#Heart Artery Scan

[usmanpuraimaging]

Learn about CT Coronary Angiography at Usmanpura Imaging. Discover how it works, what it detects, why it's preferred, procedure details, and associated costs.

[bpod-bpod]

Risk for Rupture

CT scan study finds an increased risk of diseases in the wall of the aorta [the body's largest and central artery] called aortic pseudoaneurysm and penetrating aortic ulcer in individuals with aortic calcification, which causes narrowing

Read the published research article here

Image from work by Siting Li and Haoxuan Kan, and colleagues

Department of Vascular Surgery, Department of State Key Laboratory of Complex Severe and Rare Diseases, Peking Union Medical College Hospital, Chinese Academy of Medical Sciences and Peking Union Medical College, Beijing, China

Image originally published with a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International (CC BY 4.0)

Published in Scientific Reports, January 2024

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[sematarygirls]

꒰ sonny carisi x doctor!reader — mentions of blood & violence, doctor/patient relationship, copious medical inaccuracies ꒱ 𝅄

  ／ the fluorescent lights of the trauma bay reflected off the linoleum floor at mercy general hospital as you readied yourself for an incoming ambulance.

the paramedics rush into the e.r, pushing a man on the gurney. his shirt had been cut open by the paramedics in the ambulance, blood glistening on his skin. a pressure dressing had been applied to the wound, the blood soaking through and staining it crimson.

"gsw, through-and-through to the right shoulder. no visible arterial bleeding. his vitals are stable, but there’s significant blood loss," one of the paramedics informed you, stepping away to let you and the other doctors work.

you quickly moved to his side, your eyes scanning over the wound as you listened to the paramedic's report. you snapped on a pair of gloves and carefully peeled back the blood-soaked dressing. the entry and exit wounds were clean, but the muscle tissue was torn and bleeding.

"how bad is it, doc?" the man groaned, wincing as you peeled back the dressing.

you glanced up at him, offering a reassuring smile. "well, it looks like the bullet passed through cleanly, but we're going to need to get some images done just to be sure," you explained, transferring him from the gurney to a hospital bed with the help of some other doctors.

he groaned, pain flaring up during the move. he gritted his teeth, trying to stay still as a low groan fell from his lips. once he was settled on the hospital bed, you applied a fresh bandage to keep the bleeding under control.

he watched you carefully, his face contorted in pain, but his eyes glimmering with curiosity. his gaze lingered on your face as you tend to him. despite the throbbing ache in his shoulder, he couldn't help but notice how beautiful you were. his gaze fell to your badge, reading the name in his head before echoing it aloud. "that's pretty."

"thanks," you said absent-mindedly, brows furrowing in concentration as you grabbed his arm, tying a tourniquet onto his bicep briefly to accentuate his veins, so you could insert an iv. if you weren't in work mode, you probably would have gotten flustered. you weren't blind. you could see how incredibly attractive he was, but it was hardly appropriate to flirt with a man who had a hole in his shoulder.

he held still, his heart racing not just from the pain, but from the closeness of your hands on his arm, the warmth of your touch seeped into his skin, and he felt himself relaxing ever so slightly in your care. as you worked, he studied your face, committing every detail to memory.

he probably should've been much more focused on the fact that he had been shot, but something about you drew him in. he found himself wanting to know more about you, despite how wildly inappropriate the situation was.

"so... doc," he began, wincing as you gently inserted the iv into his arm. "how long have you been working here?" he asked, desperate to keep his mind off the pain and his eyes on you.

you looked up at him, raising an eyebrow at his casual, conversational demeanor, but you decided to humor him. he was the one suffering from a gunshot wound, after all. "a couple years. i just finished my residency."

he hummed, nodding as if he had any idea what that meant. his forte was law, not medicine.

"alright, let's get you to imaging just to make sure everything is all good before we patch you up," you gave him a small smile, beginning to wheel him toward the imaging room.

he gripped the bed's side rail tightly with his left hand, his knuckles turning white as the motion jostled his shoulder painfully. he hissed through his teeth, trying to mask the pain. "so, uh, what do you like to do for fun, doc?" he asked, trying to distract himself.

"patch up talkative detectives," you teased him with a playful grin, carefully pushing the gurney through the doorway.

he chuckled, the sound a little strained as the movement sent a sharp pain through his shoulder. "well, i'm glad i can provide some entertainment for you then," he said, looking around the imaging room as you prepared to get him settled onto the table.

"alright, try to sit still. we're just gonna take some pictures really quick," you said softly, your expression filled with care and warmth.

he took a deep breath, steeling himself for the movement. he bit his lip, trying to stay silent as you and another doctor helped him onto the table. the pain was intense, but your gentle touch and soothing voice made it bearable.

you gave him one last smile before heading into the little viewing room, a row of glass windows allowing you to see him. your eyes stayed trained on the computer screen as you waited for the images to come up.

"no fractures, looks like the bullet missed the bone and major vessels. some soft tissue damage, though," one of the other doctors thought aloud.

you nodded, studying the images. "alright, let’s clean the wounds and get him stitched up. he’ll need a sling and antibiotics to prevent infection, but he got lucky." you reentered the room and moved him back to the gurney, once again, with the assistance of the other doctor. "you're gonna be just fine, detective," you reassured him with a smile. "we're gonna stitch you up and get you settled in a room."

he let out a sigh of relief, his body relaxing as the tension ebbed away. "thanks, doc. i owe you one," he said, his voice soft as he gave you a grateful smile. his pain seemed to be lessening now, probably because of the pain drugs you'd administered.

"i'm just doing my job," you laughed softly, wheeling him back to the emergency room to patch him up.

as you got him back to the e.r and worked on stitching up his wounds, he couldn't help but stare at you again. "you know, for a doctor, you're really pretty," he blurted out, the pain meds making him a little loose-lipped. "i mean, not that i was checking you out or anything. just... noticing."

you grinned, laughing softly. it wasn't the first time you'd heard that from a patient hopped up on drugs, but something about him saying it made your heart flutter. "thank you."

he chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "sorry. i'm normally smoother than that." he grimaced as you tugged at his skin to tie off another stitch. "and i swear, i wasn't hitting on you. well, not intentionally, anyway."

"good," you smiled, glancing up to look into his eyes. "because, as your doctor, that would be wildly inappropriate." you said it, but there was no real conviction behind your words.

he looked into your eyes and felt his heart skip a beat. there was something about the way you were looking at him, something warm and gentle that made him feel all sorts of fluttery inside. "right," he said, his voice a little shaky. "doctor-patient relationship and all that."

"mhm," you hummed, continuing to stitch him up with practiced efficiency.

he couldn't help but stare at you as you worked. the concentration on your face, the gentle touch of your hands. he found himself wondering what it would be like if those hands were touching him elsewhere.

"alright, all done," you said, pulling him from his inappropriate thoughts as you finished off the last stitch and pulled away. "now, i'm just gonna wrap you up with a bandage to keep it all clean and catch any residual bleeding," you explained, turning to grab a fresh bandage.

he watched you carefully, his eyes following every minor movement with interest. he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that you were almost finished with his arm. he wanted to keep talking to you, keep feeling your gentle touch on his skin. "so, doc... do you ever go out?" he asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

"do i ever go out?" you laughed at the silly question, turning back to him, bandages in hand.

"yeah, you know, date. have a life outside of the hospital." he grinned, watching as you began to wrap his arm. "i mean, not that i have room to talk, being a detective and all, we work crazy hours."

"honestly," you said, wrapping his shoulder carefully, trying not to let your gaze linger on his chest, which was glistening with sweat. "i don't remember the last time i was on a date."

"well, that's a crime," he joked, his eyes wandering over your face.

"you would know, huh?" you fired back, a grin on your face. the playful banter was something you hadn't experienced in a long time, and you found yourself craving more time with him.

he chuckled, liking the easy back-and-forth with you. "yeah, i'd know," he said, his gaze drifting to your lips. "so, doc, what do you say to me taking you out on a proper date?"

you bit your lip, pulling away as you finished up. "well, i would say that's incredibly unethical." you were trying to maintain a professional demeanor, but truthfully, you wanted to go out with him more than anything.

"right," he said, nodding. "but once i'm all healed up, i won't be your patient anymore. technically." he grinned hopefully at you. "come on, doc. let's go out. let me take you to dinner."

"one date," you relented, smiling at him. though, you were sure you'd probably end up agreeing to many, many more dates. you knew it was unethical and wrong in probably about a dozen ways, but you couldn't resist his charm or his boyish good looks.

he grinned broadly, his face lighting up. you noticed how his eyes crinkled and his dimples deepened. "one date," he agreed. "and who knows? maybe i'll get shot again, and we can make it two."

"as your doctor, i'm going to have to strongly advise against that," you laughed. he opened his mouth to say something else, but your pager cut him off. "shit," you muttered. "i've gotta go, but," you grabbed a pen and the first thing you could find, which just so happened to be a clean bandage—ironically fitting—and jotted down your number. "here's my number. call me when you're all healed up," you paused, giving him a stern look. "and not a second before."

"yes, ma'am," he nodded, smiling widely as he took the bandage from you, his gaze darting to take in the sloppily scribbled number before looking. back at you. his eyes followed you as you rushed away, his smile never faltering. he couldn't wait for his shoulder to heal.

[hatsukeii]

"WE ARE THE BLOOD IN OUR...WAS IT VEINS OR ARTERIES AGAIN?" / T. KUROO

PROLOGUE | M.LIST | NEXT. |

warning(s): a very offhanded, not serious mention of suicide, also ochem and bio!

wc: ~1.0k

When Kuroo Tetsuro sees another glaring "2" that bleeds into the white paper of his chemistry exam, he has to consciously restrain his fingers from curling up around the cover and crumpling it until it is unrecognisable to the naked eye.

"Great work, Kuroo, as expected. 84%, keep it up!"

He smiles at his teacher, only customarily, with a grin that presses tight against his lips to hide the grinding of his teeth.

"Yeah...thanks."

For the second time in his life, somebody; some monster, or formidable foe, has pushed his head into the ground and risen from the dirt in this subject. From the front of the room, Kuroo slams his paper into the desk face down, a thud sounding from the slapping of paper on wood. His head snaps around his shoulder, eyes scanning his classmates behind him for a gleam in someone's eyes, or a face that tries to stay still, but trembles at the apples of its cheeks. Chatter about specific questions drones on, heads bury themselves into clammy hands, pens tick as impatient thumbs tap anxiously at the clicker shafts. An air of dread and nihilism paints the room grey, white lab lights buzzing and flickering more like that of a morgue as hopes and dreams are slowly, but surely, dissected with the flick of a pen that etches numbers into a test paper.

He should be glad, after all, he's in second place! Just barely grazing the top spot of the cohort! The education system is largely flawed anyways! Life is not a grade! He is still worthy of merit!

Kuroo's mind races for consolation, only to find sarcastic, half-hearted sentiments plucked from inspirational TED talks watched in his showers, and mandatory wellbeing assemblies enforced by the school to prevent students from finding the urge to launch themselves off bridges. He rips through the pages of his exam, picking at every calculation error, and missed argument, and misused theory that emerges from his work. He can almost hear their laughter, screechy and squeaky as they wiggle and twist on the paper, before shooting out of the page to laugh a little louder in his face.

"Guys, just take a look over here, since almost everyone messed up drawing this diagram. LDPE is supposed to be branched, but I still need to be able to read how many carbons and hydrogens are on each chain."

The projector ahead flicks on to reveal a perfect diagram, branches and webs of polyethylene connected neatly to one another, carbons and hydrogens labelled between each spot. Kuroo stares at his own diagram, a mess of lines and scribbled letters, all rendered futile beneath the ink red cross of judgement. He bets that whoever beat him wouldn't have gotten the words "illegible" stamped beside their polyethylene diagram. Wait, is that an S, or a 5?

From four rows behind, a pair of eyes train onto a sticky note stuck on a page of the exam. Just beneath the outline that houses the same polyethylene diagram on the projector screen, a labelled neuron is sprawled across the fluorescent yellow of the note. You rip the note off, clicking your tongue at the loss of a mark on the next question, before sticking the neuron diagram into a lined notebook. Peeling a new sticky note from your notepad, a pen spins between the joints of your fingers, rolling in steady backs and forths along your hand. You bite down on the hard plastic of the clicker shaft, flipping through the rest of the pages as you wiggle the pen up and down with your teeth to ease your bubbling annoyance. Seriously, who even cares about the difference between "suppose that" and "assume that" anyways?

A flick of the page with your hand flips the test back on its cover, and you slap the fresh sticky note onto the circled "1" that graces the top of the page, before scribbling the frontal lobe of a brain on the fluorescent green square in preparation for your lunchtime duty.

author's note:

to say that i haven't been either reader or kuroo would be a lie because you bet your ASS i am arguing for anything and everything i can get in an exam paper.... ANYWHO welcome to the new series!!! I've decided to make this into a series because of both the poll and personal planning preference LOL don't hate me pls but i hope u enjoy!!!

tags: @staraxiaa @iiwaijime @hiraethwa @akaakeis @wyrcan @chuuya-brainrot @catsoupki @bailey-reeds @fiannee @cupidsblonde @she-lovesmyheartshapedsunglasses @kuroppiii

ok love u guys see u soon bye bye

[aggro-my-beloved]

I Bleed For You (And Now I'm Gushing)

note: you've heard of tooth-rotting fluff, now get ready for jaw-clenching angst >:)

pairing: quinn x gn!tank, sam x gn!tank

summary: a glimpse of one of tank's many nightmares centered around quinn. in this particular universe, they were unable to escape him...

warnings: manipulation, non-consent biting, graphic descriptions of blood and violence and an almost character death.

word count: 1.1k

estimated read time: 5.5 mins

Tank wasn’t sure they had ever fallen victim to an adrenaline rush this powerful, when Quinn’s teeth sunk into the vulnerable flesh of their thigh. The pleasure masking the pain remained incomparable to all of their tattoos combined. A buzzing flooded their brain and their heart rate kept climbing, unable to find a rhythm. Quinn became giddy at their sporadic pulse humming against his jaw and was urged by their hands in his hair to bite harder. 

When he did, the squeak Tank emitted caught both of them to a great surprise. He released their femoral artery from the reign of his fangs with a chuckle, scooping up the droplets escaping from their wound with his finger and a chuckle, and bringing it to their mouth. Tentatively, their lips parted open, imploring him to drag the pad of his thumb down their bottom lip. It wobbled as his digit grazed the interior of their mouth, and his eyes scanned over their canines. Sharp, he observed, but missing potential. 

“That’s it, precious.” He praised them through the closing of their mouth. “Can’t let a drop go to waste now, can we?” Tank’s poker face had become an art form since knowing Quinn, and him ravishing them in their private moments, The metallic taste still urges for their tongue to curl and drool to form–a psychological preparation for their oral cavity spit and hack and get rid of the substance. Their mind tells them to purge it, but they swallow it to witness his smile. Whether or not Tank has realized, their comfort is worth vastly less than his satisfaction. 

“Good.” His sultry voice guides their eyes to stare deep into his. Simultaneously, the hand clamping down their thigh–which will no doubt be littered with bruises in the morning–slithers up to take purchase on their neck. His thumb (no longer blood-soaked) caressed their collarbone with a delighted hum. 

“Precious, have I told you what a great mate you make for me?” His eyes crawled down their face and stopped at the gap beneath their ears. Tank only pondered the question, unbothered by the wandering stare. They’ve heard Milo mention the term a time or two in past meetings when illustrating the latest adventures between him and a department investigator. Albeit the notion of being bound with Quinn had been swirling subconsciously around their mind, Tank was still unsure of where they stood with him but refused to voice their concern. Like blood, they’ll swallow this down too.

“What do you want?” They inquired with a smirk. All at once, his gaze darkened, and Tank’s eyes grew. The blood rushing through their system picked up pace once more, but they and Quinn both knew it was from trepidation rather than excitement. 

“I want to be more intimate with you.” The hold on their neck grew firm. “We could take our relationship to a level much deeper than mates. We could be maker and progeny. You would belong to me, and I, you.” It wouldn’t be the first time Quinn’s brought the subject to light. The last time he did, he made transforming Tank’s entire shifter DNA to be a different species sound like a fun fact, as opposed to a pressing suggestion. But the act of succumbing to him completely, let alone as a disloyal member of David’s pack, was not agreed upon prior to this rendezvous. The metallic taste was back, marrying an unpleasant churning in their stomach and curling toes. As much as they yearned to, Tank couldn’t bottle those words up even if Quinn shoved them down Tank’s mouth himself. 

“I don’t want that.” A few beats of silence followed. Immediately, it became clear how displeased Quinn was by the answer. Tank wants to cut out their tongue. They want to rewind to a minute ago when the endorphins were still high and the tension between them and the vampire was all sexual. They want the pain to be masked by the pleasure of his teeth buried in their skin, tangling with their muscle and veins–not just the searing anguish of his stare peering into them.

 

“Oh, precious.” His grip on their neck never loosened. “I thought you would’ve been smart enough to understand the whole dynamic of this relationship by now…” He rolled his eyes with a sinister chuckle. “I take what I want, permission be damned. You take what I give you and like it.” The end of his declaration morphed into a snarl as the same fangs that dangled heaven in front of Tank’s face threatened their demise in a matter of seconds.

He ripped into his mate’s throat unapologetically and ravenous, no longer savoring the taste of them but picturing what a poised thrall they would become beneath him. Tank screamed and writhed at the feeling of skin and muscle breaking in the wake of his pearly daggers, vision turning crimson from the utter mess he was making of their body. As they brought both hands to claw at the one chained to their neck, Tank thought back to their conversation earlier in the day, where they brought up the idea of learning healing magic to clean up the more vicious wounds Quinn would leave on them. Something about the way the ceiling fan keeps sounding more distorted, and the weak feeling overcoming them tells Tank that this session may not be one they could bounce back from without Quinn’s empowered ministrations. 

“Please,” they manage to choke out, nails clawing at his unrelenting hand. “Don’t, don’t do this.” 

This is the universe where they don’t walk away. One that has tormented their subconscious several nights, and left them to wake up alone in a pool of sweat and blood-curdling screams. Tonight was no exception if you pay no mind to the Solaire Clan vamp urging her awake. 

“Come on, Darlin, open those pretty eyes for me,” he pleads incessantly. Moments later, they shoot up from where they are lying, gulping sharp breaths of oxygen down like it's the last ones they will take. It sure felt like it a few seconds ago.

“Hey, you.” Sam greets them with a relieved sigh. Tanks felt a stinging sensation on their neck, no doubt from where they were clawing themselves in their sleep. They silently pray the next round of scabs heal over without interference, but aren't sure if they’ve landed on the side of good karma with all of the luck this past year has brought them. “You scared me for a second, looks like one hell of a nightmare you just woke up from…you get those a lot?” 

Their throat feels like sandpaper as they swallow, and shake their head. "Never."

[french-unknown]

𝕋ℍ𝔼 𝔼𝕋𝔼ℝℕ𝕀𝕋𝕐 𝕆𝔽 𝔹𝕃𝕆𝕆𝔻

ℂℍ𝔸ℝ𝔸ℂ𝕋𝔼ℝ: trafalgar law ℂ/𝕎: hurt/comfort (sickness), established relationship 𝕎/ℂ: 3.1k + 𝕊𝕌𝕄𝕄𝔸ℝ𝕐: What could be worse than a doctor condemned to watch his lover waste away from a fatal illness? Perhaps a vampire witnessing his companion's failure to access eternity at his side. Law has never had a chance in life.

| m a s t e r l i s t |

𝕃𝔸𝕎

You were comfortably lying down on your bed, your back against your soft blankets, while Law's body was lying on top of yours. His head was nestled comfortably in the crook of your neck and you felt his hair, free from his usual hat, tickling your neck as well as your jaw.

In your happy state, you laughed lightly at the situation while gently tugging on a handful of hair that came your way.

Above you, you felt his soft growl against your touching chests before he buried his head even further against you. The grip he also had on your hips tightened and you felt the coolness of his icy hands pierce the thin fabric that covered you. A shiver went up your spine. However, far from being disturbed by the rapprochement, your blissful smile widens and you resume your caresses on his scalp. His messy hair was soft under your fingers.

Your brain was foggy but the pleasure you got from it felt good.

Suddenly, Law shifted against you.

Still in the clouds, you didn't quite understand why your lover released himself from your neck before getting up on his elbows. Your faces came face-to-face. You looked at him in awe as his fangs slowly retracted and he wiped away the few drops of blood that had rolled down the corner of his mouth. You surrounded his chiseled jaw in your hands to brought him closer to you until he was lying on you again and you placed a loving kiss on his lips.

He stayed there briefly, temporarily enjoying the contact, but he rose again.

You saw him looking at you with his eyebrows furrowed.

“Your blood tastes weird.” He announced with annoyance.

You laughed discreetly.

“You never told me this one.” You answered him with a smile.“New catchphrase?”

But Law didn't share your good humor.

“Of course. I was torn between «your blood tastes weird» and «you make weird noises when you chew» so I hope you're flattered.” He muttered.

“I think I prefer the one about my chewing.” You laught again but, when he moved further away, you complained, “Come on, it's nothing. Come back to me.”

You then tried to wrap your arms around his neck to pull him back onto you but he pulled away. You let out a sound of sadness as he propped himself up on his elbows before sitting on his knees around your thighs.

“Law!” You moan.

The loss of contact caused a cold draft to pass over your neck and make you shiver. You missed his warm, heavy body on yours.

Yet your grumpy lover leaned to the side to retrieve his sword and repositioned himself on you with his weapon.

“Room, scan!” He declared in the darkness of your room.

The room lit up in blue and, among the idyllic setting that this formed, you emerged even brighter. Indeed, your body glowed with the same bluish hue while your veins stood out a blood red. They sparkled in your body like an infinite tree that multiplied and became more and more refined as it approached your extremities. And, in the middle of it all, your arteries were pulsing bright red.

The light eventually faded, leaving only you and Law in near darkness.

You still made out his indecipherable face in the darkness so, still peaceful, you held out your arms for him to come back and settle between them. But he didn't move.

“Law.” You called to him in vain with necessity.

Your body was gradually cooling down and you just wanted to savor your post-meal moment with your lover. But he didn't move except to lower his emotionless eyes from your eyes to your heart. Then he brought them back up to your eyes.

"You will die." He blurted out without the slightest tact.

You laughed in disbelief this time.

“Stop saying stupid things.” You replied before you were finally able to grab his hands in yours.

You laced your fingers together then roughly pulled him towards you until he collapsed onto your chest. His frame, wider and taller than yours, suddenly crushed you - sending a pain signal to your brain - but you didn't pay attention because you were too happy to have your man back. You were too happy to have him against you again while he also tangled your fingers with his and rested his head under your chin.

You gently kissed the top of his hair.

"You're tired." You resumed calmly. “Sleep, we'll see about it tomorrow.”

And you let yourself be carried peacefully into the arms of Morpheus as soon as the last word left your lips.

When you woke up the next morning, the bed was empty.

You stretch your foot out of your mountain of blankets before building up the courage to get out from between your sheets. Law was already long gone if you stuck to his neatly folded side of the bed. You groaned. Your mind was no longer as fuzzy as it was last night—one of the happy effects of having your blood drawn by him—but it was nevertheless still clouded by the mists of lingering sleep.

You then went into the corridor in search of your grumpy lover.

Even though he was his usual grumpy self, you didn't doubt for a second your ability to make him cuddle you.

You passed a few members of the crew along the way who greeted you happily and, at the end of the way, you finally arrived at the captain's office. You knocked on the door before entering without waiting for his signal.

You found him sitting in his chair behind his desk. He was bent forward with his elbows on the surface while his open hands supported his lowered head. You hesitated for a second before he heard you enter. However, he slowly raised his head to gaze into yours with his steely eyes. From where you stood, you could see the grayish dark circles that stained the underside of his eyes.

"What?" He asked dryly.

You cringed at his tone.

“Wow!” You exclaimed, clearly unsettled. “Bad night, sleeping beauty?”

He growled in response.

“Well, I might as well leave if I piss you off.” You replied, annoyed by his behavior.

"Wait." He hurriedly stopped you while you had your hand on the handle.

Behind you, you heard the crunch of his chair against the floor followed by the sound of his footsteps going around his desk. When he stopped moving, you turned back to him with a suspicious glance.

He was simply standing behind you with his arms limply at his sides. His gaze was slightly shifty, unlike usual, as well as you could see in the nervous movements of his fingers that he wasn't comfortable. Finally, he took a deep breath before shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He raised his steely eyes to yours.

“Do you remember about last night?” He asked sharply.

You turned toward him and leaned your back against the door.

"Yes." You replied still annoyed by the start of the conversation. "It makes me high. It doesn't make me so stupid that I forget my evening."

You saw a nervous twitch pass his lips but he did nothing.

"There is a problem with your body." He continued without getting angry despite the fact that he seemed to be seething inside. His nervous movements resumed discreetly. "Your blood isn't like usual and you lit up like a lantern when I scanned you."

You stared at him in silence. You felt accused by his remark. Defensively, you crossed your arms over your chest without even realizing it.

“You must have made a mistake.” You explained.

“I never make a mistake.” He immediately retorted, almost growling.

“And yet you were wrong.” You affirmed.

The air began to crackle with tension around you. Far from avoiding your gaze now, his eyes were firmly planted on yours as he seemed to probe your mind. His face was completely expressionless, if we forget the irritated grin that twisted his lips. His parasitic movements had also completely ceased, leaving behind only his impassive frame which towered over you coldly.

Faced with the situation, which was getting worse, you decided to calm things down.

“Look,” You started, trying to take a softer tone. "you clearly look like a zombie now and you must not have slept all night given your dark circles. There must be a little mess, okay? I'm not sick. I didn't have temperature. I don't hurt anywhere."

You noticed his shoulders unwind and drop as you spoke.

Slowly, you moved from the door before slowly getting closer to him. You approached him as you would with a wild animal. Once in front of him, you raised your hand which you delicately placed against his cold cheek. With the tip of your thumb, you tenderly caressed his cheekbone. You still noticed that, although he didn't lean into the contact, the muscles in his jaw relaxed against your palm.

"I'm fine, Law." You finish smiling.

Then, to your complete astonishment, his hands rested on your hips over the fabric of your t-shirt and pulled you against him. Caught in his embrace, you felt him bend forward to rest his forehead against your shoulder. His cold breath hit your collarbone and made you shiver.

However, you raised your arms and wrapped them around his neck to bring him even closer to you. You placed a kiss against his temple at the same time.

"I'm fine, Law." You repeated it to reassure him. "Everything's fine."

From that day on, your relationship with him changed.

Whereas before you both had been quite laid-back and independent, you soon noticed that he appeared in your field of vision a lot more. You had always been this quiet couple who did their activities separately before meeting in the evening to discuss them. But now, he was always in the corner of the room.

You found it quite endearing at first: he was worried about you, unlike some times when he could be quite insensitive.

After so many years living on Earth as a vampire, he had a perception of time quite different from yours which meant that he didn't place as much value on the time spent together. He valued the quality of your time together over its quantity. And it was indeed very pretty on paper but that unfortunately meant that days or even weeks could go by without him giving any sign of life. He would simply show up at the end of the day to naturally ask for some time together—or even just to feed on you—before going back to his studies or his occupations.

It weighed heavily on you at the start of your relationship. You had sometimes wondered if he just saw you as a pleasant way to pass the time or as a simple blood bag. But you knew now that he loved you, after he finally grumpily admitted it after years of dating.

Yet, while you could have sacrificed your entire family at the beginning of your relationship for him to give you this much attention, now it annoyed you.

You saw the doubt in his eyes and it irritated you. He watched you like a babysitter watching over a baby he had to take care of. Or out of fear that you would escape if he looked away for even a second. Except you weren't a child. You were an adult and you would have liked to get this fact into his vampire head.

Besides, he probably must have told the rest of the crew about his paranoid doubts because you also had the impression that they were taking turns keeping an eye on you. When Law was locked in his library or office, they would mysteriously appear one by one at your side.

Bepo asked you to come take a nap with him because he couldn't sleep on his own.

Shachi and Penguin asked you to decide which one of them won after their prank competitions.

Ikkaku asked you to be her partner for a card game since no one else was free to play with her.

The more time passed, the more their attention suffocated you.

Their fear was increased tenfold when, while you were eating dinner together in the Polar Tang refectory, you tried in vain to contain a cough. You had the impression since you woke up that morning that a weight was pressing on your chest while a cat seemed to have taken up residence in your throat. You barely suppressed a groan of annoyance at having coughed at the worst possible time. All the crew's horrified eyes were pointed at you.

“It’s okay,” You tried to justify yourself, laughing. “the water went down the wrong pipe!”

But no one laughs with you.

You heard Law's chair creak precipitously against the floor in the silence of the room and then you felt the icy grip of his fingers between yours. You were immediately lifted from your own chair and he carried you with him down the halls to your room. You tried in vain to explain during the ride but, despite your efforts, he didn't listen.

As soon as your bedroom door closed, he picked you up and threw you onto the bed. He then sat on your lap in a parody of his last meal and pinned you against the mattress to retrieve his sword.

“Come on, Law!” You moan, dissatisfied, for him to stop his cinema.

“Room, scan!” He still whispered seriously above you.

The same shade of blue seeped into your room. Your eyes, however, remained fixed on your lover's and you waited for the moment of realization where they would relax. When he finally saw that you had nothing.

You were okay.

But you looked and all you saw was his eyes widening as a glint that you recognized as fear lit up in his eyes. His mouth opened blissfully in shock, revealing his white teeth with retracted canines that you knew were sharp. His grip loosened around your wrists and he leaned back, stunned, as if he had just been punched in the face.

Faced with this reaction, you felt fear begin to tickle unpleasantly in your stomach. You got up like this, worried, in order to reassure him but the vision you had froze you.

In the mirror that decorated your room behind your lover, you saw your reflections.

The blue light of his Room contrasted harshly with the bright red that spread across your body where all your veins should undoubtedly be. You saw them going in all directions in the smallest corners of your body while giving it a slight reddish tint by proxy. And what mortified you the most was the enormous center of neon red light pulsing from your lungs. They were so clearly visible in the mirror that you had no trouble recognizing the lobes and structures you had seen so many times in Law's scientific journals.

It wasn't possible, you were fine!

You certainly had a little cough a few minutes ago but it was perfectly normal. You lived in a damp and sometimes a little cold submarine that was submerged for more than half the year. You didn't see much sun so your immune system wasn't always at its highest potential. You had caught a cold, that was all.

You turned your confused face towards Law's who was still looking at you in amazement.

"It's just a cold." You tried to soothe him.

"It's not a cold." He countered by recomposing himself. "It's more than that. It's in your blood and it got into your lungs. I don't know what it is, I've read every book I have and I still don't know what it is."

You sighed as you tried to approach him but he moved away from your touch as if you had burned him. Inside, you felt the rejection like a slap in the face.

"It's nothing." You started again anyway. "I just have a little virus or something. I'll be better in a few days."

He glared at you.

"It's not nothing!" He growled now, clearly. "Do you think my Devil Fruit helps me spot birds in the sky? It spots illnesses. Serious illnesses!"

You were going to growl at him for not speaking to you that way, but he cut you off.

"If it's on my scan, it's dangerous. And it's everywhere in your body. In your blood, in your lungs. It's killing you!"

The poorly concealed despair you detected in his tone made you calm down. Even though he was currently annoying you prodigiously, you knew that he really wouldn't get angry in vain. It must have really worried him for him to lose his usual sarcasm and get to this point.

You took a few seconds of silence to let down your irritation.

“Okay,” you continued after calming down. "I understand it could make you panic. It's true that your scan detects anomalies that could be worrying. But it could just be a false alarm, right?"

You saw him take a deep breath.

"Is there anything I could do to reassure you? To prove to you that I'm okay." You asked to appease him.

“Let me replace your lungs.” He announced seriously.

You stood staring at him in disbelief.

"No?" You started in shock. "No! You're not going to replace my lungs for a few doubts!"

"Honestly, it's either this or I turn you into a vampire like me." He explained with a semblance of calm. "It won't change anything for you if I do it with my Ope Ope No Mi. I don't know what molecule is screwing up your body so I can't take it out like that. But I can swap your lungs and try antibiotics and anti-inflammatories to weaken the thing in your blood.”

"No!" You defended yourself, offended.

“Please,” he continued. "I promise I won't let anything happen to you. It's really the only thing that could reassure me. Please."

He looked at you with an unreadable expression in his eyes.

A heavy silence ruled around you.

“I’m ready to beg you on my knees if necessary.”

You stayed still, shocked by the offer.

“Do you promise nothing will happen to me and that you won’t make a fuss about it again?” You asked him, perplexed.

"I promise."" He affirmed.

You swallowed nervously.

Alright then." You accepted.

[dangerpronebuddie]

WIP Wednesday!!

Tagged by @tizniz who shared BRILLIANT stuff from Cupid Buck that is going to kill me!!

I promise, I promise, I am almost done with Severed Artery. I'm trying to decide if I want to add just a little bit more whump but we'll see. I'm debating it. While I do, here's some more whump. (Sorry Eddie) 😁:

“Help!” Eddie shouts again. “Stop,” the man growls. He lunges at Eddie, wrapping his hands around his neck and squeezing tight. Eddie brings the heel of his hand to the man’s chin. The sound of his teeth clacking together echoes in the room and it dislodges his grip. Eddie gasps for breath as footsteps clamber down the hall. The man bolts for the door. He looks left before running to the right. Two hundred pounds of Buck goes flying past the door. Something thuds loudly on the tile floor. “Stay down!” Buck commands. Eddie wishes he could see what was happening. He sees officer Williams run past the door, followed by Bobby and at least three nurses. Eddie takes slow, measured breaths, trying to get his heart rate back to some semblance of normalcy. There's still shouting in the hallway. If he had the energy, he'd get up to see what was happening. “Eddie!” Familiar scrambling footsteps pound the tile floor. Buck appears in the doorway, his eyes wild, his chest heaving. In the blink of an eye, Eddie has his arms full of one Evan Buckley. “Are you okay?” Buck asks, hugging him as best he can before perching on the edge of the cot and running his hands over Eddie, checking for injuries. It's not often the roles are reversed like this. Nine times out of ten, Eddie is the one scanning every inch of Buck, looking for the smallest scratch. “Tell me you're okay, baby.” “I'm okay,” Eddie says, ignoring the skip in his heartbeat at the pet name for the moment. He lets Buck keep checking, watching the furrow in his brow as his hands roam over his arms. He reaches Eddie's wrist and Eddie can't help but yip. “It doesn't sound like it, what happened?” Buck asks. His eyes land on Eddie's neck and he brushes his fingers gingerly over what will soon be deep bruises. “What did he do to you?”

(tags under the cut! As always please let me know if you want to be added/ removed):

@lover-of-mine @loveyouanyway @daffi-990 @kitteneddiediaz

@ronordmann @steadfastsaturnsrings @inell @exhuastedpigeon @hippolotamus

@thekristen999 @monsterrae1 @diazheartsbuckley @wildlife4life @misshiss727

@rainbow-nerdss @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @lunarspark-cos @idealuk @shipperqueen6 @slowlyfoggydestiny @eddiesfagstache

@lin27 @jshadow01 @orangeboxfox92 @thegeekcompanion @emilybahu @lemotmo @awolfnamed-nyx

@kaseysgirl86-blog @darkrose6578 @totallynotagoraphobic @dandelioncasey @bibuckbuckgoose @whatsgoodinthehood22

@lady-elaine @buckley-diaz-rules @buddiedaydreamer911 @monroemary @pirate-hunter @snowviolettwhite @hermoineindisguise @tidesreach

@nonspeakingkiku @eddiedisasterdiaz @drunkandsupportiveeddie @epicbuddieficrecs @disasterbuck

@lyricfulloflight @charlzie-ghost @hypersensitivitywitch @kindlingtotheflames @wallywise @zerokrox-blog @hawaiianlove808 @retromodgirl @allygateobeanz and anyone else who wants to share!! 🥰🩷

@gnoeltop @keynb @cassi-brooks @-syrup-sue @punkrock00 @shannonhutchins @aroqueerfandoms @unlifeira @marissaleec @kissyboytroye

[poeproductions]

Poe update: Baby boy is home and has a huge appetite! After a CT scan we think we know what's up. It turns out Poe's heart is actually fine! Buuuut he has some arterial constriction, which is what caused the fainting episode that got him hospitalized.

Poe has to get a biopsy and one more scan to determine the source, but the great news is he should be okay with medication and will start meds once we identify the cause. His arterial constriction will be chronic, but manageable with medication.

Thank you from the bottom of our hearts for the outpouring of support we've gotten on his Ko-fi since yesterday. Each scan is about $1.5k so it really helps so much, thank you. 🙏

[getinthefuckingjaeger]

“We’re not gonna be like them, Joe.” Harry’s fierce tone catches Joe off guard. "We're gonna make it."

(Joe, Harry, and Major Egan's grief)

“Harry, look.” Joe presses his chin into Harry’s hair, careful not to dislodge his best friend’s head from its rest on Joe’s shoulder. “Over there.”

He glances down and over thick, messy dark curls to watch Harry squint in the pre-dawn light. They’re perched on one of the many observation towers on base - far away enough from the heart of the operations and closer to where the ground crew park the forts under repair. Joe waits as Harry scan the tarmac for a second. The hitch in his breath tells Joe that he’s seen it.

Joe drops his head on Harry’s, the two of them lone observers of a single jeep making its way down the tarmac until it turned and parked by one of the forts on the hardstand.

The signature white of Major Egan’s sheepskin is the only bright spot in the blue light of twilight. The figure sits straight as a ramrod as the engines die down and the headlights fade to nothing. Joe and Harry breathe in tandem, eyes focused on Egan as he sits there with an empty passenger seat, staring at nothing. 

Joe counts down the seconds by the ticking of his wristwatch, each passing of the needle like the countdown of a bomb.

He counts to the sixth minute and the time bomb explodes with a small gasp that Joe does not need to be there to hear. Idly, he thinks of trees falling in forests.

Watching John Egan fall, Joe thinks, is like watching a giant sequoia being felled by explosives. It is heartbreaking, terrifying, and it sparks a kind of anger in his heart at the destruction of something so timeless and seemingly indestructible. 

It’s intrusive and personal, but the thought of something so immutable breaking down without a witness feels blasphemous. So Joe sits there, wrapped around Harry with his head bowed and he makes himself watch. He forces himself to witness the destruction of John Egan as he slumps over the steering wheel, his broad back curved and defeated, but still breathing.

How soon does a felled tree know it is dead?

“I wish I saw what happened.” Harry whispers, voice hollow. Joe feels the way Harry’s arm tightens around his waist and he turns to bury his face into dark curls, no longer have the appetite to watch the loss of another life. “I wish I could tell him what happened.” 

Joe is silent for a long while. 

He casts his thoughts to the few hours he spent walking around as a solid ghost on the grounds of Thorpe Abbotts, his body still existing among the living whilst his soul is lost over the skies of enemy territory. 

He takes the grief that was a brief, but oppressing friend to him in those scant hours into his hands and he turns it over and over. He pokes and prods at the dark ball of tar that, for a few hours, dripped messily all over his heart before Harry came back and scraped every last bit of it away. 

He imagines the black viscous thing crawling all over Egan’s heart like the sticky reaches of an eldritch creature, getting into the ventricles, clogging the arteries, and poisoning the blood system to ensure death at molecular level.

The enormity of it steals his breath.

“I wish you did, too.” Joe mumbles into the riot of curls. Without opening his eyes, Joe scoops Harry’s thighs and lays them sideways over his, manhandling Harry until they are as close as humanly possible without tumbling over the edge of the tower.

“‘No record’, was all that I had to go on with.” 

Harry makes a distressed noise. 

“I don’t know what I would have done if I knew where you went down, but at least I knew you were somewhere and not everywhere at once. It’s stupid, Harry - It’s so stupid, but,” Joe swallows, breaths coming out in shuddering gasps. He wraps his arms closer around Harry and Harry reciprocates. “But it feels better, somehow, to look at a map and know that’s the last place on earth you existed because it's not like I’d be getting a body, ain’t it.” 

Joe imagines himself living through this war. 

Ten, twenty, thirty years down the road, when he has a wife and children and grandchildren - he’ll tell them all about the love of his life Harry Crosby who he will introduce as his best friend. He’ll show them all the pictures he has of Harry, tell them stories about Harry, and then he’ll pull out maps and point out his last resting place. 

He imagines visiting an obscure German countryside in his golden years, casting his eyes up at the blue skies and telling Harry to hold on, he’s coming. 

Maybe, in that future without Harry, the world might grow kinder to folks like them and Joe wouldn’t have to pretend. Maybe, hopefully, his grandchildren can look at Harry’s pictures and see the truth as clear as day and they would understand. Maybe then his grief can speak its truth - a bereaved lover.

Joe allows himself to sink through the maybes a few seconds more before resuming his vigil.

Major Egan is sitting upright in the jeep now. He rubs his hand over his face, presses the heel of his palm to his eyes, his mouth hanging open with exaggerated breathing. They watch quietly as Egan stumbles out of the jeep and drags himself over and up into the parked fort.

The hatch closed like a period at the end of a love story. 

“We’re not gonna be like them, Joe.”

Harry’s fierce tone catches Joe off guard. He pulls away to look at Harry’s white, terrified face. He’s not looking back at Joe, but the bruises his fingers press into Joe’s side speaks louder than any gaze ever could.

“We’re gonna go home and Jean’s gonna fuss over us and then you and her are gonna sing every Friday night in our lounge, and you’re gonna tell me to shut up because it’s scaring the cats.”

Harry stops speaking as though he ran out of breath. His gaze cuts to Joe so suddenly that his heart skips a beat. He sees an ultimatum in those brown eyes, an all or nothing.

“We’re gonna make it.” 

–

Joe goes up the next day on the Munster mission, lucky snowglobe in his vest pocket, and Harry’s face is the last pretty face he sees.   

–

(for Abbie (@moghraidhs) and her ability to express 'nina, why would you?' very clearly through a single thumbs up emoji)

[nerdraging4point0]

Blood of Eden // Chapter Fourteen // Bad Omens Urban Fantasy Romance

Tropes and Tags: MM, MF, MFM, MFM, instalove, too much sex, tattooed men, polyverse, shapeshifters.

CW: 18+ only minors DNI. Urban Fantasy romance, Smut. Angst. Fluff (ish), Story includes D/S themes, mentions of blood and gore, mentions of drug use and distribution, mentions of prostitution, unprotected sex, male receiving oral sex, female receiving oral sex, cuckolding, P/A sex, P/V sex.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

Taglist(click to be added): @ladyveronikawrites @mysticdoodlez @poisongirl616 @shilohrosechicken @cookiesupplier @meliferafaerie @concreteemo @itsafullmoon @letmeadoreyoux @transparentwitchnightmare @spicywhenspeaking @somewhere-diamond @iknownothingpeople @darling-millicent-aubrey @somebodyels3 @jakeygvf21 @badomensls @dominuslunae @mountains-to-move @sundamariis @caitcoreeeee @crimson-calligraphyx @darkmxgician

As soon as Noah picked himself up from the floor he crawled into the passenger seat of the Denali, wiping the tears from his cheeks and desperately trying to scrape the blood off his knuckles. His fingers cracked each time he opened and closed his fist, his accelerated healing making quick work of the mangled hand. The denali cruised easily out of the compound trying their best not to draw suspicion, as soon as they were clear and onto the freeway Jolly pressed the accelerator to the floor. 

Noah had tried repeatedly to dial Maria or Oli, there was no answer, the phones immediately going to voicemail. He tried Nick whose phone only rang and rang with no answer. 

“I don’t like this,” he growled.

“Nothing for Maria or Oli?” Jolly’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. 

“Not even Nick.” Noah confirmed. The pair drove in silence, Noah still trying his best to reach out to Rosa, he watched billboards pass and his body swerved as Jolly weaved through traffic. Noah grew frustrated more and more by the minute, trying to reach out to an empty void. 

As Noah and Jolly approached the city exit, they were immediately struck by the eerie emptiness of the streets on what should have been a typical bustling Thursday afternoon. A palpable sense of unease crept up the back of Noah's neck, causing the fine hairs there to stand on end. Jolly, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, began to gradually slow the car's pace, his eyes scanning the deserted roads for any sign of activity or explanation for the unsettling silence.

With growing trepidation, Noah peered out the windows, his gaze darting from one abandoned sidewalk to the next, spotting only the occasional solitary pedestrian or idle vehicle - far fewer than the usual throngs of people and congestion that normally clogged the city's arteries at this time of day. "Something's off, master," Noah murmured, his words barely escaping his lips before the car lurched forward as he slammed on the brakes, causing Noah to brace himself against the dashboard.

There, standing brazenly in the middle of the street, was a figure they both recognized - Oli, his trademark leather jacket collar popped up to obscure his features, a twisted grin plastered across his face as his long, unkempt hair fell haphazardly over his eyes. 

Noah's heart raced as he scrambled out of the car, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Steading himself on his own two feet, Noah wasted no time pulling Oli into a tight embrace, relief washing over him. Jolly had quickly pulled off the side of the road, as Oli clung to Noah, his own panic evident in the way he gripped his friend's shoulders. "What are you doing? I've been calling you all day!" Noah sneered, his voice laced with a mixture of concern and frustration.

Oli's response was hurried and apologetic. "I'm sorry, my friend," he said, ushering them both off the road and towards a waiting car just down the block. "But we need to move fast. We've found a tracker in your car, and we're worried they might be closing in on you." Oli's words spurred them into action, and Noah quickly gathered their belongings, his mind racing as the trio made their way to the car, their only priority now being to get as far away from this place as possible before their pursuers caught up to them.

As they made their way slowly through the vacant streets, the group navigated their way down multiple city blocks, the homes in this part of town packed tightly together and visibly run-down. Oli led them through a creaky old chain link gate and up some dilapidated wooden stairs, finally arriving at the entrance to a weathered, aging house. "It's the safest place we could find," he said quietly, closing the door behind them as they stepped inside.

In the front room, several familiar faces were seated, all seemingly engrossed in the various tasks at hand. Jethro sat hunched over an old dining room table, a scattered array of computers, screens, and other technical equipment spread out before him. His fingers flew across the keyboards as he seamlessly shifted his attention from one monitor to the next, his salt-and-pepper hair and wire-rimmed glasses giving him an aged, experienced appearance that contrasted with his relatively youthful frame. Despite the casual nature of his slacks and button-down periwinkle blue shirt, Jethro's green eyes remained locked with laser-like focus on the screens, occasionally pushing the glasses up the bridge of his nose as he worked tirelessly, undoubtedly carrying out some critical function in this hidden refuge they had found.

Skylar sat perched on the arm of the couch, her leather boots tapping an anxious rhythm against the hardwood floor as she circled her eyes around the dimly lit room, her gaze periodically drifting to the window where she kept a watchful eye on the activity outside. Her appearance was a striking contrast - part badass and part ethereal beauty, with her black roots cropped short at the base of her skull and teal locks flowing in soft waves over one shoulder. The tense set of her jaw and the restless energy thrumming through her body betrayed the worry and uncertainty she felt in this moment.

Meanwhile, Noah caught fleeting glimpses of shadowy figures moving about at the back of the house, and soon Folio and Amber came into view, exchanging a slight nod with him before resuming their hushed, hurried work. Across the open kitchen, Maria and Mark stood in tense conference, papers and files scattered between them as they pored over the results. Suddenly, Maria's eyes flashed up, locking onto the trio by the door, and with a muttered curse, she hastily shoved the documents into Mark's hands and padded across the room, bare feet slapping against the tile. Without a word, she pulled both Jolly and Noah into a desperate embrace, her body wracked with sobs. "I'm so sorry, boys," she choked out, her voice thick with anguish. "I thought she'd be safe with him. I didn't realize..." Her words trailed off, the weight of her unspoken fears and regrets hanging heavy in the air.

“Maria, don’t worry yourself, we’ll get her back.” Jolly said, stroking his friend's hair. 

“What is all this?” Noah's eyes darted around the makeshift living quarters, taking in the hastily assembled yet functional space that served as a safe haven for his companions. "A safe house," Oli explained, his voice tinged with a mix of relief and concern. “Jethro and Mark got out a few days ago, setting up shop here before the meltdown. I barely made it out of Skytower with Maria before the Magistrate moved in. We meant to take Rosa but it was too late.”

Maria's expression grew somber as she cleared her throat, wiping away tears. "Mark and I have been pouring over every historical and scientific clue we could find, but there's been frustratingly little to go on." She paused, her gaze hardening with determination. "The best lead we have is sending Skylar on a hunting mission." Noah turned to the woman, who now stood at attention, silently awaiting his response.

Noah's brow furrowed as he processed this information, his lips pursing in a mix of worry and frustration. "How does this help me get Rosa back? What did they do to her?" he demanded, his voice rising in anguish. 

“The magistrate found the test results for the Nightshade concoction Jolly sent for analysis,” Jethro’s eyes still focused intently on his screen, gravely explained. "My guess is they're using it to harness Rosa's powers while they prepare her for trial," he said.

"Trial?" Jolly exclaimed, the shock evident in his voice. Maria nodded solemnly, revealing that Jethro had been hacking and monitoring the Magistrate's private communications. "There's been a lot of chatter about a trial at the compound in two days," she said, her words laced with a sense of dread and urgency.

Noah's heart raced as he considered the bold plan to break their friend out of custody. "So we break her out!" he shouted, the adrenaline coursing through his veins. But Oli quickly placed a calming hand on his shoulder, shaking his head. 

"Not a good idea, my friend," he cautioned, his voice low and measured. "You'd be arrested on sight if you tried something so reckless." Skylar's brow furrowed as she contemplated their predicament. 

"He's right, you know," she said, her tone level and pragmatic. "The authorities have eyes everywhere and would pounce the moment you made a move." Noah's shoulders slumped, the wind taken out of his sails, as the reality of their situation set in. But then Skylar's expression shifted, a flicker of hope kindling in her eyes.

 "But," she continued, "there may be a way - a more subtle approach that could work." 

It had been the longest, most agonizing night Noah and Jolly had ever spent away from the comfort and familiarity of their own home. As Jolly watched his beloved pet pace restlessly through the unfamiliar rooms, whimpering and scratching at the doors, his heart broke to see the animal's desperate attempts to reach their missing girl. Tears streamed down Jolly's cheeks as he witnessed the dog's futile efforts, his loyal companion clearly distressed and confused by their sudden displacement. That morning, as the first golden rays of dawn began to peek over the horizon, Jolly joined Maria, Oli, Noah, and Skylar in quietly slipping out of the nondescript safe house where they had taken shelter. Blending seamlessly into the steady flow of early commuter traffic, the group made their way further south, leaving the city limits behind as they headed into the more suburban outskirts. Though the change of scenery provided a sense of increased distance and safety, the ache of separation from their home and loved ones weighed heavily on them all.

As Skylar and Jolly strolled down the quiet, tree-lined street, they couldn't help but notice the warm, neighborly atmosphere surrounding them. Friendly strangers waved cheerfully as they passed by, their faces alight with genuine friendliness. The scene painted a picture-perfect portrait of small-town community - neighbors out and about, tending to their daily tasks like taking out the trash or walking their beloved pets. It was the quintessential image of the ideal, close-knit neighborhood.

Skylar gestured ahead, guiding Jolly's gaze towards a picturesque modern ranch-style home nestled at the street corner. The neatly manicured green lawn and meticulously maintained front porch, which wrapped nearly all the way around the house, gave the residence an inviting, well-cared-for appearance. Out front, a young girl darted about, her laughter ringing out as she chased what Jolly assumed were her older twin brothers, the siblings playfully splitting off in different directions as she tried to decide which one to pursue. The joyful, carefree scene perfectly encapsulated the charming, family-friendly vibe of the neighborhood - a place where children could safely roam and neighbors looked out for one another, fostering a warm, close-knit community atmosphere.

Jolly took a deep breath as he pulled the car over to the side of the street, parking directly across from the modest two-story house. Biting down on the inside of his cheek, he knew he was taking a risk by even being here. One by one, the rest of the group followed Jolly's lead, exiting the vehicle and gathering on the sidewalk. Jolly led the way, carefully crossing the street, hyper-aware of the three children playing in the small front yard. As soon as the group set foot on the sidewalk, the children's playtime came to an abrupt halt, all three young faces turning to regard the newcomers with curious expressions. 

"Guardians," the little girl giggled, her eyes sparkling with wonder as she pointed towards Oli and Noah, the tallest members of the group.

"Father is inside," one of the boys said, his gaze fixed intently on Jolly. Jolly gave the boy a small nod, forcing himself to continue forward up the walkway to the front door. Before he could even lift his hand to knock, the white door swung open, revealing a man just a few years older than Jolly himself. The man's brown hair was slightly receded, a small scar running between his furrowed brows, his blue eyes tired yet twinkling with a hint of warmth. The stubble on his face gave him a distinguished, almost rugged appearance, but his soft, friendly smile put Jolly and the others at ease.

 "My name is Joshua," he said in a gentle, melodic tone. "Please, come in."

[cceanvvaves]

defying fate; i.ny

(moved to isanggayfrog) warning: swearing, suggestive content

It was hard to fall in love when you were in the middle of a war.

It was even harder when the woman you fell in love with was the daughter of your father's enemy.

And worse, when so many factors forced you apart.

One, you were from warring families.

Two, you were a normal citizen, and she was a noble.

And three, she didn't harbor the same feelings.

Or so you thought.

You fought fiercely with Nayeon, fists determined to draw blood from her pretty face. Your lips were cracked and dry, your skin coated with sweat and grime. Labored panting escaped your lips, chest heaving. Heavy footsteps slammed against the battered soil as you escaped from the raging battle, Nayeon hot on your trail with an unsheathed knife clutched in her hand.

You raced through houses and flying insults from your father to hers, searching for a secluded area where you can hide.

You spotted a hill, far away enough from the two families where you could rest and catch your breath.

Climbing the hill hurriedly, you ignored the stinging pain from your cut-filled hand and shredded shirt.

Once you reached the top, you scanned the vicinity and were about to sit when a figure charged at you and pushed you down, blade pointing at your heart. Alarmed, you stretched out your arms to hold her wrists. Both of you wrestled, one desperate to cause pain and the other struggling to protect themself.  Nayeon caught you by surprise and pushed you down, swiftly resting the blade against your carotid artery.

"Hey," you rasped out. "careful, now. It's not fair that you've got a weapon and I have none."

"The world isn't fair," Nayeon spat. She straddled you as you lay defenseless on the ground, holding your hands in place above your head. She glared at you, anticipating your next move. You greedily took in her features. The stray strands of hair sticking to her damp forehead, tongue poking out in concentration, furrowed eyebrows and charming eyes staring deeply into yours. Reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear, you let your lips curve up into a slight smile.

"I give up," you sighed, relaxing your body.

Giggling, Nayeon set you free and collapsed beside you, knife rolling a safe distance away.

The moon had tucked the sun to bed, taking its place and glowing at both of your faces. The stars weren't there for company tonight, so the sky was darker than usual. You could hear the faint screams coming from the village, hoping against hope that your father didn't do anything rash.

I'm sorry I left you, but I need some time alone.

"Hey," the girl beside you whispered, running a thumb along your lower lip and wiping off the dirt. "They'll be okay."

Nayeon's eyes traveled down to your leg, where a gash in your pants exposed a bloody knee. "Oh, goodness," she panicked. "Was this me? What do I do, what do I do?"

She fumbled with the hem of her shirt, successfully ripping off some cloth and tenderly wrapping it around your injured limb. You stared at the scarlet-stained grass as she worked on you, mind working nonstop, filled with thoughts of random things.

She's cute when she's worried.

"There," she said triumphantly, grinning and showing off her characteristic teeth. You smiled back, enjoying the silence that followed.

The bunny girl broke it with a question. "If I asked you something, would you answer it truthfully?"

You hummed. "Of course."

"If you died tomorrow, would you be able to say you're satisfied?" She didn't elaborate, but you understood. Are you happy lying in your bed tonight, knowing you might not be there the next day? Would you be able to say, confidently, that you've fulfilled your heart's desire?

You thought carefully. You detected the seriousness laced in her voice, and decided to answer wholeheartedly. "I'd say yes. I've lived. I've lived a lot, actually."

"What? But you only live once!"

"You only die once," you corrected. "But yes. I can say I'm satisfied. I've experienced joy and despair. I've felt pain and comfort. I know what it's like to love and be loved."

"I wish I could say the same," Nayeon muttered.

"What do you mean?"

"I'd rather be a lover than a fighter. I've been hiding for too long, restraining myself for so long, I'm tired. I feel like a coward because I'm too scared to do what I most want to."

"Then do it," you said simply.

"It's not that easy."

"Still. Do it."

"Why?"

"Because if you died tomorrow, then you'd be sad." You two were touching shoulders now. Nayeon scooted even closer, her breath tickling your nose. Her eyes silently asked for permission. You tilted your head as a sign of approval, and she leaned in, claiming your lips with hers.

Your lips fit together with a perfect rhythm. Soft and slow, innocent, even. She pulled back after a quick second, making sure you were okay with it before diving in again. 

You met her eagerly half-way, crashing your lips harshly onto hers into a wet kiss. She moved to hover over you, trapping you in between her legs and desperate for your attention. It was no longer a chaste kiss. Your cold hands slithered under her shirt and traced patterns on her soft skin, causing her to gasp. Her hands found their way to the back of your neck, playing with your hair.

You could feel the way she shivered underneath your touch, your hands roaming and exploring every part of her body as your tongue darted out to tease. A quiet moan escaped her mouth and made you grip her waist firmly.

Her scent was the only thing entering your nostrils, intoxicating you and making you greedy for more. Her warmth was in contrast to the soft breeze that came. Your ears were filled with the soft noises of pleasure Nayeon made.

You broke it for a moment to catch your breath and went back, feeling the atmosphere get hotter and the tension between the two of you get thicker. Your mind was clouded with bliss and euphoria, finally doing something you've been dreaming of for so long.

Your hands slid down to rest on her thighs, her fingers accidentally tugging at your hair, prompting you to let out a soft gasp. You stopped, but only to trail kisses along Nayeon's throat, making her breath hitch and let out a whine, grabbing your shoulders desperately. "Fuck, don't stop," she breathed.

Reaching a certain spot, you gently bit down, releasing another moan from the girl on top of you. You pulled away to hold eye contact with her. Seeing the disappointment and betrayal in her eyes, you smirked. "Let's take this somewhere more private, shall we?"

[sl-newsie]

Behind Masks (Dr. Jonathon Crane x OC) Ch. 1: Introductions

“You can’t keep me here! I demand a lawyer! I am an associate of the Hell’s Gate Psychiatric Institution and will not tolerate this denial of justice!”

The security guard bangs his baton against the bars again. “Quiet, Prentiss! You’re lucky you get your own cell. Or would you rather have to share?”

My gaze throws daggers. “I’ll have you know that I am perfectly sane and do not belong in this asylum. I will not cooperate until I speak to a lawyer.”

“That’s too bad,” the guard taunts. “‘Cause I got strict orders not to allow you any visitors.”

I gawk at his idiotic face. “On whose authority?”

“You’ll meet him once his current session is over,” he says as he walks down the hall away from my cell. "I think it’s with Croc if I’m not mistaken.”

Croc? As in Killer Croc? God, why didn’t I just play the game? Why did I have to go beyond my jurisdiction? I already knew Gotham was a rigged and twisted system the second I got here. I’ve gone from a respected psychiatrist to the very type of person I’m supposed to be above. Now all I have to my name is an orange jumpsuit, a pair of cheap sneakers, a toothbrush, and a small copy of the Bible. 

How long have I been waiting? There’s no clock, no windows. No clue to anything happening outside. All I see are beige hallways spanned into a webbed labyrinth that’s meant to keep patients from escaping. Keep me from escaping.

Thud-thud. Thud-thud.

Muffled footsteps echo down through the hall, potentially signaling my approaching contact. At first my heart soars at the hope of finally talking to someone in authority who can get me out; yet as the footsteps grow louder there’s something about them that sends a chill down my spine. It can’t be him. God, I hope it’s not him-

It’s him.

I’ve heard rumors of the dark secrets that go on at Arkham. Crackheads slicing open arteries, schizophrenics keeping doctors up for days on end. One that always highlights itself above the rest is the Scarecrow. And he just opened my cell door.

What I notice first is the eyes. Cold, icy-blue eyes so full of curiosity yet still impassive. Those cold and calculating eyes stare straight through and scan me. It’s a silent battle of how hard his stare can press until I break. I also see how he’s managed to keep his job. One might say he’s handsome but I know better. Just because you were a clean suit does not mean your soul is spotless. He may be able to charm his way into Arkham but I’ll never give in.

“Good afternoon, Ms…?”

The voice doesn’t help either. He does it well. Calm, soft, and smooth. Typical therapist nonsense I see in my line of work every day. Let’s see if I can win this game.

“You should have access to my file, sir. Introductions should not be necessary.”

The man’s eyebrows raise in response to my equally calm tone. Keep the voice calm, keep the eyes alert. I need to discreetly establish dominance in this conversation in order to gain leverage.

“I do have your file. But I prefer personal introductions with my patients.” The man sets a briefcase on the nearby table and takes a seat, then gestures for me to join him. “No need to hide. I’m here to help.”

Straight to the point I see. No use trying to beat around the bush. I step away from the corner I’m leaning against but refuse to sit down.

“There was a mistake.”

The man frowns and pulls out a pad to start taking notes. “What do you mean?”

He wants me to talk, so I will. “I mean I’m not supposed to be here. Someone paid off the judge to have me locked up, and the judge has had it out for me ever since I dug up his affair with the mayor’s wife.”

This intrigues the therapist as he jots down more notes, still looking up to keep his eyes piercing into me. “Are you a reporter?”

“Far from it. I am- was a psychiatrist in Metropolis. I was called to Gotham to help the mayor’s son. No one else was willing to work here.”

“And you are?” He asks with slight surprise though he tries to hide it.

“Metropolis can only take my curiosity so far,” I mutter. “Gotham is unique.”

More scribbling. I must say he’s much more organized than other professionals I’ve worked with. All the more reason to be concerned with the outcome of this conversation.

“I’m going to ask you some questions to start forming your profile.” Crane turns over an hourglass and clicks his pen open.

Basic protocol. There’s no way I’m giving him everything. Thankfully I’ve learned to avoid the telltale signs of lying.

“Full name?”

“Calico Marie Prentiss.”

“Pretty. Family name, I presume?”

Trying to soften me up and dig into my family history. “My father likes unique names, my mother prefers traditional ones. So they compromised.” Use present tense.

“How is your relationship with your family?” the man asks softly.

He has my family history. My job required me to keep an updated profile on personal matters to validate my own mental health. In other words just an excuse for the bored guys at the top to snoop.

“Currently undecided.” They’re dead. What else am I supposed to say?

“Ms. Prentiss, your parents-”

“With all due respect, sir, can we move things along and save that topic for later?” Just get to the part when I can get out of here!

My stern request doesn’t seem to faze the man. “Do you have supportive people in your life?”

Trying to bring me down by addressing empathy links. “People, no. I have other methods of support. And before you ask, I have never done drugs.”

He nods. “Current relationship status?”

This trips my mind a bit. Must be a new questionnaire protocol? 

“Single,” I enunciate in a cold voice.

“Interesting…” More scribbling. Jesus, is he writing a book about me? “Normally people like you are either engaged, married, or divorced. Very rarely do I see any single psychiatrists. Attractive, smart, rich. Very appealing characteristics for a relationship, don’t you think?”

Hm. He asked a question that isn’t based on my profile. Is this for genuine curiosity or a topic of interest for him? After a few seconds of silence go by he continues.

“Your toxicology screening came back clean, as you mentioned before. How many partners have you encountered?”

The question rings in my ear and for an instant my mask slips, but I’m quick to recover.

“None.”

Once again the therapist is surprised. “Catholic, are we?”

“I have my morals. I’m too busy to be worrying about sex, sir. My job comes first.”

More scribbling. God, how much longer?

“Are you having suicidal thoughts right now, or have you had suicidal thoughts within the past month?”

If this questioning goes any longer I may consider it.

“No.”

“Are you having homicidal thoughts, or have you had homicidal thoughts in the past month?”

“Never.”

“How do you cope with stress?”

“Exercise and hard rock. You should try it sometime.” I’m starting to lose my patience and I have to take a slow breath. This is just what he wants. Calm down.

The man hums. “What are some of your strengths?”

“I’m punctual and have a traditional mindset. This tends to drive away disagreeing parties, which is why I’m here.” I step closer and place my hands on the table to face him directly. “You are a head staff member here whether it’s morally correct or not. All I ask is to please allow me to speak to a lawyer, or at least a transfer to Gotham Penitentiary. I am not insane.”

“Morally correct…” he lingers on the thought and tilts his head. “Why would you say that, Ms. Prentiss?”

Just as I thought before, no use beating around the bush.

“I know who you are. Jonathan Crane, a former professor of psychology who’s obsessed with fear. Now you work here experimenting on patients behind the warden’s back.”

Crane’s eyes spark at the mention of fear. Must be a trigger word, perhaps for old memories. “Are you sure you’re not a reporter?” he asks, still in the same soft tone.

I shake my head. “Just a woman who’s not afraid to step on any toes.”

“Ah.” Crane stands up slowly and rummages through his briefcase. After tucking away his notes he looks up with a look that makes my blood run cold. 

“Would you like to see my mask?”

[salstray]

Keegan P. Russ x fem!Reader - Guardian Angel - part 3 3rd person pov warnings: blood, guns, knife wounds 1.8k words

--

~The Meet Cute~

Part 1 = Part 2

--

No one was invincible. 

Keegan was always careful to remember that. It didn’t matter how much training you had, how many years you’d been at it, and sometimes it didn’t even matter how careful you were. Sometimes it was just sheer luck that got you where you were. 

In this case, it was bad luck.

It wasn’t life threatening. A knife wound on his thigh, a few inches off from his artery, but leaking blood like it didn’t matter. Like it wanted to kill him or, at the very least, leave a crystal clear trail of crimson in the snow. A perfect path for every Fed soldier combing the mountain side to use like birds following breadcrumbs.

It wasn’t life threatening. Not in the traditional sense at least, but he was alone out here. Alone, unlucky, and outnumbered. 

He needed to move. To push himself away from the tree against his shoulder and head deeper into the frozen underbrush. Hide himself somewhere low and quiet where he could deal with his leg and wait for the all clear from Merrick, but it wouldn’t matter where he hid, how well he covered his boot tracks, if the blood was still dripping from his heel with every step. 

The not so distant sounds of Spanish reached his ears and he resisted the urge to swear into the open. They were too close. Too damn close for him to do anything. 

Keegan crouched low, wincing silently at the pull of flesh at the edges of his wound. The warm gush of his blood squeezing out of his veins made an unpleasant shudder roll up his spine, but he took a deep breath and raised his gun instead of dwelling on it. Getting hurt was never fun, yet it was still part of the job. 

He put his scope up to his eye, slowly scanning it back and forth, spotting the shifting of his enemies and their snow-colored camo through the trunks of the surrounding pines. Keegan counted six men and pressed his lips together under his mask. They way they were spread out? He’d get two… maybe three before the others clocked his position and pinned him behind his meager cover. Even so, just because he counted six didn’t mean there weren’t more. Fuck knows there had been more in the convoy he’d been following-

Keegan almost jumped right out of his skin at the feeling of warm, soft fingertips barely brushing against the nape of his neck. The only sliver of flesh he showed besides the painted space around his eyes and the newly exposed tear in his own white and gray patterned cargo pants. 

He whipped around, gun barrel at the ready, sweeping it from side to side into the empty air behind him, panting at the sudden rush of adrenaline and the surge of fear that pulsed through him. 

Suddenly, something snapped. Loud and echoing, on the other side of the enemy, the opposite side of the forest from where he was hiding. Distant. Distracting. Sending them off shouting, weapons ready, crashing through the dormant shrubs and low hanging branches like hunting hounds after a fox. Keegan turned back to watch them, noting in his mind as his heart steadied again that he now counted eleven men tromping their way through the snow. 

He was touched again, feather-light, warm against his frigid skin, and Keegan flinched. 

“Easy,” that voice called, making him freeze all at once. “Let me help.” 

The hand at his scruff gently slid to his shoulder, but before it could settle there, before the other hand could slide past him to rest on his thigh and heal the wound that was still dripping onto the snow, Keegan stood and turned. 

His gun was up, the hot end pointed directly into a pair of shimmering eyes. Wide and worried, but not at all afraid and not even slightly surprised. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Keegan growled, low and quiet, well aware of the fact that he was still in enemy territory. Still close to a lot of people that wanted him dead. 

“Your leg-” 

“Answer me or I will shoot you.” 

It was a woman. Shorter than him, softer than him. Not even dressed for the weather… no vest, no radio, no flag to show her loyalty to one side or the other. Just… clothes. She wasn’t even shivering and the mountain was nearly below freezing at this time of year. His brow pinched ever so slightly and his eyes narrowed harshly as he took her in. Watched her stand there, her hands slightly raised in surrender, her flickering eyes dancing between his own and the place he’d been stabbed. 

When she spoke to him again, it was a name. Her name. Then a small smile curled at her lips and Keegan’s heart did something… funny at the sight of it. Something he didn’t exactly like that it was doing. 

“What are you doing out here?” He hissed, keeping his gun level with the tip of her nose. “Where did you come from?” Keegan’s eyes barely moved. Barely glanced at the fresh, unbothered snow behind her. It was pushed up around her shoes, bunched up at her ankles and near her calves, but there was no trail behind her that suggested she’d walked up to him. It looked more like she’d just… appeared where she stood.

“I want to help you.” 

“How?”

Her eyes, still bright with emotion, fell back to his thigh. “You’re bleeding.”

“Not the first time,” he grunted.

She huffed, her smile twitching up on one side. “Not the last either, I’m sure, but I’ll be there for you then too. Like I was up in that sniper nest… remember? The house on the hill?” Keegan’s jaw shifted under his mask, the rough, aged fabric rubbing uncomfortably against the stubble that grew there. 

It had been four months since that day. Since he’d been shot, nearly killed, yet got up and walked off like it had never happened. He dreamed about that night. Constantly. Vividly. A picture perfect reenactment his unconscious mind gave him to analyze over and over and over again. A situation that he’d still not come to terms with. Something he still couldn’t rationalize in any way that made sense.

“You…,” he muttered, voice barely more than a rough, ragged whisper. “...that was you.” 

She beamed at him, her smile full and bright and… beautiful.

“Yeah. That was me.” She clasped her hands behind her back. Again, her gaze fell to his leg. “Will you let me do it again?”

“M’ not dying this time.” 

“Don’t need to be dying for me to help,” she stated. “Just need to be hurt.” Then she looked right down the barrel of his rifle and Keegan, for some fucking reason, felt himself flush under all the paint. Slowly, he let it fall back down towards the ground, the butt of it sliding loose from the nest of his shoulder. 

“Right.” Maybe it was stupid, maybe she was some Fed assassin that had come down from the trees or something, but he took his eyes off of her. Turned to look the way his known enemies had gone, making sure they were still running off after their red herring, then turned to face her again, nodding once. 

He was tense when she took a trudging step forward. Had his fingers tight against the icy metal of his gun, all his muscles wound up and at the ready, should he need them. 

She didn’t attack him, however. Didn’t pull out a knife and gut him where he stood. Just reached forward with one hand, splaying her fingers across the now ruby red fabric, her palm pressing into the gore with a silent squelch that made him press his lips together under the mask. His eyes flickered down to the contact, then back to her face and he decided all at once that he didn’t like the way blood looked on her skin, but he did like the look of concentration that twisted her features. It was… cute.

Keegan almost had to shake his head to dislodge the thought from his mind. Now was not the time.

He’d already felt the warmth of her hand through his layers. She wasn’t even touching him skin to skin, but he could feel it through everything. Feel the way it poured into his bones, into the twitching skin as it slowly sewed itself back together. The chill of drying blood vanished too and Keegan’s eyes widened a touch as it faded from his white camo. First a bright sort of vermilion, then a rapidly vanishing pink, then back to the broken pattern of gray, white, and black that hid him in the mountains and the forest. 

When his eyes met hers she was smiling again and he felt the absolutely traitorous pull of a matching gesture at the right side of his lips.

He’d never been more thankful for the mask. 

“There. All better.” 

“What are you?” he breathed, blinking a few times as his thoughts caught up to him. As the reality of what had just happened was finally carved permanently into the wrinkles of his brain. 

“Just someone that wants to keep you safe,” she answered simply. She took a step back, her feet planted back into her original prints and bent to the side to look past his arm, out towards the trees. “You shouldn’t stay here. The Federation is still too close.” 

As if on queue, the low growl of Merrick’s voice filtered through the static of his radio and Keegan jolted as it sounded in his ear.

“Keegan! Time’s up, Hesh’ll be waitin’ for ya by the river mouth. Haul ass, Feds aren’t happy and they know we’re here!”

The motion he made to reach up and respond was second nature at this point. “Copy,” he rasped, eyes still locked on the strange, pretty thing in front of him. When his glove settled back on his weapon, he spoke again. To her. “When am I gonna see you again?” 

She shrugged. “Depends on when you get hurt again.” 

What if I wanna see you outside of that? He had so many questions he wanted to ask. So many things he didn’t understand about her and why she was even here. To help him, sure. She’d said that point blank, but why him? Why not any of the other Ghosts? Why not any other soldier out there, fighting to take back their home? 

Keegan didn’t voice any of them, though. He simply grunted, adjusted his hold on his rifle, and glanced over his shoulder, back out over the snow. 

And when he turned to give her some sort of goodbye, he found only fluttering snow and frosty wind in front of him. Along with two deep pits where she once stood. The only evidence that he hadn’t, in fact, lost his mind up on that hill, in that house. 

So, instead of speaking, he sighed. Heavily. 

Then turned and bent at the knee, gun barrel raised and eyes sharp.

--

[ishtadawnstar]

Introductions

As Astarion scanned the dense forest, every rustle of leaves and distant animal call set his nerves on edge. The dread of Cazador's wrath was a shadow that loomed over him, a dark cloud that tainted even the brightest moments.

The thought of those harsh, cruel eyes finding him again, of the chains and torment he had barely escaped, was enough to make his blood run cold - as cold as the steel he suddenly felt being pressed against his neck.

Astarion froze, his breath hitching and heart pounding as a dagger slid past his face, the sharp edge dancing lightly across the skin under his chin.

His pulse thundered in his ears, and he held his breath, painfully aware that even the slightest flinch could result in his carotid artery being sliced open. The sensation was a chilling reminder of how close death always was.

"Now this is how you threaten someone..." a voice purred menacingly.

His eyes widened as he recognized the voice. How in the hells did she sneak up on me so quietly?

The fear was quickly replaced by a wave of embarrassment and anger. Swallowing nervously, Astarion slowly raised his hands, palms out to show he held no weapon.

Trying to appear much calmer than he felt, he forced a cheerful tone. "Hello again. Still alive, I see."

"How observant. Yes, not much has really changed within the past half hour... including your position, it would seem," Ishta replied, a hint of amusement in her voice. He could detect a faint trace of mockery, and he felt his anger rising again, his pride stung by her nonchalance.

The sensation of cold metal against his neck abruptly disappeared, accompanied by the sound of a dagger being sheathed.

Springing up, Astarion spun around and reached for his own dagger, only to find, to his dismay, that it was gone. Looking at the Ranger, he saw her holding it up and examining the blade, turning it around to catch the light. She glanced at him with laughing eyes, and he clenched his fists angrily.

"What do you want?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous, eyes narrowing into slits.

"Well, first of all, this edge is a mess. Needs a good sharpening," Ishta remarked, tossing the dagger back to him. He deftly caught it in mid-air by the hilt and looked at her with a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

Folding her arms, the Ranger quietly observed him as he returned the blade to the sheath on his belt, his movements stiff and controlled.

"Is that all you came back to say?" Astarion asked testily, his patience wearing thin, his usual charm stripped away by the tension and humiliation of the encounter.

Ishta shook her head and smiled slyly. "No. I came back to test a theory."

Astarion stiffened slightly, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Surely she can't already suspect I'm a Vampire... The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

"And what theory might that be?" he inquired casually, striving to keep his tone light and unconcerned.

"That you won't survive for long out here without help. If I could sneak up on you that easily without even trying, then I guarantee the predators of this forest are going to be eating gourmet tonight," Ishta grinned, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of mischief and mild concern.

Her words struck a chord, and Astarion felt a pang of vulnerability as he reflected on the harsh reality of his situation. He'd been so caught up in his own thoughts that he'd allowed this damned Ranger to get close enough to lay a blade on him.

Either she was extremely stealthy, or he was getting sloppy. Neither explanation was very encouraging, but maybe there was still a chance to turn things around. She must have sought him out for a reason, unless she just enjoyed toying with people....

The Ranger's tone became more serious as she continued, "Look, the wilds can be a pretty dangerous place for someone on their own even at the best of times. Add to that, roaming Intellect Devourers, Mindflayers, and definitely Goblin raiders, and well... I think it would be best if you joined me and my companion after all."

Astarion could feel his pride warring with the stark truth in her words. He was no fool - he knew that his chances alone were slim. But to accept her offer would be to acknowledge his weakness, to admit he needed help, and that was a bitter pill to swallow.

He took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing as he studied Ishta. Her confident stance and the way her eyes constantly flicked from his face to their surroundings indicated she was fully alert and taking in every detail around them.

She wasn't wrong about the dangers; the forest was more than likely teeming with threats, and he was far from his best while starving as he was.

If her fighting skills matched her calm confidence, then Astarion knew he'd be a fool to pass up an opportunity to ally himself with her - as much as he hated to admit it.

"I was ready to go this alone, but maybe sticking with the herd isn't a bad idea. Safety in numbers, after all," he said slowly, each word feeling like a concession. "And anyone that can crash a Mindflayer ship and walk away unscathed seems like a good person to know. All right, I accept. Lead on."

First impressions are so important, and Ishta has certainly made an... interesting one on Astarion. If you like this excerpt from my story and want to read more the click on one of the links below.

And to clear up some confusion, the Vampire lore in my story is a bit different from recognised D&D lore. (Mainly because from a writing standpoint, its extremely limiting and fustrating to describe the emotions of a character without the heartbeat and breath as indicators.) They have a heartbeat, but it is usually at 1bpm when calm, which prevents blood loss from injuries etc. However the more emotional they get, the closer to standard mortal levels their heartbeat becomes and the more dangerous it is for them to be injured.

Breathing is a bit more complicated; they can and do breathe, but they can hold their breath for an impressive amount of time and it won't kill them if they are suffocated in some way. They just fall unconscious and exist in a sort of hibernation until their bodies sense breathable air again.

https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/369105372-ishta-blood-huntress

[deaniewithalittleweanie]

The American health care system is such a fucking sham

You can be incredibly well off and have every resource available to you and still almost get killed

Basically OVER A YEAR AGO my dad got a blood test back that showed very high calcium. Dr says this could be a sign of heart disease. He wants a heart catheter.

Nope. Insurance denies it

GRANTED!!!! My dad started his own company in 2016 and is a successful business owner. Money is not an issue (well. It is an issue for the heart cath because that got quoted as $10k+ and yes he is well off but also not that well off). He has great insurance. They still denied his doctor’s request.

So then they make him do a stress test. That’s booked several months out. Shows minor irregularities but nothing serious. Major roadblock.

Months later Doctor tries again and insurance denies the heart cath. They say he can get a CT scan. It’s booked for months in advance.

That of course shows nothing because I’m not sure if you know this but CT scans are dogshit at showing heart blockages.

So they request the heart cath again and FINALLY it gets approved. It’s 4 months away.

THEN in August he almost bleeds to death from GI bleeding and lands himself in the hospital for a week. Heart cath was supposed to happen that week. It gets pushed to a week ago.

So Monday comes and they’re hoping to go in, find the blockages, and if they do they’ll put in some stents no biggie.

WRONG.

All five major arteries in his heart are 95% blocked. Yes including the widowmaker. Basically the only reason my father didn’t die of a massive heart attack before this is because he has end-stage liver disease and has no goddamn platelets so he isn’t able to throw a clot big enough to be a problem even with that little space!!

Yeah so that was a week ago. He got transferred to a big cardiac unit an hour from home. This morning he went under for surgery and got QUADRUPLE bypass. Everything went well so hopefully he’s able to recover smoothly.

I just can’t help but feel so angry because if the system is failing him, someone with more resources and money than most, THEN WHAT THE FUCK ARE OTHER PEOPLE SUPPOSED TO DO???

Like genuinely how. What is the point of the medical system if it just lets people die. Had my dad not also conveniently had liver issues, he would have had a heart attack and died before now. Point blank.

I hate this country so goddamn much.

[mandana-the-service-pup]

Just got home from my Cardiology apt about these heart episodes I’m having.

Checking for anemia, thyroid and CT scan for calcium deposits and artery size.

I’m not happy with how I was treated like a mentally ill patient despite having no anxiety/depression/etc but at least they’re doing some tests.

If nothing shows up then I think I’m done with Cardiology. I can start Methotrexate and focus on GI stuff next.