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a-edgar-allan-hoe · 2 years

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Wild Horses

Part 3

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Doctor!Reader, other characters x reader

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 4

A/N: Part 3 is finally here y’all! Sorry it took such a while to finally upload, I have been extremely burnt out and needed some time to recharge after completing my semester. Therefore I have made this chapter extra long! Also sorry if it in any way feels rushed, I tried to get this posted as soon as possible since it has long been due. Let me know if you would like some more dynamics between the reader and the other characters. As always, comments and reblogs are much appreciated, I love hearing y'alls thoughts and things that you enjoyed! (Also this chapter contains a surprise guest!) 💜💜💜

Summary: Imagine being the new physician assigned to the team and a certain masked individual takes a new keen concealed interest in you. The two of you are too awkward to function.

Warnings and notes: language, violence, blood and gore, fluff, angst, slow-burn, slight implication of past abuse.

(Quick Disclaimer: I am not a doctor nor have any professional knowledge or experience involving surgical procedures. I am just a student studying in the medical field who has just started taking courses that are more degree-related. So I apologize if some of the stuff may be inaccurate.)

🍂That night, the same night Ghost saw you on that roof, your face illuminated by the stars and the moon that seemed to pale in comparison to you, he had returned to his own quarters as stealthily as he had came. His presence had always gone unnoticed both to you and the others at this time of night, a time of night when even the nightingales had laid down to rest, exhausted from their song. When he settled himself in bed that night, his torso covered by his blanket and his arm propped up on the pillow to rest under his head, he could not sleep, staring at the ceiling just as he did the night before. His body begged for a moment’s rest, anything to let his consciousness slip away in order to escape the reality of this world in which only sleep could provide. But in spite of the efforts of his nervous system, his mind contested for a few more minutes of wakefulness, moments that would only turn into hours.

🍂There was always this unspoken battle within Simon Riley, a battle of peace and conflict, a constant struggle between giving in to the comforts of life and leaving everything behind, or preoccupying himself with his current line of work that seemed to be the only thing that kept his thoughts at bay. But starting a new life? That was something that was not cut out for him. His past was and will always be his present and his future. Society had no place for people like Simon Riley, and he it. I’m telling you, this man needs therapy, bad. And one hell of a vacation.

Never in a day of his miserable life did he know you would be thrown into the mix. You, a woman of better upbringing, a woman so delicate and blinded with hope, a woman who shared the warmth of her spirit with all whom she knew. And yet, here she was, wasting her time away in a place with the likes of them, where war consumed every living soul that ever crossed its path. God were you naïve, and completely fucking daft, he had thought to himself many times, a doctor like you leaving the hospital in the city for a place like this. Jesus. Either you were a complete fool or the military offered you a shit ton of money. Or perhaps it was your youth. After all, you were younger than the rest of them. He believed a woman of your degree should not be here amongst men like them. You were soft, tried too hard to see the good in people, and one day, one day, that might be your downfall.

Sometimes he’d find himself hoping you would transfer somewhere else. And the more he thought on the subject, the more he came to despise you being here, part of the reason why he avoided you in the first place. And yet, as the days went by, the man had developed a bit of a soft spot for you as they might say. But don’t tell him that or else he might just loose another one of his knives. Truth of the matter was, he had seen what war had done, even to the best of people. And with no disrespect, a young woman like you would get eaten up alive in a place like this.

And as much as he hated to admit it, he did not want to see you wound up in this chaos. So what would he do? He'd often times monitor your activity, and by that I mean he would on some occasions check up on you, in his own avoidant way of course, whether it be making sure you woke up by standing around the corner to see you trudge along to the coffee maker in your white coat, or catching you finish your shift when you left your office in the evening. By this time, you'd be surprised to know that he has grown familiar with part of your schedule, from when you leave your room and make yourself a cup of coffee in the morning before heading into your office, to what time you have your little lunch, down to the hour of the evening when you leave your office after your shift has ended. He calls it "running a constructive operation", but you and I both know what it is. Despite his cold, masked exterior, he's not completely heartless and does want to make sure you're safe, as with the rest of his teammates.

At the same time, your safety also depends on your environment, and there is only so much a few men can do. Perhaps it would be best if you were somehow convinced to go back to the states and leave, lest this place will end up devouring every last bit of vibrancy that radiated in you. And if that meant being callous towards you and making your time here a living hell, as if you did not belong, so be it. I know it sounds like he absolutely loathes you but I promise it only seems that way.

The man obviously has trouble sleeping, which was nothing new to him, a good nights rest was something of a rarity in his case. But now it was you he found inhabiting the walls of his mind, and frankly, he found it to be quite a nuisance. And as if to make matters worse, tonight it was your voice that haunted his thoughts, that siren-like voice that rung out softly underneath the pale moonlight as if he were a sailor awaiting to plummet to his death down into the abyss of the deep indigo waters below.

He needed sleep, desperately, and if he did not get it soon he might just go insane. That’s to say he isn’t already. And despite finding you to be the cause of the whole ordeal behind it, behind him not being able to shut his eyes and fall into a short-lived coma, you were still the only doctor here and just how was he supposed to go about that. Usually people go to doctors if they have trouble sleeping, but how the fuck was he supposed to go to you. He couldn’t just walk in your office and ask if you had anything strong enough to knock him out. Sure there was always alcohol but that meant dealing with a hangover and you most likely sending him a pamphlet about the dangers of alcoholism without even knowing like some kind of psychic. On the other hand, knowing how you were, if he were to mention his symptoms you would just ask him a bunch of questions. And then what was he supposed to say? That he couldn’t sleep because you tormented and occupied his thoughts??? Never. He decides it’s better to just deal with it.

And boy oh boy your singing did not help. You reminded him of the nightingales that used to nest in the tree outside his bedroom window in his childhood home. You and your guitar, singing your song out into the night for someone out there, whomever and wherever they were. The song and your voice an empty promise, a false hope for the things that never were and never might come. And yet, despite his slight demurral towards you, in the days to come, he came to find comfort in your voice, his feet finding their way to the rooftop to see if you would be there.

On the nights that you were there, he would sit against the wall away from your line of sight, hidden in the shadows and listening to your voice, the only thing that kept him sane and dare say, even bring him an ounce of peace. He would say it was to make sure you don’t pull anything stupid or draw unnecessary attention towards yourself. But truth was, though he could not see it within himself, maybe he was watching over you, making sure no harm came your way. Little would he know, that your voice and the serenity of your aura would soon come to remind him of home, of the days where it was just him and his mother and the nightingales perched on the tree outside his bedroom window, the sound of your voice lulling him to a much needed sleep that his body craved.

Now back to the current.

That next morning you had woken up from the sun shining down on your face, its rays hot against your cheeks as you squinted against the bright light, pulling your blanket over your head with a groan before bolting upright, eyes widened with alarm. Oh shit, what time was it? You look at the watch on your wrist, eyes widening even more to see that it was NOON????? It's fucking noon?

"Fucking shit." You let out a string of curses between your teeth, grabbing your things off the floor only to get up with a gasped groan from the sharp needle-like sensations that shot up your spine, your back hunched over like a shrimp with kyphosis. You wince, hissing as you attempt to straighten yourself out, letting out a couple ows from the cracking sound that came out from between your vertebrae. Boy were you an idiot. Never sleep on cement, now your hips and back feel like they were broken in by the Hulk and you're willing to bet there would be bruises.

You could have sworn you looked like one of those grandmas depicted in the cartoons, wincing almost each time you took a step. A frown pulled on your lips as you headed towards the door that led back to the building, opening it up and nearly whining at the sight of the stairs spanning out below you. "Fuck my life."

You make sure to take your time going down, not wanting to tumble down the steps and risk a broken limb or concussion only to have one of the men patch you up and risk getting an infection. It's not that you don't trust their handiwork......but you don’t. And the thought of having your prefrontal cortex accidentally removed shakes you to your core. Don't tell them that though, you'd probably hurt their feelings.

"Y/n." You hear someone calling your name in the distance, turning your head to see Price heading in your direction.

God damn it, out of all the people to see you in this state. Don't tell anyone but Price is your workplace crush. I mean if we're being honest the whole team is fine as hell. But you loved his snarky sense of humor, his kind eyes and smile, and the way his eyes seemed to disappear into these curved crescent-shaped lines whenever he smiled or laughed. And now as he stood in front of you, his bulky frame towering over yours. You're praying there aren’t any spots of snot on your face from the way you bawled your eyes out last night.

"Oh fuck me." You inaudibly curse under your breath, knowing damn well that to hope he doesn't notice how you literally look a sleep-deprived Quasimodo would be damn near impossible.

"Where've you been? I was beginning to get worried." Price asks, looking over your hunched state that oddly paired with your puffy eyes and face. "Jesus Mary Joseph. Are you alright?"

"Yup, it's just allergies." You nod your head with a strained smile. "Perfectly peachy."

"Do you need any help?"

"Nope! I'm fine." You hurry past him. "I'm going to take a shower so whoever is in there right now tell them to hurry up."

Price watches you go with furrowed brows, wondering whatever the hell happened to you before shaking his head with a shrug and heading towards the showers to make sure it was empty for you. During your time there, the team had sorted out to give you a designated time slot for when you preferred to bathe, wanting to ensure that you received your privacy because of there only being shared showers, something which was common with being in the military. They had even given your own designated shower head. But even then, you always went in and came out fully dressed with both your towels and your clothes, terrified with the idea of the men seeing you in nothing but a towel once you stepped out. Luckily for you, no one was in there when you had arrived. When you hurried in there with your fresh pair of clothes and towels bundled in your arms, that had to be the quickest shower you had ever taken, other than the times you almost slept through your alarms and missed your exams back in med school.

So by the time you step out of your room with your white coat, empty coffee mug in hand and your hair barely brushed through looking like Dr. Emmet Brown, you don't even bother to put on any makeup or concealer to hide the fact that you had been crying last night, you already had a late start to the day as it was.

Going over to the kitchen, you groggily place your mug on the counter, staring at the pasty tiles for a good minute to gather your thoughts and remember just what it was your were doing in the first place before turning on the coffee maker only to see that it isn't working. "You have got to be kidding me." Honest to god if I don't have coffee in the morning I will commit a felony.

"There's no use meddling with that." Price comes up beside you, watching the way you moved the small machine around and smacked the sides with your palms. "I'm afraid it's broken."

"Broken?" You turn to the older gentleman, trying your best to mask your annoyance at yet another misfortune to add to your list of shit that happened today so you don't get written up for having an attitude or whatever it is they do here for uncompliant personnel. "What do you mean it's broken?" What you mean to say is, how the hell are you going to get through the day without your daily dose of caffeine? You were not in the mood for a caffeine withdrawal, not now.

"You'll have to blame MacTavish for that." Damn this man just threw him under the bus no hesitation.

"Soap? How?”

"Bloke put the coffee grounds where the water is supposed to go."

"He put the.......what?" You squint with a scrunch of your nose, trying to picture the young Scotsman mixing up the steps for the coffee grounds and water before pinching the bridge of your nose with a shake of your head. It's too damn early for this. Bitch it's literally the afternoon.

“You look like shite.” Price teases you of your completely disheveled appearance. Honestly he thinks you look pretty cute in a I just had 15 shots of espresso and forgone a whole week’s worth of sleep kind of way. Price is the type of man to see you at your worst looking like a corpse from the grave and dig it, with some concern for your overall health and well-being of course.

“Gee thanks.”

“You sure you’re all right?”

“Happier than a kid at Disneyland.” You roll your eyes before slipping out a small groan, burying your head in your arms upon the counter and muttering something along the lines of how you’re going to euthanize yourself.

“Oi. There’ll be none of that, you hear?”

“Wait and see.” You mumble to yourself but Price hears it anyway.

“Cheer up. I got you something.” You hear Price say to you before hearing something being placed on the counter.

"Is it benzoylmethylecgonine?" You mumble out.

"What?"

"Benzoylmethylecgonine." Your voice is louder this time but still muffled from your arms.

"The fuck is that?"

".................cocaine."

"Jesus Mary Joseph." Price rolls his eyes. “You’re a character, you. Why don’t you give it a look eh?”

You slightly lift your head from your arms, peering over to see a cup next to you.

"For ya." Price smiles as he pushes the cup towards you, watching you stare at the thing with skepticism.

"Well. Go on."

"Is that-?"

"Coffee.”

"Yeah I know that but-“ you lift yourself up to stare at the thing with a tilt of your head. “where the hell did you get it?”

"From a small coffee shop down a couple blocks."

Right. "What kind is it?”

"Iced caramel macchiato. Heard you mentioning it the other day."

"Oh. You did?” You blink. "You didn't have to do all that."

"Eh it's nothin, my treat. The men and I needed our caffeine too, and well, since Soap broke the machine, we needed to get it one way or another.” All but Simon of course. Dude hates coffee.

“What, did you tell him he's buying?"

“No.” Price leans back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest as he stares off into the distance in thought. “Now that I think about it I should’ve, aye?”

"Poor Soap." You shake your head with a chuckle, grabbing the cup to take a sip. “Oh......oh that hit the spot.”

Okay remember when the boys were competing with giving you little gifts and I said that Price showed his appreciation for you in other ways? This is what I mean. He makes sure you’re taken care of and that your little needs and requests are met. Though rare as composed to Soap's little visits, he likes to stop in your office at times, peeking his head through your cracked door and asking if there is anything you need. This man’s love language is acts of service, I’m sure of it.

“Proper innit.” Price chuckles at your blissed expression.

“Hm. Chef’s kiss.” You take another sip of your coffee as you lean back against the counter, savoring in the cold, smokey, buttery liquid as it went down your throat.

“The hell is on your feet.” Price nods towards your shoes.

“They’re my crocs.” You give a hurt look, the ends of your lips pulled into a frown.

“They’re downright hideous.”

“They’re comfortable!!!” You defend. “I even put little buttons on it.” You lift one of your feet up to show him.

“Doesn’t make it any less hideous.”

"You should try looking in a mirror first before you come talking to me about what's hideous and what's not." You snark, a teasing tone in your voice that catches the older man off guard.

Price is stunned, mouth slightly agape as he is surprised to see such a statement come from a person as demure as you, and dare say even aroused, at being affronted by someone smaller than him. "You cheeky girl." Price shifts his weight, pressing his tongue against his molars before tightening his jaw. "You've got a sharp tongue on you."

"Don't insult my crocs." You lift your chin with a raised brow, a smug expression on your face as you lift your coffee cup to your lips.

As Price and you talked, Ghost had appeared in the far corner, his eyes lowered to the ground and not a single thought behind them before hearing the sound of Price's voice. Stopping in his tracks, he peers around the corner, not wanting to look conspicuous but also curious to see who it was the captain was speaking to, looking over to see the two of you together engaged in a conversation looking a bit too comfy.

The soldier froze, tensing at the sound of you laughing and Price……flirting? Was the man flirting with you? Ghost watched the way Price leaned in ever so slightly in your direction, a slight yet noticeable shift in his demeanor as he told you a joke, the way your cheeks swelled as you snorted, your smile hidden behind the cup held in your hands in an attempt to hold back a laugh, and the way he reached a hand out to adjust the collar of your white coat. He is not jealous he is not jealous he his not jealous. Once again, HE IS NOT JEALOUS. Looking away from the scene, he turned back around and headed back to where he came. He had no reason to feel threatened by the situation, it’s not like he felt anything towards you or if you meant anything to him. And yet, why did it irk him to see you laughing with Price like that.

That was the first he had heard you laugh, though as light and brief as it was. He could tell it wasn’t your true full-hearted laugh, the ones that left you gasping for air as tears welled up at the corner of your eyes. He had seen those laughs many times at the pub from the groups of friends that gathered together after a long day of work or when they had just left from a futbol match, times when he craved a glass of whisky. The laugh you had let out right now wasn’t one of those full chested laughs, this one was different, more timid, like fresh rain in the middle of spring, where fog blanketed and seeped through the meadows and trees, where dewdrops patterned themselves like mosaics upon the blades of grass and the petals of roses. This laugh was light and airy, crisp to his ears, and it had sent a slight shiver down the stone-hearted soldier that he had never once felt before.

He convinces himself that what he saw between the two of you was none of his concern and that who you fancy is none of his business, and yet why did he find your little interaction with Price to bother him? Better yet, why does he find himself wishing he had made you laugh instead?

It should also be mentioned that Ghost did not fulfill the task he had promised himself when he said he would throw away the Dum Dum lollipops you had given him last night, thinking your little form of bribery to be quite inane. What did you take him for, a child? Regardless of the many times he stared at those two pieces of candy with your little note next to them, your graceful and sophisticated handwriting a strange polarity to the bright and colorful wrapped candy often meant for children, curiosity had gotten the best of him, as well as midnight cravings.

And alas, with numerous stealing glances toward the lollipops and his mouth watering for just a quick sample, the man had given in. And let’s just say, he’s addicted. I mean, I was not lying when I said this man has the sweet tooth of Augustus Gloop. Also, he may or may not have snuck into your office the next morning to steal a lollipop or two, or three, before rushing out the door. So you should probably hide the those things before you walk in on an empty tray one day.

"Also, I wanted to let you know that Alejandro, Ghost, and Soap and I will be heading out on a mission later today. Gaz will be staying behind just to make sure nothing happens here while we're away." Price informs you.

"What time will you be back?"

"Not till late. If everything runs smoothly, there's no need to wait up for us."

“Geez. Will it be dangerous?” Your brows furrow at the center. You knew what their job entailed, but that didn’t stop you from worrying.

“Well that’s part of our job now innit.” Price smirks.

"Just………make sure to come back in one piece alright. I'm not trying to perform any amputations today." You scrunch your nose in a teasing manner, though your words mean more than what your voice gives away.

"Don't you worry that pretty little head of yours. We'll be back like before aye.” Price gives you a comforting smile, bringing his hand up to brush his thumb and forefinger against the bottom of your chin before dropping it back down at his side. Though the action was small and brief, an informal unveiling of the captain’s fondness towards you, that didn’t stop your face from heating up faster than a hot pocket in the microwave. You were sure one would burn their hands if they grazed your cheek.

The others had soon cluttered into the area where you were, chatting amongst themselves before turning towards you and price, the sudden group of movement causing you to clear your throat and step just the slightest inch away.

"Hey doc." The men greeted you, their faces brightening upon seeing you before glancing down at your bright crocs.

"The fuck are those?"

"Oh my god. Don't tell me you guys have never seen crocs before." You exhale, your voice coming out in a scoff.

"Why are they called crocs?" Soap questions, brows furrowed with confusion. You and me both Soap, I don't have a clue either.

"Looks like something my abuela would wear." Alejandro comments, a mischievous glint in his eyes at teasing you.

“Que te folle un pez (get fucked by a fish).”

Alejandra is stunned from the words that just came out from your lips, cocking his head back and tilting it as he looked at you with surprised amusement. He never knew you spoke Spanish. Maybe it came with being a doctor and being around people all the time. On top of that, was this the first time he had heard you curse? Was that a stroke of confidence he heard from your mouth? Was he offended? Was he turned on? He couldn’t tell.

But as Alejandro still stood there, silent against your remark, the others begin to wonder just what it was that you said that had him like this.

“Uh what’d she say?” Soap leans over to whisper to Alejandro, his eyes darting between the two of you as did the other men.

“Ahora, ¿dónde aprendiste una cosa así, eh? (Now where did you learn such a thing, huh?)” Alejandro nods his head towards you, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Conoces gente de todo tipo cuando eres médico. Y además, el idioma era parte de mi plan de estudios de todos modos. (You meet all kinds of people when you're a doctor. And besides, language was part of my curriculum anyway.)” You shrug your shoulders, taking a sip of your coffee as your eyes meet Alejandro’s dark ones over the lid of your cup.

Alejandro chuckles, pointing at you with a smirk. “Bueno, será mejor que tengas cuidado cariño. Palabras como esa pueden meterte en problemas. (Well, you'd better be careful, sweetheart. Words like that can get you in trouble.)”

“No te preocupes por mí. Soy una niña grande Me licencié y todo. (Do not worry about me. I'm a big girl. I’ve got a degree and all.)”

“What are they saying?” Soap asks again, this time to Gaz.

“How would I know?” Gaz hisses, obviously annoyed with not knowing what the two of you were conversing about. Were the two of you planning a date? Were you plotting a scheme? Were you making fun of the rest of the team? The boys definitely didn't like being left out from a conversation, especially from you.

“I didn’t know you can speak Spanish.” Soap turns to you.

“Well it seems here that our little doctora is full of surprises.” Alejandro comments, making you roll your eyes with a shake of your head.

“Right.” Gaz squints at you in a jest, adding on to the men poking fun at you. “Now really doc, what the fuck is on your feet?”

"Oh screw y'all, they're comfy for my feet alright." You roll your eyes at the way they tease you about your choice of footwear, though in all honesty, you're not able to hide the smile that tugs at the ends of your lips, that is until a certain someone appears.

Ghost is the last one to show up, hoping to have avoided your presence. But when he sees you still there leaning against the counter, his eyes lock with yours before looking away as if you had never even existed in the first place.

You're almost sure he hates you, chewing on the inside of your cheek from the way he looked you over like a speck of dirt on his boot before completely ignoring your being. You have no clue why he is the way he is around you, wondering if he had seen the note you left on his door. He has to have seen it right? He’s got to. And then it hits you, at least you think. Maybe your little detail of adding the lollipops had offended him, and you’re almost terrified to think what he thought of them. On top of that, he still had never bothered to show up for his blood results. So he truly was avoiding you on purpose, wasn’t he. You wish you knew the reason behind his avoidant behavior. Did he find you disgusting? Was that a possible reason? Had you somehow at some point offended him? Were you going to end up on his hit list? Maybe. Were you going to die some mysterious death by his hands tonight? Sounds likely.

“Alright you lot. Let’s get moving.” Price gestures the men to follow him before turning back to you. “We won’t be long. Gaz, you know the rules.”

“Yessir.” Gaz nods his head before stepping over to you, looking down at you drinking your coffee with a soft smile on his face. “I’m sure this day will go by smoothly.”

“Oof. Don’t jinx it.”

You wish he had not said those last words.

You had spent most of the day relaxing as Price had suggested when the men left, their gear strapped to their forms and their guns locked and loaded. A strange scene I might add, if one were to walk into the area of the building and see a group of bulky hardened soldiers and then you, a young woman in a white coat and scrubs and her special decorated crocs along with her vintage Donald Duck watch. You almost looked out of place with the war-ridden atmosphere.

When you had stepped into your office the first time that day, you were surprised to see a slight change in your usual environment, the lack of an apple at your desk. This absence, though small and what one might call insignificant, had saddened you to a certain degree. Though at first you found the little act to be annoying, of finding the red fruit there every morning placed upon your desk, as time went by, you had grown accustomed to it a bit. So when you noticed the absence of the apple after expecting to see it just like the days before, it had lowered your spirits. Though you did not know the meaning or intention behind the gesture or the person directly involved behind it, it had come to bring you a sense of security, a slight token of someone’s watchful eye over you. Or at least that’s what you believed it to be. Little did you it was just a simple act involving the confusion of idioms.

But imagine your confusion when in place of the lack of an apple, you instead find your tray of lollipops looking a little less full than it was yesterday. Had someone broken into your office or were you just loosing your mind. And as you inspect the little tray, you're even more surprised to find a distinct black, powdery substance smeared against the side of it, right on the edge. Using your thumb, you wipe it off the side of the tray, raising your hand to further inspect the foreign substance to see that it looks a lot like eyeshadow.

"Huh. That's strange."

Ooooooo someone just got caught.

With the men gone, all except Gaz of course, you went about reading more chapters of your book, lounging about on the couch in the common area before your nerves got the better of you and you decided to do some cleaning around the area, to which Gaz had offered some help, with much eagerness in his end. Gaz of course had kept watch, letting you lead the conversations as the two of you made small talk every once in a while before going back to your little tasks, you with your paperwork and inventory of medical supplies and Gaz with his patrol.

During the moments where the two of you did talk, you began to unravel little details about each other, details mostly involving Gaz since you still preferred to keep your walls up. You called it being professional, but those who were close to you would call it a fear to let others in. Perhaps they were right. After your father’s death, you had rarely let anyone in, sometimes not even your own self. And Gaz, being the sweet soul that he was, never pressured you to reveal anything you did not want to. He wouldn’t ask about your personal life or your past unless you offered to.

The more the two of you talked, the more you learned little things about the soldier that you never knew, like his love of the ocean and how he had wanted to become a marine biologist when he was a little boy, as well as how his favorite sea creatures were, and still are, sea otters and sea turtles. He had even mentioned how his favorite movie was Nemo growing up, with Crush being his favorite character. In fact, the movie was what inspired him to study in that field in the first place. He was extremely almost embarrassed to release that bit of info to you, scared that you might pass it on to the team and that he’d never hear the end of it. When that little bit of information slipped from his tongue, he practically begged you not to tell the others. So imagine his relief when you stick your pinky out in an offer to make a pinky promise on it. You honestly find it kind of cute.

As time dragged on and when the day had become night, when the sun had long passed the horizon to lay to rest, you had grown quite weary waiting for the men to return, and oh was there a sight waiting for them to behold once they did. Your little act of cleaning around the house had drained a good amount of your energy, eventually causing you to crash out on the couch with your head resting against Gaz’s shoulder. Your legs were curled up on the cushion of the sofa, your book placed open on your lap after Gaz had asked if you could read to him, curious about the story within the binding. But the late hour combined with the cleaning around had pulled a yawn from your chest as you read the pages out loud, your voice low and muzzy and your words drawling out as your eyes scanned the printed letters before another yawn escaped your lips, and another, then another, before everything became blurry and you slowly drifted off to a deep sleep.

Even Gaz, who was supposed to stay watch, had fallen asleep beside you, his head thrown back on the back of the couch and his mouth slightly parted as soft little snores escaped it. He was never one to fall asleep on duty, known for his control over his mental fortitude. But the poor soldier had soon followed suit, infected by by your fatigue as he too yawned after each time you did. In that time, he smiled down softly as he watched you grow tired next to him, resting your head unconsciously on his shoulder and chuckling at the sight of the thin line of drool that slipped from the corner of your mouth.

He almost felt relieved, and comforted to see this side of you, after having seen you do nothing but shove your nose into paperwork and files on top of staying on guard to take care of them and make sure no serious injury happens on your watch. And as he watched you, making sure to stay as still as possible as to not wake you, your soft breathing and the warmth radiating off your body had finally pulled him in, until eventually, his state of alertness fell limp, his head rolling back as he too drifted off shortly after you.

You don’t know long you had been asleep, nor did you know you had your face smushed up against Gaz’s shoulder, your lips parted slightly and your drool pooling into a wet spot on the fabric of his jacket. If you did, you don’t think you’d be able to look him in the eye from how embarrassed you’d be. Not only did you most likely cause his arm to cramp up and fall asleep under your weight, but you had also marked his shoulder with your saliva. And if the others were to see this, they would have a kick out of it, with Soap taking multiple pictures at unflattering angles and teasing the two of you for the days to follow. And in a short matter of time, they would have seen it, stumbling upon the scene if they had not burst through the front door like a team of SWAT.

The sound of the door slamming open and their shouts had startled you awake, their voices echoing through the front of the building and making you sit up in your seat.

“What the-“ you mutter out groggily, squinting against the dryness of your eyes and not even paying mind to how you had completely crashed out. Where they back?

“Sounds like trouble.” Gaz had also woken up next to you, quickly getting up from the sofa and rushing towards the commotion as you followed closely behind.

You almost froze at the scene, watching the men come into the area with their faces worn out and beaded with sweat and spots of blood. You knew what they were getting into, what their job required of them, yet seeing them return from the mission first hand had in some way unsettled you. Sure, you had worked in the ER during your residency. You had seen conditions far worse than this, patients suffering from injuries ranging of a varying degree as they were wheeled around, gruesome wounds that still at times scarred your memories till this day. And yet, why did this seem to daunt you far worse than anything you had seen in the emergency department. It's almost as if you forgot these men were killers, and you didn't quite know how to feel about that.

Alejandro had been the first to step into the area, carrying an injured Soap under his arm and helping the Scot walk next to him as he muttered some words of encouragement in Spanish.

“What-what happened?”

“Nada serio querida. No te preocupes. (Nothing serious love. Don't worry.)” Alejandro answers simply, groaning under Soap's weight and from his own injuries.

“Nada serio querida.” Soap copies what Alejandro had said with a limp in each of his steps, his face pale from the loss of blood from his wound as he gives you a smile to assure you that everything was in fact fine, though we all know this isn’t the case.

“Well it sure as damn well looks serious to me Alejandro.” You remark as you hurry over to help the man set Soap down carefully on a chair, your voice slipping the hint of your father’s accent, a small habit that revealed itself whenever you got upset over something. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't try to tread carefully around me, I'm not made of glass you know."

Alejandro fell quiet as he watched you try to examine Soap, taken aback by this more....authoritative side of you, not that he had any reason to be surprised, you were a physician after all and this sort of conduct was necessary especially since people's lives were in your hands. He had not intended to alarm or offend you, the reason why he said those words in the first place, but the situation itself had managed to speak much louder than his words could ever manage. And in this moment, maybe it's best to let you be in charge.

Your eyes scattered about the area as the others soon came through, focusing on each and every one of them to try to gauge both their mental and physical state. Ghost was the next to enter right after Price, his blackened eyes from behind his mask meeting your concerned ones for a brief and fleeting moment before looking away. The skull-masked soldier was supporting another man, another masked soldier you had not seen before, one whose stature towered over everyone around him, even Simon Riley himself, whom you have thought to be tall enough already. Y'all already know who it is.

“Sir-“ you spoke up to the troubled-looking captain as he walked up to you, your eyes studying the wounded and bloodied scene behind him. You don't know what the hell happened back there, but you didn't need to hear the details to know it wasn't good. “Is everything alright? The hell happened?”

“Y/n.” Price finally stood in front of you, his hand placed on your shoulder as means of reassurance, or even a way to steady his exhausted body as he turned back to his men, running his fingers through his beard before looking you in the eye. “We were ambushed. Suffered a few injuries but we got the most of em.”

“You sure? Y’all look like you took quite the beating.” You state lightheartedly but more so from a place of worry and sympathy. “Listen Captain, if you don't mind, I need to take a look at these men."

“Right. Right.” Price nods his head, breathless from the mission. His countenance was masked behind an aura of composure as he looked over his injured soldiers, but one look at his eyes told you otherwise. He was tense, nonetheless, and you could clearly see the restlessness behind them from the way he held responsibility over the lives of his men, believing himself to be accountable if any harm should come to them.

“Do you have any wounds I need to take a look at sir? Any trauma to the head? Any lacerations or punctures?"

“No. No, I’m fine.”

"It'll be alright." You give the man a comforting smile, placing a hand on his arm to provide the only means of consolation you can give him in a moment like this.

“Thank you.” Price returns your smile, placing his hand over yours and giving it a soft squeeze. Though he felt contrite for throwing such a burden on your shoulders, he knew that you were the only person qualified enough around here given the circumstances, and he could not be more grateful for your presence. "Just....let me know if you need any help."

"Of course."

The men were badly beaten from what you observed as you examined them. A few fresh bruises marked their bodies, nothing terribly serious, but Soap, Alejandro, and the new guy were the only ones who had sustained more serious injuries. MacTavish had taken a bullet to the thigh, but luckily for him, the bullet had missed his femoral artery as well as any major nerves in the area. The poor Scotsman had felt bad for disturbing you at such a late hour such as this. But you had reassured him time and time again that this was part of your job, and that you had read over the part of the contract that said you would mostly be on-call when you signed your name at the bottom.

Soap doesn't know why he was so on edge as you operated on him. He’s nervous, extremely nervous. And what does Soap do when he’s nervous? He talks, like a lot, like a lot a lot and I don’t mean that lightly. I mean this man just talks your ear off while you’re wiping away any excess blood on his thigh and practically knuckles deep into his bullet wound. This man had been shot before so why should this be any different. Was it the local anesthetic you had injected into him? Or was it because you were a practicing physician and therefore would be able to pinpoint the finer details and eventually break some kind of devastating news to him like "I hate to break this to you Soap but I'm afraid I'm going to need to perform an amputation." Also I genuinely believe this man is afraid of needles. Don't ask me how I know. I just know.

"Y/n." Soap speaks up, gulping from the question that is about to spill from his lips as he watches you disinfect his wound.

"Hm?" You hum, focused on cleaning the area where the bullet had lodged itself.

"Am I gonna loose my leg?"

"What?" You stop, raising your head to give him a weird look. "Where'd you get that idea?"

"Don' know. Ye look pretty serious..........................ya sure I'm not gonna loose my leg?" He asks again, the panic in his voice more evident this time as an image is generated in his mind of him having a wooden pegleg like some kind of pirate.

"No. No you're not going to loose your leg Soap. You're just fine.” You go back to mending his bullet wound. “If anything, you're just going to get a few stitches. I am going to have to leave the bullet in place though, so don’t fret.”

"Yer leavin the bullet in there?" Soap's face pales after hearing your statement, eyes wide as he stares at you like you’re some kind of lunatic.

“Don’t look at me like that. I can feel you staring at me like I’m crazy. The reason I’m leaving the bullet in your leg is because it’s not in a fatal area that needs removal, and it's going to do more damage than good if I take it out. And besides, your body will build a sort of......wall of scar tissue around it so you'll be fine.” You try to explain to him in a way he can understand.

“I will?”

"I promise. Now once I’m done here I'm going to prescribe you some antibiotics and pain relievers as well as an ointment to help with the healing process and keeping away infections. Just make sure to get some rest and go easy on that leg of yours and you'll be up and running in no time."

"Oh.....okay."

Poor Soap is still nervous, despite your words of consolation. So in order to ease the tension he decides to crack a few jokes, a trait that has become familiar with his teammates, much to their annoyance, whenever he's out on the field. Whether it's for his own welfare or yours, we may never know. Perhaps it’s for both, but let's just say it’s more so for his own sanity. And the way he jumps from one joke to another only makes you question how the previous medics ever sat through it.

"Did you hear about the restaurant on the moon?"

"No."

"Great food. No atmosphere."

"Jesus."

"..............Hey y/n."

"Yes Soap?" You’re pretty sure this is the 45th joke he’s told you so far and now you’re just concerned for his mental well-being. But you also want to know where the hell he got all of these jokes in the first place.

"Why do seagulls fly over the ocean?"

Oh god. "Why?" You ask, bracing yourself for whatever was about to come next.

"Because if they flew over the bay, we'd call them bagels."

Jesus fucking christ. At this point you're positive your eyes are going to pop out from your sockets from how hard you are trying to stop yourself from rolling them. "Soap-"

"Yeah?"

"Please hold still."

Alejandro on the other hand was especially quiet while you tended to his wound, a gash on the proximal part of his arm on the lateral end, just below the acromial region, left from the bullet that grazed it. If he did speak, it would be small little words of motivation, sprinkled with terms of endearment in Spanish as he told you how good of a job you were doing, which you thought to be a risky thing to do considering you were sticking a needle in his flesh to sew his wound shut. He'd even tell you short little stories about his life before here, some of which may have elicited a soft chuckle from your frowning lips, a stern look that always unconsciously formed on your face whenever you were focused on something. He finds your little look of concentration quite cute honestly, the way you'd sometimes pout and squint your eyes. But most of all, he admired how calm and collected you were at such a task, as if you were doing something as simple as stitching the seams of fabric together.

He tried his best to soothe you, seeing the strained look on your face and imagining the stress you must be under, knowing when it would be best to offer you silence so that you may focus on the work at hand. And when you were done suturing his wound and wrapping fresh gauze around his arm, he pulls you in to give you a warm hug, which catches you off guard since you’re still wearing nitrile surgical gloves spotted with his blood and practically reek of alcohol-based solutions and the bleach-like scent of antiseptics. Regardless of how you look and smell like chemicals, the man only pulls you in tighter, wrapping his uninjured arm around the top of your back with his hand squeezing the back of your shoulder as he thanks you in his native tongue.

The two of you stand there for a moment in this sort of half-embrace, Alejandro with just a single arm around you and you with your hands held out behind him with your face pressed up against his chest. Next thing you know he presses a kiss to the side of your head, which takes you even more by surprise. This man really does not care how you look or smell. You could be covered in saline solution and antibiotic ointment and he’d still think you were the most stunning woman to walk the earth.

Also, speaking of smell, Alejandro smells really good, despite the hint of gunpowder from the mission he just returned from. But to say you are obsessed with his cologne is an understatement. This man smells AMAZING. His scent is woodsy, and spicy, like tequila mixed in with cardamom and bergamot, with sharp hints of clove and peppers balancing over velvety floral notes. He smells like something out one of those cheesy racy romance novels where the romantic interest climbs up your balcony during a hot summer night to hand you a single rose before whisking you away under the stars for a night of passionate-cough cough-you know what I mean. It's almost sinful, erotic, luring you in to perform acts that would make Satan and the Pope seek counsel with each other. This sudden emotion causes this stir in the pit of your stomach, lighting your whole body in flames and you almost feel ashamed for wanting him to stay a while longer just so you can get another and longer whiff of him.

“You know chica, it’s been a long time since I’ve had a really good machaca." Alejandro pulls away from the embrace, looking down at you with a slight smirk.

“Why don’t you go get one?”

“Only if you agree to come along.”

You’re stunned, caught off guard, and you better come quick with a witty response or else you’re just going to look like a fool standing there blinking at him. "Are you asking me out on a date Vargas?" Wow. I haven’t heard that one before.

"Mm, maybe. There'll be good food."

Speak no more. I am bringing the church and a marriage license. “You know, now that you've mentioned it, I suppose I have been craving some spicy food for a while."

The new guy, who’s name you found to be König, was surprisingly polite, despite his intimidating size and aura. He was a bit reserved around you at first, the blues of his eyes from behind the loose fabric of his mask studying your features to try to get a sense of your character as a person. He had heard quite a lot about you from the others, mostly the way you were gentle and kind in nature. Yet he had trouble understanding how a person could be capable of providing peace, as the others explained it, but one word from your lips and a benevolent smile in his direction was enough to convince him.

Telling from his body language, you made sure to inform him about every measure you were going to perform for the procedure, wanting to ensure he was as relaxed as possible with what you were doing, something you took seriously with every one of the patients you ever had. And the more you spoke, asking him simple questions like beginning with his name and asking where he was from and what his hometown was like and how he was currently feeling, he eventually warmed up to you, partly because he thought you were really pretty, but also because you made him feel comfortable in a place he usually did not find comfort in. I mean this man is still a killing machine despite his social anxiety. Not to mention, this was the first time he had met you. So the fact that you look out for his own wellness first really puts him at ease.

The tall Austrian had suffered a gunshot wound to his abdomen, an area that would usually require more serious care. But thanks to his bulletproof vest, the bullet was prevented from puncturing any organs or cavities or any major blood vessels or nerves, passing through his layers of skin and reaching the adipose tissue and barely imbedding into the muscle of his abdomen. You of course were able to extract the piece of metal, injecting some anesthetic for the pain and disinfecting the area beforehand before using a pair of forceps to carefully pull the bullet out.

Though the man was slightly anxious around you, he didn’t want to pry to much on your behalf and end up offending you in any manner, especially with how quiet you were, minus the little questions you’d ask him of course. Instead, he is fascinated by your steady hands and your precision, wondering how hands as small and delicate as yours were capable of performing such complex labor as he asks questions about every step that you take into the procedure and every tool that you have laid out on your table. By the end, he is completely starstruck by just how much you know. He even may have slipped a little compliment on how wise and pretty your eyes were. You’ve never heard anyone compliment your eyes as being wise, but you like it, not being able to hold back the small smile that pulls at the corner of your lips.

“Thank you for your help……..liebling.”

“It’s no problem.” You smile. You had heard that German term once before, a word once exchanged between an elderly couple that were once under your care. And the fact of knowing the meaning behind it warms your heart.

“Du hast sehr schöne kluge augen. (You have very beautiful, intelligent eyes)." The soldier mutters under his breath, nearly catching himself at the end of the sentence and praying you had not heard nor understood what he said.

“Sorry?”

“Oh um…….." König gulps, thinking of how to respond and deciding whether he should just lie or tell the truth to behind the meaning of his words. "It means you have really pretty wise eyes.”

“Oh……..why thank you. That's really sweet."

After handing König a bag containing his antibiotics, pain killers, and a tube of ointment, you also hand him a couple Dum-Dum lollipops to go with it. The Austrian doesn’t know how to react at first. Did you just give him a candy? Was this a common practice of doctors in your country? When he finally realizes this was just your way of showing kindness, he is more than delighted and thanks you for them in German, grasping both of your hands as he does so. Don’t ask me why or how but I just feel like he likes to hold both of your hands whenever he thanks you for something. Also the more eager he is, the more he shakes your hands in his.

This man’s crush on you has just went to the next level. König likes to collect whatever catches his attention, something he had done since he was a child from time mostly spent by himself. And it’s almost as if he has an eye for these things, picking out whatever has unique colors or patterns. So when you find some wildflowers or interesting looking leaves or a variety of colorful bird feathers or butterfly wings that had fallen to the dirt on your desk one day, just know he picked them out for you whenever he goes on a mission.

Believe it or not, the Austrian also has a secret talent of wood carving and is actually very skilled at it. During the days where his anxiety seems to overwhelm and suffocate him, he likes to sit outside in the grass surrounded by nature, covered in wood shavings with a knife in hand as he makes little wooden figurines of animals that he sees, whether it be birds, deer, foxes, bunnies, squirrels or skunks. It’s the only thing that he can fixate on that brings him total serenity and nirvana, sitting amongst the grass with his back up against the trunk of a tree, where there isn’t a single soul in sight except for himself and the ones that belong in the woods, where the only things that can judge him are the tall ancient trees and the creatures that walk it. But I won’t get further into this till later. Just know that he’s working on one especially for you.

Now, moving on.

By the time you were finished patching the three men up, you cleaned up the area and your tools, taking off your bloody gloves and throwing them into the biohazard container until you see Ghost stumble by in the corner of your eye. Little did you know he had been watching you from afar, not in a creepy way but in a ‘just want to make sure my teammates are alright’ kind of way. Not that he doubts your expertise of course. The lieutenant had not expected the mission to go sideways as it did, even though it was somewhat accomplished in the end. And seeing his team get wounded had unlocked this new fear in him that, to some degree, had always been there.

So when he stood there in the corner, leaning against the wall and hidden in the shadows like typical old Ghost, he found a sense of relief in watching how quickly and proficiently you moved about and just how composed you were, especially under the pace and pressure. Maybe it’s how quiet you are when you get really focused on something, maybe it’s how calm you are throughout it, or maybe it’s the amount of caution and supervision you take towards making sure the others are treated with the utmost care. Truth be told, you are like a remedy to Ghost, to the Simon Riley underneath, to the troubles and trauma that mold the broken man beneath the mask. If only the big dummy were to realize this instead of treating you like as if you were the plague itself.

When you lift your head towards the sound of slight shuffling in the corner, you catch him moving out of the shadows and sneaking away from the area. Usually you wouldn’t think anything of it, thinking he was just overseeing your work like a supervisor. But as you watch him walk off, you notice that something is off about him, something not quite right, and this intuition only builds this deep and heavy bubbling in the pit of your stomach.

“Ghost?”

Ghost stops abruptly at the sound of your voice, his head ever so slightly tilted to the side as he was not expecting you to have seen him, much less even say something.

“Is everything alright?”

Goddamn you and your manners. The masked soldier moves away with the slightest huff, not wanting to answer your question but you call out once more.

“You’re not hurt are you?”

“Negative.” He begins to walk off, not even looking in your direction to acknowledge you.

“Lieutenant, could I please see you for a minute?”

“Another time.”

“I insist.” Your voice is more firm this time and it catches him by surprise.

He had not heard this tone from you before, and yet, he can sense the shakiness behind it, the uncertainty. The more there is silence on his end, the more you are sure that you have reached the expiration date of your life, terrified that you had officially provoked the stone-cold soldier and that he is about to march over here and stab you in the neck with your own scalpel any second now. And as he stands there, debating on whether he should just leave, he hears your voice once again, a faint ‘please’. Heaving out a heavy sigh, the man shuts his eyes for a brief moment before turning back around and heading in your direction.

You’re not sure if you should freeze up like the fresh-caught fish on a bed of ice at the supermarket or run in the opposite direction as this man walks towards you, his mask not helping in making him look any less more pissed off than usual. When he finally stands in front of you, his bulky form towering over yours, you can only do the first thing that comes to mind, freeze up. At first the masked soldier glares down at you, the irises of his eyes only darkened by the grooves of his mask as he waits for you to speak, wishing you were the first to say something, anything, but instead you’re staring at him like a deer caught in front of headlights. Don’t worry babes, I would too.

“Well? Whadya want?”

“I just want to check to make sure you’re not injured-“

“I feel fine.” Ghost narrows his eyes at you, slowly becoming irked by your constant need to monitor his well-being and wishing you would just take his word and leave. But he knows better than to argue with someone that was literally tasked by the government to manage the sanity and wellness of task force 141. Was your etiquette a part of the job requirements as well?

“You don’t look fine.” You snark.

“Yeh?” Ghost sneers. “And who the hell are you to say that?”

“I’m a doctor.” You blink. “Or if you wanna be more specific, I'm technically your doctor. It’s my job. And telling from the dampness of the blood on your mask there that still has not dried since the moment you stepped trough the doors and god knows how long since before,” you point to the area near the bottom of the left side of his neck, more so near his shoulder. “I’m guessing it’s yours and not someone else’s.”

“The fuck are you on about? Listen here princess, there’s no-“ Ghost pulls his hand up to his neck only to feel the exact same dampness you had just mentioned. Fuck. He had been so caught up with everything around him that he had not even been aware that he had been injured. When he finally pressed his fingers to the area there, tensing from the pain, that was when he was finally able to register through that thick and stubborn skull of his that he had in fact been injured this whole time. This man probably takes the phrase ‘mind over matter’ quite literally.

“Now can I please take a look at you?” You quirk a brow up at him, waiting for a response and knowing better than to expect a quick answer. But if there’s one thing you know, if you just slightly annoy and pester him enough, he might just eventually cave in, that is if he doesn't add you to his hit list. “Look, if you wait any longer you might pass out and go into hemorrhagic shock. And depending on the class, you can suffer from organ damage and even death. So unless you want that to happen-“

Well when you put it like that- “Fine. Get on with it.” Ghost growls as he sits himself down on the chair. Bloody fucking hell you talk way more than he had ever expected from you. But you sure can keep your ground, he'll give you that. He’s just glad that none of the others are here to see him being bossed around by someone almost half his size and about a foot shorter than him.

"Thank you for cooperating." You give a short and quick smile. You may or may not have exaggerated about the last part to get him to comply. Well…….that is.........depending on the exact location of injury and the amount of blood loss of course.

Thank you for cooperating. Ghost scoffs at your statement.

“You know……I wish you wouldn’t avoid me like I were a crackhead outside your local 7-eleven.”

A what? Ghost gives you a weird look, wondering if he had heard you correctly as you go over to the sink, rolling the white sleeves of your lab coat up and turning on the faucet. The shit that comes out of your mouth, he swears makes him question your license. Then again, he’s not sure how to respond to what you had just said. It's no lie that he has indeed been going out of his way to avoid you at all costs. But the idea of you even noticing his absence had never even crossed his mind, much so that you would come to be offended by it. Noticing your lack of pressing further on the matter, he shifts in his seat, watching you wash your hands in a methodical series of steps until he notices a small marking on your inner right wrist, a small and delicate tattoo of a heartagram. It can't be.......can it? He had never listened to much of their music but.......were you a HIM fan? If so, this is certainly a detail he had never expected from you and he almost doesn't know what to think of it. What other tattoos do you have?

Once he sees you turn off the faucet, he quickly returns to his original position on the chair, not wanting to make it seem like he was watching you.

"Now I’m just going to take a quick look here." You head over to where he sat, pulling the nitrile gloves over your hands as you look down at him, reaching out towards the bottom of his balaclava before feeling him swat your hand away.

“Hey!” You yelp, more so from being startled than the actual impact. “The hell was that for?” No way in hell he just did that.

“…………….”

"I promise I won't sneak a peak at your face if that's what you're afraid of."

“……………………..”

“Listen lieutenant. I can’t check to see if you’re okay if you won’t let me.” You sigh, reaching out once more, but this time you feel his hand grab yours, his gloved fingers wrapping around the bare skin of your wrist as he eyes the ground at his feet. The loud beating in your chest reaches your ears, deafening you as you stare at the soldier who could practically fracture your wrist if he tightened his grip. At this point most would be petrified, bracing themselves for the number of possibilities that can take place just from under his control. Most would either try not to glance over at the scalpel that lays out on the table just beside within arms reach, not wanting to instigate anything further in fear of the soldier catching the movement of their eyes, or some would dare to do so anyways as part of their fight or flight response.

Maybe you should be scared of him, of this soldier who has more blood on his hands than you can count. And yet, somehow, as you finally regain control of your thoughts after being startled from the sudden motion, you can’t seem to find yourself to. If he wanted to kill you, you’d already have been dead, you tell yourself, because here you are, well and unharmed. Despite the calloused disposition of the man notorious for his ruthlessness and merciless on the field and just the sheer size of his hand around your wrist, you’re surprised at the gentleness he handles you with, the carefulness of his hold a stark contrast to the rough fabric of his gloves that rub against the sensitive skin there.

Ghost can feel you tremble ever so slightly under his grasp, feeling your racing pulse through his gloves from under his palm, not to mention the peculiar coldness of your limb, but he can also feel the severity behind your eyes as you stare him down, as if you were just waiting for him to meet them. For a flicker of a moment, you have him wondering just how much more there is to you than the Dr. Y/n y/l/n that you put on stage only for others to see. Just what else lies beyond the pristine white lab coat, those neatly pressed scrubs and your observant orbs.

“Ghost-“ Your voice is firm but heedful. “Please let go of my wri-“

"I'll do it."

“What-“

“I said I’ll do it. You’re not touching the mask.”

“Alrigh-”

“I mean it.” He lets go of your wrist as quickly as he grabbed it.

"Okay." You throw your hands up in defeat, taking a step back to give him some room. "Fine by me."

Ghost can't help but huff at your behavior, hesitating for a moment before finally lifting the bottom of his balaclava, peeling away the fabric that had become sticky with blood to expose his neck. Damn you.

"Let's see here." You lean in closer to inspect the area before cursing under your breath. “Jesus fucking christ.”

Ghost side-eyes you with a raised brow at the words that came out of your mouth. Did he just hear you cuss? Better yet, just what the hell did you see to make you say those words. You almost don’t even have to hear him say anything to know what he is thinking.

“See this is why it’s important you come to me.” There’s that same strictness in your voice, and yet, this one is different. Is that a slight hint of genuine concern he hears? Realizing how you might have sounded to a man who has probably dealt with far worse, you straighten up, clearing your throat as you did so and fluttering your eyes away from his forbidding gaze. Pushing away whatever emotions that managed to rile you up like that, you clear your throat once more. “So, looks like there’s a laceration, along the inferior portion of your neck here, proximal to your acromial region. But lucky for you, your brachial plexus is still intact. The bullet, or whatever the hell you've been hit by, narrowly missed your suprascapular artery and nerve. Though I will have to perform some sutures to reconstruct your trapezius muscle."

"English, for fucks sake." Ghost grumbles at your rapid speech involving words he finds incoherent. But you and I both know it’s only because he finds it to be a turn on. That's why he let you ramble on in the first place.

"What I meant was, good news is, your nerves and blood vessels are okay. Bad news is, your trapezius muscle, which is the muscle that runs along the curve of your neck here and a portion of your back has a slight gash here at the top. So you are going to need stitches. And a lot of rest afterwards of course, to make sure it's properly healed."

"Fuckin hell." Ghost mutters under his breath.

"Now if you'll let me-"

"Yeh yeh. Just make it quick."

What had been a short amount of time had instead felt like hours for the masked soldier, for Ghost, for the wounded Simon Riley beneath all those layers as he remained in his seat like a statue, ensuring that he stayed as still as possible while you worked on him. He had not uttered a single word during the whole duration, not even the slightest grunt. And if it hadn't been for his steady breathing, you would have presumed him to be dead. He had to be the quietest patient you have ever dealt with, not to mention the most stubborn, and you found yourself wishing he would say something, anything. But to expect such from a man such as him would be a fool's errand, a fruitless endeavor.

And even if he chose to speak, what the hell would he even talk about? His fucking trauma?The man wouldn't even look at you, his eyes wandering everywhere but your face. In spite of his grievances towards you, his reluctance to ever establish any form of association with you, he'd find himself slowly stealing glances in your direction from time to time when you weren't looking directly at him. He'd find himself studying your features as he once did the first time he met you. You were wearing that same perfume, that deep woodsy and floral perfume that reminded him of an old bookstore, of one of those metaphysical shops scattered with different fragrances of the smokey incense, the unmistakable scent of you that had been ingrained in his mind ever since.

"So, what kind of a name is Ghost anyways?"

".................."

"Right. I forget you don't speak."

Ghost gives you a quick and sharp glare before staring straight ahead. Damn that sharp tongue of yours.

"You seem tired." You remark, picking on him just a tad bit to make a reference to when he commented on your dark circles, but also because he actually did genuinely seem tired.

"............."

A cock-up, no thanks to you, Ghost thinks to himself, knowing damn well the only reason he could not sleep was because of you, though he senses the only reason you said that was because he had mentioned to you how you looked tired.

More minutes pass, and he has yet to even snide at you. You'd almost prefer a huff of irritation directed at you over nothing.

"You know," you utter, "I went to medical school with an incredibly ambitious guy who was obsessed with collecting skulls. He'd do anything to get a head."

You what? Ghost looks at you just the slightest with a single blink. What the bloody fuck are you talking about? Oh wait.

“What is a sleeping brain’s favorite rock band?”

“……………….”

Oh no. It looks like Soap’s habit has taken hold of you.

“REM.”

“……………….”

Okay maybe that was a bad idea. The look that Ghost just gave you makes you want to never say another joke again. He actually thinks the first one wasn't too bad.

“You know, you’re lucky the bullet grazed you where it did.” You lean in a bit closer as you suture his wound. “Any more to the left and you would’ve have been in some serious shit.”

Your little movement manages to catch Ghost’s attention, and if you weren’t shoving a needle through his flesh he would have moved away. Instead he glances just the slightest over in your direction, his breath hitching in his throat at the close proximity between you both. His eyes trace over the details of your face as if he were studying a map, going over every one of the little characteristics that make you you. If only you could see the way he looked at you, you would have been able to see the subtlest change, the tiniest, sliver of a crack in the hardened shell that surrounded Simon Riley, of that shell that is Ghost.

There is a moment when your thigh brushes against the side of his as you turn away to move on to the next step after stitching his wound, a moment that goes by unnoticed to you, but not to him. The small contact, though brief, had managed to send a jolt of warmth through the soldier’s body, a feeling that is completely foreign to him, prompting him to tense up and bury whatever it is that has him reacting this way. It isn’t until you sense him shift beside you that you turn back to him, gauze and ointment in hand just as you catch him transfer his line of focus somewhere else. The faint alter of movement had you raising your brow, knowing well what you saw but unsure of the motive behind it.

While you went over to him, studying whatever you could gather from his body language and just his eyes due to the obstruction of his face, you noticed that his eyes were quite expressive for a man known for lacking any basic human emotion. While dressing his wound, you picked out the way his blonde lashes fluttered against his deep mahogany irises as they focused on anything but you, the black color smeared around the exposed area of his balaclava accentuating the blondes of his hairs. This had to be the first time you had actually taken a good look at him.

You would have complimented him on his eyes and lashes, but you thought against it, not wanting to embarrass yourself, or more importantly, the last thing you needed was to dig yourself deeper on his bad side and end up as a dusty file to be brushed under the rug. Speaking of. Now that you mention it, the stuff he wore around his eyes looked awfully similar to the stuff you found on your candy tray. Couldn’t be him could it? No, it can’t possibly be. The man avoids you way too much to even think about taking something that is even associated with you. Maybe you’re just overthinking like you always do and what you found was just from your own eyeshadow palette. After all, this wouldn’t be the first time you’ve accidentally smeared remnants of eyeshadow from your fingers to other things. If only you could ask him, but this man hates you enough as it is. You could casually bring it up one day, although now definitely isn’t the time.

When you were finally finished tending to him, getting up to gather some pain relievers, antibiotics, and some ointment for him to take with him, Ghost had noticed something that he had not spotted before, a small pitted and circular mark that sat at the left side of your neck. As he stared at it, trying to decipher just what it could be, it looked to be a scar of some sort, though a bit faded with time, it’s shade slightly darker than your skin tone. Where had he seen a mark like that before? And then it hit him.

“There you go.” You came back around to hand him his treatments in a brown paper bag, your voice causing him to quickly avert his gaze. “You’re all set.”

Taking the brown paper bag from your hands, Ghost couldn’t stop thinking about what it is that he saw marking the skin of your neck. Something in the back of his mind knew just exactly what that scar belonged to, what it meant. But Ghost, or Simon Riley, knew better than to delve into something that wasn’t his business, knowing well the cost. He could just be over-analyzing it all, mistaking it for something completely different. But why was he even bothering to do so in the first place. He had better things to do, duties that were assigned specifically to him, and trying to figure out that mark on your neck wasn’t one of them.

Ghost is quick to get up from his seat as he ushers you a quick thanks, the hardened wall once again building up to the masked soldier who had dared to even let it down just the slightest around you.

“Ghost wait.” You call out to him as he walks away, watching him stop in his tracks. “……before you go………next time you’re injured………promise you’ll at least come to me.”

“….I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Look,” you sigh, “I get it if you think I’m annoying……..or if you hate my guts, whatever, I don’t care. Just….at least let me help you.”

“Don' bother.” Ghost tightens his jaw as he tilts his head towards you, the brusque in his deep voice evident before he regains his steps, disappearing from your line of sight.

“What an asshole.” You breathe out with a shake of your head. You swear this man has you testing your Hippocratic Oath. You don’t know what it is that makes him despise you. Maybe it’s just him and that’s just the way he is, something you might have to ask the others about. Usually words like that would have you lying in bed awake thinking what you did wrong, but you are much too tired for that.

As Ghost went back to his room, shutting the door behind him, he opened up the paper bag you had given him, spilling out the pill bottles and ointment tube onto the table until he heard something roll off the edge of the table and fall onto the floor. Furrowing his brows, the soldier looked at the ground at his feet to where the mysterious item had fallen only to see a single Dum-Dum lollipop, sour apple flavor. Bloody fuckin hell.

Part 4

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rumblelibrary · 3 years

Text

The Diary of Doctor Laszlo Kreizler

Chapter 1

Synopsis: Alienist’s notes are private, sometimes gruesome, secrets of others and of himself.Those pages belongs to secrecy and decadence, have a glimpse to this world made of drafts, notes, accidents and reflections. Or maybe it is you the only person that should ever reach for it.

While you read this imagine Laszlo mostly at the end of his day, scraping the ideas and the thoughts, adjusting previous notes with additions, closing the day behind himself with a couple of sentences while sitting in his evening robe, a good glass of whiskey and his glasses bridged almost at the tip of his nose. Or maybe imagine yourself, you sneaky thing, reach for it from a far shelf.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: listen, this is the set of ideas and confessions of a man living in the 1890’s. Most of them will be outdated, rough, even deprecating in some analysis of the roles of men, women and social status, religion, etc.So be prepared, my point is to make Laszlo reflect upon those topics, but to be as faithful as I can to his time. Mention of death, mutilation, self harm and a minor depiction of a fight. Psychologically troubled young children ahead! Author’s note: I am a nerd for a good Victorian novel and a sexy Alienist.I have always been charmed by Laszlo’s mind and inner conflicts. So I took the chance and tried to have a run into that rollercoaster. The story is placed between season 1 and season 2.

Diary belonging to Dr. Laszlo Kreizler. This is a professional book of annotations over medical treatments of an alienist toward his patients. Do not disclose and send it back to the address if found: Kreizler’s Institute, xxxxxx, New York City (NY) L.K.

Samuel Griswold Goodrich, Illustrated Natural History of the Animal Kingdom (c1859). Contributed for digitization by University Library, University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign.

Schiller in his “Die Weltweisen” wrote: So long as philosophy keeps together the structure of the Universe so long does it maintain the world’s machinery by hunger and love. From the philosopher point of view sexual life takes a subordinate position in human’s life, from recent studies pushed by European philosophers, everything is about sexuality and its development. I like to think of the experience of being an alienist as the process of Queen Penelope that, while waiting for her husband Ulysses return, undoes her craftwork every night. I undo the fabulous constructs of people’s beliefs to go back to the rough sketch that stands at the beginning of their loss, their complex, their pain. Maybe that’s why working with children is so motivating and fascinating. They can be saved and yet, I am well aware, some of those sketches already traced in their young lives equal to scars that not even the most advanced theories could cure. But I can sooth them. I can prevent them the torment, the anguish, the recollection at night of those monsters. I feel like a poet would be a better alienist than a philosopher, but I have got no poetry nor philosophy in my veins, but the cold experience of the razor blade judgment of Life itself.

Today I observed a fight among the children at the Institute. Age range between 10 and 12. Boys. The fight was over the possession of a side of the playground, the territory of a pack of youngsters formed under the name of Steven. Peculiar lad, coming from a military background finds comfort in replicating the schemes he lived in his family. He takes the role of the Father/Captain of the team and subjects children that come from a similar background story, but do not posses his same attitude to the command. All quiet on the front, until the space he declared is own spot got affected by the presence of others. Intruders. I knowingly let the events unfold to see how Steven would react to his challenged authority. His reaction was, at first, worded, a sketch, a stage-play of an action he witnessed over and over, and he knew the part so well that some of the contending kids lowered their stance against him. Among considering to mildly intervene into this pyramid scheme of authority, another boy, Jan, calls himself on the role of the educator and hero of the masses and proceeds to unfold a wild and well assessed punch on the newly declared dictator face. Balance is established again. No need for me to arbitrate, once more the laws of nature seem to apply to children as in a state of nature.

Meet John Moore over lunch. His job at the newspaper is picking up, he is charmed by the spirits and the wits that he finds in his shared office with all the other writers. He mentions many, goes on and on over qualities and troubles, gossips and tendencies, and even little scandals here and there. To be aware of all those details gives me no interest, but to see a dear friend so invested clearly gives me something to pick up. To consider also the amount of details and the way he describes this or that member of the journal, I can do a small exercise of analysis. It is almost too easy because John is painfully genuine, even some of the kids at the institute would beat him hands down in a battle of lies. The more he likes somebody, the more he goes on about all the details and the characteristics, often letting aside the physical appearance. When he doesn’t like somebody he has a couple of adjectives for the wits and around four or five for the physical aspects that usually indulge on some repulsive idiosyncrasies. John is a man that painfully fits in the storyline of The Picture of Dorian Gray: to him physical beauty is spiritual beauty and, of course, the other way around. This part of him surely intrigues me, makes me want to tease more from him. But, as a friend, it concerns me as John is way too prone to purposelessly decide that somebody with good eyes is also a good human being, which is a very romantic and admirably naive way of judging matters. I noticed some names that keep repeating in his narration. I dread that it is synonymous of a soon encounter from my side with the objects of his admiration. Fetiches, I dare to say, that I will have to annihilate before they sediment into his mind, perpetuating a narration that soon sees John being mislead by others.

Reserved: Tickets for the Eroica, Symphony n. 3 by Ludwig van Beethoven. Thursday evening.

Note on the show: the first movement lacked the pathos needed to begin with, I am not sure that the guest orchestra really managed to portray the wider emotional ground needed to withstand the whole representation. As the evening progressed there were some outstanding performances by the cellists. Still not approving the choice of reprising the early quick finale movement against the lengthy set of variations and fugue that we are used to in presence of the Eroica. Underwhelming the performance of the horn and oboe, vital in the comprehension of the genius of Beethoven.

Niki is a new addition of the Institute, quite old for the standards. He is already 16, he will leave when summer ends to some expensive college his family meant him to stay. His parents expect me to make him “normal” in the time we are allowed together. He is Austrian and I let him act it out like I don’t understand German for the first week of hist stay until today. I believe I hit his pride, which is good, in the moment I answered back to one of his sneaky comments. Now he knows. He is not safe from me, he doesn’t like it. The young man has a tendency to danger, risky tasks and edgy situations. In his mother’s own words “Niki is not afraid of anything”. The phrase didn’t raise any excitement in the father, rather some sort of painful acceptance that is role as the alpha male of the house is probably not only being challenged, but already diminished, if not abolished. I have taken in consideration that Niki will break himself a bone or two in the process of the therapy, probably out of the spite of boredom or rebellion. It took him less than few days to turn himself into an outcast among the outcasts, which only drives me closer to analyse the complexity of his narcissistic wall of self defence. I gave him a physical challenge to lift a certain weight, he is a pretty skinny one, he didn’t like the challenge, but I am sure he will take it. He is a brainy guy, he hates to be questioned on unfamiliar ground. He won’t sleep at night thinking about it. A challenge, in this first phase, can only bring me closer to the ease of his pains. To continue the observation.

It is a sad privilege of medicine, in particular the one I practice, to be able to witness the weaknesses of the human nature and the reverse side of life. Nevertheless, I oblige this same privilege of the study as life moves into shades of darkness. To be aware of it gives more solace to my soul than to be victim of patiently waiting for the inevitable unfolding of the events. To be able to understand more about psychology would bring more comfort and elevation to any human being, the times might not be there yet, but eventually something will move into the direction of a more wholesome approach.

Dinner meeting with Sara Howard, at the restaurant Jardin Des Cygnes, 7 pm sharp. Do not expect to reach the dessert. Do not know if John will be participating due to undeniable tension among the two and the fatal despise of John over French cuisine.

The case that Sara unfolded tonight to my ears feels more and more like pulled out from some gothic book or from the mind of a Roman historian that needed to justify the godly origins of an Emperor. One killing, apparently random, a very constructed iconography over the body. Signs and insults, shapes and drawings. Is this a work of art? Does the killer wants his victim to be his Mona Lisa? His David? I am charmed and destabilised. If this was a murder like any other, then why to spend so much time into it? Based on the description the act of killing itself was quick: a sharp cut over the throat, almost like not wanting to ruin too much the surface to use as base for, what? I keep rerunning those symbols over and over as Sara described them to me, my mind is flooded with the designs of greek philosophers that needed to explain themselves why the sky is above our head and never collapses on us. Hilarious how, no matter the science advancement, in the mind of many the sky stands inevitably overt their shoulders, suffocates them, brings them to a death of the soul and not of the body. Is all this graphic charade indeed only a form to scream for attention? To stress the eyes of an unaware viewer? It seems ridiculously elaborate, a scream for attention would be quick, it would be like guided by instinct, not reasoning, craftwork. Any man with a knife can paint in blood red the walls of a room and that’s asking for attention. That is the primal howl: look at me! I am here! But this one. I don’t know yet.

Spent the early morning reading anew my copy of The Metamorphosis by Ovid. Didn’t touch it in a long time and I got bedazzled by the world of terrible sensuality, anger and selfishness of those gods and mortals. I think back at all the deviances and weaknesses of human kind and I try to relate it to all of those humanoid figures. Niki would be a minotaur, the lonesome son left in the labyrinth and his strive for success is his bull’s head. Or maybe a centaur, because of his wits and strategic thinking. I might keep up the process, maybe this is the way to understand my patients better, to understand the killer better. Must remember not to romanticise it. Greek gods were probably the first form of self indulging of a society that needed gods to be forgiving and allowing favours and punishments, but only in exchange of sacrifices. But the sacrifice never comes from the God’s will, but from the will of the man that perpetuates the act of killing. To sacrifice someone or something is the sadistic response to a lack of love deeply inherited in human mind that becomes neurotic. Is the killer giving the God of his own neurosis a body to feast upon?

I talked with Jan this morning. The young boy is about 10, but he acts like a full grown adult. I could easily asses that’s the reason why he could challenge Steven in that fight. Two children mimicking adults situations they know too well. Jan is son of an industrial man, but he is also son of the dialectics of the industrial revolution. He sounds like he swallowed some of those books about working class rights and communism, probably pushed by a resentful surrounding (mother?uncle? the midwife?) over the social role of his father. As much as incredibly smart and lectured, Jan lost most of his early occasions in life by spending a considerable amount of time using his fists. The anger ever present in the young boy always surprises me, he seems to be holding a power, a strength of a full grown man in those tiny arms. Nevertheless, he is already the tallest of the group. He is surely an idealist, which makes him also tragically fragile. His strength mixed with his heart of gold can make him the best of the heroes or the worst of the villains. He apologised for the fight, he specified how he didn’t like the sound of Steven’s voice, more than the sound, the level of pitch. I can’t stand somebody shouting orders, I just don’t listen anymore. He is so mature even about his own feelings, almost a gentleman in his chivalry toward the weaker children, honest with his open heart and resentful against any form of injustice. I am not spared by his ways, he would come at me whenever he feels like I was being partial over some of the kids, his sense of justice blinds him and transform a perfectly balanced boy into a ranging animal.

Ordered book, to be delivered around tomorrow evening: Introduction à la méthode de Léonard de Vinci by Paul Valéry. Suddenly feeling myself as a gross ignorant in art themes. I always regarded myself aware of the artistic personalities and tendencies of present and past, but this new amount of perceptions over the human figure and the human body leads me to document myself more. I could ask John for advice, but he wouldn’t take things at matter that seriously. I can almost hear him say how I can make gruesome a pleasant topic such as art. I should probably wait to see the body to push any further aesthetic study, but I find myself not being able to stop. I reckon, I can allow myself a vice or two.

Today I saw the body of the killed man, courtesy of the Isaacson's. To be fair, I had underestimated it. In Sara’s descriptions, probably due to her more analytic mind, all the charm of the representation got lost in favour of a less cryptic and reasonable understanding of the act. Sara got what some alienists will call a masculine mind, which I don’t perfectly agree on. If I apply that same approach John would be a very feminine mind, all wrapped up in romanticising even the ugliest. I guess that dividing the world in “fragile and gentle” and “strong and powerful” is just easier to explain the fluctuation of something that doesn’t need a real name or a category like human inclinations on thoughts. I got a feverish sense of patience by looking at the body. Each symbol traced with sapient slowness, dense of the time that the killer spent with the body. That is a work of hours, he had time and meaning. He had resources and was able to spend not less than the time he needed to reach, a vision? An ideal? A message? Is it the message meant to be understood? Am I supposed to unravel it or it is maybe just the way the killer communicates within himself? And if I do decifrate the code, will that bring me closer to him? Or to his next victim?

Reminder: ask John to replicate all the symbols on the bodies in the correct measure and order. It might be needed some hard convincing. Addition: scheduled meeting, his house, 3 pm.

It wasn’t a day like any other when I met you. Or maybe it was, and that’s why I got so struck by it and now I am here playing it over and over through what my memory clung on so desperately. In my own experience, life was often similar to swimming in a lake. Those rich, dense lakes in the north of (illegible cancelled word) were my father used to bring us during summer. I still feel the pull, the draw down toward the abyss. It ashamed me, in a way, the fear that such a simple feeling aroused in my young mind, unaware nevertheless, that such a feeling would follow me through all my existence. It was a prophecy and, like most of the prophecies, was a riddle. I cradle in my heart the charm of those days, the mindless happiness. The foolish feeling of freedom. Little I knew that freedom would be taken away from me that soon, that the body that used to navigate me over the dense waters, helping me to fight the haul toward the unknown, would become my own cage. That day. Today. The day where I met you, the day I was afloat. The child gasping for air felt the wrench become a gentle push and now he is floating on his back over the scary waters of reality and malice. It gave me relief and it gave me terror, because since that very moment I knew that I would never be able to move on from the sight of you. From the feeling of your eyes lingering on me. From the smile you so easily shone upon me. From the whiff of imported perfume that hit me when you turned on side exploding that swan like neck. And nothing, not even my stern look, could dim that wave of hope that your sole presence washed over me. The abyss roars, calls me to a home of damnation and terror and curses my name and yet you repeated that hell-bound name of mine after me and I felt safe.

John told me so much about you, it feels like I have always known you.

The rope is gone from my neck, the guillotine won’t fall on me, I am spared, I am free.

I have read your latest article, I am thrilled to help with the case.

I am in disbelief.

Your voice.

Dr. Kreizler

How dare you? How dare you to come into my life, to appear, like a vision, mystical, in a way I despised at University when all those theology students talked about the divine. In this very moment I can’t recollect much of what you said, something about the case, about going with John at the obituary. It feels confusing, I feel overstimulated, my memory fails me, I am not sure anymore. I write these few lines and it is passed the hour of the witches and I wish, I demand, to never see you again, because life should never grant hope to a condemned man.

#dr laszlo kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler imagine #dr laszlo kreizler x reader #dr laszlo kreizler x you #laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler headcanons #laszlo kreizler x reader #the alienist fanfic #victorian age #v writes #the diary of doctor laszlo kreizler

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whosscruffylooking · 4 years

Text

Instinct Part One (Spencer Reid x Female Reader)

Warnings: Breif mention of assault, past abuse, bruising, and blood. That's about it.

this is a small series i’m going to make. this is a short introduction to a much bigger idea i have planning. i’m excited to share it!

The red lights flash, and sirens wail as emergency responders flood to the scene. I shiver as the paramedic places a shock blanket around my shoulders. A black SUV pulls up and three people who radiate FED energy jump out. I watch as the rather intimidating, tall and stoic driver delegates where his agents will go. He sends the pale, skinny one over to me. I chuckle, of course.

He rocks back and forth on his feet and holds his hand out to me, “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, I'm with the FBI, Behavior Analysis Unit. Is it alright if I ask you a few questions?” I nod, “I’m y/n.” He offers a light smile, “It's nice to meet you. I'm very sorry about what happened, and I know it's all just transpired, but can you walk me through what happened?”

I tell him about the man who posed as the apartment building’s handyman, “I knew I'd never seen him before and my instinct told me not to let him in, but I didn't listen. I usually never just let people into my apartment. The one time that I do, a man breaks in and attacks me. Thankfully I was able to grab the vase near the door and hit him over the head with it. It gave me just enough time to get down the hall where I ran into my neighbor. By the time we had called the police, and my neighbor went to look in my apartment, the man had gone out the window and down the fire escape.”

Spencer looks at me with kind eyes; most law enforcement goons are intimidating and are strictly business. They lack a certain sense of humanity. But not Spencer. Something about his presence is, reassuring, calming.

“Were you hurt badly?” he points to the bruising around my eye and my bloody lip. I touch the pads of my fingers to my cheek, feeling the warm, discolored skin, “Suprisingly, I've been dealt worse.”

He furrows his brow, a puzzled look that is all too common when I make such alluding statements. I shake my head, “The paramedics say the swelling will go down in the next 48 hours. My eye should be fine.”

“You know, despite the name, "black eye," the eye itself is rarely injured. Now, the tissues around the eye are what may be significantly affected. The skin around the eye is actually very loose, and there is mostly fat underneath it, and fluid accumulates easily in this area. Sometimes it can be your Injuries eyebrow, nose, and even your forehead area that's injured and can still result in black eyes because gravity drags the blood and inflammatory fluid into the soft tissues under and around the eyes.”

I tilt my head and smile slightly, wincing at the pain it shoots through my jaw, “So you really are a doctor?” “Oh no...not medical doctor at least. Although, I do know copious amounts of medical terms, facts, and remedies. You see I-”

“Spence? Did you get a description of the man? Is it our guy?” A woman with dark hair and beautiful, wide eyes approaches us.

“Oh well-”

“Actually, ” I chime in, “I was just about to give him the description. I had heard he was a doctor and had a question about my black eye which he so kindly answered for me. Sorry for the delay.”

“Not a problem. Actually, I was wondering if you might come back to the precinct with us. You might just be the key to solving this for us. I'm Agent Emily Prentiss by the way.”

“Yeah, I'll gladly come. Whatever you need to catch this sick son of a-”

“Bullpen. Now.” Count Dracula looking man in a bulletproof vest comes over.

My glance drifts to Spencer and he leans over to me to whisper, "That's Hotch. He's the Unit Chief. He's not prone to smiling."

"Chief of cynicism maybe..." I mumble. Spencer sniffles a chuckle and I do the same. We earn an intense glare from Captain Conundrum himself.

"We should probably go before I get you into trouble," I motion towards the car. The young brainiac nods in agreement and helps steady me, guiding me to the dark SUV.

Spencer's POV

In the car, I watch her as the street lights illuminate her feminine features, and the shadows mask her bruised skin. A pang of guilt rises in my chest. She has no clue what she's up against. No idea that we've been watching her for months now, studying her every move. She's completely unaware of the fact that I am so familiar with her profile, her behavior that I can become whatever is necessary to gain her trust.

This is normal. This is apart of my job. I can easily read people and deduce their motives. I thought when I arrived on the scene that I knew what I was dealing with. I was wrong. Sitting on the back of the ambulance with her proved that. Her mannerisms, her way of speaking, the emotions she portrayed were nothing like what I expected. I couldn't read her. And suddenly, I'm questioning all of the work I've done over these past few months. All that I thought I knew about her. I need to dig deeper, learn more. I need to see her for who she is, not just through security cameras and written communications.

We arrive at the precinct, and I watch as Hotch and Emily take her into the interrogation room. She walked right into an ambush. Morgan walks up to me and claps me on the shoulder, “You alright there, pretty boy? You're lookin’ a little lost.” He adjusts his stance to see exactly where I'm looking to, “Oh...I see.” “See what?” I ask. “Reid, she's suspected to be in connection with the Nomad Boys. If she's who we think she is, and the profile is correct, she's a master manipulator. Be careful.”

He's right. 10 minutes of conversation versus three months of observing and studying her is no reason to question my logic or my teams logic. We are professionals. I have to be professional.

I look at him intently, “But what if we wrong?” My attention reverts back to her, what if?

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds angst #spencer reid angst #aaron hotchner x y/n #derek morgan #emily prentiss #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid headcanon #criminal minds headcanons #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotch x reader

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medical-gal · 3 years

Text

Death by a thousand cuts

I have been thinking about writing this for months now. Even before I decided to quit the residency at my previous job.

COVID has been kicking our ass, true, but that was (is) true for most healthcare providers all around the world.

No, my struggle started a bit before that actually.

First some background, I have been working at one of the biggest most famous ID clinics in central Europe. The clinic is in a different country than I am originally from so there was a bit of cultural accommodating at the begging. But we were a big group of ID interns/residents/fellows and specialists.

I don't actually remember that much from my first year working there. And I couldn't figure out why, but then I read in some study that when u experience a high dose of stress and/or sleep deprivation for a long time, your brain kinda stopps being able to transcribe short term memory into a long term.

I was working 100hours/week, sometimes less, sometimes more. After a year and a half, when the last half I worked in the ID ER for five months, I always stayed after working 24 hours, sometimes over 36hours, and I would see and treat 70ish patients. Nobody from the older docs would help me out, nobody from other interns either bc usually they would have their own kind of hell to take care of.

The fact that basically, inexperienced doctors are taking care of patients never really phased my ex-boss. Her mantra was that if there was a problem that you cannot resolve, you can call her and she would advise you. Which most of the time was true, I must say that.

But we all have been young docs, barely out of our medical school garments, and sometimes as it happened, we could not recognize there IS a problem that maybe needs a more experienced opinion.

I am often confronted with this idea or more like a culture, of pretending that once you are an MD you don't need help and asking for it is a kind of weakness and that then you are forever on the list of WEAKLINGS.

And let me say this only once.

That's absolute bullshit.

Anyway, the first time I decided to quit I worked there for about a year and a half, I went for a long-expected holiday, I took three weeks off, had interviews and talked with my bf about my options.

Second thing...my man, bless his beard, would support me no matter what. He is almost 10 years older than me, so he has more work experience and I find it reassuring to discuss stuff like this with him bc I know he will not sugarcoat it. He said that I should dig my heels in and last at least one more year till the end of my "internship". As a "resident" who worked at this specific department, I wouldn't have a problem finding another job. We r basically the equivalent of a french legion of medical professionals (when u work in this specific department and everyone knows it, I will come back to that later).

So I took his advice. Thankfully as a part of our training, one of those parts is a year-long internship at the internal medicine department, which I did shortly after we had that conversation and guys, that was a revelation of how medicine and just...work and life can be experienced. There were enough docs for a floor, an attending who had the time to manage and advise us. I´ve grown that year as a doc so much. Other internships were mandatory so I could have become (equivalent of) a resident, and it was a general surgery, anesthesiology, radiology, microbiology etc. But I did them all and became a resident.

The moment I came back to our clinic, my boss would put me in our outpatient department. Which I have never worked on before. The head of the department has quit a few months before, and I had no idea what to do there, bc it's a very different type work. The only thing my boss told me when I spoke of my concerns were "you will learn".

Thankfully the previous head of the department was a good friend of mine and she would always answer my questions and requests. Suddenly I no longer had to deal with the hectic life of an ID floor or ER, no sepsis, meningitis, etc.

Most of my patients were the chronic type...Lyme, chlamydia, mycoplasma... let's say it literally drained the life out of me. But I managed. Also, I started to work for their outpatient office which takes care of patients with chronic hepatatis. That I enjoyed more.

I also started to dip my toes in vaccinology, either planned like for travel but I started to be more interested in preventive care in the immunocompromised and my own phantasmagoria was to make a palliative care team in our hospital. Bc, we had none. And then a wonderful thing happened, other docs, older experienced, great at their work, started to refer their patients to me specifically.

There were more examples of the utter a complete FUCK U(s) which were kindly provided either by the system or by the head of the department or the hospital.

Then covid hit and the shit hit the interstellar space.

I still can't make myself remember the first few months bc it actually causes me to go into a rage fit, and honestly, I am done with that kind of negativity.

I hold out for a year. Year of such shitty treatment from the chief and our hospital head. No thank you- s or you are doing a good job or we r all on the same ship.

No.

People will say that I quit bc of the money. And that's not true, tho it did irk me a bit. All the other ID specialists working at different hospitals would get covid bonuses every month. We got jack shit. Again, the best biggest most know ID clinic. We were the first and oftern the ONLY ones who would test for/diagnose/hospitalize/treat a patient who had covid FOR MONTHS in the beginning.

I mean, the medical community is small, the ID community even smaller so yes, we were able to compare and contrast the work at different ID departments in other hospitals bc our friends worked there. And all of them would go speechless when they would hear from us what we were living thru.

At one point at the beginning of the pandemic, ALL the ambulances would go thru our ER department and we were supposed to decide where the patient should go.

AN EXAMPLE

Ambulance with a woman who has known colon cancer, had a fever, stomach as a rock and is projectile vomiting. I was supposed to decide where she should go and the surgeon would be super pissed when I said that I don't think she has COVID but without PCR I can't be sure but I think there is a bigger pressing issue. I remember him saying:

"well if anyone else gets infected at our department and dies, it's on you."

fun.

There were other examples of seriously stressful episodes which I and my coworkers lived thru, for which we were not trained for, advised, or properly supervised. At a certain point, I started to take anxiolytics before and during my all-nighters bc I didn't know what I would do with all that stress which was so callously shat on me and my coworkers.

For a few months, I stopped working nights, only thru the mercy of my coworkers who saw how exhausted I was and would take my shifts.

Anyway, after only two months I had to start working nights bc I needed the money. The basic pay for docs was just not enough without the extra from night shifts. Talk about exploiting.

The moment however when I decided to QUIT, when I was DONE, when I actually heard my heart break, was the moment at the end of the previous year. They decided to start vaccinating in our tiny small vaccination centre. Let's say a "shit storm" brewing is the light version of events that ensued.

But basically, as I was trying to discuss with my boss that we are all exhausted, that this wave is not slowing down and that throwing more work at us, the docs and nurses and other staff, who are overworked, is not a good idea,

What she basically said to me is that who says things like that is lazy and that if she can handle it everyone must be also.

The thing is..most of us were at the bring. Some would handle it with casual and calous sex, drugs (legal or not), a bottle of wine before sleep. A coworker ended up with antipsychotics.

But u know,

we were all lazy apperently.

I realized there is no way out of this other than quitting. I could not continue being so tired and sad all the time. I took two weeks off, really thought about it. Had diarrhoea and nausea for a week as I realized I will have to quit :D

On a Monday I came back, handed in my notice. Basically what she told me and how she reacted made me realized how right the decision was.

I had to stay there for another three months bc that's the law, but my mood changed significantly.

I got another job in a smaller ID department, working with amazingly kind people, but that's another story.

But that was the only interview I actually looked for and did. I, however, did get several job offers from different types of medicine. From heads of different departments in my old hospital to smaller general medicine chain offices who are looking for ID specialists, to insurance companies.

Like I said, french legion.

Or Runway and your boss is Miranda Pristley. Once u survive that, u survive anything.

But at my old work they would keep hitting you with wave after wave of passive agressive comments about how if u quit, u wont be able to find anything as"prestigious" as this.

There were many other exmaples of a shitty and questionable situations which were treated as "normal" but there is not point on getting on that rage train.

Contrary as it might seem, I am greatful I got to live thru this, good and bad, bc now I know what I am and am not willing to sacrifice for a job. No matter how much I might love it.

#sorry this is long #but goddammit it needed to be said #suzy's adventures in id

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crystal-moon-101 · 4 years

Text

Right! So I’ve decided to do some redesigns again, planning on doing the main villains of Generator Rex, Ben 10 and The Secret Saturdays. Vilgax and Argost will be coming up soon, but I thought I’d start with Van Kleiss, as this fellow has been an interest of mine for sometime, in terms of the potential of his character. Unlike the other two, I’ve always just...felt like Van Kleiss didn’t need to be dog kicking evil to be a villain for Rex, that being evil for the sake of evil wasn’t something they needed to do to make him and Rex opposed to each other. I’m not saying to make Van Kleiss soft hearted and kind to every person he meets, but add more of a complicated story to him, show more to this man than just a jerk who likes being a jerk. After all, this is a show about things not being so black and white. So I shall share my rewrite background for him! I should also note that I mentioned in the Hong Kong Gang redesign that Circe is his daughter, so that will tie into this. Warning for mentions of deaths by illnesses and murder!

“Van Kleiss is a man you could say has not had the easiest of life, especially when it comes to social things. Raised by strict parents with high expectations, he felt like he was never good enough for them, eventually kicked out of their home for not living up to their ideals. He wasn’t exactly good with making things either, coming off as odd, a strong loner who was easy to mess with. Most of this resulted in him being anti-social for quite sometime, afraid to reach a out hand to people incase they bite back. Then, while trying to live his young adult life the best he could with what he had, he was caught up in a terrible accident, one that resulted in him losing his left arm. He was stuck in recovery for a long time, with no visitors of course. He was quite use to being alone at this point, a cast out in people’s eyes, so you could imagine his surprise when meeting his physiotherapy, a bright, young woman around his age by the name Cassandra, who was in no way put off by Van Kleiss’s demeanor. He will admit, he was taken aback by how pleasant she was, so chipper and ready to strike up a conversation with him, kind and gentle towards him as she helped him learn to live with a prosthetic, and yet would also respect his boundaries, treating him....human, for a lack of a better word. At first, Van Kleiss was keen to just stay quiet and ignore her, mostly uttering how short sentences to try and make things process quicker. But there was just something about her that made him feel alright, calm, as if those walls he built up to protect himself weren’t needed when she was around. It was like some strange magic Cassandra had, slowly able to get him to open up more, share stories, ideas, goals, dreams, thoughts, never once judging Van Kleiss for the person he is, while others had been so quick to. Quite the people pleasing person she was, the opposite to Van Kleiss, but he wasn’t complaining, especially when the fool started realizing his he beginning to fall head over heels for this woman. He was a bumbling mess when asking her out the first time, and yet it somehow worked. Life seemed to be going up hill since then, the two hitting it off so fast, becoming a couple, then finances, and suddenly marriage was right around the corner. And just when Van Kleiss felt like he didn’t need anyone else other than her, another surprise came in the presence of their daughter, Circe. A family life wasn’t something he had thought about, nor did he think he would ever get the chance, but here he was and he was happy to be there, he had even gone back to school to study. But...he bad luck in life would soon return. Circe had only just turned five when it began to happen, and no one had seen it coming. Cassandra was starting to seem off, tired, dizzy and feeling faint often, at first assuming it was the flu or something...but she didn’t get better, instead getting worse. She started collapsing, struggling to breath, eventually coughing up blood. She had gotten sick, a disease infecting her that had no known cure. The best they could do was pray that she could recover, could beat it, after all she was a tough woman, with a lot of hope and love from her family. Sadly, love isn’t always going to be enough, and Cassandra passed away after saying her final goodbyes to her daughter and husband... Struck with grief, Van Kleiss went quiet, a haze with his manners. He wanted to scream, cry, yell at the world for taking away his love, the one who showed him why he should keep going in life. But he didn’t allow himself, for he had to keep himself steady for the sake of his daughter. Circe needed him, and he was afraid to see what would happen if he gave into those painful feelings of grief inside him. So he locked it away, and pushed forward in life, eventually graduating school and began looking for a job. He applied and worked for a few places, but none of them really stick, especially since he still struggled to get along with people. Many were still uncomfortable around him, or quick to crack a nasty joke at his expense. He did his best to ignore it, again locking it all away, pushing forward for him and his daughter. And then, one day, he caught word of a project in the making. The nanite project, rumors of microscope machines being built to do many tasks, like solve world hunger, regrow limbs and even cure disease. The thought of something able to help others survive something his wife could not...it caught Van Kleiss’s interest, something he could do to honor his late wife. And so, after some applications and interviews, Van Kleiss eventually found himself landing a role in this project, which also meant him and Circe would move to the labs location. It was hard to pull Circe away from the life she already knew, but he felt it was for the better. But there were to noticeable issues right away. Again, the way people saw and treated him, and his general demeanor sparked some problems with other scientists. Most kept it professional, but many cast doubtful or harsh clears his way, or mutter whispers about him. He was use to most of this, though...he did end up caught in quite the nasty rivalry with a certain man. Caesar Salazar. Neither of them knew exactly why, but right from the bat the two did not like each other. Maybe it was because they were similar in many ways, maybe it’s because they both were bad a socializing, maybe each other’s backgrounds caused some sparks. They just could not stand each other, quick to criticize the other and speak badly. It did help that Van Kleiss felt like he had no one backing him up, as many were already familiar with the Salazars and were even friends with them, while Van Kleiss was alone in the ordeal. Strangely though, the opposite could be said with the younger brother, Rex Salazar. It didn’t take long for Circe and Rex to meet and become friends, given they were the only two kids there, which often resulted in Van Kleiss watching and babysitting the two in his lab space, sometimes even getting dragged into their games. He was happy that his daughter wouldn’t be lonely out here, but Rex being her friend wasn’t why he thought the kid was good, it was rather his friendship with Van Kleiss himself. Rex was a lovely kid, very kind and understanding for his age. While he cracked jokes and often got into trouble, he treated Van Kleiss like a human being, and often liked talking to the man and asking him many questions. Van Kleiss was a little stand-offish at first, but the kid managed to soften his heart a little. Things seemed to be going as good as they could for a while, but then things started happening. It first started with Rex’s accident. Van Kleiss had been watching Circe and Rex, but when he got caught in something, the two snuck off to play hide and seek. Next thing anyone knew, Rex got caught in a lab accident in the main nanite room. It took a while to get him out of there, as there had been a lock down to prevent any loss nanites to escape, but he was quick to be rushed to the medical section of the labs. He was found to be close to death, with no normal means to save him, but Rex also had a few nanites in him from the accident. However, instead of taking them out, the nanite project group, including Van Kleiss, decided in the end to try and use the nanites to save him, with the help of the Omega to the side. After a long struggle, it eventually began to work. Things became complicated for Rex, now being used in testing, developing strange technological powers he was struggling to control, now feeling off...different. Van Kleiss and Circe were there to support him, but because Van Kleiss had been the one who was suppose to watch him before the accident, there was tension between the Salazar and Kleiss families. Eventually, while there were new changes, lab life started to go back to focusing on the project, even a new member called Ebony Hale (Black Knight) joining as an assistant. Things started going back to normal, or as normal as they could be, until that fateful day. Word got out in the chief scientist that their sponsors, The Consortium, had no only put a unknown spy among them, but were planning to use the nanites to take over the world. A large debate broke out on what to do, some arguing to destroy the nanites and all the data on them, some saying to keep the project going but find a way to keep the Consortium out of it, and some even saying they just wanted to do the project and didn’t care if the Consortium taking control. Van Kleiss was part of the side saying to keep the work, but kick out the Consortium. But eventually it was decided to destroy the project. But the spy must have caught wind of this, as while they began to remove their work, the Consortium sent in a heavily armed team to take out everyone on the project. During the chaos many things happened. Not having time to get rid of everything, members of the project decide to give Rex the Omega to hold onto, as he has enough experience with nanites to handle it for a few hours. Van Kleiss did try to say otherwise, not thinking it was fear on Rex, especially when his parents and Caesar agreed to this. In the end they did end up giving Rex the Omega, with the plan that he would meet Caesar at the docking bay. Van Kleiss had originally wanted to go with him and take Circe, but next thing they knew armed soldiers came in and everyone spilt. Rex managed to wander by as not only did the soldiers have no interest with the kid, but Ebony, who turned out to be the spy, ended up letting him past without knowing what he was hiding. Van Kleiss and Circe ended up running into Rex’s parents, who were busy trying to wipe the computers. The three parents got into quite the arguments, with Van Kleiss eventually leaving the room with his daughter, only to be confronted by some soldiers. They noted that the room that Van Kleiss just left was locked, so they made him an...offer. Either he unlocks the door and let them in, or they kill him and Circe where they stand. Despite how harsh the Salazars were on Van Kleiss, even he didn’t want to make this choice...but after everything, and looking down at his own daughter...he made the choice to let them in, holding his daughter as they heard gun fire. With everything coming to a head, it suddenly happened. With scientist messing with computers and machines, soldiers raining bullets everything, and Rex off somewhere glitching out with the Omega, it just became too much and the nanite event happened. A massive explosion that sent out a wave of unfinished nanites across the world, and for Van Kleiss, everything went white briefly... Then, he opened his eyes...finding himself feeling different. To his shock, he found himself to be mutated, his prosthetic arm gone, now replaced with an arm of wood and vines, a deep connection to the earth around him. Thankfully, his daughter was still by his side, but she two had changed, with the agility to emit a powerful scream. As days turned to weeks and then to months, Van Kleiss found himself turning his old home into something new...into a place that him and the out cast could belong into...But after everything that happened, the things he lost and was hurt by, he began to put up those walls again. He could no longer risk getting attached, not if he were to complete his goals....” And there we go! My tale about Van Kleiss in my rewrite. It does go into other things that I will eventually write down that happened in this rewrite, but it’s a good place to start as any. I wanted to give him a tragic back story, something that shows why he behaves the way he does today, and how it ties into his goals. I like the idea that he does believe in the dream of turning everyone EVO and ruling them, but so that he can start a new age and era where people don’t have to be out casts anymore. After all, if everyone is different a monster, then no one can be judged, at least in his mindset. So Abysus is a safe haven for EVOs that need a home, and he does want the best for his subject. The only problem is that one, Van Kleiss doesn’t want to get deeply attached to anyone, as many past friendships eventually failed on him, so it’s bound to happen again, and two, he can get a little power made because well, he’s spent so long being the underdog and kick to the ground, so it feels great to be able to be the one standing tall. It also helps make him feel like Rex’s opposite, not only with the nature vs technology design for the two, but the idea that one is someone who wants to get attached to people, while the other is someone who doesn’t want to get attached anymore. A tragic hero and a tragic villain, who have history tied together. Anyway, I hope you enjoy my version of Van Kleiss, and for hearing me ramble! 💙

#Generator Rex #GR #Generator Rex Van Kleiss #Van Kleiss #Generator Rex Rewrite #redesign #Generator Rex Redesign #Generator Rex Circe #Generator Rex Rex Salazar #My Art

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theduchessofdisaster · 4 years

Text

A Bird in the Hand

Warnings: kidnapping, dubious consent, mind control, imprisonment.

Most people dreamed about being heroes who went to UA, but not you. Your quirk was not the kind that was usable in battle, unless you had wanted to be used as a shield... and as much as you valued heroisism... there was a limit to your ability to be a team player.

You had set yourself a much less lofty, but perhaps more profitable (and realistic goal, let’s be honest) of going into the business stream. You had an appreciation for heroes and Their aim to be on the front lines. You would be happy to be a support of their dreams and ambitions. But, your aim was an internship at one of the hero agencies, wherein you could help the heroes of today and tomorrow carve out a space in the sun. You had a knack for building relationships, and striking a bargain, and hoped that would help you in your quest to assist the heroes of tomorrow.

Besides, with a quirk like yours, it was better to be as far removed from the hero radar as possible. What you had was rarely useful to anyone but yourself. Immediate and permanent healing. That didn’t mean that you didn’t experience the pain of an injury, sadly that was not the case. What happened for you was that your body rejected the physical manifestations of an injury. The moment a knife scraped your hand, your body rejected the cut. You might bleed, depending on depth, but no actual injury would occur. And you would never scar either, which was a nice bonus to have.

The medical professionals that you had met throughout your life had wanted to study you, and use whatever part of your quirk they could replicate. You had spent time giving samples and demonstrations of your unique abilities for quite a large part of your youth, and so had a bit of an aversion to hospitals even now.

You were close to a few of the heroes in both class 1 and 2, and the support students were on your radar as well. You weren’t necessarily popular, but you were known. As a student focused on your studies, you were open to socialising whenever exams were not pressing in.

It hadn’t taken long after the first sports day for you to be impressed by several of your year 1 classmates. Shinso was a standout for you despite his ranking and not being in the hero stream just yet. Still, you could see him going far, and it wouldn’t take long for someone to see that he was an exceptional candidate for it. You approached warily, happy to see that he was interested in you as well, and while not outwardly apparent, touched that anyone had such a good impression of his abilities.

You didn’t work too hard at maintaining the relationship, but frequently said hi, or caught up with him in the moments he was available. Your no-nonsense attitude meant you rarely cared about what his ability could do to you, only what it could mean as a future hero. He also was friendly and driven enough that he made a good aquiantence and friend.

You had no idea that your attentions had Shinzo feeling any certain way. That his eyes lingered on you long after your brief exchange. He was thankful for the attention, and your interest in his abilities made him feel appreciated and liked. That you were also beautiful was not something he took for granted. He enjoyed watching the way you walked to class, how your eyes were viligantly watching your classmates. It was all very intriguing. Besides, Shinzo liked when your eyes found his, and he enjoyed the nod or smile he received whenever your eyes met. You didn’t seem to notice that his eyes had already been trained on you.

But Shinso had also been contacted by the league of villains, and his constant failure to get into the hero stream at school had left him aching for something more. When shigaraki had mentioned he would need some sort of Guarantee of his loyalty, something only shinso could provide, well his thoughts went dark. He knew someone he had said. Someone who had the ability to heal rapidly. Someone who no hero. He didn’t realize just how intrigued Shigaraki would be at a talent like yours.

So when he spoke to you one day with his eyes in yours you didn’t feel any different than usual. You were talking to him as you normally would, only to feel your mind go blank and your conscious no longer... there. You had taken a back seat to his will, a passenger in your own mind. He led you down alleys and streets far from school, and his voice was all you could hear in your head. You stared out the windows of your own eyes, but found no way of speaking your panic, no attempt to regain control was working.

You wanted to trust the boy who had smiled at you, wanted to know that he had your best interests in heart no matter how unsettling or wrong this felt. Still as your mind stayed securely locked on the back of your mind, and your senses dimmed you realized until he let you go, you could do nothing.

You paid little notice to where you were until you were switched back to being in control of your own body, and at that point you were only aware that you were in a smoky dimly lit bar. The eyes of shinsou and someone else you had seen before were on you as they discussed you.

“This is your exchange? Really? She’s a pretty little thing” The man covered in hands said, a red eye Largely obscured from view peering out you. “What did you say she has, a regenerative quirk?” He smirked at you, and his hands inches closer to your arm. You tried not to flinch as he laid restless fingers on you, laying them down one at a time, then drumming them on your skin, never allowing all of them to rest on you at once. You could feel a thrum of energy from him, but simply watched him with trepidation.

Yours eyes met Shinsou’s who for the first time since you knew him showed obvious displeasure, his jaw working to grind his teeth, his eyes focused on the fingers thrumming against your skin. Why did he bring you here to let someone touch you? “Why are you..” you start to ask, only for him to shake his head. Your eyes focus back on the man with the hands on you, and he gives a perverse chuckle as he hears your voice.

“Isn’t she sweet, and obedient too. Not going to ask your questions?” He cocks his head to the side, and you frown. Your logical mind knows you should be screaming, but you lack the information you need to know what is going on. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst to ask something? Your comb through your memory, aware of seeing this man somewhere, hearing that voice.... your blood stills in your veins when the recognition hits. You know who this is.

“Why am I here?” You ask him, looking at him rather than his dancing fingers. Your voice shakes slightly, but you try your best to sound calm. You know what he could do now, and you are not looking forward to finding out how your quirk holds up against his. And with a eye to shinsou you ask him “you know this is not how you get into the hero stream right? Were we not working on that together?” Your disappointment is almost worse than your fear. If you had your notebook you would scratch him off of the top of your list of heroes you would manage someday.

He has the gall to look unashamed. “Sadly, there is little chance of that, and I got a better offer.” He said. There was a moment where his breath hitched before he resumed his unapologetic air. The other man gave a mildly manic cackle and your eyes returned to his.

“My turn! I can tell you why your here... your little friend mentioned what you can do... and my little NPC I wanted to see if you can carry my burdens...” he smirked at his little joke, and his restless fingers clamped down on your arm. There was a tingle and your arm felt his attempt to disintegrate you, your skin knit itself back together over and over, as his quirk tried to battle against your quirk. You could feel it trying to work on you, the pain of falling apart ever present as his hands touched you, but you refused to break under him, regenerating over and over as he stayed pressed against you. When he pulled away, your skin was perfect. No mark or scar. “How perfect!” He said with glee.

He brought both hands down to your face, and the pain was immense, yet no longer how long he held down, your body refused to show any damage. You cried out, you could feel what he was doing but, no matter the pain your body refused to let you feel it. It hurt, it burned. And tears streamed down your face as he laughed at you.

“Perfect! Perfect!” He said, backing away. You cried out as he let you go, and lent your head back against the chair headrest. “She was made for me...” he said, his voice hushed as he looked you over once again. Your body slumped in horror at the look on his face. He turned to Shinsou, and gave a broad grin. “Your pledge is accepted! You passed level 1! Welcome to the league. Now, do you mind getting out of here?” He said turning back to you. “I got a companion quest to start.”

#yandere x reader #yandere scenarios #shigaraki x reader #bnha shigaraki

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dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years

Text

Dragon Song

The 3E exam was Toyama’s most difficult day. Afterwards, he always had to do a difficult counseling and comfort session with all the students about their visions. And for some who didn’t make the cut, his sessions would include brainwashing and memory wiping to make them forget everything about Cassell so they could go home and continue their lives, ignorant of everything they experienced here.

He made his way back to his office and sat behind the desk.

He sighed and cleaned his glasses while he waited. No one ever knew what was going on in there. Only those who were monitoring with the cameras namely EVA. Whatever happened, the medical team was ready to take care of it.

But he felt the muscles in his neck were tense and his heart was beating faster than normal. His analytical brain told him he was worried about Tigre. Even though he told himself it was pointless to worry about him, that his fate was with the College now, he couldn’t stop.

So he spoke to himself in casual calm language. “I think its time to admit, that your care for that boy has gone beyond what is professional.” He slid the glasses onto his nose.

“You could barely leave him there properly without tears coming right? That’s why you left so abruptly. Right now the test is starting and his dragonblood is waking up. He might attack the students inside once he realizes what he is. And then he has no future. You tried. You did all you could. But it’s possible he was doomed from the start.”

“But the heart will do what it will do. Heh... you’re not immune, Toyoma-kun.” He chuckled to himself. “But you cannot drink. Your students will need you now more than ever. You can go drink later.”

The phone, a traditional rotary, rang loudly in the silence. He picked up. “Toyama speaking.”

The raspy inhale told him who was speaking. Schneider’s voice came over the earpiece, “I can patch you into the feed. I would like you to watch.”

“Watch the boy turn into a monster? I don’t think so...”

“That’s not what’s happening. I’ll send the link to your cell.”

Toyama’s cellphone let up and he cradled the landline against his ear while he clicked the link provided.

The video feed showed the classroom.

Normally the 3 E was absolute mayhem as each of the students’ minds were lost in the sound, like listening to a favorite song, the mind wandered and the body followed and they were compelled to write down their visionary inscriptions on the paper or on whatever other surface they could find. But what Toyama saw made his jaw drop in shock.

Tigre was singing.

He wasn’t just singing, he was singing with a smile of rapturous joy, tears pouring down his face. He wasn’t writing down his answers, he was singing them, speaking each dragon word in turn. As the dragon verses shifted, he would listen briefly and his eyes closed and he would hold in hands to his chest, his face beaming with joy before belting out a full throated perfect rendition of that Yanling.

Toyama felt his eyes burn and quickly blinked away tears for a moment. Relief washed over him like a flood and his smile started to echo Tigre’s. He felt proud that Tigre was succeeding. He wasn’t just performing well on the test, but he wasn't being violent. Quite the opposite. He was joyous, happier than Toyama had ever seen him.

But then in the next moment Toyama’s blood ran cold.

Dragon language wasn’t just words. They were commands. They could impose a rule upon an area to control the elements. They could command a forest to burn. They could command a storm, a drought, a flood, an earthquake, or lightning. Some abilities were so strong, they would destroy the user. If it wasn’t for the restriction placed on the use of this sacred speech by the College’s alchemical array, Tigre would have joyfully sang out and destroyed the entire college and possibly all of Chicago.

“Dear... God...” Toyama whispered. “Is he a Dragon King?”

“No. If he was, we would have erased him and shoved his body in the Ice Cellar. But he is a hybrid of Dragon King level resonance. He’s different from the other hybrids in other ways too. We’ve run other tests. Nothing about this man is natural... and yet everything is.”

“Is this why you have brought him here? Why you were interested?”

“I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you. We’re still studying. In the meantime, you should probably go out to meet him. He doesn’t have anyone else to talk to.”

Schneider hung up the phone. Toyama was brought back to reality. Yes he did feel fond of Tigre... but he was still a doctor and Tigre was his patient. He would have to carefully maintain his mind so he didn’t go berserk and bring ruin to the college. He stood up and made his way back to the library. When he came back outside, the thunderstorm had intensified. Lightning cut across the sky and thunder roared, as thought the sky itself were cracking apart. The trees swayed heavy in the wind.

----

When Tigre came out of his trance, his throat hurt, his jaw hurt and his face was sticky with tears. He was shaking and exhausted. He wasn’t at his desk any more but standing in the middle of the room. He wanted to see Toyama and tell him that he wasn’t mad at him for leaving him alone. So when he found him waiting outside, he ran up to him and hugged him, babbling uncontrollably all sorts of silly things while Toyama told him to get some rest while stroking his hair.

He suddenly realized after that that other students were filing out. All the other students looked exhausted and limp. He turned to them with a joyous face, but they all just flinched away from him, looking at him with tear streaked faces. Even Porsche, who seemed vibrant and sassy before, hugged her two sisters while crying uncontrollably. Celeste glared at him accusingly and Tigre flinched away.

“Don’t mind them. Most people don’t experience joy like yours.” Toyama pulled him away from the other students. “I will have to go help them with their feelings.”

Tigre was confused. Why would anyone be sad about what he’d just heard? “Toyama-san, I saw something amazing. You knew right? You knew what I was!”

“I had no idea exactly what you were.” Toyama said patiently. “No one did. Your vision is one that’s personal to you, something deep in your heart.”

Tigre reached up and touched his chest. “But... I don’t have anything there.”

“Maybe that’s...” Toyama wanted to say ‘for the best’ but he didn’t finish his sentence. “I have to go. You’re a student now, so you’re free to roam about as you like. Stay out of trouble. Okay?”

“Okay...” Tigre said meekly and watched Toyama walk towards the three sisters. Only Celeste wasn’t crying, she only looked extremely angry.

No one was happy, except for him.

He walked out to stare at the pouring rain in the entrance. He looked up at the sky that also seemed to be sad. But why? Those voices in his head were still ringing. He could recite every single word. But he whispered them, staying quiet. He continued to whisper those sacred words into the grey. They were still beautiful in his ears.

“Do you not have an umbrella?”

His dampened mood rose again! “Chu Zihang!”

Without thinking he hugged the flinching man who just tolerated it.

Tigre released him quickly. “Oh... I’m sorry.”

“It’s normal to be emotional after this. I’m happy you made it. The results will take a few hours to process, but Schneider sent me to congratulate you. He’s my mentor.” Chu Zihang’s eyes were dark and not the yellow he remembered.

“You wear contacts too.” Tigre realized.

“Yes. Toyama explained?” Chu Zihang raised his umbrella. It was large enough for both of them as they walked. He was calm like a granite stone. Tigre was a raw nerve of emotion.

“Yes. I remembered looking into your eyes and feeling something through them like what I heard today. No wonder I recognized you! You really are my brother! But for the other students, they were very sad. I don’t... understand why...” He looked back at the Library that was shrouded in the rain.

“You’d have to ask them personally. I can’t speak for them. When my dragonblood awoke, I saw a very disturbing image myself. And then something tragic happened. So that memory is sad for me too.”

“Is that why its raining?” Tigre mumbled.

Zihang tilted his head. “I don’t think emotions can effect the weather. Though many people associate rain with sadness. In truth a tropical wave has been pushed up from the gulf by the jet stream.”

“Oh.” Was all Tigre should say, understanding nothing.

“You’re still shaken up. Let me get you something to eat. You’ll be hungry.”

"Ah! You’re right! My stomach is growling a lot!” Tigre said in shock.

“You must have resonated very strongly. You were just standing there in the entrance to the library staring into space and now you didn’t realize you were hungry...”

“It was wonderful.” He breathed. “I wish I could listen to it again. I’ll listen to it forever.”

Chu Zihang glanced down at him and didn’t comment.

“Have you been out of the hospital long? Why didn’t you visit me?” Tigre bounced along deliberately splashing in the puddles.

“I was recovering still and then after that, Schneider kept me updated on your progress. I couldn’t visit you because visits were not permitted while you adjusted to life outside of prison.”

“Oh... we’re going to your dorm?” He asked recognizing the residential building.

“Yes. I want to introduce you to a few of my friends. One of them, Lu Mingfei is also looking forward to seeing you.”

“Oh Okay... neat.”

Chu Zihang opened the door to the dorm and there were many people there! It was like a party! When he saw all these people. He was moved to tears again! He covered his eyes with his arm. “Sorry!”

One of them, a dark haired Chinese boy chuckled. “Don’t worry. Everyone cried at my 3E. You’re fine.”

Chu Zihang introduced him. “This is Lu Mingfei. He’s the president of the Student Union...”

“Kinda sorta... really I just kinda hang out here while other people do things for me.” He said bashfully.

A tall muscular blond grinned. “I’m Finger Von Frings.”

“And I’m Susie. Congratulations. Sounds like you passed.” She was a petite Chinese girl, making her the third Chinese in the group.

“I’m Zero. Pleasure.” Said a soft spoken blond girl with a Russian accent, who looked bored to be there.

“This is for you.” Chu Zihang handed him a small box covered in paper and a ribbon, like one of those Christmas gifts he’d seen in pictures.

“Thank you... can I open it?”

“If you want.” Chu Zihang mumbled.

Tigre pulled the ribbon and then opened the box after carefully shredding the paper. Inside was a brand new tablet computer. “It will be useful for studying.”

“Wow... thank you!” He laughed. Then he paused. “What is it?”

#Dragon Raja

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marjansmarwani · 3 years

Text

Because this is going to be a long haul (and because I actually remembered it was Wednesday before the fact) here is a bit from my Dr. Reyes/Paramedic Strand Enemies to Lovers AU (that really needs a shorter way to refer to it, suggestions welcome). I forgot to mention it in the ask I answered yesterday from @sunshinestrand but this idea is actually the product of @trkstrnd who gave me permission to write it which I am grateful for because it has been pretty fun so far and I’m excited to see where it goes!

Here’s a part from one of the first scenes or the “enemies” portion of the story which has been too much fun to write:

“Strand!”

Carlos could see the other man’s posture stiffen as he heard his name called and when he turned to face Carlos his jaw was set.

“Can I help you, Doctor?” His words were perfectly professional but he somehow managed to make Carlos’s title sound mocking.

Carlos could feel his own jaw tighten as he stepped closer. “What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded, “That woman could have died!”

“But she didn’t,” TK reminded him evenly. “She didn’t because of what I did.”

“That’s only because you got lucky,” Carlos hissed. “You can’t use blind luck to justify taking such a risk…”

“Luck?” TK demanded, dropping all pretense of professionalism as he took a step closer. “It’s not luck, doctor, it’s skill.”

“I don’t know how things were in New York,” Carlos fired back, “but here in the real world, a paramedic doesn’t make those calls; a doctor does. If you had concerns you should have radioed the hospital. I can’t believe Captain Vega…”

“Captain Vega trusts her team,” TK spat, “ she knows what we are capable of and she lets us do what we need to do to help the patient. And really? ‘Radio the hospital?’ So we could watch her die while we waited for someone to get around to answering? Not likely.”

Carlos took a step closer too, closing the distance before them even more. They were barely 6 inches apart now, he could see every fleck of color in the paramedic’s eyes. Green some part of his mind provided but Carlos pushed that thought aside. “What you are doing is justifying one success and calling it skill,” he said, voice harsh but quiet enough that only the paramedic before him could hear. “One day you are going to take it too far and bite off something you can’t chew. One day you are going to take a risk that is not going to pay off and it’s going to be a person that pays the price. You’re playing with lives here, Strand, and sometimes I think you forget that.”

The Paramedic’s expression was murderous but before he could open his mouth, Becky - the head nurse - stepped in.

“Need I remind you both that you are in a very public hallway of a very public hospital? Pull yourselves together; you’re acting like bitchy teens instead of medical professionals.” When she didn’t get a response from either of them she sighed wearily and rolled her eyes, “TK, you should find your crew. I have a feeling today is going to be a busy one.”

There were another few moments of tense silence before TK nodded stiffly and turned away, striding back towards the ambulance bay. Carlos watched him go, choosing to ignore the feeling of Becky’s gaze focused on him. TK’s back had disappeared through a doorway when she finally spoke: “Hi, Carlos, what the fuck was that?”

“He’s a reckless showoff who is going to get someone hurt!” Carlos exclaimed but Becky only raised an eyebrow.

“And you think yelling at him about it in the middle of the ER is the best way to address it?” she deadpanned

“Yes? No?” he broke off with a groan, running a hand down his face, “I don’t know.”

“That much is obvious,” she agreed and he lowered his hand to glare at her. She raised up her hands in self-defense, “Far be it from me to tell you what to do--”

“Very far be it,” he agreed, only succeeding in bringing her glare back.

“You know what, if you’re going to be a dick about it then yeah, as head nurse I am going to kindly request that you not start altercations with the paramedics in the middle of my ER, Doctor.”

He winced at her tone, deflating and offering her an apologetic smile.

She rolled her eyes at him again, but her tone softened, “But as your friend, I think you’re lying to yourself.”

Carlos’s eyebrows shot up his forehead, “Lying to myself? About what?”

“About why that handsome paramedic makes you so hot and bothered.”

Carlos could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. “I don’t have a crush on him, if that’s what you think.”

Becky studied him for a few moments before shrugging, “That’s fine, keep lying to yourself if it helps I guess.”

Before Carlos could retort another voice joined their conversation, “What is he lying to himself about this time?”

Carlos couldn’t quite manage to suppress the groan that came out of his mouth as Dr. Michelle Blake came up on his other side, joining them at the front desk and looking between her two friends.

“His feelings for a certain Paramedic,” Becky informed her and Michelle nodded sagely.

“That’s been going on for a while.”

Carlos looked between his two friends before shaking his head and pulling himself back up to his full height, “You’re both terrible friends, but you’re also wrong. I don’t like Paramedic Strand. I can’t stand him.”

“That’ll be the sexual tension,” Michelle noted casually and Carlos didn’t even dignify her with a response.

“I’m going to do my rounds now,” he announced instead, turning away from the two women, “but you’re both still the worst.”

I'm hoping to have this finished by the end of the month but that’s really just a hope, I have no idea when it’ll actually be done realistically but I’m excited to share it all with you whenever that may be!

#911 lone star #wip wednesday #my fic previews #oh look another au

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guro-giri-letters · 4 years

Text

You think so? : Shigaraki x nurse reader!

- By Guro. ♡

/You’re a nurse at a recovery centre for villains, and you think you might be in love with one. Just a wholesome fluff fic! The VRC is an idea Sweets helped me come up with and I may write more things connected to it in the future! Hope you enjoy! ♡/

/Tags l Tw ; brief description of medical procedure, Shigaraki being grumpy, (secret?) established couple, nurse, wholesome. ♡/

“Tomura, stay still please,” Shigaraki grumbles, but you can see his fingers trembling around the glass you gave him to sip from. You don’t even think he drinks, but anything to keep him occupied while you give him a few stitches is good enough.

Snipping the medical thread and leaning back, you study your handiwork and give yourself a nod. It’s not too bad, a medium-size wound curving over the back of his shoulder, but awkward as hell to stitch. It looks good, despite all of his fidgeting. If he doesn’t do anything too strenuous for a few days he should heal fine, you think, resting your palm against his bony back. You can feel the knots of his spine through his pale skin. He jolts in surprise and shivers a little, leaning back against the warmth of your palm. “There, you want something for the pain?”

“No. I’m fine,” he mutters in response, voice rough as stones stuck in car-tyres. He stares into his glass a moment before downing the last of its contents, clenching his teeth right after doing so. “Ugh.”

“How about some of that for me, nurse?” Dabi’s own gritty voice rattles across to you and you turn your head. He’s laid out on the table in the middle of the kitchen, being worked on by your co-worker. You shoot him a look from where you sit behind Shigaraki, rising and tucking your stool back under the breakfast bar. “Come on, I’m torn open here,” the burnt man continues. He’s not lying. The patch of purple prosthetic skin that wraps around his side and creeps over his stomach has torn at the seams quite badly, your co-worker currently stitching it all back into place. They glare at Dabi every time he moves, earning a cheeky grin back from the villain each time.

“I thought you could tough out a few stitches?” You tease, but you pull down the whiskey bottle and offer it to him anyway. He takes it over the top of your co-workers head and un-caps it, taking a swig straight from the bottle.

“I can, but this is good- shit,” he hisses when the needle is dug in particularly hard, scowling at the nurse bent over him. “Asshole, you trying to kill me?”

“I wish, Dabi. I wish,” they mutter tiredly in reply.

“Stop the bickering, we’re all professionals here,” you chide them, pulling out a drawer and poking around until you find the tin that holds the medical staples. You pause, considering, and then pull out a container of pills as well. If Shigaraki won’t take pain relief you’ll at least give him something to help him sleep.

You work at the VRC. Yeah; Villains Recovery Center. It’s not much, just a small team of people with decent medical experience, funding, and a common hatred for hero society. You work out of a well-hidden and out of the way manor that doubles as your own and most of your co-workers main home. You’ve got a small apartment further into the city but honestly, you barely bother going back there anymore. You’ve found yourself a family here where you had no one before, and it feels good to help people that are out there doing the work you can’t.

Even if those people are often times ungrateful, grumpy, snarling villains. “I don’t want them!” Shigaraki snaps as you try, again, to get him to take the pills. “We’re not staying the night, I can’t take them. We’re on the move.”

“Not stay- yes, you are very much staying the night, and stop scratching!” You grasp his wrist and tug his hand away from his throat, ignoring the furious look he gives you as you grip his chin, tilting his head to inspect his neck. “I’m putting cream on this.”

“Get off.” He pulls his wrist back but you hang on to him, giving him a serious look. “What?”

“You’re all staying the night, Tomura, you need some proper sleep. Dabi’s in pieces and I’m pretty sure Spinner has a concussion,” the more you talk, the more the leader of the League of Villains deflates under your hands. By the time you’re done he’s slumped on his stool, still half-glaring but not really mad anymore. You know he’ll do the right thing for his group, you’ve known that since the first time they landed in needing your teams help. Shigaraki isn’t good at showing it, but he really does care for the little family he’s brought together. They hate it when you call them a family.

“Fine. We stay,” he rasps out eventually, looking up at you through his blood-flow gaze from where he sits. With no shirt on you can see how bony and thin he truly is, ribs and collarbones visible through paper-thin, raw skin. He almost looks delicate, you think, as you trace your fingers under his jaw and down his throat. Easy to break. Yet there’s so much power hidden inside of him. You can’t imagine being him... being Tomura Shigaraki. The leader of a war against a society of false idols.

His lips start to curl up at one corner, baring his teeth at you slightly. He’s happy to be admired by you in a more private setting, but your co-worker and Dabi’s eyes are two people too much it seems. “You’re staring, nurse.”

“Sorry,” you say quickly, because you genuinely hadn’t meant to. “Take your pills, let me get the cream for your neck.”

Shigaraki isn’t shy about undressing in front of you anymore. He had been once, yelling at you when you’d walked in on him naked as the day he was born. You know he was just embarrassed, self conscious. You’d made it very clear that, one, he shouldn’t yell at you if he liked receiving medical treatment. And two, you really didn’t care about his appearance or for that matter, find him ugly. All of his red, raw, scarred skin was just a part of him. Probably eczema or some other allergy. But you definitely didn’t find it ugly.

He strips off slowly, wincing any time he strains his stitches, and then shoves his clothes aside in a pile with his foot. “You want to have a shower?”

“No,” he sighs, sounding suddenly exhausted, scratching at his hip and stretching before shuffling toward the bed. You pull the covers back for him, your professionalism falling away, smiling thinly as he climbs under them a little awkwardly. “You baby all your villains this much?”

“Maybe I do,” you reply, pulling the covers up over him before he can do it himself, looking at his face. The look he’s giving you tells you he’s not amused. Quite the opposite, actually. He looks annoyed. “I’m kidding, Tomura. Only you get my VIP treatment.”

“I don’t think I believe you.”

“Are you jealous? Seriously?”

“No.”

Angry now, he turns over and away from you to face the wall. You can’t help the smile that curves your lips even further, looking at the stitched up wound on his shoulder. Shigaraki knows you care about him, more than you should care about any of your ‘clients’, he just likes to huff. He jumps in surprise when you press a kiss against his shoulder, just above his stitches. “Hey...”

“Hmm, Tomura?” You pull back to look at him as he turns his head, eyeing you over his shoulder.

“...Are you staying?” He asks, reaching a hand back to brush his knuckles over your cheek. You know what he means: Are you staying with him. How? How can this criminal, this villain, be so sweet all of a sudden?

You don’t even bother replying, just lean back from the bed and toe off your slippers. He watches over his shoulder as you undress down to your underwear, leaving your clothes in a heap next to his and climbing in. “Careful,” you murmur as he turns to face you, still wary of his stitches but it seems he’s already forgotten about them. When you’re both comfortable he just looks at you for a while, laying on his side as you lay on yours. Your lack of fear around him has always perplexed him. You lift your hand to his face slowly, smoothing the teal locks out of his eyes. He doesn’t flinch any more, he trusts you. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” his rough voice is quiet in the empty room but he finally sounds calm, relaxed. You know there’s a lot of things he’d like to say to you, that he’d like to ask of you. He just doesn’t know how to. You don’t think people realise how young he is, how timid and inexperienced he can be. He’s not used to feeling cared for. Dabi likes to make terribly dirty jokes, about your relationship, about what the two of you get up to. Little does he know the most you’ve ever done is held each other. Touched each other’s faces and cuddled close when one of you needed to feel protected. Because you haven’t had an easy life either. No one hates heroes the way you do without a reason, and sometimes you need the comfort just as much as Shigaraki. You think he gets it, he knows.

You’ve kissed a few times, but it was all so gentle and... loving?

Are you in love?

“What’re you thinking about?” He asks, sounding genuinely curious, red eyes that almost glow in the dark studying your face close. You flush a little under his intense gaze; are you that easy to read?

“Just... that I think I’m in love with a villain.” Why not be honest for once?

“That so?” The smile that pulls at the corners of his cracked lips for a moment is so genuine, your heart does a little trick in your chest. You nod, burying the side of your face against the sheets and peeking over at him. “Hm..”

“I don’t know how he feels though-“ you’re silenced by a chaste yet warm kiss on the lips, your eyes closing instinctively as you lean into it without hesitation. For a while you two just kiss, your hands coming up to hold his face as he manoeuvres his arms around you with care. When you do pull back pink and breathless you don’t go far, Shigaraki letting his forehead rest against your own gently.

“...I think- I think, he may love you too...” he replies, almost inaudibly but he may as well have yelled it with how close you both are. You feel your heart leap up into your throat, lips breaking into a grin despite your best effort to keep your face calm.

“You think so?” You whisper back and Shigaraki snickers, snickers, nodding and letting his nose bump against your own.

“I think so.”

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airi-p4 · 4 years

Text

Thursday - Alternative ending

I couldn’t give Lukanette an unhappy ending, so here’s chapter 2 to fix it.

Chapter 1

AO3

_______________________________________

Luka blinked at a blurry memory. Or instinct. Something indescriptible alerted him the instant his feet touched the ground out the metro. For a second, he could see a flashback of death crossing his mind. Shivers took over his body and his inner voice urged him to take action: ‘save her’.

Not wasting any moment and before Luka could actually think, the alarm of the doors that announced their closure soon started and Luka's hand straightened to grab Marinette's wrist and pull her body out of the train, just before the doors fully closed.

"Let's skip the first hour" he mischievously grinned, pulling her through the platform, passing next the old couple they had previously offered their seats to.

Out of surprise, Marinette couldn't answer, but she was more than happy to follow him upstairs and out to the street- or whenever he was willing to take her- with a shy happy smile on her face.

"I know I should have asked you if you wanted to come first, sorry for that", Luka turned his head back to her, not letting go of her hand.

"My classes don't start until 25 minutes from now. I can make it on foot, if I wanted to go"

"Do you want to? I can walk you there, if you want" he offered, apologetically.

"I prefer to skip the first hour with you" Marinette blushed with a wide clumsy smile, squeezing his hand.

A loud noise and an earthquake distracted them as they moved to a park nearby.

"An earthquake? That's unusual" Luka said, catching Marinette for the third time of the day. "Marinette?"

'I'm ok! I just tripped". Luka's hands surrounding her were making her knees weak. "Thank you".

“Clumsy as ever. You’re so cute” he casually commented, making Marinette's face flush red. "I haven't properly introduced myself, right? My name is Luka Couffaine. I'm 19 and I'm studying at that music conservatoire across the park. What's your full name, Marinette? How old are you?"

"My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I'm 17 years old. I'm in my last year of lycée..." She shyly said.

"Dupain-Cheng...?" Luka blinked twice, remembering. "Oh, like the bakery, of course! The best in Paris. That's why you smell so sweet. My sister is a faithful customer of yours" he fondly smiled.

"She is? I help at the counter sometimes, maybe I know her?" Her curiosity showed.

"Her name is Juleka. Your same age. Purple long hair, red eyes, goth clothes. Sometimes accompanied by a little short-haired blond girl with a high-pitched voice..."

"No way! She's your sister?" She exclaimed in surprise. "Of course I know her! She's so beautiful I'm always distracted staring at her that she has to repeat her order at least twice for me to finally catch it. She's kind enough not to mind it… Wow! I wish I had known she was your sister" she regretted a little.

"Yes, she's beautiful. But I think you're beautiful too. And definitely cuter. May I ask you what your aspirations are, Marinette? With studies, with me…" Luka squeezed her hand, hopefully, waiting for her answer.

"I want to be a fashion designer... and I really like you… as for- really, really like you...”. she couldn't hide the blush on her face as she squeezed his hand back, reassuring Luka.

"Good. Because I really, really like you too, and I want to get to know you better, outside the metro, in our spare time. Would you like that? To date me… officially, I mean. As my girlfriend"

"Yes! I would love that... That's exactly what I want" Marinette smiled.

"Great" he stole one quick kiss from her, which she happily accepted. “What do you want to do? Is there anywhere you want to go?”

"Could I-… I would like to hear you play your guitar" she shyly asked.

Luka smiled widely. "Ok. I'll let you hear the first part of the song you inspired me to compose"

"You composed a song about me? Really?" Her eyes were opened in surprise and Luka giggled at her reaction.

"You made a big impact on me, Marinette. The way you literally fell on me after tripping at the stairs… how your feet tap impatiently at the floor, the way you stick your tongue out when you draw… You're adorable"

"How do you know that? You're never looking at me… you always look away at the glass…"

"I'm always looking at you. See?” he signaled at his black smartphone screen. “The window glass in the dark shows a reflection. I like to look at you from that reflection. I didn't want you to think I don't have shame for staring too much. I'm misunderstood enough with my appearance to make it even worse…" he explained.

"You were looking at me!? I didn't notice... I feel so stupid now…" she mumbled, covering her face with her hands.

"You're sweet, Marinette. And I really like that part of you." Luka smiled at her reaction. “Let me play you your song” He smiled, taking his guitar out of the case and strumming the strings of his guitar to create a sweet melody Marientte carefully listened to.

Suddenly, Marinette's phone vibrated, interrupting Luka’s song. "My parents! 5 missed calls!? Oh, no! They might know I’ve skipped school!"

"It's ok, Marinette. I'll take all the responsibility for that. You better answer the phone. I have a bad feeling..." Luka sounded alerted, and it showed when he didn't take his hand off her shoulder, as if he had to keep her close to protect her.

"Marinette!?" The voice at the other side of the line called in panic.

"Mom? I'm sorry I know I should be in class and-"

"Oh, Marinette! I'm so relieved! Are you ok? Are you injured anywhere?"

"Hm? No? What's going on?" Marinette blinked, confused.

At that moment, a big explosion followed, and a great amount of black smoke lifted to the sky.

Luka left his guitar to the side to hold Marinette as they stared in terror, unable to move, in silence. "No way…" he gasped, showing Marinette the column of smoke that rose from a few streets away. A Cataclysm- Chat Noir- Luka figured out moments later by checking the news on his phone. Marinette gasped and dropped her phone on the floor, speechless. Both of them got shivers at one though: Marinette would most likely be dead by now if Luka hadn't taken her with him.

Luka understood then the voice in his head: 'save her'. And he had done it. If destructive magic as ‘Cataclysm’ existed, other magic could exist too. He was very lucky, he realized. Luka held Marinette closer as she stared at the big fire some streets away for some minutes. Alarms and ambulances increased, and Luka felt the urge to go help, but he didn’t want to leave Marinette alone.

"It's ok, Marinette. I've got you. I won't let you get hurt” he reassured her. “I'll take you home. Classes are cancelled and you’ll be safer there" he offered her his hand, but she strongly grabbed his arm instead, scared and shocked 'I would be dead if it wasn't for Luka'

Marinette was terrified, but at the same time, she felt the same as Luka: she wanted to help. "Luka, let's go. Maybe we can help somehow" she suggested.

"It could be dangerous, Marinette. I don’t want to put you under risk"

"I know. But I can't stay here watching when I could be helpful instead". She gulped in determination and fear.

Luka was astonished. "Ok, but we're not going to expose ourselves to much danger. I would hate it if you get hurt. Promise?" Marinette nodded shyly. "Let's go!"

________________________

The new couple did what they could: Luka escorted people to the ambulances and helped to extinguish small fires, while Marinette helped the medical team and offered first aid to some of the victims. Luka made sure to never lose sight of her. She was tiny but strong, and Luka felt admiration and fascination. The teenage girl couldn't help but feel the same towards Luka's bravery as he helped people around non-stop. After a few minutes, more ambulances arrived and they left the rest to the professionals. Instead of going home right away, they first accompanied the old couple they met before at the metro to the hospital. They had passed out from smoke inhalation, but thankfully they could recover thanks to the teenagers help. "Thank you…" the Chinese old man thanked them when he recovered, and they sighed in relief.

When they stepped out of the hospital and observed the smoke column from before, they paralyzed in fear: the smoke had turned into letters, whose message could be clearly read: ‘This is just the beginning’. The couple got shivers at the threatening warning and Marinette couldn’t stop some tears from spilling from her eyes. On the other hand, Luka, worried and scared, swore to himself he would protect his girlfriend Marinette no matter what.

It was midday when they walked to the bakery, in silence. Marinette was trembling, in shock from the recent events and Luka made sure to keep holding her hand tightly. Her parents were waiting for her outside their bakery and desperately ran to hug their daughter as soon as they saw her.

“Marinette! I’m so glad you’re ok!” the mother cried. “I was so worried…”

“It’s thanks to Luka, mom. He saved my life” the teenager mumbled in gratitude, signaling them her boyfriend.

"Thank you for saving my daughter!" The Chinese woman exclaimed, hugging him in a grateful manner.

Luka could only nod and say to Marinette “I’ll come to see you tomorrow” before leaving. The thought of how she could have been dead by now if he hadn’t intervened never abandoning his head.

Later, when Luka returned home, he found an unknown hexagonal box on his bed. The same box also lay on the table in Marinette's room. Both of them examined their respective boxes, and from the moment they opened them onward, and the mysterious creatures explained themselves, they realized that the ‘life’ and ‘love’ saved that day came with a price needed to be paid back as superheroes under certain mandatory rules: superheroes until the defeat of Chat Noir and the rest of Paris’ villains.

And if Luka and Marinette were already starting something new, the events of that day tied them together forever.

FIN

#my fic #lukanette fic #fic: thursday #fic: jueves #airipyon #airip4

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physicistdyke · 4 years

Text

Transed his own Gender

Dr. Harold P. Coomer is trans, he's worked his whole academic career to make his body just how he wanted it. Now, at age 46, he finally has an opportunity with his work at Black Mesa to get bottom surgery. But his colleague and friend Dr Bubby, who doesn’t know anything about gender besides the strict hetero-normative and patriarchal culture of STEM, objects to the new and risky procedure while questioning Coomers desires to put his own safety at risk all for a silly gen-dar.

rb >> likes!

Link to ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25611880

or read under cut

It was both viciously empowering and crumbled him to the core. He had a power over his own body, rare for the here and now in this space and time. Harold had felt this way many times before, an advantage that should be a right. He could relieve his own suffering, but at what cost? The lingering thoughts would stick with him, latching on like a parasite, a cancer. A hand on his shoulder brought him back into his body, a body he’s worked so hard for. He turned back to see his colleague, stoic in expression. Dr Bubby was not good at expressing emotions in a conventional manner, but other characteristics helped to convey what his face could not. Right now the pressure he was applying with his hand on Coomer’s shoulder mixed with how he avoided eye contact told Coomer that Bubby was afraid. Bubby was afraid for Coomer. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Bubby started. Coomer was about to reply, but Bubby’s own racing mind cut him off. “It’s a very experimental procedure you know, I was reading over the cybernetics reports-“ “Please Bubby,” Coomer turned and looked up at him straight on, he saw worry in his friend’s eyes, “I am fully aware of what I’m doing, I have done just as much research as you.” He said these words with confidence. He didn’t want to hurt his friends feelings more, but sometimes Bubby’s ego got the best of him. Bubby took a step back from the other man, as if the eye contact burned him. Harold was one of the few people Bubby could look in the eyes without that feeling, but now it felt like the island of experience between them was distant. He averted his gaze back to a corner of the room, reconsidering his own words and constructing a sentence most logical for the situation. “I just don’t understand your desire to keep going forward with this, you’re already well respected enough.” *** ____________________________________

This would be Coomer’s first procedure since he had met Bubby. The most recent before that was the operation on his chest, he had snagged that opportunity while working on his post doctorate. That was an experimental procedure at the time too, but Coomer’s endless tap of kindness and intelligence had been able to convince his friends in the medical department and their higher ups that this was an ethically sound decision. Even though Coomer himself never wished to study human anatomy, much preferring engineering and physics to biology, the circumstances of his life pushed him to learn more then he wanted to know. This study began the second he got to college, an unaware and afraid young man, he used his own body as test subject. Mixing concoctions that transformed his body and mind. By the time he was applying for his masters, he was a new man. All the insecurity and anxiousness of his younger years behind him, he now shone like the star he was. From there he made incremental and bolder steps in the process of his transition; first with the top surgery as mentioned before, and now, at the age of 46, he was arranging what would hopefully be his final procedure. Black Mesa did a lot of things, and apparently mechanical prosthetics was now one of them. The new cybernetics department had already made wondrous strides in terms of arms and legs, restoring ability to those in their ranks that needed it. These semi-mechanical, semi-flesh prosthetics fascinated Dr. Coomer to no end. About 8 months ago he had started wandering into the department more often. Finding himself asking passing questions to colleagues, asking questions from a genuine place in the heart. Dr. Coomer was open to talk about his experiences as a trans man, but a majority of his peers were always too uncomfortable to ask. They saw it as an oddity within a good man, he saw it as something that helped make him the good man he was today. The gap in that understanding stung Coomer sometimes, and the feeling of isolation sometimes crept up on him. But his smile and the passion for his studies often helped to bring him away from that space. It was about 2 months ago when he picked out a particular team within the cybernetics department, and started to have more serious conversations with them. From a scientific perspective, everyone involved was enthralled by the prospect. Combine that with Coomer's consistent fascination, confidence, and consent, they were fast approaching a place where action could be taken. _____________________________________

Bubby had noticed his friend's increased absence from their own department. Missing from collaboration meetings, not in his office or nearest break room for their usual chit chat. Coomer was an unlikely but much appreciated friend to Bubby. They had met about 10 years prior, when Bubby was nearly done the process of being titled 'a successful prototype'. Coomer was an unexpected ray of sunshine in Bubby's life. Showing him a kindness and understanding Bubby never had the luxury to live with. Being regarded as a test subject and experiment your whole life does that to you. ____________________________________

Bubby didn't know what being trans meant when Coomer first brought it up with him. Bubby, in reality, didn't even know what gender meant. He had a vague grasp on the fact that gender existed. The knowledge tubes his creators attached to him all those years ago mostly skipped out on all topics of liberal arts, humanity, sociology, etc, except for the most minimum required for him to be a somewhat functioning social life form. But what Dr Bubby lacked in those nuanced interactions and social rules, he well made up for in his ability to observe and form logical conclusions (according to his own account). He was aware of the fact that some people were referred to differently. Out of Black Mesas staff, a small minority were referred to as ‘she’. This group had a tendency to dress different from the rest of the staff, occasionally donning skirts and dresses, and varying from person to person on pigment applied to the face. Bubby viewed these people as his equal (or more so equally below him as the rest of his male co-workers, as he was still an egotistical jerk), but he couldn’t help but notice the trends surrounding this group. Bubby heard the back handed remarks, the passing jokes, the tone of superiority made by some of his male colleagues about the fairer sex. He saw the anxiety in his female colleagues when this attitude approached them. He noted the equal distribution of men to women in the ranks of visiting grad students and post docs, yet the stark lack of women in actual professional roles at Black Mesa. He saw the complacency in nearly all of his male colleagues regarding the generally accepted treatment words the ‘fairer sex’. Nearly all his male colleagues. Coomer and Bubby had been working together for a few years, and a friendship (or the closest thing to that someone could get to with Bubby) had started to really solidify. They were on lunch together, discussing the published panels from a recent convention on nuclear physics. Bubby was particularly fascinated in some newly publish findings on strange Beta decay experiments. He excitedly postulated the possibilities the results could mean for the future of the strong nuclear force. Dr Coomer was as supportive and thoughtful towards his friend as ever, but something else seemed to be occupying his thoughts. “Did you read over the notes from the panel on gender issues in STEM?” Dr. Coomer eventually interrupted when his lingering thoughts became too present. This caught Bubby off guard, but he quickly caught up with his colleagues present state of mind, “I didn’t because I saw it as trivial. I mean, it was a convention on nuclear physics, why waste time with trivial matters of progressing social etiquette?” Coomer furrowed his brow and Bubby realized he had perhaps chosen the wrong words, “Well Professor, if you had spent the time to read, you’d realize it was barely focusing on Progressing social etiquette at all. The man they chose to lead the panel was as backwards thinking about women’s role in science as the Pythagoreans were about irrational numbers.” Bubby shuffled in his chair with slight discomfort, he was never put up to the task of discussing matters like this, “Ah, yes. Well that is a shame. Pretty fucked up too… But I’m sure women will find a way to still contribute valuable findings.” “It’s difficult enough already, I’m sick of this two steps forwards one step back mentality.” Coomer was submerged in his own thoughts, barely acknowledging Bubby’s weak response. “Things have barely changed since my undergrad days. I’m lucky I managed to survive the few years I did in academia being perceived as a woman.” Bubby processed this as neatly and quickly as he could. Gender could be changed. ____________________________________

***“What do you mean by respect, Professor?” Dr. Coomer asked, cooling his own emotions. “You know what I mean, you’re already perceived as a man! You’re no longer are seen as a woman and you’re no longer discriminated against. I admire that you’ve figured out a way to jump the backwards system but-“ he was cut off by Coomer. “Bubby,” Coomer looked at his friend, trying to fathom what the hell had gone wrong in that ‘perfect’ brain of his. He finally gathered his thoughts, “I’m not, trans- because I wanted to be respected. I’m trans because I just am.” Bubby ruminated on his colleagues response, “Well fine, if not for the respect then it’s simply conformity! It makes complete sense Harold, science can be a real dog eat dog world. Anything that makes you separate from the norm is just a weight to be lifted.” “What the actual hell are you talking about professor” a tone of anger and disappointment filled Coomer’s voice, “This is some really problematic thinking you know.” Bubby gave a huff and deepened his gaze to the corner of the room, he mulled over his thoughts and tried to choose his words carefully. As much as he hated to admit it, he really knew very little about gender, but his drive to maintain the upper hand kept him from admitting that. He decided drawing from personal experience was the most logical argument to make, “I mean, that’s why I’m a man. I guess I just always assumed it was the same for you.” Coomer’s look of annoyance turned to one of intrigue, it was rare for Bubby to share his more personal thoughts and feelings. Coomer took this opportunity to prod his colleague, “Is that so Dr Bubby?”, he knew how to get Bubby in a more comfortable mindset, “Then tell me, do you feel like a man?”. “What the fuck is that suppose to mean?” Bubby sneered, “I don’t feel like a man, I just present like one. What the hell does feeling have to do with gender?” Coomer chuckled a little, realizing his friend wasn’t a complete bigot, just an idiot. “I say Dr. Bubby, it looks like your creators really didn’t connect any gender tubes to that brain of yours. Did they tell you the you were a man?” Bubby was feeling increasingly exposed and embarrassed but kept his composure. “Those bastards didn’t tell me anything! At least not directly. I popped out of the tube and they just started calling me ‘he’ and I just rolled with it. I thought that happened to everyone! Until I met you,” Bubby finally returned his gaze to Coomer. Slight tones of confusion, fear, and anger made up his expression, “I could tell that it sucked to be a woman, regardless of their extra freedom of expression with clothes and things like that. So it made sense to me that you changed your presentation to avoid the ridicule.” Coomer enjoyed pressing Bubby’s ‘think deeply about something other than science’ button, but refrained and decided to give some explanation. “Bubby, that really isn’t how gender works in the slightest! I mean for some people they’re content with what ever gender they were assigned at birth, but even then they have some sort of emotional attachment or sense of that gender. And for others, like me, they feel a stronger connection to some other gender and they make what ever adjustments feels right for them. With everyone it can be pretty fluid throughout their lifetimes, but it’s all very personal. What gender do you feel Bubby?” “I don’t feel like any fucking gender! I feel like a scientist, can’t I just be that?” Bubby tapped his foot and rolled the hem of his lab coat between his fingers. He was glad he was talking about this with Harold, but it still felt awkward as hell. “Of course you can Dr. Bubby!” Coomer beamed at his colleagues honesty, “Though I don’t think you could be considered trans though, you were assigned Scientist at Birth™.” Cooper laughed at his own joke, which in turn made Bubby relax and smile a bit himself. Coomer placed a hand on Bubby’s sholder, “Ah, but in all seriousness. It’s completely valid to not be a man or a woman. There are plenty of people like that! And it’s also ok to not have any gender at all! You can feel and express yourself however you want to Bubby, and at least I’ll be here to fully support you. I hope you’re willing to do the same for me.” Bubby looked to the side in a sheepish but calmer way, “Well, of course Harold. I guess I didn’t fully understand how much this meant to you. I’m, um, sorry for speaking over you about this.” A sorry from Bubby was a rare commodity. “It’s alright. You were worried about my well being and I’m grateful for that! You were miss informed and kind of stupid, but I’m glad you were willing to open up and have an honest conversation with me.” Bubby smiled and his gaze was finally able to align with Coomer’s again, the feeling of safety retuned and his anxieties took a back seat. “Well, if it’s alright with you, I’d love to help you and the cybernetics department in your research and development. Learn more about the cutting edge of gender confirming surgery and whatnot.” Coomer beamed at the support, “Ah! I’d be happy to include you in Project Black Mesa Super Shlong 3000! I can grab some of the blueprints we’ve been working on right now!” Coomer left Bubby’s office in an excited hurry and would return shortly. In that time Bubby reflected on the conversation. Not needing to be a man or a woman? Not needing any gender at all? That sounded really nice to Bubby. He still had a lot to learn about life outside of Black Mesa and the apparently fluid rules of gender, but he was glad he Coomer there to fill in the gaps.

#hlvrai #half life vr but the ai is self aware #coomer #dr coomer #bubby #dr bubby #bubby hlvrai #coomer hlvrai #this is a lil silly #Tried not to make it too angsty but also it has a lot of serious talk about gender identity #two fics in one year?#This is a new record #boomer #They're not explicitly dating but I gave their relationship the qualities of a real relationship so #Also don't dead brain come at me thinking I feel how bubby feels about gender #he's literally framed as wrong in his ideas but is shown compassion and capability to grow #like we all are

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enigma-im · 4 years

Text

Danger Zone

Rating: Explicit Relationship: (Homemade)SCP x Female!human Warning: Violence, verbal abuse, forcible removal of limbs, work place bulling, sex, knotting, oral, monster sex

Word count: 6561

A love story written in incident reports in a SCP file

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ID#: KC-S4905 Object Class: Euclid Keter Description: 1.95m and 116.9kg Bipedal, long neck Black back hair. Lighter to the middle. Grey chest. Black crooked tail Human-esk face with a wide grin, multiple incisors. Flat nose and small eyes. Long erect ears similar to a border collie. White eyes generally obstructed by black bangs Front claws are ~ 5.59cm, hind claws are ~6.62cm muscle mass of 52%, ~10% higher than an average 20-year-old male.

Origin Found in Banff, the bottom half of Alberta Canada. A local fisherman reported traps being destroyed. Local deputy logged sightings of a 'bigfoot' in the area. A team was dispatched at 7/14/16 to investigate. Reported back 7/22/16 with clarification on the sighting. A tall black creature with a long neck and glowing white eyes. The team was approved to detain and capture the creature to be brought back to a base in South Dakota.

KC-S4905 was captured on 8/2/16. brought to base Fanning on 8/4/16. the creature was sedated, and detained in containment unit 23K-A. No further precautions made necessary besides 24/7 monitoring and a team of two at night. The creature remains cautious and hostile. He doesn't speak but is found to understand basic English. Follow commands but still lashes out when too close.

As of 8/6/16 creature KC-S4905 is logged and detained in Timbre Lake, South Dakota, Base Fanning.

The lab associates call him Kasey.

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

Incident logs (KC-S4905 & surrounding area)

10/14/16 2:23am - Motion sensor tripped in 23K-F. Guard reports nothing unusual.

The control panel light blinks at the bored guard. He sits with his head resting against his palm swiveling back and forth in his chair when the light catches his attention. He looks down, identifies the section it came from then with a sigh flips to the camera for that hallway. The guard studies the screen, looking for shadows or open doors but finds nothing. With another sigh, he sits up and pulls out his walkie.

"Who is close to 23K-F," he asks, yawning afterward.

His radio cracks to life, "I'm close, what's up?"

"Motion sensors went off on the third hallway. Please check it out, I'm not seeing anything on the monitors," he answers.

"On it."

The guard watches the screen until a figure walks around a corner. He watches as the man looks through the two rooms located in the hallway.

The radio beeps," I'm not seeing anything."

"Alright then. Probably a false alarm, thanks."

"Yea, anytime."

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

"Inserting 4mg of Midazolam into the upper arm. Should be good for another hour, two hours at most," the lab assistant spoke with unconcern. Just another monster to collect a sample from, nothing exciting for Brian Philips. Working here for eight years, you have seen it all. Having seen it all, Brian is pretty ok sticking with the 'grunt' work. Collect blood, hair, and tissue samples then send the big beast back to its cage.

"Can't imagine we need that kind of time, be in and out in, what, 30 minutes?" the guard, Princeton, asked. The guard rested against the wall closest to the door. He held a .50 cal. Pistol with sedative rounds. Security wasn't allowed to even have the opportunity to injure anyone or anything. Less the unit was deemed dangerous then all armed workers must use fast-acting tranquilizers.

"No time at all," Brian answered noncommittedly as he plucked some hairs from the creature's arm. Stuffing large tuffs into a bag, labeling, and placing it in storage before working on a tissue sample. He got flakes of skin, storing in the same fashion as the fur. Everything was simple and easy. But would you honestly believe that? This is an incident report after all.

Brian reached for a needle on the metal table. Sterilizing then finding a vein he slowly pricked the tip into the creature's skin. The second the point pierced the epidermis Kasey woke up.

Brian barely even registered the movement before the arm he was leaning next to thumped against his jaw, clamping his teeth over his tongue. Brian rolled back in his chair, only having enough time to taste the blood pouring from the end of his tongue. Next KC-S4905 rolled off the metal table and lashed out at the poor lab assistant, scratching across his shoulder, slapping him off the chair and onto the floor. A pop pierced the air as a weapon was fired. Princeton managed to get a hit on the creature's back before Kasey clawed at Brian's back with his long claws. Brian screamed as the knives cut through his coat and skin like paper. He felt it run from the back of his neck and down to the bottom of his ribs, his skin instantly burning as his muscles are introduced to the open air.

Another pop fills the room as Princeton fires again. The tranquilizer finally seems to do something as KC-S4905 swayed on his feet. His nails clicked against the tiled floor as he hobbled into the far wall. He caught himself on the brick before sliding down to the tiled floor. He lands on all fours, growling and shaking his head. Try as he must to rid the dizziness, it only got worse till he fell to the floor.

Princeton watched the creature with bated breath, his weapon clenched tightly in his terrified grip. His ears rang and he could feel sweat dripping from his brow. His body felt primed and ready for a fight but he knew there would be none, especially against something this big. As he watched the beast fall slack against the floor did he lower his weapon. He stopped and caught his breath, dropping his head so his chin bumps against his chest. His ears finally cleared enough to hear Brian crying against the floor.

Princeton reached for his walkie," I need medical at lab room 23K."

"Roger, medical is on their way," a voice answered back.

10/30/16- Lab assistant injured while collecting samples. Guard -Princeton Adams- fired 2 sedative rounds. Lab assistant suffered 3 lacerations on his shoulder and back. 25 stitches used. Higher precautions enabled.

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

11/9/16 1:14am - door alarm activated in container 23K-A. Guards report no tampering, door slightly ajar. The main door into the container is locked and sturdy. The investigation of the video shows nothing.

A piercing alarm startled security guard Pico Conwell. He was walking his rounds when the loud siren rang. With years of training he knew without evening thinking what it was. Pico ran down the hall, closer to the blaring call. He turned down the maze of hallways to see two other guards running with their weapons drawn to the floor.

Breach alert, everyone knew that sound, drilled it into their heads since day one. If you work around the beast that can kill you without a thought, you made sure to keep alert and aware.

Pico and his fellow guards came to the unit where the call came from, 23K-A. Pico walked ahead of the group, as a senior resident it was his duty to scope the scene first. He walked down the hall to a slightly ajar door, keeping wide breath with his weapon pointed to the floor. Many times these calls have been just a newbie trying to get some work done and messing up the access protocols. No need to have your weapon out to scare any poor workers dumb enough to trip an alarm.

Finally getting around the door he was able to look inside. Years of experience he knew to check the containment door first. If that door was open then extra caution is necessary. The door was still sealed, the light above glowing green. It was locked and untampered. Pico looked around the small room, almost a hallway, and found nothing out of sorts.

He walked out the room to the two other guards," Nothing amiss, perhaps one of the techies didn't close it all the way. The main door is still shut, call maintenance down to turn the alarm off, and check the lock."

"On it," someone answers.

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

12/22/16- An altercation between guard and doctor. Nonviolent, but harassment charges were filed against a guard, Princeton Adams, from Dr. Janet Wilco.

Dr. Janet Wilco was assigned to KC-S4905 after the incident with Brian Philips. Having experience with aggressive subjects she is all the more qualified to be part of this project. Some don't seem to see it that way, such as Princeton Adam. He was always tense whenever KC-S4905 was in the room, also questioning everyone to make sure the subject was really out. It irked Dr. Wilco to no end, having some overpaid babysitter to stand there with a gun acting like he knows even a smidge of medicine.

Today was no different.

"The beast is properly sedated," he asked as they wheeled KC-S4905 in. Dr. Wilco passed an unamused glance at Princeton.

"Of course Mr. Adams, we do know how to do our jobs," Dr. Wilco passed with a barely restrained sneer.

Princeton chuffed," So far as you think."

"What is that suppose to mean Mr. Adams?" Dr. Wilco turned to Princeton, her sneakers scuffing against the floor. Princeton looked down at her with an unentertained grin. Dr. Wilco felt patronized at the look.

"It means that if you techies knew how to do your job then Dr. Philips wouldn't be in the hospital," he bent low to be eye level," So excuse me for being sure. I rather not see your pretty face get all clawed up like Brian's back."

"You listen here you-," Dr. Wilco paused before she said something she regretted. Princeton chuffed again with more amusement. Dr. Wilco collected herself before speaking again. "The first time was because we assumed we knew the correct dose to be used on the subject. He burned through it pretty fast and now we know the correct amount to use that would both sedate him and not kill him. So if you would stop questioning me every time I do my job, I think we could be done with these little check-ups quickly," she answered with more professionalism than she believes she could muster.

Princeton stood straight with arms crossed. The conversation seemingly over Dr. Wilco turned and got back to work. It's with an off the shoulder comment did she lose her cool and give Princeton a tongue lashing that made even the second guard present blush.

Everyone heard, and everyone had thoughts on the matter. And when I do say everyone, I do mean everyone.

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

The guards' room is under surveillance 24/7. the area is more of an apartment than anything else. Having bunk beds present and a fully functioning kitchen in the same room. Another room attached has a lounge and a locker wall. It’s a comfortable enough place for guards to take their breaks, store their items, and catch up on some sleep before their next shift. Some believe it has to be the safest place in the building with its gun locker and lockdown functions.

It wouldn't be true as of Dec 23, 2016.

Princeton Adams settled down for a nap around midnight. Perhaps 40 minutes later the cameras go on the fritz, looking like the visuals were in a snowstorm with all the static. After about 5 minutes the screen cuts off, completely black, completely silent.

When the camera comes back on its around one in the morning. The screen shows Princeton resting against the floor surrounded by other workers, both guards and scientists alike. He was screaming and holding his face with bloody hands. His wails alerted residents in the hallway to rush to his location. As they reached him there was only him and severe cuts on his chest and face.

Princeton was rushed to medical. Treated for his wounds and given blood as most of his was on the floor of the guards' bedroom. Once he was settled and able to answer some question he was of no help. He remembers going to sleep then waking to a burning pain on his bare chest. He startled awake where he caught sight of a dark figure with white eyes. Before his eyes could adjust he was slapped across the face and promptly mauled.

Guards remain vigilant, no leads are found.

12/23/16 12:56am- Motion sensors tripped in guards' quarters in unit 23. One guard critically injured with lacerations across the chest and face. Guard was identified as Princeton Adams. The video cuts out before any movement is detected, coming back to the guard being surrounded by workers. All guards are permitted to hold live ammo with them at all times.

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

"giving 6mg of Midazolam," lab assistant Amy Borrell called to the room. Dr. Wilco nodded but focused on her clipboard, recording vitals as she walked to the cabinets. Once she finished she set her board down and began searching for supplies. Grabbing what she needs and set them on the metal rolling table. She glances at the large creature passed out on the table.

Wilco has always been fascinated by the strange and unusual. As a child, she adored watching monster flicks and horror movies. Amazed by the practical effects of monsters and how they are made. They have always had an allure to them, something captivating that Janet couldn't put her finger on. Her two career choices as a teenager were a doctor and special effects artist. As we all can see she has chosen to go the medical route. Lucky for her it brought her straight to this job. It’s a dream come true for Janet to work with monsters.

Looking at KC-S4905 or, as Dr. Wilco heard his alternate name, Kasey, she felt a kinship with him. She couldn't describe it but this creature has stood out to her, more than any of the others she has worked around. Perhaps it was his long neck or pointed teeth. Maybe it was his muscular body or piercing eyes. Either way, it wasn't something Dr. Wilco could put her finger on.

Continuing on with her work she was first to reach for the subject. As her gloved fingers brushed against his fur she noticed his stomach tense. Before she had time to even say a word Kasey lifted his head and snatched Wilco's arm. She immediately tried to jerk herself out of his hold but he held firm. White cold fear ran down her spine before she looked up at Kasey's white eyes and a wide smile. They both held each other's gaze as the room went silent. Nobody moved, nobody breathed.

Dr. Wilco stared into his piercing eyes and could only think, 'is he purring?"

1/3/17- The doctor grabbed during sample gathering. KC-S4905 was sedated but woke long enough to grab Dr. Wilco's arm. No injuries sustained, mandatory therapist meetings required to find further damages. Though the creature doesn't project mental abilities, precaution is used.

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1/4/17- door alarm activated in unit 23 worker's locker room. All lockers were opened, nothing reported stolen besides a single lab coat in locker 142. Owner not identified having refuse to step forward.

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Dr. Bradshaw was added to the project shortly after Dr. Wilco. He was a stubborn man, perhaps a bit sexist or racist. Could be he just doesn't like Dr. Wilco. The two constantly butt heads during work, arguing over the simplest things till they both were red in the face.

One day that workplace arguing got a little too out of hand

"Dr. Wilco, do you insist on doing things the hard way? Does it make you feel like you are important," Dr. Bradshaw snarked. Dr. Wilco was currently setting up the IV drip for when they start surgery on Kasey, KC-S4905.

"And do you feel like a big man when you belittle coworkers," she snapped back. Before Dr. Bradshaw could retort back the door opened as Kas- KC-S4905 is rolled in.

The process went smoothly as lab assistants set up the heart pads and IV. Doctors cleaned up nearby wearing scrubs and gloves.

"Think you can handle something like this, wouldn’t want you to get cold feet in the middle of this operation on your little boyfriend," Dr. Bradshaw snorted. Ever since Janet was grabbed most of her coworkers have called her beauty. Referring to Beauty and the Beast or King Kong in their jesting. It didn't bother her, the names meant nothing. The situation around Kasey's gentle hold was more startling than their jokes. Still, when it comes from Dr. Bradshaw it's all the more aggravating.

"I should handle well. I'm more curious if you will be fine, I heard that you sometimes get squeamish around blood," She chuckles as does a few others in the room. Dr. Bradshaw is secretly known for his fainting in his younger days when he first drew blood. Having moved far away from the area it still sticks with him.

"Who told you that," Dr. Bradshaw snapped. It was shocking to Janet and most others in the room. Dr. Bradshaw turned and snarled down at Dr. Wilco, "Who told you, tell me you little bitch!"

"Whoa, Whoa," I held up my hands as I backed away," it's just a joke, calm down." Dr. Bradshaw continued his pursuit with fist clenched at his sides.

"No, it's not just some joke. I spent years of my career perfecting my skills and gaining great recognition. I do not deserve to be belittled by some woman for something that happened years ago," he backs her to the surgery table. Dr. Wilco braces her hands on the cold metal, looking around at the others for help.

"Hey, you're right. I'm sorry, how about we forget this and get back to work," she tried to deescalate. He was having none of it.

"No, fuck you, Janet. You dumb slut, I worked hard for this and I don’t want to hear your mouth anymore. So do us all a favor and know your fucking place," he snarled in her face. Before anyone could react he raised his hand and backhanded Dr. Wilco to the floor. She fell to her hands, banging her knees on the ground. Dr. Bradshaw seethed above her, feeling a little proud of himself.

It isn't until a loud growl pierces the air does anyone look away from the slapped woman. Dr. Bradshaw looks up in time to see an open mouth lunging for his face. He backs up enough to fall to the floor, but before he can make it a hand grabs his forearm. Quickly teeth sink around Dr. Bradshaw's elbow, scraping against the bone before his whole body is pushed away. He screams and flails, beating against the creature as he shakes his head. Soon Dr. Bradshaw falls to the ground, landing partially on a growing pile of blood. The creature lashes at him, cutting over his chest as two loud pops fill the room. The beast stops, Dr. Bradshaw stares at bloody teeth and closing eyes, seeing his mauled arm resting in its mouth. Then the creature falls to the floor, making its own pile of blood.

Guards usher workers out of the room and Dr. Bradshaw is dragged into the halls before being taken to medical. Kasey lays on the floor, barely catching his breath as he watches Janet look back before turning the corner and out of sight.

1/23/17- Altercation between Dr. Wilco and Dr. Bradshaw. Violence was used by Dr. Bradshaw and Dr. Wilco was forced back into a table. KC-S4905 woke from the sedative and attacked Dr. Bradshaw. Two live rounds were shot into the creature's leg and shoulder. Dr. Bradshaw is now in critical condition. His left arm forcibly detached from his elbow down. Medical was able to reattach the arm, he remains in their care till further notice. KC-S4905 was sedated and treated for injuries. Remaining in his cell until further notice, no interactions. Food is distributed by guards now.

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1/26/17 2:30am- unauthorized entry into unit 23K-A. No further info provided

Dr. Wilco believes she has to see him. The day runs over and over in her mind all week. She is questioned and monitored like crazy before they leave her alone, moving on to another witness. As she spends her time alone, checking up on the camera watching Kasey, she thinks. Did he attack the first person he saw? Where the sedatives, not enough? Or where they never enough and he was always watching, listening? Then the ultimate questions circling her mind.

Did he do it for her?

After hours of thinking, making a decision then backing out, she goes for it. Nabbing a temporary pass from the office then sneaking down to containment. She cards herself in then stops in the first room. Closing the door silently behind herself she watches Kasey rest in the corner of his room. He is lounging in a circle, similar to a dog. His eyes were closed when she walked it but a few seconds later they are opened and staring straight at her.

Janet walks closer to the window, looking at his shaved shoulder. The director demanded medical to treat his wounds before he bled to death. They had to shave his fur to get a better look. The wound looks good, almost scarred. Fast healing was a thing that was recorded so it's not too surprising.

Kasey followed Janet's movements, too curious to look away. He couldn't think of a reason for her being here but accepted the blessing for what it was. He watches as she fiddles with her fingers, looking behind herself once in a while. She looks like she wants to say something, Kasey is eager to listen.

"Thank you," she answers. Kasey just barely catches it behind the thick glass. "I don't know if you attacked Dr. Bradshaw for me or you were just attacking out of fear but I still appreciate it either way. He was a very rude man. He didn’t die so I think I'm allowed to speak ill of him," she chuckled at the end," I read you can understand us for the most part, so… do you understand me?"

Kasey nodded.

"Oh," she started, shocked," good then. So, thank you and I need to go." she scurried off, closing the door quietly behind herself. Kasey figures quickly that she wasn't supposed to be in here. The camera most likely picked up here coming and going from here, Kasey would deal with it.

When the night progressed Kasey assumed it would be safe enough to travel. He moved the tile on the floor, shoving a lab coat out of the way before escaping.

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2/1/17- routine cleaning of 23K-A finds a lab coat hidden behind a floor tile. Coat belongs to Dr. Wilco.

2/1/17- subject upgraded from Euclid to Keter

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3/5/17- KC-S4905 drugged for a check-up. Took well to the new substances. Precaution; table with limb locks used. The creature managed to fight stronger sedatives used for transportation and cornered Dr. Wilco to the far wall. No shots fired, creature retreated on their own. Dr. Wilco sustained no injuries. Therapy sessions mandatory. Partial transcript below.

Transcript: Janet Wilco and Dr. Jung ….. Dr. Jung: You say that he spoke to you?

Dr. Wilco: yes. He had a deep gravely voice that kind of rumbles into my chest.

Dr. Jung: what did he say?

silence

Dr. Jung: go on, it's ok. The more we know the better, but don't feel pressured. ok, Janet?

Dr. Wilco: He said 'you smell like roses'.

Dr. Jung: is that all he said?

Dr. Wilco: …Yes.

…..

End.

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3/7/17- with constant incidents with Dr. Janet Wilco, she is now assigned to a different unit.

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3/24/17- Door alarm activated in the Doctor locker room in unit 23. all lockers open similar to 1/4/20 incident. Nothing was stolen. Locker 142 door was forcibly removed. The locker is currently empty, as was at the time of the incident.

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4/2/17- Guard doing patrol reported to odd noises coming from Break Room 32C in unit 20. The call was made at 4:22am to control. Transcript below.

Transcript: Security guard Jose Pérez ….. Pérez: I hear a strange noise coming from 32C in unit 20. request to investigate

Control: go ahead. Stay on the line

Pérez: copy

sound of footsteps

Pérez: Hello! Anyone in here? I am currently armed so make yourself known now.

Footsteps followed by soft groaning noises

Pérez: Hello? Please make yourself known now.

Background feminine voice: Kasey

Pérez: Miss? Are you injured? Say something, miss.

Control: Have you found who was making the noise?

Pérez: No, I hear someone.

Growling and high wails

Pérez: Oh Fuck. I think someone is getting mauled.

Frantic footsteps. Wails increasing in volumes

Control: Pérez report

Pérez: Oh god.

Control: Report

shouting and growling

…..

End

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Janet unbuttons her top in the empty locker room. Her mind wonders a mile a minute as she thinks back on her time working on the KC project. She finds the audacity to reassign her ridiculous. It was hardly her fault that things went the way they did. Some coworkers were insufferable, that had nothing to do with her. Then the attacks linked back to the subject wasn't her doings either. Its impressive that Kasey managed to avoid detection for so long, sneaking out the tile on the floor. There are theories being pushed about between workers about how he managed to dig a hole without being noticed. It’s a curious thing.

Janet dressed into her casual clothes, ready to head to the bunks to get some rest. She closes the locker, it clicking into place, before reaching to the bench for her bag. As she grabs the handle she faintly hears a different clicking sound. She stills, looking around the room. She listens, hearing nothing she calls out.

"Hello," her voice echoes throughout the room. The clicking starts again, coming from behind the wall of lockers in front of her. She waits for an answers, a sign of someone else being here. Janet waits with bated breath for any indication.

"You left," a deep gravely voice calls from behind her. Startled, Janet jumps, turning quickly to the source of the voice. At first she sees nothing, the room mostly dark as she didn’t bother turning more than one set of lights on. It isn't till two white eyes meet hers does she know who it is.

The soft sound of nails clicking against metal is all she hears as he shifts into the light. He sits perched above the lockers, crouched on all fours. Above him a ceiling panels is missing. As he gets closer, his hand slamming against a locker, Janet steps back. The back of her knee bumps the bench, making her sit.

"You left, Janet," he growls out again. He sneers, his teeth shining in the low light of the room. Janet sits there in a mix of emotions. Startled, confused, alarmed, but curious.

"Left what," she manages to ask. Kasey growls at her answer, jumping down off the lockers and onto the floor. He quickly makes his way to Janet, clawing his fingers into the wooden bench on either side of her. Janet sucks in a gasp, tilting away as she comes face to face with him.

"You weren't there anymore," he huffs. Janet sits back as far as she can on her hands, her head turned away. He seethes on her face, sitting inches away.

"I-I had no choice," she chokes out.

"No choice," he hisses.

"Yea, I had no choice. I was reassigned," she whimpers. His nearness and low rumbling growls do nothing to settle her nerves. Despite her lately romanticizing thoughts of his actions she wasn't naïve enough to apply them here. Not when his sharp incisors are inches from her cheek.

Kasey clenches the bench tightly, unapproving of the attempts to rid her. Finding her was a challenge for him, not knowing where she could be. It was frustrating the first time he was sedated since she left, not getting to inhale her comforting scent during such a stressful time. That would be the first time he let the affects of the sedative alter his alertness. If she wasn't there then he didn't want to be either.

"They tried to keep you away from me," he bumps his head against hers," but they cannot keep me from you."

As he begins to rub his face against her she lets those thoughts come unfiltered. So he is interested, that’s a not so uninteresting thought as she figured it would. Ever since Janet first met him she was impressed with what she saw. He is appealing in ways men she has been with before have not. He has protected her when others haven't and he seems devoted to her. It was a strange thought but Janet is all for it.

Janet turns into him, rubbing her cheek against his. She lifts one hand to his on the bench, feeling his warm fur against her fingers. She startles a bit when he begins to purr, just like the first time he touched her. Janet licks her lips before stroking up his arm and around to his shoulder. She can feel the rumbling of his pleased growls. As she reaches his neck he licks up her's. Janet gasps, the tingling sensation running down her spine and into her crotch. Her nails dig into his fur, grabbing it by the fistful as he settles her shoulder in his mouth. His sharp dangerous teeth barely dig into her skin.

"No one can keep you from me, " he growls around his mouthful," I will have you this night." One hand unbeds itself from the bench and rests against Janet's back. He tugs her forward till her chest is flush with his. The feeling of her in his arms, safe against him, makes his chest feel full. Yes, he will have her this night.

"o-ok," Janet answers a bit dazed. She knows this should be alarming, if not off putting, but Janet doesn't care. This feels right, that’s the only thing that has felt right in a long while.

Kasey purrs with a large grin, all the more excited now his female accepted this, accepted him. He licks and nibbles her neck as his hand pets and gropes her hips. His cock hot and ready but the little he knows about females, let alone human females, is that she needs more time to be ready. Kasey slides her off the bench and onto the floor, his eagerness showing between their bodies.

Janet gets a slight view of his rod, it being too dark to see it all. She does notice a large bulb at his base, before she can question it her shirt is ripped open. Janet yelps as her body jiggles with the sudden force. Her bra is ripped next leaving her bare and open to Kasey's all too pleased gaze. He likes what he sees, reaching out and groping her chest with both hands. Janet sits back on the cold floor, arms resting on either side of her head. She chuckles to herself at the absurdity of the situation. The strangeness is outweighed by the heat in her pants as his claws carefully pinch at her skin.

Her clothes are removed promptly, Kasey excited to bury himself into her awaiting heat, not before he gets a taste. Janet watches as he rests on his stomach, staring down with his wide grin at her cunt. He licks his lips, Janet groans with anticipation. They both wait with bated breath as he lowers his mouth to her, quickly licking a long stripe up her. They both moan at the feeling. Kasey already believing she is the best tasting thing on the planet. Janet can't believe she is really getting eaten out by one the monsters she works with.

Kasey worships her with his mouth, licking up every drop of her. He grunts and groans against her as his cock pulses against the floor. His palms cup her ass as he grind her into his face. His back nails dig into the concrete floor as he fights the urge to buck against the ground.

Janet whimpers and cries out, squirming in his hold as she fists her hair. She fights her fast approaching climax, wanting to ride his mouth just a little longer. Its when she feels his nails prick against her skin, feels his rumbling purrs against her, and sees his tail wagging behind him does she give up on the fight. With a shout and an arch of her back does she cum on his face.

Kasey licks up every drop, adoring the way she wiggles in his hold and buck against his tongue. Oh he plans to do that often. He think about doing it again till his cock pulses again between his stomach and the cold ground. Hearing Janet cry out had him nearly cumming on the floor, wasting his seed on his chest rather than inside her.

Janet pants as she watches Kasey climb up her body. His teeth sparkle in the light making her shudder as she knows some of her slick is on those teeth. Janet reaches out for him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he settles above her. He leans down and licks over her mouth, delving in when she opens for him. Janet sucks on his tongue, carding her finger through his hair as she does.

As Janet is busy Kasey takes the time to align himself with her awaiting heat. His eyes roll back as his tip presses to her hole. Kasey grabs her hips and sits up to watch himself enter her. Looking down at his cock he passes just a glance up at Janet. He takes in her overeager grin, her heaving chest, and flush cheeks. Kasey adores what he can do to her, knowing fully well he is the reason she is so ragged looking. He smirks down at her before pressing in.

Janet chokes on a gasp as his cock fills her up. The stretch is divine as is the feeling of his fur sliding across her thighs. He rests against her thighs with a grunt, finally settled as far as he is willing to go for now. She will take his knot later. He lightly bucks his hips at the thought.

He thrusts into her without a care. Janet can feel him deep inside her, her walls fluttering around him as she watches his hips slam into her's. he holds her, pulling her against him with each beautiful glide of his cock. He already feels ready to burst, ready to give in to her tight cunt. Janet sits in for the ride, watching every clench of his stomach, every hiss coming from between his teeth, and hear the clap of their hips. She can't stop the whimpers and cries the escape her parted lips.

"Kasey," Janet shouts as he slams into her. He gives up on watching her pussy take him and falls to his hands. He wildly thrusts into her, completely adoring the way she grips his cock. He can't hold on any longer, she has to take him completely.

He slaps his hips harder into her, opening her thigh wider with a hand as he tries to force his knot. Janet feels the hard piece begging for entrance. Was this the bulb as his base? She isn't quite sure she can take that as she already feels completely stuffed. Kasey doesn't quit in his efforts, leaning into her with a particularly hard buck of his hips. He feels her give just a bit, he keeps pushing. Kasey feels her open for him, allowing just enough room for him to pop into place.

"Agh, fuck." Janet groans and Kasey whimpers into her neck. His high pitched wails make Janet hold him closer, petting along his hair as she tries to adjust to the new intrusion.

"Perfect, too perfect," Kasey cries out. He gives small bucks of his hips that drive Janet wild. She gives in faster than she thought possible, clenching and spasming around him. Kasey whimpers louder as she grips him harder than he could ever imagine. His tongue hangs out his mouth, panting as his thighs shake. His balls clench up and when he listens to her own cries of pleasure does he shoot his seed into her. He turns his head and sinks his teeth into her soft, delicate flesh. He is only mildly aware of how fragile she is, holding back just barely as he marks his mate.

Kasey and Janet catch their breath on the now warm floor. Janet's sweat sticks to Kasey's fur. Kasey's teeth sit just barely in Janet's flesh. They can both barely hear the sound of his tail wagging behind them. Janet would laugh if she wasn't so exhausted. Instead she sits lax against the floor hearing a soft keening coming from Kasey.

"You alright," Janet asks. Kasey finally lets her go, sitting up to look down at her. His wide grin show off his blood stained teeth. He licks them clean before resting his head to hers.

"Perfect," he grumbles. They share a smile, all too content with what they have done.

Janet still feels Kasey cumming, his hot load making her squirm in frustration. Kasey looks between them before meeting her eyes, he tilts his head in questions before running his hand down her stomach. Janet nods, dropping her head back as his hand meets her clit. He rubs her as his hips buck. As he listens to her cries of pleasure he misses the sound of a door opening.

Upon later reflection he blames himself for what happens, knowing he is way more aware than this.

As she cums on his cock for the second time a man calls out from behind them. Kasey looks over his shoulder to see a guard pointing a gun at them both. Quickly Kasey pulls out of Janet's all too comfortable cunt. He winces along with Janet at the pain but its short lived before he picks her up.

Kasey settles Janet in the corner of the room, holding himself as a shield in front of her. Kasey snarls and growls at the guard, protecting his new mate from the intruder. Kasey's mind was still a bit fuzzy but he knew that he needed to protect her. He will protect her.

4/2/17- Guards flank to storage room 32C to scene of subject KC-S4905 and Dr. Wilco copulating on the floor. Backed into a corner, KC-S4905 hides Dr. Wilco in the corner while snarling at security. No shots fired, all participants go willingly.

4/2/17- Medical eval. Shows semen found in and around Janet Wilco's vagina. Bruises covering most of the inner thigh, hips, and one on her neck. Small cuts on her posterior and hips. minuscule puncture wounds on her neck and shoulder. No serious injuries. Psych eval. Results are inconclusive.

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4/5/17- Dr. Janet Wilco is forcibly let go and on constant surveillance until further notice.

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5/23/17- Despite transferring to a more secure containment, KC-S4905 has escaped the facility.

5/23/17- Janet Wilco is missing.

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KC-S4905 is still currently missing. Janet Wilco's missing person search has been disbanded and she is now considered dead as of 2/25/18

End of KC-S4905 (Kasey)

Director Cameron H. Stanley

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If you made it to the end I'm proud of you. this is extremely experimental and I figure most people won’t enjoy this. I know little to nothing about SCP stuff but I was reading one and I got this idea to tell a love story in one. At first, it was just incident reports and no little story bits in the middle. but it got away from me and here we are.

I realized like halfway through this that I was pretty much ripping off Strigoi boyfriend from Somanyfangs on twitter (I tried posting the link but its not working). so credit is due here. besides that, this was all original. I hope you liked it cause I'm so iffy on this one.

Check out my Archive | Masterlist| Main Blog

#scp fanfiction #Kasey x Janet #Kasey the SCP #monster boyfriend #monster lover #exophilia #Enigma-IM

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years

Text

Humans are Weird “Drugged”

You will all have to forgive me for not posting the last few days. I went on vacation with family then had a couple tests and then ended up in the ER, so busy week, but i cooked something up for you all. Forgive me if it has issues, see above paragraph or my excuse :)

It is not specifically a human phenomenon, the use of chemicals, to help and support the body. It is, however, a much more complicated field of study for humans. Most species react the same exact way to a drug that any other member of their species would. Many of our species have found specific drugs that cause only minor physiological side effects despite their potency. The system of the non-human body has multiple unrelated systems that are unaffected by one specific drug or another

Humanity on the other hand, is a different story.

The cocktail of chemicals in the human brain integrate into a system that provides the body with a perfect storm of reactions. While most aliens only experience the physiological side effects related to the action of the drug upon an injury , say a numbing sensation or the reduced motility of digestion, humans are some of the only known species to experience extreme psychological effects due to drugs.

In many cases humans will present with wildly different reactions to the same drug as presented in this paper. Though, I find that the most interesting drug reaction, in humans to be those that take place in the brain, specifically the ones causing, or related to sedation, weather that sedation b mild or complete.

…. Let's be honest though, I mostly just find it entertaining.

***

The board of surgical experts was getting ready to convene their conference about human anatomy when it happened. The Summit was taking place on the rundi homeworld courtesy of the GA council. Humanity had proven to be the most difficult species to treat, not simply for their staggering ability to stay alive, but for the numerous drug actions and reactions that could take place in the body.. Rill had been planning to do a lecture during the session, but as per usual, he was cut off by the humans.

The council doors thundered open and one of the marines ran into the room causing quite a stir. Those clinicians who had never before seen a human gasped in shock and awe at the creature’s powerful speed and grace. He came skidding to a stop at the center of the room, barely winded head turning, dark eyes frantically searching the room and zeroing in on Krill, who stood at the front of the auditorium.

“Kill, Krill, something happened. We need your help like, right now..”

If krill had had the capability to roll his eyes, he would have. Taking care of humans was a disaster sometimes. The rest of the auditorium took to their feet in curiosity and, fear, in some cases.

“What happened now?” he wondered

The marine rubbed the back of his head a little sheepishly, “Well uh, we were just messing around.”

“Save me the story and get to the point.”

The marine’s shoulder;s slumped, “The commander dislocated his shoulder.”

The room muttered in some confusion.

Krill sighed, “Of course he did because who else would it be.” He turned back to look at the other assembled medical professionals, “Well come now, class. It seems that today has favored us with a perfect teaching opportunity.”

Hesitantly the rest of the medical professionals followed watching the human prowl along before them with some trepidation.

They found the human sitting outside on the steps of the GA headquarters cradling his arm in one hand as two others attempted to help him support the it, “Shit, shit shit, this hurts.” The man moaned piteously. One of the assistants shifted as he saw the group of doctors coming, but quickly returned to position as the human yelped in pain, “Shit, not like that…... “ Many of the medical professionals had never heard a human distress call before. It was a surprising amalgamation of moaning, hissing and the occasional yip, not to mention the strangely random words, that later had to be explained as profanities.

Krill took charge immediately moving up around the side of the human and dropping down to examine the injured limb.

“Morning doc.” The human said voice unusually slow.

Krill thumped him lightly over the back of the head, “always, always you. Every single time I am busy your body decides to malfunction.” The human mewed pitifully.

A hand raised, “is hitting them in the head part of the treatment.”

Krill sighed, “Only for this one.” He moved over to the side of the human pulling up the strange fibrous covering to reveal the horrible disfigurement below. The medical professionals gasped and muttered in surprise. The skin about the upper limb was bowed upwards unnaturally the arm held awkwardly out before him. What horrible accident could have caused an injury like that…. Well they couldn’t have said. It would be a horrible issue to have for the rest of his life.

Krill prodded around the skin, “Can you feel this.”

The human nodded. Despite what must have been excruciating pain the human had now become very quiet. Its single, wide green eye, the other one was covered by some sort of strange patch, was glassy and distant. When he was asked a question, his answers were clear and concise but very slow.

“alright , the group of you pick him up and bring him inside, try to keep that arm still.” They watched in surprise as a team of humans coordinated themselves to pick up their fellow, grabbing him about the uninjured arm and legs. Awkwardly they shuffled him inside to where Krill ushered them, slowly placing him onto the demonstrative medical equipment that had turned into an impromptu hospital. The other aliens gathered about.

The human refused to lay back hissing in pain when the arm was jostled into the wrong direction.

Krill turned to look at his audience. “What I will demonstrate next is a simple procedure.” At his words the crowd looked rather skeptical muttering and chatting to themselves, “The bone has been pulled from the socket and needs to be reset as soon as possible. It will be a simple push inwards to correct the damage. However, The muscles about the injury may tighten making it difficult and painful for the patient while awake, so we will induce unconsciousness and give analgesic medications for the pain.” He ordered a few of his people around as the human cradled his arm staring off into space with a blank expression. He continued to be responsive and answer questions though he was even slower than normal.

With some instruction from the doctor, the other professionals brought forward the correct medication.

Krill huffed when he saw the label on the bottle.

“Something wrong doctor?”

“No,” Sigh, “He’s just a handful coming out of this one…. Is this all we have.”

“I am afraid so.”

“Well I suppose we are all in for a treat then.” he responded. Adjusting a clear tube about the human’s face running under the protruding sensory organ. Another was being instructed on the placement of an IV into the vein of the hand seeing as the human would not unfurl himself to allow access to the inner arm.

Once that was done, the drug was administered. The human’s eye closed, and he went limp falling backward, lowered slowly by a few other humans, seemingly unaware of the pain that he must have been in, “Now it is important to keep a human speaking after the initial trauma even if you may have to ask the same questions multiple times. Now intense pain and shock can sometimes have similar symptoms, but as long as the human is responsive everything is alright and you don’t have to worry about shock. I wouldn't consider a dislocation something that will cause shock in most cases.”

He moved forward, “Now we are going to do what is called a closed reduction, and simply pop the tip of the bone back into place. I will position my hands here and here, and-” Those with especially good ears heard he grinding pop as the bone slid back into place, the convex surface of skin that had been displaced before falling back into its original position.

They grimaced. It looked horrific.

Krill demonstrated the administration of pain medication and gave a time estimate of when the human would likely to wake up.

“Be warned, these medications tend to have a very severe effect on the cognitive function of a human, you can expect to see mood changes, confusion, slurred or slowed speech, inattentiveness, difficulty focusing, and in this one’s case the need for hand restraints.”

The room muttered.

“You will see why.”

***

Krill had not been lying. The human woke slowly foggy green eye out of focus on glassy. His hands pawed at the blankets below him wandering over the bed until he found the tue to the IV. Krill was forced to pul it away.

“Commander… Commander, how are you feeling.”

The human’s head lolled to the side flopping limply to one side, “Where am I” His speech was slurred just as predicted.’ He grabbed at the Iv tube again, and Krill was forced to pull it away, “No, keep still ok.”

“Okayyyyy.” The human responded groggily.

He seemed pretty happy for someone who should have been in tons of pain.

“How are you feeling?” Krill repeated.

The human didn’t answer head turning this way and that eye wide with curiosity. He looked at his arm, “Oh….. my arm is ok…. That’s gooooood.”

“Commander, try to focus.”

The human did not focus.

Instead he reached a hand out to prod at the little nodes attached to his chest. He began peeling one away. They were forced to take his hand.

“Commander.”

“Yeeee?”

“Can you answer my questions?”

The human nodded widely grinning,, but then seemed to completely forget what he had been asked reaching a hand out to touch one of the machines before being intercepted, “Hey, hey, hey.”

“Yes commander.”

“Wait…. I i forgot… I’m not making any sense…. Am I making any sense.” He glanced towards his arm, “oh my arm is back in place…. That’s good.”

“Yes .” Krill said reassuringly

In the next moment a Drev stepped into the room. She was small for her species, but with a striking electric blue carapace. She walked over, “Why do you insist on getting hurt when I’m not here.”

The human didn’t answer staring at her with a wide green eye. She paused by the bed, and he continued his scrutiny reaching out a hand to stroke the armor of her forearm, “Pretty…. Blue is my favorite color. My best friend is blue too.”

“Adam, I’m right here.”

The human looked up, “Oh ... hi, I didn’t see you there. I saw someone who was just the same color as you, “Pretty…..”

“That was me, Adam.”

“Ohhhhh….. Wait…. That was you.”

“Yes, Adam, that was me.” She didn’t seem perturbed by answering his questions instead taking his hands gently in two of her four and immobilizing them as Krill attempted to slip a sling over one arm.

The human whimpered.

“You’re ok.” the Drev said, “I just need you to hold still.

The human mad a few more distressed noises before becoming distracted by something else, “Sunny, Sunny.”

“Yes Adam.”

“My shoulder is back in…. That’s good.”

The Drev seemed amused, “Yes, that’s very good.”

And then the human started to cry. It was very strange, they had neer seen that before. In fact they didn't think it was physically possible to move so quickly between emotional states. Apparently humans leak from the face when they are upset. A few of the physicians postulated that this may have been an evolved way to gain social attention from other humans. It seemed to work even on nonhumans and the Drev let him hug her arm.

“What’s wrong, Adam.”

The human shook his head, “I-dont know.” That seemed to upset him even more until something else caught his attention and he was back to being as pleased as he had been originally. The drug was everything and more than Krill had said it would be. The large Drev had to keep the human’s hands immobilized, and even then he still managed to cause trouble. It was a wonder that humans managed to do anything in their daily lives if the inside of their heads were like this. Their attentional ability normally must have been herculean to focus this dumpster fire.

It was extremely interesting to watch the human slowly recover himself. At some point he finally began to understand that he wasn’t acting normal despite still acting abnormal. After that came the ability to pay attention and converse normally. Even then he was still doing things that only made sense in a roundabout way.

His voice was no longer slurred, but slow. He seemed almost groggy, but not quite. His previous emotional state had evened out.

“Feel like I got hit by a train.” he groaned. One eye flicked about the audience, “Shit, I didn’t interrupt anything did I?”

Krill let of a deep sigh, “sometimes I wonder if it is your mission in life to interrupt everything I do,” He raised a hand to cut off the human’s apology, “And AS USUAL you somehow still managed to be helpful.”

And that is why the new transuniversal internet currency is not videos of cats, but humans waking up from surgery because, let's be honest, humans on drugs are kind of funny

#humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #humans are weird #earth is a deathworld #Earth is space Ausralia

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itsbenedict · 3 years

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Two-Faced Jewel: Session 9

The Slaying of the Bobbledragon

A half-elf conwoman (and the moth tasked with keeping her out of trouble) travel the Jewel in search of, uh, whatever a fashionable accessory is pointing them at. [Campaign log]

Since slaying a serial-killer dragon is a little outside the party's expertise, they're off to Cauterdale to enlist the aid of the Deathseekers' Guild! Having gotten a good night's sleep at a druid village, and not eaten, they're ready to take on, uh...

Well, some sort of very large monster that Zero kindly drew for me.

In the morning, they rather uneventfully get up and get back on the road, thanking the villagers for their hospitality. And the remainder of the trip to Cauterdale is likewise brief and uneventful, right up until the fire.

Saelhen du Fishercrown: the what Benedict I. (GM): The fire.

Yeah, the forest and the road up ahead are ablaze, sort of blocking passage. The dirt road isn't actively on fire, but the trees on both sides are, making it pretty risky to proceed. The team opts to send Oyobi up ahead to scout the situation- and pretty soon she comes back with a report. Apparently, just past the visible fireline, the forest is totally burned down- just charred stumps as far as she could see, right up to the city walls. The fire itself is just, like, 10 meters wide or so, so it's totally something they could just dash through.

It takes some Animal Handling checks to coax the giraffes through, and the ones that balk get them and their riders a little bit of chip damage from heat and smoke inhalation, but the party is pretty much able to push through to the blasted wasteland of charred tree stumps surrounding Cauterdale.

They notice a few people in strange armor in the distance, doing something near the fire- from the seemingly controlled nature of this burn and the name of the town, they conclude that those are fire squads doing this deliberately, and don't get involved. It's a fine conclusion, and the party begins walking the remaining mile to the city.

As they approach, they notice... a little ways off from the main gates, something is attacking the city walls. Guards atop the walls are manning some sort of huge harpoon guns, and they seem to have already slain several of the... whatever these things are. The remaining one, though, seems larger and more resilient than the others, continuing its assault despite the several harpoons already lodged in its flesh.

What they see is a huge reptilian monster. It's probably not a dragon- no wings, and it doesn't appear to be using a breath weapon- but it's the size of a dragon, with tiny arms, headbutting the metal walls of the town repeatedly.

Orluthe makes his Nature roll to recognize this thing- he's heard of them before. They're called "bobbledragons"- some sort of deformed mutant offshoot of true dragons, incapable of speech or flight or magic but still possessed of monstrous strength and durability.

Luckily, the bobbledragon doesn't seem to be in between them and the main gate- the fight is far enough away that they could potentially just walk up and head into town, assuming they'll open the gates during a situation like this. Hell, they don't even need to open the gates- if the guards just drop a rope, they should be able to just climb over. That seems like a decent plan, so Saelhen and Looseleaf begin working together to draft a use of the Message spell to ask the guards to help them inside.

Then they notice that I've been moving Oyobi's token on the map in the direction of the fight.

Oyobi, blinded by bloodlust and/or extra-credit-in-Severe-Zoology-lust, is determined to help fell the bobbledragon. Their attempts at persuasion fail, and Oyobi, undeterred, continues to charge the giant fucking T-rex that is making huge dents in the walls of a city.

As Oyobi runs for it, and as the party follows behind in hopes of stopping her from making a terrible mistake, the bobbledragon jumps and seizes one of the guards on the wall in its jaws, demonstrating its +10 4d12+7 bite attack by immediately oneshotting its victim.

Looseleaf: oh god we're all going to die. you're using the real t-rex statblock. that thing is challenge eight. it is made for a party of four level eight adventurers, so either we are all going to die here, or the guards are going to show us why they are professional fighters and we are students. Benedict I. (GM): "Shit! It can jump!" "No!" The guards seem upset.

Not promising.

Looseleaf: This thing does sufficient damage to oneshot any of us with a perfectly mediocre hit. Looseleaf right now is kind of thoroughly convinced that Oyobi is actually literally about to die. In that light, Looseleaf is going to message Oyobi again. And she is not going to get any closer. Actually, she's going to back off, put distance between herself and the monster. [Oyobi that thing is going to bite you in half get back here you are going to die.] Benedict I. (GM): Roll Persuasion! DC 20 again. -Looseleaf: 17 / PERSUASION (1)- Oyobi Yamatake: [I'M GONNA LIVE FOREVER!!!]

So... that's a bust, and Oyobi finally reaches the dragon and begins her assault. Miraculously, her flying leap hits, and she digs her sword in... for thirteen damage.

The guards return fire against the bobbledragon, and one of the harpoons catches it in the chest- but it doesn't go down, and the second harpoon- manned by just one guard, after his partner got crunched- misses. Another guard, without a cannon, throws a spear- and gets not only a critical hit, but a max damage critical hit, spearing the thing right in the eye.

youtube

...for eleven damage, because these are ordinary CR 1/8 Guards, but still!

Saelhen tries to distract the bobbledragon so Oyobi can run and hide, but... her arrow goes wide, and Oyobi isn't interested in running and hiding anyway. The bobbledragon, targeting whatever did the most damage to it recently with its bite attack, jumps and bites the whole damn harpoon gun out of the guard tower, leaving the guards without heavy weaponry.

And then with its tail, it tries to slap the insect that just stung it in the rear.

...and rolls a 3, meaning Oyobi gracefully backflips over the attack and strikes a dramatic pose.

Looseleaf: God, she did not deserve that dodge. She got so fucking lucky there. Saelhen du Fishercrown: she really didn't Oyobi Yamatake: "When you get to Dragon Hell, tell them Oyobi Yamatake sent you!!"

Looseleaf, in the interest of communicating to Oyobi how much danger she's in, makes use of an upgrade to her Rend Spirit attack she learned while studying Lumiere's notes on pain. With Painread, she can get some feedback back from something whose spirit she disrupts, and figure out exactly how bad a shape it's in. She does so (dealing a cool 16 damage as she does), and learns how huge this thing's remaining hit point pool is, so she can tell Oyobi how unlikely she is to survive long enough to take it down.

...It, uh, it was already pretty hurt when they arrived, and it, um, has nine hit points left. And it's Oyobi's turn.

Oyobi Yamatake: Oyobi dashes forwards, Naruto-runs up to the T-rex's throat, and does a spinning leap that slashes open its jugular. It roars, and the roar swiftly fades off as its breath escapes. Saelhen du Fishercrown: God dammit, Oyobi. Oyobi Yamatake: "YES! YES! B-S-U! B-S-U! B-S-U!" "THAT is how it's DONE!" She is jumping up and down, doing a celebratory dance, the works. "Flawlessed the boss! Hell yeah!"

Yeah, so... I had kind of been planning on her getting oneshot and laid up in the hospital, as a sort of character growth thing and also keeping her out of the way of certain events in town, but, uh... the dice... didn't exactly... share my priorities.

With the bobbledragon slain, and Oyobi doing an extremely obnoxious victory dance, the rest of the party springs into action to stabilize the guard who was used as a chew toy. Thanks to his plate armor, he hasn't lost much blood, but he's got more broken bones than not, and his prognosis wouldn't be good... if it weren't for the healer's kits Looseleaf had the foresight to buy for everyone. Saelhen stabilizes him, and Orluthe calls on his goddess to Lay On Hands to save the guard's life.

Then there's this guy- the captain of the guard, who fought in the battle with a fancy crossbow that shot flaming bolts. He demands to know who the party is, seeming kind of annoyed that they rewarded weakness by saving the guard's life.

Benedict I. (GM): He looks down at your medical kit. "Y'know, all of my men are prepared to fight and die for our home. You really want to take away this man's glory?" The injured guard looks up. "Uh, sir, I- it's fine, actually..." "Feh." Looseleaf: This guy immediately seems like a bad boss. Saelhen du Fishercrown: Oh, he's ridiculous. Okay, that changes the tenor of this conversation somewhat! "...I apologize, sir," says Saelhen, bowing to the guard on his stretcher, "if I have diminished your victory with my carelessness."

And rather than give this guy any more of the time of day, Saelhen asks the random guard his name. (And then I have to give him one and make him a character, whoops.)

Medd Cutter here is thankful for Saelhen's assistance saving his life, and Saelhen pledges to remember his heroism. The commander feels- by design- somewhat left out of the heroism-remembering, and declares that he is REX SCAR, and Saelhen kind of blows him off. He's not happy, but...

Captain Scar is still the sort of person who is very impressed with anyone who rolls up and kills a bobbledragon just because they felt like it, and despite Saelhen's calculated snub, tries to get buddy-buddy with the group of obviously very powerful people who just arrived. He decides to help them through customs without going through the usual processes, much to the chagrin of...

...Long-Tongue, Cauterdale Customs and Border Inspection Officer of Cauterdale, who's very loquacious and wordy and redundantly repeats what she says in different words to phrase things differently in a somewhat unnecessary fashion for no real reason. Rex bullies his way past her, but Saelhen- as another snub, and just to be... nice? (What's her game...?), hands her the 300-page history of the de la Surplus family as collateral for a deferred border inspection.

Inside the walls, Cauterdale is a very crowded place. It's like 80% slum, choked with buildings constructed of a patchwork of scrap metal and discarded siding, without much wood to speak of. The streets are narrow and bustling, and the general vibe around the place is impatient.

The remaining guards escorting them (Rex went off someplace) inform them, when questioned, that the town indeed burns down the forest around them- since they're near the jungle, horrible dangerous things tend to come out of the trees to attack them, and their harpoon defenses are most effective when they can see their attackers coming from a mile away, with no obstructions. Looseleaf asks if bobbledragon attacks are common.

Benedict I. (GM): Another guard shakes his head. "No, that one was pretty crazy. Usually it's just the giant spiders, or the giant mosquitoes, or the mushroom demons." "We've had a few bobbledragons before, but that was like, four at once." Looseleaf: "Oh gods there's already giant spiders?!" "We're not even at- I thought this was a pine forest still!" Benedict I. (GM): "No, that's usually after it rains," Medd says. Looseleaf: Looseleaf casts Druidcraft. Please tell me it's not going to rain. Benedict I. (GM): Nope! Clear skies for now. "Whoa, cool." Looseleaf:"Thank the gods of sea and sky and weather and everything even tangentially related to weather," she says. "No rain." "I hope it never rains, ever again." Benedict I. (GM): "Haha, better stay away from..." "Wait, where are you headed?" Saelhen du Fishercrown: "The rainforest," adds Saelhen, mildly. Looseleaf: "Ttttthunderbrush, and yes I know that place is crawling with spiders NOERU SHUT UP,"

Then Looseleaf asks about what they're there for- the Deathseekers' Guild. Unfortunately, the guards tell them that the Deathseekers... probably still exist, but they're like, a weird secret club of old people who think they're too cool to join the guard. They give them a couple leads- apparently the Temple of Andra keeps tabs on them, and also a guard by the name of Mags was the last to see them as they were recently seen leaving the city.

The team splits up- Looseleaf and Orluthe head for the temple, and Oyobi and Saelhen head for the guardhouse to talk to Mags. (Vayen... is still gone, after vanishing as soon as the bobbledragon fight started.) The latter group does their thing next session, so...

After dropping off their rental giraffes, they head inside to meet...

This guy, working the reception desk. He seems to be made of rock, and when he talks he rumbles.

As Looseleaf explains their dilemma and their need for Deathseekers, this guy takes a keen interest in their plight. He's very "hmmmm, iiiiiinteresting, oh i see, you don't say?" about the whole thing, making a very normal interaction seem as ominous as possible.

He tells her that the Deathseekers, to his knowledge, should be back in the city from their unspecified errand inside two days, and offers to take a message.

Looseleaf: "I don't suppose they're looking for a green dragon, are they?" Benedict I. (GM): This guy's smile keeps getting wider. It's kind of creepy. "Hm? What makes you say that?"

As she explains about the dragon, he offers her and Orluthe a candy from a bowl on the desk. After some hemming and hawing out-of-character because the creepy rock man is offering you suspicious candy, they eventually opt to have some, because really, Looseleaf isn't suspicious of this guy. Hers is lemon-flavored. It's tasty.

Then, as she describes the empty tower with the corpse of the torture wizard in it, this guy's demeanor changes suddenly from "creepy wry amusement" to "genuine concern". He tries to put on a poker face, but him having a poker face when he's until now been all creepy-friendly chewing the scenery... stands out. He gives her a strong assurance that the Deathseekers will handle this problem for her.

Benedict I. (GM): "I... thank you, for this information." Looseleaf: "You're welcome. Please, uh, make sure that the Deathseekers get this information as quickly as possible. The dragon eats a corpse a week and there's only three corpses left in the tower, there's a very real deadline on this." Benedict I. (GM): [rolling 1d20+4] (Insight) 17+4 = 21 Looseleaf: Belatedly, Looseleaf realizes she's made a mistake. Benedict I. (GM): "You say... the dragon eats three corpses a week?" "Only three corpses left in the tower?" Looseleaf: Namely: Looseleaf has no good reason to know the fact that the dragon eats a corpse a week. Since she's never met the dragon. Benedict I. (GM): "Curious information." "How did you come across it?" Looseleaf: "Uh, erm, uh." Shit.

Looseleaf opts to tell the truth about Arnie, to avoid spinning a dangerous web of lies for herself- after all, Arnie's not worth lying for. She does describe him in as sympathetic terms as she can, though, and asks this guy not to harm him if possible- she doesn't want to break her word to Arnie if she can help it.

Benedict I. (GM): He takes a moment to process this. "...Very well." "My people will be the soul of discretion." "I thank you very much for your generous contribution to the Ecumene of Understanding."

Looseleaf notices that something is wrong.

This guy is the receptionist. He's not a bishop or anything. He's not even wearing priestly vestments- just a nice suit. And he's speaking as though he's in a position of power- "my people", he says.

And after considering various possibilities, she tries something. A shot in the dark, but...

And the way Looseleaf plays this, is... "quit acting like you don't know what I'm talking about, c'mon, the jig is up". She takes out the letter she found in Lumiere's tower and shows it off, as proof!

And this guy keeps denying it, and getting increasingly more panicked, and looking nervously over at Orluthe, and asking her to please stop, shh shh shh shh, and it's when he begs her to have a conversation with him in private please that she makes the connection. If this guy is affiliated with Lumiere, who's apparently affiliated with some sort of secret conspiracy that's affiliated with some sort of deific usurpation... he maybe doesn't want to have that conversation in front of a cleric.

Looseleaf:"Okay, Orluthe, uhm. Sorry, so," Looseleaf whispers into Orluthe's ear. "Long story short, turns out my sister, who left my village way before I did, ended up falling into some kind of magical secret society. The kind of secret society with Hal Lumiere, i.e. 'the torture wizard who came up with all those pain knives that we all got stabbed a lot with', was apparently a very active member of." Benedict I. (GM):Oh my god, um. Looseleaf: "So, uh, I'm kinda freaking out about that, right now, but if my hunches are right then I'm the sister of someone important in their organization?" Benedict I. (GM): As you start whispering, he tries to interrupt. "Please do not say things to him!" "Please let us speak in private!!" Looseleaf: Oh he's freaked out now huh. "Anyways that's why I am actually indeed going to speak, with this guy, in private," Looseleaf finishes. "And if I don't show up in a half-hour or so, then things have probably gone lopsided." "In which case you should find everyone else and tell them to, I dunno, come save me or whatever." "You got all that?" Benedict I. (GM): The rock man looks distraught. Orluthe Chokorov: "I, uh... think so? This is really... I'm not sure it's safe..."

With a good Persuasion roll, Orluthe agrees to stay behind, and the rock man leads Looseleaf into a backroom whose doors and walls seem warded heavily with some sort of abjuration magic. A secret saferoom.

The man describes the problem: the gods don't know that they exist, or didn't until Looseleaf went and told a cleric of Diamode that they existed. Clerics, in this setting, channel divinity literally- their gods come into their heads to do magic for them, meaning anything a cleric knows is something a god can know, if they care to check.

Benedict I. (GM): "Because if the next time Diamode is in that kid, if she goes looking for that memory..." "I mean, she might not. And you didn't mention anything about our aims, so she might consider it beneath her notice." "But that, right there? That was nearly game over." "And I can't just kill you, because if I did, Yomi would end me." Looseleaf: "Yeah, I'm not incredibly foolish, I haven't actually shown anybody else Yomi's letter." "Nobody knows that Lumiere was involved with... deicidal blasphemy." "That's what this is about, right? Thereabouts, in terms of sheer magnitude and hubris?" Benedict I. (GM): He sighs. "It's not like that." "At least, it's not all like that." "The Project is... fractious." "The less you know about the project, the less you're able to carelessly blurt out about the project your cleric friends, or to anyone who tries reading your mind or tricks you into a Zone of Truth..." "The safer we all are." "With as much as you know, you're already dangerous. It'd be best for us- and you- if you dropped this. Never spoke of it to anyone."

Looseleaf points out that it's good that she found the letter, because that tower was sitting abandoned for a year- anyone could've walked in and read it, since it was lying on a bookcase in the open.

This is somehow not taken as good news- when he finds out that the letter could've potentially been read by anyone, that there was a security breach for a year...

Looseleaf: "Look, my man, next time you want to send a letter, by the way, use... use some encoding." "Don't just write things in plaintext like a chump, by the gods." Benedict I. (GM): "He was supposed to burn after reading." Saelhen du Fishercrown: he's too dead for that! Benedict I. (GM): "Wait, you said it was... out in the open?" "But he's dead?" "Either he was an idiot, or... someone else opened his mail." "Except... Yomi should've hand-delivered it, so..." "...well. We'll definitely look into it."

He brings up sending for someone to do memory magic to handle the breach- but he realizes he can't have that done to Looseleaf, because Diamode would notice if someone tampered with her cleric's memories, and someone needs to still know what's up so they can keep Orluthe away from the truth. (Plus, she figures she'd notice the inconsistencies and end up sleuthing it out again.)

Looseleaf asks if Yomi is doing well, and gets... that she's intense, and powerful, and she probably thinks she's "doing well", but... he doesn't know about happy.

Lastly, he shows Looseleaf a symbol- a blank circle, with the elvish character 人 drawn underneath. The symbols of gods are typically circles with a design inside- so the meaning of this and its relationship to the nature of the Project is fairly easy to infer.

Benedict I. (GM): "If you need to prove to someone you're in the know, without blurting out a bunch of dangerous details, this is the mark." He then eats the paper and the graphite stick he used to draw it.

Next time: Saelhen and Oyobi grill the guard Mags for information on the Deathseekers, and connections are made with powerful individuals.

#tfj log #twofaced jewel

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dimigex · 3 years

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Healing Hands, Chapter Seven

New chapter is up and I’m so excited to say it’s a start of the new arc!

You can find it on Fanfiction and Archive (linked for your convenience). But, here’s a snippet. The full chapter was over 8k words, so please find it on one of the other sites if you want to read the rest!

After nearly a month of careful inquiries, disappointing viewings, and unreasonable prices, Sakura found an apartment. The process had been about what she'd expected, though the selection left a lot to be desired. Sakura had wanted somewhere closer to the hospital than her parents house, but in a different building from Kazuko's. She'd formed an uneasy truce with the man over the past few weeks by ignoring what happened between them. There had been no more dinners or mixed-up, alcohol-fueled kisses in the dark, only professionalism.

Sakura found it easy to shift from budding friendship to simple coworkers, and Kazuko didn't question it. She was thankful for that much at least, because, regardless of their extracurricular problems, Sakura and Kazuko worked well together at the hospital. She didn't depend on him as much as she might have before things changed, but at least it wasn't awkward any longer.

The majority of Sakura's free time had been spent looking for an apartment, then getting her life in Konoha settled. She had taken Naruto out for ramen one night and was surprised to find that the boy had matured in the time they'd spent apart. He'd been busy with missions in an attempt to bolster his number of completed missions. Naruto needed to catch up if he wanted to be considered for Hokage in a few years when Kakashi retired. It was nice to know that his dream hadn't faded, especially when so many other things had changed.

Naruto and Sakura's conversation had turned to Sasuke at one point during dinner, but Naruto read the situation and dropped it after a couple of awkward questions. The night had gone better than Sakura thought it would, and they'd agreed to meet up every few weeks to stay in touch. Naruto spent a lot of time in and out of the village with missions these days, but he promised to make an effort to see Sakura, especially if it involved ramen. Some things would never change.

Smiling to herself, Sakura fussed over the pillows on the couch. They weren't the color that she would have chosen, but they complemented the rest of the room. Mebuki had picked them out on their latest shopping trip. Her mother's touch was obvious in each of the rooms, but Sakura hadn't resisted, even when she disagreed. Mebuki needed to feel like she still had a place in Sakura's life and the colors didn't bother her that much. Besides, she could "lose" the pillows later if she wanted to.

A knock on the door drew Sakura away from her contemplations. Taking a deep breath, she finished adjusting the cushions and went to answer. Sakura was both looking forward to having Ino over, and nervous about it at the same time. The girls had talked only a couple of times over the past few weeks, mostly commiserating about how hard being an adult was. Then, they'd laughed about being considered adults. Rebuilding her friendship with Ino felt natural, normal even.

When Sakura opened the door, Ino stepped into the tiny space and looked around with a telling curl on her lips. When her gaze came back to Sakura's face, however, the blond's smile was falsely bright. "It's cute."

Sakura groaned at the fake optimism and closed the door. "Is it bad?"

Ino didn't answer for a long moment, looking around the room with a calculating expression. Then, she nodded as if she'd reached some decision. "Are you allowed to paint?"

"I think so," Sakura answered, raising her shoulders in a shrug. "I'll have to check the lease."

True to her promise, Mebuki had helped Sakura decorate when she moved in two days ago. Candles, photographs, and trinkets filled the space in a way that Sakura never would have considered on her own. It almost felt like a home, or would soon enough. Only a few hours before Ino arrived, Mebuki had appeared with half a dozen bags in hand. The new throw pillows on the couch and the towels in the bathroom were a reminder of her mother's attention to detail.

It wasn't until Sakura moved her things into the larger space that she realized how few personal items she'd accumulated over the years. Thankfully, the apartment had basic furniture; Sakura didn't own any. A picture of her much younger self and the rest of Team Seven grinned at Sakura from a table beside the door. Half a dozen other snapshots surrounded it. Medical textbooks that Tsunade had gifted to her were tucked into a basket beside the couch. A bowl of bright fruit sat on the table.

"We can fix it," Ino declared, placing her bags beside the couch. After a moment, the blond turned to face Sakura, a devious grin sliding onto her lips. "So, who is he?"

Frowning, Sakura tried to follow the mental leap from talking about the apartment to whatever this was. "Who is who?"

Ino reached into one of the bags and pulled out a bottle of wine and matching glasses. As she walked toward the kitchen, she called over her shoulder. "It's not Sasuke again, is it? He wasn't good for you the first time, and he won't be any better the second."

Once Sakura finally caught up to Ino's reasoning, she rolled her eyes and followed her friend to the kitchen. "What makes you think there is even a him to begin with?"

Affecting a gasp, Ino covered her mouth and waggled her eyebrows in Sakura's direction. "Well then, who is she?"

Ino's question ended in a strangled gasp when Sakura smacked her with one of the questionably colored tea towels that Mebuki had selected. The girls dissolved in a fit of laughter that left them with red faces and aching sides. Still chuckling, Ino poured two glasses of wine, then followed Sakura back to the living room. As they settled on opposite sides of the creaky couch, Ino tipped her head to the side to study Sakura. "Seriously though, why the sudden urge to move out if it wasn't to get a little action? You said it's been months since you got some. How do you stand it?"

Sakura tried not to let herself flush at the memory of the almost dalliance with Kazuko as she shrugged. "There are more important things than sex. Besides, work keeps me busy."

"Riveting." Ino mimed a yawn, then her lips contorted into a wicked smile. "Speaking of work, I've heard that there's a good-looking, young doctor at the hospital these days. Would you happen to know anything about that?"

Sakura grinned, forcing the thoughts of Kazuko as far from her mind as possible. "I am pretty cute."

"Ha ha, very funny." Ino rolled her eyes then tossed a pillow at Sakura. "You know, I also heard that this handsome young medic had dinner with a certain pink haired kunoichi who you might also know."

Fighting down the blush that threatened to stain her cheeks, Sakura kept her expression neutral. She had already started to regret going to eat with Kazuko for fear of the rumors it could spawn. If she had to deal with it from Ino as well, Sakura wasn't sure that she'd make it. "Don't you have better things to do than gossip?"

The blond laughed. "I am Head of Intelligence in Konoha. It's pretty much my job to know everything."

"You don't have to be so good at it," Sakura grumbled, realizing that she'd been beaten before her mouth opened. Ino probably knew more about Kazuko than Sakura did. Though, maybe not, since he wasn't a shinobi. Accepting that Ino wouldn't leave it alone, Sakura settled on a version of the truth to feed the woman's curiosity. "We'd had a shitty day and were just decompressing."

"Together." Ino drew out the word with a suggestive flair, eyebrows waggling.

Huffing out an annoyed breath, Sakura nodded. "Yes, together, and that's all there is to it. He's a civilian."

Ino hummed under her breath, considering the words from multiple angles before speaking. "Does that mean you have to go on a certain number of dates before you can fuck him? I can never remember."

Laughter burst out of Sakura before she could stop it. "I don't think so, but it wasn't an issue. What about you? Who are you sleeping with these days?"

For the first time in a long time, the color on Ino's cheeks had nothing to do with makeup. Sakura's mouth fell open at the unexpected reaction. "Oh my god, who is it?"

"Nobody," Ino answered, draining the remainder of her wine in one long pull. "I think it's time for a refill. It's hardly a housewarming party without a little alcohol."

Narrowing her eyes at her best friend, Sakura held out her glass. Perhaps the drink would loosen Ino's tongue about whomever it was that made her blush like a little girl again. And if not, Sakura had sources too. Ino wasn't the only person who could dig up a little gossip.

----------BREAK-----------

Moving into her own apartment had given Sakura a modicum of freedom that she hadn't known she'd been missing. At least, in some respects. On the first night that Sakura worked, Mebuki had brought dinner by, and there had been enough leftovers to last several days. When those were finished, Sakura realized that she'd have to add a grocery trip and meal preparation to her routine, not to mention laundry. She hadn't recognized how much her mother still helped her until she had to do everything herself.

Even so, Sakura was thankful to have a place to call her own. She could have the occasional glass of wine without her mother's disapproving looks, sleep late on her days off, and have people over whenever she wanted. Not that Sakura had many opportunities for the latter. Apparently everyone else was busy doing adult things too.

Sakura hadn't found the time to take Naruto out for ramen a second time. Their schedules made it difficult, but she hadn't put as much effort into it as she should have. Sakura simply didn't have time to do everything that she wanted to do with all of her responsibilities. Not to mention, constantly being on alert for Anbu who might need her. Over the past week, she'd only treated one shinobi, a genin who'd gotten over enthusiastic with his shuriken training.

The situation with Kazuko had settled down, though Sakura hadn't talked to him about anything. They had gone their separate ways like adults, working together when necessary and separately when possible. She thought that time would eventually smooth it over. Now, if she could learn to control the blush that crept in whenever an unwanted memory sprung up in her mind.. Maybe Ino was right. Sakura just needed to get laid.

Not much chance of that, Sakura mused as she settled in bed after a long day. Her shift at the hospital hadn't been so bad, it was the running around after work that did her in. But, at least she had enough fresh vegetables to make food for the next several days. Contemplating which dishes she wanted to try her hand at first, Sakura drifted to sleep..

The onions were too large to be considered diced, and Sakura couldn't get her eyes to stop watering long enough to correct her mistake. She grumbled under her breath and continued to chop the pesky vegetables. A pan bubbled and hissed; steam rose in tantalizing waves that wafted the scent of meat and garlic across the room. Sakura nodded to herself, shoved the onions into a smaller bowl, and moved back to the stove.

Focused on the food, Sakura didn't hear the soft footfalls behind her until arms snaked around her middle. She squeaked and suppressed the urge to lash out with chakra. Soft kisses burned a trail along the shell of her ear as she swatted the hands. She tried to complain that she was too busy for the man's attention, but they both knew it was a lie.

When Sakura turned, the man's face was indistinct, a face that she could have seen hundreds of times during her day. She didn't have long to study his features before warm kisses made her forget everything else. Nimble fingers worked at the apron that Sakura had secured around her midsection; his hands drifted lower as the string came loose.

Beep, beep, beep. Sakura squeezed her eyes shut as the hands pulled her closer in a dizzying rush. The kisses along her neck were gaining heat, burning through her attention span. "Don't you need to get that," an unfamiliar voice husked by her ear. Beep, beep, beep. Sakura reached for the oven behind her, frowning at the numbers slowly ticking down. Beep, beep, beep.

The buzzing of Sakura's pager drew her from the warm confines of sleep. She blinked, trying to capture the remnants of her dream, but the urgency of the noise drove them from her mind. Sakura peered at the tiny digits indicating the time, then groaned. Why couldn't Anbu have emergencies during normal business hours?

Throwing off the blankets, Sakura climbed out of bed and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She stripped off the oversized t-shirt and reached for standard issue jonin blues. Sakura couldn't be bothered with the complicated snaps and buttons of her normal attire while half asleep. Tying off the pants, she grabbed a bag that held everything she'd need for an emergency consultation from beside the night stand and headed toward the door.

The streets of Konoha were eerily quiet in the deepest hours of the night, deserted except for the occasional flicker of unseen protectors at the corner of Sakura's vision. The fluorescent lights of the hospital glowed in the darkness, drawing Sakura like a moth. When she stepped through the doors, the same blanket of silence that cloaked the village enveloped the reception area.

Sakura turned away from the serenity, preparing for chaos. She'd barely reached the shinobi wing before Chiasa hurried toward her. Blood splattered the woman's scrubs as she indicated one of the rooms. "This way, Haruno-sensei."

Chiasa had already attached monitors to the patient while awaiting Sakura's arrival. The machines beeped an urgent rhythm that forced the last vestiges of sleep from Sakura's mind. Her eyes darted to the heart rate, lips pulling into a frown. The number was higher than Sakura wanted to see for someone as physically fit as an Anbu.

A flash of silver caught Sakura's eye; armor littered the floor. A chest plate tilted haphazardly against the leg of a chair. Metal arm guards and black compression gloves piled in a corner. Streaks of mud brown and dappled crimson looked like a macabre art display against the crispness of the bed's sheets.

Shaking her head to clear the image, Sakura moved closer to the bed. She noticed the man lying on it for the first time. Familiar brown hair stuck up in a dozen directions, pushed there by the faceplate and mask that lay beside his hand. Despite the chaos of the scene around them, Yamato's face looked markedly untouched by whatever injuries had brought him to the hospital.

The man's black compression shirt had been cut away, baring Yamato's chest to the light. Minor cuts and gashes decorated his arms and shoulders, each one in various states of healing. On his left side, a bloody bandage clung to the skin, mud and dirt covering it. The edges were too saturated to bond well; it had reopened at some point, allowing debris into the wound.

Sakura dropped her bag into a chair and dug out the tools she needed. One hand came up with a stethoscope that she draped around her neck, and the other held a pen light. Sakura thumbed open Yamato's eyes to check his pupil's reaction and was surprised to feel the burn of fever beneath her fingers. "Yamato? Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?"

When the man didn't answer, Sakura tucked the light into her pocket and turned to Chiasa. "What do we know? Do we have any information? Where is his team?"

Chiasa glanced down at the notes, though Sakura knew the woman hadn't forgotten any of the information from the intake. The nurse nodded to herself. "A member of his team brought him in while he was unconscious. The girl didn't stay around to check on his status."

Sakura frowned at that addition, wondering if friendships in the black ops meant so little and who the girl was. She didn't have time to answer that question now. Chiasa offered a shrug as if she could read Sakura's thoughts, then continued. "I was told that I don't have clearance for the details of the mission, so your guess is as good as mine on what happened."

A flash of fury burst in Sakura's chest at the words, but she forced it away. With a sharp dip of her head, she moved closer to Yamato and sighed. "I wish I had the time to be gentle."

Bracing her hands against Yamato's shoulders, Sakura pushed her chakra through his semi-conscious defenses. The man arched, a soft growl ripping free from his throat as she probed the injuries. As she'd expected, a dozen or more smaller wounds vied for her attention. They were minor compared to the one on Yamato's side. Another significant cut crossed his thigh, undoubtedly wrapped and hidden by the fabric of his pants, but that would need attention as well.

Ignoring the inconsequential details, Sakura focused on the most threatening injuries. Both the chest and leg were infected. She eased chakra into the wounds, lessening the body's strain to heal itself. A sluggish pulse of blood caught her attention; a tiny laceration on Yamato's liver. Sakura's forehead knit together in concentration as she pushed healing energy around the wound, forcing the body to speed its repair. She spent as much chakra as she dared, but the infection presented another problem.

Sakura lifted her hands away from Yamato's warm skin and wiped them down the front of her pants. It was only then that she realized that she hadn't bothered to don her lab coat, another detail that hardly mattered. She turned back to Chiasa. "Let's start with a broad spectrum antibiotic. Has he been coherent since they brought him in?"

Chiasa shook her head as she turned to the medicine cabinet to find the items needed to start an IV line. Sakura tapped her fingers against her thigh as she chewed her lower lip, mumbling to herself. "Where is your team? Why didn't they stay? And, what the hell happened?"

Grumbling under her breath, Sakura swiped her hair away from her neck in a messy ponytail as she considered the options. Trying to purge infection was trickier than poison; it was a body's response to stimuli instead of foreign invaders that she could isolate. It would be better to clean the wounds with traditional medicine and drain the infections, especially since Sakura wasn't sure what she was dealing with yet.

Sakura released her chakra when Chiasa appeared at her side, holding out the medicine. She nodded and made the notation in Yamato's chart. The page was empty except for Chiasa's intake notes. Sakura resisted the urge to throw the file against the wall as she checked the numbers. Yamato's blood pressure and heart rate were higher than she wanted them to be, especially after healing. Had she missed something?

Kneeling, Sakura picked up the discarded chest plate that she'd noticed earlier. A puncture in the side correlated with the injury to Yamato's chest. Whatever hit him had to have been moving at incredible speed to crumple the armor that way. Sakura placed the item on the chair, then collected the arm guards to join it. She reached for his mask, brushing her fingers over the green and red stripes on the cat's cheeks that had kept his features free of wounds. Sakura wondered if the animal had been assigned, or if Yamato had picked it himself.

After placing the mask with the rest of the armor, Sakura crossed the room to pull a blanket from the cabinet. Since the rest of Yamato's team hadn't stuck around long enough to see how he was doing, she had no idea what to do with it. The man had essentially been abandoned, and it infuriated Sakura. Was that the way that all Anbu treated each other? She couldn't imagine bringing Naruto or Sasuke to the hospital in this condition and leaving them there.

Sakura sighed, watching the efficient way that Chiasa worked. The nurse had already gotten an IV line started in Yamato's wrist and was buzzing around the machines connected to his body. Sakura glanced at his heart rate and blood pressure again, frowning. "I want vitals checked by hand every twenty minutes for the next three hours," she decided aloud.

"If there are no changes after that," Sakura glanced at her watch, startled to find the time so late already. "After that, I'll be back on shift and can reevaluate him myself."

Chiasa nodded, familiar with the expectations. "Do you want any blood work?"

"Yeah, let's get a cbc and blood culture to see what we're up against." Sakura paused, then nodded to herself. There was nothing else that she could accomplish tonight. "I'm going to try and catch a couple of hours of sleep in my office. Wake me if there are any changes."

Gathering her bag from beside the bed, Sakura slung it over her shoulder and walked from the room. The silence of the hallways made her uneasy. She was used to the hustle and bustle that predominated day shift, but more emergencies came through the doors at night. Sprains and stuffy noses were replaced with broken bones and heart attacks. Sakura didn't envy the men and women who worked while everyone else slept. She'd done more than her fair share of night shifts when training with Tsunade, mostly because the woman liked sleep more than she liked her student. Or, so Sakura thought.

A ratty couch tucked into one corner of Sakura's office, a new addition for these late night Anbu surprises. It was hardly long enough to stretch out on, even for someone of Sakura's height, but it worked in a pinch. The room was blissfully dark at least. Sakura tossed her bag onto the floor, then tried to get comfortable on the lumpy cushions. Seconds ticked by, then minutes. Despite the exhaustion nagging the back of her mind, Sakura's body refused to rest. Sighing, she moved back to the desk and flipped on the light.

A dozen charts waited for Sakura's attention, but she couldn't focus enough to deal with the tiny details that they required. Her mind refused to settle enough for sleep, but wouldn't let her work. Sakura had assumed that the worst missions, the ones that left shinobi broken and battered like Yamato, had become an exception now that the world was at peace. She berated herself for that naivety. The current political situation was tenuous at best, forced by fear or respect for Naruto and Sasuke. Anbu continued to put their lives on the line daily and would do so until something major changed

Sakura's frown deepened as she considered Yamato, still trying to reconcile the fact that he was Anbu. She had wondered why she saw so little of him after the war, but hadn't thought to comment on it. Sai had never mentioned the man in relation to Anbu either, but that wasn't surprising considering the security around them. Sai wasn't one to gossip, anyway. Sakura tapped her fingers against her forearm, then checked her watch, less than an hour had passed.

Giving up on the idea of sleep, Sakura pushed to her feet and left her office behind. The halls were still deserted and silent as she walked back to Yamato's room. Chiasa had gone, dimming the lights before she left to help her patient rest. Beside his bed, the alarm on the monitor flashed, but it had been silenced for being constantly out of normal parameters. Yamato's heart rate and blood pressure remained elevated.

The healing, push of fluids, antibiotics, and rest should have lowered the number by now. Sakura stepped closer and captured Yamato's wrist in her hands. Her fingers pressed against his pulse point, surprised to feel the rapid beat through the skin. She had wondered if the machine was getting a false reading somehow, but her physical count came up with the same number or close enough that it made no difference. Sakura laid his hand back on the bed and frowned. "Why aren't you stabilizing?"

As Sakura expected, Yamato didn't answer. Chiasa had cleared away the tatters of his uniform, then cleaned and wrapped the wounds. Yamato's armor remained beneath the blanket where Sakura had left it. The man looked different without the jonin uniform and usual head protector. She brushed her fingers over his forehead, feeling the warmth of fever. Yamato's temperature was up, but not high enough to force his body to shut down. "Did I miss something," Sakura wondered aloud, mentally cycling through the dozens of medical textbooks that she'd read over the years.

Lowering her hands to hover above Yamato's chest, Sakura eased her chakra into his body. The echo of the man's life force ruled out chakra exhaustion. Sakura had tended to Kakashi after battle enough times to know what that felt like. Yamato's chakra brimmed with energy and life.

Sakura quested deeper, reexamining the injuries and looking for something that she could have missed. It was exactly as she'd seen earlier, minus her healing. Huffing, she broke the connection between herself and Yamato. When Sakura opened her eyes, she was startled to find Chiasa at the end of the bed with a stethoscope in hand. The woman was coming back to get the next set of vitals. Sakura dipped her chin in greeting. "Have we gotten any results yet?"

"Not yet," Chiasa answered, pulling the file from the box at the end of the bed. "We should have part of it back in the next couple of hours, but the culture will take longer."

"Yeah," Sakura agreed, humming thoughtfully. Her eyes swept over Yamato again, then returned to his heart rate. "Draw a tox screen as well, and put a rush on the results."

If Chiasa was surprised by the unusual request, her face didn't reveal it. She nodded and made a notation in the chart. "Anything else, Haruno-sensei?"

Sakura shook her head, wondering if any of the tests would help her fit the pieces together into an image that made some kind of sense. She rested a hand on Yamato's bare shoulder. "We'll get to the bottom of this soon, I promise."

Don’t miss the rest of the chapter, linked above!

#dimi write #healing hands #YamaSaku #Tenzo/Sakura #Sakura Haruno #Tenzo #Yamato #SLOW Burn

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