#it’s like i��m immune to the bloody tests - but if it gets worse by the end of the day i’ll do one in the morning before work

[ill-skillsgard]

Bred For Blood - Part 17 - The White Flag

Title: Bred For Blood

Warning: 18+ - sex/mature language & themes/gun violence/substance abuse etc. *mentions of blood/injuries/death/weapons/coma/unconsciousness in this part*

Characters: AU Axel Cluney, AU Ivar Lothbrok, AU Valter x OC

Description:  A bright, young survivor meets an acid-gun slinging headhunter with a knack for melting faces and connections to a prodigal Utopia embedded in the heart of a deadly forest. Violence and passion incite a battle of fealty while betrayal nips at Zed’s heels.

Note: This one’s for Team Cluney. I really hope you guys enjoy reading! This part was very exciting for me to write for many reasons. Please reblog/like/comment if you like my work and want to give me a virtual pat on the head. I would really appreciate it, please and thank you!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

The doctor stomped over the rocky terrain, muttering and snickering to himself as the sun cast blistering rays on their backs. The heat never bothered him, only tanned his skin to a deep brown shine. It was the walking that made his knees burn. He'd long since shed his white coat to cover the bulk of the man draped over Rudie's wiry-haired hump, trudging along at leisure. The unconscious hunter he'd found needed all the protection available from the vicious star reaching its highest point in the sky.

The doctor halted his gangly steed every hour to force a measure of water down the burnt man's ululating throat. He often succeeded, and the hunter swallowed without issue, but sometimes, the water came back up as white foam, trickling down the sides of his face and down his neck. The onset of heatstroke turned his skin apple-red, and the doctor sprayed him down with water and gusts of hot air produced by a tattered paper fan he carried with him to ward off flies. Rudie attracted the pests who made a chariot out of the man on the camel's back. They fled their caravan whenever the doctor stopped to check on his patient and settled back in for the ride after he threw the stained coat back over the hunter's burnt shoulders. This went on until nightfall when the dry land showed signs of mercy, and water and shale gave way to the soil. 

Rudie let out a guttural complaint when they reached a crop of tall, spindly trees. The diamond-shaped leaves provided shade. The doctor tethered the bleating animal, pressing his finger to his lips for a silence that would not come. Upon unsaddling the groaning man, Rudie threw his hump and sent Axel slumping to the ground, his deadweight at odds with a lengthy fall. His head cracked on a root, and a dusting of earth dried his palette, clinging to everything pink in his mouth. The camel clopped away from the whining mass who'd hitched a ride on his back, and in his wobbling dance, mashed the smallest of Axel's fingers into the soil. 

"Rudie! You bumbling old idiot! You gaffer! Shoo!"

The beast side-stepped, snorting and sputtering, indifferent to the further damage done to the man. He shook his proud head, throwing ropes of spit that webbed his lashes. The doctor punished the creature by re-wrapping Axel's hand after a stern disinfecting, withholding the proverbial oats until the animal wandered away to dine on low-hanging leaves. Rudie chuffed whenever the doctor came to retrieve supplies from the riding satchel.

"That wasn't very nice, Rude. This man is our patient! We don't trample the patients. You've no idea the level of harm you caused! He'll be lucky if we don't have to amputate, and you don't have thumbs, so you're even more useless!"

Rudie wrapped his leathery lips around a clutch of grass and ripped it free, chewing and turning away from his master and the unconscious fellow. The camel minded his business and relieved himself on a nearby rock, huffing and chomping any strand of green he sniffed. 

Axel vomited throughout the night. The doctor gave up his rest to make sure the man lying comatic didn't swallow his tongue. Then came the shivering and sickly shade of purple flaking his lips. Flaps of the doctor's paper fan spread droplets over his inflamed skin, another courtesy at the behest of his sore arm. Still, Axel moaned and scratched at the earth beneath him in bloody heat and delirium. 

"If you can hang on until tomorrow, son, perhaps we'll find some proper shade and build a hut. Hm? How's that sound? Shade and water. For now, just rest, and don't die on me." 

When the sun came up, the doctor cleaned Axel using the rest of the clean water from his reserve and stitched the open flesh splitting his eyebrow in two.

"That'll leave a nasty scar. Not that you need any more ruggedness in your act. You're just a lost soldier, sonny. But maybe one day you'll make a brilliant assistant. Better than Rudie, I hope. He hasn't even apologized for breaking your finger. Lookit him over there, shitting all over the camp, the scoundrel. But I'm the one with the oats; therefore, I make the rules!"

"M-muh... muuuh."

"Ah, in the worst of times, we still call our mothers."

"Mmph. Muh—"

"I wonder what's on the other side of those trees," the doctor said, shading his eyes with his hand, peering to the West. "You look well-travelled, sonny. Any ideas? Hate to run into any of those yawners, not knowing when your last shot was. But I suppose I shouldn't expect any valuable input from a man who can't look me in the eye."

After patching him up, the man hauled Axel to a stand and hoisted him onto the camel's back using a tree for leverage and a series of ropes to fasten him down. Once secured to Rudie's hump, the doctor took a few minutes to catch his breath. "Dunno how many more times I can get you up there, son. You must learn how to walk soon. Or I'll build you a sleigh. But that might take some time."

Far off above the foggy treeline, a sheet of ashy cloud broke to reveal bright blue sky. The doctor liked the look of cerulean and the absence of sand, so the begrimed trio lumbering through thick bush where dew still clung to the undersides of the leaves. The doctor went ahead, collecting globules before they evaporated. Rudie answered the doctor's constant rhetoric with wild groans that muffled Axel's whimpering, and they led their procession over uncertain ground.

"I reckon there's nothing but more trees over that ridge, Mr. Soldier. Maybe some mountains we can find a crevice to hide out in. Just until you get your strength back. The only thing I worry about is those damn yawners. Rudie and I will be safe, but you... I'll scout ahead to make sure it's clear. It'll rack up daylight, but you'll thank me when you're not a bubbling pile of soldier juice. Don't worry, sonny. They didn't immunize me for no reason! I count myself among the elites, but that doesn't mean I fancy myself better than you or more deserving of life. We're all in this, you see. Brights and Uns... We're still together, despite it all. They may have tried to kill you, but look at you now! Alive and well. Isn't that a slap in the face? They send you out to war and hope you never come back. They don't even have the decency to immunize you. What a world we live in."

Rudie let out a gaseous bellow. The doctor whipped around and pointed his walking stick at the quadruped. "Don't interrupt, you vile sow. Nobody needs a camel's opinion."

"Ma... Ma."

"We'll look for your mama after we get you looking presentable. Hang on tight, we're going uphill!"

As the ridge climbed, the trees grew denser. The doctor had to guide his camel through a maze of mossy trunks. Thin, whip-like branches prodded at Axel's tender skin. What leafy arms brushed Rudie's head bent back and snapped against the hunter's raw shoulders. Axel didn't notice, lost in the chimeric slurry of recent injuries. They maneuvered over stones and wove between crumbling stumps, avoiding the deadfalls. The steepled ground sloped upward like a great brown ramp of torn earth. Through the thickness, they muttered, minding their footwork, up and up, stopping here and there so the doctor could take in a few wheezing breaths. The camel—finally wary of obstacles—blew wind and groaned, hesitant on the incline. 

"Boy, there had better be some more forgiving land over this ledge. I don't think it's workable to keep climbing. We might have to turn back, depending on what I see at the top. Fingers crossed for a lake. A bath would do me good," said the doctor, fanning his underarms and thighs with the paper fan.

"What do you say, Mr. Soldier? Should we keep going? See if there's anything worthwhile over that lip?"

"Muh."

"That's what I thought. You may not be the finest soldier I've ever met, but you're persistent, and that's key. Come on, fellas. Let's pray for water, and up we go! Can't be worse than the blasted desert."

~*~

Ivar's mood reflected his recent successes in bed. When Trinity brought his meal, he thanked her, even asking about her morning and if she was sleeping all right and eating properly. Trinity laughed nervously, sensing a test, and answered with a practiced air of casualty. Did he know of the plan they'd executed to get Zed in to see him? Was his toothy smile a front? Despite her unease, she humoured the leader and left when he dug into his stew and fresh bread. Trinity also noted Zed's absence, and with the King in lively spirits, assumed everything had gone well with the plan.

Ivar inhaled his late breakfast and dressed for comfort to walk the courtyard. With a bounce in his step, he traversed the throat of the Chrysalis, emerging on the other side to a nest bereft of activity. The morning stalls had cleared out, their occupants and merchants returned to their hovels. Even the young ones—usually at play in the courtyard by now—were nowhere in sight.

Ivar passed by the last remaining group gathered around a low podium, whispering over their berry reductions and leafy salads. Like a cluster of threatened barnacles, each mouth clamped as Ivar strode past. He held his head forward, flexing his palette to clear his airways. None of them made a sound until he was far enough away. Their chattering was undiscernible as distant chirping birds. He stopped at the incline of a foothill, spinning to catch them staring at the back of his head. They snatched their eyes away and made like they weren't gawking.

That wasn't the only peculiar thing that happened to Ivar that morning. Since his prolonged absence, the people seemed to have grown used to keeping to themselves. There was no merriment in the air, only sterile drafts pouring in from the filtration system. Ivar shivered from the brisk air, stopping to consider paying Zed a visit at her apartment. A morbid urge pulled him along, and he continued his walk. Ivar waited until somebody approached him—whether it a man or child—to greet him with customary courtesy. Still, nobody shuffled forward to ask him about his day or to offer him a portion of their recent gardening. 

Ivar reached the frosted glass doors to the lab and stood still, thick hands hovering next to his narrow hips. Frozen in place, Ivar bit the tip of his tongue. Something told him Zed was inside the lab, and if he wished to see her, he had to set foot beyond the parameters of his expertise. The lab always put him in a bitter mood. It was the only place in the village that wasn't for him. Though he could visit any corner of Kinderfeld he wanted, he'd never felt welcome in the laboratory. The floors and surfaces' sterility made him cower from touching anything, and the lifeless stares he received from the few staff only reminded him of the responsibilities he'd shunned in favour of hedonism. None of them ever begrudged him his appetites, but he was confident they whispered of his ineptitude behind his back.

He wondered if Zed ever talked about him or if she'd ever vocalized displeasures regarding his leadership. Her request from the day before echoed in the corners of his mind, festering and swelling each hour they were apart. There was a bitter drop of ulterior motive in Zed's visit, and he let it slide down the back of his throat when she asked him to open the gate. But they'd made love, and that was more than Ivar expected. In his heart of hearts, he'd feared Zed would demand more; to let her fly the nest in search of Axel, but she'd taken his refusal graciously and kissed him all the same. Still, a nagging suspicion remained. Something was circulating in the air, whipping about the courts and apartments, squeezing under doorways and filling the citizens with doubts.

A stranger on his own land, Ivar lowered his eyes to the ground and turned away from the lab before he recognized any more scrutinizing glances. He powered along, ignoring the guards, their dutiful nods, cutting over the knolls as fast as his muscular thighs could take him without breaking into a run. The loneliness chased him back to his palace, and even its mouth gaped in question. 

Ivar noticed Sheraya nearby, spreading dark red petals, a gained cigar of smoking sage held between her fingers. He craved nicotine the moment the fumes peppered his nostrils. Tears coursed down her round cheeks, though she made no sobs, no whimpers. There was only gentle muttering under her breath and more tears. The king stood waiting for her to acknowledge him and then realized she had no intention of breaking her prayer mantra. 

Shunned, Ivar turned away, retreating to his house of lush fabric and solitude where he should never have left.

~*~

Vee insisted Zed stay put while he fetched them dinner. Their setting was the top floor of the greenhouse where he'd played cards and got drunk with his brother some nights. Nobody ever bothered them up there. Zed sat in waiting, enjoying the greenery, the twisting vines and canary yellow zucchini blooms. She stretched an arm out to pluck a flower and nibble its petals. Her stomach gurgled for heavier fare, so she ate another. Vee didn't keep her waiting long after, showing up with a basket of seed-crusted bread and a bowl of sliced potatoes slathered in basil paste and cooked to a crisp. For dessert, he brought dried fruit and freshly harvested cashews. 

Moonlight vaulted through the trees, defusing over the glass and casting milky shadows on the greenhouse floor. The air was moist with freshly irrigated soil. Baked in the dimness, Zed couldn't take her eyes off the man sitting in front of her. He'd brought with him the game from their youth, but neither of them suggested opening the box. They smiled as they ate, breathing in the deep aromas and savouring their food together. And in the balmy atmosphere decked in silver light, Zed swore Vee was his brother's twin. Her heart shuddered in remembrance. It was what brought them together; the shared sense of guilt and the strengthening suspicion they'd both lost someone, both failed and scorned by the people who'd invested too much faith in their competence. Zed felt at peace beside him.

The scientist was still a welcome member of the village, hence his aptitude for finding rarer delicacies like wine and ripe figs. They split the skins and scooped out the sweet innards, indulging their tongues on the fruit as if it was the richest of luxuries.

"You know what I would absolutely love to eat again?" Zed asked, sucking seeds from between her teeth.

"Popsicles," Vee answered.

"Close, but no. Chocolate ice cream. I'd kill for some chocolate ice cream right now. "

Vee shook his head. "No way. Strawberry all the way."

"A hot fudge sundae with peanuts and a big maraschino cherry."

"Peanut butter sauce."

"Oh, my God. Don't say that," Zed groaned.

"It's so good. I can't remember the last time I had ice cream. Remember when you could walk a couple blocks in the Summer and buy an ice cream cone?"

Zed smiled, but the thought pricked her memory. "The last time I got ice cream was with my Dad. I got the biggest chocolate sundae, with peanut butter cups and chocolate sprinkles. He told me there was a full day-and-a-half's worth of calories in it, but I didn't care. It was after a soccer game. I didn't like soccer, but if I went to practice every week and scored at least one goal, he'd take me out for ice cream. Two goals meant I got ice cream and five dollars."

Zed sighed, continuing, "I hate thinking about the last times. Like at one point, you did something for the very last time. The last trip for ice cream. The last time you told someone you loved them."

"If you hate thinking about last times, then why are you doing it right now?" Vee asked, eyes blank as discs.

She grimaced, reaching out to touch the toe of her shoe to his, then softening her face. "I can't help it sometimes. Don't tell me you've never thought about how it used to be. You don't have to look at everything so logically."

"I don't," Vee said. "I just rather not think about those times."

"I'm sorry. Is it?—Never mind."

"My fiancé and my kid? Yes. It's always them."

Zed set her dish aside and scooted beside Vee, pressing her back against the wooden barrier of the melon patch, mirroring his position, her mouth just as dead grim as his.

"You seem to handle it well enough. But I understand. I think everyone lost something important to them," Zed offered. 

Vee sighed, turning his face to the floor, cutting off the glistening whites of his eyes from view. "Found out she was pregnant the night before I left to work for the army."

"The army?"

"Yes. I had a knack for inventing. You've seen the ammunition I designed for Axel. And it takes a special gun to fire something that lethal without complication. They wanted that kind of technology and offered me a nauseating amount of money to oversee mass production. The only smart thing I ever did was refuse to sell myself. It cost me my family, but I can say with certainty Axel is the only person besides me who's fired one of them. Could you imagine what the world would be like if those had gotten into the wrong hands?"

Zed bottled talk of acid and bloodshed with a shiver and a firm hand on Vee's wrist. "Enough of that. Please. Tell me about her—your fiancé. Let's just... Remember them fondly. I don't want to think about the bullshit out there."

"You'd rather stay inside these bubbles, ignoring a second societal collapse in the making?"

"Yes. I'd rather enjoy my time here with you, listening to nicer stories. This is all that's left. I don't want to think about where we went wrong or right. Let's just talk about what made us happy."

Vee nudged her shoulder. "Why can't we talk about what makes us happy now?"

She giggled and rested her temple on his shoulder. Vee curled his wrist around her knee, and their fingers intertwined. He leaned his head on hers like they had in his apartment before Lora caught them, this time with his heart pumping in double-time. 

"What makes you happy now?" Zed asked him.

"Not talking about dead relatives."

"Okay, true. Let's not. So... What are you content with?"

"You," Vee blurted.

Zed's chest tightened. Vee let go of her hand and angled his torso toward her. "I'm sorry. It's difficult for me not to... Stick to you. If I'm honest... You look like her, Lea. I really hate how much you remind me of her. And I don't want to use you to fill the void. It's wrong, but I can't help it. Everywhere I look, I'm reminded of how much I lost. And you're so understanding. You don't have all these expectations."

"Vee—"

"I don't want you to think I'm coming onto you. You don't owe me anything. All I'm saying is, I'd be happy to stick together."

"We will! I want to stick with you, too."

Vee combed his blond hair back, pinching his brows together. "Lea... I want you to tell me no, right now."

"No? What do you mean?" Zed asked.

"Tell me there's no chance in Hell we'll ever get together. If I have it planted in my mind, then that's that. But if you don't, and we continue hanging out like this, getting closer... I might... Think there's a way."

"Valter..."

"Axe knew what he was doing when he brought you here...when he introduced us. Yes, he wanted protection for you, but he also wanted you and me to hit it off. I could tell. He'd never admit it, but I know him. You're perfect for me, but I've seen how others treat you, and I refuse to do the same. I don't want to perform tricks to impress you into sleeping with me like Ivar, but I don't want to stifle my feelings like... Axel. So you need to shut me down, right now. If there's a firm barrier, my mind will reroute, avoiding any possibility—"

"Stop," Zed said. "Please, just stop."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought any of that up."

"No, it's good to speak your mind. I appreciate the honesty, even if it took months to hear."

"It would have been inappropriate if I brought it up. When we had research and pressing issues, it was easy to ignore how familiar you seemed. Now I'm at a stalemate, and you're still here, and Axel's gone. I can't pretend like I don't want to spend my time with you. But I'll stay off your heels, I swear. Just friends."

"I'm not telling you no," Zed murmured. "Maybe at some point, I wanted to fall in love, but now I know that's foolish. Love can't exist in this world anymore. Not without great suffering, and I don't want to suffer anymore. Truthfully, I don't even want to get close to you, Valter, because I'm afraid someone or something will take it away."

"Nothing will take me away."

Zed shook her head, knocking a tear loose. "Don't say that. You can't make that promise. I don't want any more broken promises."

The scientist nodded while a cloud of vapour seethed from the sprinkler heads above the raised garden beds, thickening the air and clinging to their skin. A long silence pervaded, and Zed held her breath until Vee shuffled away to retrieve Wayfare of Austea. He dropped the box before her feet and grinned widely.

"Come on then, let's play. No more doom and gloom for a while."

~*~

Ivar spent the same evening pacing in his room. He went to the private alcove he assigned to the woman on his mind. Zed was fickle, and he didn't want to dash his chances with her by smothering, but something in his stomach wouldn't settle. He'd even dismissed his guard, encouraging another visit, yet she hadn't shown. Ivar buckled under the suspicion that she was angry with him, and her absence was his punishment.

Never the man to deny himself, he made for the Hives. If Zed was alone, surely she'd welcome his company. She'd said it herself: she wasn't one to sleep with just anyone, and he was far from just anyone. He was King, and this was his realm.

Despite his self-reassurance, Ivar carried doubts that manifested on his face. He passed a few citizens, drawing eyes with his acidic mug and ignored them all the way to Zed's door. 

She didn't answer the door after he knocked. He reasoned she might be asleep, though it was shy of nine o'clock—early for most but not an unusual time to sleep. Before he turned away, he twisted the handle and cracked the door open an inch, letting out the dark.

"Lea? Are you in here?"

Stagnant silence answered, and he shut the door before anyone saw him. Ivar went to the door on the left and found that one locked. He grimaced, turned from the apartments and left for the lab. 

On his way through the courtyard, Ivar saw Nalani and Trinity walking arm-in-arm, engaged in private discussion. Their frantic doe-eyes widened to see him.

"Have you seen Lea?" Ivar asked.

"She should be home, I think," said Trinity.

Nalani shrugged her bare shoulders, still clutching her friend's hand. "I thought she'd be with you, Ivar."

He sneered at the women. "No curtsy? No formality? Has everyone forgotten who's in charge around here?"

The two pressed their arms together, quietly apologizing and stepping aside for Ivar. He stalked toward the lab, holding his breath while throwing open the doors and turning the corner to find the rooms gutted of materials. The refrigerator hummed, and the overhead light flickered, barren and reeking of sterilization.

Ivar examined the dustless surfaces, curious but not enough to go digging through desk drawers. He went down the hall and stopped in front of Vee's door, clearing his airways again to sharpen his ears. There were no voices. Ivar knocked and went unanswered.

He turned in time to see the first door in the hall open and Lora's head poking out. She wore the same displeasure on her face, adjusting her reading glasses while her body caught up with her neck.

"If you're looking for Vee, he's hiding away with that woman everyone is up in arms about," Lora said.

"Hiding away? With Lea?"

"Yeah, whatever her name is. They haven't been here since I caught them getting up close and personal in Vee's room."

Ivar's stomach flipped, his head buzzed. Lora took great pleasure in the snagging of his mouth. She had been fuming by herself, finding specks of dust to brush away to keep her mind off her superior who'd run away with the girl she'd grown to distrust. Lora was a woman of insecurity, easily threatened by others but quick to bite back when given a chance. After she'd found Vee shoulder-to-shoulder with Zed in his apartment, Lora waited for any opportunity to drive a wedge between her beloved head scientist and the newcomer from the desert. Now was the perfect opportunity to damage Zed. 

"What do you mean?" Ivar asked.

"You know what I mean, sir. They were practically on top of each other."

Ivar had no reason to discount Lora's claim. She'd proven herself a trusted and valuable member of the village long ago and never caused a ripple of dispute. The folding of her face and iron-clad seriousness was all the King needed to believe what she told him.

"Where are they?"

"I assume—if they're smart—hiding in one of the greenhouses. I wouldn't be surprised if you caught them naked in the strawberry bushes."

Ivar scoffed and rushed away. Lora watched until he disappeared, then went back inside the incubation room and put on a pair of gloves. There was an electric cooler housing blood samples, one from each member of the village. Lora selected a sample from the bottom tray and shuffled to the sink, turning on the tap while reading the label. Popping the top off the vial, she upended the sample and drained the blood away.

Ivar did better than storming the greenhouses in search of Zed. There were slinkier things on his mind. If he caught her in the act with the scientist, only then would he justify blowing up. For now, he snuck through the grounds with his focus tuned and his breath steady. 

 "What's next for me? I've tried to convince him to let someone go, but he refuses. Do we just exist here now, with no way to move forward? Forever trapped in this moon unit."

"He'll come to his senses," Vee said with meagre hopefulness. "Ivar's full of himself, but he's not stupid."

"Well, let's count on those senses coming soon," Zed snorted.

"Speaking of Ivar... Do you think he's wondering where you are? You did just... You know. If that happened to me, I'd be thinking about it for a while. Wondering after you. Well, not you—'cause we never... Heh. Ah, shit. You get my meaning, right?"

"Mr. Cluney, are you flustered? I don't think I've ever heard you fumble your words before."

"I don't mean to be coarse."

"Don't worry. We'll get through this. Ivar has to see reason… We need to tell him about the ones who died."

"I'll tell him. It should be me," Vee said, stacking the playing cards back in the plastic tray lining of the frayed box. 

Zed helped by gathering pieces, separating them into their individual quadrants next to the cards. She set her eyes dead on the floor after they finished packing the game away, sighing in contemplation.

"Who will go?"

Vee frowned. They shared a strained minute of silence interrupted by another burst of spray in the air. Their shirts stuck to their backs, legs aching from crossing and uncrossing. Zed handed the box to Vee.

"Maybe it should be me," she said.

"Absolutely not. You can't leave. It's too dangerous out there, and you don't have to put your life on the line. There's only two people who should go. Me or Ivar."

"You're too important to lose, Vee. That's what Axel wants. I know if he had a dying wish for me, it would be to look out for you. For us to do everything we can to survive."

"Within capability. I'm not a killer, Zed. I'm not like Axel."

Zed smirked, the merciless flames dancing in her belly again, the same ones she'd felt when she screamed at Lora. She'd harboured the noxious warmth before. It was a friend to her.

"But I am...I'm a killer."

Vee set his jaw firmly, scoffing, unable to disagree. "Listen, Rambo. Even armed to the teeth, you're still not going out there alone."

"And neither are you if you go."

"You think Ivar will leave his precious cocoon? I don't think so. He'll probably send one of his guys out to never come back."

Zed shook her head, tired of the speculation. "This is ridiculous. Anyone should be able to come and go as they please. It's tyranny to tell them they can't leave if they want to. I thought this was a place of free will? What happened to the promised land?"

"Same thing that always happens when one person is left in charge."

"On that, we agree."

They left the greenhouse with much to think about, hugged goodbye in the courtyard and separated—Zed toward the Hives and Vee following the path to his room. 

 The next morning Zed awoke to guards butting on all the doors, yelling for everyone to get to the courtyard. The racket came after a long night of tossing and turning. Her eyes were tight with unrest, her head throbbing, but she put on jeans and a plain white t-shirt with a single breast pocket, similar to the ones Ivar wore.

The citizens filed from the Hives, murmuring and looking around worriedly. Guards stood by to direct the traffic to the medical tent-turned-backdrop. The booth topped the steepest hill in the plaza, out of use for the past few weeks. They pooled around the base of the hill in collective confusion, looking up as Ivar took advantage of the blank vinyl behind him.

Ivar cast a proud smile over the congregation. He summoned everyone from their hiding spots without having to lift a finger and brought them into the light spilling through the checkered dome on high. He waited until he spotted Zed and Vee coming in from their separate tubes, relaxing a bare inch when they didn't arrive together. They cut their ways to the front of the throng and noticed each other right away. Ivar saw the troubled looks they exchanged and sneered.

"Is this everyone?" Ivar called to the head of his guard.

An armed man standing off to the East with a few others gave Ivar a thumbs up. The King nodded, then proceeded, his expression toward his people fresh with tenacity.

"Ladies and gentlemen of Kinderfeld. I've asked you all here to bring you some news. It has taken me a long time to come to this decision, and for my delay, I apologize. I don't take this lightly... We've lost members of our family, and my heart is broken. I've spent too long trying to think of a way to bring trade back to our village. We need supplies, yes, and medics. I understand these things because I've survived before. All of us must exist as a unit, each one pledged to the survival of our crew."

The people looked on with widening eyes. Hearts that once sang for Ivar's monologues found their tune. All of them but Azalea and the other Cluney brother. Ivar burned them with ocular venom, hoisting his smile into a morbid curve. Zed let shoulders and legs swallow her back into the crowd, but not deep enough to block her view of the head scientist glaring back at the leader.

"I forbid travel for your protection. There are dangers outside of our walls. People whose only purpose is to hunt and kill. I don't have to remind you of the horrors we've suffered or the love we've cultivated here in our home. You were all there. Some of you longer than others. They built these walls to protect us—the ones who choose love instead of hate."

Ivar clasped his hands behind his back and took splinted steps back and forth on his makeshift stage. He fashioned himself contemplative, but his eyes shone with intent.

"With that being said... We cannot wait for luck to come to us. This planet is evolving each day. Nature is reclaiming the land, and it will swallow us in its majesty. We will be lost if we don't take action."

"What do we do?" Someone called from the center of the gathering. The fiery-haired father who'd earned his keep cooking and training his son stood out as the shouter. Ivar didn't smile at him so much as he cast his grace upon the redheaded man clutching the freckled boy by the shoulders.

"I'm glad you asked, sir... We are a unity. A tribe of people who want to live in harmony, am I wrong?"

Several shook their heads, others muttered together, a dull drone of tired voices.

"Then we should vote. Does anyone care to nominate themselves or another?"

The apprehension pivoted and picked up with a few gasps. Heads swivelled in search of somebody bold enough to champion themselves for exploration. Vee continued glaring at Ivar. The king returned the glower.

"I'll go!" 

Zed gasped after the words left Vee's mouth. He stepped forth, unbreaking under Ivar's challenging eyes.

"So we have one volunteer. Our beloved head of research and weapons development. A very noble gesture! Does anyone else wish to nominate themselves?" Ivar asked. He opened his arms, beseeching a reply with postured hope.

"Nobody should go alone!" Zed shouted.

"Yeah, we need a team!"

Ivar motioned for the crowd to quiet down. Once they simmered, looking on with palpable anticipation, he inhaled deeply for the next addressing.

"We're running low on men to keep our hold. The brunt of the firepower needs to remain here in case of attack," Ivar reasoned.

"I'll go alone. I don't care. We can't stand around any longer!" Vee said, his chest puffed, much to the surprise of the people who knew him.

Ivar barked a few dry laughs, disguising his pleasure to everyone but Zed and the man who'd volunteered to brave the elements. "I suppose if nobody has any objections...Vee will be the one to go. As badly as it tears me to say so... You are the perfect man for the job. Brother, I wish you all the luck."

Zed broke away from the gather and hammered her legs up the incline toward Vee and Ivar, pumping her fists until she reached them.

"Ivar, you can't do this! We can't send people out alone. At least let me go with him!"

"No!" Ivar and Vee shouted at once.

"What are you going to do to stop me? After your decree about peace and harmony, what will you do to keep me from leaving Kinderfeld?"

Ivar adopted her heated expression. "Azalea, stay out of this."

"No. I won't! Not after what happened to Axel. We have to assemble a team! Don't tell me to stay out when neither of you has seen the carnage!"

"Of course you want to go, Lea. All you care about is finding Axel. You used me and hoped I wouldn't figure out you're trying to leave. You never cared about me. You try to act like you're so innocent and respectful, but you're just like everyone else."

"Because I don't want people to die? Ivar, I understand you're trying to protect everyone, but sending men out for slaughter won't help our cause. Please," Zed whimpered. "Set aside our personal issues and try to see the bigger picture."

Ivar cooled suddenly. He patronized Zed with a frantic nod and a forced grin. "All right, Azalea. Consider our personal issues permanently set aside. You got your way. One of the guards will go with Vee. Now, go. I have heard your voice."

The guards gathered around Ivar and Vee, their conversation clipped and sheltered from the citizens by a lineup of broad-shouldered men carrying weapons of varying levels of brutality. Zed stepped away, cowering under the firm looks she received from Ivar's men. Though she bowed out of the political bubble, she stayed close by, watching Vee's sour face muttering umbrage at the King. The other citizens broke off into smaller clusters, chosen families and cliques gathering to discuss the ruling. 

A hand slid over Zed's shoulder, and she whirled to find Sheraya bowing her head. "You've done what you can."

"No, I haven't!" Zed nipped. "I should go with him. I'm not afraid of the outside anymore."

"You don't have to be the hero, Azalea. You must survive."

"I have survived. I'm good at it."

"You're needed here. The young ones have to learn from the women."

"Sheraya... I can't let Vee go. I can't."

The elder took hold of Zed's clammy palm, pressing the lines with her thumb. Zed buckled as tears sprung from the corners of her eyes. "He's all I have, Sheraya."

"The only one you ever truly have is yourself. Think about that before you take your heart's path and not your brain's. Look hard into the future."

"I'm trying," Zed sobbed.

"Azalea, I mean it. Your future is important."

Sheraya left her with a warm peck on the cheek and a growing sense of bewilderment. Zed looked around at the people, the hills and the courtyard beyond, the flatland where they set up their booths and entertained each other. Envisioning life beyond the safety of their walls overcame Zed with grief. She'd won, but the conditions were too heavy for her to bear. Now her last friend prepared for expulsion. 

Vee took his charge seriously. Zed saw his raw determination as they hashed out a plan. Several times, she stopped herself from storming their parley, anchoring herself to the ground with locked knees and her arms folded over her breasts.

For a long time, the conversation went on, and most of the villagers went about their morning routines, gathering to cook and gossip of the turbulent state of politics. Zed stayed close enough to catch Vee when they finally broke for action, but the men showed no signs of agreement. Ivar had to hush some more uproarious guards, leashing them down with an assuring hand on the shoulder to stop them from infecting the others with their rancour.

Zed spotted a guard sprinting from the warehouse limits. The desperate look on his face alerted her, and she stepped out of sight around the corner of the medical tent, still close enough to listen.

The man approached, panting and calling for Ivar's attention. Zed snuck a peek and saw the group retire from their conference, distracted by their comrade.

"Jackson, what's the matter?"

"It's Zee. It's him! One of the guys found some doctor dragging him through the forest."

"A doctor?" Ivar repeated. "How do you know?"

"He says so. Says his name is Simpson... Or was it Samson?"

"Samson!" Zed yelled, running from her cover toward the reporting guard. "Did you say the doctor's name is Samson?"

"Yeah, Samson," the man huffed, stunned by the woman's sudden appearance.

"Bring him in! Right now. Go get them and bring him to me!" Zed demanded.

"Now, wait a minute," Ivar said. "How do we know we can trust this guy?"

"If it's the Samson I know, we can trust him. Ivar, please. I'll vouch for him if it's who I think it is."

"Who gives a shit, he's got my brother!"

Zed vaulted after Vee, tailed by the guards and Ivar. The march heralded interest from the citizens, and soon, onlookers roved toward the warehouse. Vee turned to the guard who'd brought the news and slapped him on the shoulder. "Go tell them to let Axel and the doctor inside."

"Sir," the guard nodded, jogging ahead to the entrance where two other men stood, baffled and conflicted without orders.

"Let them in!" Zed cried out.

They waited with bursting lungs. It seemed an hour crawled by before a shadowed heap of arms appeared at the mouth of the entrance. Flanked by two guards holding him upright, they carried Axel inside, his head of matted brown hair dangling lifelessly between his shoulders, limp tattooed arms slung around their necks. Zed ran to him and propped his chin up in her hand, heart palpitating, head rushing.

"Axel! Oh my God. You're alive!"

"Now, now, miss. Don't waste too much breath speaking to him. He can't understand you."

Zed turned toward the familiar voice. Samson hobbled in next to a guard who'd taken on his load—a heavy satchel, a duffel bag and two tweed suitcases. Filth and the briny stink of body odour and piss wafted through the tunnel with them. Most recoiled from the stench.

"Doctor Samson, do you remember me? From the bloodbank."

"Ah, yes, of course, I remember you, Zed! You used to zip around on your motorbike, looking for scrap metal and something to eat."

"Yes, yes! I didn't think I'd see you again."

"The chances of us meeting were rather slim, I agree, and I have to say it's lovely to find you in this magnificent bubble here. You can see this splendid little valley from the North. We were hoping for water, but this is much better. Um, speaking of water, where might I find some? Mr. Soldier and I are rather parched. Oh, and I left my camel parked outside. Do you validate?" Samson said with a jolt of wild laughter.

Zed didn't mean to be rude, but turning away from Samson was far too easy when Axel hung before her like a damp towel on a clothesline. She wanted to hold him, to join in as support to get him a surface to lie upon, but she resisted. 

Ivar butt in and directed the escort to take Axel to the laboratory, then turned to Zed, scorning the tears in her eyes.

"Looks like you got your wish, Lea. Axel's back. Your life can go back to normal," Ivar said as the rest of them rushed away with the hunter and the doctor in tow.

It was only them, facing off on the hill. Zed quelled the wildfire in her belly with a painful swallow. A debate with Ivar served no purpose, so she turned from him, solemn and absolute.

"You've given me a lot, Ivar. I thank you for that. Hopefully soon, you and I will see eye to eye again, and we can live peacefully, as you said."

She angled down the hill, hurrying toward the laboratory. 

Nobody stopped her from entering the stand-in hospital room. Vee had been worrying over his brother, grimacing at his crudely wrapped hand, violet dark and lame at his side. They'd already stripped him naked and laid a blanket over his lower extremities, so the bruises spraying his ribs screamed in the whiteness. His skin was bright red and glossy, shoulders scabbed with burns. With all his muscles slackened, Axel spilled over the bed, deadweight and loose-jawed.

"What happened?" Zed asked, turning to the doctor propped up in a gurney, sipping from a jug of water.

"I can't say for sure," said Samson. "He was comatose when I found him baking in the desert. That's one lucky man, right there. Lucky he crawled his sorry ass to where he did. Otherwise, I might have missed him by a mile."

"What should we do, Samson? How do I make him come out of it?" 

"Oh, we can never be sure. It could be a few days, weeks... Months. My suggestion is to regulate his body temperature, treat his wounds and burns, and hope for the best."

Zed turned back to the unconscious man. She spotted the clumps of dirt in his hair, the scrapes on his elbows and mud-caked fingernails and her panic increased.

"Somebody bring me washcloths, soap and water right now!"

"I'd be mighty careful cleaning those burns, Zed. He's got some good blisters forming. And mind his hand."

"I will, I will," Zed nodded. "Just tell me what to do."

"Can I bother someone for a snack?" Asked Samson.

The guards who'd toted them into the lab stuck around until no longer needed. Zed refused help from anyone except Vee after Trinity brought them a bucket of warmed water, and Lora provided antiseptic. They started cleaning Axel gently, beginning with the grime under his nails. Samson ate from a bowl of mixed fruits, humming in delight from the nectar sliding down his throat. 

Zed moved Axel's injured arm with great care and washed away the smears of dirt marring his tattoos, applying disinfectant to the cuts. Vee worked on the opposite side of the bed, combing out the chunks in his hair. Once in awhile, Zed met Vee's eyes, and he'd nod or give her a forced grin.

Axel's unconsciousness only registered later in the night after they'd cleaned him and swapped a few words of astonishment. Zed stayed nearby, wishing his eyes open, but every hopeful breath gave way to disappointment. Lost in the blankness of his mind, Axel floated.

Even Lora surrendered to the sobering tension, making herself available to Vee only. Zed didn't concern herself with the woman. Her mind was awash with relief and worry for the friend who'd found his miraculous way back home. Nothing else mattered but the battered man lying in slumber on the hospital bed.

Samson fell asleep, and Vee left after long, touching Zed's shoulder before excusing himself. He promised to come back as soon as he'd had some rest. Zed nodded, squeezing his hand for a lingering moment, then releasing him. Sleep had no chance of overtaking her, so she stayed next to Axel, balling herself up in one of the office chairs, listening to his wheezing and sticking her fingers under his scruffy jaw to check his pulse every time he went silent.

When it was only her, Axel, and Samson sleeping in the room, she leaned over the bed and brushed her palm over Axel's scaly forehead. She avoided his singed nose, the curving laceration above his left eye and the peeling skin on the crests of his cheeks, touching his jaw and stroking his hair a few times.

"Don't worry, everything's okay now. You're back where you're safe."

The woman slumped into the chair, propping her heavy head on her elbow. She watched his chest rise and fall for a few minutes, plates of seared skin stretching tight over his ribcage, and fought off the urge to doze alongside him.

"Mmph-uh... Muh."

Zed's eyes snapped open. "Axel? Did you speak?"

"Hmm," he thrummed.

"Can you hear me, Axel? It's me, Zed. Azalea. Do you recognize my voice?"

Axel's throat went quiet, the enfeebled notes fading back to obscurity. Zed tried to get him mumbling again, but the hunter remained still.

"It's okay. I promise, I'll make you better. You're home now, and I'm not going anywhere until you’re better, okay, Axel? Don’t worry. You’re at home with me."

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[flowerpowell]

Unexpected (Drake x MC)

PART ELEVEN

A/N: Another chapter, yaaay! I thought since it wasnt uploading for weeks, I should post two chapters in a week, so I scheduled this one too. I hope it’s okay! As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts about it! And also I am so happy you all liked Dani! She’s like my baby and I’m so happy youre loving her character! Characters belong to Pixelberry (except for my OCs)

Rating: M (mentions of emotional abuse/manipulation, suggestiveness)

Word count: 2870

Tagging: @gardeningourmet​ @delightfullypinkglitter​ @hopefulmoonobject​ @desireepow-1986​ @dcbbw​ @kingliam2019​ @the-soot-sprite​ @mskaneko​ @thequeenofcronuts​ @dr-ethanjramsey​ @badchoicesposts​ @burnsoslow​ @annekebbphotography​ @alesana45​ @addictedtodrakefanfic​ @walkerduchess​ @ao719​ @texaskitten30​ @lodberg​ @cordonianroyalty​ @emichelle​ @siriusxxvideos​ @i-bloody-love-drake-walker​ @samihatuli​ @choices-lurker​ @i-miss-trr​ @drxkewalker​ @nikkis1983​ @innerpostmentality​ @msjr0119​ @bascmve01​ @mind-reader1​ @edgiestwinter​ @drakesensworld​ @queenjilian​ @princessleac1​ @saivilo​ @yukinagato2012​ ♥

“Are you sure it’s gonna work?” Liam asked when Dani was setting up the table.

“I am! Riley loves cooking too much to pass and she’s always softer when she’s cooking. It’s a perfect plan!”

For the past few days since their deal, Liam and Dani kept in touch, exchanging ideas for how to bring Riley and Drake together. When she told him about her plan, Liam immediately agreed and bought all the necessary things.

“So how exactly this is going to work? We call them to come to the kitchen?”

“No, look,” Dani started gesticulating when explaning and Liam thought it was the most adorable thing he ever saw. Pull it together man, she’s only here for a few weeks. “You call Drake saying you found something important and need him and Riley to see it. They come here and will be informed by someone that they should come here. They will come to this,” Dani motioned the table, “and Riley will hate that because I set the table in the way she hates it. Also, the dish that will be served is overcooked because I know Riley wouldn’t eat it but also because I’m bad at cooking. She’ll hate it but just as she will be about to go full on Gordon Ramsey, she’ll see all these ingredients laying here, exactly what she needs to make pasta à la Nana, her favorite dish. She hasn’t made it since Nana died but because I decorated this kitchen so cozy with all these candles and the music you picked is so nostalgic, she’ll do it and Drake will help her. Riley once told me she always dreamed about a man who would cook with her so I know she will fall in love, I mean, admit she is in love because let’s be real, they are so in love. Ta-daaam!” She finished and Liam chuckled. She looked a little crazy as she was talking about all those steps but for some reason he found it cute.

“They’re gonna kill us when they realize what we did.”

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “But Riley’s my sister so she won’t do anything to me.”

“And I have immunity so Drake can’t touch me either. Okay, let’s do this,” Liam pulled out his phone and called Drake.

“Hello? Drake, yes, it’s Liam, are you busy?” He asked and looked at Dani shaking her head. “What?” he mouthed and she whispered, “He has to come even if he’s busy!”

“You know what, it doesn’t matter if you’re busy or not, you need to come,” Liam quickly added before Drake could reply. “Yes, it’s urgent. I know it’s very late but it’s important. And it can’t wait. You and Riley need to see it as soon as possible,” he looked at Dani again and she showed him two thumbs up.

“Okay, I’ll be waiting. Please, hurry.” Liam hung up and turned to Dani. “They’re coming.”

“Eeek, that’s so exciting! We need to hide somewhere before they find us! Does Bastien know what he’s doing?”

“He does and he can’t believe he agreed to help us set these two up,” Liam chuckled. He still remembered his guard’s face when he told him about that top secret mission.

He led Dani to one of the guest rooms that were the closest to the kitchen.

“I hope you don’t mind but I brought some snacks for us in case we get hungry. And some cider made from our apples,” he motioned the table with the food prepared for them.

“Man, you really do like your apples!” Dani laughed trying to hide her nervousness. Even though, Liam acted like a normal person she still felt that wall between them, the wall reminding her of his status and her inferiority. She smiled as he poured them cider and handed one glass to her.

Maybe I can pretend we’re equal for a few hours, just this once.

~~~~

“Liam?! Liam! Where are you?” Drake called out as he entered his friend’s office.

“Maybe he’s in his room?” Riley suggested.

“I don’t think so, Liam never invites anyone to his bedroom so he’s not there for sure. Something is weird though, the whole palace seems... empty.”

“Do you think something happened?”

“No but--”

“Ah, Drake, lady Riley, there you are.”

“Bastien! What’s going on? Where’s Liam?”

“In the kitchen. I got instructions to tell you to go to the kitchen,” Bastien said, his face not expressing anything.

“Kitchen? If he found another apple tea for me to test out I’m gonna kill him,” Riley groaned. Drake took her hand and led her to the kitchen.

“Maybe something bad happened to him, maybe he was--” he stopped seeing the candles and the table set for two. “--preparing this all along.”

“Coral roses, my sister’s favorite,” Riley smelled the flowers on the table. “My sister was helping him.”

“I can’t believe they made me leave the house so late,” Drake groaned looking around.

“And what exactly did you have planned? Whiskey drinking? Watching football? Bartie’s with Madeliene and Barthelemy and Bianca is staying with them,” Riley rolled her eyes. Despite being mad at her sister and Liam she found the situation to be quite funny.

“Don’t tell me you’re okay with it,” he narrowed his eyes and she shrugged.

“Oh, no, they are going to pay but for now, I’m happy I don’t have to cook dinner for tonight. Let’s see what they—what on Earth is that?!” She raised her voice when she took a look at what was inside the pot.

“What? Did they put rats in it?”

“Worse, look! It’s severly overcooked! And not seasoned enough,” Riley spit out the food back to the pot before throwing its content to the trash can. She looked around and noticed fresh ingredients.

“Maybe I can cook something? From these things I could make...” she examined all the products before realizing it, “Pasta à la Nana.”

“What? The one you couldn’t make for years?” Drake asked noticing Riley had tears in her eyes. “Let’s just order something, you don’t have to make it.”

“No... I-I can do it. I just need someone to help me because this is a job for two,” she sniffed as she wiped a tear from her eye.

“Riley...”

“No, really. I think it’s time to finally make it again. I think... I think Nana would want that.”

~~~~

“Okay, my turn! Never have I ever had a sleepover at friend’s house.”

“I did spent a few days in Texas at Drake’s when I was still a Prince, does it count?” Liam asked and took a swig of cider when Dani nodded.

“You never had a sleepover?”

“Nope. My father wouldn’t allow,” she laughed but Liam could hear the saddness in it.

“What was your childhood like?” he asked, studying her face.

“Normal, I think. My parents aren’t monster or whatever everyone thinks they are. They took us on trips, to the cinema, for ice cream, they were just very demanding. Well, only my father and only to me. Riley could always do whatever she wanted because they didn’t pay too much attention to her,” she drank a little cider before continuing. “When I was ten I already spoke two foreign languages because instead of meeting with my friends like Riley did, I was stuck at home with a tutor stuying languages. My childhood was good but it didn’t feel like a childhood, if that makes sense.”

“Wow. Only two? When I was ten I already spoke three,” Liam shoved her playfully. “My father was very demanding too. Even though I was the spare it was me who obeyed him, not my brother. He never cared about any rules.”

“Ugh, our fathers suck. Am I allowed to say that about a King?” she asked him and he laughed.

“I’ll allow it.”

“You know what sucks the most?” she asked as she emptied the glass and poured some more cider, “Everyone, including my sister, thinks I had it better. She thinks that at least they loved me, they cared about me and paid for my education. And yes, it’s true but I feel like I had to work for their love, you know what I mean? I had to be their perfect daughter because if I wasn’t, our family would fall apart. I never did what I wanted, never did anything crazy that most people my age would.”

“You never rebelled?” Liam asked remembering his little rebellions. If running to the maze for hide and seek counted as rebellion. He never was good at it, not as good as Leo.

“I did once. I... My father wanted to me to apply for law school. I didn’t want it but I couldn’t argue with my father. So I just... didn’t send the documents on time. When my father found out, it was the worst time of my life. He didn’t scream or anything. He just said he was disappointed because he wanted the best for me and I didn’t appreciate him. The next day my mom told me he was in hospital with severe depression. She yelled at me for ruining my father’s health. I was a mess and I didn’t know what to do. Riley’s younger than me and I didn’t want to bother her with it so I applied for finance even though I hate everything math-related. I went to hospital and I cried in front of my father, apologizing to him and telling him I applied to college. The next day he was back home and told me to never disobey him like that again. And I never did. It was a terrible experience.”

“But that’s manipulation! How could he--” Liam bit his lip before he’d say something he would regret. He heard something about Riley’s parents from Drake but hearing that from Danielle made him sick. Neither Riley, nor Dani deserved such parents. “I’m really sorry. My father was awful but he pales in comparison to yours.”

“I got used to it. Trying my best not to irritate him. I’m working in a bank where he wanted me to work, bringing the money and we’re good.”

“I’m sorry,” Liam repeated and raised his glass. “To problematic childhood, bad fathers and living a life designed by parents!”

Dani laughed as she clinked glasses with Liam. He understood her, which was new to her.

To unexpected allies, she thought to herself. I’d drink to that.

~~~~

“Drake, no, you have to be gentle,” Riley took Drake’s hand and moved it slowly as he was stirring the sauce. “Circular moves, gently, just like that. The other hand holds the pot, good.”

She took some ingredients from the table and started adding to the sauce. “Keep on stirring slowly, I’ll be adding these pinch by pinch so it blends nicely.”

Drake nodded as he kept stirring. There was something special about them cooking together, being so close. It was nothing like Drake knew before, most of the food he made was quick and simple. That pasta was taking ages to make but for some reason he enjoyed each step.

“Okay, now be careful cause I’ll be adding pear puree.”

“I never thought pear and tomatoes would go together,” he noticed.

“Me neither. Nana told me she came up with it when she was pregnant and craved tomatoes and pears. The secret is, you need to caramelize the pears before mashing it and the sweetness goes super well with the tomato. And then Parmesan gives it a bit saltiness but we add it at the end so it’s not too overbearing.”

“You’re really good at this,” Drake turned to her, realizing they were only two or three inches apart. “And you really love it.”

“Well, yeah,” Riley said quietly, “thanks to Nana. She taught me everything.”

“Can I try it?”

Riley nodded and quickly took a spoonful of the sauce and topped it with the cheese before feeding it to Drake. She looked at him, at his mouth, as he was swallowing. “Good?”

“I’ve never eaten anything as good. You have a real talent, Riley. I’m really happy you’ll have your own restaurant soon, you deserve it.”

“Thank you but if you’d rather keep the bar, it’s fine,” she said, surprised with herself. Why did she care more about Drake than about her dream?

“It’s yours, Riley. You’ll prove everyone who never believed in you once the restaurant will become the most famous one in the world,” the certainity in his voice made her shiver. Did he really believe in her or was he just nice? She looked at him as he took a spoonful of sauce, added Parmesan, just like she taught him, and brought to her mouth. She parted her lips and felt that familiar taste, the one that reminded her of her Nana, of home, of love. It was perfect.

“Can’t you see how amazing you are?” Drake whispered and without thinking, Riley stood on her toes and kissed him. He dropped the spoon, and brought her closer to him, deepening the kiss. She put her arms around his neck, trying to bring him even closer but it wasn’t enough. She needed more, more of him, more of that, more.

They were kissing like crazy, like they were waiting their whole life for that moment. Drake pinned her to the stove, knocking out a few plates that fell on the floor and broke. He moved to kissing her neck as she moaned, running her hands through his hair. He pulled back for a second as he realized they were still in the palace.

“Let’s go home,” he rasped and she nodded, kissing him again as they slowly exited the kitchen, locked in a kiss.

~~~~

“I’m not kidding! My mom did tell me to get a plastic surgery once,” Dani laughed as she drank cider.

“What? Why would you need it?”

“She said my boobs were too small.”

“But there’s nothing wrong with your--” Liam composed himself trying not to think about it, “I’m sorry, that’s definitely not anything a daughter would want to hear.”

“Well, she said they were too small and making me unattractive,” she shrugged and realized what she just said. To the King of Cordonia. “Oh my goose, I’m sorry I’m taking about my boobs to you.”

“Goose? Your grandma really loved animals, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, a lot,” Dani answered, relieved Liam changed the topic. “Should we check on Riley and Drake? It’s almost midnight.”

Liam nodded and they tiptoed to the kitchen, trying to be as quiet as possible. Liam peeked from behind the door to see if they were still inside but the kitchen was empty.

“Drake? Riley?” he called out but no one answered.

“They made the pasta!” Dani took the pot from the counter and tried a little. “So good!”

“Why didn’t they eat it? I’ll leave it in the fridge so they can take it tomorrow,” Liam offered.

“I think they went straight for the dessert,” she giggled and Liam blushed.

“Well, mission accomplished. I’ll be heading home then.”

“I’ll have my driver drive you back to the hotel.”

“Thanks. And thank you for helping me arrange this and for the snacks and cider. And for letting me rant about my parents.”

“Hey, Danielle,” he asked when she was about to leave, “Would you like to come here in the morning? I would like to show you something.”

“I’d love to,” she smiled and left. Liam looked after her until she disappeared completely. He sat down on a chair and put his head in his hands. He needed to stop, whatever that little feeling he had, before it would be too late. Danielle was leaving soon and besides he already lost his chance at love. It was time to stop dreaming and face the reality. He sighed as he decided him and Danielle must remain friends. Now, it was only his heart that needed to follow through with that decision.

~~~~

Drake and Riley were kissing as they entered the cabin, barely closing the door. Drake picked up Riley and brought her into the bedroom, not stopping kissing her even for a moment. He laid her on the bed, his eyes searching hers, looking for something and she nodded, silently answering his question. He pulled off her dress and his shirt.

“Are you sure? I know it’s your--”

“I am,” she silenced him with a kiss and pulled him close to her. It wasn’t the time to pretend she didn’t like him when every inch of her body and soul needed him. It was the time to face the truth.

And the truth was, she was falling in love with Drake Walker.

[xxx-cat-xxx]

At least I didn’t puke on you

I kept my promise for a happy fic! This is for @toomuchtoread33 who sent me a prompt in which Peter accidently takes Steve’s emergency pills that are designed to make him sick in case he gets poisoned.

Cue Tony and Steve spending a night on the bathroom floor with a very pukey Peter Parker. This is fluff/humour with a lot of Irondad.

As always, a million thanks to my beta @whumphoarder.

“It won’t stop bleeding.” Tony crashes into the sofa, pressing a wad of tissues against his nose.

“That’s what happens when you retract your helmet in the middle of a battle to mock a Hydra agent,” Steve comments, setting down his plate after finishing the last piece of pizza.

“She had it coming. Did you see that suit? I made better designs when I was seven!” Tony protests nasally. “And what’s the fun of a battle if you can’t have a little chit-chat with your enemy?”

“Maybe it wasn’t the best move to call her Hello Kitty.”

“You did what?” Peter laughs so hard he nearly chokes on his slice of mushroom.

“Yeah, yeah, go on, make fun of me…” Tony removes the tissue from his bloody nose and sniffles experimentally. “At least I didn’t get knocked into a wall. Speaking of which, you’ve been quiet, kid. You sure you’re okay?” He eyes the boy critically.

“I’m good,” Peter assures, even as he visibly squints against the lights. “Just got a headache, no big deal.”

“Do you want another ice pack?” Steve asks, removing the one he’s been pressing against his sprained wrist and offering it to Peter.

“No, I’m okay.” Peter prods at the bump on his head and grimaces in pain. “It should be fine in a few hours. Before the bite, I would’ve just taken some painkillers, but now they don’t work on me anymore...”

“Maybe...” Steve exchanges a quick glance with Tony. “You know, Bruce and Tony developed those special painkillers to keep up with my metabolism? They don’t work a hundred percent, but they should definitely take the edge off.”

“Are you sure?” Peter looks at Tony. “It’s just a headache.”

As the current world champion in understating pain, Tony knows exactly what “just a headache” means when coming from a member of his superhero family. Peter already looks dead tired from the battle and there is no reason for him to be in unnecessary pain.

“That’s exactly what we made the pills for. Go ahead, kid. But only one, I don’t want to get in trouble with your aunt for drugging you up.”

“They’re in the medicine cabinet in the first floor bathroom,” Steve adds.

Peter disappears in search of the pills while Tony and Steve have their usual argument about which movie to watch. They settle on Aliens, partly because science fiction is the common denominator between the whole team, and partly because both of them know that it’s one of Peter’s favourites.

Tony waits until the kid has returned and curled up on the couch before he starts the movie. Since the mission has clearly taken its toll, he halfway expects all of them to fall asleep within half an hour. But the Nostromo crew has just landed on the alien planet when Peter suddenly sits up straight, his face screwed up in discomfort.

“Uh, Mr Stark?” he says, voice strained. “I’m not feeling so great.”

“Yeah, it takes some time for the painkillers to kick in.”

“No, I mean, I feel kinda queasy.” Peter swallows convulsively. “Like I’m gonna puke.”

Tony tenses, exchanging a worried look with Steve. “FRI, I thought you said it was only a mild concussion?” He glances at Peter, who is now hunching over, wrapping his arms around his stomach. Sweat is beading on his brow.

“Yes, boss, my scans indicate no severe damage,” the AI replies.

“Mr. Stark…” Peter gulps, all colour draining from his face.

“Shit. Come on.” Tony gets to his feet with a bit of difficulty and ushers Peter towards the bathroom.  

The boy drops to his knees in front of the toilet and leans over the bowl, spitting strings of saliva into the water. He burps wetly and gives an involuntary whimper. “I feel really sick.”

“I get it, kid. Just, do what you gotta do. You’ll feel better once it’s out.” Tony sincerely hopes that he’s right.

Peter doesn’t need to be told twice. He coughs drily, then gags. The first retch brings a bit of liquidy vomit, then he heaves hard, a gush of half-digested pizza pouring into the bowl. He coughs and chokes, barely able to draw a breath in before his whole body shudders and he vomits again.

“Easy, kid,” Tony soothes, awkwardly patting his back. He can feels the muscles under Peter’s shirt contracting when the boy brings up another wave.

“Oh - god,” Peter pants, his fingers clenching the bowl hard. “This is -” He’s cut off by another retch that brings tears to his eyes.

“Breathe, Pete, breathe,” Tony comforts, feeling his own stomach twist in sympathy.

Peter coughs and spits out bile, then shakily reaches up to flush. He folds his arms on the edge of the seat and lets his head fall onto them, trembling.

Tony wets a washcloth and nudges Peter to lift his face so that he can wipe the kid’s mouth. He fills a glass of water and offers it to him, but Peter shakes his head, lips pressed tightly together. He is still ghostly pale, sweat running down his temples.

“Okay, what the hell is happening? That looks like an awful lot like food poisoning, but we all ate the same dinner…” Tony tries for a light tone despite the worry gnawing in his gut.

“I think I have an idea.” Tony turns around to see Steve in the doorway, a weird expression on his face. Peter groans, visibly embarrassed by the fact that Captain America is watching him puke.

“What’s it?” Tony demands.

“Peter, are these the pills you took?” Steve holds up a bottle. ‘Super pills to save America’s ass’ is scribbled on them in Tony’s handwriting. Peter glances up from where his head is resting on his elbows and nods weakly.  

“Oh shit,” Tony breathes, understanding sinking in.

“What’s wrong with them?” Peter croaks.

“These aren’t the painkillers. These pills are designed to make you sick. They’re -” Steve starts, but is interrupted by Peter suddenly pushing himself upright and retching again. The soldier cringes at the sound of liquid hitting the bowl.

“Why would anyone invent pills that make you puke?” Peter whines as soon as he surfaces again.

“We developed them in case Cap ever gets poisoned,” Tony explains. “There aren’t many things that can kill a supersoldier, but he’s not immune to toxins so we figured it would be a viable possibility that someone would try to take him out that way. So Bruce had this brilliant idea for a formula that would induce vomiting, and… Let’s just say he test trials were a lot of fun.”

“Don’t remind me,” Steve grumbles.  

“I can’t believe this,” Peter groans, dropping his head back onto his arms.

“Hey, this is Cap’s fault,” Tony points out. “Rogers, you should have gone with him and showed him which pills to take.”

“You should have labeled the medicines correctly!” Steve retorts.

Peter interrupts their argument by belching up another mouthful of vomit.

“Geez, kid, I never would’ve thought this much food could fit in you,” Tony comments with a mixture of disgust and actual admiration.

“It’s not funny!” Peter complains. “I really don’t feel well.”

“I know, kid, I know,” Tony reassures, his expression softening. He picks up the washcloth and wipes it over Peter’s sweaty face. “I’m just glad that it’s nothing dangerous. The effects should wear off in a couple of hours. But till then I‘m afraid that you’re in for a rough time.”

*

“There’s not even anything left in me. Why am I still nauseous?” Peter whines, coughing weakly into the bowl.

It’s been two hours and countless rounds of puking, and Tony feels wiped. Guilt creeps up on him at that thought because he knows that Peter must be feeling far, far worse.

“I am so done,” the boy croaks hoarsely. He reaches for the handle to flush and misses. His hand slips off the tank and he lists dangerously to the side. Only Tony’s steadying hands keep him from hitting his head on the bathtub.

“Hey, Pete, careful,” Tony says, alarmed. “Are you feeling dizzy?”

“A little, maybe,” Peter admits. “Head’s kind of floating. ’m really tired...”

“You’re not going to like this, but you’ll have to try some water sooner or later. You’re getting dehydrated.” Tony lets go of Peter’s shoulders, and the boy sags tiredly against him.

“Hmm. In a bit,” he mumbles, his eyelids fluttering shut.

He dozes off like this, his head pressed against the older man’s chest. After a while, Tony’s back starts to hurt. He tries to adjust his awkward position without waking the kid, carefully guiding his head to rest on Tony’s thighs instead. Peter shivers in his sleep and curls into himself, looking far too pale and far too young.

Tony frowns as a sudden wave of protectiveness floods over him. He reaches up for a towel that he gently drapes over the kid, then leans his own head back against the bathtub, feeling like all energy has been sucked out of him.

Twenty minutes later, he’s startled awake by a knock on the door. Steve sticks his head inside. “Do you need anything?” he asks.

“No, Spangles, we’re perfectly happy.” Tony grimaces when he tries to sit up straighter and his back protests in pain.

“Shouldn’t we move him to bed?” Steve motions at Peter’s sleeping form in Tony’s lap. “This doesn’t look very comfortable for either of you.”

“Thanks, didn’t occur to me at all.”

Fact is, Tony is just happy that Peter is finally getting some rest and he feels a bit wary of what will happen if they wake him up. On the other hand, he knows that neither his nor the kid’s body will be happy if they spend the whole night on the bathroom floor. He really should’ve considered situations like this when designing the compound. His brain immediately comes up with the preliminary outline of an inflatable couch that could be hidden beneath the bathroom floor tiles which he stores in his memory for later use.

“Hey, kid.” He gently touches Peter’s shoulder. “Nighty-night time, come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

Peter rouses groggily, leaning heavily on Steve as he helps him stand up. Just as Tony feared, he looks about to hurl the moment he gets to his feet, so Tony makes a quick detour for a mixing bowl from the kitchen while Steve guides the kid to the elevator.

The motion of the lift definitely doesn’t help with the nausea. As soon as they sit him down on the edge of his bed, Peter is throwing up again, gagging miserably into the bowl that Tony holds under his chin. He only brings up strings of bile.

“Geez…” Tony rubs a hand through his hair. “That pill really works, doesn’t it?”

Peter is too out of it to reply with more than a weak glare. He falls onto the mattress like a doll that’s had its strings cut, not even reacting when Captain America himself tucks him in. Tony goes to rinse out the bowl, and when he returns, the Spider-kid is deeply asleep.

*

Peter wakes up a few hours later. There is a moment of confusion before he remembers what happened and how he got back to his own bedroom. His stomach muscles hurt, his mouth tastes like something died in it a long time ago, and he is still vaguely nauseous.

He turns around to see Tony sprawled out on the couch, snoring lightly. Steve is sitting in an armchair next to his bed, an actual book in his hands (Peter is momentarily surprised that anything non-digital actually even exists in Tony’s compound), smiling at him.

“How are you feeling, Peter?” Steve asks.

“Better, I think,” Peter mumbles hoarsely. “Lightheaded. And, um, still kinda sick.”

“Okay. That’s to be expected.”

“How’s you wrist?”

“Good as new.” Steve moves the hand up and down in front of Peter’s face. “And definitely looking better than Tony is right now.”

Peter props himself up on his elbows to get a better look at his mentor’s face. True to Steve’s word, it’s covered by an impressive array of rainbow-coloured bruises. Tony mumbles something in his sleep and turns his face away into the cushion, almost as if he’s aware he’s being talked about.

“You should drink something.” Steve brings his attention back to Peter. “You think you’re up for it?”

“Maybe...Can I brush my teeth first?” Peter is sure if he swallows whatever taste is in his mouth, he will definitely be sick again.

“Sure,” Steve agrees.

Peter sits up and swings his feet over the side of the bed, then waits for a bit until the grey fades from his vision before carefully making his way to the bathroom. He sits down on the edge of the bathtub while brushing, his legs feeling weak.

“I’m sorry that you have to go through this, Peter,” Steve says, stepping inside. The bathroom is huge, but the supersoldier takes up so much space that it actually looks normal.

Peter spits out his toothpaste. “It’s not your fault, Captain Rogers. I should have looked better before taking the medicine.” He hesitates for a second, but Steve seems ready for a chat. “Just one thing I was wondering - did you ever actually use this pill?”

“Oh god, don’t remind me.” Steve’s brow furrows. “I still feel sick if I think about that time.”

“Can you tell me about it?” Peter asks, always curious about old Avengers stories. He rinses his mouth and, god, the fresh taste is so good that he almost feels healthy again.

“If you drink some Gatorade, I will,” Steve baits, handing him a bottle.

“Hmm. Okay,” Peter agrees, sounding unmotivated.

He stares at the bottle for a moment, then opens it with a sigh. His stomach is still far from fine, and he feels like even a small sip of liquid might make it turn against him again.

“Just a little bit,” Steve encourages.

Peter takes a tiny sip and sits very, very still while he feels it moving down his throat and settling heavily into his stomach. He burps sickly, nervously eyeing the toilet. For a minute he is sure he’s going to be sick again, but then the nausea eases down a little.

“You’re holding up okay?” Steve asks.

“Hmm.” Peter nods, not keen on opening his mouth at the moment.

“Okay. Storytime.” Steve sits down on the closed toilet seat. “So, I wasn’t actually poisoned. But a couple of years ago, Bruce cut his thumb while cooking and a bit of his blood mixed with the curry he was preparing.You know that his blood is toxic, right?

Peter nods. He’s been told about this, but he’d never thought about the practical implications.

“So, he went off to bandage his finger,” Steve goes on, “just as I happened to walk into the kitchen after going for a run.” He looks a bit sheepish. “It smelled really good and, well, you know how it is with an enhanced metabolism…”

(Peter is starting to wonder if his Parker Luck™ has somehow infected Steve as well.)

“Honestly, it was lucky that it was me. Anyone else would have probably died on spot...but getting the toxin out of my system wasn’t pretty.”

“That’s...bad,” Peter says, failing to hide a grin. He can vividly imagine the scene playing out in his mind’s eye. His nausea has decreased enough that he feels safe to talk again and he takes another few sips of Gatorade. “Was that the only time you used the pills?”

“Yeah, that was the only time. But then there were also the test trials...I threw up all over Tony’s pants.”

“Well, I got my revenge.” Tony is standing in the doorframe, looking tired and beat up, his hair standing up in all directions. One of his eyes is swollen almost shut. “Nothing like a severe concussion to ruin America’s star-spangled uniform.” He yawns. “How are you feeling, kid? Stopped reenacting The Exorcist?”

“Ha ha. Very funny,” Peter says drily. “At least I didn’t puke on anyone.”

“He’s had a few sips of Gatorade and it looks like it’s staying down,” Steve informs the engineer.

“That’s good.” Tony rubs at his working eye with a groan, then looks at himself in the mirror and grimaces. “There goes Thursday’s Vanity Fair photoshoot…”

Steve takes a deep, measured breath while Peter tries to keep himself from bursting into laughter.

“Spiderling, you go back to sleep,” Tony orders, turning back to give Peter a once-over. “You look like you’re going to keel over any minute. Once you wake up, ask Dum-E for a proper breakfast.” He frowns. “Actually, scratch that. Ask Cap. Less chance he’ll set the kitchen on fire.”

“Please don’t talk about food..:” Peter’s stomach clenches at the thought. “Not before tomorrow morning.”

“Noted.” Tony grins. “Now out, all of you. I gotta pee.”

“It’s my bathroom!” Peter protests.

“Yeah, and it’s my house,” Tony retorts. He watches with a warm smile as Steve puts a hand on Peter’s shoulder and guides the boy out of the room. "Good night, sleep tight, and don’t puke on the bedbugs.”

If you’re interested in a hilarious story about Tony and Bruce cooking up painkillers for Steve, keep an eye out for @whumphoarder​‘s and @awesomesockes​‘ upcoming fic.

@badthingshappenbingo - This is my promptfill for the “Poison” square.

All my fics

[beautifulramblingbrains]

Crush - Chapter 11. Corruption

Pairing: Eric/OC *Abbey* Fandom: Divergent Rating: M

A memory from Eric’s past plays tricks on him. And it’s all about the girl, Abbey Ainsworth.

A/N: I think this chap will sate some peoples thoughts. Thank you all! Enjoy!

Tags: @iammarylastar  @badassbaker  @pathybo@mimigemrose@frecklefaceb  @beltz2016  @ariwolff14  @lauraaan182 @kenzieam  @tigpooh67@elaacreditava@equalstrashflavoredtrash@murmelinchen

Since this morning, Eric has done everything and anything to keep himself occupied.

Mainly because he was slightly thwarted by the three little words he said to Abbey earlier. Her reaction wasn't what he entirely expected, it was silence.

A silence that had him wondering if he should have said them… until she smiled and everything became a glorious blur.

In a way, it was the perfect reaction, he didn't want to have to explain why, or act out how much he did, because she already knew. Of course, she did, she wasn't that stupid. It was just unexpected, on both their parts, that it fell from his mouth.

She's sitting in the spare chair in his office while he apparently must do some work but he simply can't because his eyes keep wandering over to her. She doesn't look up or even know he is, and this makes him fidget.

Why won't she say anything? …Did he want her to? The answer was yes. She was the open, honest, forgiving one out of the two of them and her nonchalant attitude was beginning to drive him mad.

He clears his throat for the fifth time, "Ab's."

"Yep." Her eyes still skim across the paper in front of her, but without another word from him, she peers up over it, her green orbs dancing across his bothered face. "What is it?"

"Is… something wrong?" He hates the hesitation, the uncertainty in his voice and she catches it instantly from a small flicker of her lashes.

"No," she shrugs. "Why would it be?"

Eric breaks her eye contact for the smallest of moments, nerves fully on edge. "You're quiet." He tries to stop his knee from jumping under the table.

"You looked busy."

"Are you well?" That was stupid question, and she even frowns at him with his stupid question.

"I'm fine, Eric." Her eyes drop to the paper and back. "Are you well?"

He frowns back at her. "Yes."

Smiling, she puts the paper on the desk. "I'm glad we have that settled then." Sitting back, she plays with a piece of her hair. "There's something else you want to say?"

Yes. "No."

"Okay…" she chirps, still watching him. "To me… it looks like you have something else you want to say." Her hands skim the desk as she stands and rounds her way over to him. He stays slumped back in his chair, his feet loose out in front of him. "You actually look… a little distracted…" She knocks his slack knees with hers. "There wouldn't be something on your mind right now?" She unzips her jacket a little, "Would there?"

"Something's beginning to develop."

"So it's not all muscle…" she straddles him, playfully watching his mouth. Her hands grip onto his jacket pockets, a handful of material in each hand as she makes sure to keep his full attention. "I'm a little distracted too." Her lips lightly touch his.

"Oh really?"

Leaning in towards him, he turns his head slightly as she delightfully whispers, "I'm not wearing any underwear…"

… And his office door is thrown open.

Lauren and Noah look struck by the sight in front of them, but Abbey merely throws her head back over her shoulder to them. "Oh, hi guys." Noah shifts and Lauren gulps. Abbey peels her limbs from Eric and strolls to the door, "I'm going to make coffee, I'll bring you guys some," still smiling as the door clicks behind her.

Leaving the room in a deafening silence, Eric glares at the two once he pulls his eyes from the door, now left completely unsatisfied.

"You're one lucky son of a bitch, you know that, right?" Lauren eventually finds her tongue. "How can you get any work done with that hanging off your every word."

To be fair, Eric does try his hardest not to smile. "It's not a bad way of life."

"You'll have to teach me."

"Some things can't be taught." His smirk is devilish. "Now that you're here. I have something I need you to do for me."

"Being?"

"I'm going to Amity. And Abbey is staying here. But she doesn't know that yet." Simultaneously his computer beeps and a message from Max is displayed, even though his room is three doors down. "I need you to keep an eye on her."

"Consider it done."

"No parties. No going outside of Dauntless. No shopping. You take her to eat, then back to the apartment while I'm not here." Eric exhales, pulling himself more upright.

"Is there…" Lauren shares a look with Noah, "Some sort of danger we should know about?"

"That's a question I can't really answer. But I don't want to leave her here at Dauntless alone."

"Well, when you get back and Abbey is officially my girlfriend, can you assure me that there will be no bad feelings?" Lauren has a lop-sided smile on her face.

"You can have the role as ball massager, how about that?"

"Disgusting."

"As always…" His smirk drops and the usual expressionless mask is fixed back onto his face. "There are only a few people I trust around here, you three, Max and Abbey. So, Noah, I want you to be a part of my team for this afternoon. I know Luka is assisting Four for most of the day."

"Of course," Noah nods. Eric mainly liked him for his quiet demeanor unless alcohol fuelled. And from his seemingly quiet morning, he could think of no one better to suit his mood.

But the three whiten as Abbey steps back into the room, holding a bloodied hand in the other, biting at her bottom lip.

She peers up, simply saying, "Oops."

"Eric, I'm fine. The infirmary will wrap it up and it'll be good as new." He's holding the wrist of her sliced hand, furiously marching her through quick glances and hushed voices. "Go back to work, I don't need an escort."

"Only you…" he drifts off through the heat of his own anger, mumbling something else to himself.

"I dropped the spoon and it fell down the back of the counter… I put my hand down there and there must've been a splinter of wood or something…" She's met with just a growl and a sharp tug. "…You're overreacting!"

The infirmary door blows open and the nurse jumps from behind the desk. Eric's eyes swing left to right and he takes full advantage of his rank and stomps through into one of the many examination rooms, the nurse scurrying quickly behind them.

"Patch her up," Eric merely snarls at the little troll. But he's highly penalized by the look she gives him, no doubt she thinks he did this to her. But without paying her mind, he crosses his arms and his lips set resolutely tense on his face.

Abbey slips onto the cot and holds the injured hand in the other, staring down at her feet. A slight metal trolley is wheeled up and the nurse dabs at the wound methodically.

"Good news, it's not too bad. It looks worse than it is," the small nurse smiles up at her.

"It was an accident…" Abbey smiles back, watching her work.

The nurse just hums in response, unconvinced. The side of her left hand is then wrapped, the bandage wound between either side of her thumb.

"I'm going to give you a shot, ease the pain."

"Oh no, it's fine, I'm Amity. We believe in herbal medicine and the body's natural ability to heal over minor things like this."

Eric's head tilts somewhat. "She'll take the shot," and directs a serious glare at her in warning.

The nurse's blue eyes roam over Eric, her forehead pinched, and she fetches the shot without another word.

"No, I don't want it," Abbey says more forcefully, a little over-embellished in Eric's eyes. And when her face softens, she stammers, "I get… sick when anything is put into my body." It's said mainly to the nurse, knowing that without a reasonable explanation Eric would probably give her the shot himself.

"Allergies?"

"No… I-I don't know. It's the way it's always been," she shakes her head, shrugging.

"What do you use for birth control?"

Abbey glows in embarrassment under Eric's inquisitive stare. "Non-hormonal…"

"That's an extremely old method," the nurse says curiously.

"Everything else made me sick, like I said. Can I go now?" Abbey looks at Eric as if just his presence being here has betrayed her. But he is impassively staring at her.

When the nurse nods, Abbey slips down hurriedly, throwing her arms around her and rubbing at her shoulder. She doesn't wait for Eric, he's too lost in inquisitiveness, his pace slowed as he walks behind her. She casts a mysterious glance to him over her shoulder, her eyes a little shinier than usual.

She's upset. But she's also hiding something.

Eric's more curious now as to how she thinks she can escape him; escape the one of many questions dancing on the end of his tongue. He purely grinds his teeth together in the silence of the stairs, the corridor, then his own apartment. Be it an Erudite habit or a small fascination he couldn't tell, but calmly he closes the door behind him.

Abbey's leaning up against the sink in the bathroom, her head hanging between her arms. "Why didn't you tell me?" he says with a calm, assuring tone while inclined upon the doorframe.

"Because it's not important."

"What if something happened and I didn't know and you reacted-"

"Nothing will happen."

"What if you got sick? An infection?"

Abbey laughs, but it's not in amusement, it's incredulous. "If you haven't already noticed by now, I don't get colds and flu, I've never had the chicken pox, tonsillitis, coughs, rashes… I only vomit furiously, pass out, or suffer from severe headaches when something foreign is considerably dosed and put into my body. Hence why I avoided the bread at Amity… The headaches were the worst."

"Your aptitude test?"

"I vommed for a while and was released without a second thought." She turns to face him. "I've relied on natural, herbal remedies. Plants, herbs."

"The natural florist in you…" It suddenly makes sense to him. "Your wound?"

"Will heal quickly."

"So what are you saying… you're immune… to everything?" He tries to hold back the mocking and incensed voice he uses, but it's no good as it tumbles out in a half-laugh.

"Obviously not hangovers…" she tries to play it off lightly but Eric doesn't budge with the unrecognizing look on his face, as if he actually doesn't see her anymore, but someone else standing in front of him.

Abbey's eyes meet his and her lip trembles. "Don't look at me like that." Eric scratches at his face about to speak but she cuts him off. "…Don't look at me like I'm the next experiment of Erudite!"

"That's why you left and that's why you didn't choose Dauntless…" His tongue plays against a tooth and he feels fucking stupid for not putting any of the pieces together sooner.

"I left because I knew they would find out and I wouldn't have a chance." A sob leaves her and Eric turns his back, his thoughts wild in his head. The beast of his swelling anger was rising its ugly head so fast there was no time to chain it.

"You should've told me!" He thumps a fist on the wall.

Closing the distance between them and lowering his head to her level, Abbey blinks up at him a few times from the startle and the heat that seems to be billowing off of him. "I watched you at the choosing ceremony, one hundred percent convinced you were Dauntless. My mother consoled me after you chose Amity - the ultimate betrayal. You knew all along I was choosing Dauntless and I couldn't follow you. You even had the audacity to blame me!"

"I thought-"

"Fuck what you thought." Eric marches to the door and Abbey chases after him. "Do you know what position this puts me in?" he barks out, just as he touches the handle. Abbey almost runs into him but stops and stays quiet. "You're some kind of fucked up Divergent. Do you know what I do to Divergents?" Abbey shakes her head. "I put the barrel of a gun to their head… and I blow their fucking brains out. When I said you were an abomination, I couldn't have been more right…" He throws the door open.

"Where are you going?!"

"To start the raid on Amity. That's where all these god damn secrets are hiding, are they not?" Eric's inconsolable, Abbey knows she's lost him to his wicked anger and she gives him the most degrading look she can fathom as her cheeks are slick with streaming tears. "What? Next, you'll be telling me you're working alongside the factionless, seduced me because I was fair game to your cause?"

Abbey slaps him straight across his right cheek, the sound echoing off the four walls. "How dare you…" She storms off into the room and Eric slams the door closed behind him.

He wipes the blood off his cheek with the cuff of his jacket.

Eric oversees the Dauntless soldiers format themselves into the trucks with precision. Max stands to his right, throwing him a look every now and again, glimpsing the shrewd nail marks on his face but doesn't say anything.

Only Eric's jaw flinched from time to time and Max imagined him to be even taller than he usually was. There was a raw ferocity to him. It was unnerving. His eyes so dark and detached, he looked like he was out for blood… Or about to rip the nearest persons head off…

Max clears his throat, remembering he had a sphincter. "Any problems-"

"There won't be." Eric doesn't even look at him. "Abbey's not to leave my apartment under any circumstances…" Then Eric marches to the starting trucks and grabs onto the side of the first one as the wheels spin out from underneath it.

This is not good.

Max feared that if Eric found out he went to his apartment to find Abbey, that this would be close to treachery and ruin the seemingly workable bond they had made over the years.

But what he doesn't know, doesn't hurt him, right?

Max knocks twice. Inside he can hear Abbey fumbling around - much to his relief, with what he wasn't sure. "It's Max," he says gruffly, but with a quietness to his voice in case anybody else was around.

As soon as Abbey opens the door, Max exhales a sharp breath, "Hell no!" He looks down her Amity clothing. "Whatever Eric's done, it's fixable. But you are under orders."

"He can't order me to do anything!"

"As much as I understand Eric's impulsive actions, I don't believe he would hurt you. So what's the problem? Because he looked mighty pissed when he left."

"Good!" she just calls back over her shoulder, packing that hideous flowery bag of hers.

It wasn't even lunch yet and everything was already floating down shit creek. "I can't allow you to leave."

"What are you going to do? Lock me in?" she says sarcastically.

"Unfortunately for you, Abbey, that's exactly what I'm going to do. Coming to Dauntless makes you property of our faction while you're still on our turf. We are responsible until otherwise stated from the Leader of the faction that brought you here, and Eric's orders were for you to stay in the apartment until further notice." She scrambles for the door but he side-steps and locks it from the outside.

Shit, maybe he was a little harsh.

The Amity scream and run for the nearest hovels. Mother's pull children and the men motion for them to get back. Five trucks scuff to a halt. The Dauntless soldiers jump from the sides and back in their full gear and hardened faces. Guns pulled, they push the nearest Amity towards the Dome.

Eric drops down from the cab, a dead stop as his boots hit the gravel - again. Each step is weighed down heavily, but there is a dangerous smirk on his face. He was enjoying this. This was exactly what he needed. He felt betrayed in more ways than one, personally and professionally - and completely and utterly torn.

Mark slides through a hovering group of Amity towards him, and he merely ignores him. "Eric, what is this?" He doesn't speak and Mark tries to consider what was more dangerous, a cocky ass of an Eric or a quiet one.

Eric's followed by his devoted guard, heading straight for the office.

"Johanna's not there!" Mark calls over and this captures his attention.

But his face is blank, his eyes unseeing. "You're all under arrest until further notice." His grouped guard rush around Mark and the Amity, pushing them back and away.

"This is an injustice!" Somebody shouts.

Eric clicks his neck. "If anybody tries to run, shoot them."

Lauren knocks on Eric's door, keeping to her word. "Abbey… I'm a little late, sorry."

There's no reply or the sound of movement from inside.

"Abbey?" She wiggles the handle but it's locked and she places her ear against the reinforced wood. Running a hand through her dreadlocked hair, she stands back, throwing her foot to the handle, again and again until the lock busts. The room is tidy, but also empty. Rushing to the window she peers down to the concrete ground, grinding her teeth together in utter frustration. Could she really escape from up here?

"Shit!" She pulls out her phone, dialing Max's number. He answers on the second ring, a nervous cut to his voice. "I don't want to be the bearer of bad news, but Abbey's missing..."

Mark was right, Johanna was not at her office. Apparently, she was sick at home with her husband which he found out later from one of the guards of Amity.

When Eric storms through Johanna's door, his ensemble turn and block entry to anyone else behind him. Her husband rushes from what Eric assumed was the bedroom, the older man's eyes taking every one of his attributes in, recognizing him instantly.

"Johanna's sick," is all Joel manages to put through his fear.

"Oh, I know," he snarls, pushing passed him and taking in Johanna's sweating and withering form, a fan blasting directly on her.

"The doctors don't know what's wrong."

"She's been in a simulation. And if I'm correct, she still might be." Eric stands against the edge of the bed and peers down at her. "Hello, Johanna," he smirks. "Remember me?" Johanna just groans, her face scrunched. She was off the planet right now. "This is not a simulation we use. This is something else." He touches her face with uncharacteristic delicacy, her skin inhumanly aflame. "The simulation is going to kill her."

"What!"

"Whoever is doing this has programmed it to kill her. In a way, a trick of the mind… Marvelous, isn't it?" Eric shakes his head from his sickening fascination. "Take her to the hospice. The only thing we can do is a transfusion, try to flush the serum... But the chances are slim." Eric's already detached himself from the thought of Johanna possibly dying, and as he passes Joel, he stops. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Four kisses his teeth for the hundredth time. "I can't find her."

"She's wearing pink, how can you not find her?" Max rubs his shaved head. He's seconds away from alerting Eric. "How did she get out of there?"

Lauren shrugs, leaning on the back of Luka's chair, "No idea, but this is a woman of Eric's we are talking about. Picked the lock, or the window."

"She went out the fucking window..." Max says with mirth. "Anyone check she wasn't splattered at the bottom?"

"Actually, yes," Lauren smiles. "It was the first thing I looked for."

Max points to the screen, "Check the footage from the corridor again." The footage plays and just a few regular faces pass by. Speeded up it shows the door never opening, and eventually, Lauren appears on the screen, kicking the door down. "Shit… Lauren, gather a search party-"

"Wait…" Four says. "You wouldn't believe it…" On the screen, it shows Lauren entering, then seconds later Abbey ducking out of the apartment and out of the camera's view. "She walked right past you." The smirk is audible through his voice and he throws a look over his shoulder to Max's scrunched nose.

Max immediately implicates Lauren within one look. "No way. I didn't see her. I didn't hear anything!" she throws her hands up.

"Obviously… And get someone to fix Eric's damn door before he gets his ass back here!"

Inside the Dome, the noise of traveling voices is monstrous. Eric bowls through the entrance and comes to a halt. Everyone's moving and arguing among themselves, and the only thought that springs to his mind is corruption...

"We want answers!" "You can't hold us like this!" "Where's Johanna?!" Many of the voices shout over and over.

"Citizens of Amity!" Eric barks over the noise. The incessant rumble comes to a halt almost immediately and the faces peer at him, some blankly. "…Amity is under heavy surveillance because those of you who don't know - Johanna was attacked. She's been put through a simulation for the intentions of causing disruption. And until we get to the bottom of it, we need you to cooperate, for your own safety!"

Mark nods to one of his men.

"We elect Mark!" "Yeah!" "New voice of Amity!" The many voices gather turbulence and one of the Dauntless guard's shoves someone back into the center who pushed forwards.

"That's not your decision, that was Johanna's - which she made clear before she went under the simulation."

"Yeah, that's right! … You're wife!" Mark finally speaks up, the crowd turning to him. "Amity doesn't want links to a hateful, controlling faction! We cannot accept the new proposed elected!"

"That's not your choice to make," Eric speaks quietly, glaring at Mark to silence him. But there's a ripple in the crowd which can't be ignored. "And the newly elected is an Amity, just as much as yourselves" he breaks Mark's eye contact and coolly addresses the crowd again. Some of the Dauntless look worriedly over at him, and another person is propelled back into the crowd.

"The proof is in the pictures!" Mark holds up the one of him and Abbey from the harvest. "They are interfactionally married! The elected is only to benefit Dauntless! We can't stand for this!"

The crowd mumbles and people nod their heads.

Mark finally lands the deal breaker, "We want Dauntless out of Amity and any involved to be factionless!" His eyes glint as he looks at Eric.

"Wait!" someone screeches, pushing through the bodies. "Abbey's my friend!" Clem adjusts the glasses on her face. "She's a friend to most of us here, and we trust Johanna, don't we?" Sandra appears behind, gripping her shoulder.

"Johanna is not fit for Leadership," Mark snipes her. "Are you involved in this mockery?" But he doesn't give them time, the crowd is hooked, his men placed randomly in the gathering. "Out with Dauntless and their perpetrators!" One of Mark's men elbows Clem in the face, smashing her glasses and blood spills from her nose.

Eric pulls his gun directly at Mark at the same time his men point theirs.

A gloomy silence falls.

"Looks to me like Dauntless has lost this round, Eric," Mark smiles. "You don't want this blood on your hands, do you?" He pulls at a child to stand directly in front of him, Eric's eyes flashing up and down him. "Eric – Remembered for mass murder at Amity… has a certain ring to it, doesn't it?"

For a minute he feared Eric would pull the trigger anyway, but he dared to call his bluff. One single shot and Amity would be lost.

Eric lowers his gun fractionally, stepping to the side and dragging a sobbing Clem and Sandra with him and out of the crowd, placing them into the hands of one of his men. "Amity who don't want involvement with this crime are being offered this one chance to return to Dauntless. But listen closely… For those of you who don't - you will face the consequences."

"Amity doesn't take orders from Dauntless anymore. And we especially don't feed the factions. It's about time we looked after our own. Our hands are now tied…" Mark says lowly, and nobody dares to move from behind him.

"So be it…" The Dauntless back away, guns still drawn. But Eric dares to step closer, growling every word towards Mark, "I'll be seeing you very soon…"

Mark squints back, still smirking, "Oh, I hope so…"

Max sees the two woman crying into each other first. The small woman has a bloodied nose, comforted by the other. Just from the look of some of the drawn faces, he knows something is considerably wrong, and with his added notary, things were only going to get worse.

When Eric comes marching in, he's absolutely furious.

"Eric…"

"Amity have deflected. I've pulled Dauntless out to halt a bloodbath." His fingers run through the side of his shaved hair and he peers back to Johanna being wheeled in on a cot. "We need to alert the other factions." The sudden urgency to check on Abbey washes over him and he begins for the steps. It was, for a fact, that she in his thoughts and had stopped him from pulling the trigger.

"Eric, there's been a problem…" Max exhales a long while and Eric's face changes in front of him, almost as if his lucid tone was enough to suffice enough information.

"Abbey's missing…"

[sherristockman]

Why Opting for Organic Cotton Matters Dr. Mercola By Dr. Mercola Cotton clothing has a longstanding history of being all-natural and wholesome. Unfortunately, times have changed, and once you delve behind-the-scenes of the cotton industry, its wholesome image quickly frays around the edges. Most people forget that a vast majority — about 90 to 95 percent1 — of non-organic cotton clothing is made from Monsanto's genetically engineered (GE) cotton. Organic cotton, grown in a sustainable, non-toxic manner, accounts for a mere 1 percent of the global cotton production. You may be boycotting genetically modified organisms (GMOs), but if you're still buying non-organic cotton clothes and other items made from cotton, be it towels, drapes or tampons, you're still feeding the beast. You're also exposing yourself to potentially heavy doses of toxins, contributing to ever-worsening environmental destruction, and enabling human rights violations.2 Cotton — One of the Most Toxic Crops on the Planet Its toxicity is perhaps one of the most surprising findings you'll discover when researching the conventional cotton industry. While making up less than 2.5 percent of global cropland, non-organic cotton receives 16 to 25 percent of all insecticides,3 10 percent of all pesticides4 and nearly 7 percent of all herbicides used worldwide, many of which are among the most hazardous.5 Herbicide-resistant GE cotton is typically sprayed with copious amounts of Roundup, the active ingredient in which is glyphosate, a likely human carcinogen. The 2002 introduction of Bt cotton, which is genetically engineered to produce its own internal pesticide, was supposed to lead to a reduction in the use of insecticides. In reality, Bt cotton actually requires more pesticide sprayings than indigenous cotton, as it has created new chemical-resistant pests. To control these resistant pests, farmers now use 13 times more pesticides than they were using prior to the introduction of Bt cotton.6 Moreover, in addition to being heavily contaminated with topical pesticides, the Bt cotton is itself a pesticide as well — it's even registered as such7 — since Bt toxin is produced in every cell of the plant. Uzbekistan's Cotton Industry Is a Modern Form of Slavery The featured video, "White Gold — The True Cost of Cotton" created by the Environmental Justice Foundation, reveals the gross human rights violations occurring in Uzbekistan, the second largest cotton exporter in the world, and how the cotton industry has created an environmental catastrophe of unbelievable proportions. Here, one-third of the population, including children as young as 7, labor for the government-owned cotton industry. Schools close during harvest time, and teachers bring the children to the cotton fields instead. Students who refuse to pick cotton may lose their schooling privileges. Teachers risk being fired from their teaching jobs unless they comply with the mandatory cotton-picking each year, and public protests are beat back with lethal force. No protective gear is provided. Everyone picks cotton with bare hands, ensuring exposure to toxic pesticides. Lack of drinking water forces laborers to drink from the irrigation canals — water that not only may be contaminated with chemicals, but also disease-causing pathogens. At the end of the harvest season, many workers end up being deeper in debt to the state than before they began. They simply aren't able to pick enough cotton to offset the expenses for food and lodging the government deducts from their earnings. Environmental Catastrophe in Uzbekistan In addition to being chemical-dependent, non-organic cotton also needs water — lots of water. Enough to drain a sea in a few decades. The water level of the Aral Sea — situated between Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan — began receding in the early 1970s. Fish also started dying from the chemical runoff from the fields. Aral Sea fishermen of old used to catch 40 tons of fish per year. Today, the area is littered with fishing vessels lying on dry land. What used to be a thriving seaport is now nearly 50 miles (80 kilometers) from the water's edge, and the fishing economy has been obliterated. The former seabed is heavily contaminated with salt and pesticides, both of which prevent plant growth, and wind-driven toxic dust has led to high rates of cancer and tuberculosis. This is the hidden human and environmental sticker price for cotton. Cotton Industry Is Notorious for Human Rights Violations Similar human rights violations and environmental tragedies are found in other cotton-producing nations. In India, an estimated 300,000 farmers have also committed suicide in the past two decades8 — deaths attributed to despair over unsurmountable debt created by Monsanto's patented seed scheme, which prohibits saving and sharing of seeds and requires the use of expensive chemicals. As noted in "Our Cotton Colonies" by In These Times, which starts out by highlighting the often-violent history of the cotton trade and then details the modern-day cotton life cycle from field to sales rack:9 "The T-shirts we buy at retailers like Gap and H&M may feel far removed from the bloody past of a crop synonymous in the 19th century with slavery and sweatshops. But when one follows the global supply chain of cotton growers, workers, traders and factory owners, it becomes increasingly apparent that capitalism has not, in fact, traveled far at all from its bloody origins." It's a fascinating read, and I encourage you to review it, but don't expect to feel good about that stack of jeans and cotton T-shirts in your closet when you're done. Conventional Cotton Production Is Toxic Business The environmental assaults don't end when the cotton leaves the field. The process necessary to turn raw cotton into cotton yarn and fabric involves another round of toxic exposures that result in environmental pollution. The Organic Trade Association explains:10 "During the conversion of cotton into conventional clothing, many hazardous materials are used and added to the product, including silicone waxes, harsh petroleum scours, softeners, heavy metals, flame and soil retardants, ammonia and formaldehyde — just to name a few. Many processing stages result in large amounts of toxic wastewater that carry away residues from chemical cleaning, dyeing and finishing. This waste depletes the oxygen out of the water, killing aquatic animals and disrupting aquatic ecosystems. The North American Organic Fiber Processing Standards prohibits these and similar chemicals." Cotton in Our Food Supply While you cannot eat cotton per se, 65 percent of conventional cotton production still ends up in the food chain, through:11 Cottonseed oil, a primary ingredient in Crisco cooking oil and vitamin E supplements Cottonseed meal, added to dairy cow and beef cattle feed Cotton cellulose, used as a non-caloric filler, thickener and stabilizer in a wide range of processed foods and beverages The toxic pesticides sprayed on conventional cotton crops also threaten the health of, and contaminate, other food crops. In Texas, winegrowers fear the approval of new herbicide-resistant cotton crops may wipe out the wine industry altogether. Such dire predictions stem from the fact that pesticides drift wherever the wind blows, and vineyards cannot tolerate the herbicide mixtures now being used on GE plants such as cotton. Paul Bonarrigo, who owns a vineyard in Hale County, has been unable to produce grapes for the past two years in a row. They keep dying from chemical damage — damage that will only get worse as cotton plantations in the area start planting the next-generation GE cotton resistant to dicamba and 2,4-D. As reported by The Texas Tribune:12 "Other Texas winegrowers have seen similar damage, and they blame it on dicamba and 2,4-D, two high-volatility herbicides commonly used on cereal crops, pastures and lawns. Now, the state's vintners are alarmed that use of the chemicals may soon expand to include 3.7 million acres of cotton fields in the High Plains, where cotton is being invaded by weeds immune to the Roundup pesticide long used." Are Your Tampons Full of Roundup? Cotton is not only used for clothing, of course. In addition to linens, towels, furniture coverings and drapes, women may also be using cotton tampons. A 2016 investigation13 by a French magazine found traces of harmful chemicals in 11 brand name tampons and sanitary pads, including dioxins, organochlorine pesticides — including glyphosate — and pyrethroid insecticides. Considering the high probability of cotton being contaminated with pesticides and insecticides, I encourage you, whenever possible, to choose "USDA Certified 100% Organic" cotton tampons. Bt cotton is a particularly questionable choice for tampons, since it contains both internally-produced toxin and topically applied chemicals. Another safer alternative is the Diva Cup, which works in a similar way as a diaphragm, allowing you to avoid tampons altogether. Pimacott Resorts to DNA Tagging to Track Cotton Origins Unfortunately, it's easy to support human rights violations and environmental destruction even when you're a contentious consumer. You basically have to trust the company you're buying from, and while many will do their best to source cotton responsibly, there's no way to really identify the origin of a piece of cotton. Fraud also exists even in the organic industry. For example, seven years ago, Swedish fashion giant H&M was caught in a scandal when testing revealed 30 percent of its "organic" cotton contained genetically modified material. All of the questionable cotton came from India, one of the world's largest producers of organic cotton, which suggests the fraudulent labeling was probably occurring at other retailers as well. To ensure the authenticity and purity of its product, Pimacott has developed a novel DNA tagging technology that allows you to verify the origin of its cotton. Pimacott is the developer of pima cotton, grown primarily in the San Joaquin Valley in California and certain Peruvian regions. As noted by David Greenstein, CEO of Himatsingka America Inc., of which Pimacott is a trademark:14 "In the industry, there was an increasing discrepancy between what was written on the package of a cotton product and what the material was actually made of … We decided that we were going to use technology to change the way that we source cotton and take control of our supply chain." Together with the technology firm Applied DNA Sciences, the company has developed a DNA tag for its cotton — a microscopic marker on every grain of cotton that can be read by a DNA scanner, much like you'd read a package barcode. As explained in the featured article:15 "This insertion process happens at the gin [editor's note: a cotton gin is a machine that separates the fibers from the seed]: Little molecules are released into the cotton and permanently bind to it. From this point onward, it is possible to place a piece of cotton or fabric under a simple DNA scanner to see whether the marker is present." Cotton-Blend Fabrics and Microfiber Pollution Cotton-blend fabrics also contribute to environmental pollution by introducing microfibers into waterways. Synthetic fabrics such as acrylic and polyester are the primary culprits here, but cotton-blend fabrics are also best avoided. In a comparison of acrylic, polyester and a polyester-cotton blend, acrylic was the worst, shedding microfibers up to four times faster than the polyester-cotton blend16,17 Still, your "cleanest" option in this regard is 100 percent organic cotton fabrics, as the synthetic fibers in these other fabrics pose severe hazards to water quality and the survival of sea life. According to estimates by the International Union for Conservation of Nature and Natural Resources, up to 1.7 million tons of microfibers enter the ocean each and every year.18 In some ocean waters, plastic exceeds plankton by a factor of 6-to-1,19 and the fibers have been found in both table salt20 and various seafood sold for human consumption.21 Testing reveals 90 percent of freshwater and saltwater fish have microfiber debris in their bodies,22,23 and since these fibers act like sponges, they soak up and concentrate toxins like PCBs and pesticides. As a result, the fish become even more toxic than they normally would be simply by swimming in polluted water. Cleaning Up Your Wardrobe in the Name of Humanitarianism While some companies are actively investigating ways to produce more environmentally-friendly clothing, each and every one of us can contribute to the solution by curbing your consumption and giving more thought to what you buy and how you care for your items. As described in my previous article on "fast fashion," the entire life cycle of a piece of clothing would ideally be taken into account before buying, as most of your discarded clothes actually end up in landfills, or are resold to developing countries where local clothing industries then suffer instead. To avoid toxic chemicals, reduce environmental pollution and promote safe and fair labor rights across the world, consider the following recommendations when it comes to buying clothing and other fabric-related items: ✓ Opt for organic cotton, hemp, silk, wool and bamboo fabrics. While such items typically cost more than non-organic cotton and synthetics, buying fewer items will allow you to spend more on each item. On the upside, higher quality organic items tend to last far longer with proper care, so you get your money's worth in the end. ✓ Opt for items colored with nontoxic, natural dyes when possible. Businesses investing in organic farming and natural dyes include PACT (undergarments and loungewear), Boll & Branch (bed linens, blankets and towels), Jungmaven (organic hemp and cotton T-shirts), Industry of All Nations (clothing) and many others. ✓ Avoid screen printed items, as they typically contain phthalates. ✓ Look for the Bluesign System Certification,24 which tells you the item has been manufactured with a minimal amount of hazardous chemicals, or none. ✓ Avoid trademarked technical fabrics, as most are coated with chemicals that will eventually wash out. ✓ Be mindful of when and how you wash synthetic clothing. Wash synthetic clothing as irregularly as possible using a mild detergent. Line dry instead of putting them in the dryer. The heat and agitation will break down fibers. Handwashing or using the gentle cycle with cold water will also minimize the shedding of fibers, as will using a front loading washing machine. Avoid commercial fabric softeners and dryer sheets. Not only do they release potentially toxic chemicals into wastewater and air (through the dryer vent), they also leave a film on the fabric that decreases the wicking ability of the fiber. ✓ Install a microfiber filter on your washing machine. Wexco is currently the exclusive distributor of the Filtrol 160 filter,25 designed to capture non-biodegradable fibers from your washing machine discharge. Here is a link to Google to find sources for them.