#vital has rubbed off on him will used to have standards not anymore

[creamecream]

"With the taste of your lips I'm on a ride,

You're toxic, I'm slipping under,

With a taste of a poison paradise,

I'm addicted to you; don't you know that you're toxic?

And I love what you do,

Don't you know that you're toxic?"

Pose found on Pinterest.

[iphoenixrising]

DickTimWeek2021 Day 2

** Day 2: Time Loop | Jealousy | Stray AU

Welp. Time to break some hearts.

They’re laughing like assholes as they climb through Timmy’s penthouse windows. 

“Did you see that thug punch himself in the face?”

“That’s the right way to get out of an ass beating by the Batman.”

Tim, still in Red Robin, doesn’t even bother, just lets his knees buckle so he can slide down to the floor and laugh until tears are rolling down the dominio still plastered on his face.

He’s riding the concussion train with 

(J)

Josephine and she’s not as bad as some of them are. 

Dick at least tosses the gloves and gauntlets before hauling Timmy’s bruised ass up off the floor, throwing the arm around his shoulders.

“C’mon, you butt. Really Timmy, just laying here in your suit? Alfred would be appalled.”

“S’why I don’t go to the Manor much anymore.”

“Ooh, I’m telling. You’re going to be in so much trouble,” as he gets Tim down the hallway to the bathroom.

“Y-You can’t! You’re the oldest! Dami’s supposed to be the tattle-tale!”

“Nu-uh. As the oldest, I can do whatever the hell I want.”

And does he tell on Timmy? You bet your ass he does.

It’s nice when Alfred can look at someone else in the family with extreme disappointment.

Tim comes by the Manor the day Alfred video chats him, shuffles down to the Cave behind the butler and absolutely sticks his tongue out at Dick’s smarmy grin.

**

His apartment is a literal mess and Dick can’t be bothered to do much more than flop on the overstuffed couch with a groan. 

Still in his uni from the day shift, he’s too bruised and battered and tired to even think of suiting up for the night. He’s been running himself ragged for two months, the day and night shifts blending together along with the usual bullshit of daily human life, and he desperately needs a night of terrible television, junk food, and snuggles.

Like he’d been reading the room, Timmy walks out of his bathroom, towel around his shoulder and hair just this side of damp.

“Hey, you made it home in one piece.” Tim’s long fingers in his hair literally pulls a noise out of Dick he can’t ever remember making.

“Yeah, I drove down because you looked like death warmed over when we talked last weekend. Luckily for you I went grocery shopping, did a few loads of your laundry, and cleaned up a little so you don’t have to worry about housework.”

“I love you. Have I told you that recently? Like, so, so much–” is muffled by the couch cushions, but he thinks Tim can probably still make it all out.

“Mmhm, I know,” and the gentle scratching against his scalp doesn’t stop, and Dick goes a little boneless with it. “I even brought my Roku so we can binge watch terrible television while you eat something more substantial than cereal. Alfred is going to be so proud of you.”

A pat to his head and Timmy is off, slinging his towel on the rack, turning on the shower again to make sure it’s nice and hot for all those bruises and contusions.

He’s no-nonsense about picking up his previous mentor and best friend, literally stripping him down and manhandling him in the shower after a low whistle at the span of blue/black across Dick’s chest and ribs, the scrapes across his back and shoulders. 

The first aid kit tackle box makes an appearance because Tim plans for literally everything ever, and Dick finds himself sitting on his sink wearily while his injuries are meticulously treated.

He knows he eats something super tasty with meat and vegetables, his belly full, before Tim pulls him down on the couch and lets Dick lay against his chest, between his legs to sleepily float while watching God-awful B-movies.

It’s the most relaxing weekend he’s had in a while.

**

Dami sneers at Tim, arms crossed over his chest, the expression on his face begging Tim to try to deny it.

The third Robin however, is looking over at Dick with horror that the big secret is finally out in the open.

“Th-that isn’t– it’s not–” Tim fumbles desperately, “he’s been my big brother forever, that’s it!”

“Tt. Grayson may be painfully oblivious, Drake, but the rest of us are detectives. Even Todd knows of your feelings and he rarely even comes to the Manor!”

Tim’s soul literally leaves his body.

Dick blinks, completely taken back, mouth open without anything coming out.

Damian raises his eyes skyward and prays for patients dealing with these two. “What I am saying,” he tries, he really is trying here, “is that you two must cease and desist this pointless–” vague hand wave– “pining for one another. It is getting to the point of absurdity. I demand you two either discuss your need for one another or take this ridiculous mooning elsewhere. The rooftops of Gotham is no place for this,” another hand wave, “utter nonsense.”

Tim’s mouth goes dry, subtly backing away to be closer to the Ducati’s waiting for tonight’s ride. He’s pretty sure he has enough energy left in his shaky knees to hop on one and be the fuck out of the Cave before his face literally bursts into flames.

But, well. Dick was Batman.

His strategic retreat is stomped into the ground by acrobatic leaps and a very well done joint lock to keep him from immediately taking off.

Dami scoffs at them on his way up the winding staircase. He stops Pennyworth on the way and turns the butler to return back into the Manor proper, citing those two needed time to figure themselves out.

**

After several weeks under deep cover, Nightwing wearily hacks into Titan’s Tower and makes his way through the maze of hallways until he hits a hidden panel. 

Tim is sleeping on his desk, only one empty coffee mug at his workstation. Even dead in his boots, Nightwing can take a second just to look, just to sigh, just to enjoy how much every inch of this boy is his.

He journeys down the hall, flips the bed covers up, carries his sleeping partner in and tucks the blankets around him, a quickly there kiss to the top of messy, too-long hair. A shower in Tim’s perch literally makes everything in life a little less awful and exhausting, not enough for him to do much more than crawl in bed against Tim’s warm body and snuggle up close.

He gets breakfast in bed and blue-violet eyes looking at him with fondness rather than awe, gets coffee flavored kisses and a slow-paced back rub that continues down to his thighs and calves and feet. Later, he gets a date night in a nice restaurant and a sweet San Fran club scene for dessert. He gets to let loose and hold Tim’s body against him, to play them both until the gazes are intense and the low key UST between them makes other people on the dance floor give them space.

**

Witty banter is a primary weapon against megalomaniacal bad guys of any flavor. For some former Robins, it’s an art form.

Over the years, they’ve cultivated their dip and distraction to bounce off one another like a well-oiled vigilante machine. 

It should have been a standard take-down because it’s not one of their more dangerous, deadly villains. It’s not one of the Rogue Gallery baddies. It’s not one of the mobster families, not one of the super powered groups come to call. It’s not someone with hordes of thugs and deadly science waiting to take them down.

It’s a simple B&E, just Nightwing talking it up to draw gunfire while Red Robin is creeping up from behind to get the last laugh.

It’s one of a thousand times they’ve done this. 

It’s a guaranteed win.

It’s the last hour of patrol before they get to go back to Red’s penthouse and snuggle together, eat and show, probably have some fantastic sex before passing out.

The .45 shell, however, cuts through the suit, between armored plates. 

Going after the running baddies is automatic, taking them down, zip ties, and viola. They’re ready for GCPD to pick-up, all kinds of gift-wrapped.

When N finally realizes Red isn’t with him, isn’t answering comms, isn’t waiting for him on the roof, he goes back inside. He hits up B for a ride in the big car in case he missed –

– anything.

The pool of blood around Red Robin is more than he can afford to lose, and Nightwing has been in the vigilante life for over twenty years, has been official with Red Robin for a little over two, has personal experience on how his Baby Bird can take a mostly-fatal beating and still keep moving. He’s seen Tim come close with the Clench, with horrifying injuries, with any of the many bad guys they fight holding him hostage.

Nightwing has seen him perform literal miracles.

And tells him so the entire time he’s got Red Robin up in his arms, carrying him through Gotham’s skyline to the waiting car, falling in with Red on his lap when the familiar hatch slides back, the tourniquet already applied before he even shot a grapple. The struggling pulse is enough of a concern to get it together.

And even if they all gather to strip off the suit, and now it’s on to get vitals back to an acceptable range. Even if the Bats cry overhead, even if the equipment is top notch in the Cave, even if Dick is still talking the whole time, and Alfred is keeping a cool head and Bruce is gripping a hand and Damian is standing at the ready to hand implements and Cass is biting her thumbnail while she hovers and Steph is moving from empty space to empty space around the gurney –

The consistent beep of the flatline cuts through it all.

**

The Titans make it for the service. 

Each of them make a point to hug Dick for as long as possible, holding on tightly.

Bruce is silent and stoic, a little boy again when he has to watch someone else he loves being lowered into the cold, unforgiving ground. Another Robin taking a piece of his heart to the afterlife. 

Steph is red-eyed, a ghost moving around to individual circles, listening to stories she might not have known. 

Cass grips the coffin with bruised knuckles, her whole body wound tight as a string ready to snap. She doesn’t move the entire service, is already convinced leaving him to his own devices caused this whole thing. She doesn’t blame the thugs or Dick or Bruce. She blames the boy that never understood how much it all means.

Duke Thomas is back in Gotham, taking leave from the Outsiders to be here for the family that took him in after the Joker drove his parents insane. He hovers in the doorway to welcome mourners, direct them toward the book to sign-in, talks about Tim Drake with regular humans and other metas in disguise, accepts condolences with his throat tight and his eyes watery. He makes sure Dick has a bottle of water after the first hour, pats Damian’s shoulder, grips Bruce’s arm, weaves an arm around Cassandra’s back to give her a squeeze, obediently looks at the old pictures of Tim on Steph’s photo roll when she’s overcome and has to see that smile again.

In the back, Jason Todd wears dark shades and a clean black suit. Roy Harper is beside him, a hand on the broad back to keep him grounded, to keep the Pit rage at bay. If anyone knows how far Tim and Jason had come over the years, it’s the former Red Arrow. If anyone knows how much agony Jason is in at this moment, at another fallen brother, another Robin gone, if anyone had held the Red Hood while he screamed and cried and broke the utter fuck down, it’s Roy Harper.

Damian Wayne hovers right by Grayson’s side, silently supporting his first Batman, his first brother. Whenever Dick’s eyes start going hazy, glazing over, Damian gently grips a wrist to bring him back, allows fingers to lace through his own and tolerates the tight squeeze that obviously assists in grounding the oldest Robin. 

(Later when the night is crowding grief-stricken Wayne Manor, Damian will be the one to open Grayson’s bedroom door, lift the covers to crawl in behind him, to wind both arms tightly. He will be the one to take the onslaught of grief, to be soaked in tears and snot, to listen to the broken, hoarse voice, to make soothing hums that ultimately mean nothing.)

Alfred Pennyworth quietly talks with the funeral director about the arrangements. Of course Master Timothy would want to be laid to rest with his parents, and the family appreciates all the support and ease of process as the deceased was an important part of the Wayne family. 

When he gets a phone call, he firmly verifies the name on the tombstone is Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne Grayson.

**

Exactly four days after the service, the Flash is staring at him helplessly, gripping Nightwing’s arm tight, “please, please, Dick, don’t do this. You can’t think this is the answer!”

He can barely hear Wally with the absolute destruction going on around them, the machine they’d inadvertently stumbled upon (which is a lie, Nightwing had been looking for it and the Flash basically caught him red handed). 

“You know you aren’t going to be able to stop me.” Standing between the glowing portal and Wally, debris from overhead crashing down on them at intervals, Nightwing is at his peak stubborn, “no matter how fast you are.”

“You don’t understand what’s going to happen,” Wally yells desperately as the vacuum starts pulling at Nightwing’s other arm, pulling him into–

–the Speed Force.

“You don’t have the lightning, Dick, you won’t be able to get yourself out, and I won’t have any way of tracking you!”

The small smirk as the machine’s panel starts going haywire, lights blinking and readings off the charts, makes Wally’s heart clench hard in his chest, makes him try to dig in his heels, makes his stomach tremble.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve already done this, Wally. And I’ll do it as many times as it takes until I change everything.”

The pellet Nightwing palmed before the Flash grabbed his hand goes off the same time the machine hits the highest ratings and a low boom is followed up with an intense swirling suction, pulling the heroes closer to the portal’s surface.

The light grenade goes off without a hitch and the Flash has no choice but to let Nightwing go.

**

They’re laughing like assholes as they climb through Timmy’s penthouse windows. 

[tossawary]

Some random favorite lines (with commentary) of Chapter 23: “Swallowing Your Heart” of “pride is not the word I’m looking for” because I’m doing a re-read. Not a full list or full commentary.

-

Liu Qingge shoves him off his sword.

Plot twist! Betrayal! Shang Qinghua doesn’t have time to get over his shock at such an attack before Liu Qingge has caught the riderless sword in one hand and caught the swordless rider over his shoulder.

The Bai Zhan Peak War God flies on to Qian Cao Peak with his new cargo.

Shang Qinghua slaps the man on the back and wheezes.

“Have you done that move before?!” he demands, because that was so fucking smooth it’s offensive. It really does offend him! He’s super offended right now!

“Mingyan,” Liu Qingge says, like this explains everything. “And Fanli.”

It kind of does explain everything.

- 

AN: That LQG effortlessly manhandled SQH in the same way that he manhandles his sister. This is how LQG shows affection. LMY is not a fan of it either. 

-

“Ming Fan is a good sparring partner,” Binghe says as part of his tirade, like he’s confessing something. “But he needs sooooo many compliments to soothe his pride. ‘Oh, I knocked Shixiong over because he’s such a good teacher! Thank you, Shixiong, for helping me practice this move. Shixiong, I really admire how you don’t let the little things bother you because you’re so confident and skilled.’ I think he’s getting better now, but it’s still tiring sometimes. Uncle, some people really can’t take even a well-meaning criticism without falling apart.”

- 

AN: This conversation was definitely a jab at Shang Qinghua relationship with Mobei-Jun, but it also extends to Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu. 

- 

Binghe says that he also heard some Qiong Ding Peak people are here now, but he doesn’t know what they’re doing. Beyond that, not that much has apparently happened while Shang Qinghua was sleeping the day away! Liu Qingge came by, probably to report to his scheming wife, who was yet again totally and embarrassingly correct about Shang Qinghua’s state of being. Chen Xuan, whom Binghe embarrassingly correctly identified as Disciple Dumpling Thief’s Friend, dropped by, but only to say not to worry about the day-in-day-out of An Ding Peak.

- 

AN: Binghe knows Shang Qinghua’s nicknames for his favorite disciples. 

- 

Binghe curls up with his arms around and his head resting on Shang Qinghua’s stomach, while Shang Qinghua rubs his protagonist son’s back.

- 

AN: Either of these characters getting unconditional platonic affection is SO UNUSUAL that it hurts. People need hugs at all ages! 

- 

The kindest option here might be the demon lord coming back sometime in the next few days and pretending the entire interaction never happened. Shang Qinghua will tell the man that it was a human thing, some kind of nervous fit, and beg forgiveness for his lapse in presentation! Well, he probably should, except… he doesn’t really want to do that. He doesn’t really want to go, “My king, my apologies for the mess! Let me, ah, let me just swallow all of those words I threw out there, just chew them back up, gulp them down into some vital organ to rot there forever, so we can never talk about them ever again.”

Mobei-Jun seems to still be his Mobei-Jun, looking at that confrontation in hindsight, and not… not any other Mobei-Jun. People in general seem to have stayed the same, besides Peerless Cucumber being fitted into the picture as some mysterious intruder. All those years of service and loyalty and companionship Shang Qinghua remembers with Mobei-Jun haven’t vanished on him. “All current achievements have been preserved” and all that!

So, part of him wants to go, “So! Those things I said! What about them, huh? Do you have anything to say to any of that, my king? Anything at all?” 

- 

AN: Shang Qinghua wants to OPEN UP and he can’t make himself take that step when his nephew’s life is on the line. MBJ has not made himself explicitly safe yet. Unspoken understandings can only go so far here. 

- 

“Was it something really bad?” Luo Fanli presses, leaning back along his desk until she’s practically lying down on it.

Not in a sexy pose or anything, just in a put-upon flop, kind of like a tired child finding the oasis of a department store furniture display during a too-long shopping trip or a toddler denied candy pouting on the floor of the grocery store. His little sister-in-law is not greatly concerned with dignity, much to her sister’s dismay and the eternal frustration of Qi Qingqi. She says life is too short for it.

“No one died.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, it means that everyone lived through it,” Shang Qinghua explains.

-

AN: Shang Qinghua’s relationship with Luo Fanli is fun. I’m looking forward to putting Luo Fanli in a room with Shen Yuan. SY needs friends. Luo Fanli @ Shen Yuan: “Idk, he’s a weirdo, but he’s uncle-shaped, right?” 

- 

Except when Shang Qinghua opens the soup container, it’s still completely full. None of his disciples - who are very, very good at acting like they’ve never been fed ever in their life - have helped themselves to even a taste. It’s a big pot! There’s plenty to go around! More than Shang Qinghua could reasonably eat by himself! And yet…

His disciples have been way too nice to him lately. He feels like he should be checking his pockets for whatever they stole from him when he wasn’t looking. Did the System replace his bratty disciples with good alternate universe ones?! He hates it, thanks!

- 

AN: This is SUCH a low standard... and yet...! It’s very funny to me how much his disciples not stealing food from a sick man says here. 

SQH: “Why are all my disciples such sticky-fingered brats?!” 

LJH: “Because you think it’s funny.” 

SQH: “Oh, yeah.” 

- 

Wow, Peerless Cucumber doesn’t seem pleased to see him! Shang Qinghua hasn’t suffered a glare that venomous since… well, Shen Qingqiu, maybe? Okay, so maybe the switch would have worked a little bit! But Shang Qinghua is still glad it didn’t happen, even if the System fucked up the rest of reality (somehow, Shang Qinghua still hasn’t figured out how exactly) out of revenge for its own shitty choices falling through.

“Where have you been?” Peerless Cucumber demands.

“Busy?” Shang Qinghua answers, coming closer but not sitting down. “Look, the System just rewrote bits of reality on me because of your fumbled arrival tipping some invisible scales and it has not been forthcoming about the changes. I had things to check on and things have been a bit political. I sent you a message.”

“That message said a lot of nothing,” Peerless Cucumber says, but with less venom.

“Aha, yeah. Well, I’m here now.”

Peerless Cucumber looks frustrated, but finally scoots over so that Shang Qinghua can sit beside him on the bench. Shang Qinghua gingerly sits, giving the kid space.

Shang Qinghua is being super calm for the other transmigrator right now! He’s very calm here! The calmest!

- 

AN: SY really is a scared kid putting up a front. Which works out, because SQH is a dad here (and thinks SY’s insults are mostly just funny). 

- 

Out of the corner of his eye, Shang Qinghua can see a Qian Cao Peak cultivator standing impatiently by the Qiong Ding Peak guard. And… someone bouncing on their toes in a Qing Jing Peak uniform? Speak of the half-demon future tyrant of this world!

“Looks like we’ll have to continue this later,” Shang Qinghua says.

“My assisted meditation appointment,” Peerless Cucumber confirms glumly, looking as though he’s never experienced inner peace in his life and has no intention of willingly doing so. 

- 

AN: I took SY as genuinely having a knack for cultivating and that’s the interpretation I’m using for this fic, especially since I gave the Original Shen Qingqiu health problems that nearly killed him. In an earlier chapter, Mu Qingfang mentions needing to “replace Shen Qingqiu’s entire cultivation system”, which I planted for Shen Yuan getting a free, extremely stable highly developed cultivation system as part of his transmigration later. 

I mean, Shen Yuan manages to weather Liu Qingge’s qi deviation, a great deal of stress, Without-A-Cure, and etc., and he’s remarkably stable through most of it. So I’m leaning towards “a little bit of System assistance” here. The System was going to replace both Shen Qingqiu and SQQ’s unstable cultivation system out for Shen Yuan and a more stable cultivation system. 

SQQ still has a cultivation system. If he didn’t, it would have been mentioned by now. SQQ is repeatedly stated to be improving well in this chapter. I think Mu Qingfang would have noticed if SQQ didn’t have cultivation anymore. 

- 

“Then wouldn’t you be Luo-Shixiong to me?” Peerless Cucumber suggests wryly to the protagonist, who is both about five years younger than him and still shorter. (Mu Qingfang said that their guest seems to believe that he’s newly twenty. Whether or not the kid is editing his age up or down, Shang Qinghua has decided that he’s just not going to fucking think about this fact.)

“Uh,” Luo Binghe says, looking stunned and then to Shang Qinghua for help. Ha, he’s flustered, which doesn’t happen often. That’s adorable.. “...Maybe?”

Shang Qinghua snorts and remains unhelpful. Ning Yingying is actually about a year younger than Luo Binghe is, Shang Qinghua knows, but she’s been a member of the sect for significantly longer. Binghe might have some shidi and shimei soon with the next entrance test and he’s been very excited about that, but he clearly doesn’t know what to do with a “shidi” closer to his young auntie’s age than his own. Kind of weird seniors and juniors are just part of the sect experience, nephew! Get used to it!

“Thank you, regardless,” Peerless Cucumber says.

“Of course,” Binghe agrees quickly.

- 

AN: SQH is probably going to look back on this moment and go, “Hmm.” 

- 

‘You’re very resourceful,” his sister-in-law says slyly.

“I am very resourceful,” Shang Qinghua allows, and in a fit of affection reaches up to pinch Luo Jiahui’s cheek like she’s Binghe. “And I have the world’s wisest and least bossy sister-in-law, too! How fortunate I am!”

Luo Jiahui slaps his hand away with a giggle, turning slightly pink.

“At least you know it!” she says.

- 

AN: I’ve been wanting to make SQH pinch someone’s cheek for ages now. 

- 

“...You looked very scared that night,” Luo Jiahui says finally. “It might have seemed worse to you than it was. If your demon can’t be understanding of one bad night, then it’s… I don’t know if there’s a way forward with him at all.” She fixes a determined expression and says, “If any offers are retracted then we’ll manage just fine without him. We’ll tell Qingge and he’ll help. And so will Fanli. Our family won’t fall apart so easily. Hua-Ge doesn’t have to take care of everything and be everything at once to everyone.”

- 

AN: LJH channeling some “dump him! dump him! dump him!” energy. 

- 

Shang Qinghua has never been able to picture cutting ties after all this time. What would he even say? “My king, I think our arrangement has come to an end. I promised to serve you for the rest of my life, but that was when I didn’t think my life was worth very much.” He can’t see that going over well! It’s never really been an option, anyway, since Luo Binghe can’t not unlock his demonic powers and go to the Demon Realm. The System won’t have it.

- 

AN: If SQH said that to MBJ, that would be a one-hit KO, probably. 

Break the man’s heart, why don’t you?

[myhockeyworld87]

Nervous Regrets - Tyler Seguin - Part 31

Word Count: 3,896

POV: Reader

Warning: Child birth and things that go along with it.

Notes: Sorry to leave you guys on the cliff hanger, but thanks for hanging in there with me while I finished this up. I hope everyone is having a Happy Easter! As always feedback it welcome.

Nervous Regrets Masterlist

You couldn't catch your breath, and it felt like your heart was literally in your throat as you sat there waiting to hear your newborn son cry. It was like your life was playing out in slow motion. You gripped Tyler's hand even harder than you had while in labor as you asked yet again. "Why isn't he crying? Is he breathing?" One of the paramedics moved and grabbed something out of the bag, though you couldn't see anything through the tears streaming down your face. Jenna's hands were cupped over her face, so you couldn't tell what she was thinking, and as you peered over at Tyler he was crying just as hard as you were. All you could do was sit there and pray, and so you did. God, please let my baby be ok. You repeated the phrase over and over, for what seemed like hours, but was probably only seconds.

 And then you heard it, a soft little wail that turned into a full out scream; and you'd never been so thankful to hear anything in your life. You felt Tyler let out a breath, and you realized you should do the same. "Is he ok?" They were Tyler's words, but you wanted to say them as well.

 "He just fine. We had to get some fluid out of his lungs first." The paramedic finally answered. "You came out a little fast, huh buddy?" He said to the baby as he now turned back to you, with your newborn in his arms. "Mr. Seguin, would you like to cut the cord?"

 "I…umm…yeah if that's ok?" It was something he'd always planned on doing, but with how your birth had gone, you could see his hesitance.

 "Yes, he's fine." The other EMT clamped off the cord then handed a pair of scissor-like utensils for Tyler to use. His hands were shaking from the emotion of it all. The whole process took less than a minute, and suddenly the baby was no longer a part of you. A weird combination of joy and sadness took over your body; for as long as you lived you'd never be able to describe the feeling to anyone.

 "Can I hold him?" You were shaking, from everything that you'd just been through, but also from the anticipation of holding your baby.

 "Of course," and he handed him off to you wrapped up in one of your bath towels.

 He was still crying but you were forever grateful for the sound, as you peered down into his little face, all scrunched up. Tyler was right there, his hand going underneath yours to support both you and the baby. "Shhh, it's ok sweetie, mommy's here." You leaned down and kissed his little face. He was so precious. As his cries settled, you started to notice his coloring. He was a bit purplish-blue and you looked up at the EMT and asked. "Are you sure he's ok?"

 "He'll still need the standard tests done when we get to the hospital, but his lungs are clear now and his heart rate is good. He should pink up in a few minutes."

 "He's so beautiful, (Y/N)" Tyler said leaning down as the baby opened his eyes wide to take everything in. "Hi buddy, it's daddy, remember me? I'm the one who talked to you all the time." His large finger traced the fine skin of the baby's cheek. "You sure gave us a scare. Let's not do that anymore ok?" That's when you felt the wetness of Tyler's tears drop on to you. He's been so strong for you during labor, but you could see him breaking now that your little one was finally here. It was as if he needed to know everything with the newborn was fine as well.

 "Here Ty, hold him." He looked at you with questioning eyes.

 "Are you sure?" He knew you didn't want to let the baby out of your arms, but you knew he needed this too. So you shook your head, yes and handed the little bundle off. Your son looked so small in his father's arms, and you swore your heart swelled with how much love you saw there in Tyler's eyes. He was gazing adoringly at his little boy and you'd never seen anything more precious in your life.

 The moment was broken by the paramedic's voice, "Mrs. Seguin I need to get some of your vitals, really quick and then see if we can get you to the deliver the placenta. Is that ok?" You really wanted to hold your baby again, but since he was in Tyler's arms, and you knew this was something that had to be done, you told him yes. It didn't take too long for the afterbirth to leave your body, and thankful you hardly felt anything. Tyler gave the baby back to you afterward, and your world felt right with your little one in your arms. "So how about we get you all to the hospital and checked out."

 Before you could even think about answering, Tyler was already talking. "I think that's a good idea. I want both you and our son checked to make sure you're both ok."

 "Ty, I'm fine." You truly meant that, but you wouldn't be upset with the baby being looked at.

 He kissed your head, pulling both you and the baby into his side. "I'd feel better if I heard the doctor say that. I'm not taking any more chance with you two." You nodded, knowing that this morning had been crazy and scary; and that this was probably the sane thing to do. The paramedics brought in a gurney that you got on, never once letting go of the baby.

 "As soon as we get this place cleaned up, we'll head over to the hospital," Jenna stated as they started to wheel you out of the house. It was hard to believe but in all the craziness, you'd forgotten what a reassuring presence your best friends being there was. She snuck over and kissed the baby on the forehead. "Bye sweet boy, Auntie Jenna will see you soon."

 You started to cry again, as you looked up at your best friend smiling down at your little boy. "Thank you for everything, Jenna. I don't think I could've done this without you."

 She grabbed your free hand and squeezed it hard. "I'll always be there for you." Jamie came up behind her then, stealing his first peek of the baby.

 "I have to say, he's really adorable. You sure he's Seggy's?"

 Tyler came out of the bedroom, with the bag you'd packed for both of you, along with the diaper bag you had for the baby. "Watch it Chubbs."

 "What? I'm just pointing out that he definitely got all his looks from his mom."

 "Well, that, I can't disagree with." He dropped a kiss on the baby, then looked at Jamie. "Would you mind bringing the Landie to the hospital? The car carrier is in the back already."

 "Sure no problem." As soon as everything was settled you headed off in the ambulance to the hospital. Your doctor was waiting for you and after a quick check, they had you in a room where both you and Tyler could do a little skin to skin contact with the baby. Seeing your husband reclining in the chair next to you with the baby on his naked chest did things to you, that you weren't sure your heart could handle. The tattoo on his chest was just peeking out from underneath the blanket that was draped over the baby, and his eyes were hooded as he kept glancing down at the tiny little form sleeping on him. It was a moment you couldn't help but capture on your phone; a memory you never wanted to forget.

 They stayed like that for a while, just father and son bonding in the early moments of the newborn's life. "I think you better take him back." You'd held him first, but he'd been on Tyler's chest for a good thirty minutes or longer. You didn't want to take any time away from them.

 "It's ok. You should have some time with him."

 "Oh, it's not that. I think he's gonna want you soon. His little mouth is doing this sucking thing, that's cute as hell, but I don't have what he needs." Of course, Tyler had to make a little sucking face as well, which just made you want to kiss him.

 Tyler handed him over and you put him in a cradling position, then took your breast and offered the baby your nipple. It was completely awkward at first, for it seemed he didn't want to latch on, plus it didn't help that Tyler was standing over top of you waiting to watch the little guy feed for the first time. Taking your index finger, you rubbed the baby's little cheek; the gentle motion had him sucking on your nipple in no time. His little lips puckered out and a soft little swallowing sound emitted from him. "I think he's doing it."

 "I had no doubt. He is my son after all."

 "Ty!" You said a little bit louder than you should have and it startled the baby, causing him to stop feeding momentarily, but he picked back up right away. Tyler sat down on the bed beside you stroking your newborn's soft downy hair as he continued to eat.

 "You know babe, we really need a name for this little man." You two had yet to decide upon names, but then you thought you had another three weeks yet.

 "I've actually been thinking of one that I really like."

 "Well spill it, babe."

 "I was thinking we could name him Jace." You see him testing the name in his mind. "Hear me out, before you say anything. You know I want him to have your middle name, but ever since that time you were talking about getting the baby's name tattooed on; I started thinking about your passion and strength tattoo. Obviously, we're not using the words you have tattooed on already" His brows furrowed together trying to decide where you were going. "But they're for your Greek heritage, so I was thinking of a Greek name. Well, Jace, means healer in Greek, and well, it just got me thinking that this little guy has been our healer. He brought us back together Ty and helped heal our relationship. I just feel like he's our little healer."

 "Jace Tyler Seguin, huh?" He looked down at the baby as he tested the name out loud this time. "I love it, babe. You're right he is our little healer, without him I don't know if I'd have you right now and well…" He got choked up and took a minute to clear his throat. "I just can't imagine my world without the two of you in it right now." Your emotions were so high, that when he said that, you just started to cry again; for you felt the exact same way. Just then little Jace stopped feeding and opened his eyes to look at his mom and dad. "Hi Jace, did you wake up cause you like your name? I think you do." Tyler was using his cute little baby voice to talk to your son just like he talked to the dogs every now and then. You moved the baby over to your other breast and he began eating again, lulling himself back to sleep easily.

 It was a few more minutes before a nurse came in interrupting your alone time. "Oh good, it looks like someone is hungry. How's he doing mom?"

 "Pretty good, I just switched him. Takes him a minute at first but then he latches on like a champ."

 "Oh that's so good to hear, sounds like he's a natural. Well as soon as he's done there, we'd like to take him for a couple of tests, Dad, if you want to come with that, would be great. The doctor will be in shortly too to finish up some stuff with you (Y/N)." You knew that meant she was coming in to sew you up from when you tore during labor and you were glad Tyler would be gone for that part.

 It was a little less than an hour later when Tyler and Jace were back in the room with you. "Look who we found outside, Auntie Jenna and Uncle Chubbs." Tyler declared as he wheeled the baby back inside, followed by your best friends; who were carrying a massive amount of balloons and flowers.

 "We thought we'd give you guys a little extra time alone. How's everyone doing?" She went over the hospital crib and peered down at Jace, who was fast asleep.

 "This little guy is doing awesome, he just passed all his test with flying colors," Tyler announced, answering the unsaid questions you had about your baby. "But we've been away from Momma, so not sure how she's doing?"

 "I'm good. I'm not going to lie I'm sore as all hell, but then I look at that sweet little face and it's all worth it."

 "Speaking of this little guy; I'm dying to hold him," Jenna said making grabby hands at Jace.

 "Of course." You watched as Jenna picked him up out of the crib and situated him in her arms.

 "Make sure you support his head," Tyler told her as if she hadn't ever held a baby in her life. Thankfully, your best friend humored the first-time dad.

 "Hi sweet boy, aren't you just the cutest thing in the world."

 Jamie was leaning over her shoulder checking out your little boy. "He definitely has your hands Seggy. They're huge."

 "I know right. He's gonna be a great stick handler."

 "Guys, he's only a couple hours old, let's give him a minute before we're putting a hockey stick in his hands." You laughed at the exchanged between your best friend, her boyfriend and your husband. You had a feeling if it was up to the guys they'd be taking Jace to the rink tomorrow. "So does this little guy have a name yet."

 "Yup," Tyler answered for you. "Meet Jace Tyler Seguin."

 "Jace. I like it." Jamie spoke up, brushing his thumb across Jace's cheek.

 "It means healer in Greek," Tyler added, now sitting on the bed with his arms wrapped around you. He seemed proud of the meaning behind Jace's name, which affirmed you made the right choice for your little boy.

 "Awe, because he brought you guys back together right?" Of course, your best friend would get it, she probably knew what you were going to name the baby before you did since you practically shared a brain. "I love it. Hi Jace, it's Auntie Jenna."

 "Alright, baby hog, my turn." Jamie teased, as he moved in front of her to hold Jace. Once secured in his arms, you watched Jamie, this big teddy bear of a man, sway back and forth with your child. "Hey JT. It's your favorite Uncle, and I plan on spoiling you rotten. You can come to my house and I will give you all the candy and chocolate you want, then ship you home to mommy and daddy, because that's what the best uncles do."

 "Thank god, Aunt Jenna will be there to prevent all that." You chided. "But speaking of favorites, there's something we want to ask you." Tyler and you had discussed this a few weeks ago and you'd both agreed. "We'd like you guy to be Jace's godparents. I mean if you're willing."

 "Really? You don't want one of your brothers or Tyler's sisters?" There were unshed tears in Jenna's eyes when Jamie asked the question.

 "You two of been there with us from the beginning, and all the ups and downs; and there are not two other people in this world that we would want to take care of Jace in our absence." It was asking a lot, and you understood if they didn't want to do it. "You can say no if you want."

 "What? Never…I mean yes…well, we are…right?" You'd rarely heard Jenna fumble her words; she was always so straightforward and direct, so you knew she was emotional about this. Which in turn made you emotional as well.

 "I think what Jenna is trying to say; is that we'd love to be Jace's godparents." Jamie finally blurted out, as he came up beside her, slipping his free arm around her.

 She leaned into Jamie, laying her head down on his chest as she gazed at Jace. "Yeah, we're so honored." They stayed about another forty-five minutes, then headed out leaving the three of you alone again.

 "You know, we really need to call our families." You'd been living in this little bubble of the three of you for a few hours that you'd almost forgot about both of your families in all the craziness.

 "Yeah Ty you're right. Let's call your mom first, my parents will probably hop in the car right away and I'd kind of like just a little more time with just us." He just smiled, kissing you sweetly on your head before picking up his phone.

 "Tyler, sweetie, how are you?" Jackie said on the other line.

 "We're good mom, though things have been a bit crazy. Are Candace and Cass there?"

 "Cass is, hold on let me get her." She hollered and in the background, you could see Cassidy running to get to the phone where her mom was.

 "Hey big brother, mom said you wanted to talk to us."

 "Yeah, (Y/N)'s on the phone with me." Just then Jace decided to make his presence known with a little gurgling noise.

 "Oh my god, is that…" Jackie commented while at the same time Cassidy was saying, "Did you have the baby?"

 "Yes, you have a grandson, mom." Tyler was just beaming as he told his family, then panned the phone down to show them Jace, who you had in your arms.

 "Oh Tyler, he's beautiful." You could see Jackie and Cass fighting to see the screen.

 "Look at those cheeks," Cassidy cooed. "I just want to kiss them."

 "Well, you can, as soon as you come to see him." You told her, hoping that they would get on a plane in the next couple of days and come see Jace. "Apparently he didn't like the plan of waiting until you guys were here before coming into this world." Jackie was going to fly down close to your due date, so she would be here when the baby arrived. She was also planning on staying a little while extra to help you with the baby for when Tyler went on the road.

 "Are you and the baby ok sweetie? What happened?" Jackie's concern was touching and you were sure that what she was about to hear would floor her.

 "Yes they're both fine, mom; even though she delivered him in our kitchen."

 "She what?" Was said in unison from both Jackie and Cassidy.

 "It was really quite something." And for the next several minutes Tyler proceeded to tell them exactly what happened. At the end of the conversation, it was decided that they were going talk to Candance and be on a plane within the week. The conversation with your parents went pretty much the same way, only you were right, and they were in the car within an hour after hanging up. Which gave you a few more hours of just you, your husband and your little boy.

 Once your parents came, it seemed like there was a steady stream of visitors. Some of Tyler's teammates and their significant others, as well as your friends, stopped by to congratulate you and see the baby. To your biggest surprise, your parents didn't stay. Well, they stayed in Dallas overnight but left shortly after visiting with Jace the next morning, though your mom did promise to come back whenever you wanted help with him.

 Tyler reluctantly went to morning skate, though it took everything you had to make him leave you and Jace. It was only for a couple hours, but he swore that Jace grew at least an inch during that time, even though he didn't. The doctor was being extra cautious with Jace, so you stayed in the hospital another twenty-four hours. Which meant that Tyler missed the morning skate for the Nashville game later that night, so he could take you and Jace home. You buckled Jace into his car seat, while Tyler stood over your shoulder making sure you did everything correctly; which was both adorable and annoying at the same time. Once Jace was safely tucked in, Tyler scooped up the carrier and your bag, then the three of you headed home. You sat in the backseat with Jace, while Tyler drove and stole glances at the two of you every couple minutes. "Is he ok back there?"

 "Yeah, he's out like a light."

 "Do you think he's warm enough? I can turn the heat up."

 "Ty, he's fine, besides we're almost home." Tyler's overprotecting dad gene was starting to kick in, though it was cute. A couple of red lights and about ten minutes later, you were pulling into the garage. Tyler jumped out of the car, to get Jace out, but grabbed your bag as well. You headed into the house first, hoping the dogs wouldn't get too overly excited when the baby came in. As soon as they heard the door unlock, Gerry came running; Cash and Marshall close behind. "Hi boys, I missed you." Thankfully, none of them jumped up on you, they all stood there tongues hanging out and tails wagging.

 Tyler held Jace back for a few minutes, while you petted the dogs; then came inside. Cash was the first to wander over to Jace, which really only made sense, considering he'd never left your side while you were pregnant. He sniffed around Tyler a few times before Ty set the carrier down for Cash to see Jace. Tyler knelt beside the baby, just in case one of the dogs would nip at him, though you didn't need to worry about that. Cash simply sniffed him, then nudged his little hand causing Jace to twitch and scaring Cash in the process. "It's ok Cash, come meet your new brother," Tyler said to the pup. This time when Cash approached Jace he laid his little head down at Jace's feet. It was so adorable you had to capture the moment, which meant the other two dogs lost your attention and were now moving over to check out their brother.

 Cash didn't move from his spot, as Marshall and Gerry both tried to find out what was in the carrier. Gerry stuck his snout in Jace's face, causing Tyler to push him away. "Easy Ger, not so close." It took a moment, but Gerry finally settled his head on Tyler's knee so he could look in at Jace, while Marshall just laid down beside the car seat. It was in that moment that you realized you were surrounded by a houseful of men, but it felt like this was exactly how it was suppose to be.  

[joeycupcakerichter]

A letter he'll never read.

This is just going to be a incoherent mess of thoughts that I need to get out of my skull because otherwise they're going to drown me. so I'm gonna throw it under a read more and post it here so the thought can be out of my head and I can go back and reread whenever I start to feel like I'm losing control again.

Dear [him]

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know I've probably seemed obsessive and weird and I wish I could stop but I think writing this down, explaining it even though I know you'll never read it will help me process the feelings and move on.

I'm sorry it had to be you. I'm sorry that you were the one that caught me on a bad day and made me smile. I read too much into it. If I've ever made you uncomfortable in anyway, I'm so deeply sorry. There's some things that I think you need to understand about me that I think will help the two of us make sense of this and move forward.

My marriage was one built on trauma and distress. I was married to a man that loved the idea of me, not the person I truly was. He spent six years trying to shove me into a box that I didn't fit into, trying to make me into the girl he always wanted when he simply was not. It may sound ungrateful to say, but I was drowning in his attention but you have to understand that this was not the kind of attention anyone deserves. It was manipulative, it was guilt tripping, it was toxic in every sense of the word. He hated the things I loved and if he didn't start off initially hating them, he would quickly begin to hate them because they were associated with me. I know you're probably wondering what that has to with you and I promise I'm getting to it

The earliest date I have to tell you when this started was February 4, 2019. Yeah, you heard me right, two fucking years of this nightmare coping mechanism that you didn't ask to be a part of. February 4th was the day I created a playlist on Spotify because I was going to go to the gym. The first song on that playlist was Rev 22:20 by Puscifer because that's the song that every time I hear it, I think of you. The beginning of the song is enough to explain what I was feeling in that time.

Don't be aroused by my confession Unless you don't give a good goddamn about redemption I know Christ is comin', and so am I And you would too if this sexy devil caught your eye

I wanted you so badly. You represented everything that my current relationship lacked. You would give me attention, but only if I earned it. I was married at the time, so confessing my attraction to you would be something that you would have to not care if it sent you to hell. It was stupid, and I kept my mouth shut about it. I wasn't about to have an affair with you. I know I was already emotionally cheating on my husband, but I was not going to take the next step. I would just cling to this concoction of you I'd made in my head to cope with the misery that I was forcing myself to live with. It wasn't healthy and it DEFINITELY wasn't fair to you. You didn't ask to have someone develop an infatuation with you that you didn't want. I did my best to be cool and remember who the fuck I was but I know you knew. I deluded myself into thinking that you were interested, even if you couldn't pursue it. I think that made it worse.

Your trip and the jokes we made about it truly cemented this stupid ass infatuation into my brain. The thought of running away from my life with you haunted my dreams. In fact, there was one dream that I had that I still distinctly remember that plays in my head on repeat every now and then. We were at a party, you pulled me into the pantry and we were talking and you looked at me, confused, and said, "You know I like you, right?" I woke up immediately after, confused and with my heart pounding. This came shortly after you told me that your friend had backed out of the trip and you had an extra ticket, if I just got my passport. I didn't, of course, but I remember you telling me that I could sit next to you on the plane and rub your back as you puked into your airplane bag because you were afraid to fly.

I'm terrified that I sound insane and creepy and unsettling. I KNOW you were just kidding around but it was something I could cling to. It kept me alive when I was laying in bed staring out of my window wishing I had to courage to just jump. That was a lot to put on you but I comforted myself by reminding myself that you would never know. I would never ever cross the line of telling you how much that stupid little joke meant to me. You'll probably never know this, but you saved my life. And for that I can only thank you.

I'll never forget when you left, either.

I channeled the confusing feeling of loss and pain into a story that I'm still incredibly proud of. I won't bore you (or creep you out) with details, but you left two months after your trip and I did nothing but write. I wrote and I wrote and I wrote that pain away until I couldn't feel it anymore. It was gone. I fixed it all. I was fine. I barely thought about you. That initial hyperfixation was gone. You were gone.

Until you weren't.

A mutual friend told me that you were coming back and I thought my heart was going to erupt. That was when I stopped writing my story because I didn't need it anymore. You were coming back. I tried to remain casual, but that December when you were finally back, I could've wept with joy. It was sad, it was pathetic but you were back and everything was going to be fine. I had my coping mechanism back. We both know I can't help but look at you when you're near by. Even just a glimpse could make me smile. You were so soothing to me. You still are. It's illogical and it doesn't make sense, but whenever I talk to you, or even just see you I am simultaneously relieved and set on edge. I have to watch myself. I don't want you to know this creepy stalker narrative I'd unintentionally crafted. It wasn't even stalkery.

I didn't cross lines, I just wanted to talk to you, be around you somewhere that was an even playing field. I've only texted you when I absolutely had to. I couldn't bring myself to bother you. I put you up on a pedestal and didn't ask you for anything more. I wanted more, I craved that sweet validation but I wouldn't cross that line. We were work friends, if you could even call it that. We were coworkers that sat together on break all the time. Sometimes I would feel like maybe you could be interested but I would always reminded myself that just because I wanted you to be, didn't mean you were. I constantly kept myself in check. I barely even mentioned you to my friends and even when I did, you were the mediocre white guy at work. Hell, I still refer to you as that because I need to keep myself in check. You are not the end all be all of men. Believe me, I would let myself believe that if I didn't keep myself in check.

When the pandemic hit, you were gone again. I thought it was forever this time and I decided it would be okay. It had to be okay. I wasn't going back to work if you weren't going to be there and by all logic, you shouldn't have been. You were the reason I didn't hate my job. I liked talking to you for fifteen minutes at a time that much. It's silly, but it made everything better. I didn't need to date you. I didn't need to sleep with you. I just wanted you to be my friend and you had been. I thought that chapter was closed.

And then my husband left me. And I found out you were back again. Despite everything I'd figured, that you wouldn't go back for a third time, that you wouldn't even be able to, another mutual friend mentioned that you were back. And I was ready to run back into that hellhole's hateful arms to have you close and as my friend again. I couldn't talk to you outside of work, I didn't know what to say. I was scared it was going to come out wrong because things were different now. I was different now. I wasn't going to be married for much longer. I let myself stray into thinking maybe now could be different.

You gave my husband an instrument to fix and he left it and me here so I figured I could give it back to you, at the very least. I was gonna shoot my shot. "of course I remember you". Now I'm not sure if that was as flattering as I initially took it but you forgot and I cried. But I left you alone. If you had any of the same feelings I had, you wouldn't have. It was okay. You didn't have to match my energy. Mine was out of control and emotional, coming only a week after my husband left the state. I was a train wreck and I'm glad now that you didn't come pick it up. I would've embarrassed myself. I would've tried to tell you all of this to your face and it would've been a mess. It wasn't fair to you. It wasn't fair to me. I was in mourning, I was in shock. Just like most of the people I knew, you probably wouldn't have known what to say. What do you say to a woman who had been abandoned so easily and quickly? Awkward pity in my experience with people who weren't you. But I told you. You knew. That's all I wanted.

And now, I'm terrified that I'm becoming FAR too obvious. I wasn't subtle before, but I KNOW I'm not subtle now. I'm terrified of making you uncomfortable, or even worse, acting like Mandee. Becoming so overbearing and not picking up on vital social cues that would tell me that you didn't want me around. Every now and then, I'll forego sitting outside to sit with you but I won't do it every break. I don't want to seem like I won't leave you alone. I don't want to seem like a crazy woman who's obsessed with you. Maybe I still am, despite my best intentions, but I try so hard not to be. You don't owe me ANYTHING. And sometimes I get the vibes that I need to leave you alone so I do. And I resign myself to the fact that I ruined it because I couldn't keep my shit together.

My standards are so low right now, that you can talk to me first and I feel like maybe we could still be friends. Not a damn thing more than that. I can't stress that enough. Despite everything I've written here, it's not like I want you to sweep me off my feet and save me from everything. I just.... I want to be your friend. I want to actually know you other than anecdotal conversations.

I don't know how to finish this. It's pathetic, its cathartic and I just needed to get it out of me. I'm so tired of keeping it in and while I won't tell you, just writing it down helps. So thank you. Thank you for everything you don't know you've done for me. I'm sorry I let it go this far and get this... weird. Thank you again.

[chromecutie]

Not A Ghost - part 39

A/N - Multi-part fic. Colossus x OC where OC has come home after being wrongfully imprisoned in the Icebox. Warnings for whole fic - references and flashbacks to harsh prison environment, including various types of abuse.

NEW WARNING - fictional police brutality. Takes place shortly after events in Deadpool 2. Whole thing will end up on my AO3 eventually.

Masterlist on my profile!

Taglist: @emma-frxst  @ra-ra-rasputiin  @holamor ​  @empressme-bitch  @marvel-is-perfection  @hazilyimagine ​ @marvelhead17 @rovvboat @angstybadboytrash ​ @whitewitchdown ​ @master-sass-blast ​ @mori-fandom @mooleche @dandyqueen @emberbent @leo-writer @silver-stormy . Wanna be added or removed? Holla at me.

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The X-Jet wasn’t made to transport so many passengers. There weren’t enough seats, so the most injured inmates were strapped in and everyone else had to hang on. Mimi carefully watched everyone. She hadn’t made it this far just to have a fellow freed prisoner do something that would make the X-Men turn them over to authorities and land them right back in prison. The last thing she wanted was going back to any holding facility. As the X-Men rushed around the jet, preparing for take off, Mimi made eye contact with as many individual freed inmates as she could, making sure they knew she was watching them.

The larger blue mutant was seeing to the more severe injuries. He was enormous, heavily muscled and had thick claws and fur, but spoke with a gentle accent. When the smaller bright blue mutant had boarded the jet, holding a barely conscious Rhonda, Mimi was surprised to find dread cracked her heart. 

“Henry!” he called in a German accent, and the larger mutant turned. “She doesn’t look so good, ja?” 

Henry’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He promised his current patient he'd come back to him and hurried to meet the German holding Rhonda. He moved a gear box to clear a spot on the deck of the jet. “Here, Kurt, lay her here.” Kurt took care to set her down in a smooth motion. "What happened?" Henry asked as he was already checking her vitals and pupils. "Pulse is weak. Pupils irregular. Is all this blood hers? Swelling at her temple." He worked quickly to examine her. 

“I don’t know,” Kurt shook his head, “Colossus is still on his way.”

Mimi craned her neck, and only saw Rhonda in bits and pieces past the men’s shoulders. Her skin was bluish, head lolling, breathing shallow and labored. The easiest thing she could see, however, was the soles of her feet - they looked like raw hamburger, absolutely riddled with shards of glass. “Hey!” She called to them. “Check her feet!”

Kurt and Henry gave Mimi a sudden wary glance, then both shifted to check her feet. The smaller mutant cursed in German. “Indeed it’s not good,” Henry agreed. He tore open Rhonda’s jumpsuit, “But there must be something else. Kurt, take the other first aid kit and help the others with the bumps and scrapes, please.”

With Kurt giving him space, Henry carefully tore away pieces of the grey cotton shirt under the jumpsuit, finding plenty of swelling and bruises that were starting to blacken. He muttered about broken ribs. He suddenly paused, and Mimi couldn’t tell what he’d found.

"STORM!” he roared to the cockpit, “We need a hospital! Now!" Storm gave an affirmative over the cabin radio. 

Several more inmates and the last few X-Men boarded the jet, including Wade and the tall, musclebound steel mutant. The tall brute immediately knelt by Rhonda’s side, and though Mimi couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying, the anguish in his voice was unmistakable. “That’s her husband,” she said softly to Robinson. She shook her head, “Exactly as she used to describe him.”

“Huh,” Robinson slid an arm around Mimi’s waist to support them both as the jet rumbled its take off. “To be fair, an eight-foot-tall steel Russian man does sound made up.”

The floor tilted as the aircraft banked on a new course.

--

Piotr smoothed hair away from Rhonda’s face. The swelling around her temple worried him, but not as much as how her eyes rolled and how pale her lips were. "Stay with me, Rhonda, look at me," he urged. "You are safe now, stay with us." 

"Pi-Piotr," she barely managed to speak between wet wheezes.

Tears welled up in his eyes. She tried to speak again, but he shushed her, "Don't try to speak if it hurts. Let Cable help you, please." He waved Cable over, who carefully wove through the other passengers to loom over them.

With the ugly, bloodsoaked jumpsuit and the grey t-shirt under it torn open, Rhonda’s torso was bare to the warm cabin of the deck. There was no gaping wound, no horrible laceration, but just below her ribs, the last quarter inch of a toothbrush head stuck out of Rhonda's skin, the bristles slowly oozing with blood.

Beast carefully touched around it, figuring out at what angle the rest of the toothbrush pointed and how long it was. Rhonda couldn't even keep her eyes open anymore, and when she struggled to breathe and speak, she coughed and blood sprang to her lips.

"Henry, please! Pull it out!" Piotr begged with a strained voice, his stomach churning with panic.

"She's bleeding internally, probably a punctured lung,” Henry spoke quickly. “If I take that out here she'll bleed out before you can say dasvidaniya." He squirted saline solution over the wound, then moved to squirt saline on her head wound, rinsing blood away to examine the external damage.

Cable crouched by her feet and extended his telepathy. Where he had previously found a strong mind full of resistance to being read, he found no fight now. "She says, you brought me home," he read from her thoughts, "Thank you." He looked at her glass-crusted feet and scowled.

"No, no, no, Sladkaya, we're not home yet! You have to stay awake!" the Russian struggled to stay calm. He kept touching her face, shoulders, arms. Her skin felt cooler than it should.

"I can get this glass out, cleaner than your surgeons can in this time," Cable said. The other two either didn’t hear him or they ignored him. So he grabbed an empty cardboard box from between some people’s feet and leaned his weight on one forearm across Rhonda's shins. He searched for every little shard of glass and with his telekinesis, he pulled. Each shining glass splinter worked its way out as if they were seedlings in a spring garden, and ranged in size from a single snowflake to a quarter. Rhonda shivered, but didn’t react much besides that.

Blood bubbled at her lips as Piotr's vision blurred with tears. "Stay with me," he begged, "I can't lose you again, not like this."

After that, things moved in a quick blur. Hank improvised a chest tube from an inmate’s ballpoint pen, jabbing it near her collarbone and releasing the air that had been building up in Rhonda’s chest cavity. Her shallow breaths became a little deeper, but she still didn’t have long to live without tools they didn’t have on the jet. They landed on the rooftop helipad of the nearest hospital, and Cable levitated Rhonda to the gurney some nurses wheeled out. They slapped a medical grade power-blocking collar around her neck, and Piotr almost smashed them into the walls. "You take that thing off my wife!"

"Sir, sir!" One particularly short nurse patted the air between them. "This is standard procedure. Could this mutant's abilities be fatal to another person?" They had almost reached the elevator.

Piotr froze. He swallowed and clenched his jaw. "Yes...but...she cannot have that thing on when she wakes up."

The nurse promised, "She won't. Waiting area's downstairs." The elevator doors closed, and Rhonda and the nurses disappeared.

Ellie and Yukio stayed close to Piotr while the rest of the team helped coordinate help for the injured inmates. Storm made several calls to the Xavier house and started setting up a safe house and protection for any inmates who had to stay in the hospital. Kurt and Henry took the jet with a few passengers to head for the safe house.

--

In the waiting area, Cable studied how Piotr sagged into a plush chair that creaked under his weight. “Wade,” he snagged him by the arm as he was walking by. “When I was in Rhonda’s head…” he hesitated. His brow pinched. “I don’t know if she’s gonna make it through the night. If she doesn’t…” Cable jutted his chin toward Piotr, “We both know what it is to lose a wife.”

Wade frowned and shook his head. “No. No fucking way.” He batted Cable’s hand away. “A little head trauma, collapsed lung, torn shoulder, and a bunch of broken ribs never killed anybody. You know? Fuck outta here with your negativity, House.” All the same, he crossed the waiting area to sit beside Piotr.

Ellie found her way to sit beside her mentor and father figure. For a long while, none of them said a word. Eventually, Ellie drew her arms tight around one of Piotr’s biceps, crushing her cheek against the steel of his arm as the tears finally came. Yukio rubbed her back as she cried. As Piotr started to reach with his free hand to touch her face, Wade hugged his other arm the same way as Ellie. Together, they waited for the surgeons to finish.

--

Piotr stayed by her side in the intensive care unit. As promised, they had removed the medical grade collar, and Rhonda’s neck was mercifully bare. His uniform was still stained with her blood, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave her for even the minute it would take to change into the fresh clothes Ellie and Yukio had brought. Swathed in bandages, breathing through a tube, his wife had never looked so fragile. He held her right hand, pressing the back of it to his cheek as he watched her face, tears streaming. His other hand delicately touched her hair. He whispered around the lump in his throat, “Come back to me, Sladkaya, come back to us. I’m here, whenever you are ready. Please.”

When the hospital staff tried to tell Piotr visiting hours were over, and that he could come back the next day, he said simply that he wasn’t going anywhere. He explained to the seasoned nurse in her fifties a short version of what had happened in the last few years. He would stay, and promised not to make any trouble for the hospital staff. The nurse took a slow sigh and replied simply, “I’ll get you a coffee, baby, be right back.”

Hours stretched into days. Wade, Ellie, and other friends could only get Piotr to take breaks if at least two of them stayed in Rhonda’s hospital room while he changed clothes or took a short walk. Every minute that he was with her, Piotr had a hand on her. He would clasp his hands around her feet to warm up her toes, check how the deep lacerations in her feet were closing, rest a hand over her stomach or chest to feel her breathe, study the finger stump on her right hand, and slide his palm up her arm over the Xs as he had seen her do so many times.

Once, when Wade was sitting beside him, Piotr had been studying the Xs again. “Wade...what are these?” he asked.

Wade puffed out his cheeks and blew a long breath, fumbling, “Ohhhh buddy, uhh, I - you should - you know - that’s just not my story to tell, you know?” Wade gripped his knees and stretched, popping his shoulders.

Piotr traced a few of the smaller Xs, then laid his palms to cover as many as possible. “They are signatures, aren’t they?” he said quietly, voice tight. “They called her Guestbook, and put these marks all over her. The x-rays showed scar tissue in this shoulder, like it had been dislocated more than once.” Wade’s silence except for sucking in a hissing breath through his teeth was answer enough. Lifting her hand, Piotr pointed out the newest one, with a long tail that curved around her arm. It was scabbed over and a little irritated, but no longer puffy with infection. “I have been cleaning and caring for this one,” he said with a tone that was too calm. “Wade, who did this to my wife? Was it guards? Other prisoners?”

The images flashed in Wade’s mind, another horrible thing he would never forget. Rhonda on the ground, arms pinned and twisted, knees in her back, a dead look in her eyes. Weak with cancer and restrained by several people, he had been unable to help her. He blinked. “Both.” 

With what could only be described as reverence, Piotr laid Rhonda’s hand back on the bed, and actually pulled his hands away to ball into fists on his thighs. His gaze was still riveted to her. “The prisoners we brought with us - was it any of them?” His voice was even, and clear, and filled with cold determination.

Wade could smell the desire for revenge like a shark smells blood in the water, and raised his hairless brows. “For what it’s worth, sexy, beefy Terminator,” he started to smile, “I’m pretty sure your lady killed about half the motherfuckers who ever touched her.”

For the first time in days, Piotr made direct eye contact, with a placid expression. Jaw tight, he asked, “And the other half?”

The seasoned mercenary was beaming. ��As much as I love this color on you,” he waved an open hand in a circle. “Do I really have to remind you of your rules? One of the ones near the top - I think it’s number five, maybe nine - no killing? Anyone?”

“Perhaps you were right when you killed Francis,” he said. “Perhaps an exception can be made.”

Wade squirmed in his seat, groaning, then jumped to his feet, “Stop talking dirty to me! This hospital room is no place for a boner!” He growled in frustration, then pointed at Rhonda, “Plus…she said...we don’t know how many of them seem like fucking monsters now, but they weren’t like that until the Icebox made them that way. I - uggghhhhhh,” he grumbled incoherent cursing about turned tables and moral compasses. “I think she’d want you to leave them alone.”

The Russian’s shoulders sagged and he looked down at his hands, opening and closing his fists. “What good is all my strength,” he sighed, “if I could not prevent any of this? If I cannot protect her?”

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 61: Ряженье

Table of Contents. Second Instar, Chapter 28. Go to previous. Go to next. TWs: Needles, drug use. Preparations for the nuclear winter solstice.

_______________________________

A tall figure moved about Reese’s dwelling, tending to various materiel, some salvaged, and the rest likely requisitioned from the Deenwood Compound. ‘Choly stepped inside at a caution, rubbing at his shorn neck. He eyed the open space, expecting Reese. His face drooped when the figure faced him. Theirs mirrored his, their mouth open only partly as they eyed him.

‘Choly ineffectually cleared the viscosity in his mouth. Like Bones, Reese had not yet put their mask back on either. He scarce could recognize the Furriers’ leader from his memory of them at the Unfolding, though the vibrant purple and green garments seemed similar to what they’d worn the first time he’d met them. Terrence and Irene’s body now met near full, standard symmetry, save Irene’s extra eye in their left cheek.

“A Vault Dweller, then.” As Reese spoke, ‘Choly noted they had retained their lemniscate dentition. The eight foot tall figure’s lips became a thin line, and they unstuck to pull back their two-tone hair and pace. The smoke had remained to their voice, though now with a neatness to modulation and trachea it had not held prior. “This is where you slept. Are there other officers in your Vault?”

His gaze fell anywhere but on Reese.

“...A JAG Corps lawyer,” he answered, after doing everything he could not to think too hard about the two enlisted. “Really, it’s just me now. Is it a problem?”

“It simply explains a great deal about you. Deeper than the surface. Take, for instance, that you first made yourself more recognizable as an officer when we first met, sooner than wear something with distinct protective benefit. Either you valued concealing your involvement with a Vault, or you did truly awaken very recently, and have no concept yet just how valuable a Vault Suit even is.”

“It’s really nothing that deep,” he lied, laughing off being read. He rubbed at his upper arm. “I just had to change because my uniform to ruined at The Unfold--”

Reese guffawed, transfixed with enthusiasm, and turned heel with an intense glare.

“You see why we discard it all so far in advance! Tell me The Unfolding was everything you expected, Colonel.”

Locked up how to even begin to reply, ‘Choly nodded emphatically, eyes wide and obeisant as he looked up at Reese. Every other Furrier had grown more asymmetrical, more arcane, more everything from The Unfolding, but not their sachem--and somehow, that beguiled him more than anything about the whole ordeal. They clapped their two hands together with urgent delight, flashing him back to gravity.

“It warms me, to know this. We must discuss battle strategy. Earlier you sounded like you had a plan. The General will be contributing her service.”

‘Choly shifted between enamorment and frustration.

“I’m glad we’re in agreement. I’m getting a little tired of being told what I’m supposed to accomplish only after I’ve been cornered into agreeing to it.”

Reese calmed in the rebuff.

“It’s only right.”

‘Choly detailed his understanding, but he lost track of everything spilling out of him, troubled by his infatuation with Reese prior to The Unfolding. Or rather, its absence--now that Reese looked comparatively normal, the magnetism had faded. A recap of everything Liv had discussed with him came, without him really grasping he’d articulated it. His brow strained. He felt more predatory than usual, how his attraction to Reese could simply evaporate in a matter of hours.

He realized at some point that Reese and he had both spoken, but he retained nothing from the exchange. The dialogue waxed looping and incoherent in places, for both of them even, perhaps. At one point, he could have sworn Reese went on that the memories of the Rust Devil tributes had dispersed throughout the Furriers, and that they’d gained gained some tactical advantage in this way. He glanced down at his Pip-Boy, wondering with a petulant absence if he could attribute this brain fog as a side effect of the X-Cell-Squared wearing off. The vitals menu either yielded cryptic results, or his faculties had waned that thin.

Fidgeting idly, he noticed the device had saved a draft. He nodded to himself. It comforted him a bit, that he didn’t have to open it, to know what it was. He’d have to survive the rush, if not just to edit the draft into some enjoyable, viscously detailed reading.

Bones stood again in the doorway, politely waiting her turn to speak as usual. It took some time for the two of them to wave her in, and she smiled to them graciously. Reese snorted and shooed at ‘Choly with the stern protectiveness of a sibling-turned-parent.

“We pick our masks fresh again after The Unfolding,” Reese reminded as Bones took one of ‘Choly’s arms in two of hers. “Be certain to confirm yourself before we leave, Colonel. Thirty minutes, like you said. Not a minute more.”

He could do little more than nod. His heart swapped places with some other organ as the Mistress of Ceremonies dragged him along. It had been one thing, for the Furriers to have outsmarted the Devils with pit and wire traps, on their own property. It would be another entirely, for them to outpace the raiders on the Devils’ terrain. The whole thing felt like a test he hadn’t studied for.

Between Reese’s house and the Reservoir House, he noticed Angel milling idly, transparent in its proximity but also in a deliberateness to keep its distance. He’d have to apologize after Bones had finished with him.

Bones held out the coat for him to inspect. He reached out to run a cautious, gloved hand along the cobalt ultramarine jacquard brocade, jaw slack in distant admiration. It scarcely anymore resembled the white colonel’s coat he’d worn into Voire, between the lining and the turned long-pile peppered fur collar. He pulled back, to remove his rifle and Pip-Boy just long enough for him to slip it on. She gleefully helped him into it, delighting in his features as she fluffed at the collar.

Blood-borne diseases. He clipped his Pip-Boy back on and frowned meaninglessly to himself. The Vault Suit had synced to the Pip-Boy for more comprehensive physiological diagnostics. He swallowed hard to shove down the dread of inevitability. On the one hand, it had told him at the gold course that he had not contracted anything from the Bloodbug stab; but on the other, it had attempted to speculate just about everything else. He gave the device a plaintive touch. Please, never tell me that I fucked up trusting Liv.

His chin bobbled down into the fur, trying to connect their lines of sight while also looking over his glasses.

“Why... why was it necessary to redo the lining before we rush the Devils?”

“The officer’s martial coat had good leather to work from.” She smoothed down his lapels, and briefly broke their gaze to intimately trace at the twin Pharm Corps insignias she’d already pinned in place for him. “Leather has always been the best protection from the postwar elements anyone could hope for. We’ve named ourselves the Furriers, because we learned to survive radiation thanks to tanning and fiber craft. It’s unfortunate that we only had the one source of human leather at the moment’s notice, as it’s the zenith of rad resistance when tanned properly. But leather’s only effective against energy, not mass. I replaced the lining with something not just formidable against the rest, but,” she smiled sweetly to herself, “beautifully fitting of you. I hope the choice of pattern pleases you. It’s the only fabric I had on hand in the right color for you.”

He stood silent, simply running his gloves over the fur time and again. The coat now reminded him of a shuba. Except this one will protect me from the nuclear winter. The floral jacquard brocade reminded him of Hubflower, the way the vaguely iridescent pattern picked up both lavenders and ultramarines. He sniffed, locked up between that juvenile nostalgia again and the fidelity the garment now carried.

“Hub suits me more than I can say. Thank you, Bones.”

He put a hand to her cheek, and watched her watching him. Their lips closed in on one another’s.

A Furrier with a black cat mask and long stringy dark hair burst into the Reservoir House, donning a mix of oiled leather and military twill. Despite still carrying the silhouette of having a head on his shoulders, his arms sprouted from his hips. He pointed at ‘Choly, who jerked back like he’d been caught.

“Sticks said you’d be here. We should’ve left for the rush hours ago! Why should we listen to you! Can’t even handle your root!”

“Felix!” Bones hissed. “Watch your tongue. It was his first time!”

“And it’ll be the Devils’ first time, too. This isn’t Sanctuary! You don’t think--”

“--Don’t you THINK,” Angel entered at a roar behind him, “that you ought to show your commanding officer a little more respect!”

“Sanctuary.” The word fell from ‘Choly like bile. He knew the man meant it as a name, not an idea. “I don’t think what?”

Felix had to think twice before he spoke again, his head whipping around to account time and again for the number of people now in the workshop.

“Sir, with all due respect--and there’s so little. You don’t think it’s going to be a cake walk, do you? Be part of some elite group where you get to shelter yourself from the chaos whenever it’s convenient for you? This may still look loosely like a military outfit, but understand this, and understand it well: We stand with you, not beneath you. Not for a second. Not with who you are.”

A look gnarled ‘Choly’s face, like he’d mistakenly bitten into something rotten. His head barely would give him the words to put in his mouth.

“Excuse me?” His face righted just enough to form a response. “Where was this vitriol and doubt before The Unfolding?”

“Your little fainting spell just proved how frail you are. Whatever being in that hole in the ground did to you, you aren’t fit for command anymore. If you can’t handle your Root, you don’t have the Endurance to stay afloat in a fight.”

“I’m the one to make that measure,” Angel insisted. “Not. You.”

It put itself between the Furrier and ‘Choly. ‘Choly nearly squeaked in resignation that Felix was right, of course he had the constitution of... wet cardboard, wasn’t it? Felix took a hostile step forward, and Angel squared up, drawing its lasers.

“Go ahead and hide behind your baby blue cotillion bot, Colonel Carey. At the end of the day, we all report back to Reese, not your-- you.”

Bones glared at him, fists clenched.

“Felix, save this for the Devils.”

“He’s sure a demon I could put to rest,” Felix muttered, showing himself out.

‘Choly wheezed once he felt safer.

“What was all that about. Angel, thank you for coming to my rescue.”

“I’m sure you could’ve handled it just fine without me,” the Mister Handy started. He couldn’t discern from its tone whether Angel had intended it as a jab.

“Well I’m certainly glad that you swooped in after him,” Bones disagreed. “Between you and me, we must keep Melancholy in one piece. Am I right, D.I. Angel?”

“I didn’t know you brought the Vault Suit,” he appreciated, sheepish.

“Well, I couldn’t very well have let you get off without a change of clothes, now, could I? What sort of Automatron would I be!”

“You really do all you can to provide for me. You even know what I need without me voicing it.” ‘Choly lost his fingers in the fur again, his eyes distant. “Food, safety, security.” His wet eyes picked up, feeling a fleeting clarity. “Security. You’re home, moy Angel. ...Ty dom.”

“Oh, Sir... I turned you loose to the Furriers because I trusted Mister Hawthorne’s statement that X-Root and X-Squared are incompatible. Worst case scenario, you got a scare. Best case scenario, you enjoyed yourself. Sir... Sir, I can’t tell if you trust me anymore, to put your best interests in priority. And you must, if we plan to survive this full assault.”

“Of course I trust you. The... worry’s been whether you trusted me. I have to be honest with you, Angel. I’ve... I’ve been scared to navigate our arrangement, so I’ve avoided it altogether. Even when I thought chems might help.” His pale face shimmered as his breathing got heavier, and his ears stuffed up the harder he focused on keeping his train of thought in utter earnest. “Day’s already been hell, even before the X-Squared wore off too fast. I don’t think I can get through this day without chems, Angel. I feel the only way we’re getting through this is with a fistful of Stimpaks and Calmex.”

“You and I have an agreement, Mister Carey. You’re asking me to administer chems, and you’re asking me politely, at that. You replaced my worn out Nanny attachments with those in better condition. Let’s try them out, shall we?”

“I. Yes, please.” He stared at it, fumbling and dumbstruck that the understood one another so immediately. “Perhaps, just a dose of Med-X for now. If you could. Please.”

He pulled his left arm from its sleeve, and rolled up the Vault Suit just enough to bare his antecubital fold to the robot. It complied with delicate precision and without hesitation. Once he’d smoothed his garment back down, he leaned his forehead against Angel’s chassis, and it held a tendril against his back.

“Where do you suppose Sticks has gotten off to?”

“He’s doing a once-over on the Riverhawk before we head out, Sir. I’ll take you to him, if you must. We’re wasting daylight, the longer we dally so.”

‘Choly nodded. He looked to Bones.

“You’re the two piloting machines.” She urged them on with a certain distance in her eyes, as though it all made sense.

He walked up to her, and held one of her shoulders. Then, he pressed his lips to hers. Her lurid intensity drew him in with all six arms as she pressed back, the two of them coaxed rather than repulsed by the effect on her activated flesh.

“We’re going to get through this in one piece,” ‘Choly told her with a crooked smile.

“Out of many, one,” she agreed, with an even more crooked smile.

‘Choly took up the Syringer rifle and attempted to mount Angel. He struggled to hoist himself up steady on the foot pegs, but managed much better once he wrapped a fist in the juryrigged chain-belt reins and leaned over the top of the Mister Handy. Once it had tared to his weight, it spirited him out of the workshop, around the Christian Hill Reservoir, and to Ick’s house.

“Oh, good.” Sticks only looked up long enough to confirm he’d heard and seen right. “You’re done speaking with Reese. And playing dress-up, apparently. --Don’t... take that as ignorance. I know Bones was played your quartermaster.”

‘Choly didn’t feel confident in his ability to get back up a second time, so he stayed mounted atop Angel. He shoved down a frown as the heaviness of the painkiller hit.

“Are you going to be all right, Jacob?”

“Can’t take the Ick outta Sticks.” An exhaustive silence transpired while Sticks stuck his head back in the passenger side window, fishing through things he and Felix had loaded up. “It’s good you’re up there. Should’ve stayed atop Angel. You’d have been safe up there.”

“Doesn’t matter what I should’ve done. Does it?” He murmured to himself in a vague lyric, trying to find the words. “No, it does matter. Of course it does. But we can’t stand around sorting out what that means. We have war ahead.”

“Best thing I’ve heard all day!” Felix hollered from the driver’s seat, slapping the wheel. “Guns blazing!”

“Straight shot down to Back Central,” Sticks agreed, hoisting himself up into the back of the truck, where his mounted Flamer awaited him. As he stood in place, he glanced to ‘Choly. “You, leading the charge, and us, heading up the back... It works out, to have had the extra ninety minutes before heading out. We’re more together than we would’ve been without it.”

“I’m glad to be favorable.”

Felix turned the engine over, and they made their way out to the entry point of Voire. Any Furriers who had not yet taken up a mask chose theirs from a pile, then joined their neighbors standing ready for their commanding officer. ‘Choly remembered that Reese had urged him to confirm himself as well, but he didn’t feel right taking one of their masks. He reached into Angel’s storage, and produced his burlap sack hood. It had always hidden his identity, but masks provided the Furriers theirs. With this freakish crew marching through Lowell clad in masks and bright colors, he couldn’t help but imagine them as mummers. What dragon might they slay today?

“Ghost,” he murmured, smoothing it down under his coat collar. “Burlap. Sack. Ghost.”

‘Choly waved them all on, to follow out of Voire. As Angel flew backwards, he watched the Riverhawk get further away from him. He resigned to requesting the aforementioned Calmex and Stimpak, which Angel administered to his throat. He stood resolute, riding standing-saddle. The sky darkened to the East behind them. They brought the night.

Night was longest in the winter. He couldn’t help but feel more the part of Kara-chun, than ‘Choly-ada. And it tickled an important part of him.

His mind played Sticks’s voice as he again faced the front.

You’re just a ghost, Mindy. Well, hell’s full ‘cause the Devils are all here. And they’re going to have to deal with us.

Go to Next »»»

[loftyexecutor]

somnium vidisse se dicat in extremis orbis terrarum - 1

Chapter; 1 Rating; T+ WC; 1772 TWs; medical things, needles Pairing; AddElsAin [transform] AU; modern/dreamsharing scifi Summary; Being the best in the industry had its perks. Herrscher's name was known far and wide, work offers coming in left and right, extort this, extort that. But that still didn't stop his boyfriend from getting too tangled up in one of his dreams and switching places with the shade in his head. The shade that he had offered to extort ages ago. Fuck, this is a mess. Notes; its 2020 and this year pushed me to do some things im not proud of. like another els fic. o7 the title loosely translates to ‘the dreamer at the edge of the world’. edgy~~ AO3 LINK

Opening his eyes after hours of being hooked up to an ADSSU always felt like coming up for a breath after diving. The cotton feeling at the back on his tongue and the pounding headache developing behind his eyes did nothing to make the process any easier, no matter how often he delved into the craft.

Waving off the help of the hired technician and physician, he thumbed off the adhesive connecting him to the vitals reading machine and pulled the needle of the IV out of his arm none too gently. He handed it off to the physician, palm up because he had manners, who proceeded to disconnect and throw it out, doing his job of sterilizing the unit for the next use.

By now, his arm looked like an avid drug user’s, and he felt like one as well, with the somnicin levels in his blood well over the recommended dose. Thankfully, that would fix itself within the next hour, and so would, he hoped, the headache.

Next to himself, he could see Herrsch giving the equipment and technicians similar treatment, rolling his shoulders. Herrsch looked over, giving him a smile. Asshole, he never dealt with headaches.

Dox, at one point, joked about him having nothing in that pretty head of his, back before they’d dreamed together. Oh, how wrong he had been, how vast the worlds in Herrsch’s head were.

The dreamer of their latest job was waking up as well, the only person in the room to let himself be treated and checked. 

Dox pulled out his phone from the pocket of his jeans, noting an absence in notifications, but a missed call.

“Immo called,” he mused, thumbing the lock screen away. “Gonna ring back.”

Herrsch gave a nod, eyes tracking him as he got up, shook off the drugs making him drowsy and made his way to the corner of the room to call. Instead, he focused on the dreamer, when all the equipment was removed and the man rubbed at his temples.

The man noticed him, offering a wobbly smile. Extraction jobs always left the subject the most rattled, though they helped in the long run. He couldn’t speak from his own experience, not like anyone has ever run an extraction on him. He wasn’t sure if it were possible at this point anymore.

A thing to ponder later. 

The low hum in the room ceased as the technician powered the ADSSU down, all screens of connected computers and machines fading to black and leaving the room in only the dim light from the overhead lamps.

He looked over to Dox just in time to see his face blanch, brows knitting themselves together like they never expected to be apart again. Herrsch’s followed suit. Not much could phase Dox to that degree.

“You’re fucking with me,” he forced out, barely above a whisper. “Please say you’re fucking with me.”

Whatever he heard obviously didn’t indicate Immo was fucking with him. Herrsch didn’t think he could get any paler with his complexion, but he was proved wrong when Dox turned the same shade as the wall behind him.

“I— We’ll be— We’ll get the earliest flight, fuck, okay. Don’t… don’t go to sleep.” Dox pulled the phone away from his ear to check the clock. “It’ll be like— three? Four? Hours. Fuck, don’t go to sleep. Please.” A pause. “There are Monsters in the pantry. I don’t care if you drink all of them, please just don’t go to sleep.” Another pause. “Yeah. Yeah.”

The call ended with Dox’s arm going slack, falling down to his side, Immo’s photo bright on the screen before it turned itself off. 

Before Herrsch could open his mouth, utter a single sound, Dox turned to him and pointed with his chin towards the door. Obediently, Herrsch nodded, standing from the dream chair and leading the way. He had to hold the door open for Dox, who couldn’t seem to stop shaking.

As soon as it was closed, he turned to him, hand in his hair, and raked his fingers through the long strands in an attempt to calm him. “What was that about?”

Dox opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, leaned into his touch, closed it again, and let out the shakiest breath Herrsch had heard outside of a panic attack. “Immo…” he whispered, barely audible. “He… He dreamed himself too deep and— somehow, he ended up switching places with Conwell.”

Panic seized Herrsch’s chest, squeezing until he felt he couldn’t breathe.

“So, that was…”

“Mm-hm.”

“Can you get us the earliest flight back?” 

Dox just nodded, already on it, tapping away at his phone with shaky fingers. Herrsch squeezed him against his side for one short moment before rushing back into the room to grab their bags.

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

Herrsch’s jeep screeched as they parked, tire tracks blooming on their driveway, and the engine wasn’t even fully off before Dox was wrestling with his seatbelt and jumping out of the car.

The front door opened to reveal Queen, with hair askew and a look of an old woman plastered on her youthful face. Just by looking, Dox knew— he knew it wasn’t a joke, wasn’t a ploy to get them to come early, but he had to— he had to check for himself.

Ducking under her arm was no problem even given their heights. He knew their house like the back of his hand, found Immo in the living room, sitting cross legged on the floor with an Xbox controller in his hand and some game on the screen. He was obviously losing, if his annoyed expression was any way of knowing, and even that blasted the alarm sirens in his brain. 

Immo was good at video games.

Empty energy drink cans littered the floor around him, ten, fifteen, twenty-six. Jesus Christ.

“H-hey,” he said, pulling Immo’s — Conwell’s — attention away from the screen. There were bags under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept in days instead of hours. 

“Thank goodness you’re here,” Immo’s mouth said, and Dox focused on that for some reason, the way his lips moved, the words they shaped, sounding for all the world like nothing Immo would ever say. 

Herrsch and Queen talked in the hallway, but he couldn’t make out about what, rooted to the spot. Tears welled in his eyes because — fuck! — he knew what it was like, getting tricked by a shade in a dream and not wake up for days. His legs didn’t feel like his as he crossed the carpet in the living room, offering Conwell one of his hands to pull him up. 

The smile he got as a reward bordered the uncanny valley. Conwell didn’t know how to move Immo’s body like Immo, instead looking like a passable double. For one single, terrifying instant, Dox was worried it was him that was stuck in a dream, one that was imminent for crumbling.

“C’mon,” he choked, refusing to let Conwell see him cry, “Let’s tuck you in.”

Dox lead Conwell downstairs, only stopping to tell Herrsch and Queen that they’d be in the lab, that he’d— keep Conwell stable until Herrsch figured out a way to do an extraction right. Just wake me up when you need me. I’ll keep the dream stable.

Herrsch nodded, his immaculately schooled features betraying all his worry and fears, if only to Dox. It wasn’t a good look on him.

The lab was dark, quiet save the ever-running ventilation keeping the basement breathable. Dox’s fingers found the lightswitch and he went through the motions of turning the ADSSU and all its equipment on, watching with blank eyes at the flat lines and numbers.

“Sit down,” he said, then added a soft, “please.”

Conwell obliged. Dox knew it wasn’t his fault. Logically, he knew Conwell didn’t like this either. He had already had his life, and becoming a dream shade attached to a memento Immo got his hands on and practically possessing the boy wasn’t for the purpose of stealing his body. It didn’t mean Dox wasn’t mad. It didn’t mean he wasn’t considering messaging the board of Dreamers to standardize checks on mementos.

Which is why he tried his hardest not to look at his face, the unnatural, fake smile on his boyfriend’s lips, as he held Conwell’s arm above the elbow. His hand shook, but as soon as he had opened a fresh needle and attached it to the drip of the IV, it stopped. 

He located the vein he knew by heart now, wiping the area with an alcohol wipe and puncturing the skin until he was sure the needle wouldn’t come loose. A strip of medical tape to hold it in place never hurt anyone, either.

He attached the vitals machine with similar detachedness, but didn’t let the IV drip just yet.

“Herrsch,” he called up the stairs, and it was only moments before he appeared, that knowing look on his face. He placed a hand on Dox’s cheek. He cradled it, because it couldn’t be called anything else, and led him to one of the other dream chairs. 

Conwell averted his eyes as Herrsch leaned down, placed a kiss on Dox’s forehead. It had been different to watch such interactions in dreams, through Immo’s eyes. Now he felt like nothing but a voyeur. 

The IV was attached to Dox’s arm for the second time that day, and so were the vitals, and Herrsch turned the IV on immediately, watching the somnicin make its way to Dox’s arm. He felt terrible about the dosage, but there was no way Dox was staying asleep if he didn’t up it.

Dox didn’t make a single comment on it, however, just looked at Herrsch with determination that screamed ‘I’ll do my best.’

Herrsch knew why Dox wanted to do this. Herrsch’s name held more power in the industry, and he was better at talking to people, if only marginally. Dox’s dreams weren’t stable, not most of the time, but in the first layer, it would be more than enough to hold them both for the few hours Herrsch had to think of something. 

Dox’s eyes fluttered closed and the vitals machine evened out as he fell asleep, the tenseness falling off his features momentarily. Herrsch moved to Conwell, turning his IV on as well.

“Don’t do anything shady,” Herrsch warned, looking straight into Conwell’s eyes.

Conwell laughed, voice Immo’s but not like Immo. He wasn’t so stupid to try anything, and even if neither Dox nor Herrsch believed it, he cared about Immo as well.

And he knew a threat when he heard one.

[drabbleitout]

The Last Line: Chapter Snippet & Character Introduction

(A little disclaimer: I’m introducing a near and dear character of mine, Gabi. I’ve done several rewrites trying to do this the proper way. I am open to suggestions or corrections if anyone has any, and I would love some feedback❣️ )

Taglist: @abalonetea​, @simplelinesunfashiond​, @idreamonpaper​, @starlitesymphony​, @for-fuchs-sake​ —please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed

By the time it stopped raining, they were already drenched.

Rune stood in the stable entrance, trying to shake some of the water from her cap. Becker finished putting his horse away, retrieving his short cape from the gate. The clouds brought an early dusk, sneaking up on the lamplighters who had yet to reach this part of the city. 

Better able to see in the dark, Becker took the lead.

Rune tried to imagine what it would be like to be him. Excluding a few of the men he commanded, everyone in the North seemed to hate him. By the way Lexikon spoke, it was safe to guess Central didn’t care for him either. There was only Møller and Fuchs.

The thought of a life spent hated by everyone made her shudder.

"Becker!" The cheer was pleasant, jolting them both. They turned towards the voice. Here more of the lamps were lit, giving the street a dim, orange glow. The public house was the only place with light in its windows. A large, wood and brick building that poured chatter into the streets. Someone hurried down its front steps, not an officer, not a man.

Rune's eyes widened at the woman who rushed down the road to meet them. Small, narrow, she held the skirt of her dress bunched in one hand to save it from the mud.

Becker merely tilted his head, pressing back a sleeve to glance at his wristwatch.

"Gabi? Isn't it late for you to be out?" This tone to his voice was new. It wasn't the sternness he used with his men. Rune almost dared to call it concern.

"I wanted to get a letter to Klaus before the post closed." She clutched an envelope to the lace embellished front of her dress. There was hardly any color to her complexion or long hair, standing shoulder high to Rune, with a voice that was soft and soothing. "Walram, I'm alright," her porcelain face wrinkled as he wrapped his short cape around her narrow frame.

"You catch ill every winter. You should know better, just as well that I could get a letter to Fuchs faster than the couriers."

"Oh, this isn't martial related." Gabi held the cloak together, like a child wearing something oversized that belonged to a parent. She stood out like moonlight against the darkness of the uniform standard. It didn't suit her. Becker held out a hand and, with a sheepish smile, she surrendered the letter.

"It doesn't matter what it's for."

"I don't want to get you in trouble, dear. There's no rush." A gentle pat to his arm turned her attention to Rune. That's when she saw Gabi's eyes. They were the only thing about her that held hue, a frail pinkness of her irises. She reminded Rune of rabbits she had seen before, or a summer's sunrise. Pastel. Soft. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude. I interrupted."

"N-not at all." Rune glanced at Becker.

"I don't think we've met just yet. If you're walking around with this brute, you must be Officer Vitale." Gabi's smile was just as welcoming, something so kind and warm it almost brought tears to Rune's eyes. "I'm glad to finally meet you, dear. My name is Gabi, I run and own the public house."

"Gabi is also a teacher," Becker added. "She is a Bijou, a professional artist who specializes in boosting morale and entertaining."

"I'm sure you understand, when we lost the last woman, well, the men were devastated. So, other ladies got together and started the art of morale. I'm retired now, and have the public house."

"That's wonderful," Rune couldn't help but return Gabi's smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Gabi."

"A very polite assistant you have, Walram." Gabi looked up at Becker.

"Gabi."

"What's wrong with saying that? He is! Not like Rask's assistant, no. That cad –oh, what's his name?" She patted at his arm.

"Del Mar."

"That's him!" Gabi shook her head, hooking an arm about his and scowled. "Walram, your damp. What on earth have you been doing?" He only grumbled an answer. As absent as the rage came on, it faded, fragile as her attention turned back to Rune. "But you're nothing like him, Officer Vitale."

"Rune is fine." She laughed, embarrassed by how official the title sounded.

"Rune? No wonder you're so kind, what a kind name. I wanted to give Walram a kind name, something like Onésime, but he wouldn't have it." She rubbed his arm.

"I already have a name." Becker tucked the letter into his blazer, leading them on down the road. Gabi kept close to him, arm in arm, constantly turning to Rune to keep her walking with them.

"What a tiny thing he was, coming into Königsberg with hardly any meat on him. You should have seen, Rune." Gabi took instantly to her name, reaching out to rest a hand on her arm as if they had all known one another for years. "He was only to my knee, as big around as my wrist, and scared of anything that moved. We were afraid he would always be so shy. It was years before he spoke to anyone besides Fuchs."

"Really?" Rune grinned at Becker's eye roll.

"Oh yes. He wouldn't stop once he started, however. He talked about any and everything, especially books. Fuchs never liked to read –still doesn't, but Becker could read a book and summarize it for him." She laughed, "I'm sure that's how Klaus passed his Gedriht exam."

"Glad someone noticed," Becker grumbled.

"Oh, now. Neither of you would be the same without the other. Klaus has done his fair share of—" She went quiet, something sharp coming across her face.

Vitale looked ahead, all of them stopping. Fewer lanterns were lit here, the next nearly a block away. In between stood a shadowed figure, a man. At this distance she couldn't make out anymore than that. Gabi leaned away from her and into Becker, both arms wrapping about his.

"Earl of Löwen," the deep voice was accompanied by the scrape of a blade torn from its sheath. "I'm Fryd Glasten, of the Northeastern Raiders, infantry of Earl Rask." Becker moved forwards to place himself between them and Glasten. "Under Anglian law, I have the right to challenge you for the rank of Earl."

"Vitale, take Gabi down this alley."

"I'm staying right here." Gabi announced, clutching the cape and stomping a heel to make her point. "Foolish boys don't scare me!" But Rune wasn't so sure. She and Becker had taken the horses after leaving the office, unlike Glasten, Becker wasn't armed.

What Anglian law wouldn't require due process? Witnesses? Is it really gain by taking?

The shadow of Glasten darted forwards, slender blade catching lamplight like lightening. Becker took off to meet him.

Vitale did as she was told, taking Gabi by the arm and hurrying for the nearest alley. Metal met metal with a ring, once and again. Gabi clutched at her, pressed close, jumping with every clash. From the corner they watched, peering into the night trying to see. Every so often reflections of light sparked. There was the shuffle of boots and snarling grunts. The rest could only be assumed.

"Oh please, no." Gabi whispered, over and over.

Rune thought of the Danube, when Becker appeared in the river. How his blade twirled, sailing through flesh as if it were thin air. Fluid motions and fast strikes. Effortless. And then she remembered the Brogaldan, a shadow clawing down the bank, tearing Avits from their boat, drowning his scream.

A yell blared. They held one another, breath held, hands shaking.

"Y-you broke my swiving arm!" Glasten growled. They both sighed.

"You're lucky to have your life, in my opinion." Becker argued, a blunt beating coming from the dark. "Out of my sight. Now!" They waited, listening and leaned together as drumming steps faded into the distance.

Becker cursed and Gabi scurried out to meet him.

"Walram, are you alright…? You're hurt."

"I'm fine."

Rune followed her, tripping on something. Untangling it from her feet, she discovered it was Becker's blazer. Scooping it up, she checked for the letter, and hurried over to them. Gabi worried over his side, whispering something about a scratch. "It isn't deep," he protested, pushing away the cape as she tried passing it back, "no, keep that before you catch cold."

There was a blade in his hand. An arming sword, just larger than a dagger. It was the first time she remembered seeing it, unsure where it came from. Not only that, but there was a clear lack of blood on it. Gabi continued to worry, shifting in the way as he tried twisting to sheath it behind him.

"Gabi, give me a moment." Still not harsh.

"You're bleeding!"

"Here, sir." Rune took the hilt, surprised how heavy it was. Surrendering it over, he focused instead on calming Gabi. Rune found the sheath strapped to the back of his belt, secured by a snap. Cradling it into the sheath she was even more confused to find it dull. Not from ware, but as if it had never been sharpened.

"You see? It's stopped bleeding." Becker explained, turning to prove to Gabi. Blood soaked through his white shirt, spreading all along his side. It was a lot of blood.

"You see, even he thinks its bad." Gabi whined, pointing at her. "Let me take you to the infirmary."

"No," Becker snatched his blazer back. "It will be fine. You shouldn't be as stubborn as Fuchs, you could get hurt."

"You're one to talk!" Gabi snapped, stabbing a finger into his shoulder. Rune took a step back, wide eyed at Gabi's nerve. "Stubborn enough to fight in the street, getting yourself hurt, acting as if you're invincible!" Becker strung his arms into his blazer, flaps perfectly concealing the arming sword.

Do all Earls carry hidden blades?

"I know you're a seasoned commander now, Becker, but I raised you better."

"Yes, ma'am." He sighed, shoulders slumping. "I have bandages at home. I can tend to it there."

"All you men are turning into animals. Fighting in the streets? Let me have a word with the Grandmaster! Things used to make sense, there used to be an air of dignity. This is Königsberg –the seat of the Althing for God's sake! I'm tired of all this fighting, Walram. Tired of it." Gabi gave a sharp huff, crossing her arms.

Becker replaced the cape across her shoulders, buttoning the braided neck to keep it there. "It's late, Gabi."

"I know it." She kissed her teeth, lacing her arm back around Becker's. After a thought, she wheeled around to Vitale, "you'll take care of him, won't you? See to it he's bandaged?"

"Yes, ma'am." Rune nodded, able to see where Becker got his intensity.

"Good," she sighed again, quickly calming down. "I like this one, Walram. A lot. He makes me worry less about you." Becker chuckled, a warm sound causing Rune to look up. He nodded them along. Their walk remained relaxed but she couldn't help but eye the shadows.

They moved south to the Green district, walking Gabi to the front door of her home. It was twice the size of Becker's, all one level, with a small rock garden in the front. Gabi unlocked the door and turned. "Take care going home, won't you?"

"We'll be fine." Becker assured.  She came down a step, close enough to lean down and kiss him on the cheek. Returning the cape, she turned to Rune.

"And take care of Vitale," she smiled, "He's a keeper." She blushed as Gabi kissed her cheek as well. "Good night, you two. Be careful. Go straight home."

"Yes, ma'am." She nodded.

"Goodnight, Gabi."

"Goodnight, Ms. Gabi." Rune echoed. She went inside and shut the door.

They stood there a moment longer, Becker folding the cape over an arm.

"That's why you sleep with a gun, isn't it?" Rune whispered, "They want your rank." Becker considered it, drawing in a deep breath to release a hum of an agreement. He waved her on to start back home. "I didn't realize you had a blade on you."

"Which is the point." There was a smile, loosening her worry.

"But why is it blunt?"

"They come for my life but we can't afford to lose more soldiers. The Brogalda do enough of that, I won't add to it."

[canid-slashclaw]

The Outliers - A Guildwars Love Story

(Contains trigger warnings: alcohol usage, sexual assault)

Chapter 2

Cruel, green eyes gazed deeply into Amalthia's amber-gold orbs as she struggled to break free of her leader's grasp.  The heavy breathing emanating from his nostrils rose and fell as his body shook with a rhythmic guttural, purring sound.   "Go ahead and scream little kitten.  Nobody will hear you.  In fact, nobody will even care."

Rodin Talonrend and Amalthia Rendfoe were the last surviving members of the Rend warband.  During a routine patrol on the Plains of Ashford, Flame Legion snipers ambushed their warband.  Out of the six members, only three made it out alive.  One of the survivors was also severely injured.  

Since Rodin elected to scout on ahead, Amalthia was given the task of tending to her wounded bandmate.  Their brief respite was shattered when a squad of Flame Legion soldiers spotted them.  Amalthia struggled to convey her injured comrade to safety.  But due to her somewhat diminutive size - at least by charr standards - she found the task more of a struggle than she had imagined.  Rodin returned only to see his remaining bandmate about to be shredded by the enemy. With his last gasp of breath, Dorvak Rendfear told Amalthia to leave him and to save herself.  Try as she might, she was unable to heave his heavy body upon her back.  She simply lacked the physical strength to do so.  Although Rodin managed to lay down some covering fire to help Amalthia escape, he never forgave her for her physical weakness and took every opportunity to remind her of that fact.  

"Damn you!  One of these days when you forget to tie me up properly, I will exploit that chance then I'll slice off your vitals with my fungal-infected claws!"

*** Amalthia awoke, her body shaking from the aftereffects of the nightmare.  She breathed heavily in attempt to evaporate the sweat that was pouring off her tongue.   Next time, I will go easy on the mead before downing a whole side of steak, she thought to herself.

"Amalthia!" Came the deep bellowing voice of her sire, Ludrick Crushblow, from downstairs.  "Is everything alright?" "Everything's peachy keen, sire.  Just having a rape fantasy, that's all," she said laconically as she loped on all fours onto the floor then began a series of stretches.  

"What did you just say?"  She could hear his voice echo through her upstairs room.

"The loud boom booms from the wars you fought in must have dampened all four of your ears.  I said that I had a fungal-infected dream, that's all." Ludrick facepalmed knowing full well what she had initially said.  "If everything is good then get down here.  I need some help carrying those beef sides to the chopping block." "I'll be down there in a frizzen flash." Amaltia's father was confined to walking on a cane thanks, in no small part, to an Ebonblade soldier's hammer sundering his right foot some twenty-five years ago.  The wound never fully healed but he managed to do his best to remain independent.  At least that was until Amalthia wound up knocking on the door of his flourishing butcher shop when she told him that she was exiled from her warband.  Since she was his only surviving cub, he simply did not have the heart to turn her away.  

Over the course of the next three years, she became his valuable assistant in running the day-to-day operations of his marketplace.  She helped him expand his shop to include a section that was filled with all sorts of exotic herbs and spices from all over Tyria.  The only things she asked in return was a workbench so she could hone her engineering skills (as she was part of Iron Legion) and a firing range in the back yard.   She helped her father unhook the massive sides of beef as they both laid them out in staggered rows across the thick oak chopping table.  Once the pieces had been arranged, Amalthia lit the boiler then opened the pressure relief valves.  As the pressure began to build, a shrill grinding sound began emanating between the deep grooves in the table.   With the pull of a lever, a massive saw blade rose between the oaken blocks.  Ludrick nodded to his daughter as they began to slide the first slab over the spinning teeth.   "That's twenty sides in five days.  Not a bad haul if I do say so myself," her father said with glee.   "Since the treaty, business has been booming.  Who would have thought we would be supplying both charr and human? Oh the irony of peace," Amalthia chuckled as she helped her father pull along the next side into the blade.   "Peace? It's just damn good business, that's all.  Even before the treaty, everyone could see that things were winding down.   That's why I set up shop in Triskell Quay.  People here are a little more tolerant of our kind, plus we still have the ports to ship our products to all regions of Kryta and Ascelon." "I still keep wondering if any of the humans around here have caught onto our little not-so-tightly-kept secret.  I mean this place ships five-times as much meat products in one-third the time.  And how did we lose Ascelon, again?" Amalthia quipped. "Um, Foefire."  Ludrick laughed.   His daughter chuckled as she began quartering a flank into smaller portions using the saw. "Magic and religion are crutches for idiots.  Acetylene and alloy brings home the gold any day of the week." Both father and daughter then hurled the severed chunks into various sized bins each according to cut and quality.  Amalthia swapped out the large-toothed saw blade for a fine-toothed one then proceeded to make the various bone-in cuts of meat.   "Heh!  Your dam would probably get a kick out of you saying that.  Hell, she might even crack a smile for once." "Her face would shatter into a thousand tiny bits if it did.  I don't think that bitch has a happy bone in her body." "Amalthia!  You should not speak about your mother, I mean dam, like that!"  Ludrick chided. "Human vernacular has started to rub off on you, hasn't it father. Ha!  Couldn't resist that one!"  Amalthia said with a smile that ended in an upraised curl to her lips that prominently displayed her large upper canines.

Ludrick's ears lowered.  "When you have mice bringing in their squealing piglets all the time asking 'mommy can I have this' and 'daddy can I have that' it kind of rubs off on ya.  Anyway, calling someone a 'bitch' is just wrong." Amalthia pursed her lips then raised a clawed finger to her mouth.  "Ah.  I see.  So calling my dam a bitch, even though she is a bitch, is just plain wrong.  Yup.  No more calling that bitch, a bitch.  Got it!"   "Now you're just being obnoxious.  Have you been drinking again?"  Her father chuffed. "Well, perhaps just a little swig or two.  Oh.  I can be a bitch if you want.  Even your bitch." Her father planted his leather-padded hand over his face.  "Ugh!  Do you even have any idea just how wrong that sounds?  I think you need to study up more on human colloquialisms.  That mouth of yours is going to doom us both." "Funny thing.  My primus said almost exactly the same thing.  He said that I was the only cub in the fahrar who had a chronic case of north-end diarrhea because I was always running off at the mouth.  Hence my nickname, Amouthia." "Shut up and cut the damn meat, cub!" Amalthia began to slowly and silently spell out the word that had become a bone of contention in their conversation.   Her father let out a deep growl.  "I'm not playing this game anymore.  You're just a bored cub with no direction in your future.  I'm done for today! Sort the product and clean up this mess when you're done.  Dammit! I'm getting a drink." Ludrick plunged his knife into a strip steak he was cutting then stomped off without saying anything further.   For her part, Amalthia simply stood in the corner and sighed.  

I hate myself for being in love with myself sometimes, she thought as she began to make short work of the remaining cuts of meat. Gah! People take things way too seriously.  I wish they would understand that it is just my own way of communicating with them... my own way of dealing with... Amalthia removed her butcher's smock, threw it to the far end of the cutting room then sank down onto the floor as rivulets of tears began to well up in her amber eyes.  She knew that the sun would be setting soon and there would be an extra liter of mead stored in the cooler waiting just for her.  

[thestupidhelmet]

I actually think most people who say Donna and Eric have a toxic relationship are right. While Donna usually owned up to her wrongs there were times that Eric should have bailed. When she ruins his joke about the camp counselor, constantly reminding him no Star Wars jokes, her break up with Casey and then basically saying let’s forget everything and get back together. So what Eric being consistent and committed wasn’t good but when Casey flaked on you suddenly you like Eric’s consistency ?

2/3 I’m not anti Eric and Donna I just don’t like them together. They have some good moments and good qualities to build on but her constant well I don’t know what my future holds is really offputting especially to Eric who loved her so deeply.     

3/3 Donna also knew Eric was upset about the break up and assumed she was still allowed in his basement. Just because they used to be friends doesn’t mean they are anymore. He had every right to say get out you can’t be here. When she brought Casey to the foreman’s that was also a low blow. While she was in turmoil due to her parents that doesn’t negate her treatment of Eric and rubbing his nose in her new relationship. I like Donna just not with Eric.            

It all boils down to interpretation. People can reasonably disagree.

I refer to In Defense of Donna (an essay in eight parts). In that essay, I discuss many moments where – according to the standards you’ve written about here – Donna should’ve bailed on Eric but didn’t.

In season 3, Donna keeps trying to assert her independence. Eric is threatened by this and acts controlling because of it. Granted, her treatment of Eric in “Backstage Pass” (3x24) is unacceptable. But it also stems from months of him trying to limit her life to their relationship. Unlike him, she has passions and dreams for herself that exist outside of him. He should have the same outside of her but doesn’t. That’s not her responsibility, and she shouldn’t have to limit herself or her life because he’s limited in his thinking.

By “The Promise Ring” (3x25), Eric’s insecurity reaches its apex. He tries to lock Donna down, not for her sake or their relationship but for himself. So he doesn’t have to face and work through his fear of losing her, but it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

her constant well I don’t know what my future holds is really offputting especially to Eric who loved her so deeply.       

Just because Eric loves her “so deeply” doesn’t mean Donna shouldn’t pursue her dreams, those that include him and those that don’t. She’s only seventeen. She’s allowed not to know what the future holds. Hell, that’s healthy and realistic. Eric wants guarantees that Donna and, quite frankly, no one can give him. Even if she were to put her career and travel aspirations aside happily, a meteor could drop from the sky and kill her. Then Eric would lose her anyway.

So what Eric being consistent and committed wasn’t good but when Casey flaked on you suddenly you like Eric’s consistency ?            

Donna’s mindset in that moment must be taken in the context of all of season 4. She loses Eric, the boy she loves, and her mother around the same time. Her sense of stability is chucked out the window. The fact she jumps into – for her – a committed relationship about six months (Point Place Time™ is strange, so let’s just go with it) after her breakup with Eric indicates her need for that stability overwhelms her need to explore casual relationships or no none at all. 

That being said, Casey isn’t around all that much. He’s also not controlling. He’s off being so independent himself that Donna gets to pursue whatever non-relationship goals she has without fear he won’t approve.

Also vitally important to remember: she’s still in love with Eric during season 4. She just doesn’t know how to be with him while also having her freedom. His extreme insecurity put her in an impossible situation. He also starts pursuing other romantic options. So she dates Casey in an attempt to distract herself from her grief about Eric and her mom.

When Casey shows his attachment to Donna is almost nil and ends their relationship, it’s a moment of clarity for her. She’s shocked out of her denial, which she’s understandably in throughout season 4. The emotional pressure on her in that season is incredible. She has to support her dad as he grieves the end of his marriage, and she doesn’t get the same support from him. She can’t get consistent support from Eric, who was her rock during seasons 1-3, since they broke up. Kitty gives her a safe emotional place for a little while, but Eric’s insecurity derails that. Hyde gives her support when she lets him, and Jackie is a good friend to her. But, in the balance, Donna is quite alone.

She also has to deal with her dad dating another woman, and the dynamic of her social group being destabilized because of her breakup with Eric. These are two more losses for her to grieve. It’s a lot for anyone to handle, let alone a teenager.

So when she loses Casey, whom she’d projected a lot onto – including a non-existent stability – she wakes up. She realizes just how much her relationship with Eric gave her in the balance, and she’s willing to work through their issues so they can be together. She’s human. She’s allowed to make mistakes. So is Eric, who’s made so many throughout their relationship, and earned forgiveness.

I’m not saying Eric isn’t right to be upset or suspicious of Donna’s motives. But she deserves the chance to explain herself and all the turmoil she’s been through. She still shouldn’t have to limit herself or her goals because of a relationship, but – unfortunately – the writers never let her and Eric deal with this conflict between them.

Donna also knew Eric was upset about the break up and assumed she was still allowed in his basement. Just because they used to be friends doesn’t mean they are anymore. He had every right to say get out you can’t be here. 

Donna and Eric have been friends since they were at least four-years-old. Donna, Hyde, and Kelso have been friends for almost as long. Jackie and Fez are Donna’s friends, too, and Eric’s basement is where all of them hang out. Yes, Eric has the right to ban Donna from the basement. But her expectation that she’s still welcome is also reasonable.

This is a tough situation for both of them, but she’s in worse position than he is (in all ways, honestly). He still gets the benefit of their social group since his basement is its gathering place. But as she says in “Pinciotti vs. Forman” (4x03): “[Eric] doesn’t, like, get my friends ‘cause he has some stupid, crappy basement.” Why should her friendships with Hyde, Kelso, Fez, and Jackie end because of the breakup? It shouldn’t, so she understandably does what she can to establish a new gathering place.

When she brought Casey to the foreman’s that was also a low blow. While she was in turmoil due to her parents that doesn’t negate her treatment of Eric and rubbing his nose in her new relationship. 

Donna acts out passive-aggressively toward Eric in season 4 and uses her relationship with Casey to do most of it. She’s furious that Eric’s need to control her ended their relationship. This doesn’t excuse her behavior, but Eric acts passive-aggressively toward her, too. “Uncomfortable Ball Stuff” (4x07) and “Donna’s Story” (4x08) depict prime examples of this.

Donna and Eric’s relationship isn’t toxic. Eric’s insecurity is – about her independence, her athletic ability, her intelligence, her unwillingness to fill sexist expectations (e.g., she gives up having a career to stay at home and rear her and Eric’s children). Once they break up, Eric and Donna both behave negatively toward each other. Neither is innocent. Neither’s offenses are so horrible that they’re beyond forgiveness.

Eric and Donna are consistently shown to be great at working through their issues, misunderstandings, mistakes, arguments, etc. They do this a lot during seasons 1-3 (save toward the end of season 3). That’s the mark of a healthy relationship. But people aren’t perfect; therefore, relationships won’t be either.

[readyplayerhobi]

Starfire | 03

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Sci-fi, Angst, fluff, eventual smut

; Word Count: 8.7k

; Synopsis: The schism that broke the galaxy began, as it usually does, over a disagreement. The resultant civil war has raged for hundreds of years. When a ragtag group of travellers discovers something that could turn the tide of war, for good or for worse, the bonds of friendship and love will be tested.

Previous Chapter ; Next Chapter

; A/N: For the probably 10 people who have been looking forward to this, I hope you enjoy it! For any newbies...I hope you enjoy it too. Still so easy and fun to write!

-

Silence takes over the bridge as everyone suddenly stares at Jungkook, his brown eyes widening in panic as he points a shaky finger to himself. “No, no you’re wrong. I’m just...I’m just Jungkook.” The space between his brows suddenly creases and your stomach turns slightly at how lifelike that looks. “Right? I’m human...you said I was human?”

He’s turning his wrists over now, staring at the golden skin that has a pale tone to it under the harsh ship lights. His fingers flex slowly and everyone watches as tendons move beneath his skin, veins bulging and prominent.

“Jisoo...are you sure?” Yoongi asks, running a lazy eye over the young man. Just as Jisoo opens her mouth, darker pink lips surrounded by smooth hot pink skin, Jimin suddenly moves in a burst of speed that has you blinking.

The black clad man moves with all the speed a Mutanis has been graced with, and yet he’s pulled to a stop when Jungkook’s hand is suddenly grabbing onto his arm tightly. Jimin’s eyes widen ever so slightly before his plush lips turn up in an amused smirk.

Even from here, you can see the way that Jimin’s biceps bulge slightly as he pushes with far more strength than a human is capable of. Yet Jungkook doesn’t move an inch, his arms not even quivering under the effort.

Relenting, Jimin pulls his arms back and twirls the silver blade in his fingers slowly. The same knife that had been in his arm and you presume, aimed at some non-vital part of Jungkook. Letting out a low chuckle that has the hair on your arms raising, Jimin slowly strides back to his previous spot and leans back against the wall.

“Oh he’s not human. Not one of you could have seen me and responded that quickly. Nor are any of you strong enough to stop me. Humans in particular are not equipped to go up against a Mutanis. Him?” He points at Jungkook with the sharp end of his blade. “I wasn’t getting through to him, no way. He’s not human.”

The soft hum of the engine and quiet beeping of the monitors is all that can be heard for a few moments as everyone takes this in. A shudder through Hoseok’s body has you looking back down at him though, taking in the slack jaw and small amount of bubbling saliva that has begun to spill out of his mouth.

Immediately you’re frustrated and annoyed, the medical scanner in your hands reporting that he’s suffering a high heart rate along with unbelievable blood pressure. Rooting through the medical bag, you pull out the only thing that can help him. Turning on the device, it connects to the scanner and you watch as it immediately starts to generate the chemical solution that will help Hoseok best.

Once the red light turns green, you press the device to the artery on his neck and wait a few seconds until the injector has released the contents and allows you to remove it. Almost immediately the scanner reports his heart rate slowing down but there’s a whole host of things it’s telling you that you don’t understand.

Despair crawls up your throat as you desperately wish the Starfire had a top of the range medical bed. They were far out of the budget of this tiny runner, but one of those would be able to monitor him and continuously inject the necessary medication when needed.

“Can we figure out whether or not Jungkook is an android or an AI or a what-the-fuck-ever later please? Hoseok is...Hoseok...I need to…” You’re not entirely sure what you’re trying to say but you give up, letting the tears close up your throat as you run your fingers through his soft black hair.

A gentle hand on your shoulder distracts you from the negative thought spiral you’d been sinking down and you blink up between tears to see Rose kneeling next to you. Her lustrous skin shimmers in soft pinks and blues as her hair and eyes practically glowed a pastel purple. Worry.

Namjoon shakes his head suddenly, breaking himself out of the stupor he’d been in and strides over to you, crouching down and resting a hand on Hoseok’s forehead. “Yeah, yeah of course. What’s his vitals?” Your captain asks, dragging his eyes away from Jungkook to pick up the scanner and read the output.

“I...I don’t know. He’s not convulsing anymore but he...I don’t think he’s okay.” The words whisper out of you, trembling slightly as your throat tightens with emotion. There’s no smart ass words from you now, not when your stomach is sick with fear for the man you love.

Nodding, Namjoon gestures towards Jimin. “Can you take him to his room?” There’s a moment where Jimin pauses, mouth opening to probably complain about being treated like a labourer but his eyes flicker down to Hoseok’s prone position and he simply nods.

Walking over, the Mutanis slides his arms underneath Hoseok and lifts with ease. It’s when Jimin does things like this that make you realise just how strong he really is, as not a hint of strain shows on his statuesque features.

As you go to open the door lock for Jimin, Namjoon’s hand catches your arm and tugs you to a brief stop. A crease on his brow let’s you see the stress and tension he’s holding and his mouth flattens out briefly. “I know you’re hurting, but I need my XO here. Get him settled, Rose can keep watch over him for you,” He glances over at Rose who nods, skin glittering at the movement. “This is big and I need you. I know he needs you too, but I need you to do your job.”

A big part of you wants to tell him to fuck off, that Hoseok deserves your care and attention given he’d just almost died for you all, but the logical side of your brain that got you the XO position in the first place kicks in. He’s right, whatever this situation you’ve all blindly walked into is huge and you can’t let Namjoon try and solve it himself.

Swallowing thickly and licking your lips briefly, you nod to him before unlocking the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Get everyone into the break room and we’ll...figure this shit out. This heaping, pile of ‘I’m-really-not-qualified-for-galactic-war’ shit.” You sigh heavily. The small moment of brevity causes Namjoon’s lips to twist up into what could almost be described as a smile.

“You and me both.” He mutters, letting go of your arm and waving you off.

-

Jimin has already left the bridge, striding through the narrow corridors of the Starfire towards Hoseok’s small living quarters. While the ship could hold a full crew of 15, it got a little crowded with that many people in it. There was enough space for everyone, but the larger living spaces were reserved for the captain and XO.

Jin and Jisoo had done some DIY engineering to combine their bedrooms together, removing a non-supporting wall to create a space twice as big to cope with them both. But everyone else had the bog standard quarters, Hoseok included.

Rose’s soft, warm fingers grasp yours momentarily as she squeezes in reassurance, giving you a gentle smile while her hair and eyes ripple with yellow for a moment. You give her a tremulous smile in response and take a deep, fortifying breath as you step up to Hoseok’s door.

Each quarters are locked with either a handprint or a unique code, depending on what the occupant chose. You, Namjoon and Yoongi were the only ones who had master keys that would override every lock on the Starfire when needed, but you had no need to use that for Hoseok.

He’d told you what his code was long ago, and as you enter in the numbers of the day you reunited on Taurii Station over 5 years ago you have to blink rapidly to try and rid yourself of the tears. The soft snort of disbelief lets you know Jimin’s seen the code and you look at him with a glare.

If he could, you have no doubt that he’d be holding his hands up to ward off any words from you but he can’t stop the sardonic smile that creeps out. “You two are sickening, you know that?” He grumbles, heading through the door and resting Hoseok on his small, single sized bed. There’s a moment of quiet as Jimin stays crouched before he places a hand on the Magi’s prone arm.

“He did good you know? Really good. We all owe him something I don’t think we can ever repay.” The kind words from someone who so rarely engages in emotional behaviour has you hiccuping on a sob that you desperately try to keep in, a trembling hand reaching forward to push through Hoseok’s thick, dark hair.

“He did. He did so well, but I want him back.” You can’t help the emotional whisper, Rose’s arms wrapping around you from behind as she presses herself against your back. There’s a moment of indecision before Jimin’s hand is rubbing your shoulder quietly and if you were in a better mental place then you’d be immediately teasing him for his slip of emotion.

“You should go, Namjoon will only wait so long.” Rose says faintly, her beautifully lyrical voice echoing with that odd sense of magnitude that you could never fully describe. You look up at her and nod slowly, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to Hoseok’s now pale forehead.

As you leave him in Rose’s capable hands, Jimin stops at the door and looks firmly at you. Eyes that have probably watched hundreds die with detached emotion stare into your own and you shudder slightly at the coldness there, but the blue he’s chosen for now soon warms slightly.

“He’ll be okay.” Is all he says and you frown slightly, pushing past the assassin into the brighter corridor. As if sensing your confusion as to why he sounds so certain, he tugs you to a stop and you’re about to snap at him.

Why does everyone suddenly seem to think you’re a doll that can be tugged and pulled around everywhere?! “He’ll be okay because he’s fighting for you. And if there’s one thing I’ve learnt about Hoseok over the years, it’s that he’ll do anything for you. So, just wait. He’ll come back. Not for us, but for you.”

At that, he stalks away to leave you staring at his toned back that shifts under the black of his skin tight top. Sometimes you can never figure the Mutanis out. His emotional disconnect is understandable, given he has been trained to kill without a second thought. But then he also seems to be one of the most emotionally perceptive people you’ve seen.

Shaking your head, you close your eyes and inhale slowly, holding it in before letting it out just as slow. The coping mechanism is something that had been taught at flight school on Alpha Prime. A pilot who panicked during a battle was one who would quickly find themselves killed.

Finally centering yourself and feeling, if not okay, at least calmer than you were, you straighten your shoulders and head towards the break room. Everyone is already there, sat around the table while Jimin leans against the wall broodily.

Jungkook is standing on the other side and the only way you can describe his body movements is that he is cowering from everyone’s curious, confused and slightly frightened gazes. You take the moment to run your eyes over him, noting that someone has provided him with a plain white shirt and some grey sweatpants.

It doesn’t take much to notice that Jungkook is built a little more than any of the guys on the ship, with his shirt clinging to incredibly toned torso. His hunched shoulders can’t cover up the broadness that you can see and if you only looked at him from the neck down then you’d presume him to be a mid-20s human male in the prime of his life. Each shift of his arms causes what look like tendons to shift under his tanned skin.

His face though - it sends a shiver down your spine at the thought of what TAS is capable of creating if this what they can produce now. Jungkook has the face of a sweet young man; cheeks soft and supple with plump, pink lips that glisten as he nervously licks at them. His eyes are beautiful and completely non-threatening; big and wide with innocent naivety.

“Heka, no one would ever see him coming.” You don’t realise that you’ve spoken aloud until everyone is suddenly looking at you in silence before their eyes drag back to the man, or android, in question.

“No, they wouldn’t. Which makes him very dangerous. I’d have suspected nothing.” Jimin states flatly, voice almost devoid of any emotion as he continuously scans over the android as if to try and find a weakness.

“He smells like a human too, and he’s secreting sweat that smells of his unique pheromones. It’s fascinating really, how they’ve managed to do this.” It’s Yoongi who speaks up then, his sensitive senses picking up things that none of you would have even considered. It makes everyone look at him warily.

Namjoon sits at the table and rubs at his forehead wearily. “What do you remember before this Jungkook?” He asks quietly and you head over to him, hand moving to rub at his neck to try and relieve some of his stress. A soft noise of acknowledgement is the only sign he gives of thanks to you.

Jungkook eyes widen even further and you get the distinct sense that if he could, he would run away right now. Where he’d run to is beyond you, but he doesn’t seem like the fighting kind of person. His mouth opens and closes a few times, stuttering over his words before he finally speaks clearly. “N-n-nothing. I just...it’s like my life started when you woke me up.”

Looking him over again, you rub at your own temples and let out a deep sigh. Jisoo lets out a quiet laugh as she looks up from the datapad both she and her husband are hunched over. “That’s probably because that’s all he can remember. Given what you guys saw in that research station, I wouldn’t be surprised if they wiped him clean before putting him into a sleep mode.”

You frown at that and open your mouth to question it before Jimin cuts in again. “Makes sense. UIS wants to destroy him, but you can bet if they could get some information from him first then they would.” Honestly, sometimes you wonder why you’re the XO and not Jimin. He may be a smart ass but...well you have to be smart to be one of those and he sure does make you feel stupid sometimes.

Shaking your head, you rid the negative thoughts. It’s not that he’s intelligent, though it is partially, but also because he’s been trained since birth practically in the ways of subterfuge and corporate espionage. If anything, Jimin is probably the one who will have the best idea of what the fuck is going on right now.

“Well...we can’t destroy him. You heard that UIS General, they’ll be after us even if we get rid of him. And TAS...they knew. They knew damn well what they were sending us into.” Namjoon’s fist clenches and you have no doubt that you’d see his biceps flexing if he weren’t wearing his jacket.

Patting his shoulder, you try to lighten the mood a little. “No sweat Cap...but next time we, firstly, listen to me when I say it sounds funky. And secondly...we take no more freaking contracts from your contact, cos I gotta say boss man...this has been the worst contract ever. Hands down.”

Taehyung gives a slightly high pitched giggle, odd considering his natural deep voice. “Yeah, that’d be great. I’d really love not witnessing my own death multiple times again.” He nods and you realise his eyes are just a little wild right now, his starry eyes flickering constantly in a sign of stress.

You head over to him and run a hand through his thick, glittering hair to soothe him slightly. In the heat of the moment, it was easy to forget that Taehyung probably witnessed every way that the battle could have gone wrong. Which is a large thing to expect of your primary pilot.

Feeling him shudder beneath you, you crouch down next to him and rest a hand on his clothed thigh. “You okay?” You ask softly, aware of everyone watching the moment. The Cognizar swallows before exhaling slowly through his nostrils, nodding.

“I’ll be okay, I swear. It was just...a lot. I feel like I need to sleep for a year.” He mutters, bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes as he slumps over slightly. You keep your hand on his thigh and reassure him as you look over at Jisoo and Jin.

“On a scale of one to that-time-Jimin-went-to-Coitanus, how fucked are we?” You ask them, ignoring Jimin’s scowl. Shrugging at him with a slight smirk, you ignore his annoyance and instead note how it brings a touch of a smile to everyone’s lips. Coitanus was a planet in the Adrestia systems that...well you went there if you wanted a good time. And Jimin once took his entire week’s leave there.

Jin’s breath whistles out of him as he breathes out before looking at his wife and shrugging. “As fucked as you can be without a dick in you. We’ll be flagged all on all UIS and TAS system alerts now as wanted fugitives, probably with slaughter warrants so if we get spotted by someone then we’re probably dead.”

Lisa lets out a noise of protest and stands up suddenly. “That’s bullshit! Who would believe us anyway?! There’s always those shitty urban legends that someone’s made an AI. If we destroyed him then who would fucking know?! No one! We could shut him down, put a round through wherever the hell his processing core is and then space him into the closest sun for good measure.”

Looking at Namjoon, he gives you a look that you decipher as ‘unfuck this situation please’. Groaning quietly, you stand up and ignore the click of your knee as you do so. “Lisa, please stop.”

She looks at you outraged and sneers at Yoongi as he rests a hand on her arm with his own warning look. “Why?! It’s the truth and we’re all thinking it. Jimin would agree right?” She looks at the Mutanis who raises perfect eyebrows in response.

“I am thinking it, yeah. But it’s dumb and it wouldn’t work. Like Cap said, they know that we know about him. All it would take is us to record something of him, copy his software or something and send it out and then there would be proof of a functioning AI. We’re dead meat walking.” There’s silence that follows and you groan, resting your forehead against Tae’s own head for a moment.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” The words are so quiet that you almost don’t hear, and from the sudden silence of the room you assume everyone else has the same opinion. Looking up, you catch sight of the AI in question and can’t help the flip of your heart at the sight.

His eyes, dark yet wide, are filled with tears as he looks down at his trembling hands. “If I could fix this for you...I would. I’m sorry that you’re all stuck in this situation because of me.” His voice trembles with each word and you bite your lip at the panic and fear in them.

It’s so strange to know that he’s a machine, just a complex set of algorithms and numbers that combine together to produce something so realistic. And yet as you watch him cower in front of the glares of your entire crew, you suddenly realise something important.

Walking over to him, you clasp his hands in your own and marvel for a moment at how lifelike he feels. It’s like you’re touching a normal human. Rubbing his fingers soothingly, you give him an encouraging smile as he watches you closely.

“It’s okay. It’s okay Jungkook, it’s not your fault.” You tell him firmly. Immediately you hear Lisa’s complaint behind you and you turn around with a glare. Right now, you’re not her friend but her XO. “It’s not his fault. None of us asked to be born, and neither did he ask to be created. You all have to remember that he’s basically a newborn right now. He has to learn how to live and you’re just sat there talking about how to kill him.”

Looking back at the AI in front of you, you note how lifelike his eyes are and how you can practically see his emotions rippling across his face. The fear that keeps his eyes wide yet the tentative hope at your kind words.

“He’s an AI, which makes him smart. He’ll learn quickly, and most important is that he obviously has feelings. They may be artificial to you or I, but they’re real to him. God,” You give a slightly manic chuckle that has everyone staring at you strange. “Imagine being born and being cognizant of everything immediately. And then imagine being born and knowing you have two systems that will murder anything to kill you or keep you quiet, when you’re only aware of the last hour of your life. I’m sorry Jungkook, this is a lot to take on.”

He licks his lips slowly before shrugging, an action that he has no doubt learnt by observing your crewmates. “I’m sorry still. Your boyfriend would be okay if it wasn’t for me.” He pulls into himself at that, and you’re not entirely sure whether he’s expecting to get hit or shouted at.

The mention of Hoseok is a like a punch of its own to your stomach, but you gently cup the taller AI’s face. “He knew what he was doing. This isn’t your fault. We were fucked as soon as we took that damn contract on Extanis. But now that you’re awake, we’re going to have to try to figure out what to do. And fast.”

Looking away from him, you look at Namjoon before scanning the faces of everyone else. They all seem to be a little cowed by your sudden outburst, but you ignore it in favour of looking at your Captain.

“Any idea where we can go? There has to be somewhere we can go in Adrestia right? Some place that TAS or UIS isn’t going to look for us? I mean, I hope it’s not a shithole but quite frankly I’d just take somewhere where I can walk around without getting my head blasted off.” You quip, causing Namjoon to scoff a laugh.

It’s quiet again for a few minutes as people think and you take the time to focus on trying to cheer Jungkook up. Taehyung walks over at one point and scans over Jungkook with a raised eyebrow. “You’re pretty impressive looking.” He says quietly, poking at the android’s toned abdomen.

You expect Jungkook to recoil or something given how the crew have been talking about him, yet he simply looks the Cognizar up and down himself. It hasn’t been long since he’s been in your company, yet you already recognise that look as him running through his knowledge banks to put together information about this newcomer.

“You’re pretty.” He says quietly and you look at him with a smile. Taehyung is very pretty, and you note with pleasure that Taehyung’s boxy smile makes a sudden appearance at the compliment from the shy AI.

Pushing at Jungkook slightly, you tut at him as you gesture towards the pilot. “Don’t give him a big head, he’s already convinced that he’s the most beautiful one on the ship.” At that, Tae shrugs his shoulders with a mischievous smile.

“I am, what of it?” You shake your own head and roll your eyes in exasperation. Patting his shoulder, you give Tae a look that has him nodding slightly. Years of piloting with him mean that you can communicate a lot with just a single expression of your face, and Tae accepts your silent request for him to stay with Jungkook.

He’s probably the best to make friends with the traumatised AI along with Rose. Neither of them are very judgemental and both have a soothing presence that makes them pleasant to work alongside. Which makes sense really, given that alongside you, they are the ones who need to pilot the Starfire.

Heading over to Namjoon, you flop down beside him before simply staring, causing him to grunt an acknowledgement to you. “We could try Mikalia I guess. I’ve got an old contact there, they’re pretty solid and he owes me one so...I doubt he’ll hand us in.”

Rolling your eyes, you let out a suffering groan at that. “That sounds promising. ‘Hey, we’ve got an AI, please don’t rat us out and let our heads get blown off?’” He glares at you for that, lips pursing together in annoyance but you shrug in response.

“It’s better than lazing around in space smart ass. Eventually we will run out of food, so would you rather set down somewhere that is at least possibly safe or just die up here? Because if you’d rather the second, I’ll vent the atmosphere and make it quicker for us all shall I?” His irritated tone lets you know that he’s more stressed than he’s letting on and you sigh deeply, putting on your metaphorical XO cap.

“Okay, okay. Do we want it fast or slow? I can plot us a good path to Mikalia but it’ll take us at least a week and a half from here. If you want faster then I’ll need to get Rose.” He looks around the crew, taking in their concerned gazes before gesturing out towards everyone.

“What’s everyone think? Fast or slow?”

Jisoo and Jin immediately begin speaking over the top of each other before Jin defers to his wife with a doting smile. She grins back, teeth blindingly white against pink, before looking at Namjoon and you. “I think slow, the longer we take then the more we can figure out Jungkook. It might also help others to think that maybe we’ve disappeared.”

Jimin lets out a snort at that and you look over to him with a raised eyebrow. He catches your eye and winks at you. “Fast means there’s less chance of them finding out about us, we might get there before they catch word. Communications are slow to some of the Adrestia nations given they’re independent.”

Chewing your lip, you concede his point and sigh quietly. Namjoon leans forward, elbows on the table as he rests his head on his hands. “God this whole situation is so fucked. Why the fuck didn’t I just walk away? It was too good, I knew that.”

You’re rubbing his back reassuringly before you realise, leaning forward so that only he can hear you. “Don’t do this now Captain, your crew needs you and they don’t need you falling apart.” Sitting up, you look the crew over before gesturing to Taehyung.

“We’ll go slow and hope that people will have forgotten a little by the time we get there. It’s a week and half, so plenty of time for us to research into AI and look more into the history of these two fucking systems. I want people to look into the important people on both sides. We need radio silence until we get there, let’s not give them a reason to figure out where the fuck we’re going.” The authority in your voice has spines straightening, and you can almost sense the relief that someone is taking charge of this shit show you’ve all walked blindly into.

Taehyung leaves the break room immediately, heading to the bridge to begin preparations that will allow the Starfire to change destinations within hyperspace. Jin and Jisoo both stand and make their way out, ready to head to the engine room to ensure that nothing else accidentally breaks while you maneuver the ship.

Jungkook stands slightly aimlessly as everyone begins to filter out and you take pity on him once more. You know that logically you should be angry at him, but you just can’t. He’s basically a kid and you feel an odd sense of protection towards him.

Walking over, you take his arm gently and begin to lead him to the bridge. “Come on Jungkook, would you like to see how we fly the Starfire? I think you might like it, who knows, you could probably fly this better than any of us with that computer brain of yours.” You tease, smiling at him broadly.

He watches you with wary eyes for a moment before a tentative, slow smile spreads over his face and suddenly you’re cooing at him, hands reaching up to pinch his cheeks. “Oh my goodness, you have the cutest smile ever!”

It’s obvious he has no idea what to do with your sudden reaction but he’s flushing with pink at your touch, causing you to laugh out loud. When you reach the bridge you note Tae waiting for you, ankle hooked over his knee while a pale gold brow is raised.

“Are you stealing my new best friend?” He says sternly before he’s dragging Jungkook over to the pilot’s seat. You’re about to say something but instead watch as he pushes the AI into the seat and begins to point things out. They’re speaking too quietly for you to hear properly but you recognise the vibrating excitement of Tae and smile softly.

Yeah, Tae will make Jungkook feel welcome.

You’d just finished putting the new navigation coordinates into the system and letting Tae know it was ready when Namjoon enters and slumps into the Captain’s chair. There’s a slight shudder in the Starfire as she shifts in hyperspace to her new destination before you get up and head over to your beleaguered Captain.

Crouching down next to him, you note him watching your pilot and new acquisition with a tired eye. “I didn’t expect you to take him on board like you did. In fact, I thought you’d be the first one to throw him out the airlock after what happened with Hoseok.”

Looking over at the two, you eject an exhausted sigh of your own. “If he’d died...then I probably wouldn’t have cared if anyone else had died on here. No offense. But...he’s not dead and I just...it’s not his fault. Like I said, he had no control over this and it would be wrong for us to reject him. Where is he gonna go? He has nowhere to go and no-one but us and the Starfire. We’re the ones who woke him up, so we’re responsible for him.”

He watches you quietly, dark eyes scanning over your face before he breaks into a soft smile, dimples clearly visible in the gentle lighting of the bridge. “You have a soft spot for him already don’t you?”

Flushing slightly, you push at his knee. “I’m not saying I want to be his mom, Heka. Imagine Hoseok waking up to find out he’s a dad to a freaking AI. No, it’s not that. It’s just...he’s innocent and so new. He’s not just a machine or an android, he’s an artificial intelligence. Which means he’s aware, he thinks for himself, he has feelings and he has free will. Isn’t that what it means to be alive?”

Looking over at Jungkook, you watch as he in turn watches Taehyung with those brilliantly wide eyes, reflecting the lights off Tae’s holoscreen as the Cognizar begins to show him one of his favourite games. “Everyone on this ship, is in effect his parent now. We have to show him how to be good, how to live well. If we treat him badly, then he’ll never trust anyone and the old wives tale of an AI going rogue will come true. We have a chance here Namjoon.”

Bringing up a few things on his own holoscreen, Namjoon is silent before letting out a deep groan of frustration. “You’re right, you are. It’ll take time for everyone to think your way though. He’s still the reason we’re now probably the most wanted people in the galaxy.”

“They’ll get over it. I get the feeling that he is going to be desperate to prove himself to everyone, and he seems sweet enough to probably do that. I think Tae wants him as his best friend already.” You say sardonically, gesturing to where the golden man is giggling intensely.

Namjoon just watches and smiles. “I hope you’re right, otherwise we’re fucked even more than we are now. And I don’t think there’s ever been someone more fucked than we are.” Lowering your head, you nod in agreement and let the silence take over you both.

-

It had been a week of travelling now and the Starfire was reporting that you were still three days away from your destination. You’d be lying if you said that the thought of leaving the safety of her well travelled halls didn’t make you want to projectile vomit everywhere, but you kept a brave face on for the crew.

They still treated Jungkook with more than a little suspicion, only Taehyung and Rose accepting him and being friendly. You’d had to tell Jin and Jisoo off more than once for treating Jungkook like a science experiment but you at least understood their analytical minds being desperate to figure out the spectacle of science and engineering that he was.

When you’d taken Hoseok to his room after the incident, you hadn’t wanted to leave his side. And yet since then, you’d been so hesitant about seeing him that you’d avoided his room at almost any cost. There wasn’t a thing in your quarters that needed fixing anymore, nor on the bridge and you knew it was annoying everyone with your cleaning.

It wasn’t until Rose had pressed a hand to you today as you’d been updating the software on every data pad on the Starfire that you’d finally stopped. She hadn’t said a word, but you’d known. She was the one looking Hoseok and guilt had eaten away at your stomach until you were finally here, outside his door.

And you felt even more guilty as you wavered in whether or not you should go in. You knew that you should, but it was just so painful to see him like this, so quiet and still. The Hoseok you knew was bright and full of life, stoic but fun and playful when needed.

Inhaling deeply, you entered the code onto his door lock slowly and watched as the silver metal slides open with the softest woosh, revealing his room to you. You’d never spent a huge amount of time in here before, mainly spending time with him in the break room or on the bridge. On a spaceship privacy was rare and people became rather possessive of their own space, which in turn meant everyone respected it.

The space inside was small, which was to be expected from someone who was not high on the crew list. Your own quarters were twice the size of his, but it came with being the XO and you knew Hoseok didn’t mind. He’d spent his youth cramped with others so any space was welcome.

Stark walls met you; with the only decorations in the room being the ones you’d bought him on your various contracts. He wasn’t hugely interested in interior design, which did not surprise you at all as he’d always been a man of simple tastes. An open holo screen on the small desk was set to a reading text, and upon closer inspection you saw that he was reading a romance fiction novel. Smiling slightly, you couldn’t help but shake your head in amusement.

The galaxy had an image of Magi as being cold and ruthless, the assumption that power on the level that a Magi had meant they were unfeeling beings. Having grown up amongst many Magi on Hekasus, and being in love with one for years, you knew the exact opposite was true.

Hoseok had explained once that to be Magi was to use Magiikus, and to use Magiikus was to be in touch with something so powerful and strong it would break the minds of those not capable of coping. Magiikus was power in its purest form and he’d said that it amplified everything about a Magi.

If they needed strength, then they would fill their limbs full of Magiikus and gain the strength of a Yarin to throw boulders into the sky. If they needed to move quickly, then the speed of a Qita graced them and so forth. It only made sense that Magiikus would amplify their emotions, which was why Hoseok often glowed when he was feeling something strongly.

For a Magi to become cold and unfeeling would be for them to deny the Magiikus, which was unthinkable. As a result, Magi were quite possibly some of the most overly emotional beings you’d ever met, which made them inexplicably dangerous. When angered they could level an entire town in their fury for example.

It almost meant that they loved fiercely. They put their whole heart into their love and there were many tales of a Magi who had lost their love and the repercussions that occurred after.

If their love had been killed in some way then no one was safe from the rage of the Magi who sought to avenge their love. In turn, their grief was soul achingly strong and potent, to the degree that a vast majority burned up as their Magiikus grew more and more wild with pain.

So no, they were not unfeeling beings but instead full of the most wonderful emotions you’d seen. They just needed to maintain iron control over their power.

Which was why it was hard to look at him now, lying on his bed in a silence that chilled your bones, your body well aware that there was something inherently wrong with the man you loved. Kneeling down next to the bed, your chin rests on your arms as you simply take in his features for a moment.

He’s breathing deeply, and his face is lax and innocent with not a flicker of emotion or intelligence crossing it. Hoseok had fallen into a deep, almost catatonic, sleep and for the past week there had been no sign he was going to wake up.

With no medic on the crew, you’d all had to make do with what little medical equipment you did have on hand. The only thing you’d figured out that he was physically healthy, perfect almost. But the med-scanner had gone a little crazy when reporting his brain scans, showing activity flaring up everywhere and vanishing just as quickly.

None of you knew what was happening to him as none of you had experience with a Magi almost burning up. In fact, there weren’t many people in the entire galaxy who had experience in that either, causing fear to roil in your stomach constantly. You wanted to go to detour to Hekasus and seek help from the Magi there after the third day when he showed no improvement, but Namjoon had nixed it immediately.

“No, we can’t go to Hekasus. You know if anyone caught us there with Jungkook then we’d be dead instantly. You know more than any of us that there are Magi who work on both sides that would have no qualm about reporting us in.” It frustrated you that you’d simply had to nod and agree.

A tear slowly fell down your cheek as you watched him, soon followed by another and another. It wasn’t long before a constellation of tears dotted your face, the trauma of almost seeing him die right in front of your eyes finally catching up after the shock of everything as you watch him.

Everything had moved so fast that you simply had not had time to process it, too focused on finding somewhere safe to hide out while also trying to figure Jungkook out more. And then there was the fact that part of you was afraid to confront it, as it meant acknowledging that there was a chance he may never come back to you.

Reaching out blindly, you found his hand before tightening your grip around it. “Please come back to us Hoseok. Please come back, please come back to me.” You whispered brokenly, voice thick as you finally let you the emotions you’d been so resiliently holding back out.

Given the stress of your recent events, you were not surprised that you eventually cried yourself to sleep, Hoseok’s hand still firmly in your own and the sound of his soft and rhythmic breathing your lullaby.

It was the complete absence of noise that caused you to jerk awake though, sitting up from where you were slumped on the floor. A spaceship meant that you had to become used to constant noise, whether it was from fellow crew, the sound of pipes as water rushed through, the familiar hum of air filtering through the ship or the ever important and gentle rumbling from the engine.

Silence for a spaceship meant death for the crew.

Your eyes flickered in a panic and it took a few seconds for you to realise that you were in a pitch-black area. Not simply a room that was dark, no you literally could not see at all.

“What the fuck is this?” Just as you’re about to enter Panic Town, which would have a population of one freaked out you right now, a voice suddenly speaks out which causes your heart to stutter.

“Y/N, it’s okay. I’m here little star, don’t panic.” You freeze, before turning around slowly to meet the voice. And he’s stood there, the only thing that’s visible in the darkness.

“Hoseok…you’re…you’re awake. How? When? Where are we?” Without even thinking you find yourself lurching to your feet and staggering towards him, hands reaching out to him desperately so that you can feel his warmth again. Sate an ache you hadn’t even been aware of until he was gone.

Only he steps back and away from your grasping hands, causing you to pause in confusion and hurt. A look of frustration spreads over his face as he sweeps a hand through his black hair, gleaming somehow despite the lack of light in this place. “We can’t touch, if we do then this.” He gestures to the darkness with a finger. “Will all vanish, and I need to talk to you.”

You wish that you could understand what he was talking about but you’d be lying. The last thing you remember was falling asleep next to a very much unconscious Hoseok. And now apparently you were in the void or some weird shit.

“Hoseok what are you…what are you talking about? What is this?” You’d seen some crazy shit in the galaxy but this was currently the strangest thing hands down - and you’d been to planet Akalin before. He sighed heavily, the sound full of negative emotions, before looking down at his hands as he tried to find the right words for you.

“This is…real…but not real. We’re here but…we’re also not here if that makes sense?” You stare at him for a moment blankly before your eyes flicker to the side. His face is earnest and you so desperately want to cup those honeyed cheeks, run your fingers along his skin and just remind yourself of what he feels like when he’s awake.

But you can’t, and the knowledge of that makes you slightly waspish. “You know, as happy as I am to see you right now, it’s suddenly incredibly obvious why you didn’t want to become a teacher.”

He laughs at that, a bright smile spreading and lighting up his face as he nods. It makes your stomach cramp with longing and suddenly you find yourself crying at simply seeing him alive. Hoseok sobers immediately at your tears and his hands flex with an obvious need to move.

“I’m not awake right now Y/N, and neither are you. This is…a form of Magiikus that’s only working because you’re touching me in real life. I’m not very experienced at it; there are those who can do this without touching. That’s not my area of expertise obviously, though I seem to be doing a lot of things that I’m not good at lately.” He wrinkles his nose slightly, obviously regretting that.

“It’s basically…like we’re sharing a dream. Only we can’t touch otherwise it’ll wake us up. Or rather you. It’ll wake you up. I wouldn’t expect this to happen again either, it takes up a lot of concentration to do this and honestly I probably shouldn’t be doing it. To put it simply, it’s some more of my mystical mumbo jumbo shit you like to tease me for.”

He smirks at you as you frown immediately, mouth opening to reprimand him for putting his recovery at risk. He stops you with a hand, understanding that you’d want to rant at him for doing something that could prevent him waking up.

“I’m currently in what we Magi call a Panacea sleep. It’s a healing sleep that we use when we’ve expended too much energy or Magiikus. Usually the user will wake up within a day or two but…honestly I don’t know when I will. Or if I ever will wake up. I’ve never heard of a Magi recovering from almost burning up like I did.”

A silence fills the air between you both at that as you try to comprehend what he’s just told you. While relief fills you to know that he’s healing, despair soon takes its place at the prospect he could never wake up.

The quiet extends before Hoseok suddenly breaks it, his voice so thick with pain that you want to rush forward despite his warning. “I just needed to talk to you and it suddenly worked. I thought I was going to die you know, on the bridge. One second I’m focusing on protecting the Starfire and making a barrier and the next, the next I’m burning so hot and Magiikus is screaming through my brain. I couldn’t think properly and I couldn’t stop it. I’m so sorry Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

He’s suddenly crying, his face crumpling in emotion and you anxiously wish that you could touch him, wipe away those tears gently and cup his hands in your hands to soothe away his worries. Your Hoseok should never cry and you let out a soft whimper of distress at the fact you can’t do anything.

“I’m sorry that you had to watch that, that you had to watch me almost die and you couldn’t even do anything. I couldn’t hear anything but the Magiikus in my head and I swore I was dying. Then suddenly, I could hear you. You were calling my name and I could hear that you were crying, god the pain in your voice, and I realised that you were watching me die.” He pauses for a second.

“Do you know the only thing I could think then when I heard you?” His voice cracked and he swallowed thickly, wiping away the tears from his cheeks. “All I could think was that I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you’re watching me die, I’m sorry that I’m failing you and most importantly? I’m sorry that I never told you that I love you.”

You’re quiet for a moment, tears falling down your own face even faster as you shake your head despite the race your heart is suddenly engaged in, reaching out to him but not moving forward. “I knew Hoseok, you know that I knew.” He shook his head determinedly though.

“No, no that was the cowards way out okay? I should have told you. I should have told you years ago, then we could have spent the last few years together instead of playing that stupid flirting game we did. I was a coward because I didn’t want to tell you and potentially watch you fall out of love with me. The Starfire is your home and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so I wanted to be sure of us. But I was a fucking coward, I should have just done it!” He cursed, kicking at the floor, or what constituted a floor, in frustration.

“I could have loved you properly, like you deserved. But instead you almost had to watch me die before I’d even spoken the words to you. So I’m being a coward again and I’m being selfish. I might never wake up, but I need you to know okay? I need you to know that I love you. I love the way you always tease me for my ‘mystic mumbo jumbo’, I love the way you never take anything seriously until you have to, and then it has your full attention.” He cracks a smile at that, wobbly as his eyes water furiously.

“I love how when you smile at me, it’s like I’m the only person you can see. I love your terrible cooking because even if it tastes like you’re trying to poison me, I can feel the effort you put in.  I love how in a galaxy of trillions upon trillions of people, you make me feel like I’m the only person that matters. And I want you to know, my little star, that you’re the only person that matters to me too.”

He bites his lip as he wipes his face once more and your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest with emotion.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to tell you in person, but I swear if I wake up…I’m going to kiss like you I’m dying all over again.” Hoseok smiles at you, a soft look of hope lighting up his eyes and you realise with a start that his whole body has been gently glowing the whole time.

He looks away to the side suddenly before looking back at you, the corners of his mouth turning up softly. “You have to go now. I’m trying to come back to you; I swear I’m trying so damn hard. Try not to get in too much trouble now yeah? I’d like to wake up to see you there and tell you this in person.”

You go to respond, eyes closing only to find yourself being shaken awake by Rose. Blinking groggily, you frown at the brightness of the room compared to wherever the hell you had just been. You were back in Hoseok’s room, and Hoseok was in front of you again, still unconscious, with his hand in yours.

Nodding at Rose’s request for you to head to the bridge, you wait until she leaves the room before standing up and grimacing at the ache in your back from the position you’d slept in. Leaning forward, you take in Hoseok’s features up close before pressing a tender kiss on his forehead.

“I’m going to hold you to that Hoseok, you better come back to me because I want that kiss.” Smiling, you kiss his forehead again before leaving his room, a bounce in your step suddenly and tentative hope in your veins.

[digikate813]

Power Down: Chapter 4

Now that Fenton has officially become Gizmoduck, Duckburg’s newest protector, he is not holding back. Giving everything he has to being the greatest hero he can be. But how much can he push himself to do more before he starts to fall?

Based on a random request by @zefive. Not to me directly, but when I saw the post, this idea flooded into my head, and I couldn’t resist. Enjoy!

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Fenton woke up in a daze, realizing that he had passed out. He really hoped this wouldn’t become a habit. When he looked around, it was still dark, but he wasn’t in the middle of the street anymore. He could feel the soft cushion of a mattress underneath him. He had to admit, it felt heavenly. He could also feel a robe that definitely wasn’t his over his shoulders. That's when he realized.

“The suit’s gone!” The mere panic at the thought of someone getting their hands on the Gizmoduck suit again was terrifying enough to snap him awake. He sat straight up, which he instantly regretted. His whole body ached, and not in the “broke every bone in your body” kind of way. He knew how that felt. It was not fun. Although this feeling wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. His head still throbbed a bit but it was definitely clearer. Clear enough to realize that he was, not home. He was sure of that. He took a minute to get a better sense of where he was. The room was a bit small, but much larger then his. And it’s decor was at a much higher standard then in the Cabrera household. He tried to figure out what was going on. Who could have possibly dragged him away and taken the suit? He got a look at an oil painting on the wall, depicting what looked like a golden dragon, with someone on it’s back. As he looked closer he recognized who it was, and by extension, where he was. “Oh boy.”

The door opened as soon as he came to his conclusion, and a tall muscular woman entered the room, who at first seemed taken aback by his presence. “Oh. You’re awake.” she said. “One moment” Stepping back out into the hallway, he could hear her talking to someone. He could guess who it was.

“Do you have any time what time it is?” he could hear a gruff muffled voice from what sounded like over a phone. “He’s awake.” she told him. There was a moment of silence before he heard “Tend to him quickly. I’ll be right there.” Fenton could feel it. He was in so much trouble. The woman returned with a silver tray in hand, and Fenton finally got up the courage to speak.

“Uhh, are you-?” he stuttered out before she quickly replied “Mrs. Beakley. Mr. McDuck’s housekeeper.” she introduced herself without even looking at him as she placed the tray on the table next to him. She finally turned to him with a glass of water. “Drink this. All of it. We wouldn’t want you getting dehydrated.” She was, very stern in her requests. Fenton wondered if she was like that with Mr. McDuck. Probably not. He accepted the glass and was about to do as she said before she added “And I suggest you tie up the dressing gown.”

Fenton was so startled by that comment he let out a yelp and almost spilled the drink. Instead he put it down quickly so he wouldn’t cause more of a fuss, and covered himself up a bit in a quick motion by pulling the blanket closer, with a nervous dry chuckle. Very dry. Maybe he should have a drink. “Where- where are my clothes?”

“Being washed. Something they clearly haven’t been in quite a while.” she replied in a pretty dismissive tone. This woman seemed way too intimidating to be a housekeeper. He was about to grab the glass again when Beakley grabbed his wrist while looking at her watch.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking your vitals” she answered as she seemed to have finished. “Can’t be too careful with sleep deprivation like this. Especially when someone has been asleep as long as you have to recuperate.”

“I see. And uhh, how long have I been asleep? Here? Exactly?”

“Since Mr McDuck brought you in? About 28 hours.”

“I’ve been asleep for over an entire day?!” Fenton shrieked. How is that possible? Sure he was a little tired, but he’d hardly consider it sleep deprivation. He just had a lot on his plate lately. To be out for 28 hours seemed unreal. As Fenton processed this, Mrs Beakley placed a tray of food next to the glass. “Help yourself. Mr. McDuck will be with you shortly.”

As she was leaving, Fenton had to ask. “Am I in trouble?”

Mrs Beakley simply looked at him over her shoulder, and left the room. Closing the door behind her.

Fenton straightened himself out and sat on the edge of the bed, tying up his borrowed robe like Beakley suggested. Guess he had nothing to do but wait. And eat. But worrying about Mr. McDuck scraping Gizmoduck for good was making him lose his appetite. He still grabbed a couple of loose grapes to snack on. Guess sleeping for that long would make you hungry no matter how much you were afraid of losing the greatest thing that ever happened to you.

Noticing the silver tray was left behind on the table, he picked it up, and took a good look at his reflection. Smoothing out the feathers on his head to look more presentable. Not that that should matter. This may be the worse he’s ever screwed up. And that was really saying something. But this time, he failed someone who had faith in him. Who believed in him and gave him a chance. No matter how much he’d messed up in the past, he couldn’t think of a time when he did that. How is it he slept for 28 hours, and he still felt weary?

He couldn’t bear to look at himself any longer. “Some hero I turned out to be.”

“Looks like ya got in a bit over yer head, eh lad?” He knew that voice. He turned around to see Scrooge McDuck standing in the doorway. “Mr. McDuck!”

He couldn’t quite read Scrooge’s expression as he approached him, but he didn’t look pleased. At the moment, he just leaned on his cane in front of him. “How you feeling lad?” he asked almost, comfortingly.

“Umm, better. I think.” Fenton trailed off. He didn’t realize just how bad he felt before until just now. “How did you find me?”

“Your mother called the office looking for me after you ran out. I wasn’t that far from the museum at the time and, well it didn’t take us long to find you on that little joyride you took.” He still couldn’t tell if Mr. McDuck was angry or amused. Maybe it was some weird combination of both.

Fenton shot off a rapid apology and hopefully a good explanation.“Mr. McDuck, I am so sorry. I don’t know what happened. The suits been acting up a bit for days, but this was something else! I tried everything I could think of all day to find the problem, but-”

“The problem wasn’t the suit lad!” Scrooge interrupted abrasively, which immediately shut Fenton up. “The problem, was you.” Pointing his cane aggressively at him.

Fenton was in shock at the statement. “Me? How am I the problem? I’ve worked day and night on the suit and answered every call for help that came my way. I put everything I possibly could into being Gizmoduck.”

“Exactly. Ya pushed yerself too hard.” Scrooge’s furrowed brow and tense muscles loosened as he continued in a softer tone. “Tell me Fenton. When was the last time ya got a decent night’s sleep?”

Fenton paused, rubbing the back of his head absentmindedly.It should probably bother him more that he had to think this hard about it. “Well, there wasn’t much going on on Saturday. So probably then. But just a day or two with broken sleep isn’t that bad. Everyone does that once in a while, right?” Fenton argued nervously.

Scrooge’s brow was furrowed again. “Lad. It’s Thursday.”

Fenton’s eyes went wide at that realization, but he could only manage to say a quiet “Oh.” as he slouched inward a bit.

“According to what Gyro’s told me about how that armor works, you were so tired that ya couldn’t work the thing properly. When ya can’t think straight, something that’s processed through your brain is goin’ to have trouble functioning.” Scrooge stated, and crossed his arms as he continued. “You’re just lucky no one got hurt. Including yourself.”

“But I- I thought for sure that I was handling it.” Fenton stammered out trying to process this information. “I thought I was fine.”

“Ya don’t become dead to the world for over a day if you’re fine Fenton.” Scrooge instantly scolded.

Fenton was so ashamed, and with how Mr. McDuck was looking at him, that pit in his stomach was growing (though that could be from the whole not eating much thing). He knew what was coming. So he did the only thing he could think of. Beg.

“I’m sorry. For everything Mr. McDuck.” he started tiredly. “I know you don’t have any reason to give me another chance, but please. Don’t take back the suit. I can still be Gizmoduck! I just wanted to help, but I’ll be more careful. I promise!”

Scrooge could hear the desperation in his voice. He just smiled and said “Take back the suit? Don’t be daft! No one is more fit to pilot that crazy contraption then you Cabrera. Y’know I wish more of my employees had your determination.” Fenton perked up a bit at that remark. “But you’ve got to learn to work smarter lad, not harder. I figured someone as clever as you would know that.”

Fenton processed that for a minute. He wasn’t quite sure how this all went wrong. At the time it made sense. He was just doing what he’d always wanted as much as he possibly could. After a moment of awkward silence, Fenton finally let it all out.

“I know. I mean, I should have known. It’s just- No one’s ever depended on me before. All I’ve ever wanted was to help people. Make the world better and more exciting in a way. And with Gizmoduck, I was finally given that chance. I guess I just, wanted to put everything I had into it. Prove that I really could do what no one thought I could. Not let anyone down. And if I was doing anything less, then I wasn’t really being a hero. If I pick and choose what’s important, what’s worth my efforts as the protector you asked me to be, how am I any better then, Waddleduck?” This whole confession was making Fenton exhausted all over again. This probably sounded ridiculous to his boss. “Not that you’d understand that. I mean, you’re Scrooge McDuck! There’s nothing you can’t handle.”

Fenton didn’t know what else to say. He was ready for Mr. McDuck to just leave him be. Instead, he sat next to him on the edge of the bed, with a world weary expression. “Fenton, I’ve been running one of the largest companies in the world and traveling all over the globe on life threatening adventures for over a hundred years. Ya think I don’t know what it’s like to feel overwhelmed?”

“A hundred ye- How old are you again?” Fenton asked perplexed. But he soon realized that that probably wasn’t what he was supposed to take away from that.

“My point is” Scrooge continued “That I understand wanting to do it all. Wanting to tackle absolutely everything. To feel that weight of responsibility every single day. In a way, I thrive on it. And maybe you do too. Always ready to dive into an exciting situation? That’s a great quality to have. But I also understand that if you do nothing but that, you’re eventually going to crash. I know it’s difficult to put priority on stuff like this. But I also know that if you don’t take the time to take care of yourself, soon yer not gonna be of any help to anybody. And then Gizmoduck won’t be there for anyone. Understand?”

Fenton did understand. He just lost track of so much in the desire to be a true hero, he stopped looking after himself. As the first signs of the light of dawn slowly rose over Duckburg, he still wasn’t quite sure how he was going to prioritize his time as Gizmoduck, but after this whole debacle, he realized all too clearly that if he didn’t, there wouldn’t be a Gizmoduck at all. And that’s the last thing he wanted. “Perfectly”

“That’s a good lad.” Scrooge said with a pat on the back as he stood up again. “But you still exhausted yerself pretty badly. It could have been worse, but I want you to stay here so we can look after ya. This counts as time off without pay of course.”

“Of course”

Scrooge continued as started to leave. “Just do as Beakley says, and you’ll be stopping the criminals of Duckburg again in no time.”

“Criminals!” Fenton gasped. He nearly forgot. “That artifact from the museum. Was it recovered?”

Scrooge stopped in his tracks “Not yet” he answered as he turned around. “I don’t supposed you know who was behind it, do ya?”

“It was some kind of robot. I remember it was pretty well built, but there weren’t many distinct features on it. Except.” Fenton paused as he was slowly putting the picture of that evil android together in his mind again.

“Except what?”

“There was something on it’s head. It looked kind of like the shape of a hat of some kind, but I didn’t get a very good look.”

Scrooge had a look like Fenton had most of the time. Of the gears turning rapidly in his head. Putting pieces together for the ultimate solution. He pulled something out of his jacket and held it up to Fenton. Pointing near the top he asked “Did it look anything like this?”

Fenton squinted to get a better look. The light still wasn’t great in here. It was a Polaroid of what looked like an angry screaming Flintheart Glomgold. But on his head, he recognized the shape. “Yes! That’s it!” Fenton confirmed “Except it was, y’know, metal.”

“Glomgold” Scrooge growled under his breath with a look of annoyance and disgust on his face. Crumpling the picture in his fist.

“Why would Flintheart Glomgold want to steal something you donated to the museum? If he gets caught it seems like it’s not really worth it.” Fenton asked.

“That doesn’t matter to Glomgold. We were both after this treasure, and I beat him to it. Not surprisingly.” Scrooge got a pretty smug look on his face at that last remark. “As long as he has it, he wins as far as he’s concerned. Guess he’s got more tricks up his sleeve then I thought.” Seemed like Scrooge was pondering what to do about this. “Well, if that’s the way he’s gonna play it, then I guess I’ll just have to take it back.”

“Let me help!” Fenton requested without a second thought. “Please Mr. McDuck. This is all my fault. Give me a chance to make it right. This time I’ll be firing on all cylinders.” Scrooge looked skeptical, but before he could say no, Fenton added “You saw something in me when you asked me to watch out for Duckburg. You just said that I was clever, and had determination. That no one was more fit to pilot the armor then me. Let me prove that. Prove that I can handle the weight of that suit and all it entails without falling apart.” Fenton was more determined then ever before. He’d messed up too many times. He wasn’t going to again.

Something in Scrooge’s countenance changed. If he didn’t know any better, he would have said Mr. McDuck looked, impressed. After a moment of consideration, he finally broke the silence “We can’t do anything until after dark anyway. Very well lad. As long as you take it easy the rest of the day, you can come.”

Fenton beamed with enthusiasm and quickly replied “Oh thank you sir!”

“I have some business to take care of, I’ll leave you be. Rest up.” As he was leaving the room, he turned to Fenton with a grin “We’ve got a big night ahead of us.” before he closed the door behind him.

If Fenton was going to make his mark as Gizmoduck, it was going to be now. If he wasn’t still, frankly pretty worn out, he’d be running around the room preparing. But it was probably for the best. Being forced to take it easy actually gave him more time to think. About the battle and how he could have done better. About the enemy’s arsenal, and during the periods he was awake the rest of the day, he was coming up with a way to counteract certain problems.

A/N: This is officially the longest chapter yet, but it’s probably my favorite yet. The story was originally going to end here, but after watching Fenton’s episodes again (all both of them) while Fenton does screw up, he does prove himself and make things right in the end, and I wanted to give him that here, which will be covered in the final chapter.

There’s also a small pointless Broadway musical reference in here  (Not the musical you’re probably thinking). It doesn’t connect to anything and it’s only there because I’ve been listening to the soundtrack lately. If anyone can figure it out, let me know. Look forward to the final chapter and i hope you enjoyed!

[tedfashionski]

Finking, Finking.

Hi, welcome to my ted talk. (That is the only time I will ever make that joke. This is Fashionski Finks. Expect radically low standards of self-involved rantiness with zero research or accountability from here on out). For a while there I seriously thought that the covid-19 quarantine was going to result in people being increasingly placid and accepting of creeping extensions of the police state. But here I am, getting depressed again, not about the protests, which I love, but more about my relationship to in-group pressure dynamics. One of the problems with being a relentless contrarian is the discomfort of my impulse to rebel against groups even when they’re championing the right thing. I have to find my own way to fight against the system as an outsider. No gods, no masters, no fucking peer pressure.  I’ll never be happy joining a chorus line. I don’t sign fucking petitions (they’re just lists for the NSA). I do donate, but like fuck will I do it performatively. I can’t go to protests cus I get panic attacky in crowds. I empathise pretty strongly with outsiders of all stripes but believe ridiculously excessively in the public good of criticism, and have a nostalgic love of trolling (I like to think I’m gentle with it though). Bring back the troll! We need that fucker, he’s a sign of a healthy internet. I’m writing this blog thing as an extension of my need to vent my extreme negativity. TBH I never expected to get any followers with ted twitter and the bizarre welcomingness of the hf twitter community totally wrongfooted me. I’m not nice. Ted isn’t meant to likable. He’s my dark side. I was meant to be using this alt as a way to terrorise the nice nice (secretly cruel) fashion people. I’m gunna try and up that aspect more. Just bear in mind, my complaints are largely about the system, but if I see you perpetuating fashion’s entrenched anti-intellectualism or its insidery bullshit, I’ll come for you with a little meta-bomb with your name on it. Maintaining my misanthropic tone does take work tho, like, deep down in some twisted part of my psyche, I guess I do actually want to be liked. It’s fucked up.

I suppose it’s only fair to explain this Ted fursona. Like, new concept, who dis? Why all the furry porn? …..because I just think it’s hilarious. Every time I think about the furries I cackle (not at them, mind). I just love the mad corruption of pure Disney aesthetics into hardcore pornography. That’s anti-authoritarian as fuck. I love the sincerity of their culture. The way the crazy fetish aspect means they’ll never be fully blandified by mainstream acceptance. The way it’s so cringe but so delightful. And more seriously, I’m interested in how a culture of mostly gay male nerds developed to the point where they’ll invest 10k in custom fursuits and support eachother’s independent businesses in ways that the fashion community completely fails to do. The fashion world sucks. There’s so many correlations there that I want to investigate: the newness (furries date from around the 70s, fashion culture in its self-aware state dates from the late 19th C – both very young fields); the centralisation/decentralisation; the hierarchy (furries can be pretty catty, I have discovered in my research, and we all know what fashion people are like); the adoption of new identities; the cis-boy gayness aspect (I’m increasingly tired of the extreme nasty hierarchy of certain CSM queens. It’s all very UGH. Just, fuck those particular bitches.) There’s more to the furry love, but I’ll explore it in future posts.

More importantly, why Ted fucking Kaczynski? I’m not like, actually a terrorist. (….yet. tehehe. NO, seriously I like non-maiming violence. Fuck yeah to property damage. Fuck yeah to disabling the system in extreme way. But no to wooden IEDs. Think of my shitty jokes that fail to land as my hand-crafted bombs). I think I like the shitness of Ted. He was just an epic fail of a terrorist. I’m a little white girl living in London. I’m not actually a primitivist, as much as I crave a hut in the woods. I did go to an elite school though. I had some really shitty experiences in the fashion industry in my early 20s, and I watch my friends who are relatively successful in that system and I get so angry on their behalf at their poor treatment. They think I’m too angry. Fuck that. They should be more angry, and the fact that they can’t be angry at their extreme precarity and the fact they’re still insecure and terrified of being ejected by the system after all their investment and skills they’ve built up is BULLSHIT. I’ll be double angry for them, I’m not invested in that system. I don’t need it to pay my rent. I’m free, motherfuckers, and I’m coming for the abusers and exploiters. If you’re a complacent industry figure not fighting hard from within, uggghhhhh fuck you. Yes, YOU. Soooo, I relate pretty hard to the MK ultra stuff. (go look him up, he was basically tortured and experimented upon by the elite). But there’s a pretty big chasm between my views and his, and I’ll try to be clear about the extent of my interest in his extreme beliefs. I haven’t even finished reading the manifesto. Basically, I watched that shitty show on Netflix with sam worthington around the same time I watched Joker (that movie fucked me up) and thought it’d be a good outlet to larp online as a terrorist. There’s the angry white alt-right school shooter aspect, which I’m still figuring out, cus I’m non-binary and I was raised by nutso trumpy right-wingers, who I barely speak to anymore, and I struggle to get along with people generally. There’s sad, self-pitying rage here. I empathise with the angry white dudes too much. I feel guilty about it. That’s good ground for artmaking (yes, shamefully, this…is…art. Sorry). I modelled this fursona a little after my brother, who I spent years living with and arguing with and trying to lift out of his scary racist youtube rabbit holes. This is actually quite an emotional thing for me, cus I did the ‘talk to your fascist family’ thing. And I completely failed. I realised his right-winginess wasn’t lessening, I wasn’t gaining ground, and in fact my excessive empathy and desire to reach out to the relative most similar to me in character meant his extremism was rubbing off on me. Making me more resentful and depressed. Feeling powerless. I was being too kind-hearted and forgiving of his masculine impotence. So I’m exploring some personal shit here. But Ted is also a cute lil fuzzball teddy bear. He means well, but me being super autistic and faily at social skills means he’s kind of a dick, cus I am. I’m going to try and further develop this character, this POV, and this post is the only time I’ll explain the divide between him and his creator (moi). The ‘I’ on the twitter and here is Ted Fashionski, I need that space between me and him. Masks give us this freedom to be more ourselves. Internet culture has lost a lot of its wild brutal anonymity in the last decade or so, now everyone’s afraid of making mistakes. How the hell do you grow if you’re not allowed to fuck up? This is a vital outlet. He’s become an important part of my life and I have to say, I love being Ted Fashionski. He’s like Paddington Bear who just escaped form Guantanamo or something.

I get pretty fatigued as a matter of course. I’m a long-term depressive since childhood. I have a difficult time keeping my hard-on for living. I don’t get suicidal really but I do struggle with extreme fatigue. I sleep a lot. I often fall into spirals of self-hate. And as someone who utterly believes in revolutionary leftist politics, I beat myself up about not doing enough. I’m so middle class and english and white. I was raised in such a chauvinistic and complacent culture; I don’t even know where to start. I’m wading my way through post-colonial literature and beating myself up for finding it boring and uncomfortable. It’s hard to force yourself to acknowledge your culture is The Bad Guys. It’s easier to fall into fanstasies of supremacy and butthurt misunderstoodness. And it’s not like my depressive brain needs any encouragement to hate me. My trajectory is ever leftwards, but I remember the righteous fury of being right-wing. I get it, that was me. We need more paths back from fascism, more comprehension of why people are that kind of shitty. I talk less, and less well, the more depressed I am. If I’m talking, it means im feeling a lot better. Just, fyi.

Give me a minute to be critical here. With the George Floyd protests, a lot of the cool guys on fashion twitter has gone blazingly hardcore on the political side. But there’s this troubling rhetoric about ‘no return to normal content’ or ‘this isn’t the time for fashion’. Like fuck it isn’t. This is a key problem with fashion culture right here, we have this received perception of fashion as empty escapism. Escapism matters in fashion, yes. But seriously, talking about the surfaces of things does not equal not caring about deeper meaning. What the fuck. Clothes are a connective tissue, a membrane between us. They’re emotional and powerful. We can talk about things that matter THROUGH clothes. I speak fashion, pretty fucking well. Most people who work at fashion magazines are morons with no understanding or respect for their subject. They’re incapable of doing it justice, and that’s deliberate. On this tumblr you’ll see rants and reviews of fashion and other artforms, always interpreting through a fashion lens. cus it matters, cus it’s a vital part of the culture, cus just because something has a glittery, seductive surface doesn’t mean it doesn’t communicate or contain depth. There’s no going back to ‘normal fashion content’, yes. Normal fashion content is a fucking psyop to divert legitimate interest in aesthetics amongst largely non-academic dyslexic visual types away from careful thought/feeling and towards empty consumerist commericiality. The traditional fashion media wants you to express yourself and your interest in the zeitgeist through buying more shit. Another fashion world is possible. Let’s destroy the old and build a new one, one where surface and spirit are connected and true and fashion can’t be abused in service of evil industrial monopolists.

/end rant. TLDR: angry fictional teddy bear with tin-foil hat and an eco-anarchist fetish says no to stupid fashion and yes to the renewal of conceptual fashion. Also, Fuck White People.

[dixseptdixhuit]

Time to feel

I owed a gift to @bold-sartorial-statement for months, but this literally took months to write, I don’t really know why. I spent hours daydreaming about it and not writing a word, but here it is, finally. Therese, I hope you enjoy it, especially a certain bit - you’ll know when you read it! 

As always, a huge thank you to Rie ( @procasdeanating ) who beta-ed and helped when I was stuck.

Destiel - first kiss - newly human Castiel - dissociating Castiel

3.7K - also on AO3

Cas remembers. Well, he kind of remembers something, a different way of experiencing reality that lies just beyond his reach, now that he is completely human. He knows his sensations were different; he knows, intellectually, how he could feel Dean as a whole multitude of data he didn't have to gather to just know. What precise temperature Dean's body had. When his bladder was full enough to make him need to relieve himself. How tense the muscles in his back were. How his blood pressure varied through the day. Once, Dean has woken up with a crick in his neck; he came out of his room rubbing a hand to his nape and shoulder, and Cas knew the exact muscle fiber that was strained in his trapezius.

When he was still an angel, Cas could sense all these things in Dean, but feeling them himself was an abstract concept. He could tune them out, of course, let them drown into the white noise of all the other information that he was getting at once from other people and his environment. But he always reacted more strongly to Dean than to anything or anyone else.

He remembers clearly the first time he physically reacted to one of these pieces of data. He was sitting in a nondescript motel room with Sam, Dean showering in the bathroom next door. Cas hadn't been paying attention to what he was perceiving, but suddenly he felt the hormonal levels shift drastically inside Dean's body. Dopamine skyrocketed first, followed by endorphins and oxytocin.

Oh.

There hadn't been any noise. Dean wouldn't want him to acknowledge in any way that he had just had an orgasm in the next room, that much Cas knew, and he tried hard to turn off his ability to sense it, and maybe that was the reason why his vessel's cheeks flushed on their own accord. Cas tried to dismiss this reaction as the humans' weird social constructs rubbing off on him, but maybe he should have seen it as what it was: the first sign that his angelic nature would fade into a human one, that it was what he was destined to.

Now that he experiences what it truly is to have to pee or to hurt or to be tired, he can't sense these states in Dean anymore, and in a way, he laments it. But it was his choice, and he doesn't regret it. He fell very slowly, his grace leaving him painlessly, one feather-light bit at a time. Only the first and the last step were a conscious decision. The first, he'd taken the day he saw Dean's eyes turn black; in this instant, he swore to himself that he would help Dean get his humanity back, and that eventually he would share it with him, because that was the only thing that seemed right, in that moment when everything else felt so wrong.

The process had taken years to come to an end, to the closure he was aiming for.

It was an average hunt, weirdly, that closed the deal. Your standard salt and burn, nothing remarkable or worrying, and Sam couldn't go with them because he had a cold, of all things. But the ghost was making trouble in the neighborhood and Dean decided that he and Cas could deal with it by themselves.

Dean had done dozens of such hunts in his life, and he'd been shoved against walls and furniture more often than he cared to count, so it was really a surprise when this time, it panned out different; bad different. It happened so fast, just a second before the lighter touched the bones and the flames engulfed the ghost, that it took a beat for Cas to run to Dean's unconscious form, slumped on the ground after having hit a tree.

Cas knew something was wrong because everything felt still and silent inside him, and the foggy realization slowly reached his consciousness: all Dean’s data, the chemicals in his brain and his heartbeat, had been blown out like a candle, and a vague thought of the absurd fragility of the human life crossed Cas’ mind. The decision came clearer though, and quicker, like there was no question - and there wasn’t, really. He poured the last drop of grace that remained and still made him an angel into Dean’s body, lighting it in a blinding white flash. Dean jumped awake, like he hadn’t been dead for a few minutes, like it was just routine for him to resurrect. But the “Dean” that came out of Cas’ mouth, along with a light mist that travelled the short distance to Dean’s lips, wasn’t usual in any way. After that, Cas blacked out for a moment.

A handful of seconds before, Cas had been holding Dean's body like a Pieta, his body as still as the marble of Michelangelo’s statue, but now it had changed. Dean was holding him back, his palm pressed on the side of Cas' face, the fingers of his other hand digging into his shoulder.

“What have you done, Cas?” Dean whispered, slowly, as if he was struck in – horror, or awe? Cas wasn't sure. He suddenly felt very aware that he couldn't feel Dean from the inside anymore, just see his expressions and read his body language. And he'd never been good at that.

“You know what I did, Dean. I chose that path a very long time ago.” He paused, searching into Dean's eyes what his fate would be, but he couldn't be sure, and he needed to. “For you,” he added, his voice betraying him, trembling.

“Will you stay, this time?” Dean asked, and Cas wasn't expecting the question because since when did Dean say such things out loud? But he didn't miss a beat answering: “If you'll have me.”

Dean didn't respond but just closed his eyes and pressed his lips to Cas' forehead, and they clung to each other, letting the hugeness of the unspoken promise sink into their bones and their guts and their hearts.

Then, they walked to the car, leaning against one another and mostly holding each other up. Dean called Sam, who was still in bed with a fever; he told him they were safe, leaving Cas' life-changing choice aside, keeping it between them both, at least for the moment. They drove back to the bunker, Cas sitting close to Dean on the front bench seat. Their shoulders touched, but they didn't speak.

When they arrived, Sam was sleeping. Cas was swaying on his feet with exhaustion, and Dean half-dragged him to his room without hesitation. They undressed quickly, slipped between the sheets in Dean's bed, no questions asked. Cas was asleep within minutes. He woke up once during the night with Dean's face squashed against his shoulder. When he woke up again in the morning, he was alone in bed, and Dean handed him a mug of coffee as soon as he wandered out of the room. He also dragged his hand down Cas' arm, giving his hand a small squeeze before releasing it.

Dean said that he was going to bring Sam tea and see how he was doing with his cold, but he disappeared in Sam's room for more than half an hour. When Sam finally emerged from his room, he came straight to Cas and engulfed him in a bear hug. He probably needed a shower, but all Cas perceived was a strong whiff of Vicks VapoRub.

That was just a few days ago, and neither Dean nor Sam have told Cas what their conversation was about that morning, but on that same night, when Dean got up and said “Come on Cas, let’s hit the hay, you still need to recover”, Sam didn’t bat an eye and just watched them go with a soft “goodnight, guys”. So Cas supposes that things are settled, even if he himself isn’t fully aware of the terms. Anyway, he doesn’t mind much, because he knows he still lacks part of the knowledge necessary to sort out relationships issues, and he’s too busy re-learning all the sensations and the tasks required to tend to his body.

And Dean isn’t behaving awkwardly or offhandedly; he explains things to Cas – practical things about hygiene and cooking – and when he’s not around, Sam does so too. They spend the following days in the bunker, as things are much slower these days; monsters got that it was in their interest to lay low, and apparently, since the demise of the British Dicks of Letters (as Dean has taken to call them), they’re having some sort of unspoken truce. So when they have to hunt, it’s mostly the random rogue ghost making trouble, and it’s easily fixed… unless an angel has to revive his soulmate by giving up the last dregs of his grace, of course.

That second night, when Dean says “let’s hit the hay” (Cas remembers a time when he wouldn’t have understood the expression and would have imagined Dean beating dried grass with whatever instrument humans used for this), they both walk up to Dean’s room, but Cas stops at the door. He doesn’t need the implications of sharing a bed explained in so many words, and he even hopes that Dean intends to make them text eventually, but right now, it’s a lot to take in. He needs time to adjust, and he’s not sure how to say it.

“Are you okay?” Dean asks, stopping in the middle of folding the pants he’s just taken off. Cas nods, but can’t hold back a sigh. “Yes.”

Dean comes closer, two steps, and stops. “How do you feel?”

Cas hesitates. Putting things into words is so hard.

“It feels… a lot.”

“Overwhelming, you mean?”

“Yes. Being an angel wasn’t about feeling, more like… sensing. It could be too much as well, but I was used to managing it. Feeling… it’s harder to control.”

“I’m not sure I get it, but maybe I can help?”

“How?”

“Is there something you could concentrate on, maybe, that could help you… I don’t know, focus?”

Cas doesn’t really have to think about it, but he isn’t sure he can voice that out, and then he thinks about how Dean kissed his forehead, so he speaks.

“When I was an angel, I could sense all the vitals of the humans near me, so I had to tune it all down to a blurred murmur. But sometimes your heartbeat wouldn’t go into the background, especially when we were alone together. It feels empty now that I can’t sense it anymore.”

An expression spreads across Dean’s face and Cas forces himself to name it - bashfulness, maybe; shyness, but something pleasant.

“It’s still here, though, and you can feel it if you want; not in the same way than before, but…” and Dean extends his right hand, palm up.

Cas seizes it with his right hand, and for a second they’re just standing in front of each other, looking like they’re awkwardly shaking hands, right there on the threshold of Dean’s bedroom, with Dean wearing just his shirt and boxers. The beginning of a smile lifts the corner of Dean’s mouth, but Cas remains serious while his long fingers wrap around Dean’s hand and his thumb slides right into the hollow in line with Dean’s where he can feel the radial artery beating. None of the knowledge Cas has accumulated in his angel life has left his brain, and he can still picture every single bone, nerve, tendon and vein in Dean’s hand, along with the whole vocabulary to describe it; the small dip where his thumb has fallen is funnily called “the anatomical snuffbox”, he knows that. What he isn’t used to yet is what touching Dean prompts in him.

Time is flowing differently for Cas now that he’s human. He gets caught up in things, and he spaces out without meaning to. He has to actually count the delicate thumps of Dean’s blood flow, and his attention is divided between that and the heat that oozes from Dean’s hand to his, and all the other sensations he’s barely aware of - and he doesn’t know how much time has passed when Dean clears his throat.

“Uhm… Cas… I don’t mind doing this, buddy, but I’m sure you need to rest, and shaking hands on the doorstep isn’t very comfortable. Why don’t you just lose the shoes and pants and we relocate on the bed?”

Cas has been wearing old jeans and a hoodie today; when he woke up in the morning, putting on the clothes he wore all these years as an angel suddenly felt ridiculous. He also likes the way Dean has looked at him all day, like he was new and interesting.

They find themselves dressed down to their shirts and boxers, tucked under the covers and facing each other, and Dean gives his hand back to Cas, who holds it like a fragile animal or a work of art. Dean almost blushes from the attention, but he stays still, allowing Cas to test the sensations. The temperature of Dean’s skin can only be qualified of “warm” now, not characterized with an exact number in various measuring systems.

On the other hand, Cas is now allowed to try things he wouldn’t have thought about a few days ago. He flexes Dean’s fingers in his and is rewarded with a press back in his palm. When he rakes his nails down Dean’s forearm just like that, goosebumps raise nicely under the pad of his fingers. He tries to visualize the tiniest muscles that are attached to each hair and make it stand on end, and is momentarily confused by the sense of scale he now possesses, so different from before, when the infinitesimally small was as familiar to him as the infinitely large. His reflexions have reached galaxies and molecules when Dean speaks, making him jump slightly.

“Hum, Cas? You with me, man?” he asks gently, and Cas blinks at him owlishly. “You seemed far away for a while.”

“Sorry, Dean,” but before he can add anything else, he can’t repress a big yawn. Dean chuckles.

“Maybe sleep would be a good idea, don’t you think?”, and without waiting for a real answer, he tugs on Cas’ hand and presses his lips on the knuckles. All Cas can do is watch him with wonder, then he nods and just lets himself relax into the mattress. He never lets go of Dean’s hand when sleep takes them both.

So Cas needs time and Dean gives it to him. He seems endlessly patient, eternally ready to lie there while Cas maps his back, muscles, vertebras, freckles. In the end Dean falls asleep a little, but Cas doesn’t mind. They leave the library early in the evening, just to have more time to do what Sam must imagine being a lot of sex, but they don’t - not yet. On the fourth night, Dean asks about it.

Cas is stroking Dean’s side, counting his ribs, up, down, then up again. The muscles are twitching under his fingers; it must tickle.

“Do you like touching me?” Dean asks in the low and intimate voice he uses when they’re relaxed like this. Cas is surprised but the answer is ready. “Yes.”

“Don’t you want me to touch you, too? You never asked.”

“I… I never thought about it.” Cas frowns. “When I touch you, I don’t think about my body. I barely feel it.” Cas thinks Dean is going to blush or make a joke, but he remains serious, considering what Cas said.

“Well, that was always your problem, wasn’t it? Not thinking about yourself. But that’s part of being human, of getting used to it. We’re all a little selfish.” And now he smiles. “I, selfishly, would like to touch you and make you feel good. I just want to be sure about what you want.”

“Are you asking if I want to have sex with you?”

This time, Dean does blush. “This is something you always have to ask, Cas. Never assume.”

“I know. And yes, I want to… or I will want to.”

“We have time. No rush. But,” and his voice drops even lower, “I’d like to kiss you. If that’s okay with you.”

Cas nods, but Dean looks like he’s expecting a verbal answer, so he pushes out a breathy “yeah”, and looks at Dean’s face approaching his. His eyes sparkle, it seems, and Cas could totally spend hours counting all the different colors in them, if it wasn’t for Dean’s scent he’d also like to analyze and catalog and bask in for days. Then Dean’s lips touch his. They’re soft and warm and they don’t stop moving, brushing and pressing. Cas tries to keep up with the movements, the sensations, aware as well of his galloping heartbeat and the fact that everything is painfully too much and too little at the same time. He can’t stop wondering how this would have felt if he was still an angel. He would have sensed the changes in Dean, more than his own emotions or sensations. He wouldn’t have been both locked into his body and out of it with overthinking.

Cas doesn’t know exactly where his frantic thoughts have taken him when Dean draws back, just a little.

“Hey,” Dean asks softly, “what’s wrong?”

Cas realizes he’s tensed, his shoulders drawn up and his neck aching where it holds his head straining towards Dean.

“Is that too fast?” Dean asks again.

“I don’t know. I can’t slow my thoughts down to… to relax, I guess.”

Dean holds his gaze for a minute. His eyes are tender, but how can Cas be sure about what he reads in them? He has trouble knowing how he feels himself, so he doesn’t know if he can trust his impressions. Then Dean seems to come to a decision. He leans back down on the pillow and says: “Let’s try something else. You kiss me.”

And when Cas looks at him, puzzled and unmoving: “Your rhythm. Your rules. I’ll follow.”

The tension lifts from Cas’ shoulders. Dean trusts him and doesn’t pressure him; he isn’t mad at Cas for having trouble getting on with the “normal” program. And he must know that Cas is starting to be comfortable with exploring with his fingers, because he takes Cas’ hand and puts it on his own cheek, cupping his face. Cas’ thumb automatically starts stroking Dean’s cheekbone, the thin skin under his eye. He takes it all in, the freckles along Dean’s nose, the long eyelashes fluttering when Dean also looks all over Cas’ face.

Cas’ thumb travels to Dean’s mouth, stroking his lower lip and stopping at the corner. This is good. He can imagine how it’s going to feel first, and he finds that having time to anticipate makes it easier to finally lean in and replace the pad of his thumb with his lips.

First he doesn’t move. Just appreciates the contact of his upper lip’s sensitive bow on the corner of Dean’s mouth. The contrast between the prickly stubble and the softness of the smooth skin below. The faint and regular puff of air on his cheek every time Dean exhales. Then he slowly slides his mouth all along Dean’s closed lips, like a caress. Dean doesn’t move either, doesn’t press further. He puts one hand on Cas’ waist and keep his eyes open - Cas knows, because his are open too. Sometimes they make eye contact and he knows they’re in this together. He doesn’t doubt Dean’s eyes now.

Cas settles his mouth on Dean’s and presses forward, feeling the give of those full lips. This is a real kiss. Things aren’t just foggy or otherworldly this time, he’s not watching them from afar or analyzing them in terms of neurotransmitters and vital indicators. He’s kissing Dean. The thought, clear and bright, sends something warm pooling down his chest and his belly, and he barely has to name it in his head to know what it is; love; desire. It makes him almost gasp in awe, and his lips part slightly against Dean’s, who follows the movement.

Dean’s breath is hot into his mouth. Cas marvels at the access he’s given into Dean’s body through something as human as a kiss. He seals their mouths together, suddenly craving something more. Dean’s tongue comes to meet his between their barely open lips, and they stay there, time suspended, sucking lightly at each other’s mouth. It lasts and lasts, through many breaths. Cas knows it’s very different from the kisses he’s seen in movies, the passionate and still always elegant choreography. He wonders briefly if maybe this isn’t what he’s supposed to do, but then Dean slides his arm around Cas’ waist, possessively, like he doesn’t want him to go anywhere, and he sighs. It’s a wave that seems to come from deep inside his lungs, something he can’t hold in - it almost lifts Cas, who’s leaning onto Dean’s chest.  

Cas draws back to look Dean in the eyes. They’re glazed and content, a smile ghosting on Dean’s face.

“Are you enjoying this?” Cas asks. He’s surprised to hear his own voice so husky.

“Yeah. Can’t you tell?”

Cas lowers his gaze, embarrassed. He should be able to tell, shouldn’t he? And he thinks he’s starting to, but he’s afraid he can’t trust his new human senses yet.

“Can you tell for me?”

Dean nods and chuckles; Cas hopes he can explain how he knows for sure.

“I can tell you’re thinking a lot, but when you let yourself relax, you like it a lot too.” His hand slips under the hem of Cas’ shirt and rests on bare skin, not suggestive, but reassuring. “Cas, it’s me. It’s us, you know? Whatever you wanna do, I’m gonna enjoy it. And you gotta trust your instinct; the fact that you weren’t born human doesn’t mean you don’t have it.”

Cas is still unconvinced about that, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he kisses Dean again. After all, that’s what he really wants to be doing right now, so maybe it’s his human instinct growing. He’s got time for that… and many other things. Tomorrow, or the day after, he’ll tell Dean how much he loves him. And he’ll show him.

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

Vital Signs, Pt16

Word Count: 2288 Tags: @to-pick-ourselves-up-7 @outside-the-government, @jimfromsales, @donnaintx, @enterprisewriting @supermoonpanda @rayleyanns @sistasarah-sallysaidso

Loki was standing looking out a window with his hands cuffed behind his back. They were pretty fancy handcuffs, and I figured they were probably some kind of magical. I highly suspected a pair of standard issue handcuffs wouldn’t hold him. I turned back to the guard.

“I need the cuffs off,” I ordered. He looked confused.

“But –“

“I can hardly give him a medical assessment with his arms restrained behind his back. And he can’t go through the MRI like that,” I argued.

“I’ll have to get Thor.” The guard sounded dubious. I rolled my eyes.

“Then go get him,” I sighed and looked back to Loki. He had turned to face me, bemusement in his eyes. He also had some sort of muzzle on. The guard was whispering into his radio, and sounded like he was losing whatever argument he was having. I stalked over to him, grabbed his comm and spoke loudly and clearly into it.

“I need Loki out of the cuffs and the muzzle needs to come off too. NOW,” I snapped. Moments later Thor entered the room. I glanced out the window and noticed the sky was clouding over. An arc of lightning shot across the sky. Typical.

Thor entered the room. His presence was impressive. He was taller than Steve, and broader than Steve, and blonder than Steve, and just a whole lot more person than Steve. Obtrusive in a way. In a delicious eye-candy way, but still obtrusive. He glared at me. I raised an eyebrow and pointed at the window.

“Cut the theatrics, Thunderpants. I don’t care how much it pisses you off, you agreed to allow this assessment, and I can’t do it with your brother trussed up like a turkey.” I was cranky. The sky lightened and started clearing. It would suck to have your feelings be so transparent. Loki looked somewhat amused at the way I spoke to his brother.

“I do not think it safe, Lady Doctor,” he argued.

“So stick around. You can drop your plus-10 hammer of immobility on him if he tries anything,” I countered.

“My plus what?” My pop culture reference was obviously lost on him.

“Your hammer. I seem to recall you being the only person who can lift the damn thing. If Loki tries anything, put it on his chest,” I spoke slowly. A smile spread across his face and he slapped my shoulder. I nearly fell over. Dude was strong.

“I understand. When we were children, I took great delight in doing just as you’ve said when we fought,” Thor chuckled. He approached Loki and unshackled him. Loki rubbed his jaw when the muzzle was removed. I tossed a paper gown at him.

“Put this on.” I turned my back.

“I think not,” he responded. I spun around and before I even realized what I was doing, had punched him in the face. His head snapped back and his nose started to bleed. His eyes widened in surprise, and then narrowed with rage. Thor started laughing.

“Put the fucking gown on,” I snapped and turned away.

“You and the Lady Sif would get on quite well, I would think, Lady Doctor.” Thor’s laugh was, unsurprisingly, thunderous. I tapped my foot impatiently.

“I am ready, Doctor.” Loki’s voice was flat. I turned and fought a bad case of the giggles. Paper gowns were so humbling, even for the most average of humans, but seeing this demi-god reduced to bare feet and a light blue crinkly wrap was almost too much. My mood improved. I pointed to the assessment table.

“Hop up.” I quickly ran over the same assessment as the previous time I’d assessed him, but this time, I knew to ask for him to switch into his Jotun appearance for a secondary assessment. It still puzzled and fascinated me how the shape-shifting could alter his physiology. Thor stood to one side, acting disinterested until Loki took on the appearance of a Frost Giant. Then he couldn’t look away.

“You seem bothered by this form, brother.” Loki met Thor’s gaze.

“It never ceases to surprise me,” Thor responded. I drew some more blood samples. Unsurprisingly, Loki was so cool as a Frost Giant that I was getting goosebumps just from standing near him. I cursed myself for wearing a thin t-shirt.

“You can change back,” I murmured. Loki smirked.

“And if I don’t want to? The view is,” he paused, “titillating.” I crossed my arms over my chest and rolled my eyes. Pig.

“Just change back,” I snapped. He complied. I walked over to the far side of the room, and peeked into the MRI suite to make sure it was empty.

“I need you to come into this room and lay on the cot.” I motioned toward the MRI machine. Loki walked over and looked puzzled.

“What manner of machine is this?” He asked.

“It’s a magnetic resonance imager. It’s the machine that takes the pictures of your insides. Lay down. I hope you aren’t bothered by confined spaces. I’m going to do two sets of scans, and you can’t move during them. I will let you know when I need you to change into your Jotun form again.” I strapped him onto the board and gestured to Thor to follow me into the viewing room.

“Should I not stay with him?” Thor asked. I met his gaze.

“That’s a giant magnet. You are wearing armour. I’m not saying you’d get sucked into the machine with him, but I’m not willing to take the risk. Sit.” I pointed to a chair right at the door into the MRI chamber. I set the machine to run, and spoke through the microphone at Loki.

“If you need out of the machine for any reason, just say so. The machine has a microphone, so I’ll be able to hear you.”

“I do not fear small caves, Doctor.” Loki was contemptuous.

“Have it your way then.” I flipped the machine on and started the scan. MRIs take forever. Thor was like an oversized child. He fidgeted and wiggled in his chair, clearly bored. I looked into the room. Loki was staying still. I didn’t trust him to not pull shenanigans.

“How much longer will this take?” Thor was swinging the hammer back and forth under the chair like a pendulum.

“This scan will be another five minutes or so. The next one will take as long. Hey, Loki is a master of illusion, right?” I asked. Thor nodded.

“He can be in many places all at once.”

“So how do we know we got the right copy?” I asked.

“The illusions are non-corporeal. Had you tried to strap an illusory Loki to the bed, your hands would have slipped through him.” Thor waved his hand in front of himself to demonstrate.

“Oh, that’s creepy.” I finished the first scan, and decided I should check on Loki in the chamber. I pulled back the cot and met his gaze. He looked irritated.

“That was insufferably long,” he complained.

“And it’s going to be the same length this time. I just need you to be in your Jotun form.”

“The previous time you assessed me, you had said you would let me know what differences you found in my physiology. I have many questions,” Loki stated.

“Yeah, well, that was before you killed my friend and leveled half my city. I don’t feel quite so obliging anymore.” I turned on my heel and stalked back to the control booth. I waited until I could see that Loki had taken on the blue of his Frost Giant heritage and ran the machine again. Thor was staring at the ceiling, groaning. I tossed a magazine at him.

“Here. Entertain yourself. ADD much?”

“I know not what that means. I am not accustomed to such waiting.” He flipped through the magazine, a look of horror spreading across his face, “Do women here really dress so immodestly?” He held up a photo spread of a bunch of move stars in bikinis. I laughed.

“Really? I thought you were like, a Viking god?”

“Well, yes, the Vikings thought we were gods,” he admitted.

“The Vikings who pillaged, raided and raped their way across Europe,” I clarified.

“As was the way of war then, yes,” he agreed.

“And you think a woman in a bikini is scandalous?” I asked. He looked puzzled.

“I never knew a Viking woman to dress in so little. She would have frozen to death.” He was so confused.

“I guess I just thought all the Valkyries in Valhalla would be scantily clad sex-kittens,” I shrugged. Thor’s booming laugh filled the room.

“No, Lady Doctor, the shield maidens of Valhalla are warriors, and rightly armoured. These scraps would not guard against any injury!” He chuckled. I felt a little stupid. Then again, I could name every bone in the hand, which I doubted Thor could. Different areas of expertise.

The MRI started counting down its completion. I sent Loki and Thor back into the assessment room while I looked over the initial scans and frowned. Fury stepped in from the hallway. I should have known he would be lurking.

“Well?”

“So far, I don’t see anything significant, but I’m going to need some time to go over the scans more thoroughly.” I collected the printouts and headed back to the assessment room. Loki and Thor were locked in an epic stare-off. Ugh. Brothers.

“Are we finished, Doctor?” Loki asked. I nodded.

“You can get dressed. I have some questions, but no more hands on stuff.”

“Pity. I so wanted your hands all over me,” he smirked. I rolled my eyes. Thor bristled.

“Loki! You know she belongs to another,” he barked. Loki shrugged.

“But I am a god, brother. And what woman wouldn’t want that?” Without embarrassment, he began to get dressed in front of me. I turned my back. He was evil, but he did have the body of a god.

“Uh, this one.” I informed him over my shoulder, “Did you know, Loki, that early Christians modeled their Satan after you? Women, we’re funny. We love a bad boy. Most of us, however, draw the line at the devil incarnate.” I turned back around, hoping he was fully clothed. He was pulling his top on. He stalked over to me, and put his hand on my arm. I met his angry, green eyes.

“Is not your devil the god of fire? And yet ice runs through my veins. I think your Satan is not so similar to me.” His hand was ice cold against my skin. I yanked my arm away. It tingled and I rubbed where he’d been touching to regain circulation. His touch had been enough to leave frostbite in the shape of his hand on me.

“You’ve given me frostbite, you asshole.” I rubbed at my arm a little more aggressively.

“I have marked you, as you marked me,” he gestured to his bruised nose, “In lesser societies, we would be considered wed now.” I turned my gaze to his brother.

“Is he always like this? Or is this because his awesome plan to rule the world was thwarted?” I asked, still rubbing my arm.

“Unfortunately, Lady Doctor, I think he has grown fond of you.” Thor looked a little disturbed. I whirled back to Loki, who was glaring at Thor.

“Well, I have a boyfriend. I think you’ve met him. Carries a big shield with a giant star on it.” I picked up his chart and pointed at the assessment table, “Now sit.” I ran through the rest of the questions, and while Loki tried to be difficult, Thor was happy to supply as many answers as he could to fill in the silent gaps Loki was leaving. I scribbled notes as quickly as I could.

“So, can you be killed?” I asked. I thought it was a legitimate question, and probably something SHIELD needed to know. Loki and Thor exchanged a meaningful look.

“Yes. We are more resilient, and stronger. But with enough injury we can die,” Thor admitted.

“And your life span?”

“Thousands of Midgardian years,” Loki responded.

“So you’re not actually a god,” I stated. Loki had the greatest poker face in the world, but it showed a slight crack at the statement. Thor nodded.

“No. It would be difficult for a Midgardian to kill us, but it could happen,” he said. I smiled at Loki.

“Good to know. Such a shame you can’t leave your brother for weapons testing, Thor.” I made more notes, “One last question.”

“There are no words to convey my gratitude at that.” If the increased weight of Loki’s sarcasm was any indication, he was more than finished with the interrogation.

“How old are you, Loki?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” he shrugged. I looked at Thor. Thor nodded.

“Truly, Midgardian years pass differently than those in Asgard. I would guess we are both hundreds, if not thousands of Midgardian years old.”

“And we will both live that long again after you are dead,” Loki snapped. He rose and held his hands out to Thor. Thor looked surprised, and looked back to me.

“I’m done. Take him home.” I finished scribbling notes in the chart, and watched as Thor locked the handcuffs around his wrists. He was about to muzzle Loki again when he stepped toward me. He leaned down to whisper in my ear.

“I could have soothed your burns, Doctor,” he breathed. A shiver ran down my spine, and goosebumps flared along me skin. He smiled as he stood back up, “You aren’t so unaffected by me, are you?”

I couldn’t help myself. I punched him in the face again.