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breadoffoxy · 4 years

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Magic Hands

Summary: Two of your best friends come over for game night, but mother nature has other plans in mind. Being a woman sucks, but your friends offer you their talented hands to help you feel better.

Pairing: Jimin x f. Reader x Taehyung

Genre: Smut, NSFW

Warnings: Smut, NSFW, threesome, sexy sandwich, pre-period symptoms, sexy massage, language, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), kissing (fxm and mxm), overstimulation kink, begging kink, hinting at Taehyung having a foot kink but there is no actual foot action, I’m sorry Taehyung is just so kinky in this, Princess pet-name, lots of breast action, maybe something considered food play and cum play, dom Jimin and Taehyung (slightly switches towards each other).

Word Count: 4,242

A/N: This is completely self-indulgent and it wrecked me writing it. Thanks grammar god @rougebangtan so much for beta reading this! I appreciate your help so much. I’ve learned so much from your feedback, and you’ve really helped strengthen my writing. Thanks friends in the ghostie discord who helped inspire me and hype me up to write this. I appreciate all of yall!

-> next

It was almost that time of the month.

The one that you felt served no purpose except to biologically torture you.

Yes, that time of the month. You absolutely hated it.

Despite the extra pillows you added, the chair was doing no favors for your aching back. You groan as you shift in your desk chair, leaning forward to better massage the lower muscles causing you pain, and your breast brush against the table in front of you. The groan deepens as your oversensitive mounds press lightly against the hard surface.

You’d think you’d have your period down by now as an adult, but no, your body loved to keep throwing curve balls at you. For the last few months, the pre-period symptoms have been worse for you than the period itself. The week before your period, you would suffer from lower back pain, which at first had worried you, but you figured out, it was a normal part of PMS.

Your breasts also suffered more now than they used to, as well. They would easily become oversensitive, with your nipples always erect, and trying to poke through the clothing you wore over them. It doesn’t help that your breasts were stuffed into your tight-fitting bra. The mounds swelled in size, increasing in both firmness and tenderness, despite all logic. At this point, you worried you may have to go shopping for a new bra size exclusively because of those symptoms.

Oh god, all the extra hormones made you always horny too. Not that you weren’t normally, but now you were extra horny all the time. The sound of your phone vibrating angrily on your desk makes you stop your weak ministrations to check the message.

Jimin: y/n, we’re here!

Jimin: Why aren’t you answering the door!

Jimin: Let us in!

You see the three dots bouncing at the bottom of the screen, meaning Jimin is adding more messages to your chat. The man was always impatient and desiring attention.

You: I’m coming!

After standing up, you put your arms up above your head in order to give your back a good stretch before you make your way out of your room, and towards your door with quick steps. You swing the door open to see your two friends, who you had invited over for, which had now turned into, a poorly timed game night. You kind of wanted to ditch and just make a nest in your bed, but you’d feel bad canceling on your friends.

Jimin is leaning against the wall next to your door. Phone in his hands, he looks up excitedly when you open the door. He does his little habit of running his hand through his blonde hair, and his long earrings sway at the motion. Jimin is dressed smartly in his black shirt with a deep V-neck, with a necklace falling slightly below his exposed collarbones. Despite his shorter stature, compared to your other guy friends, his legs look endlessly long in those black jeans and a black belt wraps around his thin waist.

Taehyung, the other friend invited to game night, had his head tilted back to look at the sky as he waited for you to open the door, his Adam’s apple prominently displayed. He sported a peaceful expression as he glanced at you. His light caramel hair peeked out from his red snapback. His lithe form was hidden underneath a large cozy white shirt and dark pants while a combination of studs and rings lined the lower part of his ears. Two large plastic bags could also be seen hanging from his hands by his side.

“Finally.” Jimin huffs at you despite a smile being on his lips.

He pulls you into a hug which you gladly accept. You turn your head to make a face at Taehyung behind Jimin’s back, trying to distract yourself from the sensation of your chest smushed up into Jimin’s. The tall man laughs at the both of your antics. "I'm going to set this inside.” Taehyung holds up the bags when you try to peek in them, and you spot a variety of snack, chips, drinks, and box of strawberries.

“Thanks, Tae.” You coo fondly when you see your favorite snack. Just the distraction you needed. Taehyung nods, and walks past you and into your home comfortably, heading straight for the kitchen.

“Jimin.” You tap his back trying to signal the hug had been going on for a little too long. It wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward, at least. “Time to go inside.”

Instead of letting you go, the blonde man tightens his grip on you. He starts waddling you backwards and into your house.

“Jimin, let go.” You giggle happily.

“But what if I don’t want to?” He retorts and laughs as the two of you backtrack into your living area slowly.

“How are we going to beat Tae at videogames if one of us can’t see the tv?” You question after you finally come to a stop. You can hear the sound of crinkling plastic bags behind you as Taehyung placed the assorted snacks behind you, on the kitchen counter.

Jimin pulls a fake look of seriousness that makes you laugh. “You have a mirror somewhere we can use, right?”

“Do you know how hard that would be? No way.” You hit his chest as you lean back from his hold. He just grins at you.

“Well, you know I can’t let you go until you say the magic words.” He raises an eyebrow.

“I am not saying that.” You roll your eyes.

“Well, then.” His fingers flex against their hold on your sides in warning.

“No, don’t you-” Your retaliation turns into a shriek as the man tickles your sides.

“Say it.” Jimin continues.

You can barely say anything with how much you’re laughing and squirming. It’s unfair.

“Oh, sweet Jimin–” You get out somehow between laughs. “The cutest angel– ow, ow.” In the midst of your squirming, your back turns just the right way for spasms to rack across it.

Instantly, Jimin stops his tickling and unravels his arms around your form. He takes a tentative step back to give you room. “Are you ok, y/n?”

“Jimin, don’t kill her.” The sound of rustling plastic stops as Taehyung turns to look over at the two of you. He frowns as he sees you leaning slightly to the side, trying your best to ease the spasming muscles on your back.

“I’m fine.” You strain out. “My body’s just been hurting for a couple days now. It’ll go away soon.”

“y/n, I’m so sorry.” Jimin laments sadly. His hands are still frozen in the air, wanting to help inspect you as his eyes roam over your form instead.

“Did you get rid of that crappy chair yet?” Taehyung questions, the sound of bags crinkling once again, as he resumes his task.

Just how many snacks did he buy?

Jimin’s face turns serious as he goes to move around you and towards your room. “I told you to get rid of that piece of junk.”

“No, no, no.” You reach out and grabbing Jimin’s wrist quickly.

He stops immediately at your touch and glances back at you. Despite the chair being a piece of junk, you don’t want him to throw it out. You have other things to spend money on. Plus, it’s not really the problem this time. “It’s not the chair, Jimin, I swear. Don’t throw it out.”

Jimin eyes you critically. “So, if it’s not that, then what?”

“Errr…” You avoid eye contact as you quickly try to think of a lie and avoid Jimin’s skeptical face. “Wow, Taehyung sure bought a lot of snacks. We should help him out.”

You quickly let go of Jimin’s arm and, in order to seem nonchalant, you try to brush past him in the same manner he did earlier to you. But, of course, he won’t let you escape so easily and moves to secure you by the wrist.

It's your turn to look back at him now. The look he gives you makes your heart pound. It’s so caring, but there is a touch of sadness in his eyes. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know, Jimin.” You sigh as you look at the ground, suddenly so much more interested in your feet now. “It’s just… I’m… about to start my period.” You stumble through the words and just decide to get it over with. It may be awkward, but your friends are good at saving a good time.

“…Oh!” Jimin drops your arm, and runs his hand through his hair nervously. “I’m sorry I was pushing.”

“It’s just parts of my body aches right before my period.” You start speaking quickly. “It’s quite normal for the lower back to hurt before it starts.”

Oh god, why won’t the words stop now.

“It’s only started happening the last few months so I’m not quite used to it yet.”

Why are you telling them all of this unnecessary information?

“I would kill for a massage.” You finally end with a cringe.

“If you want…” You look back at Jimin who speaks up with slight hesitation. His hands are clasped together nervously, “…I could give you a massage?”

“He’s got quite the magical hands, you know.” Taehyung shouts from across the room. Jimin wiggles his fingers, gaining confidence at his friend’s words.

“…If you wouldn’t mind?” You tilt your head after pondering the idea, smiling sheepishly at your friend. “I’d appreciate it Jimin, thanks.”

“It’s not a problem.” Jimin twirls a finger, signaling for you to turn around. “I wish I could have helped you earlier.”

“If your hands really are magical, I’ll text you my period tracker.” You turn around, chuckling.

You feel the warmth of Jimin’s body move closely behind yours, and his breath tickles your neck giving you goosebumps. Warm hands are placed on your shoulders and start kneading, slowly working their way down. You hum appreciatively, his hands do feel nice.

Now facing the kitchen, you gasp as you notice the crazy number of snacks lined up on the counter. “Taehyung!”

“It’s not enough, isn’t it?” Mumbles Taehyung as he looks at the pile. An open box of strawberries is in his hand, a couple already devoured by the strawberry lover.

“It’s too– oh, Jimin, right there.” You practically moan as you become putty in his hands.

“This good?” He asks as his hands rest at the base of your hips, thumbs rubbing circles into the center of your lower back.

You nod your head up and down quickly to show your appreciation.

“Good.” He hums as he maneuvers your bodies so you can lean against him, and rest your head back on his shoulder. His hands fit between your bodies, pulling lightly at your shirt. “Is it ok if I reach under?”

“Yeah.” You jump slightly when his skin touches your own, making him chuckle.

You are suddenly all too aware of the position the two of you are in. His thighs grazing yours, feeling every inch of his hard chest against your back, his fingers circling pleasantly into your tired muscles, and his breath sweeping over the side of your face as he looks down at you in concentration. You close your eyes and hide your face into his neck, everything becoming just a little bit overwhelming for your over sensitive body.

“Want one?” You turn your head, and open your eyes to see Taehyung holding a strawberry in front of your face.

“Thanks, Tae.” You mumble. lifting your head from its resting place on Jimin, but before you could reach up to take the offered fruit, you feel it brushing softly against your lips.

Taehyung is eyeing your lips intensely before they move up to make eye contact with your own. He prods the strawberry against your lips a little harder, and you open your mouth in response. He smirks as he slides the strawberry into your mouth until it reaches the base. You close your mouth around it and bite the fruit, the sweet flavor filling your mouth.

Taehyung’s thumb swipes at your bottom lip, wiping off the strawberry juice, before he slides the digit into his mouth, sucking it clean. “Tasty, isn’t it?”

You whimper at the ache you feel between your legs. Thighs rubbing together unconsciously, you realize how wet you at that moment, from the slickness that coats your panties, smearing your upper thighs.

Taking a deep breath, you to try to clear your mind. “O-Ok guys, I think I’m good. Thanks for the special treatment. So, I’ll um, go set the games up now.”

Jimin grips onto your waist before you can bolt. “You’re still so stiff though. Are you sure?” His hands prod at a sensitive spot making you tense as he works the muscle out. It’s slightly painful, but pleasurable at the same time.

“I have magic hands too.” Taehyung mimics the hand wiggle Jimin preformed earlier. “You said ‘parts of your body ache’,” Taehyung air quotes, “Where else hurts? Are your feet sore?” He questions almost hopefully.

You turn your head to the side indignantly, “No, they’re fine. I’ve already embarrassed myself enough today, though. So, don’t worry about it.”

“You didn’t embarrass yourself.” Jimin reprimands, pinching you lightly.

“Ow.” You tilt your head back again to try to give him the best glare you can manage, but instead it looks more like an adorable pout which makes him laugh. “Don’t laugh, ok? I’m not going to ask you to massage my breasts.” You blurt out.

Jimin’s hands freeze and you feel his form stiffen behind you. The atmosphere around you changes. It feels just as heady as you feel when Jimin looks at you with dark eyes.

“If you want me to do that, I can.” Taehyung replies casually and confidentially.

You whip your head back towards Taehyung, your eyes wide with surprise. He’s rubbing his hands together before intertwining his fingers and stretching his arms out in front of him.

“But we– I– is this ok?” You squeak out, somehow. Your nerves are haywire as your brain runs through all the scenarios.

Will this make things awkward later? What does all of this mean?

Taehyung looks over your shoulder to the man behind you. Nodding after their silent conversation, Taehyung steps forward until he’s directly in front of you, barely standing an arm’s length away.

“If you don’t want to, that’s fine.” Taehyung shrugs. “I’ll pull out the Mario Kart, and feed you more strawberries, but if you do-” Taehyung finishes his sentence, closing the distance, and effectively sandwiching you between him and Jimin.

Your breath hitches as Taehyung slides his hands up your side, stopping just before the curve of your breasts to purr, “I promise I’ll make you feel better.”

Those words break the dam of your lust, and causes warmth to spread all over your body. You whine pitifully, words lost to you. Your back arches automatically, chest desiring the sensation of touch.

“Use your words, y/n.” Jimin whispers huskily into your ear, making a shiver go down your spine. You feel the smirk on his lips as they skim your lobe.

Screw the fucking consequences.

“Please.” You beg quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “Touch me, make me feel good.”

Both men make noises of approval. You feel the sounds rumble from their chests on both of your sides. Large hands reach up and cup your breasts over your clothes. Taehyung’s fingers knead your breasts carefully as you whimper, both out of pain and pleasure.

“It’ll be ok, Princess.” Taehyung reassures, “Just have to work out the kinks.”

“Just relax.” Jimin leaves a light, feathery kiss behind your ear. His lips skim down to your neck, nose brushing at your jaw encouragingly. Your head tilts to the side automatically to give him more access. He continues pressing his thumbs into your lower back. “We got you.”

With weak legs, faint pants come from your parted lips. You lift your arms to wrap them around Taehyung’s neck. It’s all too much, but, at the same, you still need more. So, you brush your lips lightly against Taehyung’s who immediately reciprocates. It starts off slow, but turns hungry quickly.

You moan into his mouth, and Taehyung uses that moment to invade your mouth with his tongue, passionately exploring. Your hands reach into his hair, knocking his hat off in the process, and weave into his soft locks. His lips only leave yours after you tug his hair slightly, your breath heavy as you try to regain some oxygen.

“Can I take my shirt off?” You pant out, your voice coming off a little breathless. “Need to feel more.”

Taehyung’s hands leave your chest. “Raise your arms,” He commands.

You untangle your hands from his hair, now sticking up in different directions, and you raise your arms above your head, just as you are told. Grabbing the ends of your shirt, Taehyung slowly pulls it up, exposing your skin inch by inch. Once it is off, he throws it off to the side.

Jimin looks over your shoulder to ogle the sight of the cleavage spilling out of your bra. “You’re so much bigger now.” His hands slide up your back up to your bra strap. “Do you want this off, too?”

“Yes.” You croon, sighing contently as Jimin’s fingers nimbly undo the claps, chest now free from its constraints.

Taehyung slides the straps off your shoulders before tossing the garment to the side, as well. His hands return to your chest making the both of you moan. You do it out of sensitivity, but he cramps up at the sensation of his fingers kneading into the soft yet firm flesh. Cleavage spills around his large, splayed out hands, and he is fascinated at the sight.

Jimin’s hands rub lower down your back, more so than they were before. His fingers dip slightly under your pants and brush along the top of your ass. You moan wantonly and unashamedly when Taehyung brushes your erect nipples, and circles his thumb around them almost lazily.

“What else, Princess?” Asks Taehyung, licking his lips in anticipation.

“My ass.” You whimper and Jimin hums in response, eager for you to continue. Which is exactly what you do. “Want you to grope it, Jimin.”

Jimin’s hands slide as much as they can into your pants, but they hindered slightly by the clothing. “Tae...” He whines miserably.

“On it.” He grunts and the coldness his hands leave behind after they’re removed from your chest makes you whine.

Taehyung chuckles at how needy you are as he unbuttons your pants and slides the zipper down. Jimin’s hands now slide freely down to your ass in-between your pants and underwear. He starts groping your ass, just as you requested.

“I need your mouth on them, Tae.” You arch your back even more to better display your breasts.

Taehyung eyes your breast heaving up and down as you do your best to breathe. “On these?” He teases as one hand comes to pinch and pull a hard nipple, the other moves to your waist and rubs circles into your skin.

“Ah!” you keen and your hips rock unintentionally, making both men moan at the friction. “Yes, there Taehyung, fuck.”

Licking his lips hungrily, Tae quickly descends onto a nipple. Your moans become louder as he sucks and bites on it, while the other continues to get pinched and pulled between his deft fingers.

The fingers on your ass slide down between your legs and feel the slicking gathering on your thighs. “You’re so wet.” Jimin moans, hips swiveling into yours. The action causes yours to rot rut into Taehyung’s, who returns the action with a moan of his own.

“You’re so spoiled.” Jimin chuckles darkly as he feels more of your essence drip from your panties. “Do you want us to take care of this too, Princess?” He asks, adopting Taehyung’s pet name for you.

“Fuck.” The feeling of Jimin’s hands teasingly tracing your underwear is driving you mad. “I want-” You murmur shakily before you rethink your sentence, and inhale sharply. “I need you to.”

“Need me to what?” Jimin continues to tease, hand now sliding gently over the wet fabric and right over your core.

“Jimin.” You whine, hoping he would just push the soaked clothing aside and touch you where you desire it most, but he continues his feather touches.

“Please, touch my pussy.” You beg. “Rub my clit.”

“Your wish is my command.” Jimin moans with you as his fingers slip past your underwear finally, and feels how truly drenched you are. His finger swipes at your entrance, up your slit, and begins to rub your engorged clit.

“Ooohh yes, fuck yes, Jimin.” You chant over and over, hips rocking into his hand and thus also into Taehyung.

“Fuck.” Taehyung groans as his mouth leaves your breast. His blown-out eyes look down between your bodies to see your exposed panties peeking through your unzipped jeans. The thin material does nothing to hide how Jimin’s hand is caressing your cunt and clit.

Tugging on the top of your jeans, Taehyung kneels down in front of you, pulling your pants down with him. His eyes are now level with your core, and he watches Jimin’s hand work before he loops his fingers into the tops of your underwear. Slowly, he pulls the material down, a rope of slick coming down with it.

“No, don’t stop.” You whine as Jimin stops rubbing your clit.

His fingers find your lower lips and spread them open with both his hands, fully exposing you to Taehyung. Taehyung’s hands come to rest on your slick thighs, pushing on them to encourage to spread yourself more, which you comply to easily.

“Fuck, soon you’ll be begging me to stop.” Taehyung looks up at you as his breath ghosts your cunt. “Switch, Jimin.”

Jimin’s fingers let go of your lips and reach up to your breasts aching for attention. His wet hand gropes your swelling boobs, rolling your nipples under his slick palm.

You watch as Taehyung’s mouth closes the distance between him and your pussy, his hot, hard tongue following the same pattern of Jimin’s fingers. The muscle teases your entrance before sliding up and down your slit a few times until he reaches your clit. He gives the bundle kitten-licks as he savors the way your face fleetingly twists in pleasure, his eyes carefully catching each expression.

“Ooh, Tae,” You tangle your fingers into his hair once again, encouraging him to get closer, to go deeper. He envelops your clit in his hot mouth and sucks hard, making you scream. “Tae!”

Your moans never stop, instead, they only increase in volume; especially as Taehyung slides one hand further up your thigh, and gathers your fluid with it before sliding his fingers into your tight hole.

“You’re so fucking tight.” Taehyung groans between your legs and his voice sends vibrations through your very core. He moves his finger in and out of you, stretching you before he adds a second. His wrists flick rapidly as he fucks you with his fingers. “Such a needy girl.”

You cum quickly with a scream. Stars line up your vision at the powerful orgasm. Jimin holds your twitching body up as Taehyung continues to fuck your clenching hole with his fingers while licking the cum clean that drips from his fingers. Your orgasm ends, but Taehyung keeps going, now sucking and nibbling at your clit again. “Too much, too much.” You pull at Taehyung’s hair, trying to pull him away. He doesn’t relent, intent on keeping his word from earlier.

Strong arms from behind wrap around you, and pull you away from the kneeling man, whose face glistens from your cum. “Taehyung, you need to give her a break.”

Bless you Jimin, you beautiful angel.

“It’s my turn next.” His grip on you tightens, almost possessively like a child holding their favorite toy.

Wait, what?

“Fine, but I really want her to hear her beg more.” Taehyung stands up and stalks toward the both you.

“If she’s up for it,” Jimin shrugs, “it’s fine by me.” You’re not sure if he’s supporting you or signing your death warrant.

Once Taehyung reaches you, he grabs your chin between his fingers to hold you still as he kisses you deeply. His tongue easily slips into your mouth, and you taste yourself from his mouth.

He ends the kiss, wiping the back of his hand along his mouth. “Tasty, isn’t it?”

Jimin’s head suddenly reaches over your shoulder, pushing you in between him and Taehyung, as his lips reaches the other man’s. It’s a messy kiss, Jimin practically eating out Taehyung’s mouth. You stare at the scene, heat once again pooling between your legs.

“Divine.” Jimin says as he breaks the kiss and licks his lips. He starts waddling you backwards towards your room in the same fashion as he did earlier.

“Now, I’m going to fuck you so hard into that chair of yours. it’ll break. Then, you’ll have to buy a new one.”

Taehyung laughs as he follows along, eyeing your form now being practically dragged away by Jimin.

“Jimin, nooo.” You whine, not pleased at the prospect of buying another chair, which they seemed hell-bent on turning true. “The bed works perfectly fine.”

#btsghostie #bts fanfiction #bts smut #jimin x reader x taehyung #jimin fanfiction #taehyung fanfiction #v fanfiction #jimin smut #taehyung smut #v smut #bts reader #bts mxr #magic hands #my writing

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flowerslut · 4 years

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BONUS DAY: Quarantine Rated: T for language. Words: 9,064

A/N: My favorite prompt, “suddenly human” was somehow NOT chosen for Jalice week. So I took some liberties here by combining a shitload of prompts together. Brace yourselves.

WHUMPTOBER CROSSOVER—No. 13: OXYGEN MASK & No. 21: INFECTION

Alice and Jasper face immortality together.

I’LL JUST LAY HERE WITH YOU

Twenty-nine days ago they were celebrating.

Birthdays weren’t something they acknowledged often. After Bella had been with them for a decade, their newest vampire had firmly put her foot down. She’d barely tolerated them as a human, but as an immortal being she’d loathed the parties.

Thankfully, there was still Renesmee and her milestones to keep track of. Of course, she hadn’t changed much since her eighth birthday, but apparently even human-vampire hybrids weren’t immune to the desire for a Sweet Sixteen.

Jasper had never seen Alice so elated to have someone so willing to plan a celebration with her. And she and Rosalie had once spent three years planning one of Rose and Emmett’s more elaborate weddings.

It started with a vision.

Turning the knob on the stove, Jasper cut the heat, ignoring the way his throat burned at the aroma that was wafting through the kitchen. It had been embarrassing, having to listen to Carlisle and Bella give him step by step instructions on how to light the gas stove over the phone, but if Alice had witnessed him struggle in a passing vision, she neglected to mention it to him.

He checked his phone then, knowing that no messages awaited him, but still hoping for a notification nonetheless. Someone would be dropping off more supplies today, and he needed to know where exactly to go in order to receive them.

He couldn’t risk interacting with any of his family directly. Not until they figured out what was going on.

It started with a vision.

Jasper reached forward, grabbing the canister from the boiling water, and began to wipe it dry. He knew it was warm enough due to smell alone. He hadn’t once used the food thermometer they’d stuck in their last delivery. While Alice’s condition had worsened, it hadn’t gotten so bad that she’d be at risk of being burnt.

He eyed a bag on the kitchen table, and at the assortment of crazy straws poking against the plastic, and rolled his eyes as he exited the room. Leave it to Emmett to try to find something to joke about with the situation.

He’d been pissed at the bonus items during that particular delivery—surely Edward and Rosalie hadn’t known Emmett was sneaking some extras into the package—but it had made Alice crack a real, genuine smile.

And those were so hard to come by now.

It started with a vision.

Twenty nine days ago they’d been celebrating Renesmee’s birthday. That included balloons and streamers and cake and human food and humans and an assortment of emotion that, by the party’s conclusion, had given Jasper whiplash. The headache he had that day didn’t ebb until late that night. Alice had been too preoccupied with clean-up to notice.

And Jasper had been too preoccupied with his headache to notice when Alice’s emotions caused the climate of the house to take a nosedive.

Walking through room after room Jasper eventually reached the stairs and began to slowly climb, focusing hard on the low buzz of the equipment running upstairs. With every step his misery intensified until he was struggling to keep the emotion at bay. Whether it was a good thing or not, Alice was too out of it most days to be able to tell.

Still, he didn’t want to slip up and accidentally physically share his current emotions with her.

“Jazz?” He heard her voice call when he was halfway up the stairs. And when her panic struck him he cleared the rest of the staircase in an instant.

“I’m right here,” he spoke, the canister already resting on the nightstand as he reached out for her, hyperaware of all the wires as he maneuvered her into an embrace. “Just wanted to get you something to drink.” Pulling back he focused intently on her face. Her eyes hadn’t been golden in days, despite the regular meals he supplied her with. Instead, her eyes were slowly darkening, a brown amber color taking over.

Her sigh of relief sounded more like a rasp, and when her face scrunched up in pain, Jasper felt his entire being ache. Reaching forward he readjusted the oxygen tube on her face, resting his hand firmly against her cheek as he watched her squeeze her eyes tight and focus on taking a few long, even breaths.

She felt just slightly warmer than she had the day before. The temporal thermometer that lay within the nightstand was suddenly at the forefront of his mind. Another one of the tools Carlisle had armed him with in their first supply drop off. Jasper had refused to grab the device until someone (Rosalie) explicitly and unkindly asked him what her temperature was that day.

He didn’t want to think about how she was warming every day.

“Let’s sit you up,” Jasper spoke quietly as he moved, pulling her fragile body into a sitting position against the headboard, tucking the blankets snuggly around her as she blinked herself into awareness.

“How long was I out?” She rasped again, wincing as she shifted. Lifting a hand she scratched at her ear. The hair had grown infinitesimally over the past several weeks, but it was one of Alice’s biggest complaints. After living a hundred years with her hair the exact same, the instant it began to grow she’d panicked.

And Jasper had added another thing to the list of symptoms she was experiencing.

“Only a couple of hours,” he moved back toward the night stand, retrieving the canister. “This is the last of it,” he commented as she accepted the stainless steel canister with her bare hands. Barely a second later she was wincing, the container falling to the blankets that were lying across her lap.

Jasper had grabbed it and returned it to the table in an instant. “Alice!”

“I’m fine,” Alice hissed, holding her shaking hands to her chest “It’s not hot, I swear. Seriously,” then, she showed him her palms. They didn’t appear to look any different than usual, but still, Jasper was mortified. Maybe he should’ve been using the culinary thermometer after all… “Jasper. It’s fine,” she assured him between hurried breaths. “I’m not burnt or anything. It just really hurts to grip things today.”

“I’m sorry,” he still apologized quietly, knowing how much she hated hearing the words from him. “I didn’t know.”

“Another symptom for Carlisle,” she half-smiled, and Jasper felt his heart clench at the sight. Those smiles never reached her eyes.

Twenty-nine days ago Alice had been putting stringed lights back into storage containers when the first vision struck. Jasper had been distracted, up in his study, re-reading one of his many comfort books to try and curb the pain in his skull.

Jasper never felt Alice’s initial shock. What he felt was Edward’s powerful fear, and acute mortification.

By the time Jasper was in the living room, Alice was screaming.

Picking the canister back up, Jasper moved to sit back on the bed besides Alice. But when she saw what he was about to do she lifted up a hand, placing it against his arm. “Jazz, no. It’s fine. Give me a few minutes and I can do it myself.”

“I can help,” he insisted, his words quiet as he prepared to hold his breath and twist the canister open.

The human blood was a new addition to her diet. One that Carlisle had suggested after her body had rejected animal blood for the second time. She’d been wholly unable to hunt since the beginning, but she’d still been able to drink from whatever animal Jasper could grab that day.

When her teeth began to, quite literally, lose their edge, their family had been forced to improvise. Jasper didn’t know how they’d attained the initial bags of animal blood, but he was thankful for their efforts. He’d ruined the carpet in the den attempting to exsanguinate a deer, and had only salvaged less than a pint for her. After that, Carlisle had figured something out.

The first time she’d been sick—the animal blood violently expelling itself from her tiny body from the way it came, and ruining the couch in his study—was the first night she slept. Jasper called Carlisle, hysterical and screaming, thinking that whatever was happening had finally killed her.

She’d woken up less than ten minutes later, disoriented but alive. That had been two weeks ago, and Jasper hadn’t left her side for more than ten minutes since, even for a supply pickup.

“You said it’s the last of it,” Alice spoke, her frown deepening when Jasper fully screwed the lid off the bottle, “does that mean it’s a supply day?”

He nodded as he pressed the edge of the container to her mouth and tipped it back, trying hard to look away as she gulped down the blood. His thirst had been killing him the past few days, but he knew that he’d rather starve than deprive Alice of even one drop of sustenance.

“Her body is trying to replenish itself,” Carlisle theorized to him just the day before over the phone, “try and pay attention to what blood type she favors. It might become useful information.”

Her eyes hadn’t changed to red the way he’d expected them to—the way he’d hoped—but instead, every day, they darkened slightly, more orange-ish brown than anything.

It was an almost-human color.

Twenty-nine days ago they’d been celebrating. And then Jasper was in the living room and Alice was shrieking, demanding that everyone get out and that no one come near her and that they get out now and leave.

“Alice,” Jasper had flickered to her side, terrified at the emotions coming from her. But she’d pushed him away so hard he put a dent in the wall, the wood and plaster crumbling beneath his back.

“No!” She’d sobbed, “Stay away! Edward! Get them out! Explain later! Go, now!”

But even Edward, who knew what she was thinking and who had seen what she’d seen, couldn’t bring his feet to move. “Alice, hold on a second.”

Jasper felt Alice’s emotions blank and then come back full-force; it was the tell-tale sign of another vision stealing her attention. And when Edward’s terror trumped Alice’s, Jasper found himself staring helplessly at the redhead.

“Go,” the boy turned toward the family and barked the orders, “everyone get out, now.”

“What is it?” Jasper demanded, his frustration mounting. He trusted Alice with his life, but he’d never felt a heartbreaking fear like this from her before. “What’s going on?”

“Jasper,” Edward yelled as Esme and Bella—who had come to see what the commotion was about—ran off with Renesmee. Emmett and Carlisle were on a hunt and wouldn’t be back for a few hours. “I’ll explain later, we have to go.”

But when Jasper tried to approach Alice again—he’d leave as long as she was by his side—she screamed at him, backing away like a frightened animal.

“NO! Don’t come near me!”

“Jasper! Stop! Let’s go!”

“I’m not leaving until someone tells me what’s going on!” His heart broke as Alice looked at him with fear in her eyes. But as an empath, he knew she wasn’t afraid of him as much as she was afraid at what she’d seen.

“Jazz, please, please, please don’t come near me,” Alice begged as he slowly approached anyways. And the closer he got to Alice the farther Edward inched toward the back doors, his terror permeating the room.

“Alice, please…”

“You have to go before it’s too late.”

“Jasper, stand back!”

“I’m not leaving you,” Jasper spoke directly to Alice, barely an arms-length away now. “Whatever is going on, I’m not leaving you here.” Whether the Volturi were coming for her, or whether some freak natural disaster was set to swallow their neighborhood whole, he didn’t care. He’d rather die than leave Alice to face whatever it was that she and Edward were so terrified of currently.

“I can’t let you,” she shook her head firmly, her expression full of devastation as she backed up against the far wall. “Jasper, please, I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Sick?”

And when thick, silver liquid began to stream down Alice’s face, venom pooling in her eyes, Jasper’s entire world shifted.

By the time Jasper reached forward, wiping the venom from her face and confirming that yes, this was real, and no, this was not good, Edward had vanished, running after their family into the dead of night.

“No,” Alice sobbed, shaking her head as Jasper gathered her up in his arms, “No, not you, too. I don’t want you to die, too.”

“Please hunt today,” Alice spoke after Jasper recapped the now-empty canister. “Please. When you go to get the next shipment. I can’t stand to see you like this.” Reaching out she rested her hand against his cheek, her thumb brushing the bruise-like shadows beneath his eyes as she gazed at him with love and concern.

Jasper shook his head. “Carlisle is sending some more animal blood with the next one, that way I don’t have to leave the house.”

“That’s not going to be enough to sustain you,” Alice frowned, pulling her hand back into her lap. Jasper didn’t miss the way she was lightly massaging her palm. Even the slight affections she showed him pained her now.

“I’ll make it work.”

“How are you supposed to take care of me if you can’t take care of yourself?” The words were gentle, but they struck Jasper like a physical blow.

“I’ll take care of you no matter what.”

Alice sighed, and then there was a pause. “I can’t see them.”

He stared at her blankly, waiting for her too elaborate. “Who?”

“Anyone. I can’t see Carlisle or Esme. Or Bella or,” her voice cracked, “or anyone. I’m even struggling to see you now.”

Jasper nodded calmly, not wanting any of his reactions to worry her further. He would have a moment to himself soon enough. “And your dreams?”

“They’re getting a little less fuzzy. But Jazz,” and her fear in that moment was very real, “if I can’t pull visions up the way I used to, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

And truthfully, he didn’t know what they were going to do either.

They didn’t know what was eating away at Alice or what sickness she was afflicted with. They don’t know what caused it or how it had struck her. The only thing they knew—and only because of Alice’s first few visions—was that there was a chance it was contagious, and it would very likely kill her.

He’d kissed her through her tears after the third day, when she finally confessed that she very likely had sentenced him to death just with her proximity alone.

But Jasper would walk through the fires of hell day in and day out if it meant he wouldn’t be leaving Alice to face this sickness alone. Whether he lived or died he didn’t care. And if Alice did die… well… he could only hope it was as contagious as they feared…

Leaning forward he pressed a kiss to the side of her head. Alice tilted her head up, lifting a hand to hold his face still so she could plant her own kiss firmly on his lips.

“I love you,” he spoke softly against her lips before kissing her again, “and even if the visions go, you’ll still have me.”

“I’m scared,” she whispered, and when Jasper focused back on her expression, he realized her eyes were closed tight again. Setting the empty canister on the bed-side table, Jasper was careful as he climbed into the bed to lie alongside her. He didn’t want to unplug a single wire.

The electrocardiogram wasn’t registering anything—as it shouldn’t; Alice’s heart had been still for a century now—but Carlisle wanted her hooked up to the device regardless.

“Just in case,” the other man had said over the phone as Jasper had sorted through that delivery. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but if she continues to display more symptoms like this, she may be human before the new year.”

Jasper pushed the memory from his mind as he pulled Alice close, allowing her to snuggle closely, still wrapped tightly in layers of blankets. Even with the thermostat on 80, Alice shivered day in and out.

The wetness that dampened the collar of his shirt made his heart ache.

They remained like that, lying next to one another as Alice’s oxygen concentrator hummed. Jasper hated how he just knew she was warmer. Not as warm as humans were, but even through the layers separating them he could feel the warmth of her body.

She wasn’t indestructible anymore, and Jasper didn’t know how to handle that. Even with her body pressed tight against his, he worried. What if one day he kissed her and hurt her? Or if he squeezed her hand to comfort her and broke her fingers?

He could finally feel some measure of empathy for Edward while he’d been dating Bella all those years ago. The fear of hurting her was prominent in his every move.

Her cardiovascular system was still in limbo, and even as her body warmed and her cheeks slowly filled with color after every meal, her heart was still not beating. Against all odds though, her lungs were operating normally. No longer could Alice simply sit, not thinking about how her lungs didn’t require oxygen unless she needed to speak.

The day that symptom presented itself, she’d gasped for hours, uncomfortable and panicking. Jasper had been on the phone with Carlisle, desperate for guidance, and in hours they’d delivered the necessary equipment.

Hooking up the machine and wrapping the oxygen tube around his wife’s delicate face had made Jasper feel insane. As if this wasn’t real, and he was hallucinating this.

It had felt like the beginning of the end.

Eventually, he pressed a kiss to her head and left the room with the promise to return quickly.

He answered his buzzing phone as he flitted down the stairs.

“I’m on my way.” He spoke without looking to see who it was.

“Carlisle wants you to bring the empty oxygen canisters.”

It was Edward. Jasper shook his head at the request. “I have no way of cleaning them. And even if I do sanitize them I don’t want to risk it.”

Whatever it was that was warming Alice and that he potentially carried, Jasper didn’t want it transferring to any of his family.

“Just bring them. We can leave them to sit for a couple of weeks and then one of us will bring them back.” Edward commented.

Jasper sighed, already half-way out the front door, before turning back to the kitchen. “I don’t have time for this,” he growled impatiently into the phone. The tanks were unnecessary now that Alice was on a concentrator. Jasper thought it was a stupid risk but he’d been low on patience for days now and wasn’t about to argue now.

Grabbing a single empty tank he turned back and was out the door in an instant.

“Where are you?” Jasper spoke into the receiver.

“At the end of the driveway.”

Jasper paused at that, his feet grinding to a halt in the grass. He was suddenly reminded of the last time he’d met up one of them at the end of the driveway, two and a half weeks prior. “You better be alone.” It was dangerous enough for him to interact with any of his family members even at a distance, but whenever they showed up in groups it ignited his anger.

As far as Carlisle was aware, everyone else was either asymptomatic or simply wasn’t sick like Alice. But Jasper wasn’t about to be the one that passed… this on to their family.

“I am,” Edward snapped back, as if Jasper’s words, and not just his ability, could inspire a quick jump to irritation. “I couldn’t exactly carry everything in this shipment. Forgive me for bringing a car.”

Jasper hung up the phone then and made off quickly toward the end of their long driveway. It was a quick run, but Jasper was looking forward to getting this exchange over with. Edward was already wasting precious seconds by requesting an old oxygen tank. He wasn’t about to waste anymore time arguing with the younger vampire.

He saw the car before he saw Edward. It was a deep green color with a matte finish. Jasper could tell just by looking at it that this must’ve been the pet project Rosalie had taken up after they’d left for their Baltimore house back further east.

“She needs anything to focus on that’s not this,” Emmett’s words, like always, lacked proper tact, but while Jasper had glared at his brother over the FaceTime call, Alice had nodded understandably.

A car like this would surely stick out like a sore thumb in Martinsburg.

When the car door opened, Edward’s voice rang out. “She’s already moved on to another one. This one is going in storage after this drop off.”

Jasper didn’t nod, but he did watch carefully as his brother began to quietly empty the contents of the trunk of the car onto the pavement. A few large crates, and some smaller paper bags. When Jasper inhaled deeply, he furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Food?”

Edward closed the trunk and turned back toward Jasper, his expression grim. “Carlisle thinks it might help.”

“Help how?” It didn’t even matter that Jasper didn’t know the first damn thing about making and preparing human food. And it was irrelevant that oftentimes just the smell of human food left Jasper in a foul mood. What mattered was that having to feed his wife human food felt like another insane task he’d been given, and he didn’t know how the fuck he was supposed to just nod and go along with it all.

“I’m sure you can guess.” Even though they were standing quite far apart—at least ten meters—Jasper could clearly see the frustrated furrow of Edward’s brow. Jasper knew he hadn’t been the most pleasant person to interact with over the past month—it was one of the reasons Rosalie elected to tinker in her garage instead of sit on calls or volunteer for supply drop-offs, and it was why Esme had done one, and only one.

But Jasper wasn’t looking to snap at anyone today. He simply wanted to get what he needed (although today’s delivery would take a couple of trips) and go back home to his ailing wife.

“Are her visions still wavering?”

Jasper forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat. Looking away from Edward, he instead stared at the grocery bags piled beside the crates. “They’re nearly gone. She can only see me while awake, and others when she sleeps.”

Edward nodded, and Jasper hated how he knew the boy was digging through his thoughts, collecting images of Alice’s deteriorating, weakening body, and hearing the very real doubts Jasper had currently. Jasper gestured to the tank he was holding. “What do you want me to do with this? I’m not giving it to you.”

“Just toss it over there,” he gestured vaguely to a patch of bushes beside the driveway. “I or Emmett or whoever will pick it up in a couple of weeks.”

Jasper tossed the heavy item to the side without a second glance, his eyes still trained on the supplies. “Is there…?”

“Human and animal blood, yes.” Edward tapped the crate in the front with a foot.

Jasper nodded, swallowing the venom that pooled in his mouth, knowing that he’d be able to drink soon. When surprise and curiosity pulsated off of the boy, Jasper finally met his eyes. “What?”

“You seem fine.” Edward observed with half of a shrug. “I mean, physically. There’s a chance this actually isn’t contagious—”

“Stop,” Now. Jasper would turn and go straight back to the house without another word if Edward kept it up. With his fury just hiding beneath the surface, Jasper thought pointedly. Alice knew her visions would fail. Alice knew you guys would want to come help. But as long as we have those few, early visions of hers we need to be careful. I can handle things over here. When Carlisle finishes analyzing her venom and finds actual fucking answers, let me know. Until they, stay put. I’m fine, and I’m handling things. “Don’t you dare put yourselves in danger. Not until we figure this out.”

The two stared at each other for a few long seconds before Jasper felt himself start to get antsy. He’d only been away from the house for barely more than five minutes, but the more time passed the more afraid he was that Alice would fall asleep and wake again, scared and disoriented, with him nowhere in sight.

“I’ll go,” Edward finally nodded toward the house as he walked back toward the driver’s side and opened the door. “Please text Carlisle her temperature when you get back. And yesterday’s summary, too. Please, Jasper. We’re doing our best.”

And with that, he climbed into the car, started the quiet engine, and pulled off. Jasper waited until the car pulled around a bend in the distance, a thick patch of trees obscuring the vehicle from sight before he ran forward and grabbed the first crate, and in seconds he was rushing back toward the house.

He was still several hundred meters from the house when the sound of hacking reached his ears. Jasper nearly dropped the crate to the ground as he rushed through the front door and flickered up the stairs and into Alice’s bedroom, only to find her crumbled in a heap on the floor, wheezing and coughing.

“Hey, hey,” he swept her up into his arms quickly, wondering why on Earth she’d decided to pluck all the electrodes off and find herself a spot on the floor, far from her oxygen. But before he could ask what she was doing, he felt the dampness that covered her thin flannel pajamas and his heart broke.

Her gasping came from her attempts at crying without her oxygen tube. Jasper maneuvered her back onto the bed—being aware to avoid the wet spot in the center of the bedding—and placed the tube around her head, shushing her.

Two hours, one bath, and a change of bedding later, Alice was fast asleep in the bed, her hand limply clinging to Jasper’s as he typed a long text with one hand.

Things are worse, he began the text. I don’t know what to do.

It started with a vision.

On day thirty-two, Alice ate her first human meal she could ever recall. It wasn’t much; a thin soup that he’d unpacked and warmed from the last shipment. She sipped it slowly, getting some of it down her front. It was hard, she admitted quietly to Jasper, to use a spoon when all she had ever known was biting down on flesh and sucking down blood with force.

She’d managed to eat a single cracker before breaking down in tears, broken up over the very fact that it didn’t taste entirely repulsive to her anymore.

On day thirty-four, Jasper picked up another shipment. Emmett was in a somber mood as he dropped the small delivery off. Groceries for Alice, mainly.

“Tell me you have any news at all.”

Jasper raised an eyebrow at that, watching from a distance as his adopted brother shuffled and frowned. Sadness never suited Emmett, who was one of the brightest personalities Jasper had ever known; the guy had radiated positivity ever since the former-solder had known him.

“I don’t.”

Emmett shrugged at that, and Jasper hated how the taller man’s mood dampened further at those words. “Well, they always say no news is good news.”

Jasper met his sad golden gaze with a severe one of his own. “If I had good news we wouldn’t be doing this, Emmett.”

On day thirty-five, while Jasper read aloud to her, Alice accidentally scratched herself. Much like her hair, her nails were also beginning to grow at a snail’s pace. Along with that, they were more brittle than she was used to. While reaching over and adjusting the zipper to Jasper’s jacket she’d broken a nail, chipping the edge slightly. Then, she’d reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her head, scratching the now-delicate skin on her face.

It didn’t bleed, but Jasper could still smell the blood, resting idly beneath the surface.

On day thirty-seven they finally sat down and acknowledged what was happening. Jasper refused to say the word ‘human’ but Alice spoke it with a sad resignation, knowing that her body was somehow de-petrifying. “I don’t know if I’ll survive,” she whispered to him as he held her closely, tracing soothing shapes against her back. “In some visions it all ends here, in this bed. In others I can see myself all warm and pink, but the visions don’t go much farther than that, no matter what I do.

“I’m almost positive that I die, Jazz.” She whispered into the silent room. It remained silent for a while after that conversation, until Alice quietly informed Jasper that she needed to use the restroom, and he carried her out of the room, his mind still miles away.

On day forty-one, Alice’s temperature spiked. She slept seventeen hours that day, shivering for most of it, and crying out occasionally, with visions now only plaguing her in her sleep. Jasper held the thermometer against her head and when it registered 96.1 he threw the device, smashing it to pieces against the far wall of the bedroom. Alice didn’t budge.

On day forty-two, Alice woke up, her memory foggy. “Mom?” She called out, sitting up disoriented before Jasper could plant himself in her line of sight. When she flinched at the sight of him, gasping loudly, her shock smacked Jasper across the face. It took several long seconds for her to calm herself, recognition registering to Jasper before it showed on her face. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, hand against her chest as she struggled to regulate her breathing. “I’m sorry Jasper.”

On day forty-three Alice kissed him, harder than she’d kissed him in over a month. It was when her hands found the first button on his shirt that he stopped her, her name only a warning on his lips.

“Please,” she whispered as she kissed her way down his neck, her hands finding a different button as she pressed herself against him, “Jasper, please. I don’t know when we’ll ever be able to again.”

On day forty-three Alice and Jasper spent the entire day in bed. They’d pause in their lovemaking periodically for Alice to use the restroom, or eat a meal, or take a nap, and then resume in between. Jasper was used to handling her with care, but now it truly felt like his wife was made of glass. He was as careful as he dared, knowing that the second he hurt her in his passion would be the end of their physical relationship as far as either of them knew it.

It was early in the morning when Alice kissed him firmly and pulled away with a wince. “I think I need to stop,” and something akin to perspiration was beginning to gather on her forehead, her growing hair sticking to it firmly, “I’m… aching.”

And then, that was that.

On day forty-five she woke up with wide-eyes and was immediately unresponsive. Jasper spent several horrifically long minutes talking to her, checking her vitals, gently massaging and tapping her shoulders and limbs, trying to get her to come back to him, to speak, to do anything other than lie there, stare, and breathe.

He was seconds away from giving up and sending another hysterical phone call Carlisle’s way when she blinked twice and lifted her hand up, blindly reaching toward him.

“Alice, Alice, oh thank God,” Jasper pressed her warm hand against his cheek, inhaling slowly in order to collect himself and prevent his ability from affecting her. “It’s okay, it’s…”

But when Alice forced her eyes to look at him—warm, dark brown eyes—Jasper froze as he felt her wipe wetness from his cheeks.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered as he jerked back, his hands wiping the venom from his face with a panic.

For two days, Jasper’s gift was hard to control. Meaning that now, to his complete and utter dismay, Alice was just as miserable as he was.

It wasn’t that he cared about being a vampire. Sure, the power it supplied him with to protect Alice and his family was something he wouldn’t trade for anything, and with Alice slowly reverting back into a human he felt comforted that at the very least he could keep her safe.

But how was he supposed to protect her from all the dangers that were out there when he, too, would be human in time?

Forty-seven days after their family ran and they barricaded themselves in the house, confined to their West Virginia property, Alice broke.

“I wanted you to run,” she sobbed with all her might, yanking wires and throwing anything she could get her hands on across the room. “I wanted you to go with them. I didn’t want you to die, too. It’s my fault this is happening, it’s all my fault.”

She wouldn’t let Jasper anywhere near her that day. Even when she slept, her emotions were a turbulent storm, making it difficult for Jasper to even sit at her bedside while she tossed and turned and shivered.

On day forty-eight Alice spent the day apologizing profusely. For everything and anything under the sun. Jasper simply shook his head, kissed away her tears, and held her close. All while assuring her that she had nothing to apologize for.

It wasn’t her fault they were dying, after all.

On day fifty-eight, Jasper had a sobering phone call with Carlisle and Edward.

“I reached out to Aro,” and Carlisle didn’t even pause in his sentence when Jasper hissed ferociously, “to see if he could provide any help, or any answers.”

“If anyone wants Alice alive as much as we do, it’s Aro, Jasper. Stop,” Edward spoke up loudly. And although the boy couldn’t hear Jasper’s thoughts he had decades of knowledge of his inner-thought process to know precisely where this conversation was heading. “It wasn’t anything we wanted to do, with Alice as weak as she is—”

“She said so herself,” Carlisle chimed in, not giving Jasper time to verbalize a response, “she doesn’t think she’ll make it out of this. And with you sick, too, we aren’t left with many other options.”

“The Volturi have far more resources than we could ever dream of having,” Edward spoke. “If this is something that’s ever been documented before, they’ll be able to find it.”

“But as far as Aro is aware, he’s never heard of anything like this happening before. Especially something that can be contracted by other vampires, too. We’re all in the dark here.”

Jasper refused to update them on his own state that day. It was bad enough that Alice had gone behind his back—quite literally—and texted Carlisle that Jasper’s first symptoms had begun to materialize the other day, but he didn’t want anyone’s attention on him. Alice was the priority. Alice would always be the priority, and Jasper refused to give any information to his family on his own state entirely.

But still, he knew that Alice was very likely texting Esme right now while he listened to Edward and Carlisle prattle on about their research and findings, and about how ultimately, they’d come up with no solutions.

If Alice died, Jasper knew he wouldn’t have to wait for this sickness to kill him in order to join her.

And with this thought it was as if Edward was truly there, in person. “Jasper. Hang in there. We’re going to figure something out,” the boy insisted after a length of silence had fallen across the line. “Don’t do anything foolish.”

On day sixty, she fell asleep and didn’t wake up.

Jasper sat by her bedside and waited. After the first day, he called Carlisle, only for Esme to pick up the phone and ask him what was wrong. The sound of her voice, so caring and full of love, caused him to finally break down. He found himself crying venomous tears for nearly an hour as he listened to her soothing words.

“The best thing you can do is stay with her,” she said eventually. “Talk to her maybe. If its anything like our transformations, she can likely hear you. Tell her you love her, and stay close.”

So that’s what he did. For the entirety of that second day, when he wasn’t on the phone with a member of their family, he sat at her bedside and talked. About her. About their relationship. About how devastated he was that this illness had struck her. He reminisced out loud about their first meeting, his many regrets, and about how even though now human blood had been introduced back into his diet (his body had begun to reject animal blood days ago) it felt completely and utterly ridiculous that it was what had driven him to madness time and time again.

He talked about how much he loved her. About how she was everything to him. The reason for his attempts at interacting with the public, the reason he abstained from human blood in the first place, and the reason he consistently pushed through his thirst. She was the reason he’d stopped hating his appearance, scars still prominent on every inch of his skin. She was the reason he’d given peace a chance, and the reason he now had a family to call his own.

She’d given him everything beyond what he could have ever hoped for in this cursed afterlife of his, and he told her such as she lay there, the only movement coming from her chest slowly and steadily rising and falling. He talked more that day than he’d spoken in a long, long time.

“I suppose all that ‘playing human’ should’ve helped us out better for this, huh?” He spoke out loud into an empty room sometime after midnight on the second day. “You’d think it would’ve prepared us for something crazy like this, instead of sending us to the brink of hopelessness.”

On the third day, Alice’s temperature skyrocketed, registering a fever that Jasper could do nothing to break. He cycled through damp rags, always keeping a cool, fresh one pressed against the burning skin of her forehead, being careful not to bump any of the wires, old and new.

Carlisle had to talk him through the insertion of the IV the night before. Now that her body required human food and water, Carlisle explained that it was vital in keeping her healthy and alive. Still, it had felt alien to poke at her skinny, fragile arm, looking around for a vein that hadn’t pumped blood in over a hundred years.

Eventually he placed it somewhere Carlisle—who’d been video called to assist—approved, but even still, Alice did not budge.

On the third day, Jasper climbed into bed with her and carefully pulled her close to him. His own temperature wasn’t as cool as it once was, but he hoped that even in her unconscious state it would help to soothe her somewhat. He closed his eyes and focused hard on her slow, even breaths, combined with the low buzz of her oxygen concentrator.

And in minutes Jasper was asleep for the first time since the nineteenth century.

He woke up with a start, mind immediately aware of Alice’s prone form beside him as he moved himself up and out of the bed. His entire body was shaking as his mind caught up with what was happening. His entire head felt foggy but despite not having slept in well over a century he knew that something had woken him up.

It started with a vision.

On day sixty-three Alice’s heart began to beat.

It was a slow, steady rhythm. With one hand Jasper quickly dialed Carlisle and with another he reached out, resting his fingers against her wrist as he counted the beats. Feeling a pulse flutter beneath his fingers didn’t help to combat the dizziness Jasper was still fighting, but he knew that he had to pay close attention. Alice’s life—Alice with her beating heart and blood-filled cheeks and her fragile skin and bones—now hung in the balance.

“It’s beating,” he spoke in lieu of a greeting, “her heart. It just started back up. About,” he focused for a few seconds, “seventeen beats per minute. She still isn’t awake, but she… there’s a pulse.”

“Oh my—hold on; Grandpa!” A familiar voice yelled in the background of the call, and Jasper’s dizziness increased as he realized Renesmee had answered Carlisle’s phone. “Mom! Aunt Rosie! Where’s Grandpa! It’s an emergency! Uncle Jasper says—”

“What’s going on?” Rosalie was on the phone immediately, and Jasper had to close his eyes and rest his head against the side of the bed as he focused, forcing himself to concentrate on counting Alice’s heart beats. “Jasper?”

“Her heart is beating, Rose,” he spoke miserably. “Not fast. And she’s not awake.”

“Ness is getting Carlisle now,” Jasper could hear how it felt like suddenly Rosalie was moving around quickly. “What’s her respiratory rate?”

Jasper looked up then, eyeing the silent machines with confusion. Horror fell over him when he realized that not only were they silent, not even registering Alice’s slow pulse, but they were completely shut off. It wasn’t something he’d noticed before he fell asleep. He’d been too preoccupied with fussing over her unconsciousness and babbling on about nothing to notice.

There was no way he’d unplugged anything, on accident or even on purpose. In fact, the last time he’d recalled the bright numbers and words being lit on either of the machines was—

“I hate that beeping,” Alice had commented the day before she’d lost consciousness, “it’s so disturbing. Can’t we set it up to only alarm when things are working, instead of when they’re not?”

In an instant he’d rounded the bed and lifted the chords attached to the machines, finding them unplugged from the wall. In seconds they were plugged back in and Jasper was quickly examining Alice, ensuring that everything was hooked up properly.

At the sound of Rosalie still demanding things through the phone that he’d abandoned on the bed, Jasper reached out and pressed the speaker button. “She unplugged everything. I just—give me a minute.”

And the instant the machines began to register her vitals, the alarms began to blare.

“Her blood pressure isn’t going to register normally, but you have to pay attention to her heart and respiratory rates. If she’s human now you can’t let either of them drop down below what they are now. Do you hear me Jasper? Jasper!”

“I hear you,” he spoke miserably as he watched Alice’s chest rise and fall.

“The instant they begin to dip you say something. Now, whatever you do now you’re not going to get off this phone, you hear me?”

“Yeah,” he rasped, feeling the sting of tears begin to pull to the surface, “I won’t.”

Then, there was shuffling in the background and Carlisle was on the line. “I heard the news. Just stay on the line Jasper. Is your thirst manageable?”

“I’m not going to fucking hurt her,” he snapped, his nerves wound up so tightly that he couldn’t even hold the words back before they were being spat. “Forget me, Carlisle, how do I keep her alive?”

“Keep her heart beating, and if anything at all changes, you say something. Now, go over her vitals for me please.”

The next hour felt like the longest period of time Jasper could recall in his entire existence. He swore that the minutes ticked by like hours. He didn’t touch the phone once. It sat just where he left it on the edge of the bed, and sat at Alice’s side, listening and watching her with an unstoppable focus. Of course he registered the sound of his family talking, even if he wasn’t registering their words half of the time. Knowing that they were connected was enough to calm him to the point where he could apply his single-minded concentration fully to Alice.

He would do damn near everything he could to keep her alive, her visions be damned.

At some point he acknowledged that her IV bag had been empty for a few hours, which prompted a nearly-ten minute long argument in which Rosalie was demanding—and Carlisle was pleading—for him to leave Alice for a few seconds and go into the next room and retrieve a new one. Eventually he gave in, but only after Rosalie yelled, “Don’t be fucking stupid, get it so she doesn’t die and throw your tantrum later.”

(No matter how angry it made him, deep down he knew she was right.)

“Alice,” he whispered to her as he reached out and caressed her warm face, “how did this happen?” But the only signs of life from her were the slight rise-and-fall of her chest and the beeping of the electrocardiograph. And that was exactly what they were now: signs of life.

Jasper himself had been ignoring the uncomfortable feeling that was beginning to plague him whenever he went more than a few seconds without taking a breath. After his first symptoms had appeared he had started forcing himself to breathe normally, timing his breaths along with Alice’s without her noticing. Practicing for the day when his respiratory system would start acting like a human’s again.

He couldn’t even waste time thinking about what it meant to be human again. He couldn’t care about his warming body or the fact that he was weakening more and more every day. The only thing that mattered was that Alice made it out of this alive. Everything else was an afterthought. It was all for her.

Jasper didn’t realize his phone had died until Alice’s started ringing. He almost ignored it until he realized it was Carlisle’s number, and when he looked toward his own phone, and the blank, empty screen, he felt foolish as he reached forward and plucked Alice’s phone from her side.

He quickly muttered an apology and an explanation before placing the phone back down on the bed, speaker activated so he could go back to ignoring that device, too. A part of him knew that he should’ve grabbed one of the chargers that was just barely out of arm’s reach, but he didn’t dare move too far from Alice’s side.

He held her hand firmly in his, and waited.

“How is she?” Carlisle asked the question the second that the tempo of one of her monitors changed.

“Twenty beats per minute. Her breathing is…”

There was a beat of silence where Jasper stared from Alice’s prone body to the face of the screens on the machines hooked up to her. Something wasn’t right.

And then Alice’s respiratory rate took a nose-dive, alarms started blaring, and all hell broke loose.

There was a flurry of panic on the other side of the phone while Jasper stood fully, hovering helplessly over Alice’s body. This was it, he knew instantly even without ever seeing the vision himself. This was what Alice had foreseen. Her body, pink and fragile and human, slowly deteriorating in this very bed in this very room.

Alice had been wrong. She hadn’t cursed Jasper to his own fate by transferring whatever illness was de-petrifying their stone bodies. The curse itself lay in the fact that Jasper had been foreseen to watch the deterioration and death of the woman he loved more than anything else in the universe.

She had only ever apologized to him for getting him sick, as if that was something that was her fault. As if that were worse than this.

Rosalie’s voice broke through the yelling on the other side.

“Jasper! Listen to me! Keep her breathing.”

He’d watched and read every piece of instruction material Carlisle and Edward had sent his way, so he knew exactly what to do. But performing rescue breathing and watching it be done were two entirely different things. Having to force air into Alice’s lungs was the most agonizing thing he’d done in months.

Please don’t die, please don’t die, he thought the phrase over and over again as he focused on counting through each breath, being careful to only give her lungs the air they needed and not a bit more. It was after about a minute when he pulled back and actually looked at her, when he began to panic. The color that had been so steadily restored to her face was slowly fading away.

“She’s turning blue,” he shouted at the phone before gently tilting her head back again, plugging her nose, and giving a few more slow breaths, “Carlisle!”

There was chaos across the line and for a moment Jasper was afraid that the call had dropped as silence hung in the air. Then, what sounded like someone picking up a fallen phone. “We’re almost there, just hold on,” Esme’s voice spoke quickly.

That’s when the noises behind her began to make sense. The low pur of a car’s engine, the tell-tale sound of a vehicle speeding down the road. Jasper didn’t know how he’d missed the signs.

“No,” he pleaded desperately when he realized what that meant. “You’ll die.”

“No we won’t, sweetheart.” The smile in her voice nearly brought tears to his eyes. “Focus on Alice. It’ll all be okay.”

But for several long agonizing minutes he forced air into Alice’s weak lungs, and the alarms still blared. And when her already-weak pulse began to drop, he was beginning to think he’d failed. That he wouldn’t be able to do it. That Alice would be dead and it was all because he couldn’t protect her and—

The noise of glass shattering registered with his senses just as he was mid-breath, his mouth placed around Alice’s as he futilely attempted to bring her back. Hands were on his shoulders and when he was pulled away firmly he could only look up and shudder with relief over the sight of Carlisle and Rosalie working over Alice’s tiny, fragile body.

“I’ve got you man,” it was Emmett, “it’s going to be okay now.”

Jasper shook his head as he stumbled. But Emmett’s arms wrapped were around him from behind and he was pulling the blond backward far enough to give Carlisle and Rosalie space.

“You can’t,” Jasper protested weakly, feeling the tears that he’d been keeping at bay finally begin to spill over, “Alice didn’t want you to come.”

Emmett gave him a good shake, still not releasing him. “Well, too damn bad. Come on.”

Jasper didn’t have the strength to fight him as he was dragged from the room. He was sure that if he did, he wouldn’t be able to. Each day he’d grown weaker and weaker as more and more symptoms presented themselves. But when Emmett tried to force him down the stairs Jasper dug his feet into the carpet as hard as he could. (The fact that it didn’t force the wood to buckle beneath his feet was enough evidence of his own illness.)

“I can’t be far, please, Em.”

The sound of tires screeching to a stop outside of the house bought both of their attention toward the foyer, and when Esme burst through the front door, flickering up the stairs before stopping in front of the men, Jasper felt his knees begin to shake.

They’d surely all die now, too. Carlisle and Rosalie, who were hard at work trying to hook Alice up to whatever new device they’d jumped out of the car to sprint to the house. And Emmett and Esme, who were looking at him as if he were the one made of glass, and the one that was seconds away from shattering.

He wasn’t the one who needed putting back together.

“You’ll die,” he spoke, his voice rough with emotion as Esme reached up and placed her hands on his face, her own expression absolutely broken at the sight of him. “You’re all going to get sick now, too.”

When Esme smiled up at him, he felt his knees buckle. Thankfully, Emmett’s arms still trapping him like a cage kept him standing. “Alice made her choice in trying to keep us safe. Now, we’re making our choice. We aren’t going to leave you two to suffer alone anymore.”

“Carlisle and Rose are going to do whatever they can, man.” Emmett tightened his grip, perhaps sensing that he was the only thing keeping Jasper from hitting the floor.

A loud noise caused their heads to turn back toward Alice’s room and suddenly, there was calm. The only noises now were from the machines that were beeping calmly. And just under all of it, they could all hear the noise of a heartbeat, steady and strong.

“It’s going to be okay,” Esme whispered again when Jasper’s tears started anew. Slowly, Emmett released his grip, lowering Jasper to the ground where Esme wrapped her arms around him. “She’ll be alright. We’ve got you now. It’s alright.”

And the sound of that steady heartbeat was all Jasper could focus on as he buried his face against Esme’s shoulder and cried.

It started with a vision. And now they were past it, and Alice was still alive.

Eventually they helped him walk back into the bedroom, and when he climbed into bed beside Alice—his warm, pink, human wife—they simply let him.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead before grabbing her hand in his and closing his eyes. There would be time to discuss things with his family later, and to acknowledge the weight of what had happened tonight and what had been done. But for now, he laid beside Alice, and Jasper slept.

#jaliceweek20 #Alice cullen #jasper hale #twilight fanfiction #jalice fanfiction #the twilight saga #this is my FAVORITE from this week even if it is what? almost two weeks later??#who cares my parents came to town and now the US it attempting to remove a fascist from office #my priorities have been SCATTERED lads

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imaginationofacrazyfangirl · 5 years

Text

*jhs / hanahaki! au/ 🌙☆

*4.5k written

Summary: Hoseok desperately wants to continue your guy’s friendship despite his girlfriend Soo-min hating you. What he doesn’t know though is that even just being friends will kill you.

A/N: After much consideration what started off as a one-shot then two-shot, shall now have three parts. Thank you everyone for your patience. I appreciate all the support given to me.

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White orchids spill from your mouth as you heave into the toilet only to miss. A minute passes before you collapse onto the cold tile floor of your restroom. Your eyes stare blankly at the white mocking flowers splattered with blood. How fitting for the product of your disease to be such a rare exotic flower. Most people who suffered from Hanahaki threw up roses or lilies, but you got orchids. It is as life wants to personally point out that your first and only time falling in love with someone is doomed.

Forcing the remnants of blood and flowers back into your throat, you stood up on shaky legs. It was 9:10 am last time you checked, and time you spent throwing up has fucked up your morning schedule. If you don’t change soon you’d undoubtedly be late to your morning class. “Come on (Y/N), you can do it. No stupid flowers are going to-”

“(Y/N)! Are you ready?” a familiar jovial voice calls out, causing only more flowers to fall from your lips.

Quickly you slam the door to the restroom shut, locking it for extra measure. Your mind races trying to figure out why the object of your affection Jung Hoseok was here. Sure he used to walk you to class every morning, but only to make his ex-girlfriend Soo-min jealous. Soo-min hated you with a passion. Which is why when Hoseok and her broke up, he thought fake dating you would be the best way to get her back-and it worked.

For three months you faked a relationship with Seoul University’s ‘sunshine boy’. At first you felt awkward not being a people person and Hoseok was under the impression that you were some sort of monster. Eventually though you two passed those hurdles. Hoseok broke through your icy barriers, he became your first friend and through him you began to make other friends. Everything went perfectly except for the fact you began to fall for him.

It started slow, but you could feel the symptoms progressing each day. His love began thawing the ice around your heart. Then a seed planted itself in it sprouting leaves that grew like ivy. Soon after flowers escaped your mouth the sure sign of an unrequited love. Your love for him was real. Probably more real than anything Soo-min could give him. However Hoseok felt oppositely hence the Hanaki disease.

“(Y/N)? Are you in there? “ Hoseok knocks. “It’s kind of late to be getting ready. Did you oversleep?”

“Yeah.” You croak. “I just got up. What …what are you doing here, Hoseok? Didn’t you and Soo-min get back together?”

It’s a question you already know the answer to, but you can’t help not to ask. You need to know for sure, before you make any decisions regarding your Hanahaki, you need to Hoseok got his wish. “….we did, but that doesn’t we can’t still be friends-”

His answer both hurts and relieves you at the same time.

“It means exactly that, Sunshine boy. You can’t be friends with me. You can’t even talk to me unless you want Soo-min to hate you.” You say, hardening your heart.

Hoseok isn’t the type to abandon a friend for girl. Not even if he’s only known them for a few months. Which is why you need to be the bad guy here…for both your sakes. “(Y/N)…” Hoseok says.

Taking a deep breath you opened the door coming face to face with the cherry haired boy you loved. His dark eyes gaze at you sadness radiating through them. You have a feeling he knows how right you are, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. “We can’t. Being friends with you will only cause pain and trouble for us. Trust me.” you reaffirm.

Hoseok shakes his head. “I don’t believe that. Not for one second. You are my friend whether Soo-min or anyone else wants you to be or not.”

A vine shoots out at his words coiling tightly around your rib. It takes everything within you not to double over in pain as it bruises muscle and bone. You are so far gone, any sort of relationship with Hoseok will kill you. “What about what I want? What if I don’t want to be friends anymore? What if I am tired of dealing with you and everyone else?’ You snap uncontrollably. “I don’t want to do it, Hoseok. I don’t want to be your friend anymore. Alright?! “

Hoseok doubles back a crushed look on his face. “Alright. If that’s what you want, I’ll leave you alone then.”

“It is.” You say looking away . You can’t handle the expression on his face. It hurts more than anything the Hanahaki does to you. A ray of sunshine like him should never be anything less than shining, especially not at the expense of an ice queen like you.

Later that night you receive a visit from Yoongi, Hoseok’s best friend/fraternity brother and the only other person who knows about your disease. The blonde haired boy arrives with an assortment of medicines, books, and pamphlets revolving around Hanahaki. It’s a sight that makes you both laugh and cry at the same time. “I heard you broke up with Hobi.” Yoongi says as he enters your dorm.

You snort, shaking your head. “We weren’t really dating to begin with, so how can we break up?”

“He looks awful. Almost as if you murdered his whole family in front of him.” Yoongi mentions. “Seriously I’ve never seen him so upset. Not even when Soo-min broke up with him.”

You look down ashamed. “I didn’t want to hurt him, but I-”

“You had to.” Yoongi finishes knowingly. It’s only been a few days since you revealed to him your secret, but already Yoongi could see the damage done to you by this disease. You are paler than normal, skinnier too with dark circles under your eyes. Your lips are chapped and your hair lost whatever shine used to be there. Overall you look like shit and Yoongi feels so fucking guilty for not noticing sooner.

“He’ll kill me.” You whisper sadly. “Just by being around me, this plant will grow and strangle me to death. It’s not fair-especially for Hoseok, who didn’t even ask for my affection. So I have to stay away for both our sake.”

It sucks, but you don’t doubt sunshine boy will bounce back. You’re merely another side note in his novel of a life after all. “Have you decided what to do yet?” Yoongi asks, looking over the pamphlets. “They have tablets that are supposed to reduce hanahaki growth, but they aren’t a permanent solution.”

“There are only two solutions to hanahaki disease: death and surgery.” Tears well up at the thought. Neither option is preferably, especially since you know first hand the consequences behind them.

“I hope you aren’t seriously thinking about death. I mean I get that you love Hobi, but it’s only a feeling. It’s not worth your life.” Yoongi says, his dark eyes pinning you with a look. “Besides it’s not like you two can’t be friends afterwards.”

Your lips curl into a bitter smile at his words. Memories of a vacant stare and careless question of ‘who are you?’ flash before your eyes. Yoongi’s naivety is not his fault. The horrors behind hanahaki surgery are such that even doctors belittle its effects. After all who wants to hear that the person they loved will be forever erased from their memories?

And like that night three days ago you confide in Yoongi about your horrible truth. “Hey Yoongi…have you seen someone go through hanahaki surgery?”

Three hours later Yoongi stumbles home wanting to throw up. Your words play like a never ending loop in his head gripping tightly to his heart. ‘My parents suffered through Hanahaki disease when I was little. My mother died from it and my father forgot everything.”

His knees buckle as he steps inside the frat house. For once it is silent. No one up playing video games in the living room, no loud music blasting, or groups of people conversing simply silence, something Yoongi can’t tell if he’s grateful for or not. On one hand he could use the distraction-the noise to blare out your tearful story, whereas on the other hand Yoongi’s glad no one is around to see him like this.

“Fuck.” he whispers to no one. “Fuck. Fuck..Fuuuuccck.”

He’s haunted by the calm expression on your face as you whispered. ‘Everyone thought my parents had a happy marriage. After all, my father loved my mother and she always smiled but I guess not all smiles equal happiness…my mother loved someone else. Who? No one knows. She never gave any indication of fancy someone other than my father. No one knew until I found her propped up against the toilet, roses sprouting from her lips like some macabre painting.“

Seven. Seven fucking years old when you found your mother dead, yet you spoke as if she simply gotten a cold. If he didn’t know any better Yoongi would’ve thought you to be soulless. However the orchids clamouring out of your own body only proves how much of a heart you did have. “Hey, man is everything alright?” Hoseok’s voice comes, as he steps into view.

He’s dressed in his normal sleepwear, a white t-shirt and boxers cladded in cartoon birds. His hair is disheveled which normally meant he was sleeping, if not for the purple bruises decorating his neck. Anger flashes through Yoongi at the sight. Soo-min must be over, that fucking bitch. “Fine. Sorry for waking you up.”

“I wasn’t really sleeping.” Hoseok shrugs.

“I’ve noticed.” Yoongi says dryly. Logically the blonde knows it unfair to be mad at his friend. It isn’t Hobi’s fault you fell in love with him. Nor his fault that he loved Soo-min…but Yoongi can’t help himself-especially since Soo-min replaced you. (You might’ve gotten over her bullying you, but Yoongi hadn’t.)

“Ah yeah, Soo-min got a little wild. She’s never been this possessive before.” Hoseok laughed. “If making her jealous is all I got to do for sex like that, I’ll have to do it more often.”

Yoongi didn’t even bother faking a smile. Hoseok already knew how much he and the rest of the guys hated Soo-min. “Whatever you say, just keep it down okay? I have a math test tomorrow.”

Hoseok nods. “Of course. Sleep tight Yoongs! Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

“That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard.” Yoongi grumbles, walking away. Hoseok’s laugh echoes down the hall as Yoongi heads to his room. It is not until he falls back onto his soft bed that Yoongi allows the final tidbit of your confession to play.

‘Forget. That’s what the surgery makes you do. It doesn’t only erase emotions of love, it erases all memories pertaining to it as well. When my father returned from his surgery the first thing he said to me was, ‘who’s kid is this?”

Forget or die, two shitty options for someone who already had it shitty. Yoongi closes his eyes thumbing the pair of keys belonging to a certain roommate of his. Slowly he slips the key covered in mickey mouse prints off. There isn’t much he can do to help you make your decision, but perhaps Yoongi can make life a little easier for you.

A week passes from that day and Hoseok can’t ignore the gnawing feeling that something is wrong. He knows your guy’s friendship has ended, but the cherry haired boy can’t keep his distance. Not when every cell in his body screams for him to fix this somehow.

After three months of fake dating you somehow became a permanent fixture in his life. He misses teasing you about your bad breakfast choices, or forcing you to eat an actual meal instead of coffee for lunch. He misses the way you listened to him, barely muttering more than ‘uh huh, ok, yeah’; it always seemed like you weren’t listening until you surprised him with a question or comment.

Hoseok just misses you period.

Which is why he decided to give your friendship one more shot. Surely if he misses you this much you feel the same. Memories of your callous words from a week ago come to mind tormenting his fear, suddenly Hoseok feels like he can’t breathe. You said he annoyed you, that you were tired of him, but that was just because you were scared of losing him to Soo-min? Once you see how genuine he is, you two will go back to being friends.

"I don’t want your stupid apple. I’ve already eaten. ” Hoseok perks up at the sound of your voice. He’s been sitting on the steps of the language building for the past half hour waiting for you. Your name dances on the tip of his tongue. Eagerly he opens his mouth to call out to you but freezes at the sight of a familiar blonde walking beside you.

"A gogurt and a cup of coffee doesn’t count as lunch, dumb ass. Now eat the apple, it’ll help you from getting sick. “ Yoongi says, shoving the red fruit into your hands.

Something within Hoseok twists, he finds himself nearly doubling over in pain. A dark ember burns in his stomach, suddenly Hoseok wants nothing more than to punch Yoongi. "She hates apples. ” Hoseok can’t help but inform. “It’s her least favorite fruit. ”

Both you and Yoongi jerk surprised by his presence. As if on instinct Yoongi steps forward blocking your view from him, it causes Hoseok’s blood to boil more. “Hey Hobi, waiting for Soo-min?” Yoongi asks nonchalantly.

Hoseok bit his cheek suddenly remembering Soo-min has a class right before yours. The two of you share the same major meaning your schedules often coincided. He walked you to class everyday just to show off your “relationship."

"Something like that."

"Cool. See you at home I guess.” Yoongi nods, pulling you with him towards the door. You barely even glance up at Hoseok as you’re led away.

Again something twists violently in the pit of his stomach and the question, 'are you guys together,’ slips through his teeth before Hoseok can stop. The two of you freeze, Yoongi’s fingers tightening around your wrist. Suddenly Hoseok doesn’t want to know the answer.

"Something like that. “ Yoongi replies, dragging you into the building.

Three weeks go by since your 'break up’ with Hobi, and ironically, you find yourself in another fake relationship this time with Yoongi. Unlike your previous pseudo-relationship this one contains nothing more platonic love. There are no fake dates or pet names. Yoongi doesn’t treat you like some girl he’s in love with. Instead he forces broth and anti-growth pills down your throat only to hold your hair back when white petals flow back up from it. He shields you from Hoseok, Soo-min and the judgemental glances of the world, protecting you from harm. No, Min Yoongi is a god send, but you aren’t in love with him.

Sometimes you wish you were though. Loving Yoongi sounds easier than loving Hoseok, but that could simply be wishful thinking. After all, Yoongi and Hoseok are two different elements. Hoseok is the warm sun melting away all your defenses, while Yooongi is a winter’s breeze offering relief from the sun’s rays while fortifying your protection. "So the date has been set. A week from now I’ll have the surgery and this will all be over. ” you announce, ignoring the painful ache in your chest

The idea of forgetting Hoseok scares you. You don’t want to forget him or the way he’s made you feel. As selfish as it sounds Hoseok is the first person to show you affection in years. Your family basically ostracized you after they discovered your father’s amnesia. While he could learn to love you again the possibility of him remembering your mother ran too high. So instead you lived as his niece with an aunt and uncle who despised you, because you looked like your mother.

Yoongi nods, glancing over at the calendar. He can’t help but frown at the date circled in red. “I know this is the only viable solution, but I feel like I should ask you if this is what you really want?”

"No, but I don’t want to die either.“ You say softly. "As much as I want to hold onto these feelings of love, they don’t really belong to me, you know? Hoseok loves Soo-min. They’re her feelings not mine. ”

Yoongi’s frowns. “Soo-min only loves herself. You know it, I know it, and deep down Hobi does too.”

"Maybe but it doesn’t change a thing.“ You murmur, eyeing the date. Your grip tightens around the mug you hold. You don’t want to admit but you’re scared; scared of waking up the exact person you were before Hoseok: cold, intruding and alone.

Yoongi shoots a knowing glance. "Something else bugs you, doesn’t it? ”

You take a sip of your tea. “ Don’t worry. It’s stupid stuff. "

It’s three days before your surgery that you see Hoseok for the first time in a month. Logically you know you should avoid him even if the appointment is less than forty-eight hours away. However you find yourself staying at the coffee shop, eyes unlocking from the cherry haired boy. 'Just one more glance.’ You assure yourself. 'Something to carry with me onto the operating table that’s all I want. ’

But it’s more than one glance it’s several long stares, watching as the boy talks animatedly amongst his friends. He looks so happy right now practically glows like the sun. The sight is so beautiful it causes your heart to bear faster. This is what you wanted to see. Hoseok happy and carefree even if it is without you.

You smile, ignoring the painful pulse your heart gives when the Hanahaki’s vine squeezes around it. This is how things are meant to be. Hoseok deserves a life filled with equally bright people. He deserves happiness in every form. You aren’t.

A content sigh escapes you. You swore to Yoongi, you accepted the surgery with no regrets, but that was all a lie. Seeing Hoseok like this though, so free and unaffected by your absence, you can finally let go of the little doubt holding you back.

"Order for (Y/N)!” The barista calls out sliding your drink across the counter.

You cringe at how loud they are; internally hoping that Hoseok hadn’t heard your name. Seeing him from afar is dangerous enough, if you actually interacted with him… You push the thought out of your head, quickly exiting the cafe, completely unaware of the eyes following you.

"You okay man? You’ve been staring at the barista an awful lot. “

Hoseok blinks, tearing his gaze away from where you stood. The moment you walked into the cafe Hoseok could only focus on you. It is like everything else disappeared except for you. "Yeah I’m fine. "

"You sure? Because if you like the dude that much, I can get you his number. ” Another, Jo Kwon teases. “Though I think Soo-min would kill both of us- wait! Isn’t that (Y/N) up there? Didn’t you two used to date before you and Soo-min got back together?”

Hoseok nods barely listening. His focus once again on you, this time watching you leave. Neither Dino or Jo Kwon knew about the dumb deal or how sweet Seoul University’s Ice Queen really was. While they are good friends, they were nowhere near close enough for Hoseok to feel comfortable sharing his secret.

"Gotta say you must’ve been really off your rocker, Hoseok. Dating such a scary girl. “ Dino snorts.

"Seriously, I heard (Y/N) got arrested for murdering her parents, but since she was a kid no one believed she did it.” Jo Kwon says. “You know someone should warn Yoongi-hyungnim about her. They’re together now aren’t they?”

"Something like that…" Hoseok mutters. His chest burns at the mention of Yoongi and you. While you refuse to even look his way, you have no qualms hanging on Yoongi’s every word and move. It is like Yoongi’s the sun and you’re the earth orbiting around him- it pisses Hoseok to no end and he can’t explain why.

"Maybe he just figured she’s an easy lay. I mean a girl like her is probably desperate for attention. She’s probably spreading her legs for anyone who looks at her-“ Hoseok’s fist hits Dino’s face before either one can process what is happening.

The younger boy falls to the ground with a loud crash, causing everyone to stare at them. "What the fuck man!? You just hit me. ” Dino sputters wide eyed.

"And I’ll do it again if I ever hear either of you talk about (Y/N) like that again.“ Hoseok threatens. The anger within him is uncontrollable. He can’t explain it. Especially when it is not only Dino and Jo Kwon who pisses him off, but Yoongi too. Just the mere sight of the blonde sickened him nowadays.

"You’re crazy man. She’s a freak and she made you one too!” Jo Kwon says.

Luckily, all it takes is a warning look to have them scrambling out of the coffee shop. “Assholes.” Hoseok mutters, ignoring the still plentiful stares at him. He reaches for his coffee only to pause when his stomach turns suddenly. Annoyed Hoseok pushes the cup away. He must be getting sick.

Word of the fight spreads across the campus like wildfire. Fury does not explain the anger Soo-min feels when she hears about her boyfriend’s outburst. In all the years she dated Hoseok never once did he get offended for her sake. Boys literally listed off her body count at parties and Hoseok merely shrugged asking Soo-min. 'why does it matter when everyone knows you’re mine?“

Mine. The claim used to send shivers down Soo-min’s spine. Yes, she was his. Just like how she owned him. They were meant to be no matter how many times they broke up. It didn’t matter if Soo-min decided to date around a little, because Hoseok would wait for her.

At least so she thought until one day Hoseok ended up on the arm of her biggest enemy. Originally Soo-min assumed he simply wanted her jealous- a clever ploy really, after all wherever she went you two appeared. Three weeks later though, you started wearing Hoseok’s hoodies. After that Beta-Tau-Sigma invited you to their house, a privilege which took Soo-min months to achieve, but the real straw to the camel’s back happened when Hoseok threatened her.

The cherry haired boy who cared little about gossip finally spoke out against it and not for her sake. In that moment Soo-min realized the relationship between Hoseok and you ran deeper than she assumed. For the first time in her life, Soo-min felt threatened in Hoseok’s and her relationship. So she ended it.

With a bat of the eyelashes and the purse of her lips, Soo-min took back what was hers. Once again Hoseok and her were together while you cried your ugly heart out. Everything went back to normal. Except it didn’t.

Hoseok refused to leave you alone. He was determined to have some sort of relationship with you, despite now being with her. Not even you dating his own best friend stopped Hoseok’s unsettling obsession with you.

"I don’t expect you to understand, but (Y/N) is someone special to me. I can’t just let her go. ” he told her one night.

He was right. Soo-min didn’t understand. Nor did she want to. What Soo-min wants is you gone. “(Y/N) (L/N), you fucking slut! Stay away from my boyfriend!” She hollers, charging after you.

You stare at her confused. The sight spurs her rage more so. How dare you act clueless! As if you don’t know what you are doing? She pushes past the throng of students cornering you against a tree. It’s just her no posse unlike last time. Not that Soo-min needs one to kick your ass.

Since elementary school, she has worked to put you in your place. The only difference now is the strange attachment Min Yoongi has towards you. Last time he stopped her from teaching you a well deserved lesson. Today however he won’t be able to save you. “I’m not in the mood Soo-min. ” you mutter, walking around her.

She grabs onto your hair yanking it. A small gasp escapes you as you tumble onto the ground. “Well I am. So you are going to listen to me and listen real good you got it?”

"Fucking psycho. “ you spit.

Her hands twist, tightening the pull on your hair. You reach up trying to pull away, but Soo-min’s stronger. "Me? Psycho? No no you’re the heartless ice queen here. You might’ve tricked Hoseok and everyone else into thinking you’re some innocent little girl, but you and I know the truth. You are unlovable.”

You let out a loud laugh surprising her. “Again with that hanahaki shit? You and our family have been holding that over my head for fifteen years. My father’s disease wasn’t my fault. Nor was it my mother’s. ”

Taking Soo-min off guard, your right leg sweeps back, knocking her off balance. She loses grip on your hair allowing you to push back. You stand towering over her. “Love is an uncontrollable force. You can’t choose who you love. Just like you can’t choose who loves you back.”

Soo-min snorts. “What do you know about love? Your mother chose to love over her daughter, and your father chose life over you too. Meanwhile Hoseok only used you to get me back. He never loved you and he never will-”

A small cough breaks through her rant. One tiny hiccup like cough that normally would go overlooked if not for a single orchid petal escaping your lips. She freezes eyes locked on the white petal.

"You…“ She hardly managed to say the word when you turn tails running.

Her body moves on its own chasing after you. She doesn’t want to admit it. Doesn’t want to acknowledge it but Soo-min’s scared. As much as she hates you, you are still her cousin. It doesn’t take long for her to catch up to you. Out of the two of you, she’s always been the more athletic one. Moreover thanks to the disease, you hardly make it a few feet before heaving a basket of flowers up.

Soo-min stares at the blood soaked plants in horror. Full stems. You are throwing up whole plants. "You are dying. ”

The words come out more blatantly then she intends, but you snort nonetheless. “Yeah, I am. Don’t celebrate yet though. I’m getting the surgery.”

"You. You are in love.“ She continues speechless. 'But how? I mean who? Is it Hoseok?”

"Yoongi.“ You correct quickly. "I’m in love with Yoongi. He ah he doesn’t love me though. He loves someone else so we broke up.”

"Oh.“ Her throat tightens around the word. For the first time ever Soo-min does not know how to react. Deep inside she wants to reach out, comfort you, scream at Min Yoongi until she’s blue however she can’t. Not only does Soo-min know you won’t accept it, but there’s still something within that holds onto her parents’ prejudice

"Does he know?” Soo-min asks.

You shake your head. “No. Nor does he need to. In two days this will all be a forgotten memory.”

Soo-min frowns. Her heart squeezes pain at the thought. It’s funny she’s always wanted to see you suffer, but not like this. Despite being little during your parents’ illness Soo-min remembers clearly everything that happened. From the hole your mother cut through you and your father’s heart to her uncle’s empty expression after the surgery. More than anything she remembers her warm fun loving cousin falling into herself. The person who was once her best friend suddenly distanced herself from everyone including Soo-min.

It is a memory that stirs up something within Soo-min, she hasn’t felt in a long time…: guilt.

#jung hoseok x reader #hoseok imagine #hoseok x reader #bts imagines #bts x reader #bts #jhope x reader #bts jhope #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader #hobi x reader #hobi

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 4 years

Text

Please Don’t See Me - Chapter 9

It was concerningly easy to lie about the circumstances of their hospital visit. All Ford had to say was ‘there was a bear-’ and the nurse was already taking Stan off of his hands, nodding like this was an everyday occurrence. No questions asked or police notified or rangers called.

Then again, this was Gravity Falls. That seemed to be a sentiment that never got tired.

The nurse also didn’t bat an eyelid at Stan’s jumpiness and apparent inability to communicate with anything other than body language – whether that was a symptom of shock, or of his… condition, remained a mystery. However, when Ford had last seen him Stan seemed to be relaxing somewhat, enough to mutter ‘yes’ and ‘no’ to the doctor’s questions.

Ford had only suffered some scrapes and bruises and minor puncture wounds, so once those had been cleaned and covered he was just… left in the waiting room. To wait, presumably.

Ford hated waiting.

And now he was stuck here in this practically empty sterile room, listening to a clock on the wall tick idly. Tick, tick, tick. It set his teeth on edge. But it couldn’t begin to distract from the complete and utter confusion swirling around in his skull.

Ford pulled his journal from his pocket with shaking hands and began jotting down information, in the hopes of organizing his mangled thoughts.

· Rebus appears to be some sort of shape-shifter

· Is also Stanley???

· Why didn’t he tell me who he was?

· Why is Stanley here at all?

· Stanley is a human. But this isn’t a human.

· By all accounts, it seems to be him.

· Stan – Rebus? He protected me. Rebus has always been protective of me.

· Stan was protective of me before he was kicked out left

· Same person?

· Why is he so scarred? What has he been doing these last nine years?

Ford hesitated, seeing fresh wounds crossing old scars in his mind’s eye. They’d been visible under Rebus’s pelt and on Stan’s skin alike. Stan’s – pelt? Try as he might Ford couldn’t reconcile the two individuals in his head. There simply wasn’t enough data to come to any conclusions!

No, he could still work with this. The first step in the scientific method was having a question, coming up with a hypothesis, speculating on possible solutions before investigating. But where to start?

Stan certainly hadn’t come to Ford of his own free will, not with Ford rescuing him from being beaten to death and then locking him up. The thought of that cage made Ford feel quite ill, now. The thought of trapping his brother behind steel bars and studying him like any other specimen…

And for some reason, Stan hadn’t revealed himself, despite the fact that he seemed perfectly capable of it. But why? Ford resisted the urge to pull at his own hair in frustration. His life’s work was studying and quantifying the anomalous and unexplained, but somehow his brother’s decisions baffled him far more than any Manatour or gnome civilization ever could!

“Mister Pines?”

Ford startled at a nurse’s voice in front of him. He snapped his journal shut and hurriedly straightened his glasses.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Your brother’s ready to be discharged.”

“Already?” Ford found himself saying. The nurse shot him a funny look.

“It… it’s been several hours.”

…oh. Ford may have been a little more lost in his thoughts than he’d realized. He flushed and cleared his throat. “Ah.”

The nurse roused himself and glanced down at the clipboard in his hands. “He sustained a lot of flesh wounds, but luckily no bones have been broken except for a few ribs. Those have been bound and he’s on pain medication for it, but there’s not much else we can do for those. He needed quite a few stitches on that arm, and – well, just about everywhere else too. That being said, he’s in surprisingly good shape. The doc cleared him to leave but you’re gonna have to pick up his pain meds and antibiotics from the front desk before you go on your way. Wouldn’t want injuries like that getting infected.”

“No.” Ford agreed uneasily. The nurse continued, talking about the importance of taking the full course of antibiotics and proper dosage of pain medication and how Stan shouldn’t be operating any heavy-duty machinery, which Ford filtered out because he already knew it all.

There was paperwork, and a prescription to get filled, and then finally a familiar figure approached, arguing loudly with a nurse about how ‘no, he didn’t need a wheelchair thank you very much, he wasn’t an invalid’ and ‘he’d had worse, who cared about a little blood loss’. He had recovered from his shock enough to be difficult, it seemed. Stan shut his mouth once he caught sight of Ford.

Ford scanned his brother quickly – he was dressed as well as he could be in shredded clothes over bandages and assorted wound-dressings. He was also obviously doped up on some kind of medication, given the slight slur to his words and his unsteady gait. It didn’t help that one arm was pinned to his chest by a crisp white sling.

The nurse sent Ford a harried look that seemed to say ‘he’s all yours’. Stanley shuffled on the spot and wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Ford sighed. “My car is just outside.”

Stan still quiet as he followed Ford to the car. It made him uneasy – Stan was meant to be loud and exuberant and big, not quiet and… small. He wouldn’t even meet Ford’s gaze. He stared out the window as Ford turned on the engine and pulled out onto the road.

Ford opened his mouth, realized he didn’t know what to say, and closed it again. They drove in silence.

They had just started on the winding forest path when Stan mumbled, “You can just drop me off here.”

Ford slammed on the brakes.

The wheels squealed and both brothers were jerked against their seatbelts as the car jerked to a halt on the thankfully abandoned road. Stan swore and rubbed his chest. Ah yes, broken ribs. Whoops.

“Shit, I’m going, okay-”

“You owe me answers.” Ford didn’t mean to sound so accusing. But good grief, he’d been kept in the dark for long enough. He twisted around in his seat to face his drugged-up brother. “Stanley, you are not leaving this car until you explain to me exactly what is going on.”

“Alright, jeez!”

“Rebus.” Ford said. It wasn’t quite a question. “The whole time, that was you?”

Stan grunted an affirmative, shoulders curling in.

“Just… how. Just how.”

“Apparently I’m a werewolf now.”

…well. Not the weirdest thing Ford had heard. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t wanna get kicked out!” Stan snapped. “Okay?”

Ford spluttered. “What on earth gave you-”

“Obviously that plan’s bumpkus now. Well, I had a good run. Later, Sixer.” Stan rambled as he fumbled for his door handle. Ford gaped.

“You’re leaving?”

“Well, yeah. No use overstayin’ my welcome.” Stan was still struggling one-handedly with the door. “Now, just – gotta get my stupid car – if it hasn’t been impounded – I’ll just get outta yer hair-”

“Stan!” Ford said loudly. Stan jumped. Ford sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not telling you to leave.”

Stan stared at him like a fish out of water. “But – you-”

“It is quite literally my life’s work to study the paranormal. You really think I would throw you out?”

Something Ford had said must have hit a cord with Stan, because he slumped and turned his face away. “…no. Not when you put it like that.”

Ford nodded, pleased that his brother was finally getting it. “Good. Let’s go back to my house, it’s – well, you already know where I live.” And wasn’t that strange? “I have several tests I’d like to run; and I’m going to need to hear about how this whole thing started. In my studies I’ve never come across conclusive proof of the existence of werewolves. Knowing how it came about would be very useful for classifying…”

He trailed off when he noticed the click of the car door and the fact that the seat next to him was empty.

The crunching of footsteps through leaf litter snapped him out of his shock. Ford undid his seatbelt hurried from his seat to follow his brother, who was currently making his way into the forest.

“Stan!”

Stan whipped around to snarl, “Fuck off, Ford!”

Ford blinked at him like a startled owl. “I… what?”

“Ya made yer point!” Stan’s words came somewhat garbled through fast-growing fangs. The glint of them sent a shiver down Ford’s spine. “M’no’ gonna be yer science ‘periment. ‘Tha mithtake thtaying here a’ all.”

“What on earth do you mean?” Ford demanded. Stan growled out an answer but it was lost in the distortion of his no-longer-human vocal cords. Stan threw up his hands and turned to stalk off into the woods.

“Stanley! Where are you going? Stanley!”

Ford shouted after him, but Stan had already disappeared.

_______________________________________________________________________

Something’s wrong.

Everything’s wrong.

His head was stuffed with cotton wool. It made the world around him blurry as he stumbled deeper into the forest. The forest was Safe. Trees were Safe. They felt almost like home. Now that he was surrounded by them, he couldn’t even remember what he was running from. Or where he was running to…

He hadn’t been in this form for so long. He’d forgotten how weak humans were. His vision blurred and smeared (to be fair, that could be the lack of glasses), the cold nipped at his skin, his hearing was muffled as if he were underwater, all he could smell was dirt and sweat. He felt naked without his thick coat of fur, only jeans and his torn jacket chafing against raw skin. Everything was wrong. And that wasn’t even counting the oil-slick taste of wrongness that seemed to have pervaded his throat, making every rasping breath taste awful, like he was biting into that weird bear all over again.

But worse was how fucking intense this hurt felt. His chest pinched and it felt like his lungs were tied together with an elastic band, unable to inflate. He almost wanted to crack open his ribs to give them space to breathe. But… he couldn’t remember what he was even upset about. Why did hurt so much? What was he forgetting? Think, think, think.

He staggered and leaned heavily against a tree trunk. The light was all wrong, it glinted and glared and threatened to blind him. Was that his head buzzing, or had hornets encircled him? He swiped blindly at the air around him and his claws bit into bark. Why were his claws out…?

Ugh, it was getting hard to think and his mouth still tasted awful, like the air around that weird crystal, and the blood of the thing that had attacked them. His whole body was buzzing now. He tripped on not-so-human legs and fell forward into a more comfortable stance, spine shifting with a grinding crunch. The cloth binding his throbbing arm ripped and tore at the shifting of muscle and bones beneath it. This… this was wrong, he wasn’t in control here, what was going on? Where was Ford?

Ford. Ford, who didn’t care for him. Who saw him as an oddity to be investigated, and later discarded. He had been stupid to think that his brother would want him around. That hurt, enough to make his eyes prickle. Of course Ford wouldn’t want to help him.

(Yes he would. Brother is Safe.)

(But he only likes not-me.)

(Wait, that’s… me? Who am I…?)

Maybe it was easier to just let go.

Just for a little bit; let the hurt fade into numbness until it wasn’t quite as hard to bear anymore. Let himself forget the ache in his chest. Close his eyes and no longer be…

…who?

Someone who was already dead, just a ghost of pain and frustration.

It was all too easy to let go.

#werewolf!stan #werewolf stan au #gravity falls #my writing #my fic

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javocjovian · 4 years

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The Best Medicine - SPN Prompt Challenge

I’m trying to participate in more challenges this year, so I’m doing the Supernatural Prompt Challenge for April/May! The overall theme was Health & Wellbeing. I chose Sastiel as my ship because it’s a pairing I love dearly but rarely think to write. I feel like they have the potential to have one of the healthiest relationships on the show (depending on the season of course).

Beta-ed by wearetheluckyones

Title: The Best Medicine [AO3] Summary: Castiel confuses Sam’s symptoms of depression with symptoms of the flu and tries to help. Set mid season 9. Rating: T Word Count: 1247 Tags: fluff, comfort, established Sastiel, depressed Sam, Castiel takes care of Sam, domestic fluff, misunderstandings Ship: Sastiel Written for @supernaturalpromptchallenge for the Prompt: Health & Wellbeing, Fever

(x)

The Best Medicine

Sam awoke to an empty bedroom. Despite getting a solid six hours of sleep he felt leaden and drained. He started his routine through pure muscle memory and was somewhat surprised to find himself showered and dressed twenty minutes later, staring into a foggy mirror.

The Men of Letters bunker was silent as Sam made coffee for one. It had been a week since Gadreel was evicted and Dean was left to shoulder the burden of his mistakes alone. Sam should’ve been angry. He should’ve made Dean stay. He should’ve forced him to see how absurd his leaving was and how little it would solve. But he didn’t.

Sam drank his coffee at the table alone. For a moment he basked in the solitude of himself, his own thoughts, his body purely and wholly his. But amidst that comfort was a loneliness that had nothing to do with Gadreel’s presence or lack thereof.

Sam heard the bunker door open above him. He recognized the footsteps and looked up in surprise.

“Good morning, Sam,” Castiel appeared at the railing. He was carrying several plastic bags.

“Cas, hey,” Sam gave a weak smile, trying to mask his relief.

Castiel descended the stairs and brought the bags to the kitchen. Sam got up to follow him. He watched curiously as Castiel began unpacking what looked like groceries.

“I thought you left,” Sam said.

Castiel glanced at him. For a moment he looked oblivious, but Sam’s determinedly casual tone seemed to have struck something in him, “You were asleep so I figured I would get some supplies. I should have left a note. I am sorry.”

Sam swallowed. “It’s no problem. Thanks for going out,” he said genuinely. He moved to the counter and began examining Castiel’s purchases. It was an odd assortment of things. The most normal item was a gigantic container or orange juice.

“That’s a lot of OJ,” Sam smiled in amusement.

“When I was human,” Castiel explained as he began putting things away, “I enjoyed drinking ‘oj’. I thought you might, too.”

Sam looked at him fondly. “Thanks, Cas.” He pulled another item from the bag.

“Oh, that… I had never heard of a ‘tofurky’, I’m not sure what kind of animal that is, but the women at the store assured me you would like it.”

Sam chuckled. He couldn’t help but imagine Castiel wandering aimlessly down the isles until a worker asked to help and surely regretted her decision when Castiel started asking questions like ‘what’s a tofurkey?’.

Sam grinned. “Dean’ll like that,” he joked. His grin faded quickly, however. He cleared his throat and continued unpacking while Castiel put everything away.

Castiel didn’t say anything. He didn’t bring up Dean anymore. He seemed to have admitted temporary defeat in trying to reunite the Winchesters and was now focused on the next more pressing issue.

The last few items gave Sam legitimate pause. He pulled from the bottom of the bag a bottle of children’s cough syrup and a few bottles of vitamins and assorted drugs. Sam sat down on a stool at the counter to examine it, then looked up at Castiel in confusion.

“Uh, what’s all this?”

Castiel sighed. “I’m sorry, but that was the most… appetizing flavor they had. Or at least the least disgusting.” He referred to the bottle of strawberry syrup Sam was holding. “I only got a mild strain of influenza when I was human, but that seemed to work.”

Sam stared at it in confusion. “Cas, I’m not sick.”

Castiel looked at him. “Sure you are,” he said matter-of-fact, then resumed putting things away. “I can sense it, Sam. Your molecules are all out of sorts.”

“My… what?”

“Your hippocampus is overflowing with cortisol, your amygdala is enlarged, you have some mild brain inflammation and hypoxia...” Castiel finished unpacking and moved over to Sam, who was staring at him in bewilderment from the kitchen stool. “...you’re obviously fatigued, and you have a f…” he placed his hand on Sam’s head as if to prove his crowning point, then paused, “oh.”

Sam stared at him.

Castiel withdrew his hand awkwardly. “Well, fevers do not always accompany influenza. It’s… good that you don’t have one.” He recovered.

Sam had gone quiet. “Cas, um…” he said patiently, although a trace of guilt weakened his voice.

Castiel watched him pick his words, standing motionless between Sam’s knees.

“Those aren’t symptoms of the flu,” Sam took a deep breath. “They’re symptoms of…depression. And grief.” Sam looked at Castiel, trying to keep his expression light.

Castiel’s certainty faltered at once. “Oh. Oh… I…” He looked at the cough syrup and bottles of pills. “I should not have assumed.”

“It’s okay, Cas. Really,” Sam cleared his throat, regaining some confidence. He set the syrup bottle back down and gave Castiel a small smile.

Castiel didn’t smile back. “Well, what do you take for depression, then? I did not see anything like that at the store.”

“Nothing. I mean, I don’t take anything. You can, but… I don’t think there’s treatment for the kind of stuff you and I have been through.”

The more Sam looked relieved, the more Castiel looked worried.

“How do you treat it then?”

“Me? Well, repression, mostly,” he smiled weakly. When Castiel just looked more worried, Sam added, “Time usually helps. A lot of it. And that's… that’s about it.”

Castiel looked crestfallen. “So there is nothing I can do to help?”

Sam studied him for a moment. His patient smile faded and he reached out and touched his arm. “You are helping, Cas. You’re helping a lot, actually.”

Castiel took Sam’s hand reflexively, still peering at him owlishly.

“You, being here, it’s better than any medicine,” Sam gave him a warm yet pained look and squeezed his hand.

Castiel didn’t move. He stood perfectly still between Sam’s knees, holding his hand and looking weary but determined. “Then I will not move from this spot until you are better.” He announced.

Sam blinked, then broke into a nature smile. “Cas, that’s not…”

His smile relieved Castiel’s stiffness. He suddenly realized Sam wasn’t being literal and abandoned his stony sentry, although he continued to look at Sam like a silent guardian. It was the most angelic Sam had ever seen him. Sam’s smile warmed and he leaned forward subtly. Castiel caught the gesture, as if he’d been waiting for it, then completed the motion, kissing Sam on the mouth.

It was a slow, silent kiss. It wasn’t so much of a kiss as it was a desire to be close. As the kiss faded and their lips fell away Sam turned his head and rested against Castiel, maintaining that closeness. He felt Castiel relax, like he always did as the human in him took over. He put an arm around Sam and held him close. His other arm hung by his side, still holding Sam’s hand.

“Hm,” Castiel hummed in interest.

“What is it?” Sam looked up at him.

“You were right. Your cortisol levels have dropped.”

Sam grinned and murmured, “Thanks Dr. Sexy.”

Castiel blinked as if to retort, but then smiled instead. It made him look startlingly human. “You’re welcome.”

Sam closed his eyes and kissed Castiel. He basked in Castiel’s presence, their shared thoughts, the space between them perfectly aligned and whole. Amidst that comfort was still the loneliness left in place of Dean, but Sam thought that with Castiel presence he could maybe handle it a little longer.

#supernaturalpromptchallenge #supernatural #Sastiel #fanfiction #fanfic #archive of our own #My writing

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janelevy · 5 years

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in sickness (and in health)

requested by @homeschooledbookfanatic

summary: this is kind of a combo between two ideas, but both have the same premise - in the first part, connor worries about a sick ava, and in the second part, ava cares for a sick connor.

warnings: none, just general flu/cold illness

also: i’m surprised but also super happy to see an influx of new followers recently! whether you followed me for the dumb shit i reblog, my writing, or the upcoming secret santa exchange, i extend my gratitude to you! don’t be afraid to send me a message or ask to say hi <3

i. Connor was a doctor, and had been one for close to seven years now (not counting all the time spent tirelessly studying before that), so he thought he could tell pretty easily when a patient was sick. There were countless symptoms to scroll through for a whole host of different diseases. He had a keen eye for basic to intermediate illnesses, since the most severe problems were usually internal ones he would then operate on. So, yeah, Connor was a doctor, and he knew how to read a patient’s appearance and mannerisms to determine if they were under the weather.

Somehow, Ava completely slipped past his radar.

She acted like her usual self when they got up that morning. Everything was fine. And okay, maybe he was a little bit distracted considering he had three major surgeries to look forward to today. But just as she always was since they moved in together, Ava was alongside him in the morning, getting up and getting dressed and making coffee and drinking it. She even drove them into work and appeared alert, albeit sniffly. Connor asked about it then, and he should’ve known something was the matter when she used that dismissive tone.

“I’m fine, Connor. Just a little cold.”

Just a little cold. Clearly it wasn’t, because by the end of the day she looked like a train had hit her, turned back around, and hit her again. Of course Connor didn’t vocalize that, because he wanted to live past thirty-two, but he did make sure to inform her that if she felt off by even half a margin, she should tell him and they would call in sick together the next day so he could care for her. Again, she brushed him off, but she didn’t reject the hot tea he made for her when they got home.

Then it was the next morning, and something most definitely wasn’t right. Connor sat up in bed and looked over; Ava was asleep but restless, and heat was pouring off her body in waves. Without hesitation he placed his hand on her forehead, winced, and gently shook her awake.

His girlfriend groaned and gradually opened her eyes. “Mmm... what do you want?” Her eyes slid over to the bedside clock and she sighed. “It’s too early, baby, we don’t have to be awake until...” She trailed off at the look on his face. “What?”

Connor shook his head at her in awe. “Avey, do you not feel how ill you are? You’re running a high fever, your forehead is hot enough to fry an egg on.” He reached forward and prodded gently around her neck. “And your lymph nodes are all swollen.” Her hazel eyes were propped open lazily at half-mast, and her eyelids looked as heavy as he was sure they felt. Connor met her gaze seriously, reaching to hold one of her hands. He wanted to make sure she knew he wasn’t just viewing her as any old patient right now, but as the woman he would travel around the globe for.

“Tell me, did you sleep well last night? Have you had any other issues like fatigue? Chills? Sore throat? Muscle aches?” His eyes rolled to the ceiling as he recalled yesterday. “It seemed like you had a little bit of a cough yesterday.” He sighed, dropping his shoulders in defeat. He felt like he had utterly failed her. “Dammit, dammit. I should’ve noticed sooner.”

Ava rested the palm of her free hand on her forehead and groaned. “Whoa, whoa. Slow down. First of all, you... shouldn’t blame yourself.” Her words came out at a tired, leisurely pace. “And second, it’s not a big deal.” She laughed grimly, if it could even be called a laugh. “I’m just pissed because I did get my flu shot this year. But... it is what it is.”

Connor brushed some hair behind her ear and frowned. “There’s still always that tiny chance a certain strain of the virus will get you,” he said, although she knew that already. He slid off the bed for a moment and ran to the bathroom cabinet to retrieve a thermometer. Within seconds he returned and urged her to slip the proper end of the device under her tongue. After a few moments, it beeped and he read the result, then did a double take.

“Okay, this actually is kind of a big deal, hon. Your body temp is 104 degrees.” At her reluctant moan, Connor grimaced and stroked her arm. “Looks like we will have to go into work today, but not to actually work.”

Ava sighed into her pillow. “You don’t have any operations scheduled today?”

“No,” Connor said. He decided not to mention that he originally had one non-emergency procedure today, but pushed it back just in case this happened. “No, I don’t. All I’m focusing on today is you.”

“You should try doing that every day,” came the biting reply.

“Ha, ha.” Connor peeled the sheets back as she started to sit up. “Okay. Let’s get you to the hospital. You’ll be feeling better soon, I promise.”

In response, she only nodded mutely, probably figuring it was better to let him lead her out of the room than argue. And for that, Connor was glad.

ii. The last time Ava had been super sick, all she’d wanted to do was sleep the day (or couple of days) away. Therefore, she couldn’t fathom why Connor wanted to be awake, let alone standing and doing things.

“If this is some big act you’re putting on just to prove your cold isn’t that bad, you’re not fooling anyone, least of all me.” Ava crossed her arms and leaned on the kitchen counter, watching as Connor rummaged clumsily through the fridge. “Besides, you won’t get a chance to fake it for anyone else, because I’m not letting you out of the house today.”

“Yeah, right.” Connor slammed the fridge door and set down the container of almond milk heavily. He grabbed a bowl from the cabinet and dragged them over to where she was at the counter, standing across from her as he poured corn flakes then his icky almond milk into the bowl. “Just because it’s my day off doesn’t mean I don’t have to leave the house. I have way too many errands to do. And I have to be ready on standby just in case the hospital pages me--”

“That won’t happen, because I called and told them how sick you are.” Ava handed him a spoon and rolled her eyes at his muttered thanks. “Dr. ‘I’m Ignoring the Symptoms of a Common but Severe Cold,’ you are not about to show up there and spread your grouchy germs through the entire ED and CT floors.”

Connor scowled and poked at his already mushy cereal. “Whatever,” he growled. “But I still have the errands.”

“Errands which I will be doing,” Ava corrected, “because I called in sick today.”

He shook his head, but she could spot the ghost of a smirk behind his currently dour expression. “Why’d you do that? The only place you’re sick is in the head.” Connor held a hand up to his red, raw nose, making the hilariously unflattering I’m about to sneeze face, and Ava shoved some tissues at him.

“Oh, very funny,” she said. “The actual reason I called in sick is because of... oh, I don’t know, do you remember all that stuff we said during our vows?” She tilted her head, honey blonde waves slipping off her shoulder. “You know, the whole ‘care for each other in sickness and in health’ thing?” Connor’s only response to that was a monstrous sneeze, and she nodded in amusement. “Yeah. That’s what I’m planning to do today.”

Connor blinked at his wife, forlorn, bloodshot eyes peeking out from in between a scrunched-up tissue and a mop of unwashed dark hair. “Fine,” he grumbled. Then, as a sincere afterthought: “Thanks.”

Ava coaxed him onto the sofa where he lay there like a grumpy old dog for the rest of the day, watching an assortment of shows on the Food Network and HGTV. He was dangerously nearing lame middle-aged dad territory, Ava noted with mirth. That was good, though. The title was just as fitting for him as “Doctor.”

And so she wandered in and out throughout the day, bringing him chicken noodle soup and saltine crackers, tall glasses of ice with cool blue Gatorade (it was his favorite flavor, though all the flavors tasted the same to her), and ice cream. Ava loved caring for him, because he would and had done the same for her - and times like today were when she really felt like the best doctor.

#chicago med #connor rhodes #ava bekker #rhekker #fanfic

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desperationandgin · 5 years

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Deep As The Road is Long (Part I, Chapter 9)

Rating: P & S for pain and sadness

Also Read On: AO3

A/N: Just to clarify because someone asked and I didn't realize it might be slightly confusing--there are sometimes weeks in between moments. For example, November took place on Thanksgiving and the few days after. December picked up again on December 23rd. So some time has obviously passed. These events aren't happening back-to-back-to-back. I hope that clears things up! ALSO, I can’t keep up with the comments here. If I don’t reply to you personally, feel free to message <3 Finally, new mood board by @smashing-teacups :) thank you love!

December 2015

They know, or at least Claire and Jamie know, that Faith won’t be going home, and the day Claire told Jamie is seared into her memory and etched into her soul forever. She knows on a logical level that it isn’t her fault, that she’s done everything she can for his little girl, but to say words that gut him so badly is crushing. She feels as though she might as well have stuck a knife in his heart herself. It’s her job, it’s been her job for nearly a decade now, and it never gets easier to go down this final, sad path when she must. But this is different, this is personal, and she can’t tell anyone, can’t express it, can’t be caught weeping, because she crossed a line and fell in love with Jamie and his daughter.

She has to do what she would for any single one of her patients and their families, which means she has to be strong within the walls of the hospital. Professional. With Christmas so close, and considering Faith’s concern over Thanksgiving about Santa finding her, Claire decides to make sure there’s no doubt in her mind that she hasn’t been forgotten, even though she’s stuck in a bed far from her own. Claire’s promise to Jamie, that she would do everything she could for his daughter, is still ongoing; it just means something different now.

On the night before Christmas Eve, Claire somehow, against all odds, gets one of the busy radiologists to dress up as Santa with a large sack of toys over his shoulder. Making sure Faith is awake, Claire steps aside and lets ‘Santa’ in to charm and delight her. It’s worth it; the bright but sleepy smile on her face, her questions about all of her cousins getting toys all the way in Scotland answered patiently. When he asks Faith what she wants for Christmas, she thinks for a few seconds quietly, then shakes her head.

“Nothing, Santa.”

Of course, he asks if she’s sure, asks if there isn’t anything she wants, and again she refuses. She does get a hug and presents anyway (books, a doll, an assortment of Disney movies she can watch in her room) before ‘Santa’ leaves to go visit the other children on the floor.

“A leannan, ye dinna want anything at all on Christmas Day?”

“I want to go home, Da,” she says quietly, looking down at the doll in her hands and putting it aside. She reaches for Trunky instead and holds the stuffed elephant to her chest. “To Lallybroch.”

Claire looks down from where she’s standing, unable to meet Jamie’s eyes, feeling the guilt of not fixing Faith churning in her belly so hard she’s afraid she might vomit. Excusing herself, she leaves the room and simply stands on the other side of the closed door, a hand over her mouth as she tries not to break down into tears among the cheery ho ho ho’s she can hear echoing in the hall.

When Christmas arrives two days later, Claire brings two wrapped gifts. One is flat and wide, the other a smaller box. She can see it on Jamie’s face when she walks in, the relief to see her, but she doesn’t feel as though it’s deserved. He should be angry at her, the last person he wants to see in the hospital. Still, she plasters on a small smile mostly for Faith’s benefit. Kissing her forehead, she’s not there as ‘Doctor Claire.’ She’s simply there, trying to make the holiday the best it possibly can be. She’s brought a tin of Christmas cookies, the only thing she’s truly good at baking and decorating (God help her if she tries to make a cake), and lets Faith pick whatever she wants, which then turns into her picking a cookie for Jamie and Claire each. The smaller gift is placed aside, and after the cookies are finished, the larger one lays across Faith’s lap. Despite her insistence of wanting nothing, the grin on her face betrays the fact that she’s delighted. Any child would be, and it’s incredible to simply watch her open the present with eagerness. It’s a large sticker book; the stickers able to be removed and placed in any sort of background or scene. Dinosaurs can float in space, a girl on a bicycle can ride through a jungle. Faith may be stuck in bed, but Claire knows her imagination is sharp.

Showing her how to use it, that the plastic stickers simply come right off of the glossy pages to be reused, she sits back and finally meets Jamie’s gaze, smiling just a little. It isn’t more than an hour later that Faith is dozing off even as she struggles to keep playing. Eventually, her head bobs to the side and Jamie lays her back, moving the sticker book and tucking her in. When he sits, he looks over at the other gift. “Ye didna want her opening that one?”

Claire almost startles, so lost in her own thoughts in the quiet that his voice pulls her out of the dark. Glancing over at the gift, she picks it up. “No. It’s for you.” Standing, she relocates herself beside him, handing the gift over. “I thought it might save you some bleeding.”

Curious, Jamie opens it only to find a nice razor, refill cartridges, and expensive looking soap. Raising the bar to smell (spicy; patchouli, the slightest hint of cinnamon, a touch of tarragon) he hums appreciatively. “The disposable razors do a number on my face, ye ken?”

Smiling just a little, Claire nods. “I do know. I figured this might help.” Because he hasn't gone home once. The furthest he’s gone is down to the cafeteria, but even then, he’s back in record time and she can’t even be sure he’s actually eating anything substantial.

“Could I ask for another part to the gift, Sassenach?” he asks, pulling the razor out of the kit.

In confusion, she looks at him with a slight tilt of her head. “What?”

For a moment Jamie says nothing, just holding her gaze, looking for all the world like he’s going to say something other than what comes out of his mouth. “Would ye give me a shave?”

Oh.

“Of course, Jamie. I can do that for you.” Because it’s one of the only useful things she’ll feel like she’s done for him in weeks. Standing, she reaches out for his hand and leads him to the bathroom.

Tugging off his shirt, he takes a moment to splash his face with water to get it damp before sitting on the closed lid of the toilet. He watches her move, watches her take the bar of soap between her hands and lather up before standing between his legs and looking down at him, hands hovering. “It’s alright, Sassenach. I’m ready.”

Letting out a breath, Claire smiles just a little and begins working the soap over his skin until she’s satisfied. Wetting the razor now, she murmurs. “Hold still and don’t speak.” Once she knows he won’t move her hands begin sure work, trying to remember the way her husband taught her once before he died. She’s so close to Jamie, able to feel his breath against her forearm as she shaves. Once she’s pleased with a job well done (not clean shaven, but neater and shorter), the razor goes to the countertop, hands grasping a towel to wipe his face clean.

“I canna tell her, Claire,” Jamie says, breaking the silence, and she freezes, towel in hand and pressing to his chin as she watches him open his eyes to look at her.

“What sort of father am I? Too much of a coward to tell his own daughter that she’s…”

His jaw tightens and he takes the towel from Claire, wiping at his own face now.

Standing between his legs, she feels too close, out of place. “Jamie, you aren’t the first parent who hasn’t been able to say it. Some never do. And at her age, it’s...it’s too big for anyone, let alone a child, to wrap their mind around.”

“I dinna want her to be afraid,” he confesses, choking a bit on the words. “If she’s afraid, I’m no’ sure I could be strong for her. Because Christ, I’m terrified, but as long as she thinks she’s only sick and will go home, she doesna ask questions I canna answer.” The sound that leaves him is choked off, a sob he attempts to stop but isn’t quite successful. “I’m a selfish bastard for that, and I ken it.”

All that Claire wants to do is soothe him somehow, both hands cradling his face as a tear slides down her cheek. “No, Jamie. Christ, no. Right now she isn’t afraid, she isn’t terrified to close her eyes, she’s calm. I think it’s your choice. And if you choose not to tell her, that’s okay. It’s alright, Jamie,” she whispers. She won’t judge him for it, whatever he decides. It could be a completely different story when her symptoms get worse, as the cancer begins to take a much larger toll on her body.

For a few minutes, the two of them are in silent communion with one another; Claire still in front of him, cheek pressing to the crown of his hair as her arms wrap around him, his head resting against her chest.

They part, but she’s there every evening with him, sitting in the quiet of the room, holding him close at the end of each day. Christ knows he needs it after letting Faith take every ounce of strength he has. At midnight on January first, as Claire hugs him goodnight, Jamie lets his lips briefly brush against hers.

A soft way to usher in a year he knows is going to destroy him.

Next Chapter

#outlander fic #outlander #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #claire fraser #datril #deep as the road is long #my fic

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huntertales · 5 years

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Part One: Aren’t You Kids A Little Young? (Freaks and Geeks S08E18)

Episode Summary: The reader and the Winchester brothers investigate a recent set of murders that appear to be caused by a vampire, and are surprised to learn that teenage hunter Krissy Chambers is involved. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 5,676.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

There was never any rest for the wicked. The same analogy applied for you and the boys. After everything that unfolded a few days ago with searching for the angel tablet and finding out what happened to Meg after she disappeared over a year and a half ago, it all ended in the direction you tried to avoid. Cas ran off with the tablet and the demon you hated since your first year of hunting died at the hands of Crowley. You got back to the bunker to recuperate and decided the next morning of what you were going to do about finding your angel. It turned out Dean had other ideas.

He found a case for all of you, thinking it might be best to keep busy until Cas showed back up again. By the "we" he meant Sam and himself. The older Winchester thought you'd take the chance to sit this one out and take some time to treat yourself to some much needed rest. Kick your feet up and enjoy some alone time while the boys worked on this case. You hadn’t been up to your normal speed since you started the first trial. You could say you were feeling fine all you want, but the evidence was clear in your actions. And the part where you were coughing up blood on more than one occasion. When he told you were going to sit on this case, you laughed in his face. You didn't care what Cas said. You knew your body. And it felt perfectly normal. Well, good as one might feel in your position.

You were feeling more tired than usual and feeling sluggish as time went on from doing the first trial. It was hard to tell where the pregnancy symptoms stopped and the effects of the trial took over. Cas did say the baby was okay. You felt the normal symptoms of what a pregnant woman was supposed to be going through. So, you took it as him saying you were okay enough to take part of your normal life. You were going to be fine in the end of things. Your motto of going through all of this was no pain, no gain. You were going to do the rest of the trials and continue hunting like normal. Nobody was going to tell you otherwise.

The case Dean found was state bound after he mentioned something about the police finding a couple of dead bodies on the side of the freeway in a town a few hours away from Lebanon. You didn't get too much information out of him when you asked, but there was something about the case that sounded supernatural enough for his attention. You and the boys pulled up to the police station in your usual formal clothes, ready to interview a few police officers to figure out more details. You patted around your pockets to make sure you had your usual assortment of things; fake ID, phone, some money and a knife stashed in the waistband of your slacks. Your memory was starting to get a little frazzled from all that you were juggling.

"So, what are we looking at again?" You spoke up when you saw the Impala pull up to the police parking lot and stop, thinking it would be a good time to go over what it was that all of you were getting yourselves into. Dean grabbed the newspaper from the front seat and stretched him arm over his shoulder to hand it to you. You skimmed the article he found. “‘Two young women found on the side of the freeway with their throats ripped out.’”

“Sounds vampy to me.” Dean said, taking a guess at what might be to blame for these deaths.

“Yeah, maybe.” You agreed with him.

"Listen, Y/N." You glanced up from the newspaper you were still reading when you heard Sam speak your name. Hearing the tone of voice he was using on you made you lower the paper to your lap, you had a feeling you knew what he was going to say before the words came out of his mouth. Sure enough, you were on the right track. It seemed the younger Winchester was trying his attempt at getting you to sit this hunt out for the sake of your health. "If you want to head back to the motel because you're not feeling up to it, I'm sure Dean and I can handle this ourselves."

“What?” You asked him.

"You know,” Dean continued on with what his brother was trying to say, deciding to be more blunt to get their concerns across. “the trials, what Cas said, that you got what he can't cure."

“Which means what, exactly?” You questioned the both of them.

"Well, I don't know. You tell us." Dean said. "Are you okay?"

"For the millionth time, I'm fine. The real question is, are you two okay?" You deciding to turn the tables around on the brothers so it was them who was being bombarded for how their well being was. Neither one of them expected for you to switch the attention towards them. You raised your brow, patiently awaiting their answers. "Cas dinged you up pretty badly, Dean. And Sammy, you've been awfully quiet lately. I just want to make sure the both of you are okay.”

"What, like our feelings?" Dean asked you. You nodded your head slowly, biting your bottom lip to keep yourself from smiling from how he was reacting. "This isn’t a sharing circle, Y/N.”

"Of course it is. You two are constantly bugging me. It's only fair I return the favor. I mean, we could make a big thing out of it. You can get me some tea and rub my aching back. Sam can feed me bonbons.” You said, coming up with an idea better than theirs. Your over exaggeration was for them to understand even a fraction for how stupid it was when they bombarded you with questios about your constant wellbeing. “If you guys insist on coddling me, you might as well go all the way. Show me your vulnerable side. We can even watch ‘Steel Magnolias’ to get in the mood and have ourselves a good cry.”

“Okay.” Sam had enough with your sarcasm. He opened up the passenger side door started to get himself out, mumbling a remark under his breath from how you turned this all into a joke. “Eat me, Y/N.”

“And you know what. We’ll just talk it out.” You went on, trying your hardest not to laugh when Sam slammed the door shut behind him with his brother not too far behind. You got yourself out and followed after them to the station. “Good talk. Nay, great talk! Very healthy!”

Dean told you to shut up when you approached the police station and walked inside to the busy late morning rush of officers talking among themselves and shuffling around cases that needed to be solved. You flagged down an older sheriff when you saw him speaking to the receptionist you couldn’t quite catch the conversation topic of. The three of you introduced yourselves and flashed him your badges and fooled him into thinking you were federal investigators here on official business. Lucky for you, he had a clue why all of you were here this morning.

"FBI? You're here about the lady killer murders, aren't you?" The sheriff asked. You politely smiled at the ridiculous thing that came out of his mouth, taking you a moment to figure out he was talking about the two murders of the females from the article you read just a few minutes ago. It seemed he wanted to jazz things up to get the public’s attention. "I coined it myself."

"Congratulations. What can you tell us?" You asked the man.

"Well, both victims were female, under twenty-one, and here's the kicker—they were drained of all their blood." The sheriff explained the case details to all of you while he lead you through the station and back to his desk to continue going through the rest of the information left out of the article. Sam was intrigued with the detail, pretending he found it odd. "Exactly. We found that strange, also. But then last night, things got even stranger."

"Last night?" Sam repeated after the sheriff.

"Yeah. We set up a security cam on Fuller's point for safety purposes. It's where our local young people like to go make out.” The sheriff said. “Last night, things got crazy."

The sheriff turned around his computer monitor around to show you and the boys footage of what appeared to be another murder that took place just hours ago. You watched the scene unfold when he hit the play button; a grainy black and white video showed you a scene of what appeared to be a girl struggling to get away from a man that was dragging her out of her car window. Before she could get hurt, someone came up from behind and...beheaded them with a machete. You managed to act surprised at what you saw unfold. It didn't take an idiot for you to realize the three people on the security footage were hunters working your case. Rookies from your guess after they failed to set up a piece of bait for the vamp before they went in for the kill.

“Hell of a thing, ain’t it?” The sheriff asked.

"Uh,” Sam managed to keep his composure from what he witnessed, knowing it was more than what the sheriff was suspecting. “you I.D. any of these people?"

“Well, not yet. Crime scene was empty when we got there. No vic, no nothing.” He said. You had to admit these hunters were smart enough to clean up their messes before the cops got there, but the footage was enough for them to get stopped before they even tried leaving the state for another case. The sheriff pulled up the video to show a perfect shot of one of the hunters. A girl who had to be a teenager. “I’m thinking it’s some kind of cult or drug thing. So I put a statewide A.P.B out on these three about an hour ago.”

“We’re gonna need you to call that off. And we’re gonna need this footage.” Dean told the sheriff after finding the face on the screen all too familiar. The older man was taken back at the rather bold request. “Sheriff, why do you think we’re here? You just crossed streams with a federal investigation. Now, I suggest you cooperate, call off your A.P.B, or you’re gonna find yourself in a world of hurt.”

You didn’t know what came over Dean that caused his sudden outburst of authoritative tone of voice demanding things to shed some light off the three people that just committed a murder in the eyes of the law. The sheriff was a little speechless at how his case was being ripped out from his hands, but he obliged. You were out of the station not even ten minutes later with the search called off and the only security footage of that night in your possession. You made your way back to the Impala, still a little curious about Dean’s urge to cover this girl’s tracks. You were all for helping out a fellow hunter, but something about this seemed personal for the man.

“So,” You pushed open the door to the station and headed outside with the boys following right behind you. “What was that all about, G-man?”

"It's about someone we met when you were gone and got themselves messed up in all of this." Dean said. "Sam, you remember Krissy Chambers?"

“Yeah, the vetalas case, right?” Sam remembered why the name sounded familiar to him. “They were working that truck stop by the freeway. She and her dad helped us shut ‘em down.”

"Right, and then he promised to go civilian so she wouldn't grow up to be a hunter. Well, guess who the star of this snuff film is?" Dean waved around the DVD case in his hand. You listened to the conversation unfold while you headed to the backseat. Either Krissy’s father took back his promise to give his daughter the life she deserved. Or she wanted to play hunter herself.

“Come on.” Sam said, finding the first outcome a little hard to be true. “Maybe he doesn’t know she’s doing this.

“What, sneaking out in the middle of the night to go hunt monsters with the apple dumpling gang?” Dean asked his brother. “Is that what kids are doing for kicks these days?”

“Okay. Then maybe he knows.” Sam guessed what was going on. “And he’s helping her out.”

“What, get caught on ‘Candid Camera’?” Dean asked. It was an amateur move even you knew better than to make when you first started hunting. For someone who had a parent who was a hunter and was showing her the ropes didn't seem likely. Something was going on with that kid, and Dean was determined to put a stop to it. "Let's just go find her before she gets into any more trouble."

You opened up the backseat door and got yourself inside the Impala to track down this Krissy Chambers before she got herself hauled off in handcuffs. It brought up the debate of what the right thing a parent should do when they were hunters and they had a family of their own. Shelter your child and never tell them about the supernatural, or do you get them involved so they're always prepared for the creature lurking around the corner?

It seemed the route of parents trying to get their children to keep away from the dark side was the ones who want it the most. Your mother tried her hardest to have you never learn about such things. Jo Harvelle grew up with her father as hunter and a mother who constantly fought tooth and nail to never see her daughter follow in those footsteps. You wondered what kind of reason Krissy had to get herself involved in such a dangerous lifestyle. If her father was around, you had a few choice words for the man of letting his daughter put herself in danger like this.

+ + +

One of the perks about tracking down the Scooby gang in a small town like this was that they needed a place to crash while they conducted research and planned out their next move of attack. Night fell when you and the boys changed back into your street clothes and got a list of two available motels that were the only place for visitors to spend the night while they were in town. The three of you checked out the first one and ran by the description of Krissy to the clerk, making sure to flash a few twenties to get him to tell the truth. When he admitted that nobody of that description checked in over the past few days, it meant you only had one more place where she could be hiding out.

Sure enough, after sweet talking up the man at the front desk and handing over a small wad of cash, he gave you the exact room number of one Krissy Chambers after she flashed him a fake I.D. that made her older than she obviously was. Another rookie mistake on her part. When it doubt, use fake names to cover your ass and stretch the truth just enough to fool the person you were trying to pull a fast one on. You thanked the man and went on your way to find the room where she and her group of friends were using. Sam picked the lock to the room and quietly pushed open the door, you following right behind him as Dean lingered back.

You looked around to see it was abandoned from the lack of a soul at the moment, but it was clear they had been here from unpacked bags and their laptop sitting on the table still open. As you made your way over to see what they had been looking at before ditching, you felt yourself momentary pausing in your actions at the sound of a gun's safety clicking off. You turned your head to the side to see Krissy Chambers in the flesh, pointing a loaded gun at Dean. You and the boys were the least bit intimidated at the predicament you ended up in.

“Hey, Krissy.” Dean greeted the younger kid.

“What are you two doing here?” She asked, surprised to see two familiar faces standing in her motel room of all places.

"Saving your bacon, that's what." Dean told her.

“Does it look like my bacon needs saving?” She asked him a sarcastic tone of voice.

“If you don’t lower that gun, it will be.” You warned her.

Krissy turned her gaze away from the Winchesters and to you, a strange face she hadn't ever seen before until tonight. Her abrasive attitude and your requests didn't make for very good first impressions on one another. “Who the hell are you?”

"Y/N Y/L/N. I'm presuming you're Krissy." You introduced yourself to her. You pointed a finger to the weapon she was still holding she never made an effort to put away to make all of you feel just the slightest bit more welcome. "Aren't you a little young to be playing with guns?”

“That’s none of your business.” She replied. You scoffed at her attitude towards you, half tempted to rip the weapon right out of her hands to knock some sense into her thick skull. “Wait. How’d you find me? I paid cash everywhere.”

“Only two hotels within a twenty-mile radius, and we paid cash, too—just more.” Dean told the kid.

Krissy rolled her eyes in frustration when she was ratted out by the old man running the front desk. She thought the extra forty bucks she slipped him would be enough to keep his mouth shut. It seemed the little trick didn’t work. She clicked the safety to the gun back on and dropped her arm back down to her side. “Freaking clerk.”

“Krissy,” Sam looked around the motel room trying to find any trace of a parental figure staying with her. “Where’s your dad?”

“Dead.” She informed you. You were taken back at hearing what happened to her father. As you were about to tell her you were sorry about her loss, but Krissy’s grieving period was long over. Or she had one hell of a poker face she was giving you to get out of her hair. “Well, let's do this again, like, never. Now go. We got this.”

“We who?” You asked her. “And got what?”

Krissy answered none of the questions you bombarded her with all at once while you and the boys tried piecing together what kind of operation she and her friends were putting on. Krissy told you she was hunting a vampire, which made little sense to you considering you saw them take down one just the other night. You had a feeling there was a little infestation in town they were trying to take care of themselves. Krissy headed back over to her laptop and begin to watch something, you headed over to see she was overlooking a live feed of her friends while they conducted something on this hunt. From the looks of it, they were picking a lock to a motel room.

You watched as they gained access inside and cautiously headed forward, cautious about the chance the monster they were hunting was waiting for them inside. You noticed they even had audio to go along with their way of hunting. All though you weren’t giving out any props or congratulating them on choosing to hunt, you had to admit they were using technology to their advantage. Streaming the hunt and constant communication with one another for when things went south and needed some backup.

“We're in. The room's clear.” You heard a female voice come from the computer’s speaker as she narrated what she was doing. “Nobody here but a vic.”

You saw a girl come into view on the screen, she was tied up to the bed and gagged from letting anyone figuring out what kind of predicament the vamp left her in. You crossed your arms over your chest and watched as the kids work, letting them at least have the satisfaction of rescuing the girl before she got hurt. While things appeared to be going as planned, things quickly escalated to worst case scenario wen Krissy's hunting partners found themselves having unexpected company. You saw one of the teenager's cameras spotted the vamp that was standing in the motel room, looking rather pissed off when he saw them trying to take his food. You didn’t care if they were the most experienced hunters for their age, you and the boys bolted out of the motel after you saw Krissy make a run for it to help her friends.

The boys barged in first with guns drawn out to slow down the vamp at least enough for all of you to finish him off. You and Krissy were just seconds behind and managed to get into the room to overpower the monster in numbers with six against one. While it looked like there was no way he was going to get out of this alive, the vamp knew there was one way to escape and see another day. He used his abilities against all of you when you saw the vamp running towards the window. All that was left behind was broken glass after he jumped to the street below. Dean tried to get a clear shot at the vamp while he ran off towards a blue van parked right across the street with the engine running, but it was no use.

“I got him!” Krissy declared.

You turned your head at the right time to see the kid running out of the motel room and after the vamp, thinking she could take him all on her own. You didn’t waste a second following right behind her while shouting that she wasn’t going to do this alone. Dean heard your voice and saw the both of you disappear from his sight and after the vamp, making him become overwhelmed with anger. Krissy should have been nowhere near this hunt in the first place, and you were in no shape of running after a vamp. He let out a frustrated breath and found himself running after the both of you, hoping he was fast enough to catch up before anything happened.

Your body might have been going through all sorts of changes, but you were able to keep up with Krissy long enough to follow her down a flight of stairs through the motel and to the empty streets where you saw the vamp trying to make a run for it. You checked to make sure you had your weapon ready when you saw Krissy pull out what you thought was a gun, thinking she was going to shoot to slow him down. You caught up with her right as she took her aim and pulled the trigger, sending him dropping to the ground like a sack of flour. When you saw him suddenly groaning in pain at what she had done, you figured he wasn't shot with regular old bullets. Krissy had a trick up her sleeve to get him right where she wanted him.

"How about a heads up the next time you decide to run off?" You heard another pair of footsteps behind yours, making you look back to see that it was Dean. He had raced down the same path you had taken fast as he could to try and catch up with the both of you. You noticed he was slightly out of breath while you were composed after the run. Just a few days ago you couldn't fight a demon without becoming dizzy, now you were acting like you were fine. "How did you manage to keep up with her?"

"I got a head start." You said, shrugging your shoulders at the lack of answers you could provide for him. You turned your attention over to Krissy, slightly curious as to what she was holding in her hand if it wasn't a gun like you originally suspected. "How did you manage to drop him so quickly?"

“Darts filled with dead man’s blood.” Krissy told you.

"Huh. That's..." You found yourself honestly impressed with her idea of how to inject venom into a vampire's bloodstream without having to get close to them. You swore you saw the ends of Krissy's lips stretch into a smirk when you complimented her. "not a bad idea."

"Where's the blue van?" Dean asked the both of you. You furrowed your brow slightly from his question, wondering what he was talking about. You looked around the street to see that it was empty of a van that he saw from the window. "The blue van that he was bolting to."

You had no clue what he was talking about, you were more concerned at the vamp at your feet that needed to be taken care of before the dead man's blood wore off and he was hungry for revenge. You pulled out a knife from the back of your jeans, ready to take care of this for good. Before you could take a step, Krissy stopped you. You gave the kid a confused look at what she was doing.

“This is not your kill.” She said.

"What are you talking about?" You asked.

Krissy's friends came jogging over to where the three of you were with Sam following behind the both of them before you could finish the job. It seemed that the girl wanted to be the one to separate the vampire's head from his neck. And for a good reason why. She approached the vamp with her machete drawn with the blade pointing at him, ready to use it on him. “Three months ago, this blood banger snuck into a house and killed three people in their sleep.”

“What?! No!” The vampire shouted, trying his hardest to defend himself. “I didn’t do that!”

"One was a woman—never hurt anyone!" She went on, ignoring the monster's pitiful attempts at trying to gain sympathy with his blatant lies. The other two, a brother and sister."

The vamp shook his head, not understanding how this was connected to him. You looked away from him and to the girl standing over him, having a feeling she was talking about someone she knew deeply. The victims she thought he was responsible for. "I don't know what you're talking about."

“I came home from a friend’s house, and I found him. They were my family!” Her voice broke when admitting the people she was talking about was her own flesh and blood, viciously murdered at the hands of this monster. The vamp pleaded for his innocence to the five faces staring at him, letting this teenager hold a weapon near his face. None of you were falling for the crocodile tears, the girl he had trapped in his motel room didn't make you think he was above murdering a family for a quick meal.

You flinched when you saw a girl who probably wasn't even voting age take a machete and slice off a vampire's head clean. This wasn't a sight you wanted to be exposed to, for a child to be at the other side of the weapon and the one who beheaded a monster she shouldn’t know about at all made it worse. To the three teenagers, this felt like a sigh of relief. A horrible pain allowed to finally start healing. Krissy stepped forward to her friend and placed a hand on her back in support, whispering to her that everything was going to be okay. The grief she felt was over.

“We need to talk to you privately.” Dean told Krissy, pulling her away from comforting her friend.

Krissy didn't look too pleased from the conversation she knew was going to happen the moment she saw the Winchesters come back into her life and saw how it ended up. As she walked over you and the boys, her other friend stepped forward and stopped her from going over to you. He looked at the three of you suspiciously. "You know this guy?"

"Yeah." Krissy said. "We have a past."

You watched as Krissy and Dean decided to go somewhere more private to discuss how she ended up hunting after her father was killed, how was what the older Winchester needed to find out. You and Sam got to work of disposing of the body before anyone could figure out what was going on. While doing so, you learned the name of Krissy’s friends—Josephine and Aiden. The three of them were reunited together not only because all of their families were murdered by vampires, because of someone who took them in and looked after each of them like his own children. You listened to everything and how they ended up here, trying your hardest not to show your disapproval at how they got involved with something dangerous like hunting.

When you were their age you were studying for the SATs and worrying about college, who you were going to take to junior prom. Not tracking and hunting a vampire after they murdered your entire family. Well…for a short time you lived in that blissful world where the supernatural was just things you read about. Until your attention shifted to learning everything you could about the things that went bump in the night, helping the Winchesters track and find cases for them. A handful of years later you were out on the road hunting, but it was different. You were an adult when you made the choice of becoming a hunter. You took baby steps, getting your revenge on the monster that killed your parents years later.

Even then, that’s not why you got involved in the first place. Hunting wasn’t about searching for the thing that ruined your life and killed your family. There was so much more they still had to learn about. It was about helping others in time of need and making this world a little bit of a safer place. Dedicating your entire life knowing there wasn’t a chance you could ever get out and live a normal life. You had to cling to every scrap of happiness you could find, and constantly look over your shoulder in fear you might end up dead from an enemy you forgot. You found yourself having to stop thinking about the topic form the things crossing your mind. Because it went against everything you were fighting for to have.

You hoped Dean could talk some sense into Krissy before she and her friends were the ones you were disposing of their body after they found themselves a monster’s victim. While the boys grew up in the lifestyle and you were learned the ropes on your own, it seemed the kids had someone who was giving them something you never had. A balance of the hunting world, and a home to come to afterwards. It all felt too good to be true. But it seemed these kids hit the lottery on being able to balance both worlds.

You kept yourself busy and somewhat helpful when you offered to pop the trunk and get everything ready for when after Aiden and Josephine finished wrapping up the vamp's body in plastic and duct tape. When you saw Krissy brush past you from the corner of your eye, you turned your head to see Dean and her came back from their little talk. You and Sam decided to let the teens finish up the work in favor for a little talk of your own. They were the ones who wanted to be involved in this, they were going to—dirty work and all. You took one more glance over at them to observe how they worked together, knowing you couldn’t deny they were pretty decent for being only teens.

“What happened?” Sam asked his brother, wondering how the talk went.

“Teenagers,” Dean grumbled, still ticked off from the attitude he was given by Krissy when he shared his concern for what she was getting herself involved in. “That’s what happened.”

“She tell you about Victor?” You wondered.

“Yeah.” Dean said. “What do we think?”

“Well, didn’t we meet up with a hunter named Victor one time in Spokane?” Sam asked.

"That's a long time ago." Dean said, knowing that hunt was from a hunt at least a handful of years back. All the cases you took felt like they blended together at this point. The faces you met along the way and the connections you made with a hunter didn't stick in your head, which was the reason why the name didn't sound all too familiar. "I haven't heard about him since."

"All right," You said. "So, these kids are—"

"Dangerous and off their meds?" Dean guessed. "Yeah, no kidding."

"So, what?" Sam asked, wondering what your next move was going to be for tonight. "We go and talk with Victor?"

You weren’t going to oppose giving this Victor a piece of your mind about what he was doing for these kids and getting them involved in something dangerous as hunting, let alone running around looking for the thing that killed their families. A few minutes later the three teens were calling it quits on the hunt after a job well done. They stashed the body into the trunk of their car and decided to head home before it could get too late. You and the boys followed behind them, eager to see how all of this dynamic worked out for them. And if it was all too good to be true.

[Next Part]

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dragonfoxstardesigns · 5 years

Text

Genova and Nikolai (Part One)

A tale about a female trans Gnoll and a demi God whom you may have seen from my thesis works, Quest for the Jewel of Life! Enjoy!

Long ways of the faraway kingdoms, the Outlands was spread far and wide without a care in the lands. Ships harbored the bordered grounds between the Bearing Straight and the oceans beyond. That is how I met my beloved, Nikolai.

I was requested to go along with my sisters and hire a grand captain to gather important medical herbs and plenty of supplies for our village's needs. After all we all took care of each other especially when it came to raising cubs or protecting our pack from men who only thought of us as nothing but savages. They only cared about getting their way, but little did they know that we fended ourselves with more than just raising children. We are warriors, hunters, herbalists, and leaders. Lovers came second unlike others that were not our brethren gnoll kindred.

Being onboard a ship was quite an adventure. The salt of the sea was overwhelming compared to the harvest and natural smells of the Outlands. It took a good bit to get used to the swaying of the ship, seasickness, and among being around a vast diversity of folks from race to sex and to even height difference. Everyone played their part on the ship despite being rich to middle class or poor, but there was something odd about one of them.

My eyes laid on what looked to be a fur-less two-legged male with an aura of great importance. Just by looking at their outer appearance one could say they were trying to hide the truth. Their clothing was a mixed array of fashion unlike I have ever seen. Then again I've only known a handful of cultures in each part of the ports. The only thing separating the many folks from this mysterious cladded figure was that they wore a metal helmet crown of sorts.

Like I said, myserious and might I add handsome even charming to a degree. I could get along nice and find out if they were persuading enough to come back with me, but until then I would have deal with gathering supplies for my village. They'll be second at best. For now.

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I came to the major port of the Outlands to seek a sense of thrill and adventure away from my supposed duties of the Underworld. Mother and Father had been quite demanding as of late and it was high time I left the leisure of the Palace and find my own destiny. After all, being a Prince wasn't at all exciting when being guarded by the Palace Guards or the Gatekeepers. I wished nothing more than to be treated like a spoiled brat.

And so I snuck aboard the Dragoness of Destiny and told her to lead me to where, I hoped, I was meant to be and belong. Little did I know I would end up with such a marvelous and stunning yet strong gnoll named Genova.

The ship I boarded was remarkable! It was large enough to carry tons of equipment, barrels of gun powder, rum, and even the finest assortment of crew I had ever seen. That being said from a spoiled brat who only knew of his own world, but here it was extraordinary to see! The smell of the salty seas and the mixed array of other scents took a bit to get used to though especially trying not to get seasick the first time around. Luckily being a demi-god had its fair share of durability to nausea and other symptoms. However even the best had their own weaknesses.

My outfit was one of those weaknesses. I wasn't experienced with fashion from other cultures not to mention coordinated either. Luckily I knew of a few folks that could help me with a fake identity to keep my own from being uncovered. Prince Ishkah was fitting I might add. I had a metal crown-like helmet and comfortable clothing to match my adventurous needs, but alas I may have not been the best of disguises as someone has already noticed me. Can't say I blame them for staring. They were attractive and definitely had a courageous aura of leadership to boot.

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No matter how many times I had tried to be on my best behavior, I couldn't help but want to know more about this mysterious cladded figure. Rumors spread that they were from another land. Others mentioned them as nothing more than royalty. Still, there was just something that I couldn't place that drew me to them - and I was going to find out. One way or another if you know what I mean.

And so I began purposefully bumping into them at first. They weren't exactly rude if not used to seeing one of my kind I supposed. We started off doing small talk and getting to know one another between meeting on deck when we could or during meal times. Never had I met a non gnoll that was respectful especially that of a male. They treated me with importance giving eye contact when talked to or rather listening as well. Not shy or hiding secrets that I could place my finger on, but still it was strange that their wardrobe kept most of their features, for instance ears for example, from being seen. Only that of their captivating eyes, nose, and rather sumptuous lips. Yes, they were very attractive okay?

One day though I could sense a storm was brewing over yonder. The ship still had a ways to go until our destination port so we had to wade it out regardless. All crew were told to stay in their cabins unless for emergencies. It was then that I noticed before heading in that this 'Prince Ishkah' was going in the opposite direction. Their facial expression was hidden, but from what I could gather they were either serious or foolish to venture out on deck in this. I sighed and shook my head before heading to see just where this Prince was going.

I stayed low keeping watch from a distance. it felt silly to be spying on them, but my instinct told me otherwise. Gnolls had a keen sense of natural curiosity after all and I was hook, line, and sinker in this case. It seemed that there was nothing out of the ordinary. The mysterious cladded male was at the head watching over the rail as if nothing could harm or endanger them. Oddly calm too despite the ever gloomy skies howling with wind and the raging sounds of thunder just on the horizon. This man was either bold or very ignorant.

Needless to say I couldn't stay in the shadows for long. My stomach was in knots full of nerves. I had to get him to safety even if risking my life to do so. It seemed for the best considering the stories I had heard from my sisters and the other crew members. A storm was not to be played with no matter how valiant even the most noble were. Regardless of Prince Ishkah's status I made my way over carefully to where they stood.

"Are you out of your mind, Ishkah?!" I went over just as the clouds dumped rain on the both of us.

"Why? Is there something I should know..?" Ishkah replied calmly looking over his shoulder not even seemingly phased by the heavy downpour and wind picking up.

"Yes! Didn't you hear the Captain order all hands on deck to go indoors unless told otherwise?! You'll die out here in this storm now come on!" I barked gathering my strength and courage hoping there was no trace of my nerves betraying me.

"I'll be fine, really...you should head back indoors, Genova. For your own safety."

"My safety?! You must be crazy coming out here in this! I don't care if you are a Prince or even a human slave! People die in storms like this aboard ship, Ishkah! Can't you understand that-!!!"

It was too late then because the next thing I knew the ship rocked against pounding waves just as lightning struck above us. My eyes bulged and ears laid flat against my head as my last bit of strength left me. It sounded like the Gods were angry or trying to play a ruthless game and soon found myself facing the same fear that I had tried to save Ishkah from.

"Genova!"

That was all I could hear as my vision went black and all senses left me.

#kingzvire #The Outlands #Genova the FtM Trans Gnoll #Nikolai #Prince Ishkah #dragonfoxstar

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btswishes · 5 years

Text

Back in time

BTS AU

Part1 / Part2 / Part3 / Part4 / Part5 /...

A/N: It has been such a long time since I worked on this fic. I hope I can finally finish it in the next parts. A few people have messaged me for new parts so here it is. Enjoy and sorry for any mistakes made. :)

Word count: 3,205

Warnings: None.

The morning smelled like flowers and the sun was ever so gently gliding over your skin. Your eyes fluttered open just to find the emperor in your arms.Your tried your best to escape silently the room, but his muscular arms were keeping you in place.There was no escape. You could only move slightly and get him from your chest onto your lap.

The hours were rolling one after the other. Your head moved towards the window of the large balcony. Slightly, you closed your eyes as the wind blew flower petals in the massive room.Your mind started wandering to different places, opening itself to many thoughts, that you had locked away since your arrival to these unknown lands. Most girls watch dramas and to be honest don’t think that they might actually end up in one of them.

You figured out that there is a role you have to fulfill here before you have the chance to leave. Now the difficult part was finding out what it was. It couldn’t be the insomnia ,lady An was talking about. The life here wasn’t bad, but deep down you kind of felt like leaving as soon as possible would be your wish come true. You didn’t want your mission to be like one of those side quests in games where 2 months later you finish them.Yet you couldn’t think of a problem to deal with.Wondering for a long time, your mind was walking around the only thing that could be your potential job.Trying your best to ignore it ,you shook your head thinking to yourself:

There is nothing to do. The Emperor is sleeping soundly like a bathed baby. The brothers seem to understand each other great, the people of these lands look good. The only thing that could prove to be a problem is the 4th prince, but there is no way in hell it could be that. I mean come on. You looked down at the sleeping face of His Highness Park Jimin. He doesn’t even want to speak of the 4th’s name, not to mention tell me anything about him. Suddenly you shook your head aggressively, trying to throw this thought out. Nah, it would take me months to find out who he is and then try to solve it? Not gonna happen. I am not trying to permanently live here.I have a life back home, friends, things I want to become.

Overthinking things exhausted you, more mentally than physically. Gently moving your arms back, the palms on your hands nestled themselves comfortably into the soft imperial bedding. Leaning onto yourself, you sighed and let your head fall down. Opening your eyes you were expecting to focus on the still sleeping man , but upon farther inspection his piercing almost wolf-like eyes were staring at you. Not being able to move, it felt like you were being hunted down.

“Your mind seems to wonder quite often girl.” his head not moving even a bit

“Y/N.”

“What?” Jimin’s eyebrows moved up slightly, but went back down with the same speed

“My name.”you repeated, looking towards your chest, trying hard not to meet his intense gaze

“Oh I know your name already. I just choose not to use it since i don’t know how to pronounce it.” as suddenly as he spoke, you parted your lips

“i didn’t know His Highness was worried about offending people.”

His body rose up gently and he scratched the back of his messy blonde hair.”It has to do more with manners than offence, but I suppose you can interpret it in that manner as well.”

“It’s not that difficult, at least i think so. You can say it like this ‘Y/N’.” he tried and immediately the name ringed in a unheard till now way. Coming from him it had this high class and elegant sound to it. “Wow, that was really good.” you clapped your hands together.

“You can go now.” Jimin was standing a few steps away from the bed, with his back facing you “I presume Taehyung is searching for you.Seeing how interested he is in your existence.” the words came out a tad bit sharper, but you didn’t overthink his yet unknown to you behavior.

Leaning forward, you tried your best to get up as elegantly and silently as possible, to make sure you don’t get yelled at. Upon leaving his chambers, you leaned onto the gigantic wooden doors and sighed deeply. Your body was tense for some time now.Being alone for the first time in awhile had you relaxing so much ,that you even felt each and every stroke engraved by the hands of the master carpenter.

“Y/N.” even without looking at the person you knew right away that the voice belong to Lady An. The one thing that still puzzled you was her ability to move without making a single sound “Get up and follow me.” her hands motioned ,hidden under a piece of violet silk scarf. Walking onto the stone ground her shoes made light tapping noises. After some time Lady An broke the silence.

“Did His Highness rest well last night? “ you were still thinking about other things and answered with a nod. “I am guessing that you nodded just now. My back is facing you after all.” she assumed your gesture from hearing the rind of your hairpin

“Ah.”you gasped, snapping out of fantasy land “Yes Court lady An, His Highness did rest well once again.”

“I am glad to hear that.” she led you to her room in the court women’s building “Sit down child.” you did as instructed and took a seat in front of the big desk. Silence took over once more as Lady An was looking through some books. Your eyes, driven by boredom and curiosity started to inspect every inch of the room. From the moment you step in you get enveloped by a sweet smell coming from the numerous flower oil bottles lined up next to the door on a small wooden cupboard. Its glass doors made everyone acquainted with the many jars and bottles of different sizes. The most notable thing in the room was the assortment of big and small mortars and pestles. What made them special was not only the size but the materials used. One was made from wood, another from marble, stone and even gold.Some were ridged or bumpy inside ,others smooth.

Court Lady An was very well taught in the ways of Korean medicine and beauty. She was the second doctor so to say in the palace. The sound of a book dropping onto another one, pulled you towards the owner of this elegant room.

“I spoke with His Highness.” she began “ My thought was that since you shall be staying with us for who knows how long, you will be quite bored to just do nothing.” she pulled out a few books from under one of the many piles on her desk “i want you to help me with some things here. These books are the basics of cosmetics and some all over medicine that will be good knowledge.” Lady An stood up and fixed her hanbok “It’s still very early for lunch, so I want you to start assisting me immediately. I will introduce you with some patients.” like a loyal puppy you followed her down the stairs and into a room.

“ Good morning miss Sung. I hope you were able to rest last night.” when the woman noticed you, she tried to get up and greet you properly, but you panicked and insisted that she rested. If doctor Ju Min decided that a patient is in need of herbal healing or has some kind of cosmetically problem he send them to Lady An. As well as patients who needed more time to heal, mostly women. The court house had many bedrooms and such it was the perfect place.

Court lady An took off her scarf and rolled up the sleeves of her hanbok. She leaned over and examined miss Sung.After awhile she looked towards you saying “Y/N, as you a have already probably understood this is Lady Sung. She has been here for some days now. We have been having a bit of trouble helping her with the her fever.”

“Could it be a cold?” you knew that your only medical knowledge was based on books and information from people. It was above average indeed, but you were worried not to mess something up in the presence of someone who studied much longer than you have lived.

“That is a good assumption,sadly it was proven wrong.”

Lady An asked you to go back and get her mortar and pestle as well as some herbs. You were careful not to drop them on the ground and hurried back. Your eyes followed each and every move she did, trying to study them.

“Lady An I am grateful for all you have done and continue doing for my health. Even if this might not be curable.” Miss Sung smiled

“Nonsense. I am positive we will be able to help you.” while the two ladies were talking you suddenly remembered something Court Lady An explained to you about the current patient.

“Miss Sung?”you pulled her attention towards yourself

“Yes dear?”

“Lady An mentioned to me that you have been experiencing numbness in your right leg.” the woman nodded “Would you mind if I inspect it?”

“I have done it already a number of times, but nothing notable to record.” none the less the Court Lady made way for you. Looking around you had one suspicion.

“Miss Sung, this is my first day helping Lady An and I am not well informed yet about each patient’s issues. May I ask, is the numbness and fever the only symptoms you experience ?”

“I do have occasional headaches and nausea.I also have trouble moving caused by a slight pain in my back area.”

You looked at both women and a bit unsure said “I think I might know what the problem is, but I would like to ask Miss Sung for permission to touch her back.”the woman agreed immediately. The thought of finally being able to walk was filling her up with happiness. You were about to start when court lady An stopped you.

“Wait, you need to change. No matter if you are correct or wrong, you need to be prepared so everything goes smoothly.” she took you to another room and called in 3 girls.” You two ,help Y/N get dressed and you, go and grab the things she asks for.”her head moved in your direction “I will be waiting for you.” you nodded and mobilized everyone.

“I will need tweezers, a napkin, needle and thread, alcohol, bandages and water.” the girl nodded and ran like the wind. In just a few minutes you were dressed in a lighter and smaller dress, that made movement easy. Your sleeves were tied up so they wouldn’t trouble you and your hair was tightly secured away from your eyes.

“Umm.”Miss Sung almost whispered ”This might be a bit much to ask, but since we will be potentially exposing my naked back , I would like to ask someone to stay guard outside the window. We are on the first floor, just in case a man walks by.” it was understandable for a woman of this time to wish for that. Two court women were send outside to keep watch. Everyone was ready to start. You took 3 Champollion flowers and ground them very finely. You asked one of the girls to extract the oil from the paste. In the mean time you placed a piece of cloth onto your face and dunked your hands into the alcohol to disinfect them.

Two girls as well as Lady An herself assisted miss Sung with turning over. With the help of her explanation you were able to locate the pain source. Everyone in the room was waiting for you to say something, after awhile you stepped back and pulled up the cloth over your face to speak.

“I have good and bad news. The good news is that the problem is exactly what I thought, the bad news is that treating it might hurt a bit.” the patient was obviously a bit worried “ Miss Sung, since you won’t be able to see what I will be doing, I wish to explain things to you as I go. I think that this way you wont be too scared.”

“Oh dear, that sound delightful. You just lightened up my fear.”

“Can I get the chamomile oil?”the young woman assisting you passed over a small porcelain dish with the extract.” I will now disinfect the area and proceed with making a small cut.” Gently using some cloth you wiped the area with alcohol and placed half of the oil.The blade ran over Miss Sung’s white skin and soon two small droplets of blood rolled down her upper thigh area. You picked up the tweezers and pulled out a small object. As careful as you could, you cleaned everything off and dunked the needle in the alcohol before stitching it closed. The remainder of the chamomile oil was applied onto the wound and bandaged fast. After washing your hands you removed the mask ,you took a deep breath.

Lady An was amazed even if one couldn’t notice it on her face.

“Miss Sung did you fall by chance?”you asked

“Now when you mention it I did trip on my way back from the river.”

“What happened was that a stone got stuck inside a unpleasant cut. Wearing all those layers of clothes and the place where the pebble was ,easily gives the opportunity for an infection to begin. Because of that you experienced fever, nausea and pain. I removed the little troublemaker and cleaned off the area. The herb extract will make sure that you won’t feel pain, at most mild discomfort.”

Miss Sung was thanking you from the bottom of her heart for your help. Soon enough you returned to Lady An’s office space. Once the doors closed you collapsed on the floor, legs shaking. The Court Lady looked at you from her seat with a calm stare.

“First time doing this?” you were only able to nod at her “I could sense your fear and worry, but being able to close your eyes to that and still do such an excellent work is astonishing. “ the cool wind blowing thought the window announced the soon awaited arrival of the moon.One couldn’t believe how fast the day rolled away. With the grace of a leaf dancing with the ripples of a lake, she stood up and helped you make your way to the bath area.

Once you stepped in the bath ,maids placed in the water big bangs filled with herbs and aromatic flowers. Your hair was brushed and soon after you got dressed in a lighter flowing dress. You were given a room in the this big building where you staid mostly during the day. Even if it had a wonderful bed, you couldn’t use it much.

* knock knock *

“Yes?” you spoke while brushing your hair once more, trying to style it in the old traditional ways

“I see you are getting ready for your nightly work.” Lady An walked over to you and knelt behind your back, you saw her movements in the mirror. “Let me help you child.” you relaxed and handed the comb over to her.

“Umm Lady An?” you whispered under your nose

“You can call me unni.” you were shocked how open Court Lady An had become with you “What is it ? “

“What is the function of this building?” this thought had been interesting you for awhile now, some things were clear but didn’t give a full picture

“Centuries ago women had the desire to study and practice different skills, such as medicine and so on. Back then, women working in those particular areas were unthinkable, but the country answered their wishes by making the court house, if you would like to call it that. Our job here is to train maids for the different work that they will be doing, as well as take care of nobles that live here or visit for some reason. You saw the bath. We make sure the royal family is in the bloom of their beauty. Skin, cosmetics, health that is all our job. Some are healers, others herbalists. Skills vary from woman to woman. The highest level you can reach is being called Court Lady. It is not an easy rode up, trust me on that one.”

Word after word this place was becoming more amazing. The way women were allowed to practice their interests was wonderful.

“Judging by your name you aren’t from around here.”

“A lot of people have told me that.” you giggled but agreed with her assumption “I know that this might sound strange, but I come from different times as well. I don’t know what purpose I am supposed to serve yet. Only thing I am noticing is that my posture and way of speaking has changed very much.”

With a light tap you felt Lady An touching your back “We still have ways to go with your positioning.Your back is still slouched when you sit” she pulled your hair up and tied into a flower shaped bun “Your lands must let women reach very high education. You are well informed about many things, the 6th prince told me of these ‘cells’ you were talking about.”

“Oh yes. It took quite a long time for women to reach where they are now...or where they will be.” time traveling and explanations about future moments, were as confusing as the Chinese alphabet in most of the books, around the building. You bit your lip, questioning if you should say this, but it slipped your mouth.

“Unni?” a simple ‘mhm’ echoed and that reassured you about the choice of wording the direct addressing “ I saw that there was a basement here.What purpose does it serve? “

“Well that is where we keep out talisman paper and scrolls. Usually only magicians can go there since not many of the people in these lands can practice it.”

You were about to swing around and confront Lady An with a shocked face,but she cupped your ears and held your head in place. “Don’t move child!”her voice back to being stern “I need to make sure your hair looks good! We don’t want you looking like you just woke up when you visit the Emperor!”

With the last hairpin in place you both stood up and she eyed you from head to toe. “I couldn’t find a hanbok that fits you well so I went towards the more Chinese traditional way with lighter materials and more veil like pieces. It’s still with Korean traditional motives, but a mix I would say.” noticing your look she smiled, gently pushing you out of the room “Hurry or you will be late. I will introduce you to the people who work with magic tomorrow, so don’t think about that too long. Now go.”

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help-on-four-paws · 5 years

Text

How I Help My Girl as a Medical Alert and Response Dog

To read the original blog post, click here.

TW: self-harm mention

This photo was taken while I was just finishing up doing Deep Pressure Therapy for my girl. I moved to her legs because her body had already started responding to the pressure I'd been putting on her chest earlier, so she just needed some final grounding before this episode passed. You can see from my face how seriously I take my job!

A Medical Alert Service Dog performs a trained behaviour to indicate that their handler is about to have or is currently having a medical episode,* and a Medical Response Service Dog helps a handler who has a medical disability. Both types of Service Dogs can assist with a range of medical conditions, from epilepsy to type 1 diabetes, and from postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome to narcolepsy, and everything in between. It's not uncommon for a dog who is a Medical Response Service Dog to also be a Medical Alert Service Dog, because we dogs are perceptive creatures with strong noses and will often pick up on our handler's changes in body chemistry. Remember, though, that a Service Dog under the ADA must be "individually trained" in the task(s) that they perform for their disabled handler. This means that a dog who performs a natural medical alert does not qualify as a Service Dog in the US unless that alert is reinforced by the handler (or a trainer) since the Service Dog must be "trained to take a specific action" under the ADA. As a Service Dog for my girl, I am both a Medical Alert and Medical Response Service Dog because I perform tasks both that alert her to a medical episode and that are in response to medical episodes.

Because my girl has such a broad range of symptoms, I also have a variety of alert behaviours so that I can tell her exactly what's going on with her body.

As I explained in my post about my Psychiatric Service Dog tasks, I alert my girl to rising anxiety and incoming panic attacks through a variety of her body's signals. One of the very first tasks I learned to help my girl was pawing with increasing intensity in order to interrupt her when she starts nervous-scratching or picking at herself. Her anxiety causes her to do this unknowingly, often to the point where she bleeds, and since the scabs that form become itchy, the cycle can continue quite easily -- so the trick is interrupting the cycle so that she can catch herself before she starts bleeding, which is exactly what I do! This pawing also acts as an anxiety alert because the scratching indicates that her anxiety is rising close to the point of "no return." I can also alert to increasing heart rate or elevated cortisol as signs that her anxiety is rising, as well as to her anxious "hand flapping" that she does as a physical anxiety tic, and I use a paw for these as well so that all anxiety alerts are clumped together into one behaviour.

A couple years ago, my girl added a hypoglycemia alert to my repertoire of tasks. Her GI issues are understandably the (most likely) culprit of her drops in blood sugar, which itself causes an assortment of un-fun symptoms, but the situation is even more nuanced than that: thanks to my girl's chronic nausea, she often doesn't want to eat, but she has to be careful because blood sugar dipping too low can be a trigger for her migraines, which can last multiple days. As you can imagine, my girl is grateful for any kind of preventative action! My hypoglycemia alert can tell her when she absolutely needs to push past her nausea, even if eating causes its own form of discomfort, because that discomfort is the lesser of the two potential evils. I currently alert with a nose "boop" when her meter reads 80 mg/dL or lower. Sometimes I do a "chin rest" with a serious look on my face, and although this is my default "there's something wrong with you but I'm not formally trained to alert to it" behaviour, my girl has learned that sometimes I do this instead of a nose boop . My girl hasn't yet figured out if this is because her low blood sugar stems from two different causes, and since I'm a dog, I can't really communicate my reasoning to her. For the time being, we're treating it as a training glitch, and she keeps reinforcing the "boop" whenever I offer the "chin rest" instead. When I learned my hypoglycemia alert, I also learned the Breath Check command, where my girl leans down so I can sniff her breath better. This behaviour helps reassure my girl that my alert was a true alert and not just an accidental nose boop, because if I still give the nose boop after a Breath Check, then my girl knows to definitely check her blood sugar.

If you've read this far, you've already learned that my girl has migraines, and they most likely have a genetic component to them because they run in her family. Although my girl knows some triggers for her migraines -- pressure changes due to thunderstorms, low blood sugar -- these migraines are tricksters and don't always let her know what causes them. That's where I can help! I have a migraine alert where I gently "mouth" my girl on the hand in order to let her that a migraine is coming on. This behaviour lets her know to take her migraine medication, which can help lessen the impact and also duration of the migraine (however, it's not perfect and sometimes her migraines ignore medication completely). We haven't figured out a way for me to tell my girl how long her migraine is going to last, since it would be helpful to know if one is going to last 9 days or only a few hours, but hey, at least I can sometimes give her a bit of warning and that's better than nothing!

My newest medical alert (that I'm still perfecting, by the way) is to my girl's fatigue crashes. For a period of time after my girl exerts herself either physically or mentally, even to an extent that most normal people would consider "minor," she experiences a major energy crash, often accompanied by a "flare up" of other symptoms like chronic pain, anxiety, overstimulation (aka lots and lots of tears), or headaches and even her migraines. With these crashes, she can often barley think coherently, let alone function like a normal person, and even walking can sometimes feel like an insurmountable feat. When I give her an alert to an impending fatigue crash, I'm letting her know that she's going down fast so she needs to get herself ready for that, whether it's getting water to put beside her bed, finding the nearest dark and quiet space, or emailing someone to cancel plans while she still has the brain power to do so. Anyone who knows my girl knows that her face has it's own "alert" -- her cheeks turn lobster-red immediately before a fatigue crash. However, my alerts help for two main reasons: first, fatigue crash-to-lobster face isn't a 1:1 ratio and my girl can crash without lobster-ing, and second, fatigue crashes can happen in a time frame ranging from immediately after an exertion to a day or so after doing the exertion. My absence of an alert reassures my girl that she has at least a little more time to live her life normally, so my alerts offer her some predictability, which is nice to have when your chronic illness is largely unpredictable.

I want to take a moment to note that my medical alerts vary in how good I am at performing them. Medical alerting has probably been my biggest training struggle, so my girl and I still practice with scent samples quite frequently (and if you want to learn how I was taught to alert to medical episodes, click here).

If I alert my girl to her rising anxiety or an impending panic attack, one of the ways she can respond to that alert is by asking me to perform Deep Pressure Therapy (DPT), which is a form of firm sensory input that results in a calming effect for the body. I do DPT for my girl by lying on her chest preferably, especially because it forces her to take deep breaths instead of hyperventilating, but I can also lie across her legs if we're not in a situation where she can lie down fully. My body weight acts to quiet her sympathetic nervous system, which is responsible for her "fight or flight" response, and instead activates her parasypathetic nervous system, which is responsible for her "rest and digest" response and therefore is associated with decreased anxiety. As a result, her panic symptoms decrease, and she can eventually continue her life as normal. DPT may look like "just cuddling," but - scientifically - it's so much more! I can also do deep pressure therapy for her chronic pain, most often my girl's hips. My body heat acts like a hot water bottle to soothe her joints.

When my girl has one of her migraines, I can respond by doing forward momentum pulling, where I act like a dog-sized tugboat by pulling into my harness. Many people think of migraines as "just a headache," but migraines are actually a neurological problem. My girl's migraines "scramble" her brain and make it short-circuit on her, even if she has taken medication to get rid of the pain. Navigation can be a little tricky with a brain that's not cooperating, especially in a crowded area. Add in light sensitivity due to the migraine and navigation can be just downright difficult. But that's where I can help! Because my forward momentum pulling as a guiding aspect to it, I make sure that my girl gets safely where she needs to go. She can just close her eyes against the light if need be, and I'll weave around people and other moving obstacles as needed. The pulling aspect of this task also helps with my girl's balance, which is often thrown off by her brain's migraine "scrambling." I know how to find a few locations, lead her to a handful of important people in her life, and follow an indicated person. Sometimes words are tricky when my girl has a migraine and she'll trip over her words while trying to tell me where to go or what to do, but luckily I know her well enough after four years of being her pup that I can interpret her vague gesturing pretty accurately.

Of course, I can also perform forward momentum pulling when my girl's fatigue is flaring, even if I often do it to save her energy. When I pull her along, she doesn't use quite as much energy while walking and therefore doesn't get tired as quickly as she would walking on her own. Of course, the energy saved isn't vast, but every little erg of energy is necessary when you start your day short on spoons. When I do forward momentum pulling for my girl when she's experiencing fatigue, it can make a huge difference in whether or not she can accomplish a task.

Moving to a home with more space has meant that I've been able to expand my tasks in migraine response. Over the course of the past year, I've learned how to open doors using a special tug, as well as closing them with my nose. I have slowly begun learning how to turn light switches on and off all by myself. Being able to close doors and turn off the lights is helpful for my girl's migraines because she can get very light and sound sensitive. However, the pounding in her head gets worse with any small movement, so if I can save her getting out of bed, I prevent her from having to endure that pain. Similarly, I can do both of these tasks when my girl is having a high pain or fatigue day and appreciates whenever I can save her from doing even small actions, like when I help her undress at night.

Opening and closing doors has led to another task that I'm currently working on: retrieving a bottle of ginger ale from a specific spot in the fridge. In order to complete this task, I need to know how to open the fridge with a tug, grab the drink in its special holder (since its glass and therefore slippery), deliver the bottle to my girl in another room, and then return to close the fridge. Assuming I'm in my girl's bedroom with her, I would also have to open and close her bedroom door as well. That's a lot for a pup to remember to do! It's taking a lot of practice (and many treats!), but I'm starting to learn what I need to do. Once I've perfected this task, I'll be able to respond to my girl's bouts of bad nausea by bringing her a bottle of ginger ale.

You may have noticed that there's a lot of overlap between my psychiatric tasks, my mobility tasks, and my medical alert/response tasks. One symptom can be helped by many tasks, and one task can simultaneously help many symptoms. My girl's health issues are often interconnected and have similar symptoms, so it makes sense that my tasks can overlap to help multiple aspects of her health. I have a lot of aspects of my job, it's true, but I'm a pup that needs a job and needs to be mentally stimulated -- my foster mom knew this when she was trying to find me a fur-ever home, and so far, thanks to my girl's ever-fluctuating symptoms, there's been no shortage of work for me to do in this fur-ever home. And as a bonus, I get paid with fetch, and that's a pretty good trade-off in my opinion!

* Some people classify Medical Alert Dogs as only those dogs who alert their handlers before a medical event occurs, but we're including dogs who alert both before an episode and during episode (e.g. since dogs who assist diabetics are usually called Diabetic Alert Dogs, even though most of the time, they're alerting to a handler's already high or low blood sugar level - although some also alert to rapidly rising or rapidly lowering blood sugar levels).

If you missed Part 1 of this series about how I help my girl as a Psychiatric Service Dog, click here. And if you missed Part 2 of this series about how I help my girl as a Mobility Service Dog, click here.

#medical alert dog #medical response dog #service dog tasks

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dsudis · 6 years

Note

Dira do you think that in light of the one year anniversary, we could get a little snnipet of the next All the Burning Hearts in Hell installment? You know.... to carry us over the long drought :))

Sure! I’d been thinking I should do this anyway, and I’m 30k into writing the next story, so… A chapter is a snippet, right?

Slavefic #6 picks up exactly where The Sacrifice Play left off, so you may want to reread at least Chapter 9 of The Sacrifice Play if it’s been, say, a year since you read it.

When Steve had been lying still and quiet for a little while, he found his ears attuned to Bucky’s breathing. He winced when he recognized the sound of it: carefully even and shallow, without the slightest accompanying sound of movement. That was Bucky in pain, or lying awake in the night trying not to give himself away.

Steve had always figured, when he lay in camp listening to Bucky breathing like that, that he was remembering the factory at Kreischberg–his imprisonment, and that table Steve had found him on. Now that Steve knew what Bucky had survived, he couldn’t help wondering if it was more than that keeping Bucky awake at night–had he felt himself changing in slow motion the way Steve had changed inside Howard’s Vita-Ray chamber? Had he known what Zola did to him, or had he been left to wonder?

Would he ever remember enough of those nights to tell Steve what his nightmares had been, or had other nightmares long since blotted them out?

After an agonizing three-quarters of an hour, the sound of Bucky’s breathing changed to something even more familiar. The softness of sleep, real sleep, which Steve had heard in his ear and felt against the back of his neck more times than he could count. He fell into something like a doze himself, lulled by the sweetness of it and the sudden release of tension.

When Steve had been lying stilland quiet for a little while, he found his ears attuned to Bucky’s breathing.He winced when he recognized the sound of it: carefully even and shallow,without the slightest accompanying sound of movement. That was Bucky in pain,or lying awake in the night trying not to give himself away.

Steve had always figured, when helay in camp listening to Bucky breathing like that, that he was remembering thefactory at Kreischberg–his imprisonment, and that table Steve had found himon. Now that Steve knew what Bucky had survived, he couldn’t help wondering ifit was more than that keeping Bucky awake at night–had he felt himselfchanging in slow motion the way Steve had changed inside Howard’s Vita-Raychamber? Had he known what Zola did to him, or had he been left to wonder?

Would he ever remember enough ofthose nights to tell Steve what his nightmares had been, or had othernightmares long since blotted them out?

After an agonizing three-quartersof an hour, the sound of Bucky’s breathing changed to something even morefamiliar. The softness of sleep, real sleep, which Steve had heard in his earand felt against the back of his neck more times than he could count. He fellinto something like a doze himself, lulled by the sweetness of it and thesudden release of tension.

When a distant sound woke him,there was a second when he didn’t know where he was, only that Bucky was near.Was it their day off, precious hours wasted drowsing in the park? Were theynapping in camp ahead of a night raid?

He opened his eyes and saw thepotted plant and the skylight, and recognized the soft pad of approachingfootsteps. Stark–Stark the younger. Tony.

Steve got silently to his feetand strode out of the bedslaves’ quarters, shutting the door noiselessly behindhim. He reached the doorway of Stark’s bedroom when Stark was only a couple ofsteps away.

Stark stopped short. He wascarrying a tray of food in assorted bite-sized pieces, including a little bowlof some kind of rainbow-colored bon bons, and for the barest instant he lookedsurprised to see Steve there. Steve held up a hand and stepped out into thehall, pulling the door shut after him.

“He just fell asleep, maybeten minutes ago,” Steve said softly. “The worst of the headachemust’ve passed, but I don’t think he’ll be ready to eat until he wakes up onhis own."

Stark looked past Steve, as ifThreetoo might materialize behind him, and said, "The worst ofwhat headache.”

“Oh,” Steve said.Right, he’d only recognized it himself from seeing how dark Bucky had made hissleeping area, and the plant, and what he’d heard. “Yeah, he… he made itpitch black where his bed is, and I could hear him being real careful drinkingthat juice, like he felt sick, so I figured… sick headache. I had a bunch of‘em when I was a kid, for weeks after I got my bell rung real hard in a fight.He hit his head yesterday, didn’t he?”

Steve felt a little sick himselfas his memory answered his own question with the sick sound of Bucky’s headhitting the floor of Stark’s lab.

“Sick headache,” Starkrepeated, shoving the tray in Steve’s direction as he rubbed his eyes with hisfree hand. “Migraine. But it didn’t start yesterday, did it? JARVIS, howdid we miss this? The other day, he asked for dark–”

“He felt sick first,sir,” JARVIS pointed out. “The headache appeared to follow after. Hehas made his sleeping area artificially dark twice before, but there was noreason to conclude that he was experiencing migraine symptoms."

"But now there is, so is he?Was he?” Stark demanded. “Did we–” Stark focused sharply onSteve again. “You’re sure he’s sleeping? He’s not lying there in pain?”

“I mean, I can’t guaranteehe hasn’t woken up in the last two minutes,” Steve said, gesturing to theclosed door. “But I know he fell asleep maybe ten minutes ago. Hisbreathing changed. Relaxed."

Stark stared at him for a coupleof seconds, utterly still, and then shook his head and turned away, muttering,"Right. You know the sound of his breathing. Of course. Okay. JARVIS, checkwith Cho about migraine options and what we can do without her physicallyexamining him. And tell me the second he pushes the curtain back.”

“Of course, sir,”JARVIS assured him.

Stark didn’t seem at allreassured. He took a couple of abortive steps, one direction and then theother, obviously worried about Threetoo and not knowing what to do with himselfwhen he couldn’t help.

Steve was familiar with thefeeling. He raised the tray of food into Stark’s eye line and said, “I’mguessing this was your lunch as well as his?"

Tony stopped, narrowing his eyes,and said, "I know for a fact that he did not have a chance to tell youit’s your job to make sure I eat. And it’s not your job. Or his.”

“Okay,” Steve saidagreeably. “But there’s this food that’s gonna go to waste, since–"

Steve stopped short, experiencinga weird retrospective recognition as the words I know you’re notgoing to feed this to him if it’s not fresh occurred to him. Theblueberries DUM-E had brought to him, a carton discarded half-full. All theones left had been crushed or oddly shaped or otherwise imperfect. And Steveknew that Bucky liked blueberries. He was willing to bet that Tony knew it,too, and only gave him the best.

Stark ran a hand through his hairand then nodded, gesturing toward the stairs to the lower level. "Yeah,okay. I want the actual story on you and him–and, hey, medical history. Youknow his?"

"Uh,” Steve said.“Well, up to 1945, I guess. Roughly.”

Stark raised his eyebrows, butdidn’t ask any more questions until they were down in the kitchen, the tray onthe island between them. Tony waved Steve toward a stool, so he perched therewhile Tony paced around, fetching drinks and napkins and setting the dish ofbrightly-colored bon bons pointedly to one side before he picked up a crackerfrom the tray and popped it into his mouth, waving at Steve to follow suit.

“So,” Tony said.“From the beginning.”

“Well,” Steve said,building a tiny cracker-and-chicken-and-cheese sandwich from the tray. “Myfolks were enslaved in exchange for passage from Ireland in 1916…"

He expected Tony to get impatientand tell him to talk about Bucky, or the war, but Tony just nodded, watchinghim intently and continuing to eat, so Steve kept talking between bites,explaining that his mother had been pregnant with him when his father waskilled in the Great War and was emancipated as his death benefit. He told himhow Bucky’s family had been better off, how he and Bucky had lived only a fewblocks apart but in subtly different worlds, since the Barneses’ flat had beenquite a different place from the tenement apartment Steve shared with his ma.

"I always knew where I washeaded,” Steve said. “Ma didn’t like it, didn’t want that for me,but… times were hard, and me being sick a lot didn’t make it any easier. Butwhen Bucky was sixteen, he suddenly just started talking about doing the same,and that–he didn’t have to do that. But I… I was already crazy about him,and he made it sound like an adventure, like we’d…"

Steve shook his head. "So Ididn’t argue. And I didn’t realize until after we’d done it that he… he wascoming with me because he felt the same way I did. Then it was too late for usto–"

Steve glanced at Stark, who wasfrowning into midair and rubbing a piece of cheese into fragments between histhumb and finger, and did not explain about the cock-lock.

"Well. We saw each other asmuch as we could, but service didn’t leave us much free time. And then thewar… Buck got put down for the slave draft right away, although they didn’ttake him for training until the middle of '42. Me, I kept trying to get myselfon the list, but no dice. I was 4F, unfit.”

That got Stark to look at him,his gaze raking meaningfully up and down as he chewed another cracker. Stevedid not blush.

“Before Dr. Erskine andHoward got involved, I was five foot four, maybe a hundred pounds dripping wet.Asthma, family history of diabetes, TB exposure, touch of heart arrhythmia eversince I had scarlet fever as a kid. But they had this experimental program, andDr. Erskine decided that I was the perfect test subject, so…” Steve madea little ta-da! gesture at himself.

“So that’s how you got intothe war,” Stark said. “But Barnes was already in the 107th by then,straight infantry. Already deployed?”

Steve nodded. “I, uh…Erskine was killed by a Nazi agent–HYDRA, their deep science division–and noone could replicate what he’d done. They sent me to a lab for a while to studyme, what the serum actually changed and all, see if they could find a way to reverse engineer it. No luck, and Iwas stuck there until Howard pulled me out and started bringing me around tolook good in uniform for whoever he was doing deals with. He brought me alongto Europe, into Italy when he went to meet up with the SSR brass there, andthat’s how I found out most of the 107th had been captured by HYDRA’s own shocktroops. The ones taken were mostly slaves. No one was planning on rescuingthem, and Bucky was… unaccounted for. So I, uh… I convinced Howard to dropme into Austria to go find them."

Stark stared at him. "Dropyou…”

“From a plane,” Stevesupplied, although he had a feeling that that wasn’t really what Stark washaving difficulties with. “I mean, with a parachute, and some prototypegear. That was part of why he brought me along, to model and test some stuff hewas developing for the Army."

Including the ridiculouscombination thermal underwear and partial body armor which Howard had insistedon getting up in a gaudy American flag design, but Steve wasn’t going todescribe that to Stark if he could possibly avoid it.

Well. There was the silver liningto Bucky’s amnesia, because God knew otherwise he would probably remember everyinch of that outfit in loving detail and would feel no compunction indescribing it. He’d had a funny fascination with it, even after Howardredesigned it into something Steve didn’t have to cover with fatigue pants anda leather jacket to be halfway decent in public. He’d bitched from time to timeabout the hazards of Steve’s anti-camouflage, but he never actually lobbied forSteve to change to something more practical.

Stark had his head in his hands,and Steve dragged himself back to the point. "That’s where–I think thathas to be when he–he got… changed. So he survived what happenedafterward.”

Stark’s head jerked up at that.“He wasn’t…"

Steve shook his head. "Asfar as I know, the US never tried again after me. Howard sure hadn’t draggedalong his Vita-Ray machine to Europe. But Bucky had been taken away from theother prisoners–they said the ones who got taken away never came back, but Ifound him. Strapped down on a table. I think… Zola. Arnim Zola, one of thetop HYDRA scientists, he’d–I think he’d done something to him.”

Steve had known the least part ofit: that Bucky was cock-locked, after that. He hadn’t pressed to know what Zolahad done beyond that, and it was obvious now that that had been by far theleast of it.

“Even at the time, I had anidea there was something, but I never… we didn’t talk about it, and he saidhe wanted to stay in, wanted to come with me and keep fighting HYDRA. The SSRput us on that directly, a strike force that just went after HYDRA bases anddestroyed them however we could. Behind enemy lines like that, it was better tosend slaves–at least if we got captured by regular army, we had someprotections under the Geneva Convention, more than free soldiers. ObviouslyHYDRA didn’t care about that, but still better us than anybody else. We weretrying to capture Zola himself when Buck–when he fell. But he survived, whichmeans…”

Stark looked away. “Yousaid… as a sniper, you said…"

"Yeah,” Steve said,swallowing hard. “Yeah, I think… I never fought beside him before Zolagot him, and I didn’t really know what a normal sharpshooter was like. But Ithink he… he was really something special. So maybe that was… a sign, and Ijust didn’t get it.”

There was a little silence. Steveforced himself to eat another few tidbits off the tray, thinking of rations andBucky’s lean and hungry look during the war, smoking all of Steve’s cigaretterations as well as his own. Had he been starving then, the way Steve would onnormal rations? Had Steve been letting Bucky go hungry while he wolfed downtriple rations in front of him?

“Bone density,” Starksaid. “What about–bone density? Dr. Cho noticed something about his bonedensity that made her realize he needed the same stuff as you to beanesthetized. What was that about?”

Steve frowned, thinking about theway Bucky had held his rifle. Recoil couldn’t have done what the shield did,could it? But then… she’d been working on what was left of his left arm.Whatever impacts that had been taking must have been after.

“My hands,” Steve said,showing Stark his palms, as if it would be visible. “I, uh… I hadthis… shield. And I used to throw it, catch it on a ricochet–” Stevestruck the palm of his left hand with the side of his right, demonstrating.“It hurt like hell at first. I got better at the angles, but… apparentlymy bone density is a lot higher right there, too. My body adapted."

Stark nodded, snagged a couple ofcubes of cheese and slapped them into his mouth. "Okay. And the anestheticthing? Tell me whatever you know about that, in case we need to tinker aroundgetting him a headache remedy.”

“Well, my metabolism isapparently four times faster than normal?” Steve offered. “I, uh… Ihad to have minor surgery once, at Alamogordo. Howard figured out how to keep meunder–of course, that was ether gas, I don’t think they use thatanymore?"

Stark thankfully didn’t ask himwhat the surgery had been, just started questioning him about the ether.

Threetoo woke up feeling groggyand halfway between sick and starving. Everything was dark and warm and…soft, and for a moment he thought that he could just snuggle in and go back tosleep, and then the memory slammed into him like–

Like a fire extinguisher,knocking him flat.

Steve. Hismaster had brought Steve to the penthouse, to be his second bedslave, forThreetoo to train. Instead of doing anything useful, Threetoo had been seizedwith the punishment pain, worse than it had ever been, so bad he could hardlystay upright. He had begged off immediately, and left his master to show Stevearound, to get him settled.

Threetoo’s mind’s eye suppliedvisions of Steve kneeling by his master’s feet, his master gently explainingthat he was safe here while feeding Steve his lunch, running his fingersthrough the dark gold of Steve’s hair and running his hands over Steve’sperfectly smooth skin. For a weak, cowardly moment Threetoo considered hidinguntil he provoked his master into coming to find him, but he rejected thatthought as soon as it formed.

This was Threetoo’s project, as much as his master’s. And if his master was pleased to have Steve,pleased to touch and talk to him and teach him, then that was all to the good,because his master would be happy, and Steve would be safe and good.

Threetoo tugged his curtain back,letting in what turned out to be less light than he expected. That wasn’t bad,and even if it was, he was going to go and find them and help teach Stevewhatever he needed to learn, no matter how badly it hurt.

Before he could even climb out ofthe pillow box, JARVIS said, "Please stay where you are, 32557038. Mr.Stark is on his way to speak to you.”

Threetoo winced, curling down,and the throb in his head that had only just died away started up again.

“Hey,” his master said,only seconds later. “Hey, sweetheart. On a scale of zero to ten, with zerobeing "doesn’t hurt at all” and ten being “I cannot move or signbecause I am in so much pain and I need urgent medical care or I mightdie,” how’s your head right now?“

Threetoo raised his head to lookat his master, mentally assigning ten to the otherwiseindescribable experience of the day before. He raised two fingers.

"Mm, two means you onlynotice it when you focus on it. Is that right?”

Threetoo raised a third finger.

“Okay,” his mastersaid, smiling a little stiffly and settling a warm hand on the back of hisneck. “Thank you for telling me that, Threetoo. Good data. I’ll get you acopy of the scale so you can assign numbers consistently going forward. Before,when you came in here to lie down, what number was that?”

Threetoo winced. His mastersqueezed gently on his neck, rubbing firmly with his thumb and finger.“Let’s say nine is 'can barely move or think because of pain’ and eight is'pain is so severe it’s hard to think, talk, or listen, and very hard to moveor do anything else.’ Do I need to describe seven?"

Threetoo shook his head the tinybit that his master’s grip allowed and signed, eight.

"Eight is a lot,” hismaster said quietly. “Eight is way more than I ever want you to feelwithout telling me about it, because eight means we should be doing everythingwe can to make it better as soon as possible. I mean, I’d like to be doingsomething about three right now, but Dr. Cho says all she can do reliably atthis point is make you unconscious, so it’s probably overkill for athree."

Threetoo stared at him. Hismaster hadn’t actually asked him a question, so he technically didn’t have toreply. That was a good thing, because he had no idea what to say.

"Have you been havingheadaches that get really intense, that make it painful to see light? Make youfeel sick? Maybe cause other weird effects? Make you feel too cold or hot, orsee lights in your peripheral vision, or…"

Threetoo nodded slowly.

"Okay,” his mastersaid. “I wish you would have told me about that, but to be fair I didn’tthink to ask. Those headaches are called migraines, sweetheart. They happensometimes if you’ve had a head injury, which I think you probably had evenbefore yesterday. They also happen sometimes just for no reason. Lots of peopleget them, and I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to make sure that they don’thappen at all, but we can at least get you some pain relief when they do happen,even if it’s only making sure that we help you go to sleep right away when itgets bad. Being in pain isn’t good for you, it’s just like beingpunished–"

Threetoo’s lips parted, his handtwitched, and then he looked sharply away.

His master’s hand tightened, thenwent back to the slow, rhythmic rubbing.

"Threetoo,” his mastersaid quietly. “Look at me, please.”

Threetoo dragged his gaze up tohis master’s, trying not to tremble, trying not to even breathe. His masterlooked tired again, the way he had yesterday, and nearly as unhappy.

“Threetoo, sweetheart,project number one,” he said softly. “Did you think you were beingpunished?”

Threetoo closed his eyes andnodded.

What else could it mean? Itwasn’t an injury–he hadn’t known about migraines untilhis master told him–so it had to be a punishment, didn’t it? Masters could dothings from far away, through chips and… and other things.

“Threetoo,” his mastersaid, his voice very quiet and small now. “Did you think I was punishingyou by making your head hurt like that? And not telling you why, or what youdid wrong, and talking all the time about not wanting to ever punish you, andpunishing you anyway?"

Threetoo squeezed his eyes shuttighter, feeling them sting with tears, and shook his head hard. He raised hishand to sign no, and then–because he knew his masterneeded good data–I thought maybe. At first. But you said. So I knewit wasn’t you. Because you wouldn’t.

"Okay,” his master saidquietly, and there was a press of lips against his forehead that didn’t stopthe throbbing in his head from rising into what was probably a four.“Okay, I… I’m glad. But… who did you think was punishing you? Or wasit just… cosmic punishment, floating around randomly?"

Threetoo swallowed. He hadn’t thoughtabout it, really, but… he hadthought–believed–known–that the pain was punishment,even while he knew his master wouldn’t inflict pain on him. And no one else wasauthorized by his master to do so; no former master held that power over himany longer.

And that only left one personresponsible. One person who had access to him and definitely had no right tointerfere with his master’s goals by inflicting pain on his master’snumber one project.

Me, Threetoosigned, before falling back to the safety of referring to himself bydesignation instead. 3-2. 3-2 punished. 3-2 knew 3-2deserved.

"Oh–” his mastermoved, and then his arms were around Threetoo, drawing him up out of thepillows and into his master’s lap, cuddling him close against his master’schest. “Okay, so. On the one hand–I really really don’t want you to dothat, Threetoo. Even if you know you’ve done something wrong, even if it seemsreally bad, I… I don’t want you to hurt yourself, not in any way, ever. Okay?Because I want you to heal and get better and be safe. Right?"

Threetoo hid his face against hismaster’s chest, nodding. He did know that. He did, and his stomach was a stone,his whole spine and skull ablaze with tension and pain because he knew he haddone what his master didn’t want.

"And on the other hand, andthis is the really important hand right now–” His master’s actual handstroked down his spine and back up to the nape of his neck, then down again.

“I need you to remember thatit was never punishment, Threetoo. It was never anyone’s fault, includingyours. Especially yours. Even if you thought you were punishing yourself–itwasn’t punishment, and it wasn’t your fault. It was just a fact about your bodythat we didn’t understand yet. But it’s not your fault.”

Threetoo didn’t want tocontradict his master, but…

He raised his hand, enough sothat JARVIS could see it if not his master, and signed, Occurrencenot random. Correlated to infractions.

“Mm,” his master said,still petting up and down his spine. “Well, hey, guess what, correlationdoes not equal causation. That’s science, baby. I’m not gonna ask you to layout for me what infractions you think you’ve been committing, but whatever theywere, I bet your migraines also correlate with you being stressed because youthought you did something wrong. Stress, worry, that cando a lot of things to your body. Raises your blood pressure. Brings onmigraines, sometimes, if that’s what your body’s predisposed to."

Threetoo leaned against hismaster, and breathed, and felt the pain and tension subsiding under hismaster’s touch. That had happened before–his master had touched him gently,reassured him, and if the pain–the migraine–was only justbeginning when he did it, then it might stop. Because he stopped being worriedwhen his master touched him. Because it was early enough in whateverphysiological process made up a migraine to short-circuit it. Sometimes hismaster’s touch didn’t help: when the pain was already very bad. When theprocess was too far along.

Not a punishment. Just a fact.Just his body.

Threetoo signed, Oh.

His master laughed a little."Yeah. Oh. Hey, what’s your plant doing over there? You want it back onthe shelf before you have your lunch?"

Threetoo nodded against hismaster’s shoulder, and his master stayed still for a moment before gentlypushing Threetoo to sit up on his own. His master got the plant and brought itto Threetoo, and Threetoo waded through the pillows and set it back up on theshelf. When he came back to the edge, his master was holding a lunch tray withsomething new on it–little irregular balls, something dark studded withrainbow-colored bits like candy.

"Yeah, I see you eyeing thesweets,” his master said, sounding amused. “One of the cooks madethose up for you special to help you get blueberries and maximum calories atthe same time. And in honor of you having such a rough day yesterday. You wantto try one? It’s got blueberries in it, but it’s not an actual blueberry."

Threetoo nodded, curious andfascinated. A treat–from his master, but also from someone other than hismaster. Someone he’d never met, who was supporting his master’s project, andcared that he’d had a rough day.

It was sweet, and the rainbowsprinkles were a little crunchy, but it was chewy and tart, too, a burst ofintense flavor. Threetoo showed his master his upraised thumb.

"Good, well, the rest ofthem are for after you eat some protein,” his master said firmly, andThreetoo nodded obediently and settled to the work of being fed.

Rogers wasn’t just outside thebedslave’s room, where Tony had barely managed to scrape him off after hefollowed Tony upstairs. He’d told himself, in the fraction of a second he hadto think about it before he was wholly focused on Threetoo, that it was good toknow he would have a chaperone for this.

Clearly that hadn’t lasted long;he reran the conversation in his head, trying to work out what Rogers wouldhave heard, as he walked out of his bedroom and looked around. He was nowhereobvious.

“J?”

“You may want to check theguest room."

Tony rubbed his eyes, feelingstupidly exhausted for a moment. Whatever was going on with Rogers, he didn’twant to deal with it–but Tony had taken responsibility for him, and Rogers wasa mistreated slave too. He deserved to be looked after, and Tony had separatedhim from everyone else who could do the job. It was necessary, in order tomaintain the illusion that Tony was inflicting some suitable correction uponhis would-be murderer, but it meant that Tony was the only person left to dothis.

So. He would do this, obviously.

He tapped at the door of theguest room, and opened it a few inches when there was no answer.

It was nearly as dark inside asThreetoo’s bed, but he heard a soft rustling of clothing: Rogers getting to hisfeet. "Mr. Stark? Did you need me for something?"

"Uh, not really,” Tonysaid, but he pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped into the dimroom. Rogers was standing in one of the near corners, where he might not beimmediately seen from the doorway. “Were you… hiding?”

Rogers shrugged stiffly, lookingaway. “Seems like I shouldn’t let him see me, don’t you think?"

"No, it’s good–”Rogers flinched, turning half away with his head down and shoulders up, andTony stopped short.

Clearly Rogers had heard at leastpart of his conversation with Threetoo, and if he heard any of it at all, he’dhave heard the part where Threetoo was at an eight on the pain scale earlier.When Tony thought he was having some kind of programming-tension-freakout whichwas, in reality, an excruciating migraine. Probably still caused by the stressof pushing at his programming, and therefore by the sight of Rogers.

“Okay, maybe we should becareful how much he sees you until he gets used to you, but that doesn’t meanyou have to hide in a dark room. He’s napping again, for one thing, and JARVIScan help you avoid him if you really need to. God knows there’s enough space inthe penthouse for the two of you not to see each other.”

Rogers shrugged stiffly. “Isthere somewhere else I should be, Mr. Stark?"

Tony pressed the heel of his handto his brow, trying to push back his own incipient headache. "Jesus, youlive in my bedroom and I have to use your first name at least to Threetoo. Callme Tony, all right?”

“Tony,” Rogers echoed,mechanically, dutifully. “Thank you."

Tony shook his head, turningaway. "Okay, right, stand around in the dark if you–” He’d made itjust to the threshold when Rogers spoke behind him, his voice expressive nownearly to the point of desperation.

“Tony, I’m sorry.”

Tony froze.

“I–I don’t think I saidthat, before,” Rogers went on. “But I tried to killyou and I’m so sorry. I would have–it was wrong. I know I was wrongabout you. I knew that already, but listening to you talking to him–you’re sogood with him. Not just kind; you know how to help him. I couldn’t do this forhim like you do, I…”

The rush of hideous sinceritytrailed off, and a second later Tony managed to snap out of his horrifiedparalysis.

“Well, hey, not everyone canbe a billionaire playboy genius with a heart of gold,” Tony said in hismost careless style. “Don’t beat yourself up just because you’re not asgood as me, no one is. JARVIS, lights.”

The lights came up, and Tonywalked out without looking back to see the results of his words, or the refugehe’d deprived Rogers of. He was too desperate to get back to his lab and findsomething, anything, to scour away the sound of Rogers being every bit aswrongly grateful to him as Threetoo was–and without the excuse of whatevercombination of brainwashing and brain damage had madeThreetoo who he was.

It had been barely more than aday, and he’d already managed to break Rogers from a berserker bent on freedomor death to… this. Apologizing to the man who made the StarkChip.

This was why he didn’t meet theslaves he was involved in rescuing. This was why he definitely didn’t move them into the penthouse. And this was why he neededto get Threetoo more attached to Steve than to his master as fast as humanlypossible–so he could get both of them the hell away from him. So he could stopcorroding them just by being who and what he was anywhere near them.

“J, see if you can get athousand liquid calories into Threetoo in the next four hours? Things to do.Places to be."

Anywhere but here.

1. The pain scale Tony is teaching Threetoo is this one. I figured Threetoo would have an easier time processing something that focused on how pain affected his functioning than a subjective measurement of his own suffering.

2. The blueberry bonbons are 100% the ones @rubynye sent me last summer around the time I was writing this chapter, so if you are jealous of Threetoo’s dessert, ask her for the recipe!

#fic #Anonymous #wip #mcu #all these burning hearts in hell #slavefic #threetoo

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imjustthemechanic · 6 years

Photo

Our Own Demons

Part 1/? - A Bolt from the Blue Part 2/? - A Different World Part 3/? - Stark At Home

What if Tony Stark really were the villain of the Marvel universe? How would that work? Tony himself is about to find out, as he battles his inner demons (and some outer ones, too) across a multiverse of infinite possibilities.

Tony left the shop and stood around in the terminal for a few minutes, sipping his coffee and watching the commuters come and go as he waited for the caffeine to kick in. Obviously he had to get back to his own reality and save Pepper. He couldn’t do that until he knew how he’d gotten out of his own reality in the first place. Before he could figure it out… of course, he thought, the answer was obvious. He didn’t have enough information to do it on his own, but there’d been a witness when he arrived. He needed to talk to the other Tony.

“Two heads are better than one, they always say,” he said to himself as he tossed his coffee cup in the recycle bin. Tony knew, without any false modesty, that his was a pretty good head – surely two of Tony Stark could do this in no time. He straightened his back and tugged on his jacket, and headed back upstairs into Aven.. into whatever Tower it was.

Entering the lobby, he spotted a familiar face. It was neither Pepper nor another Tony, but a female security guard with auburn hair in a thick braid and the build of Rhonda Rousey. Her name, Tony recalled, was Bethany, and in his reality they’d had a couple of dates a few years back before quietly losing interest in each other. She’d clearly recognized Tony, too – she was approaching with purpose in her step.

Good. She’d be able to help him find… him.

Tony went to meet her. “Excuse me, Ma’am,” he said. “I’m looking for my… cousin. His name is To…”

The guard’s palm connected with his cheek so hard she nearly knocked him over. It wasn’t Tony’s first slap to the face, but it immediately shot into the ranks of the most memorable.

“I’m gonna assume I deserved that,” he said.

“That is the most insulting thing you have ever asked me to believe,” Bethany informed him.

Tony made a mental note – the two of them clearly had some history in this world, too. “All right, fine. I just need to ask you a weird question. Do you know where I’m supposed to be right now, and can you tell me how to get there?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Bethany demanded.

“I’m an asshole,” Tony replied. Admitting it sometimes helped, and sometimes just made things worse. “Tell me where I’m supposed to be, and I promise I will never talk to you again.” Hopefully the other wouldn’t run into her before he could warn him.

“You’re supposed to be taking a sick day,” she told him. “Like Miss Potts said when she personally marched you out of here ten minutes ago. Remember that? Or did you inhale too many fumes today?”

“All right, so… wait, ten minutes?” Tony asked. “You mean I just missed… me?”

“Stop talking,” Bethany told him.

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Tony. Clearly, she wasn’t going to be any help after all.

He went back out to the street, hoping he could catch up with Pepper and his other self, but they were not visible in front of the building and he realized he had no idea where they would have gone after walking out the front door. If Pepper had kicked him out of the building then clearly he didn’t live there, and going back indoors to ask Bethany if she knew his address was a terrible idea in at least four ways. So where did that leave him?

“What am I supposed to do? Look myself up in the phone book?” he asked aloud.

He ended up doing exactly that. According to the ratty book hanging under the pay phone, Stark, Anthony E lived at 5D 620 West 172nd Street. That didn’t sound like anywhere Tony would normally have frequented, but if he wanted out of this, it was where he was going to have to go. He took the A train up to 169th, and there he found an old brick apartment building with a shady-looking grocery store on the first floor. It was the kind of place where visitors had to be buzzed in by a resident, but Tony could get around that easily.

Inside, the lobby was decorated with yellowing paint and linoleum, and had a few limp Christmas decorations that looked as if they’d been there for years. It didn’t resemble anywhere a Tony Stark ought to be living in any universe, even one where he went to work in a basement wearing jeans with holes in the knees. Maybe it was nicer upstairs. Tony pressed the elevator button.

His first view of the fifth floor was not promising. It was in similar disrepair, with chipping paint and a few pieces of very uninspired ‘art’ on the walls for colour. Maybe the Stark, Anthony E listed in the phone book was somebody else entirely.

Still, having come this far, Tony knocked on the door of apartment 5D.

There was no answer at first. Maybe nobody actually lived here. Maybe it was storage space, or just something to put down on forms so that people wouldn’t bother the other Tony at his real home.

Just to be sure, he knocked again. This time, Tony could hear something moving inside.

“Who’s there?” asked a voice.

“Tony Stark,” said Tony.

There was a thump, as if somebody had fallen down or something heavy had been dropped. The door opened a crack, with the chain lock still in place, and a wide brown eye peered out at Tony for a moment before vanishing as the door slammed shut again.

“No!” the voice from inside said. “You don’t exist!”

“Excuse me?” asked Tony. Of all the ways he might have imagined greeting an alternate self – not that he’d ever had a reason to do so – that wasn’t one of them.

“You’re not real!” the man insisted. Tony heard furniture moving. “You’re a hallucination or something. You’re a symptom of my mental breakdown! I’ve finally snapped, and now I’m seeing things and making crank phone calls that I can’t remember. Miss Potts sent me home because she thinks I’m going crazy, and I can’t lose my job! I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose my job! You’re not real!”

“Miss Potts?” There was something that ought to make this guy listen to him. Tony thumped on the door again. “Hey, buddy, Miss Potts is why I’m here! If she were in trouble, wouldn’t you do anything to help her?”

The silence that followed lasted long enough that Tony raised a hand to knock for a fourth time, but then he heard the furniture move again, and the door opened. The chain was still in place, but this time the man inside peeked out without immediately screaming.

“Are you threatening Miss Potts?” he asked. He didn’t sound angry. He sounded scared to death.

“Of course not,” said Tony calmly. “Remember earlier, you asked me if I were from an alternate reality? I think you’re right. Miss Potts here is fine, but I think Miss Potts in my world is in trouble, and I need you to help me get back there so I can help her.”

The other man just stared at him.

“Yeah, I know.” Tony rubbed his face. “I realize all those words just came out of my mouth and I realize they sound stupid, but I promise you I am entirely serious about this.” He tried to think… if another one of him showed up at his door and told him Pepper needed help, what would he want for proof? “Did your Dad have the roadster? Did you use to watch him work on it?” God, he hoped it was true. The guy in that room had mentioned an ex-wife. In a world where Tony Stark had been married and divorced, anything could have happened. “You used to go and sit in it when he wasn’t home. You’ve never managed to finish fixing it up because it’s the only thing the two of you actually enjoyed doing together.”

The door closed again. Shit.

“What about Mom?” Tony tried. “She used to play the…”

The chain rattled, and the door opened properly.

The man on the other side looked like hell. He was in the same jeans and bleach-stained Henley he’d been wearing earlier, but he looked infinitely more disheveled and slightly shaky, as if he’d had six cups of coffee and hadn’t slept in days. His glasses were now pushed up into his hair and he was in his stocking feet, neither of which helped his appearance. He stared at Tony like he was seeing a ghost.

“This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said. “And you would not believe some of the shit I’ve seen.”

“Try me some time,” Tony replied. He would have given the man a pat on the shoulder, but at the last moment he changed his mind, half afraid that if they touched they’d both annihilate in a shower of gamma radiation. “You look like you’re gonna fall over,” he added. “Maybe you should sit down.”

“Yeah. Maybe I should.” The other ran a hand through his hair, dislodging his glasses. He helped when they clattered on the linoleum, but then scooped them up and hung them off his shirt again before stumbling over to collapse on the sofa. This was a threadbare plaid monstrosity that looked like it dated from the early 80’s. Tony followed him in and shut the door behind him, and took his first look around his other self’s home.

The living room of the apartment was tiny, with a narrow, undecorated support pillar awkwardly right in the middle of it. There was the plaid couch and a small table with the TV propped on it instead of properly mounted to the wall. Beyond was a cramped little kitchen with a window that looked out on the back wall of the building opposite. There was no carpet, only slightly crooked black and white linoleum. The cupboards were painted avocado green, which didn’t match any of the appliances. There were dishes in the sink and assorted piles of papers, notebooks, and magazines on the counters and tabletops. Doors into the adjacent rooms were closed, but this place didn’t look like any part of it were likely to be better-appointed than this.

“Do you live here?” asked Tony. He couldn’t understand this. This place looked like something out of a movie. It was about the closest thing to real-life inner-city squalor he’d ever seen in real life.

“No, this is my uptown apartment where my girlfriends stay over,” said the other, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Of course I live here.”

Any girlfriend Tony ever had would have been horrified by this place. Looking at it, and recalling the thrown-together appearance of the robot he’d seen at the building downtown, Tony was slowly coming to a conclusion that seemed harder to accept than anything else he’d encountered yet today.

“You… don’t have any money, do you?” he asked.

“I have enough,” said the other, defensive. “I could live somewhere else if I wanted, but I hate moving and I don’t need more space because I don’t spend a lot of time at home anyway. I’d rather stay here and save my money so I’ll have something to fall back on if I lose my job again. Say, for example, if my boss thinks I’ve lost my mind.” He let his head tilt back on the top of the sofa and shut his eyes. “Talking to myself is not a promising sign.”

Tony heard the words, but they seemed to echo in his ears without quite making it to his brain. Maybe it shouldn’t have seemed like such a strange thought, but there it was – this alternate world had a Tony Stark who didn’t have money. He had to worry about things like rent for his apartment and holding down a job, and as alien as that idea was, after a moment Tony realized he kind of envied the guy. It was as if this other were a real person in a way Tony himself was not, as if he participated in facets of the human experience that Tony could only ever watch. That was probably silly, but there it was.

“No, no, that’s fine,” he said. “The apartment thing, I mean, very practical. Good for you.” Tony had never been a particularly practical person himself. That had always been Pepper’s job – which made him wonder: if this were a universe in which he was practical, what might she be like?

“You look like you need a drink,” Tony told his alternate. “Is there anything in this place?”

“There’s some beer.” The man gestured towards the kitchen area.

“Can I have one, too?” Tony asked.

The man just shrugged, so Tony took that for a yes. He wondered whether he’d open the fridge to find nothing but two apples and a jar of mustard, like in a sitcom, but it turned out to be fairly full, at least at first glance. When Tony looked again, he realized that most of what was in there was leftovers and takeout, and he didn’t think he actually wanted to open any of the boxes he could see. He found two bottles of beer and swallowed his urge to comment on the brand. He’d already told his double that it was okay to live in a crummy apartment. He couldn’t do that and then complain about him drinking crummy beer.

Tony gave one bottle to his alternate, then pulled up one of the kitchen chairs to sit down across from him. “Look, I realize this is bullshit,” he said. “It’s the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me, either, and I’ve been thrown out a window by a god. But I really need to get back to my own reality and for that I need your help.”

“Why me?” the other asked. He opened his bottle of beer by prying the top off against the radiator ca.

“Because you’re one of the smartest guys I know,” Tony said.

#fanfic #tony stark #iron man

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madscientistjournal · 6 years

Text

Handling the Contents of Consciousness

A case study by Goire Zatla, as provided by Soramimi Hanarejima Art by Ariel Alian Wilson

Keeping this secret from you has become so taxing that I have to use the venom of sleep bugs to tame the eagerness to divulge it.

In the mornings, I apply this toxin to the region of my memory where the secret resides. A little dab of it spreads easily from my fingertip across that part of my mind, cool and thick, greasy until it dries to leave only a minty, vaporous sensation. It’s marvelously effective. This insect secretion from the local apothecary preemptively soothes the itch, which will otherwise inevitably flare up by the middle of breakfast, and the relief it provides lasts well into the evening. After a few days of performing this practice, it is assimilated into my morning bathroom routine, tucked cozily between washing my face and brushing my teeth. Like I’ve been doing this for years.

But after a week, I find that this use of sleep bug venom does have at least one side effect. It is numbing me to beauty. When I see a meteor shower or moonbow or quadrilateral triangle or northern pygmy owl, I merely note it as an exceptional phenomenon. No longer am I enthralled by that sense of ethereal, transient joy.

While this is concerning, the numbness to beauty does present one benefit: I will be able to converse with Qalixy without being in awe of her gorgeous personality.

So I arrange to meet her in conference room R, to provide critical, candid project feedback with a state of mind undistracted by her psychological splendor.

And indeed, within minutes of sitting down at the conference table, I’ve delivered all my comments on her work with pithy honesty. This leaves her plenty of time to ask follow-up questions, most of which are concerned with my emotional responses to key facets of her project, particularly metaphor repurposing and thought nucleation catalysis.

“But how does that make you feel?” she keeps asking.

Unable to experience the inflections of her voice as aurally aesthetic, I can answer all her questions immediately and succinctly.

We move quickly through her concerns and curiosities, and soon, our discussion is metamorphosing into genial conversation. So much so that we end up talking about emotional dexterity. And were I not in the beauty-impervious state that I’m in, I would no doubt be hung up on how uncommonly pretty her ideas on this subject are. Their arcs and colors and twirls verge on–almost veer into–the eccentric, yet remain firmly masterful in the domain of the articulate and cogent. They convince me to try the training routines she recommends and to take her up on her offer of going to emotional workout sessions with her.

The regimen starts with works of art that are unyieldingly evocative, literature and film that cover varied psychological ground at breakneck speeds, full of dynamic characters in ever-evolving situations that evoke one emotion after another for me to handle in unabating succession.

From there, I move on to paintings and photographs that are dense with emotional content ranging from overt sentiment to nuanced suggestion. The most confounding of these is of a teenage boy happening upon a man watering his melon patch as hulking monsters duke it out in the hills behind him. With a backpack purposefully shouldered, the boy appears to have somewhere he’s headed but is now thrust into a moment of reconsideration by this encounter, which has resulted in a posture of puzzlement, a countenance of consternation. The man’s expression seems to be one of calm worry, of anxieties reconciled enough to be only mildly troubling in this moment. Is it the menacing clash of beasts behind him that stirs the agitation he has quieted? Or is it something else entirely?

Another painting unnerves me with its incongruous elements–an understated goodbye, a butterfly in a jar, looming jealousy and tufts of harvested wheat–all coexisting placidly, as if in a carefully balanced state.

Steadily, I work my way through the assortment of visual works she has curated for me, each one pushing me to grapple with an ever-bulkier load of emotional material. Then I graduate into the echelon of theatrical productions, poetry slams, sketch comedy shows and other narrative forms that present numerous emotions nearly simultaneously. Each forces me to manage my psychological responses, holding some to the side while new ones enter. I am challenged to unfold sympathy while clutching outrage, put longing at arm’s length so appreciation can be brought closer, embrace humor one moment and in the next cast it to the edges of my attention to wrangle heartache and compassion. Typically, I must do all this from the confines of a narrow theater seat, amidst the exuberance of a boisterous audience, without the benefit of even a notepad to shelve a feeling or thought. And there, pushed to the brink of my capacities to experience and handle emotions, I become a blossoming of the human potential to be emotionally limber and active with audacious tenacity.

The emotional vigor of the artistic worlds she’s brought me into astounds me relentlessly.

“Aren’t you a fast learner,” she says two weeks into this.

We’ve just finished a workout–a rambunctious, entrepreneurship-themed musical this time–and I’m catching my breath.

“I’m impressed,” she adds with a smile.

“Yes … well … I do feel like … I’ve got a bit of a … knack for this,” I answer, still winded. “And it probably helps that … I’m not distracted by beauty.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, smile fading.

I briefly explain my use of sleep bug venom.

“Oh no, no, no, no,” she says, shaking her head. “That won’t do at all. Beauty is a deep part of all this. I can’t believe you’ve been missing out on that.”

“Missing out on what?” I ask in earnest; it didn’t seem like I was missing out on anything.

That won’t do at all. Beauty is a deep part of all this. I can’t believe you’ve been missing out on that.

“It’s hard to explain, but basically, beauty is one of those things you have to juggle along with everything else, and also, the whole act of juggling is itself beautiful. That’s a drastic oversimplification. You need to experience it. You cannot truly know emotional dexterity while you’re untouchable by beauty.”

I worry about spilling the secret to you or someone else if I lay off the venom, but she is very clear on this point.

“Okay, I’ll give it a try,” I assure her.

She smiles again. I try to figure out if this one is wider than the last.

The next morning, I embark upon a hiatus from the daily application of insect-derived sedative. Cutting this activity from my morning makes my wake-up bathroom routine feel incomplete–wrongly abbreviated. But as I have breakfast and get ready for the day, I feel delightfully normal and become optimistic that the secret has lost its potency, its power subdued by repeated use of the toxin. But this is of course too good to be true.

While walking my customary path along the riverbank, I feel the desire to reveal the secret coming on. It’s faint but growing steadily. I pick up the pace, hoping that moving faster will divert energy from the rising compulsion.

But the urge only gains urgency. I become concerned that I’ll shout out the secret, yell like I’m trying to tell it to someone across the river. Anxious, I reach for the vial of sleep bug secretion I’ve kept in my bag all these weeks, just in case.

Then the morning sunlight on the river catches my attention. It sparkles like it’s flecks of luminous, filmy material floating out there, following every fluctuation of the water’s surface.

As I pause to admire the interplay of light and liquid, my hand falls away from my bag. The beauty of this sight has displaced the urge to divulge. That fact is itself beautiful.

Feeling at ease now, I conclude that when the secret threatens to burst out, I just need to have something beautiful to direct my attention to. Fortunately, you’ve supplied me with just that. In my bag, there’s a postcard from you, a mesmerizingly colorful scene of a mountainside covered in wildflowers from your recent trip to Nolinga Canyon.

As soon as I arrive at work, I place the postcard in the lower right corner of my desk, for easy glanceability. I feel as though I’m back in kindergarten, with my security blanket kept close at hand. Every few minutes, my head turns for a look at the postcard, like I’m afraid someone will swipe it from my desk. These frequent, small doses of the floral landscape seem to ward off the symptoms of secret bearing and keep me feeling almost normal, which delights me.

When it’s time to assemble for the team meeting, I pluck the postcard from my desk and tuck it in the back of my notebook before heading to the conference room. Briefly I muse that to some onlooker, it could appear that I can’t bear to leave the postcard behind, that it’s some vital memento of you.

As fellow members of Team Snurgler get settled around the conference table, I open my notebook. Then I place the postcard on the left page the notebook is open to. Wernt’s gaze is immediately drawn to it, probably because the postcard is the most colorful thing on the conference table. I become self-conscious about having it out, and when he’s not looking, I discreetly put the postcard among the unused pages toward the end of the notebook. When needed, I can sneak a glance at it back there during the meeting.

But when Qalixy enters the conference room a minute later, I know that won’t be necessary. I can admire her personality from across the room when in need of beauty.

And that’s exactly what I do 17 minutes into the meeting. I fixate on her elegant integrity and splendid insightfulness, the prettiness of her lightly prissy conduct. Her qualities easily hold at bay the pressures exerted by the secret. I settle comfortably into her sheer magnificence for wondrous, pacifying minutes, until her eyes flit up and meet mine. We regard each other for some very long seconds. Then she smiles at me.

Abruptly she rises from her seat and leaves the conference room.

My eyes widen as I begin to fret. The deprivation of her beauty leaves me feeling as if the secret is with tremendous force pushing its way out of its confinement in my memory. I might have to step out of the meeting myself. Or flip to the back pages of my notebook, to look at the postcard at the risk of piquing the curiosity of the team members near me.

In the midst of my mini-anxiety attack, I hear Bonrol say, “It may seem harsh, but we must be anti-mediocrean on this.”

“Exactly right,” Kierce joins in. “We have our potentialist values to uphold.”

These words resonate with me, despite my confusion about what exactly they refer to. I’ve lost track of the discussion while lost in Qalixy’s beautiful qualities, but hearing Bonrol and Kierce take this stand, feeling the unmistakable passion in their voices, roused within me is a keen sense of camaraderie, my long reticent aspirations of living the tenets of potentialism stirring to life.

Amid this, a quiet awe suffuses me.

My admiration for my peers, a consternation over what has evoked their vehemence, the trying nature of this secret, the knowingness in Qalixy’s smile, the reassuring brightness of the sky outside–it’s all strikingly beautiful.

And I can juggle them adeptly as I re-engage myself in the proceedings of the meeting, handling these feelings just like so many others I have during my training.

And that is unmistakably beautiful.

Having forsaken aspirations to join the intelligentsia, Goire Zatla is a metaphysiologist whose research focuses on memory, emotion, and consciousness. Goire’s recent studies have examined the properties possessed by a shard of shattered attention and responses to immoderate chronesthesia.

Soramimi Hanarejima is a writer of innovative fiction and the author of Visits to the Confabulatorium, a fanciful story collection that Jack Cheng said “captures moonlight in Ziploc bags.” Soramimi’s recent work has appeared in various literary magazines, including Panoply, Pulp Literature, and The Absurdist.

Ariel Alian Wilson is a few things: artist, writer, gamer, and role-player. Having dabbled in a few different art mediums, Ariel has been drawing since she was small, having always held a passion for it. She’s always juggling numerous projects. She currently lives in Seattle with her cat, Persephone. You can find doodles, sketches, and more at her blog www.winndycakesart.tumblr.com.

Handling the Contents of Consciousness was originally published on Mad Scientist Journal

#Ariel Alian Wilson #Goire Zatla #Metaphysics #Soramimi Hanarejima

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