#the half colored medic one was going so well but eventually my brain decided it was actually super awful so. never finished it.

[okaydiscount]

various doodles and halfway finished pieces i gave up on (rip lol) that i thought i should share with you all from last year

[the-fandom-crossroads]

I know Disability Pride Month is almost over but I decided I wanted to share some of my Disabled OCs. Specifically the one's with physical disabilities as all of them have some sort of mental disability. AKA I have ADHD and physically can't write characters with a normal brain cause i still don't understand how those work.

Disclaimer! I am not personally an amputee and I don't currently require mobility aids. So if my descriptions of scifi versions of these aids are missing something you think a scifi version Must have. I apologize.

Feel free to share your Own disabled OCs in the reblogs!

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Deaf Ship Maintenance Tech (They/Them)

Universe: Star Wars

Born in the Clone Wars Era this kid grew up under the thumb of the Empire. They've always wanted to fly ships but settles for working in a ship yard. The Empire nor the Rebellion want them. The Droid binary to text screens are deemed to be to slow of a way to translate comm chatter between ships in the middle of an emergency. And fellow crew members would literally need all hands to navigate those situations and wouldn't have time to pause to sign orders.

I like to think they eventually join a civilian crew and become it's solo repair tech. The ship gets it's lights upgraded to RGB so instead of just changing colors for a red alert they have other alerts too. A civilian ship is rarely getting into dog fights (unless it's secretly a rebel ship) and the Techs job would be to focus on any damage the ships computer reads out and determine what needs to be fixed then and there.

Communication wise they know BSL Basic Sign Language and the 1's and 0's of binary even if they can't hear the beeps of it, and can speak basic but rarely do. Working in a ship yard it is assumed there are loud noises around that would drown out their voice. Their work goggles have a prototype version of the ship lights alerts installed. They light up and then dim when a message is coming through the comms. This gives them enough time to look at their wrist comm to text screen as the message comes through. The Yard Manager has a custom color to warn them the message is urgent.

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Double Amputee Black Market Android Doctor (She/Her)

Universe: Detroit become human, but it also fits cyberpunk 2077 just fine

She was working her way up to being a legit Android medical professional up until an accident in college cost her, her legs. On her way to getting her cybernetic replacements she learns how corrupt the system truly is and decides to go without the replacements. She finishes college but instead of working for one of the big companies she goes off the grid. She instead repairs deviant androids in the city and is the only Doctor any of them trust.

She's sort of a Doctor meets Hacker since the companies go the John Deer approach to right to repair. Making it impossible to fix any code related virus' without knocking down a few firewalls.

She has two chairs. A smaller one for use in her apartment that's more like a computer chair with a roomba for legs aka omniwheels that just needs a remote control joystick to move through the apartment in all 4 directions. And a larger more traditional one for leaving her apartment. This one is the super scifi tricked out one that basically has an entire computer strapped to the back of the chair to allow for on location hacking. can switch from self propelled to motorized with steering attached to each arm rest like some mowers.

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Last one is a Mute Druid Cleric (They/them, He/Him)

Universe: Fantasy, but the ttrpg side of fantasy

This one isn't as well fleshed out, but think Little Mermaid meets Sandman from Rise of the Guardians. In making a packed with his god for more magic he gave up his voice. Druids are known to be able to entrance people when they speak so losing their voice is cutting them off from half of their spells. But the deal does double his magical reserves for other spells and he develops simple image illusions like Sandman for easier communication. Allowing the party to communicate with NPCs that don't speak common and none of them know the language of. Also allowed for silent party communication during stealth missions.

They cast spells based on hand signs and ancient runes. He also had a telepathic link with his patron deity so he could call upon it for boosts to his current spell casting.

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Like I said these aren't All of my disabled OCs. just the ones that stuck out off the top of my head. For example I was in a Sci-Fi table top campaign and I slipped a prosthetic leg into her character sheet design. But the campaign didn't go passed 2 sessions and so it wasn't brought up. The character also just sounds like a mesh of the first two and I didn't want it to seem like a rehash.

But what do you guys think of these guys? If there's anything I got wrong in my wording or is an unhelpful stereotype. Please kindly leave a correction in the comments. I love to learn about this stuff and I never want to speak over someone who has actual experience with these disabilities.

But please feel free to describe your own disabled OCs! I feel like Disabled OCs should be discussed just like canon disabled rep is discussed during this month. That normalizing disabled OCs can be just as helpful at making fandom spaces inclusive.

[evienyx]

DSMP Citizens POV 7: The Lonesome Vessel

DSMPsona created by anon

- - -

DSMP Citizen POV Masterlist

DSMPsona Submission Rules

- - -

Before the L'Manburg Revolution, Iris had never really bothered with combat. She'd taken her physical education classes at school as a kid, had done a few extra sword-training classes as a teenager when her mother put her into them, but other than that, there wasn't really anything.

When the Revolution happened, though, Iris, who had already joined up with the rebellion when it was just starting out, took up arms at General Wilbur Soot's call and went out to the battle field, her heart pounding and blade sharp.

As she stepped onto the battlefield, entering into her first bout of combat with one of Dream's soldiers, something within her changed. Voices chanted in her head, screaming their desire to be appeased, one that could only be fulfilled by the spilling of blood.

Death, Death, Death!

Blood, Blood, Blood!

Blood for the Blood God!

Iris roared and slashed wildly at whoever she saw. Power thrummed in her veins, blood splashing across her armor and voices screaming in her ears as it did.

A soldier in L'Manburg colors ran past her. The voices screamed even louder, and Iris thrust her sword forward.

A moment later, she was lying in the medical tent that had been set up at the edge of the battlefield. Curtains shielded her from the rest of the tent. Her mind was deafeningly silent.

Iris realized that her limbs were restrained, her armor and weapons gone. Her throat was dry and her head pounded.

After a few minutes, the curtain pulled back, and a man in a medical coat peeked inside.

"You're awake?"

Iris locked gazes with him and nodded.

The doctor glanced outside before giving her a nod of his own and closing the curtain. She was alone again.

About ten more minutes passed before the curtain opened again and General Soot stepped inside.

"Sir," Iris said, trying to sit up before remembering the restraints.

"Iris," Soot replied, sounding even more exhausted than he looked. "How are you feeling?"

She swallowed. Her throat hurt, and when she spoke, it was hoarse, as if she had screamed at a concert all night. "Tired." She scrunched her nose. "My arms hurt."

Soot's lips formed into a thinner line and he nodded. "Yes, well, you were swinging that sword quite a bit."

Iris furrowed her brow. "What're you talking about?"

The general sighed. "I was afraid of that." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before meeting her gaze. "What do you remember about the battle?"

"Uh, nothing, really. I... fought a few people, I think, and then I guess I must've been knocked unconscious."

Soot's eyes were hard, but sad. "You were not. You lasted through the whole battle."

"What happened, then?"

Soot was silent.

Iris narrowed her eyes and pressed on. "What happened?"

"You were like a machine, Iris," Soot explained. "No one... No one could quite describe it. You cut down every person in your path, whether they were enemy or ally." Iris's heart sank and her blood ran cold. "Can you remember anything else? I need to know."

"Uh..." Iris wracked her brain for answers, but her head was still pounding, aching from the screams of the voices in her mind. "I mean... There were... voices. Voices, in my head? They... They wanted me to kill people."

Soot, as if his attention hadn't already been completely on her, leaned in, his eyes widening just a bit. "Voices?" She nodded. He grabbed her by the forearms, turning her toward him a bit more, despite the restraints digging into her flesh as he did so. "What did they say? Do you remember what they said?"

"Uh..." Iris nodded shakily, her heart pounding in her chest. "Yeah. They... They talked about the, er, the Blood God? Like what people always call Technoblade, you know, the famous warrior?"

Soot's eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment before he leaned back and nodded. "Yes, I know." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Iris... I'm not going to sugarcoat this for you. I think that we have every reason to believe that you are a vessel of the Blood God."

A chill ran down her spine. "What... What does that-"

"People often believe that Technoblade is a vessel of the Blood God, as well. He is not. He is the chosen of the Blood God. Those voices you heard while you were fighting? He hears those all the time, screaming for blood, and apparently being rather annoying as well."

Despite the bombshell being dropped on her, Iris managed to focus on his words and ask, "How do you know all this stuff about Technoblade?"

"Lived with him for years," Soot said, waving his hand around. "Not important. What is important is this: Controlling the desires of the Blood God that are within you is going to be difficult. Many go mad trying to fight against them. As you are simply a vessel, those voices will only come out when you are actively in combat, but they will never go away. If you plan to continue to fight, you must learn to live with them. We cannot have a repeat of the last battle, where you kill many of our own troops, as well."

Iris swallowed and nodded. "I'll do better next time, sir."

Soot cracked a smile, the bags more apparent than ever. "I'm sure of it."

During the next battle, Iris held her weapon in her hand, slashed at the first enemy soldier that she encountered, and then found herself restrained in the medical tent once more, President Soot standing over her with eyes even more sunken than the day before.

Iris felt tears spring to her eyes and shoved her head back into the pillow beneath her.

"You'll always have a home here," General President Soot told her after the Revolution ended, L'Manburg gained independence, and Iris had decided to pack up and leave. "Regardless of what happened on the battlefield, you still fought for this country. No one blames you for what happened." He paused and released a sigh. "The Blood God is as ruthless with its Vessels as it is with us mortals."

Iris huffed. "You don't need to tell me twice." Her thoughts fell to the voices, screaming in her mind.

Death, Death, Death!

Blood, Blood, Blood!

Blood for the Blood God!

She shuddered and glanced up at President Soot. "I need to leave. As long as I am here, people are in danger. The voices showed up the moment I picked up a weapon. If something were to happen, there would be nothing I could do, nothing anyone could do." She ran a hand through her hair and shook her head. "It's better this way."

President Soot was silent for a moment before nodding solemnly. "That's what I thought you'd say. Still, should you ever wish to return, the gates of L'Manburg will open wide to those who fought for them to stay standing."

Iris cracked a smile and nodded. President Soot returned the gesture before stepping out of the tent that she had been staying in. Iris tied the sack that held all the things she couldn't fit in her inventory and set off. She made a quick pit stop at the Pet Sanctuary, an underground bunker that had held the pets of all L'Manburg soldiers during the war, keeping them safe and protected from both battle and Sapnap, who was both their enemy and infamous for killing pets.

Iris grabbed her cat, Tabi, and pulled an empty beehive from her inventory to allow her bee, Honeycomb, to travel in safety and comfort. Finally, she set off, her fingers tightly wound in a lead attached to Tabi's collar, Honeycomb's hive tucked into her inventory. Iris gave a final wave to the soldiers standing guard at the L'Manburg walls and began to walk.

After fifteen minutes, she was at the top of a hill, looking down over the independent land of L'Manburg. Already, there were more people than had been during the Revolution, people from the Greater SMP and other servers having begun to move in.

After another half-hour, L'Manburg was barely visible in the distance.

Fifteen more minutes after that, and it was gone completely.

Reaching the edge of the charted land on her map, Iris pulled a boat from her inventory, setting it up while Tabi investigated a small patch of wildflowers growing nearby. Iris picked up her cat and plopped the animal between her legs as she sat down in the boat. Making sure she had everything, Iris used a stick to push off from the shore and set off into the ocean.

She followed the coast, mostly. Eventually, she reached a grassy plain that seemed to stretch on for as far as her eye could see. As the sun began to set, she finally pulled up onto a small beach just outside of a coastal village. She stored her boat, held Tabi's lead in her hand, and set off into the village.

The town was small enough that they didn't have an inn, but a farmer and his wife were nice enough to allow her to bunk in the barn for the night to avoid the monsters, and Iris fell asleep to the sound of an Iron Golem guard pummeling a zombie into dust.

Another day of boating passed before Iris settled on a small clearing a little ways into a spruce forest island to call her new home. Tabi's lead tied around a tree, she quickly set to work making a small tent to stay in while she worked on a more permanent home. A few weeks passed, but she was rather satisfied with her work as she took down the tent and spent her first official night in her new cottage. Tabi curled up on her chest, Honeycomb resting in her hive in the small garden she had made, Iris fell asleep to the sounds of rustling leaves, flickering torches, and distant waves crashing against a rocky shore.

Iris would spend a lot of her time exploring, after that, hopping across nearby islands. She constructed an Iron Golem to guard her clearing after a hoard of mobs appeared during the first night and she had been forced to hide under the floorboards and be as silent as possible until day arrived and they burned in the light of the sun. She refused to pick up a weapon again. The voices still stung in her mind (Blood for the Blood God!), and she didn't know what would happen if they took over again. She didn't want to know what would happen if the only thing for them to hurt were Tabi and Honeycomb.

The islands nearby varied in terms of what they had on them. Some were barren, others sported lush forests. One had a ravine so long and deep it almost cut the island itself in half. At one point, she arrived at a point that she had thought was an island, but was actually large enough to be considered mainland, stretching so far that she had to spend the night at a village after she realized that she didn't have enough time to get home before dark.

Iris mapped out the nearby islands, as well as the mainland, and explored them enough that she eventually didn't even need a map to explore them anymore. She knew them like the back of her hand.

That was why, when a small hut popped up in the stretch of plains on the coast of the mainland, she was confused. It was night, then, and she was making her way to the nearby village to stay in the inn. This was too interesting to pass up investigating, though, and Iris snuck over and leaned against one of the hut walls, straining to hear what was happening inside.

"-and I have no idea why he did it, because wasn't the whole point that there's-"

"Someone's listening."

"...What?"

"Someone's listening."

"What are you talking about?"

"Through the wall. Right here. Someone's listening." There was a beat of silence, and then a rush of cold air that made the hairs on the back of Iris's neck stand up, and then she was face-to-face with eyes void of anything but inky darkness, set into the grayed-out version of a familiar face. Bright blue teartracks seemed stained on the colorless skin.

"Hello," an echoed voice that almost exactly matched President Soot's said. "Who are you?"

Iris yelped and fell back, barely catching herself against the hut before she hit the ground.

"Ghostbur? Who is it?"

TommyInnit (VP Tommy, she remembered people had started to call him) asked, stepping around the corner of the hut to join the two of them.

"VP Tommy?" She blurted out. "What are you doing here?"

VP Tommy furrowed his brow. "What are you talking about? I was exiled. What are you doing here?"

"I...I live around here! And, what do you mean you were exiled? And why does President Soot look like that? And why did you call him Ghostbur?"

"That's who I am!" The spectral form of the leader of L'Manburg said cheerily. He reached out a translucent hand. "Ghostbur, nice to meet you!"

"We've met," Iris said, still reaching out to shake his hand anyway. His skin was freezing cold, and she though that if she pressed a bit more, her hand would simply slide right through his own.

"He has memory loss," VP Tommy said. "Only remembers the happy things from when he was alive. None of the bad stuff."

"What happened to him? When did he die?"

"A while ago," VP Tommy said, looking rather confused at her lack of knowledge but still managing to glare at her throughout. "How is it you know who both of us are but not what happened to..." His throat bobbed and he glanced away, falling silent.

"I fought in the L'Manburg Revolution," Iris explained. "At least, I did for a bit until President Soot-" She gestured at the grinning ghost- "and I realized that I was a Vessel for the Blood God. I can't control myself whenever I pick up a weapon, and so I moved out here to keep from hurting anyone."

VP Tommy leaned back a bit, his eyes widening. "You're a Vessel of the Blood God?" He asked, his voice sounding a bit hoarse. She nodded. His eyes flicked over her. "You're... You don't have any weapons on you, do you?"

Iris ignored the fact that she had already said that she didn't in favor of shaking her head and raising her hands a bit. "Nope. Nothing. I haven't touched a weapon since the Revolution."

"How do you defend from mobs then?" He asked, his brow scrunching as he crossed his arms.

"I'm normally home before night. If not, I make sure I'm close enough to a village to stay there. At home, everything's lit up, and I even have an Iron Golem to make sure that any stray monsters can be taken down without me having to do anything." She offered the gentlest smile she could. "You don't need to worry about me."

VP Tommy was quiet for a moment before releasing a forced laugh. "Ha, I wasn't worried! I'm never worried! I'm Big Man TommyInnit, I don't get worried about anything!"

Iris raised an eyebrow but she nodded. "Of course. I never would've thought otherwise."

VP Tommy wrinkled his nose and looked to the ground. A moment later, she heard him muffling a yawn.

"Well," Iris said loudly, stretching her arms toward the sky, "I think it's about time that I head off to the village and get settled in for the night. I'm exhausted." She saluted lazily. "Good night, VP Tommy."

"Uh, yeah. 'Night." He didn't return the gesture, but he glanced at Ghostbur, who was fiddling with what looked like a handful of blue and clearly not paying attention to the conversation whatsoever. "C'mon, Ghostbur."

The spirit of the president looked up abruptly, turning from VP Tommy to Iris. "Oh, are you leaving already?" She nodded. He gave her a smile. "Good night, then! I hope next time I get to find out your name!"

Before she could say anything, he had slid through the hut's wall and was gone. VP Tommy stood there for a moment more before disappearing inside as well. Iris hitched up the straps of her bag on her shoulders, checked her inventory, and set off for the village at the edge of the plains. She didn't want to be out in the dark for too long.

The next morning, Iris left the village inn an hour before noon, her bag and inventory stuffed full of ore that she had purchased from the blacksmith.

As she walked through the plains, she stumbled across a figure riding by on a horse. The two of them stopped and stared at one another.

"Uh, hello," Iris said, raising a hand in greeting. "Haven't seen you around here before."

"I'm not from around here," the figure, a piglin hybrid, from the look of it, said gruffly. "Was just visiting an... old friend."

Iris nodded. "Cool. Well, if you're ever in the area again, the village back by the forest edge has incredible potato bread."

The hybrid's eyes lit up a bit. "Really?" She nodded. "I'll have to check it out, then." He observed her for a moment before raising an eyebrow. "Who are you?"

She cracked a smile. "Just a lonesome wanderer, trying to live a peaceful life."

He nodded. "I can respect that. As long as you're not with any sort of government."

She shook her head. "I used to be a part of L'Manburg, but I left right after the Revolution. I... didn't want to be a part of that anymore. Now, it's just me and my pets."

The hybrid hummed, his gaze flicking over her and seeming to notice that she had no weapons. "All right, then." He gave her a nod. "Stay safe, fellow wanderer."

She grinned and returned the gesture. "And you as well." He patted the horse on its flank, and a moment later, they were gone.

Continuing across the plains, Iris came back across the hut that VP Tommy was living in. She thought the ore in her bag and wondered if the teenager, who was apparently exiled (though she didn't know why) would want it.

Iris knocked on the door. There was a beat of silence. Then, the door swung open, and she was met with the face of VP Tommy, eyes red and face blotchy. He sniffed, rubbed at his nose, and scowled at her. "What do you want, bitch?"

Ignoring his aggression, Iris offered a smile and said, "I come bearing gifts."

Though he complained, VP Tommy did agree to take the ores from her, shoving them into his furnace along with some coal that he had apparently gotten that morning. Then, with his eyes narrowed and mouth twisted into a frown, he offered her a porkchop.

Iris started to visit him more and more, after that. She brought Tabi to the village's healer when the cat got sick one day, and that evening showed her pet to VP Tommy on the way home.

"This is Tabi," she said, holding out the cat to the teenager. VP Tommy stared at the cat with raised eyebrows. "Go on, take her. She loves being pet behind the ears."

VP Tommy took the cat in his arms, holding it with a surprising amount of caution. He reached forward and scratched slowly behind Tabi's ear. The cat purred and leaned into the touch. VP Tommy's eyes flew up to meet Iris's as his jaw dropped, and she couldn't help but let out a laugh at his reaction.

Over the time that she visited him, Iris watched as VP Tommy (My name is Tommy, shithead, he insisted after she called him by his old title to his face) deteriorated. His laughs were more forced. His face was more sunken, his hair grew limp, and his the light in his eyes dimmed, the bright blue seeming to fade into a cool gray. Still, he would grin every time she showed up, and would bounce on the balls of his feet as he told her about what he had done since her last visit.

"Ranboo came to visit me," he said one day. "He showed up after Schlatt and Wilbur died and L'Manburg was rebuilt. He's cool, even though he's kind of a pussy."

"Does anyone else come to visit?" She asked, poking at the fire that he had made when the sun began to set.

"Well, Dream is here all the time," he said, but she already knew that. About a week after she started visiting regularly, he had all-but-demanded that she only visit at night, because Dream was there in the daylight and didn't really like when he had other visitors there. "Mexican Dream came here one time, too, but..." Tommy sniffed. "He, uh, he died."

"Oh," Iris said. "I'm sorry."

On certain days, she would let Tommy ramble to her about his problems. He would complain about the 16th of November, about the election from months ago, about his exile from weeks prior. Other days, he would tour her around the things he was building.

"This is Logstedshire," he said, spreading his arms wide. "Ghostbur helped me build it, before he..." His smile faltered. "Before he... left."

She said nothing more, simply pointed at a random building and asked about it. Tommy took the change of topic gratefully and began to ramble on about the mining expedition he had gone on to get the materials.

One day, when Iris was on the way to the village past Logshedshire to trade before she visited Tommy that evening, she looked up from storing away her boat to see the Nether portal just outside of Tommy's home glimmering with particles, the distinct look of a portal that someone had just used.

Iris was confused for a moment, because she was sure that Tommy didn't use his portal anymore, not after the failed beach party (which he had requested she didn't attend, since he didn't think that Dream would like knowing that Tommy was talking with someone he didn't know. Iris still felt bad, though, after hearing about the disaster that befell the party that her teenager friend had been so very excited about).

Then, she looked up and her eyes fell on a tower of mismatched materials, stretching toward the sky. Her stomach dropped, and, ignoring her previous plans, she scrambled up the beach and sprinted toward Logstedshire.

The area was completely destroyed, decimated by what had to be TNT. The tower she had seen started near the pit, reaching to brush against low-hanging clouds in the expanse of sky above. Tommy was nowhere to be seen.

Nearby, Iris abruptly noticed, President Tubbo stood looking up at the tower, shaking his head desperately with tears streaking down his face. "Surely not, surely not," he said lowly, his voice hoarse.

Iris's heart skipped a beat. For the first time since the Revolution, her mind was flooded with voices, screaming, roaring in her ears. She didn't care what they were saying, though, instead covering her mouth with her hands, taking in a painful breath, and beginning to sob.

President Tubbo turned to look at her, just now noticing her presence. He reached a hand out and opened his mouth to speak, but she didn't give him a chance to, instead choosing to turn on her heel and run back to the coastline, tears streaming from her eyes and all plans of heading to the village forgotten. She hopped in her boat and set off in the direction of her home island, her salty tears falling from her cheeks and joining the ocean waters below.

Iris stumbled into her cottage, Tabi moving toward her and rubbing against her leg as she collapsed into a chair, shoving her face into her hands. Her cat's fur stopped brushing against her skin, and a few moments later, a buzzing sound met her ears. She opened her eyes to see Tabi hopping from the windowsill as Honeycomb flew inside, the window wide open behind the two pets. The bee settled on her shoulder, snuggling against Iris's neck and buzzing gently, while Tabi leaped to her lap and curled up there.

Iris pet her cat with a shaking hand and tried to ignore the screaming voices growing louder and louder in her mind.

That evening, she grabbed a pack that she knew had two twin blades stored away inside of it and set off for a nearby island, one covered in a forest so dense that inside of it, you couldn't see the sky. Mobs were there even in the day time, and at night, it was more stuffed with monsters than a dungeon was.

On the edge of the island, Iris watched as a zombie lumbered toward her.

Blood! Blood!

Blood for the Blood God!

Kill it! Kill it!

Finally! Blood!

Everyone shut up, she's gonna do it!

She better!

Blood! Blood! Blood for the Blood God!

Ignoring the 'banter' going on between the voices in her head, the Vessel of the Blood God dropped the pack on the ground, pulled the twin blades from within, and let the voices take over, jumping forward and slashing at the monster in front of her. The voices cheered as blood splashed across her skin, and as her gaze fell on a skeleton near the tree line, she leaped toward it and felt her control over her body fall away.

She woke to the daylight, her cheek pressed against the warm sand of the beach. She heard the waves lapping at the shore. The twin blades she had used rested nearby. Her mind was silent, though the elation of the voices as she sliced through monsters was still very apparent. Iris sat up, grabbed the bag she had abandoned the night before, and scooped the blades inside, careful not to touch it. She then slipped into the boat and set off, leaving the island behind as she headed home.

Halfway there, she felt an alert on her communicator. Glancing down at it, she choked on a breath as her eyes landed on 'TommyInnit' in her messages lighting up. Taking in a deep breath, she clicked on the name and was greeted by a new chat message from her friend.

TommyInnit: Hey, bitch. I realized that Dream is an even Bigger Bitch Boy than I thought. He blew up Logstedshire and I ran away after he left. I'm with Technoblade, now.

TommyInnit: you were real poggers. I'll pay you back for that ore eventually.

Iris sniffed and wiped at her eyes, which were beginning to sting. She swallowed, her throat aching, and grabbed the oars resting on the sides of the boat, starting to paddle back home.

(Later that day, she would return to Logstedshire and root through the rubble for three days straight, searching for any remaining things of Tommy's that she could find.

She found a few photos buried under rocks, at one point. After the first one she touched crumbled to dust immediately, she took pictures of any she found before trying to pick them up. She found a few books that Tommy must have bought from the village. Nothing else really seemed like it would be valuable. Then, though, on her last day of searching, she broke apart a collapsed wall and saw a piece of fabric lying underneath.

She reached forward and carefully picked up the beanie lying on the ground, so covered in dust that it looked gray rather than maroon.

"This was his beanie," Tommy had said. "He had two of these. Phil has the one that he was wearing when he died. He gave this one to me right before we went to fight Manburg."

Iris's fingers tightened around the beanie, and she tucked it safely into a spare spot in her inventory before immediately heading off to the village to use their public Ender chest to put the beanie inside of.

The next time she saw TommyInnit, she would give it back to him. Afterall, he deserved to have the beanie. It was his brother's, wasn't it?

The sun was beginning to set, then.

Iris swallowed down a lump in her throat as phantom voices whispered in her mind and moved faster over the plains, focusing on making her way to the inn before nightfall and trying to ignore the murmurs in her ear asking for blood.)

[ksqwildwest]

52. Accidentally witnessed kiss

(i know that you technically did this when karl hid from the sheriff but i love the trope of someone just being :0 when they see two people smooching)

it could be a kiss between two (any duo like mason and jack or jack and karl) people.

or someone could catch all 3 of them smooching. connor/flint could be the one to catch them. like theyre trying to rob john john and mason and jack just go to tie karl up so he can’t get help. (ofc this robbery is lighthearted it’s treated as like a casual hang out) but connor just catches all three of them making out.

or you could do another idea!! i love reading your drabbles it’s really fun! your ideas are always so good <3

Thank you so much for the suggestion! Unfortunately they each take a long time to make and with the lack of questions and ideas, I'm running out of new content to give you all! If you all could send in questions or ideas that would really help!

I think I'll try writing the three of them together! I really like your idea of a light hearted robbery that's treated like a casual hang out!

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

"What do you think your doing?"

The three bandits turned to look at the man who had interrupted their daily robbery. Karl was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and a cold glare of disapproval aimed at the three trouble makers. He was even leaning to one side just enough for the gun on his belt to be in clear view of the three. He looked like he ment business.

"Mornin Karl," Jack greeted casually, "You're doin way better at bein scary today!"

Karl's hard glare immediately melted into a shy smile, a light blush growing over his cheeks.

"Thanks," He mumbled as he made his way over to the bar, "Thompson gave me some pointers yesterday and I've been doing my best to practice!" Taking a seat between Jack and Mason.

Mason nodded approvingly, "Well they're workin! I was almost scared for a moment there." He laughed loudly as Karl softly swated his arm with an offended gasp.

"Hey, if any one could teach Karl to be scary, it's Thompson." John John defended the colorful sheriff, passing him a drink.

Karl thanked the teen as Jack called out to him,"So you gonna arrest us today sheriff or what?"

The sheriff smiled before putting on an exaggerated British accent, "Only if you continue to rudely rob this fine establishment." He claimed wiggling his pointer finger at them. He looked like a disappointed teacher who just caught a kid disobeying the rules.

The three bandits burst out laughing at his face, Karl quickly melting into giggles himself.

Mason composed himself and managed to taunt Karl a little. Snickering out,"Too bad for you, we don't plan on stopping." With a playful smirk on his face before going to take a sip of his drink.

"Yah, keep messing with us and we'll have to tie you up sheriff." Connor added on jokingly.

Mason started choking on his drink and Jack did a double take as Connor immediately realized what that sounded like. Karl and John John both seemed to miss the unintentional joke, seeming more confused and concerned respectively.

Karl looked over to Jack with a questioning expression as John John took Mason's cup and turned around to find a rag to clean it with.

"Yah sheriff," Jack leaned closer with a mischievous smile, "We'll have to tie you up."

Karl took a second before his face turned a bright red. He took a second to roll the thought through his mind and blushed even harder. Taking a breath he looked between the other two's faces and saw encouraging and understanding looks staring at him.

A little quieter then before, Karl put on the exaggerated accent, "As a sheriff it is my jo-"

He was cut off by Mason lifting him off his chair with a small yelp of surprise. Mason started strolling towards the sheriff's room in the back of the saloon with Jack quickly trailing behind him.

Jack called over his shoulder, "You keep on robbin' Connor, we'll be right back!"

The three disappeared around the corner just as John John turned around with the freshly cleaned glass in hand.

"Where are they going?" He asked Connor. "They didn't finish their drinks."

Connor mentally cursed the trio as he clumsily replied, "Like they said, I'm sure they'll be right back. We were talkin about doin somethin for Sherman's birthday, right?"

John lit up, excitedly chatting about gift ideas for the piglin. Connor kept John distracted as long as possible with mindless chatter and story's. Eventually, his luck ran out and John John asked him, "It's been over a half hour, where did they go?" Fiddling nervously with his new watch that was given to him by Karl.

"I'm sure they're fine," He reassured John, but before he could bring the discussion back, a muffled thump sounded from the back of the saloon.

John started to shuffle out from behind the counter. "What was that? Did something fall?" He asked nervously.

Connor could think of a few different reasons and none of them were things he wanted John John to walk in on. He rushed out a gentle,"You stay here. I'll go check it out. I'm sure it's fine. Probably just a book or something." He passed John his empty glass.

John nodded while taking the glass. "Hurry back," he called as Connor hurried away from the conversation.

"Oh I will," Connor mumbled to himself as he slowed down to a slow meandering pace. Hoping that if he went slow enough that the three would suddenly appear back at the bar with out the chance of walking in on any scene's.

As he stolled closer to Karl's room at a snails pace, he noticed the lack of sound that he could hear. He hoped it stayed like that while he shuffled closer and closer.

He neared the door and noticed that it was cracked open slightly. From within he could hear the faint ruffle of fabric and kissing noises. He stood there awkwardly, not really knowing what to do in the moment. Sure he had walked in on Mason and Jack making out before, but they were either in a back alley or in a room with a locked door, and he had never walked in on them with Karl before. It was such an awkward situation.

He debated turning around and telling John that Karl just dropped a book, but he knew the kid would ask more questions and he really didn't want the kid to decide to investigate himself.

Sending a prayer he slowly leaned forwards and peaked into the bedroom. He spotted a tangled mess of legs on the bed. All of them with pants on! He mentally cheered.

Curiosity edged him to peak the rest of the way. He reasoned with himself that not looking would just make his brain keep nagging him about it later. He immediately blushed at the scene in front of him.

Karl wasn't wearing his coat, which would have been jarring in any other situation, but seemed more than natural while he was sandwiched between the other two bandits. Mason was laying on his back with Karl's back pressed against his chest, kissing and biting at Karl's neck. Jack was laying on top of Karl, chest to chest, and kissing Karl like he was a lifeline. Karl's arms were tucked behind his back out of Connors view, kept there by something he couldn't see.

Connor decided that he had seen more than enough and turned silently around to head back to John John.

Who was halfway down the hallway and getting closer by the second.

"John!" He yelped loudly. Wincing as he heard a startled yelp and resulting thud come from the room beside him.

Evidently, so did John, who quickened his pace.

"Hey, John John! I thought you were still at the bar." Connor called loudly alerting the three to both of their presences outside. From the quiet "shit" and rustling of fabric, he's pretty sure they got the message.

"You were taking forever," John explained, not slowing down in the slightest as he closed in on the bedroom, "And what just fell? That sounded heavier than a book."

John John gasped in surprise as he darted past Connor. "Karl! Your neck! It's all bruised up!" He pointed out as he seemingly ignored the fact that Jack was sprawled out on the floor or the fact that all three of them were bright red in the face.

"Oh," Karl squeaked out,"Is it?"

"Yes it is!" John wrapped an arm gently around Karl and guided him out of the room. "Come on, I've got some medical supplies downstairs. I'll patch you up real quick."

Connor watched the sheriff get dragged off and scolded by the young bartender. Once they were out of ear shoot he turned back to the rest of the Democrat Haters.

Both were thankfully mostly clothed with their vests on the floor somewhere. Mason fiddled with Jack's bandana in his hand as the two had the decency to look sheepish about the whole incident.

"Really?"

"YOU BROUGHT IT UP FIRST!"

---‐----------

That took awhile! Sorry for the long wait!

[anarchy-n-glitter]

Nothing to Fear

Summary: Lake County, Colorado 2011

Dr. Catarina Crane arrives at Mount Massive asylum to check on a patient who happened to be working there. She’s offered a job instead.

(Warnings: more uncomfortable flirting, minor stalking, gore, illegal experimentation)

CHAPTER 1

Chapter 2

Screams filled her ears and echoed in the halls. It was her work at its finest, though her victims probably wouldn’t agree. She was sure their cells had morphed into some hellish realm, with their worst fears surrounding them. One was screaming about spiders, which was amusing to Dr. Crane, and the other muttered about water. She was more intrigued by the water inmate.

He was huddled on his bed, looking down at the floor with wide, glassy eyes. He was sobbing, begging for help. She wondered how long it would take for him to realize the water wasn’t real. Another doctor was standing next to her, she was shorter than her, with long blonde hair and bright green eyes. She was young, and she just finished her residency at another nearby asylum. She was sweet, but Dr. Crane suspected that she wouldn’t last another few weeks. It almost felt like she didn’t know what she was getting into when she accepted the job.

Her name was Lillian Dawes, and she wouldn’t last longer than a year.

“Is that normal?” She asked, placing her hand on the glass and stepping closer. Dr. Crane grabbed her shoulder and gently pulled her away.

“I wouldn’t get too close, Dr. Dawes. I’ve seen people break through observation glass like it was nothing. Fear is such an interesting thing, but the mind can only take so much. Let’s see how long this’ll go on for.” Dr. Crane stated, watching intently as the man stood on his bed and reached for the ceiling. He was definitely panicking now, and he was calling for help.

“Shouldn’t we send someone in?” Lillian asked, clearly distrubed by the scene in front of her. Dr. Crane shook her head.

“No, check on the other subject.” She nodded and walked toward the other observation cell. The scene before her, however, was gruesome. Blood covered the walls of the cell as well as the floor. The man had clawed the skin off of his arms, and now he was laying on the floor unconscious. Lillian gasped and jumped away from the glass, shocked by the scene before her. Dr. Crane practically rushed over, a little too excited about the situation. She peered into the room with a sickening smile before looking back at Lillian.

“Get security. Tell them to take this man to the medical center immediately,” she turned back around as Lillian ran past her, “if he isn’t dead already, that is.” She finished, watching the man lay there motionless. Sometimes, the toxin was so potent the person dies, but she wanted a strong reaction without the death, and Murkoff wanted the same. They believe that her fear toxin would help in Project Walrider, but she needed strong doses to keep the subjects in a terrified state for hours on end. Most of the time - with the stronger doses - people only lasted five minutes. At this rate, she’d go through the whole damn asylum and not even be able to perfect the toxin.

She moved back to the water patient and, just as she predicted, his heart gave out. The stress of the constant terror (and the brain believing he was drowning) put enough strain on him to kill him. Depending on the fear, they either die from self mutilation, or they have a heart attack. She suspected the man didn’t realize it was his heart that gave out, and she had a feeling his last moments were far from pleasant. He was lying face up on the floor, with wide, blank eyes staring up at the ceiling. She was surprised he didn’t pass out from holding his breath, but she figured his heart stopped before he suffocated.

She quickly wrote down the results of the tests, and felt disappointed. She knew she could do better than that. Fear toxin that lasted hours normally created hallucinations that came and went in waves, what she needed was something strong enough to create a panic even when the hallucinations died down. They needed to be aware of their surroundings when they weren’t hallucinating, but afraid of what would come next.

Dr. Crane decided to take a break and return to her office to try to figure out where to go from there. She ignored the guards rushing into the cell of the mutilated man, and ignored Lillian as she asked a slew of questions. All she wanted to do was lock herself in her office and think for the rest of the day; do a little problem solving.

She rushed through halls full of screaming patients, not bothering to stop on her way to her office.

Yet, when she got there, a familiar face was waiting by her door. She’d worked there for weeks without running into him again. Bright colors seemed to be his thing, though this time he wore a blue shirt and a white sweater over it. Instead of khakis, he wore black dress pants, and black shoes that shined under the lights of the hallway. Dr. Crane stopped in her tracks and gritted her teeth.

“What are you doing here? You’re not in this division.” She asked, daring to step a little bit closer. He smiled widely, but there was something off about it. It looked like a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and that was just one of the many things about him that was off-putting to her.

“Relax, doc, I was just coming to congratulate you on the job!” Rick explained in his usual cheerful tone. Dr. Crane couldn’t help but glare at him. He was in her space now, even if he wasn’t exactly in her office. She wanted him to go away, and when she accepted the job nearly a month ago she figured the facility was big enough so she wouldn’t see him again, but she didn’t account for him seeking her out. The fact he did seek her out sent shivers up her spine.

She hadn’t felt fear in a long time, but when she was around Rick Trager, she was terrified.

“Thank you,” she responded, “I’d like to get into my office now.” Rick nodded and stepped aside, letting her step into her office. She didn’t stop to close the door properly, instead she let the force of the door shut it for her. However, the door didn’t slam shut like she thought it would. She let her shoulders drop and let out a small sigh of irritation. He was still there.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than bother me, Mr. Trager? After all, I assumed you worked here and had actual stuff to do rather than wait outside my door.” She asked, not even attempting to hide her disdain. He let out an airy chuckle and took a step toward her. He towered over her, despite the fact that she was rather tall herself, and while he was jovial in tone there was almost something sinister about his action. It felt like he was trying to intimidate her for whatever reason. She wanted to act like she wasn’t afraid, but too many things about him didn’t add up. He scared her more than anything.

She took a step back before turning around and sitting at her desk. She hoped she could get her act together and seem calm when she was sitting down and going over various medical records. He didn’t follow her - not right away, at least. He watched her walk behind her desk and sit down, much like how a predator would watch its prey. He would learn though, sooner or later, that Catarina Crane was not some small, meek creature to be devoured. She was much more than that.

She wasn’t completely aware of how he had her picked out from the moment he walked out of his office to see her asking his assistant a question. Murkoff might’ve known about her before him, but he was going to take what he wanted from her eventually.

“So, Cat, I was wondering,” he began, leaning over her desk and peering at the documents in her hand briefly.

“It’s Dr. Crane.” She interjected, speaking through gritted teeth this time. He ignored her obvious annoyance.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go out to dinner sometime this weekend?” He flashed her another smile, but she could only stare at him blankly. In spite of all the signals she gave off that she wasn’t interested, he still pushed forward. This time she was cornered in her office, but she wasn’t afraid - not this time. She was frustrated. She was borderline angry.

“I’d rather have my fingers cut off. Let me put it this way, since you ignored my multiple signs that I wasn’t interested, no. I don’t want anything to do with you, Mr. Trager. Please, get out of my office, I have work to do.” She looked back down at the documents in her hand, refusing to spare him even another glance. He scared her, yes, but she was repulsed by him even more. It wasn’t like he was particularly unattractive, but his persistence and refusal to read the signs she put off made him unattractive. He couldn’t seem to grasp that she was uninterested, and that was what frustrated her, and this was only their second meeting.

She didn’t see the dark look that came over his features at her rejection. He knew she would be tough to get, but he wouldn’t give up. He had Blaire to cover his ass, or at least he hoped Blaire would cover for him. He half scoffed, a smirk immediately made its way to his lips.

“Damn, Cat, I didn’t think you could be that harsh.” He stated, this time he stood straight. His hands were buried in his pockets, and despite the fact that she wasn’t looking at him, his eyes were trained on her. She didn’t bother correcting him this time though.

“Perhaps you were more incompetant than I thought.” She muttered, though she didn’t think he could hear her. He did, and it struck a nerve. He turned around and all but stormed out. He stopped at the door, feeling the need to have the last word.

“See ya around, Cat.” He said, but Catarina thought nothing of it. He left without another word spoken between the two of them, though she could have sworn she heard him greet someone happily outside of her office; a faint ‘hey buddy’ that slightly concerned her. She wasn’t entirely sure that he wouldn’t spread nasty rumors about her - not that she cared if he did - but after their conversation she could see him doing it.

Little did she know, he had bigger things to worry about than her.

Shortly after that uncomfortable exchange, Catarina decided to actually go to lunch. She locked up her office, but deep down she wished she could double up on security to keep creeps like Trager out. She really didn’t feel like getting ambushed again, though she doubted he’d do it twice in one day.

The walk to the cafeteria was almost as tense as the walk past her father’s office when she was younger. He always had frightening masks and other scary things hanging in his work space, and chances were he would try to get her to understand why she feared those things. He’d try to make her feel better about it all, but there was always one mask that terrified her, and that terror never faded. It was a burlap mask with straw coming out of the top and various stitches around the mouth. It had blank button eyes that stared down at her, much like the blank eyes that would stare up at her in her career. It was a scarecrow mask, and nothing sent shivers down her spine more than scarecrows. She was lucky to grow up in the city, the same couldn’t be said for her father. It was an interesting case, the fact that they were both afraid of scarecrows, but it was enough to get her interested in fear and phobias, like her father before her.

The line in the cafeteria wasn’t too long, with only a few members of staff waiting on line to order something. The man in the front of the line was staring at the menu on the wall and placing a seemingly long order, which had Cat mentally rolling her eyes. She wondered if there was another place she could get something to eat in the building. Going to lunch off the premises wasn’t allowed, so it was eat at the cafeteria or bring something from home.

In front of Catarina was a short, plump woman with red hair. She wore a light blue dress and a string of pearls around her neck, she was dressed nice, though Cat doubted she was an executive. The woman glanced at her nervously, and it was obvious to Cat that she was getting impatient too, but she doubted this woman would speak up about it. She smiled awkwardly, letting out an airy chuckle.

“If I knew he’d be ordering for a whole circus I would’ve brought something from home.” She joked, prompting a small smile from Cat.

“Sorry, it just feels like I’ve been standing here forever.” She continued, turning completely around this time. Now that Cat could see her completely, she came to the conclusion that this woman was pregnant.

“I’m Michelle, by the way.” Cat smiled at her, and while normally she’d formally introduce herself with her title and whole name, she decided against it.

“Catarina.” She introduced, and for a moment she swore she saw something short of recognition flash in her eyes. If she had heard of Cat, she didn’t mention it to her. Instead, she went the more predictable route, recognizing her as the new doctor and welcoming her, even if she had been there for nearly a month.

The line had finally moved up, but Michelle hadn’t noticed. Cat smiled awkwardly and pointed behind the woman, who promptly turned around and moved up a little. This time the line was moving faster, with people knowing exactly what they were ordering unlike the man who held the line up. After ordering and paying for her food, Cat was going to walk to her office, but she was stopped once more by Michelle.

“Hey, just let me know if you need anything. I work down in IT, so just call that line and I’ll probably be the one to pick up.” She stated. Cat smiled and nodded, but deep down she knew she wouldn’t really go to her if she needed something. Michelle seemed nice enough, but it looked like she was hiding something just below the surface, like she wanted to reach out to her and tell her something. Cat wouldn’t pry, she wasn’t one of her patients and even then it was up to her to tell her. It was intriguing, and she couldn’t help but see it as a mystery for her to solve. Maybe one day Michelle would open up about what was bothering her, but Cat knew she couldn’t count on that. At least she knew she wouldn’t lose sleep over it.

[lumi-klovstad-games]

Fallout 4: the case for Father being a damn liar telling Damn Lies who is NOT who he claims to be

Oddly, I find that people seem very keen to take the Director of the freaking Institute at his word that he’s actually Shaun for some reason.

This is a man with all the motive and opportunity to lie about that in the world.

At no point does he actually offer any sort of hard evidence, and his attempts at “affection” are cold, distant, and unconvincing. While his remarks about “until today, I have had no love to share” could plausibly explain that, his interactions with the Sole Survivor are overwhelmingly manipulative and he definitely sees you more as an asset (and possible successor) than as family; his behavior in general is detached and similar to a high functioning sociopath, which also as a bonus explains why he treats Synths the way he does. To some extent, genuine humans are no different to him than Synths: everything and everyone is merely an asset to secure the Institute’s future dominance in the Commonwealth. He says what he needs to say to provoke the reaction he wants out of people and doesn’t necessarily stand behind a word of it.

So, I don’t think Father is actually Shaun. Of course he can claim this all he wants, but the Sole Survivor has no way of independently verifying this: Father has a vested interest in remaining an unreliable narrator, and also literally controls all paths to the truth that don’t involve going to the Brotherhood of Steel (who likewise can’t be trusted to give an honest answer if that honestly has potential to interfere with their mission).

From what we see of the Commonwealth, paternity tests are VERY DIFFICULT to pull off. Likely, the Brotherhood could do one. The Institute sure as hell could do one, but Father’s goal is manipulating the Sole Survivor into replacing Kellogg, and eventually, himself. It’d be like asking Stalin to conduct an ethics investigation on himself. OF COURSE HE’S GONNA SAY WHAT HE’S GONNA SAY.

But consider the actual evidence. What happens in this lead up to meeting Father at all?

Why, quite a lot, and if Father’s “plan” as described was actually a plan, he’d have to be a goddamn prophet.

He’d have to know that you wouldn’t get mauled to death by Yao Guais and Deathclaws, eaten by Feral Ghouls, killed by raiders, or any of the other fun and exciting means of death that the Wasteland has on offer, and then meet EXACTLY the right people who point you in EXACTLY the right direction about a half dozen times, that you’d somehow kill Kellogg (who has a well earned reputation as a One Man Army the mere mention of which makes some of the most hardened mercs in the Commonwealth shit themselves with fear) and THEN have access to the tech to use his brain as a film reel to poke through his memories to find out that the Institute uses teleportation to get in and out.

He also has absolutely no guarantee that you wouldn’t just mini-nuke Kelogg in the fight and that there’d be anything left to salvage.

Then he has to be able to predict that you can track down Virgil, kill a Courser, DECRYPT THE COURSER’S BRAINCHIP SOMEHOW, build a fucking teleporter INTERCEPTOR out of scraps, and come meet him in the first place.

How could ANYONE have reasonably predicted all that in advance?

There are simply way WAY too many points of not even possible but MOST GODDAMN LIKELY catastrophic failure in that plan. Had even a single thing happened slightly differently, had the Sole Survivor been 0.001% less lucky, the whole thing would have been shot to hell just like America was about two minutes after the bombs fell.

Maybe the Sole Survivor takes one too many bullets. Maybe Kellog’s Hippocampus doesn’t survive his death. Maybe Skinny Malone decides to finally trash Nick Valentine once and for all instead of locking him up. Maybe Dogmeat gets killed by literally ANYTHING in the Commonwealth that could kill a German Shepard (which realistically means everything – the place is somehow more hostile than all of Australia’s wildlife put together). Maybe Glory errs on the side of pragmatism and blows you away with her minigun when you first meet the Railroad.

Tons of stuff could have gone wrong that nobody could have predicted, but Father acts as though you followed his plans to the letter. That all that was meant to engineer a meeting with you. There would have been a ton of ways to do that in a simpler manner with a much lower risk of failure, starting by beaming a Courser right outside Vault 111 to say “Looking for your son? Come with me. We have a bit of explaining to do, but you can see him right now if you like.”

So either Father is either a future-seeing prophet with a magic mirror or something, or he’s actually even more shocked than you are that you actually made it to the Institute and is just trying to cover it up by saying “Sure yeah I’m your son and psssht yeah of course I totally meant to do all that.”

The alternative to that particular Occam’s Razor is that he’s simply so addicted to complexity that he’d get dizzy if you asked him to walk in a straight line.

He’s (probably) not Shaun.

It’s just a lie he told that grew bigger and bigger with each telling as he grew convinced that the Sole Survivor was so dangerous that they had to be harnessed by the Institute instead of someone else (or worse, being allowed to remain a free agent), and, preferably, molded into his replacement.

At least, that’s my read on the situation.

If he is Shaun, the game does a TERRIBLE job of convincing me, since we know that Father is a man of “rather flexible morality” depending on how he can justify things, meaning he can reasonably break any of his own rules and claim he didn’t actually break those rules.

Added to that, Doctors Sun and Crocker (independent medical authorities with no known ties to any faction) both confirm that surgery can change eye color, skin color, skeletal construction and musculature in the Fallout universe and is therefore not just a gameplay feature, meaning Father’s physical resemblance to the Sole Survivor means less than nothing in and of itself as the Institute is likely to have even more advanced capacities for surgery (they literally BUILD wholesale human beings on a factory floor, I mean c’mon). Deacon also supports the notion that surgery can change literally everything about a person’s appearance, but, admittedly, he’s…. Deacon and his word isn’t worth much unless it’s confirmed by independent authorities in the field… like Crocker and Sun would have already done by the time you meet Deacon.

Everything Father sets up can actually be knocked down by something else you’ve encountered in the lore of the game, so this leaves his ultimate parentage ambiguous at best. He might be Shaun. He might not be. It’s up to the player, ultimately, to decide (at least unless Fallout 5 somehow addresses it, which would cement things in canon) whether he is or not.

And I remain unconvinced that he is.

[canyouevenwritebro]

Sunflowers (pt. 1)

Summary: The reader has been with the Avengers since they rescued her from HYDRA. She has joined them on countless missions since then but this may be the hardest one yet. Set in 2016 CA:CW.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story. It’s purely fiction.

Characters: steve rogers, tony stark, natasha romanoff, bucky barnes, sam wilson, wanda maximoff, clint barton, peter parker

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: angst, depression, violence, death

a/n: hey!!! i did it! my first fanfic.

When the Avengers raided the HYDRA base you were kept in, they found you inside a cryo-chamber sleeping peacefully. After every personnel was captured, they transferred you to the compound along with artifacts and files of experiments they performed. Eventually, they found your file. It was quite lengthy. Your father was working for HYDRA but he turned on them and planned to take them down. As a result, they silenced him and your mother. They knew that whatever he knew about HYDRA, he told her. They spared you because you were just a kid. Instead, you were out on the Thanatos program. It was your father's project and it was almost done up until his betrayal. They thought you would be perfect for the program. They could groom you to the perfect obedient soldier they needed. On top of that, what could be more cruel than using your father's work to torture you?

They gave you a version of the serum used on the winter soldiers, with their own upgrades of course. They incorporated it with the Extremis serum and that left you with a super soldier that can breathe fire. Phoenix, they called you. The ultimate weapon of death.

After briefing everyone on your situation, they woke you up. You stepped out of the chamber confused. You were met with unfamiliar yet kind faces that it overwhelmed you. You made a run for it and nearly burned down the entire medical wing before they tranquilized you again. You woke up in a small glass cell where they told you that they meant no harm. Somehow, you believed them.

That was a year and a half ago. Now, here you were walking around New York and trying your best to be part of society. After extensive amounts of therapy of course. You were on your way back when you saw an old man in a flower shop organizing his stalls. You were mesmerized by the flowers' beauty and found yourself crossing the street to get there.

"Looking for anything specific, ma'am?" he asked

"No, not really. Maybe something cheery?" God, why are you so socially awkward?

"Well, in that case," he said, "here are some sunflowers." He handed you a bouquet.

"My wife loves them. When she's upset, I get her these because they always look towards the sun and the color brightens up the room," he said with a smile.

"Thank you so much," you said as you handed him a $20 bill "Keep the change"

You were now back at the compound and you were rummaging through the kitchen in search of a vase. You didn't find any (Seriously? a state of the art training compound owned by a billionaire doesn't have a vase?)

"I guess a pitcher would do," you whispered to yourself as you headed to your room.

"What is that?" asked Tony.

"Sunflowers. Got it from the guy near the train station. It's a good metaphor when you think about it. They're always looking on the bright side. I didn't get many opportunities to go sunbathing when I was at HYDRA." you said with an awkward chuckle.

"Alright. Fair enough. I'm headed to MIT for the speech thingy. Wanna come?"

"Nah. I still have to catch up on culture." you giggled. Years of working for HYDRA also didn't give you a lot of me-time.

"Okay well if you change your mind, you know how to get there."

"Copy that."

You headed to your room. Yours. You actually owned something. You turned on your TV and scanned through the channels. Doctor Who reruns? Sure. Hours had passed and you've scanned through hundreds of channels. You decided to turn on some news in the background while you read.

"On breaking news, eleven Wakandans are amongst those confirmed dead after a violent clash between the Avengers and independent mercenaries in Nigeria." Your head bolted up and you reached for the remote to turn the volume up.

"Brock Rumlow, former SHIELD agent, led the team of mercenaries to procure a biological weapon being tested at the Center for Disease Control Nigeria Division. It was believed to be a suicide mission as eyewitness account said Rumlow wore a type of bomb in his vest. Avenger Wanda Maximoff contained the explosion only to have the blast thrown into a building killing a total of 30 people. We have yet to receive an official statement from the Avengers. More details tonight only on Channel 6 News at 8." You listened with intent and your heartbeat was beating fast. Those poor victims. Is the team on their way home? Are they okay? How is Wanda doing? Your mind formed a million questions.

"FRIDAY, call Steve Rogers." a faint ding let you know that your request is being done.

"Y/n." Oh, thank god he's okay.

"Steve! Are you guys alright? I saw what happened. I am so sorry."

"We're alright. Search and rescue was already on the scene when we left."

"How's Wanda? Do you need me to do anything?"

"Physically, she's safe, y/n. Emotionally? This is gonna take a toll on her."

"What about the others? Nat? Sam? You?"

"We're gonna be fine. We're on our way home."

You met the team on the law of the compound. They were visibly stunned and you cut through them to hug Wanda. She was your best friend and you know that this was going to affect her greatly. You were right. She locked herself in her room and the only thing you heard was the sound of the news and sobbing.

In his office, Steve kept replaying what had happened in Lagos. Knowing him, he was gonna blame himself for this. You wanted to leave him be but your concern for Wanda kept you standing by his doorway.

"Steve? You got a moment?"

"Y/n. Do you need anything?" he said as he paused the video on his computer.

"No. I just wanna say I'm sorry about Lagos. Sam and Nat told me what happened."

"It's not your fault, y/n. It's mine. Rumlow mentioned Bucky and all sense of the mission disappeared in my head."

"Don't blame yourself. Bucky was or is, your best friend and he's still missing. You have a right to have emotions."

"Thanks. I... uh...  I needed that. Have you talked to Wanda yet?"

"No. Her room is locked. Maybe you should try talking to her. Both of us saw you as a mentor. She'll listen to you."

You gave him a faint smile and headed for the kitchen. Maybe some food could help them. You moved the vase of sunflowers from your room to the middle of the large dining table.

Tony walked in and asked everyone to meet in the conference room. He got the news as he was coming home from Massachusetts. After a brief interaction with a grieving mother and the news of the mission, he knew what he had to do.

Inside, you were met by General Ross and his assistant. Rhodey was already inside and the rest of the team followed suit. Wanda had stopped crying but you knew she would never get over this.

The general discussed the Sokovia Accords with the team. As much as you'd like to be on Steve's side, you knew the team needs to be put in check. One more incident like this and the world might lose their trust in you. You agreed with Tony. Rhodey and Sam were discussing, or perhaps fighting would be a better word, over the Accords. Tony just sat there looking like a rebellious teen listening to his parents' lectures.

To prove a point, Tony showed the team a picture of Charlie Spencer. He died in Sokovia after Ultron planned to drive the human race into extinction. You felt your heart drop. He just wanted to do some good and he was caught in the crossfire.

At that point, the fighting and bantering was too much and you just zoned everyone out. You wanted to cry and you knew that the team was slowly drifting apart. Steve walked out after receiving a text. You didn't ask why. He has a private life after all.

You decided to take your frustrations out on the punching bags. You finally had a home. A family. But you feel the world caving in around you. With one last punch, the punching bag came flying through the room engulfed in flames. You fell to your knees as tears clouded your vision. Dum-E, who Tony programmed to follow you around with a fire extinguisher as a joke, finally put his programming to use.

"Y/n." a familiar voice called to you

"Nat. Hey." you struggled through the tears.

"Talk to me."

"I- I just want the team to stay together. You guys are the only family I have."

"Me too, y/n. I used to have nothing till I found this family."

"I want to help. What can I do to help?"

"I'm off to Vienna for the signing of the Accords. I'm meeting Steve on the way to try and change his mind. Maybe you can help."

"I'll try."

Nat took you to a cathedral. Steve was on the other end by himself. He looks... tired. On the altar was a picture of Agent Carter.

"Oh. That's why he left."

"Hi, Steve. I just wanna say I am so sorry for your loss," you said as you walked towards him.

"Nat. Y/n. What are you doing here?"

"We didn't want you to be alone and I'm also taking y/n with me to Vienna for the signing of the Accords."

"There's plenty of room on the jet," you said

"Who else signed?"

"Tony, Rhodey, Vision."

"Wanda?"

"TBA."

"Clint?"

"He said he's retired."

"There's still time to change your mind, Steve. Come with us to Vienna." you pleaded one last time

"You know why I can't do this y/n. If I sign, we're surrendering our freedom to people with agendas different from ours."

You felt a lump in your throat. "I'll be in the car." You said to Nat as you turned around not looking at Steve once as you walked out of the church.

"She hates me now, doesn't she?"

"No, she doesn't. She's just scared."

Nat was right. As always. You got in the car and tried to meditate. You didn't want to cry. Not when cameras surrounded you. You tried to steady your breathing but your brain seemed to do the exact opposite.

~~~Flashback~~~

"Injecting serum in five seconds." an emotionless voice said. You tried to break free but you were strapped down to the table. Even if you weren't, it was like you were trapped in your own mind. You couldn't move. The next few hours were a blur to you. The only thing you remember was the excruciating pain coursing through your veins.

"Serum successfully administered."

"Good. Take her to the cell for the remainder of the process."

You woke up in a pool of sweat inside a dark room. Alone. Like you have been since you were a kid. You don't remember much of it. Sometimes you see your parents in your dreams. You were 5 years old and they took you to the park. Your mom was helping you get to the other end of the monkey bars while your dad went to get snow cones. You were happy. But that memory was soon followed by the sound of gunshots and screaming. You couldn't understand what was said but you didn't need to be a genius to know it was full of anger. Your mom told you to hide and you did. But they found you anyway. Since then, you were subjected to vigorous training. You now know 30 languages and deadly fighting skills. You became a weapon and today was the final step of your transformation. Eleven years of training and they deemed you ready. After they reprogrammed your brain to be obedient, of course.

The man in the army uniform handed you a folder. "Your first mission, soldatin," he said, "Procure the obelisk. No survivors. No witnesses. You have 48 hours. Report back here as soon as it is finished." You nodded and opened the folder. It was of a tiny village at the base of the Swiss Alps. In the middle of it was the said obelisk encased in glass. You took a handful of soldiers with you and you headed for the village.

You succeeded in your mission. The obelisk was safely placed inside a containment unit in the jet. The village was burned to the ground. Bodies were piled on the streets and the only sign of life was your team and a handful of livestock the villagers kept. With that, you headed back.

"Very good, soldatin. Go with the doctor." and like the good soldier that you were, you walked behind the man in the lab coat.

You passed by a few offices on your way to the medical wing. Amongst other things, the serum enhanced your hearing. The faintest whispers sounded like normal talking.

"You heard about the mission?"

"Yeah. I heard y/l/n didn't even show mercy for those villagers." the voice chuckled.

"Bettenhauser's gonna be pleased." said another.

"I bet. He and y/f/l/n worked together on the program and seeing it do its purpose mus be so satisfying"

"Her father was an asset for us. That was before he betrayed us, though."

"Well, we got her now. She is an even bigger asset than her father ever was."

You kept walking and you ended up in a room with four other people in coats. In the middle of a room was a large glass case with a chair.

"Step inside the chamber, soldatin. You need to rest." and just like that, your feet dragged you inside. One of the coats placed a mask on you amongst other things. You felt your eyelids getting heavier and heavier and heavier. Gone.

The glass chamber now safely enclosed your unconscious body. Your body was now as cold as ice.

~~~End of flashback~~~

Since that first mission, you had killed hundreds of people for HYDRA. Innocent people. They haunt your dreams to this day but what's done is done. All you could do is help as many as you can.

You were taken out of your trance by the sound of the car door closing. Nat now sat beside you.

"Eagle Hangar please," she said to the driver

The drive to the hangar was silent. So was the flight to Vienna.

"Here goes nothing," you said to Nat as the elevator doors opened. World leaders were gathered in the room and cameras were flashing everywhere. A lady with a clipboard checked you in and quickly walked away.

"I see you are not fans of the spotlight." said the man in the suit. You later learned his name was T'Challa. Prince of Wakanda.

"It isn't very flattering," Nat said to him.

"Well, considering your last trip to Capitol Hill, you seem to be doing great so far." you chuckled at his response. You read about that months ago. You even saw it on YouTube on "Black Widow most iconic moments compilation.

"You don't seem like a big fan as well." You told him

"The accords, yes. The politics? not very. Two men in the same room can get more done than a hundred."

"Unless you need to move a piano." the voice behind you said

"King T'Chaka. This is Y/n Y/l/n. Allow us to apologize for what happened in Nigeria."

"Thank you, Ms. Romanoff. I'm sad to hear Captain Rogers won't be joining us."

"That makes three of us." You replied to him.

Just then, you heard a voice come on through the speakers asking everyone to take a seat. King T'Chaka was giving a statement when both yours and Nat's attention was drawn to his son who was looking out the window.

"EVERYBODY GET DOWN!" He screamed as he bolted for his father.

Like instinct, you threw yourself in front of Nat. It's something that you started doing after you joined the team. You thought after all the lives you've taken, protecting as many as you can could "wipe the red off your ledger" as Nat put it. You were a very effective human shield as a result of the serums. You weren't immortal nor did you have instantaneous healing due to the reaction between the two serums but you still healed faster compared to average humans. You felt a spray of glass cut through your skin and a searing heat touched your skin. Search and rescue came after the explosion and took you and Nat to get medical attention. You were perfectly fine but Nat had a few cuts and bruises. In typical Nat fashion, she walked it off like it was nothing.

You were taken to a tent to get a fresh set of clothes while Nat talked to Prince T'Challa, now king under horrible circumstances. When you got out, he was gone and she was on the phone.

A few minutes later, your phone rang.

Captain Grandpa calling...

you dropped the call and went to check on NAt

~~~BUCHAREST~~~

News outlets revealed Sargeant Barnes, Bucky, was behind the bombing. You knew Steve was gonna go after him. He'd been looking for Bucky since SHIELD fell. Now, he found him in Romania. Orders were given to shoot him on sight and Steve wouldn't let that happen.

~~~BERLIN~~~

Bucky was now in custody.

"What part of don't make things worse didn't you understand?" you asked Steve

You were in one of the offices watching Bucky getting evaluated by the doctor. You were in the other room talking to Tony about what would happen to your teammates.

"We're lucky they aren't in jail," he said

This was all too much. You went to the bathroom to splash some water on your face. You hadn't slept in 24 hours nor eaten anything. You looked in the mirror and fixed your hair as best you could.

BLACKOUT.

What was happening? You ran out and saw a lot of commotion.

"Get me eyes on Barnes," yelled Everett Ross.

You saw Nat and Tony walking towards the exit.

"What happened? What can I do?" you asked

"Don't know. We need to find Barnes." Tony said

"Please tell me you brought a suit," said Nat

"Sure did. It's a lovely Tom Ford three-piece two-button. I'm on active duty non-combatant."

Just as he said that Agent Carter, the younger, ran past you "follow me," she said. The three of you did and she led you to the facility's lobby.

You had never met Sgt. Barnes but from what Steve told you, he was a good man. The person you saw in the lobby was not him. He reminded you of your time at HYDRA. Cold and merciless. A soldier.

Sharon and Nat ran in and tried to fight him to no avail. You managed to get him down but he pinned you n the floor. He was trying to choke you and as a last effort to break free, you took a deep breath and exhaled a stream of fire. He dodged out of the way and you managed to get up. The next thing you saw was T'Challa going after him. You set fire to the staircase to slow him down but he still got away

You went outside only to see Steve on the rooftop pulling a helicopter from the sky. Sometimes you forget that he's a super-soldier just like you.

"Y/n coordinate evac. Get civilians as far away as you can," said Tony through comms. You wanted to help Steve but you got your orders.

~~~Fast forward to Berlin~~~

You did what Tony said and got civilians to a safe distance. When you went to meet with Nat and Tony, they told you Steve and Bucky were gone. They assumed Sam was with them too.

~~~Steve's POV~~~

"This would've been a lot easier a week ago," said Sam

"If we call Tony or maybe y/n--" he cut you off

"Who knows if the accords will let them help." he had a point. After everything that's happened, the UN would not listen to them even if they found out about Zemo.

"We're on our own."

"Maybe not." you looked at him questioningly. "I know a guy"

~~~End of POV~~~

You were now back in a conference room with General Ross. He gave you 36 hours to bring the three men in. He wouldn't hesitate to kill Steve if it meant bringing Barnes in.

"My left arm is numb. Is that normal?" he asked. Nat put her hand on his shoulder.

"You alright?" she asked

"Always." you knew that was a lie. Numbness in the left arm was a sign of a heart attack. But he's Tony. he could be bleeding to death and still say witty sarcastic remarks. You wish he didn't do that. You wished he'd open up to you more. "36 hours. Geez."

"We're seriously understaffed," said Nat. It was just the three of you there now.

"Would be great if we had a hulk right about now. Any shot?" Nat shook her head

Not even the Hulk. It would be nice if just Bruce and Thor were there. Maybe things wouldn't be as bad. Bruce and Thor would've deescalated matters before you could say Mjolnir.

"You really think he would be on our side?" she asked. You hadn't thought of that but knowing Bruce, he would want the team to be together.

"I have an idea." Said Nat

"ME too. Where's yours?

"Downstairs. Where's yours?" said tony.

~~~QUEENS~~~

"Spiderman? really?" you asked Tony in the car.

"HE stopped a 3000 lbs car going 40 miles an hour wit his bare hands and he swings from webs."

"But he's dressed in a red hoodie and swim goggles." you chuckled. It was probably the lightest moment you had in the last week alone.

You and Tony knocked on the apartment door. It was answered by a middle-aged woman. She was beautiful honestly. She had those kind motherly eyes that reminded you of your mom.

"Hi. I'm Tony Stark. This is y/n y/l/n. Is Mr. Parker here? we have some good news for him." Tony sad

"I'm May., his aunt and no he's not here. He should be home soon though. You're welcome to wait." she invited you in and served you some walnut and date bread. It was horrible but you didn't have the heart to tell her. she was so nice.

"So what is this good news you're here about?" she asked. Tony didn't actually tell you what his plan was. Not in full anyways so you were just as curious as her.

"Oh its a grant from the September foundation that he applied for. I approved." as far as bullshit made-on-the-spot excuses go, that was pretty good.

"Oh, he never told me that.

"He probably wanted to surprise you," you said to her

"Probably. Are you also a receiver of the grant?" she asked

"No. I'm interested in how the foundation is run so I asked to be here" she nodded. You didn't think she'd buy it but she did. Just as he said that the front door opens and a young guy walked in. He couldn't have been much younger than you. He had his earphones n and he was going on about this nice car parked outside. Tony's of course.

He saw the three of you on the sofa and he was clearly starstruck upon seeing Tony. He couldn't even speak without stuttering. He repeated his excuse to Peter and he surprisingly went along with it. Tony asked for five minutes alone with him and you were left in the living room with Aunt May. When they got out of the room, Peter informed his aunt that Tony invited him to the compound to talk more about the internship. You knew it was a lie of course because just a few hours later, Peter was standing next to you on the car to the airport.

~~~BERLIN~~~

Vision informed you that Clint came to get Wanda at the compound. Immediately, you knew this wasn't gonna end well. You don't want to fight her but you don't have a choice

As a last effort, you tried calling Steve but hews just declining your calls. Eventually, none of them would even go through.

~~~Fast forward~~~

"Steve, you know what's about to happen. Do you really want to punch your way out of this one?" Nat said.

"Just come with us. Please," you pleaded. He looked at the both of you

"Alright, I've run out of patience. Underoos!" yelled tony. just as he did, Peter grabbed Steve's should and landed on top of  the helicopter

"Nice job kid"

"Thanks. I could've stuck the landing a little better. It's just the new suit but it's perfect, Mr. Stark" he went on this babbling for about 45 seconds. You thought it was funny.

~~~

"I'm trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart," Tony said. You wanted the same thing. You all do.

"You did that when you signed," said Steve

"You're gonna turn Barnes over and you're gonna come with us now because it's us" You could hear the sadness and frustration in Tony's voice. "Come on" he whispered

You heard Sam's voice through Steve's earpiece "We found it. The quintet is in hangar five. North runway." you let out a deep breath. This was it. Steve raised his arm as Redwing cut through his restraints.

"Alright Lang," said Steve

"What the hell was that?" asked Rhodes

"I believe this is yours, Captain America"

"Oh great. There's two on the parking deck. One of them is Maximoff. I'm gonna go grab her. Y/n come with me. Rhodey, wanna take Cap?" said Tony as he grabbed you by the arm and flew towards Wanda... and Clint?

"There's two on the terminal. Wilson and Barnes"

"Barnes is mine," said T'Challa

~~~Fast Forward~~~

"Wanda. I think you hurt Vision's feelings"

"You locked me in my room."

"I did it to protect you."

"Wanda, stop this now. I don't want to fight you but you know I will."

"I can't live in fear anymore, y/n." and with that, she used her powers to drop cars at you.

"I'm done playing nice. You want a fight? I'll give you a fight." you said as you aimed fireblasts at her and Clint.

A fight has now ensued between the two teams. Tony attached a miniaturized jet pack to your back so you could chase after the others. Steve and the others were making a run for the hangar when Vision used his laser to stop them in their tracks. You landed in front of them, skin now glowing red from the fire inside you. The others followed suit.

"You must surrender now." Vision's voice thundered over you despite being in an open space. You were now face to face with your friends.

"What do we do, Cap?" asked Sam

"We fight."

"This isn't gonna end well," whispered Nat

"They're not stopping," said Peter

"Neither are we."

a/n: what do you guys think? I hope you like it. it's my first time writing fanfic. criticism would be greatly appreciated. part two coming soon depending on the response to this...

[side-effect-of-the-meds]

Hey! There's this hc that's been on my mind for a while now but it's a bit dark so I've kinda been scared to ask people about it because IDK how it'd go down.... Okay, it's AFTG, and: What if after Aaron's trial with the whole Thanksgiving thingy they propose Aaron should be on mood altering drugs? What would happen? What would people do?? Also I know there are some fanpeople that don't like how Andrew's medication was represented in the books so I completely understand if you'd rather not reply

I’m sorry this took so long and I’m sorry for my recent inactivity. I’m still not ready to come back from my surprise hiatus but here’s this. It’s largely unedited so please forgive my bullshit. Thanks so much for the ask, love <3

“Aaron Minyard was oft-referred to as "the normal one" of the two, though that was usually followed by a debate over whether or not he could be sane when he shared genes with Andrew.”

Anyone with half a brain knows that Aaron doesn’t need the drugs. Hell, anyone with half a brain would have known better than to put a minor on something so strong but Andrew was on them for like 4 yrs + Exy is a thing so obviously no one in this universe has a single functioning brain cell. Another thing to be considered is that Aaron is a rehabilitated drug addict. He’s been sober (or as close to sober as he’s going to get) since he was 16. In the real world, I seriously doubt they’d put him on anti-psychotics, especially considering his past. But this is The Foxhole Court and I’m invoking suspension of disbelief. 

Screams reverberated through Aaron’s head. There weren’t many words Aaron could discern amid the broken sobs and dry heaving. The overwhelming stench of vomit hit his nostrils. Pain shot through his left arm. It was likely dislocated from ramming it into the door at an odd angle. Staggering to his feet, Aaron saw himself in the mirror. Dark circles rimmed his bloodshot eyes. A cruel smile slowly curled the lips of his reflection. Andrew. Swinging a punch at him with his good hand, the mirror shattered. Shards of glass embedded themselves into his fist. Blood ran in rivers down his arms. 

His surroundings distorted, exchanging the soft glow of yellow bulbs for the harsh glow of fluorescents. The blood was gone along with the mirror shards. In their place was a motley of scars. None of them seemed too severe. The acrid smell of smoke clung to the air and mixed with the alcohol and vomit, making Aaron’s stomach roil. The sound of someone retching caught Aaron’s attention. Whirling around, Aaron felt his heart stutter. Matt lay twitching on the floor in a pool of his own spew.

“That’s what you looked like,” Andrew said from beside Aaron. “Pathetic.” The word echoed through Aaron’s head. 

“Aaron?” Nicky said, laying a hand on his shoulder. Aaron jerked away from him as though he’d been burned. Nicky’s face crumpled. Aaron’s gaze darted around the room.Taking stock of his surroundings helped ground him. Overstuffed chairs lined one of the walls. Three sofas boxed off the corner they were sat in. Orange fox prints decorated the white walls, a name, number, and photograph at the center of each. Aaron was back at the Foxhole Court. 

“I told you not to touch him.” Andrew’s voice froze the blood in Aaron’s veins. Stalking forward from the corner he’d been standing in, he moved to stand in front of Aaron. Cold brown eyes identical to Aaron’s own now held his gaze. Aaron wanted to look away but, as always, there was something about his brother’s eyes that never failed to command his attention. 

“How’s he going to play if he’s medicated?” Kevin asked. Aaron felt his heart sink. After spending two years with him, Aaron should have known better than to expect Kevin to care about anything other than Exy but he couldn’t help it. Just as he’d begun to think that the last few months had meant something, Kevin squashed the tiny bud of hope that had blossomed in Aaron’s heart.  

“How are you going to play if I break your other arm?” Andrew snarled. Aaron watched the color drain from Kevin’s face. A part of him wanted to smirk in Kevin’s face. It served the asshole right. All Kevin ever thought about was Exy. Exy and himself. Half of the things the foxes had been through could have been avoided had it not been for Kevin. They wouldn’t have suffered the graffiti attacks nor would they have been constantly dogged by the media. They sure as shit wouldn’t have had Neil and the mafia to contend with had Kevin not been such a selfish asshole, insisting on dragging that good-for-nothing junkie out of the middle of bumfuck Arizona. 

A larger part of Aaron wanted to cradle Kevin in his arms and protect him from Andrew’s wrath. Had Kevin not run, Aaron would never have had the chance to feel the press of Kevin’s vodka drenched lips on his. He definitely wouldn’t have had the chance to hear the soft keening moans that fell from Kevin’s lips when Aaron fucked into him. Worst of all, there would be no soft smiles or lazy kisses before Kevin drifted off to sleep.  

“Andrew,” Neil’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle. Well, not really. Neil’s voice was always gentle when he spoke to Andrew. Gentle and tender and full of love. Aaron couldn’t help but notice the way his brother’s brow softened and his shoulders drooped. Fuck you, Neil Josten. 

The door down the hall slammed shut. The sound of Coach Wymack’s footsteps echoed in the silence. Taking a moment to glance around the assemblage, Wymack read the room and decided it was best not to say anything. Instead, he held out a plastic bag. Aaron’s hand shook as he accepted it. A paper bag resided within the first. Extracting it, Aaron read the label. He’d seen the label a thousand times before but, up until today, it had always borne his brother’s name. 

Pills rattled ominously inside. Sweat slicked Aaron’s palms. Upending the second bag, the sight of the orange bottle jarred Aaron to his core. Andrew took the bottle from Aaron’s lap and squatted in front of him. 

“Two pills in the morning after breakfast,” he said. 

“And two again at 4,” Aaron finished. Andrew pried Aaron’s hand open before unscrewing the cap. Tipping two pills into Aaron’s palm, Andrew lay a hand on the back of his neck. Aaron knew his brother struggled to express his emotions but this was one gesture Aaron had learnt to recognize. It was a gesture of comfort meant to offer support. Staring into his brother’s eyes, Aaron forced himself to bring the pills to his lips. He swallowed them dry, painfully aware of every inch of their passage down his throat. 

Anyone watching knew that Aaron’s descent into madness was swift. Aaron himself didn’t know that, though. To him, time seemed to slow. Staring down at his hands, Aaron flexed his fingers. Were those his fingers? Maybe. Maybe not. Aaron opened his mouth and felt the skin around it stretch. Laughter bubbled out of him at the odd sensation. 

“Aaron?” Nicky asked. Aaron turned his gaze to his cousin and a smile split his face. Once again, the odd sensation of his skin drawing taut left him in a fit of giggles.

“It hurts,” Aaron said. 

“What hurts?” Kevin demanded. 

“Looking at your face,” Aaron replied. Had the words passed anyone else’s lips, Kevin’s anger might have flared to life. Instead, any remaining signs of life seemed to drain from him. Now it really did hurt.

Nicky had always told Aaron that if you looked at something over and over again, you would eventually get it. Perhaps it was because seeing the reward would motivate a person to work towards their goal, but no matter how much Aaron looked at Kevin nor how hard he worked, Aaron knew Kevin would never truly be his. Why he kept tormenting himself by staring at him, Aaron didn’t know. Maybe he was just as self-destructive as Andrew. 

Sadness welled up in Aaron’s chest. A bone deep yearning had settled into him long ago but he suddenly felt the full intensity of- 

“Stickball!” Aaron cried as Neil wheeled the racquet cart out. Rocketing out of his seat, Aaron caught his brother’s arm and yanked it hard. “Andy, come play stickball with me!” 

“Play what?” Kevin squawked.

“Who?” Andrew choked at the same time. 

“Stickball, Andy,” Neil said. A smile curled the edges of his lips. Kevin opened his mouth to say something but Aaron didn’t stick around to hear. Instead, he followed after Neil chanting ‘Stick! Ball! Stick! Ball!’, dragging Andrew along behind him. 

So that gives you a general idea of Aaron’s madness.

Unlike Andrew, Aaron doesn’t really fight his meds. Where Andrew was terrified of not being able to properly watch out for his family, Aaron finds himself freed from all his anxieties. As such, he’s quite content with drifting through his life. I’ve always hc’d the twins as ADHD but are undiagnosed so it’s just a more intense version of how he normally is.

In the last two years, Aaron’s managed to make quite a few friends so they do their best to support him. Since he can’t focus very well and is no longer burdened by his anxieties, I feel like he also kinda relaxes around them??? Like he’s not as awkward. Very easy, breezy, joking around all the time. They really enjoy how much he’s opened up but they care a lot about him and are scared because they don’t know how to help him with class. What ends up happening is Katelyn is an absolute sweetheart. She convinces all of their friends to sit at the front of the room to record the lectures and upload them to a drive along with any extra notes that’ll help Aaron.

All the Foxes have to go to tutoring but Aaron’s tutor gave up the second he started his meds. After getting special permission from Wymack, they cut that time out and changed up the practice schedules a bit so Aaron could get out early and head back to Fox Tower. Once he’s made it through withdrawal, Katelyn will sit him down and help him work through his assignments. She’s a godsend. 

Aaron is usually off his meds on weekends. He usually goes out to Columbia with the Monsters. He still dances with Nicky and has his fair share of fun. They go to the mall pretty often bc there’s a carousel with spinning tea cups. The twins have spent an entire afternoon riding the spinning tea cups, competing to see who hurls first. Aaron almost always wins. Andrew will take him out late Saturday nights and speed down closed sections of highways or do donuts in parking lots because they're both dumbasses with death wishes. 

One weekend a month, Aaron remains at Fox Tower with Katelyn for spa day where they wax poetic about their respective crushes. Kate’s got a bit of a thing for a boy on the lacrosse team. Aaron screams bc he hates the guy. One time, at a party, the dude was talking to Kevin, shit talking both Kayleigh and Exy, completely unaware of exactly who he was talking to. Kevin ended up with a blackeye but the lacrosse kid couldn’t play for nearly two months. 

Speaking of Kevin, he’s only thing that ever seems to hold any of Aaron’s attention. He’s just so… pretty. If Exy is Neil’s shiny object, then Kevin is Aaron’s. Since Aaron makes even less of an effort to pay attention than Andrew did, there's times when he straight up can’t play. It infuriates Kevin to the point where Aaron gets pulled off the court. At first he doesn’t mind because it means that he can sit back and watch Kevin without any fear of getting caught. However, ever since he got put on his meds, Kevin hasn’t touched him. Not even in a non-sexual way. Before, there were casual touches: a hand on the small of Aaron’s back, shoulders pressed together as they squished into a booth, ankles hooked beneath the table. Now? There’s nothing. Kevin leaves a conspicuous space between himself and Aaron and it’s the only thing Aaron can feel anymore. 

So he starts paying attention on the court. Whenever they have a scrimmage, Aaron makes sure that he’s marking Kevin. Everytime Kevin crashes into him, Aaron’s consciousness slams back into his body. The heat of Kevin’s skin on his, their limbs tangled together, their ragged breaths intermingling, their helmets the only thing keeping their mouths from colliding together. Those little encounters are the only times when Aaron finally feels like himself. Those little encounters only last a few seconds and leave Aaron craving more, more, more. 

Aaron noticed that medicated Andrew was always brushing up against Neil but he’d never really thought much of it. Now he understood. Andrew had craved Neil just as Aaron craved Kevin. 

Speaking of Neil, he and Aaron get along well? I feel like Aaron is just as much of a smart mouth as Neil so the two of them just go around roasting the shit out of everyone. The drugs don’t change Aaron’s opinion of Neil but he begins to understand why Andrew broke their deal. Realizing that Neil didn’t steal his brother from him, Aaron starts to see the appeal in him. He’s stupid and funny and actually kind of pretty. Not as pretty as Kevin but pretty nonetheless. On weekends in Columbia, Aaron begins to notice all the things Neil does for his brother. Neil wakes up early in the morning to make breakfast and spends hours in the kitchen baking. He always picks up an extra pint of ice cream at the store and takes photos of stray cats to send Andrew. One time, Aaron couldn’t sleep and went to the kitchen for some water. His heart almost stopped when he heard Andrew’s rumbling laughter. Sneaking a peek around the corner, his heart really did stutter. Neil was standing on Andrew’s feet as he waltzed around the kitchen to the soft strains of music flowing from the radio. After aaron’s heart restarted, he hurried away because OH MY GOD ANDREW WAS LAUGHING AND DANCING AND HOLDING NEIL SO TENDERLY AND OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD

Okay so maybe Neil did sic the mafia on them but he also makes Andrew happy so that evens it out right? It’s v slow but Aaron is very slowly learning to accept Neil.

Slipping back to his room, Aaron placed a hand to his chest, feeling his heart racing a mile a minute. Off his meds, Aaron found it hard to stem the surge of jealousy threatening to overwhelm him. He was glad Andrew had found someone who loved him the way he deserved to be but didn’t Aaron deserve love too? 

A soft knock sounded behind him. Aaron nearly leapt out of his skin at the sound. Oh, fuck. What it was Andrew? What if he’d seen him? With shaking hands, Aaron opened the door. For the second time that night, Aaron’s heart stopped. 

Vodka stained lips crashed against his. Aaron’s mouth opened on impact and he felt the warm slide of Kevin’s tongue on his. A moan tore from Kevin, reverberating down Aaron’s thought. It was a shot right to his core. Suddenly, Aaron’s clothes felt too tight, his body too warm. Grabbing the collar of Kevin’s shirt, Aaron hauled him into the room. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Aaron panted as he tore himself away from Kevin.

“Missed you,” Kevin slurred as he leaned back in. Aaron shoved him away, sending Kevin crashing into the wall. The look of anguish that washed over Kevin’s features threatened to tear Aaron’s heart out of his chest. 

“You haven’t come near me in months,” Aaron hissed. “Why now?” Kevin opened his mouth but nothing came out. He tried two more times before dropping his gaze. 

“Because I got scared.” Wrapping his arms around himself, Kevin retreated into his shoulders. “No one’s ever made me feel like this before. All day, all night, you’re all I ever think about.”

“You don’t think about me on the court,” Aaron sneered.

“And you don’t watch me from the sidelines.” Aaron felt the blood rush to his face. It had been years since Aaron had prayed but now he begged God to bend the shadows of his room to hide the burning of his ears. “Exy was all I’ve ever had. Back then, I played to stay alive but now… now I play because I know you can’t take your eyes off me when I do.” Kevin reached out slowly, giving Aaron time to move away. Relief flooded his face when Aaron didn’t flinch. As Kevin’s hand cupped his face, Aaron leaned into the touch. Pulling their bodies flush against one another, Kevin bent down enough to rest his forehead against Aaron’s. “I don’t want Exy to be the only thing I love anymore.”

“Then pick something,” Aaron whispered. He could feel his heart slamming against his ribcage as though it was trying to escape. He knew what was coming but nothing prepared him for actually hearing it.  

“ I pick you,” Kevin replied. Their lips collided once more and Aaron let Kevin steer them to the bed. Collapsing onto it in a tangle of limbs, Aaron felt like himself for the first time in months.  

[genuflectx]

Alien/Reader {Xenith}

Length: 12,346 words

Main Themes: Aliens, fluff, consensual human pets, pet shows, micro/macro, comfort,

Other Warnings: Grief, global warming, mention of surgery, physical exam, telepathy, insects, space travel, broken family, being poor

SHOUT OUT to my beta readers! RosalieBear and Volurin!

(all images in aesthetic board are labeled for reuse with modification or are mine)

If you enjoy this writing, consider joining my patreon! $5 donors get to see half of stories like these before publishing, and $10 donors see the whole thing a full month before everyone else!

1/25/2020: REPOST

There was just nothing left for you on Earth. Nothing. The last thing you felt before leaving that dirt ball was relief.

The tides had risen significantly, draining into unprepared cities and tourist destinations. Corporations had seen it coming but had pockets too fat to ever consider a change. The little people wanted change; cried for it. There was simply no one around to listen. You could no longer stand to see your home planet dying in front of you. You’d already lost a pen-pal to the flood waters of a grand hurricane, inspired by the boiling sea.

The city you grew up in became more violent as you aged. You tried not to come out of your shoddy apartment if you could, wanting to avoid the risk of becoming the center of the next vigil. It wasn’t the peoples’ fault, widespread economic inequality plunged more and more innocents into unavoidable poverty. Even you saw some of that pain when one year, you were forced to live off of noodles, rice, and beans, courtesy of a broken limb. Medical bills weren’t cheap in your country.

But the worst of it wasn’t the failing climate or the civil unrest. It was the sheer loneliness. Your family was scattered; decades were punctuated by uneasy gatherings that just reiterated why it was you only met once every ten fucking years. Good god, even the aunt who was supposedly the nice one gave you the migraine of the century. And your parents? They’d broken your heart.

You’d had a generally good relationship with your mother and father, even if they always felt the need to fight against your every life decision. Your mother had contracted an avoidable ailment, believing only in alternative medicines, and passed away. Your father, unable to cope, spiraled into an understandable depression, and hadn’t been the same since. He did not believe in psychology or medications taken for mental health, much like your mother. And there was nothing you could do to change that. Years after your mother’s passing, you became distant from your father.

So there really was nothing for you left on Earth. Nothing but worsening weather, crushed rebellions, and your ever silent pay-as-you-go phone. But the Xenith homeworld, beaming with white light? It would be a clean slate. A new life.

It was nearly a decade ago that the Xenith had made first contact. They were easy going, monstrously big creatures, that became overly excited when they’d met their first human. They had no intention of meddling in human politics. No no, Earth was much too messy. But they thought the humans themselves were so interesting, that at the first world-wide conference with Earth’s leaders, they asked humanity to ship people to their planet as soon as possible. The world leaders had naturally been baffled. ‘Ship’ humans like a product? They did not agree. The Xenith had been disappointed but understood.

But, after many years of discussion, of voting, of drawing contracts, a few countries were finally on board. And it was all free. The Xenith provided everything needed to pay for transport. They even trained humans for and oversaw the surgeries that were necessary for humanity to survive in their atmosphere and gravity.

So, after having robotic organs implanted directly into your body, going through a long recovery process, and packing a few small bags, you were shepherded onto a spacecraft and given a room. You boarded without even looking back. Not even a text goodbye to your family. You were certain they would never even notice you were out of state, let alone off planet.

The journey wasn’t so terrible, if you were honest with yourself. Most of the staff were human, save for a single Xenith translator. But being near that one Xenith was simply… astounding. You got the feeling you would never lose the awe you had upon being in the same room as one, let alone if you were ever in the presence of a whole crowd.

It was true that they were giants. When knuckle-walking on all fours, they must have been at least fifteen to twenty feet tall. When standing bipedal, even taller. Their pads were soft, black to dark-blue, and stretched across ninety percent of their four thick fingers and beyond the knuckles. Then, their feet had three round toes with equally as thick padding on the soles.

Their bodies were smooth and rubbery, with semi-glittery skin, as if partially transparent. Skin colors ranged from pale blues, pinks, yellows, and grays, to the rare dark gray. They had four slits in their lower chest from which they breathed from, and instead of hair around the edges, there was a lace like material to protect the delicate flesh within. Tails were usually cropped, but if not cropped at birth then they would grow long and stiff. Their pelvic bone was theropod-like. It made them sit funny.

Despite their cold outward appearance and inability to express as widely as a human, they donned their bodies in beautiful clothes. The translator themself wore bright, pumpkin-orange fabrics over their body, which was embroidered with dark red thread. Their clothes were not tight fitting. Rather, they made one reminiscent of blankets thrown over horses during winter. Perhaps they even looked like capes, especially when they stood on their back feet.

Xenith were just amazing. You could hardly believe one of those beasts was supposedly going to adopt you. You couldn’t imagine how life with one would play out.

While the trip was very accommodating, and the watchful presence of the translator kept everyone up to date, the food had been a down side. Apparently supplying enough goodies for the re-locating humans had been too expensive after all those surgeries. Only the ship staff got the real stuff. Everyone else got flavored paste in pouches. The alien promised better grub upon arrival, as the government run ‘companion shops’ were very eager to receive a new shipment of humans.

“Thhhey’re the new favorittte,” the translator had bellowed with their strange, five-pronged tongue. “humansss…. are so cute! You will be treated well.”

You had a lot of thinking to do while the craft took its two month journey into the stars. This was considered a 'job’ or 'volunteer work’ by the humans who arranged the set up. But to the Xenith, it was much more. It made you wonder exactly what the nature of being a 'companion’ was. Before deciding to leave, you had done a little reading, but only enough to know that you were eligible and able to leave as soon as possible. The rest of the information on what the job entailed would come to you through the translator.

Xenith rarely spoke aloud, and when they did it was slow and booming with a lisp. Otherwise, communication lay in their skilled telepathic abilities. Their satellite dish heads and six wriggly antenna aided their inward conversation, but did not translate well with lesser species, including humans. It was very difficult for them to learn human languages. Luckily, the translator had become an expert over the year.

“When you arrive,” said the alien, their tongue pronouncing 'v’ as 'fph,’ “you will come to be placcced into public viewing roomsss in designated adoption locations. Many will be waittting. Many will want you.”

Someone in the back of the orientation room asked “So, this is like an apprenticeship, right?”

That had confused the Xenith. They blinked and took a brief moment to think, the skinny antennae on their flat head fidgeting. Eventually their brain pulled up the translation, and they perked up. “No, this is not ssservitude. You learn no trade. But if any harm comesss to you, you will be removed. Not that harm comesss your way. We cannot think to hurt our companion.”

“And we can leave whenever we want? If we don’t like it? I read that we could!” asked someone else skeptically.

They nodded. “Whenever you would like. But… you would break your master'sss heart, as you term the phrase,”

The more you learned about the species during your transport, the more you realized what the translator had said was pretty literal. Humanity liked to imagine itself as a quick-to-pack-bond species, but the Xenith had them beat. Their whole psychology was based so heavily around emotional bonding that when a pet passed away, it nearly killed them. For their companion to dislike them so much that they would leave willingly, it meant absolute heart break to the Xenith. You wouldn’t doubt that organ failure due to the strain of separation was possible too, but that was only a guess.

It was all as the translator had said. Upon arrival the humans were relocated to sprawling government facilities that housed creatures looking to be adopted. Both sentient and non-sentient species were presented. You were placed into a rather roomy, glass-walled space at the front of the building. Two other humans lived with you, and through the right-sided wall, you could see another group of three inside of their own spacious glass room. It truly reminded you of a combination pet shop and apartment complex, if not for the hovering aliens constantly peeping over the glass.

A caretaker, who did not speak any human languages, made sure all was well three times a day. Hot food and heavily filtered water were always available. The three of you had your own rooms with human beds, which the Xenith cleaned once a day.

You’d never had a maid before. It gave you a vague sense of guilt that you weren’t cleaning the room yourself, but the caretaker did not seem to mind. If anything, they acted as if they had the most wondrous job on the planet; humming aloud and talking cheerfully to the pets despite language barriers.

Over the course of three days your bunk mates had been adopted. You grew sad and alone, wondering why it was you that had yet to be chosen. Humans were supposed to be the new favorites, right? There were certainly a great number of Xenith who still visited your cage, but after they spoke with the caretaker, they left to view other options.

What was so wrong with you? Was it something the caretaker said that scared everyone away? Many a night was spent at the edge of your tidy little bed, lost in thought. Anxiety plagued your heart. Maybe this was a mistake.

At the very least, there was a particular Xenith that visited you once a day. You wanted to believe that they were interested in having you, but worry got the best of your troubled mind. For all you knew, they just pitied you; glancing down into the glass thinking how it was so sad no one actually wanted to take you home. You sighed.

This alien had four fleshy horn-like appendages on their satellite dish head, in which the top-most left horn was shorter, as if by past injury. A deep dark red cloak was tied over their back, which fluttered and swayed as they padded on their knuckles. The reds, accented by golds, contrasted the pale, desaturated blue of their silvery skin. They also had a cropped tail, and whenever they greeted the caretaker, their tail stub and six pink antennae would wiggle.

You hoped with all your heart that they were thinking about picking you. You couldn’t take the loneliness any longer. That was the main reason why you left Earth, after all. Still, the nagging fear that you would not be wanted, not even by the supposedly pack bonding Xenith, instilled a deeply rooted misery in your twisting guts.

Another despairing week passed by. In the morning, that particular red-robed Xenith came to your display for the dozenth time. The caretaker came with them, and they were both glancing down at you and across to one another silently. You squinted, wondering what the pale giants were telecommuting about.

“(And all is settled? The shipment is now here? It must be perfect.)”

The inner eye lids of the caretaker’s eyes blinked slowly. “(Correct, Sientia. The import of human belongings has docked. Expect delivery today.)”

Sientia was delighted, their upper most and longest antenna coiling together with excitement. They gently lifted and pressed the pads of their knuckles to the ground, as if prancing in place. Now that the secondary ships containing Earth goods were finally arriving, caring for human pets would be a lot easier. There had to be good beds, good bathrooms, good food and clothes. So, tomorrow, Sientia would come back and remove you from the lonely communal homes.

Sientia, some short time before, had reached the end of their mourning period. As a Xenith, companionship was the main driving force of their life. So when their previous pet passed away of old age, they fell into a deep, sorrowful grief, and decided if they survived mourning, the next one must have a longer life span. It just so happened that the long-lived alien species, Homo sapiens, were finally agreeing to put their people into the Xenith pet program.

So, Sientia had given away some of their extra crop in order to secure their pick of the next human pet shipment. Each craft carried fifty at a time, so demand was very high, especially being that it was first come first serve with pets. And on the first day of your shipment’s arrival, Sientia had chosen you. You were the perfect shape, and with the despairing history listed in your files, Sientia knew you had to be the one. How could they choose any other human to be their companion? They would give you a happy life.

Both of the giants began to stare down at you, and you stared back. The visitor lifted back their lips (or what barely constituted as lips) and bore their flat teeth in what you assumed was meant to be a smile. Xenith facial expressions were rather empty, since they spoke telepathically. This one was acting on purpose. They were hoping to elicit comfort from you. Instead, something about the attention made you embarrassed and you looked back down.

The next day the funny blue-tinted alien arrived to take you home. They were accompanied by the caretaker, who was in very good spirits. Sientia splayed out their huge palm inside the glass, awaiting your reaction. Instantly, the caretaker jolted.

“(You may scare the thing away with such forward action! It is typical to allow me to place the pet into a container for relocation. If they bite you or become injured, I am not liable.)”

Sientia barely flinched at the warning, instead focusing on you. It was as if they had not heard the caretaker at all. “(Come, come. I am taking you home!)”

When Sientia 'spoke,’ you heard nothing. Rather, you felt the strangest tickle in your brain that traveled down your spine, and you got the sense that they were asking for your attention.

Glancing slowly from the hand to the strange salamander face above you, you suddenly realized you were being adopted. Relief washed over you and, with a nervous smile, you climbed on.

You flailed and got to your knees when the hand moved. Gravity pressed down on you gently as Sientia lifted you up, up, up out of the glass apartment and into the air. They stopped you close to their face, where you could look deeply into their six pink neon eyes.

“…H-hi,” you peeped, feeling as vulnerable as a bare baby.

“(Look, they are brave! I will carry them,)” Sientia imparted happily to the caretaker.

“(Very well. Allow them to collect their belongings, then you may leave. Please contact us if you require additional supplies. And you,)” The caretaker gestured towards you with their long antennae. “(You must be good to Sientia. Their body is weak from mourning.)”

Of course, you heard nothing.

So you gathered your things and went home with them in the most horrifying way possible; over twenty feet in the air. They trod home on two feet. The world moved passed you in a blur of light and color, and when Sientia noticed you shaking, they placed their other hand over you to create a comfortable bubble of safety. You wrapped your arms around one of their thick fingers so you could feel some sense of security.

Eventually you arrived. Before letting you down, they moved into a specific room and closed the door behind them. It was best to let pets grow used to their new environment slowly. One room would do for now.

“(There you are,)” they comforted. They placed you and your suitcase at the mouth of a house-sized 'cage,’ which rested upon a high surface. “(Nice and easy.)”

The comforting words fell upon deaf ears. You stood there shaking, still feeling adrenaline pumping in your veins. You barely shifted to glance back at the uncomfortably square human-sized door.

Sientia stared at you. When you only moved to cross your arms, they snorted from the nostrils of their chest and went away to a device embedded in the wall. They touched the screen. A couple of choice pages were pulled up, to which they read greedily from. Images were downloaded.

They glanced back at you. Back to the screen. Back at you. Then they lumbered over and sat down nearby.

“(I see I have made a mistake, your expression seems to be 'unhappy,’ or 'distant.’ You are a brave human. But. I may have been irresponsible to carry you before you were ready. I got, excited.)”

They studied your face for a while longer, their expression hard to read. Xenith had a perma-smile, much like dolphins. Sometimes it was unnerving to look at.

You looked away, feeling awkward to be stared at silently. Soon you began to glance around the gigantic room, noticing the state of your surroundings. Besides Sientia’s bed (what looked like a pile of cloth in a long box), a computer poking out of the wall, and the smooth counter top that your cage sat upon, the room was eerily empty. The walls were a pale, metallic pink, and a heavy light emulated the sun overhead. No windows.

Sientia huffed. They decided they would attempt to communicate better. They didn’t know your language, but they had learned a few words and phrases in preparation for your arrival. They’d probably butcher them, but hopefully you would understand. Earth languages did not come easily with their sticky, five pronged tongue.

“(Perhaps I should have began with) Hello, I am called Sssientia.”

You started frightfully. You didn’t think this one could talk!

“Could you speak the whole time? Um, I’m [Y/N]. Your name is… pretty. Ssssen-ccchia,” you enunciated. It sounded more harsh from your toothy mouth, though.

They perked up, pleased. Finally, your attention was back upon them. Now you both knew each other’s names. Not a bad start!

“Hungry?” asked the giant, trying to speak softly so as not to frighten you.

You smiled shyly. That spooky ride to your new home had made you forget you hadn’t had breakfast. “Yes, a little.” you replied.

Sientia knew 'yes.’ They made a low, throaty sound and stood up on all fours, then got to their two feet. You were left alone in the empty room as the alien fetched something to eat. Curiosity over came you; what would they bring back? The adoption facility had given you baked chicken, fresh corn-on-the-cob, and ripe fruits like peaches and pears. Would your new owner present the same? Your belly rumbled.

They returned, hopeful you would like the foods they were given from the companion facility. Sientia plopped down carefully and lowered their palm. Inside was a cucumber, a hunk of warm, uncut bread, and a fat chicken leg. The meal looked miniscule in their oversized grasp.

“Strange combination,” you mumbled with a smirk, accepting the food. There was no plate, so you just nibbled straight from their hand.

Sientia’s antennae wiggled and curled with joy. They watched their little pet eat from their palm; a new sense of adoration and comfort washing over them. They had a good feeling about you, even if they still hurt from their previous loss.

They’d been so terribly sad when their previous pet had passed. Sientia had known that it was coming. That species only lived about twenty-five years, which for a human, was fifteen Earth years. But it was still a shock when they’d woken to find their beloved friend gone. Even while watching you eat, they felt a small tang of pain. The mourning period was over, but the sadness of memory never really left.

As you crunched straight into the juicy cucumber, Sientia crunched down on something too. You stared up, head cocking in confusion. When Sientia noticed, they slowly lowered the partially eaten food to your level for you to get a good look-see.

You stepped back. “Ah! That’s a HUGE bug!”

The half-eaten insect-like fauna was removed from your space as soon as Sientia realized it scared you. Seemed like a lot about the Xenith world frighten a human, but they hoped you would come to enjoy it in time.

“(It is tasty, I raise them. Perhaps I will show you the farm someday. But staying very close. You are a good snack for large livestock, like this one,)” they gestured by lifting the insect in hand, then biting off another gooey chunk.

You shuddered and averted your eyes. Gross. How could you forget? Xenith were well known on Earth as a people who consumed 'gargantuan pests.’ Great measures were taken to bar them from entering livestock onto Earth when they visited. Dead ones only. They’d surely cause a massive plague if not kept well under watch. Yet, here on the Xenith home planet, they were farmed far and wide as a main source of food.

You weren’t hungry anymore.

The rest of the day was spent inside that one room, exploring. That is to say, exploring what little there was to actually explore. Your cage was like a little house: a cozy bedroom with a king-sized bed, a spacious bathroom (plumbing and all), a small library with books in many languages, and a more open area for eating.

The cage did not have a ceiling, except for the bathroom. One of the walls of your bedroom was glass, while the dining room was all glass. By contrast, both the library and the bathroom were made of painted wooden walls.

Below the cage there was empty space, empty space, empty space. Perhaps for Sientia this was a small room, but to a human it was a beaming cathedral. You felt like a ladybug when you tottered about the bottom edges of Sientia’s thickly blanketed bed. Sientia kept a close eye on you while you sniffed around. They did not want to step on you.

The day was long on this planet. A cycle was thirty-two Earth hours. You ended up taking a five hour 'nap’ in the mid-day. Had a second meal. Then about three hours after that, Sientia gently put you back to bed and dimmed the room’s light.

After a very, very long sleep, you were awoken as Sientia stirred about the house. You rose drowsily. Good god, you hoped a few months on that schedule would see you adjusting to it well. Your circadian rhythm, so far, was displeased. Days too long, nights too long. But you’d live.

As you slipped an old T-shirt over your head, Sientia appeared, looking in above you. They watched you a bit, but you were reluctant to do anything while feeling like a walking television.

“Uh, hi,” you waved awkwardly.

“Hi,” Sientia repeated. They did not know many words. “Hungry?”

Food was already set out for you in the dining area. You had a breakfast of scrambled eggs (a little rubbery), pancakes (with maple embedded), and a sliced apple (salted). When you were full, Sientia slid one of the glass walls out of place. You didn’t know those were removable!

A hand was laid down. “[Y/N], come, (I am going to get you many nice things to wear.)”

You grimaced. You didn’t want to be carried around like that again just yet. “I would rather not.”

Sientia’s antennae moved subtly, thinking, then they understood the issue. The hand came back up as they puffed out their chest. Sientia pointed to a harness. Right above their four nostrils was a backpack like carrier, which was strapped around their shoulders. It reminded you of a baby wrap or purse, but much, much larger. It even had a few pouches in front for accessories, such as food or toys.

“You had one of those? Why did you carry me in your hand yesterday!” It was more scolding than it was a question.

Sientia bellowed a response, but you got the feeling that it was as meaningful as a human meowing back at a cat.

“…Alright, okay. Let’s just do this then.”

So they cheerfully settled you into the pocket on their chest. It was deep enough that you would not have to see the world, if you choose not to climb up and look.

You spent the ride curled up close to the side of the pouch that Sientia’s skin touched on the other side. You thought you could hear a heartbeat from there, but that was surely impossible. Xenith didn’t have hearts. At least, not in the human sense. Still, there was the steady pulse of their body, thumping gently and keeping you calm. And since you were so close to their nostrils, hot air constantly warmed the pouch. You wondered if this was how a lap dog felt while being carried in a purse. It was nice. You nearly forgot that you were being carried far from the ground.

Finally, Sientia came to their destination. It was a little pet boutique that sold many different types of imported clothes, specializing in sentient species. It had recently begun to acquire shipments of imported human goods.

Sientia had been devastated to see what little you had brought with you, and was determined to put you in something better. You may have left your new home wearing a hole-worn T-shirt, but you would return wearing lavish threads.

“(Hello, what species do you shop for?)” asked the retailer, who was dressed in extravagant magenta fabrics.

You poked your head out, nervous eyes wandering around.

“(Eh! You care for a human! So cute! Yes, yes, we have many clothes for humans. Please, let them down to browse, and we may write up a payment plan.)”

Sientia helped you to the floor and the retailer pointed them towards the human section. It looked small, but it was truly as expansive as a mega-chain on Earth.

“Y/N,” Sientia gestured towards the clothes and gave you a nudge.

You hadn’t been paying much attention and stumbled, catching your balance by grasping onto a clothes rack. Upon realizing the rack was proportionate to your size, you gawked. Your wide, surprised eyes drank in the sight; rows upon rows of imported human goods. Dresses, jackets, shorts, coats, an extensive section of underwear. You looked back at Sientia with awe.

“Are you actually going to buy me clothes?” you peeped, barely audible enough for the pale giant.

When they gestured towards the rows again, you turned and began to tear through the selection.

You tried on clothes for an Earth hour. When you’d come out from the (far too big) stalls to show Sientia, they were always overjoyed with how stunning you looked. It didn’t seem to matter what you picked out, it simply pleased them that you were having so much fun.

At the checkout line, you had garment after garment piled up in your arms. You couldn’t remember the last time your face had hurt from smiling this long. Sientia carefully petted your head with a round finger tip before taking the clothes and checking out. You’d gotten all that you’d wanted, and instead of being chided, your master was brimming with elation. No one had ever been so glad to throw their money away on you. Not even your parents. You tried to massage your cheeks to relax them while the retailer and Sientia finished up their business.

Back home, you folded and hung your new threads up neatly. Then you strutted about bearing a fancy faux fur coat and patterned leggings. You even had new name brand shoes. None of it matched, but it was more than you’d ever had. To show off like a proud peacock made you blush, but Sientia purred and grumbled happily, finding you quite humorous. You couldn’t help but enjoy their attention after such a nice outing together.

They brought their head down to the table. “(You seem so happy and look so good! I hope I’m doing well by you, so that you may want to stay with me.)”

You came near. Avoiding their watchful gaze, you nervously lifted a hand and patted their snout, between the smaller eyes. “Thank you for all of this, really. I was worried about being here, but I think… maybe you have a good heart. Or,” you laughed “maybe you just like to spend extravagant amounts of money to show off? Well.. I’m grateful.”

They audibly chirped at you in reply, nuzzling the hand carefully with affection.

A few days went by uneventfully. Then one day, while you were being allowed to explore the (much larger) main chamber, a loud beep alerted Sientia to visitors.

They opened the door. “(Antha, you’re here! Welcome! It’s been very long, please come and have a drink. Where is your- eh! Your human is on your head! Doesn’t that hurt?)”

The dark gray Xenith bumped a padded fist with Sientia in greeting, then chuckled out loud. They came inside as they spoke. “(Only a little, it tickles now mostly. We are close, so I am not annoyed! Now, where is yours that you tell me so much about? I’ve been eager for ours to meet. It is good for humans to have a friend. They’re social beings.”)

You carefully stepped under a table, watching the guest enter. Upon the other’s dark, wide set head, a human stood and clung to antennae with both of their hands. It frightened you even to look at. Good god, that was high. They could slip at any moment and plummet to their death. You had to look away so it didn’t make you queasy.

“Come,” called Sientia as the two Xenith laid on blankets around the shallow table.

So you came out and were placed upon the surface, which was covered with a thin, patterned cloth. Likewise, the guest brought down their companion. Instead of going to greet one another, you both remained close to the side your master lay at. But then Antha spoke an alien language out loud, and their human came to you.

“Hey. Antha thinks I need to talk to someone of my own species I guess. So uh,” he stuck out his hand awkwardly.

What was this, a business meeting? You hesitantly accepted the shake. This man was possibly ten years older than you and was wearing casual, comfortable clothes. He spoke with a slight accent, which you were unfamiliar with. But the most interesting feature was that when Antha spoke to him again, he actually turned and understood.

“So like… you can understand them?”

The man turned back to you. “Uh, not really,” he pointed at a device in his ear. “Antha just got us digital translators. I mean, some of the words don’t translate very well, and there’s some lag, but it’s better than nothing. I think my master is going to give yours one! Say, how long have you been a pet?”

While you and the other chatted idly, Sientia and Antha caught up.

“(So… you’ve been feeling better?)” Antha asked quietly in Sientia’s head.

Sientia’s eyes became downcast. “(I… suppose so. It’s hard to adjust to something new after being with someone for so long. It’s going to take a while.)”

Antha lowered their head in understanding.

“(It still hurts. As I rest, my body aches,)” their six antennae moved sluggishly and drooped.

Antha attempted to comfort. “(I am here. And so is- what do you call your companion? They will sooth your ache too.)”

“([Y/N], a good name. I believe they are feeling well about their new home. The cage is proportioned correctly, and they have eaten nearly everything I’ve given them. We do not communicate well, because we cannot understand one another, but I feel that they are generally happy so far.)”

Antha’s head bobbed, remembering they’d come for a reason. “(Th, yes! Here, accept this gift!)” they then dug something out of the pouch around their chest. There was a strange object, meant to be clipped onto one of the large antennas. Then, beside it, a tinier object that looked like a grain of sand in the palm of a Xenith.

“(Gift?)”

“(See that I speak to my human so easily? This is a translator! My friend, you’ve been through such grief, you deserve something nice. Please accept it.) Clarence dear, help [Y/N] with the device.”

The man stopped talking and perked up at his name. He nodded, and took the small piece when it was lowered to him. He helped you do basic set up while Antha fit the bigger piece onto Sientia. It took about ten minutes to get everything all settled, but luckily, it wasn’t too difficult.

“Can you hear me?” asked your master nervously.

You gasped then smiled. Amazing! “Yes! Yes, I understand perfectly! This is so cool!”

Clarence returned to the side of Antha and sat in their hand, satisfied.

“It works well,” spoke Antha, rubbing their thumb gently over their pet’s back.

“Thank you Antha! Th- [Y/N], are you happy?”

Emotions were mingling and mixing intensely inside of you. So when Sientia suddenly popped that question, you had to take a moment to process it. That was only the third question Sientia had asked you since meeting, and it was such a selfless one. You blushed.

“I-I-I mean-” you stammered. “-this world is… different. But the air is clean and the people are kind, so.. yeah. I’m pretty happy,” you spilled. “Anything beats Earth.”

You glanced back at Clarence and Antha. Clarence was rubbing his face against Antha’s fingers affectionately like a cat. Your blush darkened and you snapped back to Sientia, who titled their head.

“Are you happy, Sientia?” you peeped. You wanted to add 'are you happy with ME?’ but did not.

“…Yes, see?” they put on a humanoid smile, teeth and all, like they had done before adopting you. But there was a thin layer of sadness under that reply.

You were quiet, but eventually smiled back. You hoped Sientia couldn’t understand the way your brows furrowed in concern.

After a short, awkward silence, Antha huffed and spoke up. “Sientia, [Y/N], have you considered competing yet?”

You looked back and forth between the two. “Competing?”

“(NO,)” Sientia lowered their head and looked away. “(Antha… you know that was Inridd'h and I’s favorite thing.)”

“(Yes, I’m sorry,)” they apologized, before lifting a grabby Clarence up onto their head. “(But I just… I also know how much it meant to you. To be able to train and spend so much time with your companion, and to show the crowd how much you trusted one another.”)

It seemed the Xenith were ignoring you. You sighed and sat down, legs crossed.

Sientia looked back up at Antha, their sad pink and cyan eyes like doe. They watched Clarence balance and keep a careful hold on Antha’s antennae. Eventually he made his way to the back of Antha’s head where their crest was, and settled there when Antha tilted their head forward. No sense of fear. Clarence knew Antha would not allow him to fall. Then, Sientia shifted to watch you. You sat so patiently, waiting for attention. Guilt struck the blue Xenith.

“[Y/N],” they called softly. “Would you like to compete?”

You straightened up. “Well, that probably depends on what you two mean by competing. Like… sports?”

Antha rumbled. “Perhaps not. It’s more similar to a, ehm, a 'dog show?'”

They didn’t sound too convinced of their own comparison. You scratched your head and leaned back on your hands. “So like, being dressed up and paraded around an arena? Or is it more like agility, where dogs run through tubes and go up ramps?”

Both of the aliens looked confused. It seemed they had difficulty explaining. Antha only had vague knowledge of how human dog shows worked, and Sientia was totally unaware of them. However, Clarence had been in a few small scale shows.

“It’s kind of a dog show plus beauty pageant!” he yelled from Antha’s head. Antha flinched in return, so Clarence apologized quietly for yelling so close to their sensitive antennae.

Sientia placed their head onto the table, where eye contact was easier. They looked like they were awaiting a response.

You stood and crossed your arms uncomfortably. A sense of dread sat in your guts. You thought about the nice new clothes you’d been given, and tried to imagine yourself walking down a stage all fluffed up. All your brain could conjure was the image of a crowd of Xenith and strange, beautiful alien creatures, wondering why it was you were so… ugly. Why were your clothes like that? Why walk that way? You imagined what they’d say.

'Oh, you know humanity is simply second to the slug peoples of planet Dirtemous. That’s why they all look and act so hilarious!’

Then the beautiful alien’s equally beautiful friend would laugh and reply. 'Yes, and what sort of awful thing would ever want to claim THAT particular human as a pet? I’d rather have the slug! Ho-ho-ho!’

You took a breath. What a stupid imagination you had. But even such an exaggerated, outlandish thought had some sort of truth in it. You were anxious. Not only were you worried about being scrutinized by strangers, you were also worried that you would embarrass your master. Sientia was a kind, lonely thing. They didn’t need you making things worse. You were just making yourself sadder and sadder, and the look in Sientia’s eyes did not help.

“You don’t have to agree, my pet,” they eventually added.

With one last glance at Clarence and Antha, you decided. You wanted to trust Sientia like that. You wanted to make them happy. So, you would try.

“Yes. I don’t think I’ll be very good at it, or win anything, but… yes. I’ll compete,” you shrugged.

There was both pain and joy inside of Sientia. The notion that they were replacing a chunk of their heart that was once filled with their old pet devastated them. But they also knew the only way to recover was to keep going; to move forward. Inridd'h would not have wanted them to keep falling asleep at night aching for relief. Inridd'h did not smile upon them when they shut themself away.

Sientia, too, would try.

An overwhelming desire for comfort overtook Sientia, and they scooted their flat head forward to nuzzle you. It knocked you back a bit to have their whole head thrust up against your body, but you steadied and petted their head.

“Are you okay?” you asked, unaware of why it was they seemed so upset.

Antha stood up slowly. “It is time we head back home. Please keep in contact, Sientia. I care. We will want to come to your competition! Goodbye friends.”

“(Wait, you never had anything to drink!)”

But Antha and Clarence had already gotten to the door and let themselves out.

You hadn’t been sure what training for an alien competition would entail.

Apparently, you would be physically looked over to determine if you had good breeding. Like a dog. You didn’t look forward to that part very much, considering you were sentient and not some space lemur that could just be treated like decoration. This segment would also note your outfit. Sientia had said that this part of the competition would be worth less points than the rest of the competition.

Then, much like a pageant, you would show off your talents. This forced you to actually have to sit down one night and determine what the hell your talents even were. Running away from home, maybe? You got flashbacks from the horrific talent show in second grade. You did not want a repeat of that.

“I don’t think I really have any talents,” you admitted to your master as you sat comfortably in their bed.

Sientia laid down beside you, poking at a device in their hands. You supposed the device was much like a cell phone on Earth, but made for the Xeniths’ large, clumsy fingers. They were pulling up videos of humans performing various tasks, hoping to find a talent to suggest.

“Cooking?” they asked.

“I can cook packaged ramen. Maybe bake a potato. So no.”

“Horse riding? We do not have a 'horse,’ but they can provide something similar.”

You plopped over on your back, grimacing. “God, no.”

“Th! Humans are adequate at singing!”

“Um… let’s not even go there.”

With every suggestion your heart sank further and further. You should have never agreed. With a sigh you turned over onto your side, hoping to keep Sientia from seeing the way your eyes watered. You wiped at the sting.

“Sientia, really, I don’t think I can win this. So maybe I should give up before we get too deep.”

They sat up on their elbows, setting the device down. “I detect sadness in your voice. Did you change your mind?”

“I just don’t want to get your hopes up.”

The room was quiet a moment. Then the giant turned on their side and gently rubbed their finger along your back, hoping to ease the pain in your words. The sensation was… actually very nice.

“Please, do not be sad [Y/N]! You don’t have to do this if it makes you uncomfortable. The competition is simply an act, performed for the love of it, and perhaps sometimes for the prize! I don’t believe any companion’s master has been broken by a loss. I could not be disappointed if we lost. So, please feel better.”

You still had a heavy heart, but the reassurance that this was not anything serious helped you feel a bit easier. Knowing that Sientia already knew you could lose and did not care cheered you up even more.

“R-really?” you squeaked, turning onto your back once again.

They nodded, swiping their finger across your torso and belly as if to continue comforting.

You squeaked and grabbed the finger, face red. “That tickles!”

Sientia stopped and removed the appendage. “Eh! Sorry!” they looked away. “My… previous companion enjoyed belly rubs.”

Now it was Sientia who sounded sad.

“Do you… want to talk about it?”

They thought, antennae moving slow as if fidgeting. Eventually they huffed out hot air and answered.

“They were bigger than you. Non-sentient. Covered in rough, damp skin. Very jumpy and loud, and they passed away in their favorite spot in the glass house. We… used to compete a lot. And I miss them,” Sientia seemed to sink into the blankets. “That is all I would like to say for now. I’m still hurting.”

You had to wipe at your eyes again. Memories of your mother played through your tumultuous brain, reminding you how grief could invade one’s life so fully. Even when your family had problems, you never could stifle or hide the hurt when she passed. After gaining courage, you stood and moved to curl up against Sientia’s skin.

The alien was surprised at the contact. They glanced down and felt their affection surge for you, the finger coming to your back again.

“You’re so much softer than Inridd'h. So much different.”

You curled against yourself tighter and nuzzled your forehead against their skin. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it is good that you’re different. I’m different than I once was, too. Please never be sorry for being yourself, my pet.”

After a minute or two of easy silence, they added. “Do you still want to compete, or have your changed your mind?”

Without hesitation, you replied. “I still want to do it. Maybe I can’t think of a talent off the top of my head, but… I’m sure we’ll figure it out. Together.”

In the end, you decided on painting. According to Sientia, Xenith were most fond of abstract art. That was something you could do. Though not formally trained, you’d painted a couple of shoddy pieces in the past that your parents had enjoyed. One had even been printed as a holiday greetings card, much to your embarrassment. But unlike the thickly globbed on acrylics of family pets and favored cartoon characters, you’d be working with thin watercolors to make something representational and abstract.

So you practiced and practiced. Sientia had even gotten you a nice new desk to sit and paint at. You’d use thin sheets of paper to work with, though the Xenith’s idea of “thin paper” was still rather thick.

It was actually extremely therapeutic to just focus on shapes and color. You’d find yourself trying to represent the objects in your room without making it obvious what they were. Making an abstract piece representational was a feat and required a great deal of thought. You hoped by the time the competition started, you’d be able to stand in front of the crowd and paint something they would enjoy.

Soon, you moved onto painting on a sheet of paper tacked to a wooden board, which was held up by a portable easel. You’d stand in front of the blank, semi-yellowed sheet, and just think. A pink spot there. An orange square there. A deep, deep cobalt wave streaked vertically through the piece. It was missing something. You watered down some yellow then made a generously thick, wiggly-lined circle around the square. Done.

“How comes practice?”

You were startled and snapped your head up. How long had Sientia been watching? You stilled your heart and smiled up at them. “I actually think my work isn’t half bad!”

“Hm,” The giant lowered their head closer to your spot on the counter top. “What is it?”

You stepped back. “Well, what do you think it is?”

This response pleased Sientia. They tilted their head this way and that, before deciding. “I don’t recognize the shape. This yellow, it is a good color. I am no artist, but I also enjoy-” they gestured to the blue. “-this squiggle, here.”

You placed your hands on your hips, feeling all fuzzy from the praise. “It’s a lamp. One I had in my apartment, way back on Earth. It was pretty ugly, but my parents had given it to me as a housewarming gift.”

Sientia lifted their looming head back up. “I didn’t know humans needed heat lamps. Should I ask one be imported?”

You laughed heartily, before taking a rest and explaining that no, you had not referred to a heat lamp.

The time to compete finally came. Sientia picked out a nice outfit for you to wear, settled you into the pouch, then headed out eagerly.

You knew you’d arrived when it became terribly noisy. Most of the Xenith remained in their heads, however other alien species that resided on the planet were chattering away.

You poked your head out of the pouch to watch where you were being taken. You were inside of an arena, which was surprisingly similar to arenas on Earth. The stands were chock-full. It was hard to distinguish what sort of other aliens were among the bleachers. All you could make out was a mix of pale Xenith, and various shades of lavender and baby’s breath blue.

The two of you checked in and were escorted to the first area. This space was within the bleachers. Instead of having the audience surrounding you, you were simply on camera for the first half of the contest. Later you would be taken back into the thick of it.

Sientia placed you carefully onto a pedestal as drones buzzed around everyone. They kept all companions at around Xenith chest level, as they stood on twos. Almost immediately you were surrounded by several of the other Xenith contestants, who were delighted to see a human.

A silvery Xenith focused on Sientia. “(You have a human?)”

“(Aw, might I hold them?)” asked a yellowish Xenith.

The third spoke your language. “Hello!”

Sientia huffed awkwardly and kept close. They seemed abashed.

“(Please don’t touch! This is [Y/N]. It’s their first competition, so do not frighten my dear companion!) [Y/N], are you well?”

You backed up and bumped into the hand of the yellow-tinted Xenith. With a start you leaped and stumbled back over to the side Sientia was closest to. “It’s just… wow. A lot of attention.”

“(Apologies. I attempted to adopt a human, but they continually were out. How did you receive this one?)” questioned the silver alien.

Sientia fidgeted. “(I farm, so I simply gave excess crop away early. This secured a spot to choose a human.)”

The yellow Xenith kept staring at you longingly. “(Ehmmm… I wanted one, too. You think ahead. Very smart.)”

Sientia wanted to get rid of them. “(I believe the judging is starting.)”

So the others ended up scurrying back to their own companions, but not before a couple more desirable glances were thrown down at you.

You sighed, grateful.

“It really is starting,” commented Sientia with surprise, as the judge came into the inner bleachers. “Brace yourself. The pedestal will shift.”

So. A physical and fashion check was first on the agenda. It was the part you had been dreading every day. You took a deep, calming breath.

Because so many sentient species were twelve feet and under, the judge had to be proportionate during this segment. Everyone was moved downwards, so that the small judge could come by. A drone slightly bigger than your head followed behind the no-nonsense alien, which you had no doubt was plastering all this upon the screens outside.

One by one, the contestants were- you shuttered- fondled. You didn’t know if that was a good or bad shutter, but you had butterflies in your stomach.

The judge, a seven foot tall, light blue alien that walked on the tips of its three-pronged feet, was very thorough. They would circle the contestant, watch the way they walked, judge their outfit, and then feel certain parts of the body over. Occasionally a contestant would lean in, as if dizzy, before the judge finished up, wrote something down, and then left to the next pedestal.

“Don’t be nervous,” comforted Sientia quietly, who had laid beside you. “Remember, we can forfeit at any time my pet. I will not let you stay if you change your mind.”

You smiled at them before being spooked by the sudden appearance of the judge. You hadn’t realized that the alien had been getting close.

The judge was very professional throughout most of the examination. Stoically, they watched you walk and jotted something down. Comments were mumbled in an sing-song alien tongue about your choice of outfit.

'Polka-dots, with plaid shorts?’ you imagined them saying.

Then the part that had you most nervous came. The alien felt your arms gently, slid a hand over to your chest and thumbed over the ribs. Were they counting them? They squished down where certain organs were along your body. Finally, the intrusive appendage cupped your cheek and pressed your upper lip out of the way. You instinctively bore your teeth and grimaced.

“Very good teeth. Unique human specimen,” spoke the strange alien in your language.

There was a sweet scent, like sugar, in the air. Your eyes fluttered and you found yourself relaxing. Suddenly you understood why it was some of the other contestants appeared to become dizzy. Whatever this alien was emitting smelled lovely.

The judge swiped a finger over your blunt human canines. “Always fascinated by Homo sapien teeth.”

They removed the hand and glanced over at Sientia, the air sack around their neck tinged pink. “You groom your human well,” they said in Sientia’s language.

“Thank you,” Sientia eyed the judge suspiciously.

You had no idea what they had said. The judge patted your cheek, quickly wrote a final thought down, then left. It almost made you sad to see them go. However, after a few minutes your head cleared. That was a weird experience. You straightened your back and awaited the second segment.

“Do you think I did alright?”

Sientia moved their head near. “Yes, you did wonderfully! I am certain. The judge sounded… much too pleased. Fae are simply like that, though.” They gave you an encouraging nuzzle.

You blushed and rubbed your hands over Sientia’s head. It was funny that you were supposedly the pet, yet you were the one who did most of the petting. You felt them physically purr.

After the first segment ended, contestants were directed one by one back into the main arena. The Xenith held their companions in their hand and were paraded around the edge. It was hard to keep your cool. You had to force yourself not to look down as you tried to keep balance.

This was all so overwhelming. It wasn’t nearly as loud as a stadium back on your home planet, but the quiet chatter did invade your thoughts. Being so high in the air, with all eyes and ears and words directed at you, started to make you terribly dizzy. But as you glanced over into the crowd, you found a familiar face.

“Look! It’s Antha!”

“Ehm,” hummed Sientia in response, who was finally allowed to come to a stop. “You see Antha?”

Antha wiggled their fingers. On top of their head stood Clarence, hardly more than a speck in the distance. But the little speck squirmed, and you just knew he was waving vigorously at the two of you.

Your spirits lifted again. You waved back, grinning. The support was very much needed, and Clarence’s presence reminded you of the true reason you’d decided to compete. You wanted to trust Sientia fully, as Clarence did Antha, and you wanted to make your master happy.

Sientia nodded their head in Antha’s direction. This almost made Sientia feel like they had before the mourning period; warm and fuzzy, like a healthy Xenith. They puffed up just a little more, antennae high and spread wide.

So, it was time for the talent competition to begin. You watched the flickering screens above the stadium as various individuals attempted to impress the intense, boring eyes of the judges.

There were four judges in total. One Xenith. The other three included a brawny, one-eyed biped, a large piebald covered in feathers, and the previous judge who had done the physical. They sat across the field, and hardly blinked as they jotted down notes and numbers on the performances before them.

A dark, four-armed alien with a flat face could throw a heavy metal ball across the entire field with ease. A five-foot, mousy alien could complete an agility course in under twenty seconds. A long and skinny serpent like alien could dance and twirl like a ribbon within the air. The crowd particularly liked the serpent, clicking and chattering at the graceful shapes made as she looped around.

You tried to still your heart. That was some tough competition, but you’d been practicing your art skills each and every day. You were certain you would please at least the Xenith judge. Maybe you’d win them over with your human 'cuteness,’ even if the painting didn’t elicit a major response. After all, some thought humans were endearing. If you fumbled, you’d play it off and try to look nothing short of adorable. Even if the voice in your head kept telling you that they should see you as an ugly species, that you yourself were ugly, you’d been proven wrong on multiple occasions.

Finally, it was your turn to shine.

“Are you ready?” asked Sientia quietly, with concern.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Sientia stepped further into the field, careful let you down, then removed your setup from the pouch on their chest. It was a large sheet of watercolor paper, nailed to a wooden board five feet wide and ten feet tall, which Sientia propped against their free wrist. Your act would consist of painting a certain someone while using their hand to raise and lower yourself along the canvas. A show of trust while also entertaining the crowd. A perfect act.

Two drones flew low, eyes watchful. You tied an apron on and stuffed your brushes into the front pockets. After picking up a closed container, you made meaningful eye contact with Sientia. They lifted you upon their hand, to which you opened and dumped the container down over the top of the paper. Gray tinted water dripped, soaking into the paper a quarter down.

The brushes were whipped out. Over the course of ten minutes you drove the wide tipped brushes into buckets of pre-mixed colors and swept them across the open plains. Deep cyan, made from an imported liquid watercolor, was your main shade.

You made four quick strokes, forming a ball with spikes coming from one end. One long thin strip vertical from that, though not touching. Then horizontally a fat, stocky, uneven line that was bigger at the end than tip. Two near perfect, wet cyan circles close to the bottom, both dripping towards the edges. You admired your work a second, already out of breath.

A few more blue splotches were added before you switched colors. A bright, watery pink mingled with the blues, mixing into purple in several areas. Embarrassingly, a large, unwanted splat splashed onto the paper, to which you blushed and pretended was on purpose. Then, before you knew it, you were adding the final touches in a gold leaf yellow.

Standing from a distance in Sientia’s hand, you turned your head this way and that, before giving a curt nod and deep bow.

“Tah-dah! It’s finished!”

Sientia let you down, and you were exhausted. Finishing a painting that large in just over ten minutes killed you. You popped your joints and looked hopefully over at the judges. Three of them were scribbling excitedly, while the Xenith was staring at the art. You didn’t know if that was good or bad. Eventually the giant titled their head down and gave their unknown input, too.

“You are so amazingly talented,” swooned Sientia, drawing your attention.

You smiled sheepishly, face very red. “Th-thank you. I… made it for you.”

Affectionate and surprised, Sientia wanted to cuddle you, but the two of you had to step back so the next contestant could work.

The rest of the aliens went by in a blur. You were simply too in your own head to pay hardly any attention. Over analyzing the minute body languages of the judge panel was not fun, and had you guessing- then guessing again- as to what your final score would be.

When the last out-of-breath contestant returned to their owner, the talent segment was done. All Xenith and pets were marched around the outer rim for a final lap, before returning to the inner stadium. Pets were placed back onto their pedestals to rest while the judges compiled their thoughts.

You sat and fidgeted quietly.

Sientia’s head teetered against the edge of the pedestal, cross-shaped eyes focused upon your nervous little form. “It is okay if we don’t win, my pet. Please remember. I’ve had so much fun today! It’s been a very, very, very long time since I’ve walked the circle and presented my companion before all. Do not fret so!”

That made you smile, if only a tidbit. “I know… I just can’t help but have nervous energy! If we won, that would make me sooo happy. It would make you so happy.”

The alien’s face emoted more densely than you’d ever seen before. Their eyes dilated, antennae curled, and they put on a wide, open grin. The smile was added for you, but still. Such emotion.

“I was right to choose you, [Y/N]. You are perfect.”

You nearly cried. Who in your life ever called you perfect? Not your first partner, nor your last. Most certainly not your parents or 'good’ aunt. Nobody was perfect in this world or the next, but the sheer fact someone was inspired enough to utter something so romantic made your heart flutter. You opened your mouth to even attempt a reply, but a noise chimed and echoed through the spacious corridor, flinging everyone around into silence.

A winner had been decided.

You stood and swallowed, hard.

Upon the elongated screens high, high on the metallic walls, the various aliens of the panel chatted softly. The same footage was being aired on enormous screens above the stadium, so everyone was watching in anticipation along with the contestants.

The four judge panel went through each contestant’s score briefly, citing anatomy and subjective thoughts on the talent segment. As they spoke in the local Xenith tongue, recordings of the contestants and their owners were played. You could not understand the talk at all, yet your eyes stayed glued to the video.

You saw yourself. Did your painting really look that bad on screen? 'Stay optimistic,’ you chanted to yourself inwardly. 'The Xenith like abstract art.’

You were given a number score of 68 out of 100. A sigh of relief. That wasn’t totally awful. So far, the scores ranged from 22 through 65, meaning you were somehow ahead. But there were still seven more scores to reveal.

Burning eyes stared down the screens, counting scores. 43, 50, and there it was, 71.

You lost.

Your legs were weak. You found yourself on knees, not even bothering to watch the rest of the judgment. Sientia had turned attention to you as soon as the higher score had been announced.

“Are you okay?” asked Sientia gently.

You sighed and ran a hand through your hair. “Yeah, I guess. Disappointed. Trying not to cry, but okay.”

They paused in thought. Sientia was truly not put off by the results. If only you could hear their telepathic emotions, they could send a wave of comfort and compassion your way. Instead, they had to settle for the physical and verbal. That was fine, too.

You felt something boop your head and flinched. A quick glance up revealed that one of Sientia’s longer antennae had touched you, from where the giant was tilting their head down. It patted you, unsure, the other poking you carefully in the face. It was like a dog coming up to sniff you. Considering the antennae were the most sensitive part of any Xenith, this was perhaps not far off.

“I know you’re trying to comfort me,” you said. “and it makes me happy, but… I don’t think I’ll be totally over this for a few days.”

“When we get home, I will make you your favorite food, and we can put on one of the imported Earth medias you like so much. Will this sooth?”

You couldn’t help the tug at your lips. “Hmmm… that is… acceptable. Thank you. So, who won?”

Out of 15 contestants, you ranked number 8. That was nearly in the dead center. The winner, with a score of 100 (as all contest winners are scored 100), was the four-armed alien who’d thrown the metal ball across the field. You supposed you couldn’t feel too bad about losing to an act like that. After all, even you had been impressed by that contestant’s superior show of strength.

There may have been resentment in your heart, as if you could have somehow done better, but at least Sientia did not blink twice at the results. To be human was to be rampant with emotion, so you could not help but feel a little upset at losing your first competition. But in the end, it was Sientia’s judgment that mattered. And Sientia was overjoyed just to spend time with you doing something they loved. That was something you would simply have to learn, especially if you decided to partake in more pet shows.

The two of you were given your prize, then met up with Antha and Clarence before leaving.

Antha lifted and pressed their knuckle pads to the ground, with Clarence balancing stupendously on their head. “(The two of you looked very good on the field!)”

If a Xenith could blush, Sientia would have. Instead, their antennae twirled bashfully. “(Thank you, friend. [Y/N] did well. I am so very much proud of them.)”

“And how do you feel, companion [Y/N?]”

You were still being carried in Sientia’s hand. You pursed your lips and shrugged. “Disappointed.”

Antha lowered their head closer, as Clarence wanted to comment.

The other human waved and beamed. “Hey, you did super great for your first competition! I’ve been in a few and man, let me tell you… the first time I tripped in front of the whole stadium. Over my own feet, too. Don’t worry so much, you did just fine!”

You couldn’t help but smile awkwardly, a little embarrassed “Thanks, Clarence.”

On the way home, you fulfilled your dream of riding at the top of Sientia’s flat head. Your master had been reluctant and afraid that you would get anxious, but you were adamant. One arm looped tightly around an antenna, the other fiddled with a tiny red participation ribbon, which was your only prize.

“Pet?”

You hummed.

“I’ve thought to ask. You say you painted for me. But, ehm, what have you painted?”

It took a moment to decipher the question. “Oh! Well,” you blushed. “I was trying to paint you! I know it didn’t come out exactly how I expected… that I could have done b-better to impress the judges-”

“Eh! No more talk of judges! I will hang it upon my wall above my nest. Look, we are home.”

Home was lamp-lit and unfit for a human to wander the rooms wide as a veldt, but it was home. The house that you grew up in had never felt like home, nor did the apartment you huddled in on Earth. But this strange, empty cube in the suburbs of the Xenith home world? It had begun to feel like home more so than any sad, brick building every did. You left Earth months ago, and never once began to regret that decision.

Sientia, you master and friend, spoke to you candidly and with compassion. They clothed you lovingly in lavish things, smoothed your anxieties like an iron, and wanted nothing more than to spend as much time as possible with you. They loved you so much that they wanted to lift you high in their palm, to put you in the eye of buzzing drones and chattering aliens.

Even during a time that Sientia was still recovering from loss, they wanted to badly to move forward. You think that they did. You could hear it in their voice now, whenever they spoke sweetly to you, that they knew Inridd'h was smiling. Before the competition, when you were still practicing your abstract thinking, there was a glint in Sientia’s six eyes. It filled them with comfort to watch you work so hard, and with such great passion.

You loved the miniature house Sientia built for you, and the surrounding areas Sientia themselves lived in. But more than anything, you loved Sientia. Sientia was what made the house a home. You prayed you could stay as long as possible, because at this point, you had no intention of leaving.

So, when they two of you returned home, you ate a big dinner, popped in a human movie, and curled up on their nest together. You fell asleep atop their head with a full belly and a healing heart.

EPILOGUE

Sientia held you close to their body. You could feel warm air rising from the nostrils of their chest, as you wobbled and balanced close to their shimmering blue skin.

“Now, you must stay close. Some species may swoop low and pick you up if you move too far. It is perhaps safer to remain in my hand, at first.”

You nodded, apprehensive but excited.

It had been half a year since you decided to become the pet of the great alien species, the Xenith. But you’d yet to experience the awe of being in close quarters with your master’s life work; their livestock. They’d kept you distant from their crop, as giant bugs were most certainly to be predators to little humans. You could be a tasty, blood-filled morsel. The scenario was as tense as introducing the pet chicken to a new barn cat.

You shielded your eyes as they opened the door to a blistering glass greenhouse. After a moment of wiping away involuntary tears, you were able to see again.

“Woooah,” you gasped.

To Sientia this was a large terrarium, but to you it was an expansive jungle. Tall yellow grass sprouted all around, circling the dirt and clays below. Alien ferns spread their fleshy leaves and fronds, sprinkling the air with heavenly scents. A myriad of neon blossoms bloomed among the plants and grasses, dotting it all with pinks, yellows, and whites. You’d never seen anything like this before. Not even at the zoo.

“Is this what all your grasslands look like, out in the wild?”

Sientia physically rumbled. You’d come to distinguish their vibrations and grunts from one another by now, and could see that they found your question funny.

“Some. I try to keep my crop happy.”

“Sooo.. where are all the gross bugs?” you asked, peeking over the side of their palm.

Sientia sat. “Here is one, in the grass.”

With their free hand they plucked the animal right out of hiding. It squeaked and stirred, squirming in surprise. It was much bigger than you, but still smaller than Sientia’s hand. You were used to seeing your master chomp down on these creatures, but they looked so much bigger when wriggling.

Sientia gently set the insect down into their other palm, so the two of you could meet up close. However, they kept a firm finger to the bug’s back, to keep it in place.

It’s stubby, fat antennae twitched and flickered, prickly legs struggling to pull itself out from the weight on its back. Eventually it was still.

“Go on. It’s safe. This is Henhil, you may tell from the markings against the back and legs. This one’s first clutch hatched a few days ago, so we shall not keep her long. You hear this, Henhil?”

Henhil’s mouth parts chewed idly.

“Wow,” you whispered, fascinated.

They really did just… look like giant over sized Earth arthropods. This type seemed like a cross between a fat beetle and a mantas. Her body was covered in a shiny black, and her wings, legs, and face were lined with silver. Two stripes of green cut through the silver on each of her eight legs. Bugs still freaked you out, but this was truly an amazing opportunity. What Earthling got to boast getting up close and personal with Permian era insects?

“She’s very pretty.”

Henhil started to wriggle again, her energy returning. You stumbled away, mindful of the mouth, as Sientia went ahead and plopped her back into place.

“On, then. Back to your children. Is this what you were expecting [Y/N?]”

You sat down, the heat exhausting you and making you sweat like a pig. “Well, it’s definitely something you’d like to do. I mean, raising bugs.”

“Then you think you would truly like to utilize such animals in a future competition?”

In the excitement you’d nearly forgotten the real reason Sientia was introducing the bugs to you at all. You’d been in two competitions now, and had won neither. Somehow, the concept of horseback riding continued to come up. Sientia was fascinated by the horse. There were no horses imported off planet, which was a shame. The next best thing where Sientia’s crop of livestock.

The insects were horse sized, give or take. Some had a body shape well off enough to accommodate a way of riding comfortably. Of course, they were being bred and raised to eat. Not ridden. But that didn’t mean that some of the younger one’s couldn’t be coaxed into allowing a human rider onto their backs. Henhil’s new clutch was likely a good place to start.

So, did you think you’d be able to get over your squeamishness and ride a big ol’ bug for the sake of winning? Absolutely. Winning wasn’t everything, but it would sure feel great to win. Or, if not win, to at least get second place. You know it would delight Sientia.

“I think I’d like to try. Maybe tomorrow, when you show me her mate, we can take a peek at the babies too?” you shuttered. “Are they like… grubs?”

The translator did not translate 'grub’ very well, but Sientia got the gist.

“Somewhat. Let’s go inside, you appear over exerted.”

Sientia brought you to their face and nestled you gently as you gave a smooch on their 'nose.’ Then, they stood and absconded from the sweltering greenhouse.

[thislassishooked]

CS January Joy Day 2

Whew, I almost didn’t make it. I actually didn’t see my name on the list until New Years Eve, but somehow I was able to churn this out in two days. I’m so excited to share this little story because it gives my readers a peek into my life. I am a medical laboratory scientist and this is sort of what I do on a daily basis, minus the hot doc and precocious Henry. Thank you @csjanuaryjoy​ for hosting this event again this year. Enjoy!

AO3

Summery: Emma doesn’t like visitors to her laboratory at Storybrooke General Hospital, but somehow finds herself making an exception, albeit reluctantly, for the hospital’s new attractive, accident prone, infectious disease physician.

He could hear the music from the adjoining hallway. The smile that spread from cheek to cheek was not due to the catchy, nineties pop music coming from the laboratory, but the woman who was, no doubt, dancing and singing along, oblivious to his impending approach. It wasn’t until he reached the barely propped door that he caught the lyrics, sung from Swan’s own lips.

“Doctor Jones, Jones, calling Doctor Jones, Doctor Jones, Doctor Jones, get up now, wake up now!”

Killian felt his heart swell at the thought that just maybe the song wasn’t a coincidence, that perhaps she had chosen it on purpose. He hoped she had chosen it on purpose. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that every time he heard the music from Swan Lake, his mind would unwittingly conjure an image of Emma’s glorious green eyes. When it came to Emma Swan, Killian was most definitely fucked, and not in the good way. He was sure she didn’t return his affections, all scowls and eye rolls, and to make matters worse, he always made a bloody fool of himself in her presence. Gone was his swagger, his vocabulary, his god damned dignity.

He nudged the door further open and his jaw dropped at the scene before him. Emma was bent over her microscope, swinging her hips to the beat, somehow accentuating the curve of her perfect hind quarters in the not so flattering blue scrubs. The move was mesmerizing, seeing as she had to keep the upper half of her alluring body completely still. 

He must have been watching her for over a minute, knowing full well that if he didn’t make his presence known soon, he would definitely be approaching creeper status. Just as he pushed himself through the doorway, his scrub ties caught on the handle, making him yelp in surprise as his movement was suddenly halted, causing him to juggle the sample he was carrying, before thankfully catching it tightly in his grip while simultaneously scaring the living daylights out of Emma, if her startled scream was anything to go off of. Yet again, Killian Jones had made an utter fool of himself in front of Emma Swan.

---

January was Emma’s favorite time of year. The stress and loneliness of the holiday season had ended and her workload increased with every new case of the sniffles that walked through the hospital doors. The lab is where Emma was happiest, staring at sample after sample of blood, sputum, urine, etc., identifying the culprit and sending the results back to the doctors.

From a young age, Emma had excelled in science. Sometimes she would even catch her foster parents bragging to other parents that she had won first place in the science fair, but it never seemed to last. She would eventually end up back in a group home where finding any privacy to study was rare and frustrating. She didn’t bother making friends, choosing instead to read every science book she could get her hands on from the library. She hadn’t meant to read the huge copy of the Sanford Guide to Infectious Diseases, but after only a few pages she was hooked. Emma considered going to medical school, but ultimately decided she would be happier not dealing with patients. She really wasn’t much of a people person so she took the next logical step and focused on behind the scenes laboratory work, earning her masters degree in public health from Columbia University and snagging the medical laboratory scientists job at Storybrooke Hospital.

She had been at the hospital’s lab for two years when she learned that the resident infectious disease expert was retiring and his replacement was a Dr. K. Jones, a professor from London’s School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine. She found it odd that a doctor with such an impressive resume would give up his or her fancy job in the UK, take such a pay cut and come to their sleepy little town.

She remembered the first time she met Killian Jones. She had strolled into her lab one morning to find a man with thick, dark hair fiddling with her electron microscope. When she cleared her throat, irritated that this stranger had had his hands all over her things, he swung around so fast that his hand actually knocked the petri dish from the stage and it splattered all over the floor. He had started sputtering out an apology while grabbing some cleaning supplies. She then watched in horror and admittedly a bit of amusement as things just got worse. He ended up spilling half a bottle of Clorox on the floor, then somehow proceeded to slip on the puddle and end up flat on his back in the pool, no doubt ruining his dark, form fitting clothes. She noticed as he laid on the floor groaning that dark scruff peppered his jaw, cheeks and upper lip. He threw his hands over the top half of his face, most likely out of frustration and embarrassment and when he spoke again, she noticed that he had an accent. An English accent. She made her way to his prone body and folded her arms as she got a better look at him. Her brain made the connection, seeing as no one without security clearance was allowed access to her lab, and was surprised that the British expat and her new colleague was so young.

“Dr. K. Jones, I presume?” Emma asked, trying to keep any hint of amusement out of her voice.

“Aye,” he confirmed, removing his hands from his face and Emma was instantly struck by the blue of his eyes, topped with thick, expressive eyebrows. She was right, he looked completely mortified. Something in his expression changed when he swept his gaze over her though and it made Emma feel exposed. She didn’t like visitors to her lab, only ever allowing her assistant Ruby to deliver Samples to her. Jones clambered to his feet while Emma continued to ruminate. “Killian Jones,” he clarified, offering his hand to Emma. She ignored it.

“Emma Swan,” she stated curtly. “For future reference, Dr. Jones, this is my lab and I value my privacy. My assistant will be in touch.” She turned from a speechless Killian, note to self, don’t ever call him that, and swept her hands in the direction of the door, indicating that he could use it to exit the same way he entered. He left without another word, but it would not be the last she saw of him, in her lab, messing with her stuff. Killian Jones was relentless in his pursuit to befriend Emma. He got deep under her skin by personally delivering every STAT sample, complimenting her on her work, and always managing to make a damn fool of himself while doing it. She feared her icy facade was beginning to noticeably melt.

---

Killian scratched that spot behind his right ear as Emma visibly deflated with that adorable head shake she gave him after every ungraceful mishap.

“Jones, I have asked you too many times to count for over two years to have Ruby deliver the samples.” She tried to keep her face stern, but Killian could see the tiniest crack of a smile at the corners of her soft pink lips.

“That you have, Swan, and I will continue to ignore your requests so that I may have the chance to see your smiling face every day,” he quipped while removing his scrub ties from the door handle. To his utter horror, as soon as he released his hold on the scrubs they fell to his ankles, leaving him in his dark blue boxers with little red anchors that probably matched the color of his face. Emma’s hint of a smile blossomed into a wide, amused grin. At least he succeeded in something today. He quickly hauled the bottoms back up his legs, setting the sample aside so he could retie them.

“Nice undies, Dr. Jones,” she snickered.

“Nice choice of music today, Ms. Swan.” She blushed at that. It really was the most adorable thing he’d seen all day. “While I would love to get snarky with you today, Emma, I’m afraid I’m here for a more serious matter.” Emma nodded for him to continue. He picked up the sample and carefully carried it to her workstation. “This sputum sample is from Henry Mills,” he explained as he handed it over to her. Her breath caught at the mention of Henry’s name. He knew she and the boy were close. Henry was the only visitor to the lab Emma welcomed with open arms. The lad had a knack for science and would often visit the hospital to learn as much about medical science from Emma or himself.

“What do you suspect it is?” she asked as she placed the sample on the stage and adjusted the lense.

“He said he cut his hand while playing in his castle at the playground four days ago and he’s experiencing gastrointestinal distress. He has a fever of 102 with chills, but what worries me most is the redness on the underside of his arm.” He could see Emma blanch as she focused on the sample. He was pretty sure what he was dealing with before retrieving the sample, he just needed Emma’s confirmation.

“Positive for staphylococcus aureus,” she said robotically. “Have you started him on antibiotics? Has he responded?” she asked frantically. Staph infections were pretty easy to treat ten years ago, but with the rise of antibiotic resistant strains, such as MRSA, they could be a death sentence.

“I’ve already ordered intravenous methicillin and we’ll know in about four to six hours if he responds. I’ll keep you updated.” Emma nodded as Killian turned to leave.

“Killian,” she uttered. He paused at the sound of his name and turned back to see her bashfully duck her head and tuck a loose strand of her golden blonde locks behind her ear. “Thank you,” she stated sincerely as her eyes met his. He nodded in response and left to rejoin Henry and his mother to deliver the disappointing news.

---

Emma made her way to the ICU, tears threatening to spill as she approached Henry’s door. Killian had diagnosed him with MRSA after he continued to decline with his first treatment. He had been admitted that night and started an aggressive treatment on a different antibiotic, but things were looking grim two days in as Henry’s condition worsened. His fever spiked at 106 just before he slipped into a coma. Killian started him on Bactrim, their last hope, three days ago, but he still hadn’t regained consciousness. The drug seemed to be working, his fever had dropped dramatically and his rash was shrinking, but the concern now was if he had suffered any brain damage. 

Emma spotted Killian leaving Henry’s room just as she came around the corner. He rubbed furiously as his eyes, let out a long sigh and trudged onward. She knew he hadn’t left the hospital since Henry had been unresponsive. The bags under his sad eyes were evidence that he was sleep deprived as was she. As promised, he had kept her informed, sending a nurse down to the lab with all the details so that he could stay by Henry’s side. She could no longer deny that she had very deep feelings for that man and she desperately missed his visits, as destructive as they sometimes were.

She pushed open the door to Henry’s room and was greeted with the sigh of the ventilator and occasional beeps indicating his heart was a least still beating. He looked so pale and still, a far cry from the lively child that had visited her a week ago. He had been so full of questions that day. She remembered he had wanted to know everything about mad cow disease. She let herself smile at the memory of his response when she told him it could only officially be diagnosed posthumously with a sample of the brain.

“Cool, do you have any samples in your cold storage?”

She explained that the condition was so rare, very few labs in the world had those kinds of samples. His disappointment was quickly forgotten when she let him look at some of the blood samples the phlebotomists had collected that day.

Henry had been regularly visiting her for two years, his first visit having happened just hours after the very accident prone Jones had made a mess of her precious lab. The precocious either year old had wondered in, not knowing that the lab was off limits. He reminded her of herself at that age and found that she was happy to satisfy his curiosity.

“Hi Henry,” she started lamely. “I have a bunch of new samples that I just know you’ll be dying to look at. I can’t wait to show you your own.” She could no longer hold in the tears. “You just need to get better, okay? Please, Henry, I don’t know what I'd do if you left me. You’re my only friend.” She thought that last statement over and realized that it may not be exactly true. Killian had inserted himself into her life, curiously on the same day as Henry, and she found herself looking forward to her time spent with both of them. 

She leaned down to give Henry a kiss on his forehead and as she was yanking on the heavy door to leave, Killian came crashing through, apparently not expecting the door to open itself. He must have been leaning his back against it because he was once again prone, on the floor, groaning from pain and frustration.

“I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t know you were there,” she said, putting down her bag and offering him her hand.

“It’s not your fault, love,” he assured her as he took her proffered hand. “I just can’t seem to keep it together when I’m in your presence.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, sometimes I find it kind of endearing.”

“Endearing…” he repeated as he brushed his hand down his front. She thought he was waiting for her to elaborate so she opened her stupid mouth and made it so much worse.

“Cute, I mean, oh god, I have to go.” She rushed out the door with the image of his shocked face ingrained in her memory. Now she was the one making a fool of herself in front of him. She escaped to her fortress of solitude to try to forget that ever happened.

---

Killian watched her disappear with new found hope in his heart. Perhaps his feelings weren’t so one-sided anymore. His face turned serious again when his eyes landed on Henry.

“She’ll never go on a date with me if I let you die, lad,” he said grimly as he approached Henry’s bed. He looked curiously at the brain activity reader and got the shock of a lifetime.

“She’ll never go on a date with you if you don’t ask her,” a little voice squeaked from below.

“Right you are, Henry,” Killian responded with a face splitting grin. He couldn’t wait to tell Emma. He proceeded to examine the boy, checking for any signs of brain damage. He was positive Henry suffered no permanent damage after listening intently as the boy prattled on about the different types of Ebola. “I’m glad you’re back, Master Henry.”

Killian gave the nursing staff instructions to call Regina immediately with the news then rushed down to the basement to give Emma the good news personally. His heart broke a little for the woman he loved when he realized there was no music coming from the lab. He could hear little sniffles coming from her office as he carefully entered the lab, keeping an eye on his scrub ties while also being vigilant of any other hazards. He knocked on her office door and got a somber “Come in.” Her eyes were wet and rimmed with red. She steeled herself, most likely preparing for bad news. Killian reached out his hand and caught a falling tear on her cheek with his thumb. He brushed the offending liquid away and smiled reassuringly at her.

“Don’t cry, my love. Henry is going to be back to his old ways in a matter of days.” Emma just stared at him, stunned for a moment. It was only then that he realized his mistake in calling her ‘his’ love, rather than just ‘love’. He was worried that he had gone too far this time, but she didn’t run. She schooled her features as she asked him a series of questions.

“He’s awake?”

“Aye.”

“No permanent damage?”

“Nope.”

“Good.” With that, she grabbed his collar and pulled his lips to hers, meeting them in a passionate embrace. It took his stunned brain a second to realize what was happening, but once it didn, he kissed her back fervently. His right hand shot up to the back of her head, holding her in place as his left pulled her midsection closer. She responded by threading both of hers through his hair, no doubt making a mess of it, but he couldn’t care less. His Swan was kissing him and by god, he never wanted it to end. She ran her tongue along the seam of his lips and he happily opened for her, meeting hers with his in a lover’s tango. Her appreciative moan gave him the courage to grasp her by her hips and raise them enough to set her on her desk. She voluntarily opened her legs to allow him space between them, letting out a guttural groan as their bodies met through the thin fabric of their scrubs. Killian really wanted to take this further, but knew that Emma would be anxious to see Henry and it probably wasn't the best location.

“Emma,” he muttered against her mouth. Emma responded with little kisses across his jaw and down his throat, igniting a fire in him that would be damn well near impossible to put out if she carried on like that. “Have mercy, Swan.” She chuckled against his thrumming pulse point then lifted her head just enough to rest their foreheads together.

“Thank you, Killian.” He pulled his head away only so he could look into her eyes that shone so much brighter than they had in the past week.

“For what, love?”

“For saving Henry’s life. And,” she seemed to hesitate, but continued after he gave her an encouraging grin, “for not giving up on me.” He knew this was his chance. It was now or never.

“Will you go out with me?” he asked sincerely. Emma’s answer was in the form of another kiss, soft, sweet and slow this time. She pulled away so she could hop off the desk, threading her fingers through his as she did.

“Pick me up tomorrow at eight?” Killian pulled their entwined hands up to his lips to place a kiss just above her knuckles.

“Aye, it’s a date.”

Emma strolled out of her office and toward the exit of the lab, excited to see Henry, all the while singing to herself. This time, Killian knew the song was meant for his ears.

“Doctor Jones, Jones, calling Doctor Jones, Doctor Jones, Doctor Jones, get up now,”

“Wake up now,” Killian supplied.

[ghostking-wenning]

Radishes, Chapter 6.2

This one’s a 2-part! Enjoy!

2.5K, Rated G, modern au, NingXian etc

***

Qionglin sat bolt upright in his bed. A thin sheen of cold sweat coated his body, the sheets tangled around his legs. His chest heaved and his cheeks flushed. A dream. It was just a dream! Oh, but what a dream it had been. Wuxian on his knees before him, looking up at him as he… oh god. Qionglin clapped his hand over his eyes, as if that would block out the memory of that vision. 

Tentatively, he stood on shaky legs. He breathed a sigh of relief when he realized he hadn’t made a mess of his sheets, aside from wrinkling them beyond recognition. Sure, he’d had raunchy dreams before, but never like this! Never so long, with such detail, with a specific person that he actually knew! They weren’t even boyfriends yet! They had only recently shared their first kiss! Why would his brain conjure up such naughty imagery? Such naughty sensations?

He shivered remembering the feeling of Wuxian’s hands… and mouth… all over him. It had felt so real, even though he’d never done any of … that. His dream had even replicated the scent of his cologne, the flavor of his favorite wine. Heat coiled in his belly as he remembered the way he squished him against the wall, leaning his whole body into him. Then all that heat immediately rushed to his face when he remembered the way he had simply submitted to Wuxian’s ministrations, baring his throat like a dog to a wolf. 

Really? He asked himself. Is that what I’m into? A wave of dread and shame washed over him when he heard an echo of the words “good boy” whispered in his ear and remembered how much he loved it.

“Oh god,” he groaned aloud. “I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again…” What a shame that was, too, they were such beautiful eyes. Especially when they were fixed on Qionglin with that searing heat as he-- 

“Nope!” Qionglin said, forcibly derailing that train of thought. A cold shower. That’s what I need. He peeled off his sweat-soaked nightclothes and headed to the bathroom. In the mirror, he was almost surprised to find his neck and chest exactly as they always were, not mottled in lurid red marks. He couldn’t bring himself to look any further down, so he hopped into the shower and turned it on full-blast, hoping the water would pressure-wash his filthy mind. He didn’t even flinch at the cold.

He lost track of time, but he eventually calmed down. He dried off and redressed himself in clean pajamas. It was still several hours before he needed to be awake. He laid down on the couch, so he wouldn’t have to change his sheets for the moment. 

Mercifully, the rest of his sleep was dreamless and deep. He woke to the sound of his phone chiming. He had a message from his sister. 

“Happy birthday, little brother!! I love you! We still on for dinner tonight?”

Oh god it’s my birthday! In an instant, all traces of sleepiness vanished. Somehow he’d entirely forgotten his own birthday. Am I seriously that clueless? He shook his head, rolling his eyes at himself.

“Thank you, jiejie! Yes, of course, I’ll meet you at 7!” He replied, tacking on a few heart emojis.

Granny didn’t allow anyone to work on their birthdays, so he had nothing to do until dinnertime. He slumped on the sofa and stared at the ceiling until his phone pinged again.

“Bring that little punk boyfriend of yours. I have to make sure he’s good enough for you.”

He knew Qing well enough to read between the lines: “This is not a request.” 

He didn’t even bother pointing out that they weren’t technically boyfriends yet.

Usually he would be elated to spend time with Wuxian on his birthday, but a) Qing could be … intense… he wasn’t sure if he was ready to introduce them yet, and b) he was convinced Wuxian would somehow read his mind and discover what a weird pervert he was. Maybe he’s busy! Maybe he won’t even come. He tried to reason with himself, but that actually just made him sadder. 

It took a couple of hours to build up the courage to text Wuxian. He was a lot of things, sure, but he wasn’t a psychic. (Right? That would be crazy… right?) If Qionglin could just keep his cool, he’d never have to know about his dreams. He took a deep breath and opened the message app.

“Hey, Wuxian! Are you busy tonight?” He cursed the way his fingers shook as he typed.

Not five minutes later, his phone beeped.

“Nope! What’s up?”

Fuck. 

“I’m having a birthday dinner with my big sister, and I was wondering if you’d like to join us!” He decided not to mention that Qing wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Wait, is it her birthday or your birthday??”

“Mine.”

“What?!”

“Why didn’t you tell me!!”

“Happy birthday!!!!!!!!” 

“I forgot! I’m sorry!” It was fully true, but that didn’t make it less ridiculous to admit.

“FORGOT? Wild. Anyway I gotta go find you a present! Can’t wait to see you later!” A string of kiss emojis followed, and Qionglin giggled in spite of himself.

He gathered himself quickly and responded. “You don’t have to get me anything!!”

“Too late! I’m already out the door! See you later byeeee!” 

A minute later, Wuxian texted again. “Wait, where and when am I seeing you?”

Qionglin snickered softly, an endeared smile growing on his face. He sent Wuxian the map link and enjoyed about four minutes of peace before remembering why he’d been so nervous about texting Wuxian in the first place.

Panic hit him like a train. Several trains, maybe. His heart skipped and his fingers tightened around his phone so hard his hand shook. Calm down, he tried to tell himself over the alarm bells clanging in his head. Calm down!! Through sheer force of willpower, he evened out his breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth, he repeated like a mantra.

He walked briskly to his bedroom, pointedly ignoring the rumpled sheets on his bed and snatched his anxiety medication. He popped one in his mouth and hastily gulped some water, and sank into his desk chair. Leaning back, he shut his eyes and waited for his heartbeat to calm. 

Something to focus on, that’s what he needed. Something hands-on. But if Granny caught him working the fields, she’d chase him away with a rake -- it had happened before. So he decided on target practice. He grabbed his bow from its stand in the living room and marched out to the woods. 

In a small, round clearing were a line of painted wooden targets he’d made himself. He liked to warm up starting from 30 meters, then progressively back away. He took a deep breath as he lined up his shot, shoulders flexing as he drew the bowstring back. The middle target, dead center. He exhaled slowly as he released the arrow, which made a satisfying thunk as it sank exactly into the center of the target. 

After landing perfect bullseyes into each target, he backed away to 40 meters, then 50 and so on. He felt perfectly centered; there was nothing in this forest but him, his bow, and his breath. 

He leapt about a foot in the air when his phone chimed in his back pocket. How was it already 5 PM!? Where did the time go? He thought, as he began to gather his arrows. It was well past time to get ready. He hurried back to his house, where a fat orange barn cat woke from its nap on Qionglin’s rain boots. It made a curious prrt noise as it fixed big yellow eyes on him. This was the one his little cousin had dubbed “Cheese.”

“Hello, Cheese,” he greeted, stooping to scratch behind its ears. “I’m sorry, but you can’t come inside.” Cheese purred and pawed at the door, but didn’t put much effort into following him inside. 

Hanging up his bow, he realized he felt much better, as if his thoughts sorted themselves out on their own. It was just a dream. It’s perfectly natural, and he’ll never even know! And if he found out somehow, I’m willing to bet he wouldn’t blame me at all. It was magical, almost, how archery relaxed him, even as it wore out his muscles. (His medication probably also helped, but he liked to think it was mostly archery.)

He washed his face, and pulled back his hair, fussing with the locks that were too short for his half-ponytail. Poking through his closet once again, he wondered if Wuxian would say anything if he wore the ghost shirt again. He decided against it, instead opting for a grey striped shirt and a dark blue cardigan that he thought looked pretty sharp. He may not have a lot of nice clothes, but he thought maybe he was getting better at dressing well. Well-ish, at least, he thought, tugging on his comfy-but-ugly sneakers, but it was those or work boots. 

He checked his pockets and whisked out the door to his car. He would probably still be on time.

He was not.

Fifteen minutes late, he scurried into the restaurant and scanned the room for his sister. At least for his birthday she might not scold him for being late. Soon enough he found her, looking polished and perfect as ever, in a tasteful dark red dress with her long black-tea-colored hair in a sleek braid. Across from her was none other than Wuxian, Qionglin realized with a start. What-- how did she find him? Why-- oh god what are they talking about? 

He stood stock-still for a few seconds, until Wuxian laughed brightly, the sound spurring Qionglin forward. As casually as possible, he strolled over and plunked down beside them. With any luck he’d missed the awkward small talk and Qing inevitably giving Wuxian the third-degree about what he does, and his intentions with her little brother.

“S-sorry I’m late,” he said, offering a sheepish smile. 

Qing looked like she wanted to say something about it, but Wuxian beat her to it.

“No worries! Happy birthday!” He said, grinning and reaching for Qionglin’s hand. 

“Mhm,” Qing agreed. “Happy birthday, hun.” She patted his cheek fondly, and he blushed, unable to hide his cheesy grin at the attention.

“Thanks…” he mumbled. “Um, so, I guess you’ve already met, so I don’t need to introduce you. I-- I hope you weren’t waiting too long, though.”

“Not at all! Your sister was just telling me about how cute you were when you were little,” Wuxian said, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Qionglin’s head whipped around. “Qing!” He complained, exaggerated betrayal written on his face.

She smiled deviously. “What? You were adorable! You used to hide behind me and follow me everywhere like a little duckling.”

Qionglin groaned and buried his face in his hands while Wuxian giggled. 

“He’s still adorable,” Wuxian said. “Absolutely too cute.”

“Yep.” Qing nodded. 

Well, at least they’re getting along… Qionglin thought. The rest of the evening went in a similar fashion, the two of them teasing him affectionately and relishing in his embarrassment. After dinner, they sat around chatting over glasses of wine. Qing reached into her purse and produced a small envelope. 

Qionglin carefully opened it and read the card. Tucked into the corner was a gift card to a ritzy clothing shop.

“I’ll take you shopping next weekend, if you’re free.” Qing promised. 

“Mm! Thanks jiejie,” Qionglin said leaning over to give her a one-armed hug. 

“Ooh, my turn!” Wuxian chimed in. From inside his jacket, he pulled a little bundle wrapped in red tissue paper. He handed it over, grinning proudly.

Qionglin untied the silver ribbon holding it together, and the paper unraveled. Inside was a packet of heart-shaped candies and a set of charming pins shaped like monsters: a werewolf, a sea serpent, an alien, and a ghost, much like the one on his t-shirt. Qionglin’s heart threatened to burst in his chest. Faintly blushing, he gazed up at Wuxian, who was watching him intently, eyebrows raised.

“Thank you…” he said, somewhat breathlessly. “I love these.”

Wuxian’s face split into his signature dazzling grin. “I’m so glad! I noticed you don’t accessorize much, and I thought maybe it was because jewelry would get in the way of farm work or whatever, so I figured pins might suit you-- I even made sure to get the kind with extra-sturdy backs so they won’t fall off!”

Qionglin chuckled shyly. “That’s… really thoughtful. Thank you,” he repeated.

Qing scoffed lightly. “Way to show me up,” she said looking pointedly at Wuxian, but she was smiling. She gave a small, approving nod. Apparently Wuxian met her expectations well enough. She stood gracefully and tossed her braid over her shoulder. “Well, I should get going, but you two have fun, okay? Dinner’s on me.” She bent slightly and gave Qionglin a firm hug and kissed the top of his head. 

Then she walked around him and extended her hand to Wuxian, who shook it graciously. She leaned in and whispered something to him that Qionglin couldn’t hear. 

Wuxian’s eyebrows shot into his hairline and he blanched. “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured weakly. 

Qing flashed Qionglin an indulgent smile and bid them both goodnight, before sweeping away, paying the bill and leaving, her heels clacking decisively.

Qionglin cleared his throat awkwardly. “S-so that’s my sister,” he said tentatively. “I hope she didn’t say anything rude.”

Wuxian laughed, light and breezy, like he hadn’t just looked scared out of his wits. “Nothing unusual, anyway. Just the shovel talk-- and a quick one at that. Very efficient. She’s cool, though!”

“Isn’t she?” Qionglin agreed wholeheartedly. “I-I’m glad you got along okay. She seems to approve. Of you, I mean. Of-- of us.” He felt his cheeks color slightly, savoring the word us.

Wuxian smiled again, and squeezed Qionglin’s hand. “Good. Because I plan on sticking around.”

When they finished their wine, they took a walk through a park to sober up. The moon was just beginning to rise over them as they strolled leisurely, hand-in-hand. 

“So, how old are you now? 23?” Wuxian asked, somewhat out of the blue, stopping and stepping off the paved trail.

“Mhm, exactly.” Qionglin said, following him into the trees. “Why?”

“For this,” Wuxian answered. He tugged Qionglin closer and cupped both sides of his face, then began peppering him with kisses, everywhere he could reach. Qionglin spluttered and tried to pull away, but Wuxian was unstoppable. He seemed determined to cover Qionglin’s entire face in a layer of kisses. “20,” he murmured, kissing his left eyebrow. “21,” he kissed the center of his forehead. “22,” he kissed the tip of his nose. “23,” he whispered, and at last kissed Qionglin’s lips, wrapping his arms around his waist and holding him tight.

When they finally parted, Qionglin was breathless and practically vibrating. He hid his face in Wuxian’s collar and snuggled close. Wuxian chuckled lightly and nuzzled his hair. “Happy birthday, Qionglin.”

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 5255 Chapter: 40/42 Summary: Not all wars are fought on the battlefield. Some are fought at the conference table, with whispers in the shadows, or even in the bedroom.

In a world where the Senju and Uchiha traditional lands were too far apart to have ever made them enemies, Butsuma and Tajima are the ones who come together and sign a treaty of peace. Madara isn’t happy to have his life signed away for him in a political marriage to strengthen the bond between their clans. He is even less happy to have Tobirama make assumptions of him from their very first night together. What follows from there is a journey of healing, of learning, and finding the places to belong in the places least expected.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

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Chapter 40

In the days following the Kyuubi attack things went back to normal at a surprisingly quick rate. With such fast response times a great majority of the injured were either home by the end of that same day or sometime during the next. Very few required longer to recover than a week of bed rest and many who were expected not to make it managed to pull through by some miracle. Hashirama surprised no one when he tearfully suggested their skilled medical staff receive some kind of commendation for their efforts. 

A full two weeks afterwards Madara woke with the kind of lazy slowness only allowed when he didn’t have to get up at a specific time for work. While the rest of the village had been quietly nesting in their homes to recuperate, those who worked in the bureaucracy had been working double time to reorganize, revamp, and prepare. Madara would like to say that he was one of those who had worked the hardest.

Now as he fluttered his eyes open to stare muggily at the ceiling he felt a little bereft to realize that he was alone in the bed. Tobirama still had trouble sleeping in sometimes, he knew that well enough, but he much preferred the days when the man at least stayed in bed until they could greet each other with soft morning kisses. Without him the bed felt cold, uninviting. No good for lazing about. Madara grumbled as he rolled over and sat up to throw the blankets off. Before standing up he stretched, legs rising from the floor and arms reaching for the sky in a pose he would be mortified to get caught in, jaw stretched wide in a massive yawn. When he stood it was with half-mast lids and shuffling steps.

Once he’d rinsed his face with bracingly cold water he felt much more alert, awake enough to brave the stairs in search of his missing partner. Unfortunately Tobirama wasn’t to be found in the kitchen or the living room or even the study. It took until he was staring out the back door for his tired brain to wake up enough that he realized he was being stupid; there was a much easier way to search for the man. 

He of course was not surprised to stretch his senses and find the one he was looking for in the Senju compound, although he was a little confused, and Madara decided that trailing after the other could wait at least until after a cup of coffee. No one was really expecting him anywhere until noon today when the polling stations quickly set up around the administration tower were due to be teeming with people. As he sat and drank his caffeine he thought about how strange it was, the direction his life had taken. Barely a couple of years before he had been living miles away on ancestral Uchiha grounds believing he would never be anything more to the world than the head of their clan someday. It had seemed to him then like a good life. Now his name was one of those being voted on to lead an entire village, a dozen and more clans from all across their nation, and he had a husband that he could never have dreamed of. 

A husband he should go find. Madara left his cup unwashed in the sink and scampered back upstairs to get dressed. Then he marched out of their home with every intention of tracking Tobirama down to demand the morning kisses he had been so cruelly denied.

With how late he’d slept in the amount of people out on the streets was only to be expected. Madara reminded himself to keep his patience as he got stuck behind the fourth old lady in a row, inching along with their walkers and canes. Leaving the Uchiha district only made it worse, traffic congesting every street, so it felt as though he’d been walking for a hundred years by the time he finally made it to the heart of the Senju district instead. In reality it had probably only been a half hour but logical thinking could wait until he was less annoyed. 

Thankfully his sharp knock was answered rather quickly, Touka’s face unsurprised as she took in the grumpy pout on her front stoop.

“He’s in the kitchen,” she grunted. “And he’s making a mess.” 

“Nothing explosive, I hope?” 

“Heh, no. Thank the fates. He’s just getting flour everywhere is all.” Amazingly she even managed to crack a smile for his half-serious joke, stepping back to allow him in. 

Madara nodded to his hostess and inched around the space she had left him then made sure to toe off his sandals before going any farther. In all the time they had known each other he’d only had reason to be in this home once before, Hashirama usually being the one to host if they all gathered for dinner. Just as he had been the last time Madara found himself drawn to the artwork hanging on the wall in gorgeous mokuton frames. Most of the pieces were done in simple black graphite but one of them had obviously been drawn with different colored pencils and the results were enough to lift one of his eyebrows. Buying this must have cost her a pretty penny.

“I don’t suppose you remember the name of this artist?” he asked, footsteps slow to give himself time to admire the artwork. “I would be quite interested in commissioning a piece or two for myself. These are excellent quality.” 

“Thank you.”

Shooting her an amused look, he clarified teasingly, “I wasn’t complimenting your taste.” 

“No but you were complimenting my work.” Touka lifted her nose in to the air with a tight smirk and swept past him, leaving Madara standing there with his eyes bugging out. 

“Wait!” he chased down the hall after her. “You drew all these!?” 

“Tell anyone and I will feed you every tooth out of your own face one by one.” She entered the kitchen with all the bearing of a royal empress and lowered herself down at the table where a half-eaten meal sat waiting for her return. Given a hundred guesses Madara would never have chosen her as the hands behind such beautiful and expressive artwork, not when her most common facial expressions were ‘stern’ and ‘blank’. The idea that she even had that many emotions to express was mind boggling.

All thoughts of Touka fell away, however, as he looked up across the kitchen and took in the sight of Tobirama standing by the counter with his sleeves rolled up and a light green apron tied over his front. Spots of flour and baking soda dotted about his person even around the apron and the countertop itself was a riot of ingredients. From the way he was pounding at the dough Madara got the distinct impression that it had insulted him, quite possibly his family as well. 

Very carefully he inched forward and did his level best to both safely announce his presence and also stay as quiet as possible, not wishing to disturb his husband in case he truly was in a bad mood. Once he’d made his way around in to the man’s field of view Tobirama’s eyes snapped over to look at him while his hands continued their work.

“You okay?” Madara ventured to ask. 

“Fine,” Tobirama grunted. “I’m just bloody peachy.”

“Indeed, that sounds like you are very fine.” 

The other snorted and pounded his dough again. Curious, Madara peeked down at the mess and cast his eye over all the things that looked like they had been used, trying to add them all together in his head to make some sort of recipe. Baking had never been one of his specialties. He was a decent cook but he’d always known that if he learned how to make sweets for himself he would balloon up like an Akimichi in barely a couple of months – and he certainly didn’t have their hereditary thick bone structure to help him carry so much weight at high speeds while in battle. 

Eventually he realized that his nose already recognized what his eyes did not and couldn’t help but grin. 

“Are you making gingerbread?” he asked. 

“Perhaps.”

“Does it need to be beaten quite that much?” A curious peek up at the other revealed the answer even before Tobirama had a chance to speak, eyes averted and cheeks ever so faintly pink.

“Not exactly. But it makes me feel better so shut your trap.” 

Madara hummed. “And here I thought you felt just peachy.”

If it wasn’t for years of training he would not have been quick enough to dodge the flour-dusted hand that came up to swat the back of his head. The two of them shared a secretive smile but it didn’t last long, interrupted when Touka stood back up from the kitchen table with a scraping of wood against tile. 

“Right, I don’t think I’m hungry enough to sit here and watch the two of you flirting. What has my life come to? Fleeing from my own home so other people can make out or whatever.” She heaved a well over-exaggerated sigh as she carried her plate over to scrape the remains of her breakfast in to the garbage. Not even Madara was fooled. 

He was, however, fascinated to see the unexpected warmth in her eyes. It was easy to remember the last time he’d been here, the suspicion with which she had looked at him, and it made his entire chest feel light to see how much things had changed for more people than just himself. During the uncertain period when he and Tobirama were making their first shaky steps towards not hating each other no one around them except for Hashirama seemed to approve of the opposite side very much. Touka had certainly been among those who obviously weren’t holding their breath for anything great to come out of this marriage. Now she looked at the two of them with approval, with happiness that her most precious person was so happy himself.

She did give them both a very pointed look on her way out, though, and he knew that no matter how glad she was that their relationship had gotten to this point she was also entirely joking about how okay she was with them making out in her kitchen. Madara tossed it back and forth in his mind whether or not he was going to heed that warning. It wasn’t like she would be here to monitor them. Nobody had to know if he felt a little overwhelmed by how cute his husband looked in that apron. 

“We do know how to behave,” Tobirama mumbled in to his dough but Touka was already passing him by with an almost patronizing clap to the shoulder. 

“Clean up after yourselves,” was all she said. Her hand lingered as she pulled away and Madara, well versed at this point in the Senju love language, concealed a smile to see how blatantly she showed her affection in front of him. Things truly had changed so much. 

Murmuring something about coming back in half an hour, Touka slipped out the back door and they could both feel her chakra hopping across the yard to raid Hashirama's home instead. It really was convenient for the two of them to live so close and yet Madara couldn’t imagine allowing his own brother the same freedoms. If Izuna lived only one yard away he would be underfoot so often the two of them would never have any alone time and there would never have been enough space for any sort of peace to be made between him and Tobirama. 

Izuna was far from what he had come here to think about, though. Madara shook his brother out of his head and used their new privacy to lean up for a quick kiss against his favorite tattoos. 

“Does punching the poor ingredients actually make you feel any better?” he asked. 

“Somewhat.” 

“Mn. Is that why you’re over here making a mess in someone else’s kitchen or did you just have a craving for gingerbread and get angry about it?” 

Again Tobirama’s cheeks pinked. “I needed something to hit and I remembered that Anija told me you enjoyed the last batch of gingerbread so I thought someone might as well benefit from my frustration.” 

“You’re not still that upset about today?”

“Of course I am.” Tobirama sighed and reached out to pull a baking sheet towards himself, separating the overworked dough in to equal spheres. “I don’t actually believe that many people in the village would purposely put me in charge but the possibility is still cause for worry.”

Madara smiled faintly, unsurprised. He should have guessed that the vote happening at noon today would be the source of his partner’s turmoil. Knowing that his own name was on the ballot was a little nerve-wracking but Madara had been prepared for the idea of leadership since the day he was born, had always known that he would be in charge of his own people, so the chance of more people wasn’t too big of a change for him. If he were being honest he really didn’t think he was the right man for the job but if somehow it did fall to him he was prepared to do his best. 

That wasn’t to say that Tobirama was unprepared to lead. As the second heir he too would have grown up knowing what his duties were. Madara wasn’t all that sure what the issue was now but all it took was leaning his head on the man’s arm for him to fall still and reveal his thoughts with no further prompting. 

“It feels wrong,” he murmured. 

“What does?”

“Being asked to step over my own brother as though all the work he’s put in means nothing. Or even being asked to step over you as though I am somehow your better. If anyone should lead it would be one of you. I am much better suited to running things behind the scenes like I always have; who would honestly want my face to represent them?” He frowned as his neat little rows of cookie dough. “I don’t even smile.” 

Catching his jaw with one hand, Madara brought that beloved face around to meet his own. “You smile for me.”

“Hmph.”

“Don’t just hmph. You’re not stepping over either one of us, love. If the people vote for you – and they should – then they’re making a good choice because you are the right one for this job. I know you’re used to operating in the shadows but maybe it’s time for you to start taking credit for all the things you do, hm?” He lifted one brow pointedly, to which Tobirama scoffed. 

“And what exactly do I do?”

“Too much,” Madara grumbled.

Startled, for a moment Tobirama did nothing but look at him. Eventually he said, “I do as much as is necessary.”

“Just because everything you do is necessary doesn’t mean it all needs to get done by the same person. Sometimes it would be a lot healthier for you to share the load, you know?” Madara grinned. “A moot point if you take the majority vote. Then you’ll have new duties and other people will be taking over the things you used to do anyway. Everyone will know if you’re overworking yourself and no one is going to stop me from dragging you home at a decent hour if I have to.” 

“I come home at decent hours,” Tobirama protested. 

“Most nights. But don’t think I don’t know when you’ve left a clone at the office to keep working. You have tells for when the memories hit you later.” 

Pressing a kiss against those lips that so few were blessed to see curling up in the soft expressions he loved, Madara let go of Tobirama’s face and let him look away back to his cookies. Whatever thoughts were going through his mind were a mystery but it was obvious that he was thinking something and so Madara kept his silence.

After a couple minutes his partner finally ran out of dough to fiddle with and sighed. 

“With how long it took your brother to see that I mean well how can I expect that an entire village would trust me to have their best interests in my heart?” As soon as he was finished speaking he snatched up one of the baking trays and marched over to the oven, leaving Madara behind with a stunned expression. 

“Is that what’s wrong?” 

“Madara–”

“No, wait. Is that actually what’s bothering you? The idea that you’re somehow not good enough for the people of Konoha?” 

Once all the cookies were in the oven – and more likely to burn than anything with how overworked that dough had been – Tobirama had nowhere left to look but back at him. His features were all scrunched up with the distaste of talking about feelings, one of his least favorite things to do. His hands fiddled with an already dirty towel, running it between his fingers and scrubbing it over his palms, working as much gunk off of himself as possible without actually washing his hands, but his eyes never moved from where they’d been caught in Madara's gaze and the uncertain look in their depths was almost heartbreaking. 

“I very nearly failed as a husband,” he said quietly. “You’re just one person and I almost failed you. The idea of so many people putting their trust in me is, quite frankly, slightly terrifying when I can’t seem to get that out of my head.” 

“You did not nearly fail me,” Madara growled. 

Tobirama gave him a doubtful look so he closed the distance between them again to poke that solid chest. 

“Whatever problems we had at the beginning of this marriage were caused by both of us being utter morons. You can’t just carry all the fault on your own shoulders. I definitely said some very terrible things that night, things I should not have even thought, and you were right to be angry at me for that. Had either one of us stopped to actually communicate it would have solved all our problems but you’re not the only one who didn’t.” Folding the digit he’d been using to poke, Madara flattened that hand against his partner’s chest for a softer touch. “You’ve worked hard in this marriage. Just because I was too stupid to see it then does not make it untrue.”

“You have an alarming amount of faith in me for someone who once prayed for my untimely disappearance.” Tobirama shifted uncomfortably under such blatant praise. 

“People are allowed to grow,” Madara told him loftily. 

And if he meant that as a response and a pointed statement at the same time, well, he’d been fortunate enough to marry someone skilled at reading between the lines. Clearly the man understood what he was getting at judging by the harrumphing sounds Tobirama was making instead of actually refuting his words. 

Because he couldn’t, really. There was no rebuttal available to him when Madara was right. Madara had always very much enjoyed being right. 

“So in conclusion,” he continued with a toss of his hair, “you’re sulking in a kitchen that isn’t your own and making cookies that aren’t even going to turn out edible because we had a rocky start to our marriage that was only half your fault at best? I had to wake up without kisses because you don’t feel worthy?” One of his eyebrows lifted with mock judgement.

“When you sum it up like that I sound like a child,” Tobirama protested. 

“If you don’t want me to call you a child then don’t act like one. Now, am I going to have to drag you out to the polls or will you come willingly?” 

“They’re not for a couple of hours yet. Leaving now would only be inviting my cousin’s house to burn down. I’m not sure it’s even necessary for us to go, anyway; shouldn’t the candidates stay away so we don’t seem to be influencing anyone?” 

Madara rolled his eyes, not fooled for a moment. “You’re not getting out of it that easily. Letting people see us there at the polls is supposed to be motivational or whatever. Hashirama was blathering on about it last night, something about letting them see our faces so they can be reminded that we care. I think. I wasn’t really listening to him.” 

Again his husband harrumphed, foiled in his rather pathetic efforts to get out of attending the day’s events. It would have been annoying if it weren’t so darn cute. Since he seemed determined in his sour mood Madara graciously let him be for a short while, observing in silence while Tobirama puttered around cleaning up all the messes he had made. It was unlike him to be so inconsiderate of his environment but Madara supposed it was possible he’d made himself so untidy in an unconscious attempt to excuse himself from going out in public. Even a stoic man like him could indeed be childish at times. 

It seemed to run in the family, honestly.

Unfortunately Tobirama’s efficiency was a trait all his own and it worked against him now. The kitchen was clean in what must have felt to him like no time at all. He looked a little lost in the aftermath, towel in hand as he swung his head from side to side, eyes longing for something else to focus on.  

“You know, I sort of forgot that you could bake,” Madara said, throwing him a bone. 

“Ah. Yes. It’s something that I usually save for when I need a non-violent stress reliever.”

“Mn, I don’t know, you were getting pretty violent with that dough.” His grin did nothing to deter those pretty red eyes from turning to narrow at him with annoyance. 

Incredibly, no retribution came. Instead Tobirama only stared at him for a moment, turned back to contemplate his baking cookies, then returned to staring at Madara with a dangerous sort of light dawning in his eyes. Gears were turning in that wicked mind. Sometimes that could be a good thing but at the moment it could only be something suspicious. When one corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly Madara knew he was right to be worried. 

“How about you help distract me with some other entertainments, then? I can think of other ways we might get…violent.” His leer was a surprisingly well practiced expression from someone who typically preferred a more subtle invitation. 

“Something tells me your cousin would not appreciate us violating her kitchen like that,” Madara grumbled, his cheeks already heating up. 

He still wasn’t used to being as open with his sexuality as the other man – learning to be, but not quite there yet. There were still years upon years of being taught to suppress his urges to combat. He did still welcome his husband with open arms when Tobirama stepped up close to grant him the kisses he’d come all the way across the village to look for. A little embarrassed he might be but never let it be said that he would ever allow a bit of heat in his face to keep him from a good smooch. 

Of course, he should have known better. Tobirama was a master at distracting him away from talking about feelings and he’d been as quick to learn weaknesses in this arena as he had been in any other. Before he knew it Madara found himself with his back to the counter and strong hands framing his hips. Lips hot against his own stole the breath from his lungs, gentle pressure rolling their bodies together, and if he were just a slightly weaker man he would have given in to the fog threatening to slip down over him. As it was his entire body protested when he used the flat of his palm to separate them, arousal stirring warm in his belly. He ignored it regretfully.

“What did I just say about your cousin?” The scolding tone he was aiming for came out only slightly marred by his lack of oxygen. 

“I was trying to convince you to think of other things.” Tobirama sighed. 

“Believe me, I am thinking of them,” Madara admitted. “I just think now is not the time. Later.” 

“Promise?” his partner asked with an interested look. 

 With an exasperated chuckle he nodded. “I promise. Later. We’ll make it a celebration when you are inevitably voted in.”

Unsurprisingly that lost him the warmth of a willing body against his own but as it turned out that was a good thing as only after they separated did Madara notice the rather sizable problem in his trousers. Better to use what time they had left convincing that to go away before their hostess returned. Which, considering how he hadn’t at all been paying attention to the clock, could really be any minute. 

He was not entirely wrong about that. Though she was merciful enough to give them slightly more than the offered half hour of privacy, Touka's return came only a handful of minutes after Madara finally convinced his body to calm down. 

The first thing she did upon entering the home was shout down the hall to ask if they were decent. Only once they had confirmed that both of them were fully clothed did she kick off her sandals and wander in to the kitchen, eyes narrowed at the two of them suspiciously. Madara considered making some kind of comment about how clean the room was to assuage her worries but stopped himself as he realized that, were it him, he probably would have taken that to mean they’d been trying to cover up the evidence. Nothing else occurred to him to say so instead he bent down to hide his face by checking on the cookies.

Burnt to a crisp. 

“Should we have taken these out of the oven?” he asked. Tobirama swung around to stare at him with wide eyes. 

“I…yes. They were only supposed to cook for ten minutes. How did we not smell them burning!?” 

The energy with which he leapt across the kitchen was impressive to say the least, the sort of rapid fire movement one typically didn’t see off of a battlefield. Touka was already howling with shameless laughter as she answered.

“You make so much nonsense downstairs and I got tired of the smells so I had Mito whip me up a few seals to keep that and the smoke out of my kitchen. That was back before she redid the new ones to keep you safe, I’d entirely forgotten they were there!” Crossing both hands over her middle she folded in half to belt her amusement at the floor in graceless barks. Standing with his tray of ruined cookies between oven-mittened hands, Tobirama clearly did not appreciate her display.

“Don’t you think the laughter is a little unnecessary?” he snapped. 

“No!” she managed to choke out. 

“Fine. Just for that, I’m not making another batch. The next cookies I bake will be prepared at home and you will not be offered any.” Turning away with his nose held high, Tobirama dropped the tray of burnt crispy circles on the countertop with a frankly hilarious amount of attitude. 

All Madara could think was that the man had at least gotten what he wanted. He’d certainly gotten his distraction from thinking about the polls. That was the reasoning he used to justify not jumping in until Touka’s voice began to take on a familiar hissing quality. It was easy enough to distract her even with how little they knew one another, a simple question about how she had tightened security around the village in the past two weeks and Madara had her full attention. While Tobirama dealt with his ruined baking they chatted about all the subtle differences between how she organized her teams and the way he used to do it. 

For all that he’d been enraged to have such an important role taken away from him when it happened Madara could see now that things had all worked out for the best in this, too. Heading the police force really was the best place for him to be. They might not have a finished headquarters yet but he was proud of everything his volunteer officers had managed to accomplish so far. In fact, he was rather proud of everything accomplished by all factions since their clans all came together. Apparently he was in a very reflective mood lately. 

Eventually it was Touka who checked the clock and put an end to the time wasting. 

“Polls are starting in about five minutes,” she said. “Think the two of you should get going?”

“Ugh,” Tobirama groaned. 

“We really should.” Madara very carefully did not laugh at his partner’s reaction. When he cocked his head towards the door it was with both eyebrows raised in question. 

Touka considered his offer for a moment and then nodded. “Yeah I guess I’ll come along. Might as well find out firsthand which one of you poor sods is getting stuck with this job, eh?”

Neither of them was the least bit surprised when Tobirama shoved her on his way by, though Madara had to silently admit that he was a bit staggered by how well the three of them all got along as they made their way out of the house to mosey through the streets at an easy pace. Tobirama’s steps might have dragged a little but if he had any new complaints he didn’t bother to voice them. He was well aware that no one would listen if he did.

As busy as the roads had been when Madara was on his way in to the Senju district they were twice as bad now but eventually their little group made it to the village square. It took them until then to realize the reason that so many people were just standing around was because they were actually in line for the polls and the only reason the three of them had been let by was because they obviously weren’t casting their own ballot today. Coming around the last corner to see the madness in front of them was like a peek in to the future and it had Madara smiling.

“Well, you’ve managed to evade it for this little bit longer,” he murmured. “Are you ready to go face the inevitable?” 

“You are all enjoying this far too much,” was the only answer he got. 

Then Tobirama lifted his chin to march forward with the air of a man walking to his doom and Madara wondered if he were stepping ahead so he didn’t have to see the two behind him shake with amusement at his expense. Whatever the reason, he managed to retain a modicum of dignity and Madara decided he was feeling merciful enough to let the man keep it. By the time he caught up to the other he had successfully repressed his laughter and lifted his own chin, proud as any Uchiha clan head should be, more than ready to see which of them would be the one to shape the future ahead. 

[aelaer]

Whumptober 23: Bleeding Out

NGL, whenever I see these two words together these days, the Imagine Dragons song of the same name starts blaring in my head.

I haven't ever written Bucky outside of a group scenario and never really interacting with Stephen, so he was the Random Avenger (I'm counting him as an Avenger) that I decided to cameo for this. Alongside, naturally, Sam. Oh man I can't wait for that show, if it's not a buddy-cop action/comedy I'll be so disappointed.

Oh also this fills "Sunset" for my @stephenstrangebingo​ and that's another bingo, y'all.

This isn’t graphic, though naturally blood is mentioned. May want to avoid if you’re uncomfortable by the trapped/small spaces/crushed-type tropes, though :)

23. Bleeding Out

The smoke rising from the destruction several blocks west painted the orange sunset a blood red, which was oddly appropriate for an ending of a day that went like this.

Stephen wasn't entirely sure why normal people bothered to live in New York City anymore with its alarmingly frequent encounters with something destructive. Then again, it seemed most cities in the twenty-first century drew plenty of abnormal and outright dangerous beings. Yet somehow, property was still insanely expensive in said cities. It really made a person wonder about the human condition.

The doctor in him realized that his wandering thoughts were not conducive to staying alive. He forced himself to concentrate on the now.

The obvious part of the now was the sharp pain in his side and the fact that he was definitely, slowly but surely, suffering from exsanguination. He wasn't sure if it was one of the attacking aliens or a piece of debris that caused the bloody wound on his side, but whatever the case, he needed some emergency care within the next ten minutes or he would more than likely be dead.

It was rather a shame that he was pinned by the wreckage of a collapsed building and that he had no magic left to do… well, anything. No healing, no mentally reaching out for help, and he didn't even have the power to push out his astral form. In hindsight, using every last ounce of his magic probably wasn't the best idea.

At least he had a partial view of the sunset sky. That was something. He'd reach for it, but his leg was under something. Mercifully he had lost all feeling for the leg, which could be remedied if he was rescued in the next few minutes, or wouldn't matter within the next half hour. Either way worked for him; being alive was so tiring, sometimes. Like right now; right now it was absolutely exhausting.

An alarm flared in the back of his brain, but he couldn't remember what was so important about what he was feeling.

Speaking of feeling, Stephen still felt the Cloak's limited wiggling as it struggled to get out. Poor Cloak. It would be rescued eventually, though by the time it was, it was perhaps too late for him, having bled out and all.

Ah, yes. That's what the alarm was for. He was bleeding out and his body was beginning to shut down. It was a shame he couldn't move his arm to staunch the wound. Maybe he could try and use magic… oh, no, he was all out. He remembered now.

At least he could watch the blood red sky. It was a nice color, though a bit foreboding.

… not the worst thing to see… nice sunset…

….

He opened his eyes at the new noises. He didn't remember closing them. Noise, what was that noise? It wasn't distant sirens, or something falling, or something else being blown up. It wasn't incomprehensive shouts from ally, enemy, or civilian. But it sounded like… it was more like the latter, more like people. It sounded like speech.

Words began to drift through the wreckage and to Stephen's groggy mind, though they were partially incomprehensible.

"...awning or something…"

"...like that? … my mom used to…"

A moment later, his right hand felt a bit colder and the noise became louder and much clearer.

"Oh my God."

Someone placed a hand on his wrist, for… for something. There was something he knew about the wrist that he was… something important.

"Is he still alive?"

"Yeah, but it's thready." Then he heard, "We need medics on 30th and 9th; Doctor Strange is down. Alive, condition otherwise unknown." Then, in the next breath, "We need to uncover him fast, but carefully. Push that beam downward to the right, then that slab of concrete—"

He lost the conversation as things shuffled around him, but a quick moment later his view of the sunset engulfed his blurry vision, only to be immediately replaced by two men that he knew he knew but details like names were difficult at the moment.

"Strange! Stay with us, Strange," said the one that was directing things. Stephen squinted at him in confusion, and maybe he understood his confusion because he continued, "It's Sam, Stephen. Bucky is working on getting you out, but I need you to tell me where you're injured."

Injured, injured… oh, yes. Bleeding. "Left side," he rasped. "Blood." What was the word… he knew these words. He knew these words well. "Hyp… Hypo…" Hypo-something.

"Hypovolemic shock?"

Yes, that was it. Stephen gave the barest of nods and let his eyes shut. He was so damn tired.

He felt a light tap on his face and he blinked, looking up at Sam. "You need to stay awake just a little longer. Barnes, get his left side free when you can."

"I heard the Doc!" Bucky shouted back as he worked on removing the debris. "I— whoa!"

Stephen's brow furrowed in confusion, but suddenly he felt a heavy pressure at his side that caused him to wince in pain.

"I think his cloak's buying us a couple extra minutes," Sam said at his head.

"Good, because I can't move the debris around his chest until I get most of the crap off his legs; it might collapse otherwise."

The painful pressure on his side— from the Cloak, sounded like— did more to keep him awake and help unmuddle some of his thoughts, and he did his best to peer at his surroundings. From his vantage point, he saw that they had removed the debris in front of him and around his right arm. It looked like the rest of his right side was still mostly blocked off. He couldn't see the bottom half of his body the way he was laying on his stomach.

Stephen groaned as the Cloak pressed a little harder against his side.

Sam laid a hand on his right shoulder. "Just hang on for a few more minutes. The guy with the metal arm is mostly useless, but he's good at lifting heavy stuff."

"You just wish you were as great as me," Bucky grunted as the sound of more shifting debris punctuated his claim.

Stephen huffed a laugh, then winced at the pain it brought. "Don't— don't make me laugh."

"I'll try, but no promises," Sam said with a half smile and a soft pat on his shoulder.

"Is… is everyone okay?" he asked.

"A few injuries, but I think you get the gold medal for the worst injuries this round," Sam answered. "You're lucky Bucky saw the corner of your cloak struggling to pull itself out. It was only sticking out a few inches."

A grunt, some more heavy shifting, and an answer came from beyond Stephen's viewpoint. "I told you it was embroidery and not some tacky awning."

"Hey, I didn't call it tacky— don't go insinuating that I'm insulting the magical outerwear. We have a good relationship, both being flying… things."

"Things, huh?"

The conversation was of some help to distract Stephen from the pain, though every time his eyes fluttered shut for more than a few seconds, Sam would tap him awake. As the sound of distant sirens began to grow closer, he heard, "I think this will do it," and suddenly he felt a searing pain in his now-free leg, and within thirty seconds the rest of his body was uncovered.

"The ambulance is coming up right behind you," he heard Bucky say as the pain began to overwhelm him. "Just hold on a little longer."

He tried to listen to him, but as the blare of sirens whitewashed all other sounds, and then something touched him, touched his leg, his body gave up on him and consciousness fled.

((Don't worry, he lives.

Sam ended up just taking the wheel from Bucky, cuz I guess he's still annoyed about what happened in TWS… I don't control the characters, they do their own thing.

I know one of the symptoms of severe hypovolemic shock is confusion, though I am not sure if that confusion includes forgetting simple things like people's names as well as knowledge you know like the back of your hand. If it doesn't, well, we'll say it's also the magical exhaustion then. Or just a nasty concussion.))

[blackleatherjacketz]

My Brother’s Keeper: Chapter 11

Negan x Reader

Summary: Your brother runs away from the Sanctuary and you pay the price. This Chapter: A few weeks after Negan finds your brother, you attempt to return to your normal life.

Warnings: Lemons, Cunnilingus, Coercion, Sex, Grief, Medical Jargon, A Star Trek Joke

Word Count: 3237

Read the rest of the story HERE!

Mary’s leg was red and painful as you ran your palm slowly down her shin, nearly dwarfing the size of her other leg. You took care to press gently, measuring the amount of swelling that had caused her to stay home from work that day.

“Did you fall or injure yourself in any way?” You asked, looking up at her from your crouched position at her feet. “Any cuts, scrapes of bruises? It could be something minor that opened a pathway to infection.” You hoped that it was something as simple as cellulitis, but your gut told you otherwise.

“No, honey, I just sit at the shop all day. But this morning when I got up out of bed, it hurt to even move it.” She told you, leaning forward to touch her calf.

You kept your eyes down as you feared the worst, feeling for a pedal pulse which was barely palpable. “Have you had any trouble breathing? Any chest tightness or heaviness?” You remembered all of the patients like Mary you treated at the hospital before the world stopped turning; people who were lazy, people who were active, the young and the old. It didn’t matter then and it didn’t matter now, disease was an unbiased son of a bitch.

“No, none of that, sweetie.” She leaned back in her chair and patted her chest, thrumming a small rhythm onto her skin.

“I’m gonna have Doctor Carson start you on Eliquis tonight,” you explained. “It’s a blood thinner and will help get rid of that clot I think you have in your leg.” You paused, smiling as you looked into her tired and weary eyes. “In the meantime I’m gonna need you to take it easy for a few days, okay? No more half marathons.” You winked at her and stood up, dusting the dirt off your knees.

You often had to resign yourself to defeat in the apocalypse, coming to terms with the half lives and expiration dates of critical medications. In the old world you would have given her a Heparin drip, ordered an ultrasound of the veins in her legs and drawn labs to check her clotting time until she was stable. But this wasn’t the old world, now, was it? This was the Sanctuary, and Eliquis was all you had.

“Thank you, dear,” Mary’s hands clasped around yours, her many rings brushing against the dry skin on your palms.

“You’re welcome.” You smiled at Mary’s gratitude, the one thing that brought you joy in the past couple of days, and walked out of her room.

You pulled the notepad out of your jacket and wrote down her information: Mary Jackson, 67F, DVT LLE, Eliquis QID. You grinned to yourself as you entered the common area, putting your notepad back in your pocket as you were finally able to go half the day without thinking about your brother. No more tears to blur your vision, no more fatigue to keep you in bed, no more anger to make you strike out at your peers. You were practically yourself again.

You walked past Mary’s usual market stand that was now run by her husband, Jim, and gave him a quick little wave. He waved back slowly, his NASCAR hat unable to hide the joy in his eyes when he saw you.

“How’s she doing, Doc?”

“Damnit Jim, I’m a nurse, not a doctor.” You stopped in front of his table, waiting for the joke to register on his face before frowning as he failed to get your Star Trek reference. You shrugged it off and looked over his merchandise before spotting a tiny porcelain tiger.

“Well, you’re the best we’ve got, and certainly a lot better than Dr. Personality over there.” He nodded toward the infirmary.

“Every doctor needs their nurse!” You reassured him, not ready to badmouth your colleague. “Mary most likely has a blood clot in her leg. I didn’t see any cuts or scrapes indicating cellulitis, so I’m gonna start her on a blood thinner tonight; break that sucker up and have her back to work in no time.”

Jim took in a deep breath. “A blood clot? Is it serious?”

You opened your mouth to answer him but stopped as an eerie whistle sounded, wrenching Jim’s wrinkled face into shock. His brown eyes darted past you, following a slowly moving object before kneeling down onto his knees behind his station. The whistle only got louder, Negan’s voice freezing you in place as everyone else in the room followed suit. Jim looked at you with caution, pointing to Negan with his eyebrows before you eventually decided to turn around.

“On your knees, Princess.” Negan seemed taller than you remembered, growing in height as you lowered yourself to the ground. “Word on the street’s you’ve been getting your hands dirty, making house calls, being a real Mother Teresa type.” Negan waltzed up to you, lifting your chin with the tip of Lucille.

It was true that you were burying yourself in your work, trying to take your mind off the eternity of grey each morning brought as you did your best to find some color in the Sanctuary. You strove to be that good person Alden saw in you, but it didn’t matter how many people you helped, you still couldn’t quite shake the darkness inside.

“Yeah?” You tried to ignore the proximity of the weapon that bashed your brother’s brains in a few weeks ago. “Did you come here to canonize me into sainthood?”

Negan turned his head as he tried to register what you said, laughing instead of asking exactly what you meant. “Not really.”

“What do you want, then?” You asked, the tip of Lucille tilting your chin upward.

“I wanna talk,” he started. He lowered his bat down to your neck, tracing the outline of your clavicle as it’s barbs scratched little white lines into your skin.

“Then talk.” You stood up against his bat, crossing your arms over your chest as you rose to your feet.

“Huh,” he chuckled at your audacity. “I’d rather have a private conversation.” He dropped Lucille to his side and leaned in close, the heat from his breath setting your skin on fire. “That is, unless you want everyone else here to watch.”

“No,” you answered, looking back at Jim and his porcelain tiger. “Private is fine.” —————————

Negan’s room was just as luxurious as you remembered it, the giant bed spurring memories that blocked out the painful ones you kept reliving every night. You were nowhere near ready to be alone with him in such a small room, to look at his handsome face and smell the cologne on his neck, but here you were.

You followed him here against your better judgement, knowing full well what he intended to ask you without knowing if you had the conviction to stand your ground. Perhaps you were just tired of mourning, of seeing your brother’s ghost in the hallway and your mother’s in the kitchen. That ache he’d placed in your heart never quite outweighed the ache he’d placed between your legs.

“You want a drink?” Negan got comfortable after closing the door behind him, setting Lucille down and shrugging out of his leather jacket.

God, yes. You wanted a drink more than anything. You wanted to taste that warm whiskey and forget everything that had happened; to let it pulse through your veins and push you into his arms even though you knew it was the last thing you needed right now.

“Yeah,” you decided out loud. “Yeah, I’ll take that drink.”

“Good.” Negan walked over to the bar and got two glasses from the top shelf, pouring an amber liquid into each of them. “Now I know what I did was kind of fucked up and everything, but I just gotta ask,” he trailed off, collecting the glasses in his hands before turning to face you. ”Are you still pissed at me?”

Was he kidding? How could you not be? He murdered your brother right in front of you, and now he was acting like nothing had happened? Like he was innocent? Like you should be grateful? If he was anyone else in the world you might tell him all of that, but he was Negan, and so were you. You had to choose your words carefully.

“Maybe,” you whispered, taking the glass from him.

“Maybe,” his voice was as smooth as the whiskey going down your throat. “Maybe not.” His hazel eyes glowed in the pink of the summer sunset. You hated how beautiful he was, how sinfully stunning his mere presence was as you actively tried to despise him.

“I should hate you… for what you did,” you braved, staring at his frustratingly pleasing form.

“Yeah,” he smiled and took a sip. “Yeah you should.” He stepped toward you, his quickening proximity sending a rush of heat between your thighs. “But you don’t.” The look on his face was more than victorious, the wrinkles around his eyes telling you that he knew things would turn out this way, no matter how badly he hurt you.

“You wanted to talk…” you began, refusing to respond to his taunt. “Let’s talk.” You felt the heat spread throughout your body as he advanced on you, taking a step backward until you found yourself seated on his bed.

Negan bit his lower lip as he watched you rest on his mattress, eyes dancing over you while his hand slithered over the top of your thigh. “I was thinking we could do more that…”

“I thought this was over,” you tested him, taking a sip and lowering your glass.

“I wanted to give you time to get back on your feet.” His hand traveled inward, fingertips brushing against the denim that contained your needy sex. “I’m a stand-up guy like that.” He winked and finished his drink, setting it down on the nightstand next to Lucille.

“Plus, Rick the prick took a little longer to break in than I imagined.” He squeezed your thigh and tipped the bottom of your glass upwards, smirking as you reluctantly chugged the rest of the liquid down your throat. “Good girl.” He purred, taking your empty glass and setting in down next to his.

“He did, huh?” You’d heard about the new community Negan found and how they massacred an entire Savior outpost in one night. You didn’t know much about who they were or where they came from, but you did know that Negan made it pretty clear they were messing with the wrong people.

“Yeah, but I’m not here to talk about that.” He smoothed a strand of hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. “After everything that’s happened, I just wanna make sure you’re still who I think you are.”

He smiled and snaked his hand up the front of your shirt, sliding your stethoscope off your neck and setting it down beside him. Grinning like a kid in a candy store, he pushed up into your shoulders, grazing his calloused hands over your arms before taking the sleeves of your work jacket with them. You took in a deep breath and let him undress you like you always did, pushing the memory of your brother out of your mind as he stood you up and took off the rest of your clothes.

Instead of forcing you onto the bed in some demeaning position, Negan took your face in his hands. He stared at you endlessly, those hazel eyes turning an electric gold in the warming sunlight before gently kissing your lips. Well, that was new.

“I’m Negan,” you whispered into his mouth, hoping that was what he wanted to hear. The taste of the whiskey heightened your senses as his tongue brushed against yours, sending little jolts of pleasure into your brain. “I’m still Negan,” you reassured him.

“Good.” He pushed you onto your back, feathering his fingers up your thighs until they reached the junction between your legs. “That’s what I thought.” The smile that graced his lips was purely demonic, baring sharp teeth as he lowered them to your pelvis to finally take a bite.

You hissed as he wantonly feasted on your flesh, writhing beneath him as his mouth made that deadly concoction of pain and pleasure you loved so much. You watched him lick the moisture between your folds, bringing his tongue up on your clit like a cat giving itself a bath. His eyes darkened as he took you in, watching your face change with each lick, each lap of arousal coating his generous and eager tongue.

You let yourself leave the present time and place, closing your eyes and focusing only on how he made you feel. Warm wet strips of delight excited your juicy center as his whiskers brushed against your thigh. You never imagined you’d feel this good again, every pulsing inch of your heat begging for more as he sucked and tugged on your raw flesh. He hummed a deep tune into your body, vibrating your very bones in a song as if you were his favorite wind instrument.

Knuckles white against his scalp, you rolled your hips into him, guiding his hungry mouth exactly where you wanted as you felt your thighs begin to quake. Those feelings of anger and doubt all washed away as a heavy tidal wave of bliss crashed over you, forcing your back to curve and flatten like waves upon the ocean. Every swear word you had in your arsenal left your lips as you came, the ebb and flow of your orgasm giving you an excuse to use the language you wanted to shout at him for the longest time.

Your eyes fluttered open as he pulled his mouth away, lips and beard wet with your juices as he began undoing his pants. Part of you wanted to deny him, to put your foot on his chest and keep him at bay, but you were too tired. Too tired of consciously avoiding him, of being strong for your family and burying your feelings of grief. Instead you sat up on your elbows, watching him undress in the heavy lavender of dusk as his clothes finally hit the floor.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, welcoming him back as he pressed into you without ceremony. Your walls stretched and adjusted to his girth, your time away from him erasing that muscle memory as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. More waves built up as his body pushed and pulled, hitting those bruises he’d placed with his mouth as a tsunami of pleasure built up inside you.

He grunted and groaned as he tasted your neck, recklessly thrusting until either of you could take it any longer. His eyes shut as he came inside you, biting your throat as he pushed himself up to the hilt, filling you up with all he had. His hips crashed into yours with that final wave, his white hot liquid spilling inside you as he held you close, twitching and spasming with his final efforts.

You’d never admit it, but you didn’t want to let him go. You wished you could stay here like this forever, with him deep inside you as your sweat mixed with his in the most primal of ways. If you didn’t think about it, it was like there was no one else that mattered but the two of you. No one else in the world.

You kissed his forehead as he leaned into you, the sweat from his brow coating your lips as he slowly pulled out and collapsed on the bed.

“Shit, doll,” he mumbled, “You must have really missed me.” He kissed your clavicle and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling as he tried to collect himself.

“I could say the same thing about you,” you countered, teeth still chattering from your orgasm. “For a minute there, I thought you were going to ask me to be your wife.” You couldn't stand the suspense any longer.

“Are you shittin’ me? And ruin what we’ve got goin’ here?” He chuckled and ran a hand down your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its path. “I got a better job for you, something I think you’ll like a lot more than being locked away with a bunch of broads.”

You turned your head to look at him, wondering what on earth he could be talking about. “A different job than being a nurse?” For once in your life, you wanted to know what was going on in that head of his.

“Sorta,” he paused. “Rick’s group got me thinkin’... maybe we don’t have as tight a hold on our communities as we thought.” He bit your shoulder and turned you on your side, taking time to rub the sore muscles in your back. “I’m gonna send you to the Kingdom to do a little recon for me.”

“Recon?” What did he just say? The Kingdom? Send you there? Didn’t he want you here? Wasn’t that why he lured you up here, so he could… You closed your eyes as your stomach wretched in disappointment, the acid bubbling over the top and into your throat. “I’m not a Savior, Negan, I have no business being a spy,” you protested.

“I know.” He kissed your neck, tugging on your skin with his teeth before sliding his tongue gently over it. You were still sensitive as he sucked the new bruise into your flesh, tiny little neurons firing the last of what they had into your system.

“I don’t understand,” you whispered between moans. It dawned on you now why he wanted to get you into bed so quickly; you couldn’t say no to him while you were naked in his arms riding the high of an orgasm. He never had any intention of asking you to be his wife at all, did he?

“I just couldn’t shake how Zeke looked at you when we were over there. I mean, not that I can blame him,” he explained, grabbing your breasts and pulling you into him.

You gasped at the sudden contact, instinctively writhing your exhausted body into his. “I don’t think…”

“No, you wouldn’t. Which is why you need to be over there. No one will suspect a nurse.” He paused. “Rick the prick didn’t get his information out of nowhere, and I need to know which community’s to blame.” He smoothed his hand down your body, overworking your pleasure center as he curved it around your hips.

“We’ll drop you off, make it look like you’re some kind of traveler,” he whispered, cupping your ass and spreading your cheeks. “And then every week during their offering I get to eat that pussy until I’m not hungry anymore.” He slid his fingers up between your thighs, still wet with your arousal. “Pull all that sensitive information out of that big ole brain of yours.”

“I uh… oh my God, Negan…” You couldn’t help but rock into him, relishing the sensation of his fingers as they entered you again. “What if I say no?” The question was more for yourself, but you decided to let him hear it, too.

“Do this for me baby, and I won’t have to harm a single hair on your dad or sister’s head ever again.”

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

Tags: @irrelevantwriter @genevievedarcygranger @letsby @annablack1102 @negansdirtygirl22 @negans-network @rasa1945 @chamberofsloths @namelesslosers @collette04 @haleyea @bishsposts @bodhi-black @mblaqgi @ptite-shit @jamiekingofmen @ibelongtonegan @divadinag @dxloverpunk @tylersblurrylittleface

[trashcanband4]

Father Daughter Duo Ch.7

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3  Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

Chapter Title: Making mistakes. Pairing: Eventual Darylxoc. Setting: The Prison. Warnings: Rape, Non-customary situations. Word count: 3,822.

I shot straight up in the bed and a sharp pain shot through my head causing a high pitched yelp to escape my lips. I pulled my stiff body off of the bed and to the dirty mirror over a small sink. The dirty shirt I used to wipe it with smeared the layers of dust enough that I could make out my reflection. A bright red streak of blood was leaking from the new half inch cut in the middle of my forehead near my hairline. It dripped off the tip of my nose and into the sink. I was too distracted by the reflection in the mirror to do anything about the blood.

There were dark circles around my naturally wide eyes that made their light blue color look brighter than usual. My thin lips where dry and cracked and my caramel brown hair, that I used to keep smooth with the help of a flat iron was now a tangled mess of loose waves that hung around my too thin face. I let my eyes fall on the small droplets of red liquid that splashed against the bottom of the sink.

"Ya do know yer bleedin' right?" the gruff voice that filled my cell pulled me from my daze and I glanced over to see Daryl standing in the cell doorway. I rolled my eyes, turned back to the mirror and started wiping at the blood with my hand. "Here." He stepped into the cell and extended a red shop rag out to me that I just stared at wondering why he was helping me. "That’s bleedin' pretty bad." He said observing the blood that still pored down my face. He huffed out an aggravated breath when I didn't take the rag and reached out to press it to my head. My hand shot up and jerked the rag from his hand before he could touch me and I backed up as I pressed it to the cut. "Forgot ya don't like to be touched."

"Sure you did." I said sarcastically and walked around him out of the cell. "What's the plan for today? Aren't we supposed to go look for food and medicine or whatever." From my view over the rail I could see the empty room below.

"Na yer old man talked Rick into lettin' everyone enjoy this for a few days." I was relieved to hear that, it meant more time for us to get settled and make sure there aren't any chinks in the armor of the prison. I moved the rag off of my head to feel more blood slid down it.

When I got down stairs I quickly figured out that it was still early, because only Rick and Hershel were sitting at a table in the holding room. Hershel was eating so I motioned to my head "Would you mind taking a look at this when you're done? I can't get it to stop bleeding." I asked and he sat his plate down, went to his cell and came out with his medical bag. He pulled up a chair for me to sit in then another right in front of it for him.

I felt blood trickle down my face when he removed the rag. "Oh that’s pretty deep. You're going to need stitches." I just nodded at him. He started digging in his bag and pulled out a needle and thread. I had never needed stitches before and I was nervous. "This is probably going to hurt more than necessary. I don’t have anything to numb you with first." 'Great' I thought sarcastically to myself. I squeezed the bottom of the chair every time the needle went into my skin. It hurt my hands where the blisters were, but I didn't mind because it took my mind off the pain that was shooting through my head.

When Hershel was finished the bleeding had stopped and I had four stitches in my head. "This is going to leave a scar isn't it?" I asked and he nodded his head. "Oh well, it'll just add to the collection." I reached up touching the razor thin cut on my neck that was already starting to heal then looked at my hands. I shrugged off my comment and grabbed a granola bar off of the table that had breakfast foods scattered across it and headed outside remembering that I had left my converse in the guard tower that I had slept in the other night. I preferred them over the heavy steel toed boots that I had been wearing and was ready to give my feet a rest.

I was humming as I walked up the tower and opened the door to the office. What I saw made me want to rip my eyes out. Glenn and Maggie were completely nude going at in on top of the desk. Their shocked looks matched mine before I slammed the door and ran, like I always do. And like always, I didn't know where I was going until I was there. I ended up in my cell curled up in the corner crying my eyes out. I was sobbing so hard that I couldn't breath and shaking so bad that I couldn't move.

Why did he have to hurt me? Why did he have to make me feel this way? Why can't I forget that it happened? Why did my father have to bring him into the prison with us? All the unanswered questions constantly plagued my mind like the walkers themselves. All those painful memories I couldn't forget were in the back of my brain always stabbing, drilling and chipping away at me every second of the day. I just wanted it to stop.

One of my knives was lying on the floor next to my feet and I picked it up with a shaky hand and flipped it open. The sharp, shiny blade reflected the blue line that ran up my arm and when I pressed down the warm red liquid of sweet release leaked down my arm and onto the floor mixing with the salt water that fell from my face. I had pressed the blade to my other wrist and started making a jagged cut to let every ounce of life drain out of me when the knife was snatched out of my hand.

I didn't even look up to see who had taken it from me. I just let my head hang in shame. "Bailey. Bailey look at me sweetie." I couldn't look at my father, not even when he grabbed my chin and pulled my face up brushing my hair out of the way. "Somebody help!" I had never heard my father sound so panicked. "What have ya done?" I still didn't look at him.

"Why won't you let me do it? I just want it to end. Why won't you let me make it stop?" I don't know how he understood my shaken weeping words, but he did.

"Because I love ya too much." Rick and Daryl came rushing into the room. "She slit her wrists." that’s all it took for me to be lifted off of the floor by Daryl and taken down stairs to Hershel. I was laid on a bed in a lower cell as Hershel worked on my wrists. When he was done I had stitches in both wrists that were covered with cuffs of cloth. I don't know how long I laid there zoned out before the soft touch on my shoulder made me talk. "I'm so sorry Bailey Bug."

"Don't touch me." My words came out emotionlessly flat. I knew it hurt him because I knew my father, but I didn't care. "You should have just let me go through with it."

I felt the pressure of his arms on the bed as he got closer to me and brushed my hair out of the way even though it wasn't in my face. "Ya know I can't do that. Ya saw what loosing yer mother did to me. I can’t loose ya too." I made myself look at him.

"Then why did you leave me to rot with a rapist? Why did you choose that night of all nights to start drinking?" My voice wavered and tears pooled in my eyes.

"I didn't choose that night to start drinking. I had been drinking for about two weeks before that." I reached up and grabbed the upper bunk in an attempt to sit up, but the pain that radiated from my wrists made me drop back down on the bed. My father tried to help me sit up but I batted him away and used my elbows to push myself up. "I know, that's not what ya wanted to hear, but it's the truth."

"I never saw you drink before that, ever." My father had never been a drinker, he was always a smoker. "When were you planning on telling me about this habit of yours?" When he didn't say anything I knew that he never meant for me to find out. "And why did you start doing it in the first place? Did you just wake up and decide 'Hey, I think I'm going to take up alcoholism today'?"

"The older ya get the more ya look like her." Did he mean mom? "Ya got everything from her. Her eyes, her pretty long bridged nose, her hair. The only thing you got from me is yer eye color and yer attitude." So he started drinking because he missed mom?

"I miss her too, but Dad…" he wiped a tear off of his cheek and looked at me with watery eyes. "Promise me you won't drink anymore."

"I promise." I looked down and started playing with my bandages. "Will you ever forgive me?" I didn't know what to say. So I told him that only time would tell. "Alright, well why don't you try and get some sleep?" I laid back down on my side facing away from him and gave in to the sleep that I had been fighting for who knows how long.

When I woke up my father was gone and Beth sat in a chair in the corner. I really didn't know how to act around everyone else, especially now that everyone knew I was a freak. "Hey." I greeted her as I sat up on the side of the bed. "Where's my father?"

"He went to help the others move the bodies out of the court yard." I asked her how long I had been in this cell. "All together, a day and a half." It felt like I had been in there longer than that. "Do you want to live?" I was shocked. I hadn't expected this mousy girl to be so…blunt. "Because if you don't, I'm not going to stop you." She tossed my pocket knife into my lap. I picked it up and looked at her with wide eyes. Why was she talking to me like this, weren't you supposed to be nice to the suicidal person? She smiled sweetly when I tossed the knife aside. "You do want to live don't you? If you didn't, you would have cut deeper than that."

I let more tears slide down my face as soon as she left the cell. I just sat there and let them fall telling myself the whole time that this would be the last time I would cry over this. That I couldn’t let what happened to me dominate my life and turn me into an unpredictable, uncontrollable ball of emotions. When I had completely calmed down I went upstairs and dug through my bag till I found a cuff bracelet that I had picked up at one of the houses we stopped at. It was wide enough to cover the bigger bandage on my right wrist.

It was made of black and brown leather with a silver cross in the center of it with flat stud accents. It looked like something a biker would wear and I had planned on just giving it to Dad, but now I used it to hide one of my mistakes. I didn't have anything to hide the other one so I guessed I would just have to deal with it. I gathered up my loose hair and managed to tie it up in a bun before I switched the tank top I had been wearing for a thin blue quarter sleeved shirt that covered most of my arms, and then changed my blue jean shorts for a pair of tan cargo pants. After a quick look in the mirror and a swipe under each eye in an attempt to wipe away the dark circles that I couldn't cover up I headed outside.

The change of clothes did nothing to erase the fact that I probably couldn't do anything to help the others. When my father saw that I was out and about he came over to me and gave me a side hug that made me cringe away. I had never been the hugging type, side hugs included. I wanted to tell him to get off of me, but I held myself back. "Hey, Bay, ya okay?"

"As long as you promise to stop asking me that, yeah. I'm fine." His eyes fell over my change of clothes.

"Where'd ya get the spiffy bracelet?" Spiffy, really? I told him what house I got it from as if he would remember it. "Ah, okay." I knew he knew I was only wearing it to cover up my wrist, but he didn't point that out.

"Is there anything that I can do to help?" I asked and he looked around him as if he was literally looking for something to occupy me. His gaze landed on Lori where she sat at a metal table watching everyone else hauling bodies to a pile outside the fence.

"Maybe go keep Lori company?" he said making t sound more like a question then a suggestion. "She looks like she could use it." I nodded and walked over and sat down on the ground, because my sore wrists wouldn't allow me to push myself up onto the table where she sat.

"You on medical leave too?" I asked and she cracked a small smile. I didn't really know what to say to her. If I should ask her about her pregnancy, or if I should just let her do all the talking. She didn't seem like the Chatty Cathy type.

"Something like that." I started picking at the uncovered bandage out of the need to do something with my hands. "Are you feeling better?" it wasn't 'are you okay', but it's just as bad.

"Yeah. Never better." It was a bold faced lie and she knew it. "How are you?" I looked up at her while she looked out at Rick. "I know it's none of my business, but what's going on between you and Rick?" Her eyes snapped over to me.

"It's a long story." I looked around at all the bodies that scattered the field. "And it's complicated." What wasn't complicated now days?

"I think we have time for a story." She looked over at me with a warning look. "Or it could me none of my business." I said turning back to watching the people.

"Have you told Daryl your little story?" I knew what she was talking about with out her having to elaborate. I also caught the bitter tone in her voice.

"Yeah, he knows."

"And…?" she asked pressing for more detail.

"And he said he would stop looking for him." That was really the only thing I knew to tell her.

"He believed you?" Oh lord please tell me she didn't think I was lying for the attention. I told her that Daryl did believe me. She just scoffed.

"So, are you scared?" I asked changing the subject without her following. "About the baby coming?"

"Look at me." I did. "Do I look scared to you?" her tone said no, but her eyes were screaming out for help. I shook my head no before I looked out over the field to see everyone walking to the prison. I must have slept for most of the day because when I looked up the sun was about an hour from setting and I guess that they were heading in for the day, but it felt like I had just gotten out of that place. Lori turned to me when I didn't get up when she did. "Are you going to stay out here?" I just nodded. "Okay, well Sean and Rick don't want you to be left by yourself, so." She said with a shrug before she turned her back and walked off.

I didn't care if my father wanted someone with me or not, I wasn't going back in that stuffy place. I just sat there and watched them all disappear inside. It apparently didn't take them long to realize that I wasn't in there, because T Dog came walking out of the building and over to me. He handed me a bowl before he walked over to the table and hopped up to sit on it. "What? Did they make you to come guard me?" I asked not disguising my distaste for the whole idea.

"Yeah, I think this was more of your pops idea than Rick's." I snorted. "He's only doing it because he loves you." I let a sarcastic laugh escape my lips.

"He's doing it because he wants me to be the same robotic daughter I was before we got here." He shook his head like he had known us for more than just a few days. I just ignored him and changed the subject. "Oh hey uh, sorry I didn't dance with you the other night."

He waved me off, "Pfft, I'm not worried about that." That actually made me feel better about not dancing with him.

"Did you even want to dance with me or did my father talk you into asking me?" he laughed and scratched the back of his neck.

"I uh…" it didn't occur to me until then that he might have actually been interested in me. "He asked me to, but it didn't take much talking." Oh, uh, crap this was awkward.

"I'm sure you're a great guy and all, but…" How do I tell a man I don't like him because I'm too damaged?

"Na, I get it. Daryl's the logical choice. You're white, he's white." I couldn't stop the laugh that erupted from me. "What’s so funny?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh." I took a moment to make myself stop before I finished my explanation with a semi straight face. "I’ve had Crushes on..." How do I phrase this without sounding like I was raised in a raciest household, “Guys of color, before.” I said with a awkward shake of my head. He crossed his arms over his chest and cocked an eyebrow at me. "So it’s not a skin color thing. It’s more of a I’m to fucked up to be with anyone right now thing." I said then ate the last bite of food out of the bowl and set it aside. “I only danced with Daryl for one reason.”

"To get Sean to leave you alone about it?" I nodded and looked at the sun that was slowly sinking behind the trees. "You should know that Daryl wouldn't have danced with you if he didn't want to." Uh, okay? Was that supposed to make me feel special, or was it a warning that I should keep a watchful eye on him. Either way I didn't like where this conversation was heading.

"So can we agree to just be friends?" I asked cutting the conversation short and picked up my empty bowl.

“Sure. Just friends.” He stuck his hand out to me and I gave it a quick shake before I turned my back on him and headed inside.

"Thanks for babysitting me." I told him and he chuckled before we started walking to the building. When we got inside my father was the only one left in the holding room. T-Dog walked past me heading to bed. "Night, T." I called and he waved to me over his shoulder. I then turned to where Dad was walking toward me. "Hi Sean, I'm alive and completely unharmed and I'm going to bed now g'night." I quickly avoided his attempts at talking to me and walked quickly to the cell block and was running up the stairs when I slammed into Daryl at the top.

My foot slipped off the top step and I grabbed onto the railing at the same time Daryl caught my shoulder and pulled me up right. "What's the hurry?" he asked as he let me go and gave me room to go around him.

"Dodging the warden." I replied wryly and rubbed at the wrist of the hand I had grabbed the rail with. He chuckled as I walked past him to my cell. I couldn't stop thinking about what T Dog said about Daryl. About how Daryl wouldn't have danced with me if he didn't want to, but it damn sure looked like Daryl really didn't want to.

I wasn't sleepy so I just sat down on the bottom bunk and pulled my journal out of my bag and started writing. "Whatcha doin'?" Daryl's unexpected voice at my cell made me drop my pen on the floor and snap the book shut.

"None of your business." I said with a glare.

"Have ya always been this jumpy?" he asked after biting at his nails.

"Have you always been this sneaky?" I countered and he smiled.

"Touché." I felt the corners of my lips slide up in a hint of a smile. "How's the wrists?" I held my bracelet free wrists up for him to see.

"Still there." I let them fall back into my lap. "Not trying to be completely rude, but why on earth do you care?" He didn't answer. "Beth already made it clear that she could care less if I died, and I'm sure everyone else feels the same. So why are you asking me about my wrists?" he shrugged.

"Guess I have a habit of cleaning up my brothers messes." That’s all I was to him? Just another one of his brothers messes that he thought he was responsible for fixing?

"So you only care because you feel obligated to?" he just shrugged. His overuse of the noncommittal action made me feel like throwing my boot at his head. "Well consider me the first mess that you don't need to clean up." I saw a brief flash of emotion on his face before it returned to the same glaring look that he always had if he wasn't smirking. "Now if you don't mind I'd like to get some sleep." He left my cell just as silently as he had come.

I felt tears stinging the backs of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I climbed up onto the upper bunk and tried to fall asleep, but it never came.

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[kaesaaurelia]

up and running

For @whumptober2019 day 22: hallucination.

A continuation of/conclusion to day 2′s fic here.

This is a fic about an OC (Vehuel, Principality of Chicago) during the Great Chicago Fire.  There’s also a lot of Michael, and Heaven being a generally toxic work environment.

Content warning for FIRE EVERYWHERE, major destructive disasters, and (not medically realistic -- these are angels) traumatic brain injury + treatment of same.

Vehuel made her way northward slowly, trying to help all she could without being burnt up herself, gently pushing people westward if she could. Now that she knew Michael was here she was less worried about having her miracles cut off, but the fire was spreading so quickly and there were so many people. She pushed through the crowd, keeping children with their parents, healing burns and cuts, and plaguing pickpockets with sudden fits of conscience.

People were starting to run into the lake, and Vehuel hesitated as to what to do about them, but then Michigan Avenue caught fire and there was nothing for it but to leave them there. She realized suddenly that the fire was a few blocks from North Avenue, and here she was, nowhere near the church, so she ran west, praying (in an informal way, knowing that she couldn't answer such a prayer herself) that she wasn't leaving the people in the lake to drown or boil. She remembered the crowds at the docks in Lisbon, and reminded herself that no great wave would come out of Lake Michigan. Or at least, probably not.

Michael was standing on the roof, looking out over the city in a resigned sort of way. The flames were only a block away now.

"I'm here!" Vehuel called from the ground, feeling like she was absolutely ridiculous not to be able to fly.

Michael flitted down to meet her, though. "Quite a fire," she said, and frowned. "I don't think my miracle is going to hold it off."

Vehuel, soot-stained and exhausted, could not imagine what she could possibly say to this. "But how?" she asked; those were the only two coherent words she could come up with.

Michael was silent for a few moments. "Have you heard of Peshtigo?" she asked, finally.

Vehuel shook her head.

"It was a town, but it burned down yesterday. The whole town. Two thousand people are dead."

This was not at all helping Vehuel's urge to cry. "I'm sorry."

"Well, it's obviously not your fault," said Michael, frowning at her.

It wasn't obvious to her. She should have known this would happen, it was one of her towns so of course it was going to be destroyed; she should've influenced the city government for better fire safety, or slowed building, or something.

She remembered, queasily, all those building projects she'd helped along for the sheer delight of showing up Cerviel, that smug asshole, who had a New York-centric view of the solar system. How close was Peshtigo? Should she have been checking up on that instead of indulging her stupid competitiveness?

"There've been a few other fires today," said Michael. "Near here, geographically. This is the only place of any real significance, of course, but..." Michael continued talking, but Vehuel had a hard time listening, because a town of two thousand people was of real significance to those people, and now they were all dead, and they weren't even Vehuel's people, but really, all people were Her people, so they were significant, weren't they? But Michael hadn't meant that like it sounded, of course. Michael was brusque by necessity, and very important and busy and probably shouldn't even be here, and certainly didn't have time for Vehuel's philosophizing, and she was the only person in Heaven who'd ever listened to Vehuel so really, Vehuel owed her everything. "...to hunt up any evidence of a demonic firebug. What do you think?"

"Ah." Vehuel did not panic. "I think -- that -- maybe? But it hasn't rained for a long time, and it is prairie and forest up here. Could just be natural."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Michael, and she sounded like she actually would. The fire was almost upon them, and people trailed past. Many carried belongings -- hopefully their own, but Vehuel had seen looting on her way here. "And I think it's time to evacuate this church. Go in and hold the walls, Vehuel; I'll get the people out."

Vehuel walked straight through the wall of the church, and found an out-of-the-way place in the aisles to stand and keep the walls up. She watched Michael, unseen by humans, nudging them into greater efficiency, reminding them of things they'd forgotten, keeping people from being trampled underfoot. Vehuel was good at that kind of thing, but it was a relief not to have to think just now. No quick calculations about how fast someone could run, no moral conundrums about which person to save, no care to be taken to avoid startling the horses or the humans. Just bricks to protect.

And she cried, finally, wiping tears off her face and got soot in her eyes, which made the crying worse, of course. She let down the miracle that made her seem unremarkable to human eyes anywhere she went, and put everything into the walls. A few people stared openly at her; at a guess, this mostly-German congregation did not contain many colored women who dressed in men's suits. (Eventually, a man approached her and offered her a handkerchief, which she waved off.)

The church emptied out, and Vehuel could feel flames licking at the walls. She pushed back against them, leaned into them, but it was no use, because

the church was burning and everything was on fire, everyone was on fire in their All Souls' Day finery. The ground kept shaking and the flames rushed up over the pews, and it was all Vehuel could do to save a few people from being trampled as they fled. She tried to calm the ground, foolishly, but she couldn't stop an earthquake once it had hit, and it had hit hard. Flying over the town, she saw that there were fires springing up everywhere, walls coming down, people pouring out of churches, headed to the docks -- good. They would be safe by the water, away from walls, she was certain. She tried to keep the church from falling down around them, but it was too much to ask of reality, to ignore the ground buckling beneath, and the walls came down

right on top of her, and her whole left side was -- on fire? Was that fire? She couldn't even tell anymore.

"Why didn't you leave?" someone asked her, and she didn't know what to say. There were people inside! There was an earthquake! she wanted to say, but -- but -- everything hurt so badly she couldn't think. Someone was pulling her out from under the rubble -- someone was telling her she should have run -- someone was being, frankly, very annoying, and she tried to tell them to shut up but she couldn't seem to move anything.

She decided, to preserve whatever sanity she had left, that she didn't really need to be conscious for whatever was happening now. Either she would be discorporated or she wouldn't. It was in God's hands now.

--

"Oh, no, you don't want to go in there," said the Archangel Michael. "That's the infinite frictionless surface, we'll never get you out of there. Looks fun, though, doesn't it? Come along, my office is this way." She smiled, and led Vehuel further into the central offices of Heaven. She caught a brief glimpse of several angels skidding across a blindingly white floor, using their wings to balance.

There were so many other angels here, and so much light; it was strange and amazing and terrifying, and so unlike her posting in the far reaches of space. Everything looked so perfect, so correct. But it also hurt her eyes, so she closed most of them.

Michael sat down behind her desk, and Vehuel tried not to fidget, sitting in the seat across from it. She stared at the nameplate. Who is like God? Definitely not me, she thought. That was the point, probably. "You had some concerns about the behavior of light?"

This was it. She could say what she'd actually come here to say, or she could talk about the wave-particle glitch. She took a breath. "Actually. It's about my supervisor? Lucifer. He's...

There was too much light, and Vehuel tried to keep her eyes closed, but somebody was standing above her, telling her to do something she couldn't quite make out.

She felt the prickle of a medical miracle settle over her, and suddenly the jibberish resolved into "Vehuel, wake up, please?"

Everything hurt like Hell and she absolutely did not want to be awake right now. Still, an order was an order. She opened her eyes, or tried to. Something was wrong. Her left eye wouldn't open. "I'm awake," she muttered. She tried to focus. Was that Raphael? Possibly. She didn't entirely remember what Raphael looked like. Honestly, it could be anyone with a face.

"Good, good," said possibly-Raphael, although she could barely hear him. "You need to be awake for a while, I have to rebuild some parts of your brain."

"Are you Raphael?" she asked. "I can't tell. He has a face, you have a face, so I'm thinking... probably?"

The angel gave her a tight, worried smile. "Yes. We've met. You're in here every few centuries."

They probably had, but Vehuel was having trouble recalling specifics. "I feel really calm about this," she said. It seemed unusual, that she should be calm.

"That tracks," said Raphael, grimacing.

"I don't remember being calm about anything, ever," she said. "I think maybe I was calm once in 1450 BC, and then my island exploded.  Should I be concerned?  That doesn't seem like a good calmness result."

"You might be experiencing some memory issues," said Raphael, who was looking kind of upset now. "It's probably because you're missing half of your brain because somebody let an entire church that was on fire fall on you."  He sounded a little hysterical.

"Oh, don't be dramatic, Raphael, it was just one wall," said somebody on the other side of her.  "And it's not half of her brain.  A third at most."

Raphael glowered at whoever-it-was.  "Michael, this is ridiculous, we can't just send her back," he snapped. "She needs a full recorporation, or at least -- at least let me get her out of this body while I fix it.  Send her somewhere nice on holiday!  This is Heaven, there's got to be somewhere nice.  Damned if I've been there, though."

"Don't even joke about that," said Michael, darkly.  "How long would it take to fix the body without her in it?"

"About a year to do it properly. Maybe six months if I push the miracles to their limits.  Got to do testing, see that all the connections connect up right; it's easier with her in it but it's harder on her."

"We don't have time for that," said Michael.  "We need the city up and running, so we need her up and running."

"You seem really upset about this," Vehuel told Raphael. "I think, I think probably if I'm going to have a doctor they should be more calm about it than I am.  Maybe you should take a break?"

"You stay out of this!" Raphael snapped.  "Michael, how long do we have?"

Michael sighed.  "I'd like to get her back in a few hours.  This wasn't supposed to happen."

"Well, obviously it did, so on some level it was," said Raphael.  "A few hours, are you -- you know what, never mind, I'll just -- I'll see what I can do.  Get out of here, Michael."  Presumably, Michael left.  "Some people," Raphael muttered, "could use a full brain replacement."

"Is this going to hurt?" Vehuel asked.

"It's going to be... it's going to be odd," said Raphael.  "I'm sorry, we don't usually do these with the inhabitant still in the body the whole time.  For reasons I will not go into, because if you had your whole brain they would probably worry you."

It wasn't like she had anything better to do.  "Okay."

"And you won't be able to speak or understand things for a while," said Raphael.  "See, if I could take you out of this body it'd be fine but -- never mind.  A few hours?  A few hours!  I can't believe..."  And then the medical miracle fell away and he was speaking gibberish again.

It was definitely very, very uncomfortable.  Vehuel had had worse deaths, but none of them had ever felt as itchy and invasive as an archangel remaking her brain.  Intermixed with the discomfort, though, were strange little fragments of sensation.  She heard a song that had been inescapably, obnoxiously popular one year in Pompeii, so much so that somebody had rewritten it to be about his campaign for city council.  (He had not won.)  She tasted, vividly, the food at the best uttapam place in all of Vijayanagara, a weird little hole in the wall she used to go to after wrestling matches, and then, centuries and oceans apart, felt the press and the sound of the crowd at a chunkey match in Cahokia.  She saw the brilliant lights of the central bulge of the Milky Way galaxy, and the terrible darkness forming in the center, and thought, Oh fuck, what are we gonna tell Lucifer?

"Vehuel?"  It was Raphael.  "Vehuel, can you understand me?"

"Yeah?"  She remembered where she was.  She remembered what had happened.  "Shit shit shit I have to go, why can't I move?  Is it over?  Am I done?  I need to get back down there, there's a fire."

"Ah.  Yes, you're definitely back," Raphael said.  "Don't try to move, I still have to put your skull back on.  And your arm.  And your wings."  He sighed.

"Okay but I have to -- the city's on fire, the whole thing is --"

"That's exactly what I thought you'd say," said Raphael, unhappily.  "I think it would be best for both of us if you were asleep for the rest of this."

"But --"

Raphael waved his hand over her.

"You will have to make him trust you," said Michael.  Vehuel nodded.  "You will have to..."  She paused, as if feeling out what words she might use.  "You will have to say things that aren't true.  Can you do that?"

Vehuel didn't think she was very good at making people trust her.  She was good with fire and gravity and dust; other angels were more difficult.  But she had some experience with untruths.  Which she probably shouldn't admit to.  "I think so," she said.

"Good," said Michael.

"Um.  What if -- what if he -- what if he finds out early?"  Michael looked at her sharply.  "I mean!  I mean I wasn't planning to fail, but what if I do?"

She'd expected a bland reassurance; she wasn't meant to fail, so she wouldn't.  Michael did not give her that.  Michael manifested, from out of nowhere, an infinitely thin line with an arrow at the top.  "This is something called a weapon."  She handed it to Vehuel, or tried to.

Vehuel looked at it skeptically.  "That looks like a ray.  Like on your diagrams."  She gestured to the scratchpad in front of Michael.  "Or a line of force."

"Well."  Michael paused, looking a bit embarrassed.  "Well, it is a line of force, really, but it's -- it's pointy, see?"  She jabbed the weapon into the wall, where it stuck.  "It should hurt him."

"Hurt him?"

"An unpleasant feeling.  He won't want to keep having it.  You'll be able to hold him off and get back here.  But I'd like the rest of them here too, if at all possible.  And once they're all here, I'll see to them personally."

Vehuel took the weapon, and turned it over in her hands.  "Well.  All right."  That sounded fair.  Michael would yell at Lucifer and everyone else, and they'd stop making terrible, frightening plans, and everything would be good again.

"Heaven is counting on you, Vehuel," said Michael.

She nodded.  "I -- I actually did have a problem to report about the light waves, though?"

"I'm sorry, I think I've got a meeting to go to," said Michael.  She made a face.  "I think it's about ions.  So fiddly!  Later, you can tell me what's wrong with the light waves."  She smiled, and showed Vehuel out.

Vehuel opened her eyes.  All of them.  All of them.  She closed thirteen of them. Way too bright.

She remembered about the fire again, and sat up, and nearly overbalanced and fell to the floor.  "The fire!" she said, not that that would help anything.  She looked around, and saw Haniel, Michael, and Raphael watching her.

"Don't worry, we sent some rain," said Haniel, looking very concerned.  "I'm sure that'll help!  Don't you think?  Anyway, you can relax.  You don't have to go back right away.  You can rest."  She patted Vehuel's shoulder.

"She's needed for the rebuilding," said Michael.  "She's very good at rebuilding," she added.

"I am, I really am!  Let me go back!" said Vehuel.

Haniel glared -- actually glared -- at Michael.  Haniel had never glared in her life.  "I'm sure the humans can manage for a month or so, Michael, they're not idiots.  Well, they're not complete idiots, anyway."

"That's true," said Michael, considering.  "We could have Cerviel check in on Chicago from time to time --"

"No!" said Vehuel.  "No, no, absolutely not."  Cerviel was not touching her city.  He'd probably forget to add alleys when they rebuilt.

"No, definitely not Cerviel, he's very busy," said Haniel.  "What about... we have someone in Los Angeles, don't we?  Can't we send them?"

Michael frowned at this.  "It's a long way to travel, though.  Do you remember who we have there?" she asked Haniel.

Haniel frowned.  "I..."

Vehuel decided to cut that line of thought short before it got anywhere worrisome.  "No, no, Michael's right, LA's too far to travel," said Vehuel, "and it'd be cruel to him to make him deal with Chicago weather.  I have to go back.  Just for a few years.  Come on, I've been through worse."

Haniel looked unhappy.  "That doesn't mean --"

"Well, I'm glad that's settled," said Michael.  She turned to Vehuel.  "Good luck with the rebuilding!  I know you can handle it."  Then she left.

"I still think this is a terrible idea," said Raphael.

Haniel shrugged at him.  "Apparently she's made up her mind."  She turned to Vehuel.  "Really, though, if you need some time..."  She looked hopeful.

"No, no, I -- I can't let Michael down," said Vehuel.

"Vehuel..."  Raphael sighed.  "The day you let Michael down I will shake your hand and get you a box or a basket or a bottle of whatever weird disgusting human thing you like best, all right?"

Vehuel blinked at him.  "Thanks?  I guess.  But look, I really have to go."  She got up to leave.  "But thanks!"

--

The surviving population of Chicago clustered raggedly in a few places along the lakefront and on the prairie north of the city.  They were drenched and burnt both, and many of them had lost everything; even if not, many of them had lost family.

Vehuel went from cluster to cluster, shepherding lost children back to their parents when she could, and healing burns -- except on pickpockets, because she was so tired of pickpockets by now -- and miracling up food.  The ruins of the city were so hot she could barely stand to fly over them, even at a great height, but she did, once.

And she remembered -- but did not see -- the population of Thera, saved by too many miracles and still homeless and terrified but alive. She recalled Lisbon after the earthquake and fire and tsunami, and the reprimand she'd earned from Gabriel when she'd allowed the prime minister to have the corpses burned rather than backing the church to make sure they were buried -- she'd seen Pestilence lurking in the ruins and would give him no foothold.  She'd earned that reprimand, and she was proud of it.

She remembered guiding that idiot Aeneas for a while.  Not her proudest achievement, but she'd managed to get him where he was supposed to be.  (And promptly gotten lost again for several years on her way back to Troy.  What had been wrong with the Aegean sea back then?)

Looking over the ruins of Chicago was difficult, and looking at the ruins of its citizens was even harder, in some ways.  But it was still a city.  It was just a city without a lot of buildings, for now.  And she was going to have to do her best with it.