that smelled the least of smoke, and a plain black, long-sleeved undershirt that you found in a pile of Hux’s clean laundry.

Once you vad gotten dressed, braided your hair and re-entered the bedroom accompanied by a stream of steam, you found it to be empty, Hux nowhere in sight.

You couldn’t deny that you wondered where he’d gone off to, but you shook your head free of his face pretty quickly, settling with believing that he just went to take his frustration out on some poor stormtrooper or low-rank intern like he so often did when things didn’t go his way, much like Kylo Ren beat the shit out of any control panel he could get his hands on.

While you awaited his return, you occupied yourself with going around the room and lighting the small night-lamps like you normally did in your own room before going to bed.

That obviously didn’t take long, however, so you were soon enough once again left alone with your boredom and started walking around the room, inspecting all of Hux’s belongings.

You realized pretty quickly that he was not a person to whom inanimate things had much sentimental value, as he definitely didn’t have much to his name aside from the basic interior that all of the sleeping quarters on the base had.

He had a ring on his drawer, a few books in one of his two bookshelves while the other stood empty, a small bed in a corner for his cat, clothes in his wardrobe, and that was pretty much it. He had no pictures of family, no real personal belongings that could signify any kind of emotional value.

But then again, who did in these parts?

“Is that my shirt?”

You jumped when you heard the sudden voice behind you, quickly turning around where you stood twirling the ring you had found in the light of the lamp standing beside you.

Your eyes found his form immediately, shocked meeting stern.

“Why are you wearing my shirt?” He almost instantly repeated himself when not getting a reply the first time, slowly beginning to walk in your direction with his hands clasped behind his back.

You quickly put the ring back down on the dresser and turned towards him, regaining your composure.

“Well, if you hadn’t noticed, my room and everything in it was burnt to a crisp. The smokey smell on my clothes was giving me a headache and kind of would have ruined the purpose of taking a shower so when I just so conveniently noticed a pile of clean clothes, I helped myself.” You shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, and to you, it wasn’t.

Hux, however, didn’t seem amused in the slightest.

“Yes, you seem to have a habit of thinking you’re entitled to everything you want.” He spat back at you, coming to a stop while there was still a good amount of distance between the two of you.

Any chill you had previously had melted right off and your annoyance quickly returned at the sound of his words.

“Oh, do excuse me. I just thought one headache would be enough.” You retorted and rolled your eyes, before sighing and crossing your arms over your chest. “So, how are we doing this? It’s late and I need to be up early to see to the repairs.”

“I thought that I made myself clear.” Hux was quick to scoff, his glare not faltering for as much as a second. “I’m not giving you my bed.”

Once again, all you could do was roll your eyes. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to suck it up then.” You stated flatly and sat down on the bed, wasting no time in starting to divide the pillows into two piles rather than one.

You took a few seconds to adjust the pillows to suit your needs before looking back up, eyebrow raised at the fact that he had yet to say or do anything.

Your eyes once again met his and you almost laughed out loud at the sight you were faced with, but thankfully managed to control yourself and avoid making the situation even harder than it already was.  

Long story short, Hux had never looked more horrified than he did in that moment.

He basically looked at you like you had killed his cat, and that was putting it lightly.

You took a few seconds to just enjoy watching him squirm and silently scramble to make sense of the situation, but even you knew when enough was enough and raised a questioning eyebrow at him in an attempt to get him moving.

“Well? What’s it going to be?” You asked. “It’s either this or the floor, just like it was for me.”

Hux opened his mouth, hesitated, and then closed it again. He obviously hadn’t been expecting you to actually agree on sharing his bed with him and now that you had, he was left at loss for words as he clearly hadn’t been preparing for anything other than you sleeping on the floor.

But after a good moment of just standing there and looking like an idiot, he finally picked himself back up, squared his shoulders and walked around the bed to the other side with frustrated strides and a snarling lip.

The feigned confidence melted right off, however, when he reached his destination and awkwardly shuffled into bed while simultaneously avoiding your amused and mocking stare, silently grabbing the extra blanket that was folded upon his bedside table.  

Both of you laid down on your backs and a heavy silence fell like a thick blanket over the room. The only sound you could hear for a few moments were each other’s breaths and your own heartbeats. For a moment, only for a microscopical moment, you were actually on your way to admit to yourself that it was kind of nice.

But that thought went flying out the window just as quickly as it had knocked on the door of your mind when Hux broke the silence by beginning to adjust himself to get ready to sleep, and in the process of doing so made the active choice to tug the pillows from right under your head.

The back of your head hit the mattress with a soft thump and you closed your eyes, your lips pulling into a straight, tight line and one, sharp breath being released through your nose as you attempted to keep your cool.

You took a moment to calm down, before you turned your head to his side of the bed where he now laid with his back to you and tugged the pillows back – maybe with a little too much force than necessary.

Hux had quickly rolled over to his other side to take them back and in anger and an eagerness to get to sleep, you exclaimed: “Stop stealing the pillows!”

He met you with a stare cold enough to have anyone else shaking in their boots and spat back. “They’re my pillows.”

You grumbled under your breath and let go of one of the two pillows, letting him pull it back to his side while you held on to the last one.

You stared at each other for a moment, both of you eventually coming to a silent, mutual agreement that you were too tired to fight and therefore he'd let you keep the pillow you were holding on to as if your life depended on it.

He, once again, laid down and turned his back to you, his hands holding on to the pillows under his head while you struggled to get comfortable again, this time with only one pillow.

“Why is your bed so damn hard?” You muttered under your breath as you angrily shoved your elbow into the mattress in an attempt to make it more comfortable – as if that was ever going to help.

“Stop complaining.” He only snapped back.

“How could I when I’m stuck in a bed with you?”

“You could’ve asked for other accommodations when you had the chance.”

“And what, be the next victim of Ren’s lightsaber?” You scoffed. “I’m the one in charge of the repairs that are needed every time he throws a wobbly. I’ve seen the kind of damage that thing can do and I’m not in any hurry to find myself at the receiving end of it.”

You muttered the last part under your breath as you finally managed to get relatively comfortable, plopping back down on your back and folding your hands over your stomach.

“How did you know I’m allergic to cats, anyway?” The question spilled out before you could stop yourself, and before you could even register that it was on the way.

Where did that even come from? Cats weren’t even close to being the subject at hand.

Hux didn’t seem to care much about the random change of subject, however, simply muttering back a reply. “You start sniffling and scratching your arms every time you’re in the same room as me for more than five minutes.”

He was clearly tired. Tired in general or just tired of you, you didn’t really know, but you guessed that it was a mixture of both since that was the case for you.

“Maybe I’m just allergic to you.” You muttered back with a shrug, even though he couldn’t see you, and he scoffed at that.

“Had that been the case I’m fairly certain it would go both ways and, unlike you, I don’t go around oozing snot everywhere I go.”

“I don’t go oozing snot everywhere.” You calmly protested, throwing the back of his head a disapproving glare before turning to lay on your side so that your back was now turned to his.

He didn’t say anything else and neither did you, sleep coming in and catching you completely by surprise and having you knocked out within the next two minutes.

When you woke up early that next morning, Hux was unsurprisingly already gone, Millicent instead laying in his place and looking right at you.

With a disgusted snarl and hesitant movements, you reached over to the other side of the bed and awkwardly patted her head twice, probably very much in the incorrect manner as you had no experience whatsoever with animals.

You got out of bed after that, put on your jacket and shoes, and wasted no time in getting to work once you’d gotten some food into your system, your team joining you in the damage-inflicted area to start on repairs like you’d done so many times before.

Everything was going fine and dandy, just a light-reckon day that started off like any other – if you didn’t count waking up in Hux’s bed with his cat – but a few hours into your workday, the unmistakable sound of Kylo Ren’s heavy steps could be heard echoing through the entire corridor you found yourself working in.

A big share of the Order’s pilots had been either killed or badly hurt a few days prior in an ambush. No one had expected any pilots to be needed for at least a few days but Kylo had gotten a sudden lead on the map that would take him to Luke Skywalker and was now walking around the base recruiting anyone capable of helping him get what he wanted.

Unfortunately for you, you were not only a highly-ranked engineer, but also a pretty decent pilot, and couldn’t say anything in protest when you were whisked away to a ship.

As anyone who wasn’t driven by an unhealthy obsession would have been able to guess, the lead was just too good to be true with a way too simple access.

Just like the last lead, this one fell through when it was revealed to be another ambush. You weren’t completely sure what happened, but over the comms, you had heard something about Leia Organa and some scavenger. 

You didn’t have time to think about retired war heroes though, no matter how much you’d love to pry and the get in on the gossip, as you had to shoot yourself through a big fleet of Resistance starfighter corps, barely getting through with your ship intact.

Your fellow pilots were shot down one by one, only a small amount of you managing to get out of there. And even then, you were met by more starfighter corps just as quickly as you’d gotten away from the last line.

Everything was just a mess after that. You weren’t able to get through to anyone over the comms, only barely being able to make out a “pull back!” before your comm system was blown to pieces along with one of your main engines.

Along with several other ships, you were forced to crash-land on a small planet filled with thick woods and when your ship collided with the ground, your head slammed into the controls, rendering you unconscious for who knows how long.

By the time you came back to it, you were hanging upside down, the only thing preventing you from falling down being the seatbelt keeping you strapped in.

You struggled to get out of there but you managed, and had to take a moment to get your surroundings to stop spinning before moving forward to look for survivors as well as a ship that wasn’t completely beyond salvation.  

You weren’t sure who you’d find, but the person you’d shared a bed with the previous night was definitely the last person you’d expect to have crashed in the same place as you. 

And still, you recognized his ship immediately. After all, you were the one who had personalized it to fit his liking.

Lucky for you, his ship seemed to have gotten a pretty soft landing. As you circled around it, you were able to determine that no major engines had been blown out. Damaged? Definitely. But they looked intact enough to at least be able to put some more distance between you and the Resistance pilots and get you to a safer place. Hopefully, the inside would be as untouched as the outside.

The ramp was lowered to the ground but didn’t look broken, so you wasted no time in jogging inside.

The lights were out completely in the entrance area, and just flickering in the ceiling when you came further in.

The first thing you noticed when you entered the piloting pit was that the pilot was not breathing. How could you tell from that far a distance? Well, let’s just say that something that was not supposed to be stuck in his eye, was stuck in his eye.

Upon further inspection, you noticed another body on the floor. However, this one was very much alive.

You would’ve expected to be met by a desperate “help me”, maybe even some begging and pleading or in the very least a “please”, but instead, even when in the process of bleeding out on the floor, Hux narrowed his eyes at you as you approached him and asked you with ragged breaths:

“Is that my shirt?”

You panted as you dropped to your knees at his side, still pretty shaken up from your own crash. “What? No.” You replied in a breath, and you wasted no time in starting to inspect his injuries.

“Yes, it is.”

“Why would I be wearing your shirt?” You asked simply, struggling to see in the dark as the flickering lights weren’t providing much assistance by means of light.

“That’s my shirt.” He kept insisting, and flinched when your hand made contact with his lower abdomen.

Only then did your eyes register the glimmering piece of metal through your blurred and disoriented vision, sticking out of his side.

You flinched at the sight, not needing any more light than you had to know that it was really bad. 

Your heart suddenly picked up in speed in your chest, and your hands began shaking as they became covered in his blood.

You had never been in the middle of the action before now, you’d always just been surrounded by metal and electricity. The most exciting thing you’d ever experienced was when a new engineer circuited a control panel the wrong way, resulting in it blowing up right by your workplace.

But it wasn’t the action in itself that had your heart about ready to burst through your chest, nor was it the blood in general, but rather the fact that it was his blood covering your hands.

His life was completely dependent on you at this moment and you had absolutely no idea how to behave accordingly.

But if there was something you knew, it was that the last thing you were supposed to do was to show a dying man your panic, so you took a deep breath and tried your hardest to steady your racing heart, going back to the conversation at hand.

“How could you tell the difference, really?” You asked. “All of our shirts look the same. All black, all equally as sufficient when used to stop blood flows.”

As you said that last part, you released another breath and ripped off a big chunk of the lower part of the shirt you were wearing.

A shirt that was, in fact, Hux's.

The man in question let his head fall back against the wall that he was propped against and his eyes squeezed shut when feeling your hands return to his side.

“Do you always wear shirts several sizes too big?” He managed to get out through clenched teeth and you replied without missing a beat.

“There was a mix-up in the laundry room.”

“So it isn’t your shirt?” He continued to be persistent and despite the seriousness of the situation, you couldn’t help but to let a small smile slip.

“Do you want to keep fighting about whether or not this shirt is mine or would you rather maybe, oh, I don’t know, focus on getting the hell out of here?” You asked him lightly and at that, he raised his head to meet your eyes with a distrusting glare.

“Why are you helping me?”

You raised your eyebrow at him, sparing just a second to meet his eyes. “You have a piece of metal stuck in your side, why the hell would I not help you?” You asked and as quickly as you had looked up, you looked back down at your hands to see what you were doing.

“You hate me, and I hate you.” He deadpanned, and you couldn’t deny you felt your heart tug in your chest.

“Who told you I hated you?” You asked, and listened as he let out a dry, struggling laugh.

“You did. On countless occasions.”

He hissed when you accidentally bumped your hand against the piece of metal. You quietly apologized but didn’t stop, knowing you didn’t have much time before the enemy would catch up with you.

“Thinking that I’m entitled to everything I want isn’t the only bad habit I have. I also have a tendency to overexaggerate.” You joked with a smile. “I do find you insufferably infuriating, though.”                                              

Another chuckle left his lips. “Likewise.” He said and dropped his head back against the wall.

You said nothing more, ripping another two pieces off of the shirt, tying them together and wrapping it around his waist like you had the first piece. You tightened this knot significantly more than the first one, though, right above the piece of metal, and just as quickly as he had relaxed, he jerked back forward with a yell.

“I need to stop the bleeding, you need to keep still.” You hurriedly scolded and sternly pushed him back down by his chest.

He muttered bitterly in return, but didn’t protest.

“I bet you’re enjoying this.” He seethed, and you raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on your lips.

“Whenever I’m feeling down, I just think back to the multiple times I’ve had the pleasure of witnessing you being force-thrown across a room by Ren. Puts a smile on my face every time. But that doesn’t automatically mean I want you to die. So stop wallowing in your internalized self-hatred and put your hand over mine.” You told him, trying your hardest to keep a lighthearted attitude, more so for your own sake than his at this point as you were literally about to pass out.

But he did as told, contributing with the strength he had left when you got to your feet and started pulling him up and into one of the seats that were still intact.

He put a trembling hand over yours and in turn, you put your other one over his and pushed down. He hissed and you gave him a moment to adjust, and when you were sure he was pressing hard enough with his own hand, you slowly removed both of yours and fastened his seatbelt.

“Keep pressure and hold on tight. This is most likely going to be a rough ride.” You warned him, and he slowly looked up at you through a mess of ginger hair.

“It can’t be any worse than the ride here.” He retorted and you nodded, taking that as a “go ahead”.

You wasted no time in getting into the pilot’s seat after pulling the previous pilot out, as well as the thick tree branch on which his head had been impaled, and started up the controls. It took a few tries to get out of the hole the ship hade gotten stuck in when crashing, but soon enough you were up in the sky.

With a bit of dumb luck, you eventually reached your destination and got brought back in to the base by your team of fellow engineers, all ready to repair the wrecked ship.

Hux was immediately taken to the medical bay while you stayed behind to help with the ships, and from two ends of the base, the two of you silently and separately came to realize that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t hate each other as much as you thought, after all.

[earthstellar]

It's also noteworthy that we can see in the panel above that Ultra Magnus would send things through, seemingly in high volume, and then request them to be disregarded-- "Ignore Previous Memos".

I do think that Rodimus may struggle with prioritisation to some degree, but he also (at this time in the story) doesn't have many people he can delegate things of this level to, and Ultra Magnus was having personal issues which we can see were, to at least some degree, impacting his work and his own ability to determine what was necessarily urgent/important to forward to Captain and what wasn't --

He seems to have flood forwarded items/tasks that he personally would prioritise but weren't necessarily relevant or urgent for Rodimus as the Captain to review urgently.

This is realistic to some degree; Those in high ranking positions with high volumes of work may end up stressed enough to almost automatically forward along non-urgent items as if they were urgent, and then react as though an urgent task was ignored when in reality it wasn't actually as urgent.

For example, when I'm working as a medical secretary/clinical admin, I get plenty of genuinely urgent requests from consultant doctors (requests for updated patient records, copies of prescriptions or confirming RXs/blood test results to coordinate care between other services and doctors, MDT/multidisciplinary team meetings, referrals to forward to other clinics/services and copies sent to patients, and so on)--

--But I also get plenty of non-urgent stuff marked as urgent, and stuff that isn't even relevant, like doctors asking for train timetables for three months into the future because they want to arrange their travel between hospitals months in advance. That may seem urgent to them personally, but that is not my job, and it's something they need to ask their staffing agency's travel team, not me. And their travel team will also likely ask them to wait.

It seems like Ultra Magnus started to do this kind of thing to Rodimus, with urgent and non-urgent messages overlapping each other. Part of this may be due to the inability to delegate tasks to others, with a relatively small command staff, on top of a task prioritisation issue.

This adds massively to the workload of the person receiving all these messages, as now sorting through what's actually urgent and what isn't draws attention away from other tasks and causes delays in addressing actually important things-- Which in this case, given the volume of messages from Ultra Magnus, would have significantly bogged down Rodimus in terms of just not being able to get through it all in a timely manner.

It's understandable that Ultra Magnus has difficulty at this time identifying what he thought was urgent versus actually urgent tasks, but Rodimus also would have not been able to sort this efficiently even if only due to sheer volume on top of other tasks and duties he would need to get done.

While Rodimus may struggle with prioritisation, it's definitely not his fault that at this time, Ultra Magnus was also struggling with prioritisation or differentiating between personally urgent concerns and professionally urgent concerns, and it compounded on both ends, resulting in delayed urgent tasks.

When Megatron came on board and Ultra Magnus stabilised a little more, tasks could now be delegated to more people across the command team and Ultra Magnus was better able to class tasks/messages appropriately.

it's funny to me when fic presents rodimus as refusing to do any work magnus sends him on the LL as being like, a total inability to do normal levels of work running the ship as captain, because i get how this is misremembered but. rodimus straight up explains post-overlord that this is because magnus was sending him tens of thousands of words of legitimately nonsense 'reports' every day. like i do think rodimus would be lax on that stuff, but that is, contextually, 100% magnus being shit at his job in s1, let's be real.

[clatterbane]

That extra info from the new Libre 2-plus-Diabox CGM setup is already coming in very handy indeed!

(Besides "just" enjoying being able to glance at a screen whenever I like, without a very minor blood sacrifice being required to satisfy my curiosity about glucose levels.)

From my first full day using it, starting from roughly when I got up as reflected by those teeny spikes at the beginning:

Hmm, that is really not looking right! That huge mountain started rising up before I even got anything in besides the usual cup of coffee--which really does not seem to affect my blood sugar otherwise. 🤔 And the pre-breakfast insulin should have at least been on the verge of kicking in when it started climbing? The extra correction dose barely seemed to touch it after it skyrocketed up to a concerning point?

Seriously, WTF body?! 😒

Okay, wait! I know I've heard about something like this before, from other diabetics.

But, I was up for at least an hour before my blood sugar started shooting up for no apparent reason? Idk, maybe that doesn't quite fit.

Still, it's worth cautiously trying a little insulin first thing tomorrow, just in case. If it drops too much, I have a good excuse to drink some of that fresh cider. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Erm, NOPE! Second verse...

INTERESTING to see that exactly the same thing happened again, if more than a little nerve wracking! Either one preemptive unit of insulin wasn't NEARLY enough, or that's not the right explanation or solution.

(Just barely avoided it dipping low after shooting an extra meal's worth of Novorapid then taking a short roll around the neighborhood, to try and bring that shit back down. Thanks again to keeping a close eye on the Diabox display, and grabbing a fast snack to keep ahead of it! 😃)

Anyway, at least the tentative little preemptive insulin dose didn't seem to make matters worse, or even bring my blood sugar down AT ALL like it normally would.

May well be worth trying to hit it much harder in advance next time, and see what happens? Again, worst case, I'll be guzzling something sugary or chomping down on candy for breakfast.

And there are still a few things to try if that still doesn't help.

And, success! After taking a usual breakfast-sized dose of Novorapid as soon as I got up.

By the time I was ready to try some breakfast, the levels had not budged in any direction--which I took as an encouraging sign. So, I said fuck it and dosed more insulin as usual before getting in something lower in carbs, trying to play it safe.

(Normally I would say to change only one variable at a time, but jfc. I really DID NOT want a repeat of yesterday's stress!)

Result: Just about the sort of "normal" meal response I would expect? Definitely nothing alarming today. 🎉🥳🎊

And I felt way less like hot exhausted garbage, trying to get some shit done around here before Night Owl Lunch. (Suppertime just recently, for the folks on more socially acceptable schedules.)

Even without the added stress of watching the runaway roller coaster in near realtime, that shit COULD NOT possibly be good for your system. And this is with keeping watch and correction dosing to try and bring it back down. Who knows how high it might have been regularly spiking without that? 😰

I had no reason to think that anything weird might even be going on there, and had slacked on the after meal testing tbqh. Didn't really want to poke myself more than like 4-5 times a day on the regular, unless there was something more obviously unusual happening. So, I fell into a bit of a routine, and had generally called checking before I ate good enough. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

And I really doubt that's unusual.

TL;DR: It's looking remarkably like I've been dealing with some sneaky version of the fairly common "Foot-on-the-Floor" phenomenon with my blood sugar, for Glod only knows how long. And I might not have known about it for a long time if ever, had I not FINALLY gotten set up with CGM technology to help me keep a better eye on what my busted diabetic metabolism is doing.

I had been finger-stick testing for breakfast not long after I got up, and this particular wacky endocrine stunt has apparently been working on just enough of a time delay for me to miss it. Then, by a couple-few hours later when I'm thinking about eating and test again? It's been back to high-"normal" at worst, the vast majority of the time.

This is yet another illustration of why at least all T1 diabetics--or anyone relying on insulin to stay alive and even vaguely healthy--should have ready, affordable access to continuous glucose monitoring technology! Plus any other tools that might make keeping on top of the situation easier, safer, and actually doable.

(Not to mention other folks who might benefit from that, and other currently available medical aids/assistance.)

Currently stuck in my head, however inappropriately! 😅

[myheelsdontmatchmysweatpants]

This is my first collab fic and I could not be more excited! I'm so thankful that I can be part of the group!

The AU for this month was Sex Work. The Masterlist for this collab can be found here. Please take some time to check out everyone's contributions! There are other fics and amazing art!

That being said here is my fic, big BIG shout out to @doinmybesthere for being an amazing beta reader and sweet angel bb. ily Emme!

Please please please read the warnings. They are there for a reason!

Warnings: consensual noncon, mentions of being burnt, stabbing and blood; no prep penetration, disrespectful use of the word "whore", blackmail, psychological abuse?, Mineta (nuff said) he gets what's comin to him

You’re in the doctor’s office getting a regular checkup when you overhear the nurses in the station next to you talking.

“Look! They posted the new hero rankings today.”

“I forgot those were today, too bad they can’t have the conference during the pandemic. I miss seeing Deku all cute and blushing.”

“FUCK” In your brief moment of panic you forgot where you were. You cringe and look at the nurses, trying your best not to look like you were gonna be sick. “Sorry ladies, didn’t mean to yell.” No point in offering an explanation. You wouldn’t be able to tell them anything anyway.

As you very impatiently wait for your blood results to come back you check the tacky red cell phone you have to keep with you at all times. You had put it on silent since you were in the doctor’s office and you were glad you did. Taking a quick look at your screen had your stomach dropping into your ass.

M.M: Gonna move my appointment up to today.

M.M: You better get ready. I’m not happy.

M.M: I’m sure you saw the postings. Number 36.

M.M: I made sure to pay for any accidents in advance.

M.M: I’ll see you tonight.

Why does he have to be so fucking horrible? Accidents my ass.

The messages make your skin crawl, you should have figured the hero rankings would piss him off but honestly you never paid enough attention. With a heavy sigh you opened up your web browser and pull up the list.

“Number 36...number 36…. Number 36…” When you finally reached the hero you were looking for, you let out a sigh.

Hero Ranking Number 36: The Rainy Season Hero Froppy

Well at least you had her outfit already, for some reason she was one your client asked for a lot. Not that you wanted to ask him why, not with the way his black eyes looked whenever he saw you dressed up like her.

I don’t know if I should feel glad that he isn’t actually taking this out on her. Or upset that I’ve had to deal with this for months.

“L/N, Y/N?” The doctor walks up holding their clipboard and closing the privacy screen. Your file almost too much for the metal clip at the top. “Your test results came back negative and your burns seem to have healed very well. I would tell you that any strenuous activity should be avoided but we both know you can’t do that.”

Their poor attempt at humor had your stomach rolling. “Haha anyways Doc, I think I’m gonna need another medkit to take home today. I can schedule my next appointment online, right?”

You can’t handle the thinly veiled pity in their eyes and look down, reaching over to your side to grab your purse. You hear them moving around and a dark blue plastic box is put on your lap.

“If I remember correctly this is your favorite color, right? You are able schedule an appointment online but if you would like I can schedule it for you. How about in two days? Afternoon work for you?”

You look up after clutching the kit to your chest, you know they are just trying to be nice. All of the nurses are especially nice to you and as endearing as it might be to some people, to you it just feels dirty.

“Afternoon is perfect, thanks Doc.” You get up and walk towards the privacy screen. Before leaving you stop for a moment “Blue ismy favorite color.”

As you make your way back to your living quarters you scroll through the internet looking at every picture of the Pro-Hero Froppy you can find. Your quirk can project a person’s desires onto your body by reading them in their eyes. It’s easier when the person has a clear view of what or who they want. However, your client’s desires are such a jumbled mess that it’s easier if you know what it is beforehand.

Hopefully, I can act like her enough that I don’t have to look at his desires this time. I can’t stand how disgusting they make me feel.

You pass by a few familiar faces on your way back to your rooms but don’t pay them any mind. They in turn leave you alone, most of them knowing that when you have that look on your face you were in a mood.When you first were offered a position at the brothel you thought it would be easy money. You had been stripping for several years, known for how you looked different to everyone who saw your dancing. The beautiful, enchanting, flexible Erised. You had built up your quirks ability to be able to project almost a full clubs worth of desires. Sure, it caused extreme fatigue and chronic migraines but the money you raked in was well worth it.

A few months ago

After an especially successful night a patron walks up to you after you leave the stage.

“I have a job opportunity for you, courtesy of my employer.” He hands you a card you read “Heroes Consulting Agency” in bold silver letters.

“I’m a stripper hun, not sure I can do the type of consulting you’re looking for.” You go to hand it back, but they put their hand up.

“I’m afraid I must insist, why don’t we treat you to lunch and you can listen to our proposal?”

You put your hand back down and study them. They are dressed in a white button up with a vest, definitely out of place in a strip club. You would look in their eyes, but they didn’t really have any, their whole body seemed to be made of dark smoke. You don’t work in the nicest of places so someone with their kind of full body quirk isn’t unusual.

“Alright, I give. I’m not really one to pass up free food.” The rational side of your brain is telling you that you have more than enough money to buy your own food but the stingy part telling you to take it while you can is a little louder.

“Excellent choice Miss Erised. Someone will meet you at the address on that card tomorrow at around 5pm? Should give you enough time to recover from the side effects of your quirk.” They give a slight bow and walk off towards the exit, a large something getting up from a seat and following closely behind.

Sam, one of the waitresses walks up to you with a tray filled with drinks. Her normally short stature elevated with high heeled leather boots. “Did you know that person Y/N?”

Oh man, I do not have the energy for this.

You turn to her and survey the tray before grabbing something that looked like a fruity cocktail. “No, but they offered me a job. Gonna go have lunch with them tomorrow.” Sipping from the glass you tuck the card into your bra, making sure to not show it to the girl.

“That’s weird, don’t they know you’re a stripper? What is someone dressed that nicely want to hire you for? Also did that person look familiar to you or is that just me?” Any normal person wouldn’t be able to keep up with her unending questions, but you had known her for years. The tray in her hands tips dangerously to the left but she balances it out without a second thought.

Guess she does have to be quick on her toes to be a waitress at a strip club.

“They were here for my dance so yes they do know, either way I’m getting free food so…”

She huffs, aware of your attitude for anything “free”.

You finish the drink and place the empty glass back taking a couple bills from your bag and tucking them into her apron.

“Thanks for the drink Sam, but I gotta leave before my headache hits.” You walk off before she can say anything further. You really wanna be nice to her but her endless energy really gets on your nerves sometimes.

By the time you make it to your modest apartment, you can feel the pain starting behind your eyes. You drop your stuff by the door without turning on any lights and walk to the box safe hidden in the kitchen. After you make sure all the money is secure you grab a glass of water and head to the bedroom. The bottle of pain killers already set out on your nightstand. You should really take a shower but for now, you strip down, take a few pills, drink the whole glass of water, and lay down. It takes a while for the pills to kick in but once they do you finally fall asleep.

When you finally wake up the next morning your headache is gone, and you have to piss like no one’s business. You grumble as you stretch your tight sore muscles and get up to go to the bathroom. After taking care of business, you get into some light clothes and walk into the kitchen to make some food. Thankfully, you had some leftover rice and spam in the fridge, so you pop that in the microwave. You put the kettle on for some green tea and down another glass of water as it heats up.

Remembering the offer from yesterday and the promise of free food you pad over to your pile of things by the door and grab their card. It’s sleek looking with a plain black background and silver lettering. The address isn’t something you recognize right away so you look it up on your phone.

“What the fuck?” Why is this place in a business park?

You scroll down and check the street view; the building is a high rise surrounded by a mostly empty parking lot. The entrance of the building is blurred, probably to keep the privacy of anyone entering or exiting.

“Well, I guess it’s a nice gig. Better dress the part.” Or maybe you’re gonna get murdered.

“Wow, I really have to stop watching all those true crime shows.” You put the card in your wallet and head back to the kitchen. The microwave beeps and the kettle whistles shortly after. When you’re done eating you put the dishes in the sink to soak and head to the bathroom to finally take a shower.

By the time you have finished showering the whole bathroom is filled with steam and your body has a pink flush to it. You open the door to air it out and finish cleaning up for the day. Your outfit consists of your nicest jeans with ankle boots, a long sleeve blouse and a dark cardigan. You grab one of your smaller over the shoulder purses and leave your apartment.

One of the things you allowed yourself to really splurge on was a car. Public transportation was not as reliable as it could be and with your hours not the safest either.

By the time you make it to the building the sun is starting to set, giving the sky beautiful pink to blue coloring. As you park and get out of your car a young woman walks up to you.

“Welcome Miss Erised! Please follow me and I will escort you through the building.” The woman’s blonde hair is in two messy buns, her face childlike. Her voice was high pitched enough to grate on your nerves a bit, but you ignored it.

As you follow the person through the lobby you take a glance around. Looks like a high-end hotel lobby. There is a front desk area with a marble counter top, women that are dressed in matching button ups with their hair up in buns or ponytails. Random potted plants and small trees dot the area, and a nice chandelier hangs in the middle of the ceiling. No one besides the women at the front desk are in the area.

“Doesn’t seem to be busy right now.” You didn’t even really mean for her to hear you, but she did, and you sounded like an asshole.

They turn their head slightly with a knowing smirk. “It would seem that way wouldn’t it?”

Conversation halts while you stand in the elevator which you were thankful for. They had chosen a floor close to the middle of the building, which gave you just enough time to rethink your life choices.

By the time you got to your floor you are tired of the silence. Normally you hate small talk, but you figured you would give it a shot. “Do you like your job?”

The woman turns to you and smiles, here canines peeking out a bit while shrugging her shoulders. “It keeps me busy, plus I get to make so many friends.” The gleam in her eyes flashes menacingly for a quick second, you decide to pretend you didn’t see it.

As you get to the end of the hall, she opens a door and gestures you inside, closing it behind you. There is a nice desk to the left of the door, other than that the room is sparce. The person sitting in the chair has quite an eclectic look about him. Grey hair parted to the side, shrew eyes behind circular wire rimmed glasses, a gold chain peeks out from the slightly open white button up with a purple blazer. He reeks of cigarette smoke the evidence of his habit tossed into the half-filled ash tray on the desk.

“So nice of you to join me Miss Y/N. Why don’t you have a seat, we can talk about your new position.” He gestures to the only other chair a smirk on his face that shows of his missing tooth.

“I haven’t accepted the job yet Giran, and I thought I told you I don’t want to work for you.” You aren’t used to seeing him in this type of place. But you do know him so there is no need to put on a show. You lean back in the chair and cross your arms.

“How rude of me, you won’t be working for me, but I have been given authority to hire for this company.”

You don’t bat an eye; most large companies use outside help for hiring. “What is this position you would like offer me?”

“This company provides heroes with a way to alleviate their… desires in a safe and discrete way.”

“So, you hire prostitutes for heroes to have sex without worrying about anyone telling the press about it.”

“That is correct.”

“I don’t know if your just stupid or if you forgot but I’m a stripper not a hooker.” You sit up in your chair fully ready to leave the room.

“They would provide you with a fully furnished apartment, medical coverage with 24/7 access to their fully trained medical staff. Any cash given to you by your clients you can keep, however they would take a percentage out of the money they initially pay for your services.”

“Let’s say I’m a little interested, how much is the initial pay for my services?” You want to deny the offer, nothing wrong with having sex for money but it isn’t really your thing.

Giran doesn’t answer right away, instead putting out what is left of his cigarette only to pull another one out of his blazer and lighting it up. “The starting hourly rate is $2,500 an hour, they would take 30 percent from that.”

Holy shit, that’s as much as I make in a day and I would be making it an hour? You keep your face neutral but something in your eyes must have tipped him off.

“You would start tomorrow; most clients keep a contract with their favorite employee and we actually have someone lined up for you already. He has extremely specific tastes and you are the perfect person to fill in.”

“I’ll have to talk to the club owner; would it be possible to start later?” You don’t want to seem to eager, especially not in front of him.

“I don’t see that as a problem, they can give you one week but that’s it.”

You stay silent, making it look like you’re thinking about it. After a moment you lean forward in your chair and stick your hand out. “Sounds like a deal to me.”

Giran grabs you hand and gives it a firm shake. “If you ever need help or have any questions call the number on the card. Now I believe you were offered dinner, let me take you to one of my favorite places.”

You let his hand go and rise from the chair. As Giran comes around the desk and walks towards the door, he stops for a moment and turns to you. “Welcome to the team.”

Dinner was actually genuinely nice; the food was good, and you were able to have a comfortable conversation with Giran. Of course, he didn’t tell you anything about himself, but you had no problems with that, you didn’t wanna share anything to personal about yourself either. He dropped you back off at your car after dinner and shook your hand again before driving off.

By the time you got home you had decided what you were gonna tell the club owner and mentally packed your apartment. Not wanting to take all of your things you moved most of it to a secure storage facility. Having had it for a few years already in order to store the overabundance of clothes you owned.

After the week was up you had quit your job and packed all of your belongings. You realize you don’t know where you are supposed to go so you pull out the card and call the number.

“Hello, how can I assist you?”

“Giran never told me where I would be moving my stuff to. Could you give me the address?” You pick at your nails while waiting for him to answer.

“Of course, Miss Erised. Will you be needing any assistance for your move?”

He sounds so polite; I wonder if he is always like this.

“No, I’ll be fine on my own thank you.”

He gives you the address and let you know that you can call if you need any additional information.

“Good luck Miss Erised.”

When you get back to your apartment you immediately go into the shower and wash up, using the tea tree oil that Froppy had said she uses in an interview.

I don’t understand how people can like this stuff, but he gets easier to handle if I smell like those women.

When you are done you towel dry your hair and make sure to lotion your whole body. When your hair is dry enough you straighten it and leave it down. He likes it better when its down.

You go to your closet and rifle through until finding the very skimpy version of Froppys hero costume. All it really has in common with the original is the tan harness and the green with black and yellow stripes. Otherwise, it is a one-piece bikini without a crotch. You grab your black leather over the knee boots and get dressed. After checking the time, you give yourself a moment to mentally prepare.

I hate this, I hate him. Disgusting filthy little bug. A false hero, a plague. I can’t wait to leave this place.

Standing in the middle of your room you close your eyes and take deep breaths, allowing your consciousness to drift. You have found that the best way to endure these sessions is to detach yourself from the situation. Only focusing on the absolute necessary and maintaining the effects of your quirk. Giving yourself another minute to get into character you walk to the door joining your apartment to the “service room”.

Thankfully, he hasn’t shown up yet, you shut the door hearing the lock click into place, the door seamlessly vanishing into the wall. Sitting on the edge of the bed you face the door that Mineta will walk through and wait.

No matter how many times we do this I never lose the feeling of wanting to vomit while bathing in bleach.

When he walks in you see that he is wearing his hero costume, as atrocious as it is. He never really deviated from the original design. You immediately start your performance.

“Mineta? What am I doing here? kero” You clasp your hands together in front of your chest and look around frightfully.

“Hello Tsu, what a pleasant surprise to see you here.” He walks up, taking off his gloves and throwing them to the side.

“I don’t understand, do you know where- “Your sentence is cut off, pain in your cheek sharp and hot.

“I don’t believe I gave you permission to talk Miss thirty sixth hero.” He stands there with his hand still up as you cup your cheek and look up at him, the tears in your eyes real. He pulls his hand back again as if to slap you and you flinch.

“Good girl, now finish taking off my outfit for me.” Mineta walks back a few steps and holds his arms out. Your fingers are clumsy as you take it of piece by piece.

Mineta abruptly grabs a fist full of your hair and yanks your head back. You grab his hand with both of yours trying to ease his grip.

“Do you think if you do it slow enough, I’ll get bored and go away?” He pulls harder. “Huh? You really think you’re gonna get out of this don’t you.” He tosses you towards the bed and you scramble to get back on your feet.

The tears in your eyes have started to spill over and you start babbling. “Please let me go Mineta, I don’t know what I did but please pleasejust forgive me kero. I won’t tell anyone about this just please don’t hurt me kero.”

He doesn’t answer you, just finishes taking off his outfit before he is walking towards you again, a vicious gleam in his beady eyes.

You back up until the back of your legs hits the bed. You open your mouth to speak but before you can utter a single word, he slaps you again.

“I told you not to speak unless I told you to once already. Now I’m gonna have to punish you, aren’t I?” He shoves you onto the bed and follows, using his knees to push your legs open he sits up and gives himself a few pumps.” No need to prep you, I want this to hurt.”

You are sobbing at this point, your hands covering your face when you feel him push into you. A scream rips out of your throat and you reach forward to push him away.

“You know Tsu, these meetups have been the best. I’m thinking next time I will find the REAL you and have even more fun.” He closes his eyes a leans his head back, fully immersed in only getting himself off.

To engrossed in his own world, he doesn’t realize that you have gone still. Your tears have stopped, and you have pulled your hands back from him.

DISGUSTING

“Find the real me?”

VILE

You break character, bringing your full consciousness back. You voice is just a whisper at first, so he doesn’t hear you, doesn’t stop thrusting.

FALSE HERO

“Find the REAL me?!” You are screaming at him now.

He finally stops, hearing you the second time. For a second you see fear in his eyes before they fill with rage.

MONSTER

“Hey! You better start doing the job I paid you for, I don’t come here for you to question me.” He lifts his hand up, as if to slap you again. Before his hand comes down you grab it, squeezing until he yelps in pain.

This job is over, he isn’t worth keeping around anymore.

“You think I give a shit about a little piss ant like you?!” As you sit up, he yanks his arm away and pulls out of you. Stumbling back, he starts shaking a finger in your direction.

“You can’t talk to me like that! You’re just a whore!”

You dart forward before he can put more distance between you and grab him by the neck. As you pick him up you snarl and let your quirk fade away.

“I may be a whore but I not a monster like you. You are just a fake hero, a plague on this world and I will get rid of every single one of you.” You throw him onto the ground still holding on to his neck and squeeze.

“In other news, Minoru Mineta also known as the pro hero Grape Juice has gone missing after several videos of him have gone viral. He was last seen leaving a brothel that has requested to remain nameless. The videos contain triggering scenes of the pro hero having relations with a prostitute while she is dressed in various hero suits the resemble his old female classmates. He even refers to them by name. The videos contain triggering images, and it is recommended to not seek them out. The original videos have since been taken down but are reuploaded onto the internet on several other sites. The prostitute shown in the videos has also gone missing. Any information on the whereabouts- “

The T.V. turns off, the voice of the news anchor no longer filling the dimly lit bar. The people present remain silent for a moment before a man with burns all over his body starts to laugh.

“You could have really fucked that up Doll. Good thing we got enough evidence.” You sneer at him, making sure you change your appearance to match your own desire. He flinches when he sees his own face.

“I wish you had cut him! There wasn’t enough blood to keep his appearance up for awfully long!” The young woman with two messy blond buns in her hair twirls a knife around.

“I’m terribly sorry Toga, but I didn’t have anything sharp with me.” You pick at your nails and look over at Kurogiri, who is busy pouring a glass of whiskey for Dabi. “Do I get a break after this one or do you and boss man have another gig for me?”

[iron-mum]

I wish you would write a fic where Tony and kid Peter are being adorable father and son as retribution for the angst you’ve made me suffer through in the past hah! (JK I love you and your angst! 💛)

Well, well, well. What do we have here, eh? A request for adorable? I'm not sure, I'm very good at that 😌

Here's SIMTony who would stop at nothing to help his unwell son, Peter get better. Even if it meant using Extremis.

P.S. ILY3000 💕

In the final throes of the graveyard shift at the hospital floor, the elevator pinged for its frequent lone visitor. The front desk staff, whilst tense and sitting up suddenly straighter, knew not to actually engage. No ID was needed for their boss, one of them barely suppressing a gulp as his determined strides headed for the private room that had been deliberately placed near to the room equipped for every possible kind of emergency. Once inside, he carefully shut the door silently and took a seat at the bedside.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Sharp blue eyes shifted from the persistent buzzing of the most technologically advanced medical equipment anyone, anywhere could offer before looking back down to something far more invaluable and precious. Tony’s entire world. His purpose in life. The little boy on the bed lay motionless, breathing slowly and evenly, nose occasionally scrunching up at the discomfort of the oxygen mask upon him. He should have been cocooned in a hug from his father but instead his son, Peter, was littered with wires attaching him to the very best modern medicine had to offer.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Pale, soft skin with the daintiest of freckles stood out against the dark curls spread across the far too big pillow. The small fingers of his left hand had loosely closed around the calloused thumb of his father, letting him know that whilst he had been rendered weak from illness, he was still aware of his comforting presence. Tony’s index finger gently glided across the small knuckles, willing himself to see a tiny curve of the lips on his son’s face.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

This had been the Avengers fault. Peter’s current critical condition. The young boy had been on a school trip when a battle had broken out and the wannabe heroes managed to cause more destruction than lives saved. A chemical explosion had landed most of the class in hospital and many of them had ended up becoming very unwell. Unfortunately for Peter, he already suffered many ailments so even under the wing of Stark’s finest medical personnel, the struggle had taken a toll. The genius shook his head as thoughts of revenge started to sprout from the many seeds that had been planted since the catastrophic incident. He shelved the many ideas he had that would lead to the demise of the reckless group once his kid was better.

It had been hours when the sound of a nurse's footsteps acted as the catalyst that would remove Tony from the room so he could head back to his lab. As he reluctantly moved his hand away, there was no reaction. Not even a twitch from the slender child. Bending down, he tentatively stroked a small amount of the exposed skin that was available on the boy’s face before planting a light kiss on his forehead. By the time the nurse was opening the door to the room to complete the routine checks, any sign of a visitor would be long gone.

The moment Tony was back in his workshop, he strode towards his desk. Music started to reverberate from the ceiling, the sound greatly appreciated compared to the low hum and incessant beeping from the emotionless devices that were currently keeping his son alive.

Tony didn’t believe in a higher power other than himself. So in no way, shape or form was he ever going to accept that he couldn’t save Peter from the incurable illness now ravaging his frail body. Feeling powerless was simply not an option.

Rolling up the sleeve to his top, the genius opened a drawer and pulled out a device meant for extracting blood as painlessly as possible. Not that pain meant much to him these days. No pain would ever compete with a parent having to watch their child deteriorate every single second of every single day.

Satisfied with the draw, Tony placed it into a diagnostic machine of his own making. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass of his workshop, eyeing it like he was in the most intense staring contest of his life. Jaw clenching, his arm shot out allowing liquid metal to glide across his skin before firing a repulsor at the glass and shattering it. There was an element of irony to everyone loving his face except himself in the minimal but intrusive “what if” moments that surrounded his current situation. With a crack of his neck, his arm remained outstretched so the Endo-Sym armour could return to it’s housing tank.

“Boss, the results are back,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. informed as the music lessened in volume. “No adverse reactions detected still. The chemical composition indicates that the Extremis is unchanged in it’s integration with you on a genetic level and continues to remain stable.”

“And the sample from Peter?” Tony asked, confident that he knew what the answer would be.

“Also remaining stable.”

“Alert the staff intending to see Peter following tonight's shift that their presence will not be needed,” the genius demanded as he mentally reiterated the next steps of his plan in his head. Lips curled into devilishly handsome grin at his victory, eyes crinkling at the sides. The smile only softened when his eyes drifted to a framed picture Peter had drawn of the both of them. He’d done it.

“Certainly, boss,” the AI had responded without any acknowledgement. Tony was too busy in thought. Not only was the Extremis flowing through his own veins, leaving him feeling at perfect health. But soon, it would be doing the same for Peter too. Pain free, peak performance and at complete and optimal health.

“Have there been any sightings of the Avengers in the last hour? I feel a splash of revenge is in order for this special occasion?” The holo-screens in front of him started to flicker as social media sites were searched and hashtags refreshed repeatedly. Hulk had been trending within the hour and Hawkeye in the last eleven minutes.

"Well, how about that?" he grinned gleefully. "I really am being spoiled for choice."

Whilst the genius had been certain F.R.I.D.A.Y. had relayed the message to the morning staff, Tony still found himself exhaling sharply at the sight of someone sat by Peter’s side reading his file. The thin bag of Extremis in his hand was shifted into his back pocket as quickly as humanly possible. The good feeling from beating the shit out of one of the Avengers, plus the buzz of providing Peter with a cure that no meagre doctor had been able to, shifted into a tension as tried to work out who it was.

Their face was narrow with sharp features and glasz eyes remarkably penetrating when they met his perusing stare. His black hair had been combed back neatly, the sides of his temples a distinct light grey. The well fitted suit looked designer even for Tony’s impeccable standards.

“Your services are no longer required,” he affirmed with a dismissive flourish of the hands before the man could even introduce himself.

“I’m sorry?” the other man replied without hesitation, closing the file and rising from the chair. Tony’s chair. If he’d been expecting any pleasantries or introductions, he was thoroughly mistaken. Tony was already locked onto Peter, the gentle rise of his chest a welcoming sight as always. He refused to allow his attention to be divided, ignoring the piercing stare boring into him now. “I have an oath to this patient. He critically needs help from the best in all fields. He needs my help.”

The genius turned at that, an eyebrow raised as he looked the doctor up and down. He certainly held himself strongly for someone who had that much audacity in addressing the owner of everything within his current vicinity.

“Are you new around here… Doctor Strange?” He asked disingenuously, eyes narrowing as he scrutinised the name badge. The letters ‘VISITOR - Dr Stephen Strange’ jotted on the bottom, likely the reason he hadn’t got his AI’s memo. The receptionist who let him in would be fired whether it was her fault or not.

“Unlike everyone else in this building, no, I don’t work for you” the doctor shot back tersely. “However, you were so insistent on my consultation that, somehow, I found my diary completely cleared of all surgeries that were booked in.”

“Well, you can now stick them back in your diary. We’re done here.”

“I know this is difficult,” the doctor started, tone suddenly softer as if he were hoping a change of tact would get through. “You brought me in for my expertise, so use them.”

“I’m the most intelligent, capable person on the planet. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”

“Your arrogance surpasses all the rumours and expectations I had of you,” Strange snapped back incredulously. Apparently nothing was going to get through. “Your child is-”

“You know, it would be a real shame if you were to lose your medical licence, wouldn't it, doctor?” Tony sneered dangerously low. This ungrateful little shit was going to get it for not only wasting his time and energy, but also his son’s. An insignificant speck like the rest of the world.

“Are you threatening me?” the doctor replied doing his best to keep his tone cool and unflinching when the other man removed all personal space between them. The lack of intimidation he was feeling only pissed Tony off more.

“Let’s not test my resolve, doctor.” Despite feeling completely wrong about leaving considering Peter’s condition, Dr Stephen Strange tucked the file he’d been reading under his arm and left the room in just a few strides. Tony had spotted the hand diving for a phone as the door shut behind him and clenched his fists in disdain.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., be a darling and ensure Doctor Douchebag doesn’t make it back home,” Tony demanded followed by a nonchalant sniff.

“Yes, boss. His phone has also unexpectedly lost all signal so will not be usable anytime soon.”

Satisfied with the course of action his AI had taken, Tony locked the door to his son’s room for good measure. He eyed the current equipment before making his move. One of the drips currently providing Peter with much needed medicine was switched to make way for a sample of the Extremis that Tony had meticulously created and tested on himself. He peered at his son, swallowing thickly that this would all be worth it.

Bag secured, the first few drops started instantly, the older man watching as they flowed along the thin tubes before entering the cannula imposed on Peter’s hand. The skin began to glow orange, the lava looking trail gliding all the way up the arm’s before entering the chest. Daring a glance at the monitors, Tony noted an instant improvement in the readouts. A smile spread across his face as sheet-white, sickly skin started to immediately brighten.

Peter’s big, brown doe eyes suddenly shot open as he took a huge gulp of air, eyes landing on his father who was remarkably in focus for the first time in his life without the aid of glasses. Tony removed the oxygen mask so he could take his son’s face in fully for the first time in well over a month.

“Dad?” the young boy croaked, clearly a little disoriented from the abrupt wake up.

“Hey, buddy,” Tony whispered, voice cracking with emotion as he closed the distance between them.

Peter lunged at his father, his small arms wrapping tightly around the genius’ neck and face burying into his chest. It had been far too long since either had been able to enjoy the tender, heart-bursting feeling of overwhelming, unconditional love from one another.

“I love you, kiddo.” Tony gushed as one of his hand’s lovingly cupped the back of Peter's head holding him as close as possible. The other enveloped around his back, his thumb slowly stroking up and down. When the older man's hand started to trail through Peter's hair, the boy somehow managed to burrow even closer. Tony soothingly lifted curls between his fingers and then let them ping back as new life continued to circle through his son’s body.

“I love you too, dad,” Peter whispered, a strain evident in his voice that Tony hadn’t been expecting. When he leant back, he saw the likely cause. Now unnecessary wires were tugging at his child’s skin.

“Let’s get these off you, bud. You don’t need them anymore,” he promised softly as he carefully went to work at removing the monitoring equipment clips and stickers. Peter’s curious eyes followed every step of the way, surprisingly not wincing even when some of the tougher stickers were peeled away. Although he was too young to even begin comprehending what had happened, he knew from vague memories he’d been hurt and that he’d slept a lot. Often he had been unsure if he was dreaming or awake when he’d hear his father read him stories, express his love and let him know how brave he was being. A slight tug on his hand drew him from his recollection as he looked down.

"I’m scared," Peter timidly admitted as he eyed up the last piece of medical equipment attached to him. The cannula in his hand.

“Here’s what we're gonna do, bud. We’re going to put on our brave faces and before you know it, it’ll be all done and over with. Can you show me your bravest, fiercest face?” Tony gently challenged, as part of his upper lip curled and he playfully growled.

The child’s dinky nose scrunched up and his lips pushed out into the biggest pout he could form. He shook his head a little and hummed in a way that likely felt fierce to him but could only be described as adorable to his dad.

"Wowzer. That was super mean, you nearly scared me!” Tony gasped dramatically, as he gestured for the boy to look down and see that the only thing on the top of his hand was a small cotton wool ball and a light pressure from his dad. Using his free hand to fish into his pocket, Tony revealed a green Paw Patrol sticker with Peter’s favourite character, Rocky, on it.

It had been a distant memory since the young boy had handed it to him, having spotted the numerous nicks and cuts that littered his hard working hands after a long day in the workshop. Extremis meant Peter wouldn’t even need it, but the placebo effect would make it worth it.

“Am I all better, daddy?” Peter asked as Tony eyed him up once more. The overwhelmed father cupped his kid’s face and planted another kiss on his forehead, relief washing over him that he was now free from the concatenation of medical instrumentation.

“You most certainly are. And that means we get to skedaddle out of here.”

Before his son could anticipate his next move, his father had scooped him up into his arms and they were making their way not only out of the room, but off of the floor for good.

They’d had a chance to change into matching casual wear and feasted on a huge breakfast before snuggling up on the sofa. Peter had selected an Octonauts movie to watch as he tucked into his father’s side and enjoyed the sound of his steady heartbeat.

It would be a couple of hours when Tony’s phone pinged with a notification he knew was F.R.I.D.A.Y. when she was being discreet. His son huffed at the movement as he shuffled to get the phone out of his pocket, muttering an apology to his kid before opening the message.

[Unfortunate accident on the Hawk’s Nest, Route 97. Vehicle crossed the barrier and rolled multiple times down the cliff’s edge before landing in the Delaware River. Initial scan from one of the Iron Sight Bot #364 shows one survivor.]

Tony’s smirk widened into a full blown smile. Peter’s heart-of-gold eyes suddenly on him, looking up from his position. It was likely a silent protest at the lack of head strokes he was suddenly receiving so the genius replied swiftly.

[Call off any emergency services and get him med-evaced here.]

“You know what I think we need. Celebratory cheeseburgers for lunch,” he announced as Peter let out a squee of joy.

[mommymooze]

Lack of Vision

Reader x Black Eagles

The smell of ancient vellum, leather, ink, paper and polished wood fills your nose before you enter the room. Some of the students have begun to clear out having finished the bookwork assigned by their professors. You prefer the library to be nearly void of others, their whispered conversations disturbing your concentration and you can feel their eyes upon you as they watch you reading and looking for the proper materials for class. You come from a well-respected family in the Empire, not a noble, however your family works with them and high level healers and mages.

None of that matters here at Garreg Mach. Teenagers are cruel creatures, judging everyone by their superficial standards. The more aesthetically appealing, the higher the regard given to the student. You are nearly invisible to most of the students, nothing of importance about you. There are thick eyeglasses on your face that warps your appearance into something strange and difficult to look at. You attract no attention, nor do you draw attention to yourself. The only person that notices you for any reason is Hubert. He took interest in you for a short period of time to confirm that you are no danger to his Lady, once cleared he ignores you like the rest.

The Professor is extremely hesitant to allow you to accompany the group into any battle. Your primary focus is Faith magic and healing, however you do cast reason spells. Targeting enemies at a distance is, extremely difficult for you. As far as healing, Linhardt keeps his fellow students alive long enough for the group to make it back to the monastery, Dorothea being his backup. When the student is brought back to the infirmary, that is where your magic becomes the most useful. Your healing skills quickly rival Manuela. Not being distracted by sparring, fighting and traipsing around the campus flirting, fighting or pranking like most of the students, you immerse yourself completely into your studies.

You constantly write home requesting additional and more advanced healing tomes and books about magical theory. Even Professor Hanneman is jealous of some of the people you correspond with regularly, discussing points of rune manipulation and theory. Professor Byleth is surprised that you pass the Gremory test before the ball. You would be upset if you had not passed, perfecting your magic skill is your obsession.

Eyeglasses are the worst in every weather. They fog in winter, get drippy with spring rain. Summer they slip and slide from sweat. Fall it is back to rain. At the academy, there is just enough space between the buildings that your glasses quickly get acclimated to the cooler temperature outside, then as soon as you step inside, they fog up immediately, rendering them useless. Useless for you means near blindness. You can tell that things moving around are other people. There is no depth perception, stairs are terrifying. As soon as you make your way inside a building you seek a wall to put your back against as you wait for the fog to clear.

Once Ferdinand had found you just inside the building containing the library. He grabbed your hand and started to drag you to the stairs. You had to stop and explain to him why you were so intimidated and refused to go with him.

He should offer his arm so that you can hold on and if anything bothers you or you do not feel comfortable you could let go and keep your balance and composure. He then starts to march forward at his normal pace, which is great if you are tall and long legged such as he is, however your height is more in the category of Edelgard’s and you would have to nearly run to keep up with him.

“Pretend you are carrying a teacup filled to the brim with hot tea. How quickly would you move with that in your hand? Do you want to spill it all over yourself and possibly burn your hand?” You ask.

“Goodness no!” Ferdinand responds. “What a terrible waste of tea!” Ferdinand thusly takes his time and you arrive at the library unscathed.

Time passes, Emperor Edelgard declares war. You join her side without hesitation. The church is indeed corrupt. The noble system is useless and only sustains power to those that should never have been entrusted to it in the first place. The Emperor also announces the Black Eagle Strike Force. Not long after this announcement you approach her, Hubert always alongside of his liege.

You reach forward placing a handful of necklaces with a Black Eagle medallion on them. “I wish to distribute these to the members of the Strike Force with your permission.”

Hubert immediately notices that the necklaces are enchanted. “What is this?” He demands an answer.

“As you know, my sight distance is limited. This will expand my abilities greatly. Should someone undergo severe injuries or become surrounded by enemies I can remove them from the situation or cast physic on them. It does not have to be visible on their person, they can wear it under their armor.” You answer.

“How do you know one from another?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Once everyone has worn them for a few days I will be able to tell the difference, who has which necklace and once in battle I will have no issue identifying the correct person to assist.”

“Hmmm.” Hubert is hesitant to agree.

“I think it is a wonderful idea. We have a long difficult road ahead of us. If it provides the opportunity to save an ally, I cannot see how this would be an issue.” Emperor Edelgard smiles.

Leaving a necklace for the two on the table, you seek out the remainder of the Strike Force handing them their necklaces, giving them instructions to try to wear it at all times, always wearing it during a battle. You then find Linhardt and discuss the intricacies of the spell with him. He is quite impressed, not impressed enough with needing to learn anything further, lest it cause him more missed naps.

Unfortunately, you are not able to give Professor Byleth theirs before the attack on Garreg Mach.

Without being amid the battle itself, you greatly aid your allies. Two clerics with minor healing skills and perfect eyes describe the battle as it unfolds. They both speak at the same time describing everything they see. You have been training them for weeks. They keep you appraised of nearly everyone on the battlefield. You cast physic and fortify on several allies, healing them, allowing them to keep fighting. Nobody must be rescued as a result, however it is always an option.

The weary warriors return to camp, the injured head to the infirmary. Once you heal all wounded there, you quietly make your way around camp. Stopping at the entrance to a tent you announce yourself.

“You are injured. Let me attend you.” You whisper to the canvas entrance flap.

“I have seen too much blood today. Let me sleep.” Linhardt moans.

You enter the tent, shuffling forward until you touch his cot. “You’ll sleep better if you are healed. Assist me if you want this completed quickly. Fight if you want this to take longer.”

“Very well.” The sleepy man turns on his side, tugging at his robes to show his right leg and the gash in his calf.

You need little light to work, most of what you do is by touch. Cleansing the wound, folding and refolding the cloth to have the clean portion removing the debris and dried blood. Healing the wound, finally rubbing the scar with light soft touches of magic until nothing is left but smooth and slightly pink skin.

You leave, heading for the next tent. It is easy to tell who is injured. Sometimes the smell of blood alerts you. Whimpers of pain, cursing, stuttered breathing, all of them involuntary tells that they are hiding their wounds. No amount of chastising them has worked thus far. You must seek them out and find them before they fall face first in the dirt, fevers burning because of infection that quickly settles in their neglected wounds.

You can tell this tent belongs to Ferdinand. He makes the smallest high pitched squeak when he moves an injured muscle the wrong way.

“Ferdie, I’m coming in.” You give him ten seconds before you enter.

“S-Sorry. I should’ve…” The redhead begins to apologize.

“Shh. Guide me to the worst first.” You instruct him. You’ve been through this many times before. You recall back at the monastery you would drag him back to the infirmary after returning from battles. He would then invite you to tea and tell you about everything that happened. He would frequently let slip about a few people that had been hurt, and those you had not seen in the infirmary would be sought out later.

His hip had a deep gouge in it from the point of a sharp lance. You wonder how me made it back to the tent with something that deep, the blood had dripped all down his leg. You cleanse it, pouring some healing potion in to soften the burn as you prepare him for the alcohol to follow, flushing out the debris and who knows what that was on the enemy lance tip. Finally, you heal the wound closed now that you are certain it will not become infected. He tells you the next injury is to his shoulder.

Completing your treatment of each and every one of his wounds you get back on your feet. “Tell me what you find in the morning. The worst infections can come from the smallest cuts.”

“I know, thank you.” He calls out to the darkness of his tent.

You know whose tent is next. You stand outside, pausing. “Don’t blast me into next week. I must do what is necessary.” You announce before entering.

“Your concern is unnecessary.” He fumes.

“You prefer necrosis?” You sass.

“To be looked after –ugh.” Hubert groans.

“Better than dead. I’m going to be here a while, aren’t I?” You kneel in front of his cot, smelling blood everywhere. You know he has a high threshold for pain but this man is ridiculous. He is a human pincushion filled with so many holes he should be classified as swiss cheese.

You begin by placing him under a magically induced sleep. This slows his heart rate, making him bleed out slower. Lighting several candles in the room you need to pick apart this man, healing every possible wound new or old, removing all signs of infection.

He cares so little for himself it is a miracle that he can remain standing on his own feet most days. Tweezers and a scalpel assist you with removing four pieces of shrapnel from his back. Two fractured ribs are also healed. His legs are battered by the fallout of spells attacking him. He can deflect them from his head and torso, however he is so tall that his legs still feel some of the impact of magic and what it carries with it. One last scan for any further untreated injuries makes you sigh in relief. You pull back on the sleep spell a bit. He remains asleep, allowing him to rest, however he should not be so deep in sleep as to not be able to be rustled awake.

Sitting on the ground in front of his cot, you rest and meditate until morning. You will not leave him unprotected. Once he begins to rustle several hours later, you stand and face the exit to the tent.

“I would ask if I missed anything, but you will never tell me if I did.” You state matter-of-factly.

“Thank you.” He mutters softly.

You nod and leave.

Camp is broken down. Everything is packed into wagons or on the back of horses. Enbarr is the next destination. Back to the capital to plan.

Most of the fights for the next few years are smaller skirmishes. The larger battles are much fewer and further between. However, this current battle is quite serious. The Empire has had control over the bridge at Myrddin since the Emperor declared war. There is word of kingdom forces approaching, threatening the bridge and surrounding territory. The entire Strike Force is called together to interfere with the invasion.

You have the bridge map memorized. The strategic meetings provide you with the locations of where everyone is to be deployed and defending their area. Your assistants inform you of the fighting and position changes as the battle unfolds. They update you as the enemy moves forward beginning their attacks. Suddenly the watcher to the right is quickly rambling, upset and excited.

“What! Tell me what is going on!” You order, having no idea what is happening due to their rambling.

“They are swarming, trying to get past Caspar and Ferdinand, many are getting through and overwhelming Hubert. He’s moving back but…”

Immediately you cast Physic at Hubert then Caspar.

“I can’t see Hubert there are so many around him!” the observer is shaking moving left to right to see.

You cannot let him fall. You cast warp and appear standing alongside his fallen body. There are a few surprised utterances by the soldiers, however they are quickly gathering their wits about them. They are not as fast as you are, you throw a series of spells. The first is your Thoron. You cannot see well enough to cast it as a normal Thoron, your modified version is closer to clusters of ball lightning emitting from around you, arcing out in a rotating pattern. You lean over Hubert, who is still alive from what you can feel. The soldiers swarming him are very very much at risk and feeling your wrath. Their bodies jolt and shake with the electricity. Just as the spell ends you cast recover on Hubert.

“Muh…more coming!” The dark mage blurts out, casting Mire at the closest one.

You call upon the hellfire from within you, casting your own special Ragnarock. The smell is horrific as all flesh in a huge circle around you is incinerated in the heat of the flames that extends around you for a 30 foot radius.

“What next?” You ask the dark mage on the ground beneath you.

“You were successful.” Hubert says as he takes your hand to assist him in getting back onto his feet.

Hubert begins to walk briskly towards the next sign of melee. You grab his elbow and are dragged along.

“Are you certain you wish to do this?” The dark mage asks.

“I’ve made it so far.” You counter, scared and excited at the same time as you are headed for the center of the battlefield.

There are a lot more sounds around you than normal. Spells going off, horses rushing in at the direction of their riders, the clashing of metal against metal. You keep turning your head at every sound. You hear the sound of boots coming closer, you cannot clearly make out a face, but the colors donned by the fighter are of the enemy, so you cast a normal Thoron spell at him. Hubert calls out and you direct your attention to him.

“Heal Ferdinand!” He orders.

You lock on the cavalier and cast Physic. A hearty Yes! is heard not too far away as you continue to be aware of your immediate surroundings.

Hubert dashes away from you, headed further toward the center of battle. You know better than to run into the thickest part of things where your clear vision extends not more than six feet ahead of you. A green coated figure comes close and you grab onto the arm of Linhardt as he walks past.

“Everyone good?” You ask as he is dragging you along with him.

“So far. I am glad this is almost over. I am so exhausted.” He groans.

You listen as the noise dies down, the sounds of spells being cast has ended. The voices are calling out more organizational orders than directing the forces to attack. Linhardt takes you to the area where they have set up camp, pointing you into the direction of the infirmary tent before he gets close enough to be dragged inside. A healer outside notices you and hauls you in, you are needed to put a few soldiers back together. Much later, as you emerge from the tent you are grabbed and warped away.

“Sit.” You are pushed backward until your calves hit a surface for you to sit upon. He stands in front of you, arms crossed.

“I know. It is a risk I had to take. You are too stubborn and so am I.” You confess before you are asked a question.

“Do you have any idea what-“ Hubert’s voice is full of venom and anger.

“Yes, I do. More than you. I did not join this war to do anything halfway.” You calmly answer. You know his bark is worse than his bite. And if he wanted to harm you, he would kill you first and ask questions later.

The dark mage turns to step away, then spins around to face you again. “And what of after the war?”

“I have no vision of what is beyond anything that I can see right now. I have bound myself to you through a blood oath that you did not participate in, so that I could help you live through this war.” You respond, quiet and rational. “You are not committed to me and owe me nothing. I knew you would not wear the necklace. I did what is necessary to keep you alive. We cannot win this without you. It is not like I will ever have a suitor clamoring at my door.”

Hubert is furious. You knew he would be. Based on ancient customs and rituals in several countries, one of them Brigid you created the spell. There is an exchange of blood between wedded parties, mixing their blood so the two could ‘become one’. However further research into the matter reveals that as a part of one’s self being with the other could be extremely useful, especially relating to magic spells to locate the other and/or to assist them.

The moment you warped to Hubert’s side, he knew what had occurred. You knew he would treat it as a betrayal of his trust in you, however this being a ‘one way’ blood passing would not bind him to you in any way. A complete exchange blood oath on his part would sever this one sided oath and cause a magical backlash to yourself. Since you had initiated this blood oath, you cannot perform this with another.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “What is done is done. Leave.” He orders.

The tents and supplies are packed away again, the long convoy is back on the road. The anniversary of the millennium festival approaches quickly. The weather has turned quite miserable, raining day and night. The roads are getting sloppier every day. Riding in the back of the supply wagon is dangerous for you, but you feel it is worse it is worse as you cannot tell where you are stepping. Just as someone announces they can see Garreg Mach in the distance, the wagon you are riding in flips onto its side due to the deep ruts in the roadway and shifting of the cargo. You are buried under multiple boxes and cargo from the wagon.

When you awaken you are dry and clean and lying on a cot in the infirmary of the academy. You sit up in the bed and recall what happened. Your left arm is wrapped up to your shoulder. You feel a bump on your head. What you don’t feel, is your glasses.

“Cleric?” You call out. You know someone was in the room with you, you had heard them with papers.

“Oh! You are awake. I will fetch Manuela.” You hear her footsteps getting further and further away down the hall.

Manuela arrives and explains the situation. Your left arm will have to be in a sling for a few days. Your glasses were crushed under the wagon. A message was written and sent today requesting a replacement pair, nothing we can do for that in the meantime. She fits you with a sling and at your insistence you walk from the infirmary down to the first floor. Alone.

You were able to slowly make it to the end of the corridor that led to a courtyard. From there you only have to cross the courtyard, find the stairs down and then the dorms in order to get to your room. Piece of cake you think to yourself. You know the layout of the monastery, where the obvious dangers are. It’s just the minor details that you can’t see. If someone leaves items out where they don’t belong or an item is in an unusual spot, that could be a problem for you.

The open courtyard is intimidating, people can come at you from all angles, and they do. You do not get run over, but you get spooked when a large something crosses your vision suddenly. You feel better when you get to the area that has bushes all along one side. You stay close to the bushes, keeping out of the way of the faster people.

Now is the dangerous part. The stone walkway in front of you, and the stairs that go down to the dorms. You must choose embarrassment or death. You choose to not die today. Sitting on the ground you scooch your behind closer and closer to where you think the edge of this level is until your feet reach the end of the stone covered walkway. You scoot until your lower legs are over the wall and feet are hanging. From here you scoot right until your feet touch the stairs leading down.

Whew. Now you can stand on the steps, hold on with your hands on the level above as you cautiously descend down the stairs. One step at a time. Your hands are now flat on the wall above the stairs. One last step and there’s no further steps. You made it! Nobody saw you or if they did they said nothing and you lived!

Cautiously you walk across the small courtyard until you knock into the porches of the dorms. You grab a post, sit on the porch, spin your legs and then stand up next to the post. No stairs, no problem you think.

You are at the last room, that belongs to Byleth. You knock.

“Come in.” Is pleasantly called from the inside.

“Byleth, can you give me a hand and get me to my room. I’ve been released by Manuela.” You request.

The former Professor walks past you, stopping so you can take her elbow. “I am happy that you are out already and didn’t have any serious injuries. Your eyeglasses were smashed beyond fixing. Are you going to be okay getting around on your own? She inquires.

“I can make it here and there. I have problems with stairs, anything that is left out of place, cats and dogs being on the paths. I perhaps should get a walking stick to help with balance. I can see a little, everything is just very very blurry. While you may see a barrel, its edges, the lines of the wood, the metal band holding it together, I see a brown almost oval blob. I can judge by the size of the blob if I am close enough to bump into it.

Byleth leads you out the door, pausing at the stairs, then through the courtyard to the next set of stairs, finally over to your room that is next to Bernadetta’s. Thanking her you go through your room, arranging your clothes and belongings. You are always quite organized in your room. Everything must be in its place or you can’t find it. You go to your desk drawer and pull out your magnifying glass. If you have plenty of light you can just make out a few letters in a row on a written page. So you can read, but it’s going to give you eye strain. You decide that maybe it’s time to do some handiwork. Heading out the door you walk to your neighbor and knock on hers.

“Bernie, can we talk a minute?” You ask pleasantly.

Bernadetta cracks her door open then shuts it quickly. “Who is it!”

“Bernie, it’s me. I don’t have my glasses, so I guess I must look different?” you question as you answer her.

“Oh! You do look much different without your glasses on.” The purple haired woman opens the door, now recognizing you, she lets you inside leading you to a chair by her desk.

“I heard they were broken when the wagon tipped over. How are you doing? I bet Bernie can help you some.” She smiles.

“Oh Bernie, that would be wonderful if you can walk with me sometimes. I don’t want to be a burden on anyone. I know you don’t like getting out much, but I do need to get to the dining hall. Honestly, the stairs scare me a lot!” You confess.

“Oh! I think they would be scary to someone that can’t see them. I will help you. Just let me know, okay?” Bernadetta offers.

“You have perfect vision, I trust you so much Bernie. Oh! I came over because I have a request. Since I can’t read much right now, I thought I would knit. Can I borrow a couple pair of needles you’re not using right now?” You request.

“Sure! I have quite a few different sizes, so you have a few to choose from.” The woman dashes to a drawer to grab her needles.

You are sitting on a bench outside the greenhouse knitting, a small rectangle grows longer below the needles.

Without turning you call out, “Hey Ferdinand, are you busy?”

“I did not see you there. You are looking quite well. Are you getting along all right? May I be of assistance in any way?” He happily answers, being the noblest of nobles, he must offer his assistance to all that could possibly require it.

“If you would have some time to escort me to the market briefly in the next few days, I would like to purchase some yarn.” You request.

Ferdinand bows low, “Of course, I would be most happy to assist. I do have somewhere I have to be, however I will return for you before dinner. I will then escort you to your room to store your purchase, and then take you to the dining hall as well. It is my duty to help all in need of aid. Please do let me know if there is anything else that I can assist you with.” He smiles brightly, you know because you can hear it in his voice. If a smile was ever loud, it would be his.

Time passes and Ferdinand returns to greet you again. “I am yours to command.” He says bowing before you.

“If you could please take me to the market and find the one selling wool and other knitting materials.” You say grabbing his elbow as he leads you past the pond.

“How are you getting along without your glasses? I see you are keeping busy.” He asks as you slowly stroll.

“I am doing fine. It’s not like I’ve suddenly lost my vision altogether. I simply cannot see clearly at the moment. The finer details are not visible. A basket of apples is varying shades of red in a brown circle. Grass is simply mottled green with no individual blades. Stairs do not show their depth, the ground does not reveal its pitch. If small thin items are on the footpath I cannot see them. Reading is difficult without a magnifying glass, and that gets tiresome after a while. I could not see very far away before, so nothing has changed there.” You reflect.

“Here we are.” Ferdinand brings you forward to the cart.

“Sir,” you ask the proprietor, “Have you any lambs wool or perhaps Angora?”

The man hands you two skeins of wool, one being a bit softer than the next. You feel some of the wool that he has on display. These two skeins are softer, but not by much, certainly not Angora wool.

“I have a project in mind for the Emperor you see…” You don’t care much for name dropping, however in this case, it is the absolute truth.

“Oh.” The merchant gasps. “I think this may be more in line with what you are looking for.” He takes the other two balls of yarn and replaces it with a different one.

This skein feels very silky and soft. There are long, soft hairs mixed in with the wool, which is much closer to the feel of the yarn you desire. “This is more like what I will need.” You answer. Haggling the price a bit you make your purchase. You also buy 8 other skeins of wool in different colors. And several pairs of knitting needles.

The merchant packages your goods and hands them to Ferdinand.

“Anything else?” the noble asks as he walks you back towards the dining hall.

“Thank you so much, it went much faster than me wandering from cart to cart, trying to identify what the merchant is selling.”

The next week you take your shifts in the infirmary, go to meetings and knit in your spare time. Bernadetta attends the meetings regularly, since she must escort you.

Guardian Moon is extremely cold to those from Enbarr. People from the Kingdom would probably walk about in their shirtsleeves. You invite Emperor Edelgard to tea in your room this day and she accepts.

You bustle about your room, gathering everything necessary for a lovely tea. The bergamot is steeping, smelling wonderful as she knocks.

“Please come in, Lady Edelgard.” You answer.

“You are as bad as Hubert! Just Edelgard, please!” She laughs.

“Please help yourself.” You offer sweet pastries with a delicious cinnamon crumble on top.

You fuss with the tea, removing the leaves now that the brew is complete. You pour for the both of you and offer sugar cubes or honey.

There is a knock on the door, “Package!” is called out in a male voice.

You are so excited you nearly knock over the tea table. You dive to the door and take the box from the delivery person, throwing coins at them and slamming the door.

You return to the table and hand it to Edelgard.

“Please open it for me. My new glasses!” You are beside yourself with excitement.

She laughs as she is handed the package and quickly removes the wrapping. Sliding the lid of the box open, she hands the box to you.

Your hands shake a little as you reach inside, taking the glasses in hand at the edge of the lenses, flipping the temples out, you slide them onto your face. You will have to adjust things a bit for the fit, but they feel like home.

“Well, how are they?” Edelgard excitedly asks.

“Perfect! You look even more beautiful than I remember you!” You grin widely, so happy to be able to see her clearly again.

“It is a shame that you have to wear them.” Edelgard comments. “They really distort your eyes. Perhaps some day they can create some type of magic to correct your eyesight.”

“Thankfully, I am not vain. I choose being ugly and able to see rather than be blind and pretty. As Dorothea says, beauty is only skin deep. It is the true beauty of the person inside that counts.”

“So true.” Edelgard nods.

You stand and scuttle over to a dresser. “I have something for you!” Reaching inside you remove a long red fluffy scarf. “It is getting colder outside, my hands need to keep busy. I made a scarf for everyone on the Strike Force.” You announce, handing her the scarf.

Edelgard takes it in hand and wraps it around her neck. “Oh my! This is the softest thing I have ever felt! It is so warm! I can feel my neck is warmer already!” She exclaims, then stands to give you a warm soft hug.

“We certainly need to keep warm through the next few battles.” You nod.

“Your perseverance is your strongest attribute.” Edelgard commends you. “We need people with that on our side. To engage the obstacles head on, finding new and different ways to get around them. I admire your strength in continuing to do your best, no matter what adversity is thrown your way. Knowing you makes me a stronger person.”

[lastxviolet]

The Assistant - Ch. 3

Description: Summary - Her sixth year at Hogwarts was supposed to be relatively peaceful but after an incident on the Hogwarts express, Violet Wilkes finds herself the newest target of the Weasley twins. This, combined with a dark family secret, and the Triwizard tournament, makes her first few months back more exciting and stressful than every year before.

pairing: George Weasley x Original Female Character

warnings: pg-13. slow burn, eventual smut hehe

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28218804/chapters/69148695

They'd arrived on a Thursday night so Violet spent the long weekend finalizing her class schedule, helping the occasional lost first year, and being restless for Monday morning.

She'd met with Snape on Saturday to go over her O.W.L scores from last year's test and create her schedule. Their meeting was a pleasant one even though she became quite flustered when he'd asked for her after graduation plans. Truthfully, she wouldn't mind taking over for Snape one day but didn't feel confident in telling him. She also felt a longing to become a potioneer and perhaps create her own recipes at an apothecary someday. None of which she shared because there was nothing worse than being less than certain in Snape's presence.

He took her flimsy answer without protest and congratulated her on receiving almost all Outstanding scores, expressing as much happiness as his stoic disposition would allow about having her in advanced potions this year.

"You'll be requiring the use of my classroom for after-hour practice, I presume," her mentor said with a meaningful look.

He was a master at Occlumens but it always seemed as though he could read minds without it.

"That would be very much appreciated Professor," she confessed. "I wasn't able to practice much over the summer. Muggles don't usually have valerian root or infusion of wormwood lying around."

The side of his mouth twitched. "How do they survive? Draught of the Living Dead is most ambitious," he replied, referring to her aforementioned ingredients.

It was, but so was she. She was hoping to be able to create the entire Advanced Potions textbook from memory by the end of the year. Class stopped challenging her during her fourth year so after-hours practice was her only opportunity to flex her knowledge in any way. She'd tried hard for the past five years to become an expert simply because potions fascinated her. There was no rhyme or reason other than being captivated by the things that harmless ingredients could do when stirred together correctly.

They'd only decided on six classes this year, after all, she'd scored out of many courses being offered and didn't want to waste her time. She glanced down at the scribbled schedule Snape had made for her. Potions on Mondays and Wednesdays, followed by Ancient Runes and Defense Against the Dark Arts, respectively. Herbology on Tuesdays, Charms, and Care of Magical Creatures on Thursdays. Friday was completely free, as were almost all of her afternoons. Years of packing her schedule and studying deep into the night seemed to have paid off. It was a relief to finally have some free time, even though most of it would be spent studying for the NEWT exams at the end of the year.

She waited for Snape to give her the key to the classroom and raced back to the common room to compare schedules with Sadie.

"You're joking," she exclaimed, throwing her arms up in the air. "Only one class together? What am I going to do in Transfiguration with a bunch of Ravenclaws, without you?"

"Maybe you can transform yourself into a kind and patient person," Violet joked, masking her disappointment and dodging her friend's elbow again.

Dark, hooded figures surrounded her, making escape impossible. She pleaded, screamed, begged them to hurt her instead. They laughed before turning their wands on Olivia, who was too far out of reach.

Her nightmare jolted her awake before her alarm could. Cruico, rang in her mind even after her eyes fluttered open. She stared at the wall, getting her bearings straight, listening carefully, ensuring that it was just a dream, and wiped the cold sweat from her forehead before getting dressed for the first day of classes.

The nightmare faded from her mind with each step she and Sadie took on the way up to breakfast. She crossed the floor of the much calmer Great Hall, listening to Sadie rant about whether or not she would have any Durmstrang boys in her class and fiddling with her tie. It was ridiculous to have to wear it, especially now that they could all see the much better uniform alternatives from other schools.

"All I'm saying is that I have had to put up with barely there pretty boys like Malfoy for five years," she huffed. "And I feel as though this school owes me a chance at a great love affair with a real man."

A real man. Yeah right, she thought. Judging by the leers and comments erupting from the Durmstrang table as they walked by, these were just slightly older-looking, rude horny gits.

She grabbed a copy of the Daily Prophet off of the Slytherin table and skimmed the Triwizard tournament article on the front page.

How this a school AND government-sanctioned event, she did not know. Muggle schools, as she remembered, called off outdoor sporting events if even one person in the stands saw lightning. Hogwarts, however, participated in an event for seven centuries that had resulted in countless deaths and injuries.

Figures.

"Merlin, people have died?" She muttered.

Sadie shrugged and nodded before recommitting her attention to her oatmeal, and one of the Bulgarian's still looking towards her from across the aisle.

At 8:45, Sadie bid her a dramatic goodbye, blowing her kisses and pretending to cry, the entire walk back out of the Great Hall and into the main hallway. If it had been her first year at Hogwarts, she would've about crumbled at the strange looks from her peers but by now she'd gotten used to it. Sadie was not one for blending into the scenery and although that was what Violet preferred, she let her drag her into the spotlight now and then, like exposure therapy.

She gladly descended back into the dungeons, past her common room door, letting the stone hall guide her to the potions classroom at the end of the corridor. She knew the walk like the back of her hand and could've done it walking backward, with her eyes closed.

The muggy, dimly lit classroom was a welcome sight. Cauldrons, strange beakers, and scattered ingredients had never looked so inviting. The second table to the back had been her seat last year, so she flitted through the familiar room and claimed it again.

As she'd suspected, mostly green and blue ties trickled into the classroom. She didn't mind the company of Ravenclaws in the slightest. Generally speaking, they were able to take things seriously and didn't seem to anger Snape as much as yellow or red ties did. Potions was an incredibly disciplined subject with little instant gratification or convenient use, as their professor liked to remind them, so there was no room for impulse, bravery, or even passion; only precision and memorization.

The second chair at her table squeaked over the stone floor, its shrill noise breaking her away from her internal musings.

Adrian Pucey, a tall dark-haired Slytherin boy, dropped into it and nodded her a polite hello. All things considered, when it came to Slytherin boys, his company wouldn't be particularly minded either. He could be a prick when he was with the rest of their house Quidditch team but alone, he was quiet and harmless. Besides, she knew he'd let her take the lead on all their projects.

Thank god, she thought, there was nothing worse than being stuck with a talkative git for a partner.

Loud laughs from the hallway cut through the comfortable silence. The almost full class let out a low murmur, annoyed at the ruckus. She whipped around and squinted, ready to shoot a death glare at its source. There was a very well-known dungeon etiquette of silence and although she wasn't a fan of most traditions, that one was respectable.

A red and gold tie snapped her out of her hateful trance.

Its owner met her eyes.

George Weasley tugged fellow Gryffindor, Lee Jordan, through the door. Her glare turned into a look of surprise. Surely they were in the wrong classroom. He stopped walking and squinted at her slightly. It took him a few seconds to recognize her face in the dim room and she watched him register her presence. His eyebrows raised in equal parts shock and something that looked like distress. Their eyes lingered until he opened his mouth like he was about to say something and she dug her nails into her palm and spun back around in the hopes that he wouldn't yell across the room.

Four times in one week? She could feel her intestines winding together, twisting her already anxious torso into a bout of nerves. This must be a mistake, she told herself. Snape will come and sort it out, ending whatever scheme they're attempting.

Taking calming breaths, she turned to her table partner, desperate for some way out of the embarrassing scenarios she'd begun spinning in her head.

"How was your summer, Adrian?"

"Oh, it was fine thanks. Actually I —"

The classroom door slammed shut. Professor Snape burst through the room, drawing his wand to shut the curtains and light several candles and a fireplace.

Thank god. She really didn't want to hear about whatever weird, rich, hunting trip Adrian took with his pure-blood family.

Everyone watched as Snape swept aggressively into the room but she could feel Georges's eyes on the back of her head. How was he here? And why was he looking at her?

"Do you two need assistance finding your seats," Snape sneered at the Gryffindors standing awkwardly in the aisle. She glanced over Adrian's ear and watched them rush forward to the table directly across the aisle.

"Not there Mr. Jordan," Snape hissed, looming from his podium with a furious look on his face. "Something tells me you will be incapable of restraining yourself from vexing the rest of us if seated next to Mr. Weasley. Switch with Mr. Pucey."

Violet watched Adrian grimace and collect his things. If he was the least worst Slytherin boy to be stuck with, then she guessed that Lee Jordan was the least worst Gryffindor boy. Especially when considering her other option. Despite never speaking before, she knew he willingly hung out with the twins, almost as much as they hung out with each other. That alone was cause for an evaluation of his mental state, regardless of how harmless he seemed.

She greeted Lee with a smile and a nod. Of course, he returned the small act of congeniality with an otherworldly grin and a friendly nudge to her bicep. She tensed slightly and tried not to grimace. Classic Gryffindor, she thought, give them an inch and they'll take a mile.

Snape, satisfied with the new arrangement, opened his mouth to begin class. She braced herself for his wrath now that he was more tense than normal but his first word was cut off by a loud screech of wood scooting across the stone. She turned to find the culprit and watched George stifle a giggle with his hand, now a good two inches closer to a murderous-looking Adrain. Snape remained silent and glanced back down at his book with an even more sour look on his face.

"In this class," he began. "You will learn skills beyond reading directly from your textbook. Some of you are here because of talent… while others, by dumb luck." He eyed George with disdain.

"To separate the two, we will begin today's lesson by brewing the last potion you learned last year…from memory," he said with a measured, cold voice.

The potion ran through her head as soon as he finished his sentence. She knew it. Of course, she knew it. She watched her classmates look around nervously, and tried not to smile and out herself as a know-it-all. It was always a balancing act. Staying in the good graces of such a harsh man like Snape and keeping up appearances around her fellow students.

"You have an hour — present the potion to me when you have finished," he concluded, taking a seat at his desk.

Lee's stared at her wide-eyed with his mouth hanging open. As she had suspected, this was not his best subject. She turned and glared at him, suspending him in panic for one more second before smiling. She thought about winking but didn't want to give him any reason to think that they were friends. Lee squinted at her in a mixture of confusion and realization.

"Bloody hell," he breathed. "You know it, don't you."

His expression relaxed significantly, and he looked as if he'd just won the lottery. She didn't acknowledge him further and calmly reached underneath the table and pulled out a bottle of standard potion water, pouring it into their pewter cauldron with the burner set to low. It would be boiling by the time they got the ingredients so she quickly scribbled them on a piece of parchment and motioned for Lee to follow her. He did so wordlessly, and with more pep in his step than she'd ever seen a person muster.

"Alright Jordan, if you want to help, you can carry these," she said.

Lee gladly carried the powdered moonstone, syrup of hellebore, powdered porcupine quills, and powdered unicorn horn from the shelves back to their table, blocking the labels as he passed Adrian and George bickering behind their cauldron.

"Sorry Georgie, no cheating," Lee whispered across the aisle, with a smug smile.

If he wasn't best friends with the Weasley's then it might have been an ok setup. Clearly, he had no clue what he was doing, meaning he would stay out of her way, but also seemed rather eager to follow instructions. Regardless, she was sure he'd find a way to annoy her before the term was up.

She watched George stop fussing and stare daggers into his friend.

"Shove off," he hissed, bristling with agitation.

He'd always been so easygoing in herbology but she guessed that she'd never looked hard enough to see the anger, frustration, and competitiveness bursting within. Probably what happens when you have seven siblings, she thought. Thank god she only had Olivia.

His eyes met hers for a brief moment with the same look he'd had on his face when she'd shrunk her tongue on the train. Evidently, she was in fact, not the only one with whom he had quite a temper.

Lee burst into a fit of laugher and she dropped her eyes back onto the task at hand.

"Quiet," Snape snapped.

She focused back on stirring the first round of powdered moonstone in a clockwise pattern, waiting for the mixture to turn blue and let the repetitive motion ease her mind.

Of course, Snape would choose Draught of Peace to do from memory, she thought, silently giggling to herself. Not only was it complicated, but it required precise stirring patterns for a particular amount of time. Also, its deceptive name wouldn't make anyone suspect that if it was brewed incorrectly, it quite literally turned into an elixir of death. He probably didn't mean it as one, but she appreciated the morbid joke.

"Pass me the hellebore," she whispered to her table partner.

Lee looked a little shocked that she was speaking to him but reached into the pile regardless. He looked around the room and stealthily handed her the small vial. "Ah, yes, the goats spell," he said a little too loudly.

A few of their peers stood up to go to the ingredient cabinet and she bit back a giggle, not wanting to egg her partner on.

She usually wouldn't call herself amused during potions class but Lee looked like he was having the time of his life and it was nearly impossible not to feel somewhat entertained. He exaggerated every movement when she asked him for an ingredient or stirring spoon, and acted accusatory towards anyone who glanced over for too long. He was a lot less intrusive than the twins but his energy level was the same, along with the way that he had to turn every single moment into a joke or a laugh. It looked exhausting but he seemed to be having fun.

After nearly an hour, she added the final ingredients and stirred the solution in a clockwise motion, watching the potion turn turquoise, purple, red, and a myriad of other colors before finally turning a glowing white with the addition of powdered porcupine quills. The potion illuminated the room with shimmering white light for a few seconds before she took it off the burner.

"Merlin's beard," Lee exclaimed under his breath.

Suddenly very aware of the silence in the room, she tried not to think about all the eyes on her, especially the ones she knew were focused on her in contempt.

"Go put those back," she hissed at Lee.

He jumped from his chair, scooped up the ingredients, and skipped down the aisle with probably the biggest shit-eating grin Hogwarts had ever seen, on his face.

While all attention was on him, she quietly ladled the concoction into a vial and scurried up to Snape's desk. He took one glance at the now light turquoise potion and pocketed the bottle seemingly unsurprised to see her although his face had been hidden underneath a book for the entirety of the class.

"Miss Wilkes, can you please tell your peers what potion they should have attempted to make?"

Her stomach sank. The rest of her classmates had stopped fiddling with their cauldrons and were staring at her with annoyed expressions. It was to be expected but that didn't make it hurt any less. Except for Lee, who was exuberantly giving her a thumbs up, and George, who just looked dumbfounded and a little pissed off. Maybe he'd thought she was kidding about potions.

"Draught of Peace," she announced to the cold room.

"Which does what, exactly," Snape said, questioning her further.

She knew he was just trying to make a point but hated being used as the one to make it. The label of know-it-all was no longer a worry, now they would just skip straight to teacher's pet.

"It relieves anxiety and agitation," she said, avoiding eye contact.

"I am sure you will all want a dose before our next lesson," Snape said in a scolding tone. "Please come to class on Wednesday prepared, or your grade and house points will suffer…tremendously," he hesitated and turned towards her. "50 points to you Miss Wilkes for Slytherin —class dismissed."

She squeaked out a quick goodbye to her mentor, before rushing back to her desk. His praise meant the world to her but it also put a target on her back. In past years, it at least took a few periods for the class to realize she was on good terms with him. Now, it just looked like they'd colluded to make everyone else feel stupid.

She jumped a little as Lee cut her off before she could make it past his chair, trapping her in the aisle.

"That was totally brilliant!"

Not in the mood, she thought. His praise meant nothing. He was just thankful to not receive failing marks for the day.

"Move," she hissed, keeping her eyes on the ground.

He stumbled back against the table a bit but turned to let her through before continuing.

"How on earth did you do that…I heard if you get Draught of Peace even the slightest bit wrong, you could kill somebody!"

She shoved her books back into her bag, frantic to leave without further incident but wasn't fast enough as Adrian and George appeared in the aisle.

"Then it's a shame you didn't drink ours," Adrian snarled at her table partner.

Great. Now they could all fight like snakes and lions were meant to. She just wanted to leave and be done with this nightmare class.

"Awh Pucey, you didn't enjoy our romantic time in your dungeon together," George said, swinging an arm around his partner's shoulder.

"Don't touch me," Adrian shoved him off like his touch was poison, making the Gryffindors chuckle.

"Thanks a lot, Wilkes," Lee said, dawning the same smile he'd given her at the beginning of class. At least it was a little more warranted now.

She eyed him suspiciously but nodded in acceptance.

"So you really do know your potions," George mused, still looking at her, his eyes gleaming competitively. "I'm surprised."

The look told her straight away that her plan had backfired. Entertaining the twins on the train had not in fact made her immune to interacting with either of them for the rest of the year. She would just have to try something else.

"That makes one of us. You're just as daft as I suspected."

She ignored Lee's cackling and stared at the redhead. She could've just left, or let Adrian deal with him but something flared inside her at the chance to challenge such a smug man. It felt good. It wasn't often she felt equally matched, even now she suspected that George was quite a bit beneath her but the opportunity was too enticing. His anger, although she'd only been privy to it once, was addictive.

It must have felt equally as strong for George because his face got darker again and he leaned closer, ready to retort. His eyes searched hers and she could tell that he was going to make it personal, perhaps even try to be hurtful but Adrian cut him off before he could say anything.

"Shove off Weasley."

Something seemed to snap and George's face switched back to a jovial smile and mischievous eyes.

She stared at him in shock. What was his problem? Adrian was much more infuriating than she was but he barely even seemed to register his words.

"Until next time my love," he cooed at Adrian whilst he and Lee fell into a fit of giggles and pulled each other out of the door.

She and Adrian followed silently after them, walking together out of courtesy, rather than friendship. One of the perks of such a historic house with noble bloodlines was the occasional show of chivalry

They walked down the corridor and back up into the main hall. "Thanks for the 50 points Wilkes," he said, turning to part ways. "Can't believe I'm stuck with a bloody Weasley."

He flashed her a smile which she returned with a polite nod before making her way to her next class, trying to ignore the hustle and bustle of the students around her.

She plopped down in Ancient Runes a few minutes later, still annoyed about the less than peaceful potions class.

Professor Babbling said something about Ancient Runes, best-serving students, as an independent study but she couldn't focus on her open book and unfinished translation. The class was always appreciated seeing as quiet moments throughout the day were rather rare outside of the library. The opportunity to spend several hours with just her thoughts and meaningless translations was a much-needed break from the day-to-day busyness.

George's comment rang in her head. What was his problem? He exuded arrogance without reason. She'd outsmarted him on the train and although she'd technically outsmarted him in potions, it was entirely out of her hands and not meant as an insult to him in any way. Maybe his ego was bruised, even though the only witness on the train was his brother, who she seriously doubted cared about intelligence. Either way, he seemed to be taking their encounters entirely personal.

Whatever it was, he needed to get over it, and quick. Usually, potions class was the only hour and a half in her day where she got to gather her thoughts and methodically apply her knowledge with little disturbance. She would rather deal with the consequences of forcing him to leave her alone, than sacrifice it.

Even after an entire afternoon and evening in the library, George's smug face still taunted her as she went to sleep.

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.1}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.6k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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Robin slumped down in her seat with a sigh and the oddly bittersweet feeling of melancholy mixed with excitement. Over the rim of her sunglasses, she observed how Jorien rolled her eyes at Cas, but helped her stow away her enormous bag in the overhead compartments nonetheless. It was still before noon, but the sun was already scorching Robin's skin as it flooded the compartment of the Hogwarts Express they had chosen to claim. The school year was over. Time to head back to London.

Minutes later, when the train slowly started moving and the two other girls finally sat down as well, Robin couldn't help feeling more excited than sad at last. Sure, leaving Hogwarts had always dimmed down her mood quite significantly, but this year it was a bit different. For one, she had intentionally chosen to take the train back to London together with her roommates. She also could've apparated back home, now that she had passed the class and gotten her license, but she had decided against it. Perhaps for nostalgic reasons, perhaps because of her constantly babbling but very much appreciated company. But most importantly –and therefore the real reason why she was more excited for the summer to start than dreading to part from her beloved castle– she actually had plans for the holidays for once. Plans which included two of her favorite things in the entire world; potions (in the broadest sense) and Snape. The latter obviously being more reason to her current excitement than the former, but ultimately she was very happy about both.

Really, she had been planning it for a while now. Robin wanted to continue her hunt for rare ingredients, or rather her studies thereof, and after the by now renown success she'd had last October, she had been quick to decide that she would spend the summer with the same kind of expeditions to confirm her theories. Obviously she wouldn't be able to work her way through the entire handbook, which she had kept on expanding and improving throughout the last year, but she would just start somewhere and work her way through as far as she got. Fortunately, from the very moment she had told Snape of her plans, he had been dead set on coming along, saying how it was far too dangerous to deal with some of the things she would necessarily have to encounter on her own, and after a while of teasing and prodding, he had also admitted that he simply wanted to do this together with her either way.

To Robin, the prospect of that, of their plans, was enough reason to keep smiling to herself from time to time, or really any time she thought of it. The only dimmer on her mood was that their adventures would only be able to start from next weekend on; before then, Snape was still stuck at Hogwarts for whatever boring thing Dumbledore had the professors do after the students had left, and Robin for her part had promised to wait until then. For his sake more than her own, and unfortunately, that left her with a week to spend with her parents. Lovely.

"Earth to Robin! What are you all smiley about?" Cas wondered loudly, snapping her fingers in front of Robin's face to get her attention.

"Oh, just excited about my plans for summer." She shrugged in return, yet again unable to stop grinning to herself. Damnit, she really was as subtle as a pink elephant.

"You actually have plans for once? After years of saying you literally don't care? Spill the tea, what's the story?" Jorien quirked an eyebrow at her in doubt and question, and Cas nodded in agreement to the objection.

"No story, I'm just excited, that's all."

"What's your plans then?"

"Proving my theories about different substances and ingredients, testing methods and means to find them, and improving all of it based on the results of practical research." Robin explained in one breath, and received two questioning looks in return. With a sigh and a smile she added, "I will travel around and look for plants and animals I can use for potions."

"Uuh, going on adventures! Why didn't you just say that!" Cas beamed in return, then went off into her own direction with it. "You should write a book about it! Or better, a comic! With moving pictures and all that kinda stuff! 'Robin the lone scientist'... How about that?"

"More like 'Robin the mad scientist'." Robin laughed in return, letting her head fall back against the seat for a moment until she could tone down her grin a little.

"Perhaps you should let us come with you! Then you certainly won't be alone anymore." Jorien mused carefully, more hopeful than intrusive, and Robin's eyes fell onto the two grinning girls again.

"I won't be alone at all, actually… My best friend is coming with me." She finally allowed herself to admit, and the words were already enough to make her skin tingle. Geez, she really shouldn't be this excited about it… but it didn't hurt anyone either.

"Oi, that mysterious guy you never lose more than a word about?" Cas' eyes lit up, and she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Perhaps you will finally get that passionate romance I've been hoping for!"

"Speaking of which, have you made plans to visit Simon?" Robin inquired, brutally changing the topic before they would try to snoop any more.

"Unfortunately, my parents aren't too fond of the idea of me having a boyfriend." The blonde rolled her eyes exaggeratedly, falling back into her seat with a huff. The grandeur of the gesture made Robin want to snort, but she suppressed it for empathy's sake. "So I probably won't see him at all until summer's over. I hope he doesn't find someone better than me in the meantime!"

"You can always write letters to him." Robin suggested with a shrug. "The anticipation and delay in that can be quite exciting as well. Carefully chosen words, the time taken to share a piece of one's mind with the other, the reassuring physicality of someone's handwriting on parchment…"

"You're terribly romantic, you know that?"

"Don't tell anyone." Robin replied, rising her eyebrows at them with a small smirk. "I have a reputation to uphold."

… … …

The one good thing once they arrived back in London, after Cas and Jorien had found their parents who had come to pick them up like always, was that Robin didn't have to deal with her trunk anymore. With a swoop of her wand, it shrunk down to a miniature and disappeared in the depth of her backpack. Thank God she was finally over seventeen… had been for a while now, actually. The summer would be so much more enjoyable now that she could use magic outside of school.

Instead of taking the first train back to Oxford like she usually did, Robin spent some time strolling around London. After all, she could be at home in a blink now whenever she fancied to be, and she didn't have luggage other than her backpack either. When she eventually sat down in a small cafe with a book Cas had practically forced upon her (not without making Robin actually promise to read it over summer), she couldn't help wondering what Snape might be up to right now. It was around this time when they would usually have pre-dinner coffee, or take a walk around the grounds, or set up for that evening's work in advance… oh bloody hell, she missed him already. But in the light of the impending week with her family, she also found herself missing Jorien and Cas. Anyone was better company than the people who were (probably not even) waiting for her in Oxford. For a moment, she wondered if they would care if she didn't come home today. If they would even notice.

Sighing, Robin ordered the largest coffee on the menu and then went to distract herself from the inevitable necessity to go home by reading Cas' book for now. It was the kind of read Robin wouldn't pick up even with her eyes closed; a cheesy romance novel about a girl around the same age as her, who slowly discovered the 'wonders' of love and physical intimacy in a plot that otherwise didn't even fit the romance. Robin couldn't help rolling her eyes every other page, but she had promised Cas that she would read it, and thus she had to suffer through all the drama and badly phrased make-out sessions now. Why on earth was this Cas' favorite book?! Admittedly, the girl deemed fashion magazines the high art of literature, but this… ugh. Sometimes Robin wished she didn't take her promises quite so seriously.

When her coffee was empty and a good third of the dreadful book behind her (which at some point had gotten a little less dreadful… not that she would ever admit that to anyone), she decided that it was late enough to make her way home at last. If she didn't want to sleep in the gutter, there was little else she could do. Well, technically she could camp out somewhere up north… she had everything she needed in her backpack… but some stupid part of her mind wanted to give her parents another chance to care. Some sparks of pathetic hope had crept through the cracks in her walls once again, even if she knew that she would only be disappointed again. It couldn't be helped either way. After paying for her coffee, she sought out the first space away from prying eyes, and finally went home in a swirl of time and space.

… … …

It had been three days, and Robin was already going insane. During her absence, her parents' house had turned into an outpost of the local university, or so it seemed. Not only had her bedroom been unrecognizable and all her things were packed up in boxes in the basement upon her arrival, but there simply were too many people around her on a constant basis, and no possibility to hide; Robin's parents, the three American scientists currently living with them, and usually two to five other people working on the same project even after hours. Begrudgingly Robin had accepted that she no longer had her own room in this house, and even that she had to live out of cardboard boxes for the moment… But the five other people living in this house with her currently were just too much.

The moment she'd come home on Monday evening she had noticed two things right away: One, her parents hadn't expected that she would actually want to sleep on the couch for more than a night. Two, the people from the States were assholes, to stick with their language. Well, two of the three, at least. A married couple who had moved into her old bedroom, and honestly, they could be summarized as mainly three things: religious, respectless and rude. Right on the first evening, they hadn't hesitated to make not so subtle but very much mocking comments about Robin 'attending a boarding school for special children', as her parents seemed to have explained the situation to them. Then they had gone on to comment on her 'disorderly choice of clothing', which they deemed entirely unsuitable for a young lady of any respectable family. Them finding out that Robin, in fact, didn't pray before meals (nor at any other time really), and also had absolutely no intention to, had resulted in a lengthy speech about the importance of God's guidance for a young lady (that term again…), especially when she was constantly tempted by vicious males around her. (They had also found it outrageous that the school she attended wasn't just for girls!) At that point, Robin had regretted ever coming back to this place, ever allowing herself to hope that it might not be completely awful. That had been three hours after her arrival.

Three days later, she was going insane for real. The only good thing was that every one of them was gone throughout most of the day, which allowed her to take a break from the constant orders and remarks given to her by four people by now, none of which actually had the right to do so. Honestly, she didn't know why she didn't just leave. Pack up the boxes in the basement and find some other place to live, where she wouldn't be either entirely ignored to the point of feeling invisible or pestered with disdainful comments. And now, four days into this mess, she made the decision that she would have to adapt her plans if she wanted to survive this summer.

"I'll be leaving tomorrow. I'm going to travel the country with a friend until the end of summer." She declared out of the blue, during dinner on Friday evening, after being silent for over three hours. Originally she had planned to take day trips with Snape, and come back here in the evenings to spend the days in between excursions at her parents' house. But now she just wanted to have a decent enough reason to leave and stay gone for as long as possible. Perhaps forever.

"That's amazing, sweetie! I'm glad to hear you have plans." Her mom was the first to reply, smiling in what looked like sincere relief upon the prospect of having her daughter out of the picture at last.

The conflict growing between the American couple and Robin hadn't passed by her parents unnoticed, indeed they were as well aware of it as everyone else, but they had always made an effort not to get involved, always avoiding to possibly upset their guests, even when they had clearly crossed a line. To Robin, they had thereby picked their side, and it had never been hers.

"Traveling the country… Spending your parents' hard earned money, eh?" The scarecrow on the other side of the table scoffed in a too high pitched voice, and Robin had to make a conscious effort to keep her facade of perfect neutrality plastered onto her face. "If I was your mother, I would see to it that you find yourself a job and get working as soon as possible!"

"We offered to pay for her expenses, should she wish to spend the summer elsewhere, because we had to clear out her room for you." Robin's dad explained almost apologetically. "But it might as well be a belated gift for… two birthdays and two Christmases, I believe."

"Never coming home and then expecting to be paid for nonetheless…" The scarecrow made a face at Robin as she let out a scoff. "Children, they're all the same no matter where you are in the world. I know why I never wanted any."

Robin's jaw clenched for but a second, the only tell of her true emotions, but then she calmly went back to cutting her chicken into neat pieces of exactly the same size as she had previously cut her vegetables and potatoes as well. "I won't need any of your money, thank you for the offer nonetheless. I believe it would be best for everyone if I was… financially independent as soon as possible. I'm an adult, so I might as well pay for myself."

"Oh, you're one of those types." Scarecrow's husband mused in an unsuccessful attempt at subtle distaste. "Traveling around like a gypsy, always deep in someone's pocket for a dollar… The youth these days just doesn't know what work is anymore."

"Actually, I work hard and earn my money like everyone else does." Robin replied coldly, not even honouring the man with a glance. It was a very twisted version of the truth she was presenting here, but it would have to do. "Just because I attend a school quite far away from the larger cities doesn't mean there is no opportunity to make a living on the side."

"Yes, and we all know how pretty young girls can make a living the easiest way, don't we?" Scarecrow scoffed, and the entire table fell silent for a moment. Nobody dared to speak, and all eyes eventually sought out Robin, who in return was desperately glad for her years of practice in looking entirely indifferent. On the inside however, her mind was raging. How dared this woman to make such accusations, or even hint at something like that?! A small part of Robin wondered what would happen if she simply cursed everyone in the room, and took their memories of it afterwards. But instead, she settled for merely being silent and clinging onto the thought that she would be gone tomorrow.

"Do you by any chance work in a kitchen?" The third American, the only decent human being in the room and the only person Robin wasn't currently mad at, asked and thereby broke the uncomfortable silence. "Because I couldn't help noticing how adept you are at cooking. The dinner you made last night was amazing, and I've never seen someone so skilled with a knife."

"Thank you." Robin offered him a small smile, and inwardly thanked him for saving her from the ridiculous situation like that. "I really do sort of work in a kitchen, actually. For the past few years I have been trained quite a bit in addition to the normal school curriculum, to properly select and prepare ingredients for example, but by now, I actually get to make entire recipes by myself." Again, not a lie. Cooking and potion making were quite similar in a lot of ways, and she would shamelessly take advantage of that now.

"I didn't know you were training to become a chef." Robin's dad frowned at her, then shrugged and continued eating at last. "But I'm glad to hear that you are looking into a serious and decently paying career path. Not that… odd stuff they teach you at school."

"So, who's the friend you're going to be traveling with?" Her mom asked, changing the topic and the tension that had been hanging in the hair was resolved as the others continued with their meals as well.

"You wouldn't know him; someone I know from school." Was all Robin replied, but perhaps she should've thought better of it.

"A boy?! Excuse me, but I just have to intervene here again, entirely for your own good…" The scarecrow was quick to respond, and Robin cringed at every single part of the vile woman's sentence. "Just imagine how that might look to some people! A girl and a boy, traveling the country together all by themselves… Do you truly want to have such a poor reputation?! Just think about the disgrace it would be for your parents! Or for your future husband! People might assume you were dishonored!"

If that woman knew that Robin was going to travel with Snape, a man who was eleven years older than her and who used to be her professor until a week ago, she surely would combust in outrage, or faint in shock. Robin had to suppress a snort at the thought, and the idea of telling her suddenly became very tempting. But she wouldn't, as that would surely only end to her own disadvantage. After all, it would put reality into even more of a false light… they were still going to part ways in the evenings to meet up again on another day. Either way, Robin had quite enough of the woman sitting across from her at this point.

"Bold of you to assume that I have any honour left for him to take in the first place." She said nonchalantly, in perfect indifference, and while four jaws dropped just like intended, the nice American scientist merely let out a snort. At least one person understood the joke inherent in this bloody situation… Still, this probably hadn't been the smartest thing to say if she ever wanted them to stop bothering her, but as it seemed, her reputation among them had been ruined long before she had arrived here in the first place. And it was the truth after all; at almost eighteen, it wasn't unlikely that she would have a lot more experience than she actually did. It wasn't her fault that a hug was the only form of physical intimacy she'd ever lived to share with anyone… even Cas had more experience than that, and she was only fourteen! Not that this bothered Robin in any way… it was just a fact, and she might as well use it to her advantage at this point.

Dinner continued quietly from then on, and while the silence seemed to be uncomfortable for everyone else, Robin actually found herself feeling more at ease than she had all evening. When willingly allowing yourself to sink quite so low in someone's eyes, even if based on false information and half truths, the result for your own self was quite liberating. No reputation to uphold, no need to impress, nothing to justify. Honestly, she just should've done this from the start. But then again, she had still wanted her parents to pay for her travels at that point. Still had hoped that the boxes in the basement would be unpacked again eventually, once the esteemed guests were gone. Now however, the idea of cutting herself off from her parents entirely had a shocking appeal to it, and she couldn't quite bring herself to step back from it again. Didn't even want to. No, she still had some Christmas money left that she had saved over the years, and from there on she could find some sort of work to make ends meet. Tomorrow morning, she would take the boxes in the basement with her and leave for good.

… … …

If there had been any doubt left in her mind by Friday night if she actually should go through with it, it was blown away Saturday morning when the only thing saying goodbye to her was a note on the kitchen counter that told her to put the rubbish out before she left. Thus she spent the early hours of the day gathering everything that was hers and storing it away in her backpack, while also taking some minor things that surely wouldn't be missed around here. An old record player and a few of her favorite records (both which weren't used anymore), that chipped mug she had been using when she was here for as long as she could remember, but also a photo album that only had the first five pages filled with pictures of her as a baby and toddler. If this was all that would be left of her childhood other than her own memories, she wanted to be the one to have it. She added in a picture of her parents that had been in one of their own albums, then hid the entire thing very deep down in her bag, in a box of things she wanted to keep but still forget about.

When finally she shouldered her bag to leave, she didn't even feel sad. Only bitter and, in a way, deeply hurt that it had come this far. Perhaps it had been her fault, partially at least. Perhaps it had been inevitable. But if the last five days had proven anything, it was that they would be better off going separate ways from here on. Maybe one day, if by that time they still remembered that they'd had a daughter once, she would come back to visit them.

… … …

Half an hour later Robin sat high up on the cliff on the Scottish east coast where their first adventure had started last year, legs dangling over the edge against the stone wall that dropped down way too far, as she waited for Snape to show up. They would have to meet somewhere after all, and this place had seemed like a good idea. Both of them had been here before, it was practically deserted, and thus it was easy to find each other.

The wind whipping around her cleared some of the bitterness the morning had left, dried some silent tears, and it was a reminder of the bigger picture, a reassurance that her problems weren't the end of the world. As dark as things might seem, the planet was still spinning and the only way to move was forward. She took a deep breath, and when the sun broke through the clouds at last, she put on her sunglasses and let it warm her face for once.

"You're early… A bit excited, are we?" Snape remarked the very moment Robin heard him arriving somewhere behind her, and even just the sound of his voice made her smile in an instant.

"So are you, in case you haven't noticed." She replied, leaning back on her hands to look up at him upside down when he came to stand behind her. Surprisingly enough, he was clad in ordinary black bottoms and a simple long sleeved shirt of the same colour. "I think I've never seen you in anything other than those robes you always wear at school…"

"Yes, well, our last… expedition has proven my usual choice of clothing to be rather unsuitable for the occasion." He mused, and finally sat down next to Robin so closely that their shoulders almost touched. "That, and muggles tend to be irritated when one wears robes around them. Since we haven't decided where today will take us, I thought it best to be prepared."

"Clever. As always." Robin smirked, and he rolled his eyes at her using his own expression on him, which she however didn't mind one bit. "How was your week?"

"Dreadful. Yours?"

"Even worse."

"Good."

"Hey!" Robin protested with a laugh, then with a grin she just couldn't fight. "What's good about me being worse than dreadful for a week?"

"It means that no matter if we succeed in our goals today or not, it will still be a better day for you than the last few were."

"Of course it will be better! An infinite number of times better even! Spending time with you is better than anything, you dunderhead."

"Call me that one more time and I will shove you off the cliff."

"Shove me off the cliff and I'll pull you down with me."

"I expect nothing less. That is what I'm here for, after all." He stated with an expression that was too serious looking to actually be serious at all. The not-smirk was an even better tell of that.

"You're here to jump off a cliff?" Robin quirked an eyebrow at him with a teasing smirk.

"I'm here to make sure you aren't alone when you do."

"So if I jump, you will too?"

"I would rather keep either of us from doing something ridiculously stupid as that, but generally, yes." He said, and the fact that he actually seemed to mean every word of that sent a wave of electric sparkles all through Robin's body and mind. She couldn't even put into words how much she adored him for that, and how infinitely glad she was to have him with her. If this was what being his friend was like, she couldn't even imagine how it would be to be more than that. Then again, she shouldn't imagine it in the first place. They were friends. Best friends, but only friends. That had to be enough.

"Good to know." She finally replied, allowing herself to smile at least, so very brightly that he almost had to smile in return. "So… what theory are we looking into today?"

"Get out that handbook of yours and we shall see."

______________________________

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[only-here-for-the-star-wars]

Whumptober 2021 - #1 "You Have To Let Go"

Well, here we are. In the… doctor’s waiting room. The… specialist. Of course, her family physician had mentioned that there were all kinds of possible explanations for the reason her annual blood tests had been “off”, whatever that meant, but after the whole body scans, targeted scans of her liver, undergoing a biopsy, there could be no guessing why they were here. In the... oncologist’s waiting room. It’s canc- No. Don’t think it yet. Why don’t we wait to hear what the oncologist has to say first?

She looked over to her husband, Malcolm. To any stranger walking past he might look incredibly controlled, but not to her. She could see the change in his usual demeanour - from a bright, chatty, happy man, full of vim and vigour that had attracted her as much in recent years as it had when they’d first met, to this quiet, stern and serious man, sitting stiffly in an uncomfortable chair, staring at the floor and unusually silent.

“Helena Shan” Doctor Ignar Harfard, oncologist, called for them offering a smile that was friendly without being too flippant towards the situation, and gesturing for them to come into his clinic room.

After the typical round of introductions he pulled up the results her family doctor had forwarded onto the screen.

“Mrs Shan, what have you been told about your condition so far?”

“Nothing, Doctor.”

“But you know that I’m an oncologist, so do you have any idea why you might have been referred to see me?”

He’s going to make me say it! “It’s… It’s cancer, isn’t it? My family doctor mentioned it was a possibility, and then they sent me for all of these tests, this needle into my liver…”

“It is. The biopsy shows cancer in the liver that started growing in the breast, and according to your scans has moved to your bones as well. Some people are interested in seeing their scans, would you like me to show you?”

“No! No, thank you, Doctor. That’s quite alright. Just tell me what we need to do to beat this thing.” Beside her, Malcolm was nodding and murmuring his agreement.

“To be clear, this is cancer that has already spread. It can be managed with medications to delay progression, but we don’t expect to be able to get rid of it for good.”

“What do you mean don’t expect to be able to get rid of it for good? This can be cured, right? My cousin had breast cancer, she had surgery, radiation treatment and some tablets, hers is cured” Malcolm sought clarification.

“Your cousin’s cancer would not have been as advanced as your wife’s is, I’m sorry.”

“Just… tell me what I have to do, doctor.”

“I need a few more quick tests before I book you in for chemotherapy. I can also see in the chart sent by your family doctor that until now you’ve been very healthy, this must all come as a shock for you, to be told that you have an incurable condition and to be facing several rounds of treatment with side effects. I’d like-”

“What do you mean, ‘incurable’?” it was Malcolm again. “We have all this technology available to us, Hells man, we travel between stars and you’re telling me that some little disease is going to kill my wife in her prime!?”

“There are limits to sentient knowledge of the galaxy we live in, Mister Shan. Not everything is curable. Nobody lives forever.”

“But Helena is still so young! Is it a matter of payment? I can hunt something valuable to afford whatever the cure is.”

“Mister Shan, this is a public hospital, the treatment she gets here is no different from the most wealthy to the least wealthy on Talravin. There is no other treatment more appropriate for her condition based on multiple clinical trials. You have to let go of the notion that there is a cure for this, that going somewhere else, paying someone else to treat Helena is going to improve things.”

Helena decidedly did not like the sound of that. Doctor Harfard continued “Might it make a difference? There are unscrupulous people in the galaxy who would take your credits in exchange for false hope, and it won’t make a difference in the way you want it to - quite the opposite, actually. But I want you to be realistic about what is achievable here. Now, as I was saying, perhaps a referral to one of our psychologists may help you both come to terms with what is happening.”

‘You have to let go’... There’s nothing he can do so he’s just going to send me to someone to talk about doing nothing? ...I can… accept this with enough time. There’s nothing we can do anyway. But Malcolm? Helena looked to her husband, and knew there was no way he was going to be able to do as the doctor told them.

[blushing-starker]

Cold mates and black coffees

For @starkerfestivals prompt of mates

There is, he supposes, something beautiful about a world such as this, primitive yet advanced and sophisticated. Children no taller than his knee carry around super computers that fit in the palm of one's hands, talk to friends thousands of miles away whenever they want. It used to take him months to receive his preferred concoction for the early night wake up call, now stores inhabit every corner of every city. They patiently wait to receive their dependents, all sorts of people relying on some version of the simple black coffee to jolt their system. Convenient, sure, no doubt about that. A quick stop at a Starbucks and violá, five hours of productivity guaranteed. But nothing builds character like swimming laps through a freezing lake infested with piranhas to keep away the urge to rest for just another five minutes. Unfortunately, sleepless days were the norm for him and Rhodey whenever they endeavored to race each other underwater.

There are clothes, too. Clothes for each season available year round. Fox fur adorns a lanky mannequin next to a twin showcasing how breezy summer fabrics can be. Riding boots that he would have spent a small fortune on decades ago shine below man made light for the cost of a nice meal over at Pepper's. Jewels fine enough for the family vault enchant any who take so much as two steps in either direction. Everything is for sale; it just means swiping a plastic card, presenting a number off a super computer or giving the cashier the remains of ancient trees. He could buy an ice cream cone (with sprinkles, of course, he's not an idiot) and immediately wander over to a restaurant selling sizzling curry. It's what his father dreamed about, a thousand years ago. How odd then, that his only heir couldn't be more nonchalant to all this.

It's his what, first month back from sleeping for half a century? He got accustomed to this whirlwind of a consumerist world by the first week. The soft purr of self-driving engines, flashing neon street signs, a melting pot of twenty, thirty languages, glittering clothes clashing with garish makeup, an overwhelming scent of smoke, perfume and money is as familiar as the palm of Rhodey's left hand or Pepper's right. Is it fantastic, being alive for the wild ride that is the twenty-first century? Yes, of course it is. But it's his father's dream; not his. His dream is the same as what drove Maria Stark into the world: finding his mate. Which, logically speaking, won’t happen until time has colored his hair with quite a bit more starlight and streaked thin lines around not too shabby cheekbones. (Rhodey’s teasing words.)

Going along with logic, there is a chance his mate will never show up. It was mere luck his father met the only woman besides Peggy that could stand his whole. Well, that could just stand him, period. A mate is found by scent, identified by touch and only bound with words. If his father had gone for one more drink, he’d probably be as real as the tooth fairy. In the back of his head, there lives a voice. And this voice he named Miss Lucky. She told him how lucky he would need to be in order to find a mate not too close to cradle or grave, a person that saw eye to eye in the majority of the basics and was open to his predilection. Someone that wouldn’t fear or expose him, wouldn’t want to strike the killing blow themselves. And Christ, with or without Miss Lucky, it’s a fool’s idea, thinking that in the middle of New York amidst one of the coldest winters to ever grace the city, his mate, his soul’s match, his other heart will chance upon him and actually accept the fact that he barely exudes a scent. Let alone something useful enough to help others recognize his class.

That’s the one downfall to living in this time; so much tension regarding one’s class. It is infinitely better than before when there were only three possibilities and the social restrictions could very rarely be shattered. But now it’s about pulling rank, percentages listed on a piece of paper could be used against you or signify one’s survival. A double-edged sword. To be a nurse, any applicants must be less than thirty percent alpha. Soldiers were forbidden from entering foreign countries if they had more beta characteristics than not. Lovers, in some parts of the world, could marry exclusively when their percentages were compatible. In the old times, if you smelled like an omega, you were treated as such. That could entail being thrown into a whorehouse or perceived as royalty destined to bring life into the world. Once puberty came, a simple prick and a vial of blood determined one’s next decision regarding the future.

He took the test. Just out of curiosity and it’d be rude not to provide a mate with information so readily accessible merely because of an unjustified fear over his identity. He is an alpha. And if the test had said otherwise, it would have been no problem. Of course not, he would have been proud to identify as a beta or omega. His mother was a beta and his nanny, basically his second mother, was an omega. No shame would’ve clouded his mind at receiving such news. The matter was this, though, he had believed to be an alpha the entirety of his life. If the paperwork said that was his lowest percentage, different rules and procedures, updated to today’s society, would need to be learned.

And he’s so tired of it all when only a handful can smell the fact he’s an alpha. What was he supposed to do, carry the results in his pocket in case a bigot searched for a fight? No, that would be, as Pepper had made very clear before, extremely silly.

He carries the test in case his mate considers such matters important. Or their family. Yes, it’s not because he worries that society will somehow doubt his identity. In the end, being an alpha is an integral part of who he is. It shouldn’t be that way and he barely knows what that means, but it’s true. Miss Lucky comes back around swiftly now, what if his mate isn’t interested in him because of his percentage? What then? Learn what the other classes represent to that person and behave in ways they believe suit said classes? Could his match be with a pureblood, intent on “staying true” to their highest percentage? Would he be able to, cinnamon. Wait, cinnamon and honey? Is that rain and sunlight? Since when does Starbucks incorporate those smells? And how the hell does he know what sunlight smells like? He’s insane. There’s no other explanation, oh that must have hurt.

A young man has just barreled into him. Slammed into his arm like a linebacker. A linebacker that weighs a feather and a half. How is he this light, a breeze had more force. What should he, what’s the proper ritual here, oh my god

“Your nose is bleeding- “

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking. I’m just late for class and- “

“Calm down and let me buy you some coffee; you’re half dead- “

“Shit, your coat. I will pay you back, I swear.”

He hums, looks down and apparently he was too involved in his quest to find a mate that he completely bypassed the thought that this man had accidently crashed into him while holding a coffee…

A mate. He doesn’t know what sunlight smells like. How could he? Unless that’s what his mate smelled like. The young man inhales sharply, lets out a little “oh, I think, I know it’s you.” and, on further reflection, he notices this kid has the voice of an angel. Soft and kind while not being so lilting he’d think it weak and demure. Ah, he looks like an ethereal entity too. Of course he does.

It’s the eyes that do it for him, enchant him enough he wants to kneel and propose right there in the hopes of waking up each night to those amber pools as familiar and mysterious as the universe itself. The rosy lips, pink cheeks and sweeping lashes are also quite nice. He has the body of a being from the old tales, a nymph or a muse destined to bring light and joy to the world. And black coffee to coats older than his father and grandfather combined.

“Could I touch you properly? I think spilling sugar over that coat didn’t really give me the chance to feel my mate, Mister?” Rhodey’s gonna annihilate him. This is a child, twenty-one at most. They could exchange numbers; communicate when his best friend wouldn’t be tempted to take one look and accuse him of going for jailbait. He could make a plan, organize a way to gently explain how he’s an undead creature of the night whose low circulation means that somehow his hormone production slowed and therefore he barely smells like wood let alone an actual human being. They could make it work. If he’s lucky, Angel here won’t fall for another. If he’s lucky, lots of things won’t happen. Or they will anyway.

“Stark. Tony Stark. It’s a pleasure to meet you, all things considered. When I learned one’s mate smells like something unknown, I didn’t quite expect literal sunshine to be what I noticed. And don’t worry about the coat; it’s nothing.”

Marie Antoinette gave him this coat as a gift on his sixteenth birthday a few years before her death. It’s fine.

“Oh. I, I wouldn’t have thought I smelled like that. It’s really nice, actually. You smell, and please don’t take this the wrong way, like alpha. And home. I know it’s weird, but I can’t explain it any other way. I’m sorry if it’s too- “

At least he already knows he dislikes that worried furrow on such a happy face. He surges forward, clasps a soft hand and lets slip a shocked gasp, sees the mirrored reaction because Jesus, it’s as if he licked his finger and then stuck it inside a power outlet. Every hair on his body stands on end and when was the last time his heart beat that fast? Surely it was the night his old flame left or when they, no. No memories of a past lover when his mate is right here, clutching his hand like a lifeline.

“I don’t believe I know your name. Seems a little unfair, don’t you think? Wanna even the odds?” It’s meant to make the young man smile and he does.

It’s only when he grins that Tony notices the sharpened incisors and the slight cold coming from the small figure. The same fog that follows him around even on the hottest of days. The exact shape of teeth Tony cleans in front of his bathroom mirror each night.

“Peter. My name’s Peter. Nice to meet you, Tony.”

[aboyandhisstarship]

Humans are weird Purity/ the emergency broad cast system

The TV tones pulsed three times before a forth long one the TV flashed “this is not a test.” As a voice said “this is the Emergency broadcast system, colonial authorities advise the public to proceed to safe area’s and to follow the lead of lead of armed Military Personal, be alert and carry with you one personal bag, this is not a drill…this is the emergency broadcast system…”

A jet engine blasted over head as the TV flickered off.

24 hours earlier:

T’Las sat in her quarters as she started to write “being on a human warship puts me in a strange circumstance…many people have contacted me hoping to learn if the humans have as powerful weapons as some rumors claim…well after much cajoling and the agreement to let a Human military officer read and if necessary reedit this report (say hello LT!) Hey guys…this is weird…does this microphone actually work…anyway don’t worry not much ended up being cut.

 Now first off is the main offensive weapon of Human war ships, the Magnetic  Accelerator Cannon (M.A.C.) a M.A.C. gun speeds up a shell to a percentage of the speed of the speed of light (for ships usually between 12 and 15 percent) firing the shell into the enemy ship…this is incredibly effective it is predicted a low powered human M.A.C. round could punch through 4 ships before slowing down and being combat ineffective.  It is also the main planetary defense platform of earth and her colonies, these M.A.C.S are two kilometre long behemoths.  This one works the same way but fire there slugs 25 % of the speed of light…and spirits help you if it hits your ship.

 Rail-guns: the secondary weapons on a human ships fire rounds rapidly and are designed mostly to take out missiles and rockets (more on those later) but are also use for anti-fighter and anti-ship activates.

Missiles: now humans are quite keen on these and every ship is equipped with several tubes to fire these things.  Human have 2 major kinds

 Nuclear: a nuclear missile or Nuke as the humans call it are the most powerful in ship to ship combat, it is a reactor rigged to blow and destroy an area usually about 50 km wide.

Electromagnetic plus: the humans want you alive so they fire a different kind of nuke at you, knocks out your power and allow you to be boarded.

T’Las was about to say more when all of a sudden lights went red and The captain went over the inter com saying “we are now in a War state, all hands battle stations.”

*the following report was granted by the SICON Office of Naval intelligence under the freedom of information act*

Cahlti star empire is the official name for hat we have called “fanatical Purifier’s.”  a heavily militarized state that believes all other alien life is an front to the their spiritual existence as such relations with these groups are no existent in a peaceful sense, they have often attacked other neighboring species claiming that it is bandits well aware that any race that wishes to fight a war against them would have bad time…there is a phrase on earth “don’t fight a land war in Asia.” Trying to invade the Cahlti would be like fighting a land war in Asia,7 years of hard fighting and would result in millions of dead.

  Valley Forge:

The camera flew through the bridge as the ships lights were blaring red a Human Crew member said “ma’am we have 45 boogies on our scanners, all armed…it is unknown how much of the force is left, but they engaged the M.A.C platforms, and have won the engagement.”

Hernandez said “Alight, Chief, where is Battle Group Fortress?”

A coms officer turned her chair around “picking up black box’s ma’am, it seems Fortress was forced to retreat….Manticore is 45 seconds behind us…they will engage the fleet…I am picking up confirmed reports of ground combat.”

Hailey took a deep breath “hard launch we are coming in, get Dagger prepped, there mission is locate the governor, arm rail guns load nukes and Get the M.A.C online…open up as soon as we drop out of Chekov, dump dagger same time.”

Hernandez said “T’Las get geared up…you are dropping.”

The camera cut out and changed to a rocking motion as T’Las screamed in a metal pod as Ericson’s said “Dagger 0-1 to Overlord come in.”

A voice with a drawl answered “we are picking you up Dagger 0-1…”

Ericson said “everyone hold on, we are almost to touch down …Over Lord do you have contact with the Governor!”

Overlord said “that’s a negative Dagger 0-1 we have not been able to locate her before the winter contingency was activated…we will pass on the address to her  house, however we have confirmed enemy presence in the region, happy hunting.”

Ericson called “Roger…detach in 4, 3, 2,1!”

T’Las screamed again as her metal shell blew and she was in the air above some neighborhood a pair of human jets blasted through the air above them and her body jerked as her jets kicked in and she crashed through the roof of a house, a human family lay on the floor in a pool of blood, the TV blasting a series of tones...as a robotic voice said “this is the emergency broadcast system…”

 Ericson said “Futuba turn that TV off.”

Futuba responded “on it boss!”

Porthos sniffed around as Abebi said “boss, the coordinate’s Overlord gave us are…4 blocks east of us.”

Ericson nodded coldly “Safety’s off, but pick your targets…combat wedge, T’Las you’re in middle stay close.”

T’Las nodded as a jet blasted overhead again the camera cut again.

 The camera turned back on as Ericson entered saying “woof….Depoint?”

The woman advanced taking one look at the body saying “can confirm she is dead…tortured to death sir…”

Ericson groaned “confirm it’s her…Overlord this is Dagger o-1 we have a possible ID on the governor…”

Over lord responded “uhh Roger that, Dagger 0-1 what is her status?”

Depoint called “can DNA confirms it LT.”

The camera panned to show T’Las bent over with Abebi patting her back as Porthos whinnied Abebi said “easy let it out.”

Ericson said “Depoint check on T’Las, Overlord…Governor is confirmed KIA…who is next in the chain of command…”

Overlord was clearly nervous cursing “fuck…uh let me get back to you Dagger 0-1.”

T’Las vomited again, a Green sludge coming of her mouth as Depoint said “easy…do you feel dizzy?”

T’Las nodded “a bit.”

Ericson walked over saying “how is she?”

Depoint said “I’m no expert sir, but she is in shock….she may need some care Sir.”

T’Las was visibly shaking saying “they gutted her like fish…I have seen videos of it on earth…but to a living thing.”  She bent over again vomiting.

Ericson smiled “what you are feeling is perfectly normal ok, just breath through it…if you ever feel like you are in distress let us know ok.”

Ericson radio cracked to life “Uhh Dagger 0-1 this is overlord…what is your rank?”

The squad look at each other as Ericson said “lieutenant first class, ODT…”

The voice dropped the southern drawl speaking in a British accent “Lieutenant Junior Grade Marco Paul-son sir…uhhh I’m in the logistics core sir…I was in the command center by sheer chance, in the opening attack the hostile’s hit a building…where the rest of Civilian and military leadership, calls came in for the command center…so I pretended to General Barrows….I know I wasn’t supposed to, but no one would have listened…they needed orders…a calm voice in there ear…but I’m over my head…I found it who is highest ranking officer on the planet…it’s me.”

The squad went quiet as Ericson stood straight “listen good son because I am only going to say this once, you have been doing a great job, so stop doubting and start commanding.”

Ericson flicked off the private channel saying “Over lord Dagger 0-1 mission ended in failure  where do you need us.”

Overlord had tears in their eyes but shook it off saying “uhhh Right, Dagger 0-1…we have reports of a squad of marines trying to lead a group of civs to safety, these guys are under equipped and terrified, show the flag and help them, it will do wonders for them to see a ODT team.”

Ericson nodded “roger Sir…we have their location.”

  3 hour later:

T’Las leaned on a wall as Bullets flew past mowing down the aliens before she look up seeing hundreds of metal pods, Overlord said “all friendlies be aware ODT teams are dropping in quadrant 4 and 6, link up with them if at all possible, all air units cover there landing.”  With that the camera cut.

 5 hours later:

 T’Las was on a stretcher Depoint said “you will be ok.”

Ericson plucked down next to a young man hitting him on the shoulder “how you are holding up?”

The kid formally known as overlord said “I’m a hero apparently…don’t feel like it.”

Ericson grinned “you saved a planet…that sounds like hero work to me.”

The kid laughed “thank you sir.”

The camera cut out.

[aelaer]

The Blood in My Veins: Pt 4

Heyyyy I'm back. Now that one of my big fic projects is done/being rolled out I can concentrate on getting this finished (as well as other prompts). Here are the earlier parts if you can't remember what happened in this long-running prompt fic, since my last update was like, the summer.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Prompt (via @ironstrangeprompts that I can’t tag for whatever reason qq): Kidnapped to play doctor for a still unseen other prisoner; Stephen realizes there is only one person on the planet who would have palladium in their blood.

The Warnings: Okay guys, I want to cover all bases for this part and all parts henceforth. The bad guy I've written here really really sucks. He's a complete asshole. Part of his assholeness can include behaviors such as racism, sexism, homophobic remarks, religious bigotry, and overall just being a terrible human being. This terrible human being is not a typical representative of his nation/culture and is very thankfully fictional. There's plenty of Canon-Typical Violence around, too. All of the above are not be in this specific part but could be in future parts (I'm writing this as I go so I truly don't know, I just know he’s a dickwad). I didn't know this section was gonna happen until I finished Part 2, for instance, otherwise I'd have put a note at the beginning. I'd consider the fic a heavy teen fic, if you're looking for a rating, so it shouldn't get to graphical violence beyond what you'd see in high teen rated content. Also, there's going to be Medical Procedures in the future, though more clinical rather than graphic. Hopefully that covers everything, please ask me anything if you have a question.

I always put these longer writings on tumblr into "read more" cuts, but the mobile app does not always work correctly if you're looking at the original post from my tumblr, so I apologise for the length if you're on the app and viewing the original and said cut is not working. Still unbetaed, all errors are mine.

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Part Four: Seeing Red Again

Another three days passed with little change in Stephen’s schedule. He went for his sleep shift at 12:30 a.m. New York time, and was woken up by one of the others between 5:20 to 5:30 a.m. It wasn't enough time for even two full complete sleep cycles, but everyone there—perhaps with exception to Steffen Baar, who was a chemist—had gone through grueling schedules during medical school and residency. So they were, in some ways, used to it.

After waking up, he had fifteen minutes to shower, shave, and change into the clothing about his size, provided for by his captors. From there, he then got to work. His sleep shift ended about three hours before dinner came—about 8:30 a.m. New York time—and a small snack arrived at what he assumed was this place's midnight, but was 2 p.m. according to his watch. Breakfast came twelve hours after dinner, at 8:30 p.m. in New York, and he went to bed again half an hour after midnight. Apparently while he slept, another snack break came for those awake.

The one small blessing in all of this was that the people holding them realized the power of caffeine and provided black tea and coffee every time they brought them food. He didn't think there were any cameras in the showers or toilets, either, which was—hopefully true. There was nothing obvious and, truth be told, he didn't really want to look much further for evidence.

Throughout his waking day, Stephen largely helped prep samples for blood analysis. He tried to strategize with Summer about how to best utilize their resources, should a surgery be required, but they had little to go on. They had yet to receive better X-rays of their patient—of Tony Stark, which still baffled Stephen—so much of their planning was about logistics.

"Doctors in the United States are required to complete a surgical rotation in their third year of med school," Stephen said, "so Jada will know basic surgical procedures. Do you need to do the same in the UK?"

"Yes," Summer answered. "All doctors go through the two-year Foundation Programme which always includes training in general surgery. So Dr Mahajan will be able to assist us as well."

"They can serve as our nurses and techs," Stephen muttered. "But what about Dr Baar?"

Summer pursed her lips together. "No medical training—but I would rather have him on hand than not. If we said we can't use him…"

Stephen grimaced and nodded. "Point. He can certainly hold a retractor." He blew out a breath. "We'll need a heart-lung machine. Those aren't easy to come by."

"None of this machinery is," she pointed out, jutting her chin to the advanced machinery scattered around the room. "I don't think that will be an issue for us. Whoever these people are, they have resources."

He pursed his lips together. "We also need an anesthesiologist."

She paused at that and sighed. "Yes. Yes, we need one of those. Unfortunately, I think we're going to be working with someone on their team if the surgery happens."

Stephen made a face. "What makes you think that?"

"When they first showed me the X-rays, I told them I would need another surgeon for the spinal area—you—and an anesthesiologist. They only spoke about finding me a surgeon, so they must have their own medical team that includes one."

He sighed. "Of course they do. He better be competent."

Summer shrugged. "Not much we can do about it. And there's not much more we can plan on this hypothetical surgery until I have better X-rays."

And so that ended that discussion and, three days later, there were no changes on that end. No new X-rays had come in, so both he and the other surgeon were stuck helping prepare samples and input data. And Stephen hadn't been so bored in years.

One wouldn't think that being captive would be boring, especially if one was doing medical work during that time. But when said medical work was repetitive lab work he hadn't done since med school? And doing it for about fifteen hours a day for three days straight with no music, no reading, no nothing to help bring some distraction or variety to his work? It was absolutely mind-numbing. A small part of him wasn't entirely sure if he could survive like this for—how long did Jada said Stark had to live without a cure or intervention? Two months? He couldn't do this for two months. He was going out of his mind after three days.

It was about halfway through his shift on the fourth day that he regretted ever thinking that he was bored.

He was typing up results from various tests performed by Jada when the door to the room was suddenly slammed open. Startled, Stephen immediately turned towards the sound, only to see five men enter, all of them with guns pointed to the rest of the room. Beside him, Jada immediately threw her hands on top of her head, and he quickly followed suit.

"Come quietly! Do not fight!" said one of the men. Stephen couldn't even begin to guess his accent; maybe it was Eastern European? Russian? Former Soviet bloc in Asia? Somewhere in that rather wide region of the world, which wasn't particularly helpful information considering there were some twenty to thirty countries there.

Summer was the doctor currently asleep, though looking over his shoulder, Stephen saw that she had woken up to the sound and was pushing herself up. But he couldn't look at her or the other doctors long as he was grabbed by one of the men and forced to walk. The gun the man carried quickly negated any ideas of retaliation.

They were led down a hall; he could see Steffen, Meera, and Jada in front of him, all being led in the same rough manner he was going through. The walk itself wasn't very long, perhaps a minute, but to Stephen it felt like every second was dragging. Despite his best efforts, his heart was starting to race at this new development.

The man with Steffen finally stopped in front of a door and unlocked it, then shoved the chemist inside. Within seconds, Stephen was at the door and being pushed forward himself. He took a quick look around, as much as he could without moving much: a large room with concrete walls and no windows, just like where he and the other doctors were being kept. Cot in the corner. Table with a computer and covered in bits of wires and electronics that he couldn't begin to label. Two other men armed with enormous guns—some sort of automatic rifles—and then one man who was crossing his arms and staring at him and his fellow doctors with a look that immediately put Stephen on edge. This man, this man radiated the air of a person in charge.

And then there was him. The famous Tony Stark, or Iron Man as he was calling himself these days. He looked like a former shadow of himself, being several pounds thinner and bearing a sickly pallor that Stephen immediately noticed, even during these circumstances.

A look of surprise was upon Stark's hollow face, but even as Stephen focused more upon him, it was quickly replaced by the cool anger of a man biting his tongue.

All five doctors were maneuvered to face Stark in a line before being forced to their knees. Stephen bit his lip to hold back a grunt of pain from his knees hitting the concrete floor.

"You say you are 'calling my bluff' with your medical team," said the man. He pushed himself off the wall and passed out of Stephen's line of sight. "Here they are." He started at Stephen's right as he went through the doctors. "Steffen Baar, chemist." A step closer. "Jada Ferguson, hematologist." Another step, and he heard Doctor Mahajan inhale sharply. "Meera Mahajan, pathologist."

Another step, and the man was behind him. To Stephen's utter horror, he felt cold metal press against the back of his head. "Stephen Strange, neurosurgeon." The metal then left his head and he heard another step. "Summer Weston, cardiothoracic surgeon." Another step, and he could see the man in the corner of his eye again, this time on his left.

Tony Stark kept his lips pressed in a tight line as their captor went through the line. When he finished, the billionaire swallowed and looked at them all. "Good job keeping me alive this long, docs," he said.

"Not good enough, Stark," the man snapped. "Their solution is only a band aid. They give you but a few more weeks. They are called the best doctors in the world, and they cannot yet make a cure?"

Stephen forcefully held back his retort regarding the man's utter ignorance. It was an outright miracle they found any sort of solution as quickly as they did to delay the spread!

Stark, it seemed, agreed with him, and had no such reservations with holding back. "That's insane, Yusifov. It takes teams of doctors months, if not years to create what you're looking for."

He couldn't see it, but Stephen could almost feel the sneer from their captor, this Yusifov. "In that case, you don't need this many doctors, do you?" A couple steps and he was again behind Stephen, further to the right. "I'm no doctor, but as far as I can tell, these two both look at blood and try to fix the problem. Neither of them fixed it, not fully. So who do you want to keep, Stark? The black American or the Indian Brit? One less woman won't make a difference."

Stephen dared a glance to his right when he heard quick breathing. Doctor Mahajan was visibly shaking and starting to hyperventilate; to her right, Doctor Ferguson was quiet, but her lips trembled and tears pricked her eyes.

Stark stepped forward, and several guns rose at the action. He stopped but held his ground, raising his hands. "Don't do this."

"Why not?" the man retorted. "You refuse to work because you are dying. They have failed you and one will pay the price. Perhaps both; they are both from lesser races."

As Stephen processed the fact that he heard a comment like that in fucking 2010, Doctor Mahajan's breathing accelerated into full on hyperventilation. His medical mind noticed it immediately.

But another was quicker to the draw. "Breathe through your nose, Meera," Summer said lowly. "Try to inhale for one-one thousand, then exhale through pursed lips. You can—"

"Shut up!"

Doctor Weston was smacked on the back of her head hard enough to send her sprawling to the floor.

And Stephen snapped.

Now, if one were to ask Doctor Stephen Strange, he would by no means consider himself heroic or noble. His role as a doctor was one of service, but even within his relatively short time as a neurosurgeon, he had already gained a prestige that recognized his rising star and already people in the medical community were considering him in the top ranks of neurosurgeons. Soon, demand for his expertise would be large enough for him to have the option to turn away those who weren't worth his time, and he felt not a lick of guilt for that. His skills were valuable.

But to hear this brute of a man first throw slurs at two of the most brilliant women—no, the most brilliant doctors—in their fields followed by an outright assault on the other caused a protectiveness Stephen hadn't felt since his sister's death to completely overtake him. He saw red.

He leaped up at Yusifov in a fiery anger, no particular idea in mind except stop him from hurting anyone rushing through his head. At this point there was little thought, only adrenaline and a near primal fury running through his veins. It wasn't like him to be so hot-headed; he was a man who kept his cool under the most stressful of circumstances. But perhaps several days of poor sleep combined with the stress of the situation finally got to him. When he thought about it in the aftermath, even he would admit he had no idea what he was thinking.

It was a spur-of-the-moment decision he would come to regret.

In one moment he managed to knock the pistol out of Yusifov's hands and punched him in the face. He recognized screaming, shouting, fighting in the noises behind him, but he was focused on his own target.

Stephen hit him twice more before someone threw an arm around his neck and dragged him back and began to choke him. He clawed at the arm, which did nothing, but then he aimed his heel down right to the sensitive part of his attacker's instep. The man grunted in pain and the grip around his neck loosened. 

A shot shattered through the enclosed space, causing Stephen to freeze in surprise—and that proved to be his downfall. He saw Yusifov raising his pistol just before he was whipped across the face with the weapon. The hit threw him off balance and he fell to the floor and lay there for a second, stunned. He felt wetness on the side of his head.

As Stephen attempted to push himself up, a kick to his back sent him back to the floor. An involuntary grunt of pain escaped him. He closed his eyes, pausing for breath, but was given little time to recover as he was grabbed by both arms and dragged up to his knees. From his new position, he could see the rest of the room once more, and Stephen's heart skipped a beat at what was before him.

There were several alarming sights: Tony Stark on his knees just like him, nose bloodied. One of the gunmen near Stark with a screwdriver sticking in his neck and very much dead. Summer in the corner of the room, holding a shaking Meera against her chest.

And Doctor Steffen Baar on the ground, bleeding out from his stomach as Jada desperately tried to stem the blood flow with her sweater. The red dripped through the fabric and onto the concrete.

Stephen felt ill. He instinctively reached forward towards Steffen, to try and help, but the grip on his arms tightened and kept him in place.

Stark was the one to speak first. "Let them help him. I won't fight further. I'll do what you ask."

Yusifov came back into Stephen's line of sight as he stepped in front of him, though his gaze was on Stark. He said to the engineer, "You killed one of my men. A life for a life—that is fair, wouldn't you say?"

"He did nothing," Stark hissed, pulling against the hands that held him down. Stephen could see the men pull him back and tighten their grip in response. "And he's needed. You wouldn't have brought him here otherwise."

"He didn't do anything," Yusifov agreed, then turned to Stephen. "This one did." He then sent a sharp kick into Stephen's stomach, causing him to double over in pain as far as the men holding him  allowed. He almost missed the next statement. "And I should kill him for it. But the surgeon will be needed. The chemist, though? He failed to make a cure for your ailment with a month of time, and you don't have much longer to live, Stark. The chemist failed, and at this point, he's a waste of medical resources."

Then Yusifov nodded at one of his men, and he grabbed Jada by the arm and yanked her up to her feet.

"No—please, no, don't do this!" she shouted as she was dragged away from Steffen. Their captors ignored her and Yusifov walked up to the wounded man. He aimed his pistol at Steffen's head.

"Don't do this!" Stark shouted.

A shot rang through the room. A loud sob came from the corner before it was muffled. Stephen's ears rang, half deafened from the sound. His stomach churned; he felt like he was going to vomit. He hung his head and closed his eyes, trying to breathe slow breaths through his nose.

All he could smell was blood. He forcefully suppressed his gag reflex. 

Stephen missed whatever conversation came next, too busy trying to calm his breathing, trying not to throw up, and not having the energy to make out the words beyond the ringing in his ears. But then the world was moving as he was pulled to his feet and shoved out of the room, leaving behind Tony Stark and the body of Doctor Steffen Baar.

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I was stuck on what I wanted to do with this part with a handful of ideas and consulted my beta for ideas. She suggested death which I wasn't even thinking of because I'm very bad at killing off characters. I blame her fully :P

Tag list (just let me know if you want to be added/removed with a comment - still not on AO3!): @sobeautifullyobsessed, @tashacumberbitch, @babywarg, @nishtha3012, @ragingstillness, @walkin-in-the-cosmos (I think the reason I can’t tag you is because you’ve flagged your tumblr for sensitive media, possibly), @lafourmii20, @asexualchemist, @iveneverbeenmorestressedinmylife, @oo0-will-of-the-wisp-0oo, @animefanfreak45, @rulerofthefandomsnow, @killaspyglass, @renlybaratheon-tyrell, @symmetria42, @kay-lock-key-lock