#and i was just delirious they had to wheel me in and everything

[oflgtfol]

maybe i have a potassium deficiency.. D:

i really cant give any advice because mine seemed like an acute thing, which i have no idea what would have caused me to experience an acute potassium deficiency, but like it couldnt have been a long term deficiency because i was totally fine in the time leading up to it. i just randomly fainted one day and then they gave me supplements through some yellow pills (my 11 year old brain said, wow bananas are high in potassium! and the pills are yellow like bananas! yay potassium pills! they were also shaped kinda like coin sized disks which i thought was weird) and they also gave me an IV. i was discharged by the end of the day and didnt have to do any after care afterwards like i didnt need any long term medication or anything. i really dont know what was up with all that and i was 80% delirious during my entire stay at the hospital so lol

[fangswbenefits]

The Arrangement (5) - Confrontation

Summary: Living under the same roof as Astarion was proving to me more of a challenge than you had anticipated.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: Nightmare. Hurt/Comfort. Innuendo. Heavy use of sarcasm hahaha.

Word count: 4.4k

Previous chapter. Ao3. Series Masterlist

If anyone had suggested a few days ago that you'd find yourself living under the same roof as Astarion, you would have called them delusional and point them to the nearest infirmary for a mental check.

But the wheels of fate turned in mysterious ways, and a mere glance at the man sitting across from you was proof enough of that.

The flames swirling and crisping in the nearby fireplace cast the most delicate yellow and orange tint on his pale complexion as he flipped the pages of a book you had lent him.

You had tried to focus on your own reading, but you just couldn't help but to occasionally shift your gaze to him.

Gods… it was nigh criminal how handsome this man was.

It was as if he had been hand-carved by someone intended on wreaking havoc in the name of beauty.

And, as far as you were concerned, they had thoroughly succeeded.

Suddenly, he lifted his head and he met your gaze dead-on, unblinkingly.

So handsome…

A cold shiver ran up the back of your neck, but you found herself unable to look away. It was as if, in that moment, you had managed to block out everything around you but him. The longer you stared at him, the more acutely you felt detached from reality.

“May I kiss you?”

You blinked a few times. “What?”

His eyes narrowed, one eyebrow raised in sheer perplexity.

“No need to look so offended, darling,” he said with a scoff, rising from his seat and snatching the candle holder from the table to your right. “I was merely asking for this. I apologise if the request is out of the realm of your ‘one hundred good deeds I must perform before I perish’ list.”

You blinked again.

What?

You glanced around, but judging from the lack of reaction from both Gale and Shadowheart, you figured that maybe he hadn't actually asked to kiss you.

Great. Now I'm hallucinating…

He returned to his padded chair with a dramatic sigh. “Honestly, I've seen more light in the deepest corners of the Shadowlands.”

Maybe sleep deprivation was finally taking its toll on you, rendering you delirious.

Regardless, the illusion had been enough to flare your heart, and you hurriedly focused your attention on the book in your hands.

“I had quite forgotten how peacefully silent it can be without having you around, Astarion.” Shadowheart spoke as she tended to a few rolls of parchment and letters.

“Well, you can thank Wyll for that.”

She ignored him. “All you do is complain.”

You felt a storm brewing on the horizon as you lifted your eyes to glance at him.

Astarion let out a cynical laugh. “You're one to speak.”

Shadowheart was now scowling. Deeply.

“Besides, that is a rather disingenuous accusation. Want proof?” he asked, clearing his throat. “So, Gale - what are you reading that has you scribbling about like a mad man?”

The wizard snapped out of his nose-deep dive and brought his quill to a halt with a beaming smile. “Glad you ask, my friend. ‘A Visual Guide to Baldur's Gate's Exquisite Cuisine’. First edition. Hand-signed by the finest chefs in the city. What a marvel, indeed.”

As expected, Astarion looked as unimpressed as ever, but you interjected before he could mouth anything obtuse.

“That sounds rather exciting, Gale.”

He nodded eagerly. “A small guilty pleasure of mine, I must say. I'm taking down some notes, so that I can - hopefully - prepare some delectable dishes for us.”

Shadowheart's eyes remained fixed on Astarion as if awaiting for him to burst at any moment.

He exchanged a quick glance with you before muttering, “Unbelievable.”

“I think it's to be commended that he cares enough to try,” you said sweetly, earning a scornful glare from him. “I can't wait for you to showcase your abilities, Gale.”

“My sentiments exactly, dear friend.”

Astarion chuckled darkly. “‘Abilities’ as in setting the kitchen ablaze, or…”

You shot him a death glare.

He shrugged. “You two are a match made in the hells.”

This had you snap your book closed with a loud thud, eyeing him defiantly. “So what constitutes an engaging reading to you, Astarion? Murderous ploys?”

His lips curled into a devious smile. “Something along those lines. Although I do enjoy indulging in some debauchery from time to time.”

You weren't sure Gale would set the kitchen ablaze with his cooking skills, but Astarion's blunt and crass words sure did that to your cheeks.

Shadowheart scoffed.

“There are some interesting books in my collection,” he continued, clearly enjoying your loss of composure. “I will gladly lend you some… or maybe offer a guided tour through my favourite pieces?”

You needed to change the subject.

Fast.

You were most definitely fighting a losing battle.

This was Astarion's playground, and he would always come out victorious.

“Must you always resort to such vulgarity?” Shadowheart sneered, shaking her head in disapproval.

“I'm afraid the city is fresh out of those who know how to properly enjoy themselves, and we can't all be dullards, darling.”

You cleared your throat. “So, Gale… you're leaving for Waterdeep soon enough.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Yes. If all goes well, we shall have access to the Wish spell soon enough, my vampling friend.”

Astarion crossed his arms. “Finally some progress.”

“Maybe you should be more thankful.” You said with a frown.

“As should you,” he shot back. “No more need to offer your blood to me.”

Fair enough.

“Much to your disappointment, I imagine.” Shadowheart chimed in.

But before he could retort, you heard a rising commotion outside that only came to a halt as the front door burst open.

Lae'zel came through, carrying what appeared to be a very much deceased wild boar across her shoulders as if it was nothing more than a sack of feathers.

She kicked the door shut at once, nostrils flaring. “Tsk'va! What are those two doing outside?”

“House arrest.” Astarion informed.

Bringing the carcass to the kitchen table, Lae'zel locked eyes with you, visibly annoyed.

“I had plans to rescue you from that prison. And I would have had it my way had it not been for Gale and his… morals.”

Gale bolted from his seat, suddenly looking rather distressed. “Lae'zel, we've spoken about this before and agreed not to bring bleeding carcasses into our home.”

She glared at him. “You alone agreed to it - I had no part in it.”

He gave her an exasperated look, picking up a piece of cloth to wipe away the strands of blood that had begun to run along the wooden surface.

“If this falls on the carpet, it will be a nightmare to remove the stains.”

Astarion tutted. “Darling, that carpet is so hideous that being splattered with carrion blood would be a vast improvement.”

You rose to your feet, rushing to join Lae's zel, who quickly placed her hand on your shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.

Your lips tugged into a genuine smile.

To her, this was the equivalent of ‘I am glad you're safe and I care for you’ and it warmed your heart beyond measure.

Naturally, Astarion quickly joined your side, earning Lae'zel's disdainful gaze.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh, it was a two-for-one type of deal, wasn't it?” Astarion mocked, turning to you. “Free one criminal and get two on house arrest.”

Unfortunately for Astarion, Lae'zel had little patience to entertain his sarcastic remarks and merely scoffed.

“I would have easily rescued from that prison, you know?” She gave your shoulder another squeeze and you nodded. “Those frail guards are no match for a githyanki.”

“On that much we can agree.” He mused.

She gave him a stern look. “I would have left you there.”

“We fought a giant brain, a scheming squid, and a whole parade of lunatics side by side, in case you've forgotten, my dear nest of vipers friend,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Maybe you ought to show more gratitude.”

You expected her to snap at him, but she merely pressed her lips and gave him a nod.

That would be as far as she'd go, though.

“Well, as much as I enjoy this ‘family’ reunion, I'm off to my room,” Shadowheart said from a distance, already heading towards the staircase. “Please do not maim each other in my absence - there's only so much healing I can provide.”

You chuckled and she smiled warmly at you.

“Say, Lae'zel…” Astarion started, circling the boar with utmost interest. “I would hate for perfectly adequate blood to go to waste.”

The implication in his words wasn't subtle at all, and she groaned. “I thought you feeding on our friend was enough.”

Your stomach lurched violently.

He scoffed. “There is no such thing as ‘enough’ blood for a vampire. Besides, she's the main course… this would be more of an aperitif, if you will.”

Now, you felt positively sick to your core.

A wave of nausea and repulsion gripped you tight.

“It would be a mutually beneficial situation - I save Gale from a mental breakdown, sparing you tue ordeal, and I also get to quench my hunger.”

Gale grumbled something in agreement.

But you felt the sudden wish to be swallowed whole by some magical hole in the ground.

The way he referred to you as nothing more than food prompted a visceral reaction from you, and you feared you might empty the contents of your stomach from it alone.

“Um… I'll go get some sleep… I'm too tired,” you said dismissively, already pacing towards the corridor that led to your room. “Have a good night.”

Astarion called after you, but you didn't bother looking back.

But before you could turn the doorknob, you heard light steps approaching and firm fingers gripping your forearm.

Astarion.

His face was void of any amusement. “You're upset.”

You pulled free from his grasp. “A neat observation. No wonder you're such a skilled rogue.”

His brows furrowed lightly. “What's the matter?”

“It seems that I'm only worthy of your attention when it comes to you treating me as nothing but a meal, to hurl your sarcastic remarks at. Oh - and unless I'm on the verge of death,” you said, counting on each finger.

He seemed quite taken aback, his features twisting into a scowl. “You really adore selling yourself short, don't you?”

“You won't even deny it.”

“Then what sort of attention do you want from me?” He asked, taking a step closer, the sudden proximity catching you off-guard. “Do enlighten me.”

You glared at him in silence for a moment, vaguely wondering how the two of you had gotten to this point in your relationship, where everything seemed so… off.

Astarion was standing in front of you, but it wasn't truly him.

He was there, but not really.

He seemed so detached from the Astarion you had fallen for, and a part of you loathed that you had allowed yourself to get so attached to him in the first place.

Eventually, you heaved a deep sigh as he awaited your reply. “The sort of attention I don't have to beg for.”

His face softened briefly and he parted his lips only to press them close together again as if he had decided against speaking.

Right.

You swallowed hard. “Have a good night.”

The hopeful part of you half-expected him to stop you from walking away as you closed the door behind you, but he did no such thing.

You pressed your back against it, taking a deep breath, feeling as if you had just lost something.

Had you been too dramatic?

Did it even matter at this point?

Maybe it was better off this way.

You moved to scrub your face clean in the washbasin, preparing yourself to get some rest before the morning came.

Whatever was of your relationship with Astarion would have to wait for you to be able to think more clearer.

Slipping into your nightdress, you allowed yourself to fall on your bed and onto your stomach with a muffled thud, wanting to do nothing more than to scream into the covers, but remained still instead.

After what felt like hours of restlessly rolling beneath the sheets, you felt your mind lighten and were able to find solace in the peace and quiet.

That was until you heard a distant voice.

A woman's voice.

Her voice.

“Go on. Bleed her dry for me…”

You felt the mattress dip slightly and your eyes snapped open only to find Astarion baring his fangs.

And then he was on you, pinning you frozen with both hands.

“No - stop! Get off!”

He didn't hold back and you felt a familiar sting tear through your neck, his cold lips sprawling across your skin.

“She's so pathetic. Just kill her. Put her out of her misery.”

“Get off!” You cried out, feeling his weight pinning you down.

He didn't waver and you felt your blood being drained from you alarmingly fast as you tried your best to yank free from his vicious grip.

You were going to die.

He was going to kill you.

“Stop! Please - Astarion!”

Something was squeezing your shoulder and you tried to squirm away from the increasing pressure.

You felt him chuckle in amusement against your skin and that was what killed you first.

“ASTARION!”

The grip on you kept on increasing and you realised someone was shaking you.

“Wake up.”

How was he speaking whilst fiercely feeding on you?

Were you already dead?

Your cries turned into uncontrollable sobs and you felt like breathing was no longer an option.

“Wake up!”

The shove against your shoulder was too fierce this time, and you jolted violently, feeling the pressure on top of you only faintly ease.

“Get the fuck off me!”

You tried to conjure a spell - any spell - that might help you set yourself free.

He called out your name and your eyes snapped open at once, only to see Astarion hovering over you, hand now pressed firmly against your lips, muffling your sobs.

Bergamot.

Rosemary.

Aged brandy.

It was him.

He was there.

The nightmare faded with each passing second, and, for the longest time, all you could hear were your laboured breaths as you struggled to step into reality.

Your eyes were blurred from the tears welling up, and you watched his lips part to utter something, but the pounding in your ears prevented you from understanding a single word.

He eventually dropped the hand from your mouth, staring at you with an understanding look on his face.

“You're safe."

For a split second, you wondered if this was truly your Astarion, and once you asserted that it was truly him sitting beside you, you pushed yourself from the mattress, looping your arms around his neck.

He took you in his arms, gently pressing his lips to your temple.

“You're safe. I'm here and I've got you."

You couldn't stop the tears from streaming down as you pressed your face to his shoulder, seeking any sliver of comfort he could spare you.

The door to your room burst open.

“What happened? What did you do?”

Shadowheart's accusatory tone ground on your already fragile nerves.

“She was having a nightmare.”

His cool hand came to the back of your head, further pressing you into him.

“Oh. Another one…”

You felt your heartbeat soothe and your breathing gradually even out.

But his embrace felt too much like coming home for you to part from him, so you didn't, allowing him to rock you gently in his arms.

“It's become more frequent as of late.” She said with a hint of sadness to her voice.

Astarion kept his lips pressed to your temple, grounding you.

You eventually pulled back from him with a loud sniffle. “I'm fine. I am sorry I worried you…”

Shadowheart approached you, kindness on her face. “Nonsense. I am here for you - we are here for you,” she added, glancing at Astarion. “Always.”

“I'll just try to get some rest… you two may go…” you stammered in between a few sobs.

Shadowheart didn't move and neither did Astarion.

You rubbed your puffy and wet eyes. “I mean it. It will be fine.”

“Very well,” Shadowheart drawled out reluctantly. “But please let me know if there is anything I can help with.”

You gave her a reassuring nod paired with a comforting smile.

She returned the gesture and excused herself, clicking the door shut behind her.

Your gaze shifted to him. “You can leave, too.”?

He scoffed. “No.”

“What?”

“You'll have to stake me.”

You were utterly confused by his perseverance.

“I am fine, Astarion. I am thankful for your help, but… you don't have to stay.”

He nodded. “I don't have to, but I want to.”

Your heart clenched tightly in your chest.

And then your eyes fell to his shoulder.

“Oh, my…” you winced at the sight of the soppy fabric of his shirt. “I'm sorry for that…”

He looked confused at first, but followed your line of sight and smiled. “Was this an excuse to get me out of my shirt?”

His playful jab immediately had you chuckle, rolling your eyes at him.

“Not to mention that I've been covered in all sorts of your bodily fluids,” he went on, earning a surprised glare from you. “This might be my…” he paused brielfy, as if evaluating his options. “Ah - my third favourite, yes.”

You should have known better than to take the evident glare, but you could really use the distraction.

“What are the first two, then?”

You hadn't even realised your nightdress had come undone at the front until he reached out to pull back the sleeve that had slid down your arm.

Glancing down, you couldn't help the rush of heat on your cheeks as your breasts were barely covered at all.

“Blood, naturally,” he said in a low voice, tying each set of strings with unmatched dexterity, keeping your modesty preserved. “And your-”

But before he could reply, you quickly pressed your forefinger to his lips, eyes widening as you felt him smile under your touch and pressing a soft kiss.

You felt as though you might implode.

His hands moved up your chest, tying up the last knots.

“There - all neatly wrapped up like a nice little gift.” He said, amusement coating his words.

He was too good at getting under your skin.

More than you were willing to admit, especially out loud.

“Thank you for making me laugh.” You said truthfully, pushing aside how he had so easily made you feel all heated up.

“I aim to please.”

His words hit you like a thousand knives.

“You're more than that…” You said, wanting to reassure him that he didn't need to resort to honeyed words and calculated moves to create a meaningful connection with someone.

But your statement had the opposite effect, and he frowned slightly.

“Don't. Do not start…”

You swallowed and nodded in understanding. “I didn't mean to offend.”

He shook his head, adjusting the fabric of your nightdress over your shoulders. “You didn't. I merely do not wish to make this about me.”

You were slightly taken aback.

“I know all too well the burden of nightmares,” he explained. “Even if elves don't indulge in conventional sleep, we are still prone to nightmares when we trance.”

Oh.

“And I would hate for you to be plagued like that.”

You lowered your gaze, feeling extremely exposed all of a sudden.

“So tell me, darling, when did these start?” He asked, shifting closer to you. “And why were you screaming my name?”

You felt a lump swell in your throat.

He placed his finger under your chin, and pressed upwards until your eyes met his.

“What haunts you?”

You.

“Can we just… not…” You asked, already feeling tears prickling in the corners of your eyes.

Reason told you that a heartfelt conversation with Astarion was long overdue, but you didn't feel ready.

You still felt too startled and too vulnerable.

He had hurt you in more ways than one, even if unconsciously done at times.

“We don't have to talk about it.”

You nodded, a few tears rolling down. “Thank you.”

“We can push all of that aside, even if just for tonight.”

Your heart hammered fast inside you.

He then cradled your face in his hands, leaning in to press his lips to each cheek, kissing your tears away.

Your eyes fluttered shut as he trailed down, inching closer to your lips.

A shudder coursed throughout your entire body, barely able to contain the anticipation.

Please kiss me…

His thumbs rubbed slow circles on your flushed cheeks and your lips parted as his ghosted yours.

Astarion…

Almost there.

You could almost taste him.

Your hands came to grip his wrists tightly, silently urging him to take you.

Please… please…

As your heart thudded faster and faster, you gasped when he quickly kissed the tip of your nose before pressing his lips to your forehead.

You couldn't deny the overwhelming wave of disappointment that washed over you, even if, deep down, you realised it was probably the best course of action, considering how vulnerable you still felt from the nightmare.

A few more tears spilled over, which he quickly brushed away before pulling back.

“I can stay until you fall asleep.”

Your heart dropped.

Everything was conditional with him.

It was always meant to come to an end, eventually.

He would stay with you… but only until you drifted off to another nightmare, perhaps.

It was as if he couldn't simply stay with you.

You shook your head with a sniffle, letting go of him. “No. You can go… but thank you for this.”

“I can stay.”

“... until I fall asleep.” You finished his sentence.

He nodded, eyes locking with yours. “Or for as long as you need me.”

You felt ridiculous from the way your heart immediately skipped a beat.

“Will you hug me?”

He shifted back against the headboard and sprawled his arms out to you with a sly grin. “Come here, darling.”

For a brief moment, you saw your Astarion again.

Open and caring.

You scooted over to rest your body against his, smiling softly as he placed his arm around you, trailing absent-minded caresses along your arm.

His coldness felt comfortable even in the dead of night, and you wrapped your arm around his torso, enjoying the silence.

“Am I too cold?”

You're perfect.

You shook your head vehemently.

But he still reached out to grab the blanket at your feet, draping over your frame.

“You are shivering, you fool.” He whispered and you could hear the smile in his remark.

You snuggled up against him, wishing you could freeze this moment in time.

Slowly but surely, and lulled by his caresses, you felt exhaustion take over, your eyelids feeling progressively heavier.

Maybe this was all a dream.

Maybe you'd wake up only to find that this had never happened.

That you hadn't felt your Astarion once again.

His chin was resting atop your head and your heart skipped yet another beat.

“Astarion?”

“Hmm?”

“What happened to us…”

The hand on your arm stilled for a moment and he hushed you. “Just rest.”

Your eyelids did feel heavy, and you could recognise your own brain fighting away your sleep, but you still wanted to know.

You needed to know what had gone so terribly wrong.

Especially when the man holding you in his arms had just provided immeasurable comfort.

“I miss you… us…” You heard yourself mumble under your breath.

He did utter something unintelligible, but you were far too exhausted to ask for a repeat.

Your warm body slumped against his cold one as he lulled you into sleep with the rhythmic caresses on your back.

It seemed that this time, your nightmare had started and ended with him.

Morning came and he was gone.

Of course he was.

Even with your windows barred from the sun, he had still chosen to leave.

He had tucked you under the bedsheets and warm blankets.

You had nearly forgotten what a good night of sleep was ever since the nightmares had taken root in your mind.

His scent lingered all around you and it was impossible to escape it.

You eventually pushed yourself up to sit in silence, going over the events of a couple of hours ago.

Why did he always leave in the end?

Why couldn't you just bring yourself to move on from him?

You could have taken the time to open up to him about how you felt, but you were so afraid to push him away.

He had his own vulnerabilities and he didn't need yours weighing him down, too.

You lazily scrambled out of bed, slipping into your robe, ready for a new day.

As you made your way down the corridor, you began to hear heated voices coming from the kitchen.

“Must we all live in darkness because of you?”

You found Astarion sitting by the table, seemingly unbothered by Lae'zel's snarky remarks, the room plunged in darkness, keeping the scorching sun at bay.

“Oh please, feel free to address your complaints to the Grand Duke.”

Gale saw you first and offered a warm smile. “How are you feeling, my friend?”

You hugged yourself, forcing a smile. “I am well, thank you.”

Astarion turned his head to you, annoyance giving way to a sliver of concern. “Did you manage to get some rest?”

You nodded, your heart immediately reacting to his presence.

“Shall I brew some chamomile tea?” Gale offered eagerly, moving about the kitchen to gather the supplies.

“Thank you,” you said, glancing around. “Where is Shadowheart?”

“She headed out to the apothecary,” Gale said, placing the kettle by the fireplace. “She's keen on helping you out with these nightmares.”

Guilt hit you.

Of course she had.

Shadowheart had held your hand through so many perils, yet you couldn't help but to feel guilty that she was searching for help when the solution to your problem was right in front of you.

And he kept glaring at you, as if studying your every move.

A soft knock on the front door snapped you from your thoughts, and you went to push it open, revealing the visitor.

No.

No fucking way.

You immediately slammed the door shut, feeling rage swirl inside you.

“Who is it?” Gale asked.

“No one.”

Then your gaze met Astarion's whose eyebrow was arched in confusion.

“That is no way to treat a guest.” The woman outside chirped happily.

Ava.

Next chapter: Broken - November 26

Series Masterlist . I don't keep taglists, so feel to follow this story on Ao3 🩷

[myrquez]

You sent me spiralling with the dovquez rant because

YES

Did he? Did he see the shadow of a smirk before it vanished in the reality of Dovi's smile. Did he imagine the twist of lips before Dovi opens his mouth to answer the never ending questions of Marc's recklessness. How long did he wait before he got to a point where he could giggle and say "I touch i touch the back wheel"

The below moment from this interview drives me nuts for that exact reason

Dovi when he talks about the 2016 being an important championship. Marc realising someone noticed his effort, SAW him and UNDERSTOOD what it took to get there. And will say it out loud without jokes or sneers. Marc's soft smile which feels like him being reminded of Dovi's goodness.

BLESS YOUR HEART AND SOUL AND EVERYTHING ELSE FOR REMINDING ME OF THIS INTERVIEW !!!

marc’s big, wary eyes scanning and surveying while dovi is talking AND he looks so stiff for a very brief moment, his face almost blank. and maybe its me being delusional but it does feels like dovi had something more to say but just stopped himself, eventually. big congratulations and stuff instead of really explaining WHY it was even more important than his first two championships. he just leave it hanging for marc to grasp at it. AND the thing that really gets me DELIRIOUS is that marc does it. his smile slowly blossoming once he has fully grasped dovi’s words, like he had to take some seconds to still check behind every word and expression first, and then his little relieved smile gets bigger and bigger as he realizes, him kinda tucking his hair behind his ear and his almost shy eyes shifting and fixating in front of him, thinking about god knows what !!!. but still keeping that little smile to himself. this moment absolutely KILLS me

it’s truly marc being haunted by some old, revengeful ghost every time. old mimics and expressions and words fogging his brain and twisting his perception until he has to reminds himself to clear his mind every now and then.

see NOW WE’RE BOTH SPIRALLING but boy oh boy doesn’t it just feel great

[everythingisawayoflife]

the writer in me…she’s cooking…i think this is the longest thing ive written yet. i shall leave a sample below so i’m satisfied with sharing at least a little bit before i post the full thing (this to me takes place in the new batman adventures universe but feel free to imagine otherwise):

Dick is worried. Tim isn’t the chattiest kid but he can certainly hold a conversation. Dick’s tried everything: school, movies, TV, even casework. All he’s gotten are some unenthused grunts and hums. Tim may not biologically be Bruce’s kid but he sure does take after the guy. He cleaned up a bit before leaving and there’s a little bit of color back in his face but he still looks tired. Devastatingly so. Dick keeps stealing glances at his little brother in the passenger seat of the car. His arms are folded tightly against his abdomen, as if he’s protecting his stomach from something and a slight shiver courses through his body despite Tim bundling up with at least three layers, a scarf, a hat, and very thick gloves. The kid’s got to be cooking in his makeshift snowsuit, but then again…

They’re stopped at a red light. Five minutes out from the mall, three minutes out from the nearest urgent care.

Dick steals another glance towards Tim and decides to reroute to the clinic, get him checked out. Dick tuts quietly, it’s a shame he’s starting to come down with something right before Christmas, right before his first Christmas with them. Dick’s been in his shoes before; falling in a pond ice skating with Barbara. She managed to be just fine whereas he spent Christmas on Bruce’s couch laid up with pneumonia. He hardly remembers that Christmas from being so damn delirious but he remembers the warmth that wasn’t from fever. It was familial. The whole time he remembers being with someone. It was hard to deduce who was with him when but he was never alone. And if Tim was about to go through what he had been through, or something similar, he’d need them. But first, Dick just wanted to check for a fever in the first place. All signs pointed to one but Dick wasn’t sure yet. Careful not to wake the sleeping boy, Dick reaches out for Tim’s forehead.

HONK!

Dick quickly retracts his hand and places it back on the wheel, pressing the gas. To the mall. Tim doesn’t jolt awake but the car horn is clearly loud enough to stir him. He blinks slowly with a grimace, like he’s in pain.

“Are we there yet?” Tim asks, pitifully quiet. Like talking louder than a whisper would kill him.

“Almost, Tim, you can go back to sleep for a bit,” Dick says, taking a left towards the mall.

Tim makes a disapproving noise. “I wasn’t sleeping.”

Hm. Denial is the path he’s choosing here.

“Are you sure? Your eyes were closed and you weren’t talking. Telltale signs of sleeping to me,” Dick says lightly, trying not to come off like he’s interrogating Tim.

Tim laughs a little. “Nope, just resting my eyes.”

“Okay, old man. You’re too young to rest your eyes. Resting your eyes is for old people. Just look at Bruce.”

“Hn.”

“Oh my gosh, B, is that you?” This gets a more hearty laugh from Tim. It’s the most awake he’s looked since this morning.

alrighty thats all im posting, im gonna show the utmost restraint until i actually finish this thing.

[rose-and-thorn-fanfics]

The Dark Knight (Batman Fanfic) Joker x OC: Part 16 TW: Death, Strangulation, etc.

Lottie got back in bed, pulling the covers over her head. She started to drift off to sleep again when she heard the door handle rattling. She shot up, crawling out of bed. ‘J would have the key… who could this be, Bruce? Huh. That was fast.’ Rubbing her eyes, she grabbed the gun on the nightstand. More rattling, and the door swung open. Lottie turned around and cocked the gun and pointed it towards the opening. “Maya?!” Lottie yelped, realizing who the intruder was. She lowered her gun.

“You’re here…. Because of him, right?” Maya growled, her hair disheveled and torn clothes clinging to her tall frame.

“Yeah. Uhhh. Are you…ok?” Lottie said, clutching her gun tightly and lifting it a bit.

“Should I be? I mean, it’s not like you care.” Maya’s voice shook with ragged emotion.

“I uh. I think maybe we should just talk things—“

Maya charged at Lottie, tackling her. A gunshot rang out as Lottie fired and missed, shattering the motel window.

"--urhg--MAYA-- what the hell?" Lottie screamed, as Maya clawed at her neck, trying to get a good chokehold. She clawed her way up, kicking Maya Gardener in the shin with all her might, but as she was barefoot, Lottie recoiled in pain while Maya howled in anger.

"YOU THINK ILL JUST WAIT AROUND --FOREVER? THIRD WHEEL?! SECOND OPTION?!!!" Maya hissed, taking the desk chair of the motel room by the back and swinging it so it knocked the wind out of Lottie Wayne.

Lottie felt the sharp pain in her ribs from the chair like fire in her chest. 'I cant stay down for too long...' she thought weakly. Lottie knew Maya was stronger than her physically, so the gun she had been holding that had clattered to the other side of the small room was her only hope of escaping this situation on her own.

Maya approached Lottie slowly, tossing the chair aside and crying tears of betrayal. "You said you loved me."

"I--- I.. don't really remember that, Maya." Lottie said carefully. "I love you as a friend if thats what you mean." She backed against the wall, inching on her knees closer to the window that shone light on the discarded gun. She could NOT let Maya get that gun. That would be the end of everything.

"You LIE. You said it... said it said it, SAID IT!" Maya screamed the words as if repeating it would make it fact. "You must be crazy to think the sex we had was purely a part of a platonic friendship."

Lottie just had a few more feet to go and she'd reach the---

BAM. Maya threw her body at Lottie with all her might, knocking her ex-friend's head against the wall so Lottie's view became temporarily pixelated. Lottie felt Maya take the course curtain fabric and wrap it around her neck. She felt herself losing air and struggling against the strangling force of the thick curtain noose Maya had made. This was the end. Lottie kicked, face flushing and eyes darting wildly. She heard the police cars and ambulance sirens wailing from outside. She saw a dark figure... was that Batman? He was grabbing Maya and pulling her away from Lottie. Lottie started going limp. Her vision was clouding.

Then, darkness. Everything around batman faded to black, and Lottie stopped breathing.

'Why is everyone looking at me? Who are these people?!' Lottie thought, deliriously. 'Is the afterlife a museum for people like me? Everyone is staring. It’s annoying. Where’s J? Is he going to join me someday? What’s that sound. Almost like… coughing. Struggling to breathe. A raspy inhale. Wait….. that’s me. this is my breathing. Shit shit shit! I’m in so much pain! My neck….'

She wheezed, the brightest lights she could've imagined piercing her sight. She heard voices. She tried talking, but nothing came out. Still, she could see Batman standing over her right side. Realizing she was alive, tears trickled down her cheeks.

"Please…. Don’t let anyone see me like this….” Lottie said to the medics on the ambulance. “I have a cousin and a boyfriend who I can’t let see me like this. And I love them so much. Please… just don’t let Bruce and J see me like this…"

"You're going to live, miss. Just stop talking and rest. Nina? Get the oxygen mask on her!"

——————————————————————————

Thanks for reading! Like and reblog to support me :) I promise there will be more Joker content in the next chapter. 🃏🃏🃏

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[fischerbees]

Bite Me!

click to help palestine before reading

a/n: sorry, I had to rewrite a part of chapter 7 because inaccuracies :/

[word count: 2706]

IX. Stir

It should not have come as a surprise to him when he could not fall asleep that night, considering his on-going unfortunate streak of restless nights. Was it too bad to wish for Zane to give him whatever he gave him again so he could pass out?

It was probably better than all the crazy thoughts swirling inside his mind. Not even the pre-sleep workout could help him reach some clarity, or peace at least, as it usually did. He had to cut it short because everything was getting too much.

His stupid brain was too much.

He was never as sceptical as certain siblings, nor was he a passionate believer like a certain motormouth – the closest he got to him was with his hopeless romanticism. And the closest he got to the Smiths was with what he deemed to be enough common sense to call out obvious bullshit.

But the longer he spent inside his own head, the more all of the crazy, jumbled puzzle pieces began to form into a proper shape. The more the (mis)fortune wheel of his thoughts spun, the more he wanted it to stop but the more it went on. And it was still mere hours since Zane let him out of the infirmary. It was the longest day and night ever.

Cole had no reason to believe any of his own crazy ideas and yet he spent the restless night marking all the full moons in his calendar.

He had nothing to hide and yet he tucked away a notebook to note his symptoms, write out every piece of so-called ‘evidence’ that would enable his twisted mind – the fact that he could not close his eyes for just a few hours being near the top.

He had nothing to worry about and yet he fussed over getting himself some alibi for the next time but there was simply no way his thoughts were making any sense whatsoever! Everything was coincidental, just his shit-for-brains luck getting another laugh.

A werewolf? Him? A werewolf! Werewolves belong in fairy tales! Fantasy books and movies, stories for the ones bored of the limits of their world. Plus, he was not bitten by a werewolf and that is how people get turned. No, he was bit by a wolf. A regular old wolf, nothing weird about it.

But the scar just would not stop tingling in the moonlight.

It was pure nonsense. Maybe he was friends with Jay for too long. Maybe he suffered some consequences of the terrible blood loss and sudden recovery. Perhaps he should go to Zane and ask him for reevaluation, clearly he was not healthy at all. Not at all. Not one bit. He lost it! After years of the most insane parade of events and weirdos with murderous intents, he had finally lost it!

Everyone was told the same tale – No, I do not remember anything from the night, just so much pain and then waking up all bloody.

And it wasn’t a lie. Because all the blurs, the running, the fear, the confusion, those probably weren’t any coherent memories. Just sparks of his imagination. Perhaps standing on the ledge between life and death.

So what if his bones hurt just like when he got his growth spurt just enhanced tenfold? So what if his muscles were rather stretching than being torn apart? None of it meant anything, he was delirious.

Then why could he not tear his eyes away from the night sky? Why could he not stop checking the date of the next full moon? Why was he being so spooked over something so absurd?

No matter how much he tried to reason with himself, there still remained the tiny voice, the very quiet but restless voice, telling him the opposite. There was no concrete proof, nothing that could give him any reason to believe it besides the night of his accident being a full moon night. But why would he attack himself? No, nothing made any sense.

And yet, for some godforsaken reason, the idea would not slip his mind, would not let go, as if something was trying its best to convince him.

Nope. No, it is not true, he would argue with himself.

But it is, the part he had no idea of would supply.

If only he could talk to someone about this but how could he go around doing that?

‘Hey, I think I might be a werewolf and when you found me almost dead, that was actually my fault, I did it to myself. And from now on, every full moon until the day I die, I will go through the same thing.’

Through all the pain that still reverberated through his bones…

This whole ordeal was a stupid joke. He was being a ridiculous idiot and he needed to get his act back together, get over it. 

“Visit your Dad?” Lloyd echoed, turned to him, bleary-eyed and with a freshly filled bowl. He was off-balance, exactly what Cole needed. Just strike and disappear before they realise what happened. What could be suspicious about visiting family anyway? “Yeah– I– guess there's not a problem in that, but where did that come from?”

He prepared his story with care, thought of every possible detail he may need. Not that there was anything suspicious about this or any ulterior motives. “I dunno, I guess the accident got me a little sentimental… I haven't seen him in ages. And, you know, the Day of the Departed is kinda around the corner too, so… I just had a feeling I should go see him. We thought by the end of the month could be good, so I wanted to make sure it wouldn't be an issue.”

“By the end of the month? You sure you don’t wanna go sooner? You know how things are around here, one moment the world is peaceful as ever, and the next shit hits the fan.”

“He’s busy.” Was he perhaps too eager? Lloyd stared at him like a disturbed cat from a dark alleyway, his penetrating gaze so similar to that of their Master, it was uncanny. Good thing the master of mind was not on their team.

“Oh. Okay. Yeah, sure, dude, if you want, you can go. Unless there's some emergency, I don't have  a reason to hold you back.”

“Thanks, Greenie.”

“Yeah… No prob.” Lloyd remained standing frozen by the kitchen counter, watching after Cole as he left. Shaking his head, he tried to move on and enjoy his breakfast. He didn’t even get to dig in and the sake of his sanity was at stake once again. “Everybody here is so goddamn weird,” the green ninja muttered to himself.

__________________________________________

Carrying on with the phenomenon of everyone acting like complete nutjobs before Lloyd could even rub the sleep from his eyes, he found himself standing beside Kai, eyes glued to those two glowing pairs.

“Kai.” He leaned to the side his brother stood on, too wary to look away. “The nindroids are staring at me,” he muttered carefully as if any sudden move or loud sound would make them start like wild animals. Kai did not bother trying to contain or hide his smirk.

“This oughta be interesting.” He crossed his arms, rocked on the balls of his feet, the smirk slowly changing into a shark-like grin. So it appeared today was not a good-big-brother day. Was this revenge?

“You vowed to protect me.” Lloyd's jaw was clenched and tone desperate. World saviour or not, two scheming nindroids turned him back into the scared, young boy with zero effort.

“Those two always have the greater good in mind. Who am I to stand in the way of that?”

Risking getting those two out of sight, Lloyd turned his head to Kai, scowling when the hothead didn’t move an inch to face him. “Just in case – my blood is on your hands.”

“Fine by me; red’s my colour anyway.” Kai was making a grave mistake; he had no idea what fate he was tempting. After all, it was him who taught Lloyd all the necessary life skills – holding a grudge being in the top five.

“Lloyd.”

“Yeah?” This time he answered them while staring at Kai. ‘Last chance, drop the lifeline,’ his eyes were screaming only to get shamelessly ignored.

“We came up with a theory…”

“However, to explore it further and test its accuracy, it would require the presence of an oni.”

“All right.” That made his attention turn. Lloyd's eyes shifted between the two. “What sort of theory?”

“Cole’s abnormally quick recovery brought up many questions. Until he himself mentioned the fall.”

“We have no understanding of the oni smoke besides its dangers.”

“And you need me for that?”

“Well, a pure-blooded oni would perhaps provide the most satisfying results but seeing as the whereabouts of your father are unknown…”

“I’m so glad to be your first and only choice.” Lloyd could feel the sarcasm dripping off his own words. Although the nindroids remained their usual, unfazed selves, their stares made him feel bad for being so salty.

This was for the good. Cole was obviously bothered by it all, maybe finding some answers would help. Even if it meant he has to play lab rat.

“So, what does it entail?”

“If you give us your consent, we would like to run a few small tests. Nothing huge, just some DNA sampling, blood tests, we need to see how the regenerative system operates.” Zane was nodding beside her, both intensely staring at Lloyd.

“So just a wacky appointment at the doctor. Cool.” He sighed, shoulders slumping – defeat. “Do I even have any other choice?”

“You can always say no, we do not want to force you into anything you’re not comfortable with.” Their relentless staring seemed to say otherwise. And knowing them, they were more than aware of this. Must be. They were too smart even when they were playing dumb.

“Fine, yeah, whatever.”

“Sensei Wu offered his assistance if you'd refuse.”

“And you're telling me just– He has more oni blood than I!”

“But you went into contact with the darkness.”

Lloyd furrowed his eyebrows in thought.

“We could also use samples from a regular human for comparison.”As if they choreographed this whole thing (and to be fair, they didn't need to), Zane and Pixal turned to Kai with those not forcing but obviously expectant looks.

The red ninja did anything but reciprocate their eye contact.

“Uh, you know, that sounds exactly like something Jay would kill for. I'll fetch him for ya.” And he was gone in a flash. Lloyd could swear there was a second or two when his dusty silhouette remained in the air where he vanished.

“Then it's agreed. We shall meet at the infirmary in fifteen minutes.” Pixal’s tone and smile spoke of friendly plans for a hangout. As if there was anything normal about their conversation.

__________________________________________

Pixal pulled him aside just as he was eyeing Kai, who seemed exceptionally content for the first time since their stupid argument. It was the perfect opportunity – Kai was all alone, a tiny, adorable smile plastered on his lips. The fact that he was preparing some food for himself played even better into Cole's cards. Full stomach is a happy stomach, that he knew well. He could just go and smoothen it out.

Until she tore him out of his thoughts just as nature documentaries popped up in his mind – which was for the better, when he considered it, because the last thing he wanted right now was to compare Kai to prey and himself to a lurking predator.

Bad brain. Traitor thoughts.

“What’s going on, green eyes?” And that was how he found himself stuck back in the infirmary with a whining Jay, and Lloyd, who kept eyeing the nearby needles as if they murdered his family.

As much as he would like answers to how on earth he survived, getting under the nindroids’ microscope was not something he needed at the moment.

For once he welcomed Jay's incessant ramblings as they kept him from getting locked up a little too deep inside his own head.

“I can't believe that jerk lied to me.”

“I can't believe you trusted him,” Lloyd shot back, his expression supplying for the absence of Nya. That managed to pause the lightning bolt for about a second before he got around it and rambled on.

“Okay, fine, maybe that's on me. I shouldn't’ve assumed technology is a sacred topic we don't lie about. What a low blow! Such a jackass.” Then he shot Cole a pointed look, as if Kai being… well, Kai, was his fault.

“Jay, you do know you can just say no if you're uncomfortable with this, right?”

“Pshh! As if you can say no to those two when they make up their brilliant minds! Can you just bat your eyelashes at him a few times so he's not such a bitch anymore, please?”

One of the things Cole should have anticipated was that Jay would treat his secret with as much care as he did his own life. Aiming scowls at him was to no use as well since he was already busy complaining again.

“He put chilli in my cereal, who does that?”

Lloyd's groan filled the momentary silence before Jay could. Throwing his head back, Lloyd spoke, exasperated, “Can we shut up about Kai, please, I'm so sick of it, you're like a broken record. Why didn't you ask him to be your yang if you're so obsessed?”

“I don't even want to imagine the explosion those two would set off if they were to organise the ying-yang ceremony.”

“Nya didn't say anything about fireworks yet. Or about the dozen of white doves, for that matter, so…”

Pixal's voice cut through, pulling them all out of their own visions of the massacre of a ying-yang ceremony. It always proved easier to be surrounded by people who would keep you out of mind's shackles.

“That’s right, Kai.” She looked up, locking eyes with Zane. “We’re forgetting about Kai.” Lloyd outright whined while a wordless conversation ensued between the two. Jay's incoherent demands for an explanation remained unanswered, so Cole took it upon himself – earning their not at all unsettling attention.

“What about Kai?”

“You and Kai!” Zane exclaimed while still keeping his volume as usual. “I can't believe we forgot – you and Kai both got attacked by wolves when we were sent to pick up scrolls for Master Wu.”

“Yeah. So?”

“That was the same case,” Pixal supplied. “The both of you healed practically overnight.”

“And since Kai never came in contact with the darkness…”

Despite his eye being ready to roll all the way into his skull mere moments ago, Lloyd joined in. Team leader mode back on, thoughtful look replacing the frustrated frown from his childhood.

“Perhaps the question isn't why you heal so fast. Maybe it's about what attacked you.”

As naked and exposed as he felt under all the undivided attention, Cole had to keep his cool and steady composure. Do not crumble. Not even a twitch.

If they were going to look into this, Master knows how short-lived his secret would be.

Not that he had anything to hide, where did the rock-solid conviction keep coming from?

“I mean, they were just wolves…”

“Just wolves don't leave wounds that heal in the matter of a few hours,” Pixal argued. And when Pixal argues, it is a long-lost battle.

That fact did not stop Jay from chiming in with his tuppence. “But if it was the same thing, wouldn't that mean it had to follow us all the way here? We flew with the Bounty from Ignacia! Even farther than that!”

“If they can cause these strange injuries, I have no doubt that wouldn't be as much of an issue.”

With a sigh, Lloyd decided, “Let’s go get the rest. I don't think we can figure out anything useful stuck in here.” He was the first to hurry out of the room, not even trying to hide the look he shot towards the needles, which did not get a chance to shine this time.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

< Previous chapter Masterlist Next chapter >

[edutainer2022]

Part 3 of Sweet Chariot has been sitting in my drafts for a while. Since it’s Scott’s week, I’m trying to motivate myself to write it out. 

Jeff and Colonel Casey are having a little chat (because they probably need to). It’s about life, loss, IR... and Scott (of course). 

DREAMS - Bit 1

‘Please, don’t tell me there’s a baby monitor involved?’

Several GDF officers, Colonel Casey including, were forever branded with an image of a much, much younger Jeff Tracy, wild-eyed and wild-haired, showing up in a video-conference call with a then-ill baby Scott hoisted to his shoulder, claiming he couldn’t hear the baby breathe on the monitor. He also didn’t figure out the baby sling in time for the call. Val never let him live that down. The video recording was stashed away for blackmail purposes ever since. Over the past eight years, after a really grim day, Val Casey would whip it out sometimes, just to make the darkness retreat a bit.

‘The next best thing’ - he chuckled in amusement at the memory, but it came out thin.

John set him up (set all of them up) with a vitals feed to his wrist-comm and Jeff had the door to Scott’s bedroom slightly ajar. He would hear his son breathe. He was camping out in Scott’s office-cum-living room, tuning in on a GDF brass meeting Scott was supposed to attend. Scott was in and out of it since the day before, most of his energy directed at holding down whatever little food and fluids they could coax into him and sleeping. Which was just as well. The fever, though not critical, would ebb and flow, but not recede.

‘How’s he doing?’

‘He’s dizzy, disoriented, barely there. – (delirious and thinking secretly he was not good enough to have survived his father, but Jeff was not ready to go there just yet). - But the fever’s not viral, nor an infection. We figured out that much. No other symptoms, so must be stress’.

Casey scoffed.

‘The way Scott has been pushing himself and tackling… everything? No wonder he’s stressed to the bone. The boy just doesn’t stop. Well, he’s a Tracy…’

He warm levity in her words crashed at the stone wall in Jeff’s tone.

‘How did he manage? Then? After…’

‘Oh… After Zero-X?’

(After my death). But Jeff just gave a nod.

‘It was tough, Jeff. And bumpy. I’m not gonna lie to you. It was hard. Especially after I called off the search for you… - Colonel Casey needed a moment to catch her voice again. That was a darkest day for all of them. - But your Scott… You know how the Old Boys at GDF are, Jeff, and those big cheeses at World Council. And he was a pup. And he was grieving. Worse off, he was YOUR pup, but not you. They were ready to eat him alive…’

Yeah, there’s a happy thought. Val failed to mention the stuffy suits on the board of his company. Out for a nice meal too on the young cub, no doubt.

‘But he held his own’

Jeff’s gaze soared up and his old friend, Colonel of the GDF, held it firmly.

‘He held his own. He held his ground. And he’s grown so much. Jeff, he’s been on our case, like a dog with a bone, about field security policies for on duty and non-enlisted personnel, about corps-wide safety training programs, military-civilian rescue services interface protocols. Four star generals cower, when he glares, I swear to god, Jeff. The training wheels are off! I actually had feelers reaching out from up top to sniff, if Scott would be available for more policy projects, now that you’re back to run the rescue ops. He did you proud.’

‘I never doubted he would.’

Jeff’s voice was soft and thick with emotion. But his expression dropped with the weight of a heavy sigh.

‘Does he know that?’

Val Casey knew her friend well and she had known him for a long time. She had known his eldest son since his birth. When Jeff didn’t lift his eyes she knew to prod further.

‘Jeff? What’s wrong?’

He was fidgeting with a stylus on the desk and sinking deeper into a brooding silence, clearly negotiating if he could stubborn his way out of answering. He looked so much like Scott in the moment it was uncanny.

‘Scott thinks it would have been better for everyone, if he beat me to Zero-X and vanished with it, and I would have remained back with the family and IR. He was delirious… it came up…’

‘You don’t believe that!’

‘Do you?’

‘Jeff… you can’t make me answer that. You were… are my friend! I’ve known you forever and the world just wasn’t the same place without you. It wasn’t a better place either... I thank the stars every day that you’ve been back. I’m sure your boys do too. And your mother. And half the planet. And I thank Scott... – Jeff’s eyes shot back at her, the darker shade of steel with intensity. - But I do believe he’s your son. Of course he would think that. There’s never half a chance to sacrifice oneself that doesn’t have his name on it. He gets it from you.’

She weighed the words carefully in her mind, before going on.

‘I also think there wouldn’t be much of Jeff Tracy left in you to run IR, to save the world and to take care of your boys, if that came to pass… if you were not first to Zero-X that day… if Scott were lost…’

‘I wish he knew that.’ (I wish he never had reasons to doubt that).

The comm on his wrist lit up red, cutting the call, as the med monitor sent a distress signal, corroborated by the sounds of whimpers and gasps clearly audible from the bedroom. Scott gets nightmares when he has a fever – Virgil’s words surfaced helpfully from memory, as Jeff shot out of the chair and to his son’s side.

TBC

[yuyuonabeat]

Heart Without a Brain Pt.1

🧠❤️💌

Pairing: College!Student!Yunho! x College!Student!Afab!Reader

Synopsis: Its been a couple days and you’ve been trying not to have inappropriate thoughts about your friend Yunho. Only thing is he makes it a little harder to deal with since he’s always near you. One day you decide to write a letter to your brain(it’s metaphor) explaining your behavior.

A/N: This fic started in Spanish but I’m changing it since half of the people here speak English and I don’t want people to miss out on this. Hope you like it and please do let me know if you want a third part since the second part to this is already written I just have to upload it.

<Afab: assigned female at birth >

Thursday May 24th thoughts

Hi there. I hope I’m not bothering you with my loud thinking. You know, I depend a lot on my thinking. On how it helps my life. On how it defines me. On how it controls me.

Sometimes I feel like I may be crazy. Oh I don’t know, let’s see. How sometimes I put myself in someone else’s shoes and wonder what they would think of me. Of my life, of the way I act and of the crazy things I sometimes may do.

Anyhow. I won’t keep you for long because I know you may be falling asleep already, or at least getting tired of thinking.

Today was a bit rough. Don’t you think, dear Brain? I overthink it a lot and I can’t stop using you. I don’t let you think for me and act for me. I’m the one that has to use you like a steering wheel and give you twirls because if not, neither of us work correctly. And if I can be honest with you, I don’t think we make a good team.

For one part, I want to think about the good and the right. The sane and what’s real. But for the most part, you my dear Brain. You want me to think of the impure and the sick. The impossible and the bad. Look, I know that I said I wasn’t going to keep you for long but I actually want to talk to you about something, or well. Rather someone.

Do you remember Yunho? If you do then, know I think of him everyday. To be honest I can’t shake away the way he looks at me, the way he talks to me. Or the way he talks about me to his friends. The way he smiles so brightly, how he laughs with me, how he’s so handsome and intelligent. So so generous. A literal angel.

I sometimes think I’m crazy for that. He’s just so nice and kind to me and I think there’s times in which he acts a bit too nicely. Like when he pays for my lunch for a whole week because I have no money. Or how he picks me up before and after school every day. Or how he lets me stay at his house a lot of the times when my parents fight at home. Or maybe just the way he always makes sure I’m dressed nicely. Tucking my hair behind my ears, lending me his jacket when it’s a bit cold, tying my shoe laces so I don’t trip over and het hurt. When he fixes my jeans so they are neat. That one time I didn’t expect my period to come and had stained my pants, he came to me and wrapped his hoodie around my waist so it could cover the stain. Smiling at me while reassuring me everything was going to be ok. How he after school was done, bought ice cream and chocolates and just cuddled with me in his room.

I’m not sure if I should consider him a friend. He just acts like as if we were dating and he was my loving boyfriend. Or maybe I’m getting a bit delirious and am mistaking his generosity and kindness with him having feelings for me. That could just be his love language. The way he treats his loved ones. That’s the reason I started thinking of him more and more.

Like it or not, he will always occupy a space in my head next to you. Because you’re my Brain, but you’re not my Heart. Now, Do you know why he has a space in my head and not in my Heart? Well that’s because I still can’t put a ring to what I feel for him. Ok I do feel butterflies in my stomach whenever he’s nearby. I sometimes even think I may be going crazy since I’ve started to see things that I’m maybe just imagining.

Him winking at me at random times, that he blows kisses at me. Perhaps that’s just what you want me to see. I’d like for you to tell me the truth. Do I have a crush on him or do YOU have a crush on him? Because be honest, the one that gets goosebumps and feels the hair on their arms tense up whenever he’s around is me, because you don’t even have hair.



Sorry I think that was a bit mean. I try not to offend you but you make it so hard not to. I just want to scream at your face but wait you don’t even have a face. Sorry, sorry I apologize again. Ok enough of joking around. Now tell me Brain. What do I do?

Let’s see if you can tell me since Heart went AWOL on us. Acting like a traitor leaving me to develop feelings when the three of us had agreed on focusing on school and work. Only thing Heart is good at, is beating and pumping blood to keep us alive as a system. But Heart needs to do its job.

I want to know if what I feel is real or if it’s just to fill the void in me. A fantasy or something I don’t know! I just want an answer please! Whatever it is I’ll accept it. If I like him I’ll accept it. If I don’t I’ll accept it. I just need an answer.

Well anyways tomorrow I need to go to the supermarket with Seonghwa and I don’t know if I should tell him what’s wrong with me. He could help me figure out what I feel. Maybe he’ll give me some advice.

Also am a little nervous since we have school after and every time I’m near Yunho I can’t help but stare at him. Dying on the inside while wanting to tell him how I feel. The way I want to kiss his soft lips so badly. But how can I do that when I don’t even know exactly what I feel.

Whatever. This is the end of this letter from me to you. Oh and thank you for listening, I know I can be a lot sometimes….well all the time but thank you. It’s nice knowing that you’re still up there in my head. Sleep well and take care.

With love, Y/N.

[sickiehugs]

So I saw you did "v3 Boys taking care of a sick reader" but how about you do the reverse; Reader taking care of the v3 boys

Oh my god tysm for the request, this is my first one!! I would love to :)

Skipping Keebo bc he robot

-

V3 Boys Sickfic Headcanons

With sickie!V3 boys and caretaker!Reader

Shuichi Saihara

Poor guy would do everything to hide his illness from you, he really doesn't like people worrying about him.

He canonically skips breakfast a lot, so he honestly wouldn't get very far with the above plan. Either fainting at his desk, or just becoming very obviously weak.

You carry him to bed and turn the lights out. You wheel his desk chair to his bedside and sit down, open up your laptop, and adjust the brightness, making it the only dim light in the room.

He sleeps most of the time, but would try to stay awake for the interrogation analyses you'd put on for him (Speaking from experience: Interrogation analyses are actually really interesting and easy to focus on when you're sick. Consider this a sick tip from a pro).

OH AND HE LIKES ACE ATTORNEY!!!! Snuggle up next to him and play ace attorney,,,, he ships klapollo,,,,

He's really weak and fragile. Out like a light and rarely wakes up to do anything. He's really upset that he can't do any work while he's sick in bed, but you're good at assuring him that he deserves all the rest in the world and he can always catch up later.

Can't stomach a lot of food, he doesn't eat a lot to begin with and the added nausea makes it pretty much impossible to keep stuff down.

He hugs pillows,, he gives them hugs,, hug me instead pls

Very apologetic and says he's sorry every time he needs something from you. You'd eventually convince him that he's worth everything and you're happy to help him get better.

Delirious Shuichi would be either a nervous, hallucinating mess, or the only time in history where his anxiety would go poof and he could just stare blankly at the wall and smile like an idiot. Or both.

Kaito Momota

(Assume he doesn't have his canon illness here.)

At first you don't even notice a thing, he's the same loud and confident guy he always is. Well, it seems that way, at least.

Tiny little things start adding up to something bigger; his cheeks are pink, his voice is a little scratchy, his hand is warmer when you hold it...

Everything goes downhill when Kaito's voice crAcks and he finds himself unable to speak, therefore unable to convince you that he's fine (he ain't lol). One big coughing fit later, he's in his bed with the lights out, his arms crossed tight and his face flashing an angry, defeated pout.

He's all like "I'm the Kaito Momota, Luminary of the Stars! Some pesky illness is no match f- *COUGH* *HACK* *COUGH COUGH* *gasp* *COUGH*" bro needs a hug

Tired ramblings are all about space. They'd actually be pretty interesting if they were coherent. He won't stop talking even with the hoarseness of his voice.

He keeps trying to get out of bed to get stuff instead of asking you but he either kinda gives up halfway through and crawls back to bed or you catch him and give him a lecture.

He really really wants a hug but doesn't know how to ask D:

Before he falls asleep he just kinda looks at you and holds his arms out, you understand and give him the hug he's wanted all day... he yoinks you into bed with him and falls asleep with his arms around you

Kokichi Ouma

He'd mostly look fine at first but you notice he's a lot more careful physically, like walking a lot slower and protecting his stomach with his hands. If he had known it'd slowly get harder to hide his illness he wouldn't have come out of his room, but of course it's too late now.

He thinks he's doing a good job when... "Kokichi, you ok?"

The professional liar's mind would be too foggy to properly lie. A stupid guilty smile and two full minutes of tired stuttering go by.

Now normally if you tried to grab the small guy he would run away and you'd have to chase him for hours, but he just can't do that today. He's already getting tired despite not doing anything, his vision is slowly fading and his legs are starting to give out. He knows what's good for him deep down and, as much as he hates it, he'll let you scoop him up into your arms.

Once he accepts that he's sick, this man turns into the ultimate drama queen. I feel like he just wants people to care about him, though? And exaggerating his condition might be the only way to achieve that?

It doesn't take long for you to realize it's not as bad as he says it is. But he's still pretty sick, so nothing about how you take care of him really changes. Just ignore him when he claims to be dying.

Do something wrong and he's like "Do you want me to die? So rude, Reader-chan~!" in his messed-up, scratchy and seemingly painful voice.

Oh my god he will not stay in bed. He literally climbs all over you like a child. Sleeps anywhere but where he's supposed to. Hides in his closet. You're really strong for agreeing to take care of this gremlin and making it this far, you know that?

Delirious Kokichi is even more of a menace but he's twice as tired so it doesn't last too long.

So, say he does get worse. Would his playful façade start to slip, or would delirium make it 10x as strong?

Gonta Gokuhara

(Short since I'm not too familiar with Gonta as a person + I haven't played his FTE)

Everything is fine until he suddendy latches an arm around his stomach and doubles over, teeth clenched and eyes shut tight. You rush to his side and ask him what's wrong.

He tells you it wouldn't be gentlemanly to ask for help, you argue that it would be even less gentlemanly to puke on the floor. He lets you walk him to the bathroom.

He slep,, he sleps so cute,, somehow he manages to look small cuz he is curled up in a little blanket burrito and sleping

Korekiyo Shinguji

(Again, short, sorry D:)

I'm getting gothic whump vibes from him

HE is getting gothic whump vibes too

I think he reads whump stuff when he's not studying anthropology

Lights candles instead of the lamp on his nightstand, his sheets are all white, keeps his windows open, yeah the whole deal. Your Kiyo values aesthetic and that is VALID.

Homies I apologize but I don't know shit about Ryoma and Rantaro. Ever since I started this post two weeks ago I've been stuck on them. Feel free to reblog with HCs for them!! Anyways, super duper sorry for the wait, Anon! I really hope it was worth it D:

[thatoneguy031]

GEAR... FOURTH!

[A delirious and still-half-asleep Guy jolted awake, shouting the name of a form that a pirate uses, before proceeding to bite himself in his free arm. The sharp pain didn't register until several moments later.]

...

YYYEOUCH!!

!!!

!

[Guy leaped from his blanket, hopping around a terrified Flygon and stunned Suicune, yelping in pain as he did so. After a short while, he sat down again, blowing air onto his now very hurt arm.]

Ow, ow, ow ow ow, ouch!!

Cheesecake... you're AWAKE!

You say that like I've been out for like, two days!

Because you WERE, you TOTAL teedledorf!

Mx. Suicune told me everything! Dude, wtf?

[It was at this point that Guy had finally come to his senses.]

...Oh, hey Cherry. What's good?

Don't you "what's good" me! You were unconscious for nearly two days, that's what's "good"!

[All Guy could do was blink in response, unable to process what she said for what felt like minutes.]

...Wait, I WHAT?! What happened to me?!

The hell do you think WE'RE trying to figure out? According to Mx. Suicune, you just passed out!

AGAIN!!! Freakin'- Look, dude. You've gotta get this whole thing under control, and soon.

...I'm just scared. I don't want this to hurt you anymore than it has to, but it will have to for who knows how much longer, and... and...

I don't want you to die, dude. Especially to something that's admittedly kind of avoidable. Yyyeah, we're helping you with this. Hell, Cooper said it; We're really the only ones that can step in crap hits the fan. At least, the only ones that know HOW to step in. But first... We're going to sleep. And I don't care if you just woke up, you are too. We need to keep track of you-

-But y'all are the ones that-

-And make sure nothing happens while you're on the Struggle Bus with no seatbelts, square wheels and 1500P$ fare. You're basically a ticking time bomb, and we know next to nothing about this power of yours. So, training has to start pretty soon. We still have a few days until that party we're going to, and we still have to go to those Ruins you promised Cooper's cronies. You still down?

But...

[Guy cut himself off, realizing that it'd be pointless to actually object to Cherry's claims of him running off.]

Alright. Oh, and thanks for reminding me about that, I totally forgot about the Ruins!

Sick! Now, I guess we should clock out for the night, no?

[thebitchbehindtheslaughter]

The Heart Everbeating

Hi! This story has been in The Works for about a year now, so I hope you enjoy! Warnings for death, Christianity/Catholicism, and everything going wrong in the MC’s life 

When one man falls for another, they say God, himself, shudders in disgust. Two men peacefully exchanging whispers betwixt the oxeyes and the late eve silence could send all of Heaven into a rage, wheels of flame and feather burning bright with divine wrath. The Spirit scoffs at the embrace of palms, The Son weeps at the embrace of arms, The Father recoils at the embrace of lips. All three were above any such mortal woes and so the Holymen and Holywomen would leap from their confessionals and morning prayers, setting down their scriptures and rosaries in the name of mallets and chains to purge the world of any threat to perfection’s untouchable paradise, for the loving whispers nestled within the daisies—promises to forever support, protect and adore, were far too demonic for the cotton ears of the immortal, immoral Shepard. Yet even once sentenced to the depths of The Nine Rings, no pretend border could halt the sweethearts’ yearning for one another, no prideful god fully capable of stopping the pounding of deep love’s heart; The Devil himself knows of and tries not to prevent honest admiration. Layers of wood, of rust, of ash, of soil, could not cease the fire within one man’s soul as he plucked at the freshly bloomed oxeye, near delirious with his burning desire.

     A trail of ‘he loves me’s spiralled on the wind as the fiancé limped through the aisle of wrought iron and forsaken stone, his veil of moonlight bathing one man and his wilting bouquet in sensations of ethereal glamour. Hums of melodies yet to be played bounced off the flitting wings of the Calyptra groomsmen all the while, holding back their hunger in the name of the beloveds’ special day. The one man tied back his long, dark hair with the red ribbon his beloved had gifted him, hoping to enchant just as he’d been at their first meeting, continuing his pursuit without so much as a stumble. At the mere thought of meeting once more one man’s mind was overrun with his deepest desires, burning through his ice-coated flesh and igniting the spark which had never truly died, his own wrought iron fence of bone becoming the grates of a roaring coal furnace and as such granting him ample energy on his seemingly endless journey. Truly, one man was ever so far from the halfway point—a little black house overrun by only the sweetest of alleycats—but moments spent alone do slide unto the doorstep of eternity when one is used to moments with his beloved, so one dared not to pause to collect the rapidly disappearing petals, or to pluck fresher flowers, or to feed his dear groomsmen as they continued their song. Instead he chased after the growing stronger aura of his beloved, his darling, as he slowly neared the town gates.

     If the ring of charcoal iron he left behind were to act as a church hall’s supposedly welcoming doors, then the buildings were certainly the rows of family and friends who arrived solely to bare witness to the beloveds’ moment of union as they leaned in close to admire the unearthly beauty one man found himself in possession of, the dewy mist which still hung in the evening air bringing the idea of tears to the candlelit windows that lit up his path. So attractive he felt as he walked the aisle he’d always dreamed of traversing, the scent of his beloved still rested in his lungs and it grew ever stronger the closer he was to the town square. The petals of the oxeyes he had gathered fell less on his gloves and more on the wind, his limbs moving faster the closer he sensed himself getting, one man’s mind growing equally as desperate for the face he so longed to hold once more, when one of his guests spoke and broke him from the trance he willing entered; “My old friend, is that truly you before me? My, you’re in that beautiful suit! Are you finally to be wed to your beloved?” There upon the porch stood a woman, the patches which crawled across her cheek marking her familiar in appearance, but the silver hair which clung to her head like spiderwebs struck her down as the grandmother of a friend who lived within those exact walls, but certainly she had passed long before one man’s eyes had closed? “Come in, my friend! It is poor manners to arrive to any wedding with an empty stomach!” So dearly did one man wish to see his beloved, to hold, to cherish, to kiss and recover the year that was lost between two meters of wood and mud, but as he always knew her granddaughter to be his old friend’s grandmother was most certainly correct. “Oh, my friend, I must lend you a bottle of perfume, as well. Tell me, would you prefer to smell of roses or daises?”

     Traditionally, receptions were to be held once vows had been born and welcomed to the new world, but perhaps tradition could take a knee for the beloveds’ celebration. Only for the moments spent within the old and rickety house, of course, as after the cake was cut one man would return to the aisle and greet his beloved with promises written in a heat of passion and longing. With heat of passion mentioned, one man found it quite impossible to miss how warm the air surrounding the dining table truly was, though that could be blamed on the Battenberg cake and Earl Grey tea that was set before him with unsteady hands. “Dig in, my friend!” The older woman sat in the chair across from his own with a smile lined in childish giddy, reminding one man that all the town was abuzz with excitement for the evening that had just arrived, all because he had insisted on paying patronage to a small tailor shop many moons ago. Yes, he remembered that year as if it had played out just moments ago, the one where he slowly fell for the charming tailor’s son who knew his figure better than he did. He remembered the first time they spoke, how he had thanked the young man for his service and complimented his handiwork, and of course, he remembered the shy and flattered smile that offered as response. Certainly, if his mind still held to those magical moments within a small, family shop, then it held what led to the beloveds’ arrival to the small, isolated town. He wished it would forget—prayed, even, but it held steadfast. Lavender. He despised that colour more than anything, for once upon a time it had infected his life and forced him to the tailor’s shop to be suited for a tux in that very shade. Although, one man would never forget the generosity of the woman in the matching dress, one who shooed them away and took all fault for their escape. He hoped her and her bride would be wed one day. “Goodness, my friend, you’re going to be quite late!” One man’s untouched cake and well-stirred tea were carried off into the depths of the hot house, just as he began to feel… sick. He hadn’t a clue he could feel sick once his body was beyond death, but as the older woman had exclaimed he had not a moment to ponder. “Take care, my friend!” She called as he shuffled out the door, his groomsmen having awaited his return upon the porch; it would be his night and his night, alone, for only a few minutes longer.

     Then came a buzzing, swirling spirit that twirled through him like wine in the glass of a nobleman, one born of unadulterated anticipation. For simply, he had twirled past the house he had known to be infested with cats but, to his surprise, had then been infested with vines and flowers. He could not find himself time to pause, however, so simply he continued on, the waltz in his step. Four steps at a time led him through an enthusiastic daze of sorting through crowds to meet his beloved at the ballroom’s centre, his own, personal history of wandering grand celebrations providing him and his movements great expertise. Oh, my beloved, his mind had pleaded as he stumbled from one side of the road to the other, his undead heart begging to pound in the pattern it knew so well. One man tightened the knot of the ribbon he’d so carefully laced into his hair, then a memory of how said ribbon had come to be teased him with visions of his beloved; he had been questioned as to what his very favourite colour was and, his gaze locked upon the eyes of the tailor’s son, he had simply said what he saw: Red. Red was a difficult colour—though nowhere near as difficult as indigo—so all that was offered was a red ribbon. His beloved had apologized in only a most sincere manner but he, oh, he had known that shade oh-so-well, and so, had giddily taken the gift and laced it into his long hair for the very first time. Oh, he would give almost anything to see his beloved’s flustered expression once more, how his red eyes had widened as if to show off all their glittering glory, his glasses falling down his face to assist in their unveiling. One man could not resist then, and had asked if he may. His beloved said yes. Such a beautiful memory had caused his dance through the streets to grow wild and desperate as he near cried out in love and admiration. Delirious, just as he was once he reentered the Ertha’s domain, though that time he was nearly at his beloved’s side, just stood at the edge of a true and real crowd. He could see the red through the shuffling shoulders. He ran for it. One man embraced the figure so tightly that he could tell instantaneously that it was not his beloved in his arms.

     “Let go of my daughter.” Hands rough from the wear and tear of time grabbed at his suit jacket and mercilessly pried him away from the young woman whose face was alight with fear. He knew that face, well—well, perhaps only certain features. The puff of her bottom lip he knew he’d kissed before, the batting of her eyelashes he knew he’d felt flutter against his cheek before, the beauty mark at her jaw he knew he’d gushed over before—though certainly it had moved sides—and the red. He knew that particular shade of red far better than he knew anything else, and he despised how natural it looked when combined with the new shape of her jaw, point of her nose, and texture of her straight hair. That hair always curled when grown that long, though it rarely had a chance to grow past the shoulders. Perhaps his beloved’s sister had appeared in town to comfort him? Oh, he hadn’t even considered the existence of his beloved’s grief! Yes, his dear sister must have appeared to stay the past two years with him and assistance him in his recovery! Then why, he questioned as he could not comprehend the answer, did a woman with the exact new features of the girl appear at that moment, stood beside the younger, and took on the appearance of mother and daughter? Hesitant, terrified yet morbidly curious of the truth in hiding, did one man turn to look at the man who still held him by the shoulders. His fear was proved to be founded in fantasy, for he knew that face and its every detail, instantaneously. “… My love?” Delirium once again ignited within one man’s shaking chest, and caused him great ecstasy which guided his limbs about his beloved’s shoulders, pulled the two men close together, their bodies perfectly tailored to the other’s just as they were in their younger years. His pined for those lips like he never had before in all his years of love and admiration for the taller, desperate as he had been all that night without his beloved by his side, and pushed himself to the tips of his toes in a reach that lasted all of three seconds. He closed his eyes and anticipated the warm—near burning sensation of gentle love he’d come to know so well, but he was met with the pin-pricked fingers of a tailor’s hands. “M-My love, I…” Those gorgeous red eyes darted to the two women at their side for truly not a reason, at all, as his beloved had never been the least bit cautious when it came to expressing their undying affection—at the very least, not in that town. “You must understand my hesitation,” he whispered as if some godly fear had been implemented into his untainted soul; perhaps by that woman who had yet to learn how rude it was to stare? “You’ve been gone—dead! For thirty years, so how am I to react to seeing your face again?” In response to such words rife with sorrow and conflict, for the very first time in that moonlit evening one man could not think at all.

     “Goodness, my love, I… I watched you die in that field of oxeyes! I held your shaking body, I watched the life drain from your eyes—the blood, as well! Y-Your own father shot you dead and I was the only one who mourned! Now, suddenly, three decades later you return to me? Why so long? Why must you have waited until I had finally moved on and healed?” His own mind was hardly aware of itself in that moment, as it drifted freely in the town square, inquired what the bystanders were thinking, and even what the woman and her daughter were thinking, but he could not bring himself to consider his beloved’s thoughts for he had to have been lying, though that was so far from something he would do especially in such serious situations as the one they were currently in. “My love… I’ve married another.” One man, his body shivering with horror, slowly followed that red gaze that instinctually filled with true love, though not for him. The woman and her daughter stared back… equally as horrified. “I didn’t believe you were coming back—How could I believe that? My wife she—she taught me how to recover, took her time to heal me, fully. Our daughter is sixteen, now. We are happy.” His beloved squeezed his arm and just as it always was, it comforted his aching heart. “I’m sorry, my love, but if you came back just to see me again, I’m afraid I’ll have to cut your return, here. My love?” For the very first time in his twenty years of life, one khan ignored the words of his beloved in favour of approaching another. He pulled the precious treasure from his hair and took the woman’s wrist, where he then placed it in her shaking palm and turned to the younger woman, to whom he offered the wilting oxeyes to, continuously numb despite her gratefully taking it.

     Then, with a final look to the beloved and his beautiful family—with the additional press of a handkerchief to his one functioning tear duct—one man quietly left the village.

[icanonlybe-human]

A lot has happened.

Obviously it was Christmas/holidays and I got two weeks off work. It was the first Christmas without Pop, so everyone was quite emotional. Except me. At this point I’m starting to believe that my brain refuses to feel any emotions unless they’re extreme.

We also went camping which was really nice. We had some really good moments, like watching a lake with moonlight turning the rippling surface of the water into dancing fireflies. Or a rosella waltzing right through camp within an arm’s reach of me. Or watching a black stallion race across the flats with it’s herd (including a baby). Or viewing the magnificence of nature with waterfalls and caves that have taken millions of years to form.

But I also learnt that Mum and Dad are planning on going to the Grampians. And I’m not invited even though they said I’d always be invited to their big adventures. I feel more and more like I’m third wheeling whenever I’m around Mum and Dad. It used to be the three of us against the world, but now it feels like it’s Mum and Dad and I’m the afterthought.

And then, Z texted. And even though I’d had trouble sleeping in that fucking bedroom every time we were sleeping at Mum and Dad’s place, everything came flooding back. For the first time in a year, I cried myself to sleep again, but not just out of pain this time. For the first time since high school, I felt sheer rage. Still do. And it’s because Z didn’t just text me to say he wasn’t coming to a meet up that his parents were coming to. He did it because he wants to get back in touch. Three years later and I’m still fucking broken after what he did to me, after he took advantage of my autistic asexual innocence and fucking broke me. Because of him, I’m a fucking adult who needs fluffy blankets and plush toys and nightlights and humidifiers because I still wake up disoriented, muscles clenched and in a cold sweat because I still have nightmares. My muscles are sore not because of working out, it’s because sleeping is an extreme sport for me because of what he did to me. I still can’t stand to be alone in a room with a guy, and I still can’t do hugs, not just because of the sensory hell but because I literally don’t trust people enough for them to touch me. And yet he wants to get back in touch? Now that I think about it, rage doesn’t fucking cut it.

It’s been two weeks since he texted and I’m still reeling from it. And stress at work is ridiculous because everyone is refusing to help me even though what they’re demanding of me is way too much for just one person to handle. And because everything is going to shit, my depression has obviously spiked again as well as the anxiety. Fuck, I had a panic attack at work on Friday.

I’m afraid that I’m dangerously close to a breakdown. You know how I can tell? When I’m struggling, I have a comfort episode of Supernatural that I get the urge to watch. Season 7 episode 17, when Sam gets admitted to a psych ward for being schizophrenic after his soul was turned into dog food for Lucifer. I don’t have the side of seeing someone else, but the feelings of your own brain attacking you, as well as the feeling of being too tired to fight against it, and then the fractured memories and delirious-ness that comes with it… it’s all what I’ve felt before. And I’m scarily close to tipping over the edge into the fractured memories part soon if things don’t get better.

Alarm bells are a-ringin and there isn’t a damn thing I can do to stop it.

[waltenfiled]

"Where does it hurt?" and "Can you feel this?" please please :')

Not guranteed or however you spell that, to have correct medical information!!!!!! i didnt listen during my lectures!!!!!!! ^___^ i just searched it up on wikihow instead <33 /hj

“Call the medics! Agent down!”

Bang.

“Hotch where are you? I called the meds, which agent got gunned down?”

Bang.

Bang.

“It was Agent Reid.”

Bang.

“One, it’s Doctor, two, That son of a bitch.”

There had been a fear engraved in Spencer's very anatomy, that at some point -- within every tick of the minute hand, that one day, in some twisted, fucked up fantasy of someone that wants to play god with his life -- that he'll relapse and lose everything.

It wasn't totally out there. Spencer had relapsed time and time before, but all of those instances had his knowing consent. 

What Spencer feared was involuntary injection of his drug.

“This hurts.” Spencer groaned  to himself as he laid still on the rocky ground. Trying his best on keeping his body flat despite the rocks that were piercing at his back and at his neck.

Gunshots were still being fired. “Where the hell are the medics!” he heard Morgan shout in the distance, in which he replied rasply. “They probably don’t wanna get in the middle of a gun fight!”

“Don’t you dare smartass me in the middle of a shooting pretty boy!” he said, causing Spencer to chuckle. “I can’t help it, it’s just so easy! It’s second nature.”

Spencer sighed. “Being shot is also second nature to me at this point.” he spoke to himself.

“Step one, act quickly and keep still to avoid any other injuries.” he told out loud, “Step two, take cloth, bandage, or gauze and press directly against the wound using the palm of your hand. Continue for at least ten minutes. If bleeding does not stop, check the location of the wound and consider repositioning yourself.”

“Step three? Prepare for the victim to go into shock. In this case, I’m the victim.”

* * * *

“I don't want to go to the hospital –” Spencer hicced hysterically, clutching weakly at the paramedic’s forearm as they rolled him to the ambulance. “– please, anywhere else but.”

“Reid, you need medical attention.” A voice above him spoke, somewhere to his left, voice cracked, which was strange. 

He shuffled to his left,

What was my left again? Over here, right?

But found himself restrained by hands.

“Hotch –?” Spencer called, arching his neck to look desperately for his superior. “Sir? I, please tell them to not take me, I can take it. I'm strong I'm strong.”

A hand landed on his chest, pushing it back down on the gurney, “I don't doubt that you're strong, Reid, but you need to be brought to the hospital immediately.” Hotch, voice riddled with something acute, something foreign, something that almost sounds like grief, said. 

“I'll tell them to not give you narcotics.”

Spencer shook his head rapidly, “No no no no! It's not even about that anymore! Please don't let them take me, I'll be good –” he shook deliriously, “I don't.. Hotch please. I don’ wanna go. Don't wanna.”

“Reid?”

Spencer swallowed, breaths heavy. “Hotch?” he spoke with a whimper.

“I'm sorry, Reid.” he spoke with a sigh, as he felt the terrifying feeling of the gurney being lifted from the ground, and rolled up into the ambulance.

Spencer groaned upon impact when the wheels of the gurney made contact with the metal floor. Gurneys, he repeated in his head, Gurneys.

What even are Gurneys? 

“What are gurneys?” he asked curiously, “I know they're used by first responders but they're like what fish are to scientists. Regular people know that fish exist, and scientists do too but you aren't really aware that scientists are aware that fishes are actually a concept? Anything can be a fish.” he rambled off, so deep in his head — that was still being caressed by Hotch — that he didn't even feel the paramedic preparing for the pain killers to be injected into his bloodstream.

Hotch nodded, “Gurneys are things that first responders use to move a patient from one place to another. They're lightweight for easy moving, and they're useful for delivering patients into their vehicles.”

“Huh.” Spencer muttered, wincing at the slight, familiar and addictive and so so disgusting feeling, of a needle being pricked into his skin into the veins of his left wrist. “Hotch –” he gasped.

Hotch moved fast, hushing him softly and his hand moved to play with his hair. Affectionately petting it as Spencer wriggled and whimpered at the small, miniscule, feeling of a needle being inserted into his anatomy.

He hiccuped, eyes almost full with unshed tears as the paramedic placed a bandaid over the needle. Keeping it further in place, keeping it deeper into him. Spencer tried not to groan, not in front of them; “What did you inject in me?”

“Oxymorphone.” The paramedic responded matter of factly as they continued to their duties as a medical professional, but Spencer couldn't care less about that.

He turned to Hotch in sudden fear, “H – Hotch.” he stuttered out weakly, looking intently at the blurry image of his superior. He was frowning. Good.

“Excuse me. Oxymorphone is a narcotic.” Hotch berated, “I said strictly, no narcotics.” Huh? When did he say that?

“I've already injected it into his bloodstream. It's dangerous, we'll lay the drugs off the moment this bag runs out, then we'll tapper him off. For now, you have to adjust to it, sir.”

“I'll have a word with your superior after this.” Hotch spat, not leaving any room for argument before he directed his attention back to Spencer. “So what was it about Gurneys, Spencer?”

Spencer grumbled, “They're weird and I don't like them.”

“I mean if you're going to roll me off with an injury, at least roll me off with something comfortable! Like a couch!!” Spencer stilled as the paramedic checked his pulse, an impulse suddenly surfacing to push their hand away but ultimately decided against it. Hotch wouldn't like that.

Speaking of Hotch, he turned his attention towards him with a pout. “I'm uncomfortable. I hate the feeling of plastic.” he complained with a drag, causing Hotch to raise his eyebrow.

“Gurneys aren't made of plastic, Spencer.”

“Then what are they made of!” He bursted out, causing the paramedic to jolt. “Sorry – I just hate gurneys. Is that even a real word anymore? I hate hospitals so much.”

The paramedic nodded in understanding, although shakily. They turned towards Hotch, which was weird because he was right there and they could easily talk to him. 

“Sir he's moving too much.” they spoke, again to Hotch, as if he wasn't there.

“I'm right here.” He mumbled, probably just an honest mistake on their part, but found himself ignored by the paramedic, again, as they rattled off more about him ‘staying still’, which he would be if he was asked; directly to his face.

Hotch, face deceptively straight as he nodded off the paramedic, leaned down to Spencer's ear, “I'm going to get them fired.” he spoke firmly, causing a small delirious smile to appear on Spencer’s face.

‘Good’ he mouthed as he drummed his hands beside him. ‘Get them.’

Aaron nodded, a rare smile on his lips. ‘I'll make sure of it.’ he mouthed back.

The paramedic looked between them questioningly, in which Aaron only waved them off. “I told him to still.” he informed, hands tapping near Spencer’s stomach as Spencer exhaled. “Just like you asked me to do. Now please continue helping him.”

They nodded. “Where does it hurt?” they asked as they pressed their palm against numerous parts of his belly gently, causing Spencer to wince.

“Here.” he said, grabbing the paramedic’s hand and placing it on his abdomen. “This is where it hurts. You can tell because there’s three bullet wounds there.” he told snarkily, which went over the paramedic’s head as they nodded.

“Sir I need you to apply pressure to it.”

Aaron did as he was told, applying as much pressure and weight as he could in his hand as Spencer winced at the intense feeling. "Can you feel this?" he asked, causing him to bring a hand to slap at his superior’s shoulder.

“Of course I can feel it!”

Aaron chuckled. “Right, of course.”

[steveshairychest]

OK but what if they do save Eddie.

Robin and Steve drag him out of that damn portal, both of them ignoring the pain of their own wounds as they move as quickly as they can. They don't have a lot of time. Eddie's blood is seeping into their clothes and leaving a sickening trail behind them and if they don't hurry he's going to bleed out in their arms. Robin's sobbing, her breaths coming out in pants as they carefully lift his body into the trailer portal. He thuds against the mattress on the other side and lets out a wet laugh. "Ow."

Steve's gone into protection mode. He ignores everything that isn't getting Eddie to a hospital. He can't afford any distractions. Nancy tries to talk to him, tries to offer to take his spot and carry Eddie so that Steve doesn't make his wounds worse, but he just ignores her and jumps through the portal, landing right beside Eddie who had weakly rolled over. "Give me your hand." He tells Eddie.

"Are you gonna kiss it, Stevie?" He's delirious from the pain and Steve can see him falling in and out of consciousness as Robin drops down into the portal and resumes her spot by Eddie's side. "I'm g'na close my eyes for a bit." Eddie whispers and Steve panicks.

"No, no, Eddie stay with me." He passes out just as they are putting him in a car they found outside Eddie's trailer.

Steve’s blood instantly goes cold, he feels himself start to panic, his heart beats so loud in his ears he can't even hear himself as he screams at someone to check his fucking pulse! Check it!

"Steve, slow down!" Nancy cries as he drives 50 over the speed limit but he's not listening, they need to get to the hospital and they need to get there fast. Robin's got her fingers pressed to Eddie's neck to feel his pulse and Dustin has his ear to his chest, sobbing and listening to Eddie's weakening heart beat.

"Hurry, Steve." Dustin sobs. He's now doing 110 down the main street of Hawkins.

They arrive screaming for help while dragging Eddie's bleeding body through the emergency room doors. His pulse is so, so weak but they have hope. Eddie's a fighter. Steve tries to follow the swarm of doctors that wheel Eddie away on a stretcher but he's stopped and he tries not to panic, tries not to start a fight with the person preventing him from making sure Eddie is okay.

There's a hand on his shoulder, Robin. "Steve, we've done all we can." He doesn't believe that. He should have done more, should have been there to stop this from happening. Robin manages to get him to sit down for a few minutes but he can't sit still long. He paces the waiting room, eyes constantly fixed on the door they took Eddie through.

Multiple staff members ask about Eddie's wounds, they need it for his file they say, but none of them are willing to give up an answer. How do they tell them that he was eaten by a swarm of bats? That he'd risked his life to save them? They sit there and stare blankly at the nurses. Steve is still pacing.

"Sit down. You're making me anxious." Nancy says after an hour. He reluctantly sits, his leg bounces to replace the pacing.

3 hours they sit in that waiting room before a doctor finally comes out to let them know Eddie's okay, that he's alive and will recover. There's sighs of relief all round. They did it.

But Steve can tell the doctor is keeping something from them, he can see it in the way he's waiting for them to settle down, see the way he keeps nervously looking down at the clipboard in his hands and readjusting his collar. Steve's leg bounces harder.

"Is he awake? Can we see him?" Dustin asks, his voice raw from crying and screaming for help in the upside down. Steve will never be able to unhear those screams, he'd heard them crackle over his walkie and he'd run so hard the bites on his abdomen had started bleeding and soaking through his makeshift bandage.

The doctor looks away and swallows thickly. "Yes, he's awake, but he, uhm, doesn't remember anything. He doesn't know who he is, how he got hurt or where he is. I suggest you give him some space and if his memories- "

"If?" Steve asks brokenly. He feels like he's spinning, feels like the ground has been ripped out from underneath him. This can't be happening. They'd gotten here so quickly. Eddie had only been out for a little while. This can't be fucking happening. He has so much he needs to say to Eddie, so much he needs Eddie to know. He's sorry he wasn't there to protect him, he regrets not meeting him sooner, he wishes he knew who Ozzy was so that they could have something in common, God, he wishes he'd kissed him back at the van when they were going separate ways.

But now Eddie won't remember any of it, won't remember Steve. Won't remember the soft smiles and the gentle brush of fingers that had made the whole situation feel a little less scary.

But now only Steve will remember, only he will have the memories of something that could have been beautiful.

They ignore the doctor's suggestion of leaving him alone and pile into the room where Eddie is sitting in his bed all bandaged up. It makes Steves heart squeeze painfully. He looks so small, so broken, just sitting there staring blankly out the window. He misses the cheeky smiles and bright, sparkling eyes from just a few hours ago. Will he ever get to see them again?

"Eddie, are you okay?" Robin asks softly as they get a little closer to the bed. They approach him like he's a wild animal they've stumbled upon in the woods, careful not make any loud noises or sudden moves in case they spook him. Eddie turns at the sound of her voice and Steve can see it, he can see the gears turning in his head as he tries to remember who they are, tries to put names to faces.

His now dull, brown eyes find Steve and he frowns.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

[fixatedonfandom]

Mask Off

[I have a tf2 prompt I wanted to write but I don't have enough of them to make a prompt compilation so I figured I'd just write it here and hope everything goes well. I did the absolute most on the French so pls fix it if it's wrong]

BTW I HAVE SURGICALLY GRAFTED HUMAN EMOTIONS INTO EACH OF THE MERCS IN MY FICS SO THAT'S WHY THEY'RE 'like that' (normal). I have grafted double the amount of emotions into Spy as a treat.

Synop: Scout is sick. Really sick. 'If we can't get this fever under control it's the hospital or the morgue' sick, and Respawn can't help him this time. They'd already tried that. He's gotten so delirious he's fighting Medic every second he's awake, not really lucid enough to remember so much as his own name, much less that of any of the team. Medic is ready to put him under full sedation and try and work things out from there, but Spy has an idea.

~~~

"Hold his arms! Now!" Medic snapped, not knowing nor caring who listened. Demoman had been hovering near the bed, and latched onto Scout's wrists to pin him down before the thrashing began.

Scout was feverish, slurring out something incomprehensible, almost as angry as he was frightened, and was pushing up against Demoman’s hands with every ounce of fight he possessed. His eyes were open, but he wasn’t seeing, and nothing the Medic said or did could bring them around to focus.

”What’s now, doc?” Demoman barked. As Scout bucked against him, Demo laid down right on top of him, using his chest to keep Scout on the mattress.

Medic did not speak; he grabbed one of Scout’s arms and held it fast against the bed, then slapped the strap of a soft restraint around his wrist and yanked it tight. Demo fumbled for the one on the other side and did the same, and moved to Scout’s legs to keep him still. All the while, Scout was yelling out nonsense, interspersed with things that sounded like pleas.

“Jus-no, ge-get off! Get off me! Leave, no, please-” 

”You’re a’right, lad! You’re a’right, it’s Demo!” said Demo, with heaving breaths. “Demo? Scout, lad-”

“Ge-get- fuck- let-let me go!” Scout gasped in turn. His thrashing rattled the bed, only then being kept in place by the wheel locks, and he was straining his arms against the restraints hard enough to leave a bruise.

Medic was frazzled, composed as he may have looked. He’d almost made the decision to lunge for a syringe of sedative when Scout began to calm, by nothing but him exhausting himself, until his head lolled to the side and all that remained of the fit was mumbling and an occasional spasm.

Demo backed away from the bed, swiping a large hand down his face and clearing the accumulation of sweat from the rim of his eyepatch. “Tha’s a worse one. Didn’t say nothin’ compr’ensible.”

“Least he kept his hands to himself,” the Engineer cut in. He’d been sitting by Scout’s bedside in a creaky metal chair, and had one hand thumbing through a book of known ailments, and the other nursing a cold-compress- one of the few Medic could spare, given the circumstances -to a blossoming bruise on his jawbone.

When push came to shove, as it often did, Scout had a mean left-hook. He was so scrawny-looking that it was easy to forget.

“Not tha’ we gave ‘im much choice,” Demoman sighed. “I feel for th’lad. Cannae imagine wha’ he’s seein’. Wee lad’s prolly thinkin’ he’s fightin’ off ghoulies ‘n ‘his own personal hell.”

“That will be all, Demoman,” Medic sighed over him and ran his fingers, ungloved, through his hair. His black hair was dull, limp, and greasy-looking, and as unkempt as the man who wore it. Both had gone at least two days without a proper wash.

“Aye,” acquiesced Demoman, and picked up another ailments book to flip through with Engineer. Medic would have been doing the same if not for Scout needing spontaneous care. The Engineer and Demoman had offered to help him, overwhelmed as he was with keeping Scout’s fever down through the past two days and trying to find the source of the illness, and stayed in the infirmary with Medic.

Each RED team mercenary displayed his concern for Scout’s wellbeing in his own way.

Heavy had been one of Medic's assistants for the first day, but stepped away when the look of Scout in the throes of fever became too much for him. Too many memories, and none of them good. He spent his time researching for the doctor, much like Engineer and Demo. He'd also made a sandvich for when Scout wakes with an appetite, just in case.

Engineer and Demo needed to be useful, and stepped up on the first day to help. Engineer had no head for medicine and a piss-poor bedside manner, but he could read and research better than most anyone. He turned up to the lab, grabbed an armful of medical textbooks, dropped himself down in the chair besides Scout's bed, and remained there for two days straight. Demoman could comfort- he was a touchy-feely guy, and he was strong. When Scout first awoke two days into the fever and started fighting, Demo appointed himself to Scout's bedside to catch him when he flailed.

Soldier wasn't much for medicine work, and he hated the infirmary, but he became the one that everyone relied on for routine since theirs was so disrupted. He enforced breakfast and dinner like a drill sergeant, bringing food when Medic couldn't leave. In the absence of anyone else to talk to, he'd managed to clean the base spotless too.

Pyro drew pictures, and sent them in like clockwork. Doodles of the team, filled with colors, smiling scenery, and a healthy, happy Scout in the middle of each one. He didn't come by to visit. Knowing what Scout was acting like, he knew he might be too scary for him.

Sniper did what he did best- he kept his distance. Once or twice he came around to visit, but saw how overwhelmed everyone one was stayed out of the way. Somehow, though, the coffee pot in the kitchen never emptied, no matter how many cups were taken out of it, and the dishes were cleaned despite no one sticking around the kitchen long enough to do them.

Spy was different. To the outside eye his concern, if any, hadn’t manifested at all. He still smoked his cigarettes as though he had only a day left to live, and still holed himself up in invisible corners around the compound, only appearing when least desired. If RED were not a team, one could think him heartless and detached. 

They were, however, a team, and even the least observant among them had seen the signs of stress he carried. Spy’s aura was tense, and he carried himself with more urgency, when he was ever seen. If he was not in his smoking room, he was in the infirmary, watching, an unlit cigarette bitten between his teeth to satisfy the fixation but not disturb Scout’s breathing with smog. In the times between Scout’s waking bouts, he would step aside with Medic and ask questions regarding Scout’s health in hushed tones, like hiding his fears from prying ears. 

It was then, when Scout had settled into fitful sleep again, that Spy melted out of the shadow of the infirmary wall to approach Medic from behind, with his usual inquiries.

“Finally utilizing those restraints, I see,” Spy remarked, equally delicate and ironic. “How is the boy today?”

“Worse. Only getting worse,” replied Medic in a rough tone. He’d turned to his shelves of medicines and concoctions, shifting through the bottles and making them clink together. “Verdammt, where is it?”

Spy came around him and looked over Medic’s shoulder. “What are you looking for, my friend?”

“Fever reducer. I tried to give him one earlier.” Medic picked a bottle, read the German label, and set it behind him on his desk. “He spat it out.”

“Not surprised.”

“It was too weak, anyway,” Medic said. He paused in his rummaging to glance back at Spy, perhaps to see if he was listening. “I was a trauma surgeon. I have not treated sickness in many, many years.”

Spy’s cigarette had turned into soggy, unpleasant paper mache in his mouth, and the tobacco leaves had fallen out onto his tongue in bitter mush. He put the old cigarette in the bin near Medic’s desk, then pulled himself another.

“I hope you have some idea of what this illness could be, yes?” Spy ventured as he put the cig between his teeth. Medic sighed and did not meet his eyes, just shaking his head and whispering something. “Then how do you possibly plan to treat him?”

"I...I don't know. Verdammt, I do not know!" Medic admitted like he was spitting out a tooth. He clutched the sides of the cabinet doors, and the wood creaked under his hands. "He will not take fluids, he will not eat. If I cannot get him to calm down I will have to sedate him until he's not at the immediate risk of death. That alone poses its risks, but I would rather those than...this."

Spy glanced over his shoulder to trail his eyes down Scout's body, quivering and sweat-soaked, as he fitted in his sleep. "What kind of risks?" he asked.

Medic collected his thoughts and sighed again, a forceful huff through his nose, then replied, "Delirium. Worse than this. If his breathing continues to get worse he will have to be ventilated, which doubles the risks of prolonged sedation. Depending on how he processes the sedatives it could take him several days, maybe weeks, to recover. This is all assuming that I can fix him while he's unconscious, without having to resort to more intrusive methods."

Spy shifted his stance, his hands itching for the lighter in his coat pocket. He resisted it, naturally, but the urge was biting at the tips of his fingers.

"How would you suppose we get him to calm down, hm?" Spy asked.

"He does not recognize anyone or anything. If I could bring his fever down enough for him to regain some lucidity, that would help," Medic said. "As it stands, unless we can present him with something familiar, he will refuse to cooperate. Something his mind will recognize intrinsically, as confused as he is. He believes we are the enemy."

Spy hummed as his response, pretending to be distracted, and hesitated to consider the idea that had begun to brew in his head. "His mother, perhaps?"

Medic shook his head. "Nein. Not realistic. Even if we could get her to the state in a timely manner, by the time she’s gotten through the company's bureaucratic hoops to set foot on base, he might not be lucid enough for it to make any sort of difference. If I allow him to get to that point I may not be able to restore him."

“And if he does get to that point?”

Medic hesitated. He was given no chance to respond.

"Doc! Lad's comin' round."

They both turned. Demo was leaning over Scout's bed, hands primed to grab Scout's arms should he start thrashing again, and Scout was rousing slowly, turning his head, furrowing his face as he came to a no-doubt painful consciousness. 

“We have tried Respawn, and he came out just as sick as before. Respawn cannot save him,” Medic whispered to him, then turned once more to his shelves with his back to his patient.

“No…no, l-let me…s-stop,” Scout moaned out, already pressing up against his restraints and Demoman’s grip.

“Lad- lad, c’mon, stop- stop it!” Demo hissed back, straining to keep Scout on the bed while taking care not to frighten him with shouting. Demo tensed, with gritted teeth, as Scout started to cry.

“Pleas…please, please…l-let m’go… get- let me go!”

“No no no- aye, lad, c’mon. C’mon it’s me. It’s me, it’s Demo, lad.” Demoman leaned in close to Scout’s face. Scout reeled away as far as his head could press into the mattress, chest and shoulders still wracked with suppressed sobs. Even unconscious, Scout couldn’t let anyone see him cry.

“P-P-Papa,” Scout hiccuped. It could’ve almost been any other word, as slurred and warbled as it sounded, but to Spy’s ears it came as clear as the ringing of a church bell.

Spy’s thoughts left through his lips before he stopped to consider them properly.

"Everyone barring the doctor, please step outside," Spy announced. He approached Scout's bed, shooing Demo aside. "Now, would be ideal."

Demo stayed put with stubbornness and clear hesitation, and Engineer looked up to him confused. Medic fixed Spy with a curious look, but said nothing against him.

"Er, doc-"

"You heard the man." Medic was fixing another cold compress, distracted. "It seems Herr Spy will be taking over, Herr Demoman. Everyone, out!"

Scout winced, whimpering on the bed. Demo stepped back slowly and released Scout, though keeping his hand extended, but Spy shooed him again and he made for the door with the Engineer. Neither looked convinced they should leave, but did regardless, and Spy and Medic were the only lucid ones left in the infirmary.

"I should hope you have reason for disposing of my assistants-" began Medic, then cut off by Spy.

"I would prefer this be observed by as few as possible, doctor," said Spy. He slid off his leather gloves and set them on the metal side-table. "Should this even work."

At that moment Scout's eyes opened, glassy and damp, to the ceiling. Spy put his bare hand on Scout's forehead, expecting the flinch that came.

"No, no! Get...g-get off'me! J-Just-!" 

In a single, fluid swipe, Spy tugged his mask off of his head, and brought his face into Scout's line of sight before the struggling could begin. His salt-and-pepper hair was tousled and untidy, though obviously well-groomed, and his olive-toned jaw had a deep shadow indicating days of neglect. He startled Medic badly enough that Medic fumbled with the medicine cup and sent it splattering across the tile, but neither paid it much notice.

"Sois calme, mon lapin," Spy whispered in the most delicate voice he could use. "Sois calme."

Scout froze taut, staring wide-eyed at nothing but the ceiling tiles. Medic watched him, wrapping his prepared compress in a thick towel, and waited.

"P..." Scout murmured, unfocused. His eyes scanned the lines of Spy's face, sluggish, and a dull recognition lit up behind them. "Papa?"

Relief sent Spy slumping over the bed, closer to Scout, and he ran his hand through Scout’s sweat-damp, greasy brown hair. "Oui. I am here, Jeremy. I am here."

Scout said nothing, but his left hand tugged up against his restraints. He seemed surprised when his hand wouldn't move.

"Wh-wh’s…” Spy saw the panic building, and rubbed Scout’s scalp again.

“You are very sick, mon trésor,” Spy explained in simple words. His unoccupied hand made quick work of the soft restraints, and they fell from Scout’s arms to dangle off the sides of the bed. “You are with the doctor. He will take care of you.”

“Oh…” Scout whispered. Scout’s eyes trailed around the room, slow and stuttery, until they found Medic, still standing frozen by his desk. Like melting ice, clarity emerged through Scout’s bleariness, and it manifested in a single word as Scout whispered, “M...Med…?”

It snapped Medic out of the trance he’d fallen into, and he scrambled to put together another cup of medicine and bring it over with his wrapped cold-compress. For a moment he and Spy locked eyes, and Spy recalled that Medic hadn’t seen his face in the years since his initial physical. Politely, Medic didn’t stare. 

“Herr Scout,” Medic uttered, allowing Scout to get his bearings before lifting Scout’s hand and having him hold the small cup. “Drink this.”

“Wh-”

“Fever reducer,” said Medic before Scout attempted to stumble through a question. Distractedly, he placed the compress alongside Spy's gloves on the table, appearing to forget about it. “I will bring you something to ease your sleep, if you will take it this time. And water. You may also need…” Medic trailed off and wandered to his shelves again, muttering under his breath all of the things he could have Scout take while he was conscious.

Spy moved his hand to support Scout’s and helped him guide it to his lips. “Drink this, lapin. You will feel better.”

He could see the hesitance screwing up on Scout’s face, and trusted Scout’s reflexes were too sluggish to resist when he poured it into Scout’s mouth.

“Swallow, Jeremy. Swallow, s’il te plaît.” Spy put his hand over Scout’s mouth when Scout tried to spit it out, foul though it may have been. He kept his hand until he felt Scout swallow. "Ah, Très bien, mon chou.”

“Has he spit it out again?” Medic returned with a glass of water in one hand.

“Non, he’s swallowed it.” Spy swept the sweat from Scout’s forehead. “Water, please?”

“He’s swallowed it?” Medic’s voice held a relief so palpable it was almost suspended in the air. He passed the glass into Spy’s hand. “Truly?”

“Yes.” Spy let silence fall between them and guided the water into Scout’s limp hand, then tilted his head back for him to drink. He took to the water much more readily than the medicine. Once it touched his lips he began to swallow like a man on the verge of death, and Spy had to pull the glass away twice so he wouldn’t choke. “Pace yourself, mon chou.”

“I have not been able to get him to drink anything in days. I would allow him some desperation,” Medic said. He’d removed his glasses, rubbing out the smudges on the edge of his vest. “I do not know how long you’ll wish to stay, but if I may-”

“I’ll stay until the boy can take a drink on his own,” Spy spoke over him, though only giving Medic half of his attention. “Perhaps after, if more problems arise.”

Scout blinked slowly, like a barn owl, and each blink after that was heavier than the last. It didn’t take long for Scout’s eyes to fall shut and for his breathing, though still labored, to come in even strokes. Spy let his hand rest upon the boy’s cheek, and a long-dead warmth that Spy had not experienced in decades washed over him like a baptism.

“This time, mon lapin,” whispered Spy, stroked Scout’s cheekbone, and pulled his hand away.

“Hm?” That was Medic, somewhere by his desk.

“This time,” Spy repeated. “I would like to stay for him.”

~~~

Also I did not edit this so...lol

tanks for reading :)

[fluffyprettykitty]

Mist

Pairing: Selina Kyle x female reader (no other specifications)

Word Count: 872 words

Outline: Going home with the woman you met at the club.

Warnings: weed, shotgunning, fingering, oral sex, praise kink, slight lingerie kink, degradation, not beta'ed, all mistakes are my own, if I didn't tag something pls let me know!

Author’s Note: Contains zero spoilers. I have ideas for 2 more drabbles like this. Njoy!

P.S: dividers by @firefly-graphics //​ banners by @maysdigitalarts

Main Masterlist ・❥・Selina Kyle MasterList

NSFW UNDERNEATH THE CUT, MINORS DNI.

"Open your mouth pretty girl, come on."

Attentively, you spread your mouth open, eyes widened looking at her. Anything she'd tell you to do and you would do it. Anything.

"Just like that. Good girl."

Selina takes a strong puff from the joint that is hanging on her godlike lips and inhales. You watch the way her chest sinks in, nipples hard underneath the white small shirt she was wearing. She looked delicious and you wanted nothing more than to devour her whole. She lets go of the joint shutting her eyes for a moment throwing her head back before returning her attention to you. With her right hand, she holds your chin from underneath, pressing her soft lips against yours, and then proceeds to blow smoke inside your mouth. Fuck, you felt delirious.

It was only two hours ago at the club when you caught her eye. It wasn’t often you went down to the city, having not long moved to Gotham city. She had spent the next hour buying you drinks and dancing with you, grinding you on her so hard and rough that you almost came right there on the dancefloor. It was downright sinful how she teased you. Then she offered you a ride and spend the entire time with one hand on the wheel one hand underneath your short skirt. She had made you cum on her fingers twice till you arrived at her place. You were ready to give her everything, please her as she had pleased you. The heat level on your stomach had risen extra high. That woman was oozing sex.

Selina had a different idea though.

She had you sit on the couch and then offered you smoke and a drink. Watching her work the joint on her delicate fingers felt like magic. Occasionally looking up at you to make sure she had your undivided attention. It was almost as she wanted you to examine each of her movements.

Back to now and you were inhaling the sweet smoke, feeling a familiar wave of euphoria hitting every cell of your body. It was strong weed, you wouldn’t expect anything less from that mysterious woman. She hadn't given you a name, only told you to make sure to thank god every time she made you cum. You had found that amusing, to say the least. Chasing after a beautiful girl like her in the middle of the night could only lead to wonderful things.

"I want to ruin you." She says in a whisper, hands on your knees, black eyes staring deep with your soul.

"I don't want you to ever be able to touch yourself without thinking of me, sugar." She continues gazing deep inside your eyes.

You could only nod your head at her, your brain already getting fuzzy. Feeling yourself sinking back on the couch as she spread your legs. She pushes up your skirt again, ripping off your already ruined panties, taking a sniff before throwing them on the floor. You can feel yourself getting wetter as she smirks at you.

"You are nothing but a dumb baby, aren't you? I haven’t even done anything and you are fucking leaking. It looks like a swimming pool down here, dove."

Can you talk? You try to but nothing comes other than a whimper. When she licks a stripe over your pussy lips you can only moan louder. Once her lips and tongue come in contact with your clit, she doesn’t leave it until she is satisfied. You don't even remember how long it has been, just that you are begging her to let you have a taste of her.

"Only good babies get to taste me."

You whimper again wiggling your body on the couch. When she leaves your pussy, her mouth is soaked in your pussy juices. Selina uses the back of her hand to wipe out the excess and come up to you to roughly kiss your lips. She deepens the kiss until you could taste yourself on her.

"I want to have you, please, please let me."

A broken cry leaves your lips as your hands are wrapping at the back of her neck pressing your forehead against hers. Another set of whimpers leaves you as you begin to move your body, trying to grind yourself on her. Yet she only looks at you with unimpressed eyes.

"Not yet, princess."

She warns you again and gets up walking away from you to sit on the opposite chair of you. She takes the joint again and a silver crested lighter. Toying with the lighter and the fire at first –you feel a new heat rising when she moves her thumb over the fire. All you can do is moan while your hands move to your breasts. She slowly licks her lips together before taking a puff keeping her eyes on you. Your legs are still spread, pussy in all is slick glory looking at her.

"Soon."

She declares in her saccharine voice and you slowly breathe out. Your fingers are now working your nipples wanting to give her a little show.

"I could wait forever."

You let out in something between a whimper and a whisper.

"I know, sweetheart."

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