#and the worst part is that if I had my medication I wouldn't have gotten my period

[silly-fox-and-its-stuffies]

guys

Im bedbound bc the pharmacy didnt have the medication for my life threatening disorder so we had to transfer it to another pharmacy and that takes a day or two soooooo I'm prob gonna be bedbound for the next couple days (more context in tags, tw period mention)

but being bedbound also means that I can't get up to eat or drink or use the bathroom (kinda important since yk, period) and my mom works from home and I'm on break so she's busy, and she doesn't understand anyway

[batmanfruitloops]

Had to get wisdom teeth taken out today, would not recommend.... ugh -_-

How would the Dork Squad react if any of them had to go through that? (If I have to suffer then so do they <3 /j) and how would the other two react to one of them getting their wisdom teeth removed?

Also would give Riddler a plush rat ❤❤❤

Ed would have the worst time. His pain tolerance is very low and so is his drug tolerance. He'd be incredibly loopy coming off of anesthetics and very high on pain medication. Usually, when he's not all there, like if he's drowsy, he becomes very affectionate and emotional. His friends at least find it very cute. It's not all bad for him at least, he loves to be coddled. He also really likes your rat plushie gift! :3

Jervis would be very out of it and would mostly be dissociating. He has Maladaptive Daydreaming Disorder, so since he'd be pretty uncomfortable he would mostly be in his own head. So the other two have to check on him pretty consistently since he wouldn't really be thinking about if he needed or wanted something. When I got my wisdom teeth removed my mouth was so numb I started chewing on my bottom lip (I thought it was something to make my mouth feel comfortable like the gauze) and didn't realize it was part of my mouth until a while. I was also very happy to have one of my cats join me in bed. I figured these were fitting things to give to Jervis.

He probably would have gotten his wisdom teeth removed before meeting the other two, but that's not the point of this ask lol.

Jonathan is pretty bad at taking care of himself. So he wouldn't initially do anything about his wisdom teeth erupting. He has an extremely high pain tolerance so he would just muscle through it. So Ed would have to be the one to convince him to get them removed. He would agree mostly so he could keep his teeth (and he would ask the other two to give him their wisdom teeth). He has a collection of little taxidermy knick-knacks and do-dads to which he would love to add his friends' teeth. He wouldn't use icepacks, he wouldn't take pain medication and he'd try to just go back to normal after his operation. The other two would try their best to take of him, despite how stubborn he is. He has a hard time letting himself be cared for, he doesn't like feeling helpless or weak. Unfortunately, his carelessness would probably get him sick. His friends aren't far behind at least to continue to help him recover.

While recovering from my teeth, I was so hungry that I started fantasizing about putting chicken in the blender. Jonathan would actually follow through with that, he would not care.

I hope you had a graceful recovery and that it hasn't been too painful. Getting your teeth removed sucks but at least you only need to go through it once! Thank you for the ask it was very entertaining to think about!

-Fluffy

[azu1as]

What do you think about tang bo vs tang gunak for cheongmyeong. With either tang bo time travelling/reincarnated to the future or tang gunak time travel to the past?

hello!! i am so so sorry this is super late 🥺 I've been rotating this ask in my head for two months because there's simply so many possibilities with this, I absolutely love love love it!

»—————————–✄

To say that Tang Zhan's twin brother was a bit of a recluse would be an understatement.

Despite being named after one of the most renowned members of the Tang Family, Tang Gunak's son took after the known worst traits of their great ancestor.

Tang Bo was as cold and uncaring as the earlier recounts of his namesake. But unlike their ancestor, his son wasn't interested in improving his martial arts. Rather, he seemed to content himself with staying indoors and building that strange shrine of his that appeared to be dedicated to the Plum Blossom Sword Saint.

Tang Gunak sighs tiredly. He could never get a straight answer from his son whenever he asked about his odd obsession with Mount Hua's hero. Through the years, he's learned to brush it off as another eccentricity of his son.

The one time he ordered Tang Pae and Tang Zhan to remove their brother's shrine, they both ended up needing immediate medical assistance because of how viciously Tang Bo had attacked them for 'desecrating' his altar.

He thinks it's such a shame that Tang Bo refuses to partake in his siblings' training, but despite his adamant refusal, his son's core is still one of the strongest among his siblings.

And one of the purest too, it suddenly comes to Tang Gunak's mind as he watches Chung Myung cheerfully chug down another bottle of alcohol.

It feels almost wrong how easy it was to compare Chung Myung's core with his son's despite them being on vastly different spectrums while having equally well-known namesakes from their respective family and sect.

On one end in the dark, there was Tang Bo who quietly cultivated his core as he whispered quiet mutterings to his altar and refused interactions with people unnecessarily. And on the other was Chung Myung, who was at the forefront of Mount Hua's rise.

It was admirable, truly.

Tang Gunak would say so as much if it weren't for the sudden killing intent he could feel directed at him.

Standing outside right in front of the window with no subtlety whatsoever was his son, Tang Bo. His face was pressed against the window panes and Tang Gunak only realized then how threatening of an aura his son could produce.

Chung Myung wiped the drips of alcohol away from his lips and cast Tang Bo an amused look, "Aren't you going to finally let him in?"

Tang Gunak would have if he didn't know that his son would begin to antagonize him the moment he's let into the room by monopolizing Chung Myung's attention and looking smug about it. It happened during their first meeting in the dining hall so Tang Gunak wouldn't be surprised if it happened all over again.

He would lean overly into Chung Myung's space and call him 'hyung' with an exaggerated tone despite being the older of the two. And much to everyone else's bafflement and discomfort, Chung Myung wordlessly let him.

While Tang Gunak was glad that his son finally deemed it alright to leave the confines of his room, he isn't sure if the change in obsession from the Plum Blossom Sword Saint to Mont Hua's Divine Dragon was a fair exchange.

Tang Gunak watches as Chung Myung makes his way to the window and leans against Tang Bo from the other side.

Tang Bo's face noticeably softens as his gaze shifts toward the younger man and it twists a strange part of Tang Gunak's stomach to watch the same thing happen to Chung Myung's face.

Said man taps against the glass pane, "Stop being so intense. You're freaking your dad out."

His son grumbles while tossing him another stink-eye—Tang Gunak has gotten his fair share of those this past week ever since these two struck up a sudden close friendship. His gaze turns petulant as he returns his attention to Chung Myung.

"What is it about me making friends that you hate so much," Chung Myung rolls his eyes in exasperation.

"My father doesn't want you to be 'just friends'."

Tang Gunak would be more offended by the vitriol in the way Tang Bo called him his father if he weren't distracted by the weird tone his son spoke the last phrase.

Tang Bo takes a look at the mutual confusion on Chung Myung and Tang Gunak's faces and isn't sure if he's thankful or annoyed that he's surrounded by painfully emotionally oblivious people.

Less competition but, at the same time, it's sometimes too embarrassing to watch the way Tang Gunak unconsciously acted around Chung Myung in private.

Tang Bo narrows his eyes. It's been more than a lifetime, surely his feelings will reach Chung Myung faster than his father's does. Right??

[particular-one]

as the world caves in.

pairing. dan heng x gn!reader cw. slight mentions of gore and injury (not explicit), implied established relationship between reader and dan heng author's note. whoever let me out of my cage (finals) now has to deal with this emotional rollercoaster being unleashed. enjoy!

"i don't want to die, dan heng."

"whew! that was the last of them." march's voice came from behind him just as he brandished his spear to finish off the last frostspawn in the area. dan heng looked behind him only to see march, but not the one he had been looking for — "where's y/n?" march only gave him a look of surprise. "oh ... we separated halfway. but they should be coming back soon!" dan heng only sighed, but didn't think too much of it. he knew that you were capable, and despite how much he still worried for you, you always reminded him that you were going to be fine. "oh! there they are! over here, y/n!" march was waving at your figure, and dan heng couldn't help the relieved smile that graced his lips. it was only seconds after that he noticed something was very, very wrong. you were walking slower than usual, the confident stride in your walk was nowhere to be seen. you still had that smile, but even that seemed shallow. dan heng was about to inquire what was up with you, when you fell into his arms wordlessly. that was when his blood ran cold, and he felt the warm red liquid that stained the lower part of your top drip down on the ground. "march! get help!"

this wasn't real. this wasn't happening. it had only been hours prior that you had told him the worst space joke had ever heard while simultaneously holding in your laughter. dan heng simply groaned and asked you never to repeat it again, but how he would give everything to hear your stupid joke one more time.

i should have protected you. if dan heng had only kept a closer eye on you and insisted on not separating ways on a seemingly harmless scout mission, you wouldn't be laying motionless in the med bay right now. the consistent beeping noise that came from the monitor beside your bed was the only thing that kept dan heng from spiraling, really.

march, himeko and welt had checked up on you a couple of times now, but dan heng couldn't bring himself to leave your side. he could barely sleep anyways — each time he closed his eyes, all dan heng could remember was the faraway gaze in your eyes before you collapsed in his arms. though you had your eyes closed now, he couldn't forget the petrified look on your face.

he could feel your breathing grow erratic with every passing second, as he held you close in his arms. dan heng was running as fast as he could, evading any of the other fragmentum monsters that were drawn to the noise that he was making with his escape, but he didn't care. march seemed to be shouting at him from behind, but he didn't care. dan heng was so laser focused on getting you away from everything, but it took you calling his name to actually get him to slow down. "h..hey... s-sorry ab-" dan heng shook his head, holding you even tighter. "save your breath. don't.. say sorry." dan heng considered himself to be a brave man, but he couldn't stomach to see you in so much pain. the wound on your lower abdomen looked serious, and that wasn't even accounting all the other injuries you sustained. what had you gotten yourself into? he cursed so many times to himself. it didn't help that medical expertise was out of dan heng's specialty. "i'm scared." that was when dan heng took a good look at you for the first time since he held you all the way back. the panic in your face was palpable, and he could feel his heart drop and shatter in a million pieces every time you uttered the same words. "i don't want to die, dan heng. i don't want to go, i d-don't...-"

"s..s-someone?"

your voice was barely a whisper, but at the sound of it, dan heng's head snapped up to meet your eyes. it was you calling out that always got his attention. dan heng immediately dropped everything he was doing and ran by your side, his brows creased in worry.

"hey. it's okay ... you're safe here. it's me, dan heng." your teammate, your partner, your love. there was so many things that dan heng wanted to say to you, but he bit his tongue from expressing it before he said anything more. at the sound of his name, dan heng could see you visibly relax, but you still didn't seem to be opening your eyes completely. "everything's so... bright. i c-can't see where you are."

it took everything in dan heng not to hold you in his arms right now, so he merely settled by brushing the stray bangs of hair that seemed to be getting in your eyes. "i'm here... i'm right here." he murmured, and there was that soft smile resurfacing again. the smile that made him fall in love with you every time like it was the first. and yet, he couldn't find himself to mirror the same smile you were giving him.

"t..thank.. y-y..ou." the irregular beeping from the monitor suddenly started up again, and dan heng could feel everything in him plunge into a state of panic. no, no, no.

"y/n, no, no. come on, just.. hang on. stay-" the beeping only grew louder and more ear-piercing by the second, and dan heng fought against succumbing. "-stay with me. please." each time he glanced at you, you already seemed to be in your own little world. but you were doing fine, just moments ago! the medical pod should be doing its job right, so what was not working his way?

"...for-." shut up, he did not want to hear it! dan heng was out of the room at once, and for the first time since he boarded the express, he was helplessly calling for someone to do something. he usually kept his emotions locked tight, but everything just flowed out of him in his panic. himeko was just around the corner, when he grabbed her by the arm all of the sudden. " dan heng, what's-"

"it's y/n, please. you have to help them, please, please." dan heng could hardly remember the following moments, himeko and the others were rushing towards the room, dan heng could hardly stand still. it only took pom pom's sullen look as the conductor came out of the room that he could feel the world caving in on him for the last time. that was when dan heng finally broke into tears.

he didn't even get to hear your last words completely.

written by carlyle (@particular-one) copyright: all content belongs to particular-one on tumblr (2023)

[gaybananabread]

Hii!!! This is gonna be a long one lol and also I feel a bit weird so sorry in advance🙏🙏 had this random idea about day 11 where it was hurt/comfort, percy jackson heroes of olympus, lee!leo ler!will and leo has to stop by the infirmary after coming back to life to just make sure everything’s alright and he was having a shit day and Will notices and asks him about it and he tells Will about all the things he’d been through (throughout the books or what we’re told previously), and Will gives him a hug and is comforting him and stuff and he accidentally tks him and asks for confirmation if it’s okay and then hugs him and tks him

I KNOW THATS A LOT SO I TOTALLY UNDERSTAND IF YOU CAN’T TAKE THIS ONE OR IF YOU’D PREFER NOT TO BUT WHICHEVER WAY THAT ENDS UP BEING THANK YOU AND I HOPE YOU HAVE. AGOOD DAY/geN

TickleTober Day 11 - Hug

~Uhm, HELLO?!? I LOVE this prompt! Never feel bad for giving me a lot; I love hearing y'all's ideas! (⁠ ^w^ ⁠) It's been a hot second since I've read the books, so I'm sorry if they feel OOC. This takes place in The Hidden Oracle when Leo shows up at Camp HB. Thank you so much for requesting, and I hope you Enjoy!~

Lee: Leo Valdez

Ler: Will Solace

Summary: Leo is feeling like flaming garbage after returning to camp. He visits Will to make sure everything inside him is how it should be. Luckily, the healer knows just how to mend his broken spirits.

Warnings: spoilers for HOO and TOA! This is a tickle fic, so if you don't like that, scroll away!!

“Please keep off that leg for a few days, okay? I know it feels fine, but I don't want you damaging any tissue that didn't fully heal.”

Will smiled tiredly as he sent off the last injured camper from his medical tent. The Colossus had done quite a bit of damage; he'd been helping folks almost the entire day.

With a groan, the blonde collapsed on a clean cot, running a hand down his face. He missed the sound of the tent flap opening, keeping his eyes closed.

“Uh…howdy, stranger.”

The boy jolted upwards, grabbing the nearest item and pointing it at the intruder somewhat menacingly. His face fell when he noticed that, one, he was holding a glove balloon he'd made for an upset camper, and two, Leo was the one in the opening.

“Oh…Leo! Hey, sorry about…yeah. I'm just frazzled.” Will lowered his “weapon,” hopping off the cot to greet the boy. “What's up?”

“You're cool, man. Just wanted to get a checkup, make sure all my insides came back right.” Leo chuckled, poking his own side in an attempt to lighten the mood. He and Will weren't super close; he didn't want things to be awkward.

“Right…right! How could I forget?!” Will immediately sprung up, reinvigorated by guilt and frantic panic. What if Leo's intestines didn't come back right?! It was a godly cure, and they weren't always keen on demigod safety…

“Woah- hey! It's cool, man, it's cool! You've been busy; we're good.” Leo smiled, though it was a little off-putting to Will. He seemed…less. Less excited, less energetic, less snarky.

Less himself.

After he had Leo situated on the cot, he tried to sneakily ask him how he was doing during the checkup. The fiery demigod didn't seem like the type to readily discuss his feelings.

“So how have things been since…ya know.” Will awkwardly asked as he checked Leo's reflexes. The boy's leg kicked out healthily.

“Interesting, I guess. Wish I'd gotten a cool scar or something. Would've been worth it,” Leo joked, though a small part of him was serious. A sick, bad-boy scar wouldn't have been the worst side effect.

“Hmm. Alright…” Now Will was worried; jokes like that weren't a sigh of good mental health. He'd sacrificed himself to save them, but he'd done it pretty secretively.

“Can I touch here? I need to give you a quick physical.” Will pointed to his middle, not wanting to move forward until he had consent. With Leo's nod, he continued.

“I mean, it wasn't horrid, ya know?” Leo began to ramble, trying to fill the semi-awkward silence. It was suffocating. “Sure, it hurt, but��� I didn't see the underworld or anything. No real damage done!”

“Leo…” The blonde paused, furrowing his brows. Nope: that was getting addressed.

“Are you okay? Mentally, physically, all of it?”

The brunette bit his lip, feeling his eyes water. Damn it! He'd been trying so hard to stay upbeat; he'd just have to lie.

“I…” Leo's voice broke, and he cursed himself for it. Before he could bury his face in his hands and combust, a strong pair of arms wrapped around him.

“It's okay, Leo. You don't have to be perfectly happy. You're allowed to feel broken.” Will's voice was steady and soothing as he reassured the shorter boy, squeezing him just tightly enough to feel secure.

For a few minutes, Leo just melted into the embrace, letting the tears and the sounds that came with them flow. He'd been bottling up so much since he was revived, and even beforehand.

When it felt like his lungs weren't trying to kill him, Leo attempted to speak. He hated how weak his voice sounded.

“Sorry, I…yeah. Didn't mean to fall apart.” Leo's gaze fell, though quickly snapped back up when he fell Will pull away. The other boy's hands remained on his shoulders, grounding him.

“There's nothing to be sorry for, Leo. You needed to cry after literally dying and coming back to life. That's completely valid.”

How could that boy be so calming, yet make him so sad?! Leo blamed Apollo children's poetry skills.

“O-okay, okay, I get it! Quit making me all mushy, you jerk,” Leo snapped, though he instantly melted back into the hug when Will pulled him in.

“Just making sure you remember.” Will chuckled fondly, feeling a protective urge wash over him. He wanted Leo to feel safe and secure. “You wanna talk about it?”

“I…yeah. Yeah, actually, I do.” Leo nodded, feeling a bit surprised by himself. He usually hated talking about his feelings, but Will was such a nice friend; he felt secure enough to open up.

Leo told him about everything: his mother, the Wilderness camp, the fear of making his decision, the guilt from lying to his friends on the Argo II, the all-encompassing agony he'd endured during his death, the guilt he still felt from making his friends cry and coming back after Jason was gone.

Will listened to all of it, still holding Leo and helping him vent. While most of the content was saddening and serious, the blonde was happy Leo was getting it out.

“I just don't know what to do, ya know? How do I stop feeling so…ick?” Leo splayed his fingers out, trying to show his general unease with his hands.

“There's a few ways, though everyone copes differently. What're you hoping to feel instead of ‘ick’?” Will spoke gently, trying not to use too many big, mentally-concious words. It was still a miracle that Leo opened up at all.

“I dunno…happy, I guess? Less heavy. I wanna go back to feeling like I'm alive, rather than…well, ya know. Burdened.” Leo laughed at that; it felt weird to actually say “burdened” in context.

Will searched his mind, trying to remember something that would help. His thoughts wandered to one of Nico’s bad days, remembering how he'd cheered the boy up. That could work…

“Do you trust me?”

“What?” Leo tilted his head, wondering why Will just suddenly asked that. Random… “Uh, yeah. Why?”

“Hold your arms out. If you hate it, tell me to stop, and I will.” Will's words were cryptic, of course; he didn't wanna spook Leo by outright asking for the goofy permission. He really did think it would help.

“Uh, okay?” Leo did as he was told, holding his arms out by his sides. The scenario felt vaguely familiar, though he couldn't place why.

Will wrapped his arms around Leo's middle once again, holding him close. Before the son of Hephaestus could question him, he felt ten wiggling fingers on each of his sides.

“Pfft- whahahahat?! Wihill!” Leo squirmed in place, his arms snapping down to his sides. Will's were already blocking the way, so he couldn't really protect himself from the tickles.

“What? Everyone needs a good laugh sometimes. These are a good way to lighten up.” Will shrugged, settling his chin on Leo's shoulder. He could feel the abnormal heat radiating off the boy, but it only made him even more comfy.

“S-seheheriously? Thihis is duhuhumb!” Wriggling around, Leo tried to pry Will's hands off. Thanks to their position, he could really only swipe at the blonde's forearms and complain.

“If you don't like it, just tell me to stop. You know I will.”

Ugh, that wasn't fair! Leo didn't actually want him to stop, but he was basically making him admit that! It was ruining his bad boy image!

“Shuhut uhuhup, Solace!”

That made Will's dumb grin double in size. Leo couldn't see it, but the sunshine boy was really happy that he was enjoying the tickles. One, he found another friend that enjoyed them, and two, he was actually helping Leo feel better. Two birds, one stone!

“I wonder if your ribs are ticklish…” Will thought out loud, moving his hands up to scribble on the backs of Leo's ribcage. He wasn't disappointed; belly laughter quickly replaced the giggles, filling Will's ears.

“CRAHAHAHAP!” Leo's warm hands settled on Will's shoulders, squeezing as he tried not to violently squirm. A very not-nice word slipped through his laughter, making Will gasp.

“Leo Valdez! Language!” Will pretended to be angry, doubling down on the rib tickles. Okay, maybe that was hypocritical—he’d said much worse during stressful moments—but it was too fun to pass up. “I won't tolerate profanity in my med bay!”

Leo snorted—dear gods, snorted—as the sensations intensified; he was losing control of himself. His hands were heating up more and more, and that only led to one thing.

“OHOKAHAHAY! *snort* STOHOHOP!”

Will immediately stopped the tickling, switching to rubbing gentle circles on Leo's back. His palms rubbed over the backs of the giggly boy's ribs, helping to ease the phantom sensations.

Leo flexed his hands as he calmed down, feeling the heat recede back into his arms and deep into his chest. Despite nearly losing control, he felt…really damn good.

“W-wohow.”

“See? Told you it would help.” Will's fond tone was appreciated, though it appealed to Leo's more mischievous side; he was already plotting revenge.

“Fihine, yeah, you were right.” Leo tried to be sarcastic, but the weight had been lifted off his chest. Even if it was only temporary, he felt relieved. “Thanks, Will. Seriously.”

“No problem, Leo. If you ever need another quick dose, I'm always here.” Will gave Leo's side a little poke, earning a giggly growl.

“Watch it, Solace. You've got one coming.” Leo gave the blonde one last hug before heading out of the tent, feeling ten pounds lighter than when he entered. He was definitely going to return the favor…

Will smiled, quickly sanitizing the cot Leo was on before allowing himself to fully relax. Man, that was fun; the stress from before was gone, leaving him tired, but happy.

After a few minutes of rest, he hauled himself out of his cot and went to find Nico. Some cuddles would be the perfect way to end such a busy day. And hey, maybe he'd drop a few hints about Leo's treatment.

Laughter is the best medicine, after all...

[that-needy-tboy]

HARRY VANDERSPEIGLE X (ALIEN) READER

Tags; really fucking long idk how much but this is a long fic, alien reader, gender neutral reader, kinda enemies to lovers -ish, probably a lot of grammar and spelling mistakes sorry

Living with humans is hard.

There were countless things I hadn’t considered when I took on this mission — like how everything feels just a little too heavy, or how the air, despite being breathable, tasted like damp leaves.

"I hate that getting to blend in means actually talking to humans." I groan, stepping out of my ship. Thankfully I could disguise my ship as a house so humans wouldn't think anything of it. Nobody's noticed the extra house on the road... yet.

---

"I think you’d be a great fit at the clinic," The nurse, who I think is named Asta, had told me. Her eyes were wide and she smiled. It made me smile. It was infectious. Though, I hadn't quite gotten the hang of it yet. "We could always use the help."

"Great, thank you," Speaking in their language was a bit of a chore. "When do I start?"

"You'll probably start tomorrow! You can come get used to everyone now though, if you'd like." This human is very pretty.

When she made me follow her around, I noticed something about one of them. The doctor, Harry Vanderspeigle. I could feel that he, too, was not from Earth. It was made obvious when he caught me staring for a little too long. Though, I played it off and kept going.

And so, I found myself working as a nurse at Patience’s health clinic — an unfortunate fate for me, but I'd have to deal with it. I’d healed with advanced technology this whole time, but here, I had to rely on rudimentary tools and basic knowledge. Not to mention the patients. They're so fragile. They always get sick with things that my people would never.

Still, I couldn’t help but find some sense of peace in the routine. Maybe it was the structure that I liked—the way human life was divided into neat little segments of time, schedules were always fun... Or maybe it was just that I was trying to distract myself from the one person who constantly invaded my space.

*I’d run into him a few times since the crash—Harry, the town doctor and fellow alien trying to blend in. He was just like me, though he was just really bad at acting human. It was obvious from the moment I saw him, even though I could recognize him from the energy signature.

The worst part was every time we crossed paths. Nothing was wrong, I just wanted him to leave me alone. He couldn’t stand my presence, and honestly, I didn’t care much for his either.

"You’re still here?" His voice cut through my thoughts one afternoon as I stood behind the clinic’s reception desk. Of course.

I glanced up to find him standing there, his usual deadpan expression glued to his face. It seemed like every time we saw each other, he had something smug to say. And it didn't help that he felt so high and mighty in his doctor's coat. He thought he was the smartest thing in the room all the time.

"What, did you think I’d leave the planet just to avoid you?" I shot back, rolling my eyes. Unfortunately, I couldn't even do that.

He frowned, almost like a scowl. Though, I could tell by the way his eyes flicked over me that he was still trying to figure me out. We both knew what we were. That's probably part of the reasons we butt heads. Our people were never friendly to each other.

Working at the clinic wasn’t exactly what I had planned when I arrived either, but it served a purpose. I’d gotten better at mimicking human behavior — smiling when expected, speaking in tones that humans found comforting. It was a lot of work, but it helped me blend in, and after all, that was the goal.

But there were times when my true self slipped through the cracks. Asta had caught me staring a little too long at a medical textbook once, flipping through the pages with confusion. Human anatomy was needlessly simple, and yet somehow, it functioned.

"You okay?" she had asked, probably noticing my frustration."

"Yeah," I’d replied, quickly shutting the book. "Just... learning."

As I said that, I could hear him laugh in the other room. Ugh... It was kind of funny though.

Learning, indeed. Learning to act human, to care about the patients who came in with their endless complaints about things like sore throats or headaches. Learning to care about people who, for all intents and purposes, were entirely idiotic. And, more than anything, learning to navigate whatever the hell was going on between Harry and I. Dear god, I needed to handle it.

It wasn’t until much later that I realized just how much he’d started to invade my thoughts. Hell, it'd been months that this had been happening for. We didn’t get along, that was clear. Every conversation was like a battle where neither of us wanted to give an inch. But there was something else — something I didn't quite recognize.

"You’re not as good at acting human as you think you are," he had said to me once, his voice sharp as though it were some sort of challenge. His tone was so easy to identify.

"If I'm not, then your acting skills are in the Earth's core." I retorted. and I could’ve sworn I saw something click — just for a second. Good. I hope I'm getting under his skin.

That was the thing about Harry. He was just as alien as I was. But, we kept butting heads either way Maybe it was because we were too alike. Either way, I hated his guts. And yet, I couldn't stay away.

Working at the clinic was easy enough, dealing with stupid humans all day every day wasn't exactly calming, though. It didn’t help that the other alien here was constantly pushing my buttons.

Harry. Dr. Harry Vanderspeigle, or whatever he calls himself. He was annoying.

I can't help but hate his annoying voice, his stupid smile, his idiotic motherfucking hair. He's so stupid. He always thinks he's the smartest guy ever. He's so stupid.

I couldn't help but scowl at him through the window in the breakroom. I was, of course, stealing his yogurts. He didn't put his name on it, so obviously he wouldn't mind if I ate it. Heh.

He walked into the breakroom after I finished the yogurt. God, he was irritating.

"You’re late," he spoke up, barely looking up from the fridge. His voice was flat, as usual, with that odd hint of superiority he carried everywhere. He's really bad at this whole human thing.

I rolled my eyes. "And you’re still insufferable. Guess we’re both predictable."

He blinked, staring at me for a minute too long. Uncomfortable. His deadpan expression barely shifted, but there was something... Oh, nevermind.

"You know," he started after a pause, "humans tend to greet each other with something called ‘basic courtesy.’ You should try it, you little shit."

His existence near me was so painful, in an insufferable way. The way he smiled after thinking he's won the argument was so tiresome. He always did this, as if trying to provoke me, but I could never quite tell why. Probably because he knows I'm better. Heh.

"Right. Because you’re the expert on human interactions," I looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, furrowing my brow.

He didn’t respond, just gave me that blank, unreadable look he usually wore. It was infuriating.

... Then, Asta came through the door before we could say anything else. Her energy broke the tense silence like a gust of fresh air.

“Hey, you two,” she greeted, flashing one of her warm smiles as she adjusted her bag on her shoulder. "Me and D'arcy are grabbing drinks at The 59 tonight. You should both come."

Harry blinked, looking a bit confused. He glanced at me, then back at her. "No."

Asta raised an eyebrow, not missing a single beat. "Yeah, well, you're coming. And I could use a break, too. What do you say?"

Harry just went silent. Probably unable to fight Asta's commanding tone. I shrugged before he could reply. "Sure. Sounds like a good time." Now he was obligated. I bet he's annoyed as hell.

Asta’s smile widened, "No excuses!" She gave Harry a nudge on the shoulder before she headed out to start the day.

He just sighed. He seemed almost irritated. Good.

Later that night, the dim lights of the 59 flickered and hummed in a way that almost reminded me of the stars back home. People packed the bar, filling it with loud, buzzing conversations and bursts of laughter that grated against my nerves. Harry seemed to hate it, though. So, it was incredibly worth it.

Harry, of course, sat next to me, since Asta stuck us at a table with only 3 chairs. He stared at his glass like it was some kind of thing to study. For all his arrogance and blunt remarks, he was just... awkward. Weirdly, it was almost endearing.

"So," I began, taking a sip of my own drink. "Enjoying yourself yet?"

Harry looked up at me from his glass, his lips pressed into a thin line. "No. Idiot."

I couldn’t help but snicker. "Figures. Douchebag."

We continued like that, in yet another verbal battle, the alcohol making the environment feel almost... playful. At some point, Asta had wandered off to talk to D'arcy and Judy, leaving just the two of us at the table.

"That jacket..." Harry suddenly said, his voice close to a whisper. It was clear he was drunk out of his mind. "It’s..."

I blinked, trying to focus. "What about it?"

He shifted in his seat, his expression sporting a small smile. "It suits you."

For a second, I thought I'd misheard him. That had to be the first nice thing I’d ever heard from him; and coming from Harry? Well, it was weird, to say the least.

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow, leaning in a bit closer, resting my head on one of my hands. “Thanks. That’s... I don't know how to feel about that."

He looked away, probably regretting his remark, but I noticed the faintest flush in his cheeks. Cute.

Something about that moment felt all weird — the tension was... Different. It was charged, but not in a way that made me want to make him angry.

Before I could stop myself, I brought myself a little closer over the table. This whiskey was definitely allowing me to make rational decisions tonight. "What’s with you tonight? You’re... almost tolerable."

His eyes snapped back to mine, and for once, he didn’t have a snappy comeback. Instead, something about the look he gave me. It was almost captivating. That stupid, dumbass look he gave me. I could feel it in the air between us — the tension was definitely a different kind.

And then, before I knew it, my lips met his.

The kiss wasn’t planned, not thought out. It just... happened. His lips were cold, and for a second, I thought he’d pull away. Of course he would, right?

But he didn’t. He kissed me back, hesitantly at first, which is what made me think he'd pull away. But then I felt his hand on my arm. He was holding onto me for dear life. Pathetic — in a good way.

When it ended after what felt like an eternity but was likely just a few seconds, I had to catch my breath, my head spinning for reasons that had nothing to do with the alcohol this time. God, I needed to get the hell out of here — he's starting to look not as stupid.

He muttered something I couldn't quite hear, and I was too distracted to ask.

"Yeah," I started, forgetting what I was about to say. "I'm just going to leave." And with that, I headed back home.

---

The next morning I woke up on my couch... The memory of the kiss came crashing back with perfect clarity, unfortunately. I groaned, pressing a hand to my forehead. Of course, I remembered every second of it.

I sure hoped he didn't. If he does, this is going to be... *awkward*.

[girlwonderers]

scribbled something short, playing with a character voice for my new pathfinder character for an upcoming kingmaker campaign

—

Early in my second century with the Knights of Ozem—as we were known then—there was an undead incursion along the Hordeline, where a sealed barrow had been disturbed by the engineers working to repair our fortifications. These were common; the bone-tyrant had left so many desecrated corpses, sown across the land like weeds, designed to spring up and choke us out. The barrow was filled with mummies, maybe brought down from Sarkoris; they were half-dust already when they crawled from their coffins. Wouldn't have been a problem if Aroden hadn't gone and bloody died and left half our clerics without any magic to speak of.

Aye, I remember Aroden's death—it wasn't that long ago, by elven measure. The First Travellers know better than most that immortality is never promised, not even to the gods.

So do the Knights, for that matter; just look at poor Arazni. Aroden didn't seem to give a damn when his beloved herald was murdered. It was our soldiers who laid her to rest, and who mourned her when her body was taken and desecrated by Geb. Can't blame her for being pissed about it when he had the bad manners to bring her back.

The loss of Aroden's divine patronage had hit us harder than any orcs or undead could, in those years. We lost more knights in the decade after Aroden's death than in thirty years before, just for a lack of healers. That was when we forged our tightest bonds with Rahadoum, thank the gods for their medics—granted they'd deck me for saying so.

It was a Rahadoumi healer, a lad named Fikri, who went with us to the Hordeline. Absolute bastard but one of the best herbalists I've ever known. Nothing short of the gods' own miracles could have saved us from the mummy rot, though. The shamblers were pathetic but there were dozens of them, and by the time we'd cut one down two more had gotten their claws in you.

My sword arm got the worst of it; mummies aren't half as mindless as you might assume, and they'd grab my arm to gouge through my leathers while my blade was buried in their comrades' bellies. By the time Fikri got to it the skin up to my elbow was already withered like rotted fruit. There was a sorcerer with us, some cassie with angel blood who said it might be saved if we made it back to Vigil. Bless him, Fikri was already reaching for his bonesaw.

Maybe his elven sensibilities showing through: where the rot lives, excise it. First rule of garden-rearing, first rule of shambler-hunting, and apparently first rule of Rahadoumi field surgery. We children of Lastwall always remember our charge, after all: to prevent the rise of Tar-Baphon and his minions by any means, with any sacrifice. Stop the spread. Cut out the curse.

The new arm holds up well, anyway, and the fingers don't stiffen in the cold like the left ones do.

I'd give any part of me. Anything. Everything. All I could cut away. Excision is necessary for the health of the whole.

[omegalomania]

the thing that truly Truly unhinges me about infinity on high is that it is not simply an album about the horrible stomach-wrenching rollercoaster of fame and it is not solely an album about wrestling with your demons but it is a marriage of those two it is very much about fighting the worst parts of yourself in the most public avenues available. it's an album that all but rattles with the amount of references there are to medication. every seeming bout of narcissism is undercut with a sardonic twist and the snap of subtle self-loathing brimming beneath.

and the worst part of it is how that isn't even the worst part of it. the worst part of it for me is the fear. the fear of becoming something other than what you are. the fear of getting better. because this is how the world likes you - broken and stripped down to your ugly parts and embittered and exposed. this is how the world wants you, consumes you, because it's in your brokenness that they pick out such pretty patterns like finding rainbows in shards of glass. it's your wrecked-up brain with all its sporadic misfirings that draws everyone to you like moths to a faulty porchlight. i only keep myself this sick in the head 'cause i know how the words get you off. infinity on high. van gogh, the poster child for the ethos of creating something even at your lowest points. the poster child for the speculative, horrifying ethos of how your flaws and faults and fuck-ups are the only things worth keeping. how often have we seen that rhetoric. if van gogh wasn't depressed, we wouldn't have gotten starry night.

on september 15th 2006 at 9:08pm est pete wentz answered a fan question about what accomplishment of his he is proudest of.

I don’t really think about success or accomplishments too often. I guess just being around. Letting myself move past who I used to be- because that person was continually unhappy. Or at least trying to get to that point and not feel like im “changing for the worse” just because im letting myself feel ok. 10 years ago I didn’t listen to anything anyone said ever for the most part.

on september 18th 2006 at 2:36am est pete wentz wrote on one of his blogs how infinity on high was beginning to feel like a "nocturnal record" as it began to take shape.

somehow the things we say mean more in corners of dancefloors and we focus on love below the waist and outside of the head. "dont you want to get better"- i just dont want you to worry. "dont you want to get better" - tonight i do. the way they say "youre committing slow suicide" when someone lights up or cuts loose. but arent we all. everything we do just shortens our life, every breath is one less. but its what makes everything so treasured. in my head. it aint a funeral babe, i just want the headline to die. recovery is the new drug.

it hurts sometimes thinking about who he was in that moment. someone so fucking scared of getting better and desperate to get better, committing every flaw and insecurity he had to paper and trying to make art out of how desperately he fucking hated himself. as if his pain was the only compelling thing about him.

that's what kills me about this record. truly. it's not just about the perils and pitfalls of fame and renown. it's about how it feels, really feels, to think that your fame is reliant on you fucking hating yourself and how that is killing you.

and yet. infinity on high. a title taken from words written in 1888, from van gogh to his brother, as he talks about how his improving health has had a positive effect on his art.

Be clearly aware of the stars and infinity on high. Then life seems almost enchanted after all.

van gogh did not give us starry night because he was depressed and suicidal and falling apart. van gogh did not make incredible works of art because of how much he was suffering. van gogh created in spite of that, because he had a brother who loved him and reasons to keep going.

pete wentz did not write some of his best lyrics on infinity on high because he was depressed and suicidal and falling apart. he wrote them in spite of that, because he had people in his life who loved him and over 15 years later he is still alive, he has 3 kids, he has his band who have been together for over 20 years and still love making music together, and at least externally, he no longer feels the need to self-immolate so the onlookers can make pretty patterns from the ashes left over.

[elvisabutler]

Hey, baby! Love your work!

Can I ask for a Austin x reader where he’s dating a doctor during the wrap of Elvis and she is just tending to him when he gets hospitalised?

physician heal thy boyfriend

summary: your boyfriend is austin butler, star of the hopefully soon to be smash hit elvis. your boyfriend has a habit of pushing himself too far for this role. your boyfriend finds himself in your care while being completely and utterly out of it and sick as a dog. you are- mildly not impressed, but mostly a little worried. fandom: austin butler | elvis ( 2022 ) pairing: austin butler x doctor! reader rating: t word count: 1952 warnings: hospital setting. talk of austin's hospitalization post elvis. talk of austin's injury to his head with the guitar. talk of medication and hallucinations. austin being sick as hell. reader is a doctor. mild implications of a panic attack. imagery of austin being very sick. brief mention of COVID as well. author's note: thank you for this request and the compliment, anon! it always delights me to have people enjoy my writing especially when i know it's not always everyone's cup of tea re: pairings or content. i didn't go super into detail re: the details of austin's hospitalization since- we don't know the exact exact details and i'm not a doctor myself. i hope you enjoy! and apologies for this taking a hot minute, i was trying to focus on kinktober stuff during october and things like this got opened and noticed and worked on- but not posted. also consider this a thanksgiving gift for all the americans who celebrate it. can't bring y'all food from my sil ( who will not let me cook for the family just yet ) but i can provide you fic food. and know that i'm super thankful for all of you.

It's not as if you didn't think this would be a possibility, you had gotten lucky the last time he injured himself- the time with the guitar that you still give him a good ribbing for- and you had been off and not at the hospital and thankfully stitches weren't necessarily your forte, you saved them for the surgeons. However, nothing in the universe, no amount of logic could have prepared you for seeing your boyfriend groaning on a gurney, looking at you with glassy eyes that mean he's not all there. He's physically there, yes, but his mind is either in a haze of a fever or completely given over to whatever pain is inflicting itself on him in the present moment. There's a part of your heart that stutters at the image, a part of your brain that is overwhelmed with sheer panic at seeing him like this. An actor is supposed to be a safe-ish profession, one where you don't have to worry about your significant other being hurt and showing up in an emergency room or at a hospital unexpectedly. Yet here you were, looking at him being struck down by an illness that came out of nowhere- at least- you're pretty sure it did.

Everyone downstairs had gotten him mostly stable from what you've heard and what you see in front of you. You try and not let your mind wander to what he looked like when he was brought in if this is stable, but the thought pops up nonetheless, making you stop in your tracks for just a moment as you took deep breaths. He was alright, you knew how to do your job, you could help him and stay with him. He could use his- he could use the fact that he has just wrapped Elvis- or something they'd make an exception for you just this once.

His current predicament was more your specialty than his guitar injury. Dealing with what would have been a normal case of appendicitis was easy even despite the now present extra complications. Austin- despite your strong suggestions that he maybe should take better care of himself- didn't take better care of himself, turning what could have been something simple into a much rougher infection and gave him lymph nodes you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy. If you weren't so worried you're pretty sure you'd make a joke about how he really is trying to become Elvis with the hospital stay despite the fact that you know the movie has wrapped. After all you and him had both are gone to the wrap part at Baz's house. There's a part of you that wonders if that party and the sheer amount of people that were at that party might have been what led to this. But you have learned in your few years as a doctor that it's better to not necessarily speculate like that unless you want to drive yourself up the wall. Besides if that was the cause of Austin's predicament right now you're not a hundred percent sure you wouldn't be a bit peeved at Baz. As it stands, you do end up shooting off a text to him asking him what on Earth happened and if he knew Austin wasn't feeling well that morning when they had met up for breakfast.

A groan from Austin's bed knocks you out of your head and reminds you that you have a job to do and you get yourself into gear, making sure he's got the correct tests ordered, the right medication ordered and everything you can think of that will make sure he will be comfortable even as his body tries to fully rebel against him. It's a bit touch and go for the first two days and the few times you think Austin is coherent and realizes that you are there he mutters 'Cilla and Satnin and you try to not take it personally, instead reminding yourself that his medicine has a tendency to have a side effect of at least mild hallucinations and he did just get done pretending to be Elvis for the greater part of almost two years. After that second day and heading into the third, you realize he's seeming more normal, his eyes look a little clearer when you see them open and you chance a proper visit, one where you stay there until he wakes up just to actually check on him properly.

A proper visit where the exhaustion of taking care of all your other patients and him might end up catching up to you and has you passing out with your head in his lap in what is the- most comfortable chair you could use to sleep in- if you had used it normally and not pulled it up next to his bed. The first thing you're aware of as you wake up is a hand on your head and a very rough sounding southern drawl coming from above you.

"What- Y/N, what- why are ya in m'lap, baby?" The confusion is evident in his voice but as you groggily lift your head up and look into his eyes, you can see it written all over there as well.

It takes you a minute or so to wake up, your eyes adjusting to the light and to the movement of Austin shifting in the bed, trying to make himself more comfortable. When you finally do you blink at him and purse your lips. "What's the last thing you remember, Aus?"

You very rarely use that specific nickname with him, saving it only for occasions when you feel he needs to honestly pay attention to you. That alone causes him to sit up as straight as he can and just look at you with an intensity you know he couldn't have managed either of the previous days.

"I was with Baz and-" He pauses, biting his lower lip before wincing. "Pain. A lot of pain and feeling like I was on fire."

The description earns a grim smile from you before you exhale, shaking your head. "That is a pretty good description of what you looked like when I got called down to make sure you weren't going to die or be left permanently incapacitated. Now I know my boyfriend didn't specifically ignore my orders as his doctor girlfriend to actually take care of himself especially now that filming was winding down. And I know he didn't act like a teenager who when I wasn't around to maybe check or was too busy at work just took advantage of that and didn't take care of himself. Because he's a smart guy, isn't he?"

Austin looks like he's about to say the first thing that comes to mind, the first- you imagine- pretty idiotic thing that comes to mind before he sees the look on your face and realizes this is a battle he will not win. "I-" He stops and moves to grab your hand. "I might have continued to push myself because I'm a bit of an idiot who definitely was taking advantage of my long hours and your long hours to hide that. Is that what I need to admit? Or do I need to keep going?"

You can't help but laugh at the question, biting your lip to prevent a full fit of laughter from escaping. "I mean, you can keep going, I'm actually a little curious to see how big of a hole you can dig yourself into, by all means." Your eyes slide up to his IV bag and you frown, grabbing his remote to call a nurse, the alarm hasn't sounded that it's empty and due for a change but- you know how busy it's been lately and you're not in the mood to have Austin wait for too long.

Austin's quiet for a moment as he looks at you, noting how he swears you have some lines on your forehead that you didn't have before. He put those there- he made you worry so much you got new worry lines. It doesn't distract from your beauty, far from it, but still it sens a rush of guilt through him that has him placing his hand on your cheek. Before you realize what you're doing, you nuzzle your cheek against his hand, letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. Letting out tension in your shoulders that haven't left since he first was brought in. "I'm- Nothing is going to change what happened, but for what it's worth, I'm sorry baby."

A shaky sort of breath leaves your body before you grab Austin's hand and move to kiss it before you touch his cheek. "I know you are. Because you scared the shit out of me. And Baz, but he wasn't the one taking care of you, who didn't know what exactly was wrong and how you could-" You shut your eyes and rub at them. "You're not allowed to do this to me again, Mr. Butler. I started dating you because you're supposed to be the safe bet, no silly injuries or COVID or sickness like this. And look at you, a guitar to the head, this, you better not make it a trifecta."

He shakes his head, moving his hand that you still have held to brush away tears you have falling. "I wouldn't dream of it." He pauses. "How long am I in here for?"

"A week." You answer quicker than you should. "Might be overkill but you've got your antibiotics via IV and while you live with me and I can change it, I also have to be at work half the time so hospital it is."

Austin flushes and you think for a moment he's going to be sick before you see how he's looking at you- it's a look you know well, one that usually leads to things in the bedroom and you just narrow your eyes as he starts to speak. "So, you're my doctor then. And I'm your patient."

You take a moment to just look up at the ceiling and purse your lips, wondering not for the first time why you ever started dating Austin when he says dumb things like that. It shouldn't be something that's funny, and it really isn't but you've been so worried about him for the past two days that hearing that stupid joke as much as it makes you roll your eyes just makes you laugh. "I am and you are. But as your doctor I cannot in good conscience condone any shenanigans of a sexual sort just yet. Maybe in a few days."

He nods solemnly as he sees a nurse entering a room. He leans over for a moment, knowing fully well you can't stop laughing and won't just yet. "Just show up in only the your coat and we'll know if I'm feeling better. You know I can't resist your sexy doctor look."

If you have to tell the nurse about changing his IV bag through broken off bits of laughter, that's his fault. If you can't help but slap his arm lightly when he tries to grab at your butt- seriously, you really should have remembered the side effects of his medicine and his inhibitions- then that's also his fault. If later on that day you find yourself curled up against him watching some Australian soap opera? Well, despite not being on duty this particular day, you are still his doctor, and a little rest and a lot of cuddles might have been your additional recommendation for the start of an optimal recovery.

And really, who was he to argue?

[thornfield13713]

Might need to revamp my Georgia backstory ideas, if only because my previous interpretations of how she ended up where she is at the start of the game have all...lacked something, for me. Sorry, we're going to be rehearsing the 'why Georgia's marriage was such a mess' thing.

So, let's do this, one more time.

In this version of events, Sam Adams is bi, but repressed about it, because the disappointing gay dead husband is a very tired trope indeed, and if he'd been gay...actually, their relationship would probably have worked out a lot better for all involved.

So, he and Georgia meet in college. At this point, Georgia isn't a firebrand. She's an ambitious, hustling young law student, who wants to make a living and maybe even a fortune and get ahead. She became radicalised only after a few years as a defence lawyer - in the beginning, she went for defence mostly because it seemed like a quick way to pay off her student loans (of which there were many). Sam was an engineering student at CIT, and they met at a party where they wound up discussing Grognak vs the Silver Shroud in the kitchen until kicking-out time. He came from a conservative military family, but was questioning that now that he was at college, and Georgia - immigrant from a rough part of New York and raised with views that were pretty far left for the place and time they were in even if she wasn't living up to them that well yet - was excitingly different from anything he'd known, but not enough as to be threatening. On Georgia's side, she went for him for...many of the same reasons Buffy Summers went for Riley Finn in college: he seemed a nice, wholesome, clean-cut sort of guy, in contrast with an adolescence and early college years where she'd...mostly gone for the bad boy type, and gotten badly burned doing it. There was an attraction there, even if she sort of had to work at it, and that was good enough for them to start going out.

It probably wouldn't have lasted past Georgia's graduation, if they hadn't had a condom break, and...well, the worst happened. Sam proposed, very determined to do the honourable thing, and Georgia accepted because being an unwed mother in pre-war American society was not great, and nor was legal access to abortion and she had heard enough horror stories about the backstreet option that she didn't want to take the risk. So they duly married and did all that was proper...and very shortly after the wedding, Georgia miscarried. Messily. I mentioned having Shaun was difficult on her, and this was no less so, and medically she probably shouldn't have tried again. Which left them sort of stuck with each other, because divorce was also...not especially favourably looked on, and as Massachusetts didn't introduce no-fault divorce until the '70s in our world, I'm going to go ahead and say that that wasn't a thing for them here.

As it turned out, they were both a lot happier being married when their spouse was a long way away. For Sam, it was psychologically beneficial to think of his girl back home, to have that to cling to as a source of strength, even if, over the years, that image he had of her grew more distant both from Georgia as she was, and from Georgia as she had actually been when they married. It was...as psychologically necessary for him to put a rosier gloss on their relationship as it was for him to try and at least pretend to believe the justifications for the things he was doing in Canada and on the Anchorage campaign. Georgia, meanwhile, enjoyed the practical benefits of being married to a respectable soldier from a military family with a long, proud heritage and at least a few uncles and cousins who'd made it to high rank. (There was a reason they were living comfortable in Sanctuary Hills, which seems to have been a pretty plush area, rather than in a cramped apartment in Concord, after all.) One of which was not being accused of Communist sympathies as she became more radical in her views and connections and her work brought her into conflict with more and more powerful forces - though, of course, that couldn't and didn't protect her forever, and her firm's collapse also meant that she was unofficially blackballed from Boston's legal community. Possibly there was even a little leaning to ensure that - nobody in the extended Adams clan wanted the scandal of Sam's wife being accused of Communist sympathies, particularly not given Sam had been decorated a couple of times during his service, but nobody wanted the scandal of her carrying on with the work that drew those accusations either.

Their years apart essentially radicalised Georgia, but made Sam cleave more closely to orthodoxy and the establishment, because if it was good, then he didn't need to be broken with guilt for what he had been a part of. He had terrible PTSD and nightmares - no amount of self-justification could keep the guilt away for long, and the memory was there whatever happened. Georgia was deeply depressed by the loss of her work and the apparent meaninglessness of all her efforts. They barely spoke to each other, the last few months they were together, and when they did, it was the merest commonplace. Neither was willing to confide in the other, mostly out of guilt - Georgia for having cheated on him a few times while he was away, Sam for the things he had done in Anchorage. They probably couldn't have carried on like that forever, but whatever would have come next, the bombs put an end to it.

[diaryofapanini]

#venting

ok so i don't want to die. which is good obviously. it has taken years but being alive is pretty cool.

the problem is that every time a major inconvenience comes up, my brain is like "if you were dead you wouldn't have to deal with this hehe"

and it's like NO. stay AWAY. i DO NOT want to die.

and then multiple major inconveniences overlap and my brain is like "......this would be a great time hehe. you wouldn't have to deal with any of this"

and it's SO FUCKING ANNOYING. like i want to be alive. except theoretically it would be easier being dead but I DON'T WANT TO. I AM HAPPY* RIGHT HERE THANK YOU VERY MUCH

*stressed and anxious and a little bit miserable but also happy.

idk the worst part is that i thought i had gotten over this?? like i just beat up my depression till i didn't think about dying anymore. legitametly i just straight-up manhandled it into stop telling me to kms.

and i know consciously that expecting complete recovery without any sort of therapy or medication or whatever is unreasonable. but it makes me feel bad that i'm thinking these thoughts again :(

[joju-but-trek]

Star Trek: Prodigy Season 2, Episode 18: Touch of Grey

It's just like in my fanfics! - The Doctor

In the penultimate episode of this season, we have a piece that closes out a lot of subplots. It makes sense that this episode would try to clear the field for a more focused finale, but it does feel a little weird with respect to what it does and doesn't try to wrap up. It also feels like it was trying to do slightly too much towards that end while also doing something new, and it could have handled it better. 8/10

In terms of subplot focus, this episode tries to wrap up a lot of the internal politics on Solum. That part works. It sets up Iltharan to lead a resistance, undermines Ascensia, and works to reposition Ascensia as just herself with a lot more funding instead of the face of a vast empire. I like this emphasis, even if I think it didn't get enough onscreen development leading up to it. Still, I am invested and sold on her as the main villain.

This episode is also the first to really center the returning characters. It had to happen at some point, and I'm glad that it's a) not the finale and b) still focused on them supporting the Prodigy characters. Nerfing Wesley also makes sense for the finale, and they do some character work towards that, but there is something inherently funny about Wesley and Janeway sharing a moment where they realize they're getting old when Chakotay is right there and even more aged up by this season's events.

The legacy character that's worked the least for me and has only gotten worse is the Doctor, which is disappointing because I love the character. He's been played as a joke for most of the season, and this episode is the worst offender of it as he becomes the primary comic relief of the team. It's not anything character-breaking, it's just that as a fan of the character I wish they hadn't made the creative decision to use him like this. I feel like if you gave all his specific medical duties to Noum he wouldn't even need to be here for this season. Honestly, Tuvok might have worked better in that capacity, since he provides another Vulcan tactician for Ma'jel to bounce off of. It's unfortunate, but the show isn't about him, and he isn't needed for this story to work.

Also, Ascensia captured a Loom creature somehow. They handwave it, which isn't completely out of line with how much Ascensia was able to steal from Wesley, but it is a bit of a jump from them almost eating Voyager last time we saw them. I do like that the characters end up using it to get out instead of fighting it - it's a good reminder of how these creatures work in Star Trek, where talking your way out of problems is a much stronger tactic.

Anyway, the finale's next! I hope Dal flies something small and full of lasers while the Doctor writes more self-insert fanfic.

[mad-hunts]

20. what is something your muse wants to tell others, but is too afraid to? 

hey, @absensia! thank you very much for the ask (: it means a lot to me that you'd drop one in my inbox, if i'm being honest!! but of course... i'm incredibly grateful for everyone's submissions in regards to the prompts i posted for barton! alright, so my answer to this one is probably going to be long like the last, so please bear with me while i pour out all of my thoughts as to what i believe barton has wanted to tell people for years. and that is that he might need help — which, considering how much blood he has gotten on his hands + the very poor state of his mind, isn't that unreasonable at all. though barton doesn't want to bring this up to anyone for a multitude of reasons; one of which is because he fears he'll be seen as weak and because he's pretty much convinced himself internally that he doesn't deserve it. though i feel as if most of the time, barton not only feels this irrational as well as powerful hatred towards everyone else, but towards himself, too. which are both dangerous mindsets to be in within their own right.

when you feel like you are completely unlovable but are also so chronically lonely at the same time that you will quite literally seek people out who you know hate your guts, because in a way, seeing them almost validates what you feel about yourself + you also feel so lonely sometimes that you feel like you're going insane ( or more than he already was before anyhow ) ; in barton's opinion, that is probably one of the very definitions of ' something's wrong. ' especially since this has led him down some pretty dark paths before: both with things like self-medicating using alcohol and getting into this relationship with someone that he knows is bad news, but who he believes he belongs with on some degree. this is because they're both terrible, and they feed into each other's desire to receive their own extremely unhealthy idea's of what love is. an idea that love is inherently violent when that is anything but what love actually is.

and barton knows that it's wrong deep in the back of his mind because he is at his absolute worst when he's with this person, but like i mentioned previously, he doesn't believe he deserves any better than them so he hasn't told anyone about what he's been feeling. however, when you disassociate like barton does sometimes in which you genuinely do not remember what the hell happened for a certain amount of time, since your brain is struggling so hard to cope with all of these bad feelings you're feeling and terrible things you're exposing it to that it feels the need to tuck it away somewhere... you should absolutely seek help as he has subtly alluded to how he often feels a few times around his kids, and they were probably the most concerned about him that they've ever been.

but the problem remains that the action of actually reaching out to people feels impossible for barton. both in the way that he wouldn't even know where to begin explaining his feelings into words, on account of them feeling so complex that he feels like he can't even name them a majority of the time, as well as that he was taught that seeking help was something to look down upon by wesley. this is also attributable to the desire that barton feels to appear like he's perfect all the time, as i had highlighted in one of my previous posts on here. and acknowledging that you are actively struggling goes against that, along with the fact that talking to someone is a sign of confidence in yourself. which barton is actually lacking in despite appearances.

though anyhow, i know that this was probably an awfully heavy thing to have to read through, and i'm sorry for that in advance. but barton, kind of like real people, are not the sum of their parts — so i felt like it was important to explain how he feels wholly and without things being sugarcoated / left out. i hope you liked this answer anyhow, though, and are having a great day so far! thanks again for the ask.

[the-whumpening]

My Own Worst Enemy, Part 4 [Son of Bat]

Prev | Masterpost | Next

CW: surgery mention, hospital setting, medical content, catheter, abusive parent (in memory/dream), mention of injuries and near-death experience

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James dozed in and out of an uneasy sleep. When he was awake, his body was crumpled with hot, aching pain. Occasionally, he thought he heard muttered voices—Vince? Is that you?—and felt a comforting squeeze on his hand.

"We're here, James. Everything will be okay." The strained, tired voice floated to him as he drifted back into a drug-fueled sleep.

This pain, these words—they reminded him of something. Something that had poked at his consciousness earlier that day; something he must have blocked out and shut away from a long time ago. But in his hazy, medicated dreams, the memory tumbled back onto his lap for the first time in years.

He looked down at himself, so incredibly small; he couldn't be any older than eight. And his wrist—it hurt so bad! Tears sprung up in the corners of his eyes, before he felt an elbow jab his shoulder. His heart froze solid as he looked up at his mother's steely glare. He remembered what that meant: "Don't you dare make a scene; don't you dare embarrass me." Instead, he looked away, willing the tears to dry up and the sniffling in his nose to clear.

He remembered that night. He'd been riding his bike on the street in front of his house—he was never allowed anywhere else, of course—when he took a bad fall and hurt his right wrist. It was really bad timing, though; he had a math test the next day. His father was working late, so his mother left Vince at home and took James by herself to the ER. While waiting, his mother insisted he finish his homework with his left hand.

"Awfully convenient you happen to hurt your writing hand just before a test, isn't it?" she snarked several times that night.

The nurses were polite enough, but didn't seem to notice how scared and in pain he was; even if he wanted to speak up, he wouldn't have been able to get a word in edgewise anyway. His mother was too busy chastising him for every whimpered breath—"Don't be a baby; it's not that bad!"—or oversharing with anyone who will listen.

"I bet he's just trying to get out of school. He's always been a troublemaker."

He was in second grade. Although Vince was the math whiz, James was no slouch; he wasn't worried about the test before that night. Before then, he'd never been in a fight or vandalized property. He'd never gotten into serious trouble—he couldn't understand what she meant. But if she insisted on seeing him that way, well . . . That's the kid she would get.

He'd rather have been alone than in her company. But when Debby had been at his bedside, he’d felt so . . . comforted. Is that what a mother was supposed to feel like? The others brought him a sense of calmness as well, but it was somehow different.

His memory became muddled with the buzz of the hospital around him. His mother wasn't here, was she? He hoped not. But someone had been visiting him. He'd felt them squeeze his fingers and touch his forehead. It was fuzzy, but he thought he remembered so many people who loved him, staying by his side.

That can’t be right. Can it?

His eyes fluttered open. It must have been a new place; this room had a window, and from it . . . Sunlight. Is it morning already? How long have I been asleep? As before, with swelling consciousness also came swelling pain. Without thinking, he tried to lift his shoulders from the bed, fighting to wriggle free of the blankets tucked snugly around him.

“Nonono—stay put, bud,” Vince anxiously chided, his hand hovering over James’ bandaged arm. Though he was too afraid of hurting him to actually make contact, it wasn’t necessary; James’ body was so sore and exhausted, it refused to follow his commands and sank back into place on its own. “They left you burritoed up after you got out of surgery last night; want me to untuck all that?”

James nodded as far as his braced neck would allow. “Surgery?” he rasped, finding his throat rough in new and different ways.

Happy to busy himself with something—anything—Vince set to making James as comfortable as he was able. As he loosened the blankets, he explained, “You weren't doing so good early this morning. They said you had fluid on your lungs. So they had to put in a drainage tube." He sat on the far edge of the bed, trying to jostle James as little as possible, and raked his hands through his hair. The last time James had seen him so haggard and stressed, he was holding back Vince's hair during his last relapse.

Scrubbing at the dark circles under his eyes with the heel of his hand, Vince continues, "You were sleeping alright for a while last night, and things seemed pretty stable . . .” He dragged his hand down his face, resting his chin in his palm. “Until they weren’t. All of the sudden, your heart was beating like crazy—you seemed like you were in awful pain and couldn’t breathe. Your lips were turning blue, man. It scared the hell out of us.”

James tipped his head back onto the stiff, crinkling pillow and squeezed his eyes shut. "Fuck," he sighed, low and rough. His voice was still choppy and weak, barely louder than a whisper. “I’m . . . sorry . . .”

“Don’t apologize for almost dying, meathead.” Vince half-chuckled out of his nose, then resumed his anxious gnawing on his lip. “I dunno; maybe we should be the ones apologizing to you, y’know? Nobody noticed how much you had taken on alone. We just let you bury yourself and bleed yourself dry. Maybe . . .” He shook his head. “Maybe if you had less shitty friends, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

It wasn’t that Vince truly blamed Molly or Eddie—and certainly not Debby or Cassandra—for letting James slip through the cracks like this. More than anything, he blamed himself. If he’d only been there for him, if he’d only been a better sibling, if only, if only, if only . . .

“What?” James whispered. His head snapped up at the sound, meeting James’ bruised face and half-lidded eyes. “I don’t understand.”

Panic washed over Vince’s face. “Shit. Okay. Well, no use dancing around it, I guess. Do you remember what Debby told you about your accident?”

James pressed into his foggy memory, and vaguely recalled the conversation when he awoke the previous day. “I . . . think so.”

“There was . . . a little more to it. We didn’t want to get into it when you were still so out of it. But basically, the EMTs said you had run off the road and into a tree. They think you probably fell asleep at the wheel.”

Anger flooded James’ body—how could he be so stupid? How could he make such a careless mistake? And why wasn’t anyone else as furious as he was? Why has no one torn him a new one for being such an idiot?

Vince watched the scowl form on James’ brow and his face flush with rage. “Hey, hey, it’s alright!” He reached over and carefully put a hand over James’. “You were crazy overworked; it’s not your fault. Nobody is upset with you. We’re all just glad you’re alive, dude.” He offered a worried, lopsided smile, but he could see the confusion wracking James’ mind. “Listen . . .

“You were hurt really bad. As soon as Debby called me, I took the first flight back here. Debby, Eddie, and Molly? They stayed in the ER all night with you. I’m sure Debby would want me to wait to tell you this but: you’ve been out for two weeks. They had to keep you sedated so your brain would stop swelling—I mean it, this was bad. So no, we don’t give a shit about the busted car or whatever you’ve got floating around your head right now; we’re worried about you.”

He couldn’t believe it. Not yet, anyway. He’d made a mistake—an enormous, life-threatening, expensive, careless mistake; how was no one even remotely angry with him? And it was truly life-threatening; the longer he stayed awake, the more aware he was of just how broken his body was. Every breath stabbed his lungs; every twitch ached in his sore muscles. He was angry—at himself, at his body, at his brain for its sluggish, confusing responses—but with his head injury, that heightened emotion quickly swung in another direction. His lip quivered against his will, the pain and disorientation overwhelming his raw nerves. He felt like a fool. Who blubbers and weeps at the thought of his loving friends, at the stupidity of his own mistakes?

(Not now, he begged his body, not in front of Vince . . . )

Self-loathing thoughts swarmed in his head, stabbing like barbed wire squeezed around his brain. Or maybe that was just the mounting headache pressing against his skull. Either way, he tried and failed to lift his hand to his face in an attempt to soothe the ache. He could barely lift his arm halfway before fatigue and pain set in; in the brief glimpse of his body, he realized for the first time that his arm was encased in a cast. He also realized, with a bear-like groan, that his collarbone was also badly damaged.

"This sucks," he hissed through gritted teeth.

The two locked eyes momentarily. The absurdity of it all hit them at the same time; both of their lips twitched into uncontrollable smiles, cackles of manic laughter spilling out of Vince. James vibrated, holding in the spasms of laughter rocking his diaphragm, but it quickly caused him to cough and gasp for breath. The pain was worth it; it seemed like the first time in weeks Vince had so much as cracked a grin.

A flurry of monitors beeped frantically, and a nurse bustled in to check on him. She eyed Vince suspiciously as she looked over James’ stitches.

“I don’t need to separate you two, do I?” she teased. “Brothers, right? My boys are just like you—if they’re not fighting, they’re making each other fall down laughing.”

“Sorry. We’ll . . . tone it down a bit.” Vince replied. “Is he alright?”

James grunted as she pressed near the bruised site. "The stitches still look good, and everything feels like it should. I think I can let you off the hook this time." As she reset the monitors, Vince sneakily flashed James a thumbs-up.

"While I'm here," she continued, "I'll go ahead and check on a few other things. The doctor will be in later, and he'll explain what all's going on."

She noted James' vitals and ensured his splints and braces were securely in place. He winced as she removed his soiled bandages and cleaned the wounds; Vince offered his hand to hold.

"Last thing: let's empty that catheter bag and flush it all clear. Keep everything nice and clean, right?"

Dumbfounded, James' glare darted between Vince and the nurse. "The what?" he rasped. He suddenly became very aware of the pressure and discomfort in his urethra.

She smiled apologetically. "Hon, you've been unconscious for about two weeks—that stuff's got to get out somehow. Once you're able to move on your own more, I promise it'll come out."

Satisfied with herself, the nurse crossed her arms over her chest and asked, "So, is it alright if I take care of this, or would you like me to find a male nurse?"

Although James wasn't one to wallow in embarrassment, this was particularly difficult. He tried to stuff down the toxic masculinity he'd been brought up on; what's so embarrassing about medical care, anyway? Even so, he locked pleading eyes with Vince.

"No one but Molly and nurses saw your bits while you were out. I swear." Sensing the awkwardness, he unconvincingly grabbed at his pocket and pulled out his phone. "Oh, would you look at that? Cass is calling! I'll, uh, leave you to it." With that, he scuttled out of the room.

James didn't put up a fight or make any more fuss with the nurse, despite his embarrassment. Truthfully, his attention was waning—the ache of his countless injuries and fresh surgical wound soon overtook the forefront of his mind. By the time she was finished with her tasks, sweat was beading on his face, and his pulse began to climb. She must have given him medicine; he couldn't remember. Most of the day was the same—he had vague memories of seeing a doctor, but most of it was hazy and forgotten through a fog of sleep and medication.

(continued in next part, this got kinda long)

[live-laugh-loverpool]

Hey, me again!

So your fanfic about Alisson and Virg made me feel butterflies in my stomach with happiness.

Possibly you don't ship them. Me, however, when I think of fanfic, I usually disregard that they are married with kids, so yes, I confess, I ship them.

And I wanted to ask for a specific fanfic. I'm not going to ask for anything involving kisses on the mouth or anything wrong because that wouldn't make much sense.

However, I wish you could write a fanfic where they comfort each other, especially Alisson comforting Virgil since he feels bad about his wound. It could be something like forehead kisses or things that people who don't ship might see as platonic. I also wanted it to be a fic that focused on them. It could be anguish with a happy ending, if you will.

Kisses! Ruby loves you!

So glad that my fanfics make you feel that way!!! 💛💚💙 Here it is after days of work

Tags: @alissonbecksfan234, @moomin279, @rubybecker-rb2, @millythegoat, @rist-mlts

Nightmares and Sweet Dreams

Virgil Van Dijk was one of those people where you got exactly what it said on the tin. His particular tin happened to advertise an extremely promising and reliable product of hard work, public experience, and…well, you get it.

Works hard, plays hard. Quieter than most, but always ready to help. Reliable. Never crumbles, never breaks. Not affected by anything.

Calm as you like.

Even though Van Dijk loved his song, it was the “calm as you like” part that scared him the most. Because at this current point, he was laid up with an injury while his teammates were left to salvage what they could from their dumpster fire of a season.

He couldn’t deny, being injured brought back memories; but they weren’t exactly ones he wanted to revisit anytime soon. When the physios had told him that he would be out for a month, Van Dijk's mind had immediately flashed back to Pickford’s tackle.

You’re out, Virgil, he remembered the medics saying that day. You’ll be out for an entire year and you’ll probably miss the Euros. Pickford’s tackle blew your ACL and you’ll need to have surgery.

Sitting on the same treatment table, in front of the same doctor, in the same track pants hadn’t helped whatsoever. In fact, it made Van Dijk even more scared of the same thing happening as it did last time.

What if it got worse and worse? What if he couldn’t play for a whole year, again? What if Matip ended up on the treatment table, and then Konate, and then Phillips and then…

That’s why Van Dijk now navigated the world on crutches, even though he didn’t necessarily need them. Every time he watched the matches, he couldn’t help but think how he should’ve been there, helping his teammates. And he’d stopped staying at Kirkby, always finding a reason to drive home and spend the night there. Nobody needed to know that he still woke up from the same apocalyptic nightmares every night. Nobody needed to know that the nightmares had gotten so bad, he’d taken to sleeping with a special throw blanket.

Nobody whatsoever needed to know that the throw blanket happened to be Alisson's throw blanket.

*

The Liverpool players had gotten a rare day off, since their next game was on Sunday. For some, that meant a pool tournament in the cafeteria.

Alisson leaned his cue against the wall as he and Carvalho watched their teammates play pool. Fabinho was outscoring the others on the scoreboard, and Alisson was rock-bottom of the table. It was new to him, considering that he was almost never ranked the worst in anything, but he knew he wasn’t going to be the best of everything.

“A-ha!” Matip cheered, knocking his ball into one of the holes. “Second place! Take that, Joey.”

Gomez pouted, rolling his eyes in mock-annoyance. “You wouldn’t have won if you were playing against The Virg!”

Matip nodded, updating the scoreboard. “Yeah, if Virg was playing Fabi wouldn't be leading either. Ali might still be at the bottom of the table, though.”

“Where is Virg, by the way?” Alisson wondered aloud. “Did you see him, Joel?”

“I invited him to the pool tournament,” said the Cameroonian, deep in thought. “He said he’s got stuff to do at home.”

Carvalho frowned, taking up his cue. “He’s sure got a lot of stuff to do. Did he have a baby or something?”

Fabinho stared at Carvalho like he’d just walked in wearing an Everton shirt. “What makes you think that?”

The young Portuguese put his hands up in defense, stepping back. “He rarely spends time with us anymore! All he does is sleep or think…or isolate himself.”

Alisson didn’t waste another moment. He dropped his cue, heading in search of Van Dijk without any further explanation.

*

Van Dijk wasn’t known to hide. Alisson had the feeling that hiding was exactly what the Dutchman was doing, though—so he searched all the places that he would hide if he were Van Dijk.

The broom closets and the showers were empty. Alisson's inspection of the rec rooms turned out futile, as well, and his pace increased from a slow walk to a brisk jog through the halls of Kirkby.

This was more serious than Alisson had thought. Where was Van Dijk, and why couldn’t he find him anywhere? He wasn’t usually on this end of the situation; but if there was one Alisson was sure about, it was that he could usually find his teammates wherever they were hiding.

What if Virg left Kirkby? Alisson gulped at the thought, throwing aside the curtain to check. Luckily, Van Dijk's car was still in the parking lot. The goalkeeper let out a sigh of relief—Van Dijk was usually a good driver, but emotion could get the best of anyone.

Tell me next time you want to hide, Virg, and I’ll show you some good places.

A clattering noise shook Alisson out of his thoughts. He spun on his heel, glancing towards the source of the noise—the training pitch.

He pushed open the door with the most force he could ever remember, sprinting over the training pitch while calling for Van Dijk. The training pitch was large but very open, and soon Alisson found Van Dijk kicking balls into the net with his uninjured foot, holding onto the goalpost. His crutches had been tossed aside, landing haphazardly on a yellow plastic dummy.

“Finally, Virgil!” Alisson tried to sound as cheerful as possible despite Van Dijk's strange behavior. “What are you doing here?”

Van Dijk didn’t respond, slamming another ball into the net.

“Virg?” It was as if Alisson wasn’t even there. “Please, answer me!”

Van Dijk finally stopped booting balls into the net and faced Alisson. His normally tidy man bun had tendrils and puffs of hair sticking out of it, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Alisson then realized just how long it had been since he’d seen Van Dijk in person.

“You…forgot your crutches,” said Alisson, handing the walking aids back to Van Dijk. He wanted to comment on how tired Van Dijk looked, but Van Dijk was rather sensitive about his looks. “The pool tournament started half an hour ago. Didn’t Joel invite you?”

Van Dijk took the crutches and threw them as far as he could. They landed on the same yellow plastic dummy. “Joel’s better off without me.”

“Why would he be better off without you?” Now Alisson knew something was wrong. If there was one person who Van Dijk adored, it was Matip. While the two had their own opinions on certain matters, Matip cared for Van Dijk as much as Alisson did.

Van Dijk's hands clawed and scratched at his hair, further disheveling it. Alisson could only imagine how many scrapes and lacerations were left on the Dutchman’s skull, such was the force he was using.

“Virgil, you’re going to hurt yourself!” Alisson exclaimed once he couldn’t take it anymore. He gently but firmly grasped Van Dijk's wrists and pried them off his head, directing his arms to his sides. “Please tell me what’s wrong. You have eyebags and dark circles under your eyes, you look like you haven’t slept for days.”

“That’s because I haven’t,” Van Dijk confessed, wrestling his arms away from Alisson's grasp. “What am I going to do with myself? I can’t play and I can’t help the team. What if this injury lasts for more than o-one month? What if it lasts for a year, and then a year turns into two years, and then—”

“Acalmar.” Alisson sat next to Van Dijk, trying to appear calm while he was internally freaking out. Van Dijk wasn’t always calm, that was for sure, but Alisson had never been in a situation where he and a not-calm Van Dijk were alone. Simply put, Alisson had no idea what to do.

Unless he did the obvious.

“It’s not going to go that long. The medics won’t lie to you, right? They only want the best for us, Virgil.”

“But…” An excruciatingly long three seconds passed before Van Dijk spoke again. “I’m scared.”

“Scared? Oh…” Suddenly, the reason for all of Van Dijk's strange behavior dawned upon him. “You’re scared of missing a whole year. Just like the last time you got injured.”

Van Dijk nodded, leaning into Alisson's shoulder. The keeper had never seen Van Dijk this vulnerable before—even after losing major tournaments finals and making drastic errors. “I can’t do it again. It’s giving me nightmares…I’m so tired every day.”

Alisson had never been very good with words of comfort. So he settled on pulling Van Dijk into his arms, letting his teammate rest his head on his chest. “Sleep, then.”

Van Dijk yawned, eyes half closed. “I have a secret.”

“Yeah?” Alisson sighed with relief upon seeing that Van Dijk had calmed down from his previous hysterics.

“Don’t tell anyone…I have your throw blanket. The Selecao one,” Van Dijk elaborated. “I wrap myself in it like a cocoon and it’s the only way I can sleep. Yes, I know it’s weird, but…”

Alisson shut Van Dijk up by hugging him even tighter. “Then we can be weird together. I stole one of the boss’s jackets in 2019 and it was one of the only things that kept me from going insane during the lockdown.”

“But that’s you.” Van Dijk yawned again; he was slowly drifting in and out of consciousness. “I’m supposed to be as calm as you like for everyone.”

“Nobody can be as calm as you like all of the time,” Alisson reminded him. He fully untied Van Dijk's hair, gently untangling the various knots and clumps of grass. “Even o patrão freaks out in the moment.”

“What about everybody else?” Van Dijk mumbled sleepily.

“Shhh, acalmar. I’ll take care of that,” Alisson assured Van Dijk. He wasn’t exactly sure how he’d take care of that—he’d left his phone inside the training ground—but Van Dijk didn’t need to know that. What Van Dijk needed now was reassurance—and sleep.

A noise pulled Alisson from his thoughts. He froze, then smiled when he realized the noise was a light snore and that Van Dijk had fallen asleep.

He draped his scarf over his friend, gently stroking him on the forehead. “Doces sonhos, Virgil.”

[fiixer]

[ I had an ask thing for a headcanon about Jordi growing up, but I saved it to my drafts and it fkn disappeared into the void, so ??? Not sure what happened there. In any case, I rambled off my headcanon here, so if you were the one who sent that ask, I'm sorry, I don't know what Tumblr did, but here's the thing! ]

Born in Beijing, he grew up in what was, by all accounts, a loving family.  They didn't have much, just enough to get them by - sometimes just barely that - but they were exceptionally close.  Both of his parents busted their collective behinds for every single thing the family had, and still they made time for their kids whenever possible, as often as possible. Along with his parents were two siblings, an older brother and sister, the latter being one of Jordi's best friends through much of his childhood and into his teen years.  

After she'd finished schooling, with the ultimate goal of becoming a nurse, his sister had gotten involved with a rougher crowd, thanks to the man she'd been seeing at the time.  He and his "friends" began using her and her skills to patch their wounds, save their allies in a pinch, procure medicines for their group (and sometimes to sell for a little extra cash), and the like - things that, on the whole, weren't necessarily harmful, but she didn't want any part of that world.  She didn't want to be part of the criminal realm, but upon expressing that to her then-boyfriend, and expressing her wishes to leave him if he continued doing what he was, he started making threats to keep her where he needed her.  Had she not confided her fears in her brother, no one would have known, and he might never have had a chance to intervene before it was too late.

It was then he got his first taste of what would later become his career.  Jordi went with his sister to gather some of her things from her beau's chosen hideout.  Someone on his side had seen them entering and made an appearance in an attempt to scare the shit out of her - and him, by extension.  They hadn't expected him to be prepared for it.  After a scuffle, as he would countless times after he brought that man to his knees, and with the snap of a neck, ensured he wouldn't be bothering anyone ever again.  The two of them quickly gathered her stuff and hightailed out of there, vowing to never speak of it again.  They assumed the worst was over. Alas, fortune was not on their side.  These guys were determined to keep their free, discreet medical care and supplier. Add that to the fact that she knew their names, their hideout locations, their faces, and whatnot and she may as well have had a massive target painted on her back.  Soon after the first, another was sent on her tail, and another fell to Jordi, this time without his sister present to witness it.  The man's lack of stealth worked in Jordi's favor, and he caught the guy well before he'd reached a dangerous point.  The same fate befell the next they sent, and the one after that.  It became a game, of sorts, one he was more than happy to play.  

And win.

Fortunately, Jordi had picked a few tricks up in his time, so he managed to avoid retribution.  That part was easy.  The problem was, the same people after him also knew about his family; who they were, where they were, the whole nine yards, and they were not hesitant to use that information against him.  He realized that one night while visiting his sister's place.  When the heat of the first round of chaos died down, she'd managed to get herself a little apartment in the city, to which he'd been a frequent visitor.  Late one night, the splintering crack of a door giving way woke them both.  The intruder knew she'd be there, of course, but he hadn't accounted for Jordi.  Once again, he was brought back to the days of old, protecting his sister from the scumbags of the city's underground.  

Word travels through the grapevine pretty quickly.  The next who approached was not after his sister, but him.  Instead of aggression, the man offered him a paying gig.  While Jordi was young, he clearly had a knack for this sort of work.  Plus, charging someone outside the cell with the hit meant it was less likely to be traced back to said cell, and if things went south, none of their men were lost.  If it worked, everyone got paid.  It was a win-win.  So, Jordi took it, and the pay it offered when he provided proof of the bullet he'd lodged in the target's heart.  From there, his career officially began.  The Fixer offered him a place within their organization.  At the time, the terms were a mere fraction of the usual pay for gigs, and in return, he'd help keep random mooks away from Jordi's sister.  Again, a win-win as far as he was concerned, so he agreed.   And for a while, all was well.  No one knew what he'd stepped into, and he preferred to keep it that way.  As far as the family was concerned, he'd taken a job after school, and as far as his sister knew, her problem had disappeared thanks to him. 

Things were great! He had found his niche, it seemed, and for a few years, everything was pretty streamlined.  He had his job, which brought in a nice chunk of cash to help the family out; his family - his sister in particular - was left in peace, and they lived their lives. His brother got married, his sister started seeing someone new, his parents no longer had to work their fingers to the bone and could take more time for themselves; at the time, he couldn't ask for more.

Shortly after he'd turned eighteen, though, everything took a drastic turn.  A job went south, his mark escaped and spilled the beans on the fixers who'd been on his tail.  Naturally, people were pissed.  Not only was the group forced into the legal spotlight, but a huge amount of cash just up and fled the country because somebody missed their shot.  That somebody was going to pay for it – and every single finger was pointed at Jordi.  

That was also the night he got the back scar mentioned here.

And  it didn't stop there.  Voicemails, notes, emails - they mentioned his family by name, along with varying threats and warnings…it wouldn't stop.  As long as he remained, it wouldn't stop.  He couldn't be everywhere at once, so how was he supposed to keep them safe? How could he let them suffer for his fuck-up? He couldn't, in either case, as much as he hated to admit it. However, one thing he did know was, if his family didn't know where he was, they were of no use to anyone.  If they couldn't reach out to him, no one could use them to hurt him, or use him to hurt them.  It wasn't a guarantee, of course, but it seemed like the best option at the time. They might receieve some harassment for a while, but sooner or later, it would go away, right? It had to...So, he left. 

Sometimes he catches himself thinking about home, how things used to be, but he's usually pretty quick to cut those thoughts off. It helps no one, changes nothing, and it's safer for everyone if things are the way things are.

No fanfare, no painful goodbyes, no rissking seeing his mother's face while she pleaded for him not to go. - he just boarded a plane under an alias, and came to the US.  Illegally, mind you; he wasn't going to register with the damned government, are you kidding.  And that was that.  No one knew where he went, exactly when he went, nothing. He's hoping his family assumes he died somewhere along the line. Somehow it feels like that would be less painful for them than knowing he just bailed. Or why he did so.

He hasn't been home, hasn't contacted his family.  The only thing he has done as far as the family goes is, have a contact poke around and see if they were still alive, which…depending where you the timeline we're talking, they are.  In Jordi's later years, his parents have passed, but that's…y'know.  Later later years. By my default timeline (around WD2-ish), his parents are alive and well and enjoying their golden years. His sister married one of the doctors at the hospital where she worked - that actually hurt, because while he was happy for her, he'd also always hoped to be there for her when she got married. His brother had gotten married shortly before Jordi left, and with the secret check in, Jordi found out he's an uncle to his brother's two boys. It was one at the time when he'd checked in, with the second on the way. It's been a few years since he'd looked into them, though, and it's better that way. All it did, aside from ease some worried curiosity and confirm his suspicion that leaving was the right choice, was hurt to see everything he'd missed out on.

So, that's the way they're going to stay.