#trying to make the medical field of a fictional work make sense is hurting my brain

[dawnbreakersgaze]

The thing that always confuses me about LnDS is how tf Zayne is a famous Cardio Surgery specialist with an emphasis in rare genetic and Evol disorders, but also functions as a regular primary care physician for MC, since most specialists still refer you to your own family practitioner for your non specialty related needs like for a cold or regular injury.

Which means either in the LnDS world Doctors are just super busy and double up on a lot of work (which could be the answer, as drs could be in short supply with wanderer attacks and metaflux accidents happening often), or Zayne is just very very loose with MC and will see her for pretty much whatever she needs seen for so she doesn't go to another Dr which is honestly kind of adorable in a try not to look too closely kinda way lol

[pastpatientlywaitingforimagines]

Constellation | Spencer Reid x Reader Platonic

WC: 2547

A/N: A cheeky little Galaxy post :)

WARNINGS: SPOILERS FOR 13x01, hospitals, general CM stuff, descriptions of panic attacks and PTSD (fictional so possibly not accurate and DEFINITELY not how everyone might experience it)

This is part of my GALAXY universe! If you liked this relationship, check out the MASTERLIST for more content!

You had only just been allowed to resume field work after an extended medical leave when Cat Adams resurfaced, leading Emily to sideline you once again.

“I’m not having this fight with you, (y/n).”

“I’m cleared for field work.”

“I know, but you’ve been cleared for less than a week and I don’t want your first case back to be this one.”

“Why, because it’s Cat Adams? I’m not afraid of her.”

“Because you’re not afraid of her, that’s why.”

“Emily-“

“I told you, I’m not having this fight. You’re going to stay here and work the case with us. JJ will go with Reid.”

As much as you resented Emily for not letting you go to the prison with Spencer, you were glad she was at least sending JJ. At least he wouldn’t be alone. It was enough to keep your head on straight, and Emily even let you go with the team to collect Diana. It made you feel more useful, especially when Spencer’s mom recognized you among the team.

When you got back to the BAU, you planned to make sure Spencer and his mom had everything they needed to resume normal life. Instead, you were greeted by Morgan, who had a lead on Scratch.

You expected Emily to tell you to stay, Scratch was just as big of a threat as Cat Adams, but she handed you a kevlar vest and didn’t say anything about it when you joined the team in the SUV’s.

It was thrilling, being back in the field. You understood why you hadn’t been allowed to be there in so long, your mind kept flickering to Spencer and his wellbeing. For the past three months, the thought was loaded and often lead to panic attacks. Now that he was released, you had to keep reminding yourself that he was safe before your worries got that far.

The speed of the drive was enough to fuel your adrenaline, but it was amped up quickly when the spikes took out your small caravan.

The truck came out of nowhere, smashing into your vehicle and immediately disorienting you more than you already were. When you finally came to, the first thing you noticed was the pain in your left arm. There was a woman next to you, she didn’t look physically injured but her behavior told you otherwise. She clearly had something internal going on.

You tried to exit the vehicle, but the side was smashed into your leg. While you didn’t think your leg was broken, you surely wouldn't be able to get it out on your own. Your hands found your gun instead, and on autopilot you double checked that it was loaded. You couldn't figure out where the rest of your gear was, or your platoon. You started whispering their names, trying to locate them.

“Smith… sound off. Marcos… sound off… Taylor… sound off. Taylor… sound off.”

“(y/n)?” a strangely familiar voice called. You tried to melt into the seat as much as you could, keeping your gun drawn towards the door on the other side of the woman. It opened, revealing a man you felt like you knew in another life.

“(y/n), it’s Matt Simmons. Are you hurt?”

“I don’t know who you are,” you kept your gun trained on his forehead. He paused for a moment, noticing the state that the woman next to you was in.

“Ok, ok. I’m going to take Tara, you stay where you are and I’ll help you next.”

“Where’s my platoon?” you asked. The flicker of realization that briefly crossed his face confused you, but instead of acting on it he took the woman he called Tara out of the SUV and started calling for someone named Luke.

“Sergeant (y/l/n), I’m Luke Alvez with the 75th Rangers. I’m going to help you get out, ok?” A new voice, also familiar, said to you calmly, “can you put the gun down?”

“Where's my platoon, Alvez?” you asked again.

“You were in an accident,” he slid onto the seat next to you when you lowered your weapon, though you kept your finger on the trigger.

“They ambushed us,” you whispered quietly when he got to working on freeing your leg.

“I know. Do you know where you are?”

“Afghanistan,” you answered incredulously, “where are the helicopters? How are you going to extract us without helicopters?” You were starting to panic more than you already had been, breathing increasing rapidly. You held your arm at a funny angle, trying to keep it where it would hurt the least. Your best guess was at least one broken bone in your arm and also a broken collarbone on that side.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. You’re having a flashback. I can’t get your leg out from here. The first responders are going to have to help, but I can’t have you shooting them.”

“No,” you pushed back on him with your good arm, “If I can’t move you need to find Taylor first.”

“Who is Taylor?”

“You’re no help to me,” your hand flew to your left wrist, fiddling with the bracelet you wore.

“Ok, I’ll be right back,” he stepped out of the SUV and back to Simmons. Despite the clamor of first responders around you, you could still hear what the two men were saying.

“They’re deep in a flashback. We can’t get power tools in here until they’ve calmed down or they will start fighting and hurt a lot of people including themselves,” Luke said.

“So how do we do that?”

“They keep asking about their platoon, about someone named Taylor. I know (y/n) got into a humvee accident while they were overseas, I think they’re reliving it. I don’t know all the details though.”

“Who does? Does (y/n) have a therapist we can call?”

“Yeah, but it’s three in the morning,” Luke fell silent for a minute before speaking again, “I’ll call Reid. He might know something.

You had an inkling that those words were supposed to mean something to you, and it only frustrated you more when they didn’t. Alvez announced that he was rejoining you in the SUV, then pulled out his cell phone, a move that confused you because phones like that didn’t work in the desert.

It confused you even more when the call seemingly connected, Alvez giving the person on the other line information about being ambushed by Scratch, Steven being dead, and Emily missing. Though familiar, none of those names made sense to you, or your situation.

“No,” you hissed, “Taylor. I can’t find Taylor.”

“(y/n) is ok. Their arm is broken, and they're deep in a flashback. They keep asking about someone named Taylor. They never talked about a Taylor in group, what can I do to help them?” Alvez listened for a minute, then handed you the phone, “it’s for you.”

“Where did you take Taylor,” you asked harshly as soon as you had the phone in your hand.

“Listen to me, (y/n). It’s Spencer. Your mind is playing tricks on you, you’re not in Afghanistan anymore. Look around,” you finally took a minute to observe your surroundings. There were too many trees for you to be in the desert, he was right. Of all the things that weren’t making sense to you right now, he was the most familiar. He had the answers you were looking for.

“Where am I? What is happening to me?"

“You’re with the FBI in Virginia. You can trust Luke, he’s going to make sure they take you to the hospital and I’ll meet you there.”

“Is Taylor ok?”

“Yes. I’ll tell you where Taylor is when I see you at the hospital, ok? I know you’re scared and hurt, (y/n), but listen to me. It’s only rain. Can you picture the rain for me?”

A single memory jumped to the forefront of your mind, standing in the rain with a curly-headed man you were certain was Spencer. You could feel the way the droplets hit your skin, you could feel the comfort you had with the man you knew was your best friend. You could feel your lungs opening up and your breathing get easier.

“Spencer,” you exhaled, finally finding footing in your brain, “it’s only rain.”

“Keep breathing, Luke is going to get you out and I’ll meet you at the hospital, ok?”

“Yeah,” you fought to keep your breathing steady, “I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

You hung up and handed the phone back to Luke, counting your breaths.

“Give me another minute, Luke,” you could still feel your heart racing, though your mind was fighting to come back to reality. Once you felt like you had a better grip on it, you gave Luke the go-ahead and braced yourself while the crushed door of the SUV was cut off of the vehicle. It took every grounding technique you had to keep your head in the right place, and more than once you felt yourself start to panic about where Taylor was.

Luke rode in the ambulance with you, reassuring you multiple times that it was ok when you apologized for pointing a gun at him and Matt. You could feel your body crashing from the loss of adrenaline, the usual post-episode exhaustion coupled with the almost excruciating pain coming from your left side.

When Spencer arrived at the hospital, your brain was still cloudy from the exhaustion and various pain meds you had been given when the orthopedist had set your arm.

“How are you feeling?” he took a quick glance at your medical chart before actually making eye contact.

“Just tired, and still not… still not all the way here. Taylor… I still can’t figure out what happened to Taylor…”

Spencer sat down on the edge of the hospital bed, eyes soft, “Taylor was killed in the accident ten years ago. Your humvee was ambushed, do you remember?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, “I remember. Ten years ago when I was in the military. Now I’m a Supervisory Special Agent for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. We were chasing a lead when we were ambushed by Mr. Scratch, Peter Lewis,” Spencer nodded, “is the rest of the team ok? I haven’t seen them.”

“I haven’t seen anyone yet either,” he hesitated, and your knowledge of the man clued you in to the fact that he was calculating the probability of declining your condition if he told you everything he knew. The odds were in your favor, because after a moment he spoke again, “but Steven is dead and Emily is missing.”

“Emily’s missing?”

“I don’t know much about it, I have to talk to everyone else.”

“Then go talk to them, I promise I won’t go anywhere until you come back,” you reassured him. He made his rounds to JJ and Rossi in their rooms, then returned to yours with Luke on his heels. The other man stopped at the doorway when Spencer re-entered your room.

“I have to go take care of something for Rossi. You’re going to be ok here,” he said quickly before you could protest.

“I’m coming with you,” you started to get up. Spencer caught you gingerly when you practically fell into his grasp, still fatigued from your earlier episode.

“You can’t, not like this,” he whispered, lowering you back down onto the bed, “stay here a little longer. Will is in the next room with JJ, he said he’d take you home when they discharge you.”

“I don’t want to go home, Spence. I want to help find Emily.”

“I know, you can’t go into the field like this though. Tell me you’ll be good for the doctors so I can leave here without worrying more about you.”

You couldn't say no to this man you cared so much about, not when he was looking at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes you had ever seen from him.

"I'll try my best," you sighed, leaning back onto the pillow.

"Thank you," he gave your good hand a squeeze before heading back towards the door where Luke was waiting.

"Luke," you called before they could leave. He stopped in his tracks, inquisitively making eye contact with you to show you he was listening, "don't let him get lost in that big brain of his, ok?"

"I won't. Rest up, we need you back at full strength as soon as possible."

"Thank you," you whispered after him as he followed Spencer out of the hospital. You tried to get some sleep, but it didn't come easy as your brain tried to make sense of the events that had transpired the past few days. First Spencer's mom was taken, Spencer was released from prison, then Cat Adams showed up claiming to be pregnant with his baby, and now Scratch had literally ran a truck into your team- your family. It was a lot for one person to process, especially since your brain had taken an unwanted break from reality earlier in the evening.

You managed to doze off for a little bit, flitting in and out of sleep until exhaustion finally took over and pulled you deeper into its throws.

You were woken by a nurse who cheerfully informed you that you could go home. Will came to collect you and held your bag of belongings for you when he walked you out to his car.

He answered all of your questions to the best of his ability and even offered to bring you back to his home when you expressed how much you didn’t want to go back to your apartment.

Henry and Michael were enough to distract you from your reeling worries and keep you grounded while you waited to hear from the rest of the team. You let the boys draw on your cast, leaving the hard plaster full of colorful artwork.

As you were eating breakfast that Will had made, your phone finally rang.

“Emily is safe, Scratch is dead,” Spencer said when you answered.

“Thank goodness,” you sighed.

“Are you at home?” He asked next.

“No, I’m at JJ and Will’s. I wasn’t ready to be alone just yet,” you told him honestly.

“How’s your head?”

“Clearer now that I’ve gotten some sleep and some food. How’s yours?”

“Still getting back up to speed. Why don’t I pick you up and we can have a quiet day with my mom? We could all use the rest.”

“Sure, Spence. I’d love to spend some time with your mom.”

When Spencer came to pick you up, you noticed a soft smile playing on his lips when he saw the way you were curled up on the couch watching tv with the boys tucked into your side.

You let them greet him first, they hadn’t seen him since before he had gone to prison. Once they released him he finally wrapped his arms around you tightly.

Your relationship had never been very physical. In fact, you could count the number of times you had hugged Spencer Reid on one hand. Standing in Will and JJ’s entryway, though, embracing him for the first time since he had been arrested, you didn’t want to let go.

Galaxy Taglist: @kermitsaysgayrights @niallthedancingharry @shadyladyperfection  @thatsonezesty13  @lexshead @ceeellewrites @howdycharlie @girlycakepops @fantastic-fans @canimarrypizzaornah @daisyflower138 @dyingrexx @taylormobley @bazzleslynn @tj-drinks-tea @willa-wonky @eddiesbifocals @tee-mbrown @reniescarlett @bone-hurty-bitch

[thetravelerwrites]

Monster Match #39: Karkadann

For Anonymous: “My pronouns are he/they. I'm interested in nb and men (Biromantic/Demisexual). I have a lot of nerdy hobbies like interactive fiction, video games, and reading. I also enjoy watching movies, and going on walks/hikes with my dogs. My personality has been described as a little intimidating by some, and can come off as a loner. Once I get closer to people I'm generally more open and more relaxed. I naturally pick up leadership roles in group settings if no one else will, and I tend to try hard with things I care about I approach problems with logic and am good at problem solving. I like to initiate 9with sharing ofc).

For partners I dislike people who are lazy or who are a slob. I really like to keep my areas clean and it drives me crazy if my partners can't cleanup after themselves. I also don't really like people who are overconfident. Qualities I find attractive are people who are more soft and generally understanding. People who value independence and who are mature (but know when to take a joke). Oh I forgot, since it's nsfw! I'm a switch/verse with Dom prefs!”

For some reason, I forgot to post this, so here it is!

You’ve been matched with a Karkadann!

The name karkadann is a variation of the Kurdish name that means “donkey with one horn” (Kar kit Dan). Persian kargadan, or Sanskrit kartajan, which is said to mean "lord of the desert". Depictions of karkadann are found also in North Indian art. Like the unicorn, it can be subdued by virgins and acts ferociously toward other animals. Originally based on the Indian Rhinoceros (one of the meanings of the word) and first described in the 10th/11th century, it evolved in the works of later writers to a mythical animal "with a shadowy rhinocerine ancestor" endowed with medicinal qualities.

Monster Matches are Available!

You were working as an intern lab assistant in a small medical research wing of your university. You were basically a glorified gopher, running errands for the researchers and doing simple chemical composite tests. You were the newest employee there, so it made sense that the fiddly work got passed to you, but you still resented it a little.

Dr. Sayed was one of the best medical researchers you’d ever met, and something of a genius in his field. Not that he’d ever admit that; he was also terribly modest. You actually didn’t like him when you first met him, convinced he would be as full of himself as other researchers you’d met.

Contrary to your preconceived notions, though, he was actually a very open, friendly guy who enjoyed a good laugh, though he wasn’t the type to laugh at the expense of others. You didn’t want to admit it at first, but eventually you had to acknowledge that you had him pegged completely wrong.

He avoided you at first, perhaps innately aware that you weren’t fond of him. Once he sensed a thawing of your attitude toward him, he began to smile and greet you in the mornings, which you reluctantly returned.

His primary study focus was on himself, or more specifically, his horn. According to legend, his horn was said to contain magical healing properties, and he wanted to isolate and replicate the effect and make medicine from it. He believed that, if he succeeded, it would be revolutionary in low-cost health care, something he was passionate about.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” You asked one day as he took another scraping from his horn.

He looked over in surprise. “No, not at all. It’s made of keratin, the same as hair and fingernails. If you were to dig too deep, though, you’d hit nerves and blood vessels, but the surface is perfectly fine to take samples from. I don’t even feel it.”

“Ah,” You said, returning to work. That was probably the longest conversation you’d had with him, and you’d only said three words.

“You’re the new guy, right?” He asked with a friendly smile. “Sorry I’m only introducing myself now. You just sort of had this air around you like you’d prefer to be left alone.”

You laughed a little. “I get that a lot, and it’s usually true.”

“What’s your field of study?”

“Epidemiology,” You replied. “I’ve heard you’re trying to find a scientific alternative for magical healing.”

“Trying, yes,” He said, sighing. “I should have expected it to be more difficult that I first assumed.” He scrubbed his face with his massive, three fingered hand. “Magic and science seem to be at odds with each other. Sure, that’s a well known principle, but I didn’t expect that they’d actually repel each other.”

“Sounds frustrating,” You replied.

“Incredibly,” He said with a sigh, rubbing his neck.

“You look tired,” You observed.

“I am tired,” He responded. “I’ve lost a lot of sleep over this project. If I don’t start showing results soon, my grant won’t be renewed and I’ll be placed on another project. I don’t want all of my work to go down the drain when I’m so close to a break-through.”

You felt bad for him. He was genuinely trying to help people only for his efforts to be fruitless.

“Listen, it’s almost the end of the day,” You said. “Why don’t we leave a little bit early and I treat you to dinner?”

He smiled at you. “That’s very kind, thank you.”

You took him to a local vegetarian restaurant he loved, and the two of you talked over dinner. He was warm, sweet, and it only took the span of the meal for you to realize that he was exactly your type, and you felt your attraction to him grow stronger with each passing minute you spent in his company.

You’d never been the type to shy away from confrontation, so when dinner was over and you were walking him to his car, you asked if he’d be interested in dating you. He was surprised but pleased, and shyly accepted.

You both decided to keep the fact that you were dating a secret until an outcome of his project was reached, whether it was positive or negative. A month into the relationship, though, he showed up at your house unannounced on the weekend, even though the two of you hadn’t had plans.

“What’s up?” You asked, ushering him inside. “Everything okay?”

His leathery face sagged morosely. “The project has been shelved. I’m being moved to a fibromyalgia project.”

“I’m sorry, babe,” You said. “Can I do anything to help?”

“I don’t know,” He said, moving slowly as though stuck in honey. “I came here without any plans. I just wanted to see you.”

You sighed and wrapped your arms around his waist. He cuddled you in tightly.

“You look exhausted. Why don’t we just lay down and take a nap for a while, okay?”

He nodded and allowed himself to be led into the bedroom.

You woke up in bed next to him sometime later, not having meant to actually fall asleep, but his warmth had made you feel very comfortable and cozy. He was curled around you, snoozing softly.

Without thinking much about it, you started to kiss his neck and face, scratching his rough skin gently. He awoke with a soft snort but didn’t speak, just let you bath his body in kisses.

“What are you doing?” He asked in a quiet tone.

“I’m hoping I can make you feel better,” You replied, your hands drifting downward to play with the buckle of his belt. “Let me help. Be a good boy.”

“Okay,” He said obediently, his hips thrusting up slightly, a noticeable bulge pressing against the fabric of his pants.

“Are you okay with this?” You asked.

“Yeah,” Sayed said breathlessly, nodding fervently. “I’ve been… pent up for a while.”

“Well, let’s release some of that tension then.” You popped the button of his pants and unzipped them, reaching into his underwear and wrapped your hand around his organ. It was thick and grey, just like the rest of his body, but it was far more silky to the touch than the rest of his skin and the tip was a blush pink color.

You licked him from testicles to tip, and he groaned. You flicked your tongue over the ridge and swirled it around and around. You spent some time on him, and then lay face down next to him with your hips in the air.

“Now why don’t you take care of me for a bit?” You said, wiggling. He grinned and got up the kneel behind you, bending to press his long, broad tongue against you, his moans vibrating against your skin. He pressed his large thumb inside you, massaging in and out as he sucked.

You spun around and pushed his shoulder, throwing him back to the bed, and straddled him, sinking down on him with a hiss of pleasure. He was definitely bigger than any person you’d ever been with, but it was a fun challenge. And you always liked a challenge.

In no time at all, you were riding him like it was your day job. He grunted with each thrust, gripping your hips as you slammed your body into his. You reached between the two of you and began to stroke yourself, perched on your toes as you began to climax. He gave a shout and came inside you, ribbons of his seed shooting out of you as he jerked underneath you. You crested the wave of your own pleasure as slowed to a stop, collapsing on top of him.

After a while, when you got your breath back, you said, “It’s shelved, right? Not canceled completely.”

“Yeah,” He said, his arms around you.

“Well, that’s good then. Maybe what you need is to step away for a little while and focus on something else. It might help. It’s like when you lose something and find it the minute you stop looking for it, you know what I mean?”

“You might be right,” He said. “A break would be good. And fibromyalgia is a worthy cause, too.”

“I’ll help you,” You told him. “So don’t give up. That’s an order, mister.”

To get your own Monster Match, buy me a Kofi!

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider becoming a Patron or donating directly to my PayPal.

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[supernaturallyobsessedchic]

I got something to tell ya!

Okay, so while at work, right now as we speak, I came up with a brief write up of what these fictions I have come up with. I have 3 series ideas, all of which I have not started but, I might be motivated enough today to start them when I get off work. I do have a long disclaimer warning on one, just to cover major points I’ve seen on other pages, and even videos in creators comments section. So, here are the three Story ideas. Some have titles, some don’t, just patients on that, that usually comes last to me.

Of course doing this on my Mac it doesn’t copy text but make it into an image. 

[Warning: Rant incoming] But this one above, it’s inspired by a TikTok video “Tips from the ER...” and the video is “Thoughts of hurting yourself.” and the creator is receiving so much hate for his video it’s just...a shake my head moment. In my opinion, he’s not discouraging anyone from going to the ER, that’s the viewer or commenter’s view or belief in my opinion.

Each hospital does have their own protocol to follow, and suicide is taking so seriously, they don’t take chances of you actually acting out your suicide attempt while waiting. You are evaluated and sent home depending on the doctors prognosis. If he/she/they decides that you need to try some treatment like drugs, you’ll stay for observation of side effects (because some side effects can worsen your thoughts of suicide). Once a treatment plan works, they’ll send you home with said treatment plan, a plan if this were to reoccurs, and appointments with psychiatrists either made by the hospital or you from home.

Now this is all from my research and also logical sense of the medical field. I’m not trained or educated in medicine, which is why I do as thorough of research as I possibly can. And sometimes, that research kills my writing motivation and I don’t write. :) Gotta love my stupid-ass brain. 

But that’s why I had to add the disclaimer, I want to encourage people to seek help even if it means going to the ER with thoughts of suicide. Suicide is a long term solution for a short term problem. You deserve help, it’s okay to not be okay. There are resources out there for you to reach out and seek the help you need. I’m cheering for you, and if I could, I’d hug you. But I’m here, and you’re there. :/ Always keep fighting, you’re worth it. :3

Now, these are plans, Ideas, These stories have not been written yet. I want to write them, but the creative juices weren’t there. But, of course, I’m feeling them at work. (update: just now reading this, I did not pay attention to what I was typing, but each part will have their own respected warnings...not parts...My brain was repeating the sentence and my fingers just typed away.)

Just thought I’d share and give a heads up. 

Have a great day guys. :3

[iliumheightnights]

We Have a jedi [11] |Peter Parker x Male!Stark Reader

Fandom: Star Wars and Marvel

Pairing: Tony Stark x Son Reader, Peter Parker x Male Reader

Summary: (M/N) returns to earth. His return reveals secrets and he meets a someone new.

Read From The Start

...

The lights of New York always made the city shine, even if parts of it weren’t the brightest. The sounds of cars honking and traffic were like music to his ears. He was dragged away from the flashing lights and traffic by the sound of a hiss. He turned and looked at Sheyo in his arms, she was gritting her teeth. “It hurts. Can we get to a medic?” (M/N) nodded and helped her up. “Don’t worry I’ll get you some help.” (M/N) quickly put the space stone into his pocket and wrapped her arm around his shoulder and lifted her up. “If it starts to hurt too much let me know, I’ll carry you.” Sheyo laughed. “You carry me? You can barely carry a field crate without help from the force!” (M/N) only rolled his eyes at her, but still stifled his own laughter. Carrying her out of the alley they had arrived in, Sheyo finally got to see what earth looked like. “Where are we?” The two continued to walk down the sidewalk, passerby’s giving their own glances and glares at the two of them for what they were wearing and at Sheyo especially. “Terra. But they call it earth. I’ve been here once before.” He stopped talking for a bit but decided to continue. “Sheyo...you know how I’ve been kind of distant lately? Well, you’re going to find out why here. I just ask that you keep an open mind.” She looked at him strange but smiled. “(M/N), You know I’ve always had an open mind. I’m sure whatever it is we can handle it.”

As they made their way through the city, they ended up seeing a large crowd. “Hey look, there’s a giant ball on top of that building.” Looking up (M/N) saw it, on top of a building was a ball on a pole, the words happy new year not lit up below it. So it had been not just a year...but two that he had been away. He didn’t realize he was gone for so long. Only now did he realize that the air was chilly. “That’s how they celebrate a new year here. Come on we gotta get you patched up.”

After passing the crowd, the two were getting closer to avengers tower. (M/N) was getting antsy, he of course wanted to get Sheyo to a medic...but he wanted to see his dad. He missed him. It wasn’t long before he felt a disturbance in the force. “We’re being followed.” Sheyo whispered to him. “I felt it too.” Two figures were walking in front of them and (M/N) could tell they were trouble. Not seeing any other option, he turned into an alleyway. “Stay behind me.” He set Sheyo on a trashcan, better to keep her off her leg. “Look who we have here fellas, got some people playing dress up...and a freak.” (M/N) could feel his anger building up. “We want no trouble. Leave...and don’t get hurt.” The men laughed. “Leave and don’t get hurt! Oh boy I’m so scared.”

“He told you to leave.” That wasn’t Sheyo’s voice. (M/N) looked up and saw a person dressed in red and blue hanging onto the wall. “I think you should listen to him.” The men sneered at him. “And who are you?” The boy looked shocked. “I’m spiderman!” Even (M/N) looked at him strangely. Really spiderman? “Whatever. I wanna look at the freak.” One of the men walked forward and put a hand on (M/N)’s shoulder trying to push past him. In an instant, he ignited his lightsaber and cut the man’s arm off. “AAAAHHHH!” The man laid on the ground in pain. “Holy shit! You took off his arm!” The boy yelled from the wall. (M/N) turned back to the man on the ground and pointed his saber at him. “Leave.” The men didn’t need to be told twice, they all scattered. (M/N) let out a sigh and returned to Sheyo. “Are you okay?” Sheyo laughed. “I am, don’t think the man is.” (M/N) could tell the boy was still there. “Thank you for trying to help at least. Are you an avenger?” He turned back to the boy who was now on the ground. “Who me? Uh no, not yet at least. I’m Pet-erg spiderman. I’m spiderman.” (M/N) laughed. “You said that already...also might wanna practice that some more. Don’t want your actual name to slip out, Peter.” Peter rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah...so are those lightsabers? Like from star wars?” (M/N) sighed, of course here comes that again. “Yes these are lightsabers, yes we’re jedi, no the events of star wars are still just fiction to you.” Peter nodded. “Ooohhh. Okay.” He started jumping with excitement. “But that still means star wars still exists and so does the force and all that.” Sheyo leaned over to (M/N). “Star wars?” (M/N) only said he’d tell her later and placed his hand on Peter’s shoulders to steady the boy. “Peter, calm down. Can you help me get my friend to Avengers tower? I need to get my friend to a medic.” Peter looked over at Sheyo who was waving at him. “Oh...oh of course!” The two boys helped carry Sheyo to the tower. “I still can’t believe star wars is somewhat real.”

Avengers tower, previously Stark tower, was always a sight for (M/N)’s eyes. He didn’t get to spend a lot of time in it, but it had become home to him. “I’ve never been this close before. I usually don’t have a reason to be.” (M/N) looked over at Peter who was in awe...at least he thought he was. It was hard to tell with his makeshift mask. “So why did you want to come here instead of a hospital? I’m not sure they’ll let you in.” (M/N) let out a huffed laugh. “They’ll let me in. If they don’t I won’t let them live it down.” With that he pulled the three of them into the building.

The lobby of the tower hadn’t changed that much since the last time he was there. There were some new couches and monitors set up and the receptionist was different. Speaking of the receptionist, she had looked up as the three of them walked past. “Um...excuse me. I need to see your id!” (M/N) ignored her as he kept walking, he could tell security was following them. “Jarvis. I’m back and need to get to the labs. These two are with me.” The guards had just stopped them as Jarvis’ voice came through. “(M/N)! You have been missed. Your father will be so happy to see you. Do you want me to alert him to your arrival?”  “No thank you Jarvis. I’ll find him myself. Can you tell these fine gentlemen to please move?” Jarvis did so and the three moved to the elevator. “If I may ask sir...where have you been?” (M/N) sighed. “A long story.” Sheyo looked at him. “Father? (M/N) what’s going on?” He hadn’t even realized that he had talked about his father in front of Sheyo. Hopefully she’d be understanding. “I thought you said you had an open mind?” She glared at him. “I do. Could have at least told me so I didn’t show up all messed up.” He smirked at her. “Next time Sheyo, baby steps.” She chuckled.

The elevator door opened and the three were on the move again. The labs were new. While Tony had labs before, these were newly upgraded ones...and they were nice. They passed through a pair of doors and entered a lab where they were greeted by a certain scientist in a purple shirt. “Bruce.” Bruce looked up at his name and was shocked by what he saw. “(M/N)! You’re back!” He got up and embraced the boy who hugged back. “It’s good to see you too Bruce. My friend, I think her legs broke, can you take a look?” He nodded and looked at Sheyo. “I..I can take a look.” Sheyo smiled at him. “Yes I’m green. I’m a Mirialan, nice to meet you.” (M/N) laughed. “Don’t worry Sheyo, he’s green too.” (M/N) helped get Sheyo on the table. “I’m going to find my dad. Peter, can you stay with Sheyo and Bruce until I get back?” The boy nodded. “I can wait...I’m with Bruce Banner, and jedi...in avengers tower.” (M/N) shook his head and smiled. “Yes, you are. I’ll be right back.” (M/N) was about to exit the lab before Bruce stopped him. “Oh he’s not here right now. He’s at a new years party with the other avengers. I’m not there since...you know, I don’t like parties.” (M/N) was a little disappointed hearing that. “Oh. That makes sense. Well...I’m not going anywhere so I can wait.” Peter looked at him. “Your dad’s an avenger?” (M/N) looked at him. “My dad’s Iron man.” Peter started fidgeting excitedly. “Oh my god! You’re Tony Stark’s son!? Does he even have a son?!” (M/N) shrugged his shoulders. “Kind of.” Bruce faked a cough. “Um, (M/N) if you want...your dad actually set something up if you ever came back. I can have Jarvis lead you there.” (M/N) nodded, he had time to kill anyway. “I guess I’ll take a look. Take care of my friend Bruce.” Bruce nodded and continued his work with Sheyo. (M/N) left leaving Peter with them. “Alright Jarvis, tell me where to go.”

The elevator opened on the living area floor. This had changed dramatically since the last time too. From the looks of it, the rest of the avengers had moved into the tower. It reminded (M/N) of being back in the jedi temple, everyone living together. “So...what exactly am I looking for J?” He stood in the middle of the living room. “The hallway to your right, the last door on the left.” Walking to where Jarvis instructed, he opened the door and entered. The room was a good size and space themed. There were books and posters. A tv and game consoles. “Jarvis what is this?” He already knew the answer. “This is your room sir. Mr.Stark wanted to give you your own space for when you returned.” “When?” “Yes sir, when. Mr.Stark always believed that you would come back. You being here proves he was right.” (M/N) laughed softly at that and sat on the bed. “Yeah...I guess you’re right.”

From outside the windows (M/N) could see people celebrating and partying, even from high up. He wasn’t on earth long enough to experience or see any sort of holiday or celebrations like this. He wondered if maybe one day he’d get to experience one properly. Clint had told him about one called Christmas that sounded nice to (M/N), seemed sort of like life day. There was a knock on the door and Peter popped in, but he was looking a little different. “Hey, you took your mask off.” Peter stood frozen and then realized he had. “Oh, oh yeah. I figured since you already knew my name and that you’re pretty much an avenger that I could trust you.” He stepped inside the room and looked around. “Nice digs. You really got set up here.” (M/N) smirked as he looked around with Peter. “I wouldn’t know. I have NO clue what most of these are.” Peter smiled at him. “I can help you out sometime if you want.” (M/N) smiled at him too. “I’d like that. So, did you need me for something?” Peter shook his head as he remembered. “Oh yeah. Doctor Banner asked for you to return to the lab. Something about not spending your first new years alone.” (M/N) smiled and stood up from his bed. “That sounds pretty nice.” He and Peter exited his room, (M/N) walked to the elevator but noticed Peter wasn’t following him. “Hey. You coming?” Peter shook his head. “I should probably get home. My aunt’s probably wondering where I am.” (M/N) smiled at the boy and walked closer. He brought his hand out for a handshake. “It was a pleasure to meet you Peter. Thanks for your help. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.” Peter grabbed his hand and shook it. “Yeah you too. I’m sure we will.” With that Peter put his mask back and exited to the balcony. (M/N) watched as he shot something from his hand and swung off. “Hugh, I guess he really is spiderman.”

Returning to the balcony he found Bruce looking over a screen while Sheyo was sitting on the table. “How’s the leg?” She smiled at him. “It’s alright. Just sprained. Gonna need to stay off it for a couple days. It would be better healed sooner if we had some bacta.” (M/N) sat on the table beside her. “Well we don’t. You’ll just have to suffer.” She playfully slapped his shoulder. “Oh very funny. That’s the thanks I get for risking my life?” With that Bruce looked back towards them. “Sheyo filled me in on what happened. So...you really fought that blue guy again?” (M/N) nodded. “I did. Sadly I didn’t put a more...permanent end to him then I was hoping.” Bruce was looking at him a little concerned but ultimately smiled. “Well, in any case I’m glad you’re okay...and back here with us.” The man patted his shoulder. “Thanks Bruce. It’s good to be back.” The man cleared his throat. “Well...how about we head to the living room and watch the ball drop?” Sheyo and (M/N) looked at him strangely. “The what? doing what?”

The three of them had moved to the living room and watched as the new year ushered in. (M/N) would be lying if he said the whole ball thing didn’t confuse him, but each planet had their own customs. Bruce had made them some food which they ate gratefully, they hadn’t eaten since long before the battle. After everything Bruce had set Sheyo up in a guest room and (M/N) said good night to Bruce as the man retired to his own room. (M/N) wasn’t going anywhere yet, not until his dad came back.

(M/N) stood at the window and looked over the city. It was about 1 in the morning and the parties and celebrations were still going on but he could tell it was starting to die down. The ding of the elevator brought him back to attention. “That was some party. Better than last year’s by far.” That was Clint’s voice. “You only say that because you couldn’t attend last year.” Natasha. He could tell by their voices that they were getting closer. Turning around he watched the hallway and saw the two, plus Steve and Tony, turn the corner. “I’m just saying they should have at least had party hats.” Everyone stopped their banter and laughter as they saw they weren’t alone. (M/N) could feel his hands go sweaty as his dad finally made eye contact with him. He heard his voice crack as tears built up in his eyes. “Happy new year.” It was quiet for a bit, no one really doing anything. A laugh came from Tony. “About damn time.” Then he pushed past everyone else and engulfed him in a hug. “About time kid.”

[dasibom]

haven't read it but heard mostly very positive things about a little life, would be interested in why u think it's bad? (if u want ofc)

ofc i love talking abt how much i hate this book. i answered a similar ask on my old blog so i'm just gonna copy paste (with a little editing):

content and trigger warnings for rape, csa, suicide, self harm and abuse. both for the book and this post.

i have so, so many problems with this book. lets start with... the gay stuff. here’s an bit from a goodreads review (link) by Michael Flick, which says it better than i could. the whole review is worth a read, too.

“Some believe that this is “The Great Gay Novel.” That couldn’t be more wrong. There are only two recognizable gay men in this work, JB and Caleb. A creative queen and a violent, probably psychopathic, sadist. All the other “possibilities” are pedophiles (categorically not gay—that’s a sickness, an evil, that has nothing to do with being gay) or so hopelessly confused (and impotent) that you can’t know what they are (JB and Willem). The take on gay men here is antediluvian—a dangerous and discredited brand of heteronormative delusion in which all gay men, no matter the glittering surface of their lives, are fated only to die a lonely, miserable death. Caleb dies an excruciating death (so we’re told) from pancreatic cancer. JB, the witty, flamboyant, unstable, creative queen is merely a plot point. His happiness, told but not shown, at the bitter end doesn’t mean anything more than that. He’s a device to wring one more regret from you, one more sorrow. You can be assured that he, too, will die an ignoble death just beyond this novel’s last page. And you won’t be troubled or offended or titillated by the gay sex (or really any sex) here because there isn’t any: it’s the sex that dare not speak its name. All this is because the author knows absolutely nothing about gay men other than the most superficial stereotypes and doesn’t have the imagination to venture deeper than that. She can’t even imagine that a man (Willem) doesn’t need a woman to quench his sexual needs—he has a solution readily at hand.

other than this, i remember this book having lesbophopic language but i don’t own a copy and i'm not gonna search the internet for that.

basically the whole book is just pure torture porn. so many bad and traumatising things happen to the main character it feels unrealistic and i think the only reason it happens is because the characters life has to be miserable. that's the whole point of the book to me. there is no reason to so graphically include a ton of this stuff in a book other than shock value. some of this graphic stuff includes very extreme descriptions of self harm (mostly cutting but also other stuff), suicide (including possible methods), physical and sexual abuse (part of it when the main character is a child), violence and medical trauma. i’m afraid that there is a real danger to this book teaching people how to hurt themselves (or even stuff like where to hide the tools they do it with) and i can’t imagine what an actively suicidal person might get out of this book. it really, really concerns me. i’m afraid this book teaches people to not get help, to not go to therapy and get help if they’ve been traumatised and/or are struggling with living. i've been traumatised in childhood and i can imagine what someone younger than i am, someone more impressionable, could get out of this book. like seriously some very fucked up ideas, i felt like the whole thing about being traumatised, and the constant self harming and suicide attempts were presented in almost a romanticised way. obviously my opinion here isn't like objective, or something, cause i'm a person trying to recover and deal w childhood trauma, which still affects me every day, in several ways, and realistically, it will never stop affecting me, but the point is that although it was terrible and it fucking sucks, it doesn't mean i will have a life with no quality and will forever be unhappy and unable to cope. and this book so clearly disagrees with it. the fact that the main character is traumatised and that horrible things happened to him as a child feels like a death sentence when it doesn't have to be.

^ lmao a point i also wanted to bring up in this section is that not all of the shit that happens to the main character needed to happen because it's fiction and it's a made up story, like after some point when i was reading it and seriously messed up shit just kept happening and it kept on going i thought like... why? it servers absolutely no purpose after some point. reading a rape scene after rape scene stopped having an affect on me eventually and... that's not very good, is it? like, i'm trying to say, this is fiction, it doesn't need to go that far? at some point, a very early point at that, it was enough to get the message across that hey, what happens to this character is bad and fucked up, it didn't need to go on.

the whole book is also full of people enabling the main character to hurt himself over and over again and do nothing. every character is there to some way hurt the main character and people praise this book for being such a great tale about friendship. it is so pretentious and again, just pure torture porn. the book so clearly seem to think therapy and reaching out to people for help it bullshit!

i’m not saying you can’t write or discuss the themes that are present in this book but i just don’t think this is the way to do it. probably a therapist specialising in trauma should consult with the writer and someone should make sure the description of self harm and suicide will not harm anyone. i think there are guidelines made for that by people working in the field and i just feel like something like that would be of benefit here. like, i don't know, i don't have a solution, i'm just saying this is not it.

also, here is a link to the author literally saying she does not believe in trigger warnings. and i think those would have been extremely beneficial to have at the start of this book and i certainly would not have read it if it was for them. that would have saved me from so much triggering content that i did not want to read and i wish badly that i did not read. it seems clear to me the author does not have any idea how traumatic things can work, or at least that is what i think based on what she says. here is a link to an interview in which she says she does not believe in talk therapy. there, a point about a persons autonomy to end their own life is brought up which is a topic but if that’s what she wants to talk about then it should be done in clear terms and not with the only message “therapy doesn’t work if you’ve suffered enough trauma.” at least that’s how the whole thing seemed to me. like of course a persons own choice to end their life is a discussion i do think is worth having, but... that did not come across in the book.

lastly, here are some links i have saved about this book which i think point out excellent things if anyone wants to read more:

https://www.reddit.com/r/books/comments/a0e1yi/convince_me_a_little_life_is_a_good_book_please/

http://post45.org/2016/06/im-so-sorry-a-little-life-and-the-socialism-of-the-rich/

https://cannonballread.com/2016/07/narfna-a-little-life/

& you're welcome to ask me to clarify something or just discuss, this is a little bit of a mess cause i copy pasted that old answer and edited it a bit to hopefully word things better but like. idk if much of it makes sense

[bexterbex]

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 29

Warning, if it hasn’t been obvious in the movies there is Nazi symbolism within the First Order. I will expand on this much more throughout the story. If this is something that bothers you, please just exit the story. The author does not condone any Nazi ideals, this is just for fictional uses only.

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with some canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

MASTERLIST

Chapter 29: Blackout

You felt groggy. Blinking. You heard a familiar voice that wasn’t Kylo’s, but you also heard his. They were speaking to each other. You heard your name. You tried to focus. You were now lying down and not on the couch--when did you lie down? You were in his bed, Kylo’s bed. Your sense of smell was still working if only your eyes would focus.

Blinking a few more times you could tell it was bright. Until a large object was in your vision. You started to focus. You recognized the face of Dr. Dabrini. Hw was saying something but your hearing wasn’t fully back yet. You could pick up only some of what he was saying. You could tell that he was trying to get you to talk. You tried, your mouth felt like a field of cotton in late august. Nothing came out but you could see a large shape move behind the doctor. A glass of water came to your lips, you were able to recognize Kylo’s gloved hand.

The water helped immensely. “What happened,” you ask but your voice sounded foreign to your own ears. You sounded like you had been smoking 3 packs a day for 30 years.

“You passed out Lady Ren. Your heart rate was highly elevated, too high. Let us wait a few more moments until you are fully awake,” said Dr. Dabrini.

You mentally did a full body check. Other than feeling like you were hit by a truck you felt ok. Everything seemed to move. You moved to sit up. You felt a pair of hands helping guide you. It took a lot of effort to look over at who it was but you did and of course, it was Kylo.

You made a note that you needed to memorize those strong hands of his. You could feel him put pillows behind you assisting you upright.

You definitely needed to memorize those hands.

You took a moment to regain yourself as sitting up felt like you ran a marathon. “I’m ready.”

“Well, Lady Ren there isn’t much that I can tell you. I know the subject of your relationship with the Supreme Leader can be a touchy one,” he said looking over at Kylo who was now standing rigid at the other side of the bed.

“But as your physician at the moment it is my duty to inform you such things. The Supreme Leader informed me of the nature of your passing out and I have come to a conclusion that correlates with your current condition. There is a very small portion of the population has your condition. I can assume that because of your reaction that you and the Supreme Leader have yet to consummate your match. I suggest you refrain from such an act until you do. You have no judgment from me.”

“All he did was kiss my wrist.”

“Yes, my lady. But the condition that you have is currently unnamed but does not last long as most matches consummate soon or they refrain from such intimacy until they do.”

“Intimacy? All he did was kiss my wrist,” you repeat.

“Yes, your condition involves added nerve endings on your wrist, under his name. This act, this kissing stimulated the nerve endings too much. After you consummate things these nerve endings become less sensitive. They are most sensitive when you are in direct contact with your match, the lips being one of the most stimulating body parts to the wrist. Although you may have touched each other’s wrists before I suspect you may have only felt small jolts of electricity or goosebumps. I believe the Supreme Leader would rather not test this but I have a feeling that he may have a very similar reaction if you were to reciprocate the action.”

You looked at Kylo who looked guilty, like a small child who got caught stealing from the cookie jar. His head was downturned and his shoulders slouched.

You turned back to the doctor, “Is that everything?”

“Yes, It is doctor’s orders that you rest for the rest of the evening. You will be fine tomorrow, but you should refrain from anything too strenuous or stressful tonight,” he said pointedly as he looked at Kylo who half turned away. “I also will tell you to refrain from doing so again, unless you desire the same result, which once won’t be detrimental to your health but multiple times it may.”

“Thank you, doctor,” you said. With that, he left.

You and Kylo were now alone. He looked ashamed of himself, you could tell. You patted the bed next to you, inviting him to sit. He did. Neither of you spoke for a moment, but you hesitantly reach for his hand. And you hold hands for a while until you spoke up.

“We can move at our own pace. We don’t have to rush into things.”

His eyes which were previously focused on a spot on the mattress between you now shifted to your face. His brows twitched together for a moment before he shifted his gaze to the wall behind you.

Hurt, “I’m sorry. I hurt you again.” You could see a tear fall from his face, his breath hazardous.

You pull on his hand, tying and failing to bring him closer to you. “But you didn’t mean to. You wanted to make me happy, and believe me, I was.”

“I didn’t mean to but when you were unresponsive I looked into your mind. I needed to know you were all right.” You were startled.”What did you see?”

He pulled his hand from yours and stood. His back was to you now. “Your discovery last night.” His voice was a mix of hurt, disgust, and anger.

“It’s not like I went looking for it,” you felt hurt by his reaction--his accusation.

He turned to you, his chest now puffed with anger lurking in his eyes. “No, but you found out.”

You were confused. This man just minutes ago, or was it hours, was kissing you, making your heart soar, but now it felt like it shattered into a million pieces. Your eyes drifted to your lap before you pulled your knees up to your chest and hugged them. “I’m sorry. It was a mistake.” you wanted to shrink, to shrink down so small that you could get lost between the threads of the sheets beneath you, between the threads of reality.

But Kylo’s reaction changed, you were expecting anger, but you were met with a hand on your cheek pulling up your face from where you had it buried between your knees. The hand you swore to memorize caressed your face, gone was the anger that he was just feeling. He crawled up to you, pulling you to his wide chest tucking your head into his neck. “I know.” His voice was now soft and quiet. It felt like a different person was speaking.

You stayed like that for a long time, until a weird beeping sound made him loosen his grip on you. He pulled out a small device from his pocket. General Hux’s voice came through, “Supreme Leader, I have yet to receive word from Lieutenant Mitaka on whether or not Lady Ren will be joining me for her tutoring session.”

You groaned and felt for your phone to find the time, it was 1:55 PM, your tutoring sessions usually started at 2 PM. You had yet to have lunch, and you suspected that Kylo hadn’t eaten either, because of recent events.

“She will not be joining you, tell the lieutenant to get a debriefing from the medical ward to keep in his file,” said Kylo into the device that he then put on the side table.

Your stomach growled signifying your lack of sustenance. There was a small smirk of amusement on Kylo’s face his eyes filled with mirth.

“Can we order food?”

You heard a small chuckle escape him that was enough to rock his broad chest. His hand shot out in front of you and his data pad appeared in his hand, or more like flew into his hand. He handed it to you and shift your positions on the bed. He was now the one laying back on the pillows by the headboard. Your back against his chest with tangled legs. His large hands splayed across your stomach. You scrolled through the food options, although you were hungry you were taking your time. You settled on some sort of rice dish, that by the description reminded you of Chinese or Thai food. You asked Kylo what he wanted to eat. This time you were able to keep the data pad in your hands as he scrolled through the list of food choices. You took that moment to admire his long fingers, they were almost comically large and long. When he was finished he hit order and returned his hand to your stomach which promptly growled. He chuckled again.

His nose buried itself in your hair. You could feel his lips brush your scalp and a shiver went down your spine. He let out an amused hum. One of his index fingers started tracing a circle into you. His breathing had slowed, had calmed. You glanced up at him, his eyes were closed and he had a pleasant look on his face. This put a smile on your face.

A droid came in with your food. Kylo insisted that you do not move from the bed and you ate there. You did as he wished. Eating lunch in a pleasant silence. When the droid left with your trash you shifted in your position.

Your ear was now to his chest listening to his heartbeat, your hand joining you. Kylo’s hand was on your hip. His other hand was now moving back and forth across your shoulders.

That hand after a while shifted to stroke up and down your back. His hand started to drift lower and lower, skimming the top of the back of your pants. Shifting your shirt up to graze the small strip of free skin there. You felt hot once more with jolts of electricity shooting up your spine.  

You shifted your head to look up at him. “We can’t.”

“I know.” His hand then moved to hold your ribcage. He shifted his face once more to your hair. His thumb now rubbing circles into your ribs. The hand that was on your hip moved to caress your cheek. His long fingers wrapping themselves in your hair. He tilts your face up to meet his.

He glances at your lips and back to your eyes. You were just an inch apart from your lips meeting. His eyes were staring deep into your soul. Just when you think he’s going in to kiss you he shifts, his lips landing on your forehead. Your heart speeds up.

Out of breath, because you didn’t realize you were holding it until now, “We can’t.”

He whispers, “I know.” His lips shift up to your hair once more. His cheek now resting against your crown.

“I want to wait. I want the moment to be just right. I want to know you, to really know you. And then to forget where you end and I begin. I don’t want to rush.” As you said this you traced and imaginary line down his sternum.

You felt him shift, for his lips to be in your hair again and then for his forehead to the top of your head. He let out a sigh, “I know.” The hand that was on your face shifted he hooked a finger under your chin pulling your face up once more. This time his thumb ran over your lips as his eyes shifted back and forth from your lips to your eyes. He was asking permission.

You gulp, your breath hitched, you but your lip and slowly nodded. He leaned in stopping only an inch from your lips. He asked, “may I?” He was asking permission again.

You closed your eyes and whispered, “Yes.”

[bunnyhanasong]

Lost and Found

Main ship: pharmercy

Side ships: n/a

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, reunion

Synopsis: Dr. Angela Ziegler has spent years focusing solely on her work and saving lives. When a familiar face comes to her in the worst way imagined, the level-headed doctor is left battling logic and emotion in a way she never wished to experience.

Note: This is a short story that I wrote for my creative writing course last semester that I have edited to contain Pharah and Mercy as opposed to my original characters I submitted it with. As I was writing it, I noticed how much inspiration I had taken from Pharmercy with the doctorxsoldier trope, so I thought I would edit it and post as a fan fic since I'm rather fond of it and got a very good mark on it. So, Mr. O if you're reading this; yes this short story was basically gay Overwatch fan fiction lmao. For now this is just a oneshot, though I have thought about expanding the story in the future. Feedback, comments, and suggestions for future pieces in this universe are very much appreciated and will motivate me to write again for this!

Content warnings: canon typical violence, medical talk, military talk, PTSD, traumatic injuries, takes place in a hospital

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Incoming trauma, IED blast with three major casualties; one DOA, two in critical condition.

Angela groaned as her pager beeped angrily at her, the words highlighting the screen causing her to shoot up from her bunk. The on-call room was dark and there were at least two other pagers beeping away, trying to get their owners up to meet the trauma. The bottom bunk she had been occupying for less than 45 minutes, though not exactly the pinnacle of comfort, was warm and inviting in that moment. Still, she pushed herself up and made to leave, trying to pull her blonde hair into a haphazard bun as she followed the other doctors out into the hallway.

The doctor and nurse in front of Angela were chattering in what she knew was Arabic, though her minimal knowledge in the language rendered eavesdropping nearly impossible. Angela was from Switzerland originally, so she only spoke German and English, the latter being thanks to school. She had chosen to learn English throughout high school and university, which came in handy since that was the tongue she spoke predominantly here. She was the head doctor of a Swiss medical aid team, sent to a military base outside of Cairo, Egypt to help their short-staffed trauma centre. None of her team knew Arabic, save for a few phrases, so they were relying on each other and their English knowledge to get them through the mission. As the head doctor and the most fluent English speaker, Angela was the one who received the most information from the Military doctors.

“Dr. Ziegler,” an accented voice brought Angela’s attention to the nurses’ station across the trauma bay. She made her way to the nurse who had said her name, a kind, stout Egyptian woman by the name of Salma. She had been the friendliest nurse by far and welcomed the Swiss doctors warmly. Coming to stand by the triage desk, Angela asked the nurse for more information on what had occurred.

“Our military had sent a team to patrol a territory not far from the base where reports had been made of criminal activity. I guess they stepped too close to unmapped land, an IED mine went off before anyone could react. We lost one immediately, the other two are on the bus in critical condition; ETA 10 minutes.”

Angela nodded along with her words, feeling her stomach sink at the fact that they lost a patient already. She shook off the thought though, no sense in getting emotional now; she would just need to focus on keeping the remaining two alive. She had already seen her fair share of explosion aftermath in her two weeks on base already, which was a terrifying wake up call for the woman. Still, as a doctor she had learned quickly that one must separate feelings from work, otherwise the emotional impact of the job would have put her out of commission years ago. She kept this in mind as she left the nurses’ station, passing a group of Egyptian staff barking orders in Arabic and making her way to a familiar redheaded woman.

“Ange!” the younger doctor greeted Angela in German with a sign of relief, “We have no idea where to even start with this. Do you have any more information on the trauma?”

Amelia Schmidt, 35-year-old and a cardio surgeon by trade, though here she had switched from daily open heart surgeries to more frequent traumas and millions of sutures. She had been Angela’s closest friend since they started working at the same hospital almost about eight years prior. She was certainly a spunky person, always ready to jump into action and meet the problem head on. Being in Egypt was changing that for Amelia though, she felt very out of her element and was finding herself relying on Angela a lot more than usual. The language barrier was certainly difficult, not to mention the culture shock, and Amelia finally felt the overwhelming weight of her profession full force. Still, she never lost her spirit and still kept Angela and the others optimistic, her jovial attitude making nightshifts and long days a bit more bearable.

“Two casualties incoming, both soldiers. Landmine went off and they must have got the front of the blast. Jump in where you can and keep an eye on the younger doctors with us in case translation becomes a problem. If you need help with Arabic, let Salma know like always.”

Amelia nodded at her friend’s words, “Okay.”

Angela didn’t have time to ask her friend how things had been while she had taken a short nap, because the doors to the trauma bay crashed open. There was a lot of shouting in multiple languages as Dr. Ziegler tried to direct her staff in German while the local doctors did the same in their language. She ran up to the medic pushing a gurney, asking in her heavily accented English what they were looking at.

The paramedic looked slightly confused but thankfully answered the blonde woman in English after a moment’s pause, “Private Ahmed Abassi, age 23. GCS 8, responds to pressure but currently nonverbal and only semi-conscious. He was thrown by the explosion and has a suspected rib fracture and shoulder dislocation. Abdomen seems stiff, we assume some internal bleeding but could not get a portable ultrasound in the field.”

Angela nodded as they wheeled into a trauma room, stopping so she could pull on a pair of gloves. She worked with the nurses who had come to help, doing a secondary scan of the patient’s body. She identified some shrapnel that caused superficial wounds but her main concern was the distention of his abdomen and the apparent pain response the young soldier had to it. He was barely conscious but groaned in pain as she palpated the area, apologizing to him gently in Arabic as she continued to check his chest and torso for injuries. Though her words were jumbled and she stuttered more than she liked, Angela still made sure to speak to her patient calmly through her exam, just in case he was more aware than they thought. She asked a nurse to get the portable ultrasound and x-ray so they could check for internal injuries, which was her greatest concern in that moment. As she was monitoring his vitals and reassessing his condition on the coma scale chart, one of her younger doctors ran into the room.

“Dr. Ziegler,” the young man asked in a slightly overwhelmed tone, “Dr. Khan is asking for your help in trauma one.”

Angela nodded and turned to a nurse she knew spoke English, “I will be back to check on Private Abassi in a bit, please get those blood tests and the type-and-cross orders ASAP.”

She followed the resident out into the hall and found Dr. Khan standing outside the trauma room in question. The Egyptian doctor was the head trauma surgeon there and was very no-nonsense. She was tall and slightly intimidating, years of military training apparent in her posture and demeanour. Still, she had been friendly and helpful to the visiting doctors, which Angela was thankful for. She didn’t even have a chance to ask what was wrong before the other woman spoke in a terse voice.

“Female in her early thirties. She is awake and noncompliant. Traumatic trans-radial amputation and other assumed injuries we cannot diagnose due to her adamance to leave. She needs to be examined and we need to operate but we first need to assess her mental state.”

Angela was a bit taken aback by the sudden information dump, “And you need me because...?”

“Your friend said you worked in psychology before switching to surgery, yes?”

Ah, so she wanted a psych consult. Angela had done a minor is psychology and worked as a psychiatrist for a couple years before deciding she much rather preferred the surgical side of her profession. It had been years since she had done a proper psych consult, but her knowledge of the workup and proper patient care had not escaped her.

“I did. Do you need me to do a workup now? Shouldn’t her physical injuries take priority?”

Dr. Khan shook her head, “We have reasons to believe this is a Post-Traumatic Stress attack. She took the biggest force of the explosion; witnesses say she threw herself towards it to protect her younger soldiers. She is a security chief, so we know she has seen a lot of battle already, and was held captive by enemy forces for a fortnight last year.”

“And unknown people touching her while she is in shock may cause her to become violent or prone to self-injury,” Angela concluded, nodding. She gestured for the trauma surgeon to take her to see the patient, following behind her into the room. It had been a while since she had done a proper psych evaluation, but she was hopeful that this would be simple and not include any communication barriers.

There was a large amount of hospital personnel in the room, surrounding a figure clad in a tattered military uniform. There was a group of nurses trying to dress the soldier’s arm, which had been amputated, probably by shrapnel, just below the elbow. That needed to be assessed and closed properly, but surgery was not an option until a proper workup was done. To do a workup though, they first needed to calm the patient so she would be compliant; which was already proving to be an issue. The soldier was thrashing in the nurses’ hold, trying to escape their grasp and the IV in her remaining arm.

Jumping into action, Angela waved away two security personnel who were trying to restraint the soldier’s wrist and ankles, “You are only making this worse by restraining her. Please refrain from touching the patient.”

Making her way towards the bed, she glanced back at Doctor Khan, “Patient name?”

She looked down at the patient and didn’t even hear Khan’s response. It wasn’t necessary; she new exactly who this was. If her name badge on her uniform, somehow still intact, wasn’t identifiable enough, the eye of Horus tattoo under her right eye gave away her identity. The patient’s terrified dark eyes met hers and Angela knew that there was recognition under the layers of shock and drug-induced haze.

“F-fareeha?” Angela murmured, shocked, and took a seat in the chair pulled up beside the hospital bed. She had already tuned out all the background noise of the room, focusing completely on the woman in front of her. She was trying very hard to separate emotions from the situation, but now that she knew who the patient was it was becoming increasingly difficult. Still, she had a job to do and that was the priority in this moment.

Returning her focus to the task at hand, Angela spoke softly to the injured soldier in front of her. She had obviously recognized the blonde doctor by now and was staring at her in confusion, as if she could not understand why Angela was in front of her. The way she looked at her was reassuring though, since she seemed responsive despite her injuries and apparent blood loss. Angela took a glance at the monitor for a moment to check her vitals, saw her heart rate and blood pressure were concerningly high, and took a moment to attempt to soothe the patient’s nerves.

“Fareeha, I need you to stay still, okay?” Angela tried again to reassume her doctor tone as she spoke to the soldier, “You need to let us take care of you. Take a deep breath for me, alright?”

The Egyptian woman tried to speak but she was having trouble, whether that be due to focusing issues or her pain. The other hospital staff were speaking loudly and it was clearly distracting the patient. She was trying to even her breathing like Angela asked, but too deep of an inhale caused her breathing to hitch and her whole body to flinch, which made her assume she had sustained some broken ribs. Fareeha fumbled around on the bed until she caught Angela’s hand with her remaining one, looking up at the doctor with tear-filled eyes. The blonde didn’t pull her hand away, sensing that she needed comfort in this moment, and just hushed her gently.

“Focus on me, alright? Can you understand me?” she had been speaking English the whole time, since she knew Fareeha knew it as well. It was easier than attempting to speak her rusty Arabic, which probably wouldn’t be understandable anyway considering how much her voice wavered. After a pause, Fareeha nodded shakily, wincing as her body disagreed with the movement.

“Good, stay still,” Angela was still holding her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, “You’re safe, Fareeha. You had an accident out in the field but we’re going to get you through this.”

Angela was trying her best to stay calm herself, speaking softly and keeping the patient’s focus on her. She knew she was letting her emotions get the better of her but she couldn’t help it. Not when Fareeha had such a tight grip on her hand and her eyes held so many questions and so much pain. Still, she knew the most important thing was to keep Fareeha distracted so her heart rate stayed down, wanting to avoid any more panic. She could see the nurses still trying to staunch the flow of blood from Fareeha’s amputation, silently praying that the patient stayed unaware of that aspect of her injury for the time being.

“M-my… my t-team?” the soldier’s voice was raspy and she spoke through gritted teeth but to Angela it was a relief to hear, “Are… t-they o…okay?”

That question made Angela hesitate, glancing back anxiously at Dr. Khan. She didn’t know how to respond to that, since she was not aware of how Ahmed’s condition was faring and did not even know the name of the soldier who had been killed by the blast. Fareeha squeezed her hand, trying to catch her attention again, and Angela sighed. Of course it was just like Fareeha to only care about her team when faced with life threatening injuries herself, ever the selfless hero she was.

“Private Abassi is in surgery right now, Chief Amari,” Khan supplied quickly, “Your other members are either back at base or in the waiting room.”

Angela did not want to lie to Fareeha but knew they could not tell her the truth about the deceased. It would not be fair to distress her like that, not now, and it would certainly ruin things after they had finally gotten her calm. The doctor just nodded along with the attending surgeon’s words, making eye contact with Fareeha.

“Fareeha, you need surgery,” though the extent of her injuries was not yet known, it was obvious she would need to be anesthetized to have her traumatic amputation corrected and cleaned up. She was unsure if the patient had even registered that she was missing her hand and forearm, most likely due to shock or the concern for her team she seemed to hold over her own health.

“Surgery?”

Angela hummed in affirmation, frowning at the way the younger woman sounded so confused, “Can you let the other doctors look you over? I promise you are safe; we just need to make sure you’re not bleeding internally or have any fractures we missed.”

It took a little more coaxing and Angela promising to stay right beside her before the younger woman agreed. The Swiss doctor held her hand the whole time, spoke to her gently in English and broken Arabic, hoping to calm her nerves. The doctor’s shaky attempt at speaking her mother tongue made Fareeha smile despite her pain, a familiar and warm sight that soothed Angela’s own anxieties. When Doctor Khan confirmed that Fareeha had suffered major bruising and a few rib fractures, as well as a concussion, she ordered some scans to make sure there was no bleeding or injury they had missed.

The other staff members were still bustling around, ordering scans and cleaning up the space. Angela had stepped away to speak to the attending doctor, explaining how she knew Fareeha and what steps they had to take now. The soldier in question was slumped back into the uncomfortable neck brace she was stuck in, still trying to crane her neck to see the only familiar face she knew in the room.

“Angie?”

The nickname Angela had not been called in years made her jump, sure Amelia called her “Ange” sometimes but that was different. There was a mixture of fondness and fear in Fareeha’s voice as she called out to the blonde doctor, who had been speaking to Khan in a hushed tone across the room. Turning her attention back to the patient who called for her, Fareeha’s dark eyes searching for reassurance before the unfamiliar nurses wheeled her to the operating theatre.

Angela walked back to her side, not even thinking as she reached out to brush matted dark hair off Fareeha’s face, “You’ll be alright, Fareehali.”

The affectionate nickname surprised the younger woman, “W-will you be here… when it’s d-done?”

Angela nodded, “Of course. I promise.” The fear and uncertainty was clear on her face and it broke Angela’s heart, seeing this strong soldier so scared. She held onto Fareeha’s hand for a little longer, promising her that the surgery would be over before she knew it and Fareeha was in good hands.

When she was reassured that there would be a familiar face there when she woke up, the solider let the staff members wheel her down the hallway. Angela was left in the hall by herself, dumbfounded by the situation she had just been thrown into. She went back to the trauma bay in a daze, worry eating away at her stomach as she slouched heavily against a wall.

“Ange?” Amelia’s cheerful voice drew her out of her thoughts, “You okay?”

Angela shrugged, already feeling the dull ache of a migraine throbbing in her skull, “Patient’s gone to surgery.”

Amelia raised an eyebrow, “You’re not operating? You have privileges here and usually you never pass up the chance to operate.”

The older woman had taken a seat in a chair, her head falling into her hands as she felt her body weighed down with the emotions she had tried to fight off. She stayed quiet for a moment as she tried to collect herself, feeling her friend’s concerned stare drilling into her. Angela didn’t raise her head to look at Amelia and her reply was muffled.

“Can’t operate. Not on her.”

“Who?”

Angela sighed, “The security chief with the traumatic amputation. She’s… uh… she’s my ex-girlfriend.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The first thing Fareeha was aware of when she woke up was the scent of disinfectant, which was so strong it felt like a hit to the face. The second thing she noticed was that her left arm was numb, and a quick glance down explained why. Her elbow was wrapped in a tight layer of bandages, but the rest of her lower arm was gone, an empty space on the bed where it should be. She recalled one of the nurses mentioning something about a traumatic amputation, but it had disappeared from her mind in a haze of adrenaline and pain medication. She was not too sure about much that had happened in the trauma room, to be honest; everything fuzzy with the weight of anesthetic. Now, though, the reality was hitting her; she was missing her left arm and might never fight again.

She felt a weight on her other arm and turned her head, much too fast which made her wince, and saw a familiar figure beside her. Angela Ziegler was there in all her glory, slumped over in a visitor’s chair that had been pulled as close to the bed as possible. She was fast asleep, her hand clutching tightly to Fareeha’s remaining one as if she would disappear if Angela let go. She was still clad in her beige scrubs, her rumpled white coat having been discarded over the back of the chair, and her hair was a mess, tumbling over her shoulders as if it had fallen from its haphazard knot. Despite her clear exhaustion and disheveled state, Fareeha would never be over how beautiful the Swiss woman was, and she felt her heart clench painfully as she remembered how bittersweet this reunion was.

Their breakup was not exactly a bad one; there had not been any ill feelings or fights. It was mostly a mutual decision out of necessity rather than falling out of love. Fareeha had been an exchange student in Switzerland back in her second year of University. She soon met Angela, a quiet and calculated med student well on her way to her degree. They quickly became friends and improved their English together as a means of communication. Like so many cliché love stories, their friendship grew closer until it was more than that. They dated for a while, Fareeha staying in Switzerland longer than her exchange had been for, and they were happy. Thing were good and Angela even made solid plans to visit her girlfriend the next summer in Egypt when she undoubtably would have to go home.

When Fareeha went back to Egypt, they made long distance work for a while and it was still okay. It was when the Egyptian woman told her girlfriend she would be joining the army that Angela knew things wouldn’t work out, not then anyway. They were too far apart and she needed to focus on her career, Fareeha’s military service would leave her plagued by fear for her partner’s safety and distract her from the hospital. Fareeha proposed a break, understanding Angela’s point of view but knew the older woman would never stop her from doing what she wanted. Angela had let her go without a fight and they parted ways, though there had been many tears on both sides and a long skype call of apologies and regrets.

They had stayed in touch at first, friendly and civil, but soon grew apart. Mostly due to Fareeha’s training and deployments, which prohibited her from using her phone often. Eventually their correspondence lulled until it stopped all together. It had been maybe three years since they last spoke by then and Fareeha was completely overwhelmed by the doctor’s presence. The fact that she was here though, since she must she have had work to be doing, was reassuring. It made her feel safe to have Angela here, especially since her mind threatened to swallow her in a whirlwind of memories and trauma. Though it didn’t stop the panic completely, Angela being there was enough to keep her from falling deep into her head in that moment.

The effects of the anesthetic were wearing off, though she still felt groggy from the IV of what she assumed was morphine. She certainly wasn’t complaining about the drugs though, since she knew her pain would have been almost blinding without the steady flow of pain relief into her bloodstream. Now that her head was clearer, Fareeha tried her hardest to distract herself from the overwhelming numbness she felt on her left side. She felt as though maybe the fact that she had had a traumatic amputation hadn’t sunk in completely beforehand, but now that the pain was breaking through her hazy mind, she felt the panic over the topic rising.

Thinking about it only made it worse, Fareeha noted, but she couldn’t stop herself. Left in the silent and bland hospital room to her own devices, her head was filled with memories from the accident as they all flooded back. The yell of shock that left her friend Noor as she realized too late that she stepped on an unmarked mine. The way she had thrown herself to grab her friend but had been too late to stop the damage. The force of the explosion that sent them all flying backwards. It all came back in a rush, overwhelming her beyond belief.

Her head was aching, she had a concussion if she remembered correctly, and she just wanted to go back to sleep. Sleep would surely bring nightmares now, though, and the solider was not sure how much more panic she could handle at that point. Fareeha tried to focus her mind on Angela instead, observing her sleeping form languidly in an attempt to keep herself calm. She gave the doctor’s hand a gentle squeeze, more as reassurance for herself than anything, and it caused the other woman to stir.

“Fareehali?” the nickname was mumbled and tired, followed by a string of words in German that Fareeha was unable to place properly. It had been too long since she head or spoke in Swiss-German, her third language, and she was too out of it to recognize what the doctor said. Hearing her voice was reassuring though, even though the sleepily mumbled words pricked at her heart more than she would like to admit; mind flooded with memories of their past. This time she wasn’t waking up in their shared bed next to the beautiful doctor, who was too tired to speak in anything but her mother tongue but still greeted Fareeha good morning with gentle kisses and a strong hug. This time she was injured and in the hospital, Angela was her doctor and they had been broken up for over half a decade. Thing were bittersweet, she sighed to herself, and this was certainly not how she imagined their reunion.

“Hi, Angie,” Fareeha replied as the blonde lifted her head, her grip on the other woman’s hand not faltering for a moment. It took a little while for Angela to wake up properly, her unruly hair sticking to sleep-flushed cheeks as she lifted her free hand to rub at her eye. After a moment though, she seemed to jump back into doctor mode.

“How’s your pain?” she questioned, glancing over at the machine beside the bed to check Fareeha’s vital signs. Fareeha couldn’t help but smile weakly at the focused look on her face, thinking she looked downright adorable when she was fussing over her like this. Perhaps an inappropriate thought for a soldier being treated for traumatic injuries, Fareeha would just blame her gay brain winning over logic for that though.

Fareeha shrugged weakly, “Can’t feel my arm,” she nodded pointedly to the bandaged stump that was propped up on a pillow as if it wasn’t obvious. She tilted her head back into the pillows and winced a little, “Head hurts.”

Angela frowned at that, reaching up to absentmindedly smooth her messy dark hair down, “I’m sorry, Fareeha.”

“Nothing anyone could do.”

“you… threw yourself in front of the explosion?”

Fareeha flinched but nodded all the same, “Not my finest idea. It seemed like the right thing to do though; I had to protect those kids. Dumbasses, the lot of them, but at the end of the day they’re good soldiers.”

Angela shook her head, “You could have died, Fareeha.”

“I could die any day, Angie. That’s how this line of work goes.”

“But…” Angela’s eyes were full of pain as she stared at her, “I can’t lose you… not again, Fareehali.”

That confession had Fareeha pausing, taken aback by the statement. It had been three years since they last spoke, six since they broke up, yet by that admission it sounded like Angela hadn’t let her go completely. Maybe she had not let Angela go either, still, that was a loaded statement and the solider was unsure of how to reply.

“Angela…” Fareeha spoke gently, though her tone was guarded, “It’s been so long.”

The blonde scoffed, blue eyes holding a challenging edge to their stare, “And? That doesn’t mean anything… I miss you, Fareeha. When I saw you in the trauma bay earlier, it was like my worst fear being realized before my eyes. If you had died down there or in surgery, I don’t know if I could have handled it.”

The Egyptian woman felt her heart sink as tears welled in Angela’s eyes. She hated seeing her in pain, hated that she couldn’t fix it immediately. The older woman had always been so strong, so calculated and sure of herself, so to see her now close to tears and almost shaking; it made Fareeha want to cry as well.

“I’m sorry,” Fareeha’s voice was barely above a whisper, “I didn’t want to leave you… I didn’t want to scare you like this.”

“I know…” Angela mumbled, hiding behind her curtain of blonde hair. She laughed at her own emotional behaviour and swiped at the tears on her cheeks, “This is so unprofessional of me.”

“Angie… how long have you been in Egypt?”

Angela looked at her with a sheepish smile, “Two weeks. We’re here for a couple months, unless something severe happens.”

Fareeha nodded, “Did you… think about contacting me?”

“I did, actually,” Angela laughed a little, “I contacted your mother. I wasn’t sure if you still had the same phone number so I found Ana though the trauma centre’s records, she works here sometimes, yeah?”

“Not as often as she used to but yeah. I haven’t talked to her in a while to be honest.”

“Fareeha!” Angela shook her head, “Call your mother for once, dumbass. She misses you.”

“I know”

The doctor sighed and observed her for a moment, “I… miss you.”

“Angie,” Fareeha sighed, watching her with pain in her eyes.

“I do.”

“I know” Fareeha said again, “I miss you too.”

Angela was holding onto her hand again, silent tears streaking down her cheeks. Fareeha tugged on her hand until she took the hint, slouching down so the soldier could wrap her arm around her. Angela melted against her strong body, trying to be careful and avoid straining her injuries. It felt safe like this, something neither woman had felt properly in years; the familiarity and warmth that came with the desperate embrace. This was the comfort both had missed so dearly, something the doctor had let go of out of fear of the unknown. Yet here they were six years later, the only reassurance they found from the unknown being in each other’s arms.

“Promise me,” Angela mumbled into her shoulder, “That you won’t scare me like this again. I can’t lose you, not after all this.”

“Angela, you couldn’t handle the distance last time…”

“I don’t care,” the Swiss woman wore her stress and exhaustion on her face as she lifted her head, “I’ll do whatever it takes this time. I’ll stay here if I have to, transfer all my work here. I can’t leave you, Fareeha, certainly not like this.”

“I-” Fareeha took a shaky breath, “You mean that?”

“Whatever it takes,” Angela’s tone was serious and firm, a sure nod punctuating her tearful words. Fareeha knew she wasn’t lying and she knew from experience that Angela never broke her promises. She also knew that the blonde was the most stubborn, head-strong woman she had the pleasure of meeting.

“Okay.”

“O-okay?”

“I promise,” Fareeha concluded as she held tightly onto the woman who had truthfully never stopped being the object of her affection, “I won’t leave you again.”

That admission made Angela burst into tears again, holding tightly to the younger woman as her whole body shook with a mixture of relief and emotion. Fareeha just held her as best she could, pressing a cautious kiss to the Swiss woman’s forehead, apologizing so quietly it was almost inaudible. It was an apology for a lot of things, leaving her; scaring her; not being there to protect and love Angela for all those years. Angela just scoffed and told her to shut up, returning her affection with a gentle kiss on the lips that held six years of pain, regret, and love.

Even though the future was terrifying and their reunion was as bittersweet as reunions go, none of that seemed to matter in that moment. All that mattered was the promise of safety and comfort they had found in each other all those years ago, a promise that felt stronger than any war, IED, or distance that threatened to separate them again.

[cloudbattrolls]

The Rifle’s Spiral

Tuuya crouched in a tree, looking down as they kept an eye out for Spark trolls.

The forest had a few beasts in it, but at least no riftstalkers. And no fiery brainwashed people. Yet.

All the better for the ragged band of trolls huddling in tents below.

Damn Firebird and her Judaas of a descendant. Who else could have let slip to the crazed teal that she hadn’t killed the drinker after all? No other troll in the company had motive.

Tuuya hoped that after the razing of at least three OLSC residential buildings, Karina was regretting her life choices. At least most of the trolls had been gone - away at work - and they’d thrown on their white fireproof armor and gotten out who they could, since Firebird didn’t appear to finish her jobs. They still wore it, only the helmet in their sylladex so they could see more clearly.

There had still been enough the drinker couldn’t reach in time to scream from throats hoarse from smoke as they died.

Why had Firebird not finished the job? She was more than capable of killing them if that had been it, or to convert more slaves. Unless being so far from the source of her power made her weaker.

The tops of the buildings that could be seen over the ground still crackled with flames, glowing distantly in the night. Smoke drifted from them, and the drinker could smell it on the breeze.

“Tuuya?”

They looked down, ears flicked up, but lowered them as they saw it was only Tierel.

The yellow was bloody and had small burns, but was at least alive.

“Do you know what’s going on? Aside from Karina betraying us all.”

They hesitated at the jade’s question, wiping blood from an open cut. It smelled good, but Tuuya was too angry to think much of hunger.

“She sent me to find you. She wants to know how many people survived.”

They hissed and jumped down from the tree. Tierel quickly retreated several feet.

“Does she? How inquisitive of her. Tell her I’m done serving her. Tell her I’m going to find her, and slit her throat until her precious lineage spills all over the floor.”

Tierel shakes their head, opening their mouth to reply, before a lava-veined stone hand grabbed them from behind.

The worm monster whipped out their gun, but the creature pressed Tierel close to their too-hot body and the yellow whimpered in pain.

“Vannyn, you will - ”

The Spark troll spoke in Firebird’s voice, glowing orange eyes flickering teal, then faltered. Their face became confused instead of blank.

“What am I doing here? This isn’t the colony.”

Tuuya didn’t lower their gun, but their mind raced as the troll let Tierel go and looked around in befuddlement.

“Am I back on Alternia? Was I given leave? Why am I so hot?”

So they really don’t remember anything in her grasp, and that seals it: Firebird’s control wanes the further she is from that wretched planet.

The strange troll put a hand to their horns, feeling the encrusted stone and running lava.

“Who are you two? Do you serve the Empress?”

The drinker exchanged a look with Tierel. Firebird could still reassert herself at any moment, but maybe they can use this.

“Yes, of course.” The drinker soothes, as if talking to Uunive when she was young, or Talula if she’s had daymares that night. “We’re undercover, just like you. Tierel will guide you to your next objective.”

“What are you here for?” They ask, in the commanding tones of a highblood. Maybe they were one, long ago.

Tuuya paused, then put their gun away.

“I’m your fashion consultant.” They assure the Spark troll, taking out the half-finished hanboks for Margol and waving them around before putting them back. “See? I’ll give us new outfits if we need them to disguise ourselves among the rebels.”

They considered that for a few moments, and the drinker can see more spark trolls in the distance now.

Firebird could resurface, but what if they gave her something else to think about for a while?

The worm monster gave Tierel a hand signal, and the yellow dutifully started jabbering fictional reports to the Spark troll, getting them to turn in the other direction.

The drinker placed a tracker pulled from their sylladex on the fiery troll’s back. It quickly camouflages itself to match their craggy skin and glowing veins. No telling how long the technology could survive the heat of their body, but it was worth a try.

Now for the rest of them.

As the spark troll strode back to the group, Tuuya realized an obvious problem; if this unpossessed one doesn’t recognize the others, they’ll probably attack if they’re at all empire loyal. Or maybe the others will attack them, and wreck the tracker. 

They run up, tuck Tierel under one arm (the yellow has enough sense to stay quiet and still) and scramble back up a tree as Firebird fights her way back, because all of them turn and look in their direction, glowing eyes ablaze as they move as one.

The camped trolls are much too near. 

"Get out your gun.” The drinker whispers to the their companion, setting them on a branch gently. They do, with silent struggle written into their body - the burns from that Spark troll aren’t doing them any favors. Tierel’s no trained soldier, no enhanced monster. They just had the bad luck to work for OLSC.

Nevertheless, the pair of them stun and trap enough Spark trolls with coolant that it’s just about possible to get through - though they have nothing left for Firebird now.

Though many of them are coated in freezing gel up to their knees or even waists, they still grabbed at the pair as Tuuya carried Tierel through the trees and the open field. The drinker dodged and ducked both the scorching grip of the burning fingers and the chill of the the hardening coolant.

It’s the damned voices that are their own challenge, Firebird’s and the others.

“ - be ash beneath my feet - “

“Where’s my lusus? I miss her.”

“ - and everything you love - ”

“Empress, what happened to me?”

“ - fuel for my flames!”

Tierel shifted in their arms, voice faltering from their pain - burns an angry yellow on their skin - but still determined to get the words out.

“It wasn’t...Karina. Her face when the buildings burned...she was really scared. I know things aren’t...great, but she wouldn’t hurt the company trolls.”

The drinker snorted as they kicked another flailing arm aside, one that nearly snapped off one of Tierel’s horns.

“Was she terrified when her ancestor was putzing around enslaving people? She was perfectly content to sit back and let it happen.”

The yellow sighed.

“Firebird’s descendants...tried to kill her a bunch. Every time, she culls them, whoever they sent. The assassins...remind Karina she dies if she steps out of line. S’why she sends you.”

They mulled that over as their boots squelched past coolant, almost at the edge of the mass of fiery people now.

It makes sense - they can die for her as much as she needs, yet fire is the one of the few things thing that could truly kill them if it got every last worm.

“You’re telling me she couldn’t get one of our financial backers to do it? What use is everyone who was at the party, then?”

“That’s why...stays in outer space. She’s stronger there...can blast anyone out of the sky. No one expected her...on Alternia. What did you do?”

“Oh, this is somehow my fault?” They snapped. “She never would’ve known I was still alive if someone hadn’t tattled, and it had to be Karina. Who else even knows how to contact the wretched woman?”

“You have other enemies, Tuuya. Maybe it was the empire?”

“Don’t be stupid, they’d never deal with her, nor she with the -”

Snatched and shaken by a lava-veined hand mid-sentence, Tierel’s skin started to smoke and melt as they were yanked out of the rainbow drinker’s reach.

Stupid! Why did they let themself get distracted?

They leapt, grabbing at the yellow, but the Spark troll - who must have been at least seven foot - wouldn’t let go. They didn’t want to risk tearing them apart, so they drop back down, crouching.

Tierel was thrashing - screaming -

Cracks in the patches of stone. Cold and heat. Expansion and contraction.

The drinker grinned wickedly and with white-armored hands, reaches into the cracks. Slowly at first, then rapidly as they got a grip, they pried them apart. The stone grinded and cracked, then flesh and bone followed with softer tearing noises.

The Spark troll screamed too, dropping the yellow. A wonderful noise.

They ripped at them more, tearing them apart until they were little more than a bloody wreck of stone, drying lava, and flesh. Their gouged off parts lay scattered on the ground.

The drinker’s lip curled. Even they didn’t want to eat that.

They looked down - Tierel needed serious help quickly, fresh burns bubbling on their flesh. 

Gliese’s greenhive wasn’t far. Once they saw to the other Microscopium troll, they could go hunt down the teal, pluck her out of wherever she’s hiding, and let their worms do the rest.

With that happy thought, they ran as quickly as they could to the blueblood’s place, hoping the other trolls who escaped the fire would have the good sense to flee from the Spark trolls.

They skidded to a halt in front of the big greenhive, grateful they didn’t have to worry about breathing, and -

Karina and Gliese stepped out, the pair of girls arguing about something.

The drinker’s eyes glowed dangerously bright, but they stood calmly as the two turned to look at them. Gliese’s eyebrows raised, while intense sadness swept across the teal’s features before her expression hardened.

“Tierel needs help.”

“On it.” Says the cerulean, taking medical supplies out of her sylladex. “Bring them in.”

They followed her, adjusting their arms as they carry the unconscious, burned troll in and laying them down on the blueblood’s table. They don’t get sore as trolls do, with no true muscles for it. But the gesture feels right.

Gliese got to work with ointments and bandages, and they stared daggers at their boss. The younger Tulais stared back, but her gaze wasn’t triumphant or defiant. It was...grim, resigned in a way.

A tiny inkling of doubt grows amidst the worm monster’s certainty.

“News flash while you two were busy trying to kill each other with looks like a pair of wrigglers: I’ve stabilized them. But we’re gonna need a real medic before long. My field aid doesn’t cover skin grafts, which is what they need.”

The Lepus troll folds her arms as she talks, staring the taller trolls down with her glowing orange eyes.

“Karina, did any of our medics make it?”

“Yes.” She replies, sounding distracted. “And the one who - ”

The blueblood snorts and jabs a bony finger at Tuuya. 

“Oh yeah, better drop that bomb. Good job, worm bag, your little blackmail adventure came back to bite us. Fucked if I know how, but that QPIN medic you threatened told the crazy bird where you were.”

The drinker hisses, but mostly at themself. Ullane has access to the chat. Of course. What an idiot they are.

“So congratulations, this is all your fault. No, wait - it’s Karina’s fault too for not fucking getting rid of you before. You’re both a pair of stupid jackasses and if you even think about arguing, the proof is right over there being held together by plant spit.”

“I have erred.” The drinker says in a voice of forced calm, “And I accept responsibility for it. But I am NOT to blame for tonight’s events when it is not my ancestor who performed them.”

Karina’s mouth twists.

“Do you think I wanted this?” She said, quiet, but with an edge to her voice as she sat in an old wooden chair. The drinker themself is leaning against the wall perpendicular to her, arms crossed like the cerulean.

“I can’t fight Firebird. No one could except the fleet, and they won’t. I thought maybe you...”

Her voice trailed off, but then she shook her head and sighed.

She looked young - she was young - like a woman who should be goofing off at parties on her boat, not trying to fend off her insane ancestor.

“Maybes aren’t worth anything.” The drinker said acidly. “We need to capture her - for if we kill her, the Spark trolls may all die as well. That’s what stopped me when we fought in space. Most if not all were not willing subjects of the transformation, I’m sure. My point is that we need a jail cell so secure she can rot in there until we figure out a way to free them.”

“Great plan.” Retorted the blueblood snidely, sitting in her own chair now with her hands behind her head. “How do you plan to shove birdie in her cage without all of us going up in smoke? Karina says we’re only all not dead because she used too much power getting here and she’s really far from her source.”

The teal perked up, still looking tired, but staring at the worm monster intently.

“QPIN has far more resources than we do. If Vannyn agreed to a memory extraction...”

The drinker snorts.

“I love being volunteered without my consent. What makes you think they wouldn’t just squash us anyway? Plus, their station’s been under siege by pirates, don’t you read the news? Even if we somehow persuade them, they don’t have a lot to give us.”

Gliese blinked, then grinned, her long ears flicking.

“I think I’ve got an idea, if both of you can stop being negative nancies for five fucking seconds. Let’s see if we can’t solve one problem with another.”

The drinker and the teal both looked at the psychic with befuddled faces.

She grinned widely, her teeth almost as sharp as the undead’s.

“So, how do you all feel about a trip to Nott?”

[killjoy-loveit]

Stitch Me Back Together- 2

A/N: I would like to clarify that everything written in this story is complete fiction and isn’t to be taken as a true portrayal of reality. This is written in 1st POV, the character’s name is Fleur, and this is a series. I am still working on it, the end date isn’t set as of yet, however, I will try to update it when I can (though two updates are scheduled this month). Every member of Vixx will be featured in this piece, though for this second part the only one of them in it is Ken/Jaehwan. And as always the links to my masterlists will be in the notes!

Summary: Fleur is on a path of discovery, and what she finds might not be what she’s expecting. And we all know that at times, knowledge brings danger.

Word Count: 2,606

Genre: Supernatural/Fantasy/Mythical AU, Angst

****WARNING: Mentions of blood****

     During the two weeks that I was off work, Lucille frequently came around. Almost as if she feared that I’d fall apart in a matter of hours if I was left alone for too long. While I wouldn’t break down in tears, I couldn’t guarantee the state of my mind for long. Something just didn’t add up, and I had two weeks to try to come to some sort of conclusion. Any free time I had without Lucille hovering over my shoulder was spent with my nose buried in medical textbooks. Or medical research papers. Or articles relating to medicine. However, the normal sources I went to had very little in the way of explaining what I’d seen. That’s when things took a turn.

     I stopped limiting my search to the medical field. At this point, I wasn’t sure if I was losing my marbles or if it was actually something… Supernatural. But I’ve never been the type to give up without getting answers. So, despite being skeptical, I turned to resources I never would have considered otherwise. I frequented sites that gave supernatural explanations, involving magic and creatures that shouldn’t exist. Stores I used to avoid, even going so far as to express my confusion at their existence, became a second home. The person that probably monitors my account might’ve wondered what the hell was going on because I got a fraud alert after buying over $100 worth of books on the supernatural. 

     Of course, explaining that it was actually me that made those purchases over the phone was a tad interesting. And by that I mean difficult. I kept stammering, feeling like I was being interrogated when in reality all the person wanted was confirmation that I was the one who made the purchases. After that experience, I felt like maybe I was just being paranoid, or going overboard. Except that all changed when I found an explanation that fit. One that, under normal circumstances, I would have thrown directly out the window. It probably wouldn’t have even been allowed a second thought. 

     Based on the book I found, it said that Remi Juarez was… A shapeshifter. Further research only locked in that explanation in my mind. Some shapeshifter’s hearts beat slower, meaning the blood doesn’t circulate as fast, which could explain why he didn’t bleed out before getting to the ER. His blood had traces of an unknown element, one that made it difficult to figure out what treatments were safe. And I thought it was my imagination initially because no one else saw it, but I saw his face change for a split second- into one of the paramedics. But then it was gone. There was more in the book, but nothing that I’d be able to determine as true without the autopsy report in front of me. 

     At that point, I still thought I was losing my mind. It just didn’t make sense. All of the creatures and beings from mythology were just supposed to be fairytales, they weren’t meant to actually exist. Magic wasn’t meant to be real, just some fluke that could be easily debunked by science. But I was starting to realize that science couldn’t answer everything. It didn’t have the answers to the questions running through my mind and wreaking absolute havoc. I wanted it to be a dream. Wished that it was all in my head. But I started noticing things. The kind of things that wouldn’t typically hold any value. 

     Whenever I went out, I would notice at least one person who deviated from the norm but not to the point that just anybody would notice. People whose eyes flashed a different color; had unnaturally sharp incisors when they smiled; laughs that sounded like tinkling bells; beguiling words that could change another’s disposition in a matter of seconds; the slight brushing of one’s hands against another and causing them to go blank like they were in a trance. And I couldn’t keep denying it further, there was no point. I had to accept the fact that the supernatural existed- something I’d been denying since I was a kid. I was always that one kid to call bullshit on the sweet fairytales or scary stories adults would tell. 

     Fear had consumed me, becoming a permanent part of my being. Sometimes it was the overwhelming kind that could make someone want to curl into a ball in the corner of a room and never move. Other times it was just like a brief flicker of an old tv that’s connection had worsened over the years. The fear was hard to deal with, but I’d always been good at hiding my problems from Lucille. I never wanted her to worry, or be scared, or hurt, and if she saw that I was afraid, well… She’s always been a wild card when it comes to my stronger emotions. Either she’d try to solve the problem for me, or the solution would evade her and just lead her to be upset. 

     Though, it’s not that Lucille thought I couldn’t handle things on my own. No, she knows I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. Rather, she’s always thought of us as a duo, fighting against the world together. Except that isn’t always a plausible way of handling things. This was one of those times, is one of those times. Feeling useless and paranoid wasn’t something I wanted to share with her, it’s something I needed to carry on my own. 

     My first day back at the hospital after reaching such a conclusion was nothing short of a mess. Keeping my mind clear was difficult. Whenever I saw something slightly out of the ordinary, the kind of thing that could be explained in one of the supernatural books I bought, it would stay in my head, flitting about. There were only two good things that happened that day: my request for a copy of Remi Juarez’s autopsy report was approved, and I managed to, somehow, perform my job without a falter. I was surprised that, despite the upheaval of the world I’d come to know, I could still function enough to treat patients effectively.

     Today seemed to be going better though. I’d had my morning coffee and got to chat with Lucille a bit before she went to sleep. The sterile smell of the hospital, one that took me a long while to get used to, brought a new sense of comfort to me now. I was back where I was meant to be. 

     “Fleur, hey,” Selene called out, pausing me in my tracks.

     “Oh,” I respond, lips parted and eyebrows raised. I’d been too lost in my head to notice I was passing the nurse’s station. Selene has been the resident gossip since she was hired two years ago. “Hello, how are you, Selene?” 

     She plastered a sympathetic smile on her face, it looked forced. She then pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I feel like I should be asking you that question. Of course, I’m more than fine! How are you holding up though, dearie?”

     Bile rose up in the back of my throat. I’ve always hated small talk, especially if it was the fake, prying kind. People like that never actually cared about you, they just wanted information they could spread. “I’m managing. Thank you for your concern.” My lips pressed into a thin smile before I stepped past her.

     Pleasantries are something I try to avoid as much as I can, it feels contrived. No one tells the truth to such questions, just as they don’t expect the truth. Such questions have become a way of greeting, not actually being asked because the other person cares. And heaven forbid you tell the truth, that’s a good way of making someone freeze in place. I could hear the way she huffed in annoyance as I walked off. It was no surprise to me though, not at this point. Selene wasn’t a pleasant person to begin with and she only got worse with time. 

     Now only one thing was on my mind: the autopsy report. I knew it’d be waiting for me when I arrived for my shift today, and I was anxious to get my hands on it. After retrieving the file, I quickly made my way to the doctor’s lounge to skim it before my shift starts. Settling down in one of the rickety chairs, I tried to convince myself that nothing would be out of the ordinary. But of course, such a wish couldn’t be granted. 

     Multiple irregularities seemed to jump straight from the page, and I was helpless not to fixate on them. The oddities started from the rate his blood clotted, to his bone density, and even to the bullets he was shot with. One of my first conclusions was proved to be true: Remi Juarez was shot from two directions. Meaning there were two shooters. Both seemed to have used the same bullets though, a mixture of silver and steel, which made it likely they were working together. 

     Another thing I learned from the report was that there was truly nothing else I could have done to save him. Each step I took was correct, and despite his slow blood flow, he had just lost far too much blood at that point. With the number of bullets that riddled his body, it was surprising he hadn’t bled out faster, let alone that his heart had managed to keep beating. But I still have questions that the report hasn’t answered. Why were there two shooters in the first place? Why wasn’t he dead on arrival? How did he survive for so long? And why, exactly, was the detective relieved when I didn’t know anything? 

     Twelve hours later, at eight in the evening, long since the sky had darkened considerably, I finished my shift. The air was crisp and refreshing after having been cooped up inside all day. Leaves crunched under my feet as I walked down the sidewalk, my eyes taking in the beautiful scenery of the city at night. People bustled about, groceries clutched in their hands, pushing strollers, young couples holding hands, businessmen with phones glued to their ears. I hadn’t driven to work this morning, and I was quite happy with that decision. I think I needed this, to see life like this. 

     That feeling didn’t die down until I was closer to my apartment building, maybe five minutes away. The street lights were flickering and I couldn’t spot another person on the sidewalks. The air felt eerie and thick, making it hard to catch my breath. Then I heard a low growling, joined by something scraping against the cement, sending chills up my spine. I swallowed the growing panic, the likelihood of something or someone being behind me was low. Clearly I haven’t been getting enough sleep since I’m imagining things.

     Except I wasn’t imagining things, and I knew it the second I felt hot breath on the back of my neck. I jerked forward instantly but was quickly pulled back by long, twisted claws. A scream bubbled up in my throat, begging to be released- a plea that I ignored. The low growling started again, growing louder with each passing second, and this time it was directly in my ear. I felt the creature’s saliva drip onto my shoulder, soaking into my jacket. 

     I felt frozen in place, be it by terror or because of some mind trick the beast played on me I couldn’t tell, and I didn’t care which it was. I just wished I was running. That my feet would start without my mind telling them to. If ever there was a time for my feet to have a mind of their own it’s now. But alas, I had no such luck. The creature’s claws dragged down my arm, ripping through the fabric of my coat and digging into my skin. At that moment it was like my body woke up, I tore out of the beast’s grasp, ignoring the searing pain in my arm as its claws left me. I ran and I didn’t stop. My feet pounded down the sidewalk until I could make out my apartment building in the distance, but even then I didn’t stop- I could still feel the creature hot on my trail. 

     One second I was running and the next I was lying on the concrete, a grisly claw gripping my ankle. A panicked shriek pierced the air as I looked back and saw the creature. Its eyes glowed a dark red, with tough gray skin that resembled the concrete underneath me, and vicious-looking fangs that protruded from its mouth. Terror flooded my veins, this thing looked like a monster straight from my childhood nightmares. I kicked my free foot at its face, catching it by surprise and causing its grasp on me to falter. In that instant I shot to my feet, continuing my race to my apartment building.

     This time I made it safely inside, but I didn’t relax until I was in my apartment with each entryway sealed. My breathing was heavy, coming out in pants as adrenaline raced through me. My mind was spinning. What had I done to get a beast sicced on me? Did someone know that I’d figured out what Remi Juarez was? Am I a target now? Once I’d calmed down enough, I felt the blood trailing down my arm, dripping onto the hardwood floors beneath my feet. Glancing at the scratches left behind by whatever that creature was, it was easy to tell that they weren’t deep enough to need stitches. I could take care of this myself with some disinfectant and gauze. 

     By the time my arm was wrapped up nice and tight, it was just past ten o’clock. There was only one person I could call. One person I could question. And I wasn’t even sure if he’d give me any answers, but I could try. Grabbing my cellphone from the counter, I dialed the small numbers on the card I’d kept close to me since I got it. The line rang, once, twice, three times. I thought I was going to go through to voicemail, but then I heard his voice.

     “Hello?”

     “Detective Lee, this is Fleur Boudreaux.” I could feel my determination wavering.

     “Oh,” he sounded surprised. “It’s quite late, what are you calling about?”

     “I need to talk to you,” I whispered hoarsely. “It’s important.”

     “Right now?”

     “Right now.”

     He was at my door thirty minutes later, dressed in a more casual outfit than the last time I saw him. When he came into my apartment, the door fully closed behind him, I hesitated as I felt his gaze on me. 

     “What happened to your arm?” Detective Lee asked, stepping forward, eyebrows bunching together in concern.

     “It’s why I called you,” I breathed out, moving my eyes to his. “I… Was attacked.”

     His eyes widened considerably. “Attacked? Why didn’t you call the police?”

     “Aren’t you the police?”

     “I mean, yes, but‒”

     I cut him off quickly. “I couldn’t just call the police about this. It had to be you, at least I think it has to. Anyone else will just think I’m crazy.”

     The look in his eyes changed, realization flashing in them. “What are you talking about?” 

     “What I’m talking about,” I say, stepping forward. “Is Remi Juarez. He wasn’t human, and neither was the thing that attacked me tonight. So I have some questions I need you to answer, starting with: what the hell have I been dragged into?”

[truthaliar]

aiiiiiiight so here’s a post about mental health representation in media; or in other words: my mental health and apparently, the umbrella academy.

ps i am in no way, shape or form a mental health professional - this is just retelling an experience i had

sooo okay i was talking to my therapist. i’m gonna paraphrase this but basically she was like ‘do you watch umbrella academy’ and i was like ‘yea my friends are trying to figure out who is who in my friend group’ and it basically went ‘oh did they put you as diego? good, let’s talk about your hero complex.’ 

now to clarify i’m not typically like super open about it, but i have ptsd & anxiety. my panic disorder is mostly controlled at this point (ie i can now pinpoint triggers). a few weeks ago i finally told my mom i had ptsd after several years and she just responded, ‘i know.’

anyway, i ended up learning that there’s peer reviewed articles about umbrella academy in psychiatric journals, highlighting the show’s potential as a mental health tool. also i never really saw myself in any of tua characters but vaguely recognized my obsession w/ justice in diego, and also saw myself in five’s caffeine addiction. so the fact that a medical person... saw diego - weirds me out a little. more on that in a sec.

so my therapist, i guess let’s call her fran, said that diego’s behavior & habits are tied to his inability to introspect and manage his own emotions so he externalizes & fixates on justice, this external thing that has clear, logical right & wrong, something that he can take into his own hands bc he feels that the system is broken. it’s easier for him to focus on that than on fixing himself.

to be clear she said it’s fairly common for ppl in diff branches of medicine to feel this way to a degree; you’re trained to be more detached from your emotions so it’s not unusual to (slightly-moderately) go either the diego route or the luther route if you begin to lose it (and hopefully not the five route cuz that’s a whole diff story). of course these are extremes (and she said i have parallels to diego, not that i have anywhere near his level of hero complex)

even still when she said that -- it hit different. like when my friends cast each other, it’s something we’ve been doing for years right? it’s just fun, and yea you often poke fun at yourself/each other in the process -- but it’s not the same as a professional saying ‘look at this extreme characterization of what could happen if you don’t take a step back‘. honestly my response was, ‘wow that doesn’t seem healthy.’

so the diego route is feeling like the system has failed you. therefore you want to act against or destroy the system that let you down, that didn’t care about you, that didn’t nurture you, and build something better -- on your own because the whole damn thing is unjust and it isn’t fair. the emotion you use to cope with is anger. and to build a new system you need people to back you. to get people to back you, you need to save them. kill the system, fix the broken. you might think you’re doing it on your own, but your success is still contingent on there being problems to solve.

the luther route -- based on my understanding bc she didn’t think i did this -- is more adhering yourself to the system and saying ‘good or bad, it’s by wedding myself to the system through which i will succeed, and i must be important because the system let me in to begin with.’

ofc any person can begin to display traits of any of those characters or of multiple characters, and to repeat they’re all in rough shape. and just bc she implied those are the two fairly common ways to feel in doesn’t mean you can’t be a klaus or a vanya or an allison or whoever you see similarities with.. like that’s the point. everyone responds to trauma differently. and it’s also a one-size fits all. she didn’t mean to and i do not mean to represent the siblings as perfect representations -- only that it does happen to match my behavior.

fran told me that to snap out of the hero complex, at least sometimes, you have to be able to separate yourself from the injustice that surrounds you n understand that people aren’t helpless and you are not here to save everyone. bc first of all - that’s a lot of fuckin’ work and second of all - that’s kinda rude to assume that people can’t fix their own problems. and unless they ask us for help, it’s our job to let them. after all, i’d be pissed if someone thought i needed saving.

so then comes the part i struggle with which is detaching yourself from the work you inevitably choose that focuses on solving problems. i’m shit at it; i’m always fucking problem-solving. i can’t turn it off. i can’t make it stop. and it carries over from my youth bc i felt like i was the only person that could see the solutions to the very real problems in my life. like diego, i’d zoom in and fixate (helloooo jfk plotline) and try to do something about it. turns out i got pretty good at this, and that spurred my career path. i never wanted to see myself as the victim. ever. even after i endured certain traumas that i don’t want to disclose. in my mind, i was never broken. the situations were just injust; and i couldn’t fix... the people, but maybe i could fix the situations.

so what did justice look like to me? i love my family, so i mostly focused on my career - something i could undoubtedly shape on my own. developed a list of people whose jobs i wanted to steal. out of revenge, feeling i could bring justice to the field by bringing my mindset to the table. sound vaguely familiar?

also probably not the healthiest fictional character to relate to. worse still, even arya was able to let go of her vindictive streak at the end of the day (at least in the show) -- something i am still working on. (also probably a good time for a reminder that the plan is to get good enough in my field to ‘steal jobs’ so that i can mold the field into what i want it to be, not actually physically hurt people). i did take up fencing tho.

soooo now it’s 2020. and i’m 28. and something important happened.

i was talking with my mentor and as we were chatting i realized that there is a job out there that i want. and not because i want to steal it out of a sense of ‘revenge’ -- but because i really like that person’s job. that i could see myself in that position because i love what it entails. and i think it’s the first time i ever saw that.

in eight months of constant therapy, i’ve realized that i do have a dream vet school; i do have a dream job; that my life is more than just trying to fix the world.

complexes don’t go away overnight and i kept things purposely vague - i’ll always have a little bit of ‘save the world’ in me.

but i can now say that tech school finishes in 10 months. it’ll be over in less than a year. i submit my vet school app in a week, with a much more refined & steady focus. i’m kind of ready to pursue happiness again. i’m much more confident that i’ll get where i want to be.

and whatever ya know? i’ll figure it out as i go

but tada there’s the story of my therapist seeing me in diego hargreeves, what the fuck.

[joeys-piano]

For the ask game? 23, 24, and 44?

Apologies for the last response, Anon. I was asleep for the eight hours. But I’m recharged and ready to write~! A Writer’s Ask Game

23.  Favourite author This is a difficult question for me to answer, but I’ll try to answer it in a way that I think makes sense. For instance, I really have a favorite singer or band or artist that I listen to. Sure, there are some bands and singers who’s voices and songs that I prefer, but it’s easier for me to describe my favorite genre of songs or certain qualities/aspects in a song that I really enjoy and find audios that have that similar set of qualities to it. That’s the same mindset I have with reading. I don’t have a favorite author, per se. There are just certain styles, narratives, and genres that I hone into. And if I like a lot of works from one particular author, it must mean that they’ve been hitting all my niche points and I enjoy what they do.

As of right now, I don’t have a published author that I could call as my favorite. There are a few fic writers that I especially enjoy reading from. For instance, @salvage-writing , @raven-rein , @rustingroses, and @orbitalflyby are some of my favorite writers in the BSD fandom. All of them have a very good grasp on the characters, and their works were some of the first fics I read when I came into the fandom four or five months ago. Reading their works, they’ve helped me quite a bit in understanding the BSD characters a lot more than I originally did.

24.  Favourite genre to write and read To read: covert/undercover missions, ABO, mutual pining, partners in crime or partnerships in general on the field, lavish descriptions of cooking and food, bar and drinking setting, crime mystery, hurt/comfort, emotional intimacy and vulnerability, and overcoming/moving on from one’s past

To write: psychological dramas/thrillers, canon divergences, established relationships, emotional intimacy and vulnerability, character vs. world/society, on occasion ABO, mystery & suspense, satire and social commentary, characters gradually learning to trust each other, self-doubts and shortcomings, hopeful or ambiguous/open endings, villains and heroes swap traditional roles, antiheroes, and orange-and-blue morality

I know that half of these were AO3 tags and not genres, but I find that these descriptors are a lot more elaborate than simply listening a series of genres

44.  How much research do you do? I feel like this in response to that pseudoscience worldbuild preview I shared a few days ago. Depending on what kind of story I’m writing, it will influence how much researching I do. Generally, if a story is pretty casual and has a General or Teen rating if it were on AO3, there won’t be a lot of research attached to it. Mostly because those stories were made for fun and like I mentioned beforehand, were designed to be a casual read.

When I get into the Mature and even Explicit rating, when the worldbuilding starts to get a lot more elaborate and tighter, you can expect that there’ll be a lot of research attributed to it. My last outline I was working was for a feudal fantasy story and I researched everything that I could about the time period, about the different kinds of youkai, about the kami themselves, about the culture and literature, the laws and economics, to even the feudal weapons that were available at the time so I could be at least be more accurate in what I was depicting.

For my current wip, which is an explicit conspiracy fic + sci-fi elements story, most of the research I had to do that for that one involved scouring character wiki profiles that aren’t up-to-date for the most part, reading through recent manga chapters to get the voice of certain characters, and researching the scientific method. For the most part, I didn’t do a lot of science research because there is an element of fiction that I can put in, so it’s largely okay if I just bullshit something up, but it’s got at least make sense if you were to explain it someone. The research for this story hasn’t been that hard because of my own love and knowledge of biological/medical science and because of things I’ve learned from my brother who majored in this. Research was the easy part. Worldbuilding, by far, this conspiracy fic has the most ambitious worldbuilding.

You’d think that a fantasy story set in 1285 would have hard worldbuilding. Nah. It’s the modern fic that has hard worldbuilding. You don’t have the luxury to wave stuff off as magic. You actually have to think things through, somehow fit it to canon material, try to understand characters you don’t really know about and are trying to authenticate their voices.

It’s hard, but that’s what makes it fun.

[floralkittygambler]

Return of The Thing

Sort of. By thing, I mean me. But I love this movie and the meme. Ok, context for this post: - Where I’ve been - Why I left - Whats hip happening -  Where I’ve Been:

Long story short, I’ve had real life matters to deal with. Firstly, my entire household contracted COVID. Well, *almost*. We’ve been through constant testing, quarantine zones, and had the ambulance up numerous times. My parents and 2nd oldest sister were hit the hardest. My 3rd oldest sister was positive and asymptomatic. Now something none of us could predict that I would be completely COVID free despite my compromises. Despite that I was in close contact with them all, including the 2nd oldest who contracted it first and accidentally being coughed on a few times lol. I went through the exact same testing and yet nothing. No symptoms. No presence of COVID. And I took no precaution to isolate from my family as I presumed in our small house we’d all get it, so I was more preoccupied with caring for the sick. Ultimately, I’ve either gotten off scott free this time or there’s a chance I may actually either be highly resistant or even immune. Even then, I WILL be having the vaccine as and when my family are eligible. And we all still follow regulations set.  I’ve also had other real life obligations, much of it either mundane fixing up my living circumstances to more personal matters. Overall, I have been extremely preoccupied.

A mini update, the stray cat Big has been in our porch a lot more in recent times due to the snow as well as being even more affectionate. And Queefster passed away after a good life and a full tummy. Why I Left:

Aside from COVID, business, and my own health declining, I’ll be blunt. I left because of how disgustingly toxic most fandoms are nowadays, but Hazbin is one of the WORST for it. That includes harassment, death threats, mocking MI and triggering an ED. In fact, I’ve even seen others get rape and death threats. So yes, even if YOU are a decent fan, collectively most of you arent doing any favours. Even some critical blogs seem to be overtly catty in ways no one else seems to pick up on under this ‘look how blunt I am’ look and it’s just... You dont have to be a prick to have your say, to be honest and to disagree with the trending. That’s a few on and off of tumblr, and no one I follow anyways. 

In regards to my ‘sensitivities’ - two things: 1) Of course trauma is going to hurt, 2) Im fully aware of kids doing and receiving much of this, which hurts MORE. I have my own lil squids and Im worried of them eventually having to deal with this shit. And no, no one SHOULD have to put up with such rude and poor behaviour. Agree to disagree doesnt live in some people’s realities, but by God harassment and bullying seems ok if YOURE doing it or enticing it. That ISNT ok. Even if it seems like nothing to you it could kill another. I certainly will not take your shit. 

On huskerdust I STAND by my words. It’s fucking creepy and there is sexual harassment and obsession. And there are large triggers. I will not go into detail here because Ive done that dance before and I’ll be refining it again. YOU may like it, however it triggers my very real traumas as well as those in my bloodline. Be respectful and keep that shit away from me. And for goodness sake, parents PLEASE dont raise your children to behave as such online. And no, being anon isnt actually fully anonymous. Also to send hate and threats anon is not only traceable but also cowardice. Grow a pair and find a hobby. I avoid my traumas for the most part. I will not allow you to weaponise or diminish my own or others experiences for your fictional based gratification. Likewise, if it becomes canon, I’ll just make an AU where it is not. Simple. You can hate it but Im not your personal circus so go be toxic elsewhere. IF you like HD and follow me, honestly... Youre probably better to unfollow as I am deeply and passionately against it and stolitz, and valvox, and am very vocal on that. Dont mistake my traumas and discomfort as a personal attack - and dont personally attack me over it either. And before anyone claims homophobia, no. This is nothing to do with sexuality. You arent the victim. If you love these pairings with your soul to the point of a ‘stan’, then youre best off unfollowing because I really am too old for extremists and rabid fans more crazed than the infected in REC. Also I never used to hate angel but now... Fans behaviour is abhorrent and hes so over saturated that I honestly really dislike him now. Doesnt mean you have to hate him too, but just bloody respect that angel isnt loved by all, he can be triggering to some as well as toxically enabling [incl. past addicts], a vile homophobic gay stereotype and just overall a lack of knowledge and respect of sex workers as a whole. When you know a lot of the ins and outs and victims, it’s hard to overlook. I respect your triggering ships by avoiding that mess. Respect others.  The problem with Viv - and I will elaborate in the future - is that your audience is often a reflection of your work and it’s message/presentation. And most of the fandom Ive met are awful. Honestly, though lonesome I find more comfort keeping distant from fandoms because yall often extremely toxic and petty. Perhaps others have had better experiences than I however Im drawing a line in the sand. For MY sake. I’m annoyed with virtually anyone I sense great potential in that becomes wasted. Im angry at Viv because she can do so much better but is blocking HERSELF. This is from a creative and business mindset. When someone has potential that gets wasted - especially creatively - it burns me. Im just passionate on artistic fields. It doesnt mean I hate them. I hate the waste of full potential.

I’ll state things here people disagree with but encouraging harassment, hate or just being an overall cunt just aint on- It’s like people charade as being this fair being but its all bullshit. Self improve and sod off, I do NOT have time to parent you online. 

And obviously there are RL duties I must fulfil. Some in which I will need the publics assistance for if you can spare it. Overall, Im just... Fandoms behaviour generally disgusts me. Disappoints me. We SHOULD be better than this. It’s like listening to bloomin incels rant on fuckin chad or some bullshit pill theory instead of looking to improve themselves too. Honestly... I do mostly acknowledge my own flaws and faults and try to improve each day. It just feels fewer folk see that in themselves and do the same. And that’s coming from an old cunt whos far from fuckin perfect. Also, my fuckin laptop broke so I waited a week for a bloke nearby to fix it. What a fuckin lifesaver, he’s the real mvp!

Also Also, one of you did privately apologise and I appreciate that. I certainly hope we agree to disagree and continue to grow as people on our separate ways. Trust me, I dont forget small acts like this. Even the trauma that caused and the aftermath, please dont think I dont appreciate the apology. However you’re also entitled to know that the forgiveness and healing side may take longer for me due to various factors that occurred - much that few are aware of, including yourself especially. I wish you well and safety.

Hip Happenin Now:

Still busy but slowly visiting. I’ll reply and reblog soon, be patient please. Ive still many things to sort which take priority as well as other things. Im trying to get money n shit for a future and whatnot. Health issues are strong in the blood rn and Im spending extended time with both Big and the other pets to keep up harmony, especially now that Big is accepting slowly that our porch is a welcome shelter for him and he’s free to leave and stay whenever. Trust me, overloaded isnt even the word. Im prepping shit early this year and from now on. Also, my God Ive been dealing with more physical issues as well and had to play doctor. May even need medical interference but holy shit I could never see this coming. Still... It’s... An experience- If you could call it that. Staying more active and healthy. Cat’s nearly clawed my eye out in my sleep (to which I can only presume Billy got too close or hyper) but it’s fortunate placement so Im alright. Most of my body is in pain to the point of absolute normality at this rate. And I plan to make space for a better altar. Future of the Blog: 

Errr, it’s my fuckin space so it’s whatever I want really. Ill still have my Viv rants (ie, pros and cons of her work, HH/HB, other shit like that) however I just really dislike most the fandom at this point as well as the poor management and lack of professionalism and attitudes of staff. It’s just draggin me down and making me ill. I also want to showcase more of MY work (from redesigns to projects to some dumb 2am shit), cosplays, fashion, hobbies, spiritual practises - MY. SHIT. I feel like Ive strayed slightly. But I WILL be honest. And damn well will it upset people. And if it does and I’m genuinely ding something wrong/harmful - guide me patiently. Educate me. If it’s like this HD shit where Im not only allowed my opinions but justified on my traumas or mocking my disabilities or features, then just yeet yourself elsewhere. Also some of my gaming shit too. Getting to know folk who interact with my stuff and just... Create my space. For me. Something hopefully others can enjoy. Something that can function as a bit of an art portfolio as well. Critiques and whatnot.  But I will continually not stand for anyone’s shit or poor handling of serious matters. You will not cause me to doubt and invalidate my experiences like you have to others.  For now, Im tottering but slowly returning. For those who I previously and daily interacted with, I will get back to you. And Im sure you’re patient and understanding of my situation - it’s appreciated. But in terms of any fandom, more so if it’s known to be as hostile, I’d rather keep a healthy boundary between us. That’s for newer folk. Perhaps we may bond further and you’re welcome to try, however I do feel far safer not getting involved into other people’s shit any longer. I will put anon back on but any toxic shit will be reported as well as compiled so at least I have a reference on the actual toxic nature of fandoms. Likewise, Im slowly getting there but god theres a lot of fuckin work. So much that not even my closest friend has heard too much from me until recently. I’ll be returning to the grind for now as I have duties, as well as many demanding felines for my attention. Alongside some physical medical concerns which require additional care, I’ll be popping off now.  Im thankful for those who have checked in on me. I will reply shortly. Take care

[shirlleycoyle]

The Duchy of the Toe Adam

Part snarky space cult opera, part visionary body horror, and part parody of one particular pillar of science fiction, today’s Terraform is in a bizarre and delightful league of its own. I’ve already said quite enough—let Lincoln Michel, writer, editor, and the author of Upright Beasts, take you on a far flung voyage to a planet where worshipping the wrong appendage can get you killed. -the ed

We were being taken to the duchy of the Toe Adam. We had been captured or, as the Toe Adamites saw it, saved from the clutches of the Nose Adam during the battle. There were many corpses strewn across the purple fields. The body parts of the soldiers had been scattered like asteroids across the dark expanse of dirt.

My first mate, Vivian, had two fingers on her left hand sliced off by laser fire. I’d lost an ear and had a bullet in my side. Aul-Wick, our piscine mechanic, had shouted curses in our comms, then piloted his aquatic globe into the smoke and disappeared.

“Fish-faced coward,” Vivian said, hacking up blood.

From the back of the truck, we watched the surviving Toe Adamites stroll somberly through the fields. They lifted the legs of the fallen and sliced off one toe from each. The toes were placed in a gold rimmed box.

“You’re lucky we found you. The Nose Adamites are monsters,” the Toe Adamite surgeon said as she slurped the bullet out of my torso with a silver hose.

“Is that so?” I grunted.

The surgeon was wearing bright red scrubs. Her eyes were wide and white above the mask. She nodded and her voice got low. “They say that Nose Adam and his followers eat the nostrils of newborn babes. They believe the flesh imbues them the power of God. That’s why their duchy is strewn with tiny bones that lodge in the feet of the faithful.”

“I don’t remember any fucking baby bones,” Vivian said from her surgical table.

“Well, that’s what they say,” the surgeon said dismissively. She slapped a patch on my side, burned it into place. Then she began working on my missing ear.

“Do you Toe Adamites eat the toes of babies?” I asked.

Both surgeons looked up, gasping.

My surgeon shook her scalpel in front of my face. “Don’t say such blasphemy when you meet the Toe Adam. He’s fair, but not forgiving.”

“Eating babies!” the other surgeon yipped. “Who do you take us for? Those swamp dwelling Spine Adamites!”

Coming to this planet had been Aul-Wick’s idea. He’d intercepted a distress call from a religious colony on the surface. They’d arrived centuries ago to create a holy utopia, but now were desperate for food, certain sacred herbs, and lots and lots of weapons. Since we were in debt to two gangsters and three galactic federations, I agreed.

I didn’t know if Aul-Wick was warned about the Toe Adamites and Nose Adamites. He didn’t have toes or noses, only gills and fins, so perhaps it meant nothing to him.

When we breached the atmosphere, our sales pitch was met with a surface to air missile.

*

The cell the Toe Adamites placed us in was comfortable enough. A small porthole looked out at the dragon vines crawling across the purple fields toward the undulating ocean. I had a bandage over my regrowing ear, and Vivian’s hand was wrapped in a glass medical glove.

“Fucking wankers,” Vivian said. She was hunched in the corner chewing on a nutrient strip. The veins in her cheeks glowed faintly blue with anger.

Vivian’s species had evolved a million light years away from Earth, yet she looked almost exactly human except for her glowing veins and ridged cheekbones. The universe was weird like that.

“Which?” I asked. “The Toe Adamites or the Nose Adamites?”

“All the goddamn Adams,” she said.

Our stress levels were dangerously high, and Vivian suggested we engage in meditative copulation. We humped against the doorway, which was engraved with the profile of the face of the Toe Adam. As far as I could tell, it was identical to the face we’d seen on the banners of the duchy of the Nose Adam.

A Toe Adamist priest in a long crimson robe guided us to the meal hall. He waved over a young boy who placed two bowls of pinkish hunks floating in tan liquid in front of us. There were hard black knobs sticking out of the hunks which I mistook for seeds.

“What’s this crap?” Vivian said.

“These are marinated mobbin toes, a delicacy of this planet. Or at least the closest thing this planet has to a delicacy.”

The toes were sour and surprisingly squishy. I gobbled them down to stop my stomach rumbling. Vivian asked for a second bowl.

“How long have you been living on this planet?” I asked.

“On the Purple After?” The priest fiddled with his engraved staff. “Many generations. Although our generations go by pretty quickly on this planet. It was a paradise when we landed, before the False Adams divided us.”

“What makes you sure your Adam is the right Adam?” Vivian said.

The priest was unperturbed. “The Purple After is the paradise we were promised, made physical by the cosmos. We are walking on sacred ground here. What is the part of man that touches the ground?”

“Depends how he walks,” Vivian said, belching and pulling the black curls of her hair behind her ear.

“The upright man,” the priest said, “walks on his feet. And what is the part of the body that digs into the lord’s dirt? The toe.”

“There’s no Heel Adam I guess?” Vivian said.

“Vivian, please,” I said.

“No,” the priest frowned. “There is only the Toe Adam and the False Adams. That is all there has ever been.”

The Toe Adamites permitted us to wander the compound. The tech was decades out of date. Centuries maybe.

“I want to find out what the hell started this war,” Vivian said. “Let’s find the oldest, gnarliest woman and ask her.”

I rubbed my newly regrown ear. The lobe constantly itched. “Okay, but please let’s try being polite.”

In the pews of the prayer room, we found a shriveled old woman with white hair down to her feet. Vivian knelt beside her, took one hand in hers.

“Grandmother, we are strangers from another land. Can you tell us what started the war between the Nose Adam and the Toe Adam?”

The old woman looked at her, grimaced. “Oh, all dem Adams have always been at war. Least as far as I can recall.”

“All the Adams?” I asked.

“Well, let’s see ‘ere,” the old woman said, counting with her remaining fingers. “Der’s Nose Adam and his bastards in the west. Them Skull Adamites are barricaded by the northern shore. Spine Adam as his duchy in the swamp. And der’s our pure and holy and good and true Adam, the Toe Adam. Right in this blessed duchy.”

“Wow,” I said. “Okay.”

The old lady gave us a weird grin. She leaned forward. Her eyes were wild beneath the wrinkled folds. “There used to be dem Finger Adamites in the hills. Thin and gangly as a pinky they were. We wiped ‘em out right quickly.” She licked her cracked lips and laughed. “Blew up their pod so dey ain’t ever coming back.”

The old lady was cackling uncontrollably now. She was almost falling out of the pew. Vivian and I headed quickly back into the hall.

*

Vivian’s yellow pupils disappeared, and her head flipped back almost ninety degrees. I ran to brace her. “It’s Aul-Wick,” she said in that gargling voice that still made my spine shiver. Aul-Wick’s telepathic possession was especially painful over long distances. “He wants to speak: Captain Baldwin, Vivian. Good evening. I spent a night hiding in the green river. Several tentacled fish attempted to eat me. The idiots. I zapped them good. The planet’s ground is harsh and sparse, but the rivers are like jungles of monsters. Also, did you see three moons? Pretty neat.” Vivian put her head straight, gagged. “Get. To. Point. Throat. Hurts.” Her head flipped back. Oh fine. Don’t tell us about your day, Aul-Wick. Don’t share common experiences to create a sense of bonding, Aul-Wick.”

“Aul-Wick!” I shouted.

“Fine. I made it back to the ship. Working on repairs. Be here in two days or I’m off this rock alone!”

“Now listen here,” I started, but Vivian’s head was back up straight.

“Ugh. Can’t that fish ever speak through you?” she said, rubbing her throat.

*

The Toe Adam floated above us on a plush levitating chair. He wore a long red cape that was clasped at the neck with a buckle shaped like intertwined feet. His ceremonial hat was a foot high and his feet were bound in golden sandals. There wasn’t much of his skin exposed, but what I could see was covered in bizarre growths that looked conspicuously like toes.

When he extended one foot, the priest elbowed me and coughed.

“Am I supposed to kiss it?” I said.

“As a heathen you are only permitted to stroke the toe,” the priest whispered loudly.

“Raw deal.” Vivian looked at me and rolled her eyes. She reached out a finger and tapped the nail of the toe of the Toe Adam’s left foot. “Oh wise Adam, thank you for letting me touch your holy hangnail,” she said.

I followed suit.

The Toe Adam regarded us. He was frowning, lips lined with tiny toes. He floated in the stale air of the throne room. “I’m told we saved you from the Nose Adam,” the Toe Adam said. “He would not have been as hospitable as we are.”

The wall of the room was lined with guards holding laser rifles. In the far corner, I saw a gigantic silver pod. It looked like an old-fashioned clone printer.

“What’s the beef you have against this nose guy anyway?” Vivian said.

“The Nose Adamanites are heretics!” the priest screamed.

The Toe Adam sighed, put up a hand for the priest. “The Nose Adam is a lost sheep. My brother, in a sense. I’m hoping I can save him. And I’m hoping that you can help me. My priest says you came here on a ship? Do you have weapons?”

“Oh yeah,” I lied. “Plenty.’

“A whole cargo bay of bombs and rifles,” Vivian chimed in.

The Toe Adam dropped his chair to the ground. He walked toward us, tapping his toe cane against the ground. “If you promise to donate your arms to our holy crusade, I will take you to your ship in the morning.”

“You got a deal,” I said. “Although how will weapons save the Nose Adam?”

The Toe Adam shrugged. The growths on his skin bounced. “He’ll be saved in the afterlife, as all sinners are.”

*

Vivian succeeded in hacking into the archives using her cybernetic hand. “Look at this Baldwin. These dorks were called the Church of the Purple After before they came here.”

She had the specs of the original mission vessel pulled up. I leaned over her shoulder, pointed at the hologram. “Interesting. They had five clone printers on the ship, for the five aspects of god.”

“Let me guess,” Vivian said. “The toe, the nose, the skull, the spine, and the finger.”

“No, this says the five aspects of god are the orb, the water, the belt, the mountain, and the vapor.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know, but there is only one Adam listed on the manifest.”

“Son of a bitch!” Vivian said. She gagged. Her neck cracked backwards. “Ship is ready to rip. Come on over you two.”

I ran to hold Vivian in my arms. Lowered her gently to the floor. “Good, we need to get out of here. I think these fanatics murdered their original leader, the first Adam.” Vivian gurgled an agreement.

“Aul-Wick, the Toe Adam is taking us to the ship tomorrow,” I said. “We’ll meet you at the edge of the Frost Forest an hour after first light.”

“Roger. Do you think he’ll buy anything? We still got those spice crates.”

“He’s expecting weapons.”

“We’ve only got three blasters and a couple dozen sonic grenades. They won’t sell for shit!”

“We don’t have to sell them. We just have to shoot him.”

We rode in the Toe Adam’s war tank. It was long and sleek, with turrets at the cuticles. Toe Adam sat at the top, hatch open, his hair swirling in the wind under his war helmet.

“Today, by the grace of indivisible God, we turn the purple planet red with the blood of the heretics!” he shouted. The guards around us cheered.

I was close enough to him now to see that the growths on his skin had tiny nails at the tips.

Our ship was a few hundred yards from the Frost Forest. I could see the branchless fungus trees, their trunks dotted with orange warts instead of leaves, emerging in the distance. The sky was clear and the day was warm. We rolled across the gas flower marshes, gigantic puffs of blue pollen filling the air.

“What the fuck is that thing,” Vivian said, pointing toward a fissure in the ground. At first, I didn’t see anything. But then a two-headed beast pulled itself out of the crack. It was massive, each head as a big a whole man. The creature stood on its hind legs and roared.

“Mawbear!” the driver shouted.

The Toe Adam’s face contorted grotesquely. He looked like he might weep. “No,” he said, weakly.

The creature was about the size of the tank, and looked just as strong. A carpet of brown fur flapped over its thick scales.

“Kill it!” Toe Adam screamed. “Slay the demon!”

“Lord help us,” the high priest muttered, holding his golden toe icon to his lips. “Not again.”

As the Toe Adamites ran toward the mawbear, blasters firing, Vivian wrangled a gun from the high priest’s robes. She told him to spill the beans or she’d spill his bean breakfast across the tank.

In the distance, the Toe Adam’s soldiers flew through the air in bloody arcs.

The Toe Adam was out on the ground, running in the other direction.

“Okay, okay,” the priest said. He finally told us the story.

Long ago, the Church of the Purple After had found a planet that fit the descriptions of the cosmic heaven in their scriptures. They departed on a mission ship, guided by their leader, Adam of the Orb.

Things had gone well, for a while. But after a couple winters the settlers were still having a hard time growing food, and divisions arose. When Adam lead a foraging party, he killed a small mawbear cub not realizing its mother was waiting in the trench.

When the five high priests, Adam of the Orb’s closest advisors, found the corpse of Adam strewn across the ground, each grabbed the closest hunk of their holy leader and sprinted back to their cloning pods. One grabbed a toe, one grabbed a finger, and so on.

Their religion said that each body had a soul, but that the soul could only enter one vessel. They only used their cloning pods on the recently dead. They believed that Adam’s soul would enter the first body cloned. But none of the five sects could agree on who was cloned first.

The Nose Adam, the Toe Adam, the Finger Adam, the Spine Adam, and the Skull Adam and their followers have waged war ever since. When they died, they were cloned to fight again. Each person on the planet had been killed countless times. Their heaven was an eternity of awaking, killing, dying, and awaking again.

This time, the Toe Adamites managed to murder the mawbear. It sunk to the purple fields with a tortured honk. The Toe Adam fired a blaster into the each of the mawbear’s skulls and then led the Toe Adamites in prayer.

They cheered.

Then they moaned.

From the west, the army of the Nose Adamites appeared. They rode on striped mobbins, galloping across the field.

“How did they know we were coming?” the high priest said, hat clenched to his chest. “We have truly been forsaken.”

The Toe Adamites and the Nose Adamites came together in a chorus of shouts, explosions, and screeches.

“Time for us to bolt,” Vivian said. She grabbed my hand and we sprinted toward the forest as the severed body parts fell around us in a macabre rain. Toes, fingers, noses, bones, and teeth splattered on the ground.

I grabbed the reins of a passing mobbin. Its rider had been reduced to two legs and a bloody stump of waist. I pulled off the lower half, and Vivian jumped on. I followed.

We galloped away from the battle. When I looked back, the soldiers had shrunk to the size of their names. Angry people the size of toes and noses, killing each other for a God that, if he existed, was orbiting some other star in some other distant galaxy in the great abyss of space.

When we hopped off the mobbin at the foot of the ship, I looked at Vivian and felt like my heart had been cloned inside my chest.

I kissed Vivian long and hard. She rubbed her hands through my greying hair. Her fingers had mostly grown back. Her cheek veins were pulsing bright red.

“Let’s do it,” I said. “Let’s give up this smuggling life. Buy a little house pod on a quiet planet with a white electric fence and a weathervane in the shape of comet spinning in the wind.”

Vivian looked away. “You sweet man,” she said. A smile curved up her face. “Shut the hell up. I’d rather face down space gangsters and gigantic bears than little children. Plus, we’re robbing the Ice Orbital next month, remember?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Okay. Never mind.”

Vivian laughed.

The ship was in front of us, engines purring.

*

Aul-Wick greeted us on the ship’s ramp in his floating orb. His scaled face was puffed and nervous.

“This is a little awkward,” he said.

“What’s awkward, Fish Face?” Vivian said.

“Tell us later, Aul-Wick. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Little bubbles floated out of his gill slits. “I guess my telepathic messages went to all four of you,” he said.

“All four of who?” Vivian said.

But then I saw them. At the top of the ramp, stepping out of the darkness with guns drawn, the Ear Baldwin and the Finger Vivian emerged.

The Duchy of the Toe Adam syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

[bluebookbadger-blog]

The Price of a Life - Chapter 8

Title: The Price of a Life Fandom (s): Fullmetal Alchemist/Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood Summary: I always thought waking up in another world would be a lot more…interesting. At least slightly exciting and terrifying, but it really wasn’t. It was more of a sudden and underwhelming event, that landed me in the company of fiction and its ignorance to modern physics. I thought it was a dream. Boy was I wrong. Characters: SI/OC, Maes Hughes, Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, etc. Rating: PG-13

A/N: I do not own The Velveteen Rabbit, which was written by Margery Williams.

Finally, after a hellishly boring 15 days after the Elrics arrived back in Central and first met Sheska, the day that they figured out what made a Philosopher's stone was here.

I guess the wait wasn't as awful as that, I had gotten to meet Sheska over the past week when I visited Hughes at his office with some lunch from Gracia. Sheska, unlike many of the characters here, looked exactly as she appeared in the show most of the time. Her chestnut brown hair always neat, and her large glasses that precariously slipped down her nose whenever she was reading. I didn't talk to her, as she was busy copying down case records for Hughes, but she seemed to be one who preferred not to be interrupted.

I had also started working back at the Main Street Grocery Store, but Miss. Reich insisted I worked no more than six hours a day, so most of my time was spent babysitting Elicia as her mother prepared for the upcoming celebrations.

I was also a giant ball of nerves. I only had a day or two before shit went down, and I had to either put my plans into action or watch people die. That was a lot of pressure. Not to mention the pent up terror of fucking this up and getting myself killed was eating away at my psych as well.

"Mac, could you pass the peas?" Hughes asked, his words muffled through the mouthful of chicken casserole Gracia had made for dinner. I glared at him, though I was slightly grateful for the distraction.

"Don't call me Mac," I said with a sigh, passing him the peas. I picked at my chicken casserole, thinking about all of the 'lasts' Hughes would have if I screwed up.

"So, how was your day Irish?" Gracia asked, the depressing mood around me growing by the minute and making itself apparent to the family.

"Good, Elicia's very excited for her party." I responded, looking to Hughes. "Did the Elrics find what they were looking for?" He shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee. He was leaving later to put in some overtime, apparently he still needed to sort out the Tucker paperwork.

"Not sure actually, Mustang put the Major in charge of them. You want to go see them later? They were looking into the notes of an alchemist who worked in the bio-alchemical field. Maybe you would find some of his notes useful."

It was then I realized I had nearly forgotten about my dying mother back in the little village of Ire.

"I don't think so, even if I did have the notes, I'm not medical alchemist." I said, noting Gracia's concern. She didn't know about my 'backstory'. "Hey, do you mind if I go out later?" Hughes gave me a playful smirk.

"It depends on the guy you're meeting." He said, Gracia shooting him a surprised look. I ignored the redness of my cheeks, but couldn't help avoiding Hughes' suspicious hazel gaze.

"I-I'm just going to see a friend, it isn't a date." I affirmed, despite my growing embarrassment. I didn't even know what I was embarrassed about. From the sagely nodding, I wasn't sure Hughes believed me.

"Sure…" He drawled, finishing his cup of coffee. "Well, I'll be off to work. Tell me if there are any boys I need to beat up tomorrow!" I sighed and reluctantly finished my own meal.

"So is that a yes, Mrs. Hughes? Can I go out?" I asked as I washed my plate in the sink. Again the itching terror of lead poisoning found its way to my thoughts, but was quickly pushed back by Gracia.

"Of course, it's not like you've asked before. And don't be so formal, call me Gracia." She had been telling me to call her that ever since Hughes dragged me home with him. "And Irish, take this with you." I looked up from the plate I was drying to see one of Hughes' daggers in her delicate hand.

"I'm not going down town or anything, just a walk in the park." She looked at me like my own mother after I told a lie. They were actually freakishly similar in their mannerisms.

"Maes' idea, not mine." She said as she place the handle of the blade in my hand. It was heavy for me, but well balanced. "One of his soldier friends told him that you were snooping around the park and the East wing of Central Command this past week. He's worried for you."

More accurately, he was worried about me. I knew there were holes in my story and I had no physical proof to back up the existence of Ire or my family in this world. But more than worried about how much Hughes had looked into my situation, I was offended and more importantly, confused. If he didn't trust me or my story, then why arm me instead of sending someone to keep tabs on me? I knew that my evening strolls had been prolonged and odd this past week, but I wasn't in the mood to be cooped up in the apartment all day either.

"Uh, thanks. I guess." I finally said, simple dumbfounded by my own thoughts. Maybe Hughes really was just worried that I was hanging out with some undesirables he had some plan for someone to stalk me. But it still didn't make any damn sense why he'd give me a dagger if he was going to have someone following me.

"Mommy, I'm sleepy…" Elicia whined from the table, rubbing her eyes with a pudgy fist. Her cuteness was almost enough to make me forget the questions burning in my skull. Gracia smiled at her daughter.

"It's bath night tonight."

"Aw, but I don't want to…" I listened to the little girl fruitlessly refuse to take a bath as I left the kitchen and nervously entered my room

. Sitting on my bed, I took a moment to examine the knife. It wasn't exactly long enough to be called a dagger, maybe a push knife at best, though it lacked the characteristic handle. The handle was straight and black, from which the short blade extended only the length of my hand. It was vaguely familiar, but I knew I had never seen Hughes with this knife. Or any knife for that matter.

Not wanting to reflect on the odd dagger, I changed out of my night clothes, which I had worn since that morning, and into something more suitable for roaming the streets of Central at night.

The only pants I had that could be considered as close to 'modern' as possible were a pair of tight riding trousers. They were made from some elastic black fabric, but they still didn't hug my small frame too closely. I threw on an overcoat as I headed out of my room, putting the knife into my belt where the over coat would conceal it. I slipped past Gracia and a very sleepy Elicia and made my way to the front door.

"I'll be back soon," I murmured as I exited the apartment and rushed down the stairs to the beauty of Central's evening rush.

The 'friend' I was meeting was Reginald. He had been filling me in on Amestrian history and government structure. I had to admit, I was learning that the government and military were actually quite different from what I could compare to Nazi-Germany. For one, the Fuhrer, despite his power, had to consult with other military officers and advisers and use their input to make decisions. He still had the power to do whatever the hell he wanted to, but recklessness historically led to the Fuhrer being overthrown.

Currently I was more interested in the present state of the government and the true legal reach of the military, but Reggie insisted we go over the history that led to the current state of affairs before focusing on such. Not that I was complaining, he had an engaging way of explaining monotonous coup d'etats and bloody civil wars. History was one of my stronger suits back home.

"Hey Reginald!" I called as I dodged a pair of guards to catch up with him. I was running late, again. He stopped walking and turned back as I slowed to prevent myself from crashing straight into him. "Sorry, supper ran late."

"It's fine," He said with a small laugh. "So, where did we leave off?" I thought for a moment, trying to recall the last date Reggie had mentioned.

"Um, 1835 I think? Aerugo's War." Reggie nodded, closing his eyes briefly.

"Ah, yes. So, did we go over why Amestris attacked Aerugo?"

"No, I don't think so," I responded as we rounded a corner. Darkness was finally falling and I could clearly see the street in front of me. We were going farther into the city than we usually did on our walk and talk sessions, but I didn't mind.

Apparently it was a war of conquest for Amestris, which at the time was seeking to expand its horizons. A key city was Dublith, which had served as a major base of operations once Amestrian soldiers had overrun the city and wiped out Aerugo's forces that had been using Dublith as a stronghold.

It almost reminded me of the Battle of the Bulge from WWII, except Amestris - the country I was equating to Nazi Germany - ended up winning. We were discussing the strategic advantage Aerugo had over Amestris when Reggie suddenly stopped walking, his face contorted in pain.

"What's wrong?" I asked, worry overcoming me as a thousand scenarios ran through my head. Was he sick? Had he been hurt? He gripped his left arm as if trying to apply pressure to relieve some internal pain. The street was mostly empty, though we probably looked quite strange standing there for a moment of tense silence.

"Nothing, my arm just acts up sometimes," Reggie said curtly as he started walking again. I wasn't convinced. The arm was still in a sling, but it concerned me that he hadn't either gotten it amputated or treated after his encounter with McDougall. We continued my history tutoring, but his obvious distraction concerned me.

"Can I just see your hand? Just to make sure there really is nothing wrong," I suggested, knowing it may have been an awkward question. Reggie shot me a glance over his glasses.

"You're not a doctor," He stated plainly, to which I replied with a shrug.

"Frostbite isn't that uncommon when you live in Drachma, I've cut off too many toes in my day to say I know nothing about frozen limbs." This was only partially true.

My grandfather had to have his foot removed after he spent too long in the cold, wet January snow storm a few years ago. At first we were told just to wait and see, then, in May, gangrenous necrosis set in and he had it amputated. Of course, I was still a kid and I could only barely recall the black, blistered flesh. But Reginald didn't need to know that.

"It's really not that bad-" I gently lifted the hand to my face, and physically felt sick at the sight. It was most definitely gangrenous, the purple-black fingers stiff and cracked. The pain he felt farther up his arm were probably the dead ends of the frozen nerves being recognized.

"When the hell did you last see a doctor for this?" I asked, appalled at his had to back away from me to pull his arm back into its sling. The nerves were clearly dead.

"Not since I was discharged from the hospital-"

"Do you know how to get there from here?" I asked quickly, looking around for any landmarks. There was a small clock tower in the center of the square, but that was all that I could distinguish as the street lamps were lit.

"Yes, but can't this wait until morning? I'm working a shift later." I shook my head.

"Your arm is literally rotting, and if it's infected it could spread to the rest of you. Not to mention how dangerous the necrosis is on its own. The faster your arm comes off, the faster-"

"Who said anything about an amputation?" He asked, as if the proposition was too ludicrous to be considered. I nearly rolled my eyes. Weren't frequently missing limbs the reason for automail to be invented?

"I did. Just now. It's either your arm or your funeral, let's go!"

I sat in the emergency room, flipping through Xerxes' Princess as I nervously awaited some news from the doctor.

At the sight of Reginald's arm, the attending nurse fainted, which, despite how it sounds, was not nearly as funny. The doctor, Dr. Aufbau, agreed with my sentiments that the arm be removed. After a lot of persuasion, and the promise of the best automail on my behalf (though it would most likely end up Winry's problem), Reginald signed the paperwork and was brought into surgery immediately.

The urgency with which Aufbau rushed Reggie into surgery made me worry that the necrosis had spread farther, but he answered none of my questions and told me that I could stay in the waiting room if I wanted. I partially wanted to just go back to the Hughes', but I'd feel bad leaving Reginald here by himself after I was the one who convinced him to come.

The military hospital was vaguely familiar from my own stay. It smelled the same, the lights were the same, and it was deathly quiet in the exception of occasional coughing and clicking heels. The urge to get out of the hellish building returned ten fold. Just as I was getting up, my path to the door was interrupted by the rush of a certain babysitting duo and their charges.

"Out of the way!" Denny exclaimed as he pushed past me with Ed having an unconscious piggyback ride. I waited a while for the four to sort out who was hurt and how banged up Edward was with a nurse before the blonde boy was rushed off to another surgery room. From Maria and Denny, there was a collective sigh.

"What are we going to tell the Major?" Maria asked to no one in particular.

"He won't be too mad, I don't think," I said, trying to console her. Unfortunately, it seemed that I only startled the trio.

"Irish? What are you doing here?" Denny finally asked. I opened my mouth, about to explain Reginald's situation when it occurred to me that I just found that truth awkward.

"What was that all about? Is Eddie okay?" I asked, avoiding the question. I could have just told them that a friend of mine got hurt, but I wanted to focus on the current situation. Judging by the time of day and the condition Ed was in, it could only be the Fifth Laboratory incident.

"Fullmetal got himself into trouble, again," Denny said, taking a seat in one of the waiting room chairs. Maria and I sat on either side of him, aware we were in for a long night.

"That's not surprising, is Alphonse okay?" I asked, concern for the boy increasing as he headed down the hall. Denny and Maria glanced at each other.

"Yes, I think so," Maria said affirmatively, though a hint of doubt could be detected in her tone. I wallowed in the dense silence for a moment before standing up and stretching. I hadn't realized how tense I had been.

"Well, I'm going to go check on him. You should probably call Armstrong and tell him about the situation." I said as I walked down the hallway. I faintly heard a mumble of resignation as the two also got up to find a phone. For a moment I nearly forgot that phones weren't mobile, sending me into a moment of panic that they were going to follow me. Once my unreasonable concern disappeared, I walked quickly, looking down each branching hall for the bulking suit of armor.

It really shouldn't have been too hard to find the kid, but he clearly didn't want to be found. The only thing that gave him away was the faint creak of his joints, which I was able to track down to a dimly lit offshoot of the main hallway. He was sitting on a bench, glaring in front of himself. Or at least I assumed he was, it was hard to tell on a guy without a face. He was so absorbed, he didn't even notice me until I sat next to him.

"You okay?" I asked tentatively, hoping not to greatly alter the future with this conversation. Alphonse turned his head to me, then looked away.

"I'm fine," He said brusquely, his voice more hollow and disembodied than usual. "You should go home Irish, Mrs. Hughes will be worried about you." I sat there for a moment, thinking. I could really tell him anything, and even if I did, he probably wouldn't believe me.

"How old are you Alphonse?" He seemed surprised at my question.

"I'm fourteen," Al said quietly, distracted from his brooding, "Why do you ask?" I gave a shrug, a thought forming into a scheme as the seconds passed.

"There was this story my mother would read to me when I was little, a story about a velveteen rabbit." I looked at him to see if he was listening. From the silent stare the empty armor gave me, I guessed he was.

"When it was new, it wanted nothing more than to be real. The rabbit was told by the Skin Horse, an old toy with its seams torn and only a few tail hairs, that the only way to be real, was to be loved by a child. So, one day, the boy who owned the rabbit found it, and realized that it was one of his favorite toys. The rabbit was taken outside, on adventures, to bed and to dinner. And the boy loved it so much that its fur ran thin and its eyes began to fall out and its seams ripped. And the rabbit believed it was real, even though the real rabbits in the garden teased him and told he was just a toy that could never be real.

"Then the boy got very sick, and once he got better, the rabbit had to burned to keep him from being sick again. So, the rabbit was left with all the other toys the boy had played with to be burned the next morning. A fairy appeared, and told the rabbit that because the boy loved him, and because the rabbit believed it, he was an actual rabbit. And he soon realized this was true, that he had strong hind legs and twitching ears. So the velveteen rabbit left the pile of toys and went into the forest to play with all the other rabbits.

"I think that it didn't matter if the rabbit was real or not, it would be real to the boy who had loved it. I just think that's kind of like life. If you love people, you remind them that they're real, and if you're loved, you realize that you are real too." After finishing my little story, I swallowed anxiously and looked at the clock on the wall. It was well past midnight. "Come on Alphonse, you can come to the Hughes', I'm sure they wouldn't mind." He seemed to be in a stupor, thinking intensely about what I had said."Al?"

"Hm? Oh, sorry, uh, I don't want to impose-"

"Of course you're not! Do you really want to spend the night all alone in some creepy hospital?"

"But, brother-"

"We'll head over as soon as we get word that he's awake. Besides, I, uh, really don't want to walk home alone." I grabbed his gloved hand and 'pulled' him to his feet.

"S-So long as it's okay with Mrs. Hughes…"

Of course, I hadn't actually asked Mrs. Hughes if it would be okay to drag one of the Elrics home with me, but I guessed she wouldn't mind. The apartment was dead silent when we finally arrived.

I had gotten us lost a few times, but Alphonse seemed to know how to get there better than I did so it didn't take us more than an hour to walk the whole way back. We had managed to avoid Major Armstrong and the babysitting duo, but I had left a note with the secretary at the hospital to give to them if they came inquiring about our whereabouts.

I didn't turn on any lights as we entered the apartment, as it was easier for me to find my way around in the darkness of the room. Plopping my bag on the couch, I motioned to my room.

"I'm just going to shower quick before bed, you need anything?" I whispered, hearing Maes' gentle snoring down the hallway.

"I'm fine," Alphonse whispered back, the creaking of his armor a lot louder than our voices.

In my room, I quickly grabbed a nightgown and a change of underclothes before slipping into the bathroom where I began to disrobe. I had a miniature heart attack as the dagger I had forgotten about clattered to the floor with my trousers. For a moment I stood very still, listening to my own heartbeat and the sounds of the building before determining I hadn't woken anyone up.

I went to pick it up, I realized where I had seen it before. It was one of McDougall's daggers. The dagger I had attacked him with. When I saw that my hand was shaking, I took a deep breath and bundled the blade up with my dirty clothes. This was just Maes' way of trying to help me get over myself, somehow.

After soaking in the tub for a few moments to wash away the dirt and stress of the day, I got out and dried myself off. Gracia had bought me my own towel, which was very considerate of her. Standing there in the cool air wrapped only in a pristine white towel I noticed how strange I really was.

My hair was more of a pale blonde than pure white it had appeared to be when I first arrived, and the dark bags under my eyes, though slightly less noticeable, were still one of my more prominent features. My eyes were more of a bloodshot pink than red, though they still contrasted greatly with my pale skin. The bruise that had once been a defining feature of my throat was gone, replaced with porcelain skin, making me almost miss the blemish.

These reflective thoughts were soon banished as a yawn overtook me. I was dog tired. With the bundle of clothes under my arm, I exited the bathroom into the hallway. I was about to head straight for my bedroom when I realized the light in the den was on. I rounded the corner, expecting to see Alphonse writing in his own little notebook, but found him reading mine.

"Alphonse!" I whisper yelled, unceremoniously yanking the book from his hands. "You should never read a girl's diary, that's how you get yourself-"

"How do you know?" I quieted at his borderline, dare I say, angry voice. He genuinely scared me. "How do you know about all that stuff, you weren't there and no one could have told you. How do you know about teacher? And what's this about Mr. Hughes dying? Why is there so much about people you don't even know dying?"

I stared at my feet during his barrage of questions, terror and panic arising in my chest. This could severely alter the timeline, and screw shit up so much I wouldn't be able to tell left from right. I needed to tell him, but also keep him from changing anything.

"If I answer your questions," I took a deep breath before continuing as I sat down on the couch opposite to him. "I need you to promise to not tell anyone, and to not do anything."

"Not do anything? People are going to die and you want me to 'not do anything'?" I flinched at his tone. Alphonse was absolutely infuriated, and for good reason. From his point of view, I could be the one orchestrating the murders.

"Please, just hear me out. If I explain, maybe you'll understand-"

"Understand what?"

"That if you do something a hell of a lot more people are going to die."

"How do you know that?" He growled, his voice raising in volume. If he woke someone up, then I'd really be in hot water and have no choice but to try to limit the casualties.

"I've seen the Gate." I offered defensively, curling in on myself with my knees to my chest and my arms over my head. This was really stressful. "It's what Ed saw when you two tried to transmute your mother," Mentioning the Gate seemed to calm Alphonse down a little bit, or at least make him more reasonable.

"You attempted human transmutation?" He asked softly, his shoulders sagging in surprise. I looked up from my fetal position.

"That's the thing - if you believe me, I'm from somewhere that alchemy isn't even possible." Alphonse cocked his head to the side, confused.

"You mentioned that alchemy wasn't practiced in Ire, but you never said it wasn't possible." I gave a short laugh, the stress and exhaustion I was feeling finally setting into reality.

"Ire doesn't exist, Alphonse, I made it up." I took a breath to relax a little bit before continuing. "I'm from the other side of the Gate, I've never even set foot out of Amestris." Alphonse was quiet for a minute.

"I can't believe it…" I snorted at his response.

"You can't? I'm the one who was ripped through space and time and thrown into some alternate dimension where alchemy and affordable, efficient prosthetics are real."

"Why didn't you tell us sooner? We could have helped you." I shook my head, my eyes cast downward. It had never really occurred to me that they could help me - I was the one trying to save lives here - but at the same time...I had been avoiding thinking about what would happen to me afterwards.

Would I be pulled back through the Gate one day and wake up back in my world? Or would I never go back? The thought made me nauseous.

"They...you wouldn't understand. My plan wasn't to let anyone know about this and keep it quiet as long as possible. Maybe once this is all over I'll tell the others the truth but now, these next few months are what I'm going to be focusing on. I'm focusing on helping you and your brother get your bodes back to normal."

"So, you didn't try to bring someone back?" He asked, completely unfazed by my ramblings.

"Uh, no? Like I said, alchemy doesn't exist. It's a dead science, hasn't been attempted for like, a hundred years. One minute I was in bed, the next I was in the Gate."

"Than how...how do you know all this stuff? Is it like how brother can do alchemy without a structure?" I thought for a moment before nodding.

"Kind of. There's this...thing at the Gate. It calls itself Truth, and it just kind of stuffs your head with knowledge. But I knew all about this...world of your's before. On my side of the Gate, we have this technology that, I guess, sort of lets us catch glimpses of your world. Except most people just think it's some story, like The Velveteen Rabbit and stuff-"

"But I'm real." He said, I realizing I was explaining this as if he was just some fabrication. I violently nodded, affirming his statement.

"Yes, you are very real. But on my side of the Gate, we just have no idea…" We were quiet for a minute, realizing what had been said.

"So, you know that I'm real, right?" I hadn't meant for this to be brought up when Alphonse was having an existential crisis, but beggars can't be choosers.

"I've gotten to the point where I can't tell if I'm real half the time Al, I'm really not the best person to ask." He still needed to talk things over with Edward, but for now I needed to keep him from wallowing in self pity too long. "And don't worry about the deaths, I have a plan. Sort of."

"Sort of? What you wrote sounds like Hughes doesn't have very long." I opened my notebook and moved to sit next to Alphonse so he could see my plans better.

"He doesn't. He has two days from now when you and Edward leave for Dublith with Winry. When he figures out what's going to happen, he will go to the archive room to double check and that's when he'll first be attacked. My plan is to intercept him before he can double check and get him on a train out of the country. So long as he doesn't contact anyone within Amestris, they'll probably leave him alone."

"What's going to happen? Who are they?" Alphonse inquired, looking over my maps and stick figures. I pulled my notebook out of his sight, holding it close to my chest. Literally the one thing I hoped wouldn't go wrong had, and now someone - Alphonse, a main character - knew that I was a treasure trove of knowledge and foresight. I really just wanted to cry, it was too early in the morning for this.

"If I told you, it would interfere with the future, and then all of my knowledge would be null and I wouldn't be able to help anyone. My very presence here might be enough to change huge events, and then I wouldn't be of use to anyone. And now that you know so much…"

I trailed off, trying to find a way to explain this without bringing interdimensional time travel into this. I had already told him too much - about Hughes, where I was from, Truth...An image of Lucha flashed in my mind. Then the waterworks started, and my cheeks felt hot with embarrassment as tears fell from my eyes. Alphonse seemed startled by my sudden crying fest, reaching out tentatively with his gauntleted hand.

"U-um, I'm sorry. I-I won't do anything, or at least I'll try not to." I rubbed my face with both hands, trying to get the tears to stop.

"Exactly how much did you read?" I asked shakily, my voice cracking as I attempted to regain my composure. I still held the leather bound notebook under my arm as I paced in circles around the couch.

I had finished my writing up until the interlude of episode 27. I had titles written out on pages after that, but I had only filled in my plans up until the Interlude Party. Even though it was merely a flashback, it still seemed like a good place to leave off since my memory of the series faded and then resurfaced with the Elrics meeting Father.

Even though that was barely half the series, it still held a lot of information Alphonse could potentially abuse if he saw fit. And considering lives were on the line, I wouldn't put it past the pure hearted boy.

"I just skimmed it at first, but Hughes' death caught my eye and I mostly read that page and studied your maps…" I wanted to know how much of that statement was true, and what he had 'skimmed', but it was pretty hard to detect a lie when speaking with a suit of armor.

"Okay, so you really don't know all that much, maybe a few details here and there on his murder, but I've told you about the Gate, Truth, where I'm from, etc. You cannot tell a soul about any of this, not your brother, not Mustang, not even a fluffy little stray cat. If the people who want Hughes dead catch wind of me, I'm either dead or captured and used against you. And these people play for keeps, they won't hesitate to come after you too." I explained, mostly to myself though I knew Alphonse was listening.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" He finally asked as I wandered to the kitchen in search of milk.

I thought for a moment, thinking if there was anything I needed to do or get before the two days were up. I had amassed enough money to buy a train ticket to Ermutixo, the closest train stop to Aerugo, where Hughes would have to travel the last few kilometers to the southern country.

My plan was to convince Hughes that Johann needed his help with his experiments down there. If he didn't buy that, I'd have to resort to telling him that his life was in danger, though that never seemed to go over well in my head.

"Just keep quiet, and just do what you'd do anyways. If something does change, I'll tell you first." I said after I downed a glass of milk. I looked at my notebook tucked under my arm, an idea striking me. Setting down my glass, I shuffled quietly back to the den where Alphonse observed my curious behavior.

"What are you doing?" He asked, but the question was answered as I found what I was looking for on the mantel beside Gracia's collection of knitting needles and pin cushions. A needle and thread.

"I'm going to give this to you, for safe keeping." I said as I threaded the needle with the white string and began to sew the soft outer edge of my notebook shut. "I trust you, Alphonse. If you trust me, you'll keep it closed and not let anyone tamper with it, okay?" I held out the finished book to him, but he didn't move.

"What's in it for you?" He asked, wary of my intentions.

I really just needed someone - or more specifically, somewhere - to keep my notes thus far hidden. And Alphonse just happened to be a perfect candidate - he never took his armor off, and although people climbed in him (how do I not make that sound weird?) throughout the series, it was often depicted as a cramped space with not a lot of room to move around.

And since the only person who'd do that before the Interlude Party, from my memory, would be the snake chimera girl and maybe Mei (though I think she'd have known better then to be snooping around Alphonse's armor) I didn't think the unfinished notebook would be in danger of revealing too much information to anyone with means to alter it.

"I need you to put this in your leg, or foot, or somewhere no one would look. All I gain from this is some security and a little more trust between us. If I can't trust you," I looked at the notebook, with its edges sewn shut in bright white thread.

"Then I can't trust anyone, I need you to keep this safe, and if something happens to me, just, finish reading it. It doesn't have everything I know, but it has enough. And if you do need to change something, make sure the outcome is as similar to my notes as possible. I can't stress the importance of consistency anymore, if something changes, or deviates from this record, then there's a chance the bad guys will win, and you and Eddie won't have a snowball's chance in hell at getting your bodies back to normal."

Alphonse carefully took the notebook from my outstretched hands, as if expecting it to fall apart at his touch. I sighed, happy about...something. Happy, I guess, that someone else knew what was going on and what I was trying to do. Still, I had a nagging feeling this could only come back to bite me in the but. Deciding not to dwell on the negatives of the situation, I changed the subject.

"Alphonse, I need an opinion." I said, stabbing the needle into the arm of the couch and balancing the spool of thread next to it. "If you had the potential to save, say, five condemned criminals or one good man, who would you save?" The suit swiveled its head to look down on me.

"Are you talking about those people in Dublith? The ones you wrote about?" I nodded, pulling my knees to my chest.

"Yeah," I murmured, the thoughts I had written in the notebook resurfacing. "I could stay behind and save Hughes, which could potentially alter the future greatly depending on certain people's reactions. Or I could go to Dublith with you guys, and see if I could save those guys, with little immediate consequence, though later complications would be encountered."

"That is a hard decision," Alphonse interjected, thinking to aloud to himself. "If you don't go to Dublith, those people you wrote about will die, but if you go, Hughes will die."

"It's just that his death is such a major key to the rest of the story unfolding properly, I'm not sure if…" I trailed off, thinking about how easy it was to abandon Nina and Alexander to their fate. I felt guilty that I considered such a thing easy - she was a little girl, and she died when I could have done something about it.

"If you want to sacrifice the lives of those people in Dublith for something that might not be worth it or even avoidable in the end, and something that might kill even more people." Alphonse finished with such finality I almost believed he read my thoughts. My shoulders sank and I ran a hand through my hair.

"I just need to know - what would you do?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. We sat quietly for a second that seemed to stretch on forever. The early morning sunlight was just beginning to warm the horizon and drive away the darkness, and the shadows that haunted the living room's corners turned tail to hide in their crevices and caves.

"I'd do what I think is right," Alphonse finally responded, not satisfying my question in the least.

"And what is that?" He looked away from me, his hands clenching the notebook and digging imprints into the cover.

"I don't know," The boy admitted hollowly, his voice echoing slightly inside the armor. Knowing pushing for a more direct answer would be futile, I took note of the first twitches of morning life. The neighbors were loudly getting plates out for breakfast, someone was rushing down the stairs, clearly late for something, and coffee drifted up through the floors to reach the apartment.

"Come on," I said, stretching as I headed for my room, "I'll change quick then we can go check on Eddie and see if he's in better shape." Alphonse perked up, almost having forgotten his injured sibling.

"Oh, yeah!" He exclaimed, to which I shh-ed him. The boy gave a ringing chuckle. "Sorry," I felt a smile tug at my lips, though it fell once I shut my bedroom door. I leaned against it, my forehead against the cold wooden frame.

Save one or save five. My morals told me to go to Dublith and try to prevent the deaths of the chimeras, but my instinct told me to stay and save Hughes, despite the huge risk to the plot involved. I really wished Truth was here, I could use the fluffy little guy.

We arrived back at the hospital long before morning rush hour, the streets quiet and empty at five in the morning. I had just thrown on my outfit from the night before, as it hadn't seen extensive use beyond my eventful evening. And, from what I could tell, Gracia only did laundry every two weeks, which meant I'd often wear clothes multiple times despite my many outfits.

I was a one pair of jeans for a week girl. It kind of sounded gross, but I guessed I was just used to it. We entered the waiting room, where Maria and Denny were sitting half-asleep in two of the seats. However, their stillness did not last long, Maria quickly prodding her partner awake as they approached Alphonse and I.

"Mornin'," I greeted, nodding to the two.

"Ah! Miss. Irish?" The secretary called to me. I glanced at Alphonse before giving a brief nod in the woman's direction.

"I'll be right back," I said walking over to the woman at the counter. She was an older woman, wearing a pleated skirt that graced the tops of her shoes. "Can I help you with something?" The woman motioned to one of the nurses behind the counter.

"Mr. Azir should be awake by now, if you'd like to see him." I blinked in surprise, recalling my reason for being in hell- I mean the hospital to begin with.

"Oh, shit, I can't believe I nearly forgot! Um, what's his room number?" I asked. The secretary seemed amused by my concern. I certainly wasn't, my anxiety was not funny!

"This is Edith, she'll take you to his room," She explained, the nurse from behind the counter giving a small wave as she walked around to lead me through the labyrinth to Reginald's room. I jumped, along with the other 'normal' onlookers as a loud smack resounded through the air, quickly replaced by Denny's muffled squeals of pain. He actually did slap Alphonse. I gave a snort of laughter at his reddened hand before giving a short wave to catch their attention.

"I've got to bounce, see you!" They watched me leave in befuddlement.

"She has to what?" Maria murmured as I headed down the hallways in pursuit of Edith the Nurse. She walked fast for a lady in heels, and I was not just saying that because I tended to wear heavy steel-toed work boots on a daily basis.

We had to walk up three whole flights of stairs before we started to slow down. Truth, I missed elevators. Hell, even an escalator would be appreciable in this 1910s hospital. Edith's feet had to be killing her if this was what she did all day. After we had come to a dead end hallway and I didn't think I could take another step without collapsing, Edith stopped and held the door to a room open.

"Here we are," She announced cheerily. Too cheerily for someone who had clearly taken the night shift and was probably doped up on fourteen coffees and wearing heels. Why were 1910s women so scary?

"Thanks," I mumbled, though my sore feet sent a strain of profanities and references I could make, none of which applied to the situation but still sounded cool in my head.

"Hey, Irish," A tired voice said with a yawn, a figure shifting in the hospital bed to sit up. Reggie was clearly exhausted, making me feel bad about visiting him right after the anesthesia wore off, but I was here and there was no reason to leave.

"Hey, Reginald. How's it going?" I asked, walking over to the bed to get a better look at him. The arm had been amputated a few inches below the shoulder, meaning the necrosis had spread farther than I initially thought. The remaining stump was bundled in sterile dressings, recently changed. He had an oxygen mask over his face, his lack of glasses throwing me off for a moment.

"Not too bad, as far as having your arm amputated over night goes," Reggie gave a weak laugh before sighing and lying back in bed. "How am I going to get anything done like this? Aren't I going to have to quit the military and get a job doing...something one-armed people do?"

"Don't be so pessimistic, some of the best soldiers I know are amputees. And it's not like you can't get automail - like I told you, I know a guy. I'm sure I can work something out." I huffed in defiance. I mean, I guessed losing a limb was pretty...traumatic, but compared to what the Elrics had been through, he had no right to complain.

"I know, I know, I just feel so...useless." He yawned again, his right hand subconsciously reaching to push his missing glasses up. I sighed, sitting on the bed next to him.

"I know the feeling," I said, silent for a moment before remembering what I had grabbed on my way out of the house. "Oh, yeah! I almost forgot, here, I compiled some stuff for you to look over." Taking the separate folder of papers from my bag, I set it down and opened it, displaying the dizzying symbols and notes etched over the paper.

"What…is this?" Reginald asked, skimming through the pages filled with markings and numbers. I pointed at him before dramatically saying,

"That's for me to know, and you to find out," I giggled at his confusion, before deciding to give him a hint. "You told me how much you wanted to work on ciphers and the sort when you advanced through the ranks, so I made you some codes to crack. Mostly silly little things and quotes, but I hope they're still fun to figure out." I pointed to the first line on the page he was examining closely.

"See that note in the left hand corner? It's an equation you can only use to decipher that particular symbol using the Amestrian alphabet, or at least I think that's what you call it here." I said the latter much quieter, not sure if they even called their language 'Amestrian'. Nevertheless, Reggie looked absolutely delighted.

"You came up with all of these on your own?" I shrugged, glancing at the pages.

"My little brothers and I would send secret messages back and forth all the time when we were younger, they aren't that complicated so I didn't give you all of the equations. I'm sure you can figure the rest out, think preteen mathematical skills and toddler artistic abilities." Reginald said nothing, examining the squiggles and dots cryptically before responding with an intelligent 'Hm?' of confusion. I rolled my eyes and shut the folder. "That's to keep you busy while you wait, genius. This is for later."

I set a magazine I had bought from the Main Street Grocery Store (the money subtracted from my paycheck). It contained all of the latest makes and models of automail straight from Rush Valley. I was so excited about getting this guy a new arm, it was almost like shopping for shoes, except more permanent and with less heels.

"Okay, so I did the math, you can start looking at automail models now, I'd say 14 days before you're discharged and can head to Rush Valley to meet up with the guy. All you have to do is say you're a friend of Irish to the perky blonde with him and explain that I'll cover all the costs. Don't you dare say you're paying for this, it is kind of my fault-"

"Why do you keep doing this?" He asked, cutting me off from my ranting. I suddenly felt guilty. It really was my fault for existing that this guy had to deal with a missing arm. Then again, he could be dead. I cocked my head to the side, confused by his question. "Why do you keep forcing these ideas on me? What if I don't want automail?"

I flushed, not knowing why. I had been the one who convinced him to get the arm amputated, even if it was for his own health, and here I was planning out his future. Like a helicopter mom who regiments their child's schedule.

"I'm, I'm sorry, I just...I'm used to things being planned out ahead of time. And when things don't go as planned they just kind of, fall apart for me, I guess." My shoulders sagged and my eyes dropped, my shoes suddenly very interesting. They had cute blue buttons up the sides that glimmered in the light of the hospital room as the morning sun breached the horizon like a burning tree. "You don't have to get the automail if you don't want to - it's not like I have any legal power over you or anything - I just feel like I owe you one, after everything you've done for me." Reggie sighed and shook his head.

"You think too much, Irish." I thought about that for a moment, and realized I was proving his point as I stood there.

"Sorry…"

"Don't apologize, you didn't do anything wrong!"

"Sorry-"

"Irish!" Reginald exclaimed in good humor, though my cheeks had grown crimson with embarrassment. He liked to tease me too much. "Thanks for the ciphers, and the automail stuff. I really needed this talk-"

"Mac!" An over excited voice cried theatrically from the doorway, startling me. "You didn't tell me your boyfriend was at the hospital! Why'd you beat him up before I could meet him?"

"Hughes! He's not my boyfriend!"

Masterlist

[bluebookbadger-blog]

The Price of a Life - Chapter 7

Title: The Price of a Life Fandom (s): Fullmetal Alchemist/Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood Summary: I always thought waking up in another world would be a lot more…interesting. At least slightly exciting and terrifying, but it really wasn’t. It was more of a sudden and underwhelming event, that landed me in the company of fiction and its ignorance to modern physics. I thought it was a dream. Boy was I wrong. Characters: SI/OC, Maes Hughes, Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, etc. Rating: PG-13

A/N: I do not own any of the following: Avatar: The Last Airbender, the Grand Prix, Marvel or D.C. comics, or any other cultural references made by any unknown characters not associated with the FMA or FMAB series.

"To the library!" I announced, mimicking Sokka from Avatar: The Last Airbender as we finally arrived back in Central. Johann had left the apartment before us, in a hurry to check on his lab I assumed, so we left as soon as the first train arrived. Which happened to be at 4:30 in the morning, meaning I was beginning to feel the effects of long term sleep deprivation and was acting ridiculous the entire train ride.

I complained about everything, cried when there wasn't any milk on the drink cart, and had now entered a state of hysterics that made everything a reference to my world's culture - which, to be honest, was hilarious considering Hughes didn't understand one bit of what I talking about when it came to the Grand Prix and binge watching Daredevil. However, the library seemed to be the key to catching his attention.

"I guess we have time to stop by there if you want to-" I hugged him, to tired to realize why or care that I was suffocating both him and Lucha.

"Please? I need a book or something soon, I'm going to die of literature deprivation - so you guys have any sci-fi stuff or is it just fantasy and essays?" The afternoon sun beat down hard as I skipped next to Hughes. I was really looking forward to a nap, this hyperactivity probably wasn't a good sign.

"Sci-fi?" Maes asked, rubbing his chin. "Is that like, science documents or something like that?" I stopped skipping - it was starting to bother my ankles, and the long skirt I was wearing kept getting caught under the toes of my boots.

"Never mind that, you're actually taking me to the library?" I asked, calming down a little. Being cooped up in that tiny train car had gotten me so excited to get out, I hadn't realized he actually agreed to my ridiculously versed request.

"Sure, why not? I sent Gracia a telegram saying we wouldn't be back until supper time, so we have a few hours to kill." I cocked my head to one side, trying to keep from asking if the library had burned down yet or not.

"What about work? Don't you have to file some things on Scar? And what about Maria and Denny, are they my babysitters anymore or not?" I asked, directing the barrage of questions at Hughes but only looked straight ahead at the cracks in the cobblestone street. Hughes' chuckle made me lose my staring contest with the ground.

"Work can wait. Besides, you sounded really enthusiastic about going." Lucha poked his head out of the bag and nipped my elbow.

"Okay, I guess it wouldn't hurt to stop for a little while." And so we made the trek all the way to the first branch of the state library.

The first branch of the state library was, in words, reflective of Amestris' imposing architectural style with a spirit of exciting discoveries and intense focus all rolled into one pristine white building. After a moment at gaping up at the complex, I hurried past Hughes through the double door entrance to breath in the smell of fresh ink and old paper. A familiar smell in an unfamiliar world.

"Mac!" Hughes called after me as I ran down one of the many endless hallways, but he was quickly shh-ed by a librarian somewhere in the labyrinth of paper. I scanned the spines of the books as I softly and quickly padded in between the book shelves. It was saddening to think it would all go up in flames soon, but that was all the more reason to enjoy it while it was still there.

The old books were arranged by the Dewey Decimal system, though I bet it wasn't called that here. After turning down several branches paths, I discovered the small fiction section of the library. And by small, I mean less than two full shelves of mythos about Xerxes and other past civilizations. Despite this shortage of preferred reading material, I dove right in. I grabbed the first four books I could and sat down with my back to the shelves as I opened the first novel, Xerxes' Princess. It was a sappy love story with drama and angst, but it was something.

The princess, Perenelle, was vaguely familiar from somewhere, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. She had an interest in alchemy, and commissioned many temples and sculptures to the gods. She also had a secret love for the slave boy who was the caretaker of the palace. Perenelle however, was destined to marry off to a prince in Xing as a peace offering after a war with the eastern country.

Very cliche in its approach, but it was interesting in that it provided glimpses of what 'modern' 1914 culture viewed as important enough to write about. Like sappy romances that followed a Romeo and Juliet type plot. I had just gotten to the good part, when the king was torturing her lover by chaining him over hot coal, when I could honest to Truth smell something burning. It was the library, or at least something in the library judging by the smoke that was wafting over and between the shelves.

I got up, still clutching the novel to my chest in fear as I looked around. No one was panicking, but that was because there was no one around.

"Hughes?" I called out, fear tinging my voice. No one responded, and no one yelled at me for being so loud. "Hughes!" I called again louder, my voice cracking with anxiety.

I got up and ran back in the direction I had come. Unfortunately, I had absolutely zero sense of direction, which resulted in me being lost. I was somewhere in the history department of the labyrinth when I realized just how lost I was. The smoke was burning my eyes, and each breath felt as if I was breathing the fire itself. It was getting harder to breath by the second, and I could not feel my feet or my hands as stars danced across my vision.

I ended up hiding under a desk, watching the billows of smoke dance around the small alcove I had made my temporary refuge. My breathing was constricted, the breaths becoming shorter and shorter. My vision faded to black, the only thought coming to mind that it would be really disappointing to die now.

"...with her! She ran off before I could stop her-" I awoke to Hughes' voice and many other voices arguing, most of it a muddled blur of murmured sounds, nothing I could really place.

I was lying on my back on something soft, a bed from my best guess. It had a thin blanket, thin enough that I could feel the slight draft coming from the window to the right of my head. The familiar weight of an oxygen mask covered my mouth and nose, and the puffs of air told me I was probably in a hospital. I felt around myself, for Lucha and my bag. If someone had read my notebook all hell would break loose, and it would explain the angry voices I heard around me.

"I think she's waking up." Armstrong's voice boomed nearby, feet shuffling in my direction as I glared against the bright lights of the hospital. It was easier to breath now, but the choking grip of my asthma still made it a challenge.

The faces were blurry, but I could make out who was hovering over me like a swarm of bees. With brooding expressions, Mustang and Hughes stood to the left of my bed, while Armstrong and the babysitting duo were on my right. I was pretty sure Hawkeye was in the room, but she must have been out of my field of vision.

"I'll call the doctor," Riza's voice said, the sound of a door closing indicating her leaving for said medical professional. I tried to sit up, but Roy's hand pushed me down.

"You need rest," He said, his dark eyes piercing and commanding. I sat up anyways, not comfortable laying down on my back. The feat nearly made me pass out again and caused my world to temporarily spin, but it gave me some form of relief to know I was able to move on my own.

"What happened?" I asked as I pulled the mask down for a moment, nearly out of breath from sitting up. However, the thought of someone finding my notebook keeping me from falling back into the lull of sleep.

"There was a fire-"

"I know, what happened after that?" I asked, wondering how someone found me. And from what the show depicted, the library was a pile of rubble. There was a slim chance I could have survived being trapped under that much debris and live, and judging by my luck, I wouldn't have.

"The fire brigade found you just before the building collapsed, luckily no one was killed." Roy shot a glare at Hughes. "Though it was a close call, Hughes." I waved my hand, mostly to get some feeling into it but also to dismiss any hard feelings between the two.

"It was my fault for running off," It was getting easier to breath, if only slightly so. I took the oxygen mask off, not even bothering to ponder if it was even invented yet in my world's 1914 timeline. I took a few deep breathes, readjusting to the environment. Judging by the amount of light coming from the window, it was day - but the dark circles under Hughes and Mustang's eyes said they hadn't slept. "How long was I out?" I asked, bringing a hand to my face to rub my tired eyes.

"Through the night," Armstrong answered, looming over me with his imposing stature as I sputtered in disbelief. All night? Sure, I had passed out from an asthma attack before, but never for that long, at least not without brief moments of consciousness. Maybe it was just the cumulative exhaustion of the past week or two catching up with me. Suddenly, my initial panic that had woken me up returned

"Where's Lucha? And my things?" I looked frantically between the people assembled around me. Before anyone could reply, the door opened as Riza let the doctor in.

He was a stout man, his dirty blonde hair combed back and a pair of small, round spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose obscured his eyes. In his right hand he held a clipboard, in the left he held a mug of steaming black coffee.

Before we continue, let me just explain that I have a hatred for a) hospitals, b) doctors, and c) coffee.

This man was the embodiment of my worst childhood memories - hours in the emergency room and overnight stays at the hospital every other week, doctors who couldn't figure out that it was just damn asthma set off by pneumonia. Coffee from the doctors had pervaded even the most sterile rooms. I was not sure why I disliked coffee so much, it was probably linked to some oppressed memory or some psychology shit like that.

"Try to breath normally, Miss. Irish." The doctor - he had a little name card the read Dr. Klaus - said this as he sat on the bed beside me, stethoscope in hand. It took me a moment to realize I had been holding my breath. I looked up, my musings about my seething hatred for coffee ceasing as the glare of his glasses disappeared to reveal his eyes. His purple eyes. I didn't move as the cold stethoscope traced a path over my chest, clinking against my necklaces.

"Hm, your heart rate is slightly elevated, and your breathing is faster than normal. Under the circumstances, its normal. I'd like to keep her here for the rest of the day just to make sure there are no complications." Dr. Klaus said, looking to Mustang for approval. The man nodded, looking to his subordinates. Dr. Klaus slipped out of the room, the door opening and closing almost silently courtesy of Riza Hawkeye.

"Try to keep a closer watch on her this time." Mustang said as I stared blankly into space, my heart beating loudly in my chest. He and his Lieutenant exited the room with a brief nod to Hughes and Armstrong.

There were a million reasons why he had purple eyes. He could have had some ocular albinism or it could be natural - if Ed's eyes were possible, purple wasn't too far off. He was probably just some normal guy - and it wasn't as if the homunculi knew how much I knew, was it?

And if it was Envy or some other homunculi creature, it would have killed me if it thought I was a threat to their plans unless I was some amazing alchemist they could use as a sacrifice. And judging from my inability to even stay awake in chemistry class, that was a pretty non existent circumstance.

An image of Pride's creepy shadows flashed in my mind and a shiver passed through my body. Hughes shut the window, though it didn't do much to help with the sinking pit in my chest.

"Are you cold Mac?" He asked, looking to the Armstrong Squad. "We could get you a blanket-"

"Where's Lucha?" I asked, needing an answer. It didn't matter if I was going to be killed or worse - if that was going to be the case - I wanted to have the only other living thing I had from my world with me when it happened. The air became tangible with the silence, I could almost cut it with a knife.

"No one's seen him since the fire," Maria finally said, her voice straining with worry for my reaction. I looked down and sighed, gripping the white bed sheet in my fists.

I didn't even miss Lucha, at least not consciously, but without a vessel, I wouldn't be able to communicate with the Truth. And that threw a flaming wrench from hell into my plans and sent my inquiries for the all-knowing being more shattered than my dreams of being a well-off paleontologist.

"And my stuff?" I was surprised at my ability to keep from crying, but the crack in my voice indicated my distress to the four others in the room.

"All salvaged," Denny said, looking to the Major. "Would you like us to fetch it-"

"Yes, thank you." I said curtly, pulling the hospital sheet up around myself. "And, could you please get that extra blanket?"

Hughes smiled at me, his usual smile. The one that made your heart melt and the whole room light up with his contagious optimism.

"Sure, you want anything else?" He asked, pretending to write on his hand with an invisible pen. I rolled my eyes at his antics. It was good to see that side of Hughes. Denny and Maria had since left, both smiling as the scene unfolded behind them.

"Two decks of cards." He gave me a smirk.

"I don't play poker anymore, Gracia said gambling is an unhealthy habit." I reached out to swat at him, but he nimbly moved away.

"It's for 3 to 13 and garbage and stuff like that you big dummy." I said with a short laugh. Armstrong and Hughes looked at each other and then at me. "What?"

"What's 3 to 13?" Hughes asked. My shoulder's fell, but quickly came back up. So much for my grandfather teaching me card games - now it was my turn to teach someone else.

"It's like Rummy, I guess."

"And this 'garbage' game?" I found myself smiling as Denny and Maria came back.

"I'll teach you if you'll play poker with me, Hughes." I said, holding a hand out to him. He shook it, clapping me over the shoulder.

"Deal."

We spent the whole afternoon playing card games. Teaching them all how to play garbage and 3-13 was a challenge; Denny kept dropping his cards after we got past ten, and Hughes still didn't understand how a king was worthless in garbage. Afterwards we, meaning Armstrong, Hughes, and I, played poker using a random assortment of knick-knacks from my bag as chips.

It was actually fun, even with the looming threat of the apocalypse.

I went home that night, the doctor who did the final checkup was not Dr. Klaus thanks to Truth wherever the hell it was. The next few days involved a lot of sleep. As in more than eight hours every night sleep. I barely slept this well even before I woke up in this hellish alternate reality.

Elicia was pretty torn up about Lucha disappearing, but Hughes made it up to her by reminding her that she was going to turn 3 in less than a week. In a little more than a week Hughes would be dead.

The next two days were spent in my room more or less, mourning the loss of Lucha. I didn't feel sad, more of a hollow feeling as if some part of me had been carved away, but a crushing weight of an impending implosion was absent. I did feel a few warm tears drip down my face as I lay in my bed the morning of the second day, staring at the white ceiling. It was going to be a rather lonely journey without the little guy, but I guessed it was going to be one less thing I cared about loosing.

There was a knock at the door, and I didn't move at first, still contemplating how the next week would play out. The knock came again, this time louder. I sat up, wondering why Gracia hadn't answered it yet. It then struck me that she had left not too long ago to buy Elicia's birthday gift while the little girl was at a friend's house for a play date.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, hoping I looked a little better than I felt. I was only wearing my grey and white polka dot nightgown, so it was hopefully Hughes checking in as he had done so the day before. I opened my door, its glass knob turning with a creak.

That was another thing about this world that was charming. Almost all of the doorknobs were glass or brass, as if you were back in your grandmother's house. My house back home was pretty old, and all of the doors had glass knobs that took a few tries to properly open the door. I had somehow made my way to the door, looking at its own glass knob with a nostalgic apathy.

I looked up in surprise at Alphonse's bulking height standing behind Edward's own diminutive one.

"Hi Irish," Alphonse said, his childish voice echoing cheerfully. "We wanted to stop by and see how you were doing." I looked tiredly between the two brothers before stepping aside to allow them in. I could feel the questions burning in Edward's eyes, of what I did not know.

"I'm doing okay," I said, coughing a little as we sat down on the couches, causing nearly invisible dust clouds to float up and irritate my breathing. It would be really useful if Truth had given me my inhaler or something. "How are you boys? Last I saw you, you looked as if a rabid bear had gotten its way with you." Temporarily confused with my odd choice in comparison, Edward answered for his younger brother.

"Much better, thank you." He said curtly, though not impolite in tone. "We were wondering if you knew what caused the fire at the library." I shrugged, happy to get the mini-interrogation done with first instead of making small talk.

"Not sure, I was in the fiction section, smelled smoke, ran, got lost, and nearly suffocated. I really didn't see anyone or anything while I was looking for the exit." Ed nodded, his gold eyes trailing around the room.

"Did you happen to see anything written by a Tim Marcoh?" He asked, only to seem crestfallen when I shook my head, but he continued. "How about Mitch Racom?" I never thought about Marcoh using a pen name or anything like that. I thought back to the manuscripts I had skimmed over, but the cook book wasn't making itself abundantly clear.

"Nope, sorry." The building rumbled gently as pounding footsteps rushed down the hallway towards the apartment, and before I could say another word, Maria and Denny burst through the door in a panic.

"Mr. Elric, sir! You can't go and disappear like that - oh, hi Irish!" Denny rushed, Maria out of breath from their apparent mini marathon. Ed fumed in exasperation. He must have really hated being follow by the babysitting duo.

"I told you I wanted to go see if she knew anything!"

"Don't ditch us like that, it's our job to watch you." Maria asserted. "Besides, we found a lead." I looked up, my mind immediately thinking about a 'lead'. I couldn't recall a specific interest in the start of the first branch's fire, but it wouldn't surprise me if some focus and minor plot details had shifted. Whatever this lead was, it sure caught the boys' attention. "There's a woman who was well acquainted with the materials in the first branch." Ed got up from the couch, obviously with the intent to find the woman ASAP. "Unfortunately, she wasn't working there anymore." The blonde boy huffed, sitting back down.

"That sounds incredibly helpful," He replied sarcastically, crossing his arms in annoyance. I at least knew that they were talking about Sheska, not some random lead on an irrelevant case.

"Is something wrong?" Alphonse asked in his disembodied way, catching my attention. Denny was look at him kind of strangely.

"Oh, it's nothing," He said, his features no longer stoically inquisitive. "Although, if you don't mind me asking, why are you wearing a suit of armor?" I felt a smile briefly flicker across my face as the brothers quickly turned to one another.

"I-It's a hobby!" They said in sync, Maria and Denny obviously sending each other a whisper of disbelief.

"Why are you looking into Dr. Marcoh's work?" I asked, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen in place of the previous conversation. Ed turned to me, surprised.

"How did you know we were looking for his work?" He asked, suspicious of my intent guessing by the glare in his eyes. I held up my hands in defense, smiling despite myself.

"I read about him when I was doing a profile for Scar's target demographic. He's a medical bio-alchemist of sorts, right?" I said, hoping that sounded convincing. I personally hadn't looked over Marcoh's file, but I did remember seeing it somewhere in my comprehensive collection of State Alchemist paperwork.

"Uh, yeah. Kind of." Ed said curtly, getting up. "So where's this lady at?"

I sulked, upset I was being ignored for the first time since I arrived in this Truth forsaken world. If this wasn't real, I'd be growing mushrooms atop my head. My self pity ended as the trio left, the door closing behind them with a quiet thump.

The reality of how quiet the house was without anyone came rushing back like an icy tidal wave. I looked out the kitchen window, watching them pile into the back of one of the ancient vehicles known in this time period as a car. I sighed, knowing I wouldn't be able to lounge around forever wallowing in my own loneliness. Lucha was important to me, but even I was small in the scheme of what was happening.

After taking a quick bath, sure not to duck my head under again, I dressed in a simple white blouse with a blue overcoat and skirt to keep a low profile. I scribbled a quick note for the Hughes family, seeing the approaching evening. If the excursion I planned took longer than expected, I didn't want to worry my hosts. It felt strange not tucking Lucha into the carpet bag Gracia had given me, but I ignored the thought as I made sure my notebook and belongings were safely hidden away.

I resisted a sigh of resignation to another barefoot escapade as I spent almost ten minutes trying to secure the high button boots onto my ridiculously small and arched feet. After that ordeal was dealt with, I took a quick inventory of myself, habitually reaching for the small pocket knife I usually kept on my person at all times back in my own world.

I decided against stealing one of the Hughes' kitchen knives, reminding myself that I was trying to look inconspicuous. On that note, I grabbed an early cloche hat that adorned a fake flower or two and marched out the door.

I breathed in the humid evening air, the sun casting long shadows as it kissed the horizon and began to lean into its embrace. There were people out, to my surprise. Couples mostly, just enjoying a night out on the town, but a few children putting off dinner and elderly folks shuffling home from the store crossed my path from time to time. I was relieved when I finally made it to Central Park. The very same park I had arrived in.

There weren't really that many people around there, though a pair of familiar soldiers marched by me as I walked down the cobble stone pathway. I must have looked strange, my head swerving left and right as I looked for my target. When I finally found it, I cut across the lush, green grass and slowed as I approached the bench to the right of the structure.

It was a phone booth. I had never actually seen one, not in the lonely little town I was from. It had wooden framework and glass in between. The roof was a domed square, that was a paler than than the rest of the wooden pieces. From the looks of it, the framework was mahogany, probably used for its sheer weight and durability. The glass was tinted just enough for the innards of the booth to be obscured through the translucent glass.

To one side of the booth there was a bench. On the other side of the booth, a gas lamp post stood tall, its light not yet needed as the setting sun sent shafts of its light in blinding force to the earth.

I sat there, simply reflecting on what could or would happen there with my intervention. There were bushes that faded into a small wooded area behind me, and there was also a row of tall bushes on the other side of the walkway. No one would be able to see the murder unless they were lurking in the foliage or walking down the path, but this also meant it would be difficult to hide if needed.

I had five days until Sheska copied down the cookbook, and a few more days after that when the Elrics figure out how to make a Philosopher's stone. That night they would go to the fifth laboratory, and then Ed would spend two days in the hospital, and the day the Elrics and Winry left for Dublith was the day Hughes would die.

That was the plan, as long as I didn't throw a wrench into the plot. From my seat on the bench I could see a wing of Central Command, most likely the wing Hughes left to find a 'safe' line to call Mustang on.

The street lamp flickered to life as it was lit, the growing darkness around me only driven off by the glow of the lamps that were scattered throughout the park. The Central Command wing would be my objective of the next day. I stood up, closing my notebook after double checking that my best recreation of an aerial sketch of the phone booth area was as exact as possible. Somewhere in town the clock struck 6 o'clock, signaling it was time for me to return to the Hughes' residence. Tomorrow would be one day closer to Maes Hughes' death.

I actually didn't get to go inspect the government building the next day, as Gracia had employed my help shopping for Elicia's birthday. If it had not been mentioned earlier, I loathed shopping. It was a completely unnecessary torture in my mind - but if I had a daughter like Elicia who was turning three, I'd spend a few hours staring at party hats to figure out which ones she'd want.

We collected an assortment of various party materials; streamers, hats, those things you blow to uncurl that make a funny noise. Then came the food. We weren't making the cake that day, but Gracia was worried she'd be pressed for time, and that sending Elicia over to her friend's house every other day of the week for shopping didn't seem like good parenting.

So, here we were, in the middle of a busy farmer's' market on the other side of town trying to find some sugar, flour, oranges, and some other ingredients that were so generic I could point them out on the shelves of the Main Street Grocery shop with my eyes closed.

"Why couldn't we just buy them from Miss. Reich?" I asked, slightly annoyed as someone stepped on the hem of my brown skirt. As much as I loved the clothes Mrs. Hughes had picked out, they could be a hassle sometimes. Like right now, when I was more worried about stepping on one of the loose chickens than looking where I was going.

"Watch it!" A familiar, grumpy voice chided as his caged chicken squawked in fright as he dropped it. I murmured an apology for the forty sixth time that afternoon as I picked up the poor poultry and handed it to a certain Johann Adlersflügel. My eyes widened in recognition but before I could say a word he held finger to his lips, and picking up his produce, sped away.

"Johann-"

"Irish, could you help me with this?" Gracia asked, interrupting me with a large bag of fresh flour. As I struggled to hold up the heavy load, I lost sight of Johann.

Maybe he was just coming for Elicia's birthday. But then why the cold shoulder, did he just not recognize me? I was pretty hard to miss, even under all the drab clothes and hat. Maybe he wanted to surprise the Hughes' with his visit. But it worried me that he didn't just tell me, it was just strange.

These thoughts plagued my mind until we returned home, I happy to transfer the weight of the flour to the table. I rubbed my sore arms, noting that I'd need to start exercising now that I wasn't working on the farm every weekend.

Finally, the next evening, I was able to get to the wing of Central Command by the park. It seemed almost like a general government building, with civilians and soldiers mulling about and the quiet chatter of receptionists. To the left of the entrance, there were rows of private telephones shielded by dividers. I stood at the end of the cubicles, looking at the row with an anxiety filled heart that could only speculate how this would turn out without some help from little miss Mary Sue me.

"Excuse me, Miss," A young woman behind the counter spoke, her dirty blonde hair pinned back to frame her childish face. A single rebellious strand escaped, dangling in front of her shiny blue eyes. She probably was a little younger than my sister, Mary. "Can I help you with something?"

"Uh, yes, actually," I said, "Could you please show me to the archive room?" The young woman, her name tag read Adele Müller, cast a suspicious and wary glance in my direction.

"I'm sorry, the archive room isn't open to the public," Adele responded slowly, as if prepared for some big argument to ensue.

"Does this help?" I asked, sliding my beautifully laminated Certificate of Honorary Citizenship over the counter. She blinked in surprise as she lightly traced the Füher's signature. "May I please be shown to the archive room now?"

"Wow," She muttered under her breath before remembering I was still there, waiting patiently for an answer. "Oh, um, of course ma'am. Reggie!" She barked the man's name harshly, though she spoke almost reverently to me. Having the master key card was both a blessing and a curse.

Almost immediately, the soldier quickly flew to the counter. He was familiar, though I couldn't quite recall his name. He readjusted his wire framed glasses with his arm that wasn't in a sling before addressing Adele.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Take Miss. Dy-"

"Irish. Miss. Irish please." I said, catching the woman before she brutally murdered the pronunciation of my name. Unfazed, Adele spewed out the rest of her orders.

"Please take Miss. Irish to the archive room, and assist her in any way you can." Reggie nodded curtly before beckoning to me.

"And Azir, stay out of trouble this time, would you?" Adele added as we walked down the hallway to the right of the entrance. Azir...the arm in a sling…general dorkiness...

"Glasses jail dude?" I exclaimed a bit too loudly in the near empty hallway as the realization hit me. Reggie stared at me in confusion for a moment before I remembered that I was wearing a hat. I took it off, letting my now almost shoulder length white blonde hair tumble down. I wasn't kidding when I said I needed a haircut. It was his turn to have a wave of recognition pass over his face.

"Ishvalan jail guy?" I couldn't hold back a chuckle at his response. "What are you doing here? How are you here? Why are you wearing that?" I blushed as I glared down at the vintage dress I was wearing, the ribbons and lace making me feel very ladylike and pretty when I was trying it on that morning.

"I'm here to check out the archive room, I'm allowed to be here because I'm an Honorary Citizen or whatever, and I'm wearing a dress because I'm not a guy, I'm a lady." I said matter-of-factly as I counted the items off on my fingers.

"Well, I mean you're obviously a girl, um, it's just…" Mr. Azir, or Reggie I guessed his first name was, tried to form some sort of conversational response, and failed miserably. Either he wanted to apologize for mistaking me as a guy, or ask more questions, I couldn't tell. However, the pink flush that crawled onto his cheeks told me it wouldn't do any good to help him dig a deeper hole for himself.

"So, where's this fancy dancy little archive room?" I asked, trying to bring the mood above the awkwardness we had somehow descended into.

"This way," Reggie said softly, making me feel guilty for some reason. It wasn't my fault I looked particularly masculine when my hair was short, so then why did I feel so embarrassed for other people's mistakes?

Ugh, feeling emotions was difficult. I would actually rather spend a day debating philosophy and Marvel comics with Mr. Starks. Actually, I'd rather be debating anything with Mr. Starks than be here doing the crazy shit I was doing.

Mr. Starks had been my AP U.S. History and debate teacher back when I was a wee lil' Irish lass. Mr. Starks was that nerdy teacher that people either loved or hated, depending on their comic book preference. He didn't even look nerdy, if anything he looked like a lawyer or maybe some football coach. D.C. fans never won a debate with him, at least not that I had seen. I was not saying D.C. has bad comics, Truth no.

I was just saying one couldn't try to out-debate Mr. Starks when comic books were the subject of debate. Believe me, I had tried, but no matter what we talk about, Thor always trumped Superman and Captain America always beat Batman whenever Mr. Starks had a say in it. He had quite the way of twisting an argument and using perfectly structured evidence to either prove you wrong or promote his side of the debate.

"Here it is, ma'am." Reggie noted dully, not looking me in the eye as he opened the door to the surprisingly small room.

"This is the only archive room?" I said, recalling the smell and maps of the room from the week or so prior when I had last visited it. I sat down at the end of one of the dark wooden tables, looking from the ornate doors to my seat. It all lined up perfectly with the camera angle from the show, all that was missing was an injured Hughes and Lust.

"Yeah, we have closets and other places with some files scattered throughout Central Command, but this is the main archive room." Reggie said, leaving the door slightly ajar to let some light into the dimly lit room. I nodded and took out my notebook to trace a quick path from the entrance to the archive room before I forgot. It was a short path, which probably explained why Hughes wasn't flocked with concerned soldiers after he escaped Lust's attack. "What are you doing?" Reggie asked, suddenly seated beside me.

Without a second thought, my hand instinctively flew up to meet his forehead with a weak punch. It was merely instinct after years of younger brothers, but Reggie wasn't Matt hoping to steal my diary and ship it all the way to a person in which I took interest.

"Ah, sorry!" I squealed in surprise, not knowing what to do to show it was an accident. "You surprised me, is all." No you dumbass, he was in the room the whole time! You should have just waited until you got home to write it down! Ugh, stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Um, so, uh, what are you doing here in the archive room? Something you wanted to know?" He asked, rubbing his sore head. Reginald Azir. He had a pretty name now that I thought about it.

"I just wanted to know where it was; Lieutenant Colonel Hughes said to look for him here if he wasn't in his office." Reggie looked at me, surprise flashing through his grey eyes.

"You know Lieutenant Colonel Hughes?" I raised an eyebrow to this. I had been living with Hughes for, what had it been now, a month or so? Surely the military was more informed than this.

"I've been living with his family since I got my Honorary Citizenship paperwork. Although, I do have to 'move out' eventually according to Colonel Mustang." I said, using quotation marks for emphasis. Even if it was possible that Mustang could get me kicked out of the Hughes' apartment, there wasn't a law prohibiting them letting me stay there as a friend, at least not a law that I knew of.

"You know the Flame Colonel?" I rolled my eyes.

"I know a lot of people. And I had to meet with the Füher to get my paperwork signed so don't act so surprised." Reggie ignored my advice and continued gaping at me, as if I was his best friend telling him I just met his hero. Kind of creepy in a way. "Close your mouth Michael we are not a codfish."* I said, faking a British accent for effect as I stood to skim the tomes on the shelves.

"My name is Reggie, not Michael." Not-Michael said indignantly once he regained his senses and stood behind me as I searched the books. "Are you looking for something in particular? War history or simplified government structure?"

"You know this room well, I presume." I said, noting the way he occasionally picked a specific book from a nearby shelf to check its back cover. I did the same to discover multiple neat signatures within. Reggie being the newest edition at the bottom of the long list.

"I worked here as a curator before I was transferred to the prison. Obviously, that didn't work out, so now I'm back here. But it's nice, I can't complain - who doesn't like watching books all day?" He added the last part sarcastically, adding to my guilt. If it wasn't for me, he might still have his job at the prison and be one step closer to whatever his ideal soldier position was. Or he could be dead, but you know, the guilt outweighs the pride.

"Sorry," I said, the tightness in my chest subsiding slightly as I slipped around another corner, my hand feeling the spines of the books as I stalked by.

"It wasn't your fault, besides, I guess it's not so bad showing people where they can find answers." Now Reggie sounded guilty. The room had such a strange atmosphere, that the only way I knew how to break the building pressure to say something, was to ask to leave.

"Thanks for showing me how to get here, Reginald." I said as we emerged from separate aisles of tomes. "Could you walk me out, please?" I asked, making sure all of my possessions were still in my carpet bag.

We walked back to the front desk in silence. Not an uncomfortable silence, more of a tentatively calm one that we both feared would shatter if we spoke. With a nod to a curious Adele, I slipped out of the wing of Central Command and headed home through the park.

Something inside of me was terrified about talking to these people and getting to know them, but another part of me felt so liberated and happy for the first time since I woke up in this very park. I just felt so good.

I didn't feel guilty at all; not about MacDougal, not about my involvement with this world, not about starting to love these people as just that - people. They weren't two-dimensional drawings that evoked empathy from the viewer, they were living, breathing, sentient human beings with so much emotion and presence that they physically impacted the world around them.

I was all but skipping along my way, until I came upon the telephone booth. My pace slowed and I blinked slowly a few times as I continued. Death was on the horizon, and caring could only complicate an already delicate balance of the unknown and the known.

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