#Medical Blood Bag Market

[syoish-aot]

"I Found You (too)" - EREN/READER - REINCARNATION AU (chapter 4)

eren/reader

Rating: M

2020s reincarnation of marleyan nurse reader & undercover eren

2.4k words

also on Ao3

<- chapter 3 | chapter 5 ->

Liberio, 854

After two months, you and Mr. Kruger established a routine.

Every morning you woke him up.

You gave him his medication (slipping the green sedative into your pocket to dispose of later), checked his vitals and made your notes about his progress.

Then you helped him change so he could go down to breakfast.

He got free time for a few hours.

You made sure he ate lunch.

After that, he went to physical therapy with Dr. Rall.

He was normally in a bad mood after physical therapy so he would return to his room to read whatever he’d been given from the library. You’d commented on his books a few times because they were normally ones you’d read, but he never wanted to talk about them. Sometimes it made you wonder if he was reading them at all. Sometimes you thought he might have been staring at the words with his mind somewhere else, only returning to his body when an appropriate amount of time had passed and he should flip to the next page.

Regardless, he was there for another hour.

After that he had dinner. A shower (on his days to do so). And then it was back to his room for his last dose of medications before you locked him up for the night.

You chatted sometimes throughout the day as you made his bed or checked his blood pressure. And every day you noticed him getting a little more talkative. 

He was healing. That was why he talked more now. He was healing. 

That fact alone would make any nurse proud, which it did; but at the same time, selfishly, it also did something else…

“Do you think you’ll be discharged soon?” You asked as you packed up your small bag of equipment once you were done changing his bandages. 

His eye wasn’t healing as quickly as it should have been. You were worried about it, but it wasn’t your place to say anything, so you put it in your notes instead and left it up to the doctors to discuss.

“Dunno.” He answered casually.

“What’ll you do once you are? Do you have family in the internment zone?”

His silence said everything. 

“I don’t either.” You told him before he looked over at you. “Have family, I mean. My parents died a few years ago and my older brother he-” You froze, bandages half packed into your bag as the sight of it flashed through your mind.

The sight of your older brother’s corpse strung up against the outer wall of the internment zone.

Rope. Flesh. Crimson words on faded brick.

No.

You pushed the memory away, filling your head with other thoughts to replace it:

A house. A warm bed. Homemade food.

Better.

“Anyway.” You cleared your throat as you shoved the rest of the bandages into your bag and zipped it closed. “I guess that’s why I’m so much of a workaholic!” You laughed.

“Hm.” Was Mr. Kruger’s only reply.

“Maybe that’s what you could do once you get out of here!”

“What? Be a workaholic?” His tone was dry and void of emotion, but you now knew that was how he told jokes.

“Oh ha-ha.” You answered back in a tone just as dry. “Not a workaholic,” you were back to smiling as you grabbed your bag, “but a job.”

“Yeah,” he said as he glanced out the window, “maybe…”

Two Days Later

Mr. Kruger wasn’t in his room.

Which wasn’t a bad thing. His schedule indicated that it was his free time so he was allowed to be in the open areas of the hospital. It was just that normally during said free time he still kept himself locked away. You should have been happy to see him getting fresh air for once, and you were happy, but…

You’d smuggled him a peach tart from the morning market and you wanted to make sure he got a chance to try it before you were found out.

It wasn’t your first time sneaking him food that he technically wasn’t supposed to be having. It had started with small things: candies, apples, the occasional warm tea. Each time you did it he mumbled a short “thank you” as he slowly ate whatever you’d brought him.

Whenever it happened there was a fraction of a second where you were filled with warmth.

The same warmth you felt when you thought of-

A warm house. A scratchy couch. Homemade food.

You tried not to think too hard about why Mr. Kruger reminded you of that warmth, but he did. Despite his tired appearance, his slouched shoulders, and the monotone way in which he spoke- something about the moments you spent with him were warm. And because of that warmth they often always brought you somewhere better. Somewhere without brick walls, blood, and spray paint.

Somewhere nice.

With the shake of your head, you pulled yourself back to reality and continued down the hall in search of Mr. Kruger.

From the stairwell on the first floor, where a large window faced down to the lower courtyard, you spotted him. A tree covered half of the bench he was sitting on, concealing the person that he was talking to. But he was talking, and it made you smile.

Mr. Kruger kept to himself most of the time, so the notion that he might have made a friend was something new.

You could see his lips moving, his beautiful eyes set against the blank expression he always wore, the way his shoulders slouched as he sat there with his crutch leaning against the bench next to him. 

You watched him. 

And maybe you spent a little bit longer than you should have doing it, but you couldn’t help yourself.

You didn’t know what he was saying, but you could imagine the gravelly tone of his voice. The tired sarcasm he snuck in on occasion. The soft sighs he’d let out as he paused in what he was saying. You didn’t know what he was saying, but you’d talked to him enough to imagine what it sounded like.

To imagine the short “thank you” that he would mumble as you passed him the peach tart.

Mr. Kruger leaned forward and stared at the ground in front of his feet as he kept talking to his mysterious friend.

Everything was warm.

And then the sound of a doctor chatting with a nurse as they walked together down the hall pulled you away from that warmth.

Birds pecking flesh from bone- brick walls- crimson words.

You tore yourself away from the window to head down the stairs towards him.

By the time you joined Mr. Kruger, his new friend was gone. Maybe they went back to their room or they had grown bored of the conversation. As much as Mr. Kruger was your favourite patient, he made for a pretty terrible conversationalist. 

He was still staring at the ground as you approached. 

“There’s a surprise in your room~” You sang as you sat down next to him.

“What kind of surprise?”

“If I told you it would ruin the surprise part of it.”

He sighed. “You’re going to make me walk all the way up there, on one leg, without giving me a reason for why I should be doing it?”

His dry sense of humor (at least you thought it was humor, honestly maybe he was being serious, you could never really tell) made you laugh.

“Your free time’s almost over anyway,” you pointed out.

“Hm…” Mr. Kruger hummed in agreement before he reached for his crutch and used it to support himself as he stood. 

Your eyes fell to the bench. “Is this yours?” You asked, grabbing the baseball and holding it up to him.

“It was a gift.” Mr. Kruger answered as he started to walk away.

You followed after him, tossing the old ball between your hands. “Whoever got it for you must not know you very well,” you commented.

Mr. Kruger stopped walking and looked over at you with his visible eyebrow raised, wordlessly asking you to elaborate. 

“It’s just-...” you looked down at the ball again, “you’re not exactly in the right condition to play catch.”

You met his eyes.

Then you gestured to his missing leg.

For the first time ever, Mr. Kruger smiled. He let out a short huff of amusement and then kept walking.

You didn’t follow after him though.

You couldn’t.

Instead, you stared at the back of his head- completely transfixed by the way his smile lit up his face and made deep green eyes all the more breathtaking.

Warmth.

A warm room. A warm bed. A warm life.

Nothing but warmth.

Your knees felt weak. Your arms like noodles. And for a moment, you wondered if Mr. Kruger would let you borrow his crutch.

He thanked you for the tart and ate it right away.

He didn’t smile again, but his eyes lit up enough that he may as well have.

That night, when you were trying to fall asleep you took yourself somewhere nice.

A warm house, just big enough for two. Nice food. And a comfortable bed.

It was the same place you always went, the same place you’d been visiting your whole life. So peaceful and warm and safe.

You thought about Mr. Kruger’s eyes. You thought about Mr. Kruger’s smile. You thought about Mr. Kruger’s laugh.

“What is this place?” Mr. Kruger asked as he appeared in front of you. As he sat down on the scratchy couch and looked up at you with his expression blank, shoulders slouched, and a crutch propped up next to him.

You had never had guests here before.

.

.

.

The sun rose and lit up your cramped nurse’s quarters, pulling you back into the real world.

The world that didn’t have anything nice at all.

The world of rope… …of flesh torn from bone… …of two crimson words spray painted on the brick wall…

Two words. Words that haunted you.

Rope. Brick. Crimson.

That wasn’t the scary part. It had never been the scary part. The scary part had always been the words.

The rope. The brick. The crimson.

None of those things bothered you anymore. They were just reality but-

Mr. Kruger’s eyes. Mr. Kruger’s smile. Mr. Kruger’s laugh.

Those things had somehow become reality too…

Two words against a wall.

Mr. Kruger on that couch.

Two words.

The most terrifying part of the memory.

                                And it was just two words:

…Eldian Lover…

You’d always had a problem with spacing out.

Always ended up physically in this world, but with your head completely elsewhere. Ever since you were a little kid, chatting with your older brother about somewhere nice, it’s what you’d done. You’d been called out for it before- normally by your coworkers and occasionally by your friends.

“There she goes again,” they’d say, “there she goes into her daydreams.”

No one ever asked what you were thinking about, which you were glad for because you’d have to make up a quick lie if they did. It was always “snap out of it”, “wake up”, “come back to us”. It was never: “what was it like?”, “what did you do?”, “where did you go?”

Mr. Kruger was the same.

For you, it was the blank hospital walls but for Mr. Kruger-

For Mr. Kruger, it was the window.

You were packing up your bag of supplies, ready to move onto your next patient; and as you did so you watched him.

You watched him stare out the window- not to the courtyard below, or the trees that lined it, or even to the street that ran in front of the hospital.

That’s not what he was looking at. Never what he was looking at.

Mr. Kruger’s eyes were always on something else.

They were always on the horizon.

You couldn’t blame him for it, really. He knew what was below him, what was next to him, what was around him; but the horizon-... well…

Over the horizon, there could be just about anything.

“Where do you go, Mr. Kruger?” The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Where do you go?

It was the question that no one ever asked you, so you wondered what he would say in reply. Would he tell the truth? Would he lie? Would he even answer you at all?

You didn’t know how he would answer, but you still asked him anyway.

Where do you go?

At first, he didn’t look back. At first, he just kept staring. At first, you wondered if he even heard you at all. But then: “Hm?” He hummed, not moving a muscle.

You clarified: “When you stare out that window and slip away,” you asked, “where is it that you go?”

Slowly. Hesitantly. As if he wasn’t even aware that he was doing it: Mr. Kruger’s gaze moved from the window and back to you.

Your breath caught. You wanted to look away. You should look away. You should look away and stand up, grab your bag and lock the door behind you as you left.

The words came to mind before you could do anything to stop them: Eldian Lover

You didn’t get up. Instead-

Instead, you didn’t do any of that.

Instead, you stayed in a room you shouldn’t have stayed in, looking at a man you shouldn’t look at, while your heart sped up in a way it shouldn’t.

There were a lot of “shouldn’t”s when it came to Mr. Kruger.

The biggest one being how you felt every time his eyes met yours.

But you couldn’t help it that your stomach flipped. You couldn’t help it that your cheeks turned pink. That your heart hammered against your chest and that you were suddenly flooded with warmth. You knew why your body did this- why it had always done this, despite the fact that it shouldn’t.

Two crimson words.

Eldian lover. Eldian lover. Eldian lo-

No.

A warm home. A soft touch. A homemade meal on a scratchy couch.

Better.

Mr. Kruger was still looking at you. Still staring with a reply to your question hanging off his barely parted lips.

Where do you go, Mr. Kruger?

You hoped he would answer you. You hoped he would tell you. You hoped you’d learn all about his special place in the horizon.

But instead, he said something else.

Instead, he became the first person to ever ask you:

“...where do you?”

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[porcelainseashore]

Ghosts from the Past (2)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Agent! Leon Kennedy x Dancer! Informant! Fem! Reader

Summary: 7 years after leaving behind everything you’ve known, you’re suddenly thrust into facing a ghost from your past, Leon. Navigating where you stand with him brings up old memories, painful truths and countless questions. At the same time, you have to deal with a bunch of strange occurrences at your dance company. Set after Resident Evil 4 Remake.

Warnings: 18+ Swearing, Recreational Drug Use, Alcohol, Eventual Smut, No (Y/N), Canon-Typical Horror and Violence, Blood, Injury, Torture, Infection, Medical Experiments, Psychological Trauma, Nightmares

Content: Post-Resident Evil 4, Exes to Lovers, Partners to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Communication, Romance, Fluff

Author's Note: This chapter is a lot more dialogue-heavy to set up the scenes for the next ones. It was originally going to be angstier, but my heart wouldn’t let me. Oops. I hope you still like it though.

AO3 Link

Chapter 2: Baptism

Outside the embassy, Leon hailed for a cab to get to the bar. The journey there was in complete awkward silence, except for the occasional question raised by the cab driver, who quizzed you on why you were headed to such an unsavory place. Somehow he could tell that Leon didn’t quite belong and cautioned about certain areas being unsafe for tourists. Leon just snorted in response, while you laughed inwardly at the irony of his cover story, where he was meant to be your American tourist friend embarking on a Eurotrip.

To be honest, it really wasn’t as bad as people made it out to be. Berlin was a smaller city and felt safer than New York. However, you still carried around that Swiss Army knife Leon had won and given to you back in the day wherever you went, just in case. You ran the tip of your finger along its metallic surface in your pocket. The world could be cruel to little girls after all.

As you exited from the cab, you were greeted by a lively, eclectic neighborhood, sprinkled with night markets, kebab and shisha shops, independent art spaces and late night bars. The buildings were noticeably more rundown than Mitte, the district you had traveled from, and the community a lot edgier. With both of you now dressed casually, you had no problem blending into the midnight crowd.

You swung open the doors of an unmarked establishment and found yourselves shrouded in thick wafts of cigarette smoke upon entering. Leon frowned, coughing as he swatted the air in front of him. Even though you were used to smoking being allowed pretty much everywhere in Germany, your eyes still watered as you pressed up against and squeezed past the mass of bodies in the dimly-lit, dingy bar. The smell on your clothes and hair would take days to get rid of later. It was noisy and chaotic, with nearly every inch of the space occupied by chatty, drunk customers, some more boisterous than the others. You were lucky to find a small, rickety table with two precarious-looking stools at the extreme corner of the room.

Setting your coat and day bag down on one of the stools to claim it, you folded your arms, turned to Leon and remarked, “So… an agent, huh?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Whiskey first. Then, we’ll talk.”

You rolled your eyes at his standoffish reply, wondering what his problem was. After all these years where he had led you to assume he was dead, and with the circumstances both of you had found each other in, this was the kind of attitude he took with you? A prickling feeling of agitation grew in your chest as you pushed past him, storming towards the bar in annoyance.

Upon approaching it, you breathed out a sigh of relief when you saw that you knew the bartender who was on shift tonight. He usually popped a little extra into your drinks whenever he sensed you had a shitty day. Tonight was no exception.

“Zwei doppelte Kurze Whiskey.” (Two double shots of whiskey.) You raised two fingers at him to spell out your order.

He grunted out an acknowledgement as he got to work, filling two empty glasses with the fiery amber liquor, one glass topped up significantly more than the other.

“Macht er dir Probleme?” (Is he giving you any trouble?) He asked, without looking up from pouring the shots. It seemed like he had noticed your little commotion with Leon from just before.

“Aktuell nicht,” (Not for now.) you answered guardedly.

At this point, Leon had caught up to you, watching as the bartender placed the glass with more whiskey on the counter top in front of you and the one with less before Leon. 

Leon huffed at the slight and shook his head. “I’ll take the bottle too.”

The bartender eyed him suspiciously as he plonked the whiskey bottle on the counter loudly, like there was an unspoken competition going on between them.

“Here,” Leon mentioned coolly, sliding a couple of euro bills along the counter to pay for all the drinks. “Keep the change.”

You sighed at the childish display before you, giving the bartender an apologetic look as you took your glass without a word, and settled in at the small table you had informally reserved earlier. The people around you were far more interested in drinking than any conversation you were about to have. Occasionally a fight started, but those responsible were easily cleared out by the staff. 

There should be no issues with privacy here, you thought, as you downed your first round of drinks simultaneously with Leon.

The sharp alcohol burned your throat, warming you from the inside. You noticed Leon wincing as he brought the glass to his cut lip, finishing its contents in one clean gulp and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Did he get hurt in the field? You wondered, but chose not to question it, instead pouring yourself another shot as Leon did likewise.

Frustrated by the ongoing silence between the two of you and Leon’s seeming reluctance to speak, you decided to break the dead air, stating sarcastically, “Anything else you need before we get started? Room service? A hot bath, perhaps?”

He threw back another shot, twisting his lips into a wry smile. “Hm, don’t tempt me.”

“Leon, what happened? All these years… I thought you had died.” You were getting tired of this game and wanted an honest exchange for once.

“I did,” he replied softly.

“Huh?”

Averting his gaze quickly, he shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “It doesn’t matter.” 

But you wanted answers. You needed to know what had been haunting him too. “It does to me.”

You reached out to him cautiously, but just as your fingers ghosted the back of his hand, he moved it away, his voice turning cold as ice. “Look, I don’t know what you’re expecting, but it’s been a long time-”

His reaction took you by surprise as you interjected defensively, “Yeah, I can count.” 

A long time? If anyone should be able to comprehend that, you were more than qualified.

“I’m not the same guy you used to know back then,” he continued, as if he hadn’t heard you.

“And I’m not the same girl you knew either,” you countered, in a mixture of anger and confusion. He was talking to you like he was blaming you for something. It wasn’t fair and you weren’t going to put up with it anymore. “Stop avoiding the question, Leon.”

“Still as stubborn as hell though,” he muttered.

Your blood boiled at his non-answer. “Is this some kind of joke to you?” You seethed, raising your voice. “I mourned you. The past 7 years. I heard nothing. Your parents heard nothing.” You emphasized each point, taking another shot afterwards to calm your nerves. Your face scrunched up in response to the harsh bite of the liquor. “And now this?”

He paused for a moment, fiddling with the empty glass in his hands, before hesitantly responding, “I got out of Raccoon City. Then, the government asked me to work for them.”

You caught the drift of what he was implying when he stressed the word ‘asked’, like it wasn’t by choice. But you didn’t understand what hold they had on him.

“That’s all you need to know.” Placing his glass back down on the table, he took a swig from the bottle itself this time. The few sentences he gave you had taken a toll on him.

“Why? How did they-”

“The rest is classified,” he snapped through gritted teeth, as a form of warning not to push it any further.

You slumped back in your chair in defeat, realizing that you weren’t much closer to understanding him and what he had gone through.

“Why did you join Silje’s company?” Leon questioned out of the blue, his tone filled with resentment, so much so that you bit your lip in reflex as guilt seeped into your heart.

“After you… die-disappeared, I-I didn’t know what else to do.” You cast your eyes downwards, your voice choking up with emotion as the memories you had suppressed came flooding back, like a gaping wound in your side. 

“I had to leave. Everything just-” you paused, clenching your fists so hard that you could see the imprints of your fingernails against your palms. “-reminded me of you.”

At this, his stony gaze faltered slightly and a look of despondence slowly spread across his face. 

“You could have gone anywhere else, but you just had to choose her, didn’t you?” He uttered somewhat accusingly. “You really shouldn’t get involved in this.”

“A bit too late for that,” you argued. Did he think you couldn’t hold your own?

“You can still walk away,” he offered.

Shaking your head, you peered back at him defiantly. “I’m not leaving you.”

“That’s what you said last time,” he retorted bitterly, his brows etched together in a frown. “Look at how that turned out.”

Your mouth ran dry, and it felt as if you had been given a tight slap across your cheek. 

So this was what it was all about? He still faulted you for what happened in the past? The most troubling thing was that you had nothing to say to that. You truly held yourself accountable for whatever that had gone wrong.

“Is this why you want to get rid of me?” It came out as a bare whisper.

He shrugged impassively, unable to meet your eyes like he was hiding something. “It’s just better this way.”

Your mind was going round in circles as you were put on the spot. However, something inside you kept rebelling against what Leon had to say. You couldn’t abandon him again. Not like this, even though he claimed it was the better route to take. Didn’t he once tell you to trust him to make his own decisions? Then, he should offer you the same courtesy. You weren’t about to throw in the towel and give up now.

So instead of running away like he expected you to, you pushed back. “No.”

Leon narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“I said no,” you repeated again resolutely. “We have a job to do. I’m helping you to infiltrate this base whether you like it or not.”

His lips were drawn into a thin line as he brooded quietly in the corner, but he continued to hear you out.

“Once that’s done, we can go back to our own separate lives if you want,” you stated. “Just like how it was.” 

A fair compromise. Although deep down you hoped it wouldn’t mark the end of your interactions with Leon. Well, you’ll cross that bridge when you come to it.

After a while of considering your suggestion, he agreed warily, “Ok.”

His gaze was impenetrable while both of you drank in silence. At some point, you decided to call it a night, since you had an early start with him tomorrow to go over your next plan of action. It was drizzling when you came out of the bar, the water droplets falling on your face like a baptism of a new chapter. You had made your bed, now you had to lie in it.

As Leon called for another cab to take him back to where he was staying, you left without a word, walking on your own to the nearest U-Bahn station. He watched you until you were just a tiny speck in his vision, lost amongst the sea of people and glowing street lights.

━━━━━━━━━━━

You and Leon were standing in front of the dining table of his service apartment, a mess of papers sprawled across every surface. He rested his curled fingers under his chin, eyeing the diagrams and notes scribbled on the sheets like a hawk, analyzing them for any obvious patterns.

He picked up a report that you had drafted recently. “So Silje told you all of this?”

You yawned and sipped at the instant coffee Leon had offered you when you had arrived. It was a couple of hours earlier than when you were normally up, as you’d have to head over to the theater to train after this meeting. You had pushed away whatever thoughts you had resulting from the conversation with Leon last night to the back of your mind, in favor of professionalism. Afterall, it wasn’t your first rodeo pretending things were fine, and neither was it Leon’s.

“Some of it, yes. Though in her own way of speaking in riddles,” you explained. “The rest I had overheard or tailed her without her knowing.”

“Are you sure you weren’t spotted?” It sounded like a mixture of concern and him questioning your abilities, the latter of which irritated you a little.

“If I was, would I still be standing here?” You stated brusquely.

“Fair enough.”

You pointed at the blueprint map again, tracing the outlines of your markings with your fingers as you explained, “From what I gathered, the site has two main sections beyond the theater space. The upper levels are easily accessible, but shaped like a labyrinth. I haven’t explored everything yet, but if my gut feeling is right, I would say that the entrance leading further down might be all the way over here.” You tapped at the red circle with a question mark drawn on the map.

“The lower levels are only accessible via keycard. Obviously Silje has one, but there must be others too,” you reasoned. 

“That said, I’ve seen her bringing in the same man more than once. Business type, probably in his 60s, speaking German with a Swiss accent.” Then, you proceeded to describe his outward appearance in further detail.

“Silje always passed him off as being part of the company board. I doubt it though,” you shrugged.

Leon hummed in response, and the corners of his mouth turned slightly upward, as if he was trying to hold back a smile. It was the first sign of approval he showed you since you had reconnected.

As he thumbed through the rest of the papers, he cocked his head to the side, tapping his fingers on the table absentmindedly. “One thing I don’t get from this is why she’s confided in you.”

You nipped your lip, swallowing anxiously, as you were afraid of disclosing what you might have committed yourself to. 

“She wanted to offer me a gift,” you whispered.

“A gift?” He tensed up noticeably at the word. “Did you accept?”

“Um… yes?” You replied uneasily, but tried to persuade him that nothing else had happened yet. “She only told me it would come soon.”

The drumming of his fingers on the table stopped abruptly, as he gripped the edge of it, clenching his jaw as he spoke, “Why the fuck would you do something like that?”

“I-I thought it would help,” you stuttered, caught off-guard by the sudden shift in his mood.

“What exactly has Bergmann told you about this case?” He hissed.

“That Silje was suspected of harboring some bioterrorists.”

You flinched as he cursed a second time loudly, before muttering a quick, “Excuse me for a minute.” With that, he darted out of the room into the hallway to make a call.

So here you were, left alone without answers again. The secrecy surrounding the entire mission and Leon’s erratic behavior was starting to grate on you, but there wasn’t much you could do about it.

Past the hallway, out of sight and earshot, Leon had connected with Hunnigan on comms.

“Leon,” she greeted. “Any news?”

“Our old friend, the Plaga,” he stated. “Seems like our suspicions might be right.”

“You have the source to back that up?” She asked out of habit, even though she already knew the answer.

“I went through the documents. I’m not 100%, but it’s close.”

He detailed an abnormality that stood out during the investigations. “A few days ago, some people on site experienced temporary psychotic episodes where their veins turned black, but reverted back to normal after.”

“That’s aligning with whatever intel we’ve already picked up. It could be a new strain of the Plaga,” he concluded.

Hunnigan nodded. “We’ll require a sample for the labs when you’re in the base. Anything you need me to do?”

“Run some files on any surviving Los Iluminados members. Focus on trade routes with Germany,” he requested. “The informant mentioned Silje entertaining a particular ‘business partner’ on a regular basis.”

“On it.” She typed away furiously at a computer keyboard off-screen.

“Another thing,” Leon commented. “Why wasn’t the informant told about the real nature of this situation?” 

“That was under Bergmann’s discretion.” 

He scoffed derisively. “She’s putting her in danger. The informant has no idea what she’s risking here. Silje just offered her the ‘gift’ and you and I know what that means.”

“Leon, you know the rules,” Hunnigan sighed sympathetically. “We don’t really have much say in this jurisdiction.”

“What do you mean? She reports to HQ!”

“Yeah, and they’ve given her free reign,” she explained, without batting an eyelid.

“In-fucking-credible.” He rolled his eyes.

“You need to press on. The informant has the best chance of getting you in,” she reasoned, giving pause and contemplating her next choice of words before speaking. “I would suggest not getting too attached to her.”

“I’m not,” Leon deadpanned, despite the look on Hunnigan’s face, like she didn’t believe him. 

“At the rate this is going, she may not be around long enough to do her job,” he clarified.

“You know we have a cure for that,” she rebutted. “The girl will be fine.”

He pursed his lips, changing the subject. “Hm, just send me the updates later.”

With that, he shut off his comms device and headed back into the living room, only to be accosted by your snide remark, “Let me guess, another convo that’s classified?”

His mouth twisted into a smirk. “Not quite.”

“Whatever Bergmann has been feeding you is bullshit,” he began. “We’ve been suspecting that the theater is being used as a front for developing a new batch of bioweapons they’re about to ship into the US.”

Your eyes widened at the newfound information. The whole time you had assumed that Silje was just providing a safehouse, not a full-on experimentation chamber. But with the recent events that had occurred, you should have considered it earlier.

“So the labs must be underground.” He thumped the pad of his index finger on the sketchings of the lower levels of the site on the map. “And they’re not just hiding people down there.”

Casting over a solemn glance, he revealed, “I’m telling you this, because you need to be careful.”

“And stop making deals you shouldn’t be making,” he warned.

You let the words sink in. “I see,” you nodded slowly. “Thanks, I… appreciate that.”

“The minute you feel something is off, or your veins start to darken, you contact me straight away and get the hell outta there. Understood?”

“Ok, I will,” you promised.

On the one hand, you were grateful that Leon had the courtesy to inform you about what you were getting into, but on the other, you were scared of what was to come. You had heard about the Terragrigia Panic and the B.O.W.s that devastated the floating city a year ago. The gruesome scenes were splashed across the news for weeks. Would the same happen here?

As if he could read your mind, Leon placed a hand on your shoulder to reassure you. “I won’t let them get you.”

“I trust you.” You said it as if it was clear as day.

His eyes bore into yours and his hand made its way towards your cheek, but stopped short in midair, a hair’s breadth away from touching your skin. Then, it fell to the side as he turned away, like he was ashamed of what had just transpired.

You cleared your throat in awkwardness, trying to recall the next point on the meeting agenda. Ah yes, Till.

Till was a fence you got to know from the parties you frequented. He was a friend of a friend of a… you got the idea. At first, you bought your drugs from his minions in the clubs, but then became a regular client of his the moment you started your informant career.

“As requested, I’ve arranged a meeting with Till.” You grabbed your day bag from the seat you had left it on. “He operates out of a nightclub that has a pretty strict door policy. So you’ll have to look the part.”

Leon raised an eyebrow. “Which would be?”

You sighed, unsure of how this would go down. “Um, your usual black get-up will do,” you mentioned tentatively. Unzipping your bag, which unveiled a sneak peek of its contents, you peered back at him. Here goes nothing. “So are you a more of a latex or leather kind of guy?”

What you would have given to permanently capture the look of shock on Leon’s face.

“Are you fucking serious?” He blurted out.

Perhaps you should make the decision for him then. Giving him a once over, you identified a common theme with his casual leather jacket and fingerless gloves. 

“I’m guessing leather,” you discerned, rummaging through your bag for a studded harness and tossing it over to him.

He caught the chunky material in his hands, looking at it with apprehension whilst shaking his head.

Fishing out a translucent, black crop top, you displayed it in front of Leon as you walked over to him. “Maybe over this and a pair of leather boxers.”

He grimaced. “No.”

Well, he sure wasn’t making your job easy. “I’ll be doing most of the ass-kissing at the door,” you argued. “You just have to wear this and keep your mouth shut.”

Please go along with it, you prayed. There was only so much magic you could pull to get him in at the club door.

Examining the outfit you had picked out for him gingerly, he muttered, “Jesus Christ, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

At least he wasn’t protesting any further.

“I’ll meet you there at 4 in the morning on Sunday,” you reminded him. “You’d better have something substantial to trade with.”

“That’s the least of my concerns right now,” he grumbled, to which you snickered in amusement before departing for the theater.

[askuemki]

cuz im kinda bored and sick ill torture myself with writing a fic (also happy late easter)

The Other Way Around

Valeria x fem!reader

Usually she takes care of you, but shit hit the floor when she got her period. In the past, it's been manageable enough. No clue what changed exactly... (womp womp)

General warnings/info idk 888 words 2nd person Pronouns Fluff(?) Blood (sort of) & google translated spanish

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You just came back from shopping in the small farmers market in Las Alamas. Despite all of the crimes and spilled blood, it's been standing strong—something you appreciate. The door swayed open, to what you expected to be a sleepy home.

Moaning howled from upstairs.

Your brows creased, staring at the small hole leading into what could lead into a hell of a situation. It had been just you and a few soldiers residing in the home. Your lover had been a workhorse for the past month or two now. A thunderous wail fractured your line of thought. Maybe the quiet wasn't so lonely after all.

Strolling over to the kitchen, you were sensible enough to put refrigerated items away. The rest of the clutter can flump on the counter. Now, time to deal with whatever sex-crazed soldier was upstairs. Your thundering steps sung a chorus with the groans, turning from hall to hall. At the door, your hand launched for the knob. It hurled open, bashing into something. A figure stumbled, flinging back like a stick in the dirt. There was an odd absence of a counterpart...

The counterpart was you, dumbass!

A frown contorted your face as you reached out to your spouse. "...Valeria? God, I'm so, so sorry..." You uttered her name as if she were holy. (It's partly true, for you at least.) Her softened gaze flickered to you when your hands stroke her frizzled hair. "I'm fine, Cariño," she wheezed. Valeria was perched over the sink, clutching her abdomen. Her mewls in anguish disrupted your thoughts...Fuck! Your partner was better at this then you were, the whole contingence thing.

"Please don't play stupid with me..."

" I'm fine, really—I just need some time."

Your head shook at Valeria's languish. Drawing the cabinet open beneath the both of you, scavenging for some pads, pain medication, and some lotion. Valeria slumped onto the toilet, bunching her torso downwards. Before fetching some other necessities, you shrunk onto your knees, in front of Valeria. "Hey..." you lured her hair away from her face, before your hands lowered to her cheeks.

"Think you can take the Ibuprofen before I come back?"

She lowly nodded as you set the medication near her, loosening the lid enough for easy access. Sure, there were other things to get, but you can't help to dote on her a little. Rubbing her lower back, your lips pressed into her neck. A mumbling sigh swept from Valeria's lips into your shoulder. One of your hands slid from her back, and to her abdomen. It was a bit harder to tug your digits in, but Valeria shifted enough to help you. For a while, it was like this, your palm on her thigh, knuckles massaging her stomach.

"Consigue lo que necesitas, amor." (Get what you need, Love.)

"But I don't want to leave you alone," you grumbled as an excuse, your lips were on her collarbone, taking in the smooth bumps she blessed you with.

"I can see that, esposa. It's OK, I'm strong enough to handle this."

"... But I miss you."

You feel the hesitance as Valeria tugged you away. She strained to reach the medication, taking the pills. You saw her head nudging towards the doorway as you heaved upwards. A nod in return, you begrudgingly dragged yourself out. You return with a heating pad, some hand towels... "I need some shorts..."

An understanding nod, you fetched some clothes, and one of the paper grocery bags from the kitchen.

"Some water, please." And some water...

"Some blankets?" And some blankets... You were panting after sprinting back and forward, seeing your lover had moved from the bathroom; she was lenient enough to put back most of the things you got... Except the bloody underwear and shorts. A grumble huffed from your lips, washing the garments. Your hands grew sore, bloodied and dry, kneading the fabrics within themselves. Hanging them up on a rack, your legs ached with sleep. Now hauling yourself to your shared bedroom, your gaze flickered to your wife. She was sprawled out in bed, a damp towel laying on her head. The heating pad you gave her was set on her stomach, as well as her nightstand littered with some bottles of water and medication. You never ended up using the lotion for Valeria, but that was fine. Her eyes were closed, entangled in the sheets. Your cheeks swelled with warmth; a smile teased your lips. Strolling to the bed, you sat on the plush comforter. "You don't need that much medication," you faintly advised, busying your hands by rubbing her calves. "Hmph... I'm lazy to put it back." You heard a light chuckle whisk towards you, Valeria's legs wrapped you in a clutch, tugging you towards her. Careful not to sweep off what Valeria had on her in the moment, you laid on your side. Luckily you weren't in her leg-clutch for too long; it would have been awkward enough. You were held close instead, a thought igniting in your head. She was home, finally home! You were back in your lover's arms—maybe it should be the other way around—but relief sprout like fireworks. You were free to continue to dote on her, but sleep drew near. Your lids weighed you down, nuzzling into her side. "Bonita...Mind making dinner?"

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Pet Name Translations:

Cariño - My dear Esposa - Wife Bonita - Pretty

[rayofdawnworld]

Too Late part 2

Well, here is part two of my very first Reader Inert fic. Tell me how I'm doing, please. Thanks again to @darkficsyouneveraskedfor making this wonderful mood board that inspired me to do this.

Minors DON NOT INTERACT. I MEAN IT! If you're under 18 come back when you are.

Tags will be added as needed.

I will tag you if you want.

Tagging you based on your likes: @silelda, @thezombieprostitute,@thedragonlab, @leonaax, @chocolatecherryblossomsweets

This is a Dark fic. How dark I don't know, it all depends.

Obsessive!Sherlock Holmes/Smart!Reader

Warnings, none yet.

Part 1 Part 3

You were walking home after a long day of work. It was getting late, and you still had a day's work ahead of you tomorrow. At least it wasn't raining. Some of the students thought it would be funny to spill pigs' innards all over the medical classrooms as a prank. Of course, to the casual observer, it all looked the same, but despite the similarities, there were slight differences that a more knowledgeable or careful observer would catch. You were only slightly embarrassed to admit that it had taken you a bit longer to realise that the organs spilled all over the floors were not, in fact, human. The only thing giving you some comfort was that the professors, those highly intelligent and superior minds, took longer than you. 

Sadly, since you were one of three maids who had not fainted at the macabre sight, you and the other ladies were tasked with cleaning everything up. You smelled like clotted blood and spoiled meat. You were wet, you were starving, your back hurt, you were past feeling your feet, your knees were bruising, and your hands were beginning to cramp. 

That didn't stop you from realising that someone was following you.

Of all the things I need, whatever this is right now is not it. Taking advantage of the chill, you rubbed your hands roughly and started to work out their kinks harshly, going as far as to bite some of your fingers discreetly while also constraining your breath and steps. 

There was no need to warn whoever was following you that you had caught on to their presence.

Having barely managed to gain some fluidity in your hands, you put them in your apron pockets, thanking God that you had opted not to take them off, as was your habit.

You counted your steps to ten as you breathed deeply every two steps. You grabbed the small pistol you found in your mother's jewellery bag. 

You reached ten and spun swiftly. Years of training with your mother and dancing, the one thing your aunt let you take with Anna to keep up appearances, kept you from getting dizzy. 

There was no one there. Or at least, it seemed that way. You smiled.

"I know you are out theeere" you sang in a taunt. "I felt you following me," you growled. "And I do know how to shoot." And with that final warning breathed into the night, you took off on a run. After all, you had always been a fast runner. 

You reached your shabby rooms, just barely missing the curfew. Luckily, Mrs. Acker took one look at you and ushered you in. You thanked her profusely as she helped you take off your clothes. Even your underthings were impregnated with the smell of blood, sweat, and the beginnings of rot. You would have to pay for the bath come next payday. You scrubbed yourself, feeling a bit better despite your tiredness. Looking at the clock, you moaned petulantly. You would only have a few hours of sleep before having to get up early to help old Mr. Beckwourth in the market stall selling fish. 

It wasn't by chance that you chose these jobs. Both took time, had a modestly adequate pay, rendered you invisible, and lent you a godawful smell, ensuring that none came near you. Just two more weeks. That's all. Two more weeks. You rambled in your mind as you got out of the old metallic tub and dried yourself as best you could. 

As you got ready for bed, you mourned the loss of intelligent conversation. You would do just about anything to have an engaging exchange. You'd give anything for a good game of chess. Two more weeks. You felt as if these last weeks were going to be the hardest yet. 

You seemed to have forgotten the age-old adage, Be careful about what you wish for.

 You didn't know you had been found. You didn't know that your pursuer had just managed to hide himself before you turned around, surprised by how easily you had found him out. You didn't know what your words did to his pride or how knowing that you could use a weapon made him reconsider his approach. Your father had never said anything about knowing how to handle weaponry. What else did you know? You spun with grace—yes, the grace of a dancer—but there was a precise strength as well. Your stance was that of a fighter. Did you know how to fight Pussycat? Oh yes, he remembered your mother's preferred pet name for you. Pussycat. It had potential. You didn't know that as you sprinted with considerable speed despite being held down by damp wool, a pair of vibrant blue eyes darkened with an unknown feeling as he reshaped his entire opinion about you for a second time.

As you lay in bed in a fitful sleep, you didn't know that somewhere else, a man, a most brilliant man, lay in his bed wondering what you truly looked like. Years prior, the paint you wore on your face concealed your appearance; now grime and exhaustion do the same. He had heard about your grandmother's beauty and how you resembled her, but somehow he wagered that you had suppressed her beauty tenfold. 

You didn't know what your defiance had done to your pursuer. A man with vibrant blue eyes who no longer considered you a quarry but instead now saw you as a worthy opponent.

A dangerous thing to be, his opponent.

It was a well-known fact that Sherlock Holmes was a formidable man, infamous for dragging all those who opposed him down to his feet. These next few days were going to be very entertaining. He smiled deviously as he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. 

Whether you ended up on your knees at his feet or standing by his side depended entirely on just how smart you truly were. Not that it mattered either way. 

Sherlock Holmes always got what he wanted.

And Sherlock Holmes wanted you.

[bitchin-beskar]

hi 👋

may I request a reader that is a pack rat but with useful things? like they’re always ready with something in their bag to help tf141 with their needs. wether its a snack, an extra shirt, or whatever. they’re just dora with their backpack lol

and the men are always in awe bc ‘how are they always ready for any situation’?? it can be platonic or romantic but would surely love some fluff with it. please and thank you! 🥰

hello love!!! you can indeed request that!!! this is such a cute idea!!!

you suggested dora with the backpack, which is very valid, but my brain also jumps to daphne blake from scooby doo bc that girl carries a tiny ass purse and has everything under the sun and can make shit on the fly like nothing (there was one episode where she made a hydroelectric battery to power the mystery machine like it was nothing lol)

so taking both of those vibes and jumping headfirst in!!! here's a tidbit from how I think a fic with that might go!! (also I kept reader gender neutral in this one, bc you didn't specify any pronouns!)

It's finally happened, Soap is sure of it. The 141 has finally run into a situation that BP isn't gonna have the supplies for.

BP is the callsign of the team medic, which is why you could be forgiven for thinking their name is short for 'blood pressure.'

It's not.

It's short for 'backpack.'

Soap had chuckled when he first heard it, but those little chuckles quickly died when he realised his superiors were serious. All they'd say was that you were uniquely skilled at anticipating the needs of your teammates on any given mission, as well as a well-qualified and well-trained field medic and surgeon.

That first mission, everything had gone FUBAR, including the exfil being shot down, leaving the team stranded in enemy territory with their only possible transport being new black-market Humvees with remote locking systems that were thus far unbreakable. Price and Ghost had been conversing over a plan of attack when you'd simply opened up your ever present backpack and pulled out a small handheld remote. Flipping a switch, you pointed it at the nearest Humvee, and an audible click! indicated it was now unlocked.

They'd all stared for a solid minute before you coughed and said "Uh, about that exfil?" and the team jerked into action and dove for the doors of their new escape vehicle. When asked what the fuck kind of wizard tech you had, you simply shrugged and said it was a universal remote.

Soap had figured it for a one-off. He'd never been more wrong.

Ghost's balaclava gets irreparably damaged and covered in gross bodily fluids? You've got a brand new one in the exact size he needs, made from water resistant fabric.

Price's cigars get lost in (yet another) heli crash? You've got a brand new box of Maduro cigars in that backpack, the only explanation being that you'd "found them while out shopping."

Gaz loses his ball cap, and you whip out a spare without even a second glance, shoving it onto his head without a care in the world, even as he's sputtering because "how the hell do you have the same damn cap? I bought that old one years ago!"

Alejandro's iPod gets destroyed after the team has to flee through a river and all their gear gets waterlogged, and out of a Ziploc, you pull a brand new one with the headphones he likes, and he's shocked to see it's downloaded with all his favorite songs, and the default setting is currently on Spanish.

Rudy's a diabetic, and his insulin pump gets damaged in a knife fight, and not only do you have insulin for him, you have a brand new pump as well, and specific snacks that will help him hold out till he can replace the pump. It's originally brushed off that you have this because of being the team's doctor, until Rudy points out that you don't actually have access to his medical records, with him being Mexican Special Forces and you being SAS.

And Soap? Soap ran out of room in his journal one day, in the middle of trying to sketch and he hadn't realized how close he was to the end, so he hadn't brought a spare. Before he even has the chance to feel disappointed, you're slipping a brand new journal with the exact right type of paper he prefers into his hands.

It's not just personal stuff either. Any tool, gadget, gizmo, whirlygig, or thingamabob they could think of, you just... had it. Wrenches, screwdrivers, hammers, lockpicks, extra mags, oil, cleaning rags, padlocks, bolt cutters, bandaids, needles, suture thread, ice packs, heat packs, gauze, hair ties, bobby pins, the list goes on and on and on.

Never, not once had there been a situation where the team had needed something that you couldn't pull from the dark, yawning pit that you called a backpack.

Except, Soap is confident that this time, you don't have what they need. You couldn't possibly have predicted this outcome.

The mission had been a comedy of errors, the team racing across the globe, bouncing between countries, hopping from continent to continent tracking the HVT Laswell had sent the lot of you after. Through a completely random turn of events, you'd ended up in the United States of all places, in the wooded areas of Washington state. It wasn't a state park, per se, but close enough. Supposedly, there was a cache here that the HVT frequented, and might have valuable intel.

Unfortunately, your way had been blocked by some State Park Rangers, who demanded that you either provide proof of registration that allowed you to be there, or the team had to leave.

Of course, being members of the SAS and Fuerzas Especiales, who operated out of Europe and Mexico respectively, the likelihood of any of them having the right paperwork was infinitesimal.

"Hold on!"

Soap whirled around at the sound of your voice. There you were, rummaging through your backpack.

"No fuckin' way," Gaz whispered, the rest of the team going deathly still.

There was absolutely, positively, no possible way on God's green Earth that you were gonna–

"Found it!"

You let out a whoop of excitement, pulling a small rectangular piece of plastic from your bag, a hole through the top indicating that it might go in a car, hanging from the rearview mirror.

"Here's our permit for the Washington State Parks and Forestry. Just renewed it, too."

The Rangers took it sceptically, but their faces cleared as they looked it over.

"Everything seems to be in order then, ma'am. Sorry for the delay and confusion."

"No problem!" You chirped, ignorant of the dumbfounded stares at your back. "Have a good day, gentlemen!"

Soap felt dizzy. He felt weak. He might actually collapse here on the spot from pure confusion alone. He could faintly hear Gaz muttering behind him, and in his peripheral vision, Alejandro was shaking with silent laughter, and Rudy looked like he'd just been handed the answers to the universe's greatest mysteries.

This had to be a dream. Soap refused to accept reality otherwise.

The Rangers left, and there was a heavy, oppressive silence that settled over the team. BP turned to look at everyone with a smile on their face, only for it to fall when they saw the stunned, blank looks their teammates wore.

"What's wrong?"

Bless 'em, they sounded so confused, but Soap really had no way to express just what he or any of the others were feeling in this moment.

As BP's face fell further, Price surged forward and scooped their medic and resident pack rat into a hug. They let out a small eep! at the sudden constricting pressure around their ribs. It was difficult to hug with tac vests on, but Price was determined.

"C-Captain? Are you alright?"

"Never change, soldier," Price said gruffly, and Soap could hear the disbelieving grin in his CO's voice. "Never fuckin' change."

[cainache]

WE NEED A PART TWO OF THE MUSE OF WHAT’S NEW 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 is amazing

the muse behind what’s new ii ♱ eddie munson (part i)

Home was his first grave, and he’d managed to climb out with dirt and blood clinging to his fare skin.

He never wanted to go back, only forward.

And here he is, nearly drowning in the Hawkins airport. He’s surprised at how alive it is at nine at night.

When he left New York without a heads up to anyone, he hadn’t even had a bag with him. Just a really big hoodie that did good at keeping his face a ghost case. He hadn’t been spotted. He hadn’t realized but the thought had brought a smile to his face. The first one in the last twenty four hours.

Getting off the plane, and landing in the walls of the Hawkins airport—he gets why it’s so lively right now. There’s parents after parents waiting as their college kids come back to them from a break? Eddie’s not sure. He didn’t go to college.

It’s summer break, unknown to him, known to you.

There’s an odd feeling in the pit of his belly, no one waiting for him as he climbed off a plane. It’s been years since that’s happened. He doesn’t know how to feel about it.

He should probably call his uncle, but he still works nights. Despite how much money Eddie sends, Wayne will still work till he can’t.

Eddie will get to Wayne eventually. He should definitely care more but can’t.

He pulls his limbs from the hoodie as he leaves the airport, he ties the material around his slim waist.

New York had been a choker. It normally isn’t. Kinda. He’s only been living there for the last couple of years now. But they’ve, the band, started up another tour. Night one was fucking perfect. Night two was just as good. Night three, not so much. Adonis Mitch, Corroded Coffin’s drummer, he’s quite the catch. But his addiction is probably the worst Eddie’s ever seen. Yeah, whatever, all the scene is drugs, music, and sex. Trust me, he knows. But last night had been too much of that.

Adonis fucked up major during one of their songs because he was so gone, it thrown Gareth and Jeff off, and Eddie hadn’t seem to mind all that much. He’d kept the fuck up alive, and I doubt anyone in the crowd noticed. But when the drum set was kicked over with a yell, and Adonis’ foot was stuck in a drum and he went plummeting off stage—Eddie seemed to care then. It was bad. Blood. Yelling. Crying girls inches away from Adonis’ red head. Medics. Being rushed off stage by team members. Photography flashes.

Eddie couldn’t breathe. And now, he’s in Hawkins after he swore to himself he’d never come back here unless someone died.

He’s walking outside the airport now and he’s not to sure where he’s going but he lets his footwork do it for him. His memory of this town is still sharp as ever.

To make Corroded Coffin matters worse, Cady Lovewell is a fuckin’ sucker. Eddie knows he should be nicer to her. She’s a cool girl. Younger than him. Definitely smarter than him. She works almost harder than him, even though no one will willingly look for that in her. She’s a pretty girl, a model, and everyone knows about her and Eddie’s sex life because he wrote her off like that for the world to hear.

Things had been cool at first. But he hadn’t been in a relationship, like a real relationship, since he left home. So, it was definitely an adjustment from the constant random sex to one single chick—he’s a prick. He knows.

Cady had just been trying to help. To calm Eddie down after Adonis just about killed himself. But he didn’t want to be around him, and her constant grab made him wish he’d been a ghost. He said things he shouldn’t have have. And she doesn’t let his shit slide anymore. She said shit she definitely should’ve, and meant it. He doesn’t really care and he should.

Whatever, Eddie’s home now and walking into Rosie’s Red, White, and Blue’s. It’s a market in Hawkins that’s been around all too long, and he’s surprised it’s still alive.

He just wants a Coke and chocolate bar and cigarettes.

But he finds himself trapped in front of the candy isle, his hazel eyes feel like they’re bleeding.

It’s been four years. Since he’s seen you. And you look the same, yet so much more different. You’re still beautiful and it makes him frown.

You can’t seem to decide between what sour candy is a better pick. Bears or worms? Definitely worms. He’s a worm guy.

He then notices your mother at your side. She looks different, for sure. She’s older and her light brown hair is more grey than brown. She looks thinner too. Sick. Eddie gets the sudden urge to vomit all over his fucking beat up Converse’s.

There’s a magazine in your mother’s hands, he notices the front pages between her fingers. His face is on it. His fucking face is on it. He wants to cry? Your mother’s voice fades in suddenly. “—My god. Do you think he’s going to pull through?” She’s talking about Adonis Mitch, everyone’s talking about him and if he’ll see the next day from a head injury and too much coke.

You don’t seem to be paying attention all that much, though. You’re still staring at different gummies. “What are you talking about?” You say gently and decide on both packs and let them fall into the basket that’s hanging from the crook of your elbow. You look at your mother and briefly see the faces on the magazine. You frown. “What happened?”

You mother shakes her head and reads more. “Drummer had a moment. Hit his head open. Split bad. These photographs are insane to be on paper like this.” You don’t dare look.

Eddie sees you gently roll your eyes as you turn from your mother. You’re looking down at your basket. “I don’t understand why you’re so obsessed with them… They’re boys.”

Your mother scoffs a laugh. “They’re definitely not boys. These are men. Plus, I care because you know this one..” Eddie watches her point down at the paper. You sigh, shoulders drop. “I don’t know him, mom..” She waves a hand at you, “don’t be bitter. You told him to run off. For god sakes, you could’ve been that girl he’s with. Cady Lovewell?”

Eddie’s definitely glad you’re not Cady.

Your nose scrunches up, “alright, enough, please.” You take the magazine from your mother’s hand and shove it into the basket. You’re not sure where she even got it, but it’s definitely not in this isle. Your mother huffs as her arm wraps with your free one.

Eddie watches her as he pretends to look at strawberry flavored candies. You guys are by the chocolate bars. Your mother has a slight limp and doesn’t look easy on her own two feet.

Her loud gasp makes both of you flinch. Eddie and you.

You nearly drop your basket. He’s fucking staring into your eyes. You guys are fucking looking at each other.

Your mother had stopped walking and is staring straight into Eddie’s darkened eyes that are looking at you. His chest pounds and his lips are parted with panic. Your own lips are parted in a softer gasp.

“My god, I was just starin’ at you in the paper!” The woman cries and a smile breaks out onto her aged face. Eddie needs to swallow but he can’t move.

Your mother’s words seem to knock you from your frozen state, your eyes drag from his to her. You wince at your mother, eyes all wide. “Mom, please. Too loud..”

Eddie can finally move. He’s swallows and his cheeks fade a tinge red. You’ve gotten a little taller. Hair lighter and longer. Your face looks more defined. And it looks like you need constant sleep. He’s sure he looks worse.

You wobble a little as your mother pushes from you and makes her own decisions. She walks awfully uneasy to Eddie and his eyes snap to her and he gives her hand. She takes it without a second wasted. She looks like she’s about to collapse. You look terrified still standing without a move closer.

“You rockstar.” Your mother says it so gently. Her hand is still in his, and her other is clutching onto his other arm. His flannel bunched up under her palm. He’s holding her back. He hasn’t seen her in so long.

And he hasn’t felt an ache like this since the last time he was here.

Staring down at your mother’s face she looks even worse than before. The close distant is hurtful. She’s definitely sick and Eddie suddenly hates himself for being away from you. You needed him. Maybe. And he’d been stuck between girls and fame and stomachaches and cigarettes around the world. He wants to fucking cry. And he doesn’t realize, but he does. He’s fucking crying staring down at your dying mother.

She frowns and her hands move up to cup his face. She drags away his tears with shaking fingertips. “Oh, baby..” She whispers to him. His long hair, it’s longer since he’s been here, drags over her hands completely. Your mother drags him down into a hug, it makes him cry harder. His eyes screw shut as he melts into the woman, he holds her so close she won’t go anywhere.

You’re staring, lip stuck between your teeth. Your eyes drag down to the magazine in your basket. The front gives away a lot more than the silence does.

Corroded Coffin’s Drummer, Adonis Mitch Takes A Dip From Hell!

You cringe at the title. It’s brutal and mocking. And the photographs are too mean to be out for the public. The guy could die.

Your gaze pushes back to your mother and the man she’s still holding. He’s staring at your now through tired red eyes. He does look worst than you. He’s fucking miserable. You both are. You gently walk the few steps closer to the two, and you place down the basket.

You tuck a thick strand of hair behind his ear and he sniffles. You gently drag you thumb over his skin, ridding tears. He leans into your touch and his eyes flutter shut.

You’re pulled into the hug with them, and he squeezes you so tightly you cry just the same.

You’re both so miserable.

[foxholewriting]

Dr.Frankenstein's monster

Reanimated Heart/Male Reader - Angst/Hurt - Words/ 1,208

Pronouns - He/Him ; Pet Name(s) - None

Mention - Medical experiment, Eye removal, medical torture, disfigurement, brief reader death

Please PLEASE listen to the warnings even if they aren't the most intense scenes still pay attention to them. This is set if reader got stuck in the under market for the experimentation.

Note: The surgeon is an actual character just not called by a surgeon and depends on how I feel I might make a second part

-----------------------------

The sound of a heart monitor beeping woke Y/N, a groggy fog clouded his vision as he tried to wipe it away but couldn't. It was like his entire body was lead, all his limbs were anchored down and an IV was attached to his arms wires and cords were attached to his body. It took him several minutes to notice he could only see out of one side of his face, he blinked a few times before primal panic set in. He had no idea where he was, he was naked, and his eye was missing. What was worse it didn’t hurt. The room was freezing cold, so cold that it almost burned his skin. 

Muffled conversation could be heard outside the room, nurses started to filter in and out carrying papers, others were holding little medical equipment bags. Y/N strained to try to understand what they were saying but it was almost impossible, it was like they were far away; a film was between them. Spots of black started to dance around his vision as a plastic mask was strapped to his face, a surgeon walking into the room wearing an all black uniform was probably an attempt to hide any blood or bodily waste on him. All that he did notice on him was that his hair was black and maybe a white streak on it, hard to make out with all his moving. 

After Y/N was knocked out it was time to start the second round of experiments, they had removed his eye mostly because they had a client that wanted the color but they also wanted to see if an eye transplant was possible. The underground heard about some new outsiders that showed up in the hollow but only one of them would be a worthy experiment, they had stalked him for sometime trying to find the perfect time to strike when Grede or Crux or Black was away. Who knew a simple mysterious letter promising to help him get back home was all they needed. 

The nurses pulled away some of the cords from Y/N’s abdomen, the surgeon barely spoke, only muttering a few sentences. 

“Bring the plague, switch it for the IV.” His idea was that the plague, supposedly, came from Y/N’s world and was a medical “phenomenon” which they took as a good thing. The nurses chirped in agreement and then swapped out the bags attaching a fluorescent green black liquid bag to the line. The liquid slowly dripped down leaking into Y/N’s blood stream spreading through his body, his abdomen was wiped down sterilizing it before the first cut. A simple abdominal cut was made, the skin being peeled back as the surgeon slowly went deeper each slice of Y/N’s body slowly changed him as the plague filtered through his body. 

He was very pleased once the cavity was open, all the organs working together perfectly. It quickly became a frantic scene as black started to bloom over the organs, the beautiful red being taken over by a black spider. The surgeon ignored it as he opened up Y/N’s chest cavity seeing the same black spider web pattern across his lungs and heart, the nurses looked between themselves. This didn’t look normal but they refused to interrupt the surgeon. They knew he had a short term bad for them but worse for Y/N. 

New organs were brought in from different creatures, each one slowly replacing an old organ, a new set of lungs, new intestines, new kidneys, and as he started to replace the heart which was the hardest organ to change, the artificial heart started to sputter. 

“FIX THAT NOW!” The nurses jumped when the surgeon screamed at them, the lungs started to falter from the irregular blood flow and the rest of the body was losing its color a mute black red started to spread. The operating room started to grow panic as they ran around trying to salvage the experiment but it was becoming harder by each passing second the new heart was in place but it wasn’t beating like it should have been, the surgeon quickly sew him back up then attached electric rods to his body thinking it was needed. 

The situation went from panic to all out chaos, the heart monitor flat lined, Y/N was seizing on the table, the plague bags were completely empty and the nurses were scared to touch the body. 

Y/N started to wake up but his entire body was numb, it felt heavy and light at the same time. He felt an animalistic hunger while this sickening need to eat something full of iron, not human meat but human heart. His head lifted only by a bit before it slammed back down. 

The surgeon threw his gloves on the ground, finally breaking into a cold sweat. He was sure that he did the surgery by the book of Dr.Frankenstien to bring back the dead. Which by his conclusion meant that if he were to replace Y/N’s organs there would be a way to bring him to a different dimension sure the logic was extremely flawed but it was a starter experiment being that Y/N was only the second person he did this to. He had successfully brought back others in other ways but he had found this book that seemed to be an easier method that just needed a bit of fixing. 

They needed to dispose of him now, if they threw him in the right place he would just be eaten and forgotten about. The nurses quickly took out the IV, the cords and wires dragging him out of the room. They gave up once they broke out into the cold air, deeming the dumpster outside the backdoor was good enough. 

Y/N’s body hit the ground with a thud as they scurried inside, it took several hours before all the drugs wore off as he slowly staggered to his feet. This time he woke up and could see out of both sides of his face, one eye was normal but the other eye was seeing things that weren’t like gold threads crossed with red threads. He reached out and plucked the threads they moved but burned his fingers, it took several more minutes to move his body looking around staggering towards Grede place. 

Over an hour later he knocked on the door having lost his key, phone, and even pants which took him an embarrassingly long time to pay attention too. Grede opened the door and somehow grew paler than she usually was, she gasped when she looked at him. Her hand jerked him inside, Crux and Black sighed happy to see him before both of their faces turned into a mixture. It was hard to say which expression was the most prominent one; disgust? Anger? Pity? Guilt? 

“What happened to you?” Black spoke first staring at the stitches that ziggaged across then at Y/N’s face then back at his abdomen. 

“Well at least you didn’t have exposed genitals.” Crux’s weak attempt at a joke fell deaf on the group, Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed then looked down. 

“THEY STOLE MY DICK!” 

-----------------------------

@doubledeadstudio

Please enjoy the weird little experiment

[thegalaxys-edge]

full hearts

The Bad Batch x GN!Reader (pre- established relationship, reader is referred to as Doc)

a/n: i started writing this 5 months ago and finally got around to finishing it. really i just want to give these boys forhead kisses and ramen, so this is that. ⋆˙⟡♡

sum: after a long mission, you decide to cook the Batch a good meal (pre o66)

warnings: none, just fluff :)

wc: 4k

-✰- reblogs are appreciated! -✰-

You sigh, depositing your small duffle at the entrance as the door slides shut; sagging your body back, you rest your head on the durasteel behind you, letting it cool your mind and the headache pounding at your temples. 

The apartment is fairly warm and midafternoon sunlight gleams through the small window, heating a well worn, second hand couch. It isn't much and it’s far from luxurious, but the small throw blankets and odd wall decorations made it feel like home.

You’d honestly meant to be back yesterday when you got in from a long series of missions as the field medic with Clone Force 99, but a quick, frantic call from a friend in the medical center had those plans changing rapidly. Instead of catching up on sleep (that you desperately needed), you ran to pick up two shifts, working from the late hour of night when you arrived until noon the next day, when a supervisor insisted you take some time off. And then you stayed another two hours. 

Removing yourself from your slumped position on the wall, you haphazardly drag your duffle and gear to one of the two bedrooms in the apartment and sling it onto a low-to-the-floor, but quite comfortable, bed.

The apartment was actually one you shared- as if anyone could afford to live on Coruscant alone, even in the mid-levels. Your other three roommates are a few field medics who you’d met in basic training, before you each got paired with your individual squads, and currently they are all off-world on separate assignments. In a way it’s disappointing to come home to a completely empty space, but right now you welcome the silence.

Your bed is calling your name after having no sleep in maker-knows how long, but the stronger part of your mind tells you that you need a shower and food desperately. 

You grab a set of clean civvies and head to the ‘fresher to scrub the dirt and dust and blood of the last mission from your skin. The soft smelling soap being luxury you dearly missed. 

By the time you feel sufficiently clean (plus several minutes to just enjoy the hot water) you towel off and get dressed, feeling slightly less exhausted and slightly more motivated to grab food. You know without looking that the pantry and chiller will both be near empty, a result of the constant circulation of late-shift workers not wanting to cook and the equal desire to not come back to the smell of spoiled food after a long mission. 

Slipping on socks and a pair of boots, you grab a bag and some credits to head to the nearby market. Ideas of pasta seem to float to the front of your mind as you lock the apartment behind you and walk out of the complex.

The sun is not fully set on Coruscant, leaving the lower area in a dim haze. The air is cooling down, but overall refreshing with a not completely pleasant, but familiar scent. It felt like home, or as close to home as you could have. 

You clutch your bag close under your arm and let yourself focus on the bustle of the city around you. It was very overwhelming when you first moved to Coruscant, with its nearly infinite cityscape and trillions of individuals with their own lives swirling around you, but now your feet move on autopilot with your understanding of the sectors layout, and instead you can enjoy the excitement constantly thrumming in the streets.

In a small gap in the crowd, you spot a familiar color scheme that has you pausing your sure-footed stride. Through the passing bodies, you could spot none other than your squadmates, picking their way past a large group of vendors. You’re almost hesitant to interrupt their time off and instead plan to slip back into the crowd, hopefully unnoticed, when you lock eyes with Hunter, who had been dutifully surveying their surroundings while his brothers were locked in discussion.

You awkwardly raise a hand in greeting and offer him a small smile, which he returns. Seeing the shift in Hunter’s focus quickly grabs the attention of the rest of the squad. Wrecker’s face lights up as he barrels his way through the crowd of pedestrians, who desperately dodge to clear a path for him, and wraps you in a tight hug.

Your hands scramble to find purchase on his shoulders as he lifts you well off the ground and you let yourself tuck your face into his neck to disguise your wide grin. By the time he releases you, you can feel a gentle heat rising in your cheeks, and you let a sly greeting slip out.

“Long time no see, eh?” You calculate it had been roughly 17 standard hours.

Crosshair is, surprisingly, the first to respond.

 “You look well,” he snarks in a tone that clearly teases the opposite. You scoff at his comment, but in all honesty, you probably are a sight to behold right now- haphazardly dressed, hair still damp from the shower, smiling like an idiot in the middle of a Coruscanti market. 

“Maker, thanks Cross-“ you start, unable to stop the laugh bubbling up at the sight of Echo swatting his arm.

“You’re a di’kut, Cross.” 

Said di’kut removed the toothpick that, til recently, resided at the corner of his mouth, and flicked in back at Echo, whose face scrunched into a, frankly adorable, frown.

“So,” Hunter started, clearly over the antics of his brothers, “what are you doing out? Thought you had plans to ‘sleep until our next mission.’” He quoted your last conversation back at you.

Well, that had been the plan. 

“Plans change.” You didn’t need to tell them you haven’t slept since the mission, “What are you doing out?”

“Looking for some good food!” Wrecker burst with a clap on your back.

“That time isn’t it? I'm out for the same thing. Where are you headed?”

“We are currently unsure, most Coruscant establishments are..” Tech hesitated, choosing his words, “Less than welcoming.”

You frown, tamping down the anger that quickly sparked in your chest. You are well acquainted with the prejudice that cropped up in all sectors of the city. Hells, there were more shops allowing droids than clones at this point, and both the GAR and the Senate seem disinclined to stop the blatant discrimination. But falling into a rant about that wasn’t productive right now. You had more than enough experience avoiding discriminatory stalls to know the best food joints that were open to all, and your primary mission shifted to getting these boys some good food. And then your mouth was moving faster than your brain could filter.

“Well I could probably point out a few stands or-“ you paused, catching your words in time. You could cook for them. That seemed too forward. Sure you all got along well, even Crosshair had shifted from outright mean to more lighthearted jeering in your conversations, but that doesn’t mean they’d want to spend their limited time off with you. That, and they’d be in your apartment, which somehow felt quite personal, despite the limited time you spent there. Anxiety twists in your stomach.

“Or?” Tech prompted, clearly not willing to let your sentence end prematurely. The Batch was looking at you expectantly, but there was something else. They looked… happy. Relaxed in a way that you never saw on missions. Maybe you were overthinking it, it would just be dinner, and you trust them to say no if they aren't interested. Besides, with how much work they have over endless missions, it might be nice to enjoy a warm meal.

You purse your lips and summon some courage.

“Well, if you’d like, you could come over to my place and I could cook something up.” You will yourself not to shy away from their gaze. 

“Really!?” Wrecker all but yells, voice overlapping with Hunters' attempt to reject your offer.

“We wouldn’t wanna trouble you, it’s not exactly easy to feed five troopers.”

“It wouldn't be any trouble, I wouldn't have offered if it would be. But if you aren’t interested, I understand, I don't want to impose or anything…”

Hunter studied you for a moment, hand absentmindedly scrubbing the back of his neck; he must have found what he was looking for because he turned to exchange glances with the rest of the squad, each of them giving a subtle nod, barring Wrecker who looked quite eager. He turned back to you, apparently satisfied.

“Well then, what’s for dinner, Doc?”

You grinned at him, letting the nerves shift into excitement.

“Well,” you considered for a moment, “I was thinking ramen would be great.” 

At Hunters’ agreement, Wrecker practically knocks Tech over to lift you up into his arms again. By the time your feet touch the ground, Echo has his lips pursed with concern.

“What is ramen?”

“It is a savory broth and noodle dish served in many stylized ways, often with various meats, proteins, and vegetables,” Tech states, adjusting the rims of his goggles before looking up from his data pad.

You nod in agreement, “I’ll need to pick up a few things, but there's an outdoor market just nearby.”

Falling into a pod-like formation, you lead the group a few streets over, all the while listening to Echo recount some of the worst foods he's suffered through during his time with the 501st, including an especially slimy seafood soup. He concluded that he was not particularly fond of dishes that look back at you.

Together you meander your way through several stores, picking out broth, noodles, a protein that Hunter seemed particularly interested in trying, and various vegetables, all of which Tech was keen on discussing. At some point you linked arms with Echo, who insisted on carrying the grocery bag. 

When all the supplies have been collected, you pick your way back to the apartment complex. It’s a short walk away and all the while you exchange easy conversation with the squad. On missions, you try to stay professional and keep your focus in the way you were taught during basic training, despite the Batch’s often successful attempts at breaking down your walls. However, without the tension of impending injury or death clouding your thoughts, you let yourself relax. 

You point out your building to the group, scanning your key card to get in. A sharp prick of nerves rocks your stomach as you make your way into the lift, dampening the lighthearted mood that had gathered during your time at the market. Logically, there was no reason to worry, after all, you’ve already sacrificed all privacy and personal space when you crowd on the Marauder for missions. That never made you nervous, in fact, you've even teased your squad, mostly Tech, about how you were claiming partial ownership over his pride and joy of a shuttle; but somehow this felt more personal, like you were letting them into a new part of your life. Which, in a way, you were.

Crosshair, having either impeccable timing or just catching onto your nerves, slides an arm to the railing on the opposite side of your body, placing him close behind you, and effectively shifting your mind from any worries you were having to the way he was nearly wrapped around your body. Then, without any warning, he jams his boney fingers into your side, causing you to yelp in surprise. Immediately turning around, you smack your hand into hard plastoid armour and glare up at him. He only shrugs back at you, a smirk playing on his face.

“You’re in your head mesh’la.” You pause for a split second. That nickname was new. 

“Yeah, well you must be out of yours. If you don't keep your hands to yourself, Cross, you won't be eating.” 

He raises his hands in mock surrender as his brothers jeer at him, but the glint in his eye told you he was going to be trouble.

You unlock your apartment, the door sliding open with a hiss, and step aside to let them in. 

“Feel free to make yourselves at home,” you smile and gesture to the open-concept living space and kitchen in a way that is hopefully not as awkward as it feels. 

Echo turns to you, “Mind if we ditch some armour?”

“Of course, go ahead.”

Warmth spreads through your face as they each remove the top half of their armour, Tech retaining his vambraces, and spread out around the room. You try not to let your eyes linger on how their tight fitting blacks cling to their impressively built frames, with limited success.

Quickly pushing that thought from your mind, you grab the controller to switch the holoscreen to the first thing you could find: some cheesy reality dating show. Wrecker sprawls on the couch and lolls his head back, Tech joining him at the opposite side. Crosshair perches on a barstool at the kitchen counter with a good vantage point of both the kitchen and the holo. You quickly shoo Echo away from where he was unpacking the groceries in the kitchen and he joins his brothers on the couch. Hunter saddles up beside you in the kitchen while the others settle in, resting his hand on your back. When you look up at him, you find him already watching you.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” a soft smile slants across his face. 

“‘S more of a mess when my roommates are around.” He nods in understanding, his roommates are a bit of a mess as well.

“Thanks for having us over, Doc.” The sincerity of his gaze sends sparks through your body and you can only hope that his senses don't pick up on the stuttering of your pulse.

“Don't thank me yet, you don't know if the food is any good. It shouldn't take too long, you can go sit down for a bit.”

 He’s probably been just as busy as you since getting back, between mission reports and making sure his brothers were all cared for. For a second it seems like he might protest and insist on helping, but then he gives your waist a quick squeeze and goes to sit in the mismatched chair near the couch.

With the Batch relatively settled, you begin to work on pulling out cookware and heating up the broth in a pot. You give the vegetables a rinse and pull out a knife and chopping board to start cutting, quickly abandoning the task when the broth heats to the correct temperature. With a plan to cook two packages of noodles at a time to maintain a good cooking temperature for the noodles, you start the first batch, before dropping a pad of butter into the pan for the vegetables. You turn to keep chopping, only to see Cross had taken over the task quite dutifully. It was very…domestic. A fuzzy feeling was creeping back through your body at the sight.

Rather than try to move the ridiculously stubborn man back to the couch and ruin a genuinely sweet moment, you just skirt behind him, dragging your hand gently across his shoulder blades and offering a  soft thanks as you gather some of what he's already cut to sauté. You grab a second pan for the meat.

The rest of the cooking is a quick blur of setting out bowls and alternating between cooking and dishing out batches of ramen, setting aside an extra batch for when Wrecker is inevitably still hungry. By the time the last bowl is full, the kitchen is a bit of a mess, but the meal in front of you is nothing short of mouthwatering.

You rap your knuckles twice on the counter closest to the living room, “Dinner!”

The Batch files in, Echo and Tech invested in an almost heated debate over the bachelors in the holo, with Echo vehemently protesting Tech’s pick to win as being shallow and Tech retorting about how his pick obviously had the highest probability of winning, regardless of his shortcomings.

Wrecker seemed to be nearly bursting with joy as he grabs a bowl and you hand him a set of chopsticks. His free arm slings around your shoulders and he drops a kiss to the top of your head, along with a gleeful ‘thank you.’

“There’s also forks on the counter if you’d prefer,” you gesture to where you'd set extra silverware, doubting that any of them had much experience with chopsticks.

The rest of them each follow suit, grabbing bowls and chopsticks and offering you thanks, to which you duck your head in quiet acceptance of their praise.

They all migrate back towards the couch with full bowls, sans Echo, who instead moves to the counter due to his inability to hold the bowl and wield utensils simultaneously. You opt to join him with a bowl of your own.

You scoop a large bite of noodles, almost groaning at the taste, stomach growling in appreciation. You'd nearly forgotten how long it's been since you ate. Both your escapade with the Batch in the market and cooking dinner had taken much longer than the quick dinner you had anticipated having alone. 

Glancing over at Echo, you see him grasping hopelessly at the chopsticks. He met your gaze with an almost guilty grin that told you he was about to make a stupid joke.

“Mind givin’ me a hand?” He raised his scomp-link for emphasis.

Maybe it was the tiredness truly setting in or maybe it was the joy of seeing the usually-tense ARC Trooper letting his guard down, but laughter swelled out of you at the idiocy of a pun you certainly should have seen coming. His smile widened, crinkling the corners of his eyes, which only made you smile to match him, before scooting your stool so you were shoulder-to-shoulder to give him a quick run-down.

Across the room, Tech seemed to have given a similar demonstration about chopstick technique, resulting in Wrecker grabbing one of the forks you had left out to expedite the process of food consumption.

The room was rather quiet, excepting the holoscreen, once everyone became fully invested in their meals. The sun had long since set, and everything was cast in the flashing from the light from the holoshow, as well as the standing lamps around the room, which your roommates all agreed was preferable to the abrasive fluorescent fixtures. Echo and Tech continued to comment on the dating show, with Crosshair chiming in every so often to comment on how ridiculous the whole thing was (though his concentration on the screen revealed he was rather invested). At one point you got up to refill Wreckers bowl and join the rest of the group on the couch with Echo in tow. You end up squeezed between Wrecker and Echo, with Tech on the other side of Wrecker and Cross tucked on the broad arm of the couch. Hunter looked as if he was melting into the armchair.

By the time the episode ended (on an overdramatized cliffhanger), you were almost asleep leaning on Wreckers arm. The bowls gently clink together as Hunter gathers them up to bring into the kitchen. With a yawn, you move to stand and start the dishes but Echo reaches in front of you to prevent you from getting up, meeting your bewildered look with a retort about how you invited them over and cooked and how dishes were ‘the least they could do’. You stammered in response, which Crosshair snorted at, cracking his eyes open and shifting his head from where it was leaned against the wall. He looked exhausted. They all did. 

“At least let me dry!” You raise your voice so Hunter could hear you over the running water, “you don't even know where things go!”

“I believe I could assist with that.” Tech stands, trying and failing to hide his smirk at your losing battle of hospitality.

Meanwhile, Echo enlists Wrecker to keep you from getting up, leaving you with your torso fully wrapped in Wrecker’s arms and your legs draped across Echo’s lap. With no chance of escaping, you resign yourself to lay back into their arms and listen to the sound of Hunter and Tech cleaning up the dishes and the dull chatter of the following episode of the dating show.

When you open your eyes again some time later, Hunter seems rather panicked. His chestplate has been haphazardly reattached and a strong grimace paints his features. 

“Sorry Doc, didn’t realize it was so late,” he shook Crosshair awake, “We’ll be out of your hair and let you get some rest.”

Wrecker and Echo shift to get up, untangling themselves from you. Crosshair waking bearily on the armrest. You stand up too, catching a glance at the chrono displaying half an hour to midnight.

“Are you headed all the way back to the barracks?” You question, almost rhetorically. It seemed ridiculous to trek back across the city this late. You never know what precious limited time there is to sleep before you all ship out for the next mission, but you're certain that the Batch shouldn't have to spend sleeping hours commuting back to uncomfortable bunks. 

“You could just crash here for the night.” Hunter paused from where he was collecting and passing out armour plates.

After an uncomfortable amount of silence, you gesture vaguely to the couch. “It’s a pullout.” The group pauses from the beginnings of reattaching armour plates. “I can grab some spare sheets and blankets, if you don't mind sharing a bed.” A yawn stretches through you, prompting a few more from the group. 

You must have underestimated exactly how tired Hunter is, as instead of politely declining and herding his brothers out like you anticipated, he doesn't even try to argue, nodding slowly in agreement before moving back toward the living room.

Dragging yourself into action, you stretch your limbs high above your head before setting Hunter and Crosshair to figure out the couch while you go in search of extra sheets in the linen closet. You return, handing them off to Tech and Echo before gathering some throw blankets to add to the bedding. 

While your team sets up, you return to your room to change into sweatpants and a sleep shirt. You quickly brush your teeth in the connecting bathroom, then gather what pillows you have on your bed to bring out to the living room.

When you return, the men are all stripped of their remaining armour and left in blacks. The bed is fully made and looks quite cozy, though it will certainly be a tight squeeze. Wrecker crawls in first, settling in the center of the bed with a heavy sigh. Tech follows, leaning in to press a tired kiss on your forehead before crawling to the far side. Echo settles in between Tech and Wrecker, while Cross moves to Wrecker’s other side. Their movements are practiced, as if they had done this a hundred times before. It was quite likely that they had, with time in the field and on Kamino providing little other comfort.

Hunter flips off the lights before slipping an arm around your waist and leaning to speak softly in your ear, his voice gruff.

“Joining us, mesh’la?” You realize that you've just been standing by the side of the bed, watching them all settle in. You had planned to return to your own bed, but leaning into his chest, you feel yourself quickly losing the battle against sleep. And you gave up all your pillows.

“Mmph.” A low laugh rumbles around you and Hunter nudges you toward the couch, tucking you in next to Crosshair, who was quick to pull your back to his chest and tangle up your legs, before pulling himself in behind you. You adjust the blankets in an effort to keep Hunter tucked in with you, knowing full well he would sacrifice his own comfort otherwise. With nearly no space between you, Hunter lets his eyes fall shut and rests his forehead on your own.

“G’night, Doc.” You don't know if you respond out loud, as you lose all grip on the waking world. After months of harsh missions and endless carnage, you were cuddled up, safe, content, and finally asleep.

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Free Day Friday

It's a little follow-up to Mistaken Identity au, as per the poll results!

The first week "home" had been...stifling. The man purporting to be Jak's father wouldn't leave him alone, always checking in on him, making sure he wasn't pulling at the IV, asking him questions he just didn't have the answers to. The one upside was that Damas had finally brought Daxter to see him. Of course, it had been right in the middle of Jak's fourth escape attempt, which may have been calculated. But considering Jak was pretty sure he was going to lose his mind without Daxter, he'd decided to let it go for now.

For the first hour, neither of them had even spoken. They'd just clung to each other in silence, taking solace in the knowledge that they were both alive, and here. Damas had stood to the side, watching, like he always did. He really hadn't given up on this "I think you're my kid" business. And without blurting out everything he knew about time-travel, Jak couldn't exactly prove him wrong. Frankly, even if he did tell Damas exactly why he was wrong -- namely, that Jak had technically only been born five-ish years ago -- Jak didn't think even that would convince him. He'd probably think it was some near-death hallucination Jak had in the desert.

Daxter wanted Jak to play along; let this new city think they were long lost children returning home. Anything was better than rejection and exile! But Jak just...couldn't. First of all, he was a terrible liar. Tess often told him he couldn't bluff his way out of a paper bag. But even more pressing, it just didn't feel right, repaying an act of kindness with one of deception. Besides, what would they do when they found out it was all a mistake? Better not to get comfortable at the outset.

It was, all in all, a difficult position to be in.

"So tell me why your friend there looks like a river-cat, but has human blood," Damas finally interrupted after close to two hours of watching them sign to each other.

"He has wha-"

"I HAVE WHAT?!"

Daxter bristled and leaped down onto the cot. "Whaddya mean my blood is still human?! How did you even figure that out?!"

Damas was entirely too cheerful when he answered, "Oh, nobody knew what you were when we found you, so we did a blood test. Using the wrong medicine could've killed you, after all. The vet called it a day and went home with a migraine once she figured out all your internal organs are identical to a human's. That's probably why you can talk, I suppose."

Sputtered explanations of Daxter's plight -- talking over each other and around each other, one blaming himself and the other refusing to accept it -- took up the next seven minutes while Damas just listened with a stupid grin. Maybe because it was the most Jak had willingly spoken to him since regaining consciousness.

On the bright side, after learning that Daxter was medically still human, Phobos had brought a pair of pants for him. Maybe they were an infant's button-snap trousers, but the buttons made room for his tail and both boys were grateful for it.

After four days of tortuous boredom and the hated IV, they finally let Jak out. No one had returned his clothes -- it figured, couldn't let him have gear that would help him escape -- so he'd had to shuffle out after Phobos in slightly undersized sandals that pinched his toes. Even with Daxter's enthusiastic and highly colorful commentary on the world outside the clinic, Jak hadn't been prepared for the size of the city around them.

He'd expected something like the Slums of Haven. Ramshackle buildings of sheet metal and broken roads surrounding a few locations of importance. The market district outside of the clinic alone could have fit all of Dead Town quite comfortably, and according to Daxter that was only a quarter of Spargus's true size! Asymmetrical sandstone houses and apartments lined city walls and a network of well-kept walking paths in a variety of levels, many with baskets of colorful fruits, or racks of laundry drying on landings high above the street.

Jak had immediately wandered away from Damas and Phobos, just trying to take it all in. The air was clear -- hot, but clean and free of smog -- and tasted of salt. A child collided with him, bounced off, and continued running as other children gave chase with shrieks of laughter. Jak had never seen kids playing in the street before. Where were the guards? The soldiers? Everyone outside walked with heads held high, calling out greetings, haggling over prices. The marketplace thrummed with life and color and sound, almost overwhelming in its intensity. Haven seemed like a ghost town by comparison!

Jak strayed between vendors' stalls, trailing his fingers along split-rail counters and sturdy awning poles. Daxter leaned eagerly over his shoulder, pointing out all the ammunition and daggers and armor being made. There were piles of metal gems being weighed on scales, traded back and forth, even being set into weapons! City of the hunter indeed. It looked like everyone had gems of their own to pay with. Daxter even swore up and down he'd seen an eight year old with a handful of metalbug gems buying a satchel of seeds!

"Oye! Don't wander off like that, kid!"

Phobos caught him two streets over, peering at a rack of creepy gas masks. She sounded more amused the annoyed, at least.

"See something you like?"

"This place is so crowded." Jak shaded his eyes and tried to guess how many of the people around him were warriors.

Phobos snorted and jostled his arm with a friendly elbow. "This is nothing. You should see the Arena!"

Arena? Like a stadium? The possibility of racing piqued Jak's interest, and he and Daxter exchanged eager glances.

"What's the Arena?" Daxter asked.

It was fairly hard to miss, as it turned out. Phobos pointed them towards a structure built into what looked like a caldera, just north of the market.

"There, that's the Arena: gathering place, courtroom, race track, stage and morgue, all in one!"

Daxter blanched. "What was that about a morgue?!"

Phobos shrugged. "It's built over lava, kid. Citizen candidates have to prove they can survive volcanic activity -- and Marauders, and- well, most desert life, really -- before we let them leave the city. If they don't take it seriously enough: whoosh! Crematorium."

"....ah." Daxter cringed and slid down Jak's back until only his ears were visible over Jak's shoulder. "Hence the age restrictions."

"Hence the age restrictions," Phobos agreed. She gave Jak a little shove. "Hey, if you want to get a look at it, one of our veteran hunters managed to trap a couple metaljackets recently. The Warriors' Guild is giving a demonstration for civ candidates and younger rookies this afternoon. Kind of a "here's what you can be if you don't slack off" thing."

"Ugh. Metaljackets." Jak rolled his eyes. "Not as annoying as Stingerheads, but they're up there."

He paused.

"Do you even have Stingerheads out here? Those stupid things drive me crazy."

"Well..." with a slightly chagrined look, Phobos tiptoed to wave down a slightly dismayed looking Damas, who was apparently questioning some baffled shopkeepers as to their whereabouts.

"I mean. We used to. But then we found out that Leapers really will eat anything they can fit in their mouth. We don't have a Stingerhead problem anymore."

Phobos shooed Jak over to the now relieved Damas. "Go on, I've got work to do. You guys, I dunno, bond or something. Take Jak to see the metaljacket exhibition."

Of course, in the clarity of hindsight, she would regret the suggestion.

There were still a few hours before the event was scheduled to take place, but there were already some people camped out to get front row seats. Damas didn't seem to think that this was a particularly wise strategy, commenting as he led the boys past the stands that the campers would likely run through most of the water they had on-hand while waiting. He paused when he noticed that one of the "campers" was an old man, stretched out on the benches and snoring softly.

"Well. Peat excluded. That guy just kind of does what he wants and manages to survive anyway." Damas tugged at his lip. "Honestly, nobody's really sure how. I mean, the man ate a cobra once because he said if it bites you, biting it back cancels out the venom."

"Does it?" asked Jak.

Damas’s head whipped around to fix wide eyes on Jak. "No! No, absolutely not! He was in the healing ward for days! But he managed not to need the foot amputated and ate the rest of the snake anyway."

Daxter gagged and Jak laughed. "I wanna meet that guy."

Rightly, Damas had a bad feeling about that.

When the exhibition did begin, Jak was a little disappointed. Sure, the long gunstaffs used to keep the metalheads back were cool, but he couldn't see the weapons' details well from the box where Damas usually sat. He leaned over the rail, squinting as one woman used her staff to vault into the air and slash a metaljacket back down to the ground. Daxter, long since grown bored, was scanning the rest of the stadium. Abruptly, he sat up and smacked Jak's arm.

"Hey lookit! It's a Precursor orb!" He pointed to a familiar shape lying on an awning halfway down the Arena walls. "Somebody must've dropped it! I bet we could get that later, huh Jak?"

Daxter looked around.

"...Jak?"

All Jak had heard was "Precursor orb" and the old childhood habits came flooding back. Without a second thought, he slipped over the railing the moment Damas’s back was turned. The metal was almost blisteringly hot, but he ignored it as he climbed down footholds that should have been too small for a human. Getting the orb without falling into the Arena would be tricky, but not impossible. He just had to watch his balance.

Up in the observation balcony, Damas was a little more focused on catching up on some paperwork than on the exhibition below. He tuned out the ottsel-boy muttering in alarm about...something...in order to review a new infrastructure proposal. The faster he got this done, the more time he would have to get to know Jak.

He heard some cries of alarm down below, but ignored them. The rookies would realize soon enough that the Guild had everything under control.

"Hey boss?"

"What, Kleiver?" Damas didn't even spare a glance at his talk-box.

"Er...ain't that your brat, climbing into the Arena?"

"What are you talking about? Jak's right-"

Damas finally looked up.

"...here?"

He dropped the datapad and leapt to his feet. "Oh don't tell me-"

A quick scan of the ring confirmed his suspicions and before he could stop himself he burst out, "JAK! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

Jak paused and looked up at him from where he was leaning over the awning, orb in hand. He looked down at the orb, frowned, and looked back up at Damas.

"Is...that a trick question?"

"Get back up here before you fall and break your neck!" Damas yelled, gripping the balcony edge with white knuckles.

Behind him, Daxter sighed and shook his head. "Welcome to my world, Spikes," he said sympathetically, "welcome to my world."

[agentsquirrelsgotrobots]

The Stars, The Moon, The Sun, and an Incoming Constellation

A DP x DC x Tfrb fic - also posted on my Ao3 Agentsquirrel

After marrying Danny and getting engaged to Tucker, Sam packs up the trio and heads to Griffin Rock, a place that is rumored to be just as chaotic as Amity Park.

Of course, the Fenton luck follows them, and the three of them find out their family will soon become bigger than they thought.

"Shots fired at the dock! Dad, be careful!" Cody said, his voice shaking with worry.

"I promise, all protocol will be followed to the letter." Chase said, speeding towards the dock, Blades flying overhead.

They parked, and immediately, Charlie knew they were in over their head. A white goth woman no older than Dani was pinned behind a cement parking barrier, her forehead grazed and her forearm shot right through the skin, missing bone but severing muscle. She was oddly calm though, her body language free of shock as she kept pressure on her wound and watched the battle with rapt concentration.

"Danny, love, quit being cocky and wrap this up. The police are here, and Tuck's gotta scram." She said into her flip phone, the thing absolutely ancient compared to the cell phone, this year's model, shoved in her steel toed boot.

"Chase, I can't see anything! Whatever is opening fire is just a green blur!" Blades was bordering on a full on panic, Dani fully in control.

"It looks like a fight between a gang trying to set up shop and whatever that green blur is. Stay back dad, looks like it can fly fast." Dani said, retreating from the fight after scanning for civilians. The situation seemed to be resolving itself without them.

"Miss, do you require medical attention?" Charlie yelled over the sounds of gunfire.

"I'm fine, my partner needs to HURRY THE FUCK UP!"

With one last final blast, a white, blue eyed, black haired boy ran from the scene and behind Chase, his sneakers soaked in blood and a green substance Charlie hoped was paint.

"I got trapped between that… thing and the shootout. I don't know what I stepped in, but I think it's all blood." He said, panting hard, his face and arms cut up from debris. "My name is Danny Mason. That's my wife Sam. I'm a medic, got a first aid kit on you?" Charlie handed it over, and on a whispered count of three, he dashed over to his wife, quickly applying a tourniquet and dragging her towards the squad car. "Tuck's fine, is at the hotel. After we give a statement, I am taking you to the hospital."

"Wait." Graham said over comms Daniel and Sam Mason-Foley, with their fiance Tucker? Like, Mason industries, and Foley computer systems? Dad, half the island buys their tech, its the most repairable, environmentally sustainable, and secure software and computer companies on the market, and a flagship brand against planned obsolescence. Please, play nice. This could legitimately be huge for the island."

"Noted. Kade, you too."

Kade sighed. "Got it. Be nice to the Luskey Jrs."

"Do you need a ride? I can follow up on a statement later. I can have you flown to the mainland for a checkup or let you call for a ride."

"It's not-" Sam started, wincing as Danny cleaned her head wound.

"We will take that flight. I don't like the look of her head wound, and I am no good at stitches."

"First, call Tucker, so he can rub it in our faces." Sam said, hissing as Dani caught up to them and started redressing her wounds, Chase and Charlie clearing the area, Charlie trying not to vomit at the sight of the finely pureed gangster decorating multiple shipping containers and an overturned forklift.

"Well, this is… unpleasant." Chase said, wrinkling his nose at the smell.

In the background, Blades flew towards the mainland, very glad he wasn't on clean-up duty.

"Hey, there's my moon and stars!" Tucker said, dropping his duffel bag on a spare chair before resting a hand on Danny's shoulder and kissing Sam's cheek.

"Only if you are the sun." Sam said, a little loopy from the pain medication, the hospital keeping her under observation for a few more hours.

The nurse came in, oddly nervous, holding a box. "So, I have some news. Sirs, could I ask Mrs. Mason a question in private? Hospital policy, it will only take a minute."

"Oh." Danny said, suddenly concerned. "Sure. Be back soon, Sam. Love you."

"Love you too." Sam replied as Tucker and Danny awkwardly shuffled out of the hospital room.

The nurse watched them leave, then took a deep breath. "It's hospital policy to for this to be private. There's a few questions I have to ask first, but…" She opened the box. Inside, there was a positive pregnancy test, in a sanitary box, and some paperwork.

Sam looked shocked, covering her mouth and choking back a squeal. "I'm pregnant." She whispered. "I thought that. Could you bring my partners in?"

"Of course, but I have to ask a couple of questions before it, standard stuff."

"Oh. OK."

"First I have to give you this." The nurse gave Sam a couple of business cards with referrals to maternity resources, domestic violence hotlines, and reproductive care information. "Nothing personal, we give them to all patients with positive tests. In the same vein, have you experienced any threats of violence, acts of violence, coercion, or felt that your right to consent has been violated by chosen partners, friends, ex partners, or family members?"

"No."

"Would you like or have the need for confidential referrals to counseling on your pregnancy, either by our support counselors or religious clergy?"

"No."

"Would you like to keep the test?"

Sam smiled. "Yes. Could you bring my partners in?"

The nurse nodded, and closed up the box with the test inside. "In the box is the same forms and resources in writing, and some other paperwork. Congratulations."

"Thank you." Sam said, wiping away a few tears.

Tucker and Danny rushed back into the room, their voices overlapping with worry.

"Guys, enough. Open the box." Sam said, offering it to Danny.

Danny ripped it open, throwing the top aside. He dropped it in shock. "I'm…I'm…"

Tucker gasped, a huge grin on his face. "We are gonna be dads!" He yelled, rushing to hug Sam while shaking with excitement.

"I didn't know I could…" Danny said, obviously in shock.

"Danny, DANNY!" Sam yelled, snapping him out of his trance. "I demand attention for my sacrifice."

"Oh!" Danny squeaked, jumping into action. He gave Sam a peck on the cheek before grabbing her hand and flopping into one of the chairs. "We gotta call Jazzy."

"No, duh, but first, I want you two." Sam grumped, returning Danny's kiss. "I already have names for 'em." She said, resting her head on Danny's shoulder while Tucker was already looking up all the latest baby gear and thinking up his own.

"If it's Danny's bio kid, then it's gonna be Cassiopeia or Orion. If it's Tucker's bio kid, it's either Sadie or Orion. My selections are final and not up for debate."

"Yes, ma'am." Danny and Tucker intoned, only half joking. Sam's word was law, after all.

Danny counted backward in his head and gasped. "Uh, Sam. Who's gonna tell your parents that this one's probably mine?"

"Not it!" Danny and Tucker yelled, Sam catching on too late.

"Fuck." Sam hissed.

Danny chuckled. "Apparently, we are quite good at that." He earned a tug on the ear for that comment. "Ow. I deserved that."

Tucker did the math too. "Yep. First one is likely gonna be… no, wait, Danny failed math, we have got a fifty-fifty shot here."

"Meh. Doesn't mean much to me. I am bad at doing hair anyway." Sam said, only half joking.

[bellobambino]

The Weight, Part 1: $680

A man pushed to his limits grapples with a broken system, determined to make an impact no one can ignore.

806w

The fic series, The Weight, is a multiple part series highlighting Luigi Mangione's journey through the assassination of the CEO of United Healthcare, and the aftermath. Told in Luigi's first person perspective.

AN: these fics are more like a series of vignettes. my nonna always said "if i had more time i would have written less.". A love interest DOES come up in this story and she is fairly generic and self insertable. Don't worry.

Here we go:

$680

This story is about her.

Her voice is soft and wobbly. She sounds exactly like my Nonna. And for a moment, I’m not in line at the pharmacy at Walgreens—I’m six years old, sitting at my Nonna’s kitchen table, my feet dangling above the floor. My hair curly, black, wild, and impossible to tame. No matter how hard she tried. It smells like old oak, espresso, and that faint, powdery old-people smell that always seemed to cling to her. I’m nibbling on a biscotti I haven’t figured out how to eat yet—it’s too hard, and I’m too small, but I don’t want to disappoint her.

Nonna is talking about the saints. It’s always something about the saints with her.

“San Giuseppe,” she says. “He worked hard, Luigi. Worked for his family. He sacrificed.” She taps her finger on the table, her eyes locking onto mine, drilling the lesson into my soul. “Sacrifice, capisci? It is what we do. For la famiglia. For the people who need us.”

I nod. Those were all words I knew. But I don’t think I really grasped the concept of sacrifice until much later in life.

There was something in her voice that made me sad, even back then. Like there was a weight to the lessons she was stacking on my little shoulders. Every word felt heavier than me. Maybe that’s why my spine is so fucked up.

I never got used to the feeling that no matter how good I was, I’d never quite measure up to the generations of sacrifice that came before me.

The stranger in front of me has her same lilt.

“I’ve been on this medication for years,” she says, her voice cracking just a little. “It’s for my heart. I can’t stop taking it. It’s the only one that works.”

I already know where this is going.

“Well, it seems your insurance isn’t covering that brand anymore,” the pharmacist says, her tone flat, bored. “You’ll have to get your doctor to write a prescription for another drug. We can fax them, but it could take a few days for them to respond.”

The old woman blinks, her confusion spreading like a ripple in still water. “Oh…” she mutters, her fingers fumbling with her purse. “How much is it without insurance?”

The pharmacist glances at the screen, her expression neutral. “Six hundred and eighty dollars.”

God dammit.

“Oh goodness!” The woman’s voice rises, panicked now. “That’s most of my Social Security check,” she says softly, like she’s embarrassed to admit it.

The pharmacist shrugs. “You can call the number on the back of your insurance card and ask them why they stopped covering it. I’ll fax your doctor, but they’ll probably get it after the weekend. You don’t want to skip a dose of metoprolol.”

My blood pressure rises, and I shouldn’t be listening. This is her personal business. But it hits me like a ton of bricks. Because skipping a dose means her heart might decide it’s done without the meds. Because skipping a $22 pill means dying, maybe alone in her kitchen while the tea kettle screams on the stove.

Who would find her?

The market price for keeping herself alive is $680 that she doesn’t have. She opens her wallet, her hands trembling as she pulls out a credit card.

“I will use this…” she says, her voice trailing off, soft and broken.

The card swipes. It beeps. That’s it. She looks resigned. She takes the bag and walks away slowly, clutching it like it’s full of gold bars instead of heart medication.

And me? I’m standing there, fists clenched, filled with this white-hot rage that I can’t even see around. Tunnel vision.

Someone has to fucking pay for this.

The pharmacist calls me forward, and I take a breath. My legs feel heavy as I step up to the counter. She scans my prescription—$4 copay, smooth as butter. I don’t even have to think about it. But I’m not thinking about my prescription. I’m thinking about her.

I grab my little bag and walk out of the store, but I’m not walking. I’m falling—spiraling down into this endless pit of rage. I feel all the warmth leave my body through my feet, replaced by a cold, hollow static.

The rage comes back, but now it’s a dagger in my hand: sharp, deliberate.

I’m reminded that I’ve got nowhere left to go. Nothing to lose. No safety net, no real future. I don’t see a version of this life that isn’t dictated by pain and powerlessness.

I have nothing but my own free will. I’m worth at least that much.

And suddenly, the concept of sacrifice that Nonna was talking about is crystal clear.

I’ll wear the weight of what needs to be done so so others don't have to. I'll speak for them. Maybe not with words, but action.

Someone has to do something. Someone has to do the bad thing.

And that someone is me.

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this New York Times story:

The Biden-Harris administration said Wednesday that it was taking its first steps toward potentially regulating vinyl chloride, a versatile yet cancerous and flammable chemical used widely to make plastic for PVC pipes and packaging.

Experts and environmental groups had been urging the federal government to more stringently regulate the chemical after a train shipment of it derailed in East Palestine, Ohio, last year, prompting officials to perform a large controlled burn that sent a black cloud of smoke over the surrounding area, raising health concerns.

Tougher rules or a ban on vinyl chloride would address a host of health and safety concerns: The U.S. Department of Health and Human Services has classified vinyl chloride as a known human carcinogen, and the chemical is highly flammable and potentially explosive.

Safety experts had also raised concerns over the transport of vinyl chloride across long distances on accident-prone freight trains. The more than 100,000-gallon vinyl chloride shipment that burned in Ohio was on a 1,600-mile journey from a chemicals plant just outside Houston, Texas, to a PVC flooring plant in Pedricktown, N.J.

But tougher regulations would also upend the market for a type of plastic used widely in electrical wiring and cables, blood storage bags and other medical devices, packaging and household goods like shower curtains and raincoats, and PVC pipes for drinking water.

The Vinyl Institute, which represents vinyl chloride manufacturers and related companies, said its members adhered to “some of the most stringent safety and environmental regulations in the chemical industry.” The E.P.A.’s process will ��demonstrate the production and use of vinyl chloride are safe,” said the group’s chief executive, Ned Monroe.

[cynicalone94]

Left For Dead

Read on AO3 here.

Jay walks out of the grocery store.

He and Hailey don’t usually have a lot of time to do their grocery shopping which means that they tend to stick to late night runs on the way home from work.

Tonight’s his turn.

“Hey man.” a guy calls out, and he turns to see a man walking toward him with an uneven gait. “You spare a couple bucks?”

Jay groans internally.

It’s so hard to know when these people legitimately need his help and when they’re just looking for their next fix.

The unsteady gait could be a sign that he’s intoxicated but it could also be a host of medical issues.

He shifts his keys to his left hand with the bags and reaches for his wallet.

The sharp stab of pain in his lower back catches him off guard.

He looks back to see a knife sticking out of his side, the hilt still encased in the man’s hand.

“What…”

A van screeches up next to them, the door flying open and then Jay is being shoved into the back.

He cries out as he hits the floor of the van and the knife shifts.

And then he’s being rolled onto his stomach and the blade is ripped out.

He screams but they just grab his head, slamming his face against the floor.

His arms are jerked up behind his back and secured with a zip tie.

What the hell is going on?

“W-what do… you want?” he chokes out.

“Nothing from you.”

Before he can attempt another question, they press duct tape over his mouth.

Then a knee is pressing into his back, keeping him down.

He’s closed his eyes, trying to tone down the nausea that the movement of the vehicle is uncharacteristically causing him, when he feels the van slow.

And hears the door slide open. And then he’s being moved.

He opens his eyes, looking around in alarm and scrambling to try to find something to hold onto.

Trying to kick their hands away.

But it’s a hard fight in close quarters with his hands tied.

And then he’s airborne.

He hits the ground with force on a slope, crashing and tumbling all the way down to the bottom.

When he finally comes to a stop he can just lie there for a while, gasping for breath.

Everything hurts and it takes a long moment before he can zero in on anything in particular.

Ribs, right shoulder, left leg, lower back, and head. Everything else is minor.

But he’s losing a lot of blood from that stab wound and he needs help, now.

He looks around, seeing nothing but pitch darkness. He knows there’s a hill to his right, knows if he can just get to the top of it, there’s a road.

And if he can get to that road, he can get help, can flag down a car.

But he also remembers how long he’d spent tumbling down that very hill.

And he has to get out of these zip ties before he can even really try.

Every move as he searches for something he can use to cut himself free takes his breath away but he finds something and manages to saw through the plastic.

He rolls onto his back, lifting his shirt to try to feel at the stab wound on his side.

He tries to pull his shirt off, hoping he can bandage it to slow the bleeding but his shoulder won’t cooperate.

Giving up on that, he rolls back onto his stomach and starts crawling up the hill, dragging himself inch by painful inch with only the use of his left arm.

“Jay doesn’t just not answer his phone, Sarge.” Hailey says and he can practically hear her pacing.

“No. He wouldn’t.” he agrees. “How long?”

“He went to the store after work.” she says. “I expected him to be home by eleven, we hit quarter after I started calling.”

It’s just short of midnight now which means Jay has been missing for over an hour, with the possibility of an hour and a half.

“What store?”

“Danny’s market.” she tells him. “It’s the only place close to our drive home that’s open that late. We take turns stopping to restock essentials when days off get farther and farther apart.”

“Well even they’re closed by now.” he tells her. “I can try to drag the owners out of bed to get access to the cameras but we don’t even know if he made it to the store.”

“I can check traffic cams.” Hailey offers. “Maybe get eyes on the truck and see if he did make it that far.”

“And maybe get eyes on any vehicles that were in the area at the time he would have been.” Voight says. “I have a CI I want to check in with. He’s got the pulse on the neighborhood and might know something.”

“Okay.” she says, taking a deep breath. “Okay.”

“We’ll find him.” he promises before ending the call.

But Tanner doesn’t know anything about the abduction of a cop in the neighborhood and Hailey’s search of the cameras doesn’t turn up anything.

She can get a single glimpse of Jay’s truck approaching the store but there wasn’t a single other vehicle that passed the traffic cameras within the thirty minute window afterward.

Without getting access to the store cameras they’re dead in the water and Jay’s already been missing for nearly three hours.

His phone rings and he looks down, expecting to see Hailey’s name on the screen.

But instead he gets Jay’s.

“Halstead?”

“He’s already dead.” a voice says coldly. “But I thought you might like to recover the body before the animals get to it. Get a clear look at the cost of your actions.”

“Where is he?” he demands.

“Old Route 66 where it goes through Douglas Park. Near the tennis courts.”

The call ends and he scrambles back to his car, contemplating whether or not to call Hailey.

If whoever this is is telling the truth and Jay’s already dead, maybe she shouldn’t be there when he finds the body.

He parks next to the tennis courts, drawing his weapon and starting the search.

It’s miles more specific than he’d had an hour ago but its still a lot of ground to cover.

He reaches a hill, spotting disrupted brush and following it down the hill. Halfway down, he sees a glimpse of boots in the beam of his flashlight.

Hurrying toward them, he drops to his knees, pressing his fingers into the side of Jay’s throat.

The pulse isn’t as strong as he would like but it’s still there.

He calls for an ambulance and rolls Jay onto his back.

“Jay?”

To his surprise, eyes flicker open.

He wouldn’t say that Jay is conscious and completely with it but he’s definitely not dead.

“It’s okay, kid.” he says gently, searching for injuries.

He finds the stab wound on Jay’s lower left side and presses his hand over it.

“Just keep breathing.” he urges. “Stay with me, kid.”

Jay is more of less still with him when the ambulance arrives and sticks it out through the ride to Med.

Hailey rushes up to him in the waiting room, staring at Jay as he’s wheeled past him.

“What happened?”

“I got a call.” he says. “With a location.”

“And you didn’t call me?” she demands. “What you didn’t think I should be there?”

“No.” he says, shaking his head. “I didn’t.”

She frowns, eyes narrowing in confusion.

“They said he was already dead.” he tells her. “You didn’t need to be there if that was the case.”

“But he’s still…” she trails off.

“He hung in there the whole way here.” Voight tells her. “And who knows how long out on that hill. Don’t give up on him yet.”

She sinks into a chair.

A few hours later they’re sitting on either side of Jay’s bed, watching him sleep.

The stab wound had come close to serious damage that would have caused him to bleed out long before Voight had arrived but luckily the wielder of the knife had missed their target.

The repair had been easy and once they can replenish his blood volume he should make a full recovery.

He has other injuries, ones that Voight suspects had come from being thrown down that hill.

A broken ankle, dislocated shoulder, broken ribs and a concussion are all painful but also expected to heal.

But that doesn’t mean that Voight won’t be visiting some serious pain on whoever had done this to him.

The suggestion that this was revenge for something that he’d done in the past is the only lead he has right now.

“Don’t worry kid.” he says, leaning down. “I’ll find the bastards who did this to you.”

[darkysilverwing]

Just woke up from a dream where people all over the world started randomly developing superpowers, but it wasn’t some genetic mutation or mummy’s curse but rather a chemical our bodies started producing from our pituitary glands.

Turns out the chemical both gave us our powers and, when given to a non powered individual, gave them the ability to produce the chemical and gave them superpowers, but it turns out when someone gained powers naturally it was a lottery, but getting your powers from someone else always resulted in you gaining that person’s power, with the higher percentage of the chemical in your blood being correlated with a more powerful power.

Naturally this meant that the government didn’t want superpowered people spreading their powers so they put a ban on powered people donating blood and made them register with the government so you could look up any person you were with to see if they were powered enough. Naturally for the cooler powers like flight this caused a bit of a black market where you’d pay your life savings to sleep with a powered person so you could get their powers. (I think it was implied that people who got their powers secondhand weren’t contagious though for some reason)

My power was very stupid, I could tell when an electrical device was turned on just by listening to it, which was good cause partway through the dream a fight broke up between some powered individuals, basically causing more damage than a hurricane and an category 9 earthquake all wrapped into one, meaning the need for aide was super important and the donating blood aspect was lifted and everyone with powers was just tested for their concentrations of the chemical, and made to put that on the bag, so normal people could potentially just get a low concentration power and any injured power people could get the higher concentration stuff since if a powered person got higher concentrations of the chemical then they produced the worse that would happen is they’d get sick afterwards.

So I figured I had a low concentration, but as I was walking through the medical area that was set up in a Public park as a makeshift tent hospital area I passed by people who were suffering and dying which I’m pretty sure were placed in the open so those donating would be sure to donate more. I got pulled aside by an old lady with telekinesis who told me that I needed to help her cause she was in pain, and made me promise to write her name on the blood bag so I could be sure to get her lower concentration blood so she wouldn’t suffer as much when she got treated.

So I went into the designated area, donated the blood, and wrote the name on the bag for who it was suppose to go to, only to get stopped by one of the people running the show, who for some reason was wearing full tactical gear, guns and all. Turns out I had to prick my finger to test the concentration of the chemical in my blood, so after getting pricked and sticking my bleeding finger into a little device that read the concentration I wrote down the number (it just read 5 so I put down the number 5) and I delivered the bag.

Cut to a bit later, I got some juice and a cookie and I’m just chilling with the other supers who just donated, only for the precog guy next to me suddenly going “we need to run! Now!” And since he can literally see the future we started running, which was good cause a bunch of military guys burst in and started shooting at us.

Course I’m yelling “why are that shooting at us?” To which a guy who’s powers I never learned went “you’re a high concentration! Get out of here!” And then shoved me to the side, and then I woke up.

[dertaglichedan]

Shortly after the vaccine hit the market, and the government, along with their media allies, started promoting and even mandating the jab in some instances, a deeply concerning phenomenon emerged — “Died Suddenly.” These nightmarish headlines became all too common, featuring predominantly young and healthy individuals who were inexplicably dropping dead. Sadly, this horrific trend doesn’t show signs of stopping. The alarming number of young, healthy people experiencing heart attacks and blood clots is deeply troubling. And sadly, the same concerning pattern continues with this latest story. During a World Cup soccer practice, an 18-year-old star player from Colombia was on the field when she suddenly clutched her chest and collapsed to the ground.

Here are more details:

🚨World Cup star, 18, grabs her chest and collapses at training in Sydney before being rushed to hospital in an ambulance after losing consciousness

Breakout World Cup star Linda Caicedo may not feature again in the tournament after the Colombian collapsed at training in distressing scenes that were caught on video.

The young gun, 18, was rushed to hospital and was unconscious for at least 90 seconds as medics and terrified team-mates rushed to her aid at the team’s base in Sydney.

Footage shows the star jogging with teammates before she suddenly stops, clutches her chest and falls to the ground.

Concerned players gather around her before a woman who appears to be a member of the training staff sprints to the scene, closely followed by other team staffers, one of whom was carrying a kit bag.

[lolothesilly]

OUGH so i just typed out a bunch of fun facts about leeches....

tw for discussion of blood, disease transmission, & animal defecation!

most species of leech dont feed on humans, they tend to be very specialized to feed on a specific animal (often fish and amphibians!)

some leeches dont drink blood at all & instead are carnivores eating things like earthworms or slugs!!

its not very likely to get a serious illness from a leech even in the wild because of the way their mouthparts work, the most likely way to get a bloodborne disease from a leech is actually to grab it and yank it off bc that may make it regurgitate the blood in its tummy out of stress!! it is however entirely possible for the bite itself to get infected bc wild leeches tend to live in pond or swamp water which isnt known for being sanitary lol, so if you are bitten by a wild leech definitely clean the wound as best you can, apply pressure, and seek medical assistance just in case!!

the best way to remove a leech is to run your fingernail (or a credit card or similar thin sturdy water-resistant material) under the edge of its face, bc it latches on using a suction cup (like an octopus! there's a suction cup on its face & one on the end of its tail! the face is on the narrower end btw, the fat end is its big ol butt <3) so if you gently break the suction seal it'll just fall off!

leech "bites" can bleed a lot bc their saliva has anticoagulant properties, so leeches are the most dangerous to ppl who have hemophilia or another bleeding disorder!!

leeches dont really have fangs, they have a tiny Y-shaped jaw with microscopic "teeth", almost like a weird little saw, and they use that to break the skin & use their suction cup to latch onto the tiny wound and just sort of free-feed as the blood flows out!!

they also dont drink a huge amount of blood tbh, especially if its just one of them (though they do tend to live in large groups), but the anticoagulant can cause you to bleed (not gushing, more like a steady leak?) for hours after the leech lets go, so its good to apply pressure with clean bandages after being bit!!

leeches are used in medicine to this day!!

you can also keep them as pets, theyre one of the few truly low-maintenance animals, they just need dechlorinated water, some gravel (for rubbing against to help shed their skin), a hidey hole or two, & for their water to be cleaned every so often!! they can live in surprisingly small enclosures, but it definitely doesnt hurt to give them space to explore :) they do also prefer darkness though, so its best to make sure they're shaded from any bright lights or windows!!

leeches like to live with other leeches!!! they will actually curl up together and at least one study has shown that they release oxytocin when "cuddling" with each other (the same brain chemical that's released when, for example, a mother cuddles her baby!!)

its generally ok to keep leeches of the same species together, they arent likely to attack each other unless one of them is full of warm blood & another is hungry!! this is why its best to feed your leeches around the same time & if one refuses to eat, keep it in a separate tank from the ones that have eaten until the full ones defecate and/or the empty one eats!!

adult Hirudo verbana (the modern "medicinal leech" bc the similar, historically used Hirudo medicinalis is endangered) can feed as infrequently as once or twice a year!! they'll digest their meal over a long period of time and (if i recall correctly?) tend to defecate it all at once!! it'll be pretty obvious when your leech does a poop (they'll release dark fluid into the water, this is just whats left of the blood once it nutrients have been absorbed) so clean their water as soon as you notice that xP

some leech owners feed them their own blood, but others will buy unsalted (important!! salt can kill them!!) pork blood from butchers or some deli markets, put that blood in a plastic bag or sausage casing, and warm it up in a bowl of warm water & let the leeches feed on that!!

Hirudo verbana are more colorful than you might think! they have patterns along their back in varying shades of orange, dark green, and brown, while their bellies are a lighter tan color!!

ok ill stop now hehe >w<