#motoric skills in my hands and feet. and nothing can be done about it. and i for once showed how awful that felt.

[andreycoded]

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[unjourjeseraideretourpresdetoi]

9/10 Chapter 1 - Malt

I started writing a bit of a Harry/Kim fanfic??? Because why the hell not. Anyway, here’s the first part of it. I’m kind of just making it up as I go with a few specific ideas scattered in my head. Spoilers for various plot points. Here’s a sample before the cut. Feel free to send any suggestions or critique, since it’s been ages since I have done much writing. Still working on getting a feel for Harry’s skill voices.

YOU — After a little while, your voice finally returns. “Why are you so nice to me?” KIM KITSURAGI — He takes a long pause and leans back in his chair. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just stubborn too.” PERCEPTION — You turn to look at him as you finally untangle yourself from your chrysalis of arms, and he looks different somehow. You don’t know if it’s your eyes being sore as hell, or the dull ambiance of the hazy bar lights. Somehow, he looks so light. His bomber jacket is slightly pulled up by his folded arms behind his head, seeming to break the bulky illusion it usually projects over his slim torso. Like suddenly seeing a gap in a suit of armor. SUGGESTION — You should tickle him. ESPRIT DE CORPS — He will kill you in mere seconds if you do that.

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — Hello again, Harry boy. The midnight train to Fuck-All-Borough is boarding once again, and you’ve pre-paid your seat. YOU — Okay. ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — Yes, that’s right. Let’s drive right into the sweet, succulent sopor of oblivion. Let no feelings come to pass, no sensations, just the pure bliss of the radiating void. YOU — But aren’t you here? ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN — That’s just it, Harry. I’m nothing. I am the pale of the mind, I am the deafening silence, I am the black canvas that stretches taut when you close your eyes. I am the swaddle that cradles the mind and the ocean you will drown in. I am born of you and someday, you will die in me. LIMBIC SYSTEM —  But not yet—something still stirs in this weighted sack. Something heavy, and sore, and full of noise that steadily rises into a crescendo.

PERCEPTION — And then you open your eyes. And it fucking hurts. PAIN THRESHOLD — Dear god, it’s like a jackhammer on a pogo stick on another jackhammer. PERCEPTION — You realize there’s a smell you haven’t smelled in a few weeks now that’s uncomfortably emanating from your form. Al Gul. COMPOSURE — Oh. You finally did it again. You fucked up.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — So we got a little smashed. Who cares. You know what’s a great way to stop feeling sorry about it? Getting smashed again. AUTHORITY — No. YOU — Why am I always fucking things up? HALF LIGHT — Because life is terrifying. LOGIC — He’s right about that one.

YOU — What was I doing last night? ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Like I said, getting smashed. CONCEPTUALIZATION — Painting the world with a palette of sugary booze and sad, old rock and roll for sad, old rockstars.

YOU — Who did I hurt this time? DRAMA — Mostly, just yourself. VOLITION — A small miracle, if so. You’re used to self-immolation. YOU — But why? Why now? We were doing better. ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Speak for yourself. LOGIC — You do know that you can’t just ride out two decades of practiced chemical drowning on a workhorse of piety and guilt, right?

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — This ceaseless dependency on cocktails of narcotics and spirits has weakened you shamefully. PERCEPTION — You look around your dimly lit bedroom, eyes half-closed anyway to quiet the searing pain in your cerebral cortex, slowly putting the pieces back together as the rest of your body wakes up.

YOU — I was having a shitty day. I was stuck on a case and my mind just kept drifting into half-remembered past mistakes. After work, I decided to do it. I called her again, like an idiot. I thought to myself, I can do this, I can let her go, and I’ll tell her I’m finally over it (almost). INLAND EMPIRE — But that is not how it went. She had prepared for the next time you would call. The last time was terrifying enough, torn awake at 3 in the morning, listening to your desperate lies, digging through past trauma. 

YOU — “Hey, uh, Dora. It’s Harry. I’m sorry—“ PERCEPTION — A sharp sigh breaks your concentration. DORA — “Let me stop you there, Harry. Because I’m tired of this. You’ve been doing this six years now but it feels at least twice as long. So since you can’t put an end to it, I am. Don’t call again. You won’t be reaching me at this number anymore.” PERCEPTION — Before you can react, there’s silence. And a dial tone. YOU — Fuck. Fuck shit fuck.

COMPOSURE — You stumble through dialing the number again, fingers slipping the first time from nerves and connecting the second, with no answer. You try again. And again. And then you stop trying. It takes everything in you not to smash the phone where it sits. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — You need to smash something. If we can’t smash the phone, we HAVE to smash something. REACTION SPEED — Your feet are already taking you away from the pay phone, one thought ahead of the rest of you. You barely round the corner into the alley before you plant your fist full force into the nearest brick wall. PAIN THRESHOLD — Your hand spirals into a fractal of pain, blood dripping down your busted knuckles, slowly running down the dirtied wall. You can feel the cracking of your knuckles, like a brittle lacework of glass strapped down only by the leather of your worn-out hands. HALF-LIGHT — Get out of here. ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Now that you’re done smashing your fist, it’s time to get the rest of you smashed. YOU — “Fuck it. I’m getting a drink.”

CONCEPTUALIZATION — From there, it was a blaze of sweet, hot fire down your throat and back up again, run ragged from shitty karaoke and mild alcohol poisoning. But the film reel is running thin, and you’re struggling to get anything else from your memory bank.

YOU — How did I get back? I don’t remember walking home. ESPRIT DE CORPS — You asked for help.

HAND-EYE COORDINATION — You pat at your pockets, searching for the right one, not quite remembering what you’re doing but knowing the answer you thought of for a fraction of a second is somewhere in there. After a moment, you find it, carefully tucked away but nevertheless damp with sweat from your slacks.

“If you need to talk— 005-93-88-651 Lt. Kitsuragi”

INTERFACING — Your hands are a bit shaky, but you dial out the number on the slip of paper in your hands. PERCEPTION — It rings once. Twice. A third time. And then you hear the receiver click. KIM KITSURAGI — “Hello?”

SHIVERS — In a small apartment in Central Jamrock, not too far from Precinct 41, and not too far from the Jamrock Public Library, Lieutenant Kitsuragi sits on his bed, some light reading in hand, winding down for the night. His new apartment is still filled with cardboard boxes here and there, in no particular hurry to be unpacked. The lights of the city pierce through like little pinpricks in the glare of his bedside window, still insistent on their presence even in the quiet of a cool spring night.

YOU — “Hi, Kim, I uh…” Your voice shakes and you lose your words for a moment, because some part of you really didn’t expect him to pick up. KIM KITSURAGI — “Detective? It’s after midnight.” DRAMA — It’s already that late? You must’ve woken him up. A bad start. YOU — “Uhh… sorry, I uh. Wasn’t looking at the clock. We can just talk tomorrow—“ KIM KITSURAGI — “You’re drunk.” COMPOSURE — Fuck. There’s nothing coming out of your mouth anymore. Another bad phone call. It takes everything in you not to cry. You do anyway.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Where are you?” YOU — You manage to croak out enough to say “Sunshine’s Hideaway. Bar on 12th street.” KIM KITSURAGI — He pauses a moment, thinking. “...I’ll be there in a few minutes.” ESPRIT DE CORPS — He’s thinking about the best route there. LOGIC — He doesn’t have his motor carriage right now. He’s going to have to walk it, and it’s cold out. YOU — “I… you don’t have to do that, I’ll just—“ KIM KITSURAGI — “Harrier, just shut up and park your ass somewhere warm until I get there.” AUTHORITY — He’s doing it! He’s doing the eyebrow thing but on the phone! I didn’t know he could do that! YOU — “Yessir.”

It probably takes about 15 minutes for him to arrive, though each minute feels like five. You feel like a child waiting for their parents to come pick them up at school. You’re pretty sure everyone is staring at you. You can’t really see through the blurry bokeh of your stupid tears. But you can just barely make out the door of the bar opening, followed by a silhouette marked by orange slipping through. Lieutenant Kitsuragi spots you after a moment, and you quickly try to wipe your eyes like you haven’t just been crying the whole time as he approaches. KIM KITSURAGI — You can hear him pull at the chair next to yours, calmly settling into place. “Hello, detective.”

YOU — You try to pull up some words, but you just find yourself nodding appreciatively as you try not to grimace. COMPOSURE — Somehow, the moment his eyes fall on you, you feel like someone just ripped the rug right out from under your feet. You slide down on your elbows, face pressing down onto the table in humiliation, locking your hands together on the back of your neck, like you’re trying to hide in a little tomb of your own arms.

KIM KITSURAGI — You hear the lieutenant take a deep breath and sigh. He unzips his jacket, stifling him in the warm interior of the bar. “That rough, huh?”

YOU — You don’t want to say anything, but your mouth opens before you can stop it. “I’m such an asshole, Kim. I keep fucking everything up, over and over, no matter how hard I try. I just. Keep falling back into my bullshit.” Your voice shakes as you get the words out. “Is this just as good as it’s gonna get at this point? Have I fucked up entirely too much, entirely too long, am I just… this constant trainwreck now and forever? How much of myself have I wasted away into nothing, doing this shit? Acting like a child. Acting like an animal. It feels sometimes like all I have is more downturns. More hurting people. More hurting myself. And I’m so, so fucking tired… and I don’t wanna do this anymore. If this is how it is, I don’t want to… be.” Your voice stops making any noise by the time you reach the end of that.

HALF-LIGHT — And then there’s silence. You know this silence. It’s the sound of someone deciding they’re sick of your shit. This is the moment he realizes he really, truly does not know you and you don’t know him. And he knows he has to get out of here, before you take him down with you, like you’ve done to so many others. EMPATHY — But then there’s a hard pat on your back. Thumping against a hollow drum, ringing through your electrified lungs. KIM KITSURAGI — “It’s okay, detective.” PERCEPTION — His voice is soft and careful.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Honestly, it’s astonishing you’ve held out this long. It’s barely been two months since Martinaise. Since the Whirling. Throughout my time in the RCM, I have seen many good officers break over less. I didn’t know you before March. I don’t really know what kind of officer you might’ve been before that. But who I am familiar with is the Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor Harrier Du Bois, the officer I met two months ago, who is probably the strangest man I’ve ever met, but he is also the most relentless, the most stubborn, the most annoying, and honestly, the most sincere man I’ve ever known to grace the RCM. He is a man who cares enough to find the time in his busy workload to help people he just met, whose troubles he sniffs out like a bloodhound, offering them the help that no one else would. No matter how trivial, or how complicated. I don’t know if this selflessness is something you picked up because you don’t know how to help yourself, but I do know there’s a real effort in there. There’s a real, true love for the people of Revachol. And I know how much this job takes out of people. You can’t turn every mistake around in just a few months. Probably not even a few years. But I think what matters is that you are trying, and I can see how much it hurts you to feel like you’ve failed in that. Please don’t think that tonight is a sign that you can’t do better. Tonight is a dam breaking in the expectations you’ve built up for yourself after staring down your own potential.”

PERCEPTION — Are you laughing? Or is that crying? INLAND EMPIRE — It feels like there are ghosts escaping your every breath. Like parts of you are desperately rushing to the surface, tearing through flesh and bone, clawing at a chance for freedom. The lieutenant’s arm still rests heavily on your back, the only anchor your spirit has left as it dissipates into vapor and rushes through the night.

VOLITION — You cry until there’s nothing left in you anymore.

YOU — After a little while, your voice finally returns. “Why are you so nice to me?” KIM KITSURAGI — He takes a long pause and leans back in his chair. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just stubborn too.” PERCEPTION — You turn to look at him as you finally untangle yourself from your chrysalis of arms, and he looks different somehow. You don’t know if it’s your eyes being sore as hell, or the dull ambiance of the hazy bar lights. Somehow, he looks so light. His bomber jacket is slightly pulled up by his folded arms behind his head, seeming to break the bulky illusion it usually projects over his slim torso. Like suddenly seeing a gap in a suit of armor. SUGGESTION — You should tickle him. ESPRIT DE CORPS — He will kill you in mere seconds if you do that.

KIM KITSURAGI — After a moment, he realizes you’re staring at him, then adjusts in his seat, leaning forward and settling his arms in front of him. “How are you feeling? Do you think you can walk?” YOU — “I uhh... probably. My leg doesn’t hurt as much right now.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Mm.” He mutters, getting up from his seat. “At least there is that small grace. How far is your place?” PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — You’re pretty sure he’s offering to walk you back. You’re not a child, you can get home perfectly fine on your own, thank you. YOU — “Ten blocks.” COMPOSURE — You quickly try to rise to your feet, but it becomes immediately apparent that the floor has been replaced with a rickety old carousel, and you promptly lose your footing. REACTION SPEED — Before you can even attempt to figure out what is happening, you realize that Lieutenant Kitsuragi has wrapped one of his arms around your back. PERCEPTION — His grip is tight and you can feel the muscles tensing in his forearm against your back. Once again, its presence stabilizes you, a beacon for your twisting senses to converge upon. It takes a few moments for everything to slot back into the correct place. KIM KITSURAGI — “Are you sure you’re alright, detective?” DRAMA — His concern is quite sincere. YOU — “I just gotta sleep this off.” You say as you steady yourself back upright.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Let’s get going, then.” He nods to you as he zips up his jacket again, then stretches his right arm out behind your back. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — No, dude, fuck that shit, you’re sick of people propping you up because of your stupid leg, we can do this shit on our own! YOU — “Thanks.” You steady yourself against his arm and extend your left against his back as well. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — Hey, what! DRAMA — By now, the lieutenant knows when you’re just trying to bullshit and act like a tough guy. It’s time to drop the act, for now. He knows you need the help. You wouldn’t have called him if you didn’t.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — That’s all I got. The rest is just black. YOU — Ugghhhhhh damn it. Like Kim hasn’t seen enough of me making an ass of myself by now. EMPATHY — On the bright side, his mental image of you can probably only improve. Hopefully. Maybe. YOU — Whatever. What time is it? PERCEPTION — You look around for your alarm clock, and find it knocked onto the floor beside your bed. It says 9:53. YOU — Shit. Did I have work today? ESPRIT DE CORPS — No. Your hours have been temporarily reduced during your recovery period. YOU — Right. Okay. I should probably get up and do something about this headache.

You throw the blanket off of your body and gradually roll yourself out of bed, bones creaking with aches and pains, limping across the room and dodging various discarded clothes and shoes that litter the floor. You twist the doorknob and open your bedroom door, making your way across the living room, towards the bathroom.

REACTION SPEED — Wait! There’s someone… on the couch? PERCEPTION — A figure of a man lies on the couch, covered with an ugly patchwork blanket, still sleeping. Next to the couch, an orange bomber jacket rests. Wait… is that Kim? HALF-LIGHT — OH MY GOD, you’re half-naked, GET BACK IN YOUR ROOM AND PUT YOUR PANTS ON BEFORE YOU HUMILIATE YOURSELF. SAVOIR FAIRE — You quickly backpedal, trying not to make any noise, and press your door shut firmly, hoping that you weren’t noticed. YOU — Why is he here??? I thought he just walked me home? HALF-LIGHT — Stop thinking and get your damn armor on! VOLITION — Armor? We didn’t find any armor pants in Martinaise. DRAMA — He’s being metaphorical. You hurriedly stuff your legs into the closest pair of semi-clean trousers before peeking out the door again.

PERCEPTION — The lieutenant is still asleep on the couch. SAVOIR FAIRE — Alright, go time. You sneak through the living room and into the bathroom, carefully trying not to creak the medicine cabinet as you get yourself some painkillers. ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Down the whole bottle! Party time! VOLITION — No. We are not doing that.

After taking the recommended dose of painkillers, you peek out into the living room again. PERCEPTION — Lieutenant Kitsuragi is still resting quietly on your couch, lying on his back, tightly wrapped in the ugly spare blanket from your linen closet. You suddenly realize there’s something different about the living room… such as, there’s less garbage everywhere. EMPATHY — Did he clean the room up for you? Or maybe for himself?

You exit the bathroom and slowly cross the living room, stopping halfway through, looking at the lieutenant again. PERCEPTION — He looks peaceful, and his face relaxed and still. With his glasses off, you notice more of the shape of his brow and his tired eyes. His breathing is slow and measured, with quiet sighs. One of his arms dangles out from under the blanket, his hand just barely off the floor. His fingers are thin, bony, weathered from work, with little scars and blemishes that have mostly faded away.

SUGGESTION — Hold it.

YOU — What?

No one replies. You stare for a moment, feeling a tension in your chest. Curiosity snakes through your skin. You step closer towards the couch, then slowly crouch down, meeting the lieutenant’s eye level.

SUGGESTION — Hold it. Please.

You reach forward, and the lieutenant suddenly stirs.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Mmnh…” His eyes flutter open. “Oh, good morning detective.” YOU — “Uh, yeah. Good morning.” You casually withdraw your hand and rest it on your leg. “Why are you here…?” KIM KITSURAGI — “You don’t remember?” He asks with a hint of concern. YOU — “Well, mostly. I remember you helped me walk home, but after that, it’s fuzzy.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Ah, so just the normal amount of alcohol-induced forgetfulness.” The lieutenant nods at you, then sits up on the couch. He reaches for his glasses on the side table, then folds them open. “I decided to stay here on the couch, just in case...” He trails off. EMPATHY — To keep an eye on you. In case you started doing worse.

YOU — “...Thanks. I’m sorry for interrupting your night.” KIM KITSURAGI — “No need to apologize,” he says with a slight smile. “Honesty, I’m… glad you asked for help instead of isolating yourself. That would have been…” He pauses, looking for the correct words. “Not ideal. What time is it, anyway?” YOU — “Bit after 10.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Already that late? Good thing I’m not working today.”

YOU — “Sorry to make you clean up after me.” You say, glancing across the room. KIM KITSURAGI — “Well, no, it’s not your fault or anything. You didn’t expect company.” He seems a bit self-conscious suddenly, looking away. “I suppose it’s more like I don’t know how to leave a mess alone.” SUGGESTION — You’re not sure which mess he means—the apartment, or you. EMPATHY — It’s both. You feel a slight embarrassment tingling across the surface of your skin and decide to change the topic.

YOU — “You said you have the day off?” KIM KITSURAGI — “Yes, I have a few errands to run, part of some loose ends to clean up for my transfer to 41. But I can get those done any time during the day.” SUGGESTION — You should— YOU — “Do you wanna go get breakfast? I know a good place down the street.” You say it before you can even finish thinking. KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant sits quietly for a moment, adjusting his glasses. “Hmmm… sure, why the hell not. I’ve got some time to spare.” SUGGESTION — Jackpot! YOU — “I’m gonna go get dressed, you’re welcome to the bathroom if you need it.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Sounds good.”

You walk into your bedroom and shut the door behind you. 

CONCEPTUALIZATION — Time to get stylish! LOGIC — Not that stylish, it’s just breakfast. Don’t make it weird. INLAND EMPIRE — Hey, weird is our thing! YOU — I think I’m just gonna wear whatever’s clean and doesn’t smell repulsive. CONCEPTUALIZATION — Oh, sorry, didn’t know we were Boring Cop today.

After taking a quick glance at what’s available, you decide to just go with a simple, pastel gingham button-up and a fresh pair of jeans. Glancing at your coats, you grab a blue blazer with a checkered lining.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — Oh my god you look like a nerd. RHETORIC — No, he looks smart. Ready to have a battle of the wits. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — Yeah, like I said, A NERD!

You quietly ignore the high school bullying going on inside your head as you exit the room. Lieutenant Kitsuragi glances at you from next to the couch, in the middle of putting on his jacket.

KIM KITSURAGI — “No disco today?” He says with a slight smile. YOU — “All my disco’s due for the wash.” KIM KITSURAGI — He tugs at his collar and settles his jacket into place. “It’s almost odd to see you in something so… tame.” YOU — “I mean, I still got the jackets from Fuck the World and Piss F****t if you change your mind.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Somehow I doubt the waitstaff would be understanding of the artist’s statements at breakfast.” He lets out a small chuckle. EMPATHY — There’s a surprising softness in his response. KIM KITSURAGI — “I’m all set to go if you are.”

The two of you head out of your apartment and set out down the road, your destination just two blocks away. The streets of Jamrock are already lively with pedestrians and motor carriages milling about. Before long, you arrive at a staircase with a weathered, striped canopy hanging above, quietly announcing its presence with simple text saying “The Lazy Daisy”. You and the lieutenant head down the stairs and enter the little eatery, pushing past the door and being met with the sweet and salty smells of this morning’s meals. You wave to the waitress and take a seat at a little table in the corner.

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant takes his seat across from you, his eyes studying the surroundings. “You know, I never noticed this place before.” YOU — “Yeah, it’s easy to miss amongst all the other businesses on this road.” KIM KITSURAGI — “But you remembered it?” YOU — “I think my feet did.”

WAITRESS — A cheerful, pudgy woman in her forties wearing a striped apron walks over to the table, little menu books in hand. “Good morning officers! Thanks for stopping by the Lazy Daisy today. Can I get you something to drink while you look over the menu?”

YOU — “You wanna get a pot of coffee, Kim?” KIM KITSURAGI — “Sure, that sounds fine.” WAITRESS — “Alright, I’ll give you a moment to look over the menu!”

You already know what you’re going to order: skillet hash with a side of toast. You watch the lieutenant look the menu over and find yourself wondering what he’ll order. YOU — “You seem like an Eggs Benedict kind of guy to me.” KIM KITSURAGI — “I was thinking about trying this malted waffle actually. It’s been a while since I had a good waffle.” He replies, not looking up from the menu. “But you are correct, I do enjoy a good Eggs Benedict.”

YOU — “Can’t go wrong with either one.” WAITRESS — The waitress returns, a full pot of coffee in one hand and two mugs in the other. She gently places the pot of coffee at the center of the little table and places the mugs down on either side. “Alright, so what can I get for you boys?” YOU — “I’ll go for the skillet hash with a side of dry toast. And the lieutenant here…” KIM KITSURAGI — “I’ll take a malted waffle with a side of bacon.” WAITRESS — “Sounds great! I’ll bring it out when it’s ready.”

You turn your attention to the coffee and partially fill both of the mugs, absent-mindedly adding a sugar cube and a little cup of half-and-half to yours and stirring, watching the color spread and blend. You look up and notice the lieutenant surveying the restaurant again.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Hmmm… yes, this place certainly seems your style.” YOU — “What, sad and old?” KIM KITSURAGI — He smiles slightly, but his brow betrays his discomfort. “No, I was thinking more along the lines of… eclectic, stubborn, lively.” He glances at the walls covered in various posters, art, and rock and roll memorabilia. YOU — “Disco.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Disco.” He nods affirmatively.

You absently stir your coffee and lift it to your mouth to take a sip, mulling over topics of conversation. RHETORIC — Go for a standard sort of icebreaker, what’s the latest with him, that sort of thing. ESPRIT DE CORPS — Let’s talk work. Trade some gritty case stories with him! INTERFACING — Maybe you could talk torque dork to torque dork? EMPATHY — Neither of you have motor carriages right now. That would just be a bummer. INLAND EMPIRE — Ask him to tell you a secret! AUTHORITY — That one never works.

YOU — “You just moved into your new place, right Kim? How is it?” KIM KITSURAGI — “Hmm, it’s not bad. I had to make a few concessions but… there’s a bit more floor space than my last place. I finally have a good space for a proper desk.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Now the only trouble is getting a desk up three flights of stairs.”

YOU — “I can lend you a hand with that if you want. I have reason to suspect I may be a former gym teacher.” PERCEPTION — You can’t really hear it, but judging by the steam rolling away from the mug at his lips, you can tell the lieutenant let a light chuckle out through his nose before taking another sip of coffee.

KIM KITSURAGI — “Maybe I’ll take you up on that when I find something suitable.” RHETORIC — Great job! Look at you! You’re so good at talking like a normal person!

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant casually withdraws his notebook from his jacket and starts perusing it while he slowly sips his coffee. YOU — “Hey, no working until we’ve had breakfast.” KIM KITSURAGI — He barely moves, glancing upwards at you and cocking an eyebrow. AUTHORITY — It’s fine, that brow is only operating at about 25% capacity. You got this. YOU — “Take a break, lieutenant.” You place your hand on top of his, gently encouraging him to lower the notebook onto the table. He nonchalantly relents, quickly withdrawing his hand and tucking it under his other arm, which rests casually on the table. His glance wanders away from you and out towards the windows. EMPATHY — It’s hard to tell if he’s annoyed or just playing up indifference. Perhaps you shouldn’t have grabbed his hand like that.

You take a moment to look around the restaurant, passively taking in the surroundings that feel intensely familiar to your instincts, but strangely recent to the rest of you. It’s a weird feeling, one you’ve been experiencing just about everywhere you go in Jamrock. Places that you know but have never seen. Drifting shadows of the person you once were, and still are, half-buried in a haze. Your head fluctuates in the pressure, a mix of pristine images just out of reach and faint illusions gripped tightly in your palm.

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant’s low voice suddenly pulls you back to reality. “Everything alright, detective?” INLAND EMPIRE — There is a hole in my brain. YOU — “Yeah, sorry. Just thinking about the usual.” You pause, contemplating your next words. “Grinding the bourgeoisie into sausage for the proletariat and whatnot,” you lie. KIM KITSURAGI — “Ah, so nice of you to join us, Comrade Mazov.” YOU — You quickly bust out your trusty finger guns and fire off two shots, clicking your tongue as you snap your fingers. KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant is unphased by your reckless discharge of live rounds that undoubtedly rain chaos upon the once peaceful restaurant. DRAMA — C’mon, he probably thinks it’s at least a little cool. EMPATHY — It’s not, man.

RHETORIC — Let’s get back to the list. What else can we talk about? YOU — “Tell me a secret about yourself.” KIM KITSURAGI — He sighs. “This again?” YOU — “You know it.” KIM KITSURAGI — He pauses for a moment. “No.” YOU — “Aww, come on.” KIM KITSURAGI — He raises one eyebrow. AUTHORITY — Oh god, we have full capacity brow-raising. I repeat, full capacity!

KIM KITSURAGI — His brow lowers slightly, offering a challenge. “You’re terrible at keeping secrets. Maybe if you can think of a single piece of personal trivia you haven’t already divulged entirely unprompted to any random passerby, we can come back to this topic.” ESPRIT DE CORPS — He does not believe that his terms can be met. He is secure in that. SUGGESTION — Challenge accepted! YOU — “Deal.” DRAMA — You’re gonna need to work on this for like, at least 8 hours probably. Maybe more like 20.

WAITRESS — The same woman reappears with a tray in hand, radiating the unmistakable smell of hot, fresh breakfast. “Here you are, sirs!” She gently slides the plates in front of each of you. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need! Enjoy your food!” PERCEPTION — You notice the name on her apron: Denice. YOU — “Thanks, Denice.” WAITRESS — She offers a polite smile before leaving.

You immediately start digging in, shoveling the mixed bits of potato, egg, bacon, and cheese into your mouth, savoring the salt and fat of a hearty breakfast. It’s your favorite meal, but you don’t always have the time or energy to get anything decent most mornings.

SUGGESTION — Hey, I just had a great idea! Offer Kim some of this shit. YOU — You finish the bite you have in your mouth quickly. “Hey, Kim, you wanna try some of mine?” KIM KITSURAGI — He blinks. “No, thank you. I’ve got plenty here.” He looks down at the colossal waffle on his plate, barely dented. YOU — “Yeah but this is like, stupid good. I’ll even let you have some egg yolk.” KIM KITSURAGI — “Very generous of you.” He smirks, then studies your plate for a moment. “Hm… sure, why not.”

You slide your plate a bit closer to him. He holds his fork up, surveying for the ideal sample size. Then, he strikes, claiming an entire egg for himself.

YOU — “Woooow.” You feign offence. KIM KITSURAGI — “Sorry, detective. I’ll need to confiscate this. I believe it may be connected to a case I’m working on.” He tries to keep a straight face but the corner of his mouth is slightly turned upwards. In seconds, he files the evidence into his mouth and promptly destroys it.

YOU — “Can’t believe the corruption I am witnessing here.” In a counter-attack, you jab your fork into one of the untouched corners of the lieutenant’s waffle. KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant stabs his knife down across from your fork, as if ready to engage in combat. He stares you down, brows furrowed with the illusion of authority. “Detective, I would tread carefully if I were you. You have entered enemy territory, and I have the high ground.”

PERCEPTION — You can feel your face turning red in the heat of the incredibly stupid breakfast battle you have entered. AUTHORITY — Do it! Let loose the dogs of war! Get that fucking waffle! KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant narrows his eyes at you, his concentration unwavering. The authority levels are building in his brow. They are charged to 50% capacity. DRAMA — I have an idea, sire.

YOU — You relax back in your seat, looking behind Kim. “Oh, hey Captain Pryce, here to enjoy the best breakfast in Central Jamrock?” KIM KITSURAGI — He quickly turns his head to look behind him. SAVOIR FAIRE — In an instant, you slice a corner of the waffle free from Kim’s plate, casually sliding it onto yours. KIM KITSURAGI — Realizing the feint, he snaps his attention back to you, glaring.

YOU — You pull your plate back, then pick up your mug, gesturing towards the lieutenant with a slight smirk. “Truce?” KIM KITSURAGI — Studying you for a moment, he reluctantly picks up his mug and clinks it against yours. “For now.”

[mggpleasedontlookhere]

reid’s anatomy

summary: spencer gets a gunshot wound while working in the field and gets transported to the hospital you work in as a 4th year resident. 

word count: 2,325                                                                                             reading time aprox: 9 mins

masterlist

Gurneys, lights, flying commands, and patients. The trauma room was my favorite place to be, other than the OR of course, it felt like a second home. But nothing compared to the home I had when I laid in Spencer’s arms. 

I was currently working in the trauma room, triaging the patients as I did my rounds. I dismissed a few individuals that had minor injuries, while discovering various accidents that required solutions as small as stitching up a patient to booking an OR for an emergent surgery. 

“Honey can you move your toes for me please?”

In front of me lay my latest patient, a 5 year old boy who had been pushed off of a swing set and had happened to land on his ankle. His cheeks were painted red from the crying he had previously done, a thumb cemented into his mouth as he continued to suck on it for comfort. His mother sat beside him, panic evident in her eyes, although she kept an amiable expression to reassure her son on his well being. 

The boy shook his head frantically, earning a break in composure from the mother. She reached out and folded her hand over her son’s and held on tight to it, with a tight-lipped smile on her face. 

“You’re going to be okay Timothee, mommy’s right here sweetie”. The mother squeezed her son’s hands continuously, looking to me for answers.

“Your son- well Timothee here seems to have sprained his ankle” I explained in layman's terms, lifting up the boys ankle to locate where the injury occurred.  “The issue here is that he seems to have an eversion ankle sprain and has fractured his deltoid ligament, which is more uncommon than a inversion ankle sprain, since the deltoid ligament is close to impossible to fracture”. 

As I finished my description, the mother returned her attention to her son, massaging his head to console him. “We-well it’s just a sprained ankle right? It can heal. My husband has had multiple sprained ankles from how much of a klutz he is” She joked in attempt to lighten the mood. Despite her attempts, there was more news to deliver.

“I wish it was much more simpler than that” I sighed, motioning for the on-call nurse to come over. “Due to Timothee’s young age, my biggest concerns are the development of his bones, considering the fracture he had suffered and that the nerves responsible for motor skills in his legs might have been severed. In most adult cases, the individual is able to recover because the durability of the bone had been fully realized from age. But, Timothee here is at risk of deformation of his osseous matter” I doefully confessed, a small pit forming in my stomach while delivering his diagnosis. 

As the mother’s face dropped, I turned to the nurse telling her to call Neuro and Peds, then asked her to file the paperwork. I looked back at the small family with a sigh, placing his chart at the end of the bed. 

It was moments like these that make me envision the life I’m going to have with Spencer if we ever decided to have children together. Despite our young age, I couldn’t help up configure an idealistic future than only composed of me, Spencer, and 2 or 3 little children running around us in glee. 

“The nurse will be back with the pape-” 

I was cut off by sirens and a magnitude of shrilling voices shouting commands. These were the indications of an incoming trauma. I turned around to peak for a second with the possibility of wanting to check on another case, but the interns and 2nd year residents had beat me to it. 

My focus remained on the child in front of me, checking his vitals from time to time, while eavesdropping on the commotion behind me. 

“We’ve got a caucasian ma...federal...with a GSW in the thoracic cavity, with intercostal tears”. Most of the sentence was muffled by the loud wheels of the crash cart, residents fumbling around, and the attendings yelling orders at the scene. I turned around to witness the chaotic scene, only to be meet with heads full of hair and some that didn’t actually have hair at all. 

Geez, I wouldn’t want to be the guy with the GSW to his chest

In emergent surgery, GSW’s were the most lethal in the clinic as most of the time the patient is either too late or the bullet had caused multiple complications in the patient, causing distress in the body. The tricky thing about GSWs were that they were different every time, it was almost always a different procedure depending on the location. 

I nodded goodbye to the perturbed mother, earning a tight lipped smile and a nod back. I turned to walk towards the nurses station when suddenly I was paged to trauma room 3. I rushed over to the area, sanitizing my hands before walking in. A privacy drape hung from the lower abdomen of the individual, with nurses and residents scrambling to keep his vitals stabilized.   

I faced the trauma nurse as she explained the patients situation. “We’ve got a caucasian male, seems to be 25-35 with a GSW in his thoracic cavity with no exit wound, the bullet is possibly lodged in the pericardial cavity” She spoke in haste. 

“Push 10 of Norepinephrine and call Cardio” I stressed, rushing out of the room to find another resident to scrub into the surgery as I wasn’t finished with my rounds yet. 

On my way around the nurse’s desk I noticed a familiar face that sat glum and slumped over in his chair, well it was more like a familiar group of faces. My steps slowed in order to get a better view to confirm my suspicions, then shuffled over to determine what the occasion was. 

“Hey Morgan-hey guys” I furrowed my eyebrows at the group, my worry peaked at the numerous melancholy expression that they wore on their faces. Despite my observations, there was one face I noticed was missing from the ensemble. 

Spencer. 

A chill ran up my arm, which was usually an indication of something wrong. In spite of the unfavorable pit in my stomach, I was at my workplace where everything usually puts me on edge, so I pushed it aside. 

“Where’s Spenc-” 

My words faded out into an uncomfortable silence when Morgan lifted his head to face me and in his eyes were the deepest of browns, anguish pooled in his irises, similar to the look I gave to the mother of the patient I was treating previously. I glanced at the rest of the team, who wore a identical stares. 

My stomach had churned and twisted into knots. The chill that had ran up my arm traveled to my legs, all the way to the tips of my toes. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion, I could feel my heart still and my fingers twitch. The overhead lights of the clinic became overwhelmingly bright and a nauseating sensation began crawling up my throat. 

“Y/N-” Morgan began as I stared at him wide-eyed. He grabbed one of my hands and wrapped it in between his rough and sweaty palms, but I tensed in the midst of it, while adrenaline ran up my veins. 

“Reid, he’s...we-we were workin- I...he’s” 

Despite his attempts at an explanation, he wasn’t able to complete any of his phrases as I yanked my hand out of his grasp and bolted towards the trauma room. I heard my name being called in the background, although it became a voice of a phantom as my surroundings became impaired with the sounds of my heartbeat, the loud thuds my feet made as I raced towards the room, and the anxious thoughts that flooded my mind. 

I pushed into the room, only to see a bed was missing. I bee lined to where the residents were, pivoting around the various carts that decorated the room. “Where’s that patient with the GSW in his thoracic cavity? What resident was assigned on his case? What was his name?”. The words spewed out of my lips like a waterfall, earning alarmed looks from the residents. 

“Um, he was transported to OR 3″ One of them explained with naive looks on their faces. 

“Yeah, they’re in surgery right now with Dr. Burke and Dr. Montgomery” Another one added. 

“What’s the patient’s name? Do you remember?” I responded, prying them of all the information they knew. The residents peered at each other dumbfoundedly, looking at each other for answers as if they were taking their MLE exams again. 

“Dr. Y/L/N, no offense but you’re not on this case” One of the residents added with a condescending voice. 

“Dr. Mallory, if you don’t answer me in the matter of 10 seconds, I swear I will go to your senior resident and have you be doing scut for the rest of your medical career” I retorted. Fear was evident in all their eyes, I knew my eyes were brimming with multiple emotions, condensing into nothing but a fiery and aggressive tone.  

“Sp-spencer Reid, Ma’am” A quiet voice spoke up in the group. I nodded a small thank you to the individual and ran to the OR where they held Spencer. 

When I got into the prep room, I grabbed a face mask and entered the OR, witnessing a man’s body, the love of my life under heavy anesthesia and tubes wired up to his chest. Before I could speak, the attending spoke up and questioned me of my presence. 

“I-i was wondering if I could scrub in sir” I replied. “I-I, um, heard that there was in upc...incoming trauma for a GSW and I was wondering if I could scrub in” I repeated. 

“You already said that Dr. Y/L/N” 

“I understand sir, but I-” 

The attending than turned around exposing the sight of Spencer’s chest being retracted open. My entire body ached at the sight, the lifelessness of his body creating an image in my head that couldn’t compare to the images Spencer would see of his victims. I cringed and turned away, tears threatening to spill from my eyes, but I knew I couldn’t let myself go, especially if I wanted to be included in Spencer’s operation. 

“Dr. Y/L/N, with all respect, I know you’re one of the best residents we have in this hospital and I know you’re a phenomenal doctor” The attending explained, letting one of the other senior residents take over for a moment. “But, I also know who this is laying on my table. For this case, you’re not his doctor, you’re family, and I need you to trust that I am able to do my job, as you do yours” He concluded, signaling to one of the nurses to take me out of the OR. 

I nodded hesitantly, following the nurse out of the room, my eyes still locked on the individual that lay on the table. After the nurse had went back inside, I sat on the ground with my hands on my lap, staring at the abyss of the hallway. 

Our future depends on if a single man can maneuver his scalpel with enough wisdom and efficiency. The father of my future children lay on the cold metal table, where I used to find comfort and power in when saving someone else’s loved one. Who knew there would be a time where the roles were switched. 

Who knew that no matter how many years you’ve trained, how many books you’ve read, and the degrees you’ve obtained to save people’s lives, you could still be powerless against what life throws at you. The worst part is the irony that comes with tragedies. I spent a quarter of my life learning how to save people, yet I sit here purposeless when someone that I live for is struggling to stay alive. How malicious is that. 

Tears began streaming down my cheeks, although my expression hasn’t changed. The wetness that enveloped half of my face was the only thing that reminded me of the reality that I was in, keeping my consciousness grounded momentarily. 

I swear my heart pauses, everytime I hear a change in the monitor that indicated Spencer’s vitals or a command that the attending would spew out to the helping resident. I was completely fixated on everything that was happening in the room adjacent to me, disregarding the entire atmosphere that lay in my vision. 

It wasn’t until large legs halted in front of where I was crouched down. I didn’t bother looking up as my thoughts clouded my sensibility. The figure then sat down to my level, I could feel the individual’s eyes boring at my blank visage. I felt a large arm pull me closer to the individual, only this time I realized it was Morgan who had come to console me. 

Awaiting a pursuance of some sort of speech that’s supposed to bring me clarity or amenity. But to my dismay, only the loud presence of silence filled the gap of our exchange. That’s when my emotions began to seep into my skin, filling my heart with heavy matter, making it close to impossible to keep up my facade. 

A whimper escaped my lips while I laid on Morgan’s shoulder for the time being, only for the rest of my somber to follow. I cried in defeat, holding onto the clutches of Morgan’s shirt as he gripped onto the back of my head, massaging it in the process. 

I felt droplets hit the top of my head and a wetness forming rapidly. Weak sniffles emitted from the man above me, betraying his collected composure. We both sat here together with heavy hearts, waiting for what seemed like an eternity. 

We both sat in silence waiting to see if his colleague was alive and if my everything was still breathing. 

-

Pt. 2

A/N:

Pt. 2 coming soon! most likely tomorrow. I was going to write the whole thing today, but frankly, I just need a fresh mind.  

Part 2 out now

[lihikainanea]

hi lei, i hope you’ve had a great week! i just wanted to plant a seed in your head about bill using overstimulation as a punishment for tiger. she thinks she can take it, rolling her eyes, but after 3 continuous orgasms, just by him thrusting and rubbing her clit, she starts to soften. the poor bean ends up crying and flinching, but oh no, bill keeps going steady until he reaches her 7th one and she’s getting floaty. he checks in, reminds her why he’s doing this before going FAST and her finishing one final time and him finishing. she’s a mess and it’d need tons of aftercare. -🧚‍♀️

Oh my god sweet fae bae, just go on and kill me why don’t you? Christ on a cracker.

And I love it because she’s either in full Brat Mode because she’s just so goddamn fussy, or maybe she’s actually feeling pretty good these days and she’s just revving up his resistance kink. And Bill loves it when it’s the latter, because he knows it means she can take it a little harder. A lot harder, probably. And one thing that Bill likes is that predator/prey instinct, that hunting instinct, that need to transform her from a bitey, feisty ball of ire into a moaning, crying mess beneath him. His knees shake at just the thought.

So maybe she’s been feeling really good actually, pretty feisty about everything, and when tiger gets like that--oh man, she also wants that predator/prey vibe. Except tiger, bless her heart, tiger always thinks she’s the big bad wolf. And when she's feeling good, she likes nothing more than a good rumble with her Big Dude. Pushing all of his buttons and watching in amusement as that vein in his forehead pops, the more she pushes.

But tiger never learns. And she somehow always underestimates just how strong he is.

And she’s done for as soon as he catches her. There’s nothing gentle about it. One arm is around her waist, then two, then her feet leave the floor and she lands hard on her back--the floor, the sofa, the bed--whatever is close is what she gets slammed onto. And she doesn’t even have time to squeal, doesn’t even have time to kick before her panties are ripped off, his hand is on her throat, and his other hand already has two fingers deep in her. She still tries to get out of it, squirms and puts up a bit of a fight just to egg him on even more, but he’s too strong.

She comes for the first time and she’s madder than hell about it, because she tried to hold back. And the arrogant smirk on his face lets her know that he knows how hard she tried to fight it off. She struggles a bit more but he can feel the shake in her muscles and he keeps her pinned, keeps his touch harsh enough to have her flinging just a tiny bit--but it works, and she bites back a moan as number two crashes over her.

And like, listen. Bill looks to soften it a bit, soften his touch and make it more about her pleasure instead of revenge--but the minute he eases the grip on her throat, she turns her head and bites him, tries to shove his chest away.

Bill’s never been so turned on in his life.

So he slams her back down, uses his elbows to keep her legs spread wide apart, and then he gets mean. He gets real mean. And she’s already oversensitive, her thighs shaking against his arms as she tries to close them--so he lays a wet smack on her folds.

Hard.

She grunts and tries to slam her legs shut, but he does it again. Her whole body is on fire, everything pulsating and clenching, and he doesn’t touch her--just keeps smacking her roughly between her legs. On the last one, he squeezes her throat just a little tighter and her back arches, her nails digging into his forearm as she comes again.

And now she’s getting just a tad more subdued, the fight and ire is gradually leaving her body, but oh--oh it’s not enough for Bill. She hasn’t learned her lesson yet, and she can take a little more. She’s not quite the sobbing, apologetic mess that he knows she can be for him.

So he keeps going.

And wrapping up on the 7th one--really after 4 or so, he barely has to touch her anymore and she’s coming for him--after the 7th one, tiger is a fucking mess. And he knows she can take a little more, but the whole point is that she doesn’t have to use her safe word. Bill knows when it’s enough, and he always pulls back before she has to use it. She’s soaked--covered in her own come and sweat--her entire body is flushed, she’s wheezing, and her eyes are completely unfocused. She stopped making any noise other than just small cries and whines awhile ago, she lost the motor skills to be able to reach for him and hold on, and even when he’s calling her name or talking to her it’s taking her awhile to register it. She’s had enough.

He talks to her anyway, because she needs it to help ground her. His touches have to stay light but still firm--she’s too oversensitive to have him trail his fingertips lightly over her skin, but she can handle being held and pressed in to his chest. He keeps the blanket loose around her because sometimes even the fabric is uncomfortable for her, and slowly but surely he just rocks her and keeps talking to her. She’ll come back to him eventually, she’ll get her head around it and snap to her senses. Usually on a night like this, it rolls out that way because they both need it. Tiger needs to be dominated and Bill needs to dominate her. It takes a lot out of both of them, and I’ll bet they both have a kind of crash after--different sorts, no doubt, but they both need to get their heads on right. Tiger always comes first because she’s really the one on the brunt end of it, and Bill knows he has at least a few days of her being real small with him after a night like that. The next morning is a gamble and he needs to have his own wits about him, because sometimes tiger wakes up small in a good way and sometimes she’s just real bad and messed up about it.

Either way, she probably needs a bit of a break--that’s a lot for a body to handle--and Bill just needs to spend days giving her all the non-sexual affection in the world.

Mmmph, delicious nani.

[whumpqin]

48? 👀

You got it! (sorry for the wait, this one fought me a little bit haha)

CW: pet whump, collars mention, choking mention, referenced past abuse, referenced past torture, whumpee thinking caretakers are whumpers, blood, aftermath of a beating, bruises, scars, referenced past finger whump (really brief), hiding an injury, victim blaming (as in “you asked for this”), whumpee begging for punishment, nonhuman whumpee, nonhuman caretakers

It was before the rooster crowed when he returned home. Dawn only had the smallest glimmers of orange against the horizon, and all was quiet in the house. Equally as quiet, Caleb limped through the house until he found his Masters’ bedroom and stepped in.

His Masters were sleeping on their bed, limbs tangled together and blankets wrapped around each of them in a lazy embrace. They were comfortable, and it made his heart ache.

He wouldn’t wake them after he was done, he decided. They looked far too comfortable to want to be disturbed.

The dresser was easy to look through. He quietly pulled open the drawers and reached into the far back, feeling a pliant and stretchy cloth. Caleb unfolded the fabric he pulled out and found that it was a sweater - a turtleneck, to be more specific. A little on the small side in terms of height, but otherwise perfect.

Caleb pushed in the drawer and tip-toed over to the bathroom, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could, just for a bit of privacy. He knew all the doors that creaked or groaned to a slow touch, and this was not one of them. In the bathroom he set the turtleneck on the side of the sink and breathed a low sigh. He had to keep reminding himself he could still breathe. Then, Caleb reached his hands to begin unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it off of him and allowing it to sink into the floor. He used his bad foot to scoot it into a corner, where he didn’t have to look at the blood on it.

He made the mistake of looking up into the mirror.

Dried blood dribbled from his nose where he’d been hit, crusting over his upper lip. Further below that there was his neck - where a collar should be, a small voice reminding him never take that off without permission, Pet - where bruises were already beginning to color from the night’s events, clear fingerprints that marked the pair of hands that squeezed and squeezed until Caleb thought he was going to die. Even further down there were a litany of bruises, ugly purples and blues blossoming out in a portrait of his punishment, overshadowing the burn and cut scars.

Don’t you tell a soul, now, he remembered him saying, his voice whispering sickly sweet in his ear. You asked for this, remember?

Caleb swallowed painfully as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. Yes, he had asked. He asked for this.

Which is why he needs to hide it.

Putting on a sweater as a Cambion is more difficult than one might imagine. For Caleb, he had to fit the neck over both of his now very long and curved horns before he could even think about pulling it any further. He understood readily why his Masters never liked to put a shirt on him like this. Too much work. Still yet, he needed it. So he took his time and rolled up the turtleneck to the best of his ability. Caleb’s poor motor skills never really helped him with these things, and the lack of all the proper fingers made it frustrating, to say the least.

That being said, he was making fair progress. The first horn was always the easiest, and then the real struggle of threading them both through the neck hole began. If he was patient he could do it easily, it just-

A knock. At the bathroom door.

“Caleb? Is that you?” A voice. Master’s voice. Of course he’d woken when Caleb snuck in, how could he be so stupid? “You okay?”

Fuck. Shit. Shit shit shit-

Caleb panicked, tugging as hard as he could to try and get the fabric to stretch to what he needed. When he thought it was good enough he pulled down, working the turtleneck over his face before his Master had the time to turn the knob and step in and see him like a mess and punished and not working on breakfast like he’s supposed to - and then he heard a rip. A big one, as the turtleneck’s neck became looser than it was before. He tugged, feeling up his head until he felt the loose strands that made up the sweater, broken and frayed against his fingers.

He’d torn a hole through it. Caleb’s stomach dropped at the realization, guilt weighing him down as his hands fumbled at the fabric to adjust it properly. What had he done? He’d just ripped up one of his Masters’ shirts, and he didn’t even ask for permission if he could put it on! There were no specific rules about wearing clothes, but ripping up something that wasn’t even his had to be some sort of disobedience.

No, no he needed to get it off, now. If he could hide it with his other clothes then maybe they wouldn’t find out? Oh, but they would always find out. Caleb was like a guilty dog when it came to doing something bad.

He stumbled back into the wall, between the tub and the toilet, sinking low to his feet while he squirmed. The door clicked and opened as Master stepped in.

“Caleb? Hey, hey what’s wrong?” Footsteps drew near. Master drew near. “Caleb?”

Caleb’s voice caught in his throat. His chest squeezed with discomfort and guilt and pain. His throat even more so as it locked before he could get out any sinful words. He couldn’t speak. He wouldn’t speak. No more baring fangs.

He whined, curling his tail over his legs while he cringed away. He knew he looked pitiful, and hopefully that would allow his Master to spare a bit of mercy for him.

“Is he alright?” Came another voice - Sir - as he too stepped into the bathroom. Everything was falling apart and he was at the center of it. “Oh, hon.” Sir spoke in an affectionate tone, pitying him, but Caleb could almost hear the contempt in his voice. He was angry, he knew it.

“I think he’s stuck. It’s kind of-” A pause, as Master’s voice drew closer. “It’s wrapped around his horns. He’s… I’m not- Caleb, is it okay if I touch you?”

He didn’t answer. Caleb knew he should, but the words wouldn’t come to his rescue, now. They hadn’t for a long time. Instead he stayed curled in his little ball, gasping and trying not to sob into Sir’s sweater.

“Lemme try. Hey, darlin’, sit still for a moment. Think you can do that?” Sir’s voice lowered even further into a soft and soothing tone. It was the one he used when Sir wanted to order him around, but in the gentlest way possible. Caleb stilled upon command, afraid of what would happen if he disobeyed, panting quick breaths like a caught rabbit waiting for the right chance to bolt. “Good boy, good. I’m gonna put my hand on your knee, don’t kick out. It’s just me. Quinn, remember? Ommy, help me out with this.”

Caleb felt fingers brush against the bare skin of his knee, then a warm hand ran over it, gentle and featherlight in its touch, like he was made of glass. He flinched at first, then relaxed as he was supposed to. Don’t kick out. Stay still. Simple commands for his head to easily comprehend.

The two of them were careful where they touched him. Master guided Sir as they both worked the sweater off, and though Caleb did absolutely nothing to help they didn’t scold him like he expected. Instead, when he could finally see their faces, all he could read from them was shock and horror as they stared at his bruises and the blood on him. Feebly he covered himself with his scarred hands, trying to mask some of the larger bruises so that they didn’t have to see them. They were ugly. Ugly and disgusting and he deserved every single one of them.

I’m only givin’ you what you asked for. Regardless, you deserve it, don’tcha? Say it.

I-I deserve this-this. Thank you.

Then he caught sight of Master covering his mouth with his hands, brows knitting together in concern, and the aching feeling seeped into his chest. It cut through him, choking his breath until he could barely breathe. Sir in a similar fashion was quiet, his face expressionless as he reached out. Caleb shook under the weight of Sir’s slow movements. He took just two fingers underneath Caleb’s chin, lifting his head so that he could see the bruises better.

“Caleb.” Several emotions flickered through Sir’s eyes. Concern, anger, worry, disbelief, fear, then anger again as he fought to keep himself composed. “Who did this to you?”

Caleb gritted his teeth. The words wouldn’t come and save him. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t, and it only made the pit in his stomach sink deeper. Instead he took Sir’s hand and nosed his face into it with a whine. He outstretched his arm towards him, scarred forearm up, begging without words for a relief of some kind.

Thanks for the stress relief, darlin’. Same time tomorrow?

[syifrae]

Through his stomach

@winteriron-week

Day 3 “But I did it” 

Read on AO3

Tony had a secret admirer. Not only that, but he had the world’s best secret admirer because this secret admirer was seducing him via food.

It had started a few months back when Tony had returned from a particularly stressful day at work, fielding calls and actually attending meetings (I mean, he had to go to some otherwise Pepper would literally strangle him). Tony felt tired and hungry and his feet hurt and his head ached and there was just a general aura of blegh all around him.

He had just about managed to drag himself through a shower and into some comfy pants but the thought of having to make food was just overwhelming. He lay in his bed for what felt like hours arguing with himself about the pros and cons of getting up to make something. Of course, he could just order food but for some preternatural reason any time anyone was ordering takeout in the tower Clint found out. This was not necessarily a bad thing, but on occasion, it could result in heavy debating over what to order and half your food disappearing into the apparently bottomless void that was the archer’s stomach.

Right now, though, Tony just really wasn’t in the mood for any kind of human interaction. He loved his teammates, don’t get him wrong, they had become his pseudo-family and he would, at any time, lay down his life for any one of them, but right at this second, he couldn’t stand the thought of having to interact with them.

He knew it was a cruel thought to have, but on the one hand, he’d have to pull up a front that he was fine -which would take a hell of a lot of effort given the facial expression and body language skills of some of his teammates- or let them see how…blegh he was feeling. Neither option seemed appealing to him. One would drain him of all remaining energy and the other would result in (well-intentioned) questions about his mental and emotional state, which again would drain him of all remaining energy.

Just as he was thinking he could risk calling in for pizza and hope against hope that the resident vent mole wouldn’t notice, he heard the ding of the elevator. Tony sighed. How on earth had Clint known he was thinking about pizza? That shit was unnatural and vaguely disturbing.

Only he didn’t hear footsteps, instead, there was the familiar whirr of gears and excitable beeps from his favourite (but don’t tell the others) bot. Sure enough, his bedroom door was pushed open and in trundled DUM-E, carefully carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of something on it.

The smell wafted through the room as Tony scooched up the bed to accept the tray off of the bot.

“Uhh, J?” he began hoping his AI would know what he meant. How is DUM-E up here? Why does he have a bowl of what looks like soup with a side of charcuterie and garlic bread with him? Did DUM-E make it himself? If so, how? Was it safe to eat?

Luckily for him, he had the best AI in the world (if he does say so himself-which he does) and JARVIS somehow knows all his questions and answered them so succinctly.

“Someone who wishes to remain anonymous has prepared a dinner for you and asked DUM-E to deliver it as you appeared fatigued. It is a courgette and almond soup with garlic ciabatta and sourdough toast, assorted cured meats and a mango chutney. It has been safely prepared and monitored on it’s journey, and does not contain motor oil.”

Tony breathed in deeply at the exquisite smell coming from his dinner tray. This was the perfect ending to a low-grade-shitty day. Once everything JARVIS had said was fully registered in his mind he quirked his head in question.

“Someone who wishes to remain anonymous?” he mused, “Well, I mean it’s gotta be someone living in the tower, right? That narrows it down. Plus, it’s gotta be someone who can cook,” That thought leads him to an ever-diminishing list of suspects and he rather thinks he knows who it is.

Tony ducks his head, a dusting of pink colouring his cheeks at the thought. He digs into his gifted meal with gusto, suddenly it seemed like the weight of the day had simply rolled off of him, and he had regained some of his earlier energy. If the person who he thought it was wanted to stay in the shadows for now who was he to put a stop to it? Especially when it might cost him more nights like these with a delivery of home-cooked ambrosia.

And so it had continued.

Not only when Tony had had a bad day either, but almost every other day it seemed he had some new delivery of food. Be it a sandwich left by his elbow to remind him to eat during his workshop binge, a cooked meal when he had had a long day, a tray of cookies, cakes or brownies left on the counter in his penthouse, a selection of petit fours delivered to his office as it seemed just-because. And sometimes they even came with little post-it notes!

They weren’t much to go on, just little ‘thinking of you’s or ‘hope you enjoy’s or ‘looked like you needed this doll’s. With each delivery, Tony’s crush deepened until he was halfway in love with his ‘secret’ admirer, despite the fact that they both seemed to reluctant to acknowledge any of it in public or around the team.

However, Tony was only so patient- ask Pepper or Rhodey, it was a miracle he’d lasted this long in the first place- and he was now determined to… Well not exactly confront, that felt too aggressive a word to use, he was going to gently but firmly (very firmly) encourage his admirer to go on a real date with him. It felt like it might be a bit premature to declare his undying love and devotion to a man he wasn’t technically in a relationship with after all.

This idea however all came clattering down around him when he entered the kitchen at around three am exactly three months and four-day post initial food delivery. He hadn’t even realised anyone else was awake, he hadn’t meant to even be on this floor but JARVIS was a tattletale and would ping an email to Pepper if the coffee machine in his penthouse or workshop was used between 11 pm and 6 am.

It was just dumb luck.

Or unluck as the case may be. Because there in the kitchen, pulling a tray of very familiar looking and smelling chocolate orange and hazelnut cookies out of the oven, was Steve.

It was the wrong one. All this time Tony had believed that Bucky had been his admirer, his personal chef and his culinary hero. All this while, and if he was honest with himself for a long time before that, Tony had been slowly but surely falling in love with their resident one-armed-wonder, and given that he was 87% sure that that was who was making the food he was fairly confident that feeling had been mutual. To learn that all this time it had been the wrong supersoldier was devastating.

Tony felt like the bottom had dropped out of him and his heart had dried up all at once. Not only was he wildly, catastrophically wrong about who had been delivering him all these preciously prepared and lovingly made gifts, it also meant that he was wrong about Bucky reciprocating his feelings.

Not only that, but he now had to confront the idea that it was Steve, not Bucky, who cared for him and how the fuck was he supposed to let Captain America down? I mean yeah they had moved past their first meeting hiccup, gotten over their brief subsequent future hate/resentment/hero worship issues and had become the closest of friends. Or at least, that’s what Tony had assumed. And while his inner sixteen-year-old was very much still attracted to the pinnacle of human perfection, Tony just could not see Steve in that way. Objectively yes, he was handsome and kind, down-to-earth, generous to a fault and stubborn as a mule when it suited him, but to Tony that was just Steve.

Steve was great! Steve was an amazing friend! He’d be happy to talk up Steve as a wingman and be confident that nothing he would say would be a lie because Steve was just that awesome a person! But he was not attracted to Steve himself!

Continuing his approach to the kitchen Tony tried to mentally prepare what he was going to say. How he was going to gently thank Steve for his gifts but let him know that any feelings he had were purely platonic. He was mentally debating if he could get away with not telling Steve that he didn’t know it was him who had been the one behind the culinary delights. On the one hand, it would make him look like an utter dick for letting it go on this long without letting Steve know it was a doomed seduction. On the other hand, it seemed cruel to tell Steve that he was hoping that the man’s best friend (practically his brother) would go out with him instead. Knowing Steve, he’d be extremely supportive and then not show anyone how he was devastated and dying inside.

“Hey Steve, I didn’t realise you were up so late,” He began, coward that he was trying to put off the uncomfortable conversation that was to come.

Steve looked up from the sheet pan where he had been carefully inspecting the cookies, a look of surprise on his face showing that he’d been so concentrated on his task he hadn’t picked up on Tony’s approach. And wow, seeing how dedicated he was just made Tony feel worse about the whole thing.

“Oh, hi Tony,” the other man glanced down spying the coffee cup clutched in the inventor’s hands, “You know that cheating by getting your coffee down here only means that Pepper will be madder when I’m the one to tell her.” He teased.

And god did Tony feel like the world’s biggest tool again, even when Steve was being mean it was just because he cared. Why did it have to be the wrong supersoldier? Why was his life like this?

“Listen, Steve.” Bracing himself for what was coming Tony stepped further into the light of the kitchen, making sure to give the other man 100% of his attention, it was the least he deserved. “I think we need to talk. I am so grateful, really I am, for all that you have done. They were some of the finest and most delicious things I’ve ever tasted in my life, and that comes from a guy who regularly eats at Five Michelin Star restaurants. The deliveries have been a source of joy and comfort, they have never failed to lift my spirits and I have adored each and every one. I want you to know that I will always care very deeply for you,”

Steve had an odd look on his face as Tony tried his best to be brave and plough on, it wasn’t fair to let this go on any longer and he had to get it all off his chest in one go or else he’d put his foot in it.

“I don’t know that I could ever see you in that way. What I feel for you is more of a platonic bond, and a lifelong one at that, but there could never really be any romantic feelings on my part.”

Steve looked downright confused and embarrassed now.

“Uh, Tony that’s great?” He replied, head tilted in that lost puppy look he sometimes had when he couldn’t quite get his head around something. “I’m not entirely sure where all of that came from but uh, I love you too buddy.” Steve patted Tony on the shoulder, looking for all the world like Tony had lost his mind.

“Look Steve, the secret is out alright, I know those are the cookies you made me the other week. I can recognise them well enough, they are just about the tastiest goddamn things I’ve ever put in my mouth and I’ve dreamt of them twice since. I know it’s you who’s been making me food, and I just wanted to let you down eas-”

“But I did it.”

The voice came from behind, cutting through Tony’s very messy 'it’s not you, it’s me' speech, nearly scaring the life out of him and causing Tony to jump about three feet in the air and clutch at his chest as though that would slow the rapid staccato of his heart.

“Wha?” was all that the dumbstruck genius could eke out.

“I’m the one who’s been making you food, doll. It was me, not Stevie here.” Bucky replied from where he was stood in the doorway to the kitchen.

“But- he… I just saw Steve taking the cookies out of the oven? He was even checking them over to make sure they were right?” Tony blurted, head pinging over to Steve as he heard the man huff out a laugh.

“Yeah, cause Buck here hadda go pee and the last time he put me in charge of getting his shit out the oven I got a whooping because smooshed a cookie with the glove. I ain’t making that mistake twice.”

It took Tony a second for everything to sink in. He had a moment post reshuffle in his brain of who had done what that he was mistaken after all. It wasn’t the wrong supersoldier.

“So, wait. Does that mean that you’ve been my secret admirer? Not Steve?”

“Yeah, doll,” Bucky said, shifting his weight and loosely crossing his arms in front of him as if to protect himself. “You mean all that you said about it being good?”

Tony had never heard, nor expected to hear such uncertainty from the other man. Carefully making his way over to Bucky and making sure to telegraph his movements as he did so, Tony lifted his hand to cup Bucky’s cheek.

“I meant every word. And I’m so glad it was you.”

The smile that Tony could feel growing on his own face was mirrored back to him. Flickering his gaze between Bucky’s ocean eyes and his lips he slowly tilted forward, allowing Bucky to decide if he wanted to close the gap or not.

Tony’s heartbeat fluttered as he felt the soft press of lips against his. Something in his chest settling at the feeling of how right this all was. Steve on the other hand was apparently feeling indignant.

“Hey, wait a minute! How come I’m not good enough but this lug is?”

[wellthatjusthappend]

Reverse Robins where Jason still dies, Damian finding out Ras is gonna use the Lazerus to resurrect Jason.

Ouch, oh gosh yes.

****

“What is the meaning of this Mother?!” Damian was on his feet the moment the boy’s mask was removed. 

“Calm down, my son,” Talia said disapprovingly, “there has been no foul-play here; We found him wandering the streets of Gotham and took him in before he could be killed again.”

Jason’s eyes stared blankly ahead, seemingly not processing much of anything. Something twisted painfully in Damian’s chest at the sight of the boy who used to cling to him and curse like a sailor when Damian tossed him easily away, grinning bright and alive and-

Damain had not appreciated what he’d had back then. He promised himself when Dick had come along that he would do better. And now… perhaps he had a second chance? 

“You should had returned him to Father,” Damian scowled, the ‘and to me’ went unspoken, “He’s clearly still not well. We could have been helping him all this time.”

“And what do you think we’ve been doing, my son?” said Talia sharply, “Both your Grandfather and I have spent much time a resources trying to coax him out of this state. We did not want to give your Father false hope if nothing could be done. He finally seems to be moving on and you know how emotional he can be.”

Damian did know. But he also knew how the whole family still grieved. Damian’s team avoided him these days, his temper grown black and hurtful in the wake of Robin’s death. Only Dick seemed to soften his edges anymore. 

The family needed Jason. 

At the same time, the Al Ghuls- his other family- were not one to present premature results, or really anything outside perfection, and Jason was definitely not better. 

“Why did you call me?” Damian cut to the point, “Why are you letting me know now?”

His Mother’s mouth twitched with pride that he’d already figured it out. 

“As I said, we’ve devoted much time to his healing since he’s come to us. He has recovered quite a few motor skills, and his retention for instructions is improving quite well given when given a physical task, however…” Talia smiled sadly, “Your Grandfather and I fear that this is about as far as we can hope for given the severity of the damage the Clown did.”

His mother passed him a file, and Damian’s heart sank as he flipped through the brain scans and the amount of damage shown there. He’d never known someone to heal from something like this. It was extraordinary that Jason could walk on his own at all. 

“There is another option…” Talia said slowly. 

Damian set the folder down. He knew what option that was.

“You want to put him in the Pit,” Damian closed his eyes. 

“Your Grandfather has his reservations of course,” Talia said, “The Lazarus Pit has been reserved for our family’s use exclusively for thousands of years. But he has indicated that he might reconsider if…”

“If…” Damian prompted warily, turning to face his mother fully for the first time since he’d laid eyes on Jason. 

“If perhaps you returned to the League and took responsibility for him yourself. Ra’s will try to keep the boy close if he does recover. There’s still much we don’t know about how he came back from the dead. But your Grandfather will still expect penitence for his generosity,” Talia said, almost gently.

Fury filled Damian for one blazing moment- just when he’d thought he was free of this place- but then he looked at Jason, just standing there, his eyes empty and unfocused. 

“The Pits effects… can be extreame at times,” Damian said at last, his shoulder slumping slightly. 

“You will get him though it.”

Damian said nothing.

“Habibi… Don’t let him stay like this. There is no life in his current exsistance. Either give him a fighting chance, or put him out of his misery,” Talia said softly, attempting to embrace him.

“Don’t-” Damian held up and hand sharply before letting out a breath, “I will speak to Grandfather about this.”

“That is all that I ask,” Talia said, ducking out of the room. 

Damian clenched his hands into fists and struck the wall, just to feel it crumble and crack under his hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jason flinch slightly. 

“No- Jay,” Damian moved to him, “You need not be afraid of me. I gave my word to you back then; you’ll never have to be afraid of me.”

Jason stared back at him without blinking. 

Damian felt his face twist and gave in, pulling the boy close to him, “I’m so sorry, Jay, I should have been there for you- I should have stopped-”

Damian buried his face in those unruly curls and ruthlessly worked to control his breathing as months and months of grief crashed over him all at once. 

“Da...mi?”

Damian held him closer.

[cullxtheherd]

@oorah22​ asked for: a Nick Rye centric piece! 

Happy Merry JiNgLe yaAy?? here it is! I hope u like it ksdfjksjfdf- also, a song:   [🆇] 

Ducking under the ajar side panel to the motor of his plane, Nick blindly wipes grease laden fingers against his coveralls; they’re a worse-for-wear situation and he isn’t fussed about them anyways- he knows Kim will get the stains out if they aren’t ready to hit the bin. Taking a few steps back he tries to wrap his head around the issue he is having with Carmina: he’s flushed the lines, reseated the new carburetor and still she’d been running like a bucket of bolts.

He isn’t entirely sure what she’s up to but he sure can hear one hell of a ruckus coming from the house, even out here in the hangar. Since the Seed brothers had arrived in town things had steadily gotten worse around these parts- his hometown, to the point he’d taken to keeping a gun and small store of ammunition within reach at all times. Gripping the AR-CL he checks the safety before readying the chamber. 

Rounding Kim’s vintage Mustang he takes his time, not seeing any vehicles in the horseshoe curved driveway gives him no cause for hurry. Setting the safety once he has peered through the window of his front door he leans the rifle in the seat of an adirondack chair. Nick grew up in this home, lived in Hope County all of his life and navigating the floorplan silently is one of his favorite, lesser known talents.

“It has to be here somewhere-” Pulling the drawer out under the stove she curses, “Of all the fucking- NICK!” 

Kim is a strong, reliable, sensible woman, but under the stress of pregnancy and rushing, unruly hormones? She is rash and annoyed and easy to anger and hasn’t seen her feet since John-Fucking-Seed-Knows-When and she is certain that Nicholas Rye- her endearing, annoying, everloving, child of a husband has stolen away the baster. 

It’s God-blasted quarter to FIVE and the guests for their tastefully modest holiday party are set to arrive soon and without a properly browned, basted, SEASONED, T U R K E Y her day will, obviously, be absolutely ruined. 

“What’s-a matter darlin’?” Feeling like he knows his wife pretty well he grips the long, bulbous tool she has set out on the pop-out ledge between the kitchen and living room, “You lose something?

“I-” Ready to turn tail and give him hell she is immediately silenced, hands flying up to her lips to calm the swell of profanity she can feel bubbling up and, for the seventh time this afternoon, she wells up, sobbing into her palms.

Without a word to pass between them he relinquishes the turkey baster to the nearby countertop and rushes to embrace his wife, “You need some help or something, honey?”

“Oh, Nick, I-” She barely manages through hearty, walloping sobs.

“Shh-shh, baby it’s okay,” He can feel her trying to speak, chest heaving against his own and he drags a slow, soothing hand against the top of her partially shaven head. “Whatever it is,” He interrupts himself with his lips against the crest of her fuzzy, prickling scalp, “It don’t matter, not a lick.”

A few, brief moments of whimpering silence pass before he feels the need to say something to try and lift her spirits. “If you want I could always give that turkey a talkin’ to- a real what-for,” Although he can tell she is still upset, shoulders lightly shaking under the brace of his arms, “It’ll baste itself when I’m done, I swear it Kimmi!” The way she smacks at his chest has him chuckling, “What-” She laughs too, “No? Come on, now where’s the fun in that!”

Though she grips tightly to him, laughing as she tries to hold him back, he approaches the oven, “Now listen here, you!”

“Nick, no- don’t ope-” Kim laughs and sobs all at once; happy despite appearances.

Opening the oven door he looks the offender right in it’s asshole, “I heard you been upsettin’ my baby!” Almost too late he tacks on, “AND my wife!”

--

Being out in the world after seven years in a bunker is overtly surreal and, still, many months later Nick shelters his eyes from any particularly strong source of light. Foraging for food wasn’t the worst part of the apocalypse so far; Joseph God Damned Seed held tightly to that title still, somehow, after several nuclear bombs and one hell of an assassination attempt.

Notching an arrow from a set Kimi had helped him whittle down yesterday, Nick holds his breath and dispatches a silent prayer. He’d never been a bad shot with a firearm but? Hunting with a bow- depending on that skill (however meager or great) to feed not only yourself but your family, was an entire bucket of wriggling, foul worms he hated toting around. Releasing his taught lungs the arrow follows suit, hitting its target successfully.

Less than an hour later finds him roaring up the drive, a sidecar full of gutted venison jostling the spot-welded metal plating all the way to the hangar. Having developed a functional routine, Nick goes through the motions: hanging, skinning, cutting, and packing his spoils in the cleanest paper they’ve got. 

A sneaking, hushed gurgle of a giggle alerts him but he doesn’t stray from his task, preferring to be assumed as unaware. It doesn’t take long for his daughter, Carmina to stalk around him and he is careful about securing his tools, a sharpened knife safely snoozing on the opposite side of his patchwork butcher's table. 

When she grips on to the back of his legs he responds in a half startled, monstrous roar, “RaaaAAHH!!” And, stooping he bends, scooping her up, “Oh no buckeroo!” Hauling her onto his shoulder is becoming more difficult as she’s nearing nine years old but? He does it anyways, laughing along, “Swamp monster’s got you!”

Amidst their boisterousness he makes out a familiar tone: Kim. “Shh-shh,” His tickling fingers still, free hand poised and pointer drawn against his lips, “Quiet down, kiddo!” On the breath of a strong wind he manages to decipher what she’s yelling, “That’s your Mama callin’!” Although he isn’t mad his tone does harden into a stern reprimand, “You ain’t- you just left the house without saying nothin’ again?!”

“Daddy!” Carmina protests as he swings her down just-enough to be in view. Partially upside down she meets his gaze with a practiced pout, cheeks reddening.

“Nuh-uh, I won’t hear it- don’t give me that look, neither!” He frowns, “We’ve done talked about this, Carmina: you can’t just-” Setting her down on her own two feet, “It’s a dangerous world we are livin’ in young lady and,” Not one to entirely dampen his daughter- or anyone’s spirits he tries to rouse her lovely smile again, “As your Daddy,” Digits wriggle when he unexpectedly hikes her back up and tickles just-enough for a laugh, “It is my duty to make sure you apologize to your Mama, Ma’am.”

By the time he wrangles his squirming, squealing child out the rear door, Kim is on her way to the garage and he calls ahead into the partial darkness of the mostly-settled sun, “You lose something, darlin’?”

Although her eyes are firmly on the dark haired little girl, safe and secure over her father’s shoulder, Kim can not help herself: her nerves are fraught. “Carmina!” She hollers one last time, voice hovering between worried and a-woman-scorned.

“Sorry Mommy-”

“You could have-!” Kim wants nothing more than to elaborate and although they are mostly honest with Carmina about the state of the world, they have refrained from being gruesome or brutal about it. “Don’t do that ever again, do you hear me young lady?!”

“Makes you feel any better,” Nick nearly starts in the middle of a sentence, hurrying to interrupt the tense and uncomfortable situation, “I could always craft up a leash or somethin’-” The look his wife gives him has his lips curling when he sets his daughter down between them, “What? She’d never leave the yard again- it’s what you want!”

Despite the mixture of rage and relief ravaging every facet of her psyche Kim closes the distance between them, Carmina already a shadow haunting their crumbling dining room. “Thank you,” They both know it is more than about this moment. That she is thankful for his way with her and with their daughter; every stupid thing about him, really. “Thank you, Nick.”

“Anything for you baby,” He is smart enough to let the moment lie, a palm stroking softly against the round of her mostly shaven head. Swaying slightly in the cool, spring breeze he bends pressing his lips to the crest of her forehead. “So,” He says, unable to take it anymore, “No to that baby-chain, huh?”

Needing it too she angles her head back, looking him dead in the eye, “Just.” For effect she pauses, blowing stray strands from her vision, “Make sure she has access to fresh water.”

--

“Ok-okay,” Although there is a certain amount of set determination to his tone, Nick Rye falters- a scant pause in the doorway. “Let’s do this,” With a friend at his side he feels confident enough in their newly mustered camaraderie to push forward, through the side door and into the wide expanse of the living room.

“Carmina?” 

Just the sound of her voice is enough to do him in entirely and he stops, just-adjacent of the door to drink her in silence.

“Do you know where my wire cutters are?” She buzzes around, in a tizzy of a search, keeping herself busy- moving and, more importantly, distracted. It’s not that she doesn’t notice the movement out of the corner of her eye, or the painfully familiar phantom behind her, she’s just? Tired. Ready for a new hallucination to be tormented with- she’s been through it all before, more than enough times.

“Kim.”

This particular poltergeist has the audacity to manifest a nice, little, aural ditty for her as well and she turns away, deepening her tried and true remedy. “I know I put them here somewhere,” Although she can clearly see they are not on top of the stacked supply crates, Kim looks anyways, fingers brushing each item to try and root herself back into reality.

Nick takes pause to apologize to his companion with a look. He isn’t a fan of anything he could possibly deem as too-uncomfortable, or soul-bearing, but this? This moment he has ached for- longing and alone; afraid. Giving another apologetic look he manages, “Hold on.” 

“They were just here, where did I put them-” She cuts herself off with a dismissive and frustrated gesture, shoulders sagging in resolution. Staring down at the meagre, inconsequential items she can feel her eyes begin to burn. ‘Not now, not n o w,’ She tells herself, lips silent and clinging strongly to the image she portrays: hardened, brazen woman and an absolute warrior of a mother. Truly a force to be reckoned with.

Though he is generally a man that is embarrassed of any kind of physical displays of affection in public he reaches out, fingers gentle against her side; 

Kim grips him roughly at first, unsure of her suspected delusion- could it be Rush? He’d already given her quite the salacious look over the fireside last night and she’d turned away, offended and? Blushing. 

“You lose something, darlin’?”

Quick on the balls of her feet she turns, eyes searching a worn and weathered face she has prayed relentlessly for; a man she has begged every star in the sky to return safely.

His tongue fits against the basin of his mouth, voice an emotionally charged stutter, “Hey baby.” When she grips onto him he pulls her in as closely as possible, dying for the touch of her warmth.

“Hi,” She barely manages, expression crumbling under the weighty realization and arms cementing around him. Kim tries to repeat herself more certainly but her voice cracks, pronunciation silent.

“Hey, you know,” Not one to linger in his feelings he tries to make light of the situation even though he is very aware that is it not the time, “If you’re busy I can always come back-” With barely a second to breathe she regrips, tugging him in, “No?”

[angelguk]

the (not really a) prerequisite to the things i never told you fic! jk is drunk and stupid. oc is stubborn and stupid. but she takes care of jk because who will if not her. alternatively the one where jk asks you to hold his dick.  2k words of jk being stupid. warning drug usage in this 1

Jeongguk shouldn't look cute but he does. It's a disappointing realization on your part if you're being honest with yourself. The pits of his shirt are stained dark, damp with his sweat and his jeans look like they've gotten five new rips revealing his sun-kissed burly thighs. He reeks of alcohol, even from the distance you're standing at. Probably the remnants of the vile concoction you'd spied Jimin mixing in the kitchen. Someone should keep that boy away from liquor before he accidentally sends someone to the ICU. You have a sneaky suspicion that Jeongguk will be his first victim, evident from the way he staggers up the stairs to your apartment.

"Jeongguk?" You offer into the early morning air. You'd checked the time before you'd grabbed a sweater and headed out to find him. It was nearing five and the melodious chirping of the birds was starting to infiltrate the misty air.

He grunts in response, taking a precarious step upward. Which he immediately misses. You move fast enough down the stairs to grab at his shirt before he tips backwards and tumbles down to the tarmac road of your parking lot. You'd rather not drive to the hospital at this time in the morning.

"Bro, what the fuck? How drunk are you?" It's hard to hold up Jeongguk's weight when he's literally all just pure muscle. But he's leaning onto you anyway, eyes half-closed and a suspicious red mark on his face. You peer at it again when Jeongguk dumps his head into the hollow of your neck. It's a dick drawing. Of course.

"M not tha drunk." He muffles it into your skin, swaying violently on the edge of the staircase.

"Yeah, you're not," You scoff back, snaking your arms around his waist so you can support him. Jeongguk doesn't protest against your grip, melting smoothly against your body as you drag him up to your apartment door.

"Who dropped you?" You question. You'd left Jeongguk at the party and arrived home around at three in the morning. Only two precious hours of sleep before your best friend came knocking at your door.

"Taehyung," He murmurs before he burps right into neck.

"You fucking pig! Do that again and I'll leave you here." You threaten. You want to push his head away from you but you'll afraid that'll trigger the projectile vomit threatening to rip from his mouth.

"Sorry," He mumbles, nestling himself further into your frame. Which doesn't even work the way he wants it too because you're a dwarf and Jeongguk thinks he's six feet (he's 5'11'' but whatever strokes his massive ego).

"Are you gonna throw up?" You've reached your door now. It's unlocked, so you use your foot to kick it open.

"Don't think so." It's not reassuring in the slightest. But you hope he's telling the truth.

You make it to your bedroom easily enough. Dayoung isn’t home thank god. She's complained about Jeongguk's drunken sleepovers too many times. But at this point you were starting to feel the same - Jeongguk only ever showed up to your house when he was completely and utterly smashed beyond words.

"Why don't you ever sleep at your home?" You question. Jeongguk's flopped onto your bed and you're on the ground, untying his shoes because you don't want whatever he'd stepped on smearing on your floor.

"It's nice here," He replies, his words slurring together. "You're here. And you take care of me. I don't wanna be alone."

You pause at that, something ticking in your chest. The emotions bleed together until you can't distinguish irritation from longing. It's so stupid, how Jeongguk makes you feel. Some part of you wants to bop his nose and the other wants to punch his face. There's a thin line there - between love and hate.

The air is heavy with your silence, but you can't think of anything to fill it up with. But you suspect Jeongguk has already succumbed to sleep from the gentle rise and fall of his chest. There's a huge stain on his sweatshirt and you briefly consider taking it off and tossing it in your laundry pile. It wouldn't hurt to wash it up for him. But then you remember that he's probably wearing nothing underneath and you'd rather gouge your eyes out then have Jeongguk naked in your bed.

You toss his shoes into a corner and snatch some blankets for him to cuddle under. There was no way you could lift the sheets up from beneath him, what with Jeongguk T-posing onto your comforter. So blankets it was.

You've only settled in for less than a minute when Jeongguk grumbles awake, eyebrows furrowed in the cutest way possible.

"Um. Y/N?" He croaks out. "We have a problem."

"I swear to god if you puke on my bed I will castrate you, you son of-"

"I'm not going to puke on your bed! However," He turns his head in your direction. The long chestnut strands of his hair curling around his face, framing his features perfectly. Your fingers itch to push them back. "I might piss on it."

You kick him so hard that he tips onto the floor, groaning loudly. You feel bad at that moment when the thud of his ass hits your hardwood floors and echoes through your room.

"Shit! Sorry, I didn't mean too-"

"You did!"

"You're the one threatening to piss on my bed!"

"And kicking me off it is going to help? I'll just piss on your floor!"

"Jeongguk you have functioning legs! The bathroom is right there!"

There's a halt in your argument then. You peer over the edge of your bed to find Jeongguk curled into himself, face twisted like he's struggled to keep his bowls from erupting onto your floor. His eyes are wide open though, pupils dark.

"Jesus fuck what is wrong with you?"

"Eh. Might have smoked with the guys."

"Are you crossfaded? Jeongguk are you fucking stupid?"

"Maybe."

You're at a loss for words. You don't want to judge him for experimenting, but he was tripping balls on your bedroom floor, threatening to piss on it for god's sake. You didn't know college would make him this stupid.

"So what's stopping you from heading to the bathroom?" You ask instead, getting on the floor beside him. You would offer him water but that's like adding fuel to the fire.

"Honestly? My legs kind of, aren't there?"

"Jeongguk...Your legs are attached to your body."

"But like, I can't feel them. They're like...gone?"

You sigh heavily, hands reaching out to get him upright. Jeongguk winces when you do, the pressure on his bladder hurting. "How much did you smoke?"

"Not that much. I'm not tripping badly. I just really need to pee," Jeongguk insists.

"What? Do you need me to help you get to the bathroom, or?"

"That and," Jeongguk falls silent. You can see him considering his options before he opens his mouth again. "Could you maybe...hold my dick too?"

You blanch at that. Your brain refuses to process the statement. But then Jeongguk is poking your arm and you have to come to terms with reality.

"You want me to do what?"

"My aim is gonna be kind of shoddy and unless you want your walls covered in piss-"

"Jeongguk you are not five," You hiss.

"My motor skills are impaired babes. Just do this for me, please. I'll buy you breakfast tomorrow."

"You mean today." The sun is already starting to break through the dark blanket of the night and the birds are getting louder, but not loud enough to drown out the drumming of your blood in your head.

"Yeah, today. Whatever. Just help me out." He does that pout that turns you into putty. You want to say no, but you really can't. A part of you hates Jeongguk for how easily he manipulates you into doing what he wants.

"Fine. Get up." Jeongguk grins broadly at that, his brown eyes glittering. Your heart betrays you with how fast it beats. This isn't fair in the slightest.

In the bathroom, Jeongguk whines about how bright the lights are, but his lips clamp together when your hands land on the zipper of his jeans. You tug it down without much thought. He doesn't move however, a heaviness in the air that you can feel on your skin.

"Um. Take your dick out, you dimwit," You grumble. You turn your gaze away when he finally fumbles himself out his pants. It's so quiet in the bathroom. The air feels like it's closing in on you. The heat in your cheeks isn't helping either. You want this to be short. A memory you'll hopefully never remember. But even despite the dwindling liquor in your system, your mind feels very awake. You know this is going to be burned into your mind forever. It kind of makes you want to scream. The first time you'll ever hold Jeongguk's dick is to help him pee.

The absurdity of it all encourages a giggle from your throat. But then Jeongguk elbows you harshly.

"Give me your hand," he whispers. Jeongguk spots the smile on your face and frowns. Your smile immediately vanishes as you shove your hand into his palm.

"Here," You mumble, turning your eyes to the ceiling above you. Jeongguk takes it gingerly and a moment later you have to stop yourself from violently gagging when he wraps your fingers around his flaccid dick.

"God penises are gross," You mutter. Your voice bounces off the bathroom tiles, sounding much louder than you anticipated.

Jeongguk sighs in response, but then you feel his eyes on you. "You're going to have to look at it, you know."

"I'd rather not."

"Your aim is going to be worse than mine."

"I don't care."

"Okay," Jeongguk says it nonchalantly, but if his pee gets on your walls you will make him clean that shit up. You hope he knows that.

There's a trickle that hits the toilet water a beat later, and it takes everything in you to not throw up. You keep your hand steady as best as you can. Jeongguk tries to help you by leaning against the wall above the toilet, the angle a little bit better for this scenario but worse for you, because you're now plastered against his sweat covered back.

You count down the seconds until he's done, despising the little sighs Jeongguk lets out of his mouth. When the sound finally stops you breath, not realizing you've been holding your breath in the whole time.

"I'm finished." You move to drop his dick but Jeongguk's firm fingers stop you. "Gotta shake it."

"I've gotta do what?! You're fully capable of shaking your dick, you-" His fingers are wrapped around your own and he gives himself a couple of good shakes before tucking himself back into his pants. You stand there in shock the whole time, unable to piece together the situation happening to you. It’s only when Jeongguk pulls away from you, your palm feeling like it's been branded with the imprint of his flaccid dick, that you finally process what just happened.

He deserves the kick you give him. But instead of saying anything, Jeongguk just smiles, cradling his knee. At least his ears are tinged rouge, but that's nothing in comparison to the heat you feel burning on your face.

"I hate you." You finally say, moving to the sink to scrub your hands.

"You don't." Jeongguk retorts, ruffling his hair. You hate that he's right. "And uh, thank you."

"Don't even mention this to anyone. This never happened, "You reply. Your hands are red from how hard you're scrubbing them. "And wash your hands you pig."

He shuffles to the sink beside you, a small smile curling his lips upward. "You're awesome, you know that."

"I just held your dick for you while you pissed. Please shut up."

He quirks an eyebrow. "I thought we weren't meant to talk about that."

You kick him again. Hard.

[inviouswriting]

Critical Engagement AU- Repurposed.

Au - Critical Engagement. This is my own idea. I am also protective AF over this one. 

Warnings: Death and dismemberment. Mild assault, nothing happens to Kivera besides being touched. but the former warnings there. Read with discretion. Science experimentation, You know the good stuff.

“Are you sure she fell? Godsdamn you fools!, I needed her alive! She was the one target you were not suppose to let be killed!” A barely breathing body was lain before Misija’s feet, she glances down in annoyed somber. A very worthy opponent, took a misdirected fire. Kivera was grasping for threads to keep her grounded. She was dying.

“We are sorry, the behemoth was too much for her.” The Roe kneels to look over the fallen dancer, lifting the lock of hair that was caking in blood. A beautiful face, her eyes dimming in spirit.

“Well, we have use of her still if we manage to save her.” Curious one of the legions glances to Misija. 

“Pardon? You want us to save her?” This earns the roe looking up from her spot.

“I have use for her. Send her for repurposement. I need her alive. And have the scientists do something about her tail.” She reaches with a knife to cut the remainder of it off. It had only been holding on by a bit of fur and skin.

Kivera’s vision was darkening, the last glance she recalls is a hand touching the side of her face.

“All will be better in time. Go to sleep. I should be there when you wake up again.” At this Kivera closes her eyes, blissful darkness takes her, and all she knows is a pleasant warmth running through her body. Like she was swimming, her breathing hard at times, anytime she opened her eyes she was greeted to darkness.

Her memories seemed to fade from her, like they were blacking out. Or simply never happening to her. Kivera barely understood the reasoning behind it, maybe it was her mind’s way of dealing with the trauma she endured of her near death. 

A white light greets Kivera as she focuses her eyes. She felt like a long sleepless dream had lifted. Fog and blur in her eyes. She tries to move only to find a circular contraption around her torso. Neurolinks, she vaguely remembers Twintania had them around it. Her attempt to move was met with a shock through her system clear into her head. She shrinks down, and away from the edge of the device around her.

A familiar face comes into her view, Misija. Yet Kivera barely recognizes her, registering that this was a safe person. Kivera resigns herself to the surface of the table.

“There we are, see? I did tell you I would see you again when you awoke.” Kivera felt relief through her, she couldn’t raise a hand except to the outside of the ring. Her hands searching the device only to feel a hand over the top of hers.

“This stays on for now. It will come off soon.” Short and to the point. Misija didn’t need to over explain to someone who didn’t need long explanations. She knows the creature is not much for conversation anyway.

“We need you awake for this next process. It will be painful.” Kivera glances confused, that is till a few men in robes approached and help flip her to her stomach. The neurolink being hooked underneath the table. To keep the miqo further in place. 

It is here she registers the fact she is unclothed. A cloth placed across her hips just below where her tail use to be. Something that was missing when she awoke. A man kneels in front of Kivera at eye level. She flattens her ears at his looking closer to her face.

“Seems the eye transplant was a success. The basilisks are useful in one way at least.” He shines a light in Kivera’s eyes getting her to focus on it. He ignores her reaction of discomfort.

“Let’s prepare the wings then. This should run smooth, she is a prime candidate. Are you sure you want to oversee this?” The man turns to Misija.

“I will stay here. Make sure to turn up the restraint. She will fight it.” Misija grips the outreached hand. Feeling nails dig into her gloved hand at the incision made in Kivera’s back. They could not numb her as the nerve endings had to be right. So when the first resounding scream emits when they open up her back. They knew they found the areas they needed to work on. 

The scientists drown out the pained screams and sobs as they reshape her bone structure on her back. Cutting and fusing to the wings they were using. The ziz proving to be a good candidate for transplanting to miqo’te flesh.

While the team working on her back fuse the wings in place, testing their movement, she feels searing heat where her tail was. Kivera’s mind gone to shock and numb. All her focus was on the slightly bloodied glove her nails dug into.

She blacks out only poked or prodded when nerve endings were tested. Misija kneels in front of Kivera taking her hand from hers to grace the sides of the miqo’s face. Giving her something soothing to focus on over all the maddening pain she felt. 

“Just a little longer, and the first phase will be done. We’ve only gotten one wing.” After this Kivera’s mind goes blank, slipping back into that blissful warm darkness she felt. She was woken after some time to repeat the process on the other side of her back. Kivera’s voice screamed hoarse until she could only whisper or whimper from the sensation. She noticed Misija not there this time, she had stepped out for something.

It was some time after the last wing was put in place. She felt something rubbing her side. Fingers along her hip, fingertips. She registers them, they were male, they had callouses, from the work they do. Kivera is paralyzed from the neurolink around her ramped up to keep her in place.

She rouses further when that hand dips along her legs feeling smooth skin. She felt a disgusting anger pool within her. 

“Such a perfect being... it’s unfair... exquisite color, tis a shame she is being used this way, they should have just healed her enough for the masters.” Kivera understood those words, she grits her teeth hard enough for her fangs to dig into her tongue. She feels the hand move higher, and something in her awakens. The scientist touching her is met with a foot in the side of his head. 

Kivera howls as she strains against the neurolink but the pain it emitted was nothing like having her back torn open. Her spine left alone enough for her to move and pounce on the room.

She tears each member to shreds, leaving none of them to walk out alive. She catches a glimpse in a reflective surface the darkness she had been slipping in and out of is due to a mask on her face. Alien to her, but she left it on if it provided that darkness she found solace in.

The blood and gore she leaves around the room. Kivera sits in the middle of a single spot untouched. Curled in on herself.

“It... hurts.... it... hurts...” The sound of the alarms overhead did nothing to ease the headache Kivera had, making her curl in on herself more. The discarded remains of the team of five scattered. One impaled on a laser, the main instigator that touched her, was strewn up on a wall with a sword ran through and eviscerated from chest to groin. Two others were lucky and only had their heads removed, and the last one was impaled by her tail, she had yet to pull him off it.

Misija had only been gone for half an hour, when she returned, she did not expect the carnage of the room. She took in the image of the man who had assaulted Kivera, she knew him to not keep his hands to himself. She knew what triggered this massacre.

Misija steps slowly and quietly towards Kivera, being met with pained eyes glaring at her. Her eyes soften, even as Misija kneels in front of her to cup her face.

“You’re safe now.” Tone is firm yet Kivera finds it calming.

“Touched.... me...” She growls out under her breath. Misija followed her eyes to the man embedded on the wall.

“I apologize. I should not have left you. I won’t again.” A group of soldiers run in, and Misija sees their shocked expressions.

“Let’s get her back onto the table, summon the women team, we still have to close her back.” She commands them, and the few soldiers look at her confused.

“We should be killing her! She’s a monster.”

“Correct, she IS a monster now. They got what they earned for forgetting that. Now, get that team. We cannot lose her to infections or risk deformities.” The order sharper, they do not defy her. Misija does her own work to calm Kivera.

Kivera is helped back onto the table with the broken neurolink, Misija noting how it was split. The team that was summoned made their distaste for the room noted. Others cleaning up the room while the women work to close the popped incisions and look over Kivera for disruptions to the bone structure. Nothing ill done, they inspect her, no violations. Soon Kivera is greeted back to darkness.

When she awakens, she is dressed in clothes finally, her back ached as she felt the weight of the wings on it. Where her tail was, she moves the new one with ease, the chain clinking together as she looks at her containment sphere. A new neurolink fitted on her.

“You are awake. Good. It seems to be a success.” Kivera snaps her attention towards Misija, her tail perked up. She raises her hands as far as the neurolink lets her.

“No pain.” Kivera’s voice had a clip to it.

“Good. You will soon be ready for tests. A little longer to heal, and soon for motor skills. Can you move your wings?” Kivera is confused to the wings. She looks over her shoulder and sees dark black, they had been reangled to look angelic, yet dark feathers adorn them. 

Kivera focuses to move the new appendages but only raises them. She shakes her head.

“In time you’ll get to use them properly. Moving them is all I need. Transplant is a success. Your survival of the surgery was pending on it. You did well.” Kivera absorbs the praise. She feels a warmth in her again, then quietly walks around her enclosure. Close to the wall Misija is at. Her face, Kivera finds it less offending than others she has seen. 

Misija is so much taller than her, that when she steps into the cage, Kivera feels a sense wash over her and steps back.

“Afraid now? After killing five of our scientists? Though your hands are much more stained in blood than you would remember. I’m not to be feared here, just trusted.” Kivera remembers the room, and turns her head with a scoff.

“Not apologizing.” She says sharp, her eyes lower and her irises flash red.

“Not making you. You did nothing wrong.” Misija closes the gap between them, she notes how the new neurolink isn’t needed in the enclosure. She removes it off Kivera, knowing she won’t attack her now.

Kivera feels relief wash through her. Not being shocked every second by the device. 

“See? I am to be trusted. I won’t touch you like they did.” Kivera keeps her spot in the middle, but keeps her eyes on Misija. Her demeanor relaxed, but guard held up. Even the tail was poised at her hip.

“Why are you nice to me?” Kivera asks, stepping back as the roe steps forward.

“Why? I will tell you at a later time. When I’ve earned your trust more.” Kivera is bought with that for now, till she gives her trust. Her tail rests at her leg. An arm offered to her to raise her up to eye level.

“What are you doing?” Kivera flattens her ears, Misija takes a look at her face looking for imperfections or scars from the incident. 

“Looking at your eyes.” Kivera narrows them.

“Liar.” Misija fully looks at her eyes now. Seeing the shift in color.

“I am checking for marks that should have healed by now. Sharp one aren’t you. How did you know I lied?”

“Your eyes were not on mine.” 

“And observant. You’ll be good soon then.” She starts to lower her down, the aura around Kivera shifts with her as the neurolink is raised over her head.

“Don’t want it!” She shrinks back.

“It has to go back on. It will come off again next time I visit. I can’t have you killing any more of my scientists.”

“They’ll keep their hands off then.”

“They’re all women, so yes.”

“No men?”

“Safer for them, and you. The women here know the aftermath you left. They will not approach you without my presence.” This quells Kivera, and she allows the device put back in place. To her annoyance, she raises a hand to her face to touch it. 

“Ah, one more thing before I leave you here.” Misija pulls out a few things, paint for eyes and lips. Kivera looks at it then to Misija. She sees her dust on a purple color.

“Close your eyes.” Kivera does, and she wrinkles her nose at the smell of the paint close to her, touching over her eyes on the lids at the corners. She feels the same with her lips. 

“There, the color suits you. I knew purple would fit nicely.” Kivera opens her eyes and is greeted close to Misija’s face. A glimmer of a smirk on her face as she tilts Kivera’s to the side to admire her. She was so far from her former self it admired her the resilience of her very spirit seemed to defy death itself. 

She hopes from here out, Kivera proves to be a promising weapon, while able to unlock the memories still. She needs her alive, and what better way to achieve her own goal than having the famed being on their side.  Misija helps lift her up again, letting the soft blue and green light shine on her adding to her unique features. 

“All good now? I have work to do, I shall visit you soon.” Misija lets the being linger on her arm raising her up off her feet a good two or three. Kivera has no problem holding on and lowers her eyes at being left alone again.

“You will visit again.” She repeats the words back.

“Yes, I will be bringing you food. Your first meal after all that intravenous stuff.” Kivera perks up more at the idea of real food. Misija notes the change in her expression.

“Hmm?” 

“What is this feeling?” Kivera feels something foreign to her, a sensation through her like that blissful darkness.

“What is it that you feel?” Misija humors herself, keeping her raised.

“Something warm. Yet I am not asleep.” Kivera rests a hand to her chest.

“You are happy. You are feeling happiness.” Misija is astonished that the experiments had wiped her recognition of sensations and their meanings.

“Happy?” Kivera tilts her head to the side.

“A good feeling. Means there is no lasting effects that damaged your psyche, like the others.” Misija muses aloud.

“Others?” Kivera follows Misija’s eyes as she tilts her head admiring the confused expressions. Like someone who has never known happiness in her life.

“Not important. I must be going now, I keep my word, I’ll be back. Promise.” Kivera is lowered to the ground afterwards and to resume her time wandering in the small confines of the enclosure. She sees Misija leave and after her leave the door to the cage is back up.

Kivera leans against one of the walls finding a comfortable spot as the gravity in her sphere is turned off to let her be suspended. She curls to herself as she thinks the words over.

“I was happy.”

[philthepegacornfics]

Limits Part 3

Sam Wilson x Sibling!Reader, Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 3k

A/N: This chapter doesn’t have a lot of the mentioned dynamics. But, it’s still a chapter that I wrote and felt like keeping in. We’ll eventually get the to Spider-Man x Reader, lol.

Trigger Warnings: Potential swearing (I don’t remember), Physical Therapy

Part 1  Part 2 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How was school?” Tony asked as he walked into the room. The doctor had just finished removing my casts.

“It was good!” I beamed. “I made a new friend. Crazily enough, we have all the same classes together. Our teachers asked him to help catch me up in our classes, since I missed so much.”

Tony just nodded as he moved wordlessly, using body measuring tape to measure my left leg.

“Like I told Peter, it’s like some higher power wanted us to meet,” I continued.

He paused and looked up at me, giving me a smirk. He then continued to measure my right leg. “His name is Peter, then.”

“Yeah, that’s his name.”

“Is he cute?”

Heat rushed to my cheeks as I changed the topic, “What’re you doing?”

“I’m going to take that as a yes,” he smirked again. “I made you a present, I’m just seeing if it’s going to fit.”

“You got me a gift?!”

“I made you a gift. There’s a difference. You lost more muscle mass than I had anticipated. Give me no more than an hour to make the adjustments.”

“Thank you so much Tony!”

“Anything for our little Avatar,” he ruffled my hair.

I let out an annoyed groan, “Why do people keep doing that?”

“Because you’re adorable,” he deadpanned before walking out of the room.

Moments after he walked out of the room, a woman, who I assumed was my physical therapist, walked in. She had long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. She carried in her hands a green elastic band and a red solo cup.

“Good afternoon (Y/n), how’re you doing today?” she asked, setting the solo cup and green band on the floor next to the table.

“I’m doing good. How are you?” I looked down into the cup. It was full of marbles. 

“Good,” she answered as I gave her a curious look about the marbles. She laughed, “You’ll see what those are for in a minute.”

“Oh, okay.”

“I’m Doctor Webb, by the way. But you can call me Stephanie.” She offered me her hand.

I took it in mine and gave it a firm shake, “Nice to meet you, Stephanie.”

“So, how are your legs feeling?” she asked, pulling her hand away.

“They definitely don’t hurt anymore. I haven’t taken any pain medicine in awhile.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Though I will warn you now that more than likely they’ll ache again as we get into therapy. Your muscles haven’t been used in awhile, so it’s a matter of rebuilding them. Let me know if you need to rest at any point. We do want to push, but not too much. Okay?”

I nodded my head in understanding.

“Great! First I’m going to test your range of motion and stretch you out.”

She started with my left leg. First bending and straightening out my leg. Then moving to my foot. Seeing how far I could move it in each direction. With each direction it was pointed, she’d hold it for thirty seconds before moving on. Once done with that, she repeated the process on my right leg.

“Okay, now can you flex your feet for me? Bring your toes towards yourself,” she instructed when she finished.

I nodded again, and tried to do as she asked. However, my feet didn’t move. I furrowed my eyebrows and tried concentrating. Again, they didn’t move.

“I-I can’t,” I stuttered. Panic started to spread through my chest. “Why can’t I move them?”

Stephanie sighed, “It’s okay, (Y/n). To explain it in terms you’d understand; since it’s been so long since you’ve used your legs, your brain has lost a connection to them. You just have to relearn your motor skills.”

“O-oh.”

“Try again. It’ll take a second, but I know you can do it.”

I took a deep breath and focused on moving my feet again. My leg muscles twitched throughout my legs.  After a few moments my feet started to move up towards me. I got them half way and let them fall back to their natural point. I tried again and was able to flex them with ease.

I released the breath I was holding. Stephanie let out a small chuckle from watching me point and flex my feet over and over again. I didn’t want to stop moving them, afraid that I wouldn’t be able to do so again.

“Very good!” she praised me. 

I couldn’t help but beam up at her.

“Now we’re going to use this,” she said while bending down to grab the green elastic band. “We’re going to use it to add some resistance to your movements, so you have to use your muscles more.”

With my left foot, she slid the band over the top and had me pull my toes towards me ten times. She rotated it so I then had to point my toes ten times. Next she had me move my foot inward ten times. And finally outward ten times.

We continued the process with my right foot. When we were done, I could feel myself getting a small headache. A dull one that ached all over.

Stephanie then had me dangle my legs over the side of the examination table. She slid the band under my calf and had me bend my knee to pull against it. After ten reps, we did it the opposite direction. Having me kick out and extend my knee ten times. Next was my other leg. Ten times pulling in, ten times kicking out.

By the time we were done, I was slightly panting and my headache was stronger. I could feel blood pulsing throughout my legs.

“How’re you doing, (Y/n)?” Stephanie asked.

I waited a moment to catch my breath before answering, “I have a headache. Other than that I’m fine. It feels good to move my legs.”

She gave me a small frown, “We can be done for today. You’re already doing better than I expected.”

I shook my head, “No, I want to keep going.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yup, just pop some ibuprofen in me, and I’ll be good as new.”

“Alright. Let’s get you shifted to a chair. You can either use mine or your wheelchair.”

“My wheelchair would be easier.”

Stephanie helped me lower myself from the examination bed. When I was settled, she grabbed the red solo cup and dumped the marbles out on the floor in front of me. She set the now empty cup next to my right foot.

I gave her a curious look and waited for her explanation. 

“We’re now going to work on your fine motor skills,” she started. “I’m going to have you pick up each marble with your toes and drop them in this cup.”

I nodded. The task itself was easy enough. I moved to get started. Spreading my toes the best I could before trying to curl them around a blue marble. I was able to lift the marble about two inches above the ground before it fell.

I let out a huff of breath and tried again. This time I couldn’t get my toes to grab the marble. I accidentally kicked it and it rolled across the floor to where I couldn’t reach it. Stephanie moved to grab the marble and added it back to the pile of marbles on the floor. Her actions made me acutely aware that she was watching me.

I swallowed thickly before trying again, only to fail another time. I let out a frustrated sigh. Taking a few deep breaths, I tried one more time. My toes curled around a red marble. I lifted my leg, hovered over the cup, and dropped it in.

The next marble was easier to get into the cup, but still took awhile.

“I’m going to go get you some ibuprofen that you asked for earlier. Keep going. If you finish before I get back, just dump the marbles again and work on your other leg,” Stephanie said before exiting the room.

I continued working after she left. It took a long time but I finally got half way through. Feeling a little dizzy and tired, I decided to take a small break.

Leaning back in my wheelchair, I let my mind wander. It started off with school and how much homework I have to catch up on. Then I thought about how tutoring was going to help. I then thought about the shy dork that is Peter. And finally Tony’s question about Peter rang through my brain. “Is he cute?”

I blushed again at the question. Peter was undeniably attractive. The way he had hair styled back to try and keep it out of his face left me wanting to mess it up. To run my fingers through it. How every time he blushed, it stood out against his pale skin. Making his barely visible freckles stand out. I liked his deep brown eyes and his messed up eyebrow. 

And he was physically fit. I could tell during gym class. During that class, I had nothing to do as I sat on the sidelines. I watched everyone exercise, but my eyes kept wandering back to Peter. He was doing sit ups, talking to Ned who held his feet down. It was obvious that the physical exercise was no strain for Peter. I couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like shirtless.

The door suddenly opened, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“There you are, Stephanie! I was starting to get worried,” I said while putting my hands on my cheeks, trying to cool down the burning sensation. 

“Guess again,” Tony said while walking through the door. He was trying to hide something behind him. From what I could see, I could tell that it was tall and black.

“Tony!” I cheered before pausing for a moment. “Where’s Stephanie?”

“I ran into Dr. Webb in the hall. I told her that she could go home and I’d make sure that you finish up your exercises. Also, I got something for ya,” he said while tossing a small white bottle out of his left hand at me.

I leaned forward and tried to catch it, but my hands ended up smacking it away. The bottle landed on the floor. Rattling came from the contents from inside.

“You have got to work on your catching game,” he sighed. He walked further into the room, stepping over the marbles, and placed the long black item onto the examination bed. He then moved to pick up the bottle off of the ground and handed it to me. I rotated the bottle in my hands. Reading the label that says, “Ibuprofen.”

“Thank you!” I beamed up at him, “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” he waved a dismissive hand before turning back to the object he laid on the bed. “Just wait until you try these on.”

“What is it?” I asked while screwing off the lid to the ibuprofen, taking out the correct dosage for my body weight.

“I haven’t worked out a name for them yet.” A weak hiss came from the object before Tony separated it into two. “They’re basically braces for your legs, but better.”

“Better how?” I put the bottle in my lap as Tony looked back at me. Moving my right index finger in a circular motion, I started drawing the moisture in the air together to form a small ball of water. I opened my mouth wide, popping the medicine, and moving the water into my mouth. I swallowed before looking at Tony, whose eyes were wide in surprise.

“Since when have you been able to pull water out of thin air?” he wondered.

A small smirk played at the corner of my mouth. “I’ve been practicing.”

“Clearly.” He shakes his head before he continues speaking, “Anyways, they’re better because I’m using advanced nanobots and healing technology. It’s a little similar to the brace that I made for Rhodey”

“Well, let’s try them on,” I motioned to my legs.

Tony put one of the halves and set it back down on the table. He rotated the brace so the half that was connected to the other was facing me. Upon closer look, I could see that it was hollow. A place for me to squeeze my leg in.

“It’s not very pretty now, but it will move and adjust to your leg once we get it on,” he warned.

“If it’ll adjust to my leg, why did you take my leg measurements earlier?”

“I needed them for this initial size. If it was too small, you wouldn’t be able to get your leg in for it to adjust. If it was too big, then it wouldn’t be able to read that your leg is there,” he explained.

I nodded my head in understanding.

Tony motioned for me to lift my leg up. I obliged and extended my right leg out. He, with my help, slid the brace on to my leg. It was a snug fit, but not too tight. After a moment, the nanobots came to life. They moved over my leg to form bars down either side of my leg. As well as creating four straps across my leg connecting them. Two across my thigh and two across my shin around behind my calf.

I bent and extended my leg a couple of times to get a feel for it. It moved with ease and was surprisingly light. It was as if it wasn’t there. We then repeated the process on my other leg.

A warmth spread through both my legs slowly. It felt as if I had a bunch of extra energy in them, and was ready to go for a run.

“What do you think?” Tony asked.

“They’re a lot lighter than I thought they’d be. And I think they’re working already. My legs feel warm and cozy, while having extra energy at the same time.”

“That’s good,” Tony then pointed towards the marbles. “Finish your exercises.”

I nodded and followed his instructions. Moving a lot quicker than I was able to earlier, I finished putting the marbles in the cup. I dumped them back out and started on the other leg.

“This is so much easier now!” I giggled with excitement.

Tony leaned against the wall and watched me.

“Ready to try standing up?” he asked once I finished.

My eyes widened and my jaw fell slack. “Already?

“If you think you’re up to it,” a smirk played on his features.

“You know I’m up for anything,” I scoffed at him.

“I know,” he said, offering me his arm.

I planted both my feet on the ground. Using both my hands to grab onto his arm to pull myself up. He shifted his weight and pulled me up faster than I had planned. I stumbled a little, but Tony helped catch me. After making sure I had my balance, he slowly pulled away from me.

The bottom of my feet tingled as my legs got warmer. Despite my legs lightly protesting, I couldn’t help but smile. It felt so good to be standing up for once. Something that used to be such a simple task, made me now feel like I was conquering the world.

“Look at me! I’m standing!” I squealed.

Tony chuckled softly. He took a step back towards me, again offering his arm. “Do you want to try walking around?”

“Yes!”

I put both of my hands onto his arms to help my balance. Shifting my weight back and forth, I decided to start with taking a step with my right leg. I put some weight on Tony as I moved my right hip upward to lift my foot off the ground. I bent my knee to get it further off of the ground before kicking it back out. My movements felt robotic and choppy.

I placed my foot on the ground, putting weight on it at the same time. Causing my legs to be too spread apart for me to be able to take another step without falling over. 

My eyes widened in fear of falling. I looked up at Tony desperately. He moved his free hand to my shoulder to help balance me further.

“Shift your weight back and forth, with each shift, bring your legs closer together,” he instructed.

I did as he said and in no time, my legs were close together again. My right foot was still ahead of my left, but with only an inch between them instead of a huge gap. My legs were starting to burn.

I let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I was starting to panic.”

“Let’s just start out with a shuffle.”

I nodded my head in agreement and he removed his hand that was holding my shoulder. I shifted my weight to my right foot and dragged my left foot forward. When it was a little in front of my right foot, I shifted my weight to it and dragged my right foot forward. I repeated the motions over and over. Tony being very patient with me and taking a step forward only when I’d finally start to pass him.

We got halfway across the room. My heart was racing and I was panting, completely out of breath. My legs felt like they were on fire. I couldn’t ignore them anymore.

“Tony,” I said between breaths.

“What’s up, kid?”

I pointed behind me in the general direction of my wheelchair. “I need to sit down.”

“Are you okay to stand on your own for two seconds while I grab your seat?”

Planting my feet shoulder width apart, I let go of his arm and gave it a small push. The movement caused me to wobble a bit. His hands shot out, getting ready to catch me. But, I was able to regain my balance on my own.

Quickly he grabbed my wheelchair and moved it behind me. I placed my hands on the armrests and lowered myself down onto it. As soon as my weight was lifted off my feet, my legs relaxed. Dulling some of the pain that’s spread throughout them.

Tony wordlessly started pushing me out of the room and down the hall.

“Where are we going?” I asked once my breath caught up to me.

“I’m taking you to your room. I think that’s enough therapy today.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @galcalirwin @frontmanash @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @aneclecticwriter

[redwritinghood]

for a lamen writing prompt maybe something like enenmy secret agents or assassins

YES. ngl though kinda gets soft rather than action/adventure-y 

—

A shadow fell over Damen’s desk and he knew he was about to get bad news. Nikandros never loomed behind him to ask what bar they were going to after work.

“What’s up?” Damen turned in his chair and looked up at Nik’s dark expression.

“You’re being taken off field duty,” he said and folded his arms, guarding against Damen’s objections.

“Why?” Damen asked standing.

“Intel has discovered a hit was put out on you and an assassin has already accepted the job.”

“That doesn’t mean I should be taken off field duty,” Damen said.

“Yes,” Nik emphasized his words, “it does.”

“That’s what the person who put the hit out wants. I’m obviously on to something with my case. Besides, I have to go outside at some point, you can’t keep me locked away in the building.”

Nikandros stood firm in his decision, staring Damen down with no chance of relenting.

“Nik—” Damen began.

“Don’t even start.”

“Just let me—”

“No. Desk duty.” Nik ended the conversation by marching away.

The threat was bothersome but Damen determinedly went about his daily schedule. Only under scrutiny did he realize how predictable his routine was. Particularly the mornings. After the gym, he went to the same cafe and made an excellent target when he sat outside to eat his breakfast. There were even tall buildings across the street, an ideal place for a sniper to nest and take him out. This was where Damen would set his trap.

“Damn it, Damen, you aren’t even trying to be careful.” Nikandros’s shadow loomed over Damen’s desk and he turned in his chair to look up at the grumpy expression.

“You said desk duty and I’ve been here, at my desk, for over a week.”

“That doesn’t matter if you’re just going to walk around the city unprotected.” 

“Exactly,” Damen agreed, “I’m more likely to be shot outside of work, so you should probably just let me back on my case.”

For a moment, Nikandros was speechless. “You’re unbelievable. I’ll start having you escorted to and from work in an armored vehicle if that’s what it takes.”

“No thanks, I’ll handle this myself,” Damen said.

“Handle what yourself?” Nikandros asked. His face was darkening to an unhealthy color.

“My assassin,” Damen said. Nikandros opened his mouth then closed it, a vein prominent on his forehead. Damen had mercy, and said, “As in I think after Friday I’ll be working from home.”

Nikandros recovered enough to say, “Fine,” before he stormed off.

Damen had been certain to follow his same routine for a week, most importantly taking his breakfast outside the cafe. Everything else he let vary to be certain the assassin considered the cafe was the best place to strike. Now he just had to force the date and time. Only two days until Friday and Damen continued his morning routine, but was careful when he visited the cafe. One morning he’d been purposefully late so his breakfast went with him to the office, the next day he was fortunate the forecast had been reliable and ate inside to avoid the rain. 

His assassin had to know Friday would be their last chance. The night before, Damen prepared, packing his gym bag differently than normal. His body thrummed with nervous energy. He was excited.

At the cafe, Damen had to plan his moves carefully. His pulse was loud in his ears as he stepped outside claiming his usual table. After setting his breakfast down he re-entered the building hoping it appeared like he planned on returning to his meal and the sniper would wait. Instead, Damen went out the back, pulling his hood over his head he bolted across the street far enough from the cafe to go unnoticed. The schematics for the buildings had been obtained through work and he had used them to memorize the quickest path to the place a sniper would likely set up camp.

The gun came out of the shoulder holster when he was close to where he predicted the sniper would be. The top two floors were empty, closed off for construction until someone bought the office space. The area was plywood walls, with multiple trip hazards, and plastic flapping in the breeze. It was exactly where a movie or tv show would depict a waiting assassin. 

He turned the corner and aimed the handgun at nothing. The space was empty. Damen could barely hear over his heartbeat. His stomach had dropped with disappointment. Carefully he approached one of the open windows where the hot summer air blew in uninhibited. The cafe was easily visible, he could even see a pigeon attacking his breakfast sandwich. This was the best vantage point for a sniper. 

Unless. 

Unless the person he was looking for never did the expected. Damen thought quickly. Where would there be another vantage point? 

There was another spot. The adjacent building had its large industrial AC units on the roof. They would hide a person easily, but the line of sight would be a different angle. Even an experienced marksman would have some difficulty lining up the shot. 

It was loud. The flat rooftop vibrated. The large units and giant exhaust pipes created a maze. Gun still in hand, he approached the probable sniper spot. There wasn’t a clear view, he couldn’t tell if an assassin waited only a few feet away. 

A sharp beam of sunlight reflected into his eyes. He threw up a hand seeing a singular bright spot near the ledge. It was a small mirror. 

Damen’s heart was in his throat. The assassin had been able to see him coming. He turned in time. A figure dressed entirely in black rolled out from behind a vent pipe, rifle braced to the shoulder. Damen dove for cover barely fitting between the metal units. The assassin was swift and nimble, leaping onto the platform above Damen. He grabbed the attacker’s ankle and the body hit with a metallic hollow thump. On his back, he aimed the rifle at Damen’s face. Only a foot away, Damen was able to catch the barrel and redirect it away from his body. Black boots kicked off Damen’s chest, he slid backward off the unit and ripped the rifle from Damen’s grasp. 

There was a glimpse of the figure as the assassin disappeared into another row. Smaller than Damen, he hid easily. Whereas Damen had to crouch down to keep from being seen. The motors from the ACs masked most sounds and unable to rely on sound or vision, Damen had to trust his instincts. 

Just a flash of black was seen from his peripheral, but it gave him enough time to turn and block an assault. Too close to use the rifle like a gun, the assassin had swung it as a club. The blow had landed on Damen’s forearm. It stung but he reached out to catch the black figure. He would undoubtedly have the upper hand in wrestling or hand-to-hand combat. 

His arm was kicked aside, the movement grounded in a martial arts stance. Damen squared-off, a balanced position. The assassin’s face was hidden beneath a black hood so Damen wouldn’t be able to read the expressions and interpret the next move. It came with speed and agility, using the rifle like a bo staff. Damen had to block both the gun and another kick. He tried to snatch the rifle but still held his own gun and only had the one free hand. The assassin was skilled, more acrobatic, using the varying heights of the units to his advantage. It made Damen have to evade spinning kicks at head height. 

It was very impressive. The ninja-like skill of the assassin was a contrast to Damen’s sturdy defense. The only advantage was speed, there wasn’t enough power to do serious harm, and Damen was mostly concerned with the rifle. The enemy was smart, knowing to stay out of reach and use the gun like two separate weapons. It had to be blocked when used as a club and avoided when the barrel pointed at him. All of this was done while fending off the distracting barrage of attacks. 

Damen moved backward, careful of tripping hazards, and eventually stepped into a clearing where he thought he would have the advantage. Damen took the offensive, also experienced in martial arts. His opponent was skilled even without the help of the varying terrain. He moved deftly, skirting the edge of Damen’s reach. He caught the rifle and only had the one hand to hold on with. The assassin tried turning the gun to dislodge Damen’s grip, but he held on. Quickly, he pushed forward, walking the assassin back into a corner, and trapped him against the brick. Damen’s body held him there, unable to escape, the rifle a hard line between them. 

Damen ripped off the hood. Blond hair spilled out into piercing blue eyes. The pale face flushed from exertion. Their bodies pressed together, Damen could feel him trying to catch his breath.

A golden brow lifted, “You’re getting slow.”

“You put a hit out on me?” Damen asked.

“Now you look more important. How many agents can boast an assassination attempt?”

“Laurent,” Damen groaned.

“If I were actually here to kill you, you’d be dead. I know I’m the best but you should be more careful.”

“I was fairly certain it was you.”

“And what if it wasn’t? What were you going to do with that unloaded pistol?”

“You’re carrying around a paintball gun.” Damen released the rifle and so did Laurent. It fell and there were only clothes between them. “There’s a clip in my pocket,” Damen stated.

“That’s something I suppose. Now about your schedule—”

“I know,” Damen said, “I’ll work on that. What else am I doing wrong?”

“You haven’t kissed me yet,” Laurent said, blue eyes bright.

The handgun clattered to the ground. Damen pulled him close with a strong grip on the slim waist. Laurent’s lips parted and eyelashes dipped in anticipation of the kiss. Damen stroked a thumb along his jaw, briefly cementing the moment in his mind before he leaned in to take Laurent’s mouth. Laurent went to his toes, hands traveled up Damen’s arms to circle his neck and bring him closer. 

There was an urgency. A need. It had been too long. Damen couldn’t seem to hold Laurent close enough. He pressed him back into the wall and lifted him with hands beneath his thighs, bouncing him once for a steadier hold. Laurent assisted by wrapping legs around his waist. Damen reclaimed his mouth and Laurent made a soft sound, body arching into Damen’s.  

“I’ve missed you,” Damen breathed, his face turned into the slender neck. 

Laurent’s hands tangled in his hair, the grip almost painful with his fierce hold. “Fuck me,” he said.

“Here? On a rooftop?”

“Yes.”

“We can go to the apartment—”

“Now,” Laurent said, desperation roughening his voice.

“What about—”

Laurent moved his hips, just so, and the air escaped Damen. Leaning in with mouth against his ear he said, “I’ve already prepared.”

Damen nearly fell over. “Okay,” he choked.

—

As an internationally wanted assassin and government secret agent, they tried to not be seen together. Damen took a cab to the apartment. Laurent got there somehow. He was climbing through the window as Damen unlocked the door.

“Perhaps we should hire a maid.” Laurent swiped his fingers across the dusty desk. The apartment was only used when they were both in town, which wasn’t often, it could be a financial drain but was a more reliable hiding place than a hotel.

“Hey, get over here,” Damen said, throwing the blankets off the bed. Laurent complied, smiling as Damen pulled him down into the sheets. It was clumsy at first, with the same rushed need as the rooftop, but this time clothes were coming off. Laurent’s outfit was convoluted and frustrating like always.

“Do you think you’re Batman or something?” Damen grumbled after struggling with knee and elbow pads only to discover wrist sheaths complete with six-inch blades.

“I’d probably look good in a cape,” Laurent said, watching with amusement as Damen fought the buckles and straps. 

There was a pile of weapons when they were finished. Damen knew they would have to sort through them later. It would be very hard to explain how his government-issued firearms had ended up in the hands of an assassin.

—

“I missed you too.” Laurent languidly rolled onto his back, his voice thick with satisfaction.

“How long are you staying?” Damen asked, moving to kiss his bare shoulder.

“I have a plane tomorrow night.”

“That’s not long enough,” Damen groaned, dropping his head into Laurent’s neck.

“I know,” Laurent said, stroking Damen’s hair. “We have Paris in two months.”

“You’re not going to forget?”

“I didn’t forget about New York, I couldn’t make it and I’ve apologized a hundred times. Besides this is our anniversary.” Laurent lifted his hand into the sunlight filtering in through the window. He wore the gold woven band shaped to look like a laurel wreath. Damen's matching ring was worn on a chain around his neck. He wished he could wear it on his hand but no one knew he was married. 

“What’s the gift for five years?” Damen asked.

“Wood,” Laurent replied, still admiring his ring.

“I have that now,” Damen said, rolling over on top of him. 

Laurent snorted, unamused, “While I envy your stamina, you are lacking in wit.” He sat up pushing Damen off. “I need food.”

Once dinner was ordered and delivered, Laurent explained the new pink scar on his bicep and told of his recent adventure in Iceland. Damen suspected he downplayed the violence and danger.

“Where are you going after this?” Damen had settled in behind Laurent, hugging him to his chest face resting against the back of the blond head.

“Home. Briefly.”

“I haven’t been to France since—”

“Since you arrested me?”

“I was going to say since we met,” Damen said. “I didn’t technically arrest you.”

“No, you just cuffed me to a bed.”

“You were being a pain in the ass,” Damen laughed, absently running his knuckles along the naked pale thigh. 

Five years ago, Damen had been given the task of gathering evidence against a corrupt politician, only to constantly have Laurent in his way, even appearing as a waiter at a fundraising event. Threats of incarceration hadn’t frightened him away. At the time if Damen had known who Laurent really was he wouldn’t have simply used threats, but instead thought he was a lackey being used to distract Damen from his case. At the party, the mini-feud had escalated to Damen tying Laurent to a bed, which had escalated to something else. Laurent then shared a partial truth that the corrupt politician was his uncle and he was after him for personal vengeance. A tentative partnership had been formed and from there the chaos had only escalated, ending in a marriage.

For the agency, it was still an open case, and for Laurent, it was his main mission. He had even claimed he would retire afterward and made a joke about becoming a trophy wife. Damen wasn’t optimistic, Laurent liked his adventures and he secretly worried he couldn’t keep him entertained. 

They had fallen into a comfortable silence. While Damen petted Laurent, he removed the chain from Damen’s neck and slipped the ring onto his finger where it belonged. Laurent held his hand next to Damen’s comparing the bands while on the appropriate finger. Endeared by the quiet reverie, Damen held him a little closer.

Laurent turned in his arms, kneeling, face above Damen’s. The cool hands held his face, thumb caressing cheekbones. He looked into Damen’s face the same way he had admired the rings together. Gently he pressed a kiss to Damen’s forehead. The tenderness and adoration of it made Damen’s heart ache.

“I love you,” Laurent said it in his language before he kissed him.

Neither wanted to sleep when they’re time together was so brief, but it went by too quickly anyway and Laurent left the next evening.

—

Damen was sure he remembered there being a newspaper stand near the Eiffel Tower. When he found it, he bought the day's paper and flipped to the story he wanted. A few weeks ago it had been on the front page around the continent. Plane crash over the Meditteranean. Twenty-one dead, thirty-four survivors, six missing. Pictures of the six had made it into the media. After a time, three had been found alive, one dead, with two still missing. The images were still in circulation and Damen found them on page seven. He put a finger over the blond head printed in black and white. 

The face next to Laurent’s was also recognizable. It had been over five years now but Damen knew the flat-nose face of Govart, one of the uncle’s henchmen. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Two months ago, 4am, and wrapped in Damen’s arms Laurent had told him it was almost over, that he was close to finding his vengeance.

When the news first came out and Damen had seen the headline and photo of Laurent on the front page he had quit his job. Laurent was alive. Damen was certain and he would find him.

[fmdsooaharchive]

CHO SOOAH — AESTHETIC #28 & HEADCANON #15 (NEW HOBBIES)

SUMMARY: in which we have a look over the new things sooah is interested in these days. ngl, drums are here just because i think people who play the drums look very hot and sooah is my musically talented muse and she deserves that. i know nothing about the instrument though, so this is just basic impressions of how she’s feeling like by developing new skills. WC: 506

Since coming back from Jeju and the end of Hyori’s Homestay, Sooah had tried to do her stretches and basic yoga positions she had learned while working there. Sure, she didn’t have that much time to memorize everything she had done there and if she was doing the right things with her arms and legs, but she’s certainly trying to put into action what she had done while in the show. She had work to do there, with the guests and the food, but she also woke up at four in the morning one day to go to the yoga class with Hyori, and that was very good for her in the end. It’s impressive what a little bit of exercise can do with someone’s mood and disposition. That’s why Sooah is trying to keep up with the good habit, even if just for 15 minutes before she heads out to some schedules or when she comes back home and her muscles feel like they might as well just kill her by how stiff they got during the day.

Something she regrets is not finding a studio as soon as she got back from Jeju. Not that she lost the inspiration to begin something new, it’s just that when you’re already on that exciting wave, it’s easier to make these kinds of decisions. In this case, Sooah took a little too long, and now she’s overthinking. It doesn’t mean she can’t look up videos online and do the same things. But she wants to get back to classes with a proper instructor and everything soon.

Another thing that she became interested in the past month and has nothing to do with filming a TV show is the drums. For this one, she had to schedule classes because despite seeing many introductory videos, she couldn’t just follow by herself, and since that was the case, Sooah thought that maybe having a teacher would be more prudent before she decided she sucks and gave up.

She won’t dare to say that she picked up fast because when does she, but Sooah didn’t find it difficult to play along and follow the rhythms once she had the help of her instructor. She wasn’t nervous in the first class, which was already very impressive given Sooah’s history, which gave her an advantage when they started playing, since she wasn’t too tense. It requires a lot of motor skills though, and that was the part she was most worried about. Despite being familiar with the piano, having to coordinate both her feet and her hands in simple counts of eight like it happened in her first class was very challenging but also very fun. The reason why she wants to keep doing what she’s doing.

In a general manner, Sooah is in a place in her life right now that she wants to learn new things and explore her possibilities. Maybe they won’t lead her to anything different or drastic, but it still is nice to have options available for her.

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone

A Tyler Rake/Established Female OC fic

Summary: A lot changes in five years. Now a family of nine, the Rakes are splitting their time between Australia and New York City. With Dhaka nothing but a distant yet still painful memory and the dirty work mostly behind him, Tyler is healthy and thriving. Not only as a husband and father, but as the acting founder and boss of his own mercenary business and co-owner of his wife's well loved and flourishing bookstore. But while love and domestic happiness abound, the past and its secrets are never far behind.

Huge thanks and tons of love to @tragiclyhip​ for never letting me give up! It’s thanks to her I ever actually finished off the last fic, or started this one.  And she also made my incredible banner! <3 <3 <3

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @tragiclyhip​

Prologue

FIVE YEARS LATER

******

The stand sits fifteen feet above ground and wraps halfway around the gnarled and twisted trunk of a centuries old Kapok tree. No hunter has made use of it in years; the stairs leading upwards weakened by harsh weather and neglect, wood cracking and bowing under the soles of well worn combat boots. Despite the added weight of gear and a kevlar utility vest, long legs and a wide stride make it easy to navigate the missing steps. His movements are purposeful and quiet; careful to avoid even the slightest snap of a twig or the rustle of dried and fallen leaves or the scratch of dirt and pebbles against the pitted and fragile wood. Any sound is a detriment in this environment; the lush and dense landscape so eerily still and silent that even a hint of noise would seem deafening. The slightest of movement has the potential to stir up the wildlife, which in turn would draw unwanted attention upwards from the banks of the Mekong River.

Even under the thick and expansive umbrella of the forest the heat is stifling. Humidity oppressive and choking. A thin layer of sweat gathers on his brow; errants droplets burning his eyes and gathering on the ends of his lashes. His shirt -long sleeved to not only provide cover in the jungle but protect from scrapes and cuts and the burn of the sun- nearly soaked right through; darkened patches under the arms and at the small of the back, the fabric clinging to dampened and slick skin. Fine beads settle around his mouth, and when he drops into a crouch at the top of the stand, he swipes his tongue over his top lip in an effort to clear away the sweat. It had been an hour hike through the jungle; moving swiftly and silently as he listened to directions being given through a transmitter he sports in his left ear. It’s sweltering and he’s thirsty; head pounding and his hands begin to tremble as the beginning stages of dehydration begin to settle in. He takes the time to remedy the situation. Shrugging off the rucksack slung over his left shoulder and dropping it onto the floor of the stand; hands shaking yet able to tear open the zipper. There’s two bottles of water packed in amongst the gear; extra pairs of socks in case of treks through swamps and marshes, two full clips of ammo that will only be used if someone on the other side is able to pinpoint his location and launch a full scale and fully armed search.

He hopes it doesn’t come to that.

Downing half a bottle of water, he uses the remains to cool himself down; splashing a handful of the liquid against his face and then dumping the rest over his head. Ten years ago, the elements wouldn’t have bothered him as much; he would have been thirty seven years old and still in relatively good shape. Physically AND mentally. And despite a consistent and punishing routine of heavy lifting, core training, and cardio, he’s definitely feeling the effects of both age and decades of hard and often dangerous living. Knees stiff and aching from the brisk hike over rough terrain and then through mud and thick brush; the arthritis that takes up residence in the small of his back and the right hip making its presence known. He’ll be sore tomorrow; every step he takes will send pain shooting through him, and for the next week he’ll wonder just why the hell he ever said ‘yes’ in the first place. Each stiff movement and slow step and aching muscle will remind him of just how things HAVE changed over the years. Gone are the days when he could skip a few days sleep; able to function on both little rest and minuscule amounts of food and drink. There’s no way he’d be able to do THAT now; push his body to the limits he’d been testing for so long. That man no longer exists. The one that would take the most dangerous and unpredictable jobs in hopes of catching a bullet. Who’d almost pray, beg and plead each and every time he went out that it would be his last; one sniper’s shot away from finally being put out of his miserable existence.

Things changed, of course. When he’d been least expecting them to. There’s way too much to lose now. It’s why every decision he makes now...every movement...matters so much. Even the smallest of mistakes can change the course of the future; one misstep potentially blowing his cover and leading to his untimely -and likely extremely brutal and bloody- demise. An hour away a helicopter waits for him; on standby to whisk him back to Vietnam and that little ‘hole in the wall’ hotel he’d been staying in. A quick shower and he’d back in the air; rushed to the nearest backwoods airport where a private jet would take him home. It’s been four days now; two spent in the planning stages before his first ‘hit’ in Laos and then the trek to Cambodia. Two for the price of one, Anil had said, although money matters very little now. These kinds of gigs are more a service; wiping out the dregs of society more of a gift to humanity than anything else.

He normally doesn’t take on jobs. A total of three in the past five years. This is the fourth AND fifth. The skills and the mindset quickly and effortlessly returning, the first kill a lot easier than he’d thought it would be. It’s like riding a bike; once the gun is in your hand and you’re peering through that scope, your finger easily finds and pulls the trigger. And this job had been impossible to turn down; the dirty and vile details hitting home and preying on his ‘human side’. Anyone in his position as a husband and father would have been enraged and disgusted. Drug runners and weapons smugglers that moonlight in abusing and torturing their wives and exploiting children. Sometimes even their own. People that evil don’t deserve to live; even a bullet between the eyes considered too kind. But it’s all he has time for. No ‘face to face’ meetings. He can’t be seen or even identified by name in order to protect his OWN family. He has to remain a ghost. An urban legend of sorts. Talked and gossiped about in drug circles and even among the local police and military who’d either been paid off by the criminals or had been hopeless and hapless when it came to stopping the activity. Nothing will be known about him. No glimpse of his appearance, no chance to hear his voice or even know his name. He’ll be known for just those ‘lucky shots’ he’d gotten in. Turned in to nothing more than rumours and speculation that will continue spreading long after he’s gone.

***

“T...you there?” Yaz’ voice through the earpiece. The reception is spotty; words broken up by heavy static.

He uses a forearm to wipe the mixture of water and sweat from his face, then lays a finger against the transmitter clipped to his vest. “I’m here.”

“Hot out there today, isn’t it.”

He smirks, then begins pulling pieces of a semi automatic rifle from the confines of the rucksack; hands moving quickly and efficiently as they snap and twist the weapon together. “I don’t want to hear your bitching. You’ve got air conditioning. I’m the one out in this shit.” His voice is low and quiet as he speaks. Even the smallest of sounds can travel great distances; echoing through the jungle and making its way down to the banks of the Mekong.

The river sits fifty yards to the south; muddy and heavily polluted and dotted with boats belonging to local fisherman. One vessel stands out from the crowd. A large and expensive houseboat; the chrome that lines the powerful motor and makes up the railings on the top deck sparkling in the sunlight. His mark is inside; meeting with some of Anil’s people acting under the guise of weapons buyers. When the time is right, the man in question will be led out onto the bottom deck and he’ll have one shot to get the job done. It’s another reason Anil had personally sought him out; his marksmanship impeccable, no other employee coming close to possessing that level of skill.

“You good?” Yaz inquires.

“Yeah…” he snaps the magazine in place and then switches off the safety. “...I’m good.”

“I’ll let you know when there’s movement. Going silent for now.”

He tears off the lid of the second bottle of water and takes a single sip before setting it down; using his sleeve to wipe both the opening and every side of the plastic. He can’t leave any trace of himself behind. Not a drop of sweat or a hint of saliva or his fingerprints. He’ll wipe the stand down before he leaves; methodically cleaning anything he may have come in contact with. IF his location is discovered, money talks. Anyone remotely related to his mark will pay to get answers, and the police will take what’s offered and collect every shred of possible evidence. He can’t take that chance. A single, unattached person may not care. Had he still been the guy living in the rundown and beaten up shack in the outback, he wouldn’t have thought twice about covering his tracks. But lives depend on him. A wife and seven beautiful little humans that count on him to protect them and keep them safe.

He CAN’T fuck this up.

Up in the stand he’s well hidden; camouflaged by the abundance of thick, lush greenery. It’ll be a tough shot through twisted and tangled branches; not even a foot of clearance between wood and leaves. Depending on exactly where his mark is led, he’ll compensate for that; pulling to the right or left in order to prevent the bullet from getting too ‘dirty’. He’s made tougher shots; mostly in his SASR days. And there’s no doubt he’ll make this one.

He bunches up the ruck sack and places it near the edge of the stand, facing the river. He’ll use it as both a ledge and a form of cushioning; balancing the long barrel of the rifle will provide stability and muffle the sound of the shot, disguising where it had originated from. He winces as he gingerly lowers himself onto his stomach; the cracking in his hip and the soreness in both knee and shoulder reminding him that he’s not as young as he used to be. Forty-seven is ancient in mercenary years. Most never make it that far. The odd few get to retire peacefully, but the majority are taken out by a bullet; one too many lapses in judgment and the smallest of errors leading to their deaths.

But most never get to have what he does either. A normal life with a family that loves him ; thousands of miles away, anxiously awaiting his return. It’s why he’s so careful; every decision he makes and every action he takes is done with them at the forefront of his mind. And he thinks about them now; warm and safe in the confines of a townhome in New York City. Four days ago they’d travelled from Australia and he’d promised to meet up with them as soon as the job was finished. It’s their third Christmas there; an eight bedroom brownstone in Gramercy Park. The kids especially enjoy spending the holidays there. Quickly falling in love with the idea of a white Christmas and enjoying all of the outdoor activities; sledding and skating and seeing the tree at Rockefeller Centre and visiting Santa and the reindeer in Central Park. And while life in the Big Apple had never appealed to him, the draw of Gramercy had been impossible to resist. Quiet and quaint; tree lined streets and a private park and neighbours that mind their own business and don’t ask too many questions. He’d initially worried about standing out like a sore thumb; tanned skinned and the array of tattoos and scars and the ‘Down Under’ accent. It turned out to be everything he HADN'T expected. The feeling of small town life within an enormous city.

The back of his hand swipes at the locusts and mosquitos that hover close to his face; their buzzing and humming both tickling and irritating his ears. The right isn’t as good as it used to be; hearing slightly muted and distorted thanks to years of both firing and coming in close contact with weapons. It’s another drawback to getting old. Along with his eyesight. Needing glasses to read or to spend anytime staring at a computer screen.

“They’re on the move.”

He blinks sweat from his eyes and wipes his lips and chin on the sleeve of his shirt. Then he settles in; bending his left leg at the knee and wriggling his stomach against the wood beneath him. The latter is mind over matter; as if the simple movement and the way he presses the toes of boots against the stand will improve both shot and stability. His finger hovers over the trigger; other hand lightly supporting the barrel of the gun, allowing the rucksack to bear the majority of the weight. Anil’s people come out first; identified by the tan linen suits he’d been told they’d be sporting. The ‘Mark’ is a middle aged man, clad in casual attire; olive green cargo shorts and a simple white golf shirt. He’s short and stocky with greying hair and a noticeable limp; a run in with a rival drug crew years ago resulting in the amputation of his leg and the acquisition of a prosthetic device.

His jaw clenches and his lips settle into a thin, pursed line. His heart hammers in his chest and both his shoulders and his chest tighten. It’s adrenaline. That unmistakable rush that comes before an imminent strike. He remembers it well. And it’s both surprising and disheartening how much he’s actually missed it.

As they chatter and laugh, one of Anil’s men places a hand on the Mark’s back and ever so slightly turns the other man in Tyler’s direction. It’s all he needs; just enough of the Mark’s forehead to ensure a ‘kill shot’. And he takes it; the sound slightly muffled but still deafening as it echoes through the jungle and stirs birds from their perches and wildlife from the safety of their nests and dens. The bullet easily tears through layers of leaves and bypasses branches; finding its target and sending the Mark sprawling backwards and then down into a pool of brain matter, fragments of skull, and quickly spreading blood.

“Target’s down.”

The words are simple. To the point. And as chaos erupts down by the river, he calmly begins his retreat; pushing himself up onto his feet and slinging the rifle over his shoulder. There’s no pressing need or rush; Anil’s people have made their quick escape and the screams and shouts are coming from startled fisherman and colleagues of the Mark that had been inside the houseboat. He has time; methodically cleaning every inch of both the stand and the stairs and making sure he’s left nothing behind.

“I’m heading back,” he says, shouldering the ruck sack and taking the stairs two at a time. He’s suddenly anxious to get on his way; feeling the relief that sets in as he begins his hour long trek.

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. Not from the success of the mission or the satisfaction that comes with ridding the world of yet another monster. It’s one of happiness. One of peace.

The realization that each step he takes brings him closer to home.

[new-ask-euroshipping]

Euroshipping Dragon

Setting: Old Palace AU

Rating: PG-13 probably

Plot: Ryou got kidnapped by mafia leader Taketa who found out about his powers and wanted to exploit him for it.

Notes: I don’t know if this is a side story or will get included much later in the plot. Since I don’t know, I’m sharing it here. This is an older document and maaay be a lil over-dramatic. Nonetheless, it was fun to write.

Ryou looked up from the floor. On the screen was Seto and Taketa standing face to face, dozens of meters apart in a wide open field. Taketa now wore a brown pinstripe suit while Seto was wearing the same outfit he wore back in Battle City. Both men were wearing outfits to exude superiority.

“What do you want, Taketa?” Seto asked.

“Oh, I just want to talk, boy. But mind what you say, your little boyfriend is watching our every word and move.”

“So that’s why you were so insistent on wearing these microphones.”

Taketa gestured to his left with his entire arm. “And of course the cameras are right there, in case you need to look at it for any reason.”

“Listen old man, I only came here because I was told I’d be given his location. Where is he and why do you have him?”

Ryou could hardly watch. There was an unhuman roaring in his head, almost making him unable to hear the TV.

“Well, you see, the world is changing, for better or worse.” Taketa looked at the camera as his hand crept to the gun on his left hip. He quickly pulled it out and pointed it at Seto, who tense in anticipation. He redirected his gaze at Seto. “And some people have already changed for the better.”

“NO!” The roaring in his head became overwhelming as it gave him the worst headache he’s ever had. He shut his eyes from the pain. In a moment, it felt as if the cuffs holding his wrists had disappeared. He opened his eyes to check, yet he only saw black. He didn’t know what was happening but he hardly cared. He tried to feel around to sense which way to find and protect Seto, but he was slowly losing his gross motor skills, fine motor skills already lost. The process continued until he couldn’t control himself nor his protective rage any more.

Meanwhile, Seto glared at Taketa. “You shouldn’t point a gun if you aren’t willing to shoot.”

Taketa aimed the gun and pulled the trigger, grazing the teen’s right ear. “How’s that for unwilling? Besides, I don’t need to kill you. You’ve already done your part. You see, that Bakura boy is very powerful. Yet he rarely shows any of it to observers or me. What he does show is merely gravity manipulation. I can tell he has so much in him, all he needs is a reason to tap into it. And that reason was the threat of your safety.”

Something exploded from the side of the building followed by draconic roaring.

“Ah, and there he comes!”

As the dragon Ryou flew over, Seto almost mistook him for a Blue Eyes White Dragon. Though both dragons are white, the one Ryou took the shape of was more slender and had many more scales. As he came close, Seto could see the dragon’s eye color wasn’t like any other typical dragon. They were a deep brown. Then the realization struck him: this dragon is reflective of Ryou’s human body.

Dragon Ryou came much closer and landed right in front of Seto, towering to be two stories taller than him. He quickly pumps his wings, creating strong winds around Taketa.

Taketa spread out his arms in triumph. “Yes! This is what I wanted to see! You had so much untapped power! You only needed to get it all out!”

Dragon Ryou screamed at the man, shooting blinding white lightning in his direction, coming close to striking him.

“Whoa, be careful. Now,” Taketa pointed the gun at the dragon. “turn back to human or suffer.”

The dragon roared and went airborne.

“I see how it is!” Taketa shot the dragon in the neck but the bullet crushed and fell to the ground harmlessly.

Further provoked by this, the dragon snapped at the man, tearing the clothing on his right arm as well as cutting it some. Taketa shot the dragon multiple times.

“Ryou! Look at me!” Seto shouted. The dragon proceeded to strike again with blinding white lightning. The frenzied attack didn’t touch Taketa, though it came very close.

Seto readied his ice power. He looked for a good target on dragon Ryou. Then he found it: a spot in between two large scales on his underbelly.

“RYOU!” He shouted louder as he threw a gust of frost at the target.

Just then, Ryou could see through the dragon’s eyes. He shot his gaze around from wings to floor to claws.

Taketa noticed the difference in dragon Ryou’s behaviour and decided to take advantage of it. He took out a long-range communication device and pressed the button. “Get the people out here. Tell them to be ready for a large-scale recapture just in case.”

Seto had to shield his face from the wind to look up at dragon Ryou’s head. As the brown eyes turned to face him, he gave a look of confidence softened with care. “Ryou, it’s okay. I’m safe. You can calm down.”

Ryou landed on the ground. Seto walked up to him and hugged his face. Ryou gave a low draconic grumble.

“I’ve never seen you angry like that. It must’ve taken a lot to get to that point.”

Seto noticed Ryou’s dragon body shrinking, not stopping until Ryou was as tall as his normal self. Then his body started shifting back to the way it was, clothes and all, as Ryou cooled down.

“Seto, your ear.”

“Yeah, it got a little hurt, but it’ll be fine. It could’ve been much worse.”

Coming from the building were 4 men, all carrying two pig restrainers. Ryou turned around and saw them. His head hurt again.

“What’s wrong, Ryou?”

“Nothing, just give me a moment.” The boy proceeded to turn into a hydra, this time keeping control over himself. He shot fire at them, but they were quick. Next thing he knew, all five heads and three legs were caught. As almost a last resort, he melted his body to smoke. His smoky body dispersed throughout the area as the wisps of smoke slowly condensed around Seto, disappearing into his inner jacket pocket.

Once Seto saw the smoke disappear completely he bounded away from the scene. He activated his collar, contacting Isono’s wireless ear com. “Isono, I need a ride on Lotus Avenue as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Mr. Kaiba.”

Seto approached the forest which separated the field from the urban area. The forest was easily 150 feet. After he arrived in the urban area, he dropped his pace to a walk. Seto glanced over his shoulder. As far as he could tell, he’d lost them, at least for now. He checked his watch for the time. It was 13:56, it won’t be much longer before Ryou resumes his regular form.

He walked along the sidewalks until he found a low-lit alley with a vending machine. He entered the alley and reached into his pocket. When he took Ryou out, he saw he had taken the form of a Change of Heart card, which made Seto smile a little. He placed the card on the ground on the side of the machine opposite of the side facing the road. In a few minutes, Ryou was himself again.

“Seto, I’m sorry for all of that.” He lethargically curled up a bit.

“There’s no need to apologize. You were taken and used for another man’s needs. Taketa is the one in the wrong, not you. Regardless of that, how do you feel?”

“Tired and hungry. After doing all of that and taking 4 different forms, I’m exhausted.”

“I see. Isono is coming soon but against your back is a vending machine for the meantime. What would you like?”

“What are my options?”

“Many things. Flavored teas, coffee, and a few flavored milks.”

“How about milk?”

“Regular, strawberry milk, or coffee milk?”

“Strawberry milk.”

“Okay.” Seto put a few coins into the machine and the can dropped down below. He handed it to Ryou and sat next to him. “How were you able to turn into all those things?”

“Well, the last two I figured were just appropriate for the situation. Yet the dragon and hydra, I’d hear noise drowning out everything else and I just...become something else. I’m sorry for losing control. Taketa was the one in the wrong, but I still feel some guilt. I felt powerless and-” He felt a hand placed on his head.

“It’s alright. You were worried for me and wanted to protect me. When put under such stress, it’d be unreasonable to expect you to keep a level head and full control of one of your strongest powers.” Seto wrapped an arm around Ryou.

Ryou lazily opened the can of milk and sipped from it. “You’re right. Though, through the whole first part, all I felt was anger; anger that he would threaten you, anger that you could’ve been out of my life in a second, anger that I wasn’t there at the moment, all of it.”

“When was the last time you felt angry?”

He thought on it for a moment. “Probably when the spirit was going to use me to harm our gym teacher after I first transferred. But even that was more fear than anger.”

“You really don’t get mad?”

Ryou shook his head. “Is it okay if I fell asleep on you?”

“Absolutely.”

He closed his eyes and leaned against Seto. As per usual of his orange hours, he felt very warm. In a few minutes, a car pulled up.

Seto grabbed Ryou’s milk can, picked him up, and carried him to the car. He sat in the car himself, only saying to Isono, “To the manor.”

With only a nod in reply, Isono drove off.

[whispersafterdusk]

Lost in Time - ch 4

The next morning Dr. Xu and Eli were already waiting for Arlo and Sam outside the Corps building; the initial plan had been to put Eli on Spacer and then walk out together but Eli had assured them she knew how to ride so they'd changed to Eli on Spacer, Arlo and Xu on Arrow, and Sam on Teddy, with the group heading out together with everyone mounted.

And she did seem comfortable enough on Spacer's back so they'd sped up to a light trot; with everyone mounted and out of the mud they were actually making good time in getting out to the sinkhole.

"Was horseback riding a popular hobby, in the Old World?"

There was a pause before Eli answered Xu. "For some.  For me it was just part of training."

Sam, at the head of their little procession, turned to look back at her curiously.  "Training? For what?" ((Continued below cut))

"Armed forces."

Arlo blinked.  "Armed forces?  You're a soldier?"

"Was, am, still will be.  I am one of thirty seven 3-star gold rank Ranger Captains - the only person higher in the chain of command in the Ranger division is the Ranger General.  The Rangers of Dubei were one specialized arm of the Dubei Armed Forces, our partner division was Spec Ops.  Then you had your various rank and file for air, land, and sea, and we all answered to the High General of Dubei."

Arlo heard a very quiet 'that explains a few things...' from Xu sitting behind him.  "I see. Did the Dubei army ride horses a lot then?"

"Not the army in general - the Rangers did though, Spec Ops too.  We were the ones expected to be ready for anything so we were taught a lot of skills that most people assumed couldn't possibly be useful.  Such as riding a horse when there were thousands of different types of personal and multiperson flying or motorized craft available."

"Were you in the war that-" Sam stopped abruptly, gaze flicking to Arlo and Xu.  Xu was making a 'cut it out' gesture as he leaned around Arlo to be seen.  "-nevermind."

Eli snorted.  "Was I IN a war?  Probably.  We'd been having unrest and diplomatic breakdowns for about three years, last I remember.  It was one of those unofficial deals -- everyone was doing warlike things, but no one dared declare it a war. Not yet."

"DID they call it a war, ever?"

Eli was silent for a long period of time; they were almost up to the familiar red tent at the platform's edge when she finally answered.  "I remember my post being shelled.  If that didn't get called out for open warfare I don't know what would've been."

When they were at the tent they all dismounted, with Sam helping lift Eli down; with the horses tied to a nearby tree they made their way onto the platform and there Eli paused, shielding her eyes against the sun as she slowly (and carefully) spun in place and scanned their surroundings.

"Not even the cliffs..." she muttered, huffing out a sigh that sounded more annoyed than anything else.

"What about the cliffs?"

Eli slowly began making her way to the elevator car.  "I said, not even the cliffs look familiar.  I was hoping I'd recognize SOMETHING out here...anything, really.  I can't for the life of me see anything of Dubei in what's left.  Even the ruins that're mostly intact -- I can recognize WHAT they were but not WHERE they were in Dubei."  She paused, then gave them a strained smile.  "Not surprising, I guess -- Dubei was huge.  Portia's nothing at all like it."

"How big was Dubei?" Sam asked, stepping into the car.

Eli followed her in and as the elevator began to lower Arlo heard her answer "um...big.  Millions big" and then they were out of sight on their way to the bottom of the shaft.

Arlo looked to Xu, and then to Selene as she came out of the tent weighed down with two toolboxes and two duffel bags across her chest and back.  "We ready?"

Xu nodded; Arlo took one toolbox and one of the (extremely heavy) duffel bags, and waited for the elevator to come back up.

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

 Don't think about it don't think about it don't think about it.

It was a mantra running through her head -- one that was familiar, that had been taught to her a long time ago-

 Don't think about it.

-that had popped up over and over across all the training it had taken to rise to the rank she carried.

Don't think about it.  In those lessons, "it" was whatever was not immediately crucial to the mission.

That this world wasn't her own wasn't crucial.  The fact Dubei was...gone, wiped off the map without a trace, wasn't crucial.  Nothing was familiar, everything was new and wrong and wholly alien to her, but these facts were not crucial to the mission.  

They didn't matter right now.

Her mission as it stood was:

- get to the heart of this facility and see what power system was installed - determine the extent of damage done and calculate probability of a total system meltdown - corollary to above: determine level of danger to facility and surrounding area should total system failure occur - create plan of repair if repair is possible - if repair is not possible, figure out how to fully and properly shut down the equipment and de-couple it from the system as a whole and disable it enough that it can't be turned on again - adapt as needed

There were many details that were up in the air -- did this time period even have the tools needed to do any of the steps she'd mentally laid out?  Rangers were taught to adapt at any cost but adapation had its limits; if there wasn't any tool remotely similar to what she'd need to detach conduits or activate the safety measures or repair a damn reactor then she couldn't just 'adapt' a suitable tool out of thin air, and this time period may not have the infrastructure in place to try to recreate one.

Were there any AIs left down here?  Based on the time-ravaged halls they were walking down it didn't look likely...where had the AIs gone?   Why had her people taken the AIs but left their dead behind?

Yes, she knew about the skeletal remains in the halls these Civil Corps folks were keeping her away from (not that it mattered - Eli knew nothing immediately important would be found in the office or dorm areas).  If anyone would have the details on this facility and how to stave off a reactor meltdown, it would be an AI - either one of the assistants or even the installed All Source, if it was still here.

 Don't think about it.

What had happened here was a mystery she'd need to work on, secondary to securing the reactor.  Additionally, what this place WAS was a mystery needing solving - if she knew what this facility was for and why she was down here that would answer a few personal questions she had.

 Don't think about it.

She had to stop and rest several times, bracing her cane against the wall and leaning her backside into it like a tall, terrible stool.  To be this weak and unreliable in a situation like this irked her -- she'd never been one who needed to be carried or coddled, not even as a child.  Her mother liked to say she came out of the womb at a sprint and never sat down since; she'd love to be sprinting right now, or at least capable of walking ten feet without getting winded or weak in the knees.

 Don't think about it.

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

"I'm not sure which building this was because I'm not sure where we are, locationally, within Dubei, but I do know Dubei itself had at least 1763 hospitals and that's not accounting for specialized facilities, long-term care, rehabs, or anything else that wasn't considered general or acute care."

"Really?" Xu asked, looking amazed.  "The entire Alliance doesn't even have that many between them."

Eli shrugged and waited patiently as Arlo, Xu, Selene, and Sam stepped out of the elevator ahead of her; all of them carried either a flashlight or wore a small headlamp (Eli had a headlamp herself) and the two Civil Corps members led the way to a shattered glass door across the room from the elevator's opening.  "Dubei had a population of 2.7 million if you counted all the outlying suburbs and territories.  With that many people you have to have enough places for folks to go.  No amount of peaceful times can keep you from getting sick or old, and the human body has quite a number of failure points even if you're at the pinnacle of healthy."

Arlo stepped through the door and aside to let the other three through, then offered Eli a steadying hand as she picked her way over the broken glass in the floor.  "Were hospitals normally underground like this?"

"No," was Eli's simple reply.  "But I never said this WAS a hospital."

"You sure sounded like you were implying it."

"It's a possibility but not a definitive fact at this time," Eli sighed.  "The only facilities that tended to be underground were research facilities.  Being underground shielded delicate equipment from outside interference.  We might be in the underbelly of an especially large hospital, or we might be in a research center.  Neither is more likely than the other at the moment."

Ahead of her Sam and Arlo kicked away broken glass and twisted metal left over from the light fixtures that had fallen from the ceiling; it wasn't entirely needed but the gesture was appreciated all the same as she followed in their wake and walked up to the lone console she could see in the light of their flashlights.  

"Did you bring a power source?"

Selene nodded.  "Yep.  I brought four, in fact."

"Good.  I can already tell we'll need in that center panel there but let me get a look at what else we're working with."

As Selene began digging for the right sized wrench to start removing bolts from the panel Eli eyed the computer console from where she stood; it was rectangular in shape but slightly curved, came up to a little taller than her waist, and was covered in buttons, dials, a few wide slots and some sockets, a single lever whose head could fit into her palm, the grill of a speaker, and a pair of keyboards on either end.   The console was long enough to fit four people, five if they stood shoulder to shoulder.  

Pretty standard really, aside from the fact she didn't see any displays or monitors nor did she see where they might have been if they HAD been here and had since been removed.  The slots she could see suggested that, for this room at least, they might have relied entirely on the portable displays (both portable screens as well as self-contained computer units).  It was a lot more efficient to carry copies of your work around on a personal computer where you could later connect to the main system to update the files either in the database or update things on your screen rather than be tied to a stationary console -- the problem was Eli doubted they'd have any chance at all at finding a still-functional screen after all this time, which would leave them reliant on verbal communication with the AI system (assuming THAT was even functional, and she wasn't holding her breath).

With a grunt Selene popped the panel loose and Eli moved her attention to the woman and the revealed inner workings of the console.   With an offered arm from Xu she carefully lowered herself down to the ground to sit cross-legged in front of the opening and hunched so her headlamp shined inside.

Familiar wiring and conduits met her gaze - the dust coating everything in here was thick enough she couldn't see coloring or labels but she could mostly guess what was what based on connector rings, sizes, and where everything was running to or out of.  

"All right... See that wide cap there, in the very back?"

Selene got on her hands and knees, peering into the open panel as Eli leaned back.  "-the one that kind of looks like that's where the tube wires come in?"

"Tube wi- oh.  This is the room you found me in, I recall now.  No, those should be routed to the left there -- that one there with the 3-way split."

"Oh, ok - I see that one.  So the wide cap one is...  Aha, I see it.  Is that the incoming power?"

"Yes.  What you'll want to do is follow it in about eight inches and then take the top off the box it looks like it's feeding in to.  See it?"

"Yep," Selene answered.  Eli scooted out of the way and the woman moved in closer; she took off her headlamp and tapped the builder on the shoulder with it, swapping it out for the flashlight she held. It wasn't an ideal angle but Eli shined it over her shoulder into the opening anyway to supplement the headlamp and then had nothing else to do but wait and hope the woman was able to get the relay box's lid off.

There were a few clanks, the sound of something breaking loose followed by the sound of metal clattering against plastic, and then Selene pulled out of the opening with the lid in hand.  "There we go.   Now what?"

"Now you're going to want to carefully unplug those wires from that box, and hope we can hotwire it to whatever power source you brought with you."

"Hotwire?"

"Uh... That's a term basically meaning to bypass an ignition or relay point."

"Gotcha."

Eli shuffled back over and watched as the builder dropped the wrench back into her toolbox and dragged over one of the duffel bags they'd carried down; inside was the familiar gleam of power stones (thank the Three that THOSE had persisted through the centuries) held within a metal bracket with wires and switches attached.  Selene handed the cobbled together device to Eli before ducking back inside the open panel to examine and remove the plugs.

She didn't recognize the plug ends on the device but that wouldn't matter much so long as they had a means to strip the wires and solder them together.  Definitely wouldn't be the first time she'd had to wire something on the fly like this - it'd be sloppy and slightly dangerous but if it worked it worked.

The builder pulled back out a moment later with a handful of wires and Eli waited as she carefully threaded them through and under the other components of the computer until she had about three feet of wire length freed from all the little clasps and hooks that had held everything neatly in place; as Selene handled the wires she smudged away the dust and Eli began picking out individual wires by color -- that one was for the cooling system, that one for a display (still needed to figure out that part), the thickest one was for the console entirely, there were two that powered the input devices on this end...that last thin black-looking one had to be for an on-board audio input/output system.

Bare minimum she'd need power to the console, the cooling system, and the audio (they wouldn't need the keyboard or buttons since there wasn't a screen to work off of - that would be less drain and strain on the power stones at least.  The device Selene had put together held four of the yellow condensed power stones together in a completed circuit; she was glad to see the yellow ones since if it had been blue or lower they'd need way more to have any hope of powering a console this large. Four...MIGHT be enough.  They'd have to see.

"Right, now - do you have a wire stripper?"

"A -- I use a sharpened part of my wire snips for that.  Is that ok?"

Eli nodded.  "Should work - cut the wires right at the base of the plug then clear off about a half inch of the coating.  Does solder still exist?"

"Yep.  I'm guessing I'll be doing the same to the plugs on my portable power device, right?"

"Correct."

Eli held the ends of the wires steady as Selene snipped and stripped, then sorted them out and lined up ends of wires so the builder woman could slowly solder them all together without having to juggle tools and align ends (strangely, she was using a mini welding torch to melt the solder...well, whatever, it was working).  When they were all connected Eli searched over the device until she found the on/off switch and flicked it on.

There was a loud crackling noise out of the console's speaker, causing everyone to jump; after a few more bursts of static there came a series of pleasant tones and then a low chime before-

"-Laboratory Assistant AI, online."  The voice was feminine and robotic - most AIs tended to have that metallic-like quality to their voices so that wasn't out of the ordinary at least.

Eli briefly glanced around - the others were staring down at the console as buttons and the slots lit up across its surface.  "-state your designation and assigned task category, please."

There was a tiny stutter and staticky noise again.  "I am known as Pauline.  My assigned tasks were to monitor laboratory experiments, issue instructions to medical assistant AI systems, provide back up storage for all experiment-related documentation, and record all meeting minutes and conversations that take place within my designated region within this facility.  May I ask who I'm speaking to?  I seem to be having trouble with my optics and my sensors beyond this immediate station are offline."

Eli carefully moved the power device out of her lap and onto the floor near her feet.  "I am Ranger Captain Elizabeth Summers.  Do you have me registered in your system?"

"Let me check...  I have you registered on the patient roster, ma'am."

"But nowhere else?"

"No."

Eli nodded - she had expected that.  "All right.  I need you to register me as primary administrative contact for this entire facility."

"I can't do that without prior administrative permissions from the All Source AI of the facility, ma'am.  Please wait a moment -- oh dear. My chronometer says I have been offline for 25 years, 8 months, 12 days, 2 hours, and 36 minutes.  Auxiliary power is offline."

"I know.  And unfortunately I am the only surviving member of this facility so I will need that administrative access."

"Please give me a moment to verify such a claim, ma'am - I do apologize for the delays in my responses.  I don't have the needed power level to run at full speed."

"Move as fast as you can safely process, Pauline.  We're in a dire situation.  While checking your logs run a cursory maintenance check on yourself for any data corruption."

"Yes ma'am."

The AI went quiet and Eli could hear a low whine from somewhere inside the console - age, dust, and the relative power level of the power stones were definitely putting a strain on Pauline's processor cores but there wasn't anything they could do about that at the moment.

"-I'm detecting no internal corruption.  I am showing that 115 years, 3 months, 6 days, 14 hours, and 16 minutes ago the auxiliary power systems came online .0034 seconds after the primary reactor went offline.  My logs indicate a connection failure between relay box 5372A-2 and 6981-B17, which placed undue stress on connected sectors and radiated out to effect the entire northeastern quadrant of floors 19 through 47.  As a precaution the reactor was closed off from the rest of the facility but it doesn't appear anyone answered the maintenance request."

At that Eli let out a huge sigh and leaned back against the wall behind her, feeling lightheaded with relief.  If it was a connection failure then the safety measures purposely took the reactor offline.   That meant they were in no danger of anything exploding.  At everyone's looks she gave them a smile and two thumbs up.  "That means we're in the clear - no explosion worries."

All at once an unseen tension melted from the room and the rest of them looked as relieved as she felt.

"Thank goodness," Xu sighed.

"Oh.  I didn't realize there were more than one user present," Pauline interrupted.  Xu seemed surprised that the AI had heard him as he'd been barely above a whisper.  "Please identify yourselves."

"They're not anyone registered with this facility, Pauline," Eli replied before anyone else could.  "Please search back through your logs and tell me what happened prior to the relay failure."

"One moment."

As they waited Xu dropped down to his knees beside Eli, gingerly resting a hand on her shoulder.  "How are you doing?" he asked - this time he WAS whispering, and Pauline either didn't detect it or was too preoccupied with her task to respond.

She smiled faintly at him.  "Like I want to fall over, but in a good way.  Knowing we're not going to explode any time soon is a big relief, and now we're in no rush to do anything down here."

Xu frowned.  "You're still recovering, exhaustion is to be expected."

Eli briefly clapped her hand to his on her shoulder.  "I'll be fine for a bit longer, doctor.  Don't worry about me."

His fingers carefully squeezed but his look of concern didn't budge; there WAS a creeping ache born out of tiredness coming over her but she didn't actually feel on the verge of collapse.  She glanced around and saw Arlo looking at her with the same concerned look on his face - Selene and Sam were both focused on the computer console at least.

"Ma'am, I am ready to provide my log report."

She returned her attention to the console as well even though there wasn't anything to actually look at.  "Go ahead, Pauline."

"Approximately 329 years, 7 months, 27 days, 10 hours, 12 minutes ago, I am showing that the facility went into emergency lock-down with the lock-down tagged with 'status: invader, armed, dangerous.'   Approximately 26 minutes later I am showing a mass evacuation of registered users leaving the building though the roster indicates there were 115 people unaccounted for based on automatic logging at all exit points.  3 minutes after the evacuation the 'hazardous material release protocol' broadcast issued."

"This place was attacked?" Arlo asked into the silence that followed Pauline's report.

"It would seem so, Unknown User Male A.  I do not have any further information beyond what is contained in the logs however.  For more detail you would need to speak to the All Source AI of this facility and I do not detect him online."

Arlo blinked at the AI's words; Eli inwardly laughed -- assistant or administrative AIs always gave odd designations to users they weren't familiar with.  "When did he go offline?"

"Checking.  -- when auxiliary power went offline."

Selene straightened where she sat, looking up to Arlo.  "The auxiliary power went out right as we rescued Eli -- that All Source hasn't been offline for long."

"Correct, Unknown User Female A," Pauline responded.  "The All Source AI has priority when there is any power issue.  As auxiliary power reached critical levels all non-essential services were disabled, followed by non-essential sectors, then I was put into standby and then deactivated completely to preserve what remaining power was present when auxiliary power dropped below 20% - unfortunately this means I am reliant on passively obtained system logs at this time and my access to those is hindered due to alarmingly low system power."

Arlo blew out a sigh.  "I can't believe there's another All Source here...  We had enough trouble protecting the first one we found."

Pauline's tone shifted from the pleasantly proper one she'd been using to one that had a tinge of amusement to it.  "Of course there's an All Source AI here - it would be silly to have a facility of this size and importance without one."

"An All Source AI is just a central AI that controls and coordinates a system of lesser AIs," Eli said, glancing up to Arlo again.  "Even every house had one."

"Indeed!" Pauline chirped, sounding pleased.  "And Stewart is quite a pleasant AI - I look forward to interfacing with him again.  It's been a very long time.  -- ma'am, considering the situation I have decided to give you full adminstrative access to all protocols, sectors, and documentation that are registered as being within my job designation.   Further access will need to be provided by Stewart."

"Got it," Eli replied.  There was a burning starting behind her eyes and she rubbed a finger in one idly, trying to encourage it to water a little bit.  "Pauline, we're going to leave you hooked up to this current emergency power.  Can you tell how long before it'll run out?"

"Checking... I estimate the current power source attached to my system will last approximately 6 days, 4 hours, and 19 minutes."

"Is that at your current activity level or without activity factored in at all?"

"With activity.  If I put myself back into standby my estimation goes up to 14 days, 19 hours, and 47 minutes."

"Good enough.  I want you to put yourself into standby and only awaken on the command of myself, or one of the the four people currently here with me.  I'm going to have them state their names - get a voice imprint for your access logs."

"Yes ma'am!"

Slowly draining energy was something Eli had in common with the AI; she pressed her back fully against the wall and pointed a finger at Xu, then to Selene, followed by Sam and then to Arlo.  "In that order, go.   All you need is your name."

"Uh...Dr. Xu?" Xu said, sounding as uncertain as he looked; Eli gave him an approving nod and dropped her gaze to Selene.

"Selene!"

"Sam."

"Arlo."

After everyone had had their turn there was a brief period of silence before Pauline responded.  "Users: Dr. Xu, Selene, Sam, and Arlo voice imprints registered. A pleasure to place names with voices.  If that's all then I'll place myself on standby and await future orders."

"That'll be all, Pauline.  We'll be back later."

The glow of the buttons all dimmed to barely noticeable and the whine of processors faded; Eli closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths.   The anxiety from not knowing the reactor's status had been mostly keeping her alert and on her feet - anxiety and adrenaline both, really - and now that she knew they were in the clear she was approaching a point where all she wanted was a warm blanket and a relatively clean horizontal surface to stretch out on.

Again there was a hand on the shoulder; she opened her eyes to find Xu had dropped down beside her on his knees.  His other hand moved to her wrist where his fingers found her pulse.  "Are you feeling all right?"

"Just tired, doctor.  Don't need to be so tightly strung now that I know we're not going boom."

Xu nodded and looked from her to Arlo.  "Let's get back to the surface and to the clinic.  It seems we're done here."

"Right," Arlo said; he stepped down from the dais to give Sam room to get out of his way, then he came back up and offered both hands to Eli.

She hated how her hands were shaking as she reached up to take them, and with Xu at one side and Arlo pulling up both men got her on her feet; before she could reach for her cane Arlo swept her up into his arms, carefully adjusting his grip so his fingers weren't pinched against the backs of her knees.  Xu had her cane in hand and was following close at Arlo's elbow as he turned to carry her toward the elevator.

"Sam, if Selene wants to poke around stay with her, all right?" Arlo called over his shoulder (he was considerate enough to shout it over the shoulder opposite from the one Eli's head was currently drooping toward - she appreciated that, even if it rubbed her the wrong way to have to rely on someone carrying her to get out of here).

As they walked away Eli could hear Selene giving Sam instructions on securing the exposed wires; she closed her eyes again and focused on keeping her head upright as the three of them got into the elevator and began the long walk back to the surface.

So far as she could recall Dubei had 47 research centers within the capital -- most of those were tech-based but 13 she was certain had been strictly medical research.  The problem with that was she could recall all the numbers she wanted but she still had no means of matching where they all were on Dubei's map to try and mentally overlay that to what the land looked like now.

 Don't think about it.

'What kind of damn war could alter the landscape to such a degree...' she found herself thinking.  It would've need to be one hell of a war to have removed Dubei from the map like this.

 Don't think about it.

Her eyes started watering.  It didn't help the aching, burning feeling behind them.  

After a bit she felt the first hints of a cold wind blowing down the entry-point elevator shaft, and then sunlight hit her eyelids; Arlo's boots thumped across the wooden platform underneath her as he carried her out to the horses.

"You get up first, doctor - I'll hand her up and you can ride together back to town."

Eli could do little aside from wait to be passed from one man to the other; Xu wasn't willing to go faster than a walk with the horse so the trip back to town took longer than the trip out this morning had, but that was all right -- the cold woke her up a bit so she was able to slide down from the saddle with Phyllis's help once they were back in the clinic, and then with Xu on one side and Phyllis on the other she was helped back inside and to the bed she was becoming incredibly familiar with.

"Are you in any pain?"

"Minor headache, doctor - just tired."

"Do you feel you'll be hungry after you rest?" Phyllis asked then, helping her get her boots and coat off.

Eli shook her head and fumbled her legs up into the bed, and Phyllis pulled the blanket up as she sank into the pillow and shortly after she was out like a snuffed candle. When she woke there was still daylight coming in through the clinic's windows so she couldn't have been out for long.

'Not nearly so long as...as the last big sleep I took...'

Her eyes started burning again, and watering; with an irritated huff she scrubbed the back of her hand across them to smear the moisture away.

From nearby she heard the rustling of paper.  "-are you all right, Eli?"

"Yeah, doc - bad dream, is all.  Just a really bad dream."