#but not eating makes it worse and robs me of the ability to sleep and of all energy to do things I might enjoy

[v1naco]

Okay hear me out

Simon Riley x reader but Venom AU.

Like Simon did go into the military but he left a couple years after when (I know this is not canon cause I love his family too much and my baby deserves happiness) his family gets attacked. They’re still alive (besides his father cause fuck that dude) but they got seriously injured.

The attack left him hurt mentally a lot and having to help them heal when he was struggling with his own things made it all worse. So when he went on a night walk he somehow comes across Venom and they bond(?I don’t know how to put it?).

Fast forward years later when his family is a lot better health wise, he uses catching bad guys and letting Venom eat most of them to blow off excess steam and as his therapy. He is out doing his regular shit eating bad guys and he comes across you getting robbed.

You just had a horrible day at work and just wanted to go home and sleep but this guy just had to choose you, a young woman a lone with her earbud(s) in and a backpack on her back walking past the opening of an alleyway at like 11pm.

You were too tired and smart to fight and decided to give the man what he wanted, money, but you only had $3.34 on you from tips and change. The man was pissed, but what is a woman in her last year of college supposed to have, a centurion card (Black Card)? You were living off of hard hours working in the restaurant industry and the scholarships you got to not go in dept after you graduate, even now. You were even an RA but tuition is still pricy.

Simon saw the squabble and knew you just needed some help, since the man just pulled a knife out, and you looked like you could just lay on the floor and sleep the next week away.

Simon (actually Venom) lands on the ground and politely, to the best of his abilities which is none, tells the man to hand back you your money and to walk away. The man argued saying he deserved it, you just wanted to walk away but as Venom took his first step out into the light the man grabs your arm and puts the knife to your neck.

Now you were not only pissed but scared, pissed that if this man slits your throat or puts you in the hospital it can ruin your chance at graduating, and after all those gruesome years of pain and suffering you did not want to redo a whole year. Scared because who wouldn’t be scared of a knife to your neck and the guy holding it looks like his off his rocker.

When you turned your head towards Simon, not only did he see the fear and anger in your eyes but he saw how beautiful you were, even as he could see the light sheen of sweat on you, your dirty hair, and the prominent eye bags you were carrying around, but he would call those bags gucci with how beautiful you looked still with no make up and the bad situation you got unlucky with.

When you saw him your eyes widened. Apparently the man had gotten more scared than you seeing the big black and dark gray mass. Shaped with a human complexion of a body but the head was obviously alien.

The man shoved the knife’s dull blade into your neck enough to draw a small line of blood. Though he didn’t get far enough to cut you deeper since Venom shot a tendril out and grabbed the mans arm. The man dropped the knife due to the pain radiating from his arm. Venom asked (really he threatened) the man to hand you back what he stole from you and he threw insults, calling you all sorts of names you wished to never be called by anyone.

Simon, and especially Venom, was in a happier mood today and would have let that man go with a very distinct warning, but those insults thrown at you slammed that “good day” door right on their faces. Simon believed that no words such as the ones he spoke, should be heard by your pretty ears, those pretty ears with all those pretty jewelry on every inch of them, dangling and reflecting the street and store lights off of the jewels.

Simon didn’t wish for you to see this next part but Venom liked your ear piercings and tattoos and was getting very cranky and wished to take a bite of that man’s head. Simon couldn’t stop Venom in time and the next thing you notice is the blood and the top part of the man’s cervical vertebrae sticking out.

You were a wide eyed doe right then and there. With your hand on your mouth not trying to breath anything around you in. Venom then turns and asks if you’re alright. He was sorry you had to see it, you just nodded and continued to look at the body, slowly and weirdly getting used to it the more you stared at it. You believe you should take a break from all those movies and shows that has a lot of gore in it, believing that your reaction to this situation is not normal.

With how you reacted, and noticing you not shaking much at all anymore, Venom strikes up a conversation with you, much to Simon’s protest. He noticed the accent and figures out that you are not originally from the area, definitely from a different country. As seconds pass, Venom and Simon like you more and more. Asking to walk you home to make sure you are okay, Venom changes back to Simon and he walks you home. You’re much too surprised and still very much so tired and don’t try to fight him on his request to walk you home. But you enjoy the silence between you both, it was calming and you didn’t need to listen to music to fill that silence for once.

When he reached your home he wished you a safe and well night. You stop him real quickly, asking if you could do anything for him to repay him for helping you. He said he didn’t need anything from you. Just as he was turning to walk away you ask to at least cook him a mean sometime, him AND Venom of course, remembering that Venom said that that man’s head was not tasty and he was still hungry.

Simon did not wish to bring you into his pain filled life, but he wished to be selfish for once for his own happiness and with that Simon agrees. He walks away with one lesser bad guy on the streets and with a new number in his contacts, ready to set up a dinner with the woman he knew would later marry.

Anyway thats my little thought of a Simon Riley Venom AU. I did’t specify an age of the reader cause people are different ages during their college/university years and some people go to school for more than the regular 2-4 years. But I was thinking Simon would be about around 25 while the reader is around 22/23 but can be older, maybe even 21 if you want her to be, but nothing under cause those specific age gaps weird me out.

I also did not specify his and her appearance or what she wears bc I don’t really care but if I did I would say more so jeans, converse, and t-shirt with maybe a zip up type style. I do love a girly with many piercings and tattoos though so I wanted to put it in there.

Anyway…sorry Im a d1 yapper😔. I just thought a simon+venom au would be perfect and he would fit the role of Eddie so well. Especially with the motorcycle ugh creaming rn😩. Ehem. Do with this how you want but I do hope that if you do use this please tag me. Maybe give me credits for this idea since I have not found anything like this anywhere if you want. But yeah if someone writes this PLEASE TAG ME. I write for shit so I definitely am not.

[typingatlightspeed]

Ohh could you write some speedingbullet whump and/or hurt/comfort pretty please? alternatively some dom/service sub body worship dynamics between demo and sniper however which way you like it

TF2 Fanfic - Textures

Scout catches the flu and a sinus infection robs him of his senses of smell and taste, leaving him miserable and having trouble willing himself to eat. Sniper helps figure out a workaround to get him eating, at least.

Sappy Hope you enjoy, anon! I couldn't come up withy any good whump so I went hurt/comfort, drawing from some of my own experiences with illnesses over the years (and particularly my bout with COVID last year).

---------

"You've gotta eat somethin'," Sniper urged, setting a bowl of soup down on the night stand. "If you don't eat you're not gonna have the strength to recover.

"I'm not hungry," Scout mumbled though a stuffy nose, his eyes slowly rolling open, squinting in the low light that filtered through the blinds of his quarters. "Can't taste it anyway with this sinus infection."

"I know, Jer, but—"

"I can't get it down!" Tears pricked at Scout's eyes, and he rolled onto his side to face away from Sniper, shifting on the bed with what little energy he had. "If I can't taste it I can't get myself to swallow it. It's just nothin', no sensation. Everythin's just all snot."

Sniper sighed, sitting on the bed in the space Scout left, utterly frustrated. The younger man had been sick for a week and a half with what Medic was sure was the flu, and once the coughing had given way to a sinus infection, Scout had completely lost the ability to smell or taste anything. He'd claimed it had just tasted like rotten mucus, and he had stopped eating.

It had been a sad thing at first, seeing the usually spry and energetic athlete rendered inert and writhing with muscle aches and fever, coughing up his damned lungs. Ever the dutiful boyfriend, Sniper had done his best to tend to him while minimizing contact, not too keen on getting sick himself. But now that Scout wasn't eating, he cared less about his own safety and more about his boyfriend's.

"If I get you some interestin' textures do you think you'd be able to choke somethin' down? You've got to eat, Jer."

Scout mumbled quietly, his voice more a whimper than actual speech.

"Can't understand you." Sniper tried not to let himself get frustrated. Scout would always get so quiet and pathetic when he felt like shit.

"I can try," Scout repeated, unsure and exhausted. He'd half said it just to get Sniper to stop lecturing him, wishing he'd just let him sleep.

"Alright, that's all I ask is that you try. I'll figure somethin' out and be back. If you can, try to get some of that soup down too. At least drink some broth, yeh?"

"Okay," Scout mumbled, drawing the blanket up around himself. "Thanks, babe."

"You don't gotta thank me; just get better," Sniper sighed, petting Scout's hair fondly before standing. "Love you."

"Love you too."

Closing the door behind him, Sniper sighed and pulled off his hat, running a hand through his hair. Scout was an absolute mess, and he had no idea if he was getting better or not at this point. Medic had told him that progress was not expressly linear, especially with a flu as bad as Scout's, but it still didn't make him worry any less as he progressed from symptom to symptom rather than simply shedding them on his way to convalescence.

The fact that the poor guy just had to suffer through it as the virus ran its course just made it worse. Sniper hated seeing Scout have to go through this, and worse was that the only thing he could do was try to make sure he ate, showered, and made it to the bathroom if he was too weak to get there on his own. Thankfully, that last contingency had only come to pass twice over the past week.

With a shake of his head to rouse himself from his thoughts, Sniper donned his hat again and set off down the hall for the mess to try and scrounge up something with an interesting mouthfeel. Hopefully the novelty of sensation would be enough to get Scout past the inability to taste anything but his own infection.

It was hot. On a good day, the New Mexico badlands were blistering to the native New Englander, but here, curled up in bed with a fever rolling in and out like the tide, the heat came in unbearable waves. The slightest draft, the barest caress of a breeze made him feel like he was freezing and brought on fresh cramps and joint pain. So instead he would sweat, bundled tightly in his blankets on his stiff, unyielding RED-issue bed. Even so he shivered, too cold, too hot simultaneously, and he craved more blankets as though wrapping himself in a cocoon of warmth would somehow solve anything. Maybe he just craved the pressure that it would provide, some comforting weight to envelop him and make him feel safe.

He wished Sniper would come back, curl up with him, wrap his arms around him and tell him he was going to be okay. He craved the familiar embrace of his lover, gangly limbs holding him close, lips pressing kisses onto the crown of his head. He wished dearly for Sniper to envelop him in himself, to make him feel like everything was going to be okay, like he wasn't dying.

Scout didn't think he was dying. He'd died enough times to know how that felt. But here, now, shivering and sweating under his scratchy covers, Scout felt like death regardless.

He'd lost track of time, no idea how much or little had passed, when he heard a soft clack at his door, a single-knuckle knock of courtesy before it was opened and Sniper slipped inside, closing it quietly behind him. The bushman wore a smile writ with trepidation, and held a paper bag in his hand.

"'ope I didn't wake you, love," he soothed, his voice as soft as he could manage in spite of its rough, gravelly tones. Scout didn't mind. He loved the sound of Sniper's voice when it was quiet; he found it almost unbearably sexy. It was really too bad he felt too much like shit to properly appreciate it.

Scout mumbled muzzily, words not quite congealing out of the jumble of syllables he'd wheezed out. He tried again, his eyes cracking open to look up at the gentle, worried face of his lover, "It's okay, I been sleepin' so much."

"That's a good thing," Sniper replied, steadying himself with one hand on the bed as he settled onto the floor next to it, crossing his legs and setting the bag down. "Rest's important for you."

Inching to the edge of the bed, Scout flopped an arm over to pet at Sniper's cheek, his fingers clumsily tracing the line of his jaw fondly. He wanted to give him a hug, a proper squeeze, but could barely keep his arm up enough to do this. "'m so tired 'a sleepin'."

"I know, but you need it."

"I'm lonely," Scout murmured, curling his legs up a little tighter against himself. "But if you sleep with me you're gonna get sick."

Sniper sighed. He hadn't slept in the same bed as Scout in over a week, and he wasn't ashamed to admit he was lonely too. They'd gotten so used to the comfort and safety of sleeping in one another's arms, of just being around one another so constantly, that this time apart—marked by Sniper only visiting for brief periods and trying not to make too much contact—practically felt like one of them was in prison. At this point he'd almost wished he hadn't made the effort not to get sick, so they could at least have been miserable together through most of it.

"I'm sorry," Sniper replied, unsure what else to say. He opened the bag in front of him, withdrawing a few folded Chinese food containers and a styrofoam bowl with a lid. "We gotta get you better sooner then."

"Whassat?"

"Couldn't find anythin' on base to cook that would be good enough. 'Least, nothin' I know 'ow to cook," Sniper chuckled. "So me and Pyro went on a run to town for some Chinese. Pyro says 'e used to get sinus infections all the time when 'e was a teenager. Real sickly kid. Lost 'is sense of taste all the time. 'e said somethin' crunchy-fried'll 'elp with the whole texture-for-flavour substitution thing, and that we 'ad the right idea."

Scout blinked and slowly pulled himself up onto his elbow, realizing for the first time that it was nearly night. Grey light filtered through the blinds, the golden rays of sunset long past, but the blue shadows of night yet to fully overtake the desert. He'd been out for a while. "You went all the way to town for me?"

Sniper smiled. "'course. You gotta eat," he said with a shrug of one shoulder. "If this is what can get you to eat, then it's well worth it, I'd say."

"Mick..." A wobbly smile crawled across Scout's lips, and he felt like the slightest thing would set him off crying. Sniper was so sweet, so kind, so doting, and he could never really figure out how to handle it. Scout had spent his entire life as an afterthought, the last one to get anything, even respect. And here, this man almost twice his age treated him like he was his world. Scout still couldn't really wrap his head around it, and it made his chest flutter. A soft laugh escaped him, and he shook his head to keep his eyes dry. Then he stilled, the shake leaving him dizzy, all of the mucus in his head sloshing and shifting in horrible ways. When he could bring himself to open his eyes again, he looked into Sniper's, and lost himself there for a long moment. "I love you," he fairly whimpered, reaching to pet at his face again.

Sniper caught Scout's hand and brought it to his lips, kissing each fingertip before pressing a final smooch to his palm. "Come on, you sappy wreck," he teased. "Let's get you fed, yeh?" Scout stared a long moment, expectant, until Sniper rejoined, "I love you too, Jer."

That satisfied him, and Scout finally brought himself up to a seated position, folding his legs under himself and tucking his blankets as flat as he could. "So what'd you get me, anyway?"

"Fried pork and cabbage potstickers with ginger sauce, and some fried wontons. Got some sweet and sour sauce to dip those into."

"So it's just all crunchy," Scout mused. He inhaled, hoping against hope that the aroma of hot pork, ginger, fry oil, anything really, would break through the stench of rot and mucus that filled his senses. He suppressed a soft sob at his failure to smell any of it, and tempered his expectations accordingly. Eating without taste was like fucking without pleasure, leaving him wholly unsatisfied and desperate for any of the sensory input he craved. But as he took hold of a wonton and bit into it, he took solace in the crunch and crispiness, textures giving him something to cling to as he dutifully performed the joyless task of eating something to fuel his recovery.

"How is it?" Sniper asked.

Scout sighed through his nose, "I can't taste anything. Still. But at least it feels different."

"That's something then. All I ask is you get something down, so we can get you healthy again."

"I just wanna feel better so you can hold me again. I miss you."

Sniper frowned and stood, walking around to the other side of the bed. He kicked off his boots and set his hat and sunglasses on the footlocker at the end of the bed, and sat behind Scout. He lay down, rolling to face his lover's back, and wrapped an arm around his waist as he ate. He placed a kiss on Scout's side, ignoring the chilly sweat that had collected on him.

"You're gonna get sick," Scout mumbled around a potsticker, ginger sauce running down his chin.

"I'll be fine. And you're not gonna get any better layin' 'ere depressed and lonely on top of not eatin'. If I gotta curl up with you to get your spirits up, so be it."

Scout smiled at that, his free hand coming down to pet through Sniper's hair. "Thanks, Mick."

"'s nothin," Sniper mumbled in reply, snuggling in against his lover. "Can I get one of those potstickers, though?"

[mysticstarlightduck]

OC Questionnaire Tag (2)!

Thanks for the tag @willtheweaver (here)!

Your questions are:

What are your biggest pet peeves?

Who is the person you look up to the most?

Do you have any major fears?

I'll go with twins Cyriel and Dimya Staryn from Song of Thorns, and Augustus Grimmure and Sam Delaways from Enchanted Illusions for this one!

1. What is your favorite way of relaxing after a hard day’s work?

(Song of Thorns)

Cyriel - "Probably a good cup of warm wine and a delicious roast in a tavern after a long journey down the Reaper's Way - and yeah you heard that route. It's the only road that still connects human territory and fey lands, and cuts through a very much cursed forest. My job is not fun."

Dimya - "I dunno. Eating a pastry or some kind a dessert while chilling by the fireplace before taking a nap sounds about right. I don't really have a specific routine that I follow, but man I'd like to get some more sleep if I could."

(Enchanted Illusions)

Augustus - "Oh, that's an interesting question, my good fellow! Personally, reading a necromancy tome on a train ride is my ideal go-to, but a hot bath with a lot of bubbles also does the trick! Practicing my magic or doing something fun is also a good idea."

Sam - "Relaxing, haha. That's a good joke right there. You were serious? When I'm not working in the factories I'm taking care of my kid brothers and trying to not get robbed in an alley! I'm lucky if I get more than three solid hours of sleep a night on a regular week. Strystead ain't a place that just lets ya 'relax', y'know?"

2. Did you do anything that you regret now?

(Song of Thorns)

Cyriel - "Eh, not really. I'm a mercenary and a land pirate, my job isn't exactly for people who care about that kind of stuff. One thing that I do regret, however, is trusting people who don't deserve my loyalty. That much I will admit - my blind trust screwed us up big time."

Dimya - "Yes. I've screwed up more times than I can count, but I'd say that one thing I did that I really regret is not doing anything when I found out my boss was capturing and selling living vampires to 'high value' clients - I was just too scared of what that guy would do to me and my sister if he found out I knew the truth. But my silence doomed those innocent vampires to a fate probably worse than death. I hope we can still stop our former boss's schemes and free these people. I still haven't told my sister though, I probably should."

(Enchanted Illusions)

Augustus - "Making a deal with an immortal fey demon of death sounded like a great idea five years ago and... it was not. I admit that now. I'm racing against time because I don't really fancy having my soul trapped somewhere for all eternity. No thanks! That idea was quite honestly the worst possible idea I could've had."

Sam - "Oh, I definitely regret moving to Strystead. We shoulda stayed in Ansburke and figured things out from there, but at the time I desperately needed a job, and going to Strystead seemed like a good option because of the factories and all. Instead, I've gotten us stuck in this hellish city and with a growing pile of debt."

3. If someone put you in a position of power, would you be able to trust yourself to make good decisions?

(Song of Thorns)

Cyriel - "Yep. I think. I do pretty well when it comes to making decisions quickly and I also have a tendency to gravitate towards leadership roles, so as long as I don't screw up really bad I'd probably do well."

Dimya - "Hells nah (chuckles). I don't even trust myself most times, imagine me leading a team or something. It would be too chaotic, haha. Leave leadership roles to my sister - she's the idealist, not me, I'm fine as I am."

(Enchanted Illusions)

Augustus - "Yes, that's basically what I do, my friend. Making plans in high-tension situations and managing a team is easy compared to learning the art of necromancy."

Sam - "I dunno. I'm pretty confident in my abilities and am good at improvising when I need to, but I don't know how I'd be able to handle it long-term. I prefer to be unseen, behind the scenes, y'know. Easier to not get in trouble when you go unnoticed."

Tagging: @smol-feralgremlin, @kaylinalexanderbooks@littleladymab@cabbojage@lassiesandiego@little-peril-stories@oh-no-another-idea@thepeculiarbird@rickie-the-storyteller@crowandmoonwriting@steh-lar-uh-nuhs@gummybugg@forthesanityofstorytellers@doublegoblin@aalinaaaaaa@starlit-hopes-and-dreams@elshells@illarian-rambling@clairelsonao3@conkers-thecosy@anyablackwood @diabolical-blue @cowboybrunch, @eccaiia and OPEN TAG

[alrightberries]

strawberries and cigarettes (always taste like you)

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

❈ genre: angst ❈ word count: 4k

❈ summary: Levi celebrates Christmas Eve the only way he knew how: getting drunk and high on a rooftop while thinking about you.

❈ trigger warnings: drinking and smoking. mentions of violence, gore, blood and death. brief mention of sex. profanity.

a/n: canon compliant but also kinda not? idk if they have cigarettes in the aot/snk universe or if they celebrate christmas so just roll with it.

Smoke puffed out of Levi’s lips, slowly dissipating in the chilly December night. The breeze that passed by caused goosebumps to rise on his skin, a product of the winter’s unforgiving coldness, and the thought of getting off the rooftop where he sat in silence briefly crossed his mind. His office wasn’t that far and it wouldn’t take that long to quickly grab his coat, but the longer he stayed and stared at the dark sky, the more he found himself not caring about the cold breeze or the below zero temperatures. 

He took another puff from the cigarette in his hand, eyes drifting towards the barracks where the rest of the regiment most likely was at this hour. The torches and lamps scattered around the base glowed a warm orange-y yellow, a contrast to the whites and blues of the snow and darkness. It looked gorgeous, almost, and Levi silently chuckled to himself at the sickening thought of finding anything beautiful at this fucked up time of year.

Christmas Eve.

A time for friends. A time for family. A time for people to gather around the fireplace and drink warm beverages as they sang songs, told stories, and eagerly waited for the stroke of midnight to open and exchange their gifts.

What a load of bullshit.

Christmas Eve was Levi’s version of a pain in the ass. It was a holiday filled with a bunch of cadets greeting him with a warm and cheery ‘Merry Christmas, Captain’ every time he passed them in the halls, and he would only respond with either silence or a brief nod of acknowledgement. Not to mention, it was also the time where Hanji would try to get him to celebrate different festivities in an attempt to cheer him up. 

It was technically a week-long headache for Levi, with the eccentric soldier- for an entire seven days prior to Christmas- trying just about everything in the book in attempts to get him to sit around the fire with the other squad leaders or even do something as small as switch out tea for hot chocolate to match the holiday spirit. It seemed like Hanji’s excessive invitations would always get worse around Christmas Eve, but of course, it never worked.

Levi took a swig of the whiskey he’d brought with him onto the rooftop, extinguishing the cigarette he was holding and lighting a new one once it had reached its end, before taking another deep inhale of the stick of nicotine.

Indeed, Christmas Eve was nothing but a pain for Levi.

Perhaps Hanji thought of him as lonely. Maybe Erwin had even just half a mind to worry about his well-being. But truth be told, Levi did celebrate Christmas Eve in his own little way: at around 10 o’clock at night, without fail, Levi would make his way onto the highest rooftop of their current base carrying nothing but whiskey, nicotine, and strawberries. From there, he would drink and smoke until midnight came, at which point he would start to eat the strawberries he’d brought. Then he would drink and smoke some more until he felt like his liver couldn’t handle it anymore, before eventually making his way back to his quarters at 4 o’clock in the morning and attempt to get his drunk and high mind to rest.

It was his fucked up little Christmas Eve tradition. 

The first year Hanji had noticed that Levi wasn’t around the base for their Christmas Eve celebration, they went around asking people if anyone had seen him, to which everyone would reply with ‘No, I haven’t seen him, sorry.’ When the second year came around, Hanji once again noticed that Levi was gone and no one had seemed to know where he was. So when the third year came around, they waited for him to leave his office and stealthily followed him around the base to find out exactly where Levi runs off to during the holidays. Hanji got caught, of course, and by the third time they’d gotten caught (and almost strangled each time) they knew it was best to stick to pestering him rather than following him.

Levi grimaced at the memories of Hanji trying to follow him around, him sensing it immediately and going around the base in an attempt to shake them off his tail, failing, and eventually just resorting to telling them off (Oi, four-eyes, how much longer do you plan to stalk me like a creepy old pervert?)

He sighed.

He wasn’t always like this. He used to enjoy Christmas Eve and doing all the cliche holiday traditions that came with it; sitting around the fireplace with Isabel and Farlan and playing the guitar, pretending not to care about their tone-deaf voices as they sang their own version of holiday songs, never really knowing the lyrics but knowing the tune and making up words to accompany the melody as they go.

Where did he go wrong?

It was around his second bottle of whiskey and his second (or third? He couldn’t remember but didn’t really care at this point) packet of cigarettes when Levi’s fuzzy mind would finally unlock the memories he’d kept at the very back of his mind- a place where he couldn’t reach them and they couldn’t reach him. Memories he’d repressed years ago, never to be thought of, never to see the light of day. Except on Christmas Eve.

He closed eyes as he exhaled, lying down on the rooftop’s snow-covered shingles as he carefully set down the bottle of whiskey next to him, just within his reach. He went through cherry-picked memories of his life Underground once again, relishing in the warmth and happiness he once felt when he was with Isabel and Farlan. But at the very corner of each memory, always within his peripheral vision, was a fuzzy character- a person, no doubt- laughing. Smiling. Holding his hand. Playing with his hair. Kissing him good night. Bandaging his wounds. Showing him tricks with a knife. Making tea. Talking with Isabel and Farlan.

He took another swig of the bottle of whiskey, eager to make the fuzzy memory vivid in a way that only the drink that burned his throat could do. His heart skipped a beat as the blurry edges and lines he’d superimposed into his own mind cleared and revealed the one person that made this living hell a bit less terrible, and the only reason why he ever did his little Christmas Eve tradition.

For a moment, it felt like he was floating on air as he finally got a good look at the character that he’d tried so hard to erase from his mind but never could. His mind may have forgotten but his body still remembered, and he felt the tips of his fingers tingle not from the cold but from the memories of a touch, a touch so endearing, a touch so warm, a touch that felt like home. A touch that was unmistakably you.

Mind fuzzy from the alcohol and head just a little light from the nicotine, Levi can faintly remember the moments he’d shared with you during his time in the Underground.

He remembers being homeless after Kenny had left him, then meeting you as you both ran into each other- quite literally, at that- when you stole bread from a bakery and made a run for it as two angry adults chased after you, cutting him a deal that if he helped you get out of it alive then you would share your measly loaf of bread with him. He remembers teaming up with you from that day onward and watching each others’ backs, sleeping in alleyways and taking shifts for safety, rummaging through garbage cans for food before Levi decided that enough was enough and robbing a stall so you both could eat that day. 

Faintly, he also remembers the day he joined a gang that promised him food, shelter, and a steady paying job if he could prove how strong he was by beating up a rival gang member. He remembers getting jumped by three other people as he beat up the man he was told to pummel, fighting them off and winning without so much as a sweat. He remembers the gang he wanted to join eagerly inviting him after the fact, and he agreed on the condition that you came along too.

He remembers the first time he’d taken a shower after years of being filthy, and how clean and fresh he felt without the dirt and grime caking his clothes and his skin. He remembers hearing the door to his small room open- knowing that it was you- and turning around so he could marvel at how clean he felt. But his words died on his tongue as he took a look at you, hair clean, face visible, dirt free, and looking ever-gorgeous in the clothes he’d bought you the day before using his blood money. The clothes weren’t fancy in any way at all, just simple clothes that he bought on a whim when he realized that you’d been wearing the same unwashed garments for years, but he remembers it was enough for him to decide that, even though he didn’t understand what it meant when his heart sped up and the tips of his ears started to burn whenever he was around you, he liked looking at you when were clean. He liked being clean.

He remembers the first time you kissed him. He was sat on the bed of your shared room, gritting his teeth as you stitched up a cut on his forehead and berated him for being so careless, being too confident, on one of the jobs his boss had assigned him. He finished the job, of course, his ability to get the job done without fail being the main reason why he was assigned so many assignments in the first place, but it didn’t make you less angry when he walked into the room with bruised knuckles and a large gash on his forehead. He remembers staying silent, breathing through the pain of what was essentially surgery with no anesthesia as your berating slowly died down and he could finally see in your eyes the worry you tried to conceal with anger. He remembers taking your hand in his after you’d finished cleaning up the materials you used to administer first aid, gently pulling you down to sit next to him as your hands reached out and cradled his face, careful not to touch the freshly sewn skin as he slowly leaned in until his lips met yours.

He remembers the first time he had sex with you, how it was nothing short of awkward and clumsy as two teenagers tried to figure out what goes where and how to do this and that. You were both each others’ first, that much he knew, and though the first time wasn’t as hot and steamy as everyone had worked it out to be, he still enjoyed it because it was you. He remembers cradling you in his arms that night as you fell asleep, a small smile on your peaceful face, and he made his first silent promise that night: that he’d do anything within his power to keep you safe and happy.

He remembers Farlan and the support he gave as Levi worked his way up to a higher position in the gang’s ranks, inevitably becoming the leader through his skills and hard work (a result of the second silent promise he’d made to himself: that he would work hard and become successful enough that you wouldn’t have to lift a finger to live a decent life.) He remembers taking you out of your small shared bedroom and moving you to an actual house that you could call your own; it was barren and filthy and needed a lot of tender love and care, but it didn’t matter- as long as you were with him, he was home. 

He remembers getting his hands on some ODM gear through the black market, training Farlan to become his right-hand man as you stayed within the base and administered first-aid to any member of his gang that needed it. He refused to let you learn how to use the gear, fearing that if you were to be seen doing his dirty work with him then you would become a target of both rival gangs and the Military Police. You didn’t mind, perfectly comfortable with staying at home and handling the more business side of things that involved pay distributions and document blackmails.

He remembers meeting Isabel that fateful day she barged into your home, scaring away the thugs who chased after her and accepting her into the group, your odd little family of dysfunctional orphans now complete.

He remembers spending Christmas Eve with his little family, sitting around the fireplace as you laughed at one of Farlan and Isabel’s stories, hand tightly clutching his as he silently reveled in the peace and happiness he managed to find in the least happy and least peaceful city within the walls. He remembers you telling him to close his eyes as the clock struck midnight, eagerly placing a cardboard box on his hands and apologizing for not wrapping it because you couldn’t afford the wrapping paper anymore, money already spent on the gift itself. He remembers his heart swelling as he opened the box, a beautiful porcelain tea set staring back at him as Isabel and Farlan proudly proclaimed that they also got him a copper kettle and some quality tea leaves to match your gift. He remembers scolding the three of you for spending so much money on such lavish gifts, but you dismissed him and said that it was alright, the little extravagance and months of saving being well worth his present for Christmas and his birthday (which were, coincidentally, the same day).

He remembers the Christmas Eve after that. He remembers the three of you shyly apologizing for not getting him a gift, still recovering from your lavish spending the year before, and he said it didn’t matter because he bought whiskey and cigarettes to share. Faintly, he could still hear Farlan asking him what the hell cigarettes were, and he explained that since the whiskey itself was expensive, he couldn’t afford cigars and instead opted for the cheaper synthetic version of it. He remembers being sat on the roof as you laughed and drank and smoked until sunlight peeked through the gutters on the ceiling of the Underground, clumsily making your way back inside your home to sleep (really, it was mostly you, Isabel, and Farlan who were clumsy. Levi had a high alcohol tolerance and though he grumbled about having to always babysit the three of you when you drank, he always made sure that you were all tucked into bed and snoring away before he himself went to sleep.) He remembers it becoming a tradition for your little family, something that you did every Christmas Eve after that.

He remembers the mysterious nobleman who sat in his little carriage, offering a job to Isabel, Farlan, and himself in return for a generous fee and citizenship to Wall Sina. He remembers rushing home and relaying the news to you as you held his hand, happy that they would be able to go above ground, a privilege that few had. He remembers kissing your forehead and promising to use the money that came with the job to buy you citizenship as well, promising that he would take you above ground and show you the sky. He remembers you crying, tears of joy falling down your face as you kissed him, silently thanking whatever higher being there was that you met Levi.

He remembers his last day in the Underground, gearing up with Isabel and Farlan as they prepared to execute their plan of getting “arrested” by the Survey Corps and taken above ground to finish the job. He remembers your sad eyes and the way you tried to conceal them with a smile, yet he saw right through your act and promised he’d be back for you. He remembers sarcastically asking what souvenir you wanted for him to bring back after the job was done, and you kissed his nose before saying you wanted strawberries, a rare delicacy in the Underground but commonly found above. He remembers agreeing, giving you one last kiss farewell before they set out to do the job.

He remembers sitting on the barracks’ rooftop with Isabel and Farlan, admiring the heavens. He remembers being in awe of how beautiful the moon and stars were, the way they twinkled and shined in the darkness of the night. It was the first time any of them had ever seen the sky. He remembers smiling as he sat between his two closest friends, a feeling of wonder and serenity washing over him as he made another silent promise to himself that night: that he would show you the sky the way he sees it now, with your little family.

He remembers the horror he felt the day after when he rushed back to Isabel and Farlan in the battlefield, finding nothing but Isabel’s severed head and Farlan’s torso on the ground. He remembers the pain, the anguish, the despair that ran through him as he yelled and cried, killing the titan that murdered his friends and ripped away half of his family before collapsing on the ground, realizing that there was no point because he was too late. He remembers Erwin telling him that he knew what he was up to all along, but he was more than welcome to stay in the Survey Corps if he so desired. He remembers agreeing numbly, mind still reeling at his loss. He remembers realizing it had almost been an entire year since he last saw you, but he was too ashamed and in too much grief to come back empty-handed. He had failed the job. He had no money. He had no citizenship for you. And he didn’t have Isabel and Farlan anymore.

He remembers working hard for the next couple of months, realizing that the longer he stayed alive the more money they would pay him. He remembers the day he realized he finally had enough money to buy you citizenship, immediately requesting for time off on Christmas Eve, planning to finally come back to you and fulfill his silent promises. He remembers stopping by the local market, buying a fresh basket of strawberries as an apology for making you wait so long (and also because he still remembered your request), before heading to the Underground the day before Christmas to surprise you.

He remembers feeling nervous yet giddy as he walked to the location of your home, thoughts of finally seeing you for the first time in so long filling up his mind. Nervousness was replaced with worry the closer he got to your home, and he realized that something was horribly wrong. He rushed to the house, fresh bodies littering the front steps as he tried not to step on them. Blood dripped around him, and he knew that whatever happened, happened recently. The door was already open, and Levi wasn’t sure what he was expecting as he cautiously stepped inside but he already feared the worst. Just then, he heard a loud thump followed by a groan coming from your shared bedroom, and Levi rushed inside. He remembers the way his heart stopped at the sight he saw: you, bleeding out on the floor, multiple stab wounds on your abdomen and struggling to breathe. He remembers dropping the basket he held, strawberries scattering around the floor as he rushed to your side, fear turning into panic as he clutched you in his arms.

“Levi,” he remembered you whispering with a weak smile. Your hand reached out to brush a stray strand of hair away from his face. “You came back.”

He remembers scoffing because of course he came back. He promised you he would.

He remembers trying to put pressure on your wounds but not knowing where to start because you had been stabbed so many times and there was only so much he could do since he only had two hands. He remembers you trying to stop him, telling him it was no use. He remembers yelling at you to shut up, okay? You’re not fucking dying on me. Not now. Not ever. 

He doesn’t remember crying, however. But he does remember you reaching out once more to wipe at his cheeks, and he was briefly aware that somehow his cheeks had gotten wet. He remembers you holding his hands that were still trying to put pressure on the wounds, begging him to stop, Levi, please. You and I both know it’s no use. 

He remembers the unmistakable sound of a grandfather clock’s bell, signaling the strike of midnight. He remembers holding your hand as you weakly looked up at his face, a small smile on your lips as you whispered “Merry Christmas and a happy birthday to you, Levi. I love you.” before your hands fell limp in his. 

He remembers collapsing, yelling out your name as he held your corpse in his arms. He remembers shifting, feeling an empty basket bumping against his leg, and he’s suddenly reminded of the strawberries he’d brought as he rushed to gather them all up with shaky hands and put them in the basket once more. “I brought you strawberries, just like you asked.” He remembered saying, pathetically placing it down next to your head. But it was too late. He was too late.

It was gang activity, most likely retaliation. He remembered the Military Police saying. You’re lucky, actually. They left just a couple minutes before you arrived.

He doesn’t remember what happened after that.

But he does remember that he broke all of his promises to you. He remembers that you never even knew that Isabel and Farlan were dead. He remembers that you never even got to see the sky or breathe in the fresh air. He remembers that you never even got to know what strawberries taste like. He remembers that he was too late. For you. For Farlan. For Isabel. 

He was always too late.

The feeling of something cold and wet on his cheeks snapped Levi from his reverie. He sat up, silently cursing the snow that fell on his face as his hands wiped at his cheeks, letting go of the bottle of whiskey in favor of blindly looking for the strawberries he’d brought up with him onto the roof. He felt numb. He wasn’t sure if it was due to the cold, the alcohol, the nicotine, or his own heartbreak at the memories he tried to suppress. He never allowed himself any time to mourn, instead choosing to keep all those memories under lock and key somewhere within the dark crevices of his mind, only to be opened on Christmas Eve, the day he lost it all.

The day he lost his entire family.

He shifts, suddenly aware of the small box in his pocket. As he took out and opened the small black velvety box, he noticed more snowflakes had melted on his cheeks, the gold ring staring back at his face for a few moments before he angrily closed it once more and shoved it back inside his pockets, its weight feeling as heavy as his heart.

He was too late.

Silently, Levi realizes that snow wasn’t falling. He realizes that the wet on his cheeks isn’t from the snow melting on his face, but rather, from his own tears as they slowly came down in gentle streams.

The bell tower rang throughout the base, signaling the stroke of midnight. Bitterly, he took a bite of the strawberries as he lied down once more, reaching for the bottle of whiskey.

Merry Christmas and a happy fucking birthday to me.

alrightberries © 2020. do not modify or repost.

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[only-lurkin-dont-mind-me]

A Monstrous Villain

Any smart person would have gone to bed at 10 when the tiredness began to affect their eyes. Any reasonable person would have taken a shower, had a drink of water, and have gone to sleep by 12. Any functioning person would have eaten something and gone to bed by 2. Yet here you were, lying in bed, eyes wide open, ignoring the need for sleep because what's being tired from a lack of sleep if you're tired all the time anyway? Come the next morning, you were still wide awake, staring at your phone and scrolling through the same few apps, hoping to see to hear, to watch, something new, something else to focus on for a minute more. Nothing else could grasp your attention in those moments, not your body's needs, mental or physical.

The knocking on the window, however, did grab your attention.

A fairly disgruntled looking creature. Ovros stared at you with far too many eyes, the massive winged creature hovering a good few storied off of the ground, waiting for your window to be unlocked. 

With a deep breath, you braced yourself for the coming lecture and walked over to the window, opening it haphazardly. 

Ovros gingerly stepped through the window, tucking their massive frame inwards to fit into your drearily dark livingroom. "If I wasn't so upset about you missing our regular bantering and fighting over by the city bank, I would say thank you." Ovros huffed with a ruffle of his feathers, stepping quickly to the center of the room, His paws making next to no noise as he ducked down slightly to ensure that his antlers didn't scrape against the ceiling. 

He gestured out to the mess that was your living room with a taloned set of hands. "I mean really; you knew I was going to rob the bank today. I even had this new ability I have been practicing for months now to really catch you off guard," Ovros whipped around to face you, Tail almost knocking you over in the process, his many eyes glowing golden with a power rushing through his veins, truly expressing his frustration. "And you-" He jabs at your chest with one of his talons and ok that hurt. "Had the audacity to just not even show up?!" 

Silently, you made your way to the couch, sitting languidly as you allowed yourself to focus on your nemeses words, it would be rude to ignore him twice in one day after all. 

Ovros moves out of your way, allowing you to sit comfortably as he begins to pace the room, a trail of darkened and gold-flecked mist following him closely. "I mean of all the times to leave someone waiting, I expected better of you, And what's even worse I thought you were pulling your fashionably late card that always makes you look so damn good but no, you just left me there, looking like a fool, robbing a bank with no hero to even try to get in my way? Unbelievable!" Ovros snapped his fanged maw in frustration, finally snapping his gaze back to you. 

He seemed ready to demand an explanation until he took a good look at you. Barely dressed, no sleep, lack of food, and probably lack of hydration. 

His burning gaze softened as the golden power shining through his veins extinguished. 

Ovros thought back to a similar incident almost a year ago now, he had been MIA for a few weeks only to have you, his hero, knock on his door with a gift of baked treats and the dumbest mug that said 'Hero's worst nightmare!' He still had that mug, used it often. You sat with him as he let out his frustrations, his dilemmas. When he had his fill he had asked why you came to help him. You had told him that mental health was serious, and you could never find a villain as bad as he was, so you were just looking out for him as any good hero should do. 

Focusing on the present you, he felt his tail twitch in agitation. "When was the last time you had anything other than junk to eat?-" He held up a hand pausing your response, "-do not respond to that question, actually. Go take a shower, put a pair of clean clothes on, yes I will know the difference, then go sit at the table, I'll see to a proper meal, now shoo, off with you." the creature exclaimed while lifting you up with ease and setting you back down in the direction of the bathroom. 

Ovros watched you slowly walk away, much like a scolded puppy. Turning to the kitchen and doubting he would find anything edible, he sent a quick text to one of his assistants, sending a quick list of ingredients for a quick, healthy, meal. 

As he waited, he began to look around, able to smell the emotional turmoil lingering in the air, It gave the villainous being a rather unpleasant feeling. This was his hero, and he would be damned if he would allow anything other than himself to best them. 

By the time said hero was cleaned, changed, and at the table, Ovros's assistant had brought food leaving ovros with ample time to make something, pick up various dishes and trash, and open the blinds to brighten the gloomy home of his hero. 

You almost turned down the bowl of stew that had been placed in front of you. Fighting against something that looked that delicious, as well as your villain's glare that threatened you to try to deny his help? You were cornered. 

Of course, he ensured that you ate slowly, understanding that sometimes eating can make one feel sick without reason. Or you simply forgot he wasn't quite sure just yet. 

Ovros sat at the table with you, watching closely, waiting for a moment to speak. Once he figured out his words, of course. With a twitching tail and ruffling wings, the creature seemed nervous about his next move.

You watched closely as he hesitantly placed a large hand on your forearm, not grasping, simply resting his hand in place. A physical comfort that almost made you laugh with how out of place it seemed. This monstrous nightmare of a creature and your arch-nemesis who looked so worried about hurting you at this moment. He was attempting to comfort you in such a sweet manner. 

"Now, you know that I can be rather, specific about the what's mine is mine rule, and you are my hero. So if there is someone who has lead you to feel so lowly as of late. It is within my job as a villain to 'take care' of this person. Do they have a name?" 

That was almost sweet, "Yeah, they got a name, a shitty one too." 

Ovros visibly brightened at this, wings puffing out and tail perking up kind of brightened. "Wonderful! Might I learn their name from you, or do I need to do some simple research myself? Either way is fine by me. I've been getting rather bored without you as is." 

"Depression."

The creature slumped back slightly. His eyes dulling to an easy understanding. "I see." He didn't say much after that, letting you finish eating in peace, placing his hands in his lap. 

Once you were finished, however, he stood slowly, cautiously, reaching out to help you up. 

You were hesitant of the action, it seemed, different somehow. Not a bad kind of difference, though. You took Ovros's hand in yours and allowed him to lead you to your bed. 

To Ovros's credit, he did look rather unnerved to be standing so easily in his nemesis personal bedroom, a vulnerable place that he would avoid in the future but for the time being, "Rest now, little hero. Sleep properly, or else I will know, and I will knock you out to allow your body to catch up on its missed sleep. Once you wake up, we can try and get you back to trying to capture me. Alright?" 

"Sounds good," you mumbled quietly from the mountain of blankets that the creature was throwing over you. 

"I will bid you a good morning then. Until next time, Hero."

"Till next time, Villain."

[mystical-flute]

Summer Heat, Boy and Girl Meet (SFWeek Day 2)

Tallahassee AU or Summer Love

AO3 || FFN

@mysteryandnonstopfun

Get a job at Camp Sherwood, her father said. It would be fun, he said.

Emma Nolan was not having fun.

In fact, she wasn’t sure she was going to make it to the end of the month without landing in jail for attempted murder. Or, if things continued to get even worse, actual murder.

The source of her ire?

Neal Gold, the counselor of Cabin 4, and his merry band of lost boys who loved to cause trouble to the girls of her cabin, Cabin 8.

The problem had started on the third day of camp. The kids had started settling in and getting used to the routine, and Emma had become more confident in her abilities as a camp leader.

Neal Gold had noticed this, and had planned a spontaneous water fight between their cabins, ambushing the girls on their way back from canoeing. That was fine, lighthearted enough, and it had been a hot, humid day, so the extra water had, admittedly, felt good.

But then it had all gone downhill.

Shaving cream had been next, as the girls had been coming back to their cabins from an arts and crafts lesson. Luckily (in Emma’s opinion), they’d had to leave their crafts to dry, and nothing had been broken.

The third was scaring her campers when they’d had a late-night bonfire. Emma had planned it perfectly - s’mores, campfire songs, the works. And then Neal and his stupid campers had decided to jump out of the bushes just as they’d started telling scary stories. The boys had somehow constructed a monster costume and had jumped out of the bushes. If the kids hadn’t already been aware of Emma’s sour attitude toward Neal Gold, it would have looked like it’d been coordinated by the two counselors.

The worst prank had been when they’d returned to their cabin from a hike through the forest. It had been so nice to learn about the local wildlife and plant life, that for the afternoon, Emma had nearly forgotten about the trouble she’d been having.

Then they’d made it back to their cabin to find all of their belongings tossed onto the roof, including Emma’s mattress.

Despite her complaints to Director Sherwood, nothing had been done. The pranks had been waved off as harmless summer fun, which meant Emma had only one other option: revenge.

She’d started slowly: releasing a harmless, wild garter snake into the cabin (“Goodness, Gold, you guys should learn to shut your cabin door!”), greasing the entryway so many of them slipped on their way in after their movie night.

Then, he’d caught on to what she was doing.

He’d confronted her about the pranks, she had snapped back at him, and somehow (both of them swore up and down they hadn’t done it), a syrup-drenched piece of french toast from that morning’s breakfast had flown through the air and landed on Director Sherwood’s wife, Regina.

It had all gone wrong from there, a full-blown foodfight exploding in a second. It hadn’t lasted long, but Director Sherwood had known immediately who was likely at fault (even though she and Neal absolutely weren’t), and had forced the two of them to clean the mess hall alone, while he took their cabins out to the zipline and rock wall.

“I can’t believe I got stuck cleaning this with you,” Neal scowled, flicking a piece of bacon at her.

“Hey! I didn’t want to do this either, but you’re the one who’s been pranking my kids all month!” she retorted, scraping drying maple syrup off one of the tables with a groan. “I just wanted to be a good counselor and give the kids a fun summer, but you had to go around disrupting us all the time!”

“You think I didn’t want to do the same? Be a good counselor and have a little fun with the kids in my cabin? Isn’t that why we’re all here?”

Emma tossed a dirty rag into a bucket of equally-disgusting water. “Do you get off on scaring little girls? Alice had to sleep with me the night you dressed up as a knockoff Frankenstein, and we had to look for Ella’s lucky blanket for three hours after you put our stuff on the roof!”

Neal went unusually quiet as he processed her words. “Oh. Emma, I’m - ”

“Sure. You’re ‘sorry’, you promise you’re done, but then the minute I walk out of here, you’re going to be plotting something else,” she scoffed.

“No - I mean it,” Neal threw a sponge down and raised his hands in a show of surrender. “I didn’t know I’d scared any of your kids. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Emma scowled. “I did! Director Sherwood didn’t do anything.”

“Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

“Was I supposed to believe you’d listen, after everything that’s happened this month?”

A pause. “Fair point. I’m calling a truce. No more pranks.”

She looked him up and down, trying to find the catch, or to find the lie. She had always been good at it - her father had once told her she was made for detective work.

But she couldn’t find any with Neal, so she sighed, holding out her hand. “Fine. Truce.”

“C’mon, let’s finish this up. If we’re lucky, we might be able to ride the zipline once.”

“Yeah, okay. Sounds like fun.”

Emma’s shoulders ached, from the amount of force used to scrub the mess hall, but by the time they’d finished, they had missed out on the zipline, and the kids were busy practicing their skits for that night’s talent show. They’d missed the pizza that had been called in for lunch, too.

She groaned, rubbing her eyes. “Now what do we do?”

“You hungry?”

“Well, yeah, but - ”

Neal smiled and pulled two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches out of his pocket.

“Neal!”

“What, did they expect we’d eat wild berries and dirt for lunch? Come on, let’s go sit by the lake. We’ll be able to hear when the rehearsal ends.”

He was becoming a terrible influence, but Emma saw no other option as she followed him, plopping down on a rock and nibbling at the crust of her sandwich.

“Where you from, Emma?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s this little town about two hours from here. I doubt you’ve heard of it.”

“Try me.”

“It’s called Storybrooke.”

Neal choked on the bit of sandwich in his mouth, taking a long drink of water. “No shit? My stepdad is from there.”

She stared at him. What were the odds of that? “What’s his name?”

“Jerkass. Dickwad. Motherfu - oh, sorry, you meant his real name. Killian Jones.”

“Any relation to Adam Jones?”

“Think that’s his twin brother. Why?”

“He’s one of the deputies that work under my dad.”

“He’s a cop?!” Neal laughed, doubling over and wiping a tear from his eye. “Could you send him to NYC? I’m pretty sure my stepdad is some sort of thief. Or worse. Mom keeps getting some really fancy shit and then, wouldn’t you know it, the news comes on with a store being robbed.”

Emma frowned. “Jeez, Neal. You don’t have to live with him, right?”

“Nah. Dad has custody. I live with him most of the time.”

“That’s good at least.”

“Yeah, he and Belle are fine.”

They settled into a comfortable conversation then, and Emma found that underneath all the stupid pranks, Neal Gold wasn’t too bad. And he was, well… kind of cute.

Not that she’d ever tell him that.

“GOLD! NOLAN! I hope you two aren’t slacking off!” Director Sherwood suddenly yelled.

The two jumped up.

“Sorry, Director!” Emma called. “See you later, Gold.”

“See ya, Nolan.”

The rest of the month went smoothly, much to Emma’s relief. The girls had come to enjoy themselves, and she’d made a new friend with Neal.

As she lifted her duffel bag onto her shoulder the last day of camp, she frowned as something hit the ground.

A peanut butter label? How had the label to a jar of peanut butter ended up in her bag?

She carefully unfolded it, feeling her eyes widen as she took in the note scribbled on the back.

Call me if you’re ever in the city. - Neal

[snifflesthemouse]

I'm still rather new to Tumblr. While I've clearly displayed my ability to post my ramblings, I'm still figuring out the other various features of this platform. For the sake of reference, I have posted a screenshot below.

While I completely agree with @youhavebeenmarkled that it's grossly inappropriate to suggest Catherine, the future Queen Consort, is a drug addict... I want to add to the discussion and further develop why the concept of Catherine microdosing heroin is entirely ignorant.

@youhavebeenmarkled mentions several excellent points as to why the concept is ridiculous; from genetics to muscle tone and more. But there's deeper reasons why this idea of Catherine being on heroin is so far from the truth and reality, it's out of this world. Some could even argue it sounds like a page from a Hollywood script.

Before I get started, though, I want (and need) to stress a few things. I am in no way shaming anyone. As I've shared in the past, I am the last person in the universe qualified to pass judgement on anything or anyone. My posts are simply my perspectives, my opinions. I look at facts in the public domain, and with my own knowledge and life experience, I form my thoughts.

Please remember while you read this, I am not looking down on anyone. I am not bragging about knowing what drug addiction is or is not. I am only sharing some insights with you, the reader, on what real life heroin addiction is like. My only goal is giving insight.

I am not proud of my past, and I am not condoning it. Nor should you. Accountability is how I stay clean. Please do not feel like I am suggesting non-addicts are ignorant or "square". Not knowing or understanding heroin addiction is a blessing. It's a good thing to be in the dark about certain things because it means you're smarter than people like me.

Be proud of the fact you don't automatically see why these blind items are total nonsense from the start. And if you aren't proud of yourself, just know I am proud AF of you. For those of you like myself who have been through the hell of addiction, remember we do recover. With all that being said, let's get going.

You see, anyone with firsthand experience or knowledge of true heroin addiction would automatically know these rumors are absolutely ridiculous. Why? Because heroin addiction doesn't work that way.

Now don't get me wrong. The world is filled with functioning closet addicts. I myself was a functioning closet addict for years before the world was any the wiser. The key point, though, is the world did eventually get wiser.

Heroin addiction usually starts out in one of a few ways. Most Americans addicted to heroin became that way because of prescription painkillers. For example, I first got addicted to pain pills. When the pain pills became impossible to get, I took what I could get that was the closest equivalent. That was heroin.

But some people start using heroin because they did some at a party with friends. Or they have a loved one addicted and wanted to see what the fuss was all about. Some people are hooked on other drugs, like cocaine or ecstasy, and their usual dealer offers a free sample of the latest batch of heroin. There's a saying among addicts; "The first one's free."

Dealers know they can increase their profitability if they can get established clients addicted to other products they traffic. But these are just a few examples of how people get started using heroin. Very rarely does anyone start out on heroin simply because they want to stay thin. Contrary to the popular belief known to many as "heroin chic" that came from supermodels in the mid 80s and 90s.

Heroin is what addicts refer to as a euphoria narcotic. It has a euphoric effect, and it is sometimes called a "downer". Cocaine, crack cocaine, methamphetamine, or amphetamines are called "uppers" or "speeders" because they stimulate the brain and give energy. While heroin can have that affect on people, it is not the traditional go-to for illicit weight management.

In other words, if Catherine really did use microdosing (a concept I will debunk in a moment), her first, best choice would be a stimulant like cocaine because it's much more effective at appetite suppression and providing energy. Heroin wouldn't be the first, best choice for many reasons.

Because of its nature, heroin is highly addictive. Most users begin snorting the drug in powder form. Within seconds to a minute, the substance enters the bloodstream and hits the brain. The brain then releases endorphins that travel the rewards pathway in the brain. The first time one uses heroin is the highest they will ever feel from using. Every subsequent dose releases less and less endorphins in the brain. This is why recovering addicts talk about chasing their sobriety like they chased their first high. This is also why microdosing is an almost-impossible behavior.

Microdosing means taking tiny, small amounts over time. Meaning that you only use the minimum amount to achieve the effect you desire. But the problem is, your brain becomes physically dependent on the substance over time. Every time an addict uses, the brain gets more dependent on that substance to function. So, while a non-addict's brain has no issues with their brain producing endorphins, an addict's brain does. This is why heroin is so addictive.

Eventually, a heroin addict's brain will become so reliant on heroin to produce endorphins, the addict will become entirely dependent. This is also known as becoming hooked. When the addict doesn't have the minimum amount of heroin the body is accustomed to, or depending upon, the addict will start withdrawal. This is often called being "dope sick" or "detoxing".

Detoxing or being dope sick is the driving force behind addicts staying addicts. Being dope sick is the biggest fear of an addict. So much so, the fear of detoxing is enough to drive otherwise good, decent human beings to doing absolutely whatever it takes to avoid detoxing. Stealing from loved ones, manipulating innocent bystanders, lying, cheating, robbing, selling your body... are the half of it.

Being dope sick is like having the worst flu of your life times a million. You will vomit, have uncontrollable diarrhea, and your body will hurt worse than anything you could ever imagine. If you detox for more than a day, you will begin to feel like your insides are shaking, burning, and pulling apart inside. You can't sleep. You can't eat. You can't get out of bed. You miss work and lose your job (if you still have one at this point). You get desperate before this point, and you get carnal after this point.

Your brain and entire body becomes dependent on this substance to function subpar. Without this substance, everything begins to stop working properly. Depending on exactly how much you use normally, your withdrawal can become life threatening. You can have seizures, strokes, or even go into cardiac arrest. Hopefully you can see by now why I say the concept of microdosing is ridiculous.

To be able to micro dose would require the self control and willpower of a super human. This reminds me of an article I once read about a college professor who advocated for drug use. He claimed he wasn't addicted, had control of his drug use, and was a productive member of society. He said he'd use heroin like others drink after a long day of work. Yet, he's been using it for over a decade. Yet, he experienced detoxing. That professor is a prime example of an addict in denial. But I digress...

My points are this:

1. Heroin wouldn't be the first choice for weight control or appetite suppression; cocaine or stimulants like meth or ritalin would be.

2. Microdosing is an almost-impossible method of drug use because the body gets hooked quickly. Which means the dose will only increase in amount in order to have the same effects over time.

3. Heroin causes an addiction that results in serious, life threatening withdrawal that drives even the nicest person to doing the worst of the worst.

4. Heroin addiction, even in small amounts, takes no time to invade and overtake one's life. It literally only takes one time to get hooked. It literally takes no time to destroy everything.

Oh, and one more thing before I put a sock in it... at the height of my active addiction, I was using around 2 grams a day to feel normal. I spent at minimum $200 a day on heroin. Sometimes even more. When I started out, I was only using a tenth or less. It takes 10 of those to make a gram. So within two months of starting, I went from doing one tenth to needing 20 of those tenths just to feel normal and function. All the while, I never got smaller than 150 pounds.

I know it sounds terrible, but I would lament over how unfair it was. I was doing all this heroin, and I was still thick AF. I would literally joke to fellow addicts I would use with how it was total bullshit. How was it I was using 2 grams a day and still a size 12 or 14? That's how sick I was in my disease. Which is my final point.

Not everyone on heroin is "heroin chic" skinny. The effort, will power, and self control it would take to "microdose" would be far greater than what it would take to control one's diet and exercise. Plus it would be much cheaper to hire a trainer than employ a drug dealer.

I hope this very long, detailed, winded post gives better insight to the deeper reasons the blind item is so dumb. I also hope it gives insight to the real life of heroin addiction. My goal was, and is, to provide real examples to the blind item's absurdity. If I can help people better understand heroin addiction, potentially deterring someone from ever touching it or even a loved one learning something that could help someone they know struggling with addiction... well that would be a bonus.

P.S. If you or a loved one you know is struggling with addiction, there is help out there. If you have any questions or just need someone to listen, please feel free to message me. I will do my best to help. I've been there. They say the only way to keep your sobriety is by giving it away... I have plenty to give. Be forewarned, though, I am unapologetically blunt and honest to a fault. I mean no harm, but I will not sugar coat anything.

[poliel]

Surprise Egg 2/13: Morning Sickness

I don't have a real solid headcanon for how long grumpus pregnancies last so I'm vague about the passage of time in this fic. But that's not super important anyway.

~

Almost from the start Buddy had made sure to make time to spend with Filbo even though he never requested anything of them after he’d asked them to bring everyone back to town and to assist everyone else if their various problems if possible. Now that they were dating though, Buddy tried to do so a bit more often. It still wasn’t as much as they would’ve liked though. Their story and finding Lizbert had to take precedence. Keeping everyone fed and bringing folk back to town and helping everyone with their things was also important and took up quite a bit of their time as well. Adding in the fact that they were actively exploring the island and testing all the ways they could interact with and catch the various bugsnax scattered across it, they were very busy indeed.

They did what they could though and if Filbo minded he didn’t show it. He seemed happy with whatever time they could find for him. They felt a little guilty about it but that’s just how it was. To make up for it they tried to sleep in town more often, with him if they came in early enough in the night. Which steadily became a thing more and more often because they were just that exhausted.

“You feeling okay, Buddy?” he asked them one evening after they’d stumbled into town with little to show for their hunting efforts.

After doling out what little they had caught, they’d gone to flop down by the firepit to stare into it as they forced themself to eat. So it was their own fault he’d noticed their discomfort. There wasn’t any use complaining about it so they never did but well, he’d asked so… “I’m sick.”

The already worried expression on his face grew more so. “Oh uh, I’d offer to make you some soup or something but uh… yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Except for the fact that it had heavily affected their ability to function today.

Filbo fidgeted with his paws. “You seem to be eating okay though, that’s good.”

“That’s the thing, I feel like I’m going to puke but I’m also starving.” And so they ate, staring into the fire to distract themself from how every ketchup ‘flower’ they ate made them want to throw their guts up a little more. The newfound peanut butter helped though, they should’ve grabbed more of it while up in the mountains earlier, it had yet to grow in the garden since Wambus had planted it literally just yesterday.

“Oh, if only Eggabell was still in town. She’d know how to help.”

“Well, she’s not so… sit with me and talk? Tell me what goes on around town when I’m not here.” A distraction was welcome and spending time chatting with him was always nice.

He still looked a little unsure but sat down next to them anyway. “Okay. After you’re done eating though you should rest.”

Today day was already more of a bust than anything so why not go ahead and waste the rest of it. It’s not like they’d get much done anyway so… “Fine.”

~

The nausea came and went randomly, sometimes worse, sometimes barely there, just a nuisance. The exhaustion and hunger were constants though. Often they were light headed too, standing up and not having blackness eat at the edges of their vision became a rarity. With nothing that could be done about it though they kept trucking on and didn’t complain.

Filbo picked up on the fact they weren’t feeling well though. Insisting they rest more or even take a whole day off. The former they did fairly often when he suggested it, the latter though they couldn’t afford to do. Thankfully, probably due to the fact they often listened to him about the former, he never heavily insisted on the latter, making things easier for both of them.

One thing they were willing to share though was… “Sometimes I want to eat mud.”

On the bed, Filbo looked up from the notebook they’d lent to him at his request to see more of their doodles because he liked them for some reason. “What?”

His tone had enough concern in it to draw Buddy’s gaze up from the notebook they were currently doodling in – a spare that had mostly doodles of bugsnax but would now have a doodle of Filbo flipping through the other notebook. “Sometimes I want to eat mud,” they repeated.

“Uh… why?”

Maybe they shouldn’t have brought it up after all. But the sound of the rain pattering against the hut’s roof and the view they had of it through the window as they sat at Filbo’s little table had brought it to mind in general. Making the craving return. “I don’t know. It’s really weird though, huh?” They’d never felt like that before.”

“Okay, but um… you’re not ever going to, right?”

“Of course not. I also really want to eat the bugsnax but like mud, I know it’d be worse for me if I did.”

Filbo was silent for a few seconds before flipping the journal closed and rolled out of bed and walking over and sit at the table across from them. “Maybe it’s time you uh, take a break or something? Go back to the mainland, get some real food and then come back.”

“I can’t.”

“I’m sure we’d all be fine on our own without you for a couple weeks.”

“I’m sure you would be. But I can’t go back until the story’s done. And the longer Lizbert’s missing, the worse her situation could be for all we know. If I take the time to go back to the mainland, she could be dead even before I return to start looking for her again.” Which would be bad in general and would hurt the conclusion of their big story.

Filbo sighed, hanging his head. “Yeah, I guess that’s true. I’m just worried about you.”

Buddy had already known that of course but… it was nice to hear. So nice it made them almost feel like crying. Which was dumb, it wasn’t that big a deal, so why were they so emotional? … “I’ll be fine,” they said instead, putting on a smile for him. “I’ve been through similar hardships before and came out fine.”

“Really?”

“Yep. I was lost in the woods for like a whole month apparently when looking for Moth-grump once. And while that’s far less time than I’ve spent here so far, I didn’t have a reliable source of food or water and no shelter whatsoever.”

“That sounds pretty awful.”

“It was.” Even if sauce, dandelions, and tree sap from the Surgerpine trees wasn’t much it was at least consistent, plentiful, and took no energy to find and collect. Even if for some reason they felt worse off here they couldn’t be, right? Especially since they weren’t really losing much weight, they’d started to at first but seemed to have evened out. “But it was worth it, just like this is going to be. … Or it was almost worth it.”

“What happened?”

“I got concrete evidence the Moth-grump is real, pictures and video, everything you could possibly ask for. It was going to be my biggest story. But then, after I got back to civilization, before I was even fully recovered from being lost in the woods for a month, I got mugged and robbed. They stabbed me three times, stole all my stuff and left me for dead. And now no one believes me and I couldn’t find the cave again when I tried because I’d been that lost. And I’m still mad about it.”

As they’d talked Filbo had leaned forward on the table in interest, his expression going from intrigued to worried to frightened before settling on a mix of bemusement and concern. “You sound almost uh, more mad about them ruining your story than them trying to kill you.”

“I am. Well, I’m mad they tried to kill me too but… it was going to be such a good story. And now no one I tell believes me. My boss thought I was making up excuses for why I was gone so long and didn’t have anything until I went to office to show her the stab wounds. And even then, she didn’t believe me about the Moth-grump. No one does.”

“I believe you. I mean like, if bugsnax exist, why can’t Moth-grump?”

As they looked up at him, they were almost overwhelmed with how much they loved him, letting it out in a purr. Was being overly emotional a normal symptom of malnutrition? “Thank you! This story’s going to be better anyway though and no one’s going to take it from be this time. It’s worth whatever I have to go through to get the full thing.”

He smiled at them warmly. “You’re very passionate about your work, huh?”

“Yeah. Hunting cryptids is kind of my thing.” Had been for as long as they could remember. “Though, solving any mystery is cool too and I do ghost hunting stories pretty often as well, those are always fun.”

“Could you tell me more about uh… the stuff you hunt and… stuff? If you want to anyway. I’m just curious and uh… I’ve never actually asked you about that before, huh? I’m always doing most of the talking. Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine.” Buddy didn’t typically bring up their specific work with people since they often got looked down on for it so it was a habit not to. Also… “I like listening to other grumps talk, especially if it’s you. I’ll gladly tell you more though, what do you want to hear about, if anything in particular?” And he’d already convince them to take the rest of the evening off so it’s not like they had anywhere else to be right now.

“Uh… more about the Moth-grump maybe?”

[tiaragqueen]

Antipode

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Alastor x Reader

✂ Word Count: 1,6k+

✂ Trigger Warnings: Manipulation, possessiveness, death, murder, slight violence

[Edited]

***

As always, I can’t get enough of this guy.

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“I'll lure your carelessness. If you stop thinking, that would be the end. With a face that says I don't know a thing, I'll bring you down.” - Deal With The Devil [Tia]

You’d always been a give and take person.

You refused to give anything to anyone without a ‘payment’ of some sort because you didn’t want them to start taking advantage of your kindness. Looking back at it, you realized that you’d been quite paranoid. Unfortunately, or fortunately, your paranoia wasn’t unfounded. Not all people were grateful for just one favor and ended up asking for more without so much of a thank you, often using your so-called friendship as a bribe. Other than that, you tended to reject gratitude because you considered it as insincere and ingratiating at best. You’d only trust words if they came in ‘tangible’ or ‘palpable’ things such as earnest support or a gift. Though, there were times when you had to compromise with your few closed ones and begrudgingly accepted gratitude. Even so, you couldn’t deny the gnawing feeling of wanting to challenge its veracity.

It wasn’t a bad thing, was it? You just wished to see if people truly loved and appreciated you like they said they did.

On the other hand, you felt uncomfortable with taking without giving something in return. You deemed it unfair to the concerned subjects, even if they didn’t seem to mind or were ‘brainwashed’ to think that way. Although you weren’t the most moral person, you just couldn’t understand why some people were willing to manipulate others, especially for the sake of personal amusement. Didn’t they have anything better to do than playing with people like that?

Unfortunately, manipulation was rampant even in the most ordinary household. And in Hell, it was a hundred times worse. From high ranking officers to petty thieves, from employers to employees, from adults to kids, everyone always tried to use each other for various purposes. Anyone had an upper hand, be it embarrassing shenanigans, hidden trauma, dirty secrets, basically everything they could get their hands on or learned from someone else. You abhorred this place and if possible, moved to a better one. But you supposed this was your retribution for being too easygoing and ended up involved in the underworld, despite knowing the consequences.

Still, was it bad to wish for a break from constantly annihilating people who had tricked you? Preferably, forever? You knew you weren’t the kindest woman, but even you were far from the worst one here. You just wanted people to be accountable, goddammit!

“Die, you bastard!” you snarled, plunging the cleaver into the chef’s chest. This was, by far, the second man you’d killed in a week. You’d only agreed to work for him because of the high salary, but after countless rough treatments and failure to pay you in time, your temper eventually exploded. Other chefs and waitresses immediately escaped the moment you tackled that greasy man and racked his insides, though some lingered to take a picture of your recent murder.

As long as they didn’t disturb your rage – or God forbids, alleviate it – you paid no heed to what they were doing. They could eat his carcass for all you cared about.

Sighing, you flung the knife across the building and fished out a wad from his pockets. You squinted when you counted the less than satisfactory amount, and your mind instantly played a scenario of him spouting another lie to cover it up.

“Asshole,” you grumbled. Well, at least he already paid half of your salary with his life. It was enough for you to be able to sleep peacefully at night if you didn’t infuriate yourself with his imaginary lie that is.

“Well, well, well. Look who I found here.”

You slowly raised your head when you heard a static-like voice. Or, should you say, radio-like? Peering over your shoulder, you spotted a tall man with red apparel grinning behind you. Just from his demeanor alone, you could deduce that he was bad news, and now you regretted throwing the knife earlier. It’d be handy if he decided to attack you somehow unless he was stronger than you. There were many things you still didn’t know from this place, after all, one of them included the most powerful figures.

He cocked his head, piercing eyes narrowed slightly. “Having fun robbing him, sweetheart?” he asked in a tone that you couldn’t decide whether it was mocking or curious or both.

“Who the hell are you?” you squinted charily. As tempting as the option to retreat sounded, you had a feeling he wouldn’t let you go that easily. And now that you thought about it, the onlookers had vanished since his appearance.

Was he… truly that scary until they couldn’t even bear to breathe the same air as him? Or did they simply disappear because they were bored?

You gasped when he abruptly grabbed your wrist and pushed his face close to yours. “I’m so glad you asked, my dear! My name is Alastor and I’ve witnessed your wonderful ability in handling that man earlier.”

“W–what?”

“Although he’s twice your height and weight, you effortlessly toppled him and pierced his stomach as though it was a huge meatball!” he chuckled at his reminiscence. “How amusing. To think that it came from such a harmless woman…”

“I…” you stammered, oscillating between thanking or insulting him for underestimating your abilities. “Thank you…?”

Alastor's impish features softened somewhat. “No need to thank me, sweetheart. I was merely stating the truth.” There was a gleam of candor that promptly vanished when his default creepy grin emerged. “Now, the reason why I’m approaching you is that I’d like to offer you shelter.”

Now, this was suspicious, and a little concerning. “And why’s that?”

“Why not?” He simpered as he wrapped his arm around your lower back and opened a portal to a huge living room; presumably his residence since it was your current topic. “A random act of kindness never hurt anyone, no? Besides, you won’t just live in my house without doing anything. You must help me too, as a return.”

“Help with what?” you inquired, examining the place in case there was something even more suspicious than its owner. Or any kind of trace to inform you about who you were dealing with, honestly. He had to be anything but a mere denizen, right?

“Well, anything,” Alastor replied, calmly observing you touching and inspecting whatever interested you. It was quite amusing how curious you were with his belongings, and how blatant you were at seeking information about him. He couldn’t have picked a better entertainment than you. “So, how is it?”

You stared at his open palm. A deal, he was asking you to make a deal with him. And you, being a loyal supporter of taking and giving belief, immediately accepted.

“Deal.”

Alastor’s wicked grin widened as a green aura zapped from your clasped hands and sealed the exit. You swiftly retreated and stared at him wide-eyed, trying to comprehend the sudden event that occurred just now.

“… What happened?” you whispered fearfully. “A-Alastor, what just happened? What was that light? What did you do?”

He looked away, humming apathetically. “Just a little magic to ensure that you don’t try to break our deal, even though I know you won’t.” He peered through his lashes and simpered. “Taking and giving, no?”

Your heartbeat accelerated as you darted towards the doors and tried to pull them. To your horror, they didn’t even budge. “You bastard, let me out of here!”

“No, can’t do. We’ve made a deal, after all.” Alastor smiled, watching your futile attempts at busting the doors and windows. “Surely you won’t back down from your belief, right? This is the time where your loyalty is tested, you know?”

Sliding down the windowsills, you gazed at his shadow. You’d seen that shape before, at least half of it, from your peripheral vision. The shadow seemed to enlarge whenever you murdered someone but always receded before you could fully identify it.

For the longest time, you’d chalked it up to mere illusions. Why would anyone want to stalk you anyway? Because you were new in Hell? Well, you were certain you weren’t the only one. And they’d surely be more interesting than you ever could.

When the shadow wavered and took a shape of a guffawing man, you began to realize that this guy, this flamboyant guy had been in your life for a very long time. And you’d ignored that flagrant sign just to save your thinning sanity.

“You stalked me,” you murmured, shoulders sagging. “That wasn’t just my…”

Alastor vigorously nodded, dilated eyes piercing your tepid ones. “Indeed, and now you’ve entered my snare. And willingly, too!” He chuckled before sneering. “You sure are a gullible one, hun, more so than that charming demon belle. But I suppose that’s where your appeal lies!”

Clenching both fists, you snapped your head in his direction and growled. “You son of a bitch, you’re gonna pay!”

The shadow materialized from his coat and thrust you against the wall before you could leap towards him, the impact left a couple of cracks behind your head. Alastor tutted and stood in front of your slumping figure, one hand on his hip.

“Has anyone ever told you how futile it is to fight one of the Overlords? Oh, wait. Of course, you don’t, because you’re still new in here.” He leaned forward, twirling a strand of your hair. “But it’s okay. You’re bound to me now, so there’s no need for you to learn so much about this world. In fact, I prefer it if you don’t. A little innocence goes a long way, you know?”

Alastor whirled his finger and nodded approvingly at your current attire; a red knee-length dress, dark stockings, and a pair of flats. A stark contrast to your earlier choice; a plain shirt and torn pants.

“I’ll make some jambalaya once you wake up, my dear~”

[hold-me-sickfics]

14 Days: J-Hope (Part 2!)

Alright y’all, here’s part 2!

TW: Tiny emeto mention, food, anxiety/panic attacks, hospital, nightmares (let me know if you see any I missed!)

Also, huge thank you to @thatoneemokpop-02 for all their help and ideas <3 They’re amazing!

----

Yoongi was ready to do whatever he needed to in order to help Hoseok recover. He glanced at his watch, and saw that it was almost 8:00 a.m. The other members would be here at 9:00 to pick them up. Yoongi looked over at the sleeping boy, smiling a bit as Hoseok’s chest rose and fell. He went to Hoseok’s side. 

“Good morning Hobi.”

Hoseok woke up to Yoongi rubbing his arm softly.

“Morning Yoongi,” Hoseok still felt exhausted. Unfortunately, sleeping in a hospital was well… IMPOSSIBLE. All throughout the night, nurses had been coming in to check on him. He hadn’t been able to sleep for more than an hour at a time all night.

“I know you’re still tired bud. We’re gonna get you home and then you can sleep all you need to. Not to mention, I’m gonna be the one keeping track of what you eat.”

“No, Yoongi…” Hoseok pouted, knowing his fast food would now be limited.

“Yes baby. Your doctor came in this morning to check on you and he told me that you collapsed partially because you weren’t eating right.”

Hoseok sighed.

“My doctor’s a snitch.”

“No, you’re just bad at keeping track of your health when you get focused in on something.” Yoongi laughed and Hoseok looked at him with an annoyed glare.

Yoongi packed up everything Jin had sent in the bag the night before.

“Relax,” he laughed. “I won’t be totally crazy. You can still have some junk food.”

“Can we get McDonalds’ on the way home?”

“No.”

“Okay then see? You’re robbing me of the essentials.”

Yoongi laughed, and looked back at Hoseok who was partially smiling.

“Hey uh, Yoongi?”

“Yeah?”

“I um… I think we have a problem.”

“What do you mean?” Yoongi came over to Hoseok who was holding his phone.

“Namjoon’s called three times, Jin called four, and the maknaes have called nine times altogether.”

“Well… better call them back. I can talk to them if you’re feeling too tired.”

“Nah, I’ll call them. I know you’re just as tired as me. Can you do me a favor?”

“Sure, anything.”

Hoseok took Yoongi’s hands.

“Go get yourself some breakfast. You gotta take care of yourself too.”

Yoongi hated to admit it, but Hoseok was kinda right. Since he’d been so focused on Hoseok’s health, he’d forgotten about his own.

“Okay, but don’t you dare try to get up on your own. I’ll be back in a few minutes alright?” Yoongi rubbed Hoseok’s shoulder, and then left to get food.

He ate nearly three bites of biscuit, and a piece of bacon. It was all he could stomach with Hoseok on his mind. He threw away his garbage and headed back to Hoseok’s room. He found it swarming with doctors. He pressed his way through and saw them laying Hoseok down.

“Mr. Jung, you can’t get up on your own yet. It’s only going to make your injuries worse.” The nurse closest to him looked in his eyes to try and strengthen her words.

“Yeah, I’ll make sure I get someone next time. Thanks.” Hoseok grimaced and ran his hand down his injured leg.

“Hoseok…”

“Crap.” Hoseok knew he messed up. Yoongi was already worried, and he’d no doubt just made it worse.

“I knew I shouldn’t have left you. I’m so sorry…”

Yoongi hated to pull this stunt, but if he was gonna get Hoseok to take care of himself, he needed to pull it off.

“No, Yoongi it was my fault. I was stupid. I’ll be more careful.”

“No, it was my fault. I could have waited to eat when we got home but I was being selfish…” Yoongi wanted Hoseok to understand what a careless act could cause a caretaker to feel like. With that, hopefully Hoseok would try to take better care of himself in an effort to keep Yoongi feeling like he was doing a good job. Psychology chaos? Yes. Crucial to Hoseok’s recovery? Also, yes.

“Yoongi, stop. I wanted to get up to prove to myself I could. I was gonna do it at home if I didn’t do it here. It wasn’t your fault alright?”

Yoongi knew Hoseok. That annoyance in his voice wasn’t directed at the situation. He was terrified that he wasn’t able to walk or stand on his own.

“Okay. I just… I don’t want you to hurt yourself worse…”

This was true. Yoongi was worried for Hoseok, and rightfully so. He’d just lost his independence and his ability to do the thing he loved. The boy wasn’t only broken physically, but emotionally as well.

“I know.” Hoseok looked down at his leg. It was already casted, black as he’d requested. Perhaps he was feeling a little negative…

Yoongi sat down on the bed next to his injured boyfriend.

“It’s gonna be alright Hobi. I promise.”

Hoseok broke, crashing into Yoongi’s neck in tears.

“I hate this so much.” He sobbed, and Yoongi held him close, as he would have a child.

“I know you do. We’re gonna get through this together okay?”

Hoseok couldn’t answer, his breaths were too ragged and his voice too small.

Yoongi kissed his head, and kept holding him.

After a few minutes, Hoseok stopped crying, just allowing Yoongi to hold him. He wished he could wake up from this nightmare. He was living his worst fear. Not being able to dance… if he couldn’t dance, what was he supposed to do? Lie around and be helpless? Lose his position in the band? What if Yoongi got tired of him and just dumped him? What if-

“Hoseok! Hey, hey, easy. Easy.”

Hoseok came back to reality, realizing that he had just had a minor anxiety attack. Those seemed to be more common under the current circumstances. His breathing slowed, and he released his white-knuckled grip on Yoongi’s hoodie.

“There we go. Breathe.” Yoongi knew what anxiety could do to a person, so he was also good at soothing attacks.

“Better?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Hoseok had finally caught his breath.

“Alright. I’m gonna go pack our bag up, and then it’ll be time for the guys to come get us. By the way, did you call them?”

“Yeah. They’re getting me moved into your room.”

“That’s good. It’ll be easier for me to help you if you need it.” Yoongi knew that “if” was just for courtesy. From his research, he knew Hoseok wouldn’t even be able to pee without him holding him up.

Hoseok got a text from Jimin that they were at the front door. Yoongi called the nurse, and she came in and helped with getting Hoseok in the wheelchair. In no time, Hoseok was loaded into the van, and the boys were on their way home.

They arrived at the apartment, and immediately the maknaes went into “must help hyung” mode. They were sent to the kitchen to make some sort of healthy brunch while Yoongi helped Hoseok shower.

“Okay we can’t get this boot wet, so let’s just have you sit here and- “

“Oh no no no, Yoongi please let me keep this shred of dignity. I am not sitting in a shower chair.”

“Yes, you are. Baby, if you wanna get better faster, you gotta do what it takes to recover.”

“Fine, but I better get a lot of cuddling after this.”

“I swear on AGUST-D’s album cover, I will cuddle the daylights out of you Jung Hoseok. Now, let’s get these clothes off.”

Yoongi was gentle in taking off Hoseok’s clothes. Soon, he was in the shower, sitting in the chair, and allowing Yoongi to wash his feet and legs (as much as he could). He let Hoseok handle his upper half and privates.

Yoongi turned the water off, and handed Hoseok a towel to dry himself off with. Yoongi would have gladly done it for him, but he thought it would be better for Hoseok’s mental health to remain as independent as possible. He did have to help Hoseok get dressed and back in his wheelchair, but overall, the experience was pretty good for Hoseok. He came out of it smiling.

“There he is. Ready for brunch Hobi? The boys destroyed the kitchen, but they’re proud.” Namjoon laughed as another blast of flour came out the kitchen doorway.

“YAH! Do not throw ingredients that is not what they’re- JEON JUNGKOOK!”

“I sent Jin in there to help them… It seems to be going well…” He laughed, partially concerned for Jin’s mental stability at the moment.

“Ha, yeah let’s see how they did.” Yoongi wheeled Hoseok into the dining room, and into the spot the boys had already made for him.

A loud crash sounded from the kitchen.

“Oops…”

“Jimin. That was my special pot.”

“I can glue it!” Taehyung popped up out of nowhere with a glue gun.

“No! NO. You cannot use a glue gun on a… Ah shoot. Boys, just take brunch in there and I’ll sweep this up.”

The boys came in with several plates and bowls full of food.

“Bon appetite.” Jungkook smiled as he handed out clean plates and silverware.

“As you see here, we have blueberry muffins, chocolate chip pancakes, various fruits, toast, orange juice and milk. Anything else we can get for you?”

“Nah, guys you’ve done awesome. It’s nice to come home to good food, and all this support.” Hoseok smiled, and the entire maknae line practically crushed him in a hug.

“We’ve got you hyung. Don’t you worry.” Taehyung ruffled Hoseok’s thick, black hair.

“Thanks guys.”

“Alright, let’s leave these two for a bit. Yoongi, Hoseok, we thought you two would want to work out a routine, so I’ve got these guys coming with Jin and I to the store and to run a few other errands. We’ll be back after supper I believe.”

“Sounds good.” Hoseok started on the chocolate chip pancakes, relishing each bite he took.

The others left, and he and Yoongi were left by themselves.

“Well baby, we’ve got a lot to do today.”

Hoseok looked at him, confused.

“Yoongi, I can’t… I can’t do anything remember?”

“Oh yes you can. We are going upstairs to watch a movie because I promised you cuddles. Then, we’re gonna come down here after a nap and we’re gonna make pizza for supper. When the boys come back, we’re gonna hang with them, and then you and I are going to work on songs because I have the attention span of a squirrel when I have to work alone.”

“Yoongi, you and I both know that’s not true.”

“Okay well I still get lonely, so you’re coming with me.”

Hoseok smiled at Yoongi’s attempt to fill the time.

“Can um… can I ask a favor?”

“Anything baby.”

“Can we nap first? I’m honestly exhausted and I still feel sore from practicing so much.”

“Let’s do it babe.”

Hoseok smiled, and Yoongi wheeled him to the bedroom.

“Okay on the count of three. “One, two, three!”

Yoongi lifted Hoseok onto the bed, and then tucked him in, ensuring that his feet were covered up and warm as well.

Hoseok moaned in comfort.

“It feels so good to actually lie down and not feel bad about it.”

Yoongi slid into his “little spoon” position.

“What do you mean?”

“I used to feel guilty when I was resting too much. It was like I was neglecting my work.”

“Crap Hoseok, why didn’t you tell me you were so worried about that?”

“Because you and I both know I wouldn’t have stopped. Then, you’d have been worried and I’d have still gotten hurt.”

“Okay maybe you’re not wrong.” Yoongi knew Hoseok would have still worked himself that hard, but he did wish he could have helped.

“Yoongi?” Hoseok’s voice was already thick, he was falling asleep quickly.

“Hmmm?”

“If I need to, can I wake you up?”

“Of course, you can. Anything you need, I’ll take care of you okay? Just rest.”

Hoseok wrapped his arms around Yoongi and nodded before dozing off to sleep.

Yoongi woke up to Hoseok breathing quickly and gagging. He jerked awake, and immediately placed his hand on Hoseok’s back.

“Woah, woah, okay easy. I’m awake. You’re not alone. You’re safe.”

“Y-Yoongi?” Hoseok burst into tears and gagged again.

Yoongi did what he had always done when Hoseok was having anxiety attacks. He wrapped his arms around him securely, and grabbed his hands so he couldn’t dig his nails into his palms.

“I’ve got you.”

“C-can’t see.”

Yoongi looked at Hoseok, his eyes closed tightly.

“It’s alright baby. You’re feeling scared, but when you open your eyes, you’ll be able to see.

Hoseok shook in Yoongi’s arms. He opened his eyes, still breathing quickly.”

“Can see now…” Hoseok started to breathe more normally.

Yoongi thumbed over Hoseok’s clenched hands.

“Feel a little better now baby?”

“Yeah. I’m okay.” Hoseok was still shaking, but he seemed calmer than he had been before.

“What happened?” Yoongi kissed Hoseok’s hands.

“Nightmare.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Can’t.”

“Okay. That’s alright.” Yoongi just kept rubbing soothing motions over Hoseok’s hands.

“Would you l-leave me if… if I couldn’t… if I couldn’t dance anymore?” Hoseok felt his entire body freeze.

Yoongi’s eyes softened as he heard Hoseok’s question. That must have been the nightmare.

“Hoseok, I’m never leaving your side. Ever. You’re going to get better, but even if you didn’t, you are mine. I’m not losing you. I’d rather lose everything I have than lose you.”

Hoseok’s eyes glistened with a sheen of tears.

“And something else. Back before BigHit found me, I could barely support myself. I would write songs, and sell them just to make enough money to eat. Some days, I didn’t eat. And you know what?”

Hoseok was silent, but paying close attention.

“I’d do it all again if it meant I would be right here with you. Right now. I wouldn’t have chosen any other path. I can’t live without you Hoseok. You’re everything to me. So, no. No matter what happens, I would never leave you.”

Hoseok was again, in tears. Yoongi hugged him, and Hoseok melted into his embrace.

It was then that, even though things would be hard, Hoseok knew Yoongi would be there to support him through it all, and everything would be alright.

4 ½ months later…

“Jungkook, what was that?” Hoseok walked over to Jungkook, who had tried to get by with lazily going through a rather difficult part of the choreography.

“Sorry Hyung…” the maknae sighed, sorrier he’d been caught than anything.

“Okay, let’s go again. Five, six, seven, eight…”

The music blared, and Hoseok grinned as he led the choreography practice once again.

[lambourngb]

Duty of Care and /or Gravedigger’s Union

I did Grave Dancer’s Union - a nod to my 90s love of Soul Asylum here.

Duty of Care was another torture Michael fic- I wrote it pre-season 2, when I thought the love triangle was going in a particular way. I don’t know if there’s still an appetite to season 1 au stories? There’s some season 1 characterization of Alex ahead, particularly in regards to Jesse.

Here’s what I had - some of which already appeared here before Last Year’s Wishes ate my brain.

****

“Can’t believe Maria is still wearing the pendant of alien poison around her neck while she dates your alien ass, Guerin..” Kyle commented watching the decay values multiply as Liz titrated pollen into the samples.  

The current theory on alien resurrection, and it said a lot about his life that he had competing theories on alien-involved resurrection, was that their ability to manipulate energy changed based on their needed life skills at the time of adolescence. Michael had been separated from his siblings young, and needed to develop defensive skills. The defiant and pained look on his face when he explained stopping an item being hurled at his head at the age of 7 was a needed survival tactic courtesy of foster homes he had passed through kept Kyle from questioning any further.

Isobel had through her mother Ann’s never-ending dinner parties and charity benefits, found comfort in seeing and knowing what was meant under the sugary sweet words of adults around her. Being a small child paraded around adults who were charmed by her blonde hair and blue eyes meant she had the most exposure to social events while Max hid in his books. 

Finally Max had anointed himself as a fixer early on in their life. He had taken responsibility for Michael being left behind, and had tasked himself to protect his sister afterward. The defensive use of healing fit with his offensive ability to kill in the service of keeping those he loved safe. 

At the most basic level, it was all energy from synaptic responses in brain waves to manipulating molecules to move or stop an object. How a pollen interrupted that energy use could theoretically solve the problem of how to jump start an ability.

“You think you might get around to telling her the big secret anytime soon?”

The mask over his mouth and face did little to block the glare Michael shot at him. “Shut up Valenti.” 

“I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s Maria. She is a card carrying member of the ACLU and the Nature Conservatory. I had to bail her out of jail last year during an ICE protest. She’s not going to turn you over to the government.” 

“Kyle!” Liz scolded, “We talked about this. Agency. It’s up to Isobel and Michael who knows. I already broke that with you.”

Michael ran a gloved figure over the counter absently. “I hate secrets, okay. This isn’t any fun for me, especially considering how many people already know. I went from having just Max and Isobel, to basically the whole graduating class of New Roswell High in on it. A lot of loose lips.”

The habit of 20 years of paranoid silence was probably a lot to try and break with a new relationship if that was the basis of it. There was a good amount of slack that Kyle could extend to Michael, including trying to be understanding when he started up with Alex’s best friend in the wake of Max’s death, but exclusion of Maria from the secret felt wrong to him.

He couldn’t fathom the reasoning behind lying to someone that he wanted to be in a relationship with, and he had a feeling that it wasn’t because of worries that she would tell someone about the aliens living in Roswell. While he couldn’t outright call Michael an asshole on Alex’s behalf, he could poke and prod him when the opportunity surfaced.

“You should look at this way Guerin, that larger circle means if something does happen, you’ve got more back up than just Isobel, with Max being out of commission.”

“Oh yeah, so if the government disappears me to a black site, you’re going to ride to my rescue?”

“Yes.” Kyle replied seriously. “I wouldn’t be alone either.” The name Alex Manes went unsaid, but from the brief wince on Michael’s face, he knew exactly who was being referred to obliquely. Scored hit again.

“Well as fun as this discussion is, I’m going to take off. Iz and I have practice plans.” Michael slipped his hat on, and tucked the stool away. “Liz, call me if you have a breakthrough on nullifying this stuff. For a rare flower, there sure was a lot of it stockpiled in Noah’s cave.”

“Sure thing, Mikey.” 

“Valenti, make sure she goes home to sleep and eat at some point. I don’t want to have to put her in a pod next.” He ducked out of reach of her hand, laughing at the offended look she sent his way. 

“Far be it for me to agree with him, but he’s right. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends and the middle between rebuilding your lab, researching Max’s healing power, studying this pollen, not to mention working at the diner. We should make time for something else, like a drink or a movie. Recharge.” The past month since Max’s ‘death’ brought back the manic energy burst from solving the issues with the depowering serum. From one catastrophe to another, it was barely time to recover before the next happened.

“I know, I just. I need to stay busy. It’s so quiet without him.” Liz stretched and started to tuck her last slide away into the cooler. “But I think I am done today, if I work anymore, I’ll just be making mistakes.”

Kyle slipped on his coat and held the door. “Not that I don’t believe you leaving on your own volition, but let me walk you out.”

“Lucky for you, I’m too tired to be offended.”

Kyle kept his hand on her back gently steering her through the hallways. The third shift was on at the hospital, and he winced to think about his own upcoming shift at noon tomorrow. Balancing football, his pre-med studies and his social life in Michigan taught him valuable life skills in working on short sleep, but even the hours of residency had no competition on his current life of alien lab work and tracking down government funding of a black ops prison project with Alex. When he mentioned a night off, he wasn’t only including Liz in that need.

Inhaling the cool night air, he calculated if he made it home, heated up a meal, and fell asleep promptly there was the opportunity for 6 good hours of sleep before meeting up at the bunker to check in on the data mining project Alex was running. 

“You know, you should go a little easier on Michael.”

“I thought everyone in this town was in love with Max Evans, but apparently it’s Guerin.” Kyle retorted sarcastically. 

Liz bit her lip at the mention of Max before sighing softly. “I’m serious, Kyle. He’s really messed up right now. I was actually shocked he was somewhat sober tonight.”

“I’m not going to be petty here Liz, and mention the obvious that we are all really messed up right now. I get where you’re coming from about their need for secrecy, but Maria really deserves better. I’m not her best friend like you are and Alex was, but I’ve been here in this town with her. She was there for me after my dad died, and she supported my mom’s election for sheriff. With Mimi getting worse, she deserves to have someone to count on, not someone who is lying to her, and by extension, making all of us lie to her as well.”

“Alex was? Past tense?”

He arched his eyebrow in disbelief, “I guess I am going to be petty tonight, but seriously Liz? Have you talked to Alex lately? Every time Maria comes up in conversation he puts his best ‘Baghdad was a little warm and I was just doing a job’ face on and repeats to anyone listening how happy he is for them. Guerin messed him up, and worse, took away from him one of the few people he lets himself drop that soldier bullshit front he has.”

Liz sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I know the history with Michael is a little complicated, but we don’t always get to choose who we fall for and who we don’t. Love is messy. It doesn’t color inside the lines and follow any of the rules.”

“Maybe you’re right about that, and maybe there’s no avoiding the heartache. I do believe though that you can choose whether or not to be a dick about things, and Guerin not telling Maria is a dick move and it’s got consequences.” Kyle unlocked his car, and opened the passenger side with a gesture. “Our sister doesn’t have many friends, and he’s robbing her of one right now. Rosa lost ten years because of aliens, don’t you think that’s enough loss for all of us?”

“Do you know how annoying you are when you’re right? I’ll talk to Michael, better yet, I’ll talk to Isobel about letting Maria in on the secret.”

He slid into the driver’s seat, smiling across to her. “Tomorrow. Tonight, what’s left of it, is for sleeping.” He turned the ignition, and stopped,  as the headlights came up illuminating the familiar green Chevy sitting across the lot from them. “That’s Guerin’s truck.”

“He left before we did, what’s it still doing here?” Liz ducked out of the passenger seat and ran toward the truck without waiting for an answer. Kyle swore softly, untangling his hand from the ignition to follow her. The truck looked undisturbed, no sign of the occupant. Liz reached for the driver’s side door, testing it, and gasped as the door swung open. The ever present black hat slipped off the dash into the floorboards.

There were three things Michael prized above all others, his truck, his cowboy hat, and his sister. To leave two out of three unprotected was highly out of character for him. Kyle turned around the parking lot, scanning for signs of him. 

“Kyle, look,” Liz grabbed his arm and pulled him down toward the wheel well of the truck. Gleaming silver in the light , tucked on top of the tire tread, was a syringe needle with a depressed plunger.

“That’s not good.”

She stuffed her hand into her pocket and withdrew a spare latex glove to wrap around her fingers as she lifted the syringe from the tire.  She peered closely at the vial, a sickly yellow liquid film thinly coated the inside. “I think someone took him, and without testing it, I’m guessing this is some sort of knock out drug based on the pollen.”

Kyle reached for his phone, mentally saying goodbye to the idea of sleep anytime soon. “I’ll call Alex, you call Isobel. And I don’t know, I guess call my mom? I mean, we usually call the police when someone gets abducted.”

Liz thinned her lips, holding the needle with one hand as she dug out her phone with the other. “I don’t think you can call the cops on the government, which I’m guessing that’s what we are dealing with since they knew how to knock out Michael.”

The government, or more specially it was probably someone related to Project Shepherd. Kyle sighed, holding his phone to his ear. It rang once, before he heard, “What’s wrong?”

He pulled the phone away from his ear to make sure he had called Alex and not the psychic alien sister, “How did you know something was wrong?”

“You’ve called me twice in the last three months, once to tell me you put my dad in a coma and once to tell me about Max. You’re a texter, even though I explained it’s easier to keep things secret if you call. So again, what’s wrong?”

Kyle slowly walked back toward the hospital. He should have volunteered to call Isobel, because this was not going to be easy. “It’s Guerin.”

“Is he okay?” 

“We don’t know. We think someone took him. Liz and I found his truck at the hospital, unlocked. It looks like he got jumped by someone who knows how to incapicitate him.”

“I’ll be there in 20 minutes.” 

Kyle wasn’t surprised to see the call disconnected. It was a forty minute drive from the cabin to the hospital if someone followed the speed limits. 

*** 

“It’s Guerin.”

Alex was somewhat aware that he must have replied. He was in his SUV and away from the bunker, before he’d registered that the call had ended. He could only be thankful that today had been a ‘pull day’, rather than a ‘push day.’

Alex could divide his days into two motivations, he either wanted to be as far from town and the chance of running into someone he knew (Michael) or he wanted to be close in case something happened that he could help fix (for Michael). The cabin was isolated enough that only Kyle made the trip from Roswell, but not in recent memory with the pace of lab work and hospital hours. Alex could comfortably avoid reality with his laptop until the second feeling took hold. The Project Shepherd bunker was an easier location to reach Isobel or Liz from when the inviatble call for assisting an intoxicated Michael came. 

Seeing Maria meant seeing Michael in the evening hours, and it was strange to resort to in his post-service life the habit of a decade before; lying and hiding himself in every interaction. His calendar had a weekly reminder to join Liz and Maria at the Wild Pony for a beer, usually scheduled early enough that Michael was still at Sanders working, but late enough that the automated work emergency text to his phone could reliably give him cover for an exit. 

Psychic as she was, Maria always let him go with a pained but relieved look. It wasn’t her fault that he was still in love with Michael. It wasn’t her fault that Michael wasn’t in love with him. Neither he nor Maria had so many friends that they could afford to lose one, but neither was fooling the other that the relationship hadn’t changed in the aftermath of her dating Michael. 

This wasn’t his first go around with unrequited love. 

He’d survived Brendon Urie, and he wasn’t ashamed to have been a sixteen year old pouring over fan meet and greets on livejournal before hitting the road with Rosa to see Panic at the Disco in Albuquerque just after school let for the summer. He might have mapped out Los Angeles coffee shops to busk at after he turned legal and could escape west to be a musician, coffee shops close to Silver Lakes and Encino neighborhoods to be organically discovered by his crush.

He had survived his fourteen year old obsession with Kyle, that lasted until it was safer to love unattainable rockstars versus the childhood friend now high school bully. He could laugh at himself for thinking that Kyle had turned on him because he felt the same way but just didn’t know how to articulate it outside of shoving him against the lockers and jeering at him in gym class. 

Unrequited love that had once been returned was a higher bar to clear than a fan fantasy or a childhood crush, but then the sins Alex carried were deeper and more lasting as well. More than a ruined but now healed hand and a discarded scholarship, he had the murder of Michael’s mother to carry.  He would survive Michael not loving him, he was reasonably sure of it. He wasn’t sure if he would survive something happening to Michael because of the Manes family legacy. 

Someone knowing how to subdue and take Michael pointed to his family’s involvement. 

He didn’t bother with the visitor’s desk at the hospital foyer this time, walking purposefully toward the elevator and wing where Liz’s new lab resided. The door opened to his touch, revealing Isobel hovering anxiously near Liz’s shoulder as she swabbed a syringe. 

“You made good time.” Isobel greeted.

“I hacked the traffic lights.” Alex informed, setting his laptop case on the lab table, and popping the case open. A few keystrokes and he was inside the hospital network and probably breaking a dozen federal laws of privacy. 

Kyle closed the door, and shook his head, “Seriously?”

“No. I was at the bunker.” He brought up the internal security logs, noting visitors and elevator access. “So what do we know?”

“Not a lot,” Liz replied, her gaze fixed on a spread of swabs and slides. “I’m trying to pull as many samples as I can from this syringe so I can analyze it. There looks to be a reservoir of 3 CCs. My original serum required a dose of at least 6 CCs to incapacitate, so whatever they used was more concentrated.”

“Hopefully less lethal,” Isobel observed. “Are you in the hospital network already?”

“Just what’s linked to the internal wifi signals. I’m going to need access to their security office since it appears the actual camera footage is on a closed circuit.”

Kyle pulled out his ID badge, “I can take you there, but how are you going to get the guards to let you look at the footage? I can still call my mom and make this an official police investigation.”

Alex dug into his pockets for a thumb drive, and then turned to Isobel, “I’m hoping you can influence the guard into letting me download the footage. If you can’t, then we will need to bring the sheriff into this.”

Isobel tapped her forehead knowingly, “If I can’t influence the guards to let you in, I can at least make one of them think he left his car unlocked or his coffee pot plugged in.”

“Let’s go then. Michael has been missing for at least an hour.”

Kyle tapped his badge at certain checkpoints, opening the electronic doors as they headed down to the security room. Alex made a mental note to scrub the ID tags once they were done, on the off chance someone was curious about the movements of a doctor who should have been long off duty.

The windowless room was covered in screens and held one guard boredly sipping his coffee while he watched a television show on his phone. There was a chance they didn’t need a psychic to gain access, but it was probably better safe than sorry.

Alex moved quickly after Isobel held the security guard’s mind in hers and slide behind the desk to call up the footage on the parking garage. Mindful of time, he plugged in his drive and started transferring all the raw data from the camera recordings. The antiquated hospital computing system did nothing to soothe the anxiety. 

Long experience working with poor computing power and broken infrastructure while deployed in Iraq was the only thing that kept his inner impatience off his face. Touching the mouse or tapping his fingers never moved data faster. 

Finally the file clicked over complete, he slid back from the bank of monitors, and nodded to Isobel. The security guard took a deep breath and look around briefly before picking up his phone and restarting the television show on his app.

The door clicked shut as the three of them hastened back to Liz’s lab. His hip barked at the hurried extension he placed on his body. With the clock ticking, the discomfort slipped into the box marked ‘to deal with later’. Once the drive was inserted, it was a matter of minutes to set up a scan for vehcile traffic entering and exiting the hospital parking lot. 

Liz dug out a bottle of acetone for Isobel, who accepted it with a small smile and then nodded over to the laptop. “I hope you are having more luck with the security footage, than I am having with this drug.”

“I grabbed everything from the last 72 hours, just in case. It’s possible someone followed Michael to the hospital,” Alex balanced carefully onto the stool, keeping the weight off his prostetic. “I would have found a less populated area for a snatch and grab, but maybe they were worried about Michael’s powers and if so, then likely they scouted the view points of the cameras before they made their move to minimize their exposure. At least that’s what I would have done, if I had discarded the open road or home as possible targets.”

“Well we all know what a paranoid and careful asshole you are, Alex.” Kyle observed, working on a second set of samples. 

“I try not to repeat my mistakes.”

“Like Caulfield?” Isobel asked pointed. 

A sharp stab of pain went through him at the reminder. As if the prison ever left his mind for a moment these days. “Yes, like Caulfield. I should have found a more covert way to gain information than assume it was abandoned. I should have realized my dad had more going on than surveillance on Roswell.”

Kyle touched Alex’s shoulder with a comforting clasp, “At least we know he’s not personally behind this. Master Sergeant's main nurse likes me, she would have called if something had changed.” 

Alex stayed silent, knowing that his next task would be gaining access to the long term rest home in Santa Fe where they had transferred his comatose father after he had attacked Kyle. There had been initial protests regarding the forged records until he had pointed out the other option had been to kill Jesse. 

The classic body Chevy truck flashed on the screen with the timecode marking it as Michael’s arrival at the hospital. Alex paused and marked the frame for reference, then eased through the later clips watching for his exit. There were two cameras concentrated on the parking lot, one at the entrance/exit, and one with a long panoramic view of the lot, primarily to ward off a car thief or would-be mugger. It was grainy in grey scale, but at least he could be thankful that Michael drove such a distinctive truck. The task of finding an unremarkable Honda Prisius would have been daunting.

His hand stilled as he paused the footage on the slow but unmistakable swagger of a figure striding away from the hospital entrance toward the parked Chevy. Michael’s black cowboy hat hid his face but even absent such an identifiable marker Alex was sure could have picked out his body in a sea of others without question. 

Michael reached his truck with no issue, unlocking the driver’s side door. His hand swept off his hat and casually tossed it into the front seat of the cab. Behind him, in the next parking aisle a nondescript panel van, a door opened slid open and a glint peeked out. Michael reached behind his neck, his body half in the truck and slapping at the skin there. 

Alex inhaled sharply, fear and dread rising. It was a terrible thing to watch knowing it had already happened. Two figures dressed in plain dark clothing emerged from the van, and started toward the truck. Michael’s body half fell from the cab, and curled around the front wheel. Alex watched as the two effortlessly brushed off the weak struggles to fight their grasp of Michael’s shoulders, tugging him backward to the waiting van. 

His body was tossed without care into the back, the door sliding shut blocking the last view of Michael. The two men split up from the van, circling around to the front doors. Alex numbly clicked on the frame, saving it, and switched over to the second camera focused on the entrance. 

Watching his brother Flint calmly pay the ticket machine was not much of a surprise at this point. 

“Kyle, I’m going to need you to call your nurse friend to check on my father.” He was proud that his voice was calm and even, despite the rising sickness within. “The good news is, this wasn’t a government issued black ops team that took Michael.”

“And the bad news?” Isobel prompted.

“It was personal, which means they aren’t as invested in keeping him alive.”

* * * * 

[Isobel details their mental bond. That it feels blank]

“I was always closer with Max. I don’t know if it was a twin thing or being raised together, but Michael was always harder to connect with until recently. We’ve been practicing so much together, he started to take up a bit of space here, “ she patted her chest. “Not enough to fill the void where Max was, but enough that I could tell if he was happy or if he was angry. Strong emotions only came through. Lately it was a lot of anger but he wouldn’t tell me what was going on… “

“And now? Do you feel him now?”

Tears filled her eyes and she shook her head. “It’s empty. Blank. Like it was when we kids before he moved back to Roswell. I think he’s still alive, but he feels very far away, or very weak.”

[Alex waits patiently for the call. He thinks this is going to be an exchange of Michael for his dad, until he realizes his dad is not at the long-term care facility any more]

[Round table discussion at Max’s house to figure out what Jesse wants. Isobel finds out more about the shared past of Michael and Alex- and Maria shows up at the end looking for Michael]

“It’s been 2 days, why hasn’t your dad called with his demands? Is he not reading from the classic villain script this time?” Isobel wondered bitterly. “What is with your family, Alex?”

Kyle injected, “We don’t know that Sergant Manes is involved.”

“Don’t we? He disappeared from the nursing home just before Michael was taken. It seems pretty convenient timing to me.”

Alex pressed his fingers under his eyelids to relieve the building pressure. It had been a long two days of nothing after he received the call that the psuedonmyn he had checked his dad in unrder was no longer a patient in the long-term coma ward in Sante Fe. The staff was calling it a miracle that just after a devoted son had prayed at his bedside, he had woken up. Alex knew it was anything but divine intervention to have Jesse awake and free in the world. 

“Isobel is right, this has Dad written all over it. Somehow Flint found out what had happened and woke him up. It’s been two days because I’m guessing he is still weak from the inactivity.”

Liz stirred from her claimed spot on the couch, cracking an eyelid. “What makes you think there’s going to be a demand, Isobel? Manes has what he wants, a new alien to test and torture. If you look at the research side of things, the aliens in Caulfield were all weak and elderly, and Michael’s a healthy 28 year old. Whatever fucked up weapon he was developing might need a younger test subject.”

“Now there’s a comforting thought.” Kyle muttered. 

“I don’t think it’s research. This still feels personal to me. Michael still has an offensive power to defend himself with, the softer target would have been Isobel if he just wanted an alien to grab.”

“Gee, thanks Alex. Come closer and I’ll show you what I’ve been working on and see if you think I’m still a soft target after I turn your skull into crushed bone.”

***

Alex’s fingers were numb, as he pressed in his code to access his Whatsapp account. Waiting in his inbox was an unknown number and a video attachment. He abruptly dropped into the deck chair as the video opened to his worst fear made real.

Michael’s left eye was swollen shut, blood staining from the corner of his forehead, dripping down his cheek bone. His arms were stretched high above his head, disappearing out of frame. His shirt was missing, and there were sluggishly wounds striping over his shoulder and licking across his collar bone. 

The camera turned, Michael blurring out of view. The monster that starred in seventy percent of his nightmares filled the screen. “Hello, Alex. I was hoping to keep you out of this, son, but this creature is being very uncooperative.” 

Off screen, he heard a weak, “Go fuck yourself, Manes. I keep telling you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jesse nodded to someone out of frame, and Michael screamed in agonizing pain. Long hiccuping gasps for air puncuated another softer, “fuck you.”

“Like I said, uncooperative. When we last saw each other, you had something that belonged to me. Jim Valenti stole it from our base, and refused to tell me what he had done with it despite my best efforts at persuading him.” 

Michael cried out again, choking on a soft sob. Alex forced himself to watch, drinking in every detail for his later plans. 

“With N-38 gone, I can’t hurt this thing the same way I did dear old Jim so I’ve had to get creative. Electricity just makes some of them stronger, but good old heat and sharp still work on them. We both know you can break its bones with enough force.” Jesse turned, pointing the camera toward Michael again, focusing on the dangling bare feet. “There are more bones per square inch in the foot, than anywhere else in the body. I am telling you this so you don’t doubt my resolve. This thing is relatively harmless for its kind, and I’m willing to return it to you in more or less good condition, if you bring me what Valenti stole. Let me know what you decide to do.”

The video cut off. 

****

There was an expected role to play, like there always was when Jesse Manes was involved. Once it meant peppering his speech with ‘yes sir’ and ‘sorry sir’ and toning down his clothing in hopes of escaping his fists, and when that proved futile, it went in the opposite direction with makeup, nail polish, and piercings.

For all of his proud talk about the service, his father never served anywhere but stateside. His knowledge of tactical defense and enemy counter measures were likely twenty years of date, and Alex was counting on his father’s pride from keeping him unaware of the technology shift. The set up of the Project Shepherd bunker confirmed that.

He tucked his personal side arm into his thigh holster, securing to his left leg and reached for his secondary weapon to slip into his boot strapped to his prosthetic. The weight of the kevlar and vest registered briefly on his shoulders before it slipped into the blank shroud that had enveloped him as soon as he heard Michael’s cries. Knives and a pair of percussive grenades weighed down each side of his pockets.

A floorboard behind him creaked, his gun cleared the holster before his mind caught up on who would have followed him to his cabin. It was a little concerning that the sound of a vehicle hadn’t registered until now.

“Whoa, don’t shoot.” Kyle lifted his hands, halting abruptly.  He took in the dark clothing, combat hardware and the array of weapons spread on the cabin’s table. “I guess we are going full cliche today, good to know.”

Alex dropped his arm away, resecuring his gun. “Then you know what I’m going to say already.”

“Humor me, then. This is a trap, Alex.”

“I’m well aware.” Alex flipped open a black case and pulled out his phone and laptop. Carefully he pulled out three silver discs, and a pair of jeweler’s glasses. He sat down in the chair, slipping the glasses on to peer down at the discs. “I’m going anyway.”

Kyle sighed, aggrieved. “Well I did promise Guerin if he got his ass kidnapped by the government, I would come to his rescue.”

Alex didn’t look up from his work, pressing a small pin on each disc. “You’re not going with me, Kyle.”

“I know this face is distractingly handsome, but tell me you remember all the time we spent on the range together as kids. I can shoot a gun.” 

“Shooting a paper target is different from shooting at a human being.” Each disc beeped softly, then went silent. He pulled the glasses off with a satisfied smirk, “Besides, I need you to come with the cavalry. These are military grade GPS trackers that I’ve linked to my laptop and my phone. Once my father sees I’m there without the piece of the ship, he’ll take me to Michael so he can teach me a lesson.”

“What makes you think your dad won’t find these trackers?”

“I’m sure he will, but I’ve got a back up plan on that as well. My father has underestimated me my entire life. He thinks I am weak, that my emotions and desires cloud my judgment. He’s going to see he was wrong.”

“Alex.” Kyle hesitated, struggling for a moment before taking a seat at the table. He gently laid his hand on Alex’s wrist, stilling the other man. “We all want Guerin back safe but I want you to consider for a moment that your father is right, that your emotions are clouding your judgment. Because what I’m seeing right now is kind of freaking me out, dude. You’re dressed from head to toe in black ops murder gear with GPS trackers, which I didn’t even know you could buy, talking about going in alone, guns blazing, against your dad.”

“I got them on Ebay.”

“That’s what you’re choosing to focus on?”

“What are my other options, Kyle? He’s got Michael. He’s had him for two days, and there is exactly zero chance he doesn’t want both the UFO fragment and Michael.” Alex wrenched his hand away,. He inhaled deeply and pushed down the swell of thoughts of what had already happened to Michael in two days.

“I agree, but back when I laid him out with barbiturates in our bunker, you and I had a discussion about killing him. I seem to remember we decided against that.”

“No, Kyle, you decided against it and I went along with it. Which was clearly a mistake. This has been a long time coming, okay? He brought this on himself when he took Michael.”

“I knew there was no talking you out of this. I just don’t want you to do this alone.”

* * * 

The lights were all on at the formerly known as Evans-Bracken residence, now just Evans. 

“You look like you’re ready to storm the castle.” Isobel commented, before pushing the door open and turning back into the house. “I still haven’t felt anything from Michael. He could be dead, and all of this would be pointless.”

Alex winced and acknowledged the point before pushing the thought down. “He’s not dead.”

“How do you know? Your so-called cosmic connection?” She sipped from the glass in her hand, the scent of chemicals wafted to him. It was clearly not water.

Gently he wrapped his fingers around her hand, guiding the glass away before resting it on the table next to him. “Maybe, but in reality, if he was dead, my father would have taken someone else as leverage and he would have taunted me with my failure to protect Michael.”

****

[ So as you can see it needs a massive rewrite to fix my characterization- but I still like the plot of Jesse taking Michael for the ship piece- especially since the show fumbled on this so badly in 2x10-2x11. ]

[funkymeihem-fiction]

Operation: Miracle Prawn - Part 5

(The final chapter in the Miracle Prawn meihem series! Thank you all for reading!)

“Are you sure we have everything?” Mei pushed her glasses back up her nose, brows knitted fretfully as she began clicking rapidly at her tablet once more. “Powders, lotions, meds…What about diapers? What if she gets sick and you run out of diapers? I’ll order more diapers. And formula? Once the stuff in the refrigerator is gone, what if she doesn’t take to the formula? Or maybe she doesn’t like that brand? What if she gets hungry and she won’t eat and I’m not here? She’s not old enough, I’m not supposed to leave her alone yet! Should I cancel? Here, I’ll call Winston. I’m canceling—”

Junkrat shot her an irritable look. “She won’t be alone. Fuck’s sake, darl, you got any confidence in me at all?”

“No! I mean, yes! I mean, I didn’t mean it like that! But it’s just such a long time and she’s just getting over her first cold, and why does it have to be now?” She reached up to where the baby’s tufted blond head lay slumped against her father’s chest, asleep and blissfully ignorant to her mother’s ongoing tempest. “Can’t they find someone else for this stupid summit? I should be here…”

Junkrat had replaced his usual bomb-holding harness with a baby-holding type instead. It was a lot bulkier than what he was used to, more used to the weight of a RIP-Tire on his back than an infant on his chest, and instead of loose wires or jagged metal scraping against his ribs he had to worry about curious little hands or the occasional foot to the gut. Also the prawn tended to explode even more randomly than his old bombs and it usually smelled a lot worse. But for now she was snoring and breathing very gently against his collar bone, where she’d apparently inherited her mother’s ability to sleep through anything short of a nuclear blast, as Junkrat had to pry Mei’s hands off her as gently as he could.

“S’only a week and you’re a bloody guest of honor and whatnot. The suits are gonna be expecting you to talk about the climate-whatevers. Come on now, you’ve been just as cramped as I’ve been for the past few months. You think I can’t handle my girl on my own for a few days? She and I are gonna have a blast!”

“That’s what I’m worried about!” Mei protested again. “No blasts while I’m gone.”

“You’re no fun at all. Your mum’s no fun, is she? Here I was, planning on showing her how to build a bomb-wheelie, throw ourselves a baby kegger, have a few beers, rob a few banks… Oh come on! Don’t give me that look, you’re doing the look again! Listen, you can call every single day or send Nan to check up on things if that’ll calm you down. Everything’s gonna be fine. I keep telling you I can do this. I’m her da, after all. You go take care of things there, and I’ll take care of things here, yeah?”

“Ana will want to check in on Thursday. And I said I’d only call once, halfway through the conference. I promised. Are you sure you’ll be okay, though? I-it’s not that I don’t think you can do it. It’s just…I won’t be here for her. This conference is all the way in America. I’ll be so far away from you both, and I’ve never been away this long. What if something happens, and I can’t…? I can’t lose anyone else…I can’t lose her…She’s got to be okay. You both have to be okay.”

Junkrat’s scowl softened, snatching up her hand and placing it to his jaw. “Lookit me. D’you honestly think I’d let anything happen to my own prawn? This one, snoring away right here without a care in the world? You’ll be back before you know it and she’ll be none the wiser. And blimey, it’s not like I don’t have the whole damn population of Overwatch on the other side of the door. Nan’s going to be buzzing around, Angelface is back in two days, and Roadie’s…” His expression went dark again. “Well, guess we’re not counting Roadie anymore.”

Her palm cradled his cheek, soft and cool as he leaned down into it. “I know it bothers you,” she said. “But you just have to give him time. I keep saying he must have his own reasons? We can’t press him.”

“You know the only time he saw her? You know the only damn time he’s bothered to show up, is when you were popping her out. And after that he fucked right off! Surprised he’s still even around at all. Just goes to show, doesn’t it? I try to employ the man, give him a better life and new opportunities and whatnot, and this is how he repays me! S’only through the kindness of my tender heart that I haven’t fired him already! It’s pink slips all the way down, that’s what it should be!”

Mei sighed, eyes rolling upward briefly. “Okay, now we are both acting a little irrational. Just, please be careful while I’m gone, okay? Call anyone if you need to, even if you don’t think you need to. If you need help, it’s okay to need help.” Her tablet beeped and she tapped it again, tucking it away and patting herself down. “Oh no, my flight’s here! That’s so soon! Just…be good, both of you. Promise?”

“Yeah, promise and all. C’mere.” He turned awkwardly to the side, opening one arm and leaning down to plant his lips to hers…and then needing to practically pry her off the baby again, when Mei’s kisses were making her make little noises and threatening to wake her up. “We’re both gonna be fine, you’ll see! You go do the thing, and these days are gonna fly right by. We’ll see you in a week.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mei!”

“N-no, no, I’m sorry! Sorry. I’ll see you in a week. Take care of things while I’m gone. Bye bye, zài jiàn!” She hefted her suitcases and hurried off down the ramp towards the base’s docking area. She paused at the bottom, offering a wave. For a moment Junkrat was afraid that she was going to turn around and try to come back again for the third time, but after a dangerously long moment of hesitation she finally grabbed her luggage and bustled out of sight.

Junkrat exhaled after making sure she was actually gone this time, twisting his neck to look down at the slumbering package still strapped onto him. “Bloody hell, you’d think it was a year away. Guess she’s just fretful over you still, d’you think? Well we’re going to show her that everything’s all shine, just the two of us. We can handle it, ay?” He tweaked at her bootied foot and felt it flop limply. “Huh. Unless you’re just asleep for the whole thing, I guess. Come on, let’s get you down in bed proper. And then just think, a whole week with your da! Aren’t you the luckiest prawn in the world!”

***

The prawn had taken her nap like a champion, not waking up no matter how hard he hammered and banged in the next room, disassembling a broken cleaner bot that he’d found in the garbage. Even if Overwatch offered him new parts and all the latest up-to-date technology, he still felt at his best when he was elbows-deep in oil and scrap. And afterward he’d even remembered to wash his hands just how Mei wanted. Or at least enough that it wouldn’t leave black fingerprints on the little animal blankies, which was good enough.

But eventually she’d had her fill of naptime and decided to announce her awakening with a racket as usual. No doubt she was hungry, since her main states thus far had been sleeping, shitting, or eating. Junkrat was a good and responsible father who followed the instructions he’d been taught repeatedly, heating up the milk to just the correct temperature and holding her just how she liked before nudging the bottle’s nipple at her squawling mouth.

Usually she was a ravenous little thing with an appetite to match his errant bodyguard, always eager for tits just like he was. But on their very first damn night alone, of course she decided to be a real wombat about the whole thing. No matter how he tried, she refused to take it. It wasn’t the first time she’d gotten fussy about dinnertime, but her mum had always been around to provide her with the source she preferred. But Mei wasn’t here this time. And no matter how he tried to explain it to her, she just wasn’t getting the picture.

He tried again, easing it at her mouth and cursing aloud when she turned away. “Noooo no no, c’mon now. Your mum’s off doing big science-type things. Now I might not have precisely the tits you like, but this is gonna have to do. Now just oooopen up and— Fuck! I mean, not fuck! Not fuck!” He grabbed a nearby rag and wiped at her face as milk slid down her cheek, which only made her cry more. “Okay, you’re making this harder than it’s gotta be. Work with me here.”

Eventually she did work with him, seemingly deciding at complete random to turn her head and latch onto the bottle like nothing had been wrong at all. What the hell? Normally he enjoyed the work of a fellow agent of chaos, but not when those chaotic whims were aimed at him. It had taken over a half hour just for one feeding, with her fussing and wailing the whole time. But he calmed his jittering and held her steady while she eagerly drained the bottle. Finally.

At least she belched easily enough, when he held her on his bony shoulder and patted the air out of her. She smiled when he pulled her back down, and he liked to imagine that it was a real smile aimed at him, even though he knew better and that she mostly smiled when she was farting, which was…yep, that was exactly what she was doing. He sniffed, then coughed and held her out at arms’ length. “Aawugh! Right outta both ends on that one! That’s definitely from your mum’s side. Now secret between you and me, lovey, your mum’s got some rank ones, real bonzers. Think it’s from all the vegetarian slop she insists on eating. That adorable sweetie pie exterior she’s got, it’s all just cloak and dagger to hide it when she rips gas, so you don’t suspect the source. I’m onto her, though, you’ll see.”

“Nnhg!” the prawn protested, starting to fuss again before he popped a rubber dummy into her mouth. She calmed somewhat, so focused on the pacifier that she didn’t seem to notice that she was socking herself in the cheek. Attagirl. He waved away the smell and carried her off back towards her chair, strapping her in and adjusting her blanket so she’d be comfy while she sucked the dummy and watched the proceedings.

“Your mum also seems to think I can’t do this. Imagine,” he said, diving back into the guts of the cleaner bot with both hands. “I know I ain’t—  I know I can’t always remember things exactly. But still! Bit shit, really, thinking I can’t look after you. You’re just as much mine as hers! Half junker, after all. Of course I can handle you.”

She punched herself in the face again and crossed her eyes.

“Exactly! Memorized everything, wrote it all down, put reminders up, even agreed to let Nan come check in halfway through. It’s all a bit thick for my liking, but what else can I do? Can’t get mad at Mei for it. Just worries for ya, all the time. Worries for me too. Says she can’t lose us no matter what. I dunno, makes my ribs hurt when she says it.” He reached in and tore out a connecting rod, beginning the delicate process of dismantling its smaller bits. “D’you think that’s weird, how something can physically ache like that? Is that what heartbreak feels like? Or is it maybe just the nerve pains again?”

She snuffled and made a wet noise that sounded almost Hog-like.

“Good point. Guess we just gotta prove we can both do this no problem, ay? I’m not gonna forget anything and you’re probably just going to sleep for most of the week anyway. You just gotta eat, shit, and maybe grow a few kilos. Maybe take it easy on the shitting part, though? Not to offend, love, but between the gas and the nappies, you’re basically a biological weapon in a onesie. But no worries! Me and you, right? Who’s gonna be my good girl while mum’s away!”

She coughed and the dummy clattered onto the ground with the sound of hollow plastic. Without even looking, he paused where he was screwing the panels apart on the cleaner bot to sweep it up, wiping it down before he distractedly replaced it in her tiny mouth. He went to sort through the big screws again, when he suddenly sat up very straight and his yellow eyes widened.

“Wait, I—”

“Mmmmnn!” The prawn uttered a whimper behind him, and something was wrong.

Rat whirled around from where he had started to prod the rubber dummy at the opening of the bot’s panels, still holding it in his hand. A large metal bolt screw was resting on his little girl’s bib, where it had just rolled down her chin. He��d been holding the wrong fucking thing. He’d just stuffed a fucking bolt screw into his daughter’s mouth. Thank fuck she’d had more sense than him and had spat it back out.

“SHIT! Fuckshitno! No no no no!” He threw everything aside, metal clattering in all directions, snatching up and hurling the offending screw across the room like a grenade. The prawn’s eyes widened at the noise and she promptly started wailing again, a smear of black on her smiling yellow duckie bib. He wiped at it desperately, fumbling to unstrap her from her chair as he ran her to the kitchen sink, scooping up water to try and clean her chin. “No no no! It’s fine! I got you, you’re fine, it’s all fine!”

She began screaming harder at the sensation of icy water, and his metal hand all but tore the handles of the sink off as he tried to warm it, trying to stick his flesh hand under the faucet since it was the only one able to feel temperature, but then the water went from too cold to too damn boiling hot for prawns. He yanked her back away from the sink, holding her up to the light and inspecting her open mouth for grease while she wailed right into his face.

Small emergency, but she looked clean. And at least she hadn’t swallowed the fucking thing… Mei would’ve had his head on a goddamn platter, and that was only if he didn’t do it himself for hurting his own little girl. That had been too fucking close. But hardly unusual for someone like him, a colossal fuck-up of a junker who should never have had a kid in the first place. No wonder Mei didn’t believe in him being able to—

He shook his head clear, nerves rattled even as he tried to paste his grin back on. Pulling her up against his chest, he rocked and patted her and crooned her little nonsense songs, her cries going muffled as she scowled and flailed a tiny little clenched fist at him. What a scrapper. He probably deserved those tiny punches.

“Shhh shhh shhh, was just one little mistake! Everyone makes mistakes! It was just…one teeny one, right? And you’re a canny one, you knew better. Smarter than your da, aren’t you?” He patted at her fluffy yellow head, trying to rock her. “We’re not gonna tell Mei about this. I’ll be more careful, swear it. Just gotta get me head on straight, sort through me thoughts. Won’t happen again. Come on, there’s a good girl, she’ll be apples, ssshh shhh!”

She seemed less than convinced, and the rocking only seemed to upset her more. Her sobbing continued, only getting louder in pitch and ferocity. Somewhere in the other room, a timer chimed and began playing a happy tune, indicating it was time to try and feed her yet again. He limped for the fridge, and the prawn stopped crying and abruptly smiled up at him. It was an evil smile, just like his but without any teeth. An extremely foul smell began to emanate from her diaper, even worse than before. This time it smelled…solid.

With that business done, she promptly started crying again.

Junkrat started to have his doubts.

***

Roadhog sat slumped in the depths of his sofa, surrounded by cushions and pachimari toys scattered around him. Licking one broad thumb, he separated the paper pages of his book. It was going a little dog-eared, but that’s how he preferred them. Mei had tried giving him one of the computer books, which she said could hold thousands upon thousands of books at one time, or even read them to him if he liked. But he had always declined. He was usually forced to listen to Junkrat talk for hours at a time and found the silence an escape. And he liked old books— real books. He liked the smell and the feel of the paper. He liked the tactile nature of them and their visual presence. And he especially liked their covers: usually with swooning figures falling all over each other, set in exotic places.

This cover was a good one, too. There was a model-looking woman with curly brown hair and dressed in a brocade dress of some old more-romantic time period, her hands raised to her face in mock-alarm at the appearance of her lover in the window of her castle, his face cast into shadow. Judging by the blurb, Roadhog had already surmised that the secret lover was probably a vampire or some such. Vikings, bodices, and time travel were possibly involved too, he wasn’t sure yet.

He’d been doing a lot of reading, lately. With Junkrat now indisposed with Mei and their girl, most of Overwatch had seemed to forget his presence. There had been an occasional mission where he’d been tasked with extra muscle, but he was still ‘the bodyguard’ in their minds. Only now he had no body to guard. Junkrat was technically safe, or at least as safe as someone like him could get. Mei was safe. And their little girl… Everybody was safe. Without him, even safer.

He stayed away from family affairs. They weren’t meant for him. Simple as.

It was getting late in the afternoon, sunlight streaming in through the high window of his garage. It fell across him and warmed his old bones, bathing him in yellow light that was nothing at all like the scorching UV rays of the Outback, but just a pleasant glow for him to read his romance novels to. The dehumidifier rumbled and churned in its comforting mechanical way, drying the air to how he preferred it. The smell of drier sheets still emanated from the basket of fresh laundry that the cleaning crew had left that morning. Everything was pleasant…almost too pleasant.

The distant and muffled wail of a child cut through his drowsy contentment like a hot knife through skin and fat. The sound of a baby’s cry soon drowned out everything else in his mind, hardwired into primal instinct like nothing else. It agitated him on a level he could not describe, and it was getting closer. Closer and closer, and louder and louder, until it was right outside his abode.

Fuck. No.

He pulled on the comforting confines of his swine mask, inhaling a rasping breath of calming hogdrogen from one of the canisters nearby, and he listened in silence. The crying stopped its journey in front of his door and set up shop on the stoop, and he heard a faint rustle and curse before a series of rapidfire poundings rattled the door like gunfire. It was high up, metal against metal, and without any rythym or pattern. That was Junkrat then. That was Junkrat and his baby girl, trying to hail him. The baby, especially, was trying to hail him, with the racket she was putting up that could even drown out her own father. They were here and they bayed for blood and answers outside his door.

“Hog! Haaaaawg! I know you’re in there, Pigface!”

Roadhog remained silent and still and did not respond, waiting for them to leave again.

The pounding and crying continued. “Hog! Roadhog! Get out here! Fine, if that’s how it’s gonna be, we’re… No, no, I’m not yelling at you. Da’s just going to take care of a few things here.” The junker’s shrill voice went low again, or at least as low as Junkrat was capable.

Roadhog waited, even though he knew it was fruitless. And sure enough, there was soon a bang and a puff of smoke from his door’s control panels, as it blew the module from the mechanical interior. It slid open a moment later, and an extremely irate-looking Rat was squatting a distance away from the explosion, holding both hands over the ears of the little girl squirming in the carrier strapped to his front.

He straightened, and even at a glance at a distance, Hog could tell that he was more out of sorts than usual. He was twitching maniacally, his grin was of the stressed gritted sort, his eyes were rimmed in red veins and dark shadows, and every movement was weighted down with the poisonous mixture of exhaustion and caffeine that was uniquely his own. He threw himself forward, hauling a duffel bag along with him that was overflowing with diapers, rags, and bottles instead of bombs and mines. With a snarl, he came limping into the garage home, looking so indignant that it made even Hog almost forget that Rat was the one doing the trespassing.

“Not even gonna answer the bloody door for me!” he said. “As if I couldn’t knock it down in ten secs flat! Would’ve saved me a lot of bother, and now you’ve gone and upset the prawn even more! No no no, da’s not mad at you, darl. Shhh shh shh. Shhh! F-fuck’s sake!”

Roadhog grumbled and set his book down. The peace of the afternoon was now shattered with a baby crying and her father yelling. The smell of soot, ash, and baby powder was noticeable through his filtered mask, replacing the new laundry smell. Even his sunbeam retreated as a cloud passed overhead and blotted out the light, as if to shield itself from the scene down below.

“Hmmn.”

“Don’t you ‘Hrmmm’ at me, mate! Some standover man you’ve turned out to be! Went and scarpered first chance you got, that’s what you did. What’s all that? Left me and Mei and the tot to our lonesomes, barely surviving!”

The little girl hiccuped and waved her limbs weakly from her carrier, still crying.

Hog eyed them both. “Hmm.”

“It’s shit, that’s what it is! That’s what you are! 50% of my hard-earned living expenses, going for what? You’re s’posed to help me! What is it you want, mate?! Is it money? How much do I gotta pay? How much do you want? Uh, pay by the hourly? How much is that? How about your packimacki toy things! What if I got you some of those! Credits? Omnic botcoin investment? What is it you want to be mates again?!”

“Hnnh…It’s not—”

“It’s not enough?! You think now’s the time to drive a hard bargain?!” Rat dropped the bulging diaper bag onto Hog’s coffee table, on top of the papers and books and everything else, leaning down to rifle through it. Toys and pacifiers and a stray bottle came spilling out, rolling across the cement floors. “Here, help me find the thing. I’ll get you a payment right now.”

“…Hrrngh. No. Listen—”

“Just one hour! Just…just one fucking hour!” Rat pulled out one of Mei’s tablets, and Hog saw how his hands were shaking and how much trouble he seemed to be having just navigating through the intro panels, pausing only to swipe a gloved hand across his baby girl’s face when she drooled onto the display.

Hog watched him try at it for a few moments before he finally rumbled his question. “Rat.”

“Yeah?!”

“When did you sleep last.”

“Huh?”

“Sleep.”

“Uh. How long’s Mei been gone? What day is it? Uh…three? Yeah, probably about three days ago.”

“Hmm.”

Rat turned on him, nearly frothing with rage again. “Which is fine! Who really needs sleep, when I’ve got to keep things going so great with my girl! Don’t give me those disapproving piggy eyes behind that mask, I’m wise to you! Three days is fine! …Or has it been four? What’s today? Shit, is this when Nan’s checking in?!” He spun in a lost circle. “You got to tell Nan I got this under control. I…I might’ve made a few mistakes here and there, with the prawn. But look at her, Hog! She’s still in one piece! The miracle prawn that you don’t give one toss about! But she’s doing great and she’s right here if you just look at her! See? SEE?!”

“…Yeah.”

“Just give me one hour, that’s all. If you’re still my mate at all, you gotta help me with this. Help me bathe her and whatnot, get that bow onto her head, you know, all picture-worthy to send to Mei. Then I gotta clean things up in the room. Had a little incident with the blender. So I took apart the pump for Mei’s tits, using the parts but only temporarily. Cut my fingers up pretty bad, but cleaned it all up and bandaged it good. Then the prawn sort of exploded on the changin’ table, got to bleach that. Not the clothes bleach, but the one in the white bottle: one’s for clothes and one’s for shit, one’s going to burn her if I wash the onesies in it and gets on her skin, and what if I hurt her?! What if I keep fucking it up and she gets hurt?! Does she look thin to you? I can barely get her to eat like she’s supposed to, just refuses it outright. Takes ages just for me to get her to eat even a little. What if we put on the fluffy outfit to hide how thin she’s getting? Here, help me get her squared away before Nan calls in her report—”

“Rat. Tell Ana you need help—”

“Fuck! No! Are you out of your gourd?! She’ll tell Mei, she’ll tell Mei everything that I’ve done wrong, that I’m a shit dad who never should have been a dad. And Mei can’t think that, not after everything!” He paced from one end of the room to the other, peg leg clacking, offering another rubber dummy to his still-wailing baby and helplessly tossing it aside when she refused it yet again. “D’you know how long I spent convincing Mei that I could do this? That she could leave me with the prawn without me fucking it up? She…She’s got to know I can do this. She’s got to at least think I can do this. E-even if I can’t…do this…” He slumped down onto the overstuffed armchair, lanky body practically melting under the ever-growing weight still strapped onto his front, latching both hands over his bloodshot eyes. “Hog…What if I can’t do this?”

Roadhog was silent for a very long time, breath rasping through his filters, audible over the hiccuping and burbling of his impromptu guests. Behind the mask’s lenses, his eyes swerved downward to the little bundle in her carrier. He’d seen glimpses of it from far away, usually attached to Mei, but even when she caught his gaze, she never approached him with it. Even if he hadn’t told her all of it, he had a feeling that Mei knew why he hadn’t visited them. Not visited her…

This was the first time he’d seen her up close since the day of her birth. She’d been fresh as a newly-laid egg when he’d seen her, barely cleaned and still green around the gills when Junkrat had shown her off from behind the glass. She’d grown a little since then, the ‘prawn’, and was no longer the shrunken and misshapen thing from before. She had more wisps of yellow, hair, soft and thin as goose down, and eyes to match her father’s. But the cheeks and nose and the stern frown was definitely Mei’s, especially when she finally noticed the big blob that was his presence and she hiccuped and stared up at him in a very accusatory way.

“Bbbwaaaa,” she said.

She didn’t look anything like the one he’d known. That one had been larger, darker-eyed, and with dark hair that had grown in thick right away. That one had been more quiet and more solemn, with a strangely thoughtful gaze for something so small and so new. That one would have had deep thoughts as she observed the world around her, would probably have chronicled it all with the crayons and paper he’d put aside for her for her one day. That one would have sung the song about bumblebees together with him, had already started to try gurgling along with his crooning. That one had only just learned to smile, really smile at his face, and reach for him, and those dark eyes always lit up in recognition with a spark that burned brighter than the white light on the horizon that had scorched her to ashes.

This one was flailing her legs like a kickboxer, snotting and drooling onto her bib, and still trying to focus on the big masked blur that took up her entire vision. He saw the way she squinted, trying to control her eyes and the lids that covered them without knowing how or why. And though she likely couldn’t even see exactly who he was or the danger he presented, she reached out one tiny little hand and flailed blindly in his direction.

“Aaanngh,” she said.

Hog didn’t respond to the gesture, making himself look away as he grunted and leaned down to pick up a rattling toy that had rolled against his boot. Placing it back on the table, he finally went to set aside his novel, placing his bookmark between the pages. “Hm. Can just call Ana. She’ll sort you out. She knows about—”

Junkrat suddenly uttered a snore from where he had collapsed in the armchair, his hands still over his face in exhausted despair. Hog grumbled aloud, eyes rolling skyward behind his lenses. It wasn’t the first time that Rat’s poor sleeping habits had led to narcoleptic tendencies, but this time he couldn’t truly be irritated at him. This wasn’t from too many nights of shitty coffee and crumpled plans, but from desperately trying to attend an apparently-capricious infant on his very first foray being left alone.

It had been many decades ago, but Hog could still remember how fucking terrifying that had been, to be left alone with something so precious but so fucking fragile. There had been no sleep to be had then, either, when the baby had gotten sick while her mother was so far away, and he’d been Mako. Every cough or whimper she made had been like ice in his veins, barely able to grab an hour or two of sleep in as many days. He could remember being so tired that he’d fallen asleep rocking her, with the formula heating up on the stove, and had later awoken to the smell of burning milk in the kitchen and her coughing vomit into his lap.

Rat’s exhaustion was from a different source, but Hog knew what it could do to a man. Could drive someone crazy, or at least crazier than normal. Could you make you desperate to try so hard that you only made it even more difficult than before. Could have you run on fumes until you finally could fall apart and break down in the presence of someone you thought you could trust..even though he’d abandoned you weeks ago…

The little yellow-haired girl, the prawn, remained blissfully unaware of the turmoil. Her father had literally collapsed with her still attached to his chest, but that was hardly something she seemed worried about now. She’d become so distracted by the big blurry Hog sitting a few feet away that she’d forgotten to keep crying, and she reached for him again. He watched her. She was trying so hard to control those unwieldy little things that were her own limbs, impossibly small fingers curling and uncurling, trying to grasp and not understanding why nothing was there.

Hog remained very still, still watching her. Her arm lengthened, pushed out as far as she could get it from the confines of her carry-bag. Her cheerful little cartoon-printed onesie had been washed recently, still had little specks of lint and fuzz attached to the elastic around her wrist. She seemed baffled by the very concept of her own hand, her yellow eyes suddenly going into focus as she flexed her brittle little digits again, watching them move because she had wanted them to move. Undeterred by her lack of coordination, she reached out to try and touch the world around her.

The big blurry thing shifted in the far distance and rose upward, and Roadhog very slowly loomed closer. The lenses of his swine mask remained cold and blank, until they were caught in the sunbeam that dared to peek from behind the cloud cover, glowing white and yellow. His ‘face’, the one he had adopted in the wake of the apocalypse, was lit with terrifying clarity. An enormous hand, adorned with metal spikes and scars and chipped black nails, a hand that had crushed skulls and spattered blood and wrung the life out of so many, lifted up in front of her. One by one, his fingers curled, until there was only one thick and crooked index, held forth in front of her.

She smiled, and her tiny hand found his offered finger and closed upon it, gripping onto him.

It destroyed him more than the nuclear apocalypse ever had. Instead of scorching fire and bleached rock and bone, it was soft flesh and gentle warmth and potential, and everything else that had ever been stolen from out of the godforsaken desert he’d loved. It was all the ashes that had once poured out of the little blanket he’d tried to hold in his arms, when he’d found her in the wreckage and ruin of their home. Far greater than the treasure that Junkrat had dug out of the wastes all those fateful years ago, it was everything he’d tried to forget, and the one thing in existence that he’d truly fled from… And here she was, again. Even if it wasn’t her…

Mako sighed, lowering his head briefly and breathing deep.

He reached his other hand to awkwardly undo the straps that attached her to Rat’s chest. The ripping of velcro barely roused him at all, but when Hog started to lift the weight of the baby off of him, he launched out one skinny arm that immediately grappled onto his former partner-in-crime’s vest, the other covetously grasping his little girl back to him. Red-rimmed eyes shot open, teeth bared, and Rat was immediately in Hog’s face and ready to fight to the death.

“I’LL CRACK YA! YA WOT, MATE? YA WOT?!”

The girl started crying again.

Hog grumbled at the ruckus, but relented his grip and slowly lifted both hands in an extremely rare gesture of peace. “Rat. Wake up.”

There was a pause as Rat blinked strangely, his eyes not quite in sync. He wasn’t even truly awake, his reaction born of years of rough living and parental paranoia. Shuddering, the aggression evaporated from his stance, furrowed brows easing. He looked around them blearily, then placed a hand on the baby’s fluffy head and eased back into the chair again as he realized where he was. “Oh, s’just you. Were we doin’ something? Uh, what’s the time, I got to feed—”

Hog upnodded to the protesting prawn. “I’ll take her.”

“You?” Rat sneered in indignant disbelief. “You don’t know anything about sprog-rearin’. Dunno why I even came here. Didn’t know where else to go. There was nowhere else to go. I couldn’t… S’just…”

“I know a little. Give her here.”

Junkrat seemed understandably torn, eying his erstwhile partner with a look that Hog knew well, and knew better than to protest. Down beneath all the exhaustion and madness and radiation, all the scattered pieces of calculating genius scraped together in ways that nobody truly understood— least of all Rat himself. The cogs of his mind were clearly grinding, weighing pros and cons and sorting through delusions and realities. There was too much at stake to make the decision lightly.

Hog couldn’t be sure what led him to finally relent, as metal fingers loosened around the velcro straps of the carrier and his grasp uncoiled from around his precious onesie-wrapped bundle. The way he was looking at Hog was still very far from kind, but still he opened his arms and allowed her to be taken from him. Moving cautiously and slowly, Hog lifted the little girl off her father’s chest and deposited her into the crook of his elbow, folding one massive hand over top of her.

“You got her?” Rat fretted.

“I got her.”

“Hrnnghh! Well…! Huh. Actually handlin’ her all right, I guess. Surprised you’d know anything at all about handling babies.”

“…Used to know someone. He had a little girl.”

“Oh yeh? Is it anyone I know?”

“Not really.”

“You should give ‘em a ring, make introductions. Give my lil’ prawn a new playmate and whatnot! Gal pals!”

“Hm. Don’t think so. Not around anymore…And he wasn’t any good for her in the end.”

“Oh. Well then fuck him, I s’pose.”

“…Yeah.”

“Shame, I guess, about the girl. Probably she and my prawn might’ve been best mates!”

Hog looked down to where the baby was gurgling and mouthing at his knuckle. “Yeah. Think they woulda gotten along.”

Rat watched him like a hawk, not looking down even when he leaned to start undoing the wraps and clamps of his prosthetic limbs. There was a faint buzz as the old nerve receptors powered down and went dead, and Rat gingerly went to ease limbs off the stumps of his leg and arm. They looked red and chafed and raw, a far-too-familiar sight from where he’d worn them for too long without a break. He rubbed at what was left of his forearm, brows lowering.

“Going to explain why you bailed on me and mine, then? It’s been yonks since I spied hair or hair of ya. Mei kept on saying you’d come around in your own damn time…but you didn’t. And she kept saying to wait, I just gotta wait. And I thought maybe Mei was right because Mei’s fair dinkum and she’s right a lot, so I waited…and still you never showed. You never fucking did. And at first I was right cross about it all, but then…I started wondering why.”

Hog glanced up at him but said nothing.

Rat’s eerie gaze remained fixated, pupils narrowed to little pricks of black on yellow. “We’ve bashed around for years, mate— years! And we’ve seen some shit together. How many people have I seen you kill? I watched you face down two of the top brass from Junkertown on your land when they came for me, and you didn’t even flinch. Never seen you scared of anything. So I thought it was something I’d done. But wasn’t that either, was it? Fockin’ hell, how many bullets have I had to pluck from the meat of your arse or run to get them gas cans when you couldn’t breathe? And you changed my sheets and even cleaned out the thunderbucket from that time I got dead-real sick in that shack outside of Dooniwop. Not too many blokes would do that. Probably lots of other times I’ve forgotten, too. We’ve been true blue up until now.”

“…Hmm.”

“So what makes someone like you…” He lifted his remaining hand to point at Hog. “Scared of someone like her?” It tilted down to the little bundle in the cartoon onesie.

Hog looked back down to the girl, still quiet. For a long time he simply didn’t answer, unwilling or unable to put it into the right words. He lifted one meaty shoulder in a rather helpless shrug that did not at all suit someone like the one-man apocalypse. “Hmmmh…”

“It’s not me or Mei, is it? It’s my prawn. You’ve been running scared of my prawn for over two months now, and it’s not because of the crying or the nappies or the spitting up or the baby things. It’s somethin’ else about her…It’s somethin’ that’s happened before her…”

Junkrat eyed him again, in the same way as before. Whatever might have been going on in that strange head of his, this time he wasn’t telling. And when the prawn started fussing and whimpering again from Hog’s arm, there wasn’t time to confront the matter further. At least, not for now.

There was simply no time. Rat was already stressed back into action, sliding onto the floor and rummaging through the diaper bag until he came up with a smaller pack, digging a bottle out of it. “Put a pin in that for now, Roadie, we’re in the shit. Still got to get her ready before Nan suspects anything or tells Mei I can’t do this. Fuck, she’s cryin’ again, they can’t hear her cryin’…”

“Give it here. I’ll heat it up.” Hog was glad to be distracted from the conversation and held out his free hand, the bottle plonked into his palm.

“Right, right, right. Okay. Go heat that up, I’ll feed her. Not too hot! Then I’ll get her in a bath, wash her arse, put her up in one of those fancy baby dresses Mei likes. Pose her for some slick photography with her favorite roo stuffie, ya know, for proof of life…” He dug his arm about in the bag, growing more and more frantic. “Wait, where’s her roo? Where the hell is the roo! Mei’s gonna see her without the roo and she’ll know I’ve forgotten it and then she’ll start questioning all the other things I forgot and then she’ll think I’ve somehow faked the pictures, like I got a fake baby that I may or may not have made out of some of her extra clothes and some pillowcases just in case anything happened, not that I’m saying anything happened—!”

“Rat.”

“What!”

“Sit down. Gonna go heat this up. I’ll be back.”

“Will ya be back this time?!”

“Yeah.”

“…Will ya?”

“Yeah. I will.”

Rat made a strange noise, pulling the diaper bag into his lap and continuing his search as he collapsed back onto the sofa. Roadhog sighed and trundled off into the kitchen, filling a pot with water and setting it to warm. He’d done it a thousand times, too many years ago, but still remembered the order. He tested the water, dropped in the bottle, and rocked the little girl that was now bicycle-kicking her legs against his chest and not-quite-laughing.

Hog snorted down at her. “Guess we know which side you got that from,” he said, heading back into the den. “Your girl’s going to be a terror one day—”

Junkrat was asleep again, both arms locked around the bag, his face smushed into a pile of baby clothes and the zipper already pressing indents into his cheek, the missing toy kangaroo wedged into the sofa down by his remaining leg. Roadhog stared down at him for a moment, then placed the kangaroo by his pillow and meandered off again, shutting the door behind him. He waited for the milk to heat, watching the timer and only becoming distracted when he noticed a very small hand reaching up for him again.

The prawn was focused on his face, or what had become his face. Adjusting her up along his arm, he allowed chubby little fingers to clumsily grasp at the rim of the mask’s filter, though he felt nothing from their touch. He rasped in a breath, which seemed to startle her for the first time, and he saw how her eyes widened and she looked suddenly offended.

“Don’t think much of that?” he asked.

“Mmmmnn!” she said, still flailing.

He reached up and very gently took hold of her hand, lowering it away. “Hmm. Guess not. Don’t think she would’ve liked it much either. Didn’t like loud noises. Got scared easier than you do…”

He leaned his head down, undoing the buckles and straps that held the mask onto his head. Its filters hissed as it depressurized and the burn of real air returned with the smell of milk and talcum powder, the scratches and fogged glass of the lenses giving way to almost-clearer vision, looking down at her. Again her eyes tried to focus as she peered back, squinting and furrowing, unfamiliar with the leathery swine-monster above her becoming someone entirely different.

When she reached for him again, he didn’t stop her. Unwieldy little fingers touched the white bristles around his chin, the deep scars and the burns, and the chapped flesh of what was left of his lower lip. This one was still so young, even younger than she had been. He could still remember every moment of it; when she had first learned how to work her hands, how to look between faces, how to smile and laugh, and how to bring her hands together and squeal happily when she heard him singing her favorite songs…like the one about the baby bumblebees…

The timer chimed and he reached to take the milk bottle from the water, wiping it off and testing it on his wrist before transferring her back down into the crook of his elbow. Rat had said that she was being fussy lately, somewhere during his ranting, and Hog wasn’t surprised when she tried to turn her nose up at the offering.

“Hey,” Hog said, the baritone of his voice thrumming deep as she looked up at him again.

He tried to hum, the same tune that his own girl had loved so much— that tune about the baby bumblebees. But he could barely manage a few notes before something old and tired and long-buried lurched in the darkness of his chest and he swallowed the song back down until it hurt, like those bumblebees were stinging him in the throat. He cleared them away with a rumbling cough, briefly placing a hand over his mouth. It had been too many years since he’d sung it, or not enough.

“…Maybe a different one,” he told her. “Know one about the kookaburra.”

Maybe it was the thunder of his voice or the tune about the kookaburra itself, but she seemed entranced when he began to hum. When he offered the bottle again, she stilled her fussing and took it with no more trouble, yellow eyes drifting shut. The bottle steadily drained until she belched against the cloth on his shoulder and yawned with a high squeaking noise like a snared rabbit. He replaced her in the crook of his elbow, and she opened her eyes long enough to smile up at him. Hog almost smiled back.

But then her smile turned into toothless grin, and she promptly passed gas at him before immediately falling asleep, just as abruptly as her father had in the next room over.

He stifled a chuckle, leaning his face away. “Eugh…Yeah, that’s from Mei all right. Might need the mask after all.” He tossed the empty bottle aside and stood, heading back into the den for his armchair and his book, and to keep watch while they rested.

***

Mei trotted up the ramp with her suitcase, and spotted the extremely unmistakable beanpole frame of Junkrat waiting for her. She brightened and waved, hurrying her step with the hovers on her case struggling to rattle after her. “Jamie, zhè biān! Over here!”

One extremely frazzled-looking junker turned at the sound of her voice, his customary grin only able to make it halfway across his face as he opened both long arms. She enthusiastically threw herself into them, and his grip coiled and tightened as he buried his nose into her hair, sighing aloud before he began to plaster her face with irritating kisses while she squealed and batted him away just how he liked. Only then did he rear back up to his full height, keeping one arm draped over her shoulder. “How are ya, darl?”

“It’s good to be back. That was such a long week! Um, n-not that I was worried or anything, I know you said things were fine. I got the little video you and Ana sent of her with her little zebra sweater, so cute! And she took the bottles okay? Was she—”

“Aaah-haha-ha! Nope! Everything was fiiiiine! It’s just…ya know. Prawn’s a vivacious girl and it was…uh. Ya know, she’s kinda got a stubborn streak and I— Uh, maybe you could just not leave again? Ever? Just a joke! But really!” He rubbed nervously at his neck, then blinked when there was a pull at his arm, leaning down to where Mei could plant another kiss on his cheek. Some of the tiredness melted away, his shaky smile steadying. “Ah, heh!”

“I know it must have been hard. It was hard with two of us. I hope you weren’t being too hard on yourself? Like I said, you can always ask for help when you get tired. I know I ended up crying in the bathroom more than once because I was so tired.”

“Mighta been a little more difficult than I’d been crowing. Only a little, though!”

“But…it’s easier with help? I heard you had help?” She lowered her voice scandalously as they walked, looking around as if expecting someone to interrupt them at any moment. “Really? I guess I’m a little surprised that it was Mr. Roadhog. Is everything okay between you two? Was everything okay with her?”

“Honestly, love, I got no idear how it went. Apparently I passed out on his lounger for about six hours straight before he woke me up so I could go get more bottles for her. Was acting all weird about her at first, all…squirrely-like. But when I wake up, she’s fed, burped, changed, and absolutely smitten with the big lug. Ya know, you’d almost think ol’ Pigface has got more experience than he’s let on!”

“W-well, it’s not really our place to… But he was okay with her, is the main thing? She didn’t bother him? And you were able to sleep? It sounds like you might have needed a little break.”

Junkrat turned upon her, wild-eyed. “N-no! No, it was all fine! Didn’t even need to sleep! Who told you that!”

“You did?”

“Well fuck me, then! Yeah nah, I had everything under control! Well, me and maybe a bit of help on the down-low from Uncle Roadie. And the prawn was sheer perfection, not a misstep, absolute angel, definitely didn’t explode a tornado of shit that somehow managed to miss her entire fucking diaper or anything! Speaking of!” He leaned down to snatch up her bag, pushing her in front of him as they rounded the corner. “Think I ain’t the only one what’s happy to see you back.”

Mei’s entire person lit up, even prettier than when his bombs went off. She dropped the handle of her suitcase and broke into a jog, then into a run, right up to the enormous figure of Roadhog, and the cushioned carrier he held in one hand. He upnodded and grunted a little greeting sound, but she only managed a very distracted semi-response before she set upon the carrier with both hands, pulling at straps and plastic buckles until she was finally able to lift the little girl back into her embrace after so long away.

She laughed to herself as she rocked her, covering the little wisps of blond hair with kisses. “Oh no! Nǐ zěn gǎn! You were asleep when I left and you’re asleep when I come back too! Terrible, terrible manners. You could at least say hello.” She pressed another kiss to her forehead, holding her tightly, voice entirely without malice as she scolded her.

The prawn mumbled to herself and stirred but remained asleep through the torrent, sucking on the rubber pacifier, as Mei shook her head and turned up to where Roadhog was peering down at them in his usual silent menace. A quick glance backward saw Junkrat still struggling with the handle to her case, so she took a moment to lean up towards him. “I promised I won’t pry, Mr. Roadhog, honestly I won’t. But I guess I was surprised to see you in those photos with her. I know Jamie won’t admit he was having some trouble with her but… I’m glad he went to find you. I just want to know if you’re okay with her? With everything?”

“Wasn’t in the plan. Was hard. Thought those days were long gone. But Rat needed help. And she’s…” Hog shrugged, rumbling a low sigh before lifting the empty carrier. “She’s all right.”

“Then, thank you. From both of us. Thank you so much.”

There was a loud clatter from behind them. “Ow! Where’s the latch for the hovers! Fuckin’ thing!”

“Oh, here! I’ll get it, sometimes it sticks!” Mei placed one last kiss to the prawn’s head before very carefully placing her back into the carrier, moving to help him where the hover pad had gotten stuck and the entire case now trying to roll around in circles. “No, no, it’s going left, hold it still!”

“Head it off at the pass, darl! It’s goin’ rogue!”

Hog watched them laugh and dissolve into more arguments while their daughter slept through it all, leaning down to strap the little girl back in and cover her snoring body with her blanket again. She might not have been awake for Mei’s reunion, but there would be time later. And Rat was perking up back into his old self again, where he had thrown himself bodily onto Mei’s suitcase and was trying to wrestle the hover port closed again while Mei pulled at his leg and yelled for him ‘not to hurt it’.

They were both looking a little flushed by the time they had straightened it out, and Mei retrieved her suitcase while Rat had firmly wrapped one arm about her once more. When they returned, Hog caught the little glances towards one another, and where Mei was subtly trying to shoo his hand away from her rear. She cleared her throat and adjusted her glasses as her gaze darted to the little sleeper in the carrier, sighing aloud when the prawn only fussed a little at the noise, turned her head the other way, and went right back to sleep.

Hog half-lifted the carrier and made his offer, lifting his head very subtly to Rat. “…She’s asleep. Just ate. Probably going to nap for a while. Could keep her for a bit.” Just as he thought, Mei looked a little disappointed, but he knew she wouldn’t have time to mope for long. He wasn’t entirely sure if Rat had caught his signal or if the younger junker was just being as lecherous as normal, but Rat was quick to seize the opportunity.

“Y’hear that, darl? Prawn’s a champion napper, might be a while. We uh…we got some time? Ya know, I ain’t seen you for a week.” He promptly returned to trying to squeezing at her side and lowered his voice into a hoarse ‘whisper’ that was still audible to everyone around them. “Prawn’s not the only one who’s been looking forward to those tits again…”

“Jamison!” She hissed, before coughing sheepishly and hugging her suitcase like a shield. Likely she would never get used to the junkers’ ‘open’ style of approach. “I-I mean, we shouldn’t inconvenience Mr. Roadhog, and I haven’t seen her—”

“She’ll wake up later on, can get right back on track. But I mean, uh…ya know, if we got time.”

She looked torn. “No, we shouldn’t, we shouldn’t impose…”

Hog snorted and glanced down at her. “Offering. She’s asleep. You got a good sleeper. You got time. Take it.”

Junkrat nosed at her hair, practically salivating. “Oh, she’s gonna take it…”

“JAMISON!” Her face lit up pink. “O-oh! Well I guess…I guess if she’s going to be napping for a while and you don’t mind taking her? Just for a little bit! Um, I guess if…Will you message me the moment she wakes up, though?”

“Yeah. I will.”

Mei offered him a grateful but embarrassed smile, and Junkrat gave him a much more grateful and much less embarrassed smile as well. Mumbling words of both apologies and thanks, she grasped onto Rat’s hand and let him drag her away. Their arms looped around each other in that awkward manner, too tall and too short and determined to make it work despite. Even while Hog watched them go, Rat goosed at her bottom and she slapped his arm, then leaned her head up against him while he laughed uproariously at some joke or other. They turned another corner and were gone, headed back to their home together.

Hog was left alone once more… Or, not alone. Not this time.

The prawn squeaked out another yawn from her carrier and he glanced down at where she shifted in the throes of brand-new dreams. He placed his finger in her open palm, and her fist curled and closed and held on as she stilled once more. He waited until she was pacified, patiently tucking in the blanket again before lifting up her carrier and heading off back to his own home. It was likely she’d be asleep for a while longer yet, and they had time before everything devolved back into chaos.

“Come on,” he told her. “Gonna stay with Uncle Roadhog a while longer.”

Best to enjoy those moments while they could. They were moments you’d never get back, no matter how much he’d give to have them back again. But he had this, at least for now. And it was all right.

It was all right.

[caramelslate]

Day 4 of Moms Made Fullmetal Week!

Prompt:  Victory or Responsibility or Homework

AO3 link here

Enjoy reading!

Izumi Curtis has never experienced this level of exhaustion.

Considering the fact that she once got trapped in a collapsing mine (long story), wrestled a bear, and survived a month of the bitter cold wilderness up near Briggs, saying she was exhausted is really something.

But here she was, fatigue right into her very bones, looking out the view of her hospital window at the nearby ruins that were once the Central Headquarters. The once pristine front of the military base is now littered with missile holes, a tattered flag of Amestris hanging from a snapped pole. Izumi knew that the inside looked far worse, with an entire building almost gone because the monster, the one the homunculus called Father, had blasted off with the incredible power of God.

Right after Ed returns from the Gate of Truth, clutching the frail thin body of his younger brother Al, the officers that are present promptly get to work. They got Al, who upon coming back, immediately collapsed to the ground, possibly from exhaustion. Izumi remembers the way Hohenheim trembled at the sight of Al and despite the evident lack of strength to even support himself, he surged forward toward his sons.

The injured were immediately rushed to Central Hospital while the rest of the men went inside to try and capture those who were in it with Bradley’s plan. Most of them are high ranking officers that are arrested and are now in jail awaiting trial. Mustang’s team sent out a statement declaring that it was a coup instead of saying it was an all powered individual who almost sacrificed their souls for more power than he was capable of containing.

She leaned back in the hospital bed, turning her head to the side to loosen it up from being stiff. It has definitely been a while since she got into a battle, much less something as big and destructive as this one. Sure, she’s gone into some trouble before but since teaching those two boys, she hasn’t taken any more students and her alchemy is affecting her condition so she hasn’t done anything very tiring yet. That’s why when the battle was over and the adrenaline running through her body had worn off, Izumi wasn’t surprised when she started coughing up blood. Terrified, the officers around her immediately hauled her off to the hospital.

Sig came rushing in as soon as he heard, now the man was hunched over into himself, squeezing himself in that chair that was obviously too small for him. A smile slowly slipped into her lips as she looked at her husband. Despite everything they went through, he still stayed behind and left her to fight. That was one of the reasons why she fell in love with him in the first place. He doesn’t treat her like a fragile little thing, even before her condition, she wasn’t treated like a vase that is vulnerable to breaking. Sig knows she’s strong and he acknowledges that.

After getting a scolding from the doctor about overdoing it, she was confined to a week in the hospital for further observation and once she gets home, she has to be in bed rest and limited physical activities.

Izumi had just started to slip back to sleep when the creak of the door brought her back. Turning towards the sound, Edward’s head popped out the open door.

“Hey, Teacher. There’s someone who wanted to see you.” His blond head went back and he came back wheeling Alphonse in on a wheelchair. Ed pushed his brother at the side of her bed and for the first time since Alphonse finally got his body back that she studied him.

Gaunt cheeks, thin pale lips, his hospital gown is hanging on his body, a blanket was thrown around his shoulders. His arms and legs are almost to the bone. He honestly looked terrible but when Izumi looked into his eyes, she unexpectedly teared up.

Pure unadulterated joy, his golden eyes dancing with mirth with the feeling of having the only thing he has been working hard for all these years. Alphonse slowly lifted a thin hand from his lap and rested it on her knee. Despite the blanket covering her legs, she could feel the warmth from his bony hand.

That was the moment when Izumi, the housewife, started crying.

Twin expressions of disbelief stared at her as she hastily brushed the tears away and tried to reel in her emotions. These two boys who had their years robbed away, who had to become adults to correct the mistake they made, after all the tragedy that is their life, as she stared at Al’s hand on her knee and Ed’s arm resting over the back of his brother’s wheelchair, they finally have what they wanted the most.

Izumi lets out an embarrassed laugh, “Sorry. It must’ve been a surprise to see your amazing master suddenly cry.” She smiled at them. “It’s so nice to see you, Alphonse. Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”

“I told him he needed to rest but he insisted on visiting you first.” Ed’s words warmed her heart. She chuckled slightly, “I’m going to be here for a week. Doctor’s orders. You can visit me anytime you want while I’m here.”

“I wanted to pay everyone a visit first. Besides, the sun’s down and I’ve just woken up. The doctors said that my body was just catching up with time and needed more rest from time to time.” Al grinned, “I haven’t been able to sleep for a while so I’m still getting used to the idea again.”

While Ed has a very explosive type of personality, Izumi would say that Al is like a lamp, steady and stable. He’s very quiet but he wears his heart on his sleeve. When the boys visited her back home and Izumi realized what had happened, she laid down on her bed that night and cried. She doesn’t show emotions around the two before but what they went through is a very familiar feeling. The sense of longing and loss, doing anything to bring back what was gone and suddenly having something taken away from you for the taboo you committed is a feeling she knows all too well. And for a moment, she blamed herself for now seeing the signs. Maybe she could’ve changed both of their minds. But in the end, she knows no amount of explanation could change a determined alchemist.

Sig has tried to warn her about going too far but the guilt is way too strong, too loud enough to drown out the voice of reason in her mind. Now years later, she still pays for that mistake.

When she received that call from Ed, confirming that the thing she brought back that fateful night was not her unborn child, she felt no regret, like Sig had expected, but joy. That her child did not suffer more than she thought. However, despite having a huge weight off her chest, she couldn’t shake the fact that she still needs to do something for the two orphans she took in.

She has been around Al when he was still attached to the armor and while a lot of people coveted the ability to be almost indestructible, she knows Alphonse. Despite this power, the only thing he wants is the simplest things, to be able to eat, sleep, and feel much like any other human being. The way he craved his mother.

Seeing him now with a smile on his face, his voice warm and giddy, and his eyes bright and laughing at something his brother said, Izumi could help but feel that last weight is gone. She had done what she could and left the rest for the Elrics to do their part to get what they wanted at the end. Normalcy.

“Why do you want to visit that bastard anyway? He’s just a big baby.” Ed pouted. Al frowned, “That’s not very nice, brother. Colonel lost his eyesight too.” Both of them went silent for a few minutes.

Ed grumbled, “I guess we can spare some time. I wanted to visit Lieutenant Hawkeye too and I am very sure that Colonel Bastard pulled some strings to be put in the same room. I swear he’s very clingy at Hawkeye. It’s like a little kid clutching his momma’s skirt.” Al simply smiled at his brother’s antics.

It is hilarious how these two, just hours earlier, were one of the youngest alchemists who fought an immortal being, survived the battle, and won.

“You two should go rest, especially you, Al. Make sure to eat a lot. I’ll make a brisket when you visit me back in-" A coughing fit interrupted her, she pressed her handkerchief against her mouth. When she drew it away, the white cloth was stained with blood. “Izumi-" Sig began to stand, but she waved him away, saying he’s fine without words. Her husband sat back down, still worried.

Ed rushed towards the table beside her to pour water from a pitcher. He handed it to her. “You’re the one who should be resting.” Alphonse admonished her. “You should push yourself too hard.” She took the cup and drank the entire thing.

“Al’s right. The battle took a toll on you, I can see it. I know you wanted to sleep, your eyes are drooping. We’ll leave now and visit some other time.” Ed decided and waved to Sig, who waved back with a smile.

The older Elric grabbed the wheelchair handles and pulled his brother away from the bed.

Al promised to come back tomorrow morning for lunch and the two brothers left and closed the door with a click.

Sig finally stood up and rubbed her back, “Are you sure, you’re fine?” his huge hands lightly cupping her shoulders. She rested her hand over one of his and smiled back. “I’m fine. It helped that those two rascals came to visit too. Made my day seem normal with the two of them bickering in here. I forgot I just fought a homunculus and unleashed everything I had on a being that had the power of God.” Izumi snickered at the thought. “Those two grew surrounded by the weirdest things, they were able to still act like their normal selves after what had just happened.”

“You’re a good mother, Izumi.” Sig’s deep voice declared.

She looked up and he was staring at her with eyes filled with love and dedication. “What?”

Sig sank down to sit by her side and said, “You’re a good mom. I know those two didn’t come from you and I know they annoy you to hell sometimes but still, you treat them as if they’re ours. And even back then when you told me you’re relieved that it wasn’t our baby the one you brought back, I know you didn’t want them to suffer. If not wanting your children to suffer, putting their needs and emotions before yourself isn’t being a parent, then I don’t know what is.”

“There’s more to being a parent than that, Sig.” Izumi said. “I know,” he replied. “But you have all those. You just have to see it for yourself.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my husband?” Izumi jokes, trying to lighten up the mood. Sig has always been steadfast and quiet. It’s not common for him to be saying things like this. “Why are you going sappy on me?” she asked.

“Because I’ve seen the way you look after those two.” He jerked a thumb towards the door, indicating the brothers. “You don’t show it, but you hover over them. It’s really amusing to watch. Trying tough love when you’re really a softie inside.” Sig chuckled when Izumi lightly slapped his hand. “But seriously, Izumi. You would’ve been a great mom.”

She felt the tears well up when she said, “You would’ve been the best father too.”

[plumoh]

[FE3H] the rust under their binds

Word count: 5002

Summary: Sylvain participates in the Gronder Battle even if he knows full well how it will end. / chapter 17 of Verdant Wind.

Note: AO3 link. Graphic depiction of violence, major character death, Sylvain & Felix & Ingrid platonic. This was prompted by me killing the Blue Lions kids in my Golden Deers run and getting hit in the guts......

The entire battlefield looks like it’s on fire. The central hill is burning while thick, almost black wisps of smoke cover the sky. Sylvain’s eyes are prickling and he curses under his breath as he pushes his horse forward, ignoring the sickening sounds that the bodies being trampled on make. Death is everywhere; there are corpses lying right and left, weapons scattered around them and the remains of demonic beasts sticking to the soil. The smell is awful—Sylvain wants to throw up and forget that he’s ever stepped in this damned field that will turn into a cemetery.

He lost his battalion around half an hour ago; it wasn’t even a proper battalion, constituted of only a dozen men desperate for peace but consumed by trust. Gautier is one of the last military bases Faerghus has left, but he’s reduced to this: charging forward alone, exhausted, clothes soaked with the blood of allies and enemies alike, his armor nicked in places he didn’t know was possible, a lance that’s about to break, and his relic. His cursed relic that’s been pulsing and demanding for more destruction as the minutes turned into hours.

The wind picks up and the howl of an animal sounds. Sylvain looks up and admires the graceful form of a white wyvern crossing the field with a definite path in mind.

***

He lies awake in his bed and considers chickening out.

That’s what he wants to believe but he perfectly knows he won’t ever find the courage to pick up his lance, mount his horse and disappear somewhere until the war ends. He’s always been a coward, after all, and this night like the others isn’t any different—it’s not any different even if tomorrow there is a high chance they won’t be able to come back at all.

Their army isn’t that big, compared to the Empire and the Alliance; they’ve gathered as many loyal soldiers as they could and recruited anyone not too shady looking, but they’re still a drop in the ocean. Fighting against two armies who possess much more resources and men is not a thought that would have ever occurred to him, even in his most crazed state.

Since he’s not getting any wink of sleep tonight, he might as well go dig into their meager food supplies. Nobody is going to eat it, anyway.

***

He coughs up blood and grips the reins of his horse tighter, shuddering and sputtering, but refusing to stop. The soldiers thrust their lances at him with renewed vigor, and maybe frustration, but Sylvain doesn’t let them hit him again and he deploys the Lance of Ruin’s power to take them down. His blood boils and his hands shake when the lance goes through them like they were made of ash and mud. He doesn’t watch their bodies hit the ground and kicks into his horse’s side.

Fuck. It’s getting difficult to see what’s going on.

The Alliance is focusing on the imperial troops but they’re still standing in their way. Sylvain distantly remembers that their main objective is Edelgard, but they were also given the order to kill every last one of them. Ha. Who is he to disobey his king?

There are voices he recognizes, even if it’s been five years since the last time he heard them. Funny how the brain works, sometimes; he isn’t able to remember the name of the girl he dated last week but he perfectly knows that former classmates are fighting for their survival just like he does merely by sound. He’s a soldier, but that doesn’t mean he wants to fight people he once considered his allies—that’s really irresponsible and foolish of him, but he can’t help it. Lysithea is firing spell after spell, wreaking havoc on the battlefield and never letting her enemies a chance to stand up; Leonie is rushing into the troops and in one fell swoop of her lance she injures several of them; Ignatz’s aim has always been the best and his arrows make clean kills. Others are here too, even demure Marianne who stays behind and heals her allies from afar. Sylvain acknowledges that he logically should kill her first so as to deprive his enemies of healing abilities.

Instead, he runs off to the left side and hopes he can regroup with the others.

***

“What the fuck are you doing up at this hour?”

“Well, I’m clearly not the only one.”

Felix scoffs but doesn’t retort. He’s nursing a cup of water, sitting at a table in the tent that is supposed to be the kitchen, in the dark because he’s that much of a lunatic. Sylvain prefers looking at what he’s rummaging through so he lights up a candle. He ends up picking the first thing his hand touches, which is a stale piece of bread. He eats it slowly.

Nights are like these aren’t uncommon, happening more frequently as they approach the Empire’s territory. Being near Gronder Field will naturally make some people restless and maybe a bit afraid, too. Sylvain isn’t sure that what he feels is fear, but he sure as hell knows he doesn’t like it.

“Were you training?” he asks, turning a careful eye towards Felix.

“What else do you want me to do?” Felix shrugs. His voice isn’t dripping with his usual venom. “Sleeping like we should all be doing?”

“I’ve heard that sleep is good for the body. Would you believe that? I thought that roaming around camp all night and snacking on days old food would be much more healthy.”

Sylvain flashes him one of his smiles, full of fake confidence and casualness, and of course Felix glares at him.

“This isn’t the time for jokes,” Felix says.

“It’s never the time for jokes.”

They’ve been robbed of tranquil days for the past five years, and try as they might, even if they pretend everything will be fine they know it won’t. Dimitri emerging from the dead should have rekindled the hope in them, but it didn’t have the expected effect—Sylvain doesn’t want to say it, but his return made things worse.

Felix swallows the content of his glass and puts it down with more strength than necessary. They stay silent for a while, Felix contemplating the empty bottom of his glass and Sylvain toying with crumbs on his fingers. If anyone walked in, they would think they make a pathetic sight.

“Hey, about that promise,” Sylvain starts, but Felix stands up and his chair rattles before toppling over.

“Don’t be stupid.” He takes a few steps towards the exit but he doesn’t touch the tent’s flaps.

Sylvain shrugs. “Just wanted to make sure you remembered.”

“You and I know what’s going to happen tomorrow, Sylvain.”

For someone so vocal about his thoughts and so quick to disagree with orders given by a specific person, Felix doesn’t say the words that have been haunting Sylvain’s mind for the entirety of their journey to Gronder Field. Perhaps they don’t need to be vocalized; perhaps it’s Felix who doesn’t want to recognize their truth, even if they hang heavily in the air. He’d much prefer that Sylvain is the one to say them so he can tell him he’s been right all along. That might be the case, but Sylvain has never said he wasn’t willing to believe in fantasies as long as he was with his loved ones.

So what he says instead is, “That means a lot of people will share the promise with us, then.”

This time around his grin feels more genuine, amused by his own lack of taste in jokes at such a critical time, but Felix snorts and that’s as much approval as he’s going to get. It’s good to have one last laugh.

***

He leads on foot his battalion of cavalrymen and they all travel in tense silence to their position. Next to him, Ingrid is looking at the sky, most likely evaluating the force of the wind and the direction it will blow in a few hours. Her pegasus is walking behind her, as agitated as his horse.

“You think you’re going to be okay?”

Ingrid grips her lance tighter and glances at him.

“Of course I’ll be alright. We have to fight for His Highness, after all.”

Sylvain dearly wishes he can reply something sensible, but his mouth as usual runs faster than his brain.

“We’re going to die, that’s what is going to happen.”

Felix knows this mission is suicide; Ingrid refuses to see it as such. And naturally, she glares at him with the fierceness she reserves for her lectures.

“We are knights. Fighting for our liege is what we do, and dying is—dying as a knight is the best death we could get.”

“I’d prefer not dying at all.”

“Then why are you here?”

Why is he here, indeed? Ingrid’s resolve has never wavered, not even in these uncertain times when all they could do was run in circles or train without seeing results. She is steadfast and strong when she latches onto her principles, because she’d be lost otherwise; her mind and her heart have decided long ago how she is going to live, even if everyone around her is spitting on chivalry and is treating her ideals like garbage. Sylvain admires that in her, and that’s why he’s sad that she’s willing to blind herself for someone they all cherish. She could have become the greatest knight in Faerghus.

Sylvain is here because he can’t run away and because he’s still cradling memories of better days.

“I guess I have nothing else to do.”

Ingrid’s sharp intake of breath makes him smile a little bit, and he pats her shoulder.

“Don’t worry about me, worry about yourself.”

“You—you don’t even know what is coming out of your mouth, do you?”

He doesn’t want her to cry, but he feels he’s the one who might cry if they keep talking. He ignores her sniffling and he ignores his own misty eyes.

***

Lying on the ground are the corpses of pegasi and their riders, shot down from the sky with a single arrow. The fall most likely killed the knights instantly, judging by the amount of blood under their helmets. Sylvain scans the area, slightly swaying on the saddle of his horse, dread clambering from his stomach to his throat. The fire has almost spread to the entire field—maybe they won’t even need to bury the dead if the fire keeps raging on like this, and burn them to a crisp.

“Sylvain!”

Sylvain’s head snaps up and his lips curl immediately in a grin when he sees Ingrid approaching, covered in blood and limping, Lúin clutched in her hand. She probably lost her pegasus in the midst of the battle, or decided that she’d be more efficient on foot. Sylvain doesn’t care; he gets closer to her and offers her his hand to get behind him. But as soon as he extended his arm all colors drain from his face when he realizes there is an arrow embedded deep into her back, close to her neck, and a javelin protruding from her side. How did he miss that?

“You’re injured, Ingrid,” he says absentmindedly. “Go—go see Mercedes.”

“You’re also bleeding, and I bet you didn’t even notice,” she mutters, wincing when she takes one final step and falls on her knees.

Sylvain wants to dismount and help her, be by her side in the last minutes she has left, but it’s as if she can read his mind and she shakes violently her head.

“Go, go, go, don’t get distracted,” she chokes. “I wanted… to see a familiar face…”

What’s the point of going away if he’s going to die too? Why can’t he stay by her side until she finds rest?

“His Highness is up there… the Alliance…”

A laugh breaks its away out of Sylvain’s throat, wet and uncontrolled. It’s ridiculous, it’s insane, it’s complete madness. Against his better judgment he swings his leg over the saddle and gets down, to his horse’s relief, but he keeps the reins tight into his hand. He thinks he might be losing too much blood but that’s inconsequential. He gets down on one knee, gently passes his hand behind Ingrid’s head, and brings her to his chest. All the fight leaves her.

“I said...”

“I know what you said,” he interrupts her. “Go to sleep, Ingrid.”

Around them, the battle is still fierce. There are still infantrymen rushing to crush the enemy’s defenses, and there are still mages casting every spell they know while the heavy armored knights are keeping them safe. The sounds of people fighting aren’t drowned by the crackling of the fire or the roars of the demonic beasts left. Only wyverns are flying in the sky, now.

Ingrid lets out a shuddering breath that’s too close to a sob. Sylvain keeps stroking her hair.

“I’m sorry… I failed my duty…”

Sylvain doesn’t have to wait long before she stills and slumps against him.

He lays her down and gets back on his horse, the Lance of Ruin weeping a red, bright glow.

***

He suspects that none of his words will be heard, but he supposes he can try.

“Your Highness, are you really sure you want to fight both the Empire and the Alliance at the same time?”

Dimitri doesn’t even look at him and keeps his eye trained on Areadbhar.

“We have already come here. It would be a waste of time not to charge.”

“Well, we could ask the Alliance to help us with resources…”

“Is there a point you wish to make, Sylvain?”

Sylvain has rarely considered Dimitri cold. He’s distant, yes, ever since the Tragedy of Duscur, but he’s never shown so much animosity towards people he trusts and has known for his entire life. Dedue is the only one who can get through him, but even still, that’s only because Dedue has pledged to serve him and to obey him. Sylvain is a knight of Faerghus, but he has yet to throw away his decision-making.

“What if we die?” he asks with as much boldness he can muster, hands clasped behind his back.

Dimitri slowly turns around, his fingers curling around his relic like they’re about to break it.

“Then we take that woman’s head with us.”

Sylvain is a knight of Faerghus. The man in front of him has not yet sat on the throne.

He smiles.

“Of course, Your Highness.”

***

Before they each depart with the battalion and the soldiers they were assigned, Sylvain pulls both of them into a tight hug. He’s mindful of his gauntlets and his cold armor but his arms easily snake around their shoulders and he brings them so close that their heads bump into each other, which makes Felix splutter every swear word he knows and Ingrid groan but there is laughter in her voice. Sylvain chuckles when her hands come at his waist while Felix awkwardly pats him on the back.

“You guys are the best.”

“If we’re the best then don’t freeze us to death with your stupid armor,” Felix retorts, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Such sincerity coming from you is rare, Sylvain.”

“What, can’t I express my love for my friends from time to time?”

“Not when you’re being weird about it, no.”

Sylvain releases them and grins, squeezing their shoulders one last time. Felix pushes some bangs out of his eyes then crosses his arms over his chest, gauging him. His jaw is tense and his posture is stiff at best, like what he’s about to say is going to cause him great pain. Were they only chatting with a drink in hand, Sylvain would have cracked a joke to save Felix from embarrassment, but they all know that it’s time to lay bare their feelings.

“Are you prepared? Did you memorize the map?” Felix asks tersely.

“I did, don’t worry,” Sylvain replies. “And I can count on my battalion, so I can’t get lost.”

“We all have soldiers we are responsible for,” Ingrid adds with the beginning of a smile, but the curl of her lips is sad. “We could have fought alongside each other, but I understand His Highness’s decision.”

Felix grits his teeth, and Sylvain expects him to storm off but he remains rooted on the spot, only casting down his gaze and silently fuming.

“We are his trusted generals, after all,” Sylvain says.

“‘Trusted’ my ass,” Felix mutters.

“Felix,” Ingrid admonishes, more out of habit than real bite.

Sylvain thinks it’s nice to speak with his friends before going into battle. They ease into familiar chatter and banter, chasing away for a few minutes the danger looming over them. It’s not the most reasonable course of action to take, but they’re only human—Sylvain is only human and he clings to what is reassuring, to get through this war and come back with as much sanity as he can keep. That was his original plan, anyway.

“Well, time to go to war,” he announces evenly, jerking his chin towards their mounts.

Ingrid nods. Lúin is securely strapped on her back, while Felix has yet to pick up the Aegis Shield from the armory but he’s already carrying the sword of Moralta and a sword of Zoltan. Sylvain has heard Felix brag about his swords more times than necessary to recognize them with only a glance.

They share one last look, maybe lingering a bit too long. None of them is going to admit they are scared, because knights from Faerghus aren’t scared of going to war. Ingrid follows him to get to her pegasus and Felix goes on the opposite side, joining Dimitri’s troops. The Lance of Ruin is itching for a fight, and Sylvain will let himself be consumed.

***

Ever since he was small, Sylvain thought that the crest of Fraldarius looked cool. Even when he started to despise and reject his own crest, he viewed that shield-shaped crest as something comforting, always protecting them from immediate danger. Felix prides himself in his strength and the use of his crest, in spite of what he thinks about its meaning and the expectations that befall him.

Sylvain follows the glow of the crest of Fraldarius visible even from afar. He knows that the biggest forces of the Alliance have gone to fight Edelgard, but the imperial troops have focused theirs on the Kingdom. It’s a real carnage; the bushes and the trees are all painted in blood, and the fire is starting to reach them. Felix swings his sword with terrifying speed but Sylvain recognizes the laboriousness of his moves. Aegis is shining and pulsing, deflecting the blows and pushing the opponents away like they weigh nothing. There are grunts and hisses and shouts, soldiers from all sides mingling and unable to tell apart ally and foe.

Sylvain charges into them and with one swipe of the Lance of Ruin he decapitates two soldiers. He actually doesn’t know who he killed, only that they’re not on his side. His hands keep shaking but he’s holding onto his weapon firmly, never allowing himself to lose focus even for a split second. His arrival has alerted mages he vaguely recognizes as Edelgard’s, and they direct their spells at him. His horse is just as tired as he is, and dodging quickly takes too much effort. The fire spell hits him square in the chest and he lets out a wordless scream, gripping painfully on the reins so as not to fall. The situation is so, so bad. The blood in his eyes and the fog in his mind cloud his judgment, perhaps, but he’s only had one objective since the beginning of the battle.

His horse is whining and also stumbling, but Sylvain pushes him forward, relentlessly, even if he’s hurting all over and unable to see clearly what’s in front of him. He brandishes his relic and calls upon the power of his crest, nausea crawling up his throat as the light of his crest is the last thing the mages see before they’re struck down. Sylvain has barely the time to lower his weapon when he vomits blood and bile on the ground, shivering and pitching forward on his saddle. It’s far from being over.

When he reaches Felix (or is it Felix who reaches him?), he’s sure he’s oscillating between life and death.

“Hey, Sylvain, hey,” Felix rasps, shielding them both from an arrow.

Sylvain has crossed half the field alone and has cut his way through here, has lost count of the number of soldiers he killed, and has seen Ingrid die in his arms. He’s exhausted.

He looks down, peering at the frazzled figure of Felix looking up at him. Felix’s hair has seen better days; it’s matted with blood and sweat, and some of the bangs are sticking out of his ponytail. There are cuts on his face and he’s lost his pauldron, where a deep gash is still oozing blood, which explains his extensive use of Aegis. He’s also heavily leaning on his right leg. Sylvain doesn’t have the time to take in all the other injuries.

“Stay focused, Sylvain,” Felix tells him with so much vehemence that Sylvain laughs.

“That’s all I’ve been doing for the past hour or so, I don’t remember.”

Dedue and Dimitri aren’t here; they probably went to fight Edelgard and left the others taking care of the minions and the Alliance. There’s not much Sylvain can say about this strategy, since the goal of this battle has always been killing Edelgard, means and consequences be damned.

“We… we’re done.” Felix swallows, and Sylvain is surprised he can hear him with all the noises around him and the blood banging against his skull.

“Done? There’s still the other half of the field to clean up.”

“No, I mean… we’re losing.”

Sylvain’s head jerks up and he blocks the assault of the wyvern rider diving for him. The Lance of Ruin grinds against the axe and Sylvain snarls, pushing with all his might and hoping that it won’t break. Felix, like the idiot he is, jumps and runs his sword through the wyvern’s stomach, between the armor plates, and the beast shrieks. The rider gets jostled and loses the advantage for one second, so Sylvain uses the opportunity to once again make the crest of Gautier flare up, and his lance comes away red. He’s so dizzy he’s pretty sure he can hear the Saints’ cajoling whispers to the dead fallen into battle.

He wants to lie down.

“...vain! Sylvain!”

Felix is shaking his arm, trying to get his attention. Sylvain has never been able to refuse him. His eyes glaze over him, and he smiles.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m still here.”

Felix’s eyes are wide and his mouth is quirked downward. He looks like the boy he used to be, scared of everything and hiding behind people and asking what he should do to become stronger. The old Felix wore his heart on his sleeve and this Felix is close to tears—maybe they’re not this different, have never been two separate people in the first place. Sylvain briefly closes his eyes.

“You don’t usually show your emotions on the battlefield,” he says.

“Cut the bullshit, move your horse! Don’t you fucking dare give up now!”

Didn’t Felix say they’re losing? What’s the point of fighting if they’re already doomed? But Felix’s logic has always been flawed.

“Sylvain, I swear to fucking god—”

His horse suddenly reels and Sylvain snaps his eyes open, his Lance coming up just as instinctively, but there is nobody in front of him. Instead, Felix is blocking an attack with his shield while a battalion of cavalrymen is surrounding them. Sylvain didn’t think that there were enough people left to form a battalion of any kind.

It’s the Alliance, judging by the color of their armors. And he recognizes some faces among them—he also won’t pretend that the anguish twisting the features of their faces isn’t bringing him some sort of sick satisfaction. He knew he should have killed them instead of coming here to help whoever survived.

Felix is struggling to stay upright, blood loss and exhaustion finally catching up on him, but he’s stubborn, always stubborn. Well, Sylvain doesn’t have any right to criticize him since he’s still fighting.

“If you surrender…,” one of the Alliance members says, Ignatz or Leonie, he doesn’t quite know.

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Sylvain replies with a sharp laugh.

Sylvain inhales and exhales slowly. The sky is orange, now. The battle has been going on for too long already.

“Time to end this,” he declares, and brandishes the Lance of Ruin.

Felix lunges at them, the crest of Fraldarius driving him onward. Sylvain summons his last forces—the crest of Gautier engulfs him.

***

When Dimitri reappeared and told everyone he was marching towards Enbarr, Sylvain wasn’t sure he would follow.

“We can’t leave him in this state,” Ingrid says, horrified. “He’s going to get killed!”

“Yeah, and we’re going to die too if we follow his orders,” Felix growls.

But they spent five years looking for him. Five long years of endless searching and fighting against their own people who only wanted a chance at living. There is no king on the throne at Fhirdiad and there is no one to lead them. Gautier and Fraldarius can’t hold the fort forever. Besides, it’s Dimitri they’re talking about.

“Can any of us really abandon him right now?” he asks, quietly, because he might be having a few realizations himself.

Felix is, of course, the first to express how much he disagrees with this notion.

“You’d foolishly trail after a boar when you know he’s fucking insane?”

“He’s not insane!” Ingrid protests. “He needs our help!”

“Well, he’s not getting it from me.”

The three of them are fucking liars—they’re all liars in different ways, but pointing out each other’s lies only calls for further falsehood and they end up ignoring it altogether. It’s easier to pretend everything is alright, or to take it all at face value.

They don’t argue for long, though. They act like there is something legitimate to argue about in the first place when they’ve been raised to care for each other, and to care for their kingdom. Sylvain has opinions about the way Faerghus is run, about the emphasis put on traditions and ridiculous expectations children have to uphold, but he’s the first to defend loyalty.

Loyalty is the rust that lingers in the chain links binding them together.

***

The moment Felix loses his left arm, it’s over.

It’s not cut clean from the shoulder, but someone must have noticed he had difficulty using it every time he lifted the Aegis Shield, so they shot an arrow, and it pierces the flesh with appalling accuracy. Felix muffles a scream and his arm goes limp against his side, as he pants and hisses, his right hand never letting go of his sword. It’s over, and acceptance slowly overcomes Sylvain.

“Not now… not like this…”

Felix is still trying to get in a few hits with his sword, but with only half his limbs functional he can’t gather much strength to land a proper blow. The shield is still burning and flashing its gleaming light, with its power rendered useless.

Sylvain’s horse got injured by a lance and collapsed, so he’s now standing on his feet, though wobbling would be a better qualifier. He doesn’t even know how he’s still up and waving his weapon around; he should have died a long time ago. Perhaps stubbornness only is keeping him alive.

Each one of these cavalrymen is holding a bow or a lance. The sight is strangely comforting.

“I’m not afraid. I figured it would end like this…”

It’s selfish of him. There is no way to know whether the Alliance was truly going to take them in as war prisoners, as soldiers, or something. Maybe they could have found comrades in their ranks and they could have overthrown Edelgard’s reign together. It doesn’t matter—Sylvain has a promise to keep, and a silent pledge to abide by.

He doesn’t look at Felix as he lifts the Lance of Ruin one last time. The crest of Gautier bursts out but he never gets to unleash its power.

When the arrows go flying, he sees movement to the side. His mouth curls upward even as pain explodes behind every inch of his body, forcing him to drop his relic before he follows soon after, his face meeting dirt and his eyes filled with dust. There is another grunt beside him and he hears a thud. A laugh bubbles in his throat but he only spits out blood and atrocious wet sounds. He doesn’t have enough energy to say how funny the situation is, so he simply closes his eyes.

He can finally rest.

***

Once upon a time, Sylvain admired Glenn for being such a righteous and strong knight, walking the honored path of serving the prince and receiving praise for his accomplishments. However, more than anything, Sylvain loved him as the big brother he never had; and when he lost him, too, he thought that maybe it was his turn to act like a big brother. Dimitri, Felix and Ingrid still didn’t see all the horrors of life, not yet—they suffered the loss of a loved one but their hearts weren’t ready to keep on stepping down that road. He didn’t have Miklan’s raw fury or Glenn’s unshakable belief, but caring is something he’s capable of, despite everything. He’s clumsy with words and hopeless with actions, but he can watch over them and keep them close to his heart.

He realizes that he failed every single one of them, but at least none of them has to live through the guilt of surviving.

[alyhollywood]

Confessions of Binx’s Medical Emergency

Friday night we went to bed and I woke to a horrific scene where vomit puddles everywhere and a very scared cat unable to pee despite continual non stop tries on l’y resulting in one foam puddle and lots of little droplets everywhere. My fur baby of 11 years was in

meidical crisis that was if left untreated more hours would be fatal.

The first place was now in reflection all about greed to get as much of your money as possible without best interest of animals in mind. Before anything they drugged him up to relieve pain and my cat came back into me unresponsive and rag doll limp appearing dead I totally lost it as I held him and knowing I had to leave him to possibly never wake from anesthesia.

So after overdose of medicine for profit and doing anesthesia when I later learned could of just sedated to place catheter, also tried to force me to fix him. He is 11 years old and I made a decision not to after lots of reasearch years ago. I hate how they can never respect that when I take him in for any vaccinations or care. The vet called me and for 15 min. I had to tell her no do not fix him while he is already under for the catheter. How cruel to ever consider doing such a thing when it is the same region he was already having critical problems with. Then the vet called again starting with “ Binx is okay...” only for her to then tell me he needs surgery and it would be $6000 for just that or I have to decide to kill him and had an hour to decide and call back. I went full on hysterical. How dare I have to be told kill an otherwise totally healthy animal because I don’t have that kind of money. I had already made sure with bloodwork his kidneys were healthy and it was solely the bladder only involved. As I applied for credit pet care and denied on all due to no credit history I called my parents to help me find a solution.

My mother then called and basically said we don’t have that and we will not put him down. We figured get through weekend having him stay at the hospital monitored and take him to his usual vet on Monday.... the vet then in a bitch remark mentioned another location I could try to call for a better price. So we called over and they gave me an estimate of $1300. Mind you I had already signed over $1800 to the first ER who has given me a hellish time to refund some of that since he did not stay in their care the full 24hrs i paid for.

The second place isn’t an ER but was open on a Sunday amazingly. I asked if they had any appointments and after telling the situation they squeezed me in at opening 8am and a surgery for later in the day.

Got him that next morning. The poor baby was barely alert or moving. My cat I have had since there was still baby teeth in his skull was silent for the first time ever in his life and barely breathing or opening eyes. They did the surgery successfully. In there found the bladder full of stones and blood clots and it clear the bladder lining extreme thickening which means it was going on for a long time. They did confirm with X-ray that they got them all and now it’s all a wait and pray to recover.

He had a low temperature that was not raising and was not alert and responsive as they had expected. It was enough to have then put in for a transfer to the place they had a agreement with to watch pets who need monitored overnight during the hours the place is closed. So I had to go get my cat take him to another city and then return to get him before 9am the next day to take him back. Mind you I don’t drive so this only makes this all the more complicated. He was breathing so faint I only could tell from a hand on his body. His head tilted up in the back corner facing away the whole ride over to the night monitor location was deeply troubling. I told him he has to fight to recover and cannot give up and leave me alone. We aren’t quitters so don’t he dare we are survivors and he will get through this we have faced so much worse and wound up okay.

He finally was alert this morning when I got him. Stood up even in this box and was checked back into the place of surgery. He was much more aware but still blood in urine. Got to go before they closed up for the night to visit. Standing on my toes reaching to the back of these cages my arms barely able to reach let alone to avoid bowls of water and food to do so when the bottom of cage is at my eye level. He finally let out a meow when I first was there which he hadn’t made a sound since the day before on Friday when he had fallen asleep as always in my arms.

My apt is eerily quiet to where silence is deafening and without him I can’t begin to fall asleep despite the fact I last slept was that Friday late evening. They will probably keep him until his catheter does not have blood in urine and remove it. Then monitor another day before sending him home with medication and a new diet to follow for the remainder of his life that will be more expensive of course. I inquired I am looking at three liquid medications and one pill to be administered once he is back home.

They have him on fluids so he is all swelled up from them but he is coming around slowly. His fiesty self is back and was told at the clinic he anytime out on the table waves the paw with the iv on at them to try to get them to take it out hah. I literally lost my female when she was just 23 days into her 10th year. So I held my breath this whole 10th year with him terrified and had only just relaxed a bit in January as he turned 11 to then be hit with this out of nowhere. He had no signs up until last week and then Saturday unable to urinate at all trying nonstop without success.

This has been emotionally exhausting and quite stressful. Not to mention I’m now more broke then ever using the last of money from a small settlement that took over 5 years to obtain from being run over walking in a crosswalk at 16 the first night of summer prior to my senior high school year. Guess that brain damage was worth it to have ability to save him... hah.

He literally is the last piece of happy memories I have to countless friends I have buried in the past 6 years. He has given me a reason to stay alive and got through so much together. Truly this cat tried to even stop me from being robbed. He is my protector well he tries anyways. My date when I get ghosted. My wake up call. My chatterbox to always tell me what is on his mind and give me a piece of it. Demanding yet sometimes in my best interest like when I really need to go to bed and he demands we do so. My cuddle bug that took place of my childhood stuffed bear in my arms at night to sleep. My little fashionista strutting around in his little shirts he adores wearing. I cannot imagine losing him right now and not when it was not doomed to reoccurrence let alone fully healthy otherwise.

If you pray please keep him in your prayers. He is not out of the woods and it’s going to be a long week. Pray I have the strength to keep going and hold my emotional basket case self together for him to give the best care possible. If you want to donate to help me out on covering this insane now close to $5000 and counting unforeseen costs my cash app is $AlyHollywood because like I said he will be on lots of medication at first for probably 10 weeks or so once back home in my arms. Which is going to truly be hard to cover. If you know a bit of my story from last year you are aware I had my own near death very costly medical crisis that has kept me from being allowed to work or school and even exercising up until last month when I got clearance from cardio and pulmonary; I still have a handful of doctors to clear me for full return to my so called life and plans. His condition finally being Unconcealable could not be worse timing for me honestly. Welcoming all positive vibes our way because gonna need it for Sertain.

He came into my life when I was trying to relearn how to do everything and have coping skills because my brain was no longer able to work how it did prior to the accident. He came when I was so alone and no one asked me to my senior formal dances and let me cry until he was fur soaked tears. He makes every day one that I get to smile and this apartment be full as if there was more then one human. Truly this main man of my house just happens to walk on all fours that left pawprints on my soul that is priceless enough to put all I had into his best interest of care. I love my Binx he deserves to live when he is still so much alive and has so much more love to extend

Anyways once I know more I shall update. I’m praying 🙏🏻

Update : 8am got a call he was not doing great still more blood then they would of expected in urine and was an unhappy kitty who would bat at the vet techs and not let anyone pet him. Not eating or drinking enough and probably going to need to stay a day or more longer in the Hospital then expected. He is very much attatched so I made the trip to go visit him this time I asked for a stool to stand on to not need to stand on my toes to reach him in the back of this high row of cages.

My visit apparently made a world of difference and he was more his old self even got some meows out of him! I was so happy to see him more himself and he even by the time I left after spending close to two or more hours visiting had less blood in his urine. See next post for more about my visit and a video clip too !

[robininthelabyrinth]

Your dark Hashirama fic is glorious, I love how disturbed Madara is after realising how dependent/used to Hashirama's everything Tobirama is. And how hopeful Tobirama is about Madara staying with them (him). Makes me wonder what would happen in a dark!Hashi verse where Hashirama dies? Hell, how would the rest of the clan go with Hashirama dead? Between him & Butsuma they have exactly had the most healthy relationships with their clan heads.

You know, I was going to answer this with an actual comment talking about how given the dependence that Hashirama has trained into Tobirama, and how he’s working on duplicating that same thing into Madara, they would probably reacted Extremely Badly, but then the REAL answer occurred to me so you get a fic. Congrats, anon!

outsider POV, dark!Hashirama verse, warnings for creepy. not sure if I’ll put this on the ao3 story yet, but if so it’ll probably go up tomorrow.

—

Senju Ryota was not a very distinctive man.

He did not mind this fact. On the contrary, he would happily describe himself as average in virtually every respect: a decent but not particularly notable fighter; a moderate earner who took on missions on a regular basis, neither slacking nor exceeding expectations; a man who married at the average age and had an average number of children.

Being average in an age marked by the appearance of legends, the gods of shinobi, might be disappointing for some people, but Senju Ryota did not mind.

After all, he was still alive.

This was much more of an achievement than those outside his clan might think.

His first clan leader was Butsuma, whose rabid hatred of the Uchiha clan, their traditional enemies, led him to take risks he should not have and who would violently crush any dissent.

His second clan leader was Hashirama, against whom no one wise even considered dissenting.

Hashirama, the first to inherit the Senju bloodline limit in several generations – who smiled as brightly as the sun, who was as powerful as a god, who loved his clan dearly and peace even more –

Who would kill you without so much as a blink if it suited him. 

(After all, everyone knew what had happened to Butsuma, even if they had no proof, though what good proof would have done them against such monstrous power he does not know.)

Senju Ryota had survived Butsuma by being lucky, and he survived under Hashirama by being average. He kept his head down and never questioned, supported his leader’s decision to create a village in alliance with their traditional enemies, smiled and said everything was fine and normal if ever he was asked.

Which he was, sometimes; the Uchiha had a pesky habit of poking at things that were better left unsaid. They learned better, eventually, and only a handful of new rose gardens appeared to line the streets of Konoha before that happened.

If he sometimes glanced at his leader and thought, in his heart of hearts, that the man’s brother had never had any chance at a normal life, a wife or husband and children of his own – that the Uchiha clan leader had lost some vital part of himself when his wild and free independence was broken – that certain taboos were not meant to be trifled with –

Well, those were thoughts, and everyone has thoughts, even average men, but average men who are just a little bit wise know better than to speak those thoughts.

(After all, they slept in a bed made of wood under the watchful eye of the most powerful sensor in the world, and if that wasn’t bad enough, Uchiha Madara had not lost an iota of his fearsome temper.)

Senju Ryota was average, and did not make a fuss, and so he was alive.

He had survived Butsuma. He had not expected, in all honesty, to survive Hashirama.

But he did.

The news of their clan leader’s death spread like fire – Hashirama dead, the kill confirmed, the body brought back to the village for burial according to their customs – and, like many others of his clan, Senju Ryota did not know how to react. 

Dead?

Hashirama, dead? 

Surely not. Not that great man, who defeated the Uchiha and brought them all to peace, who tamed the bijuu, who broke the spirits of his enemies, whose influence shaped all their lives. How could he be dead?

But it was true.

He could see it on the numb features of Uchiha Madara, the way he moved as though he had been stabbed, the way his usually fluent speech broke and cracked whenever he said anything – which wasn’t much. That famous heart lit black flame was now all but extinguished by the depths of his loss. He tugged often at the detailed collar that he wore, which rumor said was a gift from Hashirama himself.

Senju Tobirama reacted, if anything, even worse. He had disappeared from the spot where he stood, his hiraishin activating, and he had not reappeared since then, leaving the entirety of the work of carrying on in Madara’s hands. He did not even reappear to attend the funeral, a grand state affair like none other, with respects (sent from a respectful distance) coming in from all over the world.

Funny – Senju Ryota would have thought Tobirama the one more likely to be named Nidaime, not Madara, as the former’s skill in administration by far exceeded the latter’s, even though the latter was notably more charismatic. But then, it was his brother, his last brother, his brother who dominated every last inch of his life, and anyway Tobirama had never been one to go public with his grief.

The village had lost their leader, but those two? They had lost the center of their lives.

Loss was far from unknown to shinobi, but somehow, somehow, it felt like they had never had a loss of this magnitude. 

And yet –

The village went onwards.

Life went onwards. 

It had to.

Senju Ryota attended the meetings called by the entire village to discuss the matter of succession: Tobirama’s name was put forward, as was Madara’s, and several others besides in the event that those two would be unwilling to take up the mantle of Hokage.

Some people suggested that perhaps a co-leadership was in order, instead, to take advantage of each man’s strengths to compensate for the other’s weakness and furthermore to let them lean upon each other in their grief, and this was favored by a significant majority.

But before the official election could occur – Madara, on his own and on the absent Tobirama’s behalf, resisted and postponed, but even he could only do so much – he saw Tobirama walking out of his laboratory.

He was smiling.

The circles under his eyes had become more akin to gashes; his skin was grey and utterly colorless; he was thin as though he had forgotten to eat for months; the familiar red marks on his cheeks and chin had become accompanied by others; there were bandages apparent under his clothing suggesting injuries that had been neglected, or even potentially self-imposed –

But he was smiling: broadly, happily, with all evidence signs of pleasure. 

This was unusual enough, even before his brother’s loss, that Senju Ryota, despite his commitment to avoid all things of note, slowed his walk to gawk in wonder.

Madara was the next one to exit, and there were tears trailing down his face even as he laughed and pounded Tobirama on the shoulder in what appeared to be sincere joy.

And then –

No. 

No.

It could not be.

And yet – 

It was.

Hashirama.

Standing tall as ever, yes, but different, too. His face looked as though it had been recreated from clay and baked too quickly, resulting in cracks all over; his eyes were pitch black and empty, nothing but a single white dot in the very center to signify that the body contained a soul.

But the smile was his, a cheerful and infectious grin, and the way he threw his arms around his brother and his best friend was unmistakable.

It was him.

He was not alive.

“Ha, Ryota!” his clan leader called, spotting him across the way and nodding a greeting. “Guess what? Tobirama invented a resurrection technique, and robbed me back out of the Pure Lands right under the Shinigami’s nose! Isn’t my little brother wonderful?”

“Anija, please,” Tobirama said, ducking his head, abashed. “It’s hardly perfected yet; I will continue to improve on it.”

“I don’t know,” Madara countered. “A body that can’t die – untouchable by fire, water, earth or wind, by lightning or illusion, that neither feels hunger nor requires sleep – one that will never suffer the infirmities of age – it’s not that bad a starting place!”

“I have some ideas on returning the ability to eat and sleep,” Tobirama said. “It should at least be optional.”

“We have time,” Hashirama laughed. “Thanks to you, we have all the time in the world!”

And Senju Ryota knew, with a sinking feeling in his heart, that what his leader – once former, now forever – had said was true.

He had all the time in the world.

As for the world itself, though –

Senju Ryota belatedly realized that he was very, very afraid.

No amount of being average was going to save him this time. 

No one was going to be saved, this time.