Non-graphic Surgical Procedures
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Summary
In the aftermath of Insight Day, the Winter Soldier disappears by simply...walking away. Away from Steve, the river, Hydra, the city. He comes to what looks like an abandoned house and breaks in, taking shelter from everything but his own mind. While he doesn’t have a plan for what comes next, a box of five tiny days-old kittens changes the course of whatever plans he might have made.
What follows is a story of how compassion changes lives, featuring Bucky, Steve, a lot of kittens and a few cats.
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Summary
The Seer lowers the hood of his robe. "Lucky Hands? You look different without the eye mask."
Izzy can't do more than nod as his legs give out and he drops to his knees. He flinches instinctively when the Seer’s gloved hands touch his face moments later, cool satin feeling like a balm against the injuries on Izzy’s face.
“Ugh, you humans sure bleed a lot.” The Seer’s fingertips alight on the hand Izzy’s holding to his side—he gasps, looking at the gash beneath Izzy’s palm, immediately pressing it back over top, adding the pressure of his own. “Who hurt you?” he asks Izzy, tone indecipherable.
The corner of Izzy’s mouth twitches up as he fights a wry smile. “Take a wild fucking guess.”
“Oh blessed First Sight," the Seer whispers. There's a quiet kind of fury lurking behind his words. "I hate to ask, but how do I know this isn't a trap?"
"You don't," Izzy says, resigning himself to bleeding out beside an earthmover. "It would hardly be the first time my Captain used me as bait. But he's dating the fucking mayor; I've nowhere and no one else to turn to."
***
Izzy's only option for survival is both his and Earth's greatest enemy. Maybe that's not such a bad thing.
Series
- Part 1 of Love You Uncomfortable
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Summary
Hanahaki Disease — a disorder that is Inazuman in nature and can affect anyone who steps foot on the land of Eternity. A physical manifestation of adoration so strong, it blooms as a flower inside the afflicted person. It represents the one the infected soul holds the affection for.
There are only two options to heal from the disease — a confession with requital or surgery.
Tartaglia frantically laughs, crunching the petal on his hand in the process. The progression rate is too high, he's already coughing it with trickles of blood. Is he that head-over-heels for a God who can only gaze at him like he’s one of his subjects?
Tartaglia attempts to escape the challenge of confession by removing the flowers yet their appearance is as persistent as the growth of his feelings for a certain consultant.