#guys I have a 101 degree fever

[tinogiehd]

ihop

I have. no idea if this is true or not I have never been to an ihop

[anachilles]

“So, what’s the prognosis, Doc? Am I gonna live?”

Your firehouse buckies? 😍 or anything else with buck x bucky 💓

omg hi! and please yes give me all the excuses to write my firehouse!au buckies!! (for those who may not be familiar - this is firefighter!bucky and bartender/PhD student!buck) here's a little thing set significantly further along than where we're currently at in the actual fic lol. + shout out to @avonne-writes and their 'who's taking who's surname?' poll and the discourse for inspiring a little part of this lol. currently taking prompts from this list: [ x ]

"So, what's the prognosis, Doc? Am I gonna live?"

His voice hoarse and barely there, trust John to tease him even around the tail end of a thermometer, just as Gale went to pull it from his mouth.

'Suppose he can't be too sick if he still has jokes,' was the first thought that came to Gale's mind. The second thought though, sneaking up hot on the first's heels, was 'John would be cracking jokes on his damn deathbed so that really isn't as much of a reassurance as it should be.'

Gale squinted as he examined the numbers. The light was low in the early winter morning, the sun not having quite fully risen yet. He'd usually have switched even just his own bedside lamp on as he got himself ready to leave for the day, but with John's groan of protest that particular morning, he’d quickly switched off again.

It'd been a restless night, and even though they were both feeling the impact of John's tossing and turning, and the seemingly inability for him to breathe at all through his nose anymore, the man himself just looked downright exhausted with it. He'd eventually managed to fall asleep with his hot, clammy forehead pressed into the back of Gale’s neck, plastered to his back, and Gale hadn’t the heart to try and move him despite how he had then been overheating.

"You know there's another, arguably much more enjoyable way to do that..." John leered, even if half-heartedly, and if only to fill the silence as Gale's eyebrows pinched at whatever he saw on the little digital screen.

See, this is why they'd more or less permanently shacked up at Buck's place rather than his. He had stuff like thermometers lying around. Stuff an actual home has.

Gale looked up at him then, incredulous. "You're really trying to flirt with me, sitting there with a 101 degree fever?" he said, turning the thermometer as if to prove his point. Incredulous, but not surprised; not really.

"Baby, if I'm ever sick enough that I don't want to flirt with you, make you blush all pretty like you do, that's when you should be worried."

Gale had almost been tempted to smile at that, until John had to cut himself off, a sudden bout of congested coughing rattling from his throat.

Capturing the inner corner of his bottom lip between his teeth, Gale sighed, his long legs unfolding from beneath him and as he got up from where he'd been perching on his side of the bed. He crossed to John's bedside, pulling the covers further up around the other man’s chest.

Gale clicked his tongue slightly, though his expression and voice betrayed him in their co-ordinating softness. "All of this because you just had to be the hero and go jump in the damn lake."

Off to the side of them, Maverick jumped up onto the bed, sleepily curling in at Bucky's side in the warm spot Gale had just vacated. She bumped her head against John's hand, eager and impatient as the day Gale met her. John responded without even having to look away from the conversation, his fingers scritching at the especially soft little spot of fur behind each of her ears.

“Hey, I saved someone's life."

Gale wordlessly took his phone from his pocket, showing him the text he'd already gotten from Benny, "Just FYI - let the record show that the guy knew how to swim and your boy did not have to jump in after him."

Uh, since when did his team all acquire his boyfriend's number just for the purposes of ratting him out?

"Well how was I supposed to know that?! It’s called due diligence."

Either way, he'd ended up with what seemed to either be a wicked cold or the beginnings of the flu for his trouble.

"You make up for your lack of sympathy with your excellent bedside manner, Doctor" John said, talking half to himself as Gale strode out to the kitchen at the sound of the kettle whistling.

He continued as the other man reappeared a minute later, a steaming Fire Department-branded mug in one hand, his own filled travel mug in the other. "Huh, that's kind of funny, seeing as you will be and everything. Dr Cleven."

“Not that kind of doctor,” Gale muttered, and John breathed out a faint laugh. He knew the difference, duh, but it was cute when Gale interpreted things so literally sometimes before he could think about it.

Gale quirked a brow as he set the mug down on John’s bedside table, batting aside lozenge wrappers and tissues with the rim of it to make room.

"Y'know what has an even better ring to it, though? Dr Gale Egan..."

When the idea of marriage came up between them, it was always in an abstract, vague kind of sense, underpinned by off-hand comments and passing jokes relaying the image of some version of their life that lay a safe distance away on the horizon. It wasn't right in front of them yet, but it felt comfortably inevitable, which made talking about it casually not really a big deal. One of the more common jokes being what they do in terms of surnames.

Gale could tell John was sentimental about his father's name in a way he himself wasn't about his own. It was never said so outright, but he got the sense that it was either a matter of hyphenating (even with John's arguments that neither Cleven-Egan or Egan-Cleven 'sounded right'), or Gale taking John's.

When Gale thought about the idea of shedding his father's name, he felt so much nothing it almost pissed him off because shouldn't it evoke something? Is that not the most normal reaction to losing such a defining part of your identity, feeling some sense of sadness? Of loss? It felt more to him like shrugging off a grimy, weather-beaten old coat turned threadbare in the elements, not particularly pleasant but reliably familiar. It was simply what he had.

Looking now, he took in the pallid, rheumy face and contrastingly long, firm lines of a man who loved him like John loved him. Who loved him so unshakeably, proved to him over and over seemingly without even really having to try; who made it look easy. Who loved him in a way he didn't think he ever could be loved, or be prompted himself to love like he loved John back.

"Well, then I guess you have until I finish my PhD to marry me."

There was a weird beat of silence and neither seem to be sure whether they were still joking or not.

“You saying you want to marry me? Is that a proposal? A deathbed proposal?” The look that bloomed on John’s face was as adorable as it was utterly insufferable. It was, however, quickly dispelled however by a sudden sneeze. He reached for more tissues, the groan that followed evidently vexed.

It cut through whatever tension had inadvertently bled into the moment, though, and Gale smiled. “Bless you. Tempting proposition that it is…” Gale finally said, as he checked his watch. When he continued, there was an edge of regret in his voice. “If I want to be Dr Anything I’d better get going.”

A noise echoed from John's throat, half displeased, half mournful.

Gale sighed and leant forward, bringing a gentle hand to John's fever-flushed cheek, his thumb stroking lightly on the sharp angle of his cheekbone. "Now, you get some sleep and drink plenty of water, you hear me? You can have more of these here pills in like a couple more hours. I should be home around 3ish, but text me if you need anything or your temperature gets any higher."

His voice was as even and steady as ever, only John could tell he was fretting slightly by how unsettled his hands were, and how they kept touching him, fiddling with the blankets, smoothing things down that were already smoothed down as he spoke.

John reached out and grab Gale's wrist, stilled it, in a odd reversal of their usual roles. "Okay, okay..." he acquiesced lightly, easily, and was immediately rewarded when Gale's fingers laced into the sweat-damp curls that had fallen down into his face, moving them aside so he could press a kiss to his forehead. His lips lingered for an achingly welcome half-beat, before moving to press another to his cheek.

Gale tore himself away then, grabbing his wallet, keys, and the steaming travel mug where he'd abandoned them on the dresser, and tossed his bag over his shoulder. A few second later, he was gone.

“Dr Gale Egan” is all John thinks about for the rest of the day.

In between naps, that is.

[pokidot]

HALLOWEEN PARTY 😣 with anyone idk Mandela scara and yn dress up silly, yn outfit so low budget no one can tell who or what they’re dressed as 🤓

OMG!!!!!! 😄 THANK YOU SAUR MUCH NI

“Just stomp your feet, and clap your hands,” Venti slurred on his words, swaying back and forth to the music as he clapped his hands together on cue in his own drunken rhythm, “C’mon everybody, it’s the hamster dance! Dibidi di dibi do do…”

“Maybe I’ve gone insane and this is the last semblance of sanity.” Aether muttered, half to himself.

The ghost club's Halloween party was held in the dimly lit basement of the old building on campus, ironically enough. But the eerie charm of it was perfect considering everybody wanted a cheap thrill. Faded brick walls lining up with the ill-assorted, weathered posters from previous meetings in here of some obscure club loomed over. The lights they painted with highlighters flickering in the glow of cheap looking orange and purple fairy lights.

Every now and then, there would be a shadow that would tango across, thanks to this ancient disco ball that would creak as it spun, broken pieces of light across the space. Decorations were even funnier, because nobody had the money to get them except Kuni (and they had too much pride to ask him).

Plastic skeletons, some with missing limbs, this old Freddy Krueger mannequin from 1997, and worn rickety tables filled with party food and a punch bowl that was probably laced.

In one corner, the mini fog machine Heizou brought with him sputtered every now and then. It sent sporadic clouds that mixed with the scent of incense wafting from the air, insisted by him to "enhance spiritual ambience". But because of how dusty the area already was, it didn't really do anything to cleanse and everyone opted to coughing anyway.

The costumes were equally as awful; Venti was a very biblically accurate King Julian, complete with a makeshift crown and painted-on stripes, Xiao cut holes into a sheet and went as a ghost, Kazuha went as Little Red Riding Hood, alternatively Heizou went as the Big Bad Wolf...? Aether came as a vampire, and Hu Tao came as herself! She was scary enough.

There was low-budget charm when Kuni, who was dressed at Ghostface, came in with you...a misfit among misfits. "You guys need to do your part and drive them next time, I'm tired of them fucking with my radio."

"I wanted to play spooky music! Is that a crime?!" You put a hand on your chest in an offended manner, your costume so haphazardly thrown together that you pieced together whatever odds and end you found.

He sighed, tone laced with a weary patience that somehow managed to carry a warmth. "There's a difference between spooky music, and playing Crazy Frog on blast while I'm trying to drive through an uncontrolled intersection."

"Crazy Frog is spooky if you have a 101 degree fever and chug Nyquil," You shot back, crossing your arms in faux conviction. "You have no idea what I've been through to survive that niche."

"I'm sure." Kuni gave a resigned snort, muttering something smart under his breath as he turned his gaze to the others. "This party looks like shit, but this is exactly what I expect from you lot."

"Excuse you!" Aether gasped, he mock-scandalized as he adjusted his vampire cape, trying to salvage some dignity. "We were actually on a budget, so unless you're willing to get down on your knees and start begging for forgiveness, I'd keep your wits to yourself!"

Kuni's eyes gleamed with hints of snark. "And you thought that something that looks like a kid's birthday party where all the parents are divorced and on bad terms was the vibe you wanted to give off?"

"Well, when you put it that way, it sounds like you want to be the only single dad." Heizou grinned, but his eyes held a more teasing leer. "Too bad, that's my role here."

Kazuha's eyebrows raised. "And who are the kids? The rest of us?"

You narrowed your eyes, your lips curling into a smirk. "He won't be a single dad for long with how bad I'm seducing him with my costume right now. Look at him. Can't even stay off of me."

"Can't stay off you..?" Kuni echoed dryly, his eyes moving to your shoddy costume as he pursed his lips, trying to make out something in his head. A single brow arching behind the mask. "Who are you even supposed to be?"

"Tinker Bell, obviously!"

The entire room went quiet, the basement inhaling the collective silence at every head turned, eyes blinking in a blend of restrained words. Hu Tao's mouth dropped at your response. "...But avant-garde, right?"

"That was my last guess." Xiao said.

Your big smile dropped, and you threw your hands up, adopting a comically dramatic attitude. "Guys, I have a WAND. Who else has a wand with green clothes on?!"

"Smells a lot like Slytherin." Heizou whispered, squinting.

The green top that didn't match the skirt, the DIY wings held together by duct tape, vaguely sparkly sneakers you decided were close enough to fairy shoes. You looked accomplished standing there in your glory, "I'm pushing boundaries. Redefining what Tinker Bell is, anybody can be the Big Bell, even me!"

Venti started crying immediately, tears welling in his eyes. "Amazing!" He shouted. "A true artist in the rough! A groundbreaking interpretation! We need to ship you off to art school, you don't even need this shoddy college!" He raised an invisible bottle in his hand that was confiscated by Kazuha about 13 minutes ago.

"Finally, someone who APPRECIATES a good costume. I don't see any of you actually trying to look original, so I'm not intimidated."

"You look like Tinker Bell stranded at a yard sale." Kuni deadpanned, voice oozing with playful skepticism.

You flashed a mildly displeased scowl at the witticism, but even though you knew they were being half-hearted and didn't really care that much, YOU WERE STILL granted the name 'Budget Bell' the entire night. They refused to call you by your actual name. And since that Halloween party, it became a running joke and a strange point of ego...the legend that you were.

Safe to say, you knew the exact people you were going to sacrifice to the Lochness Monster once you find him.

[soot-and-salt]

2 for fetch quest!

Hi anon!!

(Question from this list of fanfic author questions - come ask me more!)

2. How did you come up with the idea?

I've written some pretty cracked out ideas (I LOVE writing comedy!) but this one might be the MOST cracked of them all thus far.

Okay so listen. Picture it. There I was, sick as hell with the flu. I was having a Bad Time. So I was laying in bed rewatching Helluva Boss and scrolling through Tumblr, as one does, and for some reason I just thought... wouldn't it be fun to put these guys in a situation?

The idea of the item they were sent to find was based on the fact that Vox is shark coded pretty often in fan art and my 101 degree fever brain was like "GET THAT BITCH A BLAHAJ!". Which meant I had to send IMP to IKEA.

Which was fucking comedy gold in my head. I swear to you, the time it took for me to come up with the fic idea and then to open up a doc to write was like... fifteen minutes total. I was like, let's throw in Alastor, that'll be funny.

Writing Blitz is a JOY. I have SO MUCH FUN whenever I get to write him. I hope to do so again, though it seems I can only properly channel him when I have a fever. I don't know what that says about me. Or about him, to be honest.

But yeah, I'd love to tell you this was something I mulled over for weeks, carefully plotted, workshopped all the jokes, etc. But no. I wrote it in the span of like three hours, completely off the cuff, while sick as fuck, and once I was done I immediately threw it up on AO3, put my laptop to the side, and went to sleep. I think I did some light editing when I woke up though? So, you know, super professional work from me, really.

[despacito-uwu16]

When You’re Sick

Hunk Garret + Allura Headcanons

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺

This takes place after the beginning of season 2. When you guys got separated, you ended up on an ice planet. It was cold and your lion had no heater. Days after you and your lion were saved, the flu symptoms began to take effect 

Hunk

╰► While you were in the kitchen with Hunk, you began to have a cough attacks

╰► “Woah Y/N… are you sure you’re okay?”

╰► “I’m fine Hunk. It’s just allergies”. *sniffles* 

╰► *puts hand on forehead* “You’re burning up. Maybe you should get checked out”

╰► “Hunk, it’s me… I never get sick”.

╰► You have a 101 degree fever 

╰► You were sent to your room and were commanded by Coran to not leave until you get better

╰► As much as Hunk wants to be there to take care of you, he has voltron duties to attend to

╰► That and he’s lowkey a germaphobe

╰► You were pretty much lonely in your room. 

╰► But Hunk tries to make your sick days more tolerable by leaving you warm meals near your door step with small notes

╰► Because you can’t be near Hunk, you would both pass notes to each other via mice.

╰► “I miss you”.

╰► “You have no idea how much I miss your warm hugs right now“

╰► When you finally got the all clear from coran, you and hunk made up for lost time with cuddle sessions and  desserts that he made specifically for you 

Allura

╰► As soon as she hears a cough coming from your mouth, she’s on high alert 

╰► You insist you’re fine, but as the day progressed, you were getting worse 

╰► “Allura, I’m *achoo* fine. I *cough cough* can still *cough* help

╰► “Y/N, as your girlfriend, I demand you to go to bed. and stay there until you feel better”

╰► Until she sees you healthy, she took you off of missions much to your dismay

╰► “But they can’t form voltron without me”

╰► “I’m sure they’ll be fine without you” 

╰► :/

╰► Since she stays on the ship, she’s happy to get you whatever you need. 

╰► Cough attacks? She’ll get you cough medicine 

╰► Your throat hurts? She’ll make you tea from petals from a flower she found from another planet 

╰► You going stir crazy? She has the mice put on a show for you 

╰► She really cares about you. And she wants to see you get better 

╰► As soon as you get better, everything turns back to normal…

╰► …Until Allura starts sneezing

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺

This is the first headcanons for the Voltron segment of this blog! It used to be called “How they help you get through a migraine” but i was running dry on ideas so i switched to something simpler.

[lifeonvenuswriting]

Guys yall might have to wait a little longer for the next Simon fic I woke up at like. 11 at night running a 101 degree fever 😭😭

[asphodelzthornz]

I love rubys charcter so I am going to rant about her in a way that will make absolutely no sense to anyone else most likley

It’s clear that she was not fully understanding of everything when she first joined (in which she was 15). She seems to not really think much of fighting bad guys or Grimm, it’s like she almost views it in a playful light in some episodes. Then beacon falls and it becomes much more evident to her what people are capable of, of what grimm can really do with enough of them.

Which yeah that makes sense, most of the people at beacon didn’t. But the difference was most of the people there where almost adults, Ruby was 15. Don’t get me wrong that’s not too big of a difference, but it does put a pretty clear optimistic youth into her, which should’ve started to simmer a little naturally as she got older.

She is 16 when she leaves home and finds out she’s being hunted, she is 17 during the seventh volume. I think she still may be 17 during the ninth season, making her the age she should have been during beacon. You can see how hard she takes everything, she literally had a breakdown when Salem told her that her mom said the same things she had (implying she was why her mom died, which is why Ruby freaked out) and you can see how wiess and Blake seem shocked at this.

She has had basically no time to let her brain age, she had to just keep pushing especially since she was her teams leader. I don’t want to spoil much of volume 9 as it’s just came out but you can see her shutting Yang and the others out.

I Just think it’s intresting how her age may have affected how she coped and understood things. This was brought to you by an 101 degree fever asphodel lmao

[autobot2001]

Worried Over a Cold

@mediwhumpmay: shaking @themerrywhumpofmay: hot coffee, doubt

Allergies are annoying, especially when Jamie isn't sure if her allergies are acting up or she's getting sick. Even as she feels cold drinking hot coffee, she questions if she's getting sick. Even if this is allergies, I'll feel like crap by the afternoon. Jamie thinks.   She chooses to go down to the training room as planned.

Lily and Sunstreaker don't notice anything different during the forty-minute workout, and a shower does help Jamie. She believes her issue was allergies, and the shower helped. The three go to their art room until lunch.

After lunch, Jamie needs to lie down. "I know her computer is in their room, but she didn't look good during lunch," Lily whispers. "Crosshairs and Drift must have also noticed. It could be allergies." Both do worry if it's not allergies. They don't want to wait five hours to see if Jamie is ok, but that's what they decide.

Drift walks into the room at four-thirty. He thought Jamie didn't look good at lunch, and seeing her already asleep confirms this. He and Crosshairs thought Jamie was dealing with allergies, but not bad enough to result in going to bed. Drift feels bad feeling Jamie's warm forehead. Crosshairs sees Drift is displeased. "She's sick," Drift sighs, "and I thought it was allergies." Crosshairs feels how warm Jamie is. He gets the digital thermometer from a box of medical supplies in his closet. Hating the box even exists rather than a drawer of a few medical items in a bathroom drawer. "101°," Crosshairs reads, "add she did a workout today. Definitely made herself feel like scrap with this cold." The two mechs are still trying to figure out what to do about dinner since it's too late to make soup, and Jamie will likely not want to go to the cafeteria. They don't want to wake her but want her to eat dinner. They don't have to wait long for Jamie to wake up. She tiredly agrees to get dinner. Jamie ignores how she feels as she sits up.

By the time the three return to the room, Jamie is ready for bed, even though it's only six. Knowing it's too early to sleep, Jamie lies on Drift's lap as the three watches TV. The two mechs hope this cold won't be bad.

Drift wakes up at two in the morning, worried about Jamie shaking. He turns on the lamp, hoping Crosshairs doesn't wake up, and sees her hugging herself. He turns off the lamp and moves Jamie closer to him, hoping to help her get warm and worried about her fever.

"She's not getting out of bed today," Crosshairs sighs, reading Jamie's temperature has risen. The two know one degree is still not great, even if it's not an issue that requires one of the medics to examine Jamie. Drift hates adding how Jamie was shivering overnight. The two aren't worried Jamie has the flu, and they hate seeing her sick as much as they hate her poor mental health. The two didn't think Lily and the terror twins would come by. The three also not liking Jamie is sick. Even though the Autobot knows what an Earth cold is. "Guys, a cold doesn't cause a flare-up if that's what you're worried about," Drift assures them, "she'll likely not want to get out of bed for a few days." The three walk down the hall. Crosshairs and Drift get ready for the day while waiting for Jamie to wake up. Crosshairs decides he'll get breakfast for the two and something that both mechs hope Jamie will eat.

Crosshairs figures toast is all Jamie will eat — if she'll eat the toast. He knows she'll drink hot tea. "Can we stay in your room and watch TV?" Lily asks with Sideswipe behind her. "No, Jamie will likely sleep most of the day." They should know this. Why do they want to stay in our room? Crosshairs wonders.

Drift is a little concerned about Lily and Sideswipe's request. He and Crosshairs suspect the terror twins, and Lily will come by soon to see how Jamie is doing. As Crosshairs thought, Jamie wants hot tea but doesn't want to eat when she wakes up. Drift goes to the kitchen to make soup. Hoping Jamie will want to eat when it's done. Jamie gets out of bed to lie on the couch and watch TV. Crosshairs lies on his bed, deciding to check on Jamie in an hour.

Like yesterday, Jamie is cold even while drinking something hot. She regrets not bringing the blanket from the bed but already feels like crap when she sits up. The short walk to the bed is impossible. Crosshairs figured Jamie would be cold and happy he didn't wait an hour to check on her. He gives her cold medicine, hoping she'll want to eat when the soup is done. Within a half-hour, Jamie is asleep. Sunstreaker is texting, wanting to know how Jamie is doing. "And he thinks Drift worries too much," Crosshairs smiles as he texts Sunstreaker. Should we worry about how worried the three are over Jamie being sick with a cold? Crosshairs questions.

Jamie is awake in time for lunch, feels like eating, and wants to go to the cafeteria. The two mechs let her go downstairs, and they know the terror twins and Lily will be happy to see her.

The terror twins and Lily are happy to see Jamie and that she's eating, but they know she had cold medicine. They know Jamie could get worse before she gets better, and they might not see her in the cafeteria until she's well. "This is likely the routine until she's well," Drift tells them, "I hope we can give her medicine so she'll come to the cafeteria for dinner. Lunch might be impossible depending on when she wakes up and takes medicine."

Drift is right, the routine is the two mechs and Jamie would be at the cafeteria for dinner, but Jamie only feels like eating dinner. This worries the twins and Lily even though Crosshairs and Drift aren't worried. Ratchet finds out and looks at Jamie with the three in the room. "It is a cold," Ratchet confirms, "if you three are worried about this, then I'm concerned." If Jamie's guardians aren't worried, the twins should know she's fine. Ratchet thinks as he leaves the room. "You know Drift would be a wreck if Jamie was in worse condition," Crosshairs whispers to the twins and Lily, "even if we can care for her. She'll be better in a few days."

The routine continues for two days before Jamie starts feeling better and wanting to eat more. Within another three days, Jamie is over the cold. She doesn't say anything about the twins and Lily being over-worried about her but worries about them when she suffers a flare-up, even if it's mild and infrequent.

[tombeane-blog]

Pantone 13-1023 Just In Time For Christmas

I woke up this morning, logged onto the Google and was slapped with this horrific headline.

"El Nino appears to be on the verge of rapid collapse"

Holy c-rap! Rapid collapse? That can't be good, can it? Will we hear the sucking sound as it collapses - pulling in all the birds, fish and ships in the area along with that giant floating pile of plastic straws the size of Texas?

I can never remember exactly what El Nino means in terms of winter weather. I think El Ninos cause winter to be hotter and wetter… or maybe it's colder and drier?

On the other hand I just can't take La Nina seriously because it seems smaller and weaker - all girly or something.

Anyway, none of these seem like a good thing. I've been told nothing related to a changing climate can ever be good.

I mean we are supposed to spend 67 gazzilion dollars(adjusted for inflation) over the next X years keeping it from changing 1 or 2 degrees right?

So I ask myself, why do we put up with 20 degrees in the winter and 101 degrees in the summer? Can't we fix that too?

But I got off base here. Back to the headlines.

"The climate pattern known as El Niño, which quickly strengthened into a strong event, appears to be on the brink of a major decline, which would send the world into what is known as a neutral status."

Sending the world into Neutral Status? Are we supposed to think that is better? Somehow it sounds even scarier, or, at the least, more boring.

====================== Speaking of health hazards. How much do we know about what we put into our bodies?

Study the following list of ailments: Dizziness, headaches, nausea, diarrhea, constipation, blurred vision, hives, itching, fever, trouble breathing, drowsiness, insomnia, dry mouth, urinary tract infections (UTIs), genital infections, erection lasting 24 hours, dehydration, low blood sugar, ketoacidosis, alopecia, dermatitis, photosensitivity, dry skin, sweating… …and then there is low blood pressure, high blood pressure, no blood pressure… …and in rarely common cases - near death, far death, fear of death, fear of not dying and dying.

Now match them to the common medications we see on T.V. each and every day: Abilify, Jardiance, Rinvoq, Skyrizi, Viozah, DexcomG7, Dupixent, Jardiance, Celexa, Cialis, Celebrix, Claritin-D, Cosyntyx, Chantix, Lyrica, Lutada, Lexapro, Eliquis, Humira, Paxil, Zoloft, Xeljanz, Viibryd, Viagra and Voya (Not sure about that last one. It might be a financial thingy)

Ha! You just wasted three hours categorizing and cross referencing and fell for a titanius tower of trickery!

Most of them match most of them.

====================== While we are contemplating titanastic towers of stuff…

In the early twentieth century, New York City had a population of 7,000,000 humans and about 150,000+ horses. Each horse on average produced twenty-two pounds of manure a day, i.e., forty-five thousand tons of horse poop a month.

"Experts” at that time predicted that by 1930, the stuff would be piled three stories high in the streets. If asked, the "expert's" solution probably would have been to just kill all the horses.

As Yogi Berra once said, “Predictions are hard, especially about the future.” Because soon a technical solution in the form of the automobile came along.

Goodby poop smell! Hello sweet odor of automobile exhaust!

Maybe we should question "experts" a little more carefully and think through the "solutions" they push.

Like that deep throated guy in the movie 'All The President's Men' said, "Follow the money".

====================== Good news I just saw on the Telly! After the 87th attack on our forces in the Mideast, Our Secretary of Defense has just announced that the U.S. may be forced to taunt the Houthi's a second time.

====================== But I don't want to leave you feeling down just before The Holidays. So there's this:

"A warm and cozy shade highlighting our desire for togetherness with others and the feeling of sanctuary this creates, it presents a fresh approach to a new softness. Subtly sensual, it is a heartfelt hue bringing a feeling of tenderness and communicating a message of caring and sharing, community and collaboration."

I don't know about you but I'm feeling all tickly inside somewhere near my duodenum.

Yes. It's the 2024 Color Of The Year - PANTONE 13-1023 PEACH FUZZ.

Much better than 2023's color of the year - Gang Green. But, unlike Peach Fuzz, it is a Holiday color - sooo…

Merry Christmas!

[hecticcheer]

past me was so right holy crap this post slaps

Just–does it scare you guys, how in T/M/A canon when Jon goes right back to work after an injury he gets away with it? How he never learns his lesson, nothing bad enough ever happens to him to make him stop doing that? ... I am constantly hungry for art that lives with that fear, that stares at it, rather than trying to paper over it with stories about bodily suffering as an aberration that suspends the normal rules. ... [In] real life, pushing yourself till you shatter into pieces and your boyfriend (or friend, or coworker) puts them back together isn’t how you learn to take better care of yourself. Like? I’m not saying real life is “all h, no c”; it isn’t. Nor am I saying no one’s ever gonna drive you to the hospital if you come into work with a 104-degree fever; of course they will. I’m saying that a lot of the time, in real life you push and push and push and never shatter. You come in with a 101-degree fever, and it’s really fucking boring because you can’t concentrate, but no one notices you’re ill until you tell them, at which point they ask once, maybe twice if you shouldn’t be at home, and then change the subject for fear you’ll think they’re judging you. Whatever milestone you tell yourself you have to hit before you can stop? Either you’ll endure countless unanticipated miseries on the way but never find it, or you’ll pass it and think, “Huh, that’s weird–I don’t even feel that bad. Guess I’ll go another mile.”

is it tacky to quote your old text posts? oh well. past me was right and he should say it again

Have realized that one reason I love Dostoevsky is how often his characters have to Do Things while sick? One of the main antagonists in C&P is Raskolnikov’s inability to think straight or stay upright for long periods of time. I love that. I’ve been reading a lot of T/M/A sickfic (w-well, Jon sickfic, let’s not overgeneralize), but much of what I’ve found leaves me w/ an itch unscratched,* and, I think that’s what it is.

Keep reading

[warmblanketwhump]

About stress fevers- I've had them my whole life, but two years ago my mom got diagnosed with cancer, and last year she died. So you can imagine my stress levels went up trying to take care of her and manage the rest of my life. And yep! These stress fevers (my doctor called them something like psychogenic? psychomatic? I want to say?) got so much worse along with my stress levels.

Mine have never been too high. They go about from 100 degrees f to around 102, but are generally in the 100-101 range.

It's pretty crazy, because I didn't understand for a long time and never really felt quite bad enough to take my temp because I often don't have other symptoms that can't be attributed to stress. For example, when I'm really stressed and overwhelmed for awhile I get nausea, headaches, and then stress fevers. But I don't get head cold-like symptoms which are often the thing that tips me off that I'm sick. I can be oblivious otherwise. I also deal with some chronic muscle pain, so I usually assume that I'm just anxious or overly emotional and having some kind of pain flare up. I've had to learn to pay attention to the way I perceive temperature, because that's now the main thing that tells me I'm getting a stress fever.

I also have a few friends who will check my forehead and compare it to another friends forehead if I start to feel off. My partner carries a thermometer with him solely for that reason. (He's one of those guys that carries a little backpack everywhere to make sure he's prepared for any situation. I find it very cute.)

They're kind of awful because over the counter fever reducers don't really work very well on them? I still take them, mostly out of hope and for the placebo effect.

So really all I can do when I get one is try to calm myself down, (I usually use the TIPP skills I learned in DBT when I was a teenager) delegate tasks at work, text my therapist, go on walks, etc.

(I give you full permission to ask questions, message me about it, or use this as a prompt/scenario because I would read the shit out of that! I love reading about things that I can relate to.)

oh my goodness! well first off, i’m so sorry that that happened to you and that you had to go through all that :( secondly, thank you so much for sharing all this!! this is super interesting and something i’d definitely like to write more of once I learn more about it :) 

it says you’re deactivated (sorry I took so long to respond to this) but if you’re still out there somewhere in the tumblrsphere i will definitely reach out if i ever have questions!

[dontfeeltoohot]

The hill I choose to die on is the one on which Eddie is one of those types to just have zero clue? Like, okay, fevers make him kind of restless, he’s bouncing his leg, he needs to be doing something. All that being said, he hasn’t really realized he’s not feeling great, and he’s got no idea he’s running at 101 degrees. But then someone’s like “Eddie, are you okay, your face is all flushed?” and this guy is just like

“Oh.”

YES. He’s definitely not used to it, and it takes someone pointing it out for him to realize. He might get a little grumpy and not realize ‘oh hey I feel like shit’.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love and Medicine ~ 14

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 5,000ish

Summary: Just another day at the medical center, right? (Based off Grey’s Anatomy)

Heading back into the hospital, you went straight for Natasha’s room. The other interns were already in there, surrounding her bed.

“Hey,” you smiled, walking over to her. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” she responded. “I’m okay.”

You grabbed her hand and gave it a slight squeeze. She needed to know that you were there for her, but you weren’t going to push her into talking about something she wasn’t ready to talk about.

~~~

You slammed down a shot, needing to feel the alcohol rush down your throat. 

“How was Nat when you left, Scott?” Val asked, bringing more drinks over.

“She said she was okay, again,” he responded with a slight shrug.

“Nobody goes what she went through and is totally over it by now.”

“Natasha can.”

“She’s fine,” you added, taking another shot.

“Too fine,” Val said. “She’s cold.”

“No, she’s hardcore,” Clint said. “She’s got ice in her veins. She does what she has to do to get through it.”

“She lost a baby. She lost a fallopian tube and she’s acting like she doesn’t even care. She’s acting like she has no emotions or warmth, like she’s missing a soul.”

“She’s gonna make a great surgeon.”

“Clint!”

“It’s true. You show no weakness, you make it to the top.”

“Some people just keep their feelings to themselves,” you commented.

Your eyes were on the door, where Steve had just walked in. If he noticed you, he didn’t make it noticeable. You watched as he walked over to the bar and sat beside Gamora. Steve ordered a drink from Happy before talking to Gamora. Too bad you were too far away to hear them.

“Y/N kissed me,” Steve told Gamora. “Peggy kissed me… My wife and my girlfriend kissed me on the same day.”

“Happy, do I look friend to you?” Gamora asked.

“Oh, you’re a tiny little kitten of joy and love,” Happy responded, only for Gamora to make a face. “What? He saved my life.”

“His first mistake.” She took a sip of her drink. “Captain McDreamy, go sit by someone who cares.”

“Oh gee,” Steve mocks hurt, but doesn’t make a move to go. “Everything’s gonna be fine. Peggy will leave. Y/N and I will start over. Everything’s gonna be fine. Right?”

“You are so damn stupid.”

~~~

“With Natasha out, I need everyone focused today,” Gamora told her group of interns as you all headed off to rounds. “I have a feeling it’s gonna be be one of those days and since we’re short an intern, you do not want to get on my bad side.”

“When are we not on her bad side?” You whispered to Clint.

“Speak for yourself,” he replied with a scoff. “Scott and I are her favorites.”

The group walked into their first patients room. The woman was sitting on the bed, enthralling a group of hospital workers with a tell.

“So we're in the middle of the Belizean jungle and this jaguarondi jumps out and bites one of the guides,” the woman says. “They all look at me. They're yelling, "You're a doctor, help him!" This is one time a PhD does no good.” The people laugh.

“Sorry,” Gamora interrupted, “did I miss the memo about social hour?” Everyone quickly began leaving besides your group.

“Tales of missionary life,” the woman explained.

“You’re a missionary?” Val asked.

“No, my parents. We traveled a lot. Well, they still do.”

“Lang, tell me about our patient,” Gamora ordered.

“Okay, um, this is Dr. Banner’s patient, Talya,” Scott explained. “She, uh, presents with multiple syncopal episodes and ventricular arrhythmias.”

“So you’ve been passing out?” Gamora asked.

“Yeah,” Talya confirmed, “and having palpitations.”

“Talya has past medical history of rheumatic heart disease with mitral valve stenosis,” Scott added.

“They had to ship me from Zambia to the States for 3 months of treatment when I was 8,” Tayla said. “Rheumatic fever almost killed me.”

“Someone please tell me what the primary causes of ventricular arrhythmias are,” Gamora said.

Before anyone in the room could responded, Natasha appeared in the doorway. She leaned up against it in her hospital gown with her IV stand.

“Valvular disease, mitral valve prolapse, stimulants, drugs, and metabolic abnormalities,” Natasha answered.

“Out!” Gamora ordered.

“I’m fine.”

“Out! And you better be in your bed by the time we round on you!”

“And when will that be?”

“In 15 seconds. 14. 13. 13. 11.” 

Natasha turned around to head to her room, revealing her underwear through her nightgown. The group of interned laughed.

“Nice panties, Romanoff!” Peter laughed.

Natasha flips him the bird as she keeps waking. “In your dreams, Quill.”

They followed Natasha into the room, where she huffed as she got back into bed.

“L/N,” Gamora called.

“Right,” you responded. “Natasha Romanoff. Post-op day 3 from a unilateral salpingectomy.”

“And ready to get back to work,” Natasha said. “I'm taking solids and my pain is controlled with oral meds. I'm ready.”

“Well, it says here on your chart on you had a fever?”

“Y/N,” Nat growled.

“Natasha, did you have a fever?” Gamora questioned.

“Temp spiked to 101 last night. Big deal.”

“She worked 2 shifts last month with a 102 degree flu,” Clint added.

“Yes! Exactly, Clint. Thank you.”

“And we appreciate your dedication but you're staying in bed until it normalizes,” Gamora said. “You need to relax, shut up, and get better. You're a patient this week so you can be a doctor next week. Understand?”

“I understand,” Natasha grumbled.

~~~

Rounds had finished as you were heading to your assignment when you ran into Steve near the elevators.

“Skipping rounds?” He wondered.

“No,” you replied. “They just finished.” You kept walking, when Steve took your arm to stop you.

“Y/N…”

“You’ve got a wife.”

“Yes.”

“You’re life is complicated.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t need more complicated. I have that all on my own.”

“Yes.”

“Stop saying yes.”

Steve smiled. “I’m trying not to make any sudden movements.”

“You think this is funny?”

“Peggy’s leaving. She doesn’t have any more patients. There’s no reason for her to be here.”

“No reason? Really?”

“No really whatsoever.”

Steve stepped closer, bringing his hand up to brush your cheek. You stood there, trying to not let it get to your head or, well, anywhere else. Suddenly, Peggy appeared.

“Well now, isn’t this cozy?” She said. “Can I join in or are you not into threesomes?”

“I have to go,” you said, rushing away. You didn’t go too far, interested to watch everything unfold.

“Y/N…” Steve called with a sign. He turned to Peggy. “You really are Satan. You realize that right? If Satan were to take physical form, he'd be you. Everywhere, all the time.”

“I am so not Satan,” Peggy responded.

“How come you haven't got on your broomstick and gone back to where you belong?”

“Stop being petty.”

“Stop being an adulterous bitch.”

“You know, you are going forgive me eventually, right? I mean you can't just ... I mean there was a time when you thought of me as your best friend.”

“There was a time where I thought you were the love of my life. Things change.”

Peggy sighed and pulled some papers out of her bag, handing them to Steve. Steve quickly flipped through them.

“Divorce papers,” he said.

“Your lawyer said they're ok. I haven't signed them yet. The ball's in your court. If you sign, I'll sign. I'll sign and be on the first plane out of here.”

“I'll sign them immediately. I want you out of here as soon as possible.”

“Steve, have you ever thought that, even if I am Satan and an adulterous bitch, that I still might be the love of your life?”

Not answering, Steve walks away, completely not noticing you listening in from behind a pillar.

“What are we looking at?” Tony asked, appearing out of nowhere.

“Ah!” You exclaimed, jumping slightly. “Don’t do that!” You playfully hit him. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” he laughed. “I just saw you over here and I was interested in seeing what you were observing.”

“I think… I think Peggy just handed Steve divorce papers.”

“Really? That actually surprises me. I thought she would put in a little more of a fight.”

“Yeah…”

“I guess that’s good news for you, right?”

“I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I want him to choose me because of me, not because of a divorce.”

“In my ever humble opinion, I think it will always be you. Trust me. That man is whipped.”

~~~

Natasha snuck out of her room and stole her chart. She sat in her bed as she made changes to it. Walking by, Banner looked in and noticed that no one else was in there. He quickly took the chart of Nat.

“Hey! That’s my chart,” Natasha complained.

“You're the patient. Not the doctor. Act like one,” Bruce reprimands as he studies her chart. “It's been tough finding you alone.”

“Yeah? Well…”

“How are you doing?”

“Well, you have my chart, you tell me.”

He sighed. “Natasha, how are you doing?”

“I’m fine. Perfectly okay.”

“I had a right to know.”

“Well, now you do.”

“Natasha—“

“Look. Now you know. It’s over. There’ soothing for you to deal with. So I don’t know what else there really is left to say.”

“Plenty. For starters you could've come to me—“

“And what? We could have raised it together? Or you could have held my hand when I got the abortion? I did not need any of that. I’m an intern.”

“Nat—“

“Can you just go? I need to rest. Doctor’s orders.”

~~~

Gamora called you to help her with a patient. You two walked into the patient room together, revealing a younger man on the bed.

“I thought I told you I never want to see you again,” Gamora said to the patient.

“That's only cause you're too lazy to learn anything more,” the man responded.

“Dr. Y/N L/N, this is Nick Tate. He thinks he knows so much cause he was one of my first patient's as an intern.”

“I knew as much as she did. She was clueless about how to treat cystic fibrosis. A simple cholecystectomy turned into a month-long stay.”

“Better not be alleging malpractice. Guy raises about a 100 grand a year for cystic fibrosis, running triathlons. Thinks he's a big shot.”

“Wait, you run triathlons?” You questioned, confused how it could as a patient with cystic fibrosis.

“Yeah, why not?” He responded.

“It’s a pain for one,” Gamora replied, flipping through the chart. “Says here you're finally admitting to feeling a little unwell?”

“A little.”

“How little? Truth.”

“Oh, enough to keep me awake at night. Had some seizures. Um, too weak to work out.”

“Anyone been through here with your CT results?”

“No. It's probably just my pancreatitis kicking up again.”

“All right then. We'll be back. With your results and a plan.” Gamora walked to the door, with you following. She glanced back at Nick. “Huh, where do your parents think you are this time?”

He smiled. “Hmm, San Diego.”

Gamora shakes her head as you follow her the rest of the way out of the room.

“What about his parents?” You asked. “Shouldn’t he, or we, tell them?”

“No, he doesn't like to bother them until he's well or about to get discharged. He understands his reality. He just chooses to ignore it. Denial works for him, L/N.”

~~~

After Bruce had left, it only took Natasha two minutes to have found blue scrubs and change into them. She took out her IV and snuck out to the nurses station. She began looking through patient charts. The head nurse, Phil Coulson, found her like that.

“Where’s your IV?” He asked, looking at her with a disappointed father face.

“I've taken solids. I HEP-locked it,” Natasha replied.

“On whose orders?”

“Mine.”

“Okay.” Phil quickly found her chart and began reading it. “Romanoff. How about this order: best rest, out of bed to chair, bathroom privileges. Nothing about stealing charts at the nurses station.”

“Okay, you know what….” She quickly looked around to find a nearby empty wheelchair. She brought it over and sat down in it. “There, satisfied? I’m out of bed to chair.”

“I’m telling your intent on you.”

“Y/N?”

“Yeah.”

“Oooh, I’m so scared.”

She wheeled off with a patient chart, heading to Tayla’s room. When she arrived, she witnessed Tayla, by herself, taking a pill.

“I saw that!” Natasha exclaimed from her wheelchair in the doorway. “I saw you take that pill.”

“Oh it's, it's my pill,” Tayla excused. “You know... the pill.”

Natasha quickly looked over the chart. “It’s not at all in your chart and you are supposed to tell us the meds you are on.”

“You’re not my doctor. You shouldn't even be here.”

“She’s right,” Val said, appearing from behind. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I saw her take unauthorized medication!” Natasha continued.

“Well, you’re unauthorized to be here.”

“I’m on the pill and I had grapefruit juice this morning,” Tayla explained. “Since the juice inhibits enzymes involved in the metabolism of OCPs, I thought I'd avoid the interaction by taking it two hours after my meal.”

“She's has a doctorate in neuropharmacology, Natasha.”

Natasha huffed, “Well, Val, I don’t see any place where oral contra—“

“Okay so now you will. Will you just go back to bed and stop bothering the other patients?”

Tayla’s heart monitor suddenly started racing, bringing the other women attentions to her. She fell to the floor, unconscious, and Val rushed to her.

“She’s in V-FIB!” Natasha said. 

“Call the code,” Val ordered as she began compressions.

Natasha practically jumped out of her chair to call a code, which didn’t feel good. Val got Tayla back as the code team arrived.

“No code?” The nurse questioned.

“Not anymore,” Val answered. “Can you help get her back into bed.

“I’ll—I’ll help,” Natasha breathed got, struggling to get back to her wheelchair. “Just give me a minute.”

“Would you just go back to bed? Seriously, please just go.”

Natasha nodded as she finally made it to the wheelchair. “Just… if she’s on OCP’s, mark it down. Okay, Val?”

“Yeah.”

~~~

You had gotten Nick’s x-ray’s back and were currently putting them up to view them with Gamora by your side.

“Nick’s got a mass in his midepigastrium,” you explained. “Diffused enlargement of the pancreas. That, with his hypoglycemic seizures—“

“He's going to need an exploratory laparotomy. But, despite his triathlons, his lungs still make me hesitant to cut,” Gamora added.

“What are we going to do?”

“I haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“Doctors,” Peggy greeted.

“Dr. Carter-Rogers.”

“How old is he?” Peggy asked, studying the x-rays.

“26.”

“Survivor, huh?”

“And them some. My patient for at least 5 years. I'm not gonna lose him now.”

“You planning a laparotomy?”

“Hmm. You know, I think I could help you with this. I've seen one case like this before in a 9 year old. We ended up having to do a total pancreotectomy.”

“I'd be honored to take any help you can give me.”

“You’re a neonatal specialist,” you said. “What, uh… this isn’t your area.” Gamora looked at you, annoyed, as she shock her head. “I’m just saying that—“

“I did 2 years genetic research in cystic fibrosis,” Peggy told you. “I've pretty much seen it all, Dr. L/N.”

“Oh.”

~~~

Walking down the hall, Steve found you. Always trying his best to make a conversation with you. This time it was easy.

“Are you sure your wife is leaving?” You questioned. “She offered to help on the case Gamora has me working on.”

“Just because she offered her services doesn't mean she intends to stay,” Steve responded.

“Well, what does it mean? Because it seems to me—“

“It means that she's a good doctor.”

“Huh… why are you suddenly defending her?”

“I’m not. Y/N, she gave me divorce papers. She filed.”

“Good for you.”

“All I have to do is sign, and I’m free… We’re free.”

“Is there anything to think about?”

“No,” he shook his head, “of course not. I have to read through them, sign, then Peggy’s on the next plane out of here.” He grabbed your hands. “This is going to work.”

~~~

After the conversation he had with you, Steve immediately went searching for Gamora.

“Of all the fine doctors in the city, you accept a consult from Peggy Carter,” Steve said, angrily.

“Carter-Rogers, isn’t it?” Gamora retorted.

“The point is she should be on her way home. Are you purposefully trying to drive me crazy?”

“You think this has something to do with you?” Gamora’s voice was loud and upset. “You think I’m even thinking about you and your romantic problems? I’m trying to help a patient very near and dear to my heart. And if consulting with your wife—your ex—your mistress, what ever it is that she becomes! If that’s the thing I have to do to save my patient, them I’m damn well gonna do it.”

“I understand… and I totally deserve the yelling. It’s just that—“

“Just, you look! You have put yourself between two very fine women and you looking for an easy way out and you wanna use me, and the hospital and... somebody to make the decision for you, and it's not gonna happen!”

“Could I just… could I just say a couple of things?”

“No.” Gamora stormed off.

~~~

You found Natasha sitting in her bed, in her room. Thankfully. Though she was looking through another patient’s chart. You pulled a chair up to her bedside and sat down in it with a sigh.

“What’s your problem?” Natasha asked.

“Peggy gave Steve divorce papers, which is good. I mean she’s still here, being Peggy, but it’s not like I’m jealous or anything.”

“That’s odd.”

“It’s odd I’m not jealous?”

“No, you have every right to be jealous. It's your territory and she's peeing all over it.” Natasha went back to focusing on the chart in her hands. “What’s odd is Banner’s patient.”

“Tayla?”

“Yeah. She’s been in 4 other hospitals this year. You know something’s not right.”

“You seem awfully interested in Banner’s patient.”

“This has nothing to do with Bruce.”

“Natasha, you lost a fallopian tube, a baby and a boyfriend all in one day. You have the right to be upset.”

“And you’re losing Captain McDreamy to his perfect wife. You have the right to be jealous.”

“I did not lose Captain McDreamy. Divorce papers, remember? And I’m not jealous.”

“And I’m not upset. I really need to get out of here.”

“You’re on bedrest, remember?”

“Okay, if the situation was reversed, would you wanna spend time with your mother in a confined room with one window?”

“No. I guess not. But still. You need to stay put.” 

Before Natasha could respond, your pager beeped. You looked down at it and groaned.

“I got to go,” you muttered, leaving.

“Good luck!”

~~~

Peggy and Gamora met you in Nick’s room. There you began explaining the surgery to him.

“We won't know for sure until we go in there, but it looks like that I'm going to have to take out your pancreas and re-route your intestines,” Peggy said.

Nick looked at Gamora. “Did you tell her that my lungs don't do well with anesthesia?”

“Don’t I always have your back?” Gamora retorted.

“Your kidney function is decreasing rapidly and I'm afraid you're gonna go into multi-system organ failure if we don't operate,” Peggy continued.

“If I say no?” Nick wondered.

“There’s no guarantees, Nick. You know that,” Gamora answered. “It's gonna be a long, hard surgery and put a lot of stress on your body.”

“Yeah,” he smiled, “but I’m me.”

She smiled back. “But you’re you.”

“So if we don’t operate, I die. And if… we do operate, I may die.”

“Basically, yes,” Peggy responded.

“Well, I like those odds. And 26 years with this disease is awesome. And that's the reality. So if I get lucky ... great. And if I don’t…” Nick grabbed Gamora’s hand, “it’s been sweet.”

“It’s gonna stay sweet,” she replied.

~~~

Natasha was laying on her bed with her harm over her eyes when Clint walked into the room. Tayla’s chart was laid out on top of her.

“Why do you have that?” He asked.

“I’m working,” Nat answered. “Trying to figure out what’s going on with the crazy woman on four.”

“You are the crazy woman on four. Though, I have to say, you have a better patina than me and you don’t even really have a patient.” Clint plopped down in the chair next to her bed. “Y/N’s got a CF case. Peter has a gunshot wound. Val’s got the mystery arrhythmias. I have babysitting a crazy old lady! I’d rather do scut with Scott than this! I’m a surgeon. A cutter. I don’t want to be a fake surgeon! I want to be a real one!”

“She’s faking it,” Nat repeated to herself. She quickly got off the bed. “The missionary. Talya… Thank you!” 

She patted Clint’s head as she walked by. Natasha headed straight for the nurses station, where she saw Val looking around for something.

“Val!” Natasha called. “How how Talya’s studies been?”

“Hey!” Val responded, not pleasantly as she took the chart from Nat. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that!”

“Negative, right?”

“Oh! The echo tests showed mild mitral stenosis, the tilt test was negative. We're doing EP studies.”

“I can tell you what's wrong with her without sticking electrodes in her heart.”

“Really. Just by the chart?”

“No, from the pill she took.”

“They were contraceptives, Natasha! Why are you so obsessed with this? Just go back to bed!”

“I think she’s doing this to herself.”

“You think she's inducing ventricular arrhythmias? She'd have to be crazy to do—“

“No, no, no. She'd have to have Munchausen’s.”

“Okay wait. You think she's secretly ingesting something to produce real symptoms? Seriously?”

“Yes. Run it by Banner and tell me what he thinks.”

“Why don’t you tell him yourself. He is standing right behind you.” Val made eye contact with the man. “Dr. Banner.” 

Then Val left. Leaving Natasha will Bruce. She sighed as Bruce guided her into the small office nearby before listening to her.

“I mean, she obviously loves the patient role. She practically lives in hospitals. And... and, and we're like an imaginary family to her because her really family blows her off to go take care of other people.... And, and I saw her take something.”

“It's not enough,” Bruce said, shaking his head. “We have to rule out everything else. Everything physical.”

“She even lied about her job. She's a pharmacy tech, not a PhD.”

“So she's a liar. I've been lied to before.”

“Hey, we're not talking about us here.”

“Maybe we should be.”

“I didn’t lie!”

“You withheld the truth from me. How was00”

“Okay, you know what? I distinctly remember you breaking things off with me. And you didn't seem so upset about it. And this?” She motioned between herself and Bruce. “This is, this is not a relationship. This is not real.”

“Natasha…”

“Okay, and, and so what's with the big display of fake hurt and drama?” She began walking out of the room.

“Natasha!”

“I’m supposed to be in bed.”

~~~

You absolutely did not want to be in surgery with Peggy. Yet there you were.

“I need more traction,” Peggy stated. “Dr. Y/N?” You quickly did as you were told.

“Here,” Gamora called, “give me some suction there.” So you did. “Now L/N, retract the duodenum. Good. How’s he doing Vis?”

Vis was keeping watch over Nick’s vitals and such. “Harder to ventilate and no urine output since we started,” Vis informed.

Peggy shook her head, “he’s shutting down.”

“Did you increase his peak pressures?” Gamora asked.

“Any higher, I blow his lungs,” Vis responded before the monitor beeped. “Bradycardia. Pushing 1 of atropine.”

“Try ventilating him manually,” Peggy ordered, “see if he starts coming back up.” Vis began pushing on a bag.

“Did we miss any bleeders?” Gamora wondered.

“The surgical field is clear.”

The monitor began beeping faster. “Agonal rhythm,” you said.

“Any pulse with that?” Gamora asked.

“No carotid,” Vis answered.

“Okay, starting CPR.” Gamora handed over her tools and begun CPR. “Push one of EPI.”

“No extraordinary measures, Gamora,” Peggy warned. “He’s DNR.”

“No this is just good medicine.” Sh continued CPR, almost frantically. “Come on! Come on! Don’t give up. Come on.”

“You’re getting tired,” you noted. “Let me take over, Dr. Gamora.” She nodded, letting you quickly switch her places.

“Gamora, his intestines are cyanotic,” Peggy stated. “There’s no blood circulating.”

“It’s been shunted to his brain where he needs it,” Gamora responded as she studied your CPR form. “You call those compressions.” She shoved you to the side and took over CPR. You and Peggy made eye contact, worried. “Fight it. Come on.” Peggy looked around, shaking her head, and everyone stopped what they were doing. All but Gamora. “Why isn’t anyone moving? Whose recording?”

“It's been ten minutes since we've had a perfusing rhythm.” Peggy goes to stop Gamora but is shrugged off. The monitor flat lines. “It’s your call, Gamora.”

Taking a shaky inhale, Gamora stopped. She pulled off her mask as the monitor continues to flat line. “Asystole.” She looked up at the clock. “Time of death: 19:35.”

Gamora rushed out of the OR, trying not to cry. She went straight to the sinks and began cleaning her hands furiously. She paused when she noticed people covering up Nick’s body. Peggy walked in and started washing her hands as well, with you following. You both eyed Gamora a few times, worried. Soon, she left.

Peggy sighed. “It’s hard to accept the end when you’re too close.” She looked down as she slipped her wedding ring back onto her finger. She noticed you watching. “Look, I don't want someone who doesn't want me, Y/N. But if there's the slightest chance that he does, I'm not leaving New York.”

~~~

Val walked into Natasha’s room, not excited for the news she was about to tell her.

“Well?” Natasha asked.

“You were right,” Val sighed. “Talya definitely suffers from Munchausen’s.”

“See I was right…. I was right…” She closed her eyes. “I was right…” Nat began to cry. “I was right. I was… I was right. Oh… I’m—I’m—“ She let out a sob. “I’m right. I’m—I’m right.”

Val looked out of the room to see Clint walking by. “Clint! Page Y/N!”

Clint hurried in. “Why? What—what’s happening? What did you do to her?”

“She just started crying and I don’t know what to do!”

“I’ll get one of the nurses to page, Y/N.” Clint rushed out.

“Natasha,” Val tried, slowly coming closer. “Natasha, calm down.”

“The nurses paged her!” Clint came rushing back in.

“It’s okay, Nat.” Val went in for a hug, only for Nat to shrink away and cry harder. “Okay, okay. I won’t hug you.”

“What’s going on?” You came running in, panicked.

“I can’t stop!” Nat cried. “I can’t—-I can’t stop…”

“Crying,” Val finished for her. “She can’t stop crying.”

“I can’t see that!” You replied. “What did you guys do to her?”

“Nothing!”

“She’s going to dehydrate,” Clint said. “Nat, do you want some water?”

Nat shook her head, “no, no…” You tried to go in for a hug, only to be pulled away.

“NO!” Clint and Val exclaimed.

“I already tried that,” Val said. “It just made it worse.” Clint tentatively handed Nat a tissue.

“Natasha,” you tried again.

“Make—make it stop,” Natasha sobbed. “Make it stop… Somebody sedate me!”

“What’s going on in here?” Bruce asked, walking in. He was dressed like he was about to leave. There was clear concern etched on his face. 

“We can’t get her to stop crying,” you replied.

“Y/N, get everyone else out of here.” Bruce was taking off his jacket. “Watch the door.”

You nodded, quickly ushering Clint and Val out. They voiced protests, but willing left. You shut the door behind you and watched. Peeking through the window, you watched as Bruce got in the bed beside Nat. He wrapped his arms around her and brought her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Natasha willingly curled into him, welcoming his comfort. You sighed and turned away, leaning against the door to keep watch. Steve noticed you and came up.

“Hey,” he smiled.”

“Hey.”

“When are you off?”

“Uh,” you glanced at your watch, “in about an hour. Why?”

“Meet me at Happy’s when you get off.” He started walking backwards, sly smirk on his lips. “Don’t be late.”

~~~

Steve and you arrived at Happy’s bar at the same time. He gave you a smile as he held the door open for you. You walked over to an empty table, Steve close behind.

“I’m glad we’re doing this,” you said.

“Me too,” Steve replied. He set it briefcase on his chair. “Want a drink?”

“Yes, please.”

Turning around, Steve knocked his briefcase onto the ground. A stack of papers slipped out.

“I’ve got it,” Steve quickly said, bending down.

“I’ll get it,” you said, picking up the papers.

You glance at the papers as you stand back up. There his divorce papers, that he has yet to sign.

next chapter >

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[lizzyverydizzyyo]

D.E.A.N | Chapter 8 - Legality

Masterlist and overall summary of the whole novel is here. | Prompt on trope-appreciation-tuesdays that inspired this is here. | @whumptober-archive

Fandom : Original Work

(I) (II) (III) (IV) (V) (VI) (VII) (VIII) (IX) (X) (XI) (XII) (XIII) (XIV) (XV) (XVI) (XVII) (XVIII) (XIX) (XX) (XXI) (XXII) (XXIII) (XXIV) (XXV) (XXVI) (XXVII) (XXVIII) (XXIX) (XXX) (XXXI - END)

AO3

A/N Hi welcome to the second update of today because i’ve been having life... and i haven’t update for a long time. enjoy (here is chapter 7) also happy ides of march in which caesar was being irl whumped

Wordcount: ± 3247

TW : Discussion of Homophobia, Discussion of Slut-shaming, Emeto, Respiratory Illness

Mark is faced with highly uncomfortable possibility that his team, the “good guys” in this battle, might be the ones on the wrong side. Even more so as they watch their rescue struggles to get better because of them.

Whumptober 2021 Tropes:

Day 6 — Touch and Go | Hunger

Day 7 — My Spidey-Sense Is Tingling | Helplessness

Day 8 — Coughing Up a Lung | Pneumothorax

Day 11 — Just Keep Swimming | Dehydration

Day Alt. 23 — Regret

Day 15 — Feed A Cold, Starve A Fever | Delirium

Day 17 — Field Care 101 | Dread

Day 29 — All Work and No Play | Too Weak to Move

This story is set in the last half of 2016.

------

Something seems to have changed in the atmosphere inside Nick’s new bedroom. Everyone seems to hold an understanding, respect even, for Nick’s bright future that was robbed off him.

Not that other kidnapping victims didn’t have bright future ahead of them, but Nick in particular is a more special case.

If on his social media profile, he seemed so self-assured and excited for the life ahead of him, this one seems dejected and surrendered. And also exhausted and desperate for respite for once.

It’s even more pronounced now that Nick is lying on the bed weakly, his body withered and full of pain.

It's day 5 after he was brought to D.E.A.N’s closest medic facility, and he has no improvement. Even his fever is still at around 103 degree while his apparent pneumonia on top of his pneumothorax hasn’t subsided either.

Doctor Lowe has decided to leave a tube in his chest as his pneumothorax gets worse, and now he needs constant relief from the pressure building up in his chest cavity. The surgeon has also deployed antibiotic mists with his oxygen mask in effort to combat his respiratory infection and prevent further ones.

Nick coughs weakly once in a while, now with nasogastric tube in his nose, on top of the oxygen mask, going straight to his stomach. With the level of vomiting he is going through now, he can’t rely on normal food or the IV drip to fulfill his calorie and other nutrients intake need.

His oximeter attached to his ring finger says his saturation fluctuates between upper 80s and lower 90s, while his last blood pressure check with the automated machine by Mary says 65/40 with 30 bpm pulse an hour ago.

Mark sits with his cheek resting against one knuckle, eyebrows furrowed in worry unknowingly.

“How is he?”

Mark looks up at Luke, just realizing he is way past his time to watch over Nick and now it’s Luke’s turn.

He still doesn’t get up, a sense of responsibility gluing him to his seat.

Luke understandably sits on the other chair next to him.

“He is not…getting better at all,” he replies hopelessly.

There is a moment of silence as both men stare at the young, fragile body in front of them.

“You know, we all contributed to sending him here. Don’t hog all the guilt,” Luke tries with a small chuckle.

Mark doesn’t react.

Luke sighs and enters another silence with Mark.

After a while, Mark unsurely talks, if only to fill the silence.

“I… did the worst, I think.”

Luke sighs predictably again while rolling his eyes slightly. He opens his mouth to respond, but Mark beats him to it.

“He was able to eat, to get up, at least. Then I—” Mark gulps deeply and looks down, “I almost killed him. Then he couldn’t eat or get any sustenance in him anymore. Because his throat hurt too much.”

Nick coughs again weakly, pulling the alertness from the other two men in the room.

After a while of nothing happening, Mark deflates again.

“It’s…probably why he now has severe infection. Because he was too malnourished to fight it off. Now it gets real bad.”

“Mark,” Luke looks at him deeply, “We all made him worse. We probably destroyed his only hope of getting saved. I’m sure when he saw us he was expecting to be rescued instead. Not—” he gestures around, “whatever this is.”

Mark doesn’t reply, his mind engulfed by guilt and fear. Fear that Nick…

Ah, no. He shouldn’t think that.

“I would suggest you to pray, but I think you’re too atheist for that.”

Mark chuckles, even with heavy heart.

“Lifelong homophobia by religious institution will do that to you.”

Luke gives a ‘you got a point there’ face.

Another tense and depressing silence passes with both of them awkwardly looking down at their own hands while playing around with the fingers.

Something flits around Mark’s mind. It’s not really important, but he is itching for something to break the tense atmosphere.

“Who do you think VL is?” asks Mark.

Luke looks up with furrowed eyebrows.

“The friend, in the article. The one who said Nikolai was supposed to meet.”

Luke stares at him for a while, deep in thought but also confusion.

“I have no idea. Why?”

“His last post sounds like he was meeting this… VL for a date. But the article makes it sound like it was just a platonic hangout.”

Luke thinks for a while as he digests Mark’s words. Eventually, he widens his eyes slightly in realization.

“You think Nick is gay?”

Mark doesn’t answer, letting his silence speaks for itself.

Luke narrows his eyes as the tip of his lips lifts up in a cheeky smile.

“You really have crush on him? Trying to figure out if you have a chance with Nick?”

Mark rolls his eyes. Of course, he would go there.

“No, Luke. That’s not—” he runs his fingers through his hair almost in frustration, “What I mean, is that it’s hard still for people like me, people like Lena, to get acceptance, from our surrounding. Or ourselves.”

Luke listens raptly, his face now serious and patient.

“Despite Glee,” Mark chuckles, “or, you know, Brokeback Mountain,” he pauses again, “or hell, even an Olympic diver coming out three years ago. And gay marriage legalized last year. Despite all of that, it’s still hard for queer kids to get acceptance.”

Mark stares at Nick’s sickly body again.

“If I’m right, and VL is a boy, it means Nick was about to take that step. To try to accept himself, even if his environment possibly didn’t.”

Luke stares at Nick too, forlornly and sympathetically.

“Do you think, with everything he most likely went through with Helga, he will ever be able to do that again? To accept himself without shame?”

There was another silence as if both of them were mourning for Nick.

“Maybe. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m thinking too far.”

“No, no, you’re—” Luke straightens up in his seat, “you’re right. That’s possible. That’s…tragic.”

Luke turns to him with earnest look. “Maybe it’s because I’m not part of LGBT community—though I’m black so internalized racism gets to me sometimes—it just never crossed my mind for dilemma like that to happen to anyone else. I just, I don’t know. I look at you and Lena being self-assured, and I never questioned that that might not be the norm.”

Mark chuckles sadly. “Trust me. It’s not, not even for me for a long time.”

“How…,” Luke considers his words with furrowed eyebrows, “how long did it take for you, to accept yourself?”

“I don’t know, 16, 17 years of my life?”

“I thought you came out in middle school.”

Mark chuckles again. “No, I was outed in middle school. That wasn’t my choice.”

“Oh, that sucks.”

“Yeah. It does. I only started to look at other boys without that, you know, instinctual shame and the need to hide it, like at my last year of high school or something.”

“Wow,” Luke says thoughtfully, “can’t imagine still being embarrassed about my crush in high school.” Luke stares at Mark again. “Not to mention, genuinely ashamed.”

“Good thing college changed everything,” Mark reminisces with slight smile blooming on his lips.

“How?”

“I fucked, like, two, three different guys almost every week in college.”

Luke bellows in laughter.

“So, you’re a gay Casanova, huh?”

He smirks. “Got it from my mom, probably. She used to jokingly call me her ‘little baby slut’.”

Luke laughs again as he lets out a ‘what the fuck’.

“She was like, ‘Oh, I’m so proud of you! You’re learning so well! Go get those hotties, baby!’”

Luke cackles again before saying, “No fucking way.”

“She did!” Mark insists with his own smile.

“Oooh, she sounds delightful!”

“She absolutely is, no doubt.”

“Sounds like she doesn’t give a fuck about what society says, huh?”

Mark reminisces again in endearment but also mourning. “She had me out of wedlock in early 90s. She probably has the same contempt for society as I do because I’m gay.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Luke replies as he calms down a little.

Another silence lapses again as they look down once more, the implication that the boy in the bed will never have that freedom earning another forlorn atmosphere.

“Was Jackson okay with that?”

Mark looks up at Luke.

“With what?”

“With you being gay and all.”

Mark furrows his eyebrows in puzzlement. “Yeah, absolutely. Wasn’t it pretty clear that he knew and didn’t care?”

“Oh, yeah, probably. I just, I felt uncomfortable being nosey about you both, you know. Feels like intruding in father-son relation.”

“Why does everyone think Jackson was my dad?” Mark questions absently as he stares at the bed again.

“Well, wasn’t he?”

Mark thinks for a while. “I don’t know to be honest, I never bothered to find out.”

“You don’t want to know if he was your dad?” Luke asks incredulously.

“I mean, if he weren’t my biological dad, I wouldn’t want whoever that is to be my father anyway, since, you know he just bounced and never cared at all.”

He thinks more as Luke stares at him in anticipation.

“And if Jackson were my biological dad, I’m satisfied with the rate he was in my life. All in all, it’s good outcome either way. So, I never cared.”

Luke looks at him questioningly. “Does your mom know?”

After a little contemplation, he answers, “No, I don’t think she does.”

“Did Jackson know?”

“Pretty sure he didn’t know and didn’t care.”

“And you also don’t know. Or care.”

“Yeah.”

Luke faces the bed again, almost in understanding.

“And at this point, you’ll never find out. And you’re okay with that.”

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

“That’s… strange. But, I mean, if it works, who am I to judge?”

Mark looks back on his childhood when Jackson first showed up in his life, and his mom just introduced him to Mark without a single care in the world.

It’s almost like she was introducing a professional acquaintance to him at the rare times he went out with her for work-related outing. The kind of acquaintances that she knew she would never see again—or at least very, very seldom—so she was cordial but uncaring. She was probably only humoring Jackson for Mark’s sake, so that he would at least have one father figure in his life.

It almost felt like he had co-parents who were divorced, but without the toll of the divorce itself.

So, yeah. It worked, really, really well. If anything, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Um…” Luke starts again unsurely, pulling Mark’s attention to him, “I know that Jackson might or might not be your dad, but he was the closest thing to a father you had, right?”

“Yeah?” Mark replies, curious and confused.

“Do you…I don’t know, ever sometimes regret following in his footsteps?”

It's a loaded question, the one he never allowed his mind to wander to. He… has always prepared himself for this, and he doesn’t know any other way.

“I mean, if you think about it, D.E.A.N pretty much goes again the most foundational grain of what this country stands for. It’s a blatant constitutional violation, you know?”

Mark knows, of course. He has just always thought there are some people who can’t be dealt with constitutionally. He never thought too much about it.

“The entire point of justice system is so that it will allow defendants, any and all defendant, to confront their accusers. The witnesses. D.E.A.N is designed to circumvent all of that. You ever thought that maybe we are wrong?”

He has always had the conviction to do the ‘right’ thing, that for some circumstances, the ends really justify the mean. Like Helga being defeated justify the existence of D.E.A.N.

But now, he is not so sure.

“What if we were given the same rules, same protocols, same legal limitations and accountabilities, like, say… FBI? The army? You ever thought about that?”

The implication of Luke’s words is clear. He almost doesn’t want to explore that direction, but…

The casualty of D.E.A.N’s ‘freedom’ is right there in front of them, lying on the bed with severe ailments. Ailments that are preventable, if only they all followed the same protocols applied to any other institutions.

Sure, there are corrupt and hush-hush people and projects in the government since the dawn of time, but those are the exception to the rules. The ones that are considered violations and the masses are allowed to critique, know about, and hold accountable. D.E.A.N is designed exactly to operate using that violation with no repercussion, as its core function.

If they were given the same rules, made to follow the same law of interrogation and intel gathering, would they be able to do the things they did to Nick? To just bulldoze through all humane and empathetic conventions established in justice system and criminal laws?

Would they be able to tell since the beginning that Nick is innocent in all of this, because they didn’t just go straight to using violence to get the truth out of him?

He…

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t like to think about the implication that all this time, the value and preparation he’s had almost his whole life are wrong.

That Jackson was wrong.

Maybe he is a coward and a naïve man, but he doesn’t want to think about it.

***

There are two more tense days after that talk he had with Luke. Everyone has been operating with bated breath and high anxiety. Even Anna and Don start to seem like Nick’s condition gets to them, sending them into visible guilt and fear of being responsible in an innocent person’s eventual demise.

Horace tries to be a leader to them, pulling them into focus after their last discussion about Helga’s pattern, but even he knows that’s hopeless. Both because, unfortunately, he lacks the grace and leadership skill needed as commanding officer and because Nick’s condition is just too depressing.

Mark is scrolling again through Nick’s social media accounts, finding several more on other platforms. Some he had to trace and find using some hidden and possibly illegal means (for civilian, of course, not for government’s employee with high clearance like D.E.A.N’s agents) because Nick was using alias, and the others are openly available with his real name and identity.

Nick loves French macarons and cats, especially black cats because ‘those furballs look like very adorable abyss and I love them to bits (fuck the superstition, they are totally lucky charms lol)’. He also likes border collies but thinks that chihuahuas are shitty little gremlins who are bitter about being weak enough to be bested by celebrities’ purses.

He has never had pets, though, because his parents think they’re going to be dirty and smelly and will ruin the house furniture. He swore that he is going to be salty about it for the rest of his life and is going to get revenge by adopting an entire shelter worth of cats and dogs when he moves out.

He is (or was) also prolific young athlete and active student, apparently being part of his high school track and swimming teams and is the student body president who was in the process of transferring the leadership to his future elected predecessor as he was already a senior in high school.

Outside of being extremely proficient in several programming languages, he is also fluent in human languages like simplified Mandarin, Spanish, Russian, and conversational Vietnamese. Oh, and ASL too, as pointed out by George.

He also never shut up (and at this point, Mark just chuckles endearingly instead of getting irritated) about possibly becoming valedictorian and going straight to the country’s (and possibly world’s) best university after graduating high school.

Even if he wasn’t humble, at least he has a lot to show for it to back it up.

He feels proud for young Nick and affectionate, almost, towards him, but mostly his heart is filled with sadness for what became of that bright and accomplished young man.

His life (and most likely, even his body and mind) has pretty much stopped being his own tragically for the last almost four years.

All of that hard work, ambition, passion, and confidence just went down the drain the moment Helga took him. And even after that, he had to endure D.E.A.N’s cruelty when they should have been his savior.

Now he’s most likely never going to get the chance to experience those glory days ever again, even if he survives his current infection.

Mark squeezes his eyes and rubs his face roughly. He’s got to stop thinking like Nick is on his way to the grave. There is still chance, he has to be sure of it.

With all of those in mind, Mark walks in again to Nick’s bedroom, even if now is not his turn to watch over the sickly boy.

“You really are having crush on him, huh?” the bald Navy veteran asks him jokingly as he steps into the room.

Mark doesn’t give Don a reply.

“You know that kid doesn’t exist anymore, right?”

“What kid?” Mark asks, even if he knows who Don is referring to.

“The kid that you’ve been learning about. The one with the Facebook profile, the twitter, the photo website—”

“Instagram.”

“Yeah, that. And that other website with confusing appearance. And unhinged posts. Whatever that is.”

“His tumblr.”

They stay silent while they watch Nick’s body as he is swallowed by the blanket with so many tubes attached to his body.

“Whether he willingly went into Helga or was kidnapped, he is never going to be that kid ever again. And you know that.”

Of course, Mark knows. It doesn’t mean he can’t try to learn about him if only to reminisce, weirdly enough, on behalf of the young man with broken spirit.

“Stop holding on to that illusion, son. It’s going to disappoint you more when you are eventually faced with that reality.”

“So, what, we just give up on him?”

Don contemplates a little bit.

“It’s too late for the current victims, unfortunately, whether he is one or not. But if you really care about those innocent kids, look forward and focus on destroying Helga so that future potential victims don’t fall into the same fate.”

It doesn’t mean he can’t try to save the ones already in Helga’s hands. There has got to be a way to do that somehow.

“I know you’re still young, and naïve. Blindly hopeful, even. The truth is, there are just some people we can’t save. That’s the reality. If we keep focusing on the ones that are too far gone, we’re just gonna end up abandoning the ones that can be protected still.”

Mark still doesn’t respond, his mind stubbornly holding on to his conviction. Maybe desperately.

“Maybe one day, when you get to my age. But I hope, for the sake of the people that need our protection, you realize and accept it soon.”

No. Don is wrong. He is sure of it. They all can still try to save them all, both the old and the future victims. There has to be a way. D.E.A.N must be created for that reason, regardless of its name. That’s got to be what D.E.A.N is for, right?

***

(I) (II) (III) (IV) (V) (VI) (VII) (VIII) (IX) (X) (XI) (XII) (XIII) (XIV) (XV) (XVI) (XVII) (XVIII) (XIX) (XX) (XXI) (XXII) (XXIII) (XXIV) (XXV) (XXVI) (XXVII) (XXVIII) (XXIX) (XXX) (XXXI - END)

[rfaromance]

Hello I'm starving for some Saeyoung fluff pls 🥺

honestly? same. always. constant mood.

“Impossible!”

An indignant cry rang throughout the small house, echoing off of its reinforced walls.

“Unbelievable!”

Another exclamation followed shortly thereafter.

“Absolutely, positively, undoubtedly—”

“True,” MC finished flatly, and she let out a long, slow sigh as she wiped off the thermometer. “101 degrees Fahrenheit,” she read, and she held up the small screen in front of the frazzled young man so that he could see.

“I’m 707, not 101,” Saeyoung replied matter-of-factly, and a cheeky grin crept onto his face. “Come closer. I can’t see it.” He squinted and tried to sit up to get a better look, but MC quickly scurried over and planted her free hand on his shoulder to press him back down onto the couch.

“Don’t strain yourself,” MC insisted. “I’ll come closer.” She thrust her arm forward so that he could read it, trying not to get too close herself so that she didn’t catch whatever ailment afflicted him.

“Closer,” Saeyoung whined. “You need to come closer.” He lifted his arm and began grasping at the air, as if trying to pull her closer.

Were his eyes in that bad of condition because of this fever? MC sighed and inched a little closer, drawing nearer and nearer until Saeyoung gave her some sort of signal. She yelped as his grasping hand suddenly latched onto her wrist and yanked her to the side, so that she fell on top of his abdomen.

“Yeah yeah, sit there,” Saeyoung purred. “That’ll help.”

MC pushed her lower lip out in a pout as she scrambled to her feet, dusting herself off with an aggravated sigh. “You clearly aren’t that sick,” she decided. “You still have your wits about you, for better or for worse.”

“Noooo don’t gooooo,” Saeyoung begged. “I’ll behave.” He tried to sit up again, and he managed to prop his head up on the pillow behind him. “Besides, I shouldn’t be sick at all! That’s impossible!” Remembering his initial point, a fresh wave of adrenaline and incredulity swept through him, and he bolted upright almost at once. He wavered slightly and had to reach out to grab onto the back of the couch to steady himself. “I’m a hacker. Hackers are roaches. Roaches don’t get sick. Therefore—”

MC cut him off at once as she pressed her index finger against his lips. “Don’t say that,” she whispered. A pang struck her heart every time he compared himself to filth, to muck, to grime. He had begun to value himself a little more ever since they had become a couple, but every now and then he would still slip out a phrase or engage in an action that showed he didn’t value himself nearly as much as he should. As much as she valued him. “You aren’t a roach. If anything, you’re a butterfly, flapping intricate, delicate, fragile, yet powerful, and beautiful wings throughout the sky.”

Saeyoung tilted his head back and forth, as though pondering her words. “Do butterflies get sick?” he asked. He gazed up at her expectantly, as if he were awaiting an actual answer. “Can I be a honey butterfly?” While his tone was playful, the soft glow in his eyes revealed how he truly felt: humble, gracious, relieved, and… loved.

MC pretended not to notice the tears welling up in the corner of his amber eyes, and pretended to instead be staring at his forehead. She reached over and brushed his sweaty bangs back to plant the back of her hand on his forehead. “You really are burning up.”

“Like a moth to a flame,” Saeyoung whispered. “I seek what will destroy me.”

MC pursed her lips tightly and wagged her finger at him. “What did I just say? You’re a honey butterfly!” she insisted. “Make sure you don’t fly away while I fetch you some soup, alright?”

Saeyoung nodded fervently. “I wouldn’t dare leave my flower behind,” he cooed. “My sunflower. My home.”

A bright blush spread across MC’s cheeks, and she turned away quickly to head to the kitchen, hoping he wouldn’t notice. He fluctuated so wildly between silly and serious, and as much as she loved the jokester 707 and the dedicated worker Luciel, she loved the sincere, sweet Saeyoung most of all.

MC narrowed her eyes at him skeptically. “Your grip was pretty firm when you pulled me on your lap,” she pointed out. Nevertheless, she planted herself on the couch directly beside him and cradled the bowl in the crook of her left arm. “Open wide,” she murmured before blowing on the little spoonful of carrots and chicken. “They say this is the best medicine.”

“What’s my incentive?” Saeyoung asked, eyeing the spoonful of soup warily. “I’m not really a chicken noodle type of guy.”

“If you eat your soup,” MC whispered, “then when you get all better, you can have some…” She winked at him. “…dessert.”

[scaryscarecrows]

Child Safety 101

AN: Continuation of ‘I Think I’ll Just Collapse Right Here, Thanks’, found in Why Do They Kick Me?

Note: Mark is a trauma surgeon, not a GP, but he’s also the only one Jason will let within doctoring range, so.

* * *

The Knight has been down and unresponsive for literal days. The first day was the diciest, because even Mark hadn’t been totally sure if he’d pull through, but his fever had gone down enough to remove him from the danger zone.

Once it had become apparent that he wasn’t going to die on them-because Antoine’s sorry, but no way is he continuing this crusade in the guy’s memory or whatever, if the boss dies, he is leaving-, they’d had a meeting and, essentially, made a chore chart for who had Knightwatch, who had Armywatch, and who got to nap.

It’s a fairly efficient rotation. And so far, at least, they’ve managed to keep the news of, well, everything under wraps. All the men know is that the boss is down but that he will be fine, carry on as normal. They don’t know that the helmet’s off.

And. Oof. Of all the crackpot theories they’ve jokingly tossed around, this wasn’t one of them. Antoine’s not sure which one he’s more stuck on: the fact that the boss is a teenager, or the fact that the boss is-was-Robin. They’re so intertwined that it doesn’t really matter, it’s just…

Antoine is not a parent. He’s happy to keep it that way; the best part of uncle-ing is dosing them up on sugar and releasing them back to the parents. So he doesn’t really get the whole ‘electrical outlets are a Great Danger’ thing. But he does get, maybe a little better than your average parent, the sick, twisted fucks of society. He’s worked with a handful. Spoken with more. He still remembers, years after the fact, that one guy...he ate people. Literally. He’d put a toddler in the oven-alive-and…

Yeah.

But this is a little different. This is...it’s one thing to hear about it. It’s another thing to be faced with it. And it’s another thing entirely to see it. That fucking tape, man…

He stretches out a bit, pops his back and rubs a hand over his side, feeling rough scar tissue. What a week. What an absolute hell of a week.

He’s on Knightwatch now, because everything outside is moving smoothly without him and Frank really, really needs the nap. The boss is finally sleeping peacefully, curled up on his side with one arm flung up to shield his face. He’s still shivering on and off, and he sounds congested as all get out, but the worst of it is over. No more screaming, no more pleading.

What now? He supposes they’ll stay the course, but he’s not sure, not really. Maybe this is the end. Maybe the boss will vanish in the middle of the night.

Jesus, that explains so much. Batman taught him all this weird shit. Batman...this is, arguably, entirely Batman’s fault. What sort of weirdo...never mind. Never mind.

As ever, he figures, this is a nasty combination of neglectful adult and opportunistic predator. This is the same thing as that one girl in his sister’s apartment complex that got kidnapped. Six years old, mother said, ‘yes, yes, go play by the road alone!’ and she got abducted and murdered. Somebody should have been watching her.

Somebody should have been watching the boss.

Doesn’t matter. People are watching him now, at least, whether he likes it or not.

He coughs and rolls over, one arm slipping off the bed. Antoine sighs and puts it back, straightens the sheets out like he’s seen Frank and his sister do, and wonders what’s going to happen now.

They could, he supposes, figure out who he-and by extension, Batman-is. Jimmy could run a facial recognition at the minimum. But they haven’t, and they don’t really intend to. Curious as they are, they owe him their lives and...and no matter how this turns out, he’s their boss and they won’t.

Antoine’s sort of lost in thought, caught up in memories of that little girl (what was her name?) and the cannibal and the utter confusion of everything, when the Knight suddenly jerks upright like he’s gonna make a break for it.

“Shit--”

He twists over and only feels a little sorry for forcing the Knight back down. The sorry feeling vanishes when the boss tries to fight him.

“No--”

“You gotta be kidding me--” It’s not much of a fight, but he’s still trying, which is incredibly unfair. “How even--there.”

Okay. There’s no easy weapons in here, which is all he can ask for. He’s not interested in being held at gunpoint again, thanks.

“You back with us, sir?”

The Knight’s quiet, breathing hard and seemingly very interested in the ceiling.

“We have an intruder,” he says, voice carefully flat. “I want every available unit search--”

Uh-huh.

“You wouldn’t have held this intruder at gunpoint, would you, sir?”

Silence. That’s what he thought. They’re professionals, for heaven’s sake. People don’t just get into their super-secret hidden base. That just doesn’t happen. Their own people have gotten lost trying to find their way back to it! Intruder, humph. That hurts.

…

Yeah, okay, he’s trying to maintain the facade of normalcy. Like. The helmet’s off, man, any weird-ass theories anybody’s had have now been put to rest in favor of the truth. But both of them are probably going to be happier if they just pretend that nothing has changed.

(Which is half-true. Baby Robin or not, the guy’s still scary.)

“What day is it,” he finally says, voice scarcely above a whisper. Antoine hits the call button.

“March third, sir.”

“Shit.”

Yup.

There’s no good response to that and the boss goes slack, one arm flung over his face. A minute later, Mark throws open the door with a grumpy, “What the fuck was that.”

“I--”

“Went the fuck down in the middle of the day thanks to a one-oh-four degree fever,” Mark seethes. “You have. The goddamn. Flu. People die from the flu, straight-up die, and you didn’t think to mention it! I’m not asking for much here. Just a little heads up. Y’know, ‘hey, Jones, I’m feelin’ pretty crappy, think you can poke your head in to make sure I didn’t die in the night?’ ‘Oh, sure thing, boss, happy to help, feel better!’” The smile he plasters on is frightening. The boss doesn’t like it, not one bit, and to Mark’s credit, he drops it pretty quick. “What were you thinking? Anything? Really, I’d love your thought process.”

“‘ve handled worse on my own,” the Knight mumbles, somewhere between sheepish and stubborn. “Thought a walk would clear my head.”

Sad thing is, Antoine believes him. The brand alone is not pretty, and while Mark hasn’t said much, what he has shared is disturbing.

And. Well. It’s not like the boss has been totally silent for the past few days. Once or twice he’d woken up screaming, the kind of awful sound Antoine associates with three-feet-thick walls and Professionals. Hell, Mark had collared Trent to come and look at something, and while neither of them are sharing, that’s Bad. Trent’s not a doctor, but he knows how to hurt people...and what they look like after.

“Well, it made you worse. You’re lucky you didn’t kill someone or yourself, parading around like that. Aight, you sit up, you clear out.”

Gladly.

“Feel better, sir,” he says. “We’ve got things handled out here, so just get some rest.”

“Oh, he doesn’t have a choice. Come on, up-up...be lucky if I let you out of my sight again after this...f’I have to give you weekly check-ups, that’s what’ll happen…”

Fuck Batman, Antoine thinks tiredly. This is his fault, things never should have advanced to the point that his...sidekick...kid...whatever ended up like this. How is Gotham not screaming about kids and guns anyway, huh? That just seems like Child Safety 101. He certainly makes sure all his toys are locked up tight when the niblings are over. He sure as hell wouldn’t give them a dull knife and tell them to, like, fight a trained mercenary. That seems like a terrible idea.

Whatever. It’s not going to go any farther. Boss he might be, but he’s just not going to be allowed to be an idiot, that’s all there is to it. No more vanishing off somewhere for three days, he’ll just have to check in or something. Frank can bully him about that. It’s for his own damn good.

THE END