#...always answer and i usually have to go in and ask AGAIN why my meds aren't ready and they go 'oh we're still waiting on your doctor'...

[fantabulisticity]

Just screamed so loud in my car that both my ears rang and a spider fell from the ceiling. My throat hurts.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 4

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Itcha gurl, back at it again.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The doctor checks the chart then glances at the machine with your father’s vitals. Today, you’re father’s awake. He has been for a few days but today he’s alert. You know because he told you the jello was disgusting. Those are the first and only words he’s said to you in more than two weeks.

“You’re very lucky to have a daughter who knows what she’s doing,” Dr. Shearer remarks.

Your father grumbles, scowling as he doesn’t offer much else to the doctor.

“You must be happy to have her around,” Shearer continues, “it is time to start considering your discharge. You’re stable, breathing on your own again, your heartbeat is within a normal range.” You watch your father as he stares past the doctor. It’s as if he refuses to acknowledge that this is real. “You’ll have a few new meds to add to your day but with normal check-ups I think we can be optimistic.”

A grunt. You fold your hands and stand up, “thank you, doctor. Erm, could someone explain the new medicines to me?”

“Yes, of course. That’ll be in the discharge paperwork but I’ll have a Nurse Practitioner come to discuss with both of you,” he assures, “and some resources on quitting. The cigarettes can’t continue.”

“I’ll smoke if I goddamn want,” your dad snarls, breaking his shield of indifference.

The doctor gives him a sharp look but doesn’t argue, “I’m only here to diagnose and give me treatment suggestions. But you keep smoking, sir, and next time, you won’t make it to the hospital.”

“Good,” your dad sneers defiantly.

The doctor nods and his mouth seals grimly. He turns back to you, “let us know if you need anything else. We have some support groups and resources, I’ll make sure that info is also sent off with you.”

“Thanks so much, Doctor,” you squeeze your hands tighter. You want to apologise for your father but you know he’ll only get worse if you do.

“It’s alright,” Shearer says as if reading your mind, “these things are stressful. For everyone. Couple more days and he’ll be free to go.”

You try to smile but your cheeks can only tremble. The doctor leaves you with your father and you peek over at him. He grimaces at the ceiling.

“That’s good news, dad,” you say as you near the foot of his bed.

“Is it? You shoulda left me to die,” he barks.

You flinch, not once, twice. A chirp in your pocket further jars you as it shrilly erupts in the buzzing silence. You reach into the pocket of your hoodie and clutch your flip phone as it bings even louder. The little digital display shows the agency’s number.

“Sorry,” you apologise and flip it open, turning away to scurry out and answer, “hello?”

You hold your breath. Why are they calling? You didn’t have a job today and you only really get emails regarding clients. It must be very serious.

“It’s Clara,” your boss begins in her terse way. “Have you seen my email?”

She sighs, “you should be checking daily. Got a job today. You want it?”

You blink. This is the first time you’ve been asked to come in for an extra shift. You could use the money desperately. When your dad is discharged, he’ll be sent off with another invoice.

“Yes,” you accept without hesitation, “I’ll take it.”

“Great. Check your email. Details are there,” she sniffs.

“Alright, tha-nks,” your voice cracks as she hangs up in the middle of your last word. She must be busy, surely more busy than you, the lowest rung on the ladder she has to keep from falling over.

You close the phone and put it back in your pocket. You shuffle back into the room and find your father with his eyes closed. The machine continues to beep in time with his pulse.

“I gotta work,” you say, “that was my boss–”

“Then leave me alone,” he snaps without opening his eyes, “can’t you see I’m tryna sleep?”

“Sorry, I–”

“Go and don’t come back,” he growls, “I don’t need you crowding this shit hole.”

“Um, dad, I–”

He coughs and hacks and waves you off, swallowing thickly, “I said go.”

You dip your head down. You can’t imagine being in his position. Stuck in a hospital bed on the other side of near-death. You might not be very nice yourself.

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I don’t care,” he turns his head and wiggles his shoulders as he tries to get comfortable.

You swallow down the hurt. You didn’t expect him to thank you for what you did. Not for anything. That’s just what you do for someone you love. Yet, you hoped he might have woken up a little bit nicer than before.

“Love you, Dad,” you murmur.

He grumbles. That’s all you get. You suck in a breath and hold it in, trying to keep from crumbling long enough to get out of that room.

🧹

At first, you’re not certain the information in the email is correct. You’re to return to Mr. Laufeyson’s house for the second time that week, but it’s a Friday night. In your days at the hospital, the calendar lines skewed between the alarms you kept in your phone for sanity. The return to reality is just as disjointing as the descent away from it.

You go home and change into your typical cleaning attire. All black. Plain. Clothes meant for getting dirty. Not that any of your wardrobe is particularly spectacular.

You grab your kit and your water bottle and rush out to catch the bus. You’re not used to being on transit near-dark. The prospect of getting home comes to mind as you cling to a pole amidst the crowded vehicle. It makes you nervous but you’re certain it will be okay. Mr. Laufeyson lives in a nice neighbourhood.

You get off the bus and bring your phone out. As you approach the house, it is lively with bodies milling in and out. You let yourself through the gate and peer over at the two cube vans near the front entrance. A white jacket, pristine uniforms, you can only assume they are some sort of catering company. The type you’ve seen on TV in those reality shows with women drinking wine.

You watch them for a moment. They are orderly and determined. What’s more, they work together in perfect harmony, words passing quietly and easily, trays moving smoothly between hands and set onto carts. It’s a shining contrast to your dim and lonely work.

You make yourself turn away and continue around the back of the house. You stop short of the rear corner and a gasp bubbles up. You watch a hummingbird buzzing over the bed of flowers. It’s so small and green and cute. You wince as it flits up towards the window, your cheeks bulbing to the smile as your gaze follows it. 

In a moment, it wings away, shyly retreating from your admiration. Your eyes fall to the window as you sense a shift on the other side. Just between the edges of the half-drawn drapes you meet a pair of green eyes over a long and cynical nose. Your smile dissolves as you recognise Mr. Laufeyson and his stony observation. You touch your fingertips to your mouth in self-reproach and tuck your chin down, turning back onto the path.

You go to the back door but it’s already unlocked. You let the handle go and linger outside. You noticed the email is shorter than usual. This isn’t your typical rote with Mr. Laufeyson.

‘Cleaner to be at standby for guests and cook…’

You glance down the paragraph. You’re to stay until after the ‘event’ so that you may tidy up. Your curiosity sparks but quickly fizzles. It’s best not to be too concerned. Just focus on what you need to do.

You let yourself in but forego the shoe covers and gloves as specified in the email. You hang your hoodie in the closet along with your kit. As you hook the strap of your water bottle over your head, a glimmer passes down the end of the hall and the lighting shifts. You look up as Mr. Laufeyson approaches.

He always dresses finely but he looks particularly put together. His hair is tidy and neat and he wears a velvet jacket in a deep shade of violet over a black collared shirt and matching trousers. His tie is narrow and blends into the fabric of his shirt. He keeps his hands behind him as he holds his chin up.

“I trust you understand your assignment,” he prompts as he stops a foot away, cornering you in the back hallway.

You nod. He tilts his head but his veneer does not break.

“Not that,” he points to the water bottle, “you may ask one of the cook’s assistants for a glass should you require it, but be rid of that ugly thing.”

“Oh–” you gulp back your voice and bow your head again. 

You untangle the trap from your torso and open the closet, tucking it away with your sweater and bag. You shut the door and find him closer than before, his hand on the door frame as he looms over you. His other wanders down the trim of his jacket.

“You are to keep yourself unseen. You tend to messes and that’s it. The rules remain. Are we understood?” He asks.

You look at him and nod. He sighs and stands straight, a deep breath rising in his chest. 

“You may answer aloud so I know we are clear,” he says.

“I understand, Mr. Laufeyson,” you eke out.

“Mmm,” his gaze lingers on you in unreadable consideration. Dressed in plain cotton, you feel wholly insignificant before him. “Go on, you will keep your vigil in the kitchen. They would require most of your assistance.” He backs away and buttons the front of his jacket, “you will not disturb my guests. Not a look, not a word.”

You know your turn to talk is over. You merely nod and he seems pleased by your deference. Not openly, he shows a hint of a smile nor does he praise you. But he is not unhappy and you know that is a feat.

🧹

The cook’s name is Corissa. She has spiraled red hair and pretty gold-green eyes. As you enter, she introduces herself and asks your name.

“I’m just here to clean,” you explain. “So if you need me–”

“Oh, hon, no need ta be shy,” she says in her wolfish voice, “we’re all in this togetha.”

You smile and stand against the wall, waiting to be told what to do next. She gives you a lingering glance but doesn’t comment. You see a question woven in her brow. She begins her work, directing her assistants at saucepan and cutting board alike, all while falling into a raucous rapport.

“Theo say ‘ma, did ya have ta tell that story?’” She cackles midway through a tale you lost track of, her hands moving expertly at her work, “and I say, ‘the gal deserves ta know, ‘specially if ya mean to burden her’.”

You bite into your lower lip. It’s like there’s an invisible wall in front of you. It’s been there your whole life. That one that separates you from others. You’re always on the outside watching. Just like in the schoolyard when the girls wouldn’t let you play with them. Or when your dad has his buddies over and told you to ‘piss off to your room’.

The first course is served on sleek black trays. As you watch the servers carry them out, Corissa calls your name. She makes you lurch in surprise as you’d be convinced you blend right into the plaster.

“Come have a taste,” she insists, “this one’s a bit mussed up.”

“Um, er, it’s okay, I’m not hungry–”

“Bah, come on, have some. I hate ta toss it in the bin.”

You don’t want to argue. That would be rude. So you come forward and accept the crumbly pastry with an ugly tear in the top, the filling bulging out.

“Lobster croquette,” she explains, “you’re not allergic, are ya?”

You shake your head and thank her as you back up to the wall again. You cup your hand under the misshapen ball as you bite into it. You could hum at the taste. It’s delicious and rich and savoury. You’ve never had anything like it. You’ve never even tasted lobster before.

“You like it?” She asks as you swallow your mouthful. You nod. “Quiet one, you.” She points at you.

You don’t answer. What can you say? You are quiet. You finish the croquette and go to dust the crumbs off your hand over the bin. You slide your foot off the pedal and let the lid drop. You take the cloth from your waistband and near the counter, going to work at tidying up the remnants of her work.

“Eh, look at you, busy little bee,” she chuckles, “I was gettin’ ta tha.”

“My job,” you insist.

“Maid,” a snap of the fingers draws your head up as Corissa sprinkles seasoning into a new pan.

Mr. Laufeyson offers only a curled finger. Your eyes round and cross to him, tucking the cloth into your pants again. He’s already striding away as you get to the door. You trail him, uncertain at what he needs. 

He leads you to the dining room, the garble of voices and clinking of glasses preceding your arrival. He enters ahead of you and claims the seat at the head of the table. The serves pass you with empty trays and you gape around in confusion.

“Oh my, look at me,” a woman giggles as she uses a cloth napkin to pat along her collarbone. Thin straps cling to her delicate shoulders as her skin glistens beneath the golden chain strung around her throat, “making a scene already.”

You see the wine glass on its side and hear the contents dripping onto the floor. You put your head down and hurry over. The dinner guests laugh and are quickly onto their next topic, about some coast they plan to vacation at once the summer comes. You try not to eavesdrop as you sop up the puddle of wine on the table and get down to wipe clean the floor.

As you do, you feel a tickle on the back of your neck. You don’t let it stop you. It must be an accident. You’re so cramped between the woman’s seat and the next that you must be in the way. The fingertips remain and brush more firmly as you hear a low, gritty exhale. 

You ball up the damped cloth and stand, daring a glance at the man as he draws his hand back into his lap. His broad shoulders make the back of the tall chair seem small and his blonde hair is twisted into a low tight bun. He guffaws loudly at the table, seemingly unfazed by his own wandering touch. It must’ve been an accident.

You back up and peer towards the head of the table. Laufeyson’s eyes are slits as he stares in your direction. Surely, he’s not watching you. You’re supposed to be unseen. Get out of there.

You retreat quickly, the din thundering louder and louder at your back, rumbling behind you into the hall. You wring the cloth, now stained and stinking of wine. You hope you didn’t upset Mr. Laufeyson, you only did as you were told.

[night-night-stories-before-bed]

Nightly banter

Warning ⚠️; Blood and bad jokes

Pairing; Ghostface x gn!Reader

Summary; It is almost the Devil’a hour when you get a phone call. You know who it is and if this is to be yours last night, then you’ll make your caller work for it.

Note; I am currently sick with the flu and pretty high on meds so hopefully I didn't correct like shit. Sorry if I did :(

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

Sitting in your living room you enjoyed a good horror movie. The bowl of popcorn and potato chips on your lap was getting lighter with each minute that passed. You chuckled, knowing that movie by heart and whispering the quotes as they came. The jump scares didn't affect you anymore even tho you still appreciated them. Your eyes turned to the clock and realized it would soon be 3:00 in the morning. The Devil’s Hour.

And what a crazy time it was lately. The town was plagued by a series of murder featuring the sadly known Ghostface of Woodsboro, California. You grew up there as a kid and moved away to here. As an adult you didn't leave, yet, but with all those murders? Might be safer to take a plane to somewhere else.

You chuckled at the thought and shook your head.

Nah. You didn’t really fit any criteria to become the victim in a horror movie. Quite the contrary in fact. You lived a quiet life and enjoyed the calm that came with being in a small town. Well, maybe enjoying horror wasn't smart for the moment.

And you were careful; locking doors and windows and always keeping your best friend the blinky with you. While you weren't usually one for firearms, you did get one after the first murder. It was safer this way. While not wanting to give in to the paranoia, you also knew it wasn't worth the risk of staying harmless.

Your phone rang, stopping you from shoving a handful of popcorn into your mouth. You eyed the phone, wondering if you should answer or not. The caller was masked, and the number not showing and a shiver ran down your spine.

It could be anyone.

The killer.

Or kids wanting to make a prank.

With a shaky finger, you answered your phone, pressing it against your ear as you said as soft “Hello.”

- “Hello.” The voice of the caller replied. There is something sickly sweet about it. “Who is this?”

- “Who are you trying to reach?” You asked back, frowning as you get up to make sure all the doors and windows are locked.

- “What number is this?”

This time you freeze in your track, a shiver running down your spine. The conversation sound familiar. Too familiar. A feeling of dread fill your heart and you hold your phone tighter deciding to keep going, just to make sure.

- “Well, what number are you trying to reach?” You tried to keep the shaking of your voice discreet, but you are bad at it.

- “I don't know.”

You can hear the amusement in the other's voice, can almost imagine the smirk and hope this is a prank.

- “I think you have the wrong number.” Your voice has an edge to it now. You only want to cut the conversation short.

- “Do I?”

- “It happens. Take it easy.”

Enough is enough. This prank had lasted for too long already and you could feel your hand shaking. You stare at your phone, ready to hang up but the voice keeps talking.

- “You still haven't told me your name.”

- “Why do you want to know my name?”

- “Because I want to know who I'm looking at.”

The answer almost made you drop your phone. You looked around you frantically, trying to get a glimpse of where the fucker was. But all your curtains were closed.

- “What do you want?” You asked, returning to the sofa to grab your gun.

You heard the caller, Ghostface chuckling on the other side of the line. You wanted to throw the phone away and smash it in the wall. There was no way…

You clenched your jaws deciding that if this was real… you were going to make the fucker work for it. You'll be his nightmare and make him regret picking you for his next victim.

- “What do you want?” You asked again, slightly raising your voice.

- “To see what your insides look like.”

- “That sound kinky.”

- “What?”

You hit your head with the barrel of your gun, cringing at what you just said. It came out without you thinking about it. At least the killer sounded astonished, not expecting you to say something so… so… yeah. You decided to roll with it. At least you would die making fun of him.

- “You heard me, you kinky bastard. At least you could offer me a drink before wanting to jump to see my insides. For what do you take me? A harlot?”

- “Listen here you bitch…”

- “Oh, now I am the bitch?” You interrupted him, walking around your house and still making sure everything was locked. “Yet you are the one thirsting over my guts.”

You felt pride as the killer fell silent, as if he didn't know what to reply. Almost. Almost because you knew he was probably pissed off at you and God knew what he would do now. You weren't wrong, however. That fucker really was a kinky creep.

Walking around your house, you made sure everything was still locked. The killer wasn't talking anymore, but you could still hear his breathing. You hated the silence. It felt like a knife being held above your head, ready to fall and stab you.

- “You think yourself funny, don't you?”

Ghostface’s voice almost made you jump out if your skin. You didn't expect him to talk so suddenly nor to have such a cold voice.

- “Yeah, I am.” you replied with a chuckle, moving the curtain of the last window you checked. You saw a silhouette standing next to a tree. “I see you there, Micheal Myers wanna be.”

- “I see you too, future victim.”

You saw the silhouette waving at you and snorted. He could have at least given you a better surname than that!

You jumped away from the window as you saw the silhouette sprinting toward you. Raising your gun, you were ready to shoot the second the killer tried to touch the window. But instead of the sound of glass breaking, you heard something hit it followed by a loud thud. Moving the curtain again and looking toward the ground, you found the killer lying down. On the phone, you heard him groaning in pain.

It didn't take long for you to understand what just happened and you couldn't resist but laugh. All fear had left your body as you realized just how clumsy he was. Did he step on his dress? Did he stumble over a root?

- “S-shut up!” You heard the Killer’s voice growling on the phone.

But you didn't stop.

You fell on your ass laughing, holding your ribs for a few more minutes before putting the phone back to your hear.

- “Go home mister killer, you are drunk.” You chuckled, shaking your head. “Maybe stop at the hospital first, you might have a concussion.”

- “Fuck you!”

- “Fuck me yourself, clumsy boy.”

You heard him cursing at you and you only replied by making kissing sounds. You sighed as the killer hung up on you and there were no more sounds. You closed your eyes, pressing your back against the wall and waiting for something, anything.

But he was gone. Humiliated by his own clumsiness, he had left you. Hands shaking, you laughed again, this time nervously. Guess you were going to be in his sequel if he survived until then.

[weirdmorefics]

My Birdy Took Flight

A/N- I am aware I really need to write my asks and my Spencer Reid story but I am currently obsessed with Simon Riley okay!

Simon Riley x Sniper Reader

Readers pronouns- She/her

TW- Swearing, falling, injuries, and military inaccuracies but I mean it's COD and they have a zombie game so are going to attack them too? lol

Summary- Who knew the complete off-the-books mission would go off the rails and leave you with the worst rope burns of your life. The injuries however were not the scary part it was having to face Ghost and admit you fell out of the heli.

Word Count- 1991

This mission was completely off the books, asshole Shephard did not care at all that Kate had been taken hostage and would not send reinforcements for help. I've been working with Price and Kate since I was a recruit they are my family. There was no way I was leaving Kate to be killed. The plan was simple enough I stayed in the heli for overwatch while Price, Gaz, and Farah worked their way up the line. Things were going smoothly I've worked with Nik before he is one hell of a pilot. Things however took a turn for the worse an explosive hit the copter and I fucking fell out. I'm sure Nik and Captian thought I died for a moment but I was bloody hanging from the rope. I am lucky my sniper skills are still top-notch when I'm hanging upside down though I would prefer not to test it again. After that hiccup, we recovered Kate and she luckily had no physical injuries.

We returned to base that night and Price insisted I go to the med bay to get checked out. To quote his words, "You look like shit kid, get the hell to med bay before I drag you myself."

The medic rushed to treat me, but something told me that was Price's doing. They wanted to keep me here for observation due to my concussion from the explosion impact. I begged them not to I'd sleep way better in the barracks I hate the sanitary hospital smell, I even prefer the smell of gunpowder. The medic would not take no for an answer I wanted to fight them harder but they said they preferred my anger to Price's wrath. The medic left shortly after and would return sporadically to do random vital checks. At least I knew the concussion wasn't that bad as it didn't beckon me toward the darkness like other times. Though my raw skin kept me from finding any peace I honestly kind of miss the darkness. I spent the night tossing and turning the pain and clinical setting keeping sleep a far distance away from me.

The clock ticking was mocking me as I watched it hit four am. How are hospital settings supposed to help you heal when there is so much beeping and someone always coming into your room? Speaking of which I heard the door creak yet again didn't they just take my vitals ten minutes ago! I can't take this without thinking I launch the flat uncomfortable pillow at what I assumed would be the intern medic yet again only to lock eyes with Ghost looking as shocked as I did.

"That's one hell of a greeting darling," he says in his usual deep voice. My eyes are still wide with shock that I just hit my superior with a pillow but he takes this opportunity to speak again. "Heard you took flight today, Gaz was telling everyone."

I wince at the thought of everyone knowing I failed to hold on during the explosion and try to change the subject to avoid thinking about it, "Aren't you supposed to be on a mission with Soap?"

"Just got back. Johnny and Gaz are out celebrating," he responds.

"They are out celebrating at four am?" I question.

"You know Johnny no one can outdrink the Scott," he says like it's the most obvious thing the world.

"Well, why aren't you out there celebrating with them?"

"My birdy took flight and thought it only decent to check up on her," any other time I would have dwelled on the fact that he said 'my birdy' but he placed his hand on my welted ankle and I could not suppress the groan. His eyes quickly shift to concern and he rips the scratchy hospital blanket off me.

"Ghost!" I shout at him for having the audacity to rip the blanket off me. He has no right to barge in here and act like he's in charge, he may be the boss of me in the field but he is not my doctor and I do not care for showing off my nasty ass wounds to my team members.

He does not acknowledge my shout at him in the slightest instead his full attention is on my rope-burned ankles."What quack treated this," he growled.

"I'm fine," I try to yank my foot out of his grasp but he holds tighter.

"Yeah because the skin falling off your ankle looks spectacular," he says sarcastically.

"Wow you sure know how to treat a girl," I roll my eyes.

"Haven't heard any complaints," he says nonchalantly as if that innuendo wouldn't have Soap applauding.

"Seriously, it's fine. Go celebrate with the team," I assure.

"If you think I am letting you let your ankle get infected you are off your rocker. I am going to need names, sweetheart," he commands.

The nickname glides out of his mouth so easily it's as if he had said it a hundred times. I want to stay as calm and collected as him but I unfortunately stutter, "What names?" God, it's a good thing I'm a sniper and not a spy because I would be dead.

"Of the idiot docs who treated this," he speaks as if it's obvious.

I sigh, "It's not their fault... I didn't tell them. Price only knew about the concussion and I just wanted to get out of here as soon as possible."

"Ah so you're the idiot," he growls.

"Can you not be mean to me I did just fall out of a heli."

"Shut up you lived," he rolls his eyes, gently places my foot down, and turns to leave.

"Please don't take your anger out on the medics," I beg.

"Oh trust me darling I will be taking my anger out on you," he growls yet again.

I shiver, "Where are you going then?"

"To get some medical supplies for your dumbass. No one way I'm letting a medic treat you when you will just lie to them."

"What makes you think I won't lie to you?" I tease well aware that I am in no place to be teasing.

He chuckles an evil kind still it's one of the best I've heard, "Me and you both know you aren't capable of it."

He exits the room and I am unsure if I want to slap him or rip that mask off and kiss him... I am definitely incapable of either. I may be able to beat Soap, Gaz, and even Price on the mat but no one can best Ghost. I, unfortunately, hear him shouting at medics for a damn first aid kit... so much for him taking out his anger on me.

He returns rather quickly but does not speak as he meticulously places the first aid supplies by my bedside.

He pours some alcohol on my rope burn and I hiss loudly, "shit a little warning would be nice."

"You would have just fought harder. Need to clean the debris out who fuckin knows how old that rope was."

"Aw is Ghosty worried about me," I pout.

"Thought I told you and Johnny to stop calling me that, you want me to make this hurt worse than it already does?"

I roll my eyes at him and in response, he presses the gauze harder than necessary. "You asshole!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I can see his wicked smile through his balaclava.

"Yeah sure," I huff. "You know..." I smile mischievously. "This would go a lot faster if you just kissed it better."

"Oh really," I could hear the grin in his voice. I was expecting him to make some snide comment in return instead he finishes wrapping my ankle and lifts his mask to rest on the bridge of his nose.

I am sure my eyes widen to the size of saucers. I feel like a Victorian man seeing a woman's ankle. His grin widens it could only be compared to the Cheshire cat's smile. He gently lifts my ankle to his lips but does not stop there. He places delicate kisses all the way up to my thigh. I think I have officially stopped breathing. Then my heart decides to do the most embarrassing thing ever. It speeds up so atrociously fast that the monitors start beeping incredibly loud. That's it I have officially died there is no coming back my face is melting off from how flushed I am.

Ghost sits back and laughs and I mean properly laughs, I have never seen him like this. "This is a good look on you birdy all red and flustered, all for me too." He pulls his mask back down but I can still see the smile in his eyes.

"Shut up! I am a highly trained sought-after sniper, I don't get flustered!" I feel like that would have sounded better if I didn't stutter each word.

Ghost glances at my heart rate monitor, "Your heart says otherwise."

A medic comes in as the dumb machine won't stop beating, "Are you alright? You're looking quite flushed and your blood pressure is higher than it was when you first came in."

I swear I could see the smugness radiating off Ghost. God I want to strangle him.

"She's fine thanks to me," his eyes squint at me and I know he has a huge grin under that balaclava. He then turns to the medic, "Don't you know the 141 are notorious liars and the worst patients! Next time call me down here as soon as she is being treated."

The poor medic flinches at Ghost's rough voice and can barely whisper, "Yes, sir"

I mouth, 'I'm so sorry," to the medic he looks appreciative.

The medic flees as soon as my blood pressure normalizes. Ghost roughly throws his body onto the uncomfortable hospital chair and groans.

"What are you doing? Shouldn't you be going back to the barracks," I glance as he makes himself comfortable well as comfortable as one can be in a torn hospital chair.

"In a rush to get rid of me birdy?"

"Is that name going to become a thing," I roll my eyes.

"Only for me, if anyone else has the nerve to call you that I'll gut them," he replies.

"Even Johnny?"

"Especially Johnny," He grins.

I smile, "Seriously Ghost you should go sleep in your own bed that chair cannot be comfortable. I'd be in my bed if they would let me escape."

"I know you can't stand hospitals, I won't let you be sleepless and cranky alone."

"Fine, then at least share the bed with me, I forbid you from sleeping on that fifty-year-old chair."

"The fact that you think you can forbid me from doing anything sweetheart is laughable. Are you sure you want me to be over there might make your heart monitor scream again?" He makes his way over to the bed despite his words.

I roll my eyes, "I'll manage."

He lays on the small hospital bed and takes up ninety percent of it but I don't mind it because it doesn't smell like hand sanitizer and blood anymore it smells like him.

"Goodnight birdy," he kisses the top of my head and my heartrate monitor instantly starts beeping annoyingly again.

"Goddammit," I groan and he just laughs.

"You would make a terrible spy with all those emotions, you're lucky the red face works on you." he chuckles.

"You're just jealous of my amazing sniping abilities you must point out my flaws," I poke his chest.

"You ain't got no flaws birdy except the fact that you're stubborn as hell. Now go to sleep before I knock you out myself."

"Yes LT.," I fake salute him and he rolls his eyes.

Sleep comes so much faster in the med bay when you aren't alone, I wish falling asleep would always be this easy.

[antebunny]

IRONY

(Or: my take on a post Red Robin Dick & Tim reconciliation. Because they love each other so much, and that's why it hurts).

-

Tim can admit, once an alert pops up on his computer and he immediately opens up the live feed of Dick’s kitchen, that there’s some cruel, bitter irony in what he’s doing. Also quite a few broken laws, and bent morals, and some icky stuff which he would not like Dick to find out about. Inserting surveillance cameras and trackers all over your loved one’s property, after all, is Bad Sibling Behavior. After so long spent trying to be a good sibling, Tim is hardly going to admit what he’s doing to anyone else.

Because he’s stalking Dick. 

Like a creepy little obsessed fan. Or a creepy villain-adjacent stalker. Like a ten-year-old Timmy Drake. He never thought he’d be doing it again as eighteen-year-old Tim Drake. Nonetheless, he stalks and tracks and surveils Dick from afar without ever talking to him. It’s like old times. Jason is even alive again. Except that instead of Tim stalking the Bats because he was a lonely little ten-year-old left to rot in a huge mansion with no concept of privacy or boundaries, he’s a less-lonely eighteen-year-old who knows far too much about Dick Grayson. Too much because far too much has gone down between them for Tim to just…talk to the guy. It’s impossible. Definitely impossible. 

Tim misses the days of late night ice creams, arms resting on his head or slung over his back, trading skateboard tricks for tumbling tricks. He aches for those days with a hunger he didn’t know was possible after a childhood spent starving for affection. 

But they can never go back.

Which is why Tim learns that Dick isn’t taking his meds because his surveillance equipment detected a change in behavior. Dick usually goes to his kitchen, breaks out orange juice or soda or some energy drink from the fridge, and takes his meds. Tonight he did not. Tim doesn’t know what the meds are for, he’s not that much of an invasive creep. It’s enough to know that Dick is getting treatment. And Tim doesn’t have to talk to Dick to find out how he’s doing. It’s enough to stalk him from afar to check on his well-being. 

Now the question is: what can Tim do about it? He can’t ask Dick himself. That’s obviously out of the question. Dick would listen to Damian, but the brat resents Tim’s very existence, so best not try that route. Dick would listen to Jason, but Red Hood barely tolerates Tim nowadays, and Tim isn’t interested in owing him a huge favor for something he really should do himself, so not him either. Dick would maybe, maybe listen to Bruce, but that’s hit-or-miss. 

Tim calls Barbara. 

“I need a favor,” he says as soon as she picks up. “Are you alone?”

“Yes,” Barbara replies, immediately business-like. “What’s up?”

Tim spins around in his swivel chair. Best purchase for his lair by far. “Not cape stuff, sort of, or imminently pressing, well, it’s pressing, I just needed to make sure no one’s listening in.”

“As sure as I can ever be,” Barbara confirms dryly. Answer: there’s always a chance, in the Bats’ paranoid minds, that someone is eavesdropping. But according to Oracle, she’s in the clear, and it really doesn’t get better than that.

“So, don’t ask me how I know this,” Tim prefaces, knowing she’s about to find out about his surveillance cameras in Dick’s apartment (if she hasn’t already), “but Dick didn’t take his meds last night. I don’t know what they are, so I dunno how bad it is that he skipped, and I don’t wanna pry into your, uh, relationship with him but–”

“Dick and I aren’t talking right now,” Barbara says flatly.

So, they’re in the off-again part of their on-again, off-again relationship. Most of the time Tim is rooting for them. Sometimes he thinks they should do what he and Steph did and settle into a best friends for life relationship. 

“Right.” On his next rotation, Tim catches himself on the edge of his table. He taps one hand on the clear surface and thinks of possibilities. “Do you think he would listen to B–”

“No.”

“Right.” Tim tries not to sigh and fails. “Okay, uh. Jason?”

“Jason can’t keep a secret.”

Which is sort of unfair to Jason, but keeping a secret is relative. Compared to Barbara and Tim, Jason can’t keep a secret. And Tim is not one to argue if someone’s making fun of Jason.

“Cass? No. Same problem.” 

It’s against her very nature to lie. If Cass does hold a secret, it is by accident. Tim doesn’t want to leave this up to chance. This was easier when they had Alfred to mediate. 

Tim starts spinning in his chair again. His room whirls past. “What about his friends? Kori or Wally or…literally any of them?”

“I don’t see,” Barbara says, “why you’re avoiding the obvious solution of asking him yourself. He’d listen to you.”

He’ll listen to you. What a heavy, crushing promise to make. You have the trust of Nightwing. Nightwing, admired by the entire superhero community. It’s true, maybe, probably. That Dick will listen to Tim. He’s mostly sure of that now, after everything. That’s the problem, really. The “after everything” part of Tim’s confidence. Their trust is not from years of steady partnership, or slowly developed siblinghood. The trust Tim has in Dick originates from months of silence, of terribly intimate understanding, of shared grief and one horrible, nausea-inducing day. 

Dick hates when people leave him and when people fall and he can’t catch them. People don’t usually leave Dick Grayson, but Tim left and then he fell and Dick caught him. So Dick will listen, probably, maybe, if only because he doesn’t want Tim to leave. And Tim can’t ask, knowing that they don’t have the nice, easy brotherhood they ought to, the companionship siblings should have. Knowing Dick is only listening because he wants to keep Tim around. That’s the sort of fake compassion Tim spent his life running from. It’s not empathy, it’s sympathy. 

A vicious little voice that sounds like Janet Drake tells Tim that he should shut up and suck it up and accept whatever Dick gives him, because he’ll never be worthy of anything more. Tim slams his head into walls to shut that voice up. He won’t accept it. He cannot. He must not. 

“You’re not talking to him, are you.” Barbara’s voice has a tinge of that shaking-your-head condescension that drives Tim up the walls. The tone that carries that undercurrent of, why are you making this so hard, Tim? As if it’s so easy. As if everything that fractured Tim and Dick’s relationship is so easily repairable. 

Of course, Tim can’t explain that to Barbara. It sounds pathetic, even to himself.

“Bold words, coming from you,” Tim retorts.

Barbara sighs. “Look. At this point Damian has the best communication with Dick. And unless you have a way of tricking Damian into–huh.”

Tim, whose manipulative, stalkery little brain went in the exact same direction as hers, echoes her exclamation. “Oh. Yeah. Hm. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Unfortunately,” Barbara says, voice dry as the desert Tim was reborn in, “yes.”

The Belfry, a secret headquarters perfectly unobtrusive in Gotham’s old gothic and industrial skyline, was built by Tim and Barbara shortly after Bruce’s return. Since it’s so much newer than the Clock Tower, its inhabitants are not yet established. Where the Clock Tower houses the Birds of Prey, and Barbara’s friends in general, the Belfry sees a small but wide-ranging group of heroes coming in and out. Dick, Cass and Steph are the only other Bats to be allowed in.

Tonight, a little eleven-year-old boy crouches in the welcome darkness of one of the many nooks and crannies, dagger in his hands, and pretends with all his might that he belongs. 

“…at least wrap it,” Barbara is saying as she disengages the many, many security systems and enters the many passwords to get into the Belfry. 

“What’s the point?” Tim argues. “It’s not like–”

Both he and Barbara freeze. Tim raises a hand slowly to his belt. Barbara fingers one of the many buttons on her wheelchair. He gestures her to the left. They’re caught in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling windows. With ceilings as high as a warehouse (it’s a bell tower, after all), those windows are high indeed. 

And then–

“Oracle. Red.” Damian emerges from the darkness like the little gremlin that he is, chin held high in his Robin uniform while he omits the Robin part of Tim’s new superhero name. “I have been here long enough that I could’ve killed both of you. How careless of you to not notice.”

Translation: Damian had been hoping to go unnoticed for longer.

“Here, where you most definitely do not have access,” Barbara points out. She wheels closer now that they know it’s just Robin.

Tim, while Damian is distracted with Barbara, sidles over to a table as stealthily as he knows how and sets down his package. 

“Clearly, your security standards are in need of upgrading,” Damian sniffs. Then his eyes narrow as he notices what Tim is doing. “Drake. What is that package.”

“None of your business,” Tim snaps back immediately. He moves to cover it with his back. “Get out of here. Invites only, you weren’t invited, you know how it is.”

Damian folds his hands behind his back and raises his nose. “It is for Grayson.”

“For Christ’s–how did you know?” Barbara demands.

“You just confirmed it,” Damian replies smugly.

Barbara rolls her eyes. “Okay. Fine. It’s for Dick. Happy now?”

“No.” Damian marches up to Tim, then folds his arms, dagger and all, over his chest when Tim blocks his path to the package. “Tell me what you are giving to Grayson.”

Tim leans back against the table and folds his own arms over his chest, affecting a casual state of relaxation he absolutely does not feel. “I said, none of your business.” 

In truth, there’s something so heart-breakingly ten-years-old about Damian’s behavior. His cool older brother is part of a cool group of friends with a secret hideout that Damian is not allowed into. Of course he broke into it. Damian, under all his bluster and bravado, wants to be a part of it all. He’s only human. He’s only eleven years old.

“You may be poisoning him,” Damian insists.

Tim laughs. “That’s more your wheelhouse, isn’t it?”

Seems like Damian hasn’t yet heard the saying your wheelhouse, because he scowls but doesn’t respond. Oddly enough, Tim feels worse about that than he does about the actual insult. Kids are not their parents or the secret assassin society they come from, he knows, he knows this. Yet this intellectual knowledge always flies out the window in favor of emotional responses when it comes to Damian. 

“It’s not,” Barbara interrupts, before they can come to blows. “It’s just something to make him feel better, since he stopped taking his meds. Now will you leave?”

Damian scowls again, this time resembling an angry kitten more than a fearsome assassin. Not that he ever has resembled a fearsome assassin, despite all the assassination attempts. For all the pent-up resentment and bitter anger Tim has about Damian, he can’t help but find the kid a little cute. 

(The thing is, back before everything, Tim really wanted a little sibling. Back before everything, Tim used to dream about Jason coming back).

(Isn’t it funny how the universe keeps giving Tim what he wants just to spite him?)

“Fine.” Damian glares at both of them in turn. “Since both of you are so incompetent in taking care of Grayson, I will do it.” 

And he sweeps out of the Belfry with all the righteous fury that an eleven-year-old can muster. 

Tim and Barbara finally make eye contact after Barbara ensures, using the Belfry’s surveillance cameras, that Damian has exited the building for good. Then they both burst into laughter. The rafters ring with the force of it, pealing like the bells on Sunday morning. Barbara slaps her knee. Tim leans back on the table, hands clasped over his stomach, and shakes.

“I can’t believe,” Barbara says, once she’s calmed down enough to get a proper sentence out, “that we just tricked a kid into doing our dirty work for us.”

“Hey, if it works,” Tim says, voice full of mirth. 

He easily identifies himself as an adult despite only recently turning eighteen. It is impossible to feel like a child, he reasons, after waking up in the desert. After running Wayne Industries, however briefly. After striking out on his own. After everything.

Perhaps that’s why he gets along so well with Barbara these days. She understands that he is not a kid anymore, even if she wasn’t there for everything. Dick, on the other hand, still sees Tim as the kid he was. (As Robin). As the Before Everything Tim Drake that the real Tim is getting so very tired of thinking about. So what if he misses all of it, the good and the ugly? That’s just the nostalgia speaking. That’s just part of growing up. Tim had to grow up fast, so he did. He did what he had to do and he won’t let himself regret it.

[thisismeracing]

I'll always take care of you | MS47

― Pairing: Mick Schumacher x reader (she/her) ― Word count: 1.2k ― Warnings: mentions of food and sickness; overall fluff.  ― Summary: The flu caught you out of the blue, and completely unprepared, good thing you have your boyfriend around to take care of you. ― A/n: This piece was based on this request. This is a special piece for my mick schumacher sick girlies (gn) club (as many of us were sick this week). I hope you guys enjoy it! Let me know your thoughts by reblogging and/or leaving me an ask (anons are on) *mwah* 🤍

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Mondays are usually good days for you.

Though the week starts on Sundays, for you, they truthfully get going on Mondays. Mondays are when classes and work are back in full swing and when you make a list of everything you need to do for the week. When you are energized to clean your room, and when Mick comes home from races.

This Monday, though, you wake up with a cough, a runny nose, and your head pounding. It’s terrible. It doesn’t take you long to realize that it’s the flu and it’s not going away in time for you to get to work and classes, so you text your supervisor and send an e-mail to your professor, leaving your cell phone back on the nightstand and trying to sleep it off at least a little bit.

It gets worse after five minutes. Your whole body is aching and you wanna cry from stress because why couldn’t it happen any other day? Why today? You shrug the covers off, get Angie some food, get your water bottle, and some painkillers, and go back to bed. This time, the wiggly dog lies on your feet, as if she sensed something was wrong.

That was the first signal for Mick. Every Monday when he comes back from wherever he was in the world, Angie is at the door eager to greet him, but this time the apartment holds a weird silence, and there’s no signal of his dog. You also hadn’t answered his messages earlier this morning, something you would always do because, by the time he got home, you were up and running with your things.

He takes off his shoes, leaves his luggage by the entrance, and makes the short trek to your shared bedroom, a million thoughts going through his head. All of them dissipating when he opens the door and sees your sleeping form along with Angie lying on the bed. His shoulders drop in relief, only to go up again when your body moves on the bed, a nasty cough scratching your throat and making you whimper in pain.

Mick is by your side in a heartbeat.

Angie watched everything attentively as if knowing that he would talk to her soon, that right now her mom needed dad more.

You sit up reaching for the water, and finally notice Mick by your side.

“Babe,” you start but the coughing fits interrupt.

The blonde by your side passes your water bottle while rubbing your back, a worried look on his graceful features, “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick, Schatzi?”

And though there’s no judgment on his tone, you feel like crying, particularly because you’re sick, but also because you feel emotional. Of course, you know that Mick would always take care of you, but going through it was a completely different story, “It started earlier this morning,” you explain, taking a sip of your water again.

“Did you call your boss and your professor? Want me to do it?”

You nodded, then shook your head, “I already did, thanks though.”

“Have you eaten?”

And this time your eyes go to the ground. You know he’s about to huff a worried reply, but you’re too tired to try and explain, so you just lie back and watch as Mick kisses your forehead and starts changing his clothes, putting on his grey sweatpants and white shirt while telling you that you’re burning and he’s going to call the drugstore down the block to drop off some meds.

You hum in agreement. He pets Angie, leaving a kiss on her waiting head, but when he leaves she doesn’t follow, staying planted on the bed with you.

“Angie, sweet angel, you can go with Dad, I know you missed him,” you talk as if she would understand. Angie wiggles her tail, gets up from the bottom of the bed, and lies with her head on your belly.

You smile, caressing her fur, and it's not long before you’re falling asleep again.

You wake up minutes later, with Mick telling you to open your mouth while he’s scooping some kind of medicine in a spoon. You protest but drink it anyway, making faces at how sour it tastes.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Terrible, I can’t breathe through my nose, and I’m cold, but I’m also burning.”

His fingers brush on your cheek, “Yeah, you have a fever, but I just gave you something to get the fever down. I’ll keep putting cold compresses on your forehead, but you can keep napping, okay?”

His soft tone makes your lips turn into a pout, some tears gathering in the corner of your eyes, “Baby, you’re gonna get sick too, no. I can take care of mys–”

Mick shakes his head, “I’m your boyfriend, I’m taking care of you. And besides, I’m an athlete, I won’t get sick that easily.”

Mick could very well be stubborn when he wanted to, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, sighing, “At least put on a mask.”

“Can I get a kiss first?”

You turn your head to him so fast you almost get whiplash, your brows are furrowed and your lips parted, “Are you out of your mind, Schumacher?”

He gifts you with a belly laugh, throwing his head back and showing you the milky skin of his neck. You so wanted to kiss it. And his pink plush lips too. But you couldn’t, and you told him this much.

“Yeah, I was messing with you, princess.”

You huff.

“Now, get comfortable, I’m gonna grab my mask. Your soup is almost ready,” he says, standing up from his sitting position on the bed.

“I’m not hungry,” you whine, lying down and bringing Angie close to you, snuggling on her soft fur.

“You gotta eat to get better soon, Schatzi.”

You mumble something not even you can understand, and Mick chuckles, walking back to the bed and sitting beside you. He brushes your cheek and holds your jaw, holding your eyes to his. You’re sick, you’re tired, and you have a headache pounding on your head nonstop, and a nasty running nose, but those blue orbs staring at you sure made your body tremble, all warm and fuzzy. His head dips and he takes the covers from your legs, just enough so his lips can find your naked thighs. He kisses there, and then your belly, and the inside of your wrist. There’s nothing sexual about it, he’s just kissing what he knows you would classify as a safe spot, far from your coughs, and snout.

Mick misses you though you are in front of each other right now.

And you miss him just as much.

“We went a week away, you really wanna make it more than it needs to be?”

You open your mouth, but then just drop your demeanor, shaking your head.

“Good, because I miss snuggling with you and kissing you, and we won’t be able to do it while you’re sick, right?” You nod. “I wouldn’t mind getting sick for you though.”

“Nope,” you pop the p. “Not happening. You’re sleeping in the guest bedroom until I get better.”

“Then you’re eating and taking all the meds I bring,” there’s a determination in his tone, and you can’t help but nod. “We have a deal?”

You nod reluctantly and shake hands with him. There’s a winning smile on his face, “good, I’m bringing the compresses and the soup.” 

― ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, besties! I hope you guys like this piece! Rooting for our mick schumacher sick girlies (gn) club to let all of its members go back to being exclusively from the mick scumacher simp club hihi A huge shout out to my coffee anon for proofreading this piece and suggesting the title (ily, C)!🤍

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[onceuponafosterkid]

Every now and then I am reminded how hard it is being an adult foster youth. I’m only 21, I don’t know what the heck I’m doing. This week was really hard. I got sick on Monday while I was at work, but I have this fear of letting people down so I toughed it out. I got home and I had a fever of 103. I took some Tylenol but I can’t afford groceries right now so I don’t have any cold medicine or anything. I took Tuesday off of work thinking I needed a day to just recover. I mean, I’m working full time, taking three classes one of which is a two and half hour in person class twice a week after work so I thought maybe I was overdoing it right? But I’m pushing myself physically to avoid what’s going on mentally and yes I’m in therapy I know that’s not good but it’s what’s keeping me alive for right now. Anyway I go back to work on Wednesday but I have a cough and a headache and I just don’t feel great but I already took a day off I don’t want to make my boss mad. After work I take an at home Covid test my foster mom gave me and it’s negative, so I go to urgent care because day three of having a fever that’s now reached 103.5 and I don’t know what’s wrong. Urgent care does a Covid test that I know is going to be negative because I just took one, and they send me home. So if they sent me home I must just be overthinking this right? Maybe it’s not that bad. But I can’t work until the fever is gone and nothing is making the fever come down the cough is triggering my asthma so on Friday my foster mom takes me to the ER and there I find out I have pneumonia. They rehydrate me because I have been unable to keep anything down and sweating so much that water does nothing for me, and they give some antibiotics and I’m able to go home while they send meds to the pharmacy and finally I’m feeling like it’ll be okay. But the Walgreens they sent the meds to is closed on weekends, and I’m not supposed to wait until Monday so I call and ask them to send it to a different location which I find out halfway through Saturday the pharmacy is actually closed. So I call back again and ask them to send it down the street to Walmart but then they never call in the meds. So I ask my foster mom to call them for me and ask them to send the meds because it’s almost Sunday and I’m starting to feel like crap again and the fever is gone but I can’t breathe and my inhaler is expired and they were supposed to send a new one. She called and they said they would send them and she said she’d pick them up so I spent today cleaning in preparation for feeling better once I get my meds and once I’m done cleaning I sit on my floor and I start crying because I feel so freaking alone. Which is stupid because my foster mom has been taking care of me this whole time, sending me food and taking me to the ER but I can’t help but feel guilty because it’s not her job anymore to take care of me and she’s got a family at home, six kids counting on her but I don’t have anyone else to go to for help. I’m 21, I’m single, my bio family has left me again and it’s just been a really long week you know? It’s not like I have friends I can’t talk to, I lost them all when the assault at Wendy’s happened so I’m just sitting here fucking crying because I’m tired and it sounds very stupid but I’ve realized that it’s nobody’s job to help me. I’m in this alone and usually I can pretend that doesn’t hurt but not this week, not right now. But that’s just what happens when you age out. You’re alone unless you can find people and apparently I’m not very good at finding other people and I don’t know why. Anyway, I just needed a moment I guess. I feel like 12 year old me sitting outside my cottage at residential wondering if I’ll always be alone. I wish I could tell her the answer is no, but at this point in time I don’t have the answer she needs so for now I’m just crying with her.

[fangirlfrom-hell]

Several Missed Calls and a Sprained Ankle || Jay Halstead x Halstead Sister one shot

*re-posting this because I'm stupid and accidentaly delated my blog 🫠

Also appearing Will and Connor Rhodes because I miss him.

I'm not a doctor, medical topics are vague.

Friendly reminder that Becca is Halstead sister.

☆

The Intelligence squad had just came back to the bullpen with a suspect in custody when Sergeant Platt came inside to interrupt whatever they were having.

-"Hey, Halstead! I've been receiving calls from your sister's school all day. They said they called your father, but didn't answer, so she asked them to look for you, but your phone was off".

-"I was in a UC run, I always turn the personal off...". He tried to explain himself with guilt.

-"That's what I tried to explain to them. Apparently she's injured and needs to be picked up as soon as possible".

-"Wh-what happened?" He hadn't even finished taking off his jacket and now he was hastily putting it back on.

-"They didn't elaborate on the matter, but they've been calling like crazy every half hour. I even volunteered to go and bring her here, but they did say it would be impossible if I'm not in the list". She pulled a face with that last statement. -"Can you believe that?"

Everybody settled in at the bullpen, all detectives listening to the conversation.

-"Boss..." Jay looked at Voight.

-"Sure, go. What are you waiting for?". He ordered with his arms crossed. -"We can take care of this".

Jay nodded his head as saying "thank you" and walked himself down to the parking lot trying to look chill, although on the inside he was really unsettled for whatever had happened to his little sister. He couldn't avoid being the overprotective big brother, it ran through his veins.

-"Hey, Detective. Make sure you put my name in that freakin' list!". Platt yelled before he crossed the door. -"I don't want to feel so humiliated again". She said in her usual exaggerated way. Then she muttered to herself: I'm a CPD Sergeant, who dares to say 'no' to me like that?

The long road to Becca's school in Canaryville wasn't helpful to ease Jay's mind. He was also feeling abashed for not being able to answer the call on time, although he was not responsible for attending those emergencies, therefore he was not aware of them. And where the hell was his father? Why didn't he answer those calls from school? He cursed him. This wasn't the first time something like this happened.

-"I'm here to pick my sister, Becca Halstead".

-"Oh, sure. We've been calling you for hours. Literally hours". The secretary gave him a judging look, which Jay tried to ignore. -"She's upstairs, the nurse is accompanying her. I'll notify her you're here. Follow me".

Jay followed the woman through the halls of the school until they went outside to the back yard. From the second floor of the building in front of them, he recognized Becca's ginger blonde hair. She was leaning on someone else to walk, looked like she couldn't do it by herself and there was some pain in her tiny face.

-"What happened?" Jay asked without taking his eyes off her.

-"She sprained her foot on the stairs, she didn't roll or hit her head, so there was no need to call an ambulance. It was an accident, some kids were playing around and pushed her unintentionally. We already took action on the matter, don't worry about that".

He walked upstairs to help his sister. As soon as he was able to entirely see her, he noticed how her foot was in the air, shoe untied.

-"Jay!" Becca said with relief.

-"It's all right". The secretary told the nurse. -"Her brother will handle it from here".

-"Is it your ankle? You can't put your foot down at all?"

-"No, it really hurts". Becca moved her head from one side to another.

-"It's a little bit swollen". The nurse talked. -"I applied ointment and ice for the pain, but I can't really do anything else in here. I think it's just a sprain, but she should be checked at the hospital".

-"Yes, I'll take her straight to The Med. Thank you!"

Jay took his badge and gun from his hips and placed them somewhere else in his jeans.

-"Sorry". He said, feeling the alarmed gaze of the two women. Then, he took the girl's backpack and put it on his shoulder. -"All right, Becs. Come here".

Jay hugged Becca and lifted her to carry her down the stairs. It was very easy for him, light weight, the girl was smaller than an average 10 years old. She placed her arms around her brother's shoulder.

-"Take care, Beckie". The nurse waved goodbye as she was taken by the detective.

-"This is so embarrassing". She said looking around to check if somebody was watching them, but the yard was empty, everyone was inside of the classrooms. Jay couldn't resist to laugh a bit. It was a cute funny scene: a big, tall, muscular man with a girly purple backpack hanging from his shoulder and a girl with an embarrassed face in his arms.

He didn't put her down until they were back to the office, where he had to sign some papers before leaving.

-"Is that all?" Jay asked.

-"Yes, you can take her now".

-"Oh! Before I forget". He said turning around one more time to the reception. -"I want to add another person to the list of people who can pick her up".

-"Sure. She does need that". She didn't miss the chance to look at him with a judgy face. -"What's the name of the one?".

-"Trudy Platt". He smirked. Becca just gave him a look.

At the truck, Jay placed her in the co-pilot seat and then opened the back door to put the backpack away.

-"What do you carry in this? Rocks?" He freed his shoulder from the weight.

Becca wasn't a talkative girl, but still she was unusually quiet during the road to the hospital. She only broke the silence to groan in pain, that's when he noticed her teary eyes.

-"Does it hurt?" Jay asked, knowing the answer.

-"Yes. I think it's getting worse".

-"We're almost there, just hang up a little bit".

He wanted to ask Becca about how she had fallen, since his detective instincts knew that it was due to something more than an accident. He opened his mouth to say something he had been holding up, but an incoming call interrupted his intentions.

-"It says Hailey Upton". Becca announced, grabbing his phone.

-"Gotta answer that". He sighed. -"Would you put it in the speaker for me, please?".

Both siblings knew each other quite well. Becca knew how Jay noticed something strange was going on, but she didn't want to be interrogated. And Jay knew how Becca was aware of that and was reluctant to speak.

-"Soooooo...Is Sergeant Platt coming to pick me now if I get sick?" She changed the conversation as soon as the call ended.

-"Is that a problem?" Jay laughed out loud.

-"Well, it's kinda scary".

-"She told me to put her name in the list, I don't know if it was true, though. The thing is that today I was on the streets working a case when all this happened. I didn't have my phone with me, that's why I didn't answer".

-"I imagined that. That's why I told them to call directly to the 21st".

-"Which was very clever of you. I'm sorry I wasn't there earlier, I should have".

-"You don't have to be sorry, I'm not blaming you for anything. You are not even supposed to be responsible for me, anyway".

She had this sort of way to make claims to his father and mother without even realizing it. That last statement made the rest of the road extremely quiet.

The moment Becca crossed the entrance door sitting in a wheelchair, she realized she had never been at The Med as a patient before. Maggie was pushing her to the ER where Will was waiting for his siblings. Due to the type of injury, Dr. Rhodes was assigned to Becca's case.

-"This is too swollen". Connor said while checking her foot. -"On a scale from 1 to 10, how much does it hurt?"

-"Uh, I don't know. Maybe 5?"

Both of her big brothers stared at her teary eyes and her sick gesture, not believing her answer. She was trying so hard not to cry.

-"6?"

-"Are you sure?" The doctor gave her a warm smile. -"I was expecting you to say 10 or maybe even beyond 10".

Becca remained silent, pressing her lips.

-"Ok. We'll do an X-Ray just to make sure it isn't more than a sprain. Meanwhile, the nurse will administer you some pain killers".

He went out of the room to order the studios and made a sign for the siblings to follow him outside, leaving their sister alone with the technicians for a few minutes.

-"What do you think?" Dr. Halstead asked.

-"I don't think she just simply twisted her ankle. For the damage, it must have been a harder impact".

-"Is it bad?" Jay asked with concern.

-"Can't tell until I see the X-Ray. What worries me the most right now is how hard she's trying to take the pain".

-"Yeah, that's something she does". Jay sighed. -"Not only with physical pain".

When the three men entered back to the room, Becca was silently crying, wiping her tears away. Jay was the one that approached to hold her. Her bruised and swollen ankle was a standout in the room.

-"Becca, you have what we call a severe grade 2 sprain and I'm pretty sure it hurts more than a lot right now. Why don't you say anything? You can complain about the pain, that's what hospitals are for".

-"I don't want to be a bother". The girl answered quietly, tears still dropping from her eyes.

-"What are you talking about?" Will walked to be close to the bed.

-"Becca...". Jay sat next to her and bent to be face to face. -"You are not a bother and you will never be".

-"It's just...I'm scared you'll stop answering the phone calls too".

In that moment, everything fell into place and Jay's heart dropped. The conversation suddenly closed to just the two of them, although everyone could hear their words.

-"Bec...I will never stop caring for you. I won't lie, sometimes it gets hard with my work, but I will do what is necessary so that something like today does not happen again. I promise".

-"But you shouldn't, like, you shouldn't be the one in charge of me. I'm a burden".

-"I know what you mean, and I know how you feel about dad, but believe me when I tell you how much it makes me happy to be here for you. I'm your big brother, it actually is my job to protect you. I love you, silly. I would never forgive myself if something happens to you. I wouldn't forgive myself if you didn't have the confidence to call me either".

With all being said and those emotions off her chest, her crying increased in tears and sound.

-"It's a 20. The pain is a 20" She managed to say in what seemed to be overacted, although it was only the natural response to having endured so much physical and emotional pain in such a short time.

-"Let's apply more pain killers". Connor talked to the nurses. -"And let's finish this up". He smiled at the little girl.

Jay found her reaction a little bit cute and couldn't resist smiling a bit when she jumped into her arms.

-"You will have to use the walking boot for at least 4 weeks". Dr. Rhodes informed when he finished. -"That if everything goes well".

-"What about dance lessons?"

-I'm sorry, Becs". -Dr. Halstead got into the conversation. -"That's going to be impossible. You need to give it a rest".

-"Not to mention the pain that would cause you".

-"Is she going to be able to be back when her ankle heals?"

-"If she listens to my recommendations in the letter, I don't see why not". Connor then turned to Becca: "I know this thing is very uncomfortable, but is necessary. You might start feeling as if you don't need it before the set time, but it is important that you do not take it off until I say so. If you trust me and you do this, You'll be fine and back to dancing soon".

Becca nodded sadly.

-"I understand this is very important to you, Becca. I can arrange to see you each week instead of two weeks to check how it is going".

-"Thank you, Connor''. His colleague said.

Becca yawned more than once on their way back to the Bullpen. She was discharged from the hospital, so she couldn't stay there and there wasn't any other place Jay could leave her. She was tired, her stressed body only wanting to rest.

-"Look at that!" Platt exclaimed when she spotted both Halsteads crossing the front door. -"It is my favorite Halstead!"

-"I'm glad to hear she's your favorite, because you are in the list now, Serge".

The Desk Sergeant smirked at the news.

-"I take this honor responsible".

-'All right, girl". Jay said, bending in front of the stairs. -"Let's do this again".

Becca hopped into her brother's back and he carried her upstairs, where all the squad greeted her with enthusiasm and good wishes. She sat in the coffee room waiting for him.

-"The punk confessed. We have enough evidence. It was an easy case, we're done for now". Voight informed Detective Halstead.

-"I'm sorry I wasn't here for interrogation, Serge. There was no one to take care of her...".

-"There's nothing to be sorry about''. Hank waved his hand from one side to another. -"Besides, you did your job, a good job capturing him. Now, you all are dismissed. You should take your sister to rest".

Detectives were able to go back home relatively early that day. The bullpen was empty when Jay went out of Hank Voight's office. There was only a blonde woman sitting at the desk in front of him.

-"Why are you still here?"

-"Your sister fell asleep on the couch. It didn't feel good to leave her alone in her condition". Hailey answered.

-"Thank you for that". He said honestly.

-"The same thing happened to me when I was a little bit older than her. I know it hurts like hell".

-"Yeah, she had a bad time. She's tired and drugged in pain killers, I should take her home".

-"Tell me if you need help with anything, I'm here. For real, partner". Detective Upton took her coat and walked herself downstairs.

-"Thanks again, Hails".

-"No problem".

It took him a while to stop staring at the stairs before going into the coffee room. There she was deeply asleep, it looked like she was melting.

-"Becca". He softly called her. -"Becca, it's time to go". But there was no answer, not even when he shaked her.

-"Well, third time's the charm. What could go wrong?" He muttered to himself and took Becca in his arms, this time as if she was a baby.

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is:  fragilecapric0rn! @fragilecapric0rnn has written 22 fics in the Stranger Things fandom and 21 of them are in the Steddie tag!

@cheatghost recommends the following works by @fragilecapric0rnn:

It Might Be Worth It For Once

clown music at the disco

you can take the heart from your chest to use as a compass when you are lost

Catch Me (I'm Falling)

Anyway, It's About Old Friends

"Sen's body of work is like a truly love letter to the characters. No matter the universe, Steve and Eddie always feel authentic to themselves. Sen's love for classic rom-coms influences a lot of her writing and makes for really romantic, touching stories. It's an absolute delight to dive into a world crafted by this author!" -- @cheatghost

Below the cut, @fragilecapric0rnn answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

I think in May of 2022 I was bit by the same bug as everyone else. Before I started writing Steddie, I was on a 4-year fic writing hiatus, and it was like seeing those two interact on screen zapped my brain awake. The chemistry, the potential, the fact that one half of the ship got ripped away from us too soon. All of those components really did something to my brain and I decided I had to write them and I haven’t looked back since!

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

I love a idiots to lovers! These two really have the potential to fit that trope so well!

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

Second-chance at romance! If you’ve seen any of my fics, you know that I love and will take any chance to write 90s older steddie, haven’t spoken or seen each other in years, who re-meet and fall in love. It is so them, it is my favorite version of them. It’s the version of them that lives in my head!

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

There are so many good ones to choose from, but I think I have to go with Show Me the Place Where He Inserted the Blade by the incomparable, the magnificently talented and outstanding Cheatghost. Lou, who I am very proud to call a friend, is one of the most talented people I know and I feel very lucky to have had them brought into my life via the Steddie brainrot.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

Is it lame if I say no? LOL. Honestly, I have written almost everything I have felt the need to explore with this pairing. A lot of my ideas moving forward are expansions/continuations of ideas that I already started or have posted before. 

What is your writing process like?

Right now it’s at its most unstructured because I am rawdogging life without my ADHD meds for the first time in 7 years, which has been a whirlwind but I am managing. However, it usually depends on the fic I’m writing! For a lot of my longfic, I have a physical notebook that has an outline and major plot points I want to hit at certain times in my stories. Other times, for the shorter fics/one-shots, I just write them all in one go. It starts with a (usually silly) idea, and then I get possessed by the writing demons, and suddenly, I haven’t moved from my chair in 2 hours and I have four thousand words on my screen. I contain multitudes!

Do you have any writing quirks?

I am a victim of the: One word. One phrase. Lin breaks for emphasis. And I will be doing it until someone who is being paid real money to publish one of my original works tells me to knock it off!

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

Again, asking if it’s bad if I say neither? When I first started posting fic again, I was very much writing it all and then posting it over the course of a few days. But now, I tend to write sporadically and post even more sporadically. And I prefer the latter! Fanfiction, and fandom in general, is a collaborative experience in its heart and soul. One of my favorite things about longfic is posting a chapter and seeing what people take away from it, because 9/10 it’ll be different then what the writer thinks they’re going to take away! And the chance to change and rework and let yourself be influenced by other fans of the ship is taken away when you write it all at once and post it all at once.

Which fic are you most proud of?

Anyway, It’s About Old Friends. Even in its unfinished form, it is my magnum opus. My white whale. I have done some of my best writing in it (chapter 2 MY BELOVED) and the fact that its so close to the end is both exciting and terrifying. It is a fic I wrote and continue to write for me, and the fact that other people are reading and enjoying it is a win!

How did you get the idea for It Might Be Worth It For Once?

HA! So, I was chatting with my friend Emily (JudasofSuburbia) about a potential Pornstar!Steve AU offhandedly back in the fall. Then, I got paired with them for a little fic exchange between friends, and it felt natural to take that one off little conversation and turn it into a fic for her. It was one of those fics that started out as a silly idea and then suddenly it’s been six hours and I wrote the whole thing in one go! After some polishing and editing, it became a Pornstar!AU with not as much smut as I expected. It was so fun to write, made even more fun as it was for a dear friend.

When writing Anyway, It's About Old Friends, what was something you didn’t expect?

I didn’t expect it to change and mold and morph in the way that it did. There is a version of this fic where they do hook-up earlier, there’s a version where they re-meet at gay club and not a wedding, there’s a version where Steve marries a Evie and Eddie is Raul. But, this version feels the most right. It’s a story about heartbreak, about finding love (in all it forms) in unexpected places, and it’s about found family most of all. All of that was stumbled on accidentally! My only intention was to write a Steddie-fied When Harry Met Sally fic, and accidentally flashed my heart and soul. Whoops!

What inspired clown music at the disco?

I used to be an opener at a coffee shop and there is something so disorienting and mind altering about having disco music blasting on the speakers at 4am. But, it was in one of those moments, where I was so tired I was nauseous, that the fic idea came to me! I had already been thinking of writing as my first fic, Steve and Eddie accidentally have a Devil’s Sacrament moment at the gay bar, but the line “But it’s Disco Night”, came to me at the ungodly hour of 4 in the morning. What a time!

What was your favorite part to write from you can take the heart from your chest to use as a compass when you are lost?

The Never Have I Ever Scene! It was the first time I wrote the entire party in one scene and it’s chaotic and a little messy but it was one of my favorite parts of the fic. It also made me realize how much I love writing ensemble scenes! Just everyone trying to talk over each other, chaos in its best form.

How do/did you feel writing Catch Me (I'm Falling)?

I wrote this fic in the span of like almost 3 weeks? I was sick and burnt out for most of the time I was writing it, but it was almost a compulsion. I had the idea and I just HAD to write it. No outline, just vibes and Steve Harrington in a cheerleading uniform! I took it down for a while because I was turning it into something else, but then had a change of heart and put it back up. And part of me is glad that I took it down for a moment because people love to be weird about the feminizing Steve’s character, and even though I was writing him as a cheerleader, I tried really hard to keep him earnestly himself, and in character.

What was the most difficult part of writing Anyway, It's About Old Friends?

Writing about San Francisco while being the most homesick I have ever been in my life. Also writing Eddie in those first few chapters as an asshole but not unlikable. I didn’t want him to be “fine” (because no one is fine in this universe, especially not in the beginning) but I also didn’t want him to do or say anything too bad. I think I got a handle on it pretty well.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

In Faces Freedom With A Little Fear, the first scene in the hospital with Steve’s sister. She storms in, threatens federal agents, all for her brother. JJ Harrington you will always be famous!

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

Just my current WIPs! Anyway It’s About Old Friends; the When Harry Met Sally AU of my dreams. Hand on My Stupid Heart; the modern AU, where the UD exists but everyone has iPhones and Steve deals with his bisexuality!

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

Shout out to my boys! Kkpwnall, judasofsuburbia, figthefruitfaeth, gideoncharov, cheatghost, fastcardotmp3, snowangeldotmp3 you guys rule and they’re all so talented!!!! Thank you to whoever nominated me! I feel the love and give it back to you tenfold!!!!!!

Thank you to our author, @fragilecapric0rnn, and our nominator, @cheatghost! See more of fragilecapric0rn's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[dorianwritesthings]

Even  Captain Rex x Jedi! Reader

Part 1 of 2 (I think…we’ll see.)

Captain Rex x Jedi! Reader

Summary: You’re a Jedi, you aren’t supposed to harbor romantic feelings. But when you meet a certain Clone Captain, something feels different.

Pronouns: Gender neutral.

Warnings: Reader in the Med Bay, Nothing really graphic but I like to be thorough.

_____________________________________________________________

“Hang in there, General. You’re going to be fine.”

The medbay, as usual, was cold, despite this planet’s hot and humid atmosphere. The swirling memories of your rescue last night came and went even as you sat there.

“We’re reinforcements from General Skywalker. The battle is over.”

“What’s his name?” You asked Ahsoka, eyeing the Clone Captain as you did so.

“That’s Captain Rex, Master.” Asoka responded quickly. She was such an energetic young Padawan, perfect for Skywalker.

“Ah, yes,” you responded, watching as he checked on various wounded troopers, “Thank you. He’s the one who carried me out of there.”

“He’s a good soldier.” the padawan responded, then, at a call from her Master, ran over to Skywalker. You were going to get up to join her, but the cold hand of the medical droid reminded you that you were in no condition to move. You reluctantly stayed put, looking out over the clones, trying to count all of your men. 

You knew some of them were gone, and you took a moment to meditate on their passing and honor their newfound place in the force. There would be more time to mourn them later, but for now you let the moment come and go before reopening your eyes.

“General.” You turned to see your own clone commander, Recall, being held up by a quickly made crutch.

“Glad to see you made it out better than me, Commander.” you sighed, a smile tugging at your lips for the first time in the day, “It’s good to see you, Recall.”

“And you too, Sir.” he said, “Are you...feeling alright, Sir?”

“I’ll be fine.” You said, “I’ll need a full report as soon as possible on the state of the company.”

“My men are already on it.” That voice you’d know anywhere.

“Thank you, Master Skywalker.” you said. He smiled in that kind way of his. “We were in a rough spot there.”

“Yeah you were.” he said, then, sensing your grief added, “You did what you could, and you fought well.”

That was high praise from him.

“Thanks.”

“I’m having my clones in the 501st check on your men.” He added, “I figured it would give your boys a break.”

“Thank you.” You smiled…”Again.” 

He nodded. “I’ll have Captain Rex give you a report when they’re finished.”

For a moment you felt off balance. It was an unfamiliar sensation.

“Very good.” you laid back down, glad to have things taken care of, “I’ll likely still be in this bed, so he should have no trouble finding me.”

A beep from the medical droid confirmed your suspicion and you sighed.

Anakin nodded, then pulled out his holocom.

“And now for the bad news,” he sighed, “ I’m technically supposed to be on the other side of the planet right now. We’ll have to report to the council.”

You winced slightly at the thought. “I suppose so.”

One boring meeting with the council later, you were still in the medbay, trying your best to meditate.

Why were you so off balance? You’d been in compromising scrapes before. This wasn’t your first trip to a medical bay by any means, so what made this different? You always felt the weight of responsibility for your men when these things happened and while that feeling was still there, something else was gnawing at you. 

As if in answer to your wonderings a firm voice pulled you from your thoughts.

“General.”

You opened your eyes to see the same Clone Captain from earlier. Captain Rex.

“Ah, Captain,” you said, propping yourself up, “I assume you’re hear for that report.”

“Correct, sir.” He said. You paid close attention as he gave you a run down of the conditions of your troops. Fewer had been lost than you expected, and though many were injured, Skywalker’s aid arrived just in time to prevent the worst. You sighed in relief.

“We’ve managed to hold our position here.” Rex said, “And will continue to aid on this front as your forces recover.”

“Good news.” You said, “Thank you, Captain.”

“Sir.” He nodded, turning to leave, but you called him back.

“Rex,” he seemed a bit surprised at hearing his name, “Captain. I also wanted to thank you for getting me out of there. I probably wouldn’t even still be here if it weren’t for you.”

“Just doing my job, Sir.” He said, but you noticed a fluctuation in his emotions as he did so. You smiled softly.

“Regardless, I’m appreciative none the less. I…” You paused unexpectedly as the words caught in your throat, “I’m excited to continue working with you. Once I’m out of this medbay that is.”

He gave you a small smile and nodded, returning to his own General.

You watched him go, then sighed and went back to meditating.

A few weeks later, you were back on your feet. The damage was bad, and you still felt sore at times, but the medics assured Recall that you were recovered enough to fight again.

“Honestly, Commander,” You smiled, “You worry about me too much.”

“Because you don’t worry enough.” Recall sighed, “I hardly understand how Rex deals with his Jedi.”

You let out an amused breath at that. The Captain came to visit you a few times during your recovery, always under the guise of giving you updates. While he always had information about the ongoing fight, you’re conversations grew longer as he warmed up to you. You were glad for the company. The medbay wasn’t exactly the most stimulating of experiences.

“He’s an interesting one.” You agreed, “I like him.”

“Oh you like him, do you?” Recall nudged you a bit and you rolled your eyes. You’d grown used to the teasing from him. He’d been your Commander since your first campaign and Recall had the uncanny ability to read your emotions.

“You’re the worst.” You said, “And as soon as you get a crush on someone, I plan on showing no mercy.”

“Ah, so you do like him.” He said, “Looks like Quickshot owes me some credits.”

“You were betting on it?”

He shrugged, “Why not? Not much to do with so many of us in recovery.”

You groaned a bit at the thought. You loved your troopers, but it really was like having a few hundred brothers.

“Have I been so obvious?” you asked seriously. You always could confide in Recall, and it was about time you were honest with yourself, “Am I a bad Jedi?”

“I don’t think so, Sir.” Recall said. He put a hand on your shoulder and you sighed a bit.

“We’re not supposed to have these feelings.” You said, “Or at least, we’re supposed to acknowledge and then let them go. But…I don’t want to.”

He chuckled at that, “That bad, huh?”

Your shoulders sank.

“Look, General, I’m going to speak plainly. None of the men will care. All we care about is who you are as our general. Liking someone isn’t going to change that.”

“Thanks.” You said, “It’s nice to be able to talk about it.”

“Anytime, Sir.”

Before you could begin to focus on the map in front of you, Recall nudged you yet again. You looked up at him in annoyance but then followed his gaze. Rex was jogging towards you.

Immediately you felt your face heat up and hoped that no one noticed.

He greeted you formally and you put him at ease.

“Were’s General Skywalker?” You asked, not seeing him anywhere. Rex rubbed the back of his neck.

“He and Commander Tano decided to…make an improvised maneuver.”

You laughed. Of course they did.

“I see.” You said, “And I assume they’re wanting me to play along?”

“Yes, sir.”

You gave Recall a look. He was looking at you both with an expression that said, quite clearly, “Thank the Maker I’m not in the 501st”.

“So what’s the plan, Captain?” You asked, “Where’d they go to anyway?”

He pulled up a new section of the map, pointing to a ridge next to the separatist base.

“They plan to cause a rockslide, cutting off the base from it’s main supply lines.”

“A siege doesn’t strike me as that unorthodox.” You noted, “Not really Skywalker’s style.”

“Right, General.” Rex agreed, pulling up another point on the map. He focused in on the rear gates of the complex, “They’re planning to lead an assault team through here after the initial rockslide.”

“And they didn’t bring you because…”

“They want you and I to perform a similar operation from the other side.” He said.

“That’s a suicide mission!” Recall said, clearly still concerned about your injuries.

“Skywalker is unorthodox, Recall.” You said, holding up a hand, “But he’s not stupid. There’s something about this we’re not seeing.”

Rex looked relieved for a moment, glad you were willing to give his General the benefit of the doubt.

“Right, well, this morning we received intel that a large section of the base’s troops were on the move. There are a few outpost stations in the surrounding area, but they all have to go through that one pass.”

“No ships?” You asked.

“Too obvious.” He said, “They probably don’t know that we’ve found their security outposts and would like to keep them a secret. Traveling on foot is the best way to avoid detection.”

“I see.” You said, “So the base is under defended.”

“Yes sir.”

“Alright, Captain.” You said, “I’ll go with you and your team. Recall, I want you to get several teams together and take out those outposts. Don’t want them calling for help.”

“Yes, sir!” they both said. You took note of how, even though they were clones, their voices sounded ever so slightly different.

You watched them go, taking a deep breath and trying to ignore the fluttering in your chest.

____________________________________________________________________

Thanks for reading! Let me know if you have ideas for another part. I have plans for a continuation set during Season 2-ish of Bad Batch, but I imagine some more clone wars shenanigans with Rex could be fun. I just would like ideas if you guys have any. Trying to find some inspiration. 

Send requests! Message me to get on my tag lists.

___________________________________________________________________

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[chevvy-yates]

OC INTERVIEW

got tagged by @alphanight-vp. Thank you sm 🤍

As I got four boys I will only pick Ryder for now, as I assume he's the secret crowd favorite. If it happens I get tagged again I'll pick another as I do not have the energy to do all four atm.

—

Decided to let Ry answer. All in italic is what he thinks for himself as further answers as he usually doesn't like these sort of rather boring and timewasting questioning and even more so doesn't tell that to strangers. So it's not a must to let the oc speak but I felt like doing it for this one. It's just Ryder thinks a lot for himself especially with strangers. He holds back his true wants and interests very often and only gives harsh answers to them that don't tell much about him.

—

///_NAME?

"You scanned me, right? It says 'Ryder' — and that is how you are allowed to call me. No last name, Just Ryder. Is all you need to know." — I'm a fucking von Scharfenberg, some high royal German Corpo. If I would spit that into your face you would probably only laugh and your answer would be "This is a joke right?". Kein Scherz, I'm the son of the CEO of Militech. The useless boy who disappeard several years ago. I had reasons enough to leave this shitty live.

///_NICKNAME?

"You are a rando so for you I am still 'Ryder', ist das klar?" — My nickname is 'Ry' but I only allow my closest friends and loved ones to call me like that. Thyjs calls me 'snoep' and I think that sounds beautiful. He only says it when we are just for us. So ein Süßi.

///_GENDER?

"Cis male."

///_STAR_SIGN?

"It spans 210–240° ecliptic longitude under the constellation of Scorpius, so it's Scorpio." — Sometimes though I feel like a cancer in a leather jacket rather than a true Scorpio.

///_HEIGHT?

"I'm 1,88m tall. Translate it to inches, feet or whatever you count in by yourself." — Why can't this world have a consistent meassurement system? Geht mir so auf die Nüsse! Apple hat's doch auch vor gefühlt 50 Jahren geschafft Thunderbolt dem USB-C Standard anzupassen und heut' gibts das nicht mal mehr!

///_ORIENTATION?

"Gay. Top only."

///_FAVORITE_FRUIT?

"I rarely eat fruits. They are expensive as fuck these days."

///_FAVORITE_SEASON?

"Clearly Fall. I like the wet rainy air way more than hot sweaty summers."

///_FAVORITE_FLOWER?

There we go— the standard questions are popping up once again. Wieso jetzt Blumen? This is getting lame. — "I always forget the name. Ask Thyjs, not me. He knows it for sure. It's pretty. Dark purple is all I can remember."

///_FAVORITE_SCENT?

"The smell of a thick dark and green German forest. Cedarwood, moss and earthy scents. That paired with rain? Beste!" — I miss that a lot. — "If you want to know a fragrance instead: Aramis. Its notes? Like the way I'm smelling for you right now minuse the cigarette smoke." — I see you start sweating. Unübersehbar. Aramis never fails.

//_COFFEE_OR_TEA?

TEE? — "Brudi, Tee kommt mir gar nicht in die Tüte! Give me a fucking beer! Faust. Astra. Or a Tannenzäpfle. Man, I even take your lousy American beer or a Heinaken if I have to but please — no fucking tea!" — Coffee in the morning is alright though and gets me going.

///_AVERAGE_HOURS_OF_SLEEP?

"Man, why always these lame questions? Fucking hell. I do not track my sleep. If I sleep, I fucking sleep! If it's 4 or 8 hours – I do not care!" — To be honest, I rarely got a good sleep – not before Thyjs came into my life as he distracts me a lot. I mean if I found sleep, i slept, but there's been a time I slept like two hours and I needed booster meds to stay awake. Beast pounds almost 24/7 in my head — try find some sleep with it. almost impossible …

///_DOG_OR_CAT_PERSON?

-Sighs rather agressively- These questions are getting on my nerves. — "Dogs."

///_DREAM_TRIP?

SEH ICH SO AUS ALS WÜRD ICH DAS NEM RANDO WIE DIR MITTEILEN WOLLEN!? -tries to stay calm- — "Just be somewhere alone with my soldier visiting several spots in Europe. Where is none of your business." — I would love to show Thyjs where I've grown up and played as a kid. Back then life was easy and carefree. I would love to see Amsterdam. Love to travel up to Sweden or Norway and see the Aurora Borealis, have a great look at the stars as Night City's massive lighting during the night blocks nearly ever star up there. I miss Berlin and the clubbing there. Want to go back and lay down onto the old tarmac at Tempelhof. Explore old ruins along the Rhein and I want to do it all with my soldier.

///_FAVORITE_FICTIONAL_CHARACTER?

"None. Don't read. Not much of a tv or movie fan either." — I wasn't allowed to read or watch anything that has to do with 'fandom' as it was only distraction and nonsense. I was told TV programs are there to keep people dumb and busy from looking away from what happens in the world and from edjucating themselves. But once I met V and he did his 80s retro movie nights I liked Indiana Jones a lot.

///_NUMBER_OF_BLANKET_YOU_SLEEP_WITH?

"Next question!" — Only one blanket and Thyjs in between. At least for a bit because we separate fast as the heat, our bodies emmit, becomes too much waking us up all the time. But I love to fall asleep with him this way. He calms me and it's like he pushes Beast into a corner, silences it for a while just by his presnece. No one else is able to do that.

///_RANDOM_FACT?

"What would you do if I told you I am a cyberpsycho?" — -stares at you with a steady gaze and bared teeth- Now, pack your things an go before it gets worse. I'm holding back already.

—

tagging:

@imaginarycyberpunk2023, @elvenbeard, @morganlefaye79, @ouroboros-hideout, @aggravateddurian, @dreamskug, @wraithsoutlaws, @gloryride @cherryrockpops and @streetkid-named-desire

as always not a must and idk if u been tagged already or not, but feel free to do anytime, especially if you got more blorbos than one!

[fearfulachilles]

8. gossip & uncertainty.

chapter eight to buop (nanami kento x reader jjk medical au.) .

full contents here.

summary: you finish the week learning you'll be scribing for the mysterious dr. geto and hearing new gossip regarding kento. meanwhile, kento finished the week with being handed an offer he never thought he'd hear.

The clinic portion of the hospital is only open on weekdays, but Satoru had mentioned he’d like to open it for seven days a week in the future. You hope you’re off in med school when the time comes.

You work with Dr. Gojo again before the week ends. You’re fascinated by neurosurgery and he notices it. He tells you about his favorite surgical case during his fellowship here at Jujutsu Hospital and how he developed his own technique that helps reduce risk during brain surgery by 85%.

“That’s amazing.” You say, starstruck.

Satoru doesn't feel like a boss at times, he's easy to talk to. You ask when was the last time he had to use his technique and he says a year ago, around the time he last performed surgery.

There’s gossip of Satoru’s lack of surgery hours that you’ve heard…well, Nobara heard and told you. Some rumors say it’s because of malpractice and others say it’s because he’s been banned from the operating room by the chief of surgery. Satoru doesn’t hide the fact that he hasn’t been in the operating room in sometime, but he usually brushes it off it with a joke and never explains further.

You bite your lip and take a chance. “Can I ask why it's been so long?”

“You’re kidding, right? I have my hands full with this clinic. Surgery will be there when I’m done.” He answers, then changes the topic quickly after.

That's when Satoru shares information regarding your schedule next week. You’ll be scribing for Dr. Geto. 

“He's filling in for me, just for a day. I’ve got some bullshit meeting to go to.” The young doctor explains, rolling his eyes. 

When Satoru stopped performing surgery, Dr. Geto took over all his surgical cases, causing his surgery schedule to double. Because of that, Dr. Geto doesn’t have time to be in clinic, other than when Satoru absolutely needs him to be there.

It’ll be an exciting start to your week.

_________

You decided to Google Dr. Geto once you got home. You don’t know much of the physician, not even what he looks like. When pictures of him show up, you were taken back by how pretty Suguru Geto was. Was every doctor in that hospital good looking?

Then something catches your eye.

“Have you guys ever read this article? 'Dr. Satoru Gojo renounces titleship to famous Gojo technique.'” You read aloud to your roommates. “He gave credit to... Suguru Geto? It’s called the Geto technique now.”

“Weird. I wonder why he'd do that.” Yuji commented. 

“Maybe he stole it from Dr. Geto and finally got caught.” Nobara speculated. She always loved a scandal or drama that didn't involve her personally. You couldn't blame her, you did too. 

“I heard they're close friends, I doubt that happened.” Megumi chimed in. 

From your reading you learn that Suguru is also a gift to medicine, similar to Satoru. He was a couple years older and accomplished many things in med school, alongside Satoru, and during his fellowship in a Kyoto hospital.

Nobara decides to bring up some more gossip she's heard, her voice filled with juicy intention of trapping you into the topic. “I heard that Dr. Nanami was left on his wedding day.”

You take the bait.

“He what?” You whip your head around from your phone screen to look at her. 

Nobara nods. “Yup. He was getting married to some pharmaceutical rep, but she never showed.”

“That's probably why he looks so grumpy all the time.” Yuji says.

“Where did you hear that from?” You ask intrigued. 

“Maki told me. She's the cute nurse I told you about. She used to work there, then she quit, but Dr. Gojo hired her again.” Nobara explains. She met Maki Zenin when she got lost on her way to the cafeteria in the hospital on the very first day. Since then, the two had been texting. 

You've never bothered to learn the dating history of your past flings, but this was different. Being engagement and left at the alter are serious. You think, is he using me as a rebound?

You shake off the thought because you're not supposed to care, but you still feel something tugging deep within you. You ignore it.

_________

It had been the slowest week of Kento’s career, mentally. He had back to back surgeries scheduled and he stayed at the hospital until the early morning hours, busy with operative notes, but it had felt long and nearly tedious because you were on his mind.

The week is over and he arrives home tired. He drags himself to his kitchen and looks through his fridge. Kento feels the motivation to cook real food for the first time in a long, long time. He used to cook all the time, having a passion for it and always experimenting with new recipes.

He lost that side of him long ago, the side of him that looked forward to the things in his life and enjoyed them, as if he outgrew happiness. He thought he would never find it again. It had strained his relationship deep enough to be left stranded at an alter he never wanted to be at.

Then he met you, he talked to you, kissed you, and touched you. He saw the vibrant color of your hair, eyes, and body. He tasted your lips and felt your skin on his. It felt like he had been holding his breath for years, waiting for something to come along. Then, you came along. He made you laugh in that bar and thought this is how it feels to breathe again.

His microwavable dinners from the frozen aisle and instant coffee weren't enough to get him by anymore. He missed the spices of his home cooked meals and the richness of his favorite coffee beans. His days weren't dull anymore. He appreciated the rising sun in the sky on his way to work and the sound of chirping birds outside his bedroom window a little more. Your touch brought his senses back.

In the midst of his thoughts of you, he thinks back to when you mention your mother had Cordis Aneurisma, a slow killing disease of the heart and a medical mystery. The only fact known was that it is genetic, primarily in women, with a 50/50 chance of a mother passing it to her daughter.

Kento never really enjoyed taking chances like that. Though, he took one with you.

He had told you he didn't want anything serious, something he'd never done before. He was raised to be a traditional man, primarily by his grandfather. So, he worked towards a good and stable career with a great salary, and he was going to get married and settle down. After being with you, he knows he doesn't want to go return to that, even if it meant breaking his traditional values he was raised with, all for a chance you'll let him stay around for a little longer. He hopes you do.

He cooks something quick and easy for him before he digs up his old med school textbooks and begins searching for anything on Cordis Aneurisma. Two textbooks turn into five, and when his sixth one doesn't have anymore information than the others, he moves his research on to his laptop.

He doesn't hear the knocking on his front door until it's loud enough to bring him out of his thoughts. When he opens it, it's Asami, his ex-fiancée.

She greets him with a smile, but Kento stares blankly at her, blinking his eyes. He didn't expect her to come by today, but she has made it a habit of showing up unannounced, which usually led to them fucking on his couch.

Asami walks past him and makes herself at home, and he doesn't stop her. She places her handbag on his counter and walks further inside.

“Did you just get home from work?” Asami asks.

Kento looks down at his attire to see that he's still wearing his scrubs. He looks over at a clock in his home and realizes it has already been a few hours since he got home. He lost track of time reading up on the genetic illness.

She moves on, not taking notice of Kento’s cooked dinner. Asami was never good at noticing the small things in him. She peeks at all the opened textbooks and then over to what is on his laptop. “Do you have a patient with Cordis Aneurisma? How sad.”

Kento hadn't spoken a word yet. His face had turned back to the one Asami had known very well now, neutral to everything.

“What are you doing here?” Kento finally asks, speaking his first words to her. He dreaded thinking she was going to finally explain herself to him on why she left that day, something they both had been avoiding to acknowledge.

Asami steps her way over to Kento and places her hands on his broad chest. She's smaller than you, he doesn't like it. “I wanted to talk. I miss you.”

I miss you. She said that last time she was here, in the middle of sex. Kento had thought it was just in the moment of bliss, he had hoped it was.

“And I've been thinking about us…getting back together. I-I think we should try again.” Asami continues, sounding eager and unsure all at once. She's fidgeting with her fingers on his chest.

Her words make Kento run cold. He looks down at her face, uncertain of what to say or think. He spots her engagement ring on her finger, she had recently began putting it on again.

“We don't have to talk right now, I just wanted to tell you in person, but I'd like you to think about it.” Asami smiles with her lips closed and with a sense of uncertainty. She can’t read his face, he hardly gives her any sign of what he was thinking.

Asami removes herself from him and grabs her bag from the counter, knocking off the parking ticket Kento had taken from you. She picks it up to place it back, and reminds him, “oh—don't forget to pay that, Kento.”

She comes back to him, slipping her hand into his larger one and pulling him over to his front door once again as she makes her exit. She meant for this to be a quick visit. “You will think about it, right?”

Kento doesn't say anything in return, he just slowly nods at her words. She nods back, taking a chance and tugging him closer, raising herself on her tiptoes to kiss him. He kisses back for a moment, but all he could think about were your lips.

He didn't like comparing women to each other, but the feeling of you still lingers on him. He could only think about how much he would rather kiss you again instead of her. He abruptly breaks the kiss, pulling away, and it leaves Asami taken back.

Words don't need to be exchanged for what she felt as Kento pulled away from her, so she leaves him to think about her offer alone.

[deliruousmistakes]

Let Me Take Your Pain Away (Pt. 1)

Missions don’t always go as planned, they rarely do, actually. Thing is, when they don’t, someone might pay the price with their lifes. 

But they won’t let that be Mikey’s case.

Based on @cokowiii’s ‘Just Another Day AU’

Part two here

Part three here

Supply runs are hard, it’s a slow process that tends to make easy objectives out of them, threatening to take the whole community down. Even now, after they’ve figured out how to be mostly self-sustainable, it’s very much indispensable, and each time they have to go farther and farther away in search of resources. However, every now and then, they’ll find something they overlooked in the past; this time, they seem to have found a goldmine (and a nearby one at that).

- “How come we’re only seeing it now? It’s super close.” – They were reviewing the last details of his mission. It’s nothing new and -thankfully- it shouldn’t take long: just a couple days, a week if he’s unlucky.

- “According to my research, something in there exploded, blowing up the roof and exposing the structure to the elements. The question is ‘why?’ though that I do not know, dear brother.” -Donnies eyes were shining, exited with the possibilities- “So be careful, extremely so. Now, regrettably, my current project is time-sensitive, so you go there first and scout the place. Then, if you deem it so, we’ll send a raid team.”

- “Yes, yes. I’ve done this before Dee. I’m a badass mystic warrior, I can handle it.”

- “One thing does not equate the other.”

- “Are you jealous because I’m stronger than you?”

- “Offended gasp, Michelangelo, you did not just-”

- “Cali!” - Mikey had interrupted and discarded his older brother in favour of giving a hug to his beloved husband. – “What are you doing here?”

- “A. I hate you. B. I asked him to come, as I need his help for one last test before you go.” - Answered Donnie.

- “Donieeeee.” - whining would stop neither of them.

- “Oh, well, maybe I wouldn’t have to do this if you didn’t murder my babies as a past time.” – retorted Donnie, though there was no heat behind his words.

- “It’s not on purpose, I swear.” -and it isn’t. Sometimes, his powers just aren’t compatible with his brother’s tech, making the trackers or monitors glitch or straight up die.

- “C’mon, Mikey, better safe than sorry. Let’s get this shit over with.” – persuaded Calimari as he drags a weightless Mikey to a chair. It was quick, have Cali take his vital signs and compare them with the ones on the monitor, the GPS function wasn’t so easy to test, and they’d asses it on the run.

- “Well, that’s it. You can go now. Don’t set on fire anything that isn’t a Krang.”

- “I’ll try.” – And then he stared at Cali - “Mari~”

- “What?”

- “I love you so, so much.” – A chaste kiss follows, but then their eyes don’t meet like usual; instead, Mikey is looking at their hands. Cali know he’s angsting about his death. Again.

The sight made his heart clench, so he got close in order to lick Mikey’s cheek. In response, the other let go, outraged, trying to clean his face with his hand, then proceeded to snatch the robe on Cali’s shoulders with a big, dumb smile on his face. – “Off I go.”

How he wishes he could go with him.

He marches back into the med bay, knowing that he has better things to do than wallow in self-pity. Leo and his team will be back soon, which always means an influx in patients. When they arrive, it’s shown that this time there is no exception, so he bussies himself with the work in front of him… Until he can’t.

It was sudden, from one second to the next. Something cold burned his hand, painful enough to make him drop the papers he was holding. Seeing what was wrong only made it worse. He saw the markings in his left hand. The white, form-fitting, and warm chain now was cold, loose, and had black patches all over it.

- “Cali,” -started Leo, worried tone, and getting closer to him – “what’s-” -the resistance leader froze in place, eyes wide open, but a second later he was leaving the place in a frenzy, pale and almost shoving people out of his way.

Cali figures there’s only one person he’d go to: Donnie.

- “Doctor Calimari, we need-.” - He didn’t get to hear what the request was. When he got to the exit, he could still see Leo at the end of the corridor, but he wasn’t fast enough to catch him, not anymore.

Still, he made a run for Donnie’s lab: his most likely location -and he will beat him if he’s not there-. He kept going even when he could barely breath, his muscles ached and his sight was going dark on the sides. Even so, he made it to the lab, but he couldn’t talk with how much his lungs burned and how he was about to pass out. Mikey’s remaining brothers were there, ignoring him completely.

Listening to them, he gathers that they will leave to search Mikey, who they lost contact with. Given the situation, they might agree to take him. Nonetheless, he won’t risk being told to fuck off. Thus, he plans accordingly.

Cali, waited for the right moment to hide into one of the trucks, from his place in the trunks he can’t see anything, although it shouldn’t take long for them to leave.

- “Oh, sweet Galileo, I finally get to-”

- “Donnie.”

- “Mikey, yes. Of course.” – He sets his horrid music on before flooring it, effectively launching them out of the base.

- “Puta.” – Thankfully, the noise drowned his voice. It’s even better when Leo turns turn the speaker off shortly after.

- “I just need you to keep an eye on it in case the signal comes back.” - Cali’s listening attentively, trying to collect as much information as he can.

- “Let me see if I get this straight: you two were talking, then ‘boom’, then nothing?”

- “Then you arrived, yes.”

Then they stayed silent, and Cali was left with his thoughts. He remembered talking with Mikey about their shared chains, he was right, this is agony.

- “Do you think he’s fine?” – asked Leonardo

- “Yes.”

- “But Cali’s chains-”

- “Just focus on the tablet. We’ll arrive soon.”

- “Okay…” – A pause – “Are you sure it’s working?”

- “Yes ‘Nardo, now stop talking.”

- “But it says Cali’s behind us.”

- “You put a tracker on me!?” – Shit.

- “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Cali!” - God damn it, he planned on staying hidden until they found Mikey. – “You know Donnie puts trackers on everyone! Where are you?”

- “Not everyone.” – Maybe they’ll start fighting and forget about him.

- “I stand corrected, he puts trackers on everyone he cares about. I know this, you know this, everyone does.” – He was blinded by a sudden light.  – “What were you thinking?”

- “Get closer and I’m biting your hand off.”

- “Good thing It’s a spare.”

- “It’s not. Leo, stop. I won’t fix it.”

- “Donnie, turn this thing around.”

- “Don’t you dare. Fucking hell, get you priorities straight, I won’t drop dead for going outside. Mikey needs me, or would you rather waste time, see if he dies!? Then what.” - He was screaming at the top of his lungs, as he pierced the trunk’s floor with his claws. They wouldn’t go back, they fucking couldn’t. He’d throw them out of the window first.

- “Okay. First, this -to quote you- “thing” it’s a state-of-the-art automotive engineering, have some respect. Second, the Doc’s right, we don’t know what condition Mikey’s in, its better if he’s with us.”

Leo retreated back into the copilot’s seat without talking, and after a minute Cali crawled out of the trunk into the backseats. With actual light, he could see the chain again, it was mostly black now.

None of them talked after that. Until - “The signal’s back”- said Leo, as he paled even more – “Can’t this thing go faster?”

- “Why.” – demanded Donnie, looking at the screen while driving at full speed.

- “Watch the road!”

- “Gimme that.” – Cali snatched the tablet from Leo’s trembling hands, and started reading… tachypnoea and tachycardia, but low blood pressure and low temperature… Is he bleeding out? Fuck, uh, Leo said ‘boom, then nothing’… So, traumatic injuries (fractures, stabbing), blast injuries (brain, eyes, ears, lungs, abdomen). What else, burns? Maybe he’s just really dehydrated, that might do too.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud ringtone.

- “Hey, Honey Bunny.” - Those two are disgusting.

- “Leo? Where are you?”

- “In an impromptu mission? We think Mikey’s in trouble.” – That’s downplaying it.

- “Shit, I won’t take long then. Do you know where Cali is?”

- “In Colombia?”

- “What? No. They say he ran out after you.” – A brief pause followed - “he’s with you.”

- “I didn’t know, Yui. We can’t go back now.”

- “Leo.”

- “I know, I’m sorry. I’ll pass him over,” -he passed his communicator to Cali, who turned off the speaker.

As he talked, a screech filled the air, and he dropped the device.

- “Cali, are you okay? What’s going on?”

- “I’m fine.”

- “Are you sure? I can go there, I’ll prepare the another car.”

- “I said I’m fine, stop fussing. Donnie just ran over something.”

- “Fine...” – Cali could hear his brother thumping his tail over the phone. - “Do me a favour, stick close to Leo, okay?” - He grunted in response. – “And tell him that, if anything happens to you, I’m filing for divorce.”

- “Sounds like a plan.”

- “Fuck you, but be careful.”

- “Yeah, yeah.”

- “Cali, you better come back, okay? Preferably soon, you left a mess behind. Also, call me if you need help, and send me a message every hour to let me know you’re okay.”

- “Whatever, bye.”

- “Bye…” -And he hung up.

- “Congrats on the divorce.” - Declared Cali as he returned the communicator.

- “He didn’t say that.” – Answered Leo, defensive. Cali didn’t answer, just stared at the damp stain in Leonardo’s clothes.

- “Are you bleeding?”

- “No? Ah, I forgot.” - Fucking idiot.

- “Hah? You ‘forgot’!? Y entonces qué, ¿mágicamente va a desaparecer?” - He went back into the trunk to take out a first aid kit – “Jueputa, porqué son así, se creen indestructibles, estúpidos es lo que son. El otro es igualito.” – Then he started disinfecting, stitching, and bandaging. - “Estate quieto.” – It pained him that the chain was getting in the way.

For a while after that either reorganized the first aid kit or stared at the screen with Mikey’s vitals.

- “We’re here.” – Announced Donnie, restless. Before stepping out of the car he threw a gun at Cali – “The tracker’s not working, but his last location is fifteen meters south-east from here.” – Donnie started flying, and Leo followed promptly, carrying Cali.

By now, saying that the chain was loose was an overstatement. Cali feared that if relaxed his grip, it would simply fall off. So, he held onto it.

Mikey’s ‘last location’ was barren, with nothing living on sight. Thus, they took different paths in an attempt to cover more ground. Donnie remained on the air, while Leo went underground with Cali.

[doin-just-fine]

What the brain doin?? PT. 1 of a questioning median system's journey

"Why do I think I'm plural?"

Hello!

I am making this post for those who think they are a Median System. I've noticed our community is small and that there aren't many recourses out there to compare experiences to. The few that do exist have been very helpful so I thought I'd add to the pool to compare and contrast with.  In this post I will discuss how I reached the point of believing I am a Median System, why, as of right now, that label fits the best for me, and what my system is like on the inside. 

(THIS IS A SAFE SPACE FOR EVERYONE REGARDLESS OF ORGIN, LABLE, KNOWLEDGE, OR IDENTITY)

How did I get here?

I started learning about what plurality was in 2018 for a college psych course. At that point in time I just found it interesting; fascinated at how the brain reacted to trauma and why it would split off as a way to cope. A tiny part of me thought "am I....?? NAaaah!! I would know!! It would click and everything would all make sense and I would just know!!! Plus I don't have enough trauma." I developed a hyper-fixation on it for a bit but it fizzled out and I didn't reflect on it again for a while. 

In 2021 I took a course that looked at the abstract ideas and philosophies behind what consciousness really is. I decided that for my final research paper in that course I would write about DID and other forms of plurality and what implications their very existence meant for how we define consciousness. After that, the hyper-fixation was reignited. I started to reflect on myself again but came to the same conclusions. Until, I met my now partner, who is a system, in 2022. They taught me a lot about plurality. 

It's a bit fuzzy when I started questioning myself again or why. EDIT: I remembered! I ran out of ADHD medication and had to go without it for a couple weeks. For context, I haven't taken a break from my meds since I started them at age 8 and at the time of running out I was on the highest dose of really strong stuff. After this break I started to notice how much my meds suppressed my emotions and creativity, eventually I got more medication. I then started asking my partner more questions about how they figured it out they were a system, how they knew, what did they do, how did they navigate embracing it, etc. I was a bit obsessive about these questions and it wasn't hyper-fixation level obsessive, this was "I need these answers to survive" level obsessive. I started noticing anxiety around these questions that I had never felt before. Ya know, totally normal singlet stuff. 

I started a notes app note titled "Psychological analysis of myself" after I had a panic attack that felt like someone else was having it through my body. Like genuinely, it snuck up on me (unusual for my anxiety I usually can see it coming a mile a way) and then it felt like my body had the panic attack without me, I was just there along for the ride. It freaked me out, which is why I started the notes app. I started diving into more research on OSSD and more nuanced experiences of plurality that never came up in basic psychology research. 

Then the denial started. Heavy, aggressive, degrading, denial. I pride myself on have decent esteem and self love but this denial laughed in my face. I only felt this once before when I was failing a math class in 2019. It was the first class I had ever been so close to failing I tore myself apart about it. It was so unlike me to be so mean to myself. When having this denial dialogue in my head about how (aggressive language warning) I was attention seeking faker who was just lonely and wanted to feel special, it was always stated in “You are…” statements. For example: “You’re just faking.” “You’re stupid.” “I can’t believe you think this.” When I would have these conversations with myself I would feel myself getting tired. Not tired in a way where I needed a nap but more like a drifting tired. I know this may be connected to dissociation, or switching (unclear).

So in my notes app I would write the thoughts out as they came. I realized I was having a chat with myself. A great app for honestly singlets and plurals to download is ANTAR. It’s an app that lets you chat with you "emotions" to sort out emotional hang ups but if you label the emotions as your alters instead you can chat with your system! These conversations are why I didn’t fully fall back into denial stage.

For a moment I did. I concluded that I was just being silly and dramatic and blowing things out of proportion. But having those conversations on my phone that I could go back to and look at didn’t let me stay there for long. 

I went back and forth on the denial thing for a minute only because I couldn’t find label that fit how I felt about my potential system until I happened across Median System. There was the click. Everything fell into place. I sat and read the definition and just thought “That’s me”.

Why “Median System”

A Median System is describe as 

A median system (also called midcontinuum) is a system where members are not as distinct or separate from each other. It can be considered being somewhere between multiple and singlet.[1] Some are dependent on a single individual, or the dependence can be mutual in that there is no central individual. Some median systems feel more blurred between themselves[2]. Others may also be based around a shared identity or kin. The members of a median system are often described as aspects or facets. Some median systems may identify as different archetypes[1]. Despite being more fluid and similar, median systems can be very diverse. Median systems are often opposed to multiple systems, with multiple systems experiencing more distinction between headmates. Some may also oppose it to partitionary systems, but in fact, median systems can be either partitionary or blurian, as variance in identity and presence or absence of memory sharing do not necessarily go hand-in-hand.

For me, part of the reason that I was in such denial of possibly being plural was because I have little to no amnesia in my day to day but unlike OSDD-1b (which also lacks amnesia) I don’t have distinct others. It felt like me all the time but sometimes adjacent. Someone described the difference as feeling like a snake with multiple heads rather that multiple snakes in a cage. And a Median system it feels like being an individual with multiple consciouses instead of multiple individuals in one body. 

Other ways that I experience my existence are as follows: 

I sometimes use plural first pronouns when referring to myself because before this realization I would be talking about myself and my brain as separate from me.

I used to joke that I felt like a system that just never fractured. 

The way people describe masking but for me it feel like a more extreme level, where I’m not TRYING to change my behavior, it just sorta happens and I’m “someone else”. What I called masking felt more like skipping songs in a playlist to get to the right one instead of putting on a mask. 

Another thing I experience is sometimes I expect to see a different face in the mirror and I get weirded out while still recognizing that, that is me and my face. 

This one might be a stretch but I have seen other Median Systems mention it. I notice that proper singlets have 1 go to aesthetic. It may change over the years but that typically have 1. I have never been able to consistently identify with 1 aesthetic I typically cycle through several. Specifically for me it's punk, grunge, hippy, cottage academia, and dark academia. With a funky gender identity on top of all that.

I wrote this post on and off over the course of a few hours and I lost my train of thought. Please let me know if you have questions, clarifications, comments, or your own stories. My asks are open. I will probably speak more on this at a later date.

[cloudycaffeinatedcryptid]

I have been taken by the sickness again (curse you viruses!) and sleep eludes me. Brainrot does not. What do you think each of the counselors are like when they're sick?

booo viruses :( i hope you feel better soon!

i think Jacob is the most dramatic about it. if you've seen Ferris Bueller's Day Off, he's Cameron

total baby. even just for a cold. injuries, he barely notices, but gods forbid this man start to sniffle

Abi honestly prolly does what you're supposed to - she takes the day off, stays in comfy pants, drinks honey lemon tea & eats toast, takes the gross meds, a bath, & she's good by morning. couldn't be me but. yk. girlbossing

Ryan for sure just pretends it's not happening. he takes some cold n flu meds, keeps a water bottle close, and keeps having to blink spots out of his vision but he's fine! he's fine until his sister notices & chews him out bc he's always telling HER to take it easy when she's sick & "look here, mr. hypocrite, you better get in that bed or ELSE" so then he goes & lays in a dark room, listening to his podcast until he falls asleep

i think Emma prolly complains about it the entire time & spends an hour in a hot bath but i also don't think she stops working. if she can't go out, she's answering emails, keeping her social media updating, working on editing/scheduling/whatever an influencer does. picture Emma in her desk chair with atrocious hair, wrapped in a blanket, three mugs of tea, & a sinus strip just firing off emails

i see Dylan as a low-energy sick. barely awake, shuffling to the kitchen for crackers (he has a weak stomach when sick) wrapped in his comforter with his hair sticking up. sometimes he crashes on the couch, sometimes he makes it back to the bed, but it's all restless sleep, tossing & turning :( he keeps mumbling nonsense to his cat, who definitely tricks him into feeding him twice. you go schrodinger <3

Kaitlyn HATES being sick. she wakes up with a stuffy nose & a fever & she's like... "i'm gonna kill someone today & it might be myself". she has shit to do. she resists as much as she can & tries to do a bunch of things just to spite it, which usually ends up in her crashing hard & sleeping for twelve hours to recuperate. everyone knows to stay out of her way when she's stalking around, pale and clammy with a thermos at her hip, & just wait for the burnout

Nick doesn't get sick, even germs don't want this weirdo. i'm just kidding. kinda. anyway Nick one thousand percent just straight up goes comatose. dead to the world for 24 hours & then he's right as rain when he wakes up. how? no one knows. why? no one is brave enough to ask.

the love of my life, Laura, also tries to strongarm thru it but she's better about it. she takes her meds, sucks on cough drops, prolly drinks coffee to stay awake, & she's better about managing her workload. it's kind of just a background thing to her & it works great until her fever spikes high enough to be noticeable or she slips up & then Max finds out. he coaxes her to lay down on the couch while he makes them some soup & then they watch movies together until she falls asleep :,)

the other love of my life, Max, doesn't stand a chance. he coughs once & his girlfriend has a thermometer in his mouth & a mug of tea warming up. he always tries to downplay it, "honey, really, it's nothing" & it never works. he spends all day with a live-in nurse & he feels bad that she keeps doing things for him so he continuously plays the "i'm feeling better" & she lets him do it for the ten minutes before he throws up, then it's back to bed "& cut the bullshit this time, max"

[sirfrogsworth]

I'm home. It was a long day. The night nurse asked me to stay a little longer to keep an eye on my dad because of his confusion. (Last night Dad tried to make an escape and they had to use soft restraints.) I told him I was tired and if I felt my dad was going to be a spaz and cause trouble again, I would stay. But if he seemed calm and sleepy with the new sedative they are trying, I would need to get home to rest. The nurse was cool with that, and my dad looked sleepy as heck, so I left.

The hospital is a bit frustrating with their closure procedures. They let visitors stay until 9pm. However, they close the main doors right at 9 and make you walk to the other side of the building to the secure exit. They also close off all the parking lot exits, minus the emergency one, directly at 9. Wouldn't it make sense to wait until 9:15 so people have time to get to their cars? And when they close off all the exits, you end up having to take this maze-like circuitous route to exit the parking lot. It literally takes more time to drive around that maze than it takes me to drive home.

My dad is really out of it. I am trying to be the best advocate possible and communicate to the staff how to help him become more lucid. HE NEEDS SLEEP. Like, long, restful, deep sleep. There hasn't been one time that has not fixed his confusion. But they are all trying to solve a bigger puzzle. They are like, "Maybe it is excess CO2 in his lungs. Maybe it is a new infection. Maybe he got COVID."

And I'm just like, "He needs sleep. Give him something to sleep."

And they are like, "Mayyyybe."

But I think that answer is too simple when they are in puzzle solving mode. So I broke it down...

"He had dialysis yesterday which wipes him out every time. Usually requires a 3 hour nap afterwards. But instead of napping, he had a catheter procedure with anesthesia. Then his foot hurt so bad he couldn't fall asleep all night. Plus they are giving him pain meds which always make him drowsy and loopy. HE'S EXHAUSTED."

And they were like, "Could be. We'll run some tests though."

I do think I convinced them to try and help him sleep with whatever options are safe right now. But I don't know if this sedative they are trying will end up having drowsy side effects which will cancel out the benefits of sleeping. I guess we'll see in the morning.

It really sucks that he choked on that food. He really didn't need this setback in his healing. It seems like the hospital always makes him sicker before they finally get around to helping him.

And lastly, podiatrists don't do weekends.

Apparently.

So it will be Monday until I know if my dad has a chance at standing and walking again. Why is a damned podiatrist the only one qualified at determining what to amputate?

I've been trying to brainstorm ways I could take care of him if he is unable to stand up on his own and transfer to a wheelchair or rolling walker. I know they have lifty things you can put over the bed. But I'm not sure that is a good solution for our house. I just wish I was strong enough to lift him on my own. He is just a tad heavier than I can manage. Maybe I need a mech suit.

There must be a solution though. Lots of people are without limbs. Hopefully I am just unaware of how caretakers deal with this issue.