#I need to go back in two days for an MRI because they still don’t know what’s wrong with me which is less nice

[komunyoung]

I’m home after my overnight stay at the hospital and I feel like all of the fatigue has caught up with me at once.

[i-loved-silly]

(PART 2) - WOLVERINE x READER x DEADPOOL — fuckup twinsies

dp&w spoilers!! + slight gore description --- part 1

Okay, recap.

Your perfect little day in dimension-travel-jail was interrupted. You almost got knocked out by two muscular men who came down from the sky like little drunk angels, who in turn happened to be famous characters. You don't know how you didn't realize earlier, guess timeline hopping also slowly melts your brain. You should really get an MRI exam sometime.

You almost passed out again when you realized you were chest-to-chest with Deadpool. Wade Wilson. Heart to heart. Body to body. Tip to tip, if that applies to you.

"You're real. I'm real. We're real." You deadpanned, stars almost twinkling in your eyes. No, maybe it wasn't the first time you've met a Deadpool. But this guy? He was the real deal. The original. How the hell did an original end up here?

"Pfft, you thought we were just drawings on paper? Two of the world's sexiest men in skintight costumes? Wrong. We're the real deal here, friendo. Can I call you that? Or will you try to kill me? You know I really didn't mean to crash into you I rea--"

"Alright, listen here. Wade, shut up. You," Logan pointed a finger at him then at you, still being embraced by Wade. "Do you understand any of the...nonsense he's talking about? Because I don't, and I don't. Have. Time for this. It's either you help me get out of here or get out of my way."

"Woah woah woah, since when did that 'we' turn into 'me'?" Wade reluctantly let go of you to walk up to Logan, his hands landing on his hips. "You're not the only one trapped here, you know, we're kind of all in the same boat here. We all fucked up our lives and it was definitely our fault bu--ACK"

You gasped, watching in horror as three silver claws stabbed straight through Wade's torso and out his back. Logan stalked closer, his scowl deepening. "Come again?" He taunted, his teeth grinding. Before Wade could get a word out, Logan turned his hand, twisting the blades inside of him.

"G-owww, FUCK. God, I swear this happened differently in another universe. Somehow hurts more this ti--" Logan stopped him again and began lifting him up in the air. By the torso. With his claws inside, being the only thing holding him up.

Your eyes widened, "Hey, guys stop that! Logan!"  You yelled, taking a step forward, your hands held up in the air defensively.

Logan briefly glanced in your direction and grunted, tossing Wade to the side. “Move aside, bub. We need to settle some things.” Then he…lunged at Wade. They just started fucking fighting each other.

You backed up, watching everything go down. This could not be real. “I thought…you guys wanted out?” You muttered, your voice barely heard over their grunting and blades clashing.

“You know it’s true, so--argh, no hard feelings, right? Plus, I forgive you Wolvie.”

“I don’t give a damn about what you think, Wade. It’s all your fucking fault I was dragged into this. I was doing just fine without yo—“

“Just fine? You call spending all your days at bars and drinking all their supply just fine? While your life crumbles around you like a house of cards. If we were really on the TVA's watchlist, maybe they should've just sent us all to anger management sessions, huh?"

“Stop fighting!” You shouted in a voice heavy with irritation, grabbing a clump of sand from the ground and hurling it in their direction.

Logan, reacting instinctively, closed his eyes and shoved Wade aside, now choking and coughing violently. “What the hell?”

Simultaneously, Wade spun to face away, retching into the sand. “Oh god it’s inside of my mask. It’s in my face hole—“

Logan regained himself quicker than Wade, to where he immediately brushed aside the sand on his face and stomped towards you. You took a step back, by the sight of his fists clenched and white knuckles you swore he was about to beat you. “Waitwaitwait! I don’t have healing factor!” You rambled and held your hands out.

He paused in his tracks, his jaw visibly clenching as he tried to control his anger. Yeah, maybe he was used to taking out his frustrations on himself and now..Deadpool. But he couldn’t do that to you. You’re not even involved in whatever shit they got themselves into. You didn't deserve to get roped in their..mess, whatever it was. He let out an annoyed breath and swiveled away, seething internally. "I wasn't going to hurt you."

You slowly put your hands down, then looked around to see Wade still rolling on the floor. Upon hearing Logan, he snapped his head towards you both, the eyes of his mask widening. Before he could even get a little, tiny, miniscule word out, you spoke.

"ANYWAY...ehm..you both want out, yes? This is all one big mistake? I could help you. I've survived out here this long without being brutally killed." You forced a grin, facing the two. They blinked.

"Killed? What..who is in charge of killing here?" Logan narrowed his eyes.

Wade stood up to his feet, popping his wrist back into place. "There's--" His face under his mask soured, god he could still feel the sand particles crunching around between his teeth.

"ugh, there's others around? What kind of crazies would wanna live here?" He raised his arms, gesturing the vastness of this dystopian desert. Camera pans out, there's an echo to his voice, a tumbleweed passes by, you know what i mean

You scoffed, still very much salty about your own situation even though it's been years. "It's not like it was a choice. The only person could who take us out is Cassandra Nova, and she does not use her powers for that. She's basically with the freaking TVA, from what I know."

A singular laugh escaped Logan, his lips turning up in a knowing smirk, "Really now? How bad could she be?"

"Uh..let's see..multiple counts of murder, enslavement, power abuse, she's sadistic, evil, has a whole paragraph worth of powers. Unstoppable, basically?" You shrugged.

"I think we could get along."

"No, Wade."

"How do we get to her?" Logan crossed his arms. Perhaps he was the only one taking this seriously. You had gotten used to it already, but you too remembered how badly you wanted to leave this place at first.

"You two seem in a rush. "

"Yeah, well we're in a rush because I've got a whole-ass timeline to save, not to mention I also made a pinky swear to this guy over here. I promised the gruff-beard that I'd help him clean up his messy timeline, like a stain of last nights left ove-"

"Got it!" You exclaimed, interrupting him. "But uh, is that even possible? To..fix your guys' timelines, I mean."

"It better be," Logan glared at Wade. "Because otherwise, I'm going to tear you apart." He sneered, really making his point by leaning closer to him. These guys need to kiss already.

You nervously smiled. If another fight starts, you swear you were going to start ripping your own face off. "Okay! I know someone, guys! We'll all help eachother out, he's real nice, which means you probably won't like him--but he'll help! Follow me."

Oh, you knew someone alright. He was the most suburban-canadian guy you knew.

Lot's of dialogue in this, oops. This fic is kinda going off the plot of the movie, so I'm sure you know who you'll meet next! Leave ideas in the comments if you have any, since this fic is very freestyle and let me now...should i include the car scene we all wanted or too soon? GOODBYE! taglist <3 : @pink-jello-fish @radiantdanvers @superlegend216 @salted-snailz @wolfsune09 @jxssimae @remuslupinsfavoritebook @flannelforthetoads @rowanlovesmoonknight @bengewatch @i-shall-be-the-possum1 @kyriekurokami @marymustdie @tzurue @euinein @sophiemajokie @itsrainingtodayyy

[comphetkoncass]

little fic about tim's love language being contingency plans

////

The thing is, Tim has a way of attacking Kon’s problems like a puzzle. Like a riddle, waiting to be solved. 

Tim’s plans also don’t involve much feeling, usually, even if the issue is purely an emotional one. While Tim is decent at listening and empathizing, at a certain point he always gets his Robin face on. A signal that, while he’s still certainly listening, there’s a chemical reaction in his brain, completely out of his control, that activates his detective skills. His problem-solving skills. 

It has taken Kon a combined two lifetimes, four years, five collective identities, and two–maybe three?–timelines, but Kon has finally gotten Tim to at least ask before starting to strategize. But lately, Tim has undergone some personal growth, and Kon is starting to wonder if, perhaps, he has learned to not even ask. To instead, politely wait for a signal – a sign, an invitation, even– that said advice is actually wanted. 

Kon would like to take the credit for training him, he really would. But he has a feeling he’s only one of many factors. 

Today, Kon is sitting face-down on Tim’s bed. Krypto sits on top of Kon’s back, the world’s most powerful emotional support dog pinning him in place. Preventing him, more like, from leaving before he's gotten all his complicated, messy, unwanted feelings out. Also preventing him from looking up at his boyfriend before Kon is done feelings-dumping, because otherwise Kon just won't finish talking, and it will go unsaid.

So Kon can’t see it; he can't see the detective face for himself. Can’t verify, for sure, absolutely, 100%, that TIm’s detective face is on. 

But he knows it’s there. 

He’s just spent half an hour talking about his latest identity crisis. Of course Tim’s detective face is on. It’s probably been on since minute two. 

However, Tim is also running his fingers through Kon’s hair, and making the occasional appropriate comment, always generous and rational and kind, always active listening, and– listen, Kon isn’t immune to the soft victim support voice. He’s definitely not immune to the Robin leader voice, but the softer, empathetic, gentle one Tim uses with people who need help? And when it bleeds in so subtly into his regular speaking voice that it’s not immediately obvious that’s where he pulling it from? 

Incredible. Show-stopping. Kon could listen to it all day, if he wasn’t the one monopolizing the conversation by info-dumping all his problems. 

Finally though, he finishes the garbled, soft, self-deprecating speech about how he’ll never be completely free of Lex’s braingook (yes, that is the scientific name for it, thank-you-very-much) and how that means he’s always going to have a chip on his shoulder until Lex dies and even then Kon’s going to have to worry about some secret chip in his brain that transfers Lex’s consciousness to his or what-the-fuck-ever. 

He can hear the comment Tim wants to make. The unspoken, soft little, 'You know, we could probably test you for that... A chip would definitely show up on an MRI...'

Instead, Tim only pauses the briefest, softest moment. “...That must be really stressful for you, worrying about that.” 

Kon looks up, just a little. Sees Tim’s best poker face. 

Then sighs, and bids the victim comfort voice goodbye. “Okay, I give in,” he says, and moves to cross his arms in Tim’s lap instead. Krypto lets out an annoyed little huff at being jostled from Kon's back, but he soon hops off Kon’s back and moves to lay at his side instead. Kon rubs him behind the ears, Krypto butts his head against his hand, and all is well again. “C’mon, out with it.”

“Hm? Out with what?” Tim asks, still in the same plaintive tone. “What do you mean?” 

“Relax, you can stop the sympathy. I know you want to start strategizing how to solve all my problems,” Kon says, and leans up in what he hopes is a very kissable position, because he really wants one. “You’ve suffered enough, I know you’ve already thought through eighteen different plans.” 

Tim lets out a shuddering breath, immediately sagging his shoulders. “Thank you,” he says, sounding exhausted. Distracted, and clearly already thinking of how to phrase his plans, he meets Kon halfway for a kiss. It's even a proper kiss, soft and sweet, and it really does make Kon feel better. Then, to his surprise, Tim also presses a more tender one just between his brows. “I really do empathize, though. Just so you know. This isn’t me not empathizing. But I mean, if you're giving me explicit permission it's not like I haven't been starting to think about how we could test for these and help you stop worrying about them-” 

Kon shakes his head, fond and sweet. “I know. Your love language is solving people’s problems for them, I've accepted this about you."

Tim looks the tiniest bit offended. "I- that's not a love language."

"It is for you," Kon says. Then, he grins, looking up at his boyfriend through his lashes. "So come on. If it's your love language... Show me you love me.” 

Tim’s cheeks bloom red. But he smiles instead of shying away, then runs his fingers through Kon’s hair again, gentle and sweet. “Get comfortable then, because I’ve got a lot of- love to show. To finish the metaphor, I mean. There’s only five so far, but number three is kind of complicated, you're going to want to take notes, but I could summarize it again for you afterwards, when you're less cozy-”

Yeah, Kon thinks. There’s no denying how much Tim loves him. He might be a strategist at heart, but Tim also wouldn’t make immediate contingency plans for just anyone, either. 

Kon curls up on Tim’s lap soon after, with Krypto snuggled up onto his chest. As long as Tim keeps stroking his hair, Kon doesn’t mind the clinical approach to his problems. It’s nice to have a boyfriend who can both meet him where he’s at, and say what he really feels. Even nicer, he thinks, to know that it’s all coming from a place of genuine affection. 

[idontplaytrack]

✧ “you’re a softie.”

Rosa Diaz x teen daughter! reader

warnings: mentions/descriptions of anxiety, medical gaslighting, chronic pain & illness

in which, rosa gets a call from reader’s school that she hates to receive.

part 2 here!

rosa’s always been a private person, you knew her reasons for not telling her friends about you. however, it wasn’t exactly like it ever came up after all the (very limited) knowledge they had about your mother. but of course, one person on the 99th precinct squad was the exception- captain holt.

the day was going by as per usual, until diaz abruptly went onto the terrace to answer a phone call. the noise startles the relatively quiet bullpen, but they resumed their respective work tasks. “what’s going on with rosa?”

“hm?” amy asks, still distracted by her paperwork.

“rosa seems very…i dunno. have we ever seen her showing this much emotion on her face? that isn’t annoyance or anger?” jake shrugs, pointing at rosa who was currently on the phone with you.

“she doesn’t look happy though. that can’t be good.” amy seethed. just as she finished her sentence, rosa reenters the bullpen and was immediately headed for holt’s office. she knocks, he allows her to enter.

“diaz. how may i help you?”

“my daughter called me. i need to take her home from school. her symptoms have been flaring up for awhile. i don’t want her to get hurt if she makes her own way home.”

“very well. i understand. how much time do you need?”

“can i clock out now? i’m not sure if i need to take her to the hospital or not because she’s not really talking to me- i’ll stay later tomorrow and do whatever task you assign me.” rosa promised.

“hand over the work on your desk to me and you may clock out.” holt decided.

“thanks.” rosa swiftly walked to her desk to grab the small stack of files and turned it in to holt, then left the precinct without another word.

————

“i can’t believe you won’t let me get a car.” rosa scoffs playfully.

“and let you part ways with your motorcycle? I couldn’t possibly do that.”

“i can have both, you know?” rosa bit back a smile, “are you sure you don’t want me to get us a cab home?”

“hurts, but eh.” you shrug.

“hospital?”

“just let me curl up in bed for a couple days, they’ll just hook me up to an iv and give me the same meds i have at home.” you sigh, “i’m due for an mri in two weeks anyway- i can tough it out till then.” rosa pulls you to the side, “i don’t want you to tough it out. your doctor already said that if the pain suddenly worsens and persists you can go in to see her.”

“i can, but i won’t.”

“you amaze me.” rosa huffs, “flareups cause you a 8-9 out of 10 pain and you can walk, spend a whole day out.”

“all thanks to the whole year of medical gaslighting. had to learn how to function with the symptoms.”

you two board the subway and rosa spots a seat. she nudges you to sit down but you refused. “sit. down.” she insisted. “fine, fine.” you gave in, she stands in front of you, keeping the conversation going to keep your mind off of the pain. “how was school today?”

“just did worksheets and asked questions if i had any. but, lunch did suck.”

“why? someone give you trouble?”

“no, the food was revolting.”

rosa lets out a soft laugh, “is there anything i can do to make you feel better?”

“i already had you abandon your work at 2pm. i feel bad as it is. i could’ve went home myself.”

“yeah, i’m not risking that.” rosa scoffs, “nice try.”

“how about a slice of pizza from your favourite place? or two?” rosa suggests.

“if you want.” you shrug, tired.

getting off the subway, she leads you to your favourite pizza place - it was a short walk. pushing the door open, the bell above the door tinkles. “hey, y/n!” the usual counter staff, ana, spotted you. “ay, rough day?”

“she’s not feeling well.” rosa answered on your behalf.

“pobrecita.” ana frowns, “usual order?”

“yep.” rosa nodded curtly, “2 slices sausage. 2 slices pepperoni.”

“of course, just a minute.” the older lady smiled. rosa paid, then took you to the side to wait away from, the crowd. she had a protective arm around you. “i’ll be fine.” you glanced up at her. “i don’t care. you’re my baby.” to you, this was the norm, but still quite rare. you just knew her coworkers would kill to hear this interaction.

after picking up your order, you and rosa resumed your journey home. the last stretch was a nine minute walk from the pizza place. once at home, you excused yourself and went to change into your favourite loungewear set. that made you feel a tad better: to be out gross sweaty clothes. soon after you emerged from, your bedroom, rosa walked out from hers donning a plain black tank top and a pair of matching leggings.

“let’s eat.” rosa tilted her head toward the dining area. you walk over before she did and laid the table. “ana gave us free garlic knots and sauce again.”

“she always does that when you go there with me.” she smirked. you chuckled, sitting down. “didn’t you tell her to stop doing that?”

“i did, but she likes giving you a little treat. her words, not mine.” rosa shrugged, “the lady’s happy. let her do it. she’s been there since before i had you- she’s kinda like another abuelita of yours. besides, she won’t take my money. i tried to pay her back for the extras she gave, but she wouldn’t take it.”

you fought back a laugh, “what?”

“it’s true.” she places the box containing the pepperoni pizza in front of you, “she’s been there for years.”

“i know.” the laughter mellows out and you quietly ate your slice, your mind drifts off. rosa caught you spacing out almost instantly. you caught her gaze for a moment, “i’m fine. just trying not to think about anything at all, actually.”

she shrugs. “how was work?”

“the recent cases are nothing too intense so i won’t be working too much overtime, i hope. it was a good day, though.”

“good. why?”

you saw that subtle glimmer in her eyes, “you know, don’t you? you just want me to say it.”

you gave her cheeky grin as you chewed your food.

“ha! some things really don’t change.” she remarked, “you always gave me this…grin even when you were really little.”

“you’re a softie.” you teased her. she purses her lips together, her attempt of trying not to smile or laugh. which failed - the corner of her lips tug into a small smile.

“take a nap after this.” she changes the subject abruptly.

“okay, softie.” you pout.

————

the remainder of yesterday went by like clockwork during a flareup for you. so it was uneventful in rosa’s opinion, and she was glad to be back at work the next day because that meant you were in less pain than you were before. “why’d you leave work so early yesterday?”

“not talking about that, jake.” she told him absentmindedly, focused on her computer screen.

“oookay.”

“i’m not kidding.” she glares at him. he rolls back to his desk on his chair, “i’m gonna keep bothering you till i find out~”

“not gonna happen.”

“diaz, my office.” holt stepped into the bullpen briefly. rosa followed him inside silently. “you don’t have to work over time this evening.”

“i can.”

“there is no need.” holt reiterated, “there isn’t any paperwork that needs to be done.”

“okay.” rosa acknowledges with a nod, “is there anything else?”

“yes, how is your daughter doing?” he asked, which caught rosa by surprise.

“better. she’s at school again.”

“that is good to hear. dismissed.”

as soon as rosa shut holt’s office door behind herself, jake returned with the same question. “shut up.” rosa’s phone beeps, jake beats her to it. “oh! your phone’s not on silent mode like it usually would.” he peeks at the screen, “oh my god, rosa-”

“what?” rosa deadpanned, “give it back.”

scared, jake handed the device over. but it wasn’t just that. rosa’s been way more guarded up ever since your recent diagnosis of this chronic illness— which your doctor told you was a rare disease. by the name of aggressive fibromatosis. something apparently ‘harmless’ but has been the root cause of your pain and sleepless nights. the name alone terrified you, even rosa. but more so when she sees you go through a flareup episode. for the first time in her life, she felt helpless. she hadn’t told anyone other than holt, and he didn’t even know the specifics. it took a very long time for you to get answers. doctor after doctor brushed you off and painted you as crazy or dramatic, telling you it was either period cramps or all in your head. day after day, rosa’s anger grew but her patience depleted. she was desperate for you to get the help you needed and she was so, so relieved that you did now. but despite knowing she would probably need the help of her friends in one way or another regarding your situation, she was still choosing to keep this to herself.

but, you were absolutely right about one thing. she was softie. but only you have seen this side of her, and maybe arlo- but he was a puppy. which sadly passed away some time ago.

“who is she? why’s she calling you softie?” asked jake, eagerly.

“give it up, jake.“ rosa exhaled sharply, “give it up.”

“fine, softie.”

[atinylittlepain]

Firehouse Harrington - Chapter 5

fireman!Steve x f!reader/f!oc

series masterlist

Steve is still recovering from his injuries. She's just trying to help. But tensions run high when they clash over who knows best.

warnings | 18+ SMUT, really rough sex, degradation kink, slight dubcon, also angst because, duh

a/n | wooh boy! I got a little carried away here, folks. Had the day off and couldn't help myself. get yourself a tall glass of water and sit down for a long one

“You’re healing nicely, son. I’ll send another refill script to your pharmacy for the oxycodone and I wanna see you back in a month, alright? Wanna keep an eye on those headaches you’re having.” Steve grunts out a thank you to the doctor as he’s led back to the front desk. After three weeks, he’s still not used to seeing her, sitting and waiting for him after his appointments at the VA medical center. She’s been coming with him whenever she can and he would hate to admit how much it means to him. 

She offers him a bright smile from where she’s sitting in the waiting room, a large stack of index cards in her lap. With Thanksgiving next week, her exams are fast-approaching and she’s been studying so hard it makes Steve worry that she’s working herself to the bone, and that he hasn’t exactly been helping her stress-load. Since the week after Halloween, she’s all but moved in with him, save for when her RA job or classes demand she be on campus. She’s been taking care of him, and it both amazes and terrifies Steve that she’s willing to, while all he can really do is be a human rolodex for her endless supply of flashcards. She’s been having him quiz her in the evenings, her hands around his neck and her thighs straddling his waist as she rattles off insanely-smart sounding descriptions of the brain. His girl is studying neuroscience, and his girl is going to be a doctor, and then, Steve figures, his girl isn’t going to be his girl anymore. But for now, he’ll enjoy whatever sweetness she’ll give to him.

He finishes scheduling his follow-up, turning and finding her already standing with her bag slung over her shoulder. He opens the door for her and they step out into the sharp bite of the oncoming winter. 

“Well, what did he say?” Steve’s apartment is only a few blocks away from the medical center, so they set off down the sidewalk as she asks her question.

“Said everything looks good. My next appointment is in a month, gave me another prescription for the painkillers.” He feels her hand flex in his and he knows it’s because she doesn’t like the sound of that.

“What about your headaches?” He shrugs, glancing at her and seeing the worried look on her face.

“He said he’d keep an eye on it, whatever that means.” She stops in her tracks, fully looking at him now. He just sighs.

“Steve, I really don’t like how they’re just feeding you these pills. Has anyone said anything about getting you in an MRI machine?” He huffs, tugging her along to continue walking.

“Baby, it’s fine. Nothing new, really. Once I get back to work it’ll go away on its own, it always does.” His paid-time-off is ending after Thanksgiving, and Steve is chomping at the bit to get back into the station, to her much-vocalized dismay. She stops walking again, and he tries his best to tamp down his growing frustration.

“I still think you should let me–” “No.” “Steve.”

“No. You’ve already done way too much for me. I’m not letting you do that.”

“You would be helping me out by coming in. You know I need the practice, i-it’d be killing two birds with one stone.” She had told him two weeks ago about one of her specialty courses at the university medical center, conducting brain scans and assessments that were free to volunteer patients. She had been bugging Steve about coming in ever since, but he was putting his foot down on this one.

“Hey, I’m sick of all this nagging, alright? I told you it’s fine and I meant it. Making my fucking headache worse, jesus. Just wanna get home.” He can see her face crumple at his words and his stomach twists, but he’s too pissed off and cold to really feel sorry, instead squeezing her hand and continuing their walk home. She’s silent the rest of the way.

…

Steve is really starting to worry her. At first, he had seemed to be making a change, being endlessly sweet with her, letting her take care of him, even opening up a bit about his life. She knows his concussion symptoms are lasting well within a normal amount of time, but it seems like some of them are getting worse. He’s been more irritable, more reactive, his headaches are endless, but he won’t listen to a word she says about it. She had talked to Robin over the phone about it, and she had told her his irritability could also be stemming from the impending holiday. Steve wasn’t exactly on good terms with his family, something he had only hinted at to her, and hadn’t been home for Thanksgiving or Christmas in five years. As a result, he turned into a bit of a scrooge (Robin’s words) the instant that the holiday season kicked up.

Perhaps more than anything though, she doesn’t understand why he’s so eager to get back to work after he nearly died on the job. She had actually started inquiring at her school about admittance for veterans, reading whatever information she could get her hands on. It’d be practically free at a state school like Indiana University, with vets nearly sure to be accepted. She hadn’t yet broached the subject with him, knowing it’d probably lead to a huge blowout argument, but she had convinced him to do Thanksgiving with her, just the two of them, and was planning to get him good and sedated on turkey and stuffing before bringing it up.

When they get back to his place after his appointment, he barely looks at her, mumbling that he’s going to lie down for a while. She already knows he’s going to be looking for his bottle of oxycodone, which she had flushed down the toilet that morning. She had talked to one of her supervising professors about the medication, posing questions from a place of clinical curiosity, and had learned just how wickedly potent the stuff was. Steve shouldn’t have been on it for more than a week max, and it was now coming up on a month of doctors filling the prescription for him. She had decided then and there that she was going to get him off it, kicking and screaming if she had to. 

She sits down on the couch, pressing her fingers into her temples and waiting for his inevitable question about where his pills are. She can hear him rummaging in the bathroom, and then in the nightstands in his bedroom. All of the sudden, his movements still, and she can hear his bare feet padding back into the living room. Her heart sinks when she sees that he’s holding the pamphlets she had gathered about veteran’s admission to IU in his hand. She must have left them in the nightstand on her side of his bed. Shit. His expression is cool, steeled, as he waves the pamphlets in front of her.

“Care to tell me what this is?” Her mouth had gone completely dry, and a thickness settled in her throat. 

“Um, I– um–” He cuts her off, shuffling over to stand in front of her, bending at the waist to get in her space. 

“Um, um, um. C’mon, miss college. Thought you were a big girl. Use your words.” He’s practically sneering at her with the way he’s talking and it makes her feel impossibly small under his flashing gaze. She gulps a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

“Steve, I’m just trying to help–” He scoffs, standing back upright and starting to pace the floor.

“You think you know what’s best for me? Think you’re so much smarter than me, huh? Gotta help your poor, stupid boyfriend get along, is that it?” She shakes her head vigorously, going to stand but he’s back on her in an instant, resting his hands on the back of the couch to cage her between his arms. She shrinks back into the seat.

“That’s not what I think, Steve. I-I just want you to have options, that’s it! All I did was ask around in the admissions office, it doesn’t mean a-anything, baby. I just thought it’d be helpful for you.” He lets out a humorless laugh, his sharp eyes fixing her in place.��

“Well it’s not. Quit trying to mess with shit you don’t understand.” With that he’s turning heel so fast it makes her choke, storming back into the bedroom. A beat later she starts hearing loud clattering.

“Where are my fucking pills? Goddamnit!” She jumps in her seat at his roaring words, punctuated by the sound of what she assumes is one of his nightstands getting thrown on the floor. She sits there for a moment trying to steady her breathing, the continuous sounds of slamming drawers and muttered curses coming from Steve causing her heart to jump. Finally, all the commotion stills and she thinks to herself that she liked it better when he was at least making sound.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she slowly stands, inching towards the bedroom on tenterhooks. She holds onto the doorframe, peering into the room. Both nightstands are tipped onto the floor, their drawers skewed open and the contents strewn on the floor. The wooden bureau that sits across from Steve’s bed has been shoved a few inches out of place, its drawers all open and the clothes usually neatly folded inside in various states of spilling out. Steve’s sitting on the edge of the bed, tugging harshly at the roots of his hair, his chest heaving. She really doesn’t want to do what she’s about to have to. She inches into the room, kneeling down in front of him to try to catch his gaze. She reaches out for him but he swats her hand away.

“Don’t. Fuck, baby. Don’t know where I put my damn pills. I-I need ‘em so bad right now.” His voice is a broken grumble and she feels a sharp twinge in her stomach at his words. It’s time to rip the band-aid off.

“Steve, baby? I know your head’s hurting, but you can’t keep taking those, ok? Why don’t I get you some advil?  I know it’s not the same, but we can do that combined with tylenol and it should start to help.” He finally looks at her, and the anger in his eyes is breathtaking, causing her to sit back on her haunches.

“What did you do with them?” She takes a sharp breath in, watching Steve’s knuckles go white where he’s still tugging at his hair. She’s not going to let him scare her, not on this. She squares her shoulders, slowly standing in front of him. She hates that there’s still a warble in her voice when she finally speaks.

“I-I threw them away, Steve. They’re no good for you, and that has become painfully clear this afternoon.” His jaw goes slack at her words, but he quickly catches himself, swallowing hard and glaring up at her.

“Well, that’s not really your decision to make, sweetie.” He stands, brushing past her out towards the front door, starting to toe on his shoes. She follows dumbly behind him.

“Where are you going?” He doesn’t even glance at her, already shrugging on his coat.

“The pharmacy. Gonna get my new prescription since someone has to make everything so goddamn difficult.” She swallows hard.

“I-I called the pharmacy this morning too. Told them that under no circumstances should they fill any more oxy scripts for you. Steve, please–” He lets out a bark of laugh that startles her where she stands, whistling low as he finally sizes her up.

“You are something else, bunny. Really think you know better than me, don’t ya?” He’s started slinking towards her, causing her to back up until she’s pressing up against the wall. He presses a forearm up by her temple, leaning into her. She’s trying to not dissolve on the spot.

“Steve, that’s not what this is about. I-I talked with one of my professors about those pills. He told me it's some of the nastiest stuff out there. People get addicted to them all the time. Please, I just wanna help you.” His other hand has come down to grip her hip harshly, his fingers flexing into the skin and sure to leave bruises.

“Stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong and stop trying to play doctor on me. You wanna help? Here’s how you can help. If you’re so hell-bent on taking away my pills, my relief, I think it’s only fair you make it up to me, don’t you?” She’s trying to steady her breathing, but can’t help the light gasps that rise as Steve nudges the slope of her neck with his nose. He harshly grabs her jaw, forcing her gaze to focus on his steely expression. She hates that there’s already a simmering heat trailing down her spine.

“Words, now.” 

“O-okay, Steve. I’ll m-make it up to you, w-whatever you want, baby. I’m s-s-sorry.” His smile is slick, not reaching his eyes.

“Want you on your knees, pretty. Can you do that? Be good for me and do what you’re told, for once.” 

“Yes, Steve–” He cuts her off with a sharp squeeze to her jaw that makes her whimper.

“Not my name. Not right now.” 

“Yes, daddy. I’ll be good for you.” Part of her wants to leave, just grab her bag and go. But she’s fixed to the spot by the way he’s looking at her. She figures it’ll be quick, a rough blowjob and then Steve will finally calm down, so she complies, kneeling down in front of him while he starts working at his belt buckle.

She goes to reach for his hips when he starts to unzip his jeans but he immediately swats her hands away.

“Uh-uh. You don’t get to touch. You don’t even get to think. That pretty head of yours has done enough thinking for a while. Just gotta sit there, open your mouth, and take it, you understand?” She nods as he comes behind her, drawing both her wrists back. When she feels the soft leather of his belt circling her wrists she shudders. She winces when he tugs the loop tight.

“C’mon, if you’re so smart why don’t you use your fucking words?” She gasps when he pulls on the belt, making her fall back onto her ass, her back crashing into his heaving chest.

“Yes, daddy. I understand.” Her voice doesn’t sound like her own anymore, entering that higher, breathier register that she knows only Steve can draw out. He grunts at that, squeezing her hips to help her back onto her knees before he’s getting up and coming back in front of her. He slips his jeans and boxers down just enough to tug his cock out, already hard as he fists himself. Stepping forward, he cards his fingers through her hair, tugging harshly to tilt her face up towards him.

“Open your mouth, bunny. You better be good for me.” She complies, letting her jaw slacken and Steve’s on her in an instant, forcing his thick cock past her lips as he holds onto her hair for leverage. She can’t help the small, sputtering chokes that come out around his length as he already begins fucking her mouth, getting deeper with each thrust. Normally, he’d give her time to work her way up to taking all of him, it wasn’t exactly an option to just go for it with his length if she didn’t want to gag. But Steve didn’t seem too concerned with that today, already grazing her throat with his tip. 

“Fuck– that’s perfect– just take it, bunny– s’what your pretty little mouth is made for– don’t want you thinking– shit– or talking– just keep your lips around my cock all the time, huh?” She can’t exactly respond to his degrading words with the way he’s dragging her mouth up and down his cock, his fist in her hair guiding her. But she guesses he’s not really looking for a reply.

“What would your little egghead professors think– shit, take it– if they knew their star student spent her time sucking dick like a f-fucking whore, huh?” His words sting, but she hates to admit that they send a clenching ache right through her core too. Unfortunately, Steve seems to notice the way her thighs are clenching at his words and he lets out a jeering laugh.

“Aw, you like that, bunny? You like it when I call you a whore, huh? Guess you’re not as smart as you think you are, just a dumb slut for her daddy’s cock.” His thrusts are unrelenting, now hitting the back of her throat everytime, causing her to gag and sputter around his cock. She can’t help but wriggle her arms against the belt confining them, trying to find some purchase as he uses her mouth but with no success. On the next thrust, Steve’s hips still with his cock down her throat, her nose crushed up against his pelvis. Drool is dripping down her chin as she chokes around him. He just holds her there, and she starts to panic, trying to fight against the hold he has in her hair.

“You don’t need air, do you, pretty? Just need my cock down your throat, right? S’all you need, you stupid slut.” He finally relents, pulling out of her mouth and she’s a wheezing mess, coughing out exhales as she hunches over her shivering body. He’s still hard, but he tucks himself back into his boxers, watching her reel on the floor. Before she can catch her breath, he’s hauling her up by her armpits and pressing her back against the wall, her hands still bound behind her. The way he holds her jaw, fingers skating over her cheeks, is startlingly tender as he drinks in her cockdrunk appearance. His voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks.

“Look at you, bunny. So pretty for me.” Something in her snaps, her lip starting to wobble as tears pool over her lashes. Steve sighs and she shivers under his delicate touch as he wipes away the first tears to fall.

“What’s got you crying, baby? I don’t like it when you cry, at least not very much.” His grin is sardonic and entirely patronizing as he watches her crumble. She’s trying to stifle the sobs that want to flood her body, her words coming out on heavy shudders.

“You’re s-s-so mean, Steve. I-I j-j-just wanted to h-h-help you.” He tuts, drawing his fingers under her chin to tilt her eyes up to his.

“Aw, you did help, pretty. You and that perfect little mouth of yours. And you know what else? I think you liked it.” With that, he wrenches one of his hands into the front of her jeans, cupping her cunt and stroking harshly through her folds. She lets out a broken gasp at his brutal movement. Steve just chuckles.

“See, bunny? You’re fucking soaked. All because daddy fucked your little throat, huh?” He easily slips two fingers into her, curving them in a way that makes her let out a long, preening cry. She stumbles in his grip, pressing her forehead into his shoulder as he starts fucking her with his fingers.

“P-please, daddy, it’s too much.” He scoffs in her ear, not letting up with his relentless thrusts.

“I know what’s too much for you, bunny. Daddy knows what’s best, right?” When she doesn’t answer, his other hand comes down in a harsh crack on the outside of her thigh and she yelps.

“Y-yes, daddy. You know w-what’s best!” She can feel his smile in her hair as he abruptly removes his fingers, causing her to slump in his hold.

“Atta girl, I think that little brain of yours is finally starting to get it right.” She can’t tell where the pleasure ends and the pain from his words begins, but she knows that the more he says, the more poison that drips off his tongue, the smaller she feels in his grip. Holding her in his arms, he walks them over to the couch, facing her towards the arm rest and bending her over it, her cheek smearing into one of the cushions. Her arms are still bound behind her back and she’s all but given up tugging at them, but Steve seems to notice her squirming.

“If I take the belt off will you be good for me, bunny?” 

“Yes– yes, I will, daddy– please– be so good for you.” He shushes her, laying a kiss in the middle of her spine before finally unwinding the belt from her wrists. She flexes her hands, whimpering at the ache that’s already set into her joints. Steve presses a kiss to both of her wrists and she can’t help the shudder that runs through her at his gentle movements.

“There you go, baby. I know it hurts, I’m sorry. Gonna make you feel so much better.” His hands snake under her waist, undoing her jeans before sliding them down her legs. His rough palms splay over the swell of her ass, squeezing the flesh and making her gasp.

“Daddy’s gonna make you feel good, bunny. I promise. But, I just don’t think you’ve quite learned your lesson.” She jolts at that, craning her neck to look at him.

“No– I have! I promise I have, daddy!” He chuckles, catching her off guard when he lands a harsh smack to her ass that sends her lurching forward into the couch.

“You saying you know better than daddy, baby?” She shakes her head, burying her face into her forearms.

“N-no, daddy. Just don’t want it to hurt.”

“Aw, pretty, you won’t learn if it doesn’t hurt, yeah?” He runs his palms up and down her spine, a soothing before the storm.

“Tell you what. Since you’re being so good for me now, we’ll just do five alright? No belt, just my hand.” That’s a small mercy. She hates when he uses the belt, and he knows it. She sighs, nodding her acceptance.

“Does that first one count?” He chuckles, hands squeezing her hips.

“I don’t think so, pretty. That one was a warning, these five are punishment. You think your little brain can handle counting them for me?” She huffs at that, he’s twisting an already deep knife in her gut, but she nods.

The first blow is quick and she yelps out “one!” For a while after, he just rubs his palms on her ass to the point that her legs start trembling in anticipation. He abruptly lands the second and third in the same spot and she shrieks out the count. She already knows that he’s aiming to leave a mark. The fourth and fifth come quick too and she’s been reduced to a mess in the aftermath. Tears are streaming down her face and her whole body shivers under his touch, but she can also feel the wetness smearing across the inside of her thighs. Steve leans over her, draping his warm chest across her back and she reaches a hand back to grab onto his thigh.

“Did so good for me, baby. My good girl, huh?” He presses a kiss into her temple before he hoists her up, keeping her back pressed to his chest as she’s all but slack in his arms. He helps her step out of her jeans and panties, turning her around in his arms and letting her clasp her hands around his neck. She’s mute in his hold, pressing her face into his neck as his hands slide down her thighs to hoist her legs around his hips. 

He pads into the bedroom, laying her down across his bed and slotting himself between her legs. She brings her hands to the hem of his shirt and he gets the hint, sitting back and shucking it off over his head. She thinks that she’ll never get used to it, seeing him bare. There’s strange scars along his abdomen, she assumes from previous burns, but he’s still the prettiest thing she’s ever seen, all tan muscle and the sweetest little freckles. He motions for her to sit up, slipping her shirt off when she does before pressing them both back into the mattress in a harsh kiss. His tongue invades her mouth immediately, wrapping her senses in a hazy fog of him. He pulls away with a hot gasp.

“Need to be inside you, baby. Need your pussy so bad.” She just sighs out his name, watching him lean back to tug his cock out of his boxers before dropping the heavy tip against her folds. She whines when he draws the head of his cock through her cunt, her wetness smearing over the length of him.

“Tell me you want it, pretty. Tell me you want me.” He dips into her entrance and she gasps at the feeling.

“I want it, Steve, please– want you now.” He rolls his hips forward in one smooth thrust that sends her reeling, her hands clinging to his back as she cries out at being entirely full with him. He groans into her neck, quickly finding a steady rhythm as he fucks into her.

“Fuck– pussy’s made for me, baby– so perfect– just take it.” He brings one hand down to toy with her clit and it makes her hips buck up into his as she chokes on his name.

“Come for me, pretty– need it so bad– you better fucking come right now.” Her release sneaks up on her and then she’s falling hard, spasming around his dick and digging her nails into his back. He isn’t far behind her, fucking her through her high before he thrusts into her one final time and spills inside her with a shivery groan. They’re both panting, laying entangled in a hazy stillness as they come down. The ache is already coming back into focus, in her wrists and along the swell of her ass. She winces hard when he finally pulls out. 

He had certainly gotten her good and fucked out, but she’s all too quickly coming out of the haze, all the dark things he said resting heavy on her chest until it feels like she can’t breathe. She goes to get up, but he’s quick to stop her, bringing his hands to her shoulders to press her back.

“Woah, easy, baby. Just lemme take care of you.” She shakes off his hands, dipping under his hold to stand and shuffle into the bathroom. 

“‘I’m fine, Steve. Just– give me a minute.” She scrubs her hands down her face before turning in the mirror to take in the sight of her mottled ass. Sure enough, there’s a perfect, blotchy, red handprint across her one cheek, it even looks like he broke skin around the edges. There’s little bruises dotting her hips as well from where he had dug his fingers in, and she hisses as she runs her fingers over them. It’s then that she catches sight of her wrists in the mirror, rubbed red and raw from his belt. Normally, she enjoyed this kind of thing, evidence of a good session with Steve. But right now, the sight of her weary body coupled with his words still swirling in her head just makes her want to cry. 

“Baby?” She’s startled out of her thoughts by Steve’s hoarse voice. He’s leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest and a furrowed look across his face. She sighs, not quite able to meet his gaze as she brushes past him back into the bedroom. He’s following behind her mutely as she grabs her shirt, quickly pulling it back on before walking out into the living room to get her panties and jeans. She’s sliding her pants up her legs when he finally speaks again.

“W-what are you doing?”

“I think I should go, Steve.”

“What? What do you mean? Baby, I– you need someone to take care of you, lemme look at those bruises.” He goes to reach for her but she flinches, stepping back away from him. He stops dead in his tracks.

“All that shit that you said, did you mean it?” He gives her a confused look, but she presses on.

“Steve, your words really hurt me. All that talk about me being your stupid slut. I-It felt different, it felt like you meant it.” He swallows hard.

“I was just angry, baby. I didn’t mean that shit. You just– you caught me off guard with those– those fucking pamphlets– and then the pills. I overreacted, I–”

“I can’t keep doing this, Steve!” His face crumples in an instant at her words, and when he speaks, his voice is so small it makes her breath catch.

“Can’t keep doing what?” She huffs, throwing her arms out in frustration.

“This! All I wanna do is help you and all you wanna do is push me away. It’s-it’s absurd. Why you won’t stop being so fucking stubborn is beyond me. But then, you just get so nasty about it, so mean.” She lets out a bitter laugh, sitting down on the edge of the couch and holding her head in her hands.

“And the worst part is, I let you be that way to me. I keep trying to help you and you keep lashing out at me a-and I can’t take it anymore, Steve. I just can’t.” Her words seem to have left him speechless, he just stands there, his eyes searching her face. She huffs, standing and heading towards the front door. It’s silent as she shrugs on her coat and puts on her shoes, sliding her bag up her arm. When she goes to open the door, however, his large hand comes into view, pressing the door shut. She turns around to tell him off, but chokes on her words when she sees his face. His eyes are swimming in tears, his expression completely crumpled.

“Please don’t go, baby. I’m sorry– I’m so sorry. You know I didn’t mean any of that stuff I just– I got freaked out, ok?” She pinches the bridge of her nose with her fingers, squeezing her eyes shut to keep from crying anymore.

“You say that every time this happens, Steve. I can’t keep believing what’s obviously a lie.” And then, Steve does something she couldn’t have expected in a million years. He gets down on his knees in front of her.

“I swear it’s not a lie this time, I swear. I-I’ll go to a shrink like you want me to– I won’t take anymore of those pills, just– please don’t fucking leave me, baby. You-you’re so good a-and so smart and– I love you, I really fucking love you.” It’s the first time he’s said it, and she wishes more than anything that it had been under any other circumstance. For a moment, she wonders to herself how she got here, in only three months, completely entangled with this broken man. She’s startled out of her thoughts when he wraps his arms around her hips, burying his face into her stomach. 

“Please, baby. You know I need you.” She tentatively rests her hand in his hair, feeling the way he slackens against her at the contact. She draws her fingers through his hair firmly, tilting his head back to look at her. She lets out a long sigh.

“Listen to me, Steve Harrington. This is it. I swear to god if you’re lying, if anything like today happens again? I’m gonna leave and I’m never gonna come back.” His eyes go wide at her words and he’s quick to get on his feet, cupping her face in both his palms.

“I promise, it’s never gonna happen again. Gonna be better for you. Love you so much, baby.” She lets him press a damp kiss to her lips before pulling back. 

“Will you let me take care of you now, pretty?” She nods, having to admit that her skin is smarting under the rough material of her jeans. He gives her a sweet smile before taking her hand and leading her back into his bedroom.

…

She swears she could get whiplash from how quickly Steve can change, going so sweet on her the second he has her laid back out on his bed. He gently peels her jeans down her legs, having her turn over onto her stomach while he rubs aloe lotion into her welts, murmuring apologies as he works. He thumbs at her wrists before kissing each, letting her turn onto her side while he slides behind her, wrapping her up in his arms. She’s exhausted from everything and falls asleep easily, moored by the steady rise and fall of his solid chest pressed into her back. 

When she wakes up, it’s much later, the sun already setting on the city. Steve stirs behind her, grumbling into her neck.

“Can you stay tonight?” She hums her affirmation. She’s off RA duty until tomorrow and doesn’t have morning classes either, she can stay. Steve sighs. Her voice is hoarse when she speaks.

“How’s your head?” He groans.

“Hurts. I’ll take some advil.” Relief floods through her system that he really has seemed to drop the prescription debate. 

“You can probably take a higher dose than normal, just for a little while before it starts getting better.” He sighs again, a seeming acceptance of her words. She wills herself to believe that it will get better.

“You hungry, baby?” She hums another yes to his question, turning in his arms to look at him.

“Should probably get something in you before you take anything too.” 

They order takeout from her favorite spot, something Steve does every time he’s had to apologize to her. She’s had a lot of takeout in the last three months. She hopes this time really is different.  

[immeasurablesaladagere]

Your fics are keeping me very well fed. May I pretty please request a little!house fic where house is regressing at work but trying to hide it and one of the ducklings rats him out to cg!cuddy or cg!wilson?

Your works are amazing <33333

Middle!Regressor House for the soul. He would be the sassiest, most back-talking pre-teen you ever did see.

-----

Word Count: 990

Summery: House has regressed in the middle of a DDX, and after rushing the ducklings out of his hair so they can't bring it up, is bored out of his skull. Then, someone rats him to Cuddy.

-----

House capped the whiteboard marker. “Okay! Chase, recheck the bloodwork, Cameron and Foreman, run a chest MRI and a stress-test before Mr. State-Track-Champion’s heart explodes.” 

For a second none of the fellows moved a muscle, just staring at him with dumb looks on their faces. 

“Am I speaking Spanish? Go!” He snapped, and finally they got up and left him alone before they could voice any of the ideas he could see on their goody-two-shoes faces.

He let out a long sigh and trudged to his office. He grabbed his tennis ball, flopped down into his chair, and began to precariously balance the ball on his finger. He’d been trying to learn how to spin it like a basketball, but it still wouldn’t stay on his finger for more than a few seconds. The ball didn’t seem to want to cooperate any more today than it did the day before, and after a couple minutes he gave up and resorted to bouncing it off of the wall instead.

Why did Cuddy have to take away his Gameboy? It wasn’t even like he was ignoring a patient to play! He was waiting for his next appointment to show up and she took it because he was being “unprofessional” or whatever. 

Maybe Cuddy would give it back if she knew he was only twelve years old. He snickered to himself. She’d be so embarrassed if he killed someone because he was bored. But he knew he couldn’t do that.He wasn’t stupid enough to work on the patient when he was regressed, even if he was bored out of his mind.

Anything they had in the office in case of regression emergencies didn’t look any fun, either. He was too old for the colouring pages and children’s books, and too young for Chase’s dumb crosswords and sudoku puzzles, which meant all he was left with was the ball. He felt like one of those sad tigers in zoos with no enrichment toys. 

He wasn’t sure why his brain had picked today of all days to regress. The case wasn’t very hard and he wasn’t in any more pain than he usually was,but at some point during the DDX his adult mind turned to TV static and decided to abandon him to his own devices. Chase, Cameron, and Foreman had all noticed that something was up, but they didn’t say anything. Good, he thought, the last thing he needed were for his employees thinking he needed to be babysat.

There was a knock on his office door, and he had to resist the urge to groan and slide out of his chair at the sight of Cuddy walking in.

“House?”

“Doctor Cuddy!” He greeted, “To what do I owe the pleasure? Is a PEDS patient missing their balloon? It wasn’t me, I promise!”

She crossed her arms and gave him a patented Cuddy-Stare. “One of your fellows told me that you were regressed during a diagnostic meeting.”

House deflated. Those snitches. “Which one?”

“So they were right?” She asked incredulously, “House, you can’t be working if you’re regressed, it’s not safe.”

“Meh-meh-meh, it’s not safe!” He mocked, “I know. I’m not working on the patient right now, I made them do it.” Even if he’d rather be doing anything but sitting in his lame office. He was being responsible for once! Couldn’t she see that?

Cuddy shook her head. “But you’re still working on the diagnosis. What if you missed something, or forgot a possibility?”

“Technically that could happen at any time.” He pointed out.

“You know what I mean. How old even are you right now?”

“Twelve. So I don’t need to be babysat, if that’s what you’re wondering.” He prayed to whatever god above that she didn’t decide he needed ‘parental supervision’ all day.

She let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Okay… That’s not the worst but,” Don’t say it, “I’d still like you to stay with me until you’re an adult again, just so I know you won’t try to go back to work.” 

Damn it. “But Cuddyyyy…” He whined dramatically.

“Exactly. You’re twelve, which means you’re old enough to understand that this is a liability.”

Staying with Cuddy meant that now he’d have to be bored in her stupid office, and now she’d be breathing down his neck the whole time. “But I’ll die of lame-disease if I have to be around you! You’re already in the final stages, I won’t stand a chance!”

Cuddy smirked. “You’re a big boy now, I’m sure you’ll survive. Come on, let’s go.”

House trudged his feet every step of the trip down to Cuddy’s office, making sure to add at least an extra ten minutes to what should have been a five-minute walk. Once they finally got there his leg was burning, and he dropped into one of the chairs against the wall and popped two Vicodin. They tasted so gross without water. How did big-him do this all the time?

“How many did you just take?” Cuddy asked.

“Two, like it says on the bottle, Mom.” Taking more would make his leg hurt less, but he didn’t like the way the blurry feeling from too many pills mixed with the fuzzy feeling of being little. It made him feel unfocused and weird.

She raised a considering eyebrow. “…Oh. Alright. I’m just going to be answering emails,” She opened a drawer in her desk, “So to make sure you stay out of trouble, here.” 

His Gameboy! He took it eagerly and turned it on. “So, wait— You’re saying I get to skip work and play video games all day?”

She chuckled. “Until you’re big again, yes. Don’t get any ideas, I’m not going to let you do this whenever.”

He saluted her, already engrossed in a game of Super Mario Bros. “Yes, sir.”

Cuddy just shook her head and got to work.

Maybe she wasn't so lame after all.

[moosemonstrous]

Ghost Rider Pacific Rim AU - night classes

“It’s so cool,” Gabe pulls his face down to get a better look at his eye. “You’re like Dr Luo! Is it like that forever now?”

Robbie wracks his brain for an image of Dr Luo – he’s pretty sure that’s one of the bad guys in Ninja Wolf. Wait, this hurts your feelings? That’s hilarious. It’s nothing. He’s just glad Gabe isn’t freaked out by the way his pupil is still misshapen, the surrounding iris cloudy-brown from the broken blood vessels. Dr Montesi said the damage is mostly cosmetic, but seemed a little taken aback that he could see without much trouble. She spent the majority of their appointment frowning and making notes while Cho rattled off incomprehensible test results. They clearly arrived at some sort of a reluctant conclusion, but didn’t translate it into non-PhD, so all he knows is that he needs to go into the resonance machine again, this time for a full-body scan. MRI became MRS, which will apparently make all the difference.

He’s been prescribed extra rations. He’s already struggling to finish what the mess hall considers regular ones – but Gabe is always hungry after finishing his, so it’s hardly a problem.

“It should go back to normal in a couple of weeks,” he says as Gabe pulls his lower eyelid down. “How was school, anyway? Did you meet anyone new?��

While school-prep was essentially quarantine, proper ‘school’ turns out to be something of a misnomer – it’s a classroom attached to the unattended minors centre where the whole base dumps their kids when their guardians are at work, or otherwise occupied. Sometimes, after a demon attack, some of the children find themselves permanent residents until alternative care can be arranged. It’s good for them to be used to the environment.

“We’ve been notified you will be joining the academy,” the teacher told Robbie while Gabe was saying goodbye to his new classmates. He didn’t offer congratulations. “You don’t need to worry about the schedule. I know Major Brooks likes to run his sessions long.”

Major Brooks can like his sessions on the moon for all Robbie cares. He’s not letting Gabe live out of a temp bunk full of abandoned and orphaned children. The nightmare he had, the one about dying in The Charger – Didn’t die. – still makes him uneasy, and he has no plans on joining any strike teams. Besides, it seems a little unfair – as in any other childcare facility he’s ever seen, the staff are stretched thin and never paid enough for all they’re asked to do. Robbie can’t imagine preparing for a shift with sixty kids and ending up with a hundred, because someone up in the dome ran an exercise for an extra two hours.

That’s because you’ve never been in a Kwoon ring. Trust me, it’s better than hanging around a cripple all day.

He freezes. Was that–

“...and Lin said her dad can make me elbow pads like hers,” Gabe finishes recounting. Crap, Robbie didn’t mean to space out like that. “I want to draw her a picture from her story. Can we get the book?”

Gabe has a school-issued tablet that came complete with a stern warning about selling Shatterdome property. It takes Robbie longer than he’d like to figure out how to access the online library. Every piece of technology they get is second-hand or renovated, and still years ahead of what he could afford back in L.A.

The e-reader has adjustable text size and screen contrast, and a read-aloud option. Damn, you’re easy to impress. The book Gabe requested seems to be some sort of a video game novelisation.

This is all too good to be true, he thinks when Gabe is busy finishing his second helping of noodle soup while following the text along to the narrator in his earphones. The stipend he’s getting from medical is slightly less than what he’d make as a mechanic, and nowhere near enough to save up and leave, but so much on the base is provided for free it’s not really a concern. It feels not unlike the first few weeks in their own flat back in Hillrock Heights – a to-date unprecedented amount of comfort. That lasted only seven months before the demon attack. According to the countdown display, the next one is due in three weeks.

“Robbie-Robbie,” Gabe sing-songs without looking away from the screen. “Your soup is getting cold.”

“You’re holding it wrong. Extend your thumb,” Robbie says to his dad, grabbing his staff to demonstrate.

Dad is only a couple of inches taller than him. He rolls his eyes. He looks… fond.

“I can still knock the snot out of you, soldier boy.”

Robbie laughs. It sounds forced. “Yeah? That a threat?”

“Hell yeah.” Dad looks a little unsure for a moment. “Seriously, Juliana is watching. Go easy on me, huh?”

Robbie doesn’t remember having dreams like that before. Normal stuff, sometimes nightmares, but never these… these weird whole-scene narratives. He lies in his cot for a good ten minutes, trying to level his breathing; it felt so real. His arms ache.

Four in. Hold four. Four out. It’s being in the Shatterdome. Back in the Shatterdome. It’s messing with whatever… block he’s got in his head. There are records – classified, but maybe if he asked–

Or you could just plug back into The Charger. It’s got what you need.

Is it weird that Gabe doesn’t seem interested? Then again, he was too little to remember dad at all. He stopped asking after mom fairly quickly too. It used to be a point of pride for Robbie – he could do it by himself. They didn’t need anyone else.

He presses his knuckles into his eyes until he sees sparks. Jesus, pull yourself together. Right. He swings down from his bunk and goes to wake Gabe up – he’s been sleeping like a log with all the noise suppression in the crew quarters. They have morning routine down to the minute – roll out the kinks from Gabe’s legs and lower back, make sure he doesn’t try to spit out the one pill that doesn’t come in a sugar shell, decant the rest of the day’s meds plus emergency supply into the plastic container, check the medical info sheet is still in his backpack where it’s supposed to be. Gabe showers in the evenings, and Robbie in the mornings while he gets dressed. Back in L.A., the harried social worker he used to harass for advice mentioned that now Gabe is a teenager, Robbie needs to occasionally leave him alone behind a closed door, and this is the best he can offer – other than never, ever thinking about it any further in any detail.

All the kids get meals at the beginning of each shift, so he drops Gabe off first before looping back to the mess hall for his prescription food. Most of everything on offer is vegetarian, but with his new academy assignment Robbie can technically access the pork. It’s half eight in the morning – he has to solemnly promise the old lady behind the counter that he won’t starve to death on just rice and beans.

It turns out to be the wrong choice.

*

Tony waves Amadeus over to the edge of the viewing platform and points to the mat to the far side of the gym, where Robbie Reyes is getting his ass handed to him for the fifteenth time in a row. He’s probably counting, too. He looks the type.

“Ouch,” Amadeus hisses in sympathy. “Wasn’t he supposed to just run laps?”

“Yep,” Tony pops the ‘p’. He wishes he’d brought popcorn. “Don’t ask me, they were already at it when I got here.”

They watch the sixteenth match end, once again, with Reyes flat on his back on the mat. Tony waits until Eric gets him up again to nod his head to the other side of the platform. “Watch the Colonel.”

Ivanov doesn’t make a habit of observing the recruits. He shows up in the Kwoon Combat Room for pair ups, because that’s always good fun, but the cadets are pretty pitiful until Eric whips them into shape, and the brass tends to train when the impressionable young people can’t hear their backs creak from the effort. He’s been watching Reyes like a hawk, though, and according to Tony’s quick dig into base surveillance, arrived just in time to potentially instruct their Fightmaster to change up his training program. Eric doesn’t sway from his routines unless directly threatened with public speaking. Or unless Carol asks nicely enough, and she’s on duty this morning.

“His orthodontist will have some work to do,” Amadeus comments. He produces a pack of jelly beans from his coat pocket and offers some to Tony. “Are we being anti-establishment again?”

“Please, we’re always anti-establishment. Say, I know nothing about martial arts. Is Reyes any good?”

Only the rangers stand any chance of winning against Eric, and usually only after several years of learning his every move. That the kid hasn’t tapped out yet is already pretty impressive, but Tony has been known to mistake stubbornness for skill before. Amadeus crunches on the jelly beans for a long moment before replying.

“It’s like he’s been studying from old movies,” he says, thoughtful. “Knows what to do, but can’t back it up.”

“Did he mention getting any lessons?”

“Two boxing classes at fifteen.” Amadeus has the good sense to appear slightly red-faced at how quickly he pulled that information out of his giant brain. Tony magnanimously lets it slide. “What are you saying?”

He shrugs. “Nothing. But something smells funny here, doesn’t it?”

“Wait till you see what Montesi pulled out of his MEG scan.”

“Oooh, do tell.”

One level below, Reyes begins losing his cool. He puts enough strength into his next hit that when the wooden staff hits the mat instead of Eric’s leg, it bounces back and nearly hits him square in the face. Tony really doesn’t know much about fighting – he’s more of a lover type – but he knows Eric Brooks, and under three hundred layers of repression and self-esteem issues no therapist in the universe could crack, the big guy appears to be surprised.

“Not here,” Amadeus pockets his jelly beans. “Patient confidentiality and all that.”

That’s even more curious. “That good?” Amadeus has that look on his face. It’s been a while since Tony had last seen it, and he can’t say he enjoyed the resulting mayhem. “Alright, boy wonder. Lead the way.”

[disappearinginq]

Fic association: Wrong Side of Heaven

Ah, Wrong Side, my beloved...

Deleted scene:

I wrote and rewrote Chapter 9 like 13 times. Possibly more. I kept trying to include every aspect of their captivity, and I wanted - so badly- to have the scene where Thomas 1) sees the bad guy and 2) realizes that Hannah sold them out. But I could not fucking write it to save my life and it irks me to this day

So, have the part I kept:

Thomas had plenty of time to think. In the dark of the Pit, where time ceased and all he had were his own thoughts and he needed something to distract him from the worry about his friends, the ache that settled deep in his bones and made it impossible to sleep, he wondered why.

Why were they here?

Not in the cosmic sense, but…why them? Why here? Why like this?

If they were so concerned about Robin, then why keep them here, alive? The longer they were prisoners, the less any intel they had would be useful. Information they demanded was out of date, utterly useless in a matter of days, if not hours. Weeks? Months? It was pointless. Unless it was just an excuse to torture him, but…why bother with a reason, other than because they could?

Jesus, it could be years before they were released. Only one POW was ever successfully recovered between WWII and now, and she was rescued after only nine days, and it was only because she was taken to a hospital and someone reported her to the Americans.

So why were they kept alive? They weren’t being bargained for. In all the times they’d beaten the hell out him - pulled nails, snapped fingers, punched and kicked and hit until he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move - they’d never demanded he renounce the United States. They never asked after anything except Masters. Even now, months later.

What the fuck did you get us into, Rob?

Thomas’s best guess was Robin caught their traitor on camera, with undeniable proof of their existence. But if they were concerned about their identity being revealed, why not kill them? Before it could be rationalized that they wanted information, but now…now that made no sense at all. What information could they possibly think Thomas had that would be of any value? If Robin was dead, any information he had died with him. If he was alive, he would’ve given up the evidence by now, and Thomas and the guys would be dead, and the Taliban wouldn’t give two shits one way or another where Robin was.

Thomas let his head drop back against the wall of the Pit, wincing as he found another bruise. God, his MRI was going to look like a goddamn Christmas tree.

Okay, he thought to himself. If Robin doesn’t matter, why do they keep asking?

Why would he keep asking a question he already knew the answer to?

To keep them from knowing what he was really after.

He felt a surge of something disturbingly close to hope stir in his chest.

Something that started with Robin, or they would’ve never asked about him in the first place. Maybe something they thought Robin shared with him? If that was the case, it was again back to but why wouldn’t they just kill us and be done with it?

Back to the drawing board.

Information he shared with Robin.

Did they think he’d passed information along to Robin? No - had to be something a little more than just sharing with him, because again, they were more of a hassle to keep alive if they thought he was the one with the damning information.

---

“Oh. Oh…” Jahingir leaned back in his chair, the corner of his mouth curling up into a genuinely amused half smile. “You haven’t put it together, have you? Given the stories I’ve heard about you, Lieutenant, and, honestly, considering the colossal pain in the ass you’ve been to my operations, you must not have all the pieces.”

Thomas blinked, struggling to make sense of what the man was spouting off about now. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Jahingir laughed outright. “You still don’t know why you’re here. Why it’s you, and nobody else.”

Thomas shook his head, not so much in denial, but because he had no idea what the guy was on. “Because we were with Masters.”

“Close,” the man said, clicking his tongue. “Very close. But not quite. You see…Masters is my primary target, that’s true. But only because he’s not here with you, and I don’t have any proof he’s dead elsewhere. No, Lieutenant, you’re here, with your friends, because you were poking about where you didn’t belong. Scratching at doors that didn’t need to be opened. You probably don’t even know how close you were to proving my existence. Well…” he shrugged, then amended. “Maybe you knew how close you were to me. You seem the type to have a sense about those things. But did you perhaps wonder…just for a moment…that I couldn’t have this empire of mine if I was alone? Who must have helped me, you think?”

Magnum didn’t dignify him with an answer. He’d suspected it many times. Too many pieces were just that – pieces. Loosely connected and hardly relevant. It was the argument he’d gone round and round with Greene about – having enough proof to justify a manhunt to rival that of the one for Bin Laden. The man seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice – he would let him talk. Let him implicate Academi and Wert and his guns-for-hire private paramilitary group.

Jahingir’s grin broadened. “You think you know, but you don’t. Because if you truly understood how you came to be here…I doubt you would take it so gracefully.”

Thomas frowned. “Just spit it out. I’m working on my third concussion, so all trains of thought are currently being derailed, and I think I might pass out before you get to the point.”

Jahingir suddenly leaned forward, out of his seat until he was almost nose to nose with Magnum, hands slamming down on his forearms and gripping with bruising strength. “You did, Lieutenant. All of my greatest successes, I owe to you. In another time and place, you would be an honored guest at my table for all that you have done for me. This empire of mine would not be possible without you and your friends. It shames me that I must treat you so now, but I have struggled too hard and too long to let Masters and his fatal curiosity to risk it now, and you refuse to give me the information I need. This could be over, Lieutenant, as soon as you tell me where I will find that fduli journalist.”

Magnum knew he misheard. Maybe Nuzo was right about the brain damage. He struggled to form a coherent thought, a rationalization of what the man in front of him just told him.

He was too sincere to be lying.

But he had to be.

“What?”

“You have cleared my path of any obstacles, my friend. My enemies struck down by you and your team. I control everything now. All thanks to you and –”

“Hannah…” he breathed.

Jahingir smiled. “Yes. Hannah. Your lovely fiancé, if I heard correctly? Congratulations on this happy news. She’s made me promise to keep you alive, but as she hasn’t lived up to her end of the bargain, I see no reason why I should. So let me make this abundantly clear, in as few words as possible - tell me where Robin Masters is, and what he knows, and I will let you live. I might even be persuaded to let you go. Now, I’m not about to drive you up to the base gates, but I’ll give you a sporting chance - a half hour head start. I’ll even tell you which direction to head in. And if the locals don’t shoot you, or the dogs don’t tear you and your friends apart, and the vipers don’t bite you…you’ll have a fighting chance of making it home. You are a SEAL. I’ve seen what men like you can do.”

Thomas stared at him. He didn’t hear a single word the man said. The world faded around the edges, tunneling his vision until all he could see was Jahingir. The confident smirk on his face. The pristine white of his perahan tunban, the fine embroidery of his coat along the chest. Everything about him was perfect. Pristine.

And in that moment, Thomas wanted him to be as ugly on the outside as he was on the inside.

He was still tied to the chair, but only at his hands, which was stupid on their part, but good for him. Jahingir’s face was still only inches from his, and Thomas lunged forwards and savagely bit down on the cartilage and bone of the bridge of his cheek. His teeth sunk down through skin and muscle, the taste of blood filling his mouth but he refused to let go. Hands pushed and pulled against him, yanking at his hair forcefully enough he thought for sure it would give way and tear his scalp from his skull, but he didn’t let up. He sank his teeth down further, scraping bone, until suddenly the skin between his teeth gave way.

There is the possibility that this will still be included in a flashback, but this is the inciting incident as to how he wants up with the wound of unknown origin from the pilot, and why he stops talking around this time in the fic.

[sabraeal]

Sic Semper Monstrum, Chapter 9

[Read on AO3]

Written for @sepalina's birthday, who deliberated for two days only to suddenly remember, oh yes right she has a favorite fic 🤣

That Seiran chick might have a princess’s pedigree around here, but there’s nothing dainty about the way she grips the metal bar at the end of each of their cots, twisting her wrists like she’s picturing flesh and bone rather than steel.

“You two have to be the biggest boneheads I have ever seen stuffed into a drive suit.” Her fingers clench, and Obi could swear the mental dints. “A bare knuckle brawl in the dome? At a time like this? Are you two insane?”

“Ah, well…” The Big Guy may have looked tough when Obi took him to the mats, a more solid anti-kaiju wall than anything the PDPC could toss into the Pacific, but he cringes just like any other mortal would when Kiki Seiran looms over him, all her disappointment honed to a point. “It wasn’t really a brawl. Just a…regulated spar, like usual—“

“Usual?” Her arms fold the way steel does into rebar, and oh, the princess is not amused. “Obi’s more bruise than bone.”

“Aw, Princess,” he croons, trying not to wince from the effort. “If you think this is bad, you should see the other guy.”

Her spine straightens, giving her all the extra inches she needs to give that glare of hers momentum, hitting him like a body off the Golden Gate hits the bay. “I can see the other guy. You’re both in the same infirmary, because you’re the same amount of stupid.”

“Actually, I’ve been wondering about the logic on that one.” He tilts his head, trying to go for that doleful dog stare that does wonders on sweet little nurses with hearts of gold. Too bad he’s got Yuzuri, who only wrenches his head back to the side, holding him still enough to swab when the skin’s split over his cheekbone. “Is this our— yikes, careful there, Florence— get along shirt or something? Two guys take some swings and you hope sticking us in a bottle sorts it out?”

“No,” she deadpans, taking a pen light out from the pocket of her scrubs. “I’m trying to quarantine the idiocy. You better be careful, Major” —she casts a long glance princess-side— “it might be catching.”

That regal mouth twitches, somewhere in the realm of amused. “Too late for me. No one ends up in a drive suit unless they’re born with it.”

“Ha, that’s for sure.” A light sears across his line of sight, leaving constellations in its wake. “As for you two, I didn’t see the point in sending you to your corners when you’re so friendly. Saves me space, and you can treat tonight like a sleepover. Braid each other’s hair and talk about cute boys.”

“Er…” How a big man like that can go through basic and still blush as easy as a school girl, Obi will never know, but it’s funny as hell. “I don’t really have opinions on cute boys…”

“Don’t worry, Big Guy,” he grunts, snuggling his shoulders into the pillows at his back. “I’ve got enough for both of us.”

That gets him a real side-eye from GI Joe, one that only ends when he swings those golden retriever eyes onto the real authority in this room. “Is there any way I get to go back to my bunk tonight?”

“Sorry, Major.” No matter what she says, Yuzuri’s shrug doesn’t give a single hint of regret. “Gotta keep you both on observation. SOP for rangers with head injuries. Last thing we need is for you guys to hare off and play hero just because you heard the dinner bell.”

He grimaces, all perfect teeth in a perfect face. Pity this guy fell into the military before someone could get him a magazine cover. Obi would have loved to hang that pin-up over his bunk. “Ah, right. That…makes sense.”

Of course it did. They might all be kaiju-fodder in the end, but they were the expensive, top shelf shit. The kind the PDPC wanted to stretch out as long as possible, not waste on some idiot who went into the drift concussed and had his brain melt right out his ears for the effort. Obi half surprised they haven’t been shoved into an MRI just to make sure.

“Aww, but you don’t really want to leave, do you, bestie? Not when we’re gonna have so much fun.” The target of his grin shifts from bed to bedside. “What do you think, Yuzuri? Think we could borrow some ManGo For It or Red Hot Rio?”

“I dunno,” she deadpans, not even looking up from her notes. “I think he’s more of Rosy Future guy.”

“Really? Still running your mouth?” Her Highness tosses her head, more pony than princess. “Did you not get beat bad enough?”

“What, this little mosquito bite?” Obi gives his jaw a good clench and turn, displaying his medal of honor at its best angle. Hurts like a bitch, but it’s worth it to see even Princess get squeamish. “Lucky shot. I got three hits for his one.”

Her mouth does that thing it does, that twitch, the one he’s starting to figure out is a laugh. “Yeah, and that’s all he needed to make you crumple like a tin can.”

“I already said I felt bad about that,” Big Guy grumbles, all folded in on himself like a teddy bear longing for a good squeeze. “I wasn’t trying to…well…”

“It’s okay, Superman, we all know you’re living in a world of cardboard.” Obi leans over, giving one of those meaty shoulders a good pat. Probably feels like a whisper to a man that stacked. “How can I blame you, when you were only defending milady’s honor—?”

Her weight shifts, no longer balanced parade-style between their cots, but sitting back in her hips, displeasure heavily implied. That man-sized mountain straightens so much it Obi can practically feel the plate tectonics beneath his palm.

“I was not!” Big puppy eyes swing right around to the ticking time bomb at the end of their beds. “I would never do that!”

One elegant eyebrow arches, and ah, now he can see why half the PDPC pisses itself when she punches the bag right off its chain. Most of the rangers the Academy rolls out are brawlers, the kind of guys that get in between a kaiju’s punch and the Pacific coastline, but this girl— her power’s in the application of force, the art of finessing a blow to where the bones can’t bear it. Can’t get into a brawl with a fighter like that and expect an old fashioned beatdown, oh no— when princess steps on the mats, she doesn’t fight, she dismantles.

Ha, and by the way she chucks her chin, all challenge, she knows it.

Now how about that. It’s a whisper in his ear, a hum across the million and one electric impulses in his brain, dangerous and fond. Remind you of anyone you know?

Knew, maybe. Bright blue smears over stark white when he closes his eyes; suits that stood out, even among halls that housed living legends. Eye-catching, the higher ups had called it, but it caught all the wrong eyes when it came to Sonisay. They all learned, of course; even now he hears the sickening crack of bone, sees the sweep of dark hair as she steps out of her spin—

Not just that. That laugh jangles his nerves, too close to his own and yet infinitely different, inimitable. Not just her.

There’s a boy too, too small, too skinny, too…not enough. Might as well be a shadow for how closely he clings to that same dance, to those same stances. Might as well be a monster for how easily the bones crack under his heels too, no remorse, no regrets—

A boy that shouldn’t exist. A boy that no longer does. Obi closes his eyes.

You can’t look away forever. Too many voices to count on that one. Watch me, only his reply.

“Let me make something clear.” Big Guy’s grunt grounds him, dragging him right back down to his bed, to the finger waggling at him. “Kiki doesn’t need me to fight her fights for her. If she wants to kick someone’s ass, she can make her own bodies.”

Ah, great. Got back just in time to witnessing Bloodbath Barbie over there desire Big Guy carnally. Not that he notices; oh no, the Jolly Marine Giant only has eyes for him, serious as a heart attack. Makes him want to mention that these rickety little med cots can’t handle two ranger pilots going at it, let alone three, but of course Yuzuri’s gotta make it a rain out.

“All right, all right, visiting hours are over,” she sighs, and oh, by Princess’s look, this is the first time someone’s tried to shoo Kiki Seiran out of anywhere. “These boys need some rest, not an audience. Just gonna rile ‘em up.”

This guy benches almost twice Obi’s weight, a monster of a man, but the second Yuzuri aims that scold his way, he’s all puppy. “But I wouldn’t—”

“You might behave, but he won’t.” She jerks a thumb back where Obi lounges, pointed. “And if he doesn’t want to play nice, he’ll find some way to drag you along with him.”

Sounds about right, hums a nuisance that has no right to throw stones. Not at this particular glass house, at least.

“Me?” Obi a presses a hand to his chest; harder to see it tremble that way. “Why, I was only going to take a small snooze. A cat nap, really. How could I—?”

“No sleeping!” Yuzuri glares at him, incredulous. “Didn’t I just say you could have a concussion?”

“Aww, come on,” he sighs, hooking his hands behind his head. “First no fighting, now no napping? What else are we supposed to get up to in here?”

Princess hangs in the gap of their curtain coverage, and oh, she may not smile, but that’s one masterclass of a grin. “Strenuous activity.”

“Kiki—!”

“None of that either!” With an officious wave of her hands, Yuzuri succeeds in doing what PDPC has failed to do for years: tell Kiki Seiran where to go. “Now, get. These two don’t need a bad influence.”

“Aww, c’mon, Flo! That’s no reason to shoo Princess out,” Obi whines now that his entertainment has sashayed right out of his evening. “I’m an even worse influence, so—”

“You don’t need to tell me,” she sniffs. “Now give it a rest. Or else I’ll call Shirayuki down here, and she can read you the riot act.”

There’s a time he might have laughed. Might even have let one shoulder and a wry eyebrow do the heavy lifting as he said, I’m sure the Good Doctor has better things to do with her time than worry about little old me.

But a week ago he woke up in one of these cots soaked in his own sweat, ears still ringing from a klaxon that never rang. At least, not in this dome, not that day; his stomach churning from the heady brew of trauma and military grade sedatives. He’d turned, half convinced he’d see either six bodies or and empty room, and instead—

It was her. Tiny ponytail and all, clumps of it making a bid for freedom from that poor excuse of an elastic. A borrowed one,  all stretched out from trying to contain the fallout from Yuzuri’s nuclear-level event that she calls her hair, but it’s serviceable. Enough to bridge the gap between now and whenever Doc finally decides whether she’s gonna bite the bullet and grow it out again, or just chop the whole thing off.

That’s not the sort of stuff he knows about people. Not the sort of stuff he ever gets close enough to find out. But she was sitting right there, head tipped off the back of that chair, breath trembling the little flyaways splayed over her lips, and—

“Fine,” he sighs, settling back into his pillows. “I’ll play nice.”

Yuzuri snorts. “I won’t hold my breath.”

*

It’s when Big Guy lumbers out of their cozy little curtained love cave to go take a piss— or a shit; Obi might be nosy, but even he’s got his limits— that Yuzuri swoops back to his bedside, using his vitals as an excuse to say, “What the hell were you thinking anyway?”

None of her business. There’s a gruffness to that, a texture that implying barbed wire fencing with the prickly bits facing inside. Embarrassment, the kind a boy at the cusp of manhood couldn’t bear with any grace. Not that he had done all that well with other emotions either.

Could never bear being anything but the hero. A taunt, a snipe across the mess hall’s tables. Even in his head those two would never get along.

You can just admit it. Sonisay speaks the way silk would sting, if it could, a smooth stab with no mess left behind. A sliver beneath the fingernail, only noticed when it slips deeper. It’s not as if you were thinking of anything sexual.

Sure. There’s no need for the smile-like stretch over his synapses, too smug. But not from lack of trying.

He appreciates the honesty is the best policy shtick, especially from the girl who always spoke out both sides of her mouth as easy a breathing, but Obi settles on a nice neutral, “What?” instead.

Might earn him the sort of look that begs the question of just what is rattling around between his ears, but it’s better than having to explain that when he closes his eyes he sees red. Not spread out across his pillow or tangled in his fingers, but caught up in plain little hairpins, already slipping free.

“Are you kidding me?” Her gaze darts over the the empty bed beside his, pointed. Oh, so that’s what she’s asking about. “Did you somehow miss how big that man is? He could fit two of you between his shoulders!”

“Aww, Flo, he’s harmless.” Pain shoots up his cheek when he tries to grin, settling somewhere near his temple. Damn, that’s gonna put a real crimp in his game. “Big Guy’s a gentle giant.”

She stares at him. “Half your face is a bruise.”

Obi hasn’t had the pleasure of seeing himself in the mirror lately, but by the way one half of his face feels heavy enough to make him lean like a tower in Pisa, he doubts that’s an exaggeration. “He didn’t mean it though.”

“Doesn’t really make a difference to your capillaries whether he meant it or not.” One finger of hers brushes an eyebrow— yowch— and she scowls. “They’re broken all to shit anyway. God, you’re gonna be lucky if that smile of yours isn’t permanently lopsided from this.”

Already was, but she didn’t ask for his medical history. “I’ll be roguish.”

“You’ll be in PT, that’s what you’ll be.” She pulls back with a cluck of her tongue. “Lucky as hell that he didn’t break your orbital. Ugh, or your nose. That would have been a bitch to set. And your cheekbones—”

A cough, timid for how deep it is, rustles outside the curtain. “Sorry,” Big Guy starts, all doleful hound dog eyes as Yuzuri pulls them back. “I didn’t want to, er, eavesdrop, but…”

He’s smarter than to say, but you told us not to leave. Not to someone like Yuzuri, who’s already ruby red from the collar of her scrubs to her headband, ready to crack out of her shell like a crab left too long in the pot.

“You…I…” She slides out right around him, never once turning her back. “G-go. Lay down. Or something! Ugh!”

Big Guy blinks once at her back before swinging those hound eyes back to him. “Is she—?”

“Embarrassed,” he agrees. Yuzuri’s always happy to share her opinions, up until she get caught. “Big time. She’ll recover. But until then it’ll be your fault.”

“Oh…” He winces, though Obi can hardly tell if it’s from the thought of Yuzuri’s ill-wishes, or the kick he landed on his hip, making what should be an easy walk a bit of a hobble. “I am sorry about that, you know.”

That lantern jaw juts itself toward him, or more specifically, the shiner painted up one side. “This old thing? Don’t worry about it. Got worse from a mosquito.”

If Big Guy is impressed with his bravado, he’s got a funny way of showing it, looking all hangdog like that. “I just…I didn’t really mean to…”

Fuck you up is what the big guy can’t bring himself to say. It’s probably rude to tell him, I’ve had worse.

“No hard feelings, Major.” It’s half a laugh, half a groan as he hauls himself up his pillows, every muscle aching. “I did tell you not to go easy on me.”

A grimace is what he gets in reply, and a pained, “Still…”

The you didn’t know what you were getting into hangs in the air, heavy with implication. Like maybe he’s never fought a guy above his weight class. Like he’s never stood in front of a boy a third again his age, watching his knuckles crack beneath the cloth of his binds.

More like he doesn’t know how much he can mean it, a grim mouth huffs humorlessly. He will though. Give him a few months.

“Didn’t really expect you to try to kill me, though.” For a moment, he’s not quite sure who he’s talking to. He rubs at his jaw, pain scintillating beneath his palm, and, haah, yeah, he knows what fist laid a kiss on this cheek alright. “Damn, no wonder kaiju don’t walk away from you.”

“I wasn’t try to…” It’s funny watching a mountain hunch like that, shoulders riding up again his ears making him a whole range instead a single peak. “With someone who moves like you, there’s only two sure ways to win. I went with the one that relied on power. Wasn’t going to land many hits on you but had to make the ones I did count.”

“And then did too good a job.” That’s the thing with having a body that shares more in common with a jaeger’s chassis than human flesh; the fall back option is to just do everything more and harder. Obi had met more than a few men like that in his time, but none of them so friendly. “I gotta admit though, Big Guy, you got me curious. What’s the other way?”

Big lungs heave big sighs, and oh, this one feels like it could take a few trees with it before he settles back against the headboard. “Tire you out. Quick guys typically don’t have a lot of stamina when things drag on, so—”

“All right, all right, don’t let the ladies hear that one.” Or most of the men while he’s at it, even if Obi’s personal tastes tend more toward the techs tending the tin cans than the bodies they throw in them. “Don’t want anyone to get the idea that I can’t keep up off the mat either.”

That won’t be much of a problem. It’s rare to hear advice from that corner of his mind, but Buma’s habit always was to watch first and speak too late. Not with all the training you’ve done outside—

That’s Need To Know only. Obi casts a long glance over where giant feet nearly hang off the mattress. And I don’t think the Major needs to know.

“Anyways,” he huffs, the sort of quiet career boys get when they’re shy. “Sorry.”

“Aw, c’mon, Big Guy. I asked you to bring me a fight and you did! I’m hardly gonna blame you for that.” He turns his head, grinning at him across the poor excuse for a bedside table. “Besides, now I know what it’s like.”

Those puppy eyes blink, too innocent for a guy who could break him in half by breathing. “Hm? Do you mean—?”

His eyebrows lift —well, one of them tries to— enticingly. The wince probably doesn’t do him any favors. “Kissing your girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend.”

Oh, it’s a real treat to see a lantern jaw drop so hard it nearly shatters. Too bad Princess isn’t here to enjoy it. “What?”

“You know…” His fingers weave through some hazy dips and lazy dives. “I can see what was good between you and High Highness, or whatever. The way you’d could compensate for each other in the drift. But you and me” — his hand flicks between them— “we don’t fit.”

“Oh.” It’s a pleasure to watch his mouth wrap around that noise, to see him really wrangle with the meat of what his meaning. “Yeah. I get it. I think.”

“I mean, for one thing,” Obi says, so casual. “We’re both bottoms.”

“Come again?”

“Kidding, kidding.” Kind of, Sonisay hums, and oh, he could swear he feels that forked tongue flickering where she coils in his mind. I doubt he’d complain if that blonde woman took it into her head to—

Hey. Maybe if he had a mirror, he could give himself a warning look, the kind Doc was always giving him right before he took a joke too far. But instead he had to settle for just thinking louder, like trying to shout over a crowded bar. I still gotta talk to this guy with a straight face for the next twenty-four hours.

Sounds like, that too-familiar voice hums, a real personal problem.

It’s too bad Major Do-Right over there can’t hear the speculation of the peanut gallery; then he might no be so quick to let relief bring those shoulders relax, to settle back into those pillows with a sigh that speaks of a light conscience. What did Yuzuri say? If Obi doesn’t want to behave, he’ll drag you down with him…?

Well, he hates to disappoint.

“Or am I?” The cot nearly cracks down the middle from how fast the Big Guy turns on it, sputtering. Obi just tosses him a wink. “Don’t worry, Big Guy. I’m not the kind of girl who likes to kiss and tell.”

*

For all that their lovely nurse devotedly frets over the potential stupors they could slip into with even the slightest bit of shut eye, or sometimes even something like getting up too fast or breathing too easy, she’s sure eager to encourage them to piss all by their lonesomes one she’s sure they can make the walk.

“What, this doesn’t get you going?” Obi asks, peeking around the door. “I hear some people really get into—”

“I hear some people really don’t get jello at dinner,” she replies, shoving him bodily through the crack. “Wanna see if you’re one of them?”

“What if the stream’s too strong and I get vertigo?” He winces, hearing all those words echo in so small a space, but it’s worth it for the noise she makes outside the door. “What if I crack my head on the floor and get a double concussion?”

“Then at least you’ll be quiet.”

There’s a slam— a door. Not this one, the particle board so paper thin Big Guy could probably sneeze it off its hinges; but the heavier infirmary door, one meant to withstand a mortar shell, maybe even nuclear blast— but Obi doesn’t bother to bite back his grin. Maybe if he’s lucky, she’s run into Suzu on the way to the commissary and give him a full run down of all the ways she could make Obi’s death look like an accident. Some real romantic talk to keep a nerd warm at night.

With shake and a wriggle— how Big Guy managed to move around in here when his elbows keep cracking into the tile, Obi’ll never know— he wraps up his business, sauntering straight out onto the infirmary floor. With no kaiju to keep the place hopping, it’s dark, the only light coming from the lamp angled over Yuzuri’s desk, and from behind their ring of curtains. A nice way to find his way back; or at least it would be if he didn’t already count two shadows there: one hitched up on the bed, shoulder big enough to overflow the outline of the pillows, and the other—

The other’s standing, tall enough to make Big Guy seem normal sized, and radiating authority the same way the sirens do danger.

Ah, fuck. It’s the Marshal. Hide, a cacophony of whispers hiss, which— he’d love to, if there was a single goddamn place to do it.

“I take it this isn’t a social call.” Big Guy doesn’t have a deep voice, not the way the circumference of his chest would suggest, but he’s pitched it low now. Still too much to be contained by a curtain, though.

The Marshal cocks his head, wry. “Would you believe me if I said, ‘yes?’”

There’s a hesitation, a huff that might be something like humor. “No.”

“Then let’s not waste time pretending.” It might be a trick of the acoustics in this room, a little reverb on that tinny echo, but Obi could swear His Majesty sounds amused. “I’ve heard you’ve quite the rapport with our new ranger.”

Oh, hell. As if this isn’t the cherry on top of his shit sundae: not only is he stuck, standing right out in the open as the top brass talks Top Secret, he’s the topic they’re having tea over.

“News travels fast.”

“Danger of living in one of these little warrens.” The Marshal shrugs. “Rats like to chatter.”

Air hisses between Big Guy’s teeth, the way it did right before he threw his haymaker. “Not a lot of people eager to be on the wrong side of the mat from him. Not after the way he and Zen went at it the last time.”

“So you…what?” It’s uncanny how even the Marshal can make his voice; no inflection, no judgment, no answers. “Thought you’d help him keep his edge?”

“He asked.” There’s a rustle, a creak, and even though he can’t see it, he knows mountains are moving to make that shrug. “Not like I’ve got much to be afraid of.”

If one half of his face didn’t feel as ginger as the oldest wicker chair on some grandma’s patio, Obi might take some offense to that. That’s what you get for being so scrawny, a gruff voice scrapes over his ear, everyone underestimates you.

That, hums another, too pleased, is kind of the point.

“Good.” There’s something final in the way the Marshal says it, less like an observation, and more like an assessment. A test passed with much anticipated flying colors. “Keep doing that.”

Obi could cut the consternation in this room with a knife. “Excuse me, sir?”

“Was I not clear?” His Majesty’s tone conveys his confidence that he was. Maybe even too much so. “I’d like you to pursue this…relationship with our new colleague. Foster this tentative trust you have managed to build.”

Ha. Obi’s heart stutter hard enough— loud enough— that even the peanut gallery keeps their opinions to themselves. He should have known something like this would happen; sure, all the paperwork calls Hachimaru a failure, one that should have never flopped its way out of dry dock, but to someone like Izana Wisteria, well—

He’s got a reputation for ruthlessness for a reason. Enough of one that it escaped containment, slipping past the PDPC’s iron curtain of silence to spread around the streets of Sitka. Buildin’ a wall to keep the monsters out, one of the wallmen had chuckled over his pint, but no matter how high we do it, that one will still be in here.

Obi might have called that unfair, once. Sure, His Majesty wasn’t exactly a friendly guy, at least not with the rank and file, though there were magazines enough that showed him being chummy with the higher ups, but, well— pedigree might have put him in a pod, but it wouldn’t have pulled him a position so high above it. No, that only went to the corps' top minds, the ones who knew what it took out there to take your lumps and drag your metal coffin home. The ones who understood what they were asking when they dumped two men out into the Pacific and asked them to stop a natural disaster or die trying.

But if that guy is gonna meddle in his business like this, well, maybe once they finish building that wall, they can dump him over it. Lets the monsters sort it out between themselves. Knowing the Marshal, he’d still find a way to come out on—

“No.”

“No?” The way the Marshal wraps his mouth around the word sends shivers up his arms.

“I can’t do that. I mean, I won’t.” Big Guy snorts, like there’s a stench in the air he can’t quite get rid of. “I’d do a lot for you, sir, I would. Take a bullet. Die for the cause. But I’m not going to…to manipulate that man back into a jaeger for you. Not like this.”

A breath catches in Obi’s throat, nearly choking him. Big Guy’s got a heart of gold, but he can’t possibly be stupid enough to— to—

“Well well.” To his utter surprise, the Marshal laughs. “Good thing that’s not what I’m asking.”

Big Guy grunts. “Isn’t it?”

“If you couldn’t manage to convince my brother into the cockpit, I doubt you’ll have much luck with a man you barely know.” For how casually it’s said, there’s a bite to it, each word honed to sting. “I only meant that he’s not responding to the typically recommended course of therapy.”

Right. Because after that one session with Doc post-drift, all his peanut gallery clamoring to have their turn now that cat had clawed its way out of the bag, he hadn’t been able to drag himself back. And with all the dinners and hallway-run ins they’ve had since, Doc didn’t seem eager to sit him back down on her couch any time soon either.

“But he seems responsive to you, Major Lowen.” Or at least responsive to getting his shit kicked in, whatever that said about him. “Rangers are typically taciturn about their issues. I thought this route might be worth encouraging, since he seems amenable. Sometimes it’s easier for military men to discuss their problems with someone who has gone through the same ones. Especially” —Obi doesn’t need to see his smirk to know it’s there— “if they’re with the same person.”

Obi might not have stuck around under his dome once the dust settled, but he knew all about guys like Lowen. The regulation haircut, the closet full of BDUs, the fondness for field rations and boiled chicken— just a thin veneer of muscle and bravado over a reflex to ‘sir, yes, sir’ his way out of any problem more complex than picking which socks to put on in the morning. He might have stuck his neck out for something that twinged the weather vane that was his moral compass, but now that someone with stars and bars has explained to him that black is white, he’ll—

“That all?” Big Guy’s too nice to spit out the “sir?” but that little hitch before it, that small hesitation— well, sky writing would have been more subtle.

“Yes.” There’s no tone to that one either, no flavor. Just the implacable bite of subzero. “Unless, of course, there’s something you’d like to discuss?”

There shouldn’t be, his tone conveys, clear enough it could be heard in the hangar. Obi could swear he hears Big Guy’s teeth grind from here.

There’s a long stretch of silence, the kind that makes his skin itch.

“Just one thing, actually. Sir.” The bed creaks, and his shadow shifts, pulling straight. “Been noticing there’s a lot of hopefuls hanging around the past few months. Thought they might be clearing out now that all this business with Tyrannis is done.”

The Marshal hums, distant. “There’s hardly any rush, Major. A few sets of extra hands is always welcome.”

“Even when they don’t come with their own ride?”

For once, His Majesty hesitates. “Even then.”

“Even” —Big Guy almost savors his next words— “if they’re Hisame Lugis?”

“Dangerous times makes strange bedfellows.” The Marshal laughs, sour. “Especially ones like Hisame Lugis. Now if you don’t mind” — the curtain pulls aside— “I think our friend might like to use his bed. Isn't that right, Major?”

Ha, a voice tingles in his ear, busted.

[lesbianworlock]

Not to like “oh woe is me” post but I feel like I can vent on tumblr since it’s idk tumblr. But I was SO excited for my final semester of undergrad this summer and then almost immediately after I got here in August I began struggling very deeply in ways I have never struggled before. Like confused 24/7, missing assignments because I was too tired to even get out my phone let alone my laptop, forgetting everything including what I’m doing or where I’m supposed to be and even classroom locations on a campus I’ve been at for 4 and 1/2 years. Losing things constantly, randomly loosing grip strength and dropping things, horrible brain fog, waking up feeling like I’m shaking 24/7 but everyone telling me I’m not shaking anywhere when I ask, issues walking, dizziness, vertigo. I’ve been having such extreme fatigue I can’t even get out of bed to pee until it hurts because I’m just too tired. This has been happening since August. Which I assumed this was bad depressive episode so I had them double my antidepressants, and then nothing got better.

But then like two months ago I woke up with this pain in the left upper corner of my right eye. Just a spot the size of my fingertip. And it had me in so much pain I was throwing up. So I thought “I’m a big kid, I have migraines like this all the time.” and I took some of my medicine for that. But it didn’t go away. It lasted for a whole day. When it came back a few days later I decided maybe it was sinus pressure, so I took some allergy meds and some cold meds for a week while it was hurting off and on. But that didn’t work. And then it came back and I got a migraine over top of it. So it wasn’t that. And FINALLY last week it got so bad I couldn’t see out of my eye, the pain had been constant for about four days, and I was so dizzy I could barely walk. So my mom drove an hour out of state to pick me up and an hour back down to take me to the er, who promptly sent me to their on call opthamolagist who, after a serious of very very bright lights directly to my hella dilated pupils, told me my optical nerve is swollen and I need and mri.

Which is FUCKING STUPID that my optical nerve is causing me this much pain. But whatever.

Anyway the day after I went to the er and saw the eye doctor I had a follow-up with my primary care physician, and he said “oh yeah, they’re gonna want that mri urgently. We want to make sure you don’t have ms. Your symptoms are consistent and optical neuritis is often one of the first things ms patients experience before diagnosis.” like girl? If I have ms that chose to present itself by incapacitating me to the point I am failing my final semester of undergrad, and may not be able to fix it, I am going to lose my mind. It couldn’t have presented itself six months from now?????? There’s no confirmation it’s me yet until after my mri, but still. Whatever this is has me pissed tf off. Show up at a different time.

All that being said. Here’s a meme I made about it using a screenshot from one of my fave vines because I’m actually coping and not at all having a sort of hypochondria spiral and doing as much research on it as possible. That would be weird.

[muppetmilf]

i know i dropped off the face of the earth but past all the shit i outlined in my last post that has gone wrong, i also got very sick with covid over christmas and racked up some medical expenses (nothing serious i can cover those) and on christmas day i found out that my apartment had pipes burst in the ceiling. we are the top apartment and it caused MAJOR damage to not only our apartment but the two apartments below us, and my roommate left the heat off when he left (accidentally) so we’re entirely liable. i’ve got to go back to school soon and currently we’re still on the lease but it won’t be habitable until at least mid-feb, i have to find alternative housing until then and i’m in a mid-sized city so options are slim on short notice AND expensive where they do exist, if we stay on the lease we still have to pay full rent and if we terminate i’ll have to find somewhere else to live in a place where housing is ridiculously expensive (i really don’t want to terminate the lease but my roommates do atp, trying to talk them out of it but i don’t want to force anything either). we also have to pay for the housing accommodations of the people below us and whatever our insurance doesn’t cover from damages. we’ve also been informed that they might dispute and try not to pay, so on top of ALL of this other shit we’ve been contacting lawyers so we don’t get absolutely fucked over. i am so immensely stressed about my living situation, my finances, and now my physical health even more so than i usually am because the stress has caused a flare and i’m having new symptoms, i went to my rheumatologist today and he’s concerned and i have to get another mri (but realistically i’m just going to have to skip it because i don’t have the money) and he recommended physical therapy which i also cannot afford. my family is solidly middle class but this has completely gone over what we can afford.

this is a fucking novel but if you got to the end thanks for reading, and if anyone knows where i can ask for financial aid i would REALLY appreciate it because i am so lost (other than tumblr i don’t do social media and i haven’t been on here lately bc i’ve just been trying to stay afloat since like november). i doubt many ppl on tumblr could help bc i don’t think most of us have much money so anything from anywhere is appreciated, i’ll make accounts if i need to. i might make a formal post here anyways and see what comes of it, i am absolutely desperate, i had to get an airbnb for the first two weeks of the semester and it was almost 900 dollars (!!!) which i had to put on a credit card :( and my monthly rent is 700 and because we are considered liable we still have to pay that if we keep the apartment. i feel sick to my stomach constantly omg

[phantalgia]

10/23/24 - Becoming and A Dream To Be A Cute Gay Twink Couple

So much fear...isolation, loneliness. My health has torn me apart tonight. I went to sleep on a full stomach. I noticed I was having micro panic attack as I tried to fall asleep. When I did, I woke up. Sick as a dog. Nauseous, weak, feverish, heart palpitations, shaky.

I didn't think I was going to get out of bed. But i did. That actually helped oddly enough. Moving around and pacing. It wasn't perfect. I took extra heart meds and breathed into a bag. Those 3 things all helped. Right now it's still lingering.

I don’t want to get too into it because of how nervous it makes me. But my LVNC MRI I had came back normal, with just a passing about my trabeculations. I’m hoping that means nothing has changed since my last MRI. My doctor is certain I'll live a long healthy life and the worst case scenerio is I would have an ablation. Things should be fine...I got a follow up with my doctor. Maybe he has encouragement. Then it's the doctor who ordered the MRI. Who tends to not be so optimisitic.

I hate this. Long COVID, dysautonomia, respritory alkalosis, anxiety, post-surgery issues, whatever it is. I need to live a life. And living a life has to do with people. I want the people I want in my life. That's what this person I’m trying to reconnect with symbolizes.

Perhaps it's just twink to twink communication but it's hard to let go. I know I have to regardless if things happen or not. I know I can be proud of myself for growing from this experience regardless. Recognizing what is important to me. And that's cute twinks/enbys to be gay with. And who aren't raving bigots too...yes for some reason there's a lot of them.

I guess that's a fantasy for me now. Just someone cute, where we can just be two cute twinks. I'd love that. I only ever did like twinks/enbys because of their USUALLY sweetness, and sensitivities. I don’t want these fake stoic social darwinist ones. Pick flowers for once please...

But this won’t happen while I’m locked away like this. I gotta do something. Whether it's broading my search out. Or what. I don’t know what to do. It's much harder when you’re sick like I am and just bombarded by guilt, holding onto the past, and somatic based anxiety 24/7.

What if I accepted that maybe I won’t get the dream that I want? No holding each other under a tree, no walks together, no cuddling. What if I just die young and alone? It's grim, extreme. But I want to calm that fear down. Perhaps this just wasn't my life. Is that ok? It wasn't a useless life. I learned a lot. I did my best. I guess I’m just trying to accept that I might die young and alone to calm it, FOR NOW.

This may not be the truth. I may find someone one day. Perhaps things will be rekindled. I just know I cant keep holding onto the past. The two can go together. I should hold onto the people I do have. Even if it's not ideal, and be open to the new people, they could be just as good. It's going to take time. I know that I can at least stop the searching for this person and let it go.

Nothing is overnight, I’m in pain. Emotionally and physically. Maybe it won’t always be like this. Things will change over time. Time is a good asset. Perhaps events will happen that will push me towards urgency. Whether extreme or not so extreme.

I’m not giving up, but I’m leaving room for the worst case scenerio since it won’t go away.

[heyitsme1040]

Headspace [s.r]

summary : Getting a call from the hospital telling you your boyfriend was there made you worry. Finding out his severe headaches were back worried you even more, because he hadn’t told you about them. Finally, he opens up about them and you learn they happen after hard cases. Spencer reassures you that he’s okay, and the two of you go back to your apartment. 

pairings : Spencer Reid x Reader

warnings : Hospital setting (no serious description), migraines, mention of weapons (if I missed anything let me know!)

word count : 1,150

AO3 (x)

a/n : Day nine of Comfortember is here! The prompt was ‘aftermath’. Chronic migraines suck. Especially when stress and lack of sleep can cause them to happen more frequently. I imagine a high stress job like the BAU can make them worse. 

You pace outside the hospital room, repeating the events of today in your head again. You tried to get Spencer to talk to you, let you know what was going on, but he was persistent in saying it was nothing. He’d been wearing his sunglasses more again, and you knew his headaches were back. He didn’t say anything last time, but you had just joined the team then. You didn’t feel like you could say anything then, but now things were different. 

It’s been a little over a year since he last had a headache, and since you joined the BAU. The two of you have gotten closer in that time, became partners in the field, and started dating. With the amount of trust between the two of you, both inside and out of the office, you couldn’t help but feel hurt that he didn't talk to you. The only reason you knew now was that the hospital called you to inform you that he was in the hospital and would need someone to drive once he was discharged. You had rushed here, beyond worried, and now had to wait patiently for the doctor to step out of his room. 

When the door finally opened, you noticed the lights inside were very dim. Spencer was sitting on the bed as you stepped inside. You were surprised that he held his arms open, wanting a hug. Stepping into his hold, you loosely wrapped your arms behind his neck while he lent into you. You lightly scratched the long hair at the nape of his neck, swaying slightly. 

“Are you okay?” You quietly spoke. 

“Yeah,” Spencer promised, “doctors didn’t see anything on the MRIs again.”

“How long have the headaches been back?” You lightly pried. 

Spencer’s long sigh was defeated, “About a month now. It’s only been really bad again these past couple of days. I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Spence,” you groaned, “I want to worry about you. How would you feel if something serious was happening and I didn’t tell you?”

“I know, I know. It’s just that, I don’t want to worry people. It’s just headaches and there’s nothing else happening. The doctor thinks it could just be chronic migraines at this point. I didn’t want to say anything until the doctors ran their final tests to determine what’s happening.” 

You sighed, understanding why he hadn’t said anything. If the rest of the team found out about it, then they would all be worrying over Spencer to some degree during a case. The team needed to be as focused as possible in the field, but you still didn’t understand why he didn’t tell you. 

“You could have told me, you know. I wouldn’t have told Hotch or Rossi. But Spence, when you start to see spots from your headaches you can’t ignore it. Especially when it can cause you to collapse like it did today,” you fussed over him. 

Spencer nodded against you. You felt the knot of worry in your chest start to loosen. You stepped away to give him some space, looking at the papers on the bed next to him. You pick them up, skimming over the discharge paperwork. Your eyes caught on the chronic migraine diagnosis, followed by what he can take to help them. You made a note to buy a bottle of migraine relief to keep in your go bag, and folded the paper before pocketing it. Spencer carefully stood up and grabbed his messenger bag from beside his feet. 

“Migraines can be caused by stress and lack of sleep, you know. With everything we just dealt with from this last unsub, it’s not surprising I had a migraine,” Spencer tried to reassure you. 

You nodded, walking next to him. You knew he was right, and from everything the team worried about constantly you were surprised his migraines hadn’t been worse. You still didn’t like that they were happening and affecting him, but you were grateful he wasn’t in constant pain from them. You continued to rationalize everything to yourself as the two of you walked to your car.

You thought of how much Spencer handled during the past case. He’d finally determined where the unsub was likely taking his victims. He’d been the first to rush to the SUVs while calling Hotch, rushing to explain the details of where the unsub was. You’d all arrived moments between each other, Hotch taking the lead. As you all broke off in pairs to search the property, it was you and Spencer that found the unsub in the basement. Spencer was the first to try convincing the unsub to put the knife down. You kept your gun trained on the man, and Spencer put his own gun away. He managed to slowly approach the unsub while talking, reaching out to take the knife away as the unsub’s hold on the knife weakened. When the man was disarmed, you were relieved that Spencer got the young boy away from his captor while you swiftly began to take the unsub into custody. The adrenaline still rushing through you didn’t stop. It wasn’t until everyone was back on the jet that you began to feel the effects of what you’d put your body through the last thirty six hours. 

You couldn’t imagine how the effects of everything felt for Spencer. The stress of finding the boy, lack of sleep, and pressure of getting the boy away from the unsub weighed on him. All of that building up to a migraine while he was working on reports in the bullpen. It hadn’t been until Spencer was walking outside of Quantico that it apparently became too much for him, causing him to collapse. Somebody had called an ambulance, and it wasn’t until paramedics had gotten him in the hospital that you’d been called. 

“Can I stay at your apartment?” Spencer asks as you buckle. 

“Yeah,” you can hear the relief in your voice.

“Thank you. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“I understand why you didn’t. With everything we deal with, it takes its toll on everyone differently.”

Spencer reaches out and takes your hand. The warmth of his fingers between yours is reassuring. He’s here right now, and everything is out in the open now. You can’t blame him for not wanting to worry you. Dealing with everything the two of you go through is hard, and sometimes you don’t want to talk to him about how you feel after difficult cases. You don’t want to worry him with it. And you understand that he felt the same way toward you, not wanting to worry you with his migraines after dealing with an unsub. 

“I promise I won’t keep it from you any more,” Spencer squeezes your hand. “Thank you for caring about me.”

“I’ll always care about you,” you lean over and kiss his cheek. “Now, let’s go home.”

Author's Note : Reblogs are appreciated, likes are welcome, and if you want to read more of my fics then maybe follow.

©heyitsme1040 If you find this post on any platform under a username different than heyitsme1040 it is not their work.

[quotesfrommyreading]

During a practice just three months into that initial semester, though, a teammate fell on Hardrick's right leg, eliciting a pop loud enough for the whole gymnasium to hear. He felt like he'd been struck with a sledgehammer and collapsed on the hardwood floor in pain.

Team doctors said X-rays didn't show a tear. They estimated Hardrick would only miss the first few games. But he didn't end up playing once the whole season. Or at the start of the next season. During practices, Hardrick felt shooting pains whenever he tried to run or jump. He says when he told his coaches about the discomfort, they said he wasn't trying hard enough. "I was in pain," Hardrick says. "I had to fight just to get though warm-ups."

That January, a year and four months after the injury, the phone rang at Valerie Hardrick's house. It was a woman from a medical clinic, saying the family owed money for an MRI their son had undergone the previous fall. Valerie said they must be mistaken—her son had never gone for an MRI. And she would know if he had. The administrator persisted, going on to say that the film showed a torn meniscus.

The family says that when they confronted the school, the staff disputed the results of the MRI and continued to maintain Hardrick had only pulled a groin muscle. Meanwhile, Hardrick says, officials began pushing him out. He recalls that the athletic director told him to start thinking about other options, saying maybe this wasn't the best place for him. He was no longer told about team meetings, he says, and then one day when Hardrick went to the gym, he discovered his keycard had been deactivated.

Spring break of his sophomore year, Hardrick used his dad's military insurance to get surgery on his own. The surgeon who did the operation told him the tear was so severe he had to remove 10 percent of the tissue, which had been flapped behind the knee, making it painful to bend or run on. When Hardrick, still determined to get back on the court, asked Oklahoma for a medical redshirt waiver, which gives injured players an extra year of eligibility, the family said the athletic director continued to deny the injury and, therefore, the waiver request. By summer, Hardrick resigned himself to transferring, and signed up for one last set of summer-school classes. Then in July, he received a bill for $3,500 and a letter informing him that the university had canceled his scholarship—effective at the close of the previous semester.

Since Hardrick had a decent grade-point average, many other Division I schools were interested. All he needed was for Oklahoma to give him a medical hardship waiver (NCAA rules say players must sit out a year if they transfer, unless they didn't play the previous year because of an injury). Although Capel was no longer coaching at Oklahoma when Hardrick lobbied for the needed paperwork, he wrote a letter to the conference officials supporting his claims that he was unable to play because of his injury. The athletic director, though, would only grant a medical hardship waiver if the Hardricks signed a release saying there was never an injury and they would never sue (records of the correspondence confirm this). The family declined.

So the 20-year-old ended up transferring to a junior college. He's since had two more surgeries on his knee and has moved up to a Division II college, Southern Nazarene University, where he hopes to continue his recovery and finish his education (Southern Nazarene is paying for his rehab). Hardrick still believes that if his injury had been addressed immediately, he might be playing in the NBA right now. "I don't love basketball anymore," Hardrick says. "Not after everything that's happened."

  —  'I Trusted 'Em': When NCAA Schools Abandon Their Injured Athletes

[goodthoughts001]

More Ups and Downs - and a Request for Help สล็อตเว็บตรงแท้

Editors Note: My apologies to anyone who came to my blog over the last two days. I had a post here (including a reply from สล็อตเว็บตรงแท้) and Blogger ate it. I'm attempting to re-post now. Wish me luck.

Had the best single night of my poker career playing 10/20 – quadrupled up. Big deal.

What I want to blog about today is a perplexing hand at 20/40. It has me curious on so many levels, that I really want some input.

Yes, Ryan. I’m talking about you.

In late position, I raise with Ad 10d. At this point, I had a pretty solid table image and only showed down winners or big hands. Ryan was a late comer to the game, and was playing his usual tight aggressive style. In fact, he only played about one hand for every three I was playing.

Ryan was in the blind and called. I’ve blogged about this before. If there is no one in the pot, calling a raise from the big blind is almost a no brainer. You are getting 4.5 to 1.

Ryan and I are heads up. The flop comes down with something like J 8 2 with 2 diamonds. Good draw for me. Ryan checks, so I lead out. Ryan smooth calls. Right away I’m nervous, but okay. Let’s see the turn.

The turn is a non-diamond but puts a second club on the board. Ryan bets right out, and I raise. Here is where I need some help. Ryan re-raises!

Okay. I know I’m beat right now, but I have the draw to the nut flush, so I call. The river misses me. I check with a plan on folding to a bet, but Ryan also checks and flips over 2c 3c for a pair of 2s and a nice pot.

Time for some critical review.

Ryan played the hell out of this hand. He wins on so many levels:

Maybe he read one of my screaming tells that I was still drawing.

He knows I’m capable of folding, so maybe he thought he’d win the pot right there with the re-raise.

If you re-read the statement above (I know I’m beat right now), you see I was playing level 1 poker – what’s in my hand? Who cares what he’s holding?

My calling the re-raise should have made him extremely nervous. Why didn’t I pick up on that? Surely he would have folded if I bet the river.

Or would he? At this point, it’s almost worth an extra $40 to show the table that you are willing to be aggressive with the second worst hand in poker (don’t let anyone tell you 7 2 off-suit is the worst hand. It is, but only pre-flop. At the river, 2 3 is the worst).

Anyway, kudos to Ryan for a great play. I finished the night down only a little thanks to a real donkey play with 8 3 of diamonds – otherwise I would have been down a lot more. Only two or three more big wins, and I’m taking a shot at the 50/100 game, so watch out Seattle John!

What an incredible trip to Atlantic City!! I haven’t been this excited about an educational opportunity since sex-ed in the 7th grade. And the class didn’t disappoint.

For those that don’t know, I’m a radiologist. I read CT scans, MRI’s and x-rays for the US Army (at least for the next 2 years – but that’s for a different post). I was recently asked to take over cardiac imaging, and I was thrilled to accept.

But, that meant learning the ins and outs of the heart. Traditionally, the heart has been left to the cardiologist. Radiologists sort of danced around the “big light bulb” in the chest. Before the days of cardiologists, radiologists “owned” the heart, but we let it slip away in a relatively uncontested turf battle.

Well, guess who’s back in town!!

If all goes according to plan, everyone wins – the radiologist, the cardiologist, and most importantly, the patient. Based on what I learned at this course, cardiac imaging may go from something I do occasionally, to the majority of my daily practice. This is a prospect that is both daunting and exciting. My command is nervous that we don’t have the technical staff to support this, but I don’t care. I’m doing it because it’s the right thing to do, and it will save lives. Let them figure out the details.

Anyway, while I was in NJ, I stayed at the Borgata. It certainly had a Las Vegas feel. I got a chance to head to the boardwalk and see the “old” AC – the one I remember. The interlocking crosshatch of the wooden boardwalk and the sound of the ocean really brought back memories.

I remember coming to AC with my dad back in 1984. I was 17, and I had the old paper NY driver’s license. A little scratching with a paperclip and some careful artwork with a sharp #2, and I was no longer born in 1967 – it now said 1966. Suddenly I’m 18 and strolling through the Taj like, well, like a 17 year old.

I had flop sweat.

I walked up to a blackjack table with my dad, and I think I may have even placed a bet before I got kicked out. I still have a young face – I don’t know how I thought I was going to get away with sneaking into a casino when I looked 12.

Now, fast forward to last weekend. I got to stroll along the boardwalk with none other than the famous Lady Falcon. What a gracious hostess!! We met up in the Taj Mahal, and after playing only a few hands of 10/20, the table broke, giving us the opportunity to chat and stroll. I was still overwhelmed by the flood of memories from being there, but I hope I help up my end of the conversation. My buddy Mike showed up too soon, and the Lady and I parted ways. It was a great short visit, and I hope to get invited to one of her famous home games the next time I’m on the East Coast.

[storiesaboutrachelcarolann]

Updating my life!

It’s been a minute since I’ve wrote. A lot has happened in my life since I wrote the last post regarding my ventures, it’s been a crazy ride lemme tell you, but I wouldn’t have changed  anything about these past few years if I could. All and all it’s taught me who I need to become and not who I want to become.

God/ Spirit has stepped into my life in many many ways over the last few years to simply get my attention. It’s best to be described as boom, boom, boom and then bang lol. It’s basically been pretty much the tower in the tarot. Anything that hasn’t been built on a solid foundation has been wiped clean, it’s like a big flash of lightning comes down from the sky and cracks me open straight down the middle of my core being. This happened to allow for fresh starts to begin and ultimately major for major healing of my whole self. 

Change is hard to grasp sometimes as it’s different for everyone, but the main reason these tower moments keep happening is because a lot of us tend run and seek shelter in all the wrong places, with all the wrong people, etc.. the more we run from the inevitable or God/ Spirit the more he steps in and slams the breaks on, the more he’ll continue to put blocks in place such as the boom, boom, boom, bang moments it’s quite scary actually considering how powerful he really is. He is way stronger than any of us so here’s a bit of advice from this girl - listen the first time and stop trying to dodge the bullet so to speak it’ll be much easier in the long run.

There’s been many changes that have occurred and if I had listened the first time maybe I wouldn’t have had to have gone through so much emotionally, mentally and physically, but sitting here really thinking about it I probably wouldn’t have changed it in anyway because it all shaped me into who I am today at this moment in time.

The challenges aren’t meant to destroy you, they are however meant to show you how strong you really are when push comes to shove, when the path is dark and frightening never give up, that’s where you’ll find your strength to preserve forward and find out just who God/ Spirit really is. He has the ability to pull anyone from the ashes, but we all have to give him permission to, he does not just do it - we have to help him do so in all ways.

As many of you know I chose to put my horse down the end of September 2022, it was time. He was 26. I spent fifteen wonderful years with Chance and he lent me his wings for so long, he carried me through the fire of hell many times. It was time to give him back his wings because I had discovered I’d grown my own over the years. He’s still carrying me even though it’s no longer in the physical form I can feel him spiritually everyday lifting me up - as a reminder to never give up. Our journey together will never really have an end. 

In the morning of July 14, 2022 I had saddled him up for the last time, but I didn’t know that at the time. I went to mount and as soon as my butt hit the saddle I had the worst pain ever imaginable surge through my whole body, still to this day I don’t know how I managed to ever dismount and get back to the barn to make a call for help. It must’ve been God carrying me. Everything seemed to be getting better up until the middle of October of 2022, I was walking right up until the 31st which happened to be Halloween. A week or so later I was finding it very hard to walk, I was practically crawling. Mama took me to hospital two times and they didn’t do much at all, they gave me pills and sent me home. I was forced to get myself a wheelchair to make it easier to manoeuvre around this house. I was sent for a series of tests.The MRI results showed what was going on, I have a whole bunch of “little” things going on, but the biggest problem of all is a herniated disk which is beyond severe, it’s located right above my butt crack, it’s cutting off nerves in my back which is causing me to not be able to use my legs as I once did. It’s like they are rubber noodles. I am waiting to see a surgeon in the city, hopefully that will happen soon so I can get my feet fully underneath me once again. I am stuck taking many medications for the time being which makes me feel like s*** if I am being honest here lol. 

The series of events that I’ve been through just in the last year had really made me question God in a lot of ways, but sitting here right now writing this for all of you who will read this in the future I am going to call it “divine intervention” in a multitude of ways. It’s as if I wasn’t listening, I wanted change and I asked for it, I even screamed to God daily saying, “something has to give!” I knew something had to give, but I didn’t expect to have to put my horse down or my cat Oliver “Fat Meow” down in such a short time. I knew there was more going on then meets the eye with both of them, my intuition told me so. 

Towers come into our lives to bring change, sometimes everything crashes and burns to the ground, but that’s so we can all start over in whatever way is fitting for each and everyone of you. All of our situations are different. My eyes are more open than they’ve ever been before my perspectives have changed on a lot of things in a few short months. In a few short days it seems I have gone from feeling sorry for myself to embracing this obstacle and I’m seeing it in a new light. It has changed my way of life. I have gone from being independent to having to rely on others to help me. This has forced me to ask for help, this has really shown me in my circle of friends, family members, who’s really got my back when I am in the dark. I’ve seen the light and the dark, but I am choosing the light from now on and what no longer serves me is being let go of it is being removed, God’s stepped in so I am able to find that sense of peace and fulfilment that I deserve.

I hope that everyone at some point can see the good in the bad, it’s always there, sometimes it’s found in the darkness in which many of us are scared to walk through. At some point you’ll be forced to do so, you’ll be forced to have a real good look at yourself and you won’t be able to run away from what you’ve always ran from. God steps into our lives in many ways, God has the reins, he’s  steering the ship and going forward we’ll have no control what so ever. Accept that! Go with the flow you’ll be so glad that you did. It’s way easier trust me. You’ll find your light in the pitch black I promise you. I am not saying everything is going to be easy from here on out, but if you can just be patient, wait it out and do what God/ Spirit is asking you to do right now. You’ll discover vital information, this includes everything from coping mechanisms for overcoming anything that will be placed in front of you as an obstacle, etc.. 

There are rewards for those who never give up! You’ve got this! You’ll be okay! Remain strong my friends, keep fighting - find your strength that has been buried by the Devil for so long. It’ll be found in the rubble (the darkness).Darkness will not go where there’s light! Remember that!

Yours truly,

Rachel Smith 

The Coastline Intuitive (on Facebook)

The Empress and her grand rise!