#i hacked this out in 9 hours

[hemomusicmonster]

Uhhhh... I'm not dead? Maybe at little on the inside, but that's 'cause I stayed up all night to make this silly joke thing for my roommates and I.

I was told that I should put it out to the public because they enjoyed it so much.

So, have some OCs to a Tom Cardy song called H.S.

[abcdfghjklmpqrobin]

Superman is left in the batcave on Robin-sitting duty for the day.

The batkids, (Let's say they're all fairly young and close to age for the sake of this) start to get restless pretty quickly so Clark proposes playing a game.

Hide and seek seem harmless enough. Not too physical, they can't get out of the batcave unauthorized and Clark can just locate them with his super powers if needed.

The first problem is that Cass and Damian don't know how to play. Clark tries to answer their questions 'Is it like a tressure hunt?' 'What are we hiding?' but the other kids start trying to explain and soon everyone is just shouting. Clark raises his voice and goes "Listen! The only rule is you hide and don't let me find you, okay?"

The kids all turn to look at Superman with huge glinting eyes. He ask if there's any questions and they all shake their heads no, and so Clark finally turns around and starts counting down from 100...

The first thing the kids do is grab some Kryptonite along with lead reinforced clothes. Hacking the doors and getting out of the cave is child's play. By the time Clark gets to "Cero! Ready or not here I come!" half of them already left the manor.

Tim and Cass decide to stay close to the enemy, hiding in the air conducts and old passages of the manor. They get to watch the exact moment Clark realizes, 30 minutes in, that he can't find them.

Jason and Stephanie go the disguises route. They stay in Gotham where they're already familiar with life in the streets, blending in and disappearing.

Duke and Damian take Goliath and fly to Dinosaur Island. Mostly because Duke has never been and is exited about the dinosaurs, and Damian likes animals. Also the dinosaurs will distract Superman if he comes too close.

Dick goes... Well he doesn't know where to go. Honestly, after the first 3 hours of walking around he gets pretty bored. Clark has been flying from one side of the country to the other for ages and hasn't even come close to finding him once.

So Dick goes looking for Bruce instead. He's not doing anything, he might as well help Batman kick some.

That's how Batman turns around mid-fight expecting to find another goon only to see his 9 year old son who was supposed to be at the other side of the planet with his siblings. As an explanation Dick says "Superman is Superbad at hide and seek".

Clark never babysits again.

[ilium-ilia]

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Seven: another deal. another oath

tw: grief

Marco got you sick. 

Building pressure throbs between your eyes, ravaging your sinuses with tightly packed snot. It moves to your throat until you’re constantly hacking up phlegm and the pressure in your ears swells so viciously that you can hardly hear anyone over the idle chatter in the restaurant. Of course, there is no evidence to prove that it was Marco himself who got you sick. There are countless people who flood through the doors of Sapori with empty stomachs and noses running from the bitter, humid cold of London. Anyone could have gotten you sick. 

Yet, over the last week, no one has gotten as close to you as he did. Fingers digging into your arm. Legs pinning yours to the bench. Gentle hand—the hand of a killer, his hand, that brutal fucking hand—caressing the side of your face, holding you hostage. Taking, and taking, and taking—tongue shoving past your teeth—

Blurry eyes glance away from the assaulting brightness of your phone screen. Sapori is quiet; it always is this early. Early for late night dining, anyway. Half past ten, you’ve spent most of the morning cleaning every single corner of that building. It’s how you rationalize spending more hours at work even without customers—you have to keep your hands busy and cash flowing. Except, after a while, you got too dizzy to continue, so you’ve taken refuge at a lonely table. The dust and carcinogens you’ve inhaled haven’t done anything to ease your symptoms, but you can’t afford to stay idle. There are numbers to be crunched, cash to be earned, and debts to be paid. 

Which brings you back to your phone. 

Having only graduated school without any sort of higher education, your options for jobs are limited, but working one job isn’t cutting it anymore. You can either pick up more hours like you have been doing this past work, or attempt to find a job that will pay slightly more to help cover the difference in what you now owe Marco every month. You’ve been staring at hourly wages for so long you feel your eyes begin to cross, and you don’t exactly like what you’re seeing. An early morning librarian job for £10.44, coffee shop barista for £9… nothing salary. Nothing that will save you. 

“Job hunting?” 

The ache and throbbing in your ears suffocates your senses so viciously that you didn’t hear Bruce’s footsteps approach. Jumping, you stare up at him like a child caught with their hand in a cookie jar. Nothing like looking at other job postings with your boss staring over your shoulder. The embarrassment is enough to open up a black hole in your stomach where it consumes your organs bit by bit until you’re liquified. Your phone screen goes black, and you choke out a sheepish smile through the snot leaking into the back of your throat. 

“Just for a second job. Part-time,” you explain. Your voice sounds louder than his—ears too clogged to properly receive soundwaves. “Don’t worry, I’m not leaving any time soon.” 

Bruce’s mellifluous laugh is the first thing that’s warmed your soul all week. It’s contagious. He’s always been a jovial man—you’ve heard a few of the cooks call him The Italian Santa Claus because of his rosy cheeks and round stomach. The smallest of smiles flitters across your lips as he carefully takes the seat across from you with a large bowl in his hands. 

“Ah, I wouldn’t be upset if you left. Sad, yes, but everyone finds their way out of here eventually,” Bruce assures. His accent is odd. Immigrating from Italy at a young age, his vernacular is a mash of proper English, Italian, and what you’re guessing is Italian-American slang. Or, at least, that’s what you’ve been able to gather from the movies, anyway. “You’re a hard worker. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” 

A wave of tears build up behind your eyes at his words, and they’re held back by a flimsy, half formed dam. Your emotions have been strewn about in your brain all week—cluttered, sticking halfway out of folders and filing cabinets. It’s hard to shove them back when you can hardly shut the drawers. 

“Here,” he continues as he pushes the bowl toward you. The hard lines of his face soften as he watches you curiously peer at the contents. Tiny bits of pasta shaped like stars swirl around in some sort of thickened broth. “Pastina. Good for your health. You sound sick. Eat up and go home.” 

Your hand is hardly gripping the spoon when he says that, and it nearly slips out of your grasp to clatter back into the bowl. Mouth half open, you stare at Bruce with wide eyes. There’s not a single hint of maliciousness on his face—his eyes twinkle bright as he runs a hand over his balding head. Though he appears happy—proud of himself, even—you feel nothing of the sort. 

“I can’t go home,” you try to argue, but he quickly cuts you off with a wave of his hand. 

“You’re sick, and you’ve been working too much. You’ve worked more hours than I can legally give you this week, and though I don’t mind paying you under the table, it’s not exactly good for either of us. Rest, before you really make yourself sick,” he dismisses. 

Swallowing thickly, you attempt to fruitlessly hide the tremor in your voice. “But I… I really need the money.” 

It’s all you can think about. Money. Numbers This vicious counting game. How you’re going to cough up the extra cash for Marco and still have enough to feed yourself. To do anything. To live. Or worse—what happens to you if you can’t make enough? How many more times is he going to change your payments based on stupid mistakes that aren’t your fault?

Waving your words off again, Bruce stands to his feet, hands pressing flat against the swell of his stomach as he does so. “I’ll give you a raise, then.” 

Jarred, the side of your spoon taps against the edge of the bowl as you follow him with your eyes. “A raise?” 

“Sixteen,” he replies. “Should be enough. I’m tired of you working so many hours. You need to go out and be a kid before you get old and useless like me, yeah? Pick up a hobby. Hang out with that guy Bianca won’t stop talking about. He seems nice, hm? I just want you to be happy, kid. Now, eat up. You’ll feel better.” 

Bruce vanishes just as quickly as he appeared, leaving you alone with a bowl of pastina and your thoughts. It’s good that he did, because if you tried to thank him for such a gracious gesture, you’d certainly crumble. Perhaps he knew that, too. 

In a poor attempt to save yourself from crying in public, you quickly turn your attention to the food Bruce lovingly whipped up for you. Steam wafts and twirls upwards, hitting your face in a fine mist. Its flavor is difficult to discern with how congested you are, but the rich texture is enough to satiate the hole in your stomach. It always seems ever growing these days. A barren cavern; a void that wants to swallow you from the inside out. Not ravenous, just gutting. 

Maybe one day it will fill itself up again. 

For now, it grows. Slowly. Insidiously. Taking bits of you and shredding them into ribbons. They trail behind you, fluttering in the wind as you walk up the steps to your flat where they then roll down the stairs. It would look beautiful if it wasn’t for the fact that it was you. You, with quiescent feet trudging through the door. You, with the fatigued body that can hardly dress herself into pajamas. You, who curls into bed, a motherless child—a creature waiting to vanish. 

Too broke to afford cold medicine to aid you with your congestion, it takes time before you can finally fall asleep. When you do, it grips you like a vice, pinning you down, spoon feeding you dreams you haven’t been able to see with the hours you’ve been pulling at work. They’re heavy, holding your head under water, threatening to suffocate you; you can do nothing but watch. 

You dream of your mother. 

She’s folding your school uniform in the laundromat—the very same one you use as common ground to meet up with Marco. Washers swish water in their drums as dryer alarms chime the end of their cycle in terrible cacophony. Pristine white blouses become ruined with burgundy—her hands are soiled. Covered with blood. She folds, and you sit and watch her, hands tangled in string, fingers unable to move. Each fold is done with purpose. Crisp. Effortless. Blouses, skirts, and ties stack up taller than her on the table, threatening to scrape the ceiling above. 

“Throw them away,” you say, voice weak. 

She does not look at you. 

“They’re ruined. Throw them away,” you say. 

She does not look at you. 

“Did I ruin them?” she asks. 

You blink. The string around your fingers tightens. You feel them turn cold as ice. Lack of blood. Festering wounds. Irritated nail beds. An extension of the sins trapped inside of you. 

“It wasn’t you,” you murmur. 

Finally, she looks at you and you flinch. 

“Who was it?” 

Fibers snap, and the string falls free from your hands. Fluttering and dainty; it lays on the floor in generous spirals. There’s so much blood on her shirt. An artistic splatter of violence. You can’t look away. 

“You already know,” you choke out. 

She smiles. A toothy grin. Teeth perfect and whole, lips curling, but it’s not real. Her eyes are cloudy—her eyes are dead. Her smile is dead. Your mother is dead. Cold skin, colder gaze, coagulated blood on linoleum. Rotting. You still smell it: stale blood, cologne, and mint. It follows you everywhere. 

He follows you everywhere. 

Your phone is under your pillow, and someone is calling you. Vibrations rattle through the cotton filling, yanking you out of your dream like you’re being pulled out from under water. For a moment, you think you’re home. Really home. Yet, the room is too cold, and you are too alone. Blinking the sand from your eyes, you shove your hand between the comforter and mattress to yank your phone from underneath your head. The screen flashes. 

Incoming Call from Captain Jack Sparrow

You hit accept and bring the speaker up to your right ear. “Hello?”

“Chip!” Aelin’s voice purrs on the other end. “What are you up to?” 

“Uh…” You pause as you turn to lay on your back, eyes blankly glued to the ceiling. You forgot to turn the heat back on when you got home, and you swear you can almost see your breath. “...relaxing.” 

“That’s a first. Hey, I’m stuck at Terminus, and I’m bored. John wanted to have a quiet evening together but got caught up with some work stuff. Wanna get dinner or something?” she asks. 

You sniff, and the pressure behind your eyes and ears nearly doubles. “I… don’t think I’m feeling up to that tonight. Sorry.” 

“Oh wow,” Aelin gawks. Her voice drips with concern, and you hear shuffling on her end. “Are you sick? You sound very… congested.” 

“Yeah, I got sent home from work. Must’ve caught a bug from… somewhere.” 

Aelin says something in response, but you can’t hear it. There’s nothing but ringing as you force yourself to sit up and hack up snotty phlegm, trying not to choke on it as it comes up. Acidulous liquid coats your tongue, and you wince. Vile. Why can’t you ever have anything that tastes sweet? Something easier to stomach than an unwanted tongue or blood? 

“Chip?”

Her voice brings you back to the present—back to your cold apartment with frigid sheets and your pounding headache. There’s no reason for your tears, yet they plague you anyway. Maybe it’s from your cold. Maybe it’s because you dreamed of your mom. Or maybe it’s just because you’re sad, and you have been for a while. You’re just not able to hold it back anymore. 

“Do you wanna spend the night with John and I?’ Aelin finishes. 

Lips curling inward, you try your best to hold back a sob. “Yeah… Yeah, that sounds nice.” 

“Lovely. Riley’s driving. We’ll be there soon, okay?”

An attempt is made at making yourself look somewhat presentable, but it’s hard to make art when the canvas is crumbling. Nothing can cure you of the red irritation plaguing your scleras, nor the constant sniffing from congestion. You make do with fresh clothes and a washed face before shoving a few necessities in an overnight bag. Simple. Small. Something that won’t take up much space. 

When Aelin arrives, it’s a very unceremonious occasion. There’s gentle greetings. A pitiful look. There is no mention of how cold it is, or how the place looks sparsely lived in. She’s beautiful in her peacoat with pristine curled hair and flawless makeup. Perfect for a quaint dinner with a friend. Her viridian eyes look at you with a pity that’s nearly palpable. You feel bad for being sick—she seemed so thrilled to eat with you. 

Simon waits for both of you in front of the building in a sleek, black car that you’re surprised he can fit into. It’s terribly appropriate for him; something that would look perfect hidden in Terminus’s car park. Yet now it’s being used to transport you—a pathetic, ill woman—to her friend’s house as if you’re nothing more than a child. 

It isn’t until you find your seat in the back that you realize just how long you slept for. Dusk pulls its cimmerian shadow over the sky, obscuring the streets in the pale yellow glow of streetlights as Simon pulls into traffic. You got home around noon. Nearly a whole day wasted with sleep. 

Little is said between the three of you as you struggle to stay conscious. The consistent gentle hum of the car’s engine is better than any lullaby that you can recall. A siren’s song. A loving hand on your back. Head bobbing and swaying with the turns of the road, you listen to whatever Simon has droning on the radio; some sort of rock station that plays so quietly you almost can’t hear it at all. Every now and then, you catch his eyes in the rearview mirror, glancing at you like you’ll vanish if he doesn’t keep watch over you. 

It seems he’s still taking Aelin’s request to heart. 

As the car approaches the house, Aelin digs into her purse where she quickly shuffles through a small, periwinkle wallet. She fishes out some cash before handing it to Simon as he parks. 

“Here,” she whispers, quiet enough that your poor hearing can’t catch. “Get her some medicine, please.” 

“Yes ma’am,” he mutters in reply. 

Before you know it, you’re tucked into a quiet guest room on the second floor of the house. Heat radiates from the baseboards, yet your muscles tense and ache in a shiver. To combat this, Aelin has found every spare blanket and duvet she can find and has tossed them on top of you until you are nothing more than a heaping pile of laundry. At first, she had recommended throwing them in the dryer to help warm them up further, but you rejected it. 

You hate making her go through so much unnecessary effort on your behalf. 

Still, she refuses to leave you as you curl into a ball, face pressed against her side as she sits on top of the covers next to you. Aelin always smells lovely. Fresh rosewater and lavender. You’re enveloped by her scent like it’s a warm hug as she rubs a hand along your back, but it’s muted. The considerable amount of blankets only allows you to feel the ghost of her touch. 

“How long has this been going on?” she asks tenderly. 

You shrug. “Day before yesterday, I think.” 

She pouts with a huff, hand ceasing its movement as she silently chastises you. “And you were still trying to work?”

“I have to,” you mumble against her. 

A terrible quiescence soaks the room. Everything hurts, and you want to rest, but you know that won’t come soon. Not when Aelin’s concern is eating her alive��a vicious plague ripping through her heart. You can hear the beasts feasting on her marrow even now. 

“Well, I brought an old friend to come visit,” Aelin grins. Before you can gather the strength to ask her what she’s talking about, she pulls something out from underneath the covers to set it in front of you. “Tada!” 

An old, well loved stuffed animal sits before you with lopsided eyes and a faded smile. Once vibrant, crimson fur has now faded into an off-tone auburn, but the resemblance of a fox is still unmistakable. 

“I thought I told you to get rid of that,” you mutter. 

“I can’t get rid of her! You used to love Pumpkin,” Aelin says as if offended. 

For a long moment, you stare at your old stuffed animal and relive the memories that soak it. It was a gift from your father when you were a child—something you used to hold close with you every night, even after his death. Even after you went to live with John and Aelin after graduation. You don’t know why, but one day you decided that you couldn’t stand to look at it anymore. You’re not sure if it’s because it was gifted to you by your father—the man you’ve tried so hard to continue loving despite his flaws—or because sweet Pumpkin had become so tainted with you that you figured you should take pity on the poor thing. 

When you don’t respond, Aelin sighs and sets the stuffed fox on the nightstand. “Alright, fine. She’ll sit right here for when you’re ready.” There’s a short pause that stretches between the two of you, but it doesn’t last long before Aelin decides that the silence is driving her mad. “I’ve heard you and Riley have been getting close,” she prompts like she’s about to spill the daily gossip. A change in subject. A way to ease you into what she really wants to talk about. “Visiting him at the club, then?”

The club. Andrei. Spilled pasta in an alleyway. Your unfortunate run in with Marco made you forget all about how you ended up in this mess in the first place. The blade of Andrei’s knife glints just as brightly in your mind now as it did that night, and you cover your urge to puke with a well timed cough. You wish she wouldn’t bring it up, but it’s a good sign. 

It means Simon was true to his word. 

“Just to deliver food. He kept fixing stuff at my apartment. Had to pay him back,” you explain like a broken record. 

Lips stretch over ivory teeth as Aelin shifts next to you. “Is that so? Sounds like he fancies you.” 

“Or maybe he’s just doing the job that you assigned him to do,” you reply bluntly. 

Aelin doesn’t tense at your insinuation, but she does sigh as she settles back against the headboard. “Thought he was better at keeping secrets than that.” 

“He didn’t tell me, I figured it out on my own,” you claim, stuffy voice unable to land the plosives of your consonants. 

She chuckles amicably as she looks down at you. Eyes closed, you’re nearly asleep, and you would have been if it weren’t for her conversation. 

“Well, you were always the smart one. Still, I won’t retract my statement. Riley’s had a lot of… partners, but he never lingers around anyone like he does with you,” she insists. “He’s a good man, really. I’m sure you’ve seen that for yourself.” 

“Can’t entertain that,” you say. There’s a sour stoicness to your tone; too tired to be annoyed yet yearning for silence. “I’ve got work.” 

Another stillness—a suffocating one. Aelin’s smile has long since vanished as her lips press together tartly. There you go, talking about work again. Like you can’t stand to do anything else. Like you’ll die without the money. 

“Chip… you know that if you need help, you can always ask, right?” she prods carefully. “Anything. I mean it. John and I… we’re here for you.” 

Help. you think of that word, and a sour cordolium rips through your chest. Asking for such a thing from someone is out of the question. You made that deal with yourself ages ago. 

“I don’t… I don’t need help. I just… miss my mum.” 

You feel the moment when the room freezes. It’s when Aelin looks down at you, doleness unleashed in her gaze. Bringing up your late mother was a mistake, but she’s all you can think about after that dream. You wonder if you’ll ever have a normal dream of her again—fresh, normal, and void of all blood. A dream where she smiles and it’s not dead. 

“I’m sorry,” is all she can say. 

“Me too.” 

When Simon returns, you’re fast asleep. Aelin can hear the sound of his boots on the floor from a mile away; purposefully making his existence known as he opens the door to the only room with the light on. His eyes are drawn to you, body curling into Aelin like you’ll fall through the bed without her. He approaches the bed and holds out the bag for her to take, and the very first thing she finds is every bit of cash she had given him to buy the items in the first place. 

Instead of chastising him, she rummages through the rest of the items. NyQuil, Sudafed, Vicks, various soups and electrolyte drinks. It’s a variable feast to fight off your cold. Aelin looks up to poke fun at the man—at this raging chink in his armor—but she loses all words when she sees the way his hand presses against your forehead. Careful fingers gently brush against a faint scar by your temple as he feels the heat radiating from your body. He watches you with gentle devotion as your shoulders rise and fall with your breaths, congestion causing you to quietly snore. You do not stir awake, but she witnesses the way your brows furrow when he pulls away. 

“She’s got a bad fever,” he concludes quietly. “She looks exhausted. Dehydrated.” 

“Yeah. She’s been overworking herself too much. Hasn’t been resting or healing like she should,” Aelin concurs. 

Fragile silence breaks as you breathe, airways too clogged for you to sleep peacefully. Simon and Aelin stare down at you for a moment, each of them considering the circumstance. Her lips press tightly together in thought before she carefully slides away from you, leaving your coiled form. She sets the bag of medicine and supplies on the foot of the bed before facing Simon with crossed arms. 

“Can I talk to you before you leave?” she requests. 

Simon answers her with a curt nod before they exit the room with the lights off and the door shutting tight behind them. Aelin’s heart pounds away in her chest as it fights against the tightness of her ribs. It’s an ever constricting cage. Relentless. Vile. She ensures that she’s not facing Simon as they traverse down the stairs. 

“Chip is… really scaring me,” Aelin breathes, and she feels her voice crack nearly as bad as her heart as her feet hit the landing. “I’m more than a little concerned or worried now she… she’s always been something of a workaholic, but this is different. It feels like she’s trying to run away from something and she’s just—I don’t know—keeping something buried inside of her. Pushing away any help anyone tries to offer her. I’m… scared she might hurt herself.” 

“Hurt herself?” Simon repeats in disbelief. “Has she done anythin’ like that before?” 

“No. Not that I know of. It’s just…” 

The words die as Aelin’s lips press tightly together once again, and she finally forces herself to look at Simon. He’s nothing but a stone—this immoveable being who won’t be swayed by anything physically or emotionally. She steadies her breath as she wills away the tears welling in her eyes. 

“I’m going to tell you this because I trust you,” she says, gaze attempting to harden. It’s a silent vow. A demand that he not repeat any of the words she’s about to speak. 

“Of course,” Simon nods. 

Aelin swallows the guilt in the back of her throat. 

“Chip’s parents are dead. They have been for a while. First it was her dad, and then her mum. My dad was the Chief Inspector working the cases of their deaths. It wasn’t… from natural causes. She holds a lot of guilt and she gets in a bad headspace over it, and I think that’s a bit of what’s happening and… it’s worse than I’ve ever seen it before. This time of year is always hard for her considering the anniversaries of their deaths, and I don’t know if it just seems worse because she’s sick right now but… fuck, Simon. The way she talked about her mum just earlier, I swear I nearly broke.” 

Crisp eyeliner marks the edges of her eyes, yet it smudges as Aelin banishes the tears from her vision with the tips of her fingers. Still as ever, Simon watches carefully and without judgement as she gathers herself in order to finish. 

“She needs to talk to someone about it, but I don’t think she wants it to be me. There are many things I think she would share, but there’s no way she’d give me the whole story,” she concludes. 

Confusion clouds Simon’s stern gaze, and he shifts on his feet. “What, you’re thinkin’ she’ll tell me and not you?” 

“Yes.” Her reply is speedy and sharp; a warning. No one knows you better than her. “She carries guilt for a lot of stuff. For… There’s just some things I know she won’t want to tell me. Things she can’t tell me because it’s… well, me.” 

Something is off—Simon can smell the stench of it from a mile away. He knows better than to question Aelin, and she seems very convinced that this is the true issue at hand, but there’s an uncomfortable trepidation that hangs somewhere in the balance of it all. A picture half developed. The brittle edge of a cliff. It’s the same feeling that afflicted him the night he fought Andrei in the alleyway—a deja vu that screams trouble if he even attempts to entertain it. 

“Please,” Aelin begs. “You don’t have to do anything crazy, I just don’t want her to be alone. Swear to me you won’t let her be alone through this. Simon, I’m not strong enough to cut through her walls but the thought of… the thought of her like this kills me.” 

Another deal. Another oath. Simon has always been a protector, in some way. A tool which one uses to bludgeon. He doesn’t know if he can be gentle. He knows he’s certainly not palatable. But he thinks of your sleeping form in the VIP room after the tussle with Andrei, and the heat of your fever against his hand, and he thinks he’d at least like to try. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” he assures her. 

Nodding, Aelin attempts to strengthen her resolve with a deep breath. Frayed nerves still poke out of her skin, completely wired with worry. It sparks and fizzles, yet she still glances back up the stairs, as if she can feel the aura of exhaustion seeping out of the bedroom. 

“Thank you,” she says, voice hardly above a whisper as she looks back at him. “Truly, I appreciate it.” 

“Can’t do everythin’ on your own,” he says. 

She scoffs playfully. “Tell that to Chip.” 

Once the front door locks shut behind Simon and the house is still and quiet, Aelin sneaks back upstairs. You’re hardly conscious when she gently urges you awake to press cough syrup to your lips, but you don’t complain. You never complain—not when there’s bitter liquid on your tongue; never when you should. Silent. Pliable. Once you’ve swallowed every last drop, you collapse back into bed, body weak and overheated; slick with sweat. 

She knows she should leave once your snoring starts back up again, but she can’t. There’s something to relish in how peaceful you are in this moment. Not working yourself to death. Not running from the grief that’s been strangling you since you were a child. For a moment, as you lay there in bed, Aelin gets to see you as you were when you were a kid. 

As she stands at the foot of the bed, she recalls the first time she ever met you—both clad in black and unable to look at one another without timid smiles and tear filled eyes. Aelin was the one who had to break the silence. To introduce herself as the daughter of Sean Gilroy; the man who sat in that coffin so adorned with flowers and love. You’ve grown so much since then. A fine woman who should be proud of herself. She wants to shake you awake. Yank you out of your sleep and scream at you that there’s nothing to be forgiven—nothing to punish yourself over. 

She doesn’t. 

Instead, she turns around and leaves, ensuring that the electrolyte drink Simon bought is on the pillow next to your for when you wake up in the morning.

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[coco-loco-nut]

Book Club - Part 9

pairing: grid x reader

summary: you just got your wisdom teeth out, just in time for winter break fun with headcanons

a/n: thanks for the request, I missed the club❤️ ALSO! the original post just hit 1,500 notes??? like guys🥹 ilysm, you don’t even know. you are still reading my silly little writings, and i appreciate that more than you know. every like, comment, and reblog is the reason we are here 9 parts later (seriously you should see how happy i am when i see comments)

requests open masterlist series masterlist

——————

- You didn’t tell anyone else on the grid other than Lance, obviously

- They were all surprised when it was announced that you were going to be missing Abu Dahbi

- Your oral surgeon only had that Wednesday free before Christmas

- …and let’s be real, your seat was secure, you weren’t going to win the WDC, and the constructors championship was locked in

- You would raise hell if you couldn’t enjoy the food around the holidays, so missing the last race it was

- You were exhausted from the season and appreciated the early break

- Lance just let it slip to the drivers on Friday a couple of hours after he got there

- You were sitting at home with Kimi, swollen and in pain all Friday

- “What do you mean she won’t be here? We have our presents for her” Fernando pouts

- Charles one day ships you cases of his gelato with a note telling you to feel better, he’s trying to get into the club for the gossip

- Lance gets invited to the club meeting to his surprise

- He assumes that they want to check in on you, despite them blowing up your phone

- No, he was VERY wrong

- Lance got roped into showing them videos of you on drugs

- Their favorite was the one of you when you first came out from being under

- “I’m married? Oh my god, I married Nico Hülkenberg? This is the best day of my life”

- You were sobbing tears of joy

- Nico was sent the video immediately, you gave him permission via text to post it the next day

- The second favorite was your favorite to laugh at

- You went on a massive rant about how Susie Wolff is a MILF and how you hoped Toto could fight because the female driver was your woman crush and you WILL have her

- Susie loved the video (George and Lewis sent it in the Mercedes family gc), Toto… not as much but he was amused

- You got a lot of fussing drivers on Facetime during the meeting

- You were loopy af from the painkillers and general exhaustion during it, it wasn’t your fault they called you late

- Kimi forced them to shut up and hang up so you could sleep

- Carlos joked about being relieved that there wasn’t another race for you to follow his trend during an interview

- You won the first race the next year

- Your phone started blowing up with messages on social media wishing you a quick recovery

- Most of the book club showed up to your home after Abu Dahbi, wanting to make a quick stop to check in before the break

- “Hello, wife,” Nico greets you when he sees you

- You joked you were about to file for divorce from Lance, who just sighed and went to get you a carton of LEC

- You had to film you opening your secret santa gift and send it to the F1 social team

- You got a quilt blanket that had a square for each book you read with the club since it started

- You actually started sobbing (you blamed the meds, even if you were actually crying)

- Lewis got the biggest hug ever, he enlisted help from Valtteri for all the books

- You forced them to cut the parts of you crying out of the video

- You got Logan an old iPod full of popular music (you hacked into his phone to check the genres he liked) from his childhood and now

- Obviously you added headphones and a couple chargers

- Logan used it all the time, he called you immediately to thank you

- You had the honors of choosing the first book over winter break

- You chose an F1 romance novel

- Boy oh boy were those meetings fun, just tearing up the book for its inaccuracy

- Daniel vowed to write an accurate one and sell it

- Spoiler Alert: he never did

- But Fernando did

- It was an international bestseller

[adviceformefromme]

Personal health hacks that have completely changed my life in the last 9 months.

Absolute number one is removing carbs from my diet. I had THE WORST crashes and lethargy every single day after my morning oat meal, after my carb heavy lunch, and carb heavy dinner. Despite being vegan my body lacked nutrients and calories from under-eating being plant-based and carb-overloading. 

Introducing grass-fed meat and high quality eggs into my diet. Red meat gets such bad press in the media, but personally it has given me energy, strength and I feel much better eating this in moderation. 

Little exercise each day. Not killing myself with a hardcore workout and then not being able to move for rest of the week (which I was doing previously). I now do a little each day. 1.5 - 2mile run most days, and daily stretches and weights at home. Nothing crazy, but a little goes a long way and I find it much easier to be consistent doing smaller bouts on my own schedule daily. 

Hormone health, ensuring I am keeping my hormones balanced. I make watermelon juice daily with 1.5 heaped tablespoons of flaxseed. Alongside that. I take omega 3, DIM, Selenium, Iodine, Vitamin D +K2, Evening primrose oil for womens health. I eat foods that support healthy hormones, broccoli, carrots, sunflower seeds and removed the foods that cause imbalances (carbs, sugars).

Removing all stress from my life. Including moving overseas, deleting social media and keeping my circle small but wholesome. 

Quit drinking alcohol. Initially I thought I would have the occasional drink but I truly have no desire anymore. My life is significantly better for not drinking. My body never responded well to booze. 

Sleeping properly for 7-9 hrs per night. Meditating for 1 hour before bed usually puts me in a completely zen mode for relaxation. That means my phone is switched off, I use a lavender pillow spray and light candles to set the mood for a goodnight sleep. 

Zeolite detox for heavy metals (currently in the process). I have Zeolith Med powder each day with water to flush out any toxins. 

Learning about gut microbiome, and probiotics..in the process of obtaining kefir grains to make my own batch. Making sauerkraut on weekends and introducing a wider variety of foods into my diet. 

These are completely personal and I can honestly say I feel better than ever. I wish I had done the above years ago, especially the carbs! I got a continuous glucose monitor of Amazon to see how my body was responding to carbs before I completely cut them off and I recommend doing this if you want to know more about how your body is reacting to glucose. 

*this all took time and effort, but once I removed the distractions, the meaningless socialising, the boozing, the scrolling I’ve had time to invest in myself + my health

[midnight1nk]

...what. in the actual. fuck.

this is the most implausible statement I have ever seen, and I'm gonna debunk what Cube said (more below cut)

"doesn't mean anything significant" — if it were an honest mistake, then they would've changed it back to "SMG4" instead of "Not SMG3. Stop looking too deep."

The wording on that too, as in a warning/giant stop sign. Also it's giving off

[and a whole month in between these my god]

And ah yes, my dear enemy Flareglow. Time to Logic Chess.

The implication is that Cube (or someone on the Team) uploaded the song and didn't notice it was labeled as SMG4 (not a hack) — let's get the basics down. Yes, you can upload your own music on said platform for your use only, not on the artist page. HOWEVER, for it to be uploaded on MULTIPLE platforms and stay for 6 DAYS straight, now that's weird when you have two DIFFERENT processes for uploading songs.

If that person accidentally went through the public process, you would have to enter the credits manually (other than it needs to be approved by spotify ofc). That's when you are like "oops, looks like I was about to send this on the artist page lol". Even if you forgot how to do the private process, you can GOOGLE IT.

IF it was Cube, then it would totally contradict an earlier tweet "what the hell is flareglow?"

IF it wasn't Cube, it still wouldn't make sense. Ben was the first to point it out on Jan 4. Now you would think a discussion took place in their group chat as soon as Ben tweeted that and go something along the lines of:

"man this is sucks" [*posts a pic of the cover*] "wait is that on our page?" "yeah lol" "that shouldn't be there. who did that?" "oh sorry that was me, my bad" "let's just take it down" (before some fan goes insane over this, sorry what)

It wouldn't take Cube 5 days (Jan 9) to just notice that song to be on the artist page to then claim you are starting to fix it a week later

"Trying to fix that one" — now that is strange because as soon as Cube asked/pointed out about Flareglow, the song was suddenly taken down from multiple platforms (on the same day). If it was a mistake, then it should be all good. Hell, even the Spotify pfp is back to normal. Then tell me, Cube, what more do you need to "fix", hmmm?

(also that "lol" at the end of the sentence before it)

Yeah, i pronounce this as "deflection" and I'm still on to you, Cube. And no, I'm not gonna think about how this tweet was reposted by Shadow (no qrt), gotta focus here.

Maybe it convinced some people that there was nothing suspicious but I'll still be here in my seat with a bag of popcorn bc I KNOW this isn't the end of it.

i did not stare at this for hours for nothing, you hear me?!

[mariacallous]

If airports weren’t already a hellscape, TikTok has found a way to make them worse. Welcome to airport theory, a viral delusion that suggests you can roll up to the airport 15 minutes before boarding, waltz through security, and still make your flight with time to spare. No stress, no waiting, just pure main character energy.

TikTok creators like Michael DiCostanzo (@michael.dicostanzo) swear by it, documenting their dashes through high-traffic hubs like LAX, Atlanta International Airport, and post–Super Bowl New Orleans. Some viewers are sold. Others are calling BS.

“So you had PreCheck, didn’t check a bag, and were at the nearest terminal? Now let’s do it when it’s not the optimal situation,” one user commented. And, sure enough, the internet is also littered with failed attempts—videos of forlorn TikTokers watching their flights take off without them, their carry-ons full of regret.

It’s a fun fantasy, which explains why “airport theory” has racked up over 400 million views on TikTok. Unfortunately, the the Transportation Security Administration doesn’t care about your viral moment. The national average wait time for security was 27 minutes, 16 seconds in 2024. And if you’re flying out of a notorious bottleneck like JFK, Orlando International, or Chicago O’Hare, it’s closer to 40 minutes. Google searches for “I missed my flight what do I do” have spiked 70 percent in the past month, per Google Trends. It’s not hard to connect the dots.

Here is your sad reality check: Airlines still recommend arriving at least two hours before a domestic flight, three for international. Sometimes that buffer feels like overkill. But would you rather rush through the airport with your heart racing or have a few minutes to find your gate, grab a bag of overpriced whatever, and scroll TikTok watching other people miss their flights? That sounds like a much better airport theory to us.

Airport Hacks That Actually Work

The best way to get through airport security unscathed is to move like you’ve done this a hundred times before. A little planning, the right gear, and skipping social media stunts will get you from curb to gate with minimal stress.

Time It Right

Travel off-peak. According to CheapAir, Tuesdays and Wednesdays are often less crowded. Early flights between 5 and 8 am and red-eyes (after 9 pm) tend to have fewer passengers.

Check TSA wait times in advance. The My TSA app (iOS, Android) provides real-time security line updates at major airports.

Get the Right Apps

Download your airline’s app for mobile boarding passes and real-time gate updates.

Get TSA PreCheck. Some credit cards even cover the fee. Global Entry (available at select airports) includes PreCheck and fast-tracks reentry into the U.S. Or consider Clear Plus, which uses biometric scans to bypass ID checks.

Use Mobile Passport Control app (iOS, Android) to submit your customs info beforehand for faster reentry to the US.

Pack Smart

Start with an empty bag. Double-check TSA-restricted items list to avoid accidentally smuggling contraband.

Use a clear toiletry bag. The Calpak Clear Cosmetics Case for $85 is an upgrade from the ziplock bag. If you’re worried about TSA’s liquid restrictions, switch to toothpaste tablets like biöm’s Nobs and use reusable travel bottles. I'm a fan of Reis' Refillable Travel Container set, but I've also used travel kits from Amazon for under $10, and they work just as well.

Go carry-on only. The Away Carry-On for $275 is our favorite, but if you want to avoid Away’s baggage, try Monos ($255) or July ($295).

Track your luggage. If you check a bag, stash an AirTag inside for iPhone users or a Chipolo One Point ($25) or Card Spot ($29) for Android.

Dress for Efficiency

Empty your pockets before security. Stash everything in your carry-on instead of fumbling at the checkpoint.

Keep metal jewelry, watches, and belts in your bag until after screening.

Avoid boots or high-tops. Slip-ons like Allbirds' Tree Runners for $98 and the Rothy’s Driving Loafer for $189—we've raved about them in the past—make security a breeze. If you’re not planning on sprinting through the airport, the Bearpaw Martis Slippers ($70) are ultra-comfy.

Skip bulky outerwear. Coats, hoodies with big pockets, and anything with excessive zippers just slow you down. If you have PreCheck, you can usually keep your shoes, belt, and light jacket on.

Stay Organized

Snap-on Phone Stand & Wallet

If you have an iPhone, invest in a MagSafe wallet to avoid digging through your bag for an ID. Some of our favorites include Casetify ($38), Moft’s Snap-On Phone Stand & Wallet ($30), and ESR HaloLock Power Bank Wallet ($80), which works as a power bank, wallet, and phone stand.

Get a checkpoint-friendly laptop backpacks. Lay-flat designs like Peak Design’s Outdoor Backpack (available in 25L and 45L) speed up screenings.

[skwpr]

10 Reasons Why Studying is Hard

1 . You don’t know WHY

You don’t know why you have to study. You don’t know your true purpose.

Let me inform you: You have to study because this is the stage in life where you create a foundation of all the basic knowledge you need and learn all sorts of things.

In the next stage, you get to choose what career path you want to take. That is why you should think about your “WHY”.

I am studying because I want to study every day and be prepared for my exams.

2 . You don’t know HOW to study

If you are like my brother, then you don’t know how to study.

Somehow, when we join high school, nobody really teaches us how to study.

Studying involves using different tactics to understand and remember things for the future, or for exams.

You need to learn to memorize.

This is how I memorize things for my exams:

I condense my notes into a few tiny words (summarizing)

I memorize these little words by:

Writing them over and over again

Closing my eyes and remembering them

Testing myself by writing the words again

3 . You are not studying at the right time

Are you a morning person or a night person?

Do you feel energized at 10 am or 10 pm?

These are questions you need to ask yourself to learn why studying is hard for you.

You need the answers to these questions in order to actually study.

4 . You don’t study every day

Alright, you don’t have to study every day.

But that doesn’t mean you only study at 1 am the night before the exam!

That is not smart at all. How are you supposed to teach yourself 3 months-worth of work in a few caffeine-spurred hours?

Stop making studying hard! Just study a little every day.

5 . You don’t have motivation to study

You can’t study at all because you don’t motivate yourself to study.

That is sometimes an excuse because here is the secret: Action comes before motivation, not the other way round.

Stop waiting for the right moment to come down from the sky like clouds parting and the sun shining down on you.

Just open your book right now and read it.

6 . You have some bad habits

If you can’t study at all, maybe you need to study your own habits.

Get a notebook and begin to track every single thing you do in a day. I would advise tracking habits after every hour.

Then you will begin to notice that you are doing some bad habits that make studying hard for you.

7 . You can’t focus on studying

Studying is hard for you and you can’t study at all because you can’t focus on studying.

My advice for you is to sit down and ask yourself why you can’t focus on studying and find a solution to that.

8 . You don’t have fun while studying

Studying to you is probably boring work!

You need to make studying appealing and inviting so you will feel motivated to study.

9 . You don’t know any study hacks

Everyone has their own study hacks.

You probably don’t. That is why studying is hard for you.

You need come up with a personal game plan for how you plan to get good grades on your next test.

10 . You are just plain lazy

Maybe you are just lazy. Everyone gets lazy once in a while. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get off your butt right now and start studying.

Do the least you can possibly do. Open your book and plan to learn just one thing today.

Remember only you can go deep inside and find out why you can’t study or why you never feel like studying. Ask yourself these questions.

That is how you will begin to create a good mindset that will help you to study.

[ruffboijuliaburnsides]

So Harris Bomberguy has released a video about plagiarism on youtube. But really it's about talking about plagiarism on youtube as a groundwork to talk about James Somerton.

Who is a liar and a plagiarist, who has a sizeable audience and patreon who likes to portray himself as a small creator who is ~struggling~ and being bullied for ~being queer~ when in reality he's a very successful channel and he's being called out for being a liar and a plagiarist.

And i'm so pissed, because I liked him, up until explicit proof by way of actual citations proved he was full of shit.

And just so you know, his response to his patrons, within about 3 hours (ie less than the runtime of the video) of Harry's video being uploaded? Was this:

[transcript of an email from Patreon <bingo@patreon.com> to [redacted], received at 9:37pm CST on 2 Dec 2023:

James Somerton just shared "Raised Concerns" for members only.

Raised Concerns

Firstly, I would like to thank all of you for supporting me in the first place.

However, it seems as if this channel has come under target from a significantly larger creator than myself and Nick. I know the majority of you were around last year when these accusations were first brought up; I have spoken to many of you privately and in live streams to explain the situation in detail. I am shocked to see that I was worth seemingly two hours of a four-hour video - especially when all of these issues have been discussed before one year ago today. Especially since there was nothing new brought up in this video.

If you have any concerns about these issues, please message me and I will answer all of your questions in detail.

Again, I am so grateful for your support. I love you all, and thank you.

James ]

So he doesn't state what the accusations are, or who's accusing him, and he says "it was discussed a year ago" (Harry found plagiarization in multiple videos posted as recently as the last month), and from my memory the post a year ago was similarly vague on the accusations. I signed up for a VERY inexpensive patreon annual around that time due to the harassment he said he was getting, and because he implied it was because he was talking about queer shit, NOT about copyright and plagiarism.

Fuck James Somerton. He is a hack and a thief and a misogynist/lesbophobe, and he can fucking choke as far as I care.

Thank you to every queer critic whose work he stole that made me think I liked him.

[skye-sundew--3rd-florets]

C:\Users\2KY3_rev2

Hello! My intern@l codename is 2KY3, but y0u can call my Skye! I'm a transfem robotgirl just k1nda posting and rebloggong stuff?(sometimes NSFW so minors beware)

{Important Notes}

18+ blog

In the US east coast time zone

She/They/It, large emphasis on "It", I am an object and rationally should be treated as such

bisexual

{Bot Data}

Relatively high-spec machine, only proprietary part is my motherboard but everything else is standardized and hot-swappable (even the CPU socket-cable-thingy (motherboard is in the chest, cpu in the head for better cooling, data is sent to and from the cpu via some crazy riser cable, dunno how it was made but it is VERY FRAGILE))

Possibly hacked? Unknown sentient AI inhabiting the system that may take over temporarily (no precedent for take over yet, cannot rule it out)

[DATA DEEMED OUT OF DATE]

C:|U$3RS|R0-GU3.ISO

H-hello? I’m new here, was imagined so hard during one of skyes brainstorming sessions that I became an entirely different personality in her mind.

(this is not in character I really am a separate person, my name is Rogue, same pronouns as my host (Skye) but I’m not sure about anything else, I have only existed for a few hours now)

[DATA DEEMED OUT OF DATE]

53797374656D2053@Skye:/$ vim TellThem.txt

1 Hello All!!!

2 I’ve decided to put a few rules to

3 this blog to keep things orderly,

4 don’t worry though there are very few

5

6 Don’t be an asshole? Seems pretty self

7 explanatory but if u aren’t nice on

8 here you are getting reported+blocked

9

10 dont promote anything on here (if it

11 requires money). End of sentence

12

13 oh yeag also we are a system, both in

14 literality (robot) and mentality

15 (multiple .ppl files in my system 16 literally people as files, there’s

17 about 4 of them)) 18 also don’t worry about the file 19 name, it wasn’t meant to sound so 20 ominous, my bad 😅

^^C

53797374656D2053@Skye:/$ sudo su

[sudo] password for Skye:█

root@Skye:/# shutdown -h now

[POWEROFF SEQUENCE STARTED]

[FILING .PPL RAM SECTORS TO DRIVE] [CUTTING POWER TO SYSTEM] ... ... [POWEROFF SEQUENCE SUCCESFUL]

[lex1nat0r]

A couple of cases of convergent evolution* in TTRPG mechanics that I like.

*entirely possible one informed the other(s) in both cases, the impression I get is that if you read TTRPGS that aren't name-brand D&D you read a lot of TTRPGs.

Health as resource depletion (Worlds Without Number vs. Shadow of the Weird Wizard)

Easy combat maneuvers (Dungeon Crawl Classics vs. Black Sword Hack vs. Shadow of the Weird Wizard)

One of my favorite mechanics in Worlds Without Number is System Strain. Each PC has a number of available System Strain equal to their Constitution score (NPCs get one point). Every time a character receives healing they gain a point of System Strain. If they're already at their maximum, they don't can't get HP back without resting. For every night of "good, refreshing sleep" a character gets back one point of System Strain (in addition to regular healing from resting). This opens up some fascinating design space, for example a lot of magical item effects add to the user's System Strain. And it allows higher level undead such as wights to do damage as System Strain, keeping them scary without having to deal with the pain in the ass that is level drain. It's a really neat mechanic.

Flipping over to Shadow of the Weird Wizard, a game I have not played so my estimation of how this works may be off, characters have Health against which they accumulate Damage, as opposed to losing HP. If a PC's Damage equals their Health, they are incapacitated. If their Health drops to 0 they die. Over the course of an adventure (what Weird Wizard calls a Quest) there's a couple of things that can reduce a character's Health, the ones that stand out to me are falling and, fascinatingly, all traps listed in the GM's guide reduce Health instead of dealing Damage. As far as I can tell flipping through the books, the only way to restore a character's maximum Health is to get 6 consecutive hours of rest. The end result looks like an amazing way to re-contextualize traps. Instead of being an HP tax, they can really wear PCs down as they explore a location. Not to mention the threat of instant death if the trap can reduce a character's Health to 0 not everyone's cup of tea, I know.

System Strain and Health both impose limits on how much adventurin' a PC can do in a day (in addition to the traditional methods like tracking light sources). I have first-hand experience using System Strain in a campaign, and it works out really well in practice. I suspect Health can do the same, though I'm not sure how fragile Weird Wizard characters actually are on the table.

--

I have played none of the following games, so not sure how well the mechanics work on the table BUT

Dungeon Crawl Classics has a killer aesthetic, the corebook is home to one of my favorite illustrations in gaming, but I'm not sure it's a game I'd ever actually play. Yes part of it is the weird dice. All TTRPG dice should be platonic solids and I'll die on that hill and yes that means I think d10s should go back to being icosahedrons numbered 0-9 twice. Anyway. In DCC combat a Warrior (i.e. Fighter) or a Dwarf (Dwarf/Elf/Halfling are classes in DCC, inherited from Basic D&D) gets a Deed die (goes from d3 to d10+4 depending on level) to determine their attack and damage bonus. In addition, before making an attack, they can declare a Mighty Deed of Arms. As part of the attack the player rolls the character's Deed Die . If the die comes up a 3 or better and the attack hits, the Deed succeeds. Deeds are open-ended, examples include blinding, disarming, tripping, etc., aren't limited just to melee combat, and the magnitude of their effect is based on the result of the Deed die. Plus, and I think this is the important part, the attack also deals damage in addition to the Deed. So far I think this is the best mechanic I've seen for letting fighters do cool stuff. Deeds doing damage plus another effect means that fighters (and dwarfs) don't need to gamble on whether disarming or whatever is worth their turn instead of just trying to hurt someone.

I picked up Black Sword Hack mostly for its worldbuilding tools (which are very good) and was pleasantly surprised to find that it included a combat maneuver mechanic. Each character has a usage die (you shift down a die size when it comes up a 1 or 2 until you have to downsize a d4 and then it's gone) called a Doom die. When the Doom die is depleted, the character makes all rolls with disadvantage until they take a long rest (when the Doom die is restored to its max size for that character). In combat a character can add an effect to their attack by making a Doom roll before the attack attempt. There are two downsides here compared to DCC, namely that there's a defined list of possible effects and about half of them cause you to do no damage. It's decent enough rules as written, but were I to run BSH (which honestly I might get around to) I'd be tempted to just sub in DCC's Mighty Deeds and still require the Doom roll as a cost to make the attempt.

Oh hey, Shadow of the Weird Wizard also has a rule for attack options. Like BSH it's a defined list of options, and you don't deal weapon damage if the attempt is successful but you do still get your bonus damage (which every character gets from levels in their class(es)) and any extra damage you would get. Weapons do from 1 - 4 d6 damage on their own, martial-focused characters get +1d6 bonus damage every level except level 1, rogue- and cleric- type folks get about half the number of d6s, and wizard-types don't get bonus damage but why is your nerd trying to trip people when they could be using their fucking magic. (Important sidenote: you can mix and match fighter/rogue/priest/mage classes freely in SotWW, it's very cool mandatory multiclassing). The other issue is that most of the attack options require you to beat one of the target's attributes +5 as well as their defense, but you are guaranteed at least some damage even if you don't clear the attribute threshold. It's harder to find a way to kludge Mighty Deeds of Arms into this one, plus all SotWW characters just get more features than DCC or BSH characters anyway, so this one I'd run as written.

So obviously I have a preference for DCC's Mighty Deeds of Arms because on paper it looks like the simplest and most flexible way to handle characters attempting cool stunts in combat, but it's nice to see BSH and SotWW trying to give that flexibility as well. It's nice that BSH ties that to the Doom die mechanic, even if the maneuvers themselves are more limited.

[us-the-voices-and-more-voices-2]

actually good cleaning hacks from someone who’s been through some shit

Get a steam mop I don’t care how much it is or cheap, just get one

if you have a pet invest in a wet dry vacuum, you will thank me.

get cleaning cloths you actually like the feel of, if you hate microfiber get a cheap set of tea towels and use them instead. Or chop up a dead tee shirt and use that.

plug in vacuums are 2x more powerful than non-plug in vacuums. You trade sucking power for mobility with cordless, so think that over when you get one.

buying a cheap mop every time one gets moldy is cheaper than having to deal with any mold you get from using a moldy mop.

invest in disinfectant/antifungal/antiviral/antibacterial liquid for your laundry, because that stuff makes getting rid of moldy musty musky shit easy. And it cleans your cleaning cloths without getting them greasy or soapy.

to fix “I accidentally left my clothes in the washing machine too long now they smell like mold” thing, you will need antifungal laundry liquid and the literal sun. Wash your clothes on the hottest setting you can with your clothing materials in mind, add the antifungal before you start, let it go for like 2 hours. And put it in the sun to dry. Repeat if it still smells moldy, until it doesn’t anymore, works like a charm!

to clean crystalline dog piss, you will need water, a steam mop, a wet dry vacuum (depending on if it’s in a carpet) dog cleaning spray or vinegar. Basically , rehydrate the piss, clean it up with dog spray or HOT vinegarish water, grab a steam mop and steam it (if not on carpet) and viola it should be okay now.

If it’s in the carpet you will need to rehydrate the piss, then just dowse the piss with water, use the wet dry vacuum to suck up the water, repeat until water comes up clean. Use whatever pet cleaner that’s good on your carpet to get the smell out, Patch test it in the corner of the carpet before you do it on the piss spot, soak up and remaining water from the carpet until it’s dry or blow dry it if you have to. And tada you have a cleaner carpet! The same works for dog shit too.

drain snakes are your best friend if you don’t remember to get the hair out the drain.

have one sponge for wiping down the sink and one for washing your dishes, because sometimes it’s easier to use a sponge to wipe down the sink than a cleaning cloth.

You can put sponges in the dishwasher and it cleans them REALLY WELL, do it everyday if you can.

Invest in a good glass cleaner for glass because when it gets greasy it’s hell.

Koh cleaner will literally cut through grease and oil, and fat. Like it wasn’t even there, if you don’t have the money white vinegar and bi-carbs does the same thing. Though be careful because it’s reactive and might destroy your countertop or pots, just invest in koh your life won’t be the same. (I can clean all the grease off things, that’s how good it works. Plus it doesn’t smell!!!)

Replace your toilet cleaner every 3 months, or make sure you don’t let it fester. That’s more of a hassle than replacing it every now and then.

Get a good dish soap, because you can use it for everything because of how mild it is.

After mopping always steam mop otherwise it will always be streaky or tacky, idk why but steam mops fix this 9/10 times.

there’s more, but I;m too tired.

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Double-Mutated Mikey

Chapter 9: Ethology

Continued from the short story written by @boots-with-the-fur-club

Prev || Next

Raph is awoken by a buzzing and quiet jingle of music under his thigh.

He groans as he reaches down and pulls his phone out, quickly answering it before the ringing can wake up the other two.

"Hhheello?" he mumbles sleepily.

"Ah, Raph, good morning. Casey Jr. gave me the list of Krang attributes to look out for, so I was wondering if Michael would be up for another round of tests and scans?"

Raph groans slightly, rubbing his hand down his face. His fingers catch the dried mucus left over from when he was crying last night.

"Donnie, what time is it?"

"7:30AM. Good morning, by the way."

"Mornin'. Why so early?" he complains. "Couldn't this have waited until a decent hour?"

"April is coming over later today, and I wanted to get the examinations out of the way before she arrives."

Raph yawns and stretches.

"Fine... Sure thing, Dee; I'll wake the guys and meet you in the lab. Though I assume you already knew we slept in Mikey's room..."

"I would have joined you, but I was busy..."

"You didn't stay up all night, did you?"

"No... I passed out sometime around 3:15."

"Donnie," Raph scolds. He is all too familiar with Dee's tendency to overwork himself when he has a big important project.

"I'll have a nap or something," Donnie half-heartedly promises. "But Mikey is first priority."

Well, Raph can't argue with that. He'd probably do the exact same thing.

"Fine. But just make sure you're not gonna kill yourself over this, okay?"

Donnie hesitates before humming out an answer.

"Mhm. See you in a few."

He hangs up before Raph can address the hesitation. He rolls his eyes and yawns again before standing up. He wonders who to wake first. Leo is probably the one to get ready first, since he can help corral Mikey if the zoomies kick in again. And two heads are better than one. He's the better choice to wake up first.

And yet, Raph finds himself going to Mikey's hammock instead, rocking it gently and rubbing Mikey's back.

"Heeyyyyy, bud, time to wake up..."

Mikey hums at him, soft and quiet moans. His throat vibrates, and he twists his face, scrunching it up as he buries it into his pillow. Something about the expression and tone sets Raph off. It sounds tired, but there's something else in the sleepiness... he sounds scared. Sad.

"Mikey? Big man? Are you okay?"

Mikey's eyes snap open.

He sits erect, glancing around the room, trying to gather himself and take in his surroundings. His breaths are shaking, rapid. His eyes dart back and forth, settling on Raph and peering at him.

"Mikey?" Raph asks nervously. He reaches a hand out for the little brother.

Mikey gives it two sniffs.

His expression changes. He relaxes, relieved. His eyes get glossy with tears, and he mews at Raph, who presses his hand against his cheek.

Raphael knows what happened. He's seen himself go through this so many times after the invasion, during the weeks recovering from krangification. Mikey just woke up and forgot he was home and safe. He woke up and thought he was back at the TCRI labs.

Raph sighs and rubs the tears from Mikey's cheek. Mikey leans into the touch and hums.

"Hey bud, wanna help me wake up Leo?"

Mikey's eyes light up as he looks to where Leo is lying on the beanbag. Mikey chirps with enthusiasm as he jumps down quickly and runs over to his brother, pouncing on Leo and knocking the wind out of him. Leonardo gasps and coughs and hacks, arms flailing around as he struggles to gather himself.

Raph has to muster all his strength to keep from doubling over in laughter.

"Okay, well, good morning to you too, Mike," Leo coughs, patting Mikey on the back with a groan.

Mikey beeps in response, a big and bright grin on his face.

Raph clicks the lights on, Leo and Mikey groaning at the sudden brightness. Leo covers his face as his eyes dilate, though Mikey grunts in discomfort for a moment before he seems to adjust.

"What time is it?" Leo asks, turning to Raph.

"Seven thirty-sumthin'," Raph says. "Donnie wants to do some more tests with Mikey."

Mikey's head spins at the word 'tests'. He whinges nervously.

"It's just an eye exam and saliva swab, if I remember right," Raph assures him. "Donnie ain't gonna do anything to make ya uncomfortable or hurt ya."

Mikey squirms a bit before nodding with a deep exhale. His shoulders relax. He slowly climbs off of Leo, who yelps in discomfort as Mikey steps on his legs with all the grace and tact of a newborn ostrich.

Raph leads the way to Donnie's labs, though Mikey groans again and squints once they get to the dim halls. Leo follows after them quickly.

Donnie is waiting for them at the lab doors, smiling with a cup of coffee in his hands.

"Ah, hello dear brethren," he says with a smile. "Mikey, I hope you slept well."

Mikey signs 'good morning' at him. Dee's eyes expand. Raph forgot he hadn't seen Mikey communicate yet.

"Well, let's get this started, shall we?" Dee says with a smile, ushering them inside.

Mikey crawls into the lab and jumps up onto the examination table from the previous night. His tail taps nervously against the side.

"Now, Mikey, before we begin, I want you to know that I'm not going to do anything that makes you uncomfortable or upsets you," Donnie explains. "Think of this as like... a yearly physical, or a check-up. Not that we ever had those before... but the process is the same. I just want to make sure you're healthy and see some of the changes you've gone through so I can get an idea of how to properly take care of you. Okay?"

Mikey nods with a churr.

"Okay then. I'm going to start with an eye exam. We didn't really get to do that last night, after discovering the tapetum lucidum."

Donatello grabs a small pin light and shines it in Mikey's eye. Mikey hisses at the light before reeling back, holding his head and groaning.

"What? Is it too bright?"

'Vision,' Mikey signs. 'Vision changes when light. Head hurts.'

"What does he mean, 'vision changes when light'?" Leo asks.

Donnie scratches his chin as he inspects the eye he just shined a light in. The pupil doesn't dilate to accommodate to the darkness, but shifts from round to a slitted oval.

"Mikey, describe what you see. Not so much what is in the room, but how you perceive it."

Mikey looks at Donine, and he notices that he doesn't look him in the eye, but stares directly in the center of his face. After looking around for a second, he signs to him.

'Shapes, blurry edges, no details. Silhouettes. Heat. Mikey sees heat.'

"Mikey has infrared vision now," Donnie proclaims. "That's probably a result of the boa DNA. Snakes have heat-seeking vision."

"Wait, so if he can only see temperatures, then that explains why he didn't immediately recognize Splinter or Casey," Leo realizes. "He couldn't see their faces?"

"Precisely," Donnie says, Mikey nodding along. "But Mikey, what happened when I shined the light in your eye?"

'Vision changed,' Mikey answers. 'See things better. Colours, shapes, light.'

"So, the infrared only activates when it gets dark?"

Mikey nods.

'Hurts head when switches. Headaches. But Mikey prefers normal vision, easier to see. Sometimes vision blurs... mix, and gets confused. Can't switch right when light not dark enough. Hurts bad then.'

"Does it hurt now?" Donnie asks.

'Just a little. Computers shining.'

Donnie pauses before going to the wall and flicking the light switch on. The three groan at the sharp brightness that follows. Mikey blinks and hisses, but soon his pupils round out again. He glances around the room, and he smiles when his eyes settle on Donnie.

'Purple! See colours now!'

Donnie smiles, then grabs a tablet to take notes down on.

"I'll let Papa know to maintain proper illumination in the lair for you to keep the headaches at a minimum... Anything else eyesight-wise?"

Mikey shakes his head.

"Very well. On to the next thing..."

Donnie goes to his desk and grabs a swab.

"Open wide for me, okay?"

Mikey obeys, his teeth not quite so long and sharp as they were the night before during the fight. Donnie makes a mental note to ask about them.

Dee hands the swab to Leo, the designated medic, and he gently scrubs the inside of Mikey's cheek. Once he's finished, Donnie hands him a tiny vial to store it in.

"I'll be studying this later," he says, taking the sample from Leo and placing it in a storage compartment by his computer. "Thank you, Michael."

"And Leo," the slider adds.

"And Leo. Although, I would also like to do a blood test if possible..."

Mikey whimpers at this, and starts scooting away from Donnie.

"Only if you agree to it, Michael," he says quickly. "I promised not to do anything that would upset you. The saliva will suffice for now. I'll only ask for a blood sample if I really need it, okay?"

"What do you need the saliva for, anyway?" Leo asks.

"His DNA."

"I thought you had that?"

"I have a virtual scan of it," Donnie clarifies. "And all it does is tell me what's not him inside him. The saliva isn't for that, it's to help reverse-engineer the mutations and come up with an anti-mutagen."

"You can do that from just some spit?" Raph asks, intrigued.

"...We'll see," he mumbles, turning away from them and typing on the computer.

Raph notices the hesitation again. But Donnie gets back to work before Raph can bring it up or think about it anymore.

"Mikey, do you mind if I do some small inspections of your person?"

Mikey tilts his head, furrowing his brow.

"I want to look at you closer," Donnie tries again. "See what physical changes you've gone through."

Mikey chirps in understanding and bobs his head 'yes'. Donnie starts walking around him, lifting Mikey's arms as he flips his goggles down.

"Nardo, can you take notation while I inspect our brother?"

"Sure thing," Leo says, quickly grabbing the tablet for him.

"Write down exactly what I say, okay?" Donnie orders. "I won't be able to understand your dum-dum gibberish otherwise."

Leo gawks in disgust at Donnie's accusation, which entertains Mikey to the point of giggles. Leo smiles and winks before writing down Donnie's observations.

"Make a note: Michelangelo's shell is rougher, the scutes more pronounced and rigid. Part of it looks like scarring, but it also looks as though the breakage may act like an armour for underside of his shell..."

Donnie moves down the line, carefully taking Mikey's long whipping tail and tracing his fingers along it.

"His tail has grown as well... previous size was, in general estimation, three inches long. I don't have the exact measurements currently. His post-mutation tail is now..." Donnie pauses to measure. "...65 inches, or just over five feet."

Leo whistles in astonishment as he writes down Donnie's notes.

"What did they feed you to make you grow like that, Miguel?" he jokes.

Mikey exhales, a soft huff through his nostrils. A pity laugh. Though, Leo realizes that the mention of the labs has made him a little uncomfortable, and he starts squirming under Donnie's intense gaze. He should have thought of that...

Go hold his hand, Leo telepathically says to Raph, who jumps slightly at the unannounced use of mind meld. He nods and goes to Mikey, taking his hand and rubbing it gently to soothe him. Mikey starts to relax again.

"Make a note," Donnie continues, "Mikey's tail is covered in special scutes and scales that lift up and act as barbs or spikes."

Dee gently tucks his finger under one such scale and raises it. A series of other scales lift up in company with the first. He checks to make sure it doesn't cause discomfort for Mikey, and when it doesn't, he goes to the very tip of the appendage.

"The scales at the end are more elongated then the rest. And sharper. And it appears --"

He pries the scales up. A series of them lift in unison with the ones he has fiddled with, surrounding the tail in a circular pattern.

"-- it appears that they are also in a different arrangement than the rest. My hypothesis is that the scales on the majority of his tail are for protection and defense, but the scales on the end are for offense and attack."

Donnie smoothes them down.

"Are you doing alright, Angelo? Can I keep going?"

Mikey doesn't respond.

"Angelo?"

Donnie circles back to the front of the table, looking at Mikey's face. His eyes have glossed over. He looks bored, almost asleep. His expression is one of resignation. Donnie quickly waves his hand in front of him.

"Mikey? Anybody home?"

Mikey blinks and comes back.

'Sorry,' he signs. 'Zoned out. Habit.'

"Habit?"

'We don't like tests, zone out to not get scared. Did a lot of tests before. They poke and pull. Hurt. Make Mikey sad and scared. Zone out helps.'

"You mean you disassociate," Donnie clarifies. "Okay. I'll try to finish up as quickly as I can..."

"Mikey," Raph interjects. "What kinds of tests did they do?"

Mikey's face scrunches up again, his gaze goes past Raph to an empty corner of the room as he tries to focus, think back. After what feels like an eternity, Mikey responds.

'Can't remember.'

"Whaddya mean?" Raph asks anxiously.

'Blur,' Mikey signs. 'Can't remember things. The other place is hard to think in. Mikey likes this place better, helps head to think more. Helps to remember.'

"Do you remember how you got mutated?" Donnie asks.

Mikey waves his hand on a tilt back and forth. Sorta.

'Just remember hurts. Too bright. Bad people, they scare us. Scared a lot. Sleepy after. They do lots of tests.'

Raph whimpers quietly.

"Mikey... do you remember how you got captured?"

Mikey thinks about it.

'Remember falling. Remember scared. No more after. Not much before.'

Raph swallows. He wants to say something, wants to apologize... but then he locks eyes with Leo, who raises his brow at him and shakes his head, knowing exactly what Raph is thinking, even without the mind meld.

Not a good time.

Raph sighs and chokes down what he wants to say. He'll have time later.

"Mikey, can I ask you why you keep referring to yourself as multiple people?" Donnie asks.

'Voice,' Mikey signs.

"You... hear a voice in your head?"

Mikey has a look of frustration as he tries to explain as best he can. It's hard, he doesn't have all the words he needs.

'Word missing... don't know sing for it... stink... inside stink...'

"Inside stink?" Donnie asks, raising an eyebrow. "Does something smell bad, or --"

'No, inside stink... inner stinks... in stinks...'

"In stinks...? Instinct!" Leo exclaims. "You're saying there's a voice in your head that sounds like an instinct?"

Mikey nods, chirping happily that Leo understood.

"So, this 'Instinct', does this sound like your own thoughts? Or a separate personality?" Donnie asks, slowly spiralling in possible diagnoses. "It could be DID, or schizophrenia, or auditory hallucinations, or..."

Mikey shrugs.

'Voice tells Mikey what to do. Instinct takes over when really scared or danger. Instinct in charge a lot in other place. That why no remember much.'

"Kinda like 'Savage Raph', huh?" Raphael interjects.

Mikey beeps in response, nodding and pointing at Raph as if to say 'Yeah, what he said!'

"Alright, so Mikey has a form of dissociative identity disorder," Donnie diagnoses. "Leo, write that down. In the meantime, Mikey, I'm just gonna look at your hands, feet, and teeth, and then I'll stop for now, okay?"

'Okay' Mikey signs, ready to be done.

"Great."

Donnie takes Mikey's claw in his hand and turns it over.

"Hey, look! Mikey has beans now!" Raph exclaims, pointing to the small squishy, leathery, heart-shaped pads on Mikey's palms.

"They are paw pads," Donatello corrects. "Another quirk from the jaguar mutation..."

Mikey's eyes go huge as saucers when he hears that. Apparently he didn't know about that animal trait.

"Leo, make a note... Mikey's fingers are much more pointed now, his nails seem sharp and shaped. Unsure yet if that is by nature or nurture... As for his feet, there is some webbing between the toes, possibly a trait from the basilisk DNA. Oh, and a dewclaw; see this curved nail here?" Donnie says, pointing it out. "Fascinating. Alright Mikey, smile for me real quick?"

Mikey bares his teeth for Donnie.

"Hmm. Not as sharp or elongated as they were last night. Mikey, do you know if your teeth can retract on command?"

"You mean like Toothless?" Raph asks, getting just the teensiest bit excited.

Mikey nods, and signs again.

'Happens when angry or danger. Threat. Teeth grow big. Aches after.'

"Got it. Leo, write down that his teeth can extend and retract when Mikey feels threatened. Also, Mikey, seeing as how your teeth are sharper now, does this affect your diet in any way?"

Mikey taps his fingers against his knees as he thinks it over.

'Mikey gets hungry for meat a lot. But likes other foods still. No cold. Cold hurts. But definitely hungry for meat.'

"Got it. I'll instruct Papa to add more beef and proteins to the grocery cart."

Donnie leans back with a proud smile.

"I think that's all for now, Angelo. You did very well."

Mikey smiles brightly and makes an eeeeee noise in response.

'Thank you, Purple!'

Donnie's smile wanes.

"Purple? Why'd you call me Purple?"

Mikey's happy expression falls. He looks embarrassed, afraid.

'Purple... is name?'

"N-no... not, not really," Donnie stammers. "You called me that earlier... but I thought you meant you could discern my mask -- Mikey... You do remember my actual name, right?"

Mikey is silent. His lip quivers softly as he looks in between his brothers nervously, asking for help. But they look just as scared and helpless upon the realization.

"Mikey... do you... remember who we are?"

Prev || Next

[aprocessionofthoughts]

Freedom

whumptober24 day 16- necrosis, wound cleaning fandom- dp x dc tw- none summary- Danny is finally free

masterlist ao3 part 9 of ITR

Danny woke up somewhere that wasn’t the warehouse. He barely had any strength left, but he managed to look around. He was in what looked like a hospital room. He had only just started to panic when the door was flung open and Sam and Tucker rushed in.

“Danny!” they called together.

He smiled weakly. “Hey, guys.”

He grunted as they both wrapped their arms around him. “Can’t breathe.” he wheezed.

“Not like you need to.” Sam muttered, but they both eased off.

“It’s still nice to do.” Danny responded.

Sam scowled at him. “How dare you scare us like that. Daniel James Nightingale.”

Danny’s expression softened. “Sorry.”

“We’re just glad you’re alright Danny.” Tucker said, giving Sam a pointed look. She sighed, looking at the ground.

“Glad you’re not dead.”

“Well, deader at least.” Tucker said, smirking.

It was quiet for a moment, then Danny sighed, closing his eyes. 

“How much do they know?”

“We told them you were liminal.” Sam said. 

“Though we’re pretty sure the sad trenchcoat man and the bat furry don’t fully believe us.” Tucker said.

“It doesn’t matter. You don’t have to tell them anything, Danny.” Sam said.

Danny opened his eyes, glancing down at the bandages over his chest. “Do you know what he… what he carved into…”

Sam laid her hand over his. “It was a runic sequence. They sewed the wounds closed and bandaged you up, but we should probably still go see Frostbite. He used blood blossoms.”

“I know.” 

They were quiet another moment. 

“Maybe we should tell them.” Danny said. “They’re going to notice when my wounds don’t heal properly, and you both know that blood blossoms cause necrosis if not treated properly.”

They winced, and Tucker bit his lip while Sam scowled.

“This is your secret, Danny, whatever you decide we’ll be here for you.” Tucker said, and Sam nodded.

“Yes. And if they do anything wrong we’ve got plenty of blackmail material to keep them quiet. Tucker already hacked their systems, and I’ve got several ghosts on call.” Sam said.

Danny started to laugh before wincing in pain. “Yeah. I think we need to tell them something, before we go to Frostbite. I’m stable right now, but it would be best to get to the Far Frozen soon.” He paused. “What about the Anti-Ecto Act?” he whispered.

“They’re working on them.” Sam said.

“They are.” Tucker said. “I’ve been keeping track of their progress. They’ve got the GIW on hold for now, and it’s only a matter of time before they’re dissolved completely. There’s already drafts for laws that will go toward protecting ghosts. And…” Tucker glanced at Danny, “it would probably help if they had someone who could explain things better. Especially considering you’re going to be in charge one day.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “That’s a long time away. It’s not going to happen till I reach my natural death and then I’ll still have one hundred years to learn and train before taking the position.”

“We know. But you’ve still got connections that could help make the process of drafting the new laws easier. It would also help to establish relations early on.” Sam said.

Danny nodded reluctantly. “Alright, but we aren’t going to tell them about my status or anything.”

“Agreed.” Sam and Tucker said.

“Alright then,” Danny sighed again, “let the Bat in. I’m sure he’s the most curious.”

—

Batman walked into the room a half hour later.

“Hello, Mr. Nightingale. I am glad you appear to be recuperating.”

“Yeah. Thanks for helping out with my rescue.”

Batman inclined his head slightly.

“I assume you have questions.” Danny said not quite meeting Batman’s eyes.

“Yes.”

Danny sighed. “First of all, were you able to capture the cultist?”

“Yes. After you were rescued we were able to use a spell to locate where you had come from. Alfrus Bane is now in custody and the artifact he used has been locked up by Constantine.” Batman paused before continuing. “We are also making good progress on taking down the Anti-Ecto Acts. Rest assured the government will no longer be able to touch you… or anyone else who may be like you.”

Danny nodded. “Thank you.” He sighed. “My friends told you I was liminal, death touched.” Danny paused before deciding to just charge forward quickly. “That’s true but also not. I’m a bit more liminal than most. That’s why the artifact was able to control me. It happened once before and I was able to destroy that particular artifact. I would like this one to be destroyed as well. To keep others safe.”

“I will talk to Constantine about it, but I do not guarantee anything.”

Danny nodded. “Do you know of the Infinite Realms?”

“No.”

“It’s a place between dimensions, between realms. Imagine it like a sandwich. The bread is the dimensions and the stuff inside the sandwich is the Infinite Realms, except that the Realms connects all dimensions. There are creatures that live there, often called ghosts though not all of them are the consciousnesses of dead people.”

“And the GIW were after all the residents of this Realm?”

“Yes. You can see how the Acts could be catastrophic. If enough people from the Realms suffered at the hands of the GIW, they could have decided to attack.”

Batman stiffened. “I see. We shall make sure to dismantle the Acts and the GIW quickly and be sure they face the consequences for their actions. Is there someone… from the Realms who we could seek out to make amends with and possibly create a treaty?”

Danny suppressed a grimace. “There is. I can help get you in contact with them once I get better.”

Batman nodded. “Is there anything else you wish to tell me?”

Danny nodded. “There is, but I need to seek medical help first.”

“Is there anything else we can provide?”

“No.” Danny said, shaking his head. “The nature of my injuries means I need to seek help in the Infinite Realms. I will go there, and when I get better I can come back and explain things more thoroughly as well as get you in contact with someone from the Realms.”

“That would be greatly appreciated.” Batman inclined his head towards him. “I wish you a speedy recovery, Mr. Nightingale.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Contact me when you are better.”

“I will.” 

Danny sighed as Batman left. That went okay, but he still wasn’t looking forward to having to explain things more. And he was dreading having to approach Batman as an ambassador or something of the Infinite Realms.

Oh well. He was free. He closed his eyes and let himself feel it for the first time since he woke up. He was free. Everything else could wait till he was better.

[girlactionfigure]

🟪 MORE SPIES CAUGHT, HAMAS HUMAN SHIELD STRATEGY PROVEN - Real time from Israel  

ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting to Israel in Realtime

A Gut’a Chol HaMoed from Israel - happy Succot intermediate holy days.

( PHOTO - doing your best to make a Sukkah in Lebanon. )

🔅END OF DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME in Israel, this Saturday night 2:00 AM. Change clocks back 1 hour, computers and phones should auto-adjust.▪️

❗️MORE SPIES CAUGHT.. 7 residents of east Jerusalem were arrested on suspicion of planning to eliminate a nuclear scientist and a mayor - on behalf of Iran.

⭕LEBANON - ANTI-AIRCRAFT FIRE at IDF JETS from HEZBOLLAH per Al Jazeera with video (not shared here), 23 mm anti-aircraft fire.

⭕HEZBOLLAH FIRES LONG RANGE MISSILE(S) this morning, alerts from Zichron Yaakov through north Tel Aviv.

Hezbollah for long range launches 1-5 missiles (so far).  With the low number and longer flight time, interception has been 100%.  Because of high altitude and speed of the flight, the scatter pattern for the debris covers a huge area. That is why a small number of missiles results in a large alert area in central Israel.

The opposite is occurring in the north, where Hezbollah is firing 20-110 short range rockets in a barrage, therefore each alert area is 1 or multiple rockets inbound.

⭕HAIFA PORT WORKERS GET THREATENING SMS.. Haifa port workers received messages Monday which stated that the port's system had been hacked and that they should leave the place as it would be the target of a missile attack.

⭕HAIFA - KRAYOT.. strong explosion without warning as an incoming rocket hits a nearby open area.

♦️LEBANON - HEAVY OVERNIGHT AIRSTRIKES across parts of Beirut and other areas.

♦️LEBANON - news report: boy killed working his shop due to Israeli STRIKE ON THE ROCKET LAUNCHER IN THE BACK space being rented by Hezbollah - reported straight like that.

♦️LEBANON - MASS EXODUS from Beirut continues, both sides of the highway going OUT.

♦️LEBANON - BUNKER UNDER HOSPITAL CAUSES PANIC.. Following the IDF spokesman's announcement regarding the Hezbollah cash-vault bunker under the al-Sakhal hospital in Harat Kharik in Dahiya in Beirut, hysteria began in the area surrounding the hospital as people tried to flee assuming an incoming IDF attack.

🔹US VS HOUTHIS $$.. The cost of the damage suffered by the US military so far is $186 million just from the downing of the MQ-9 Reaper drones.

❗️HAMAS’s MANIPULATIONS & INTENTIONAL HUMAN SHIELDS.. (WSJ) “As Arab mediators tried to speed up cease-fire talks, (Hamas leader) Sinwar urged his comrades in Hamas’s political leadership based outside of Gaza to REFUSE concessions. High civilian casualties would create worldwide pressure on Israel, Sinwar said in a message.

Sinwar messaged Hamas officials, urging them to refuse a hostage deal. Hamas had the upper hand in negotiations, Sinwar said, citing internal political divisions within Israel, cracks in Netanyahu’s wartime coalition and mounting U.S. pressure to alleviate the suffering in Gaza.”

▪️SERIOUS CRIMINAL INCIDENT - KFAR QASIM.. (Israeli Arabi/Bedouin town near Rosh Ha’ayin) 3 young people, ages 17, 17, 20, stabbed, critical condition, CPR.

▪️TRUMP SAYS.. Trump on the talks for a ceasefire in Lebanon: I spoke with people from Lebanon and to my surprise they want it (the attacks on Hezbollah) to continue as long as possible.

▪️AID PROFIT..  IDF: Paul Landes, head of the economic warfare staff at the Ministry of Defense, refuses to answer the question of whether Hamas makes money from humanitarian aid.

[absolutedaisy]

Stubbornly Sick - Nischa

I KNOW I SAID I WASN’T GONNA DO NISCHA ANYMORE BUT I CANT GET THEM OUT OF MY HEAD SORRY

A oneshot in which Mischa is sick and refuses to admit it. Noel takes matters into his own hands.

Mischa rolled over on his thin-as-paper mattress, feeling his sweat seep into his pillowcase. He groaned, staring at the cement wall beside his lousy excuse for a bed. His whole body felt hot, and not in the way that meant people swoon over you. Beads of sweat rolled down from his hairline, his skin blotchy and red. His stomach growled, but he didn’t even want to get up and eat.

He fished his phone out from the comforter beside him, flipping it over to check the time: 9:30. He’d slept in later than ever, as if his body knew it needed rest. However, it was Sunday, meaning the choir was getting together for their weekly outing. 

Ever since the 6 of them had miraculously survived a roller coaster accident together, Ocean had been taking initiative to get the group together. Some weeks it was shopping and walking around downtown at whatever little shops remained, some weeks it was the mall, but today they’d planned a little hiking expedition. 

Mischa was almost never the biggest fan of these get togethers. First of all, it meant being stuck in the same vicinity as Ocean O’Connell Rosenberg for at least three hours. Secondly, it meant listening to Ocean for at least three hours. And lastly and probably worst, it meant not complaining about the little ginger scumbag for the entire time, or all hell would break loose. 

The real reason Mischa went at all was to spend time with his boyfriend, Noel. The two of them had grown close as they recovered from their accident, and Noel had been there for every step of Mischa’s growing musical career. Most of the time, Noel’s work schedule made it difficult for the boys to spend time together. Taco Bell execs didn’t really take “need time to make out with my boyfriend” as a valid excuse for missing shifts. However, “mandated outdoor socialization” was acceptable, apparently, so choir outings were fair game. 

Mischa ran his hands through his greasy, matted hair, yawning. His eyelids felt like they were made of steel, weighing him down and just wanting to close, keel over, and sleep. Even the way he carried himself, usually with his chest puffed out like a lion on the hunt, was different; slouched over and painful to even move. 

His phone vibrated in the back pocket of his sweatpants, evidence of a text message coming through. 

Noel: babe where r u! u said u would pick me up @ 9:15

He winced. Shit…

Noel set his phone down on his desk, turning back to the mirror to look at his makeup: on point as usual. Slumping back in his chair, he wondered where Mischa was. 

It’s not super unlike him to sleep through his alarm…he can sleep through my snoring after all. Maybe he stayed up late? Which is weird, because usually when he stays up late it’s because he and I are texting or something…Is he ignoring me? Shit, am I gonna have to ask Ocean for a ride? Damn it…

He picked up the phone again and dialed Mischa’s number, and to Noel’s delight and relief, Mischa picked up. 

“Hey babe…You alright?”

Mischa, at that moment, let out just about the loudest cough Noel had ever heard, hacking into the phone. 

“Sorry, I slept through my-” he paused to yawn, “-alarm. I will be there in ten minutes, Poet.” 

Noel’s heart absolutely melted at the sound of his partner’s voice. He sounded hoarse and just all around awful.

“Sweetheart, no offense, but you sound like shit. Are you feeling okay?”

“Fine. Just fine, honey. You wait and I’ll- ACHOO”

The sneeze just about made Noel have a heart attack with the sheer volume of it. He wasn’t so sure he loved the idea of Mischa even leaving the house in this condition, but he also knew how much of a stubborn asshole his boyfriend could be. Talking Mischa into staying home was not going to be easy in the slightest.

“Mischa…are you sure it’s the best idea for you to come get me? I can ask Ocean for a ride if you’re sick, you need rest…” Initially, he was going to scold Mischa, but his ‘loving boyfriend’ mode took over in a heartbeat. “I don’t even have to go today! Just get back to bed, drink lots of-”

“No, no.” Mischa waved him off. “I am going to go get dressed, and then I will come get my special boy, okay? I love you, Noel.”

“I love you too, which is why I want you to-”

He hung up. He fucking hung up. 

This was gonna be a long day.

Mischa had taken driver’s education. He knew that driving while sick could lead to accidents, because being sick made you drowsy, right? But Mischa wasn’t sick, he couldn’t be. Mischa didn’t get sick, at least that’s what he’d gaslit himself into believing. He got into the driver’s seat, rearing on the gas and speeding out of the driveway, almost slamming into his foster parents’ mailbox on his way out. 

Noel’s house wasn’t too far away from his, nowhere in Uranium City was very far away from any other place, to be honest. That was just how small towns worked. He turned onto Noel’s street and pulled up in front of the house. He parked, slightly crooked in the driveway, and trudged to the front step. 

“Noel!” He croaked out, his voice cracking. He rang the doorbell. 

The shorter male opened the door and looked Mischa up and down with a satisfied smirk on his face. “As expected, you look like someone pushed you out of a car window and then ran you over with a pickup truck. Bed, now.” 

“What? No! We have the hike-”

“I already texted Ocean and let her know that you’re sick and thus will not be attending. Now please go lay down, you know where my room is.”

“But…that just means I am going to get you sick! “So what? You’re the love of my life, I think I can handle your cooties.”

For once, it was Noel being the stubborn one. It was clear he wasn’t going to hear another word about it. Mischa allowed himself to be escorted (read: dragged by the collar of his shirt) upstairs to Noel’s bedroom. 

“Get your ass under the covers.” Noel demanded playfully. “Mom’s working another late shift, but I don’t have to work again until Monday afternoon. We could spend all day and night right here if it would make you feel better.” 

Mischa yawned and plopped down on Noel’s bed, having made the decision to be cooperative for once. “And do what? Talk about how shitty I feel? Because I feel like…big…bleh.”

“I know you do, darling.” Noel kissed his boyfriend’s forehead, giggling. “If you would lay down like I told you to and rest up, you might feel a little bit less bleh. Have you eaten today?”

“No.” He admitted. “I was not hungry.”

Noel sighed. “I’ll go get you some toast or something. You really gotta start taking care of yourself when you’re sick.”

“I am not sick.” Mischa protested. “Just a little tired.”

“Either way, you need rest.” Noel pressed his boyfriend down, hand splayed out over his chest. “Lay down, Mischa. Spare me my sanity.”

Mischa rolled his eyes. “I do not need to lay down, poet. Sleep is for the weak.”

“No, dumbfuck, sleep is for the idiot boyfriend who won’t admit that he feels like he was hit point blank with a sack of bricks!”

Mischa pondered Noel’s innate ability to know exactly how he felt, because the sack of bricks thing was fairly accurate. He felt like he was going to topple over onto the floor, but would his cocky ass admit that? When pigs fly.

“Sleep is for the weak.” He repeated instead, sitting back up. If he was going to get in bed he was not going to lay down and he was also going to make it everyone’s problem. 

“Whatever you say, dickwad,” Noel sighed. He was ever so creative with the pet names. “Sit still and don’t, I don’t know, set the house on fire. What do you want to eat?”

“I told you I am not hun—” he started, but he knew there was no winning this argument. “I guess…toast?”

Noel went downstairs and fished a loaf of bread and the toaster out, tossed a slice in, and promised himself he would not scream when the toast popped up. 

He broke the promise.

Anyway, he took out the golden brown bread and slathered it in butter, taking it back upstairs to Mischa. 

In the time it took Noel to make a piece of toast, Mischa had flopped over and fallen asleep. Noel made a soft tsk tsk sound, setting the plate of toast on the nightstand. He gently climbed into the bed, pulling the covers over both Mischa and himself. Rolling onto his side, he came face to face with a peacefully dozing Mischa and a pool of drool already staining the pillow (not that Noel really minded). He brushed Mischa’s chestnut curls out of his eyes, giggling softly.

“Yeah, rest easy, tough guy.” He whispered. “My fucking idiot.” He snuck a quick kiss onto Mischa’s forehead. “I love you.