#injured on a case

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Apple Pie

Harry was baking when Draco got home.

An apple pie, if Draco had to guess, judging by the smell wafting through the house. He took a slow breath before squaring his shoulders and heading toward the kitchen where his boyfriend was baking. It didn't seem like something that should set Draco's fight or flight responses off but it very much was.

Harry only baked pies when he was upset. And it wasn't that he was afraid of Harry; he wasn't, it was just that he hated how hard that amount of stress was, hated that they couldn't just have a proper fight anymore. Hated that he felt like it was all his fault.

"Hey," he said lightly, settling himself at the island and watching Harry as he tidied.

"Hey," Harry replied, voice equally light, but there was an undercurrent of something else there, something that Draco could feel buzzing in his veins.

He paused, parsing out the words, trying to figure out what to say. Maybe if he could just assure him-

"Don't," Harry said, voice sounding stretched tight, like something was ready to shatter inside of him. "Just leave it alone."

"Harry-" he started.

A vase on the shelf wobbled dangerously for a moment before Harry exhaled and unclenched his fists, "Seriously, Draco," he said. "I need some time."

"Right," he said softly, trying not to escalate either of their emotions, "okay," he said, nodding and heading toward their bedroom and deciding to take a shower.

He spent his time in the shower reminding himself that this was how this always went, ever since the curse. Harry's magic was always heightened when he was upset, Harry always drove him away so that he could calm his body down first so his magic didn't lash out unpredictably and wreck their home, they always got to talk it through later. He forced himself to slow down, to do a hair mask and a face mask, light a candle, and moisturize his skin. He'd finished all of his normal self-care routines and then braided his hair before putting on a pair of sweatpants and one of Harry's jumpers.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Harry was sitting in the chair in their room, elbows rested on his knees, fingers clasped. He wasn't looking at Draco but Draco knew that he was fully aware of his presence.

“Hey,” Draco said, keeping his voice level and calm.

“Sorry,” Harry whispered. “I wanted to be okay by the time you got back but I just...” he shook his head and sighed heavily, looking up at Draco and pinning him with the intensity of his gaze, “Are you alright?”

"Fine," he said lightly, no reason for Harry to know that he'd almost died in the field today.

Harry all but growled at him, "don't lie to me," he said and Draco could feel the way his magic was twitching around Draco, trying to reach out and check him but Harry was visibly restraining himself.

With a sigh, he held out his arms, "I am fine," he muttered a bit petulantly. "Go on then," he said and Harry's magic covered him, touching him everywhere seeking out his bones and organs, checking him for any damage. After a moment his magic retreated a bit but he could still feel it lingering on his skin.

"You had a lot of injuries," Harry said, jaw ticking.

"I'm fine," he repeated.

He looked down and took a deep breath, "Ron told me you were in Mungos," he said, and he really must have done a good job regulating given the way his voice barely trembled.

Draco sat on the floor in front of Harry, sliding closer so that he could catch his eyes, "I am fine," he said softly looking up at him.

Harry's fingers reached out and brushed over his jaw, "I don't know what I'd do if I lost you," he confessed. "Draco, I'm-" he broke off, looking at his hands where his fingers were clenched together, "I'm afraid that I'd burn the world to the ground if something happened."

He reached out and took both of Harry's hands in his, clasping them between his, "I'm okay," he repeated.

"This time," Harry said softly.

He didn't know what to say. "I know my job is hard-"

"No you don't," he said, his voice just a little sharp. "You have no idea what it's like to sit here everyday, waiting and hoping that nothing bad happens to you. You have no idea what it's like to have my magic constantly rushing under my skin wanting to help you-"

"I've told Weasley a thousand times not to fucking send you a patronus for every little injury-"

"It wasn't a little injury!" Harry snapped and a light bulb blew in the bathroom.

He shook his head, "I hear that but there's nothing you can do anyway-"

"That's the point!" Harry shouted and something shattered in the kitchen. "There's nothing that I can ever do. I just sit home and bake fucking pies while you go out and throw yourself in front of everything that will kill you."

"That's rich coming from you," Draco said. "The entire reason your magic is like this is because of the curse you had to throw yourself in front-"

"To protect you!"

"I didn't ask you to protect me!" Draco exclaimed. "How long are you going to keep punishing me for something that you chose?"

"Punishing you?" Harry asked, reeling back like Draco had slapped him, "How is wanting to keep you safe punishing you?"

Draco shook his head, tears filling his eyes, "I don't want to give up my life. Every time something happens," he said, "every time I get hurt, I feel afraid of how you're going to react."

"Draco, I wouldn't hurt you-"

"Not because I'm worried about you hurting me," he said, because that was true. "Because it tears you up and I keep waiting for you to ask me to quit. And I don't want to. Harry-"

"I'm sorry," he said, "shit." He put his head in his hands, "Shit."

"I love you," Draco said, because he did, more than anything. "I love you."

"I know," he said, catching the hand that Draco had pressed to his cheek and turning his face to kiss his palm. "I'm a lot," he said. "This curse is a lot. This is too much-"

"You're not too much for me," Draco inserted quickly because he wanted Harry to understand, "but it feels like I'm too much for you. And I hate the way I make you feel. I hate that we just keep going in this cycle of you getting worried, blowing shit up in our house, then feeling guilty and apologizing."

"Sorry-"

"Stop," he said. "Salazar, Harry!, stop apologizing It should be okay for you to feel worried. Why are we always trying to cap it?"

"Because my magic destroys things," he said like Draco had lost the plot.

"And?" Draco asked. "So what? We can fix it. Let's just," he shook his head, "please," he said. "Please, can we just have a fight. Or can you just let yourself feel your fucking feelings and we'll repair anything that's broken. Because I hate feeling like I'm constantly breaking you."

"What if it hurts you?"

"It won't," Draco said, "because you would never."

"There's a lot in there," he said softly. "A lot of things that I've worked really hard at not experiencing in their fullness."

He nodded, "I know, love. Just," he shrugged, "let it out."

Harry stared at him, "What if I'm too much?" he whispered.

Draco brushed his thumb over his cheek, "impossible."

"Outside?" Harry asked. "Maybe in the back garden? If we put up some shield charms?"

"Yeah," Draco said, leaning up to press a soft kiss to Harry's lips, "yes."

"I don't actually want to fight with you," Harry said, "but it might be nice to let myself feel," he added like a confession. He looked at Draco, "I don't actually want you to quit, I just-"

"Hate feeling helpless," Draco said softly for him.

Harry nodded.

"Come on," he said, standing and pulling Harry to his feet, tugging him outside.

For a long moment, Harry just stood there, letting Draco put up stronger wards and shields to protect the perimeter of their property. As he watched, Harry closed his eyes, his toes burying themselves in the grass and dirt. Draco watched, waiting, and nothing happened.

Until it did.

He'd been expecting things to shatter, rocks to break, their flower garden to get torn up. Instead, the sky itself turned dark and it opened up and started to pour.

Rain drenched everything in seconds. Everything except Draco.

He looked at Harry, watched the tears streaming down his face mixing with the rain. Then Harry started to talk, "I am so afraid," he said over the pounding of the rain. "So afraid that I'm going to lose you, you have no idea. And it just," he shook his head, "the grief and fear weigh so heavily on my heart, all the time." Thunder cracked overhead, lightning striking the ground. "And I can't do anything. I want to be able to help, to be able to protect you, and it eats me up inside that I can't."

The rain turned to partial hail but Draco remained completely dry, even as Harry's clothes started to cling to his body in all of the wet.

"And I'm so frustrated about being trapped in our house. Frustrated that they haven't found the counter-curse. Frustrated that I can't help you or anyone else. But especially you." he said, still not looking at Draco, his eyes still closed as the storm raged on.

Draco waited, he just waited, wanting to give Harry all of the space that he needed to say whatever he wanted to say.

"I feel like I just keep failing you, over and over," he sobbed. "I promised, in our vows," he continued, "I promised to protect and cherish you and it's a promise that I break every fucking day."

"Harry," Draco said, moving toward him and stepping into the rain and ice that was still pelting his beloved. "Harry, look at me," he murmured and the other man opened his eyes.

"How can you even stand to look at me?" he asked, voice raw as the wind whipped around them.

"You haven't failed me," he said. And Harry started to shake his head but he continued, "You haven't," he insisted. "Because you can't. You protect my heart, you protect our home, you layer me with protective spells every single day before I leave; don't think I don't feel them settling over me like a mantle."

"I-"

"I love you. I want you," he added. "I want this life, with you. We promised each other the rest of our lives and I want all of yours. I want you to feel your feelings; to be afraid, or angry, or frustrated, or anything else. I want you to be you. Completely and totally you." He shook his head, leaning in and kissing him hard, "Circe, I've missed you these past two months."

"I haven't gone anywhere," Harry said, brushing the long wet strands of hair that had fallen out of his braid off Draco's face.

He nodded, "But you've been such a shell of yourself, so timid and," he shrugged helplessly, "not you."

"Draco," he breathed, tears falling all the harder, even as the rain started to ease slightly.

"Please stop hiding from me," he begged.

Harry tucked his face in Draco's neck and he cupped the back of his head, threading his fingers through Harry's curls.

"I want all of you," he said softly. "All of the anger, the hurt, the frustration. Give me all of you."

"Okay," Harry whispered, the rain slowing around them to a light drizzle. "Okay."

He wrapped Harry tighter in his arms, squeezing him as the rain stopped and the sun poked back out. "There," he said softly, "feel better?"

Harry nodded, pulling Draco closer, holding him tighter than he had since the curse happened.

"There you are," Draco murmured, holding him tighter in return, "Fuck," he whispered as their bodies seemed to come back intune with one another. "There you are," he repeated.

"Don't leave," Harry whispered, voice cracking.

"Hey," he said, "hey. I'm not leaving, love. I'm not going anywhere. Why would I-"

"My brain knows that," Harry said, "but my heart just-" he broke off. "I'm afraid."

"Listen to me," Draco said, pressing a kiss to his temple, "I'm not leaving. I love you. And I am always happy to tell you."

"It's stupid," Harry whispered.

He shook his head, "Nothing you're feeling is stupid. It's okay to be afraid, it's okay to need reassurance. We're going through something really hard, I'm happy to reassure you."

"Thanks."

He hummed, "do you think you're ready to go back inside, maybe put some dry clothes on and watch a movie?" he offered. "I was told to take two days of medical leave, so we can have a couple of days with just us?" he hedged.

Harry pulled back so that he could look him in the eyes, "I'd like that."

"Me too."

He sighed and scuffed his foot on the ground, "Thanks for letting my feelings be really big."

"I'm always happy to let you take up space," Draco promised. "Always."

And even once they found the counter-curse six months later, they found that they both were better at communicating their emotions and expressing their needs with less trepidation.

They were both surprised to find that the curse had actually been a blessing in disguise.

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

Read more of my fics here.

[tommykinard217]

Buck is at the firehouse when it happens. His phone is on the table, trying to sort of "out of sight, out of mind" the whole thing. If he's not staring at the text thread between him and Tommy, it doesn't exist. And if it doesn't exist, he doesn't have to worry about whether or not Tommy is bubbling him for the fifth time in as many days (that he's aware of).

So he's focusing on this new baked mac n cheese recipe he found, that used five different types of cheese and a bechamel sauce and everything and he doesn't even register the vibrations from his phone thrumming against the table.

The screen is face down, so peering over the counter doesn't help figure out who's calling him. Everyone else is downstairs, doing this task or that, so he can't ask someone to get it for him.

His hands are full with the baking pan he put the mac n cheese in and an open oven door, waiting.

The sudden stop of the vibrations are what launches Buck into action. He shoves the pan into the oven and slams it with more force he'd been meaning to.

He scoops up his phone and there's the notification. One missed call from Tommy.

He looks at it, then at Eddie, who's suddenly coming up the stairs.

"He called me. I didn't-my hands were full. Should I call him back?" He's torn between staring at his phone and staring at Eddie.

Eddie's expression looks cautious. Worried. "I think that's up to you, Buck."

But suddenly the alarm sounds, and Buck moves to turn the oven off so the mac n cheese doesn't burn the firehouse down.

And then he hears it.

LAFD helicopter malfunction. Pilot down.

And Buck just knows.

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

ford, hanging out with an anomalous feline: oh, hello, mabel

mabel, immediately pointing at it: bleep bloop

ford: bleep bloop?

mabel, nodding sagely: bleep bloop

ford, booping the anomaly on the nose: nyoom

stan: what the fuck are you two on about

[california-112]

- Answer the question, Miss Scully! - What is the question?

The X-Files | S04E09 'Terma'

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) Drowning in formaldehyde (Pt. 2)

—

Tw: canon-typical violence (Batman), emetophobia at one point

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1)

(Masterlist/subscription post)

—

Danny sat in the back of one of the transport trucks currently on the way to Arkham, his hands in his lap.

So far, everything was going to plan.

About a quarter of the team had gotten themselves admitted into Arkham in the days leading up to the raid, carefully sneaking in supplies and weapons for both themselves and the rogues they were going to free.

Half of the team was on trucks, ready to storm the building with their fancy new tech. A couple others were keeping an eye out for the Bats, and the last one was holed up in a recently condemned building, ecto-modified sniper rifle in hand, ready to fire.

Danny’s hands were cold.

He hadn’t always run cold, from what he remembered. Even after he died—hell, even after he started developing his ice powers—he had always been warm.

Now, though, his body was freezing.

Maybe it was because of the ecto siphoning he and Derringer had done the day before.

He couldn’t make the ecto guns work without fueling them, after all, and the only ectoplasm he had access to was the stuff inside his body. So, he had Derringer hook him up to a GiW machine and filter the ecto out of his blood.

The process was excruciating.

Not only did he get light-headed from the loss of fluids, the machine also chilled his blood considerably during the filtering process, and when it was pumped back into his body, it was freezing. Derringer had to cover him with heating pads and thick blankets to get him to stop shaking.

Still, that had been a little over eighteen hours ago, so that probably wasn’t it.

Maybe it was just another side affect of his time with the GiW.

Overuse of his ghostly wail, he had realized earlier, was the reason that he had lost his voice permanently. Maybe he had accidentally used his ice too many times the same way, and now his body was irrevocably changed. Maybe warmth was just another tiny privilege he had taken for granted, that had now been lost forever.

Danny stared down at his hands.

Maybe his body had just given up entirely on keeping him warm, on pretending to be human.

“Kid, you alright? We’re almost there.”

Derringer’s voice snapped Danny out of his thoughts.

“Yeah,” Danny signed, “just tired. And cold.”

“We’ve got to get you a jacket, kid,” Derringer said, “it’s not even winter and I already have to worry about you freezing to death.”

“I died a long time ago, it’s fine.”

“No,” one of the other men in the truck drawled, “it means you’ve got to be extra careful. You’ve got a second chance at living, so you better not screw it up.”

“What did he say?”

“Danny thinks that because he’s died before, he doesn’t need to worry about freezing to death.”

The truck went quiet for a few moments. Most of the guys in there didn’t know he had died before. He didn’t exactly like to advertise the fact.

“I have a cousin who had a heart attack, and it only made his heart worse,” one of the guys near the front of the truck offered.

“See, kid?” Derringer said, “I’m right. As soon as this is over, you’re getting a jacket.”

Danny crossed his arms, slumping over in his seat with a huff.

A few moments later, a loud clang echoed through the truck. Danny jolted, almost falling out of his seat.

The door opened, the driver looking at them with boredom written all over his face.

“Alright, up and at em. It’s go time,” he mumbled, smacking the door loudly for emphasis. “The sooner we’re done, the sooner we can leave.”

They all stood, hopping out of the truck and making their way to the fence line.

Danny moved his hand to the bandolier on his chest, fingers brushing against the small ecto-bombs he had attached to it.

There were five of them, their bodies made of tempered glass and black steel, and they glowed a sickly green in the night. They were designed mainly for combat; he had a few larger ones meant to blow a hole in a wall in his backpack, which was securely zipped shut.

His hand then drifted to the holster on his left side, and the ecto-gun nestled securely within it.

Most of his parents’ inventions were far too big and bulky to be practical in any real combat setting, so he had downsized them considerably. The weapon he had was modeled after a standard glock pistol, matte black paint covering the GiW white of the gun’s body.

The gun should be able to fire around fifty shots a minute without overheating, which was more than enough for Danny. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to fire a single round tonight. However, for whatever reason, the words should and hopefully didn’t inspire much confidence in him.

Danny followed the group as they snuck up to the facility, Derringer by his side.

Originally, neither of them were going to go on the raid, but someone on the patient list had caught Danny’s eye, so he decided he would investigate in person. Derringer was just along for the ride because Mr. Cobblepot wasn’t willing to lose an asset as valuable as Danny.

Danny would make it up to the bodyguard later, he decided.

Entering Arkham was, all things considered, pretty easy. Mr. Cobblepot had connections to a few of the orderlies, and it was all too easy to convince them to “forget” a few steps in setting up the security system for the night.

However, since nothing can ever just be simple, they ran into an unexpected patrol of nightshift guards just a few minutes after all splitting up to find the rogues.

Danny and Derringer were able to take them down pretty quickly, but not before they sounded the alarms. And, according to a few guys on the comms, they weren’t the only ones to run into guards where they shouldn’t be.

“They must have changed their patrols,” Derringer huffed, spinning the pistol in his hands, “c’mon, let’s go see about freeing our good friend Victor Fries.”

Danny nodded, scampering after the man as he sprinted through the halls.

The inmates, who had woken up from the loud alarm’s continuous blaring, shouted at them from their cells. Danny’s pulse was loud in his ears, drowning everything out.

Distantly, he wondered if those guards were going to die. Maybe they were dead already.

He supposed that it didn’t really change much if they were.

Soon, they were at the cell. It was custom-built to hold Mr. Freeze, constantly kept at subzero temperatures to avoid killing him.

Derringer hefted his bag off of his back, pulling out the suit and freeze gun that Mr. Cobblepot had procured. As he did so, Danny took a few of the larger ecto-bombs and placed them on the joints of the door.

They carefully moved away, putting some distance between themselves and the door, and Danny detonated it.

The explosion was loud. It shook the entire building, the shockwave knocking Danny to the floor.

Danny brought his hand up to his safety goggles, yanking a small piece of metal shrapnel out of them and dropping it on the floor. He was dimly aware of more pieces sticking out of his kevlar suit. Derringer was similarly peppered with metal, luckily uninjured as well.

They had come from the body and mechanism of the bomb, he realized. He’d have to fix that later.

Mr. Freeze emerged from the cell a few moments later, a scowl on his face. Derringer quickly shoved the suit and freeze gun into his hands and he retreated back into the cell for a few moments, getting dressed.

“I could have died from that, you know,” he hissed. “Killed by some amateurs with shoddy explosives.”

“The Penguin sent us,” Derringer said, ignoring the man’s clear annoyance, “our getaway car is outside. If you’d come with us…”

Mr. Freeze nodded sternly.

“Hurry up, then.”

Derringer and Danny hurried out, Mr. Freeze right behind them. Then, at a certain hallway, Danny paused.

He had to check.

“Kid,” Derringer barked, “we have to go.”

Danny shook his head.

“You go,” he signed, hands trembling, “I have to check.”

“Oh, what’s the problem now?” Mr. Freeze asked, his frown more pronounced by the minute.

“Danny…” Derringer sighed, “Danny thinks his sister might be in here. He hasn’t seen her in years. It’s the whole reason he was a part of the Arkham raid, actually.”

Mr. Freeze paused for a moment.

“Well, lead the way, then,” he said, clearly regretting his words as soon as he said them. Danny just nodded, scurrying forward, the other two men close behind him.

They came to the right cell quickly. Danny looked in through the glass, and he felt a piece of himself shatter.

That was Jazz, his sister, sitting in a padded wall wearing a straightjacket and a muzzle.

She didn’t bother looking up at them as they arrived, not stirring even when Danny slammed his hands on the door to get her attention.

Shakily, he attached an ecto-bomb to the door, hoping with all his might that she wouldn’t get hurt.

The door blew open, and Danny rushed in.

Jazz’s head swiveled to look up at him, her eyes narrowed.

He slipped the goggles up and his bandanna down, exposing his face as he came to kneel beside her.

Slowly, her expression shifted to shock.

“Jazz,” he creaked, his broken vocal chords cracking painfully as he spoke, “it’s me.”

She looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Danny?”

He nodded, pulling her into a hug, careful not to let the shrapnel dig into her skin.

“I thought you were…”

“Very heartwarming,” Mr. Freeze snapped, “but now isn’t the time. We’ve got to go, now.”

Jazz nodded, leaping to her feet. Danny stood as well, slipping his mask and bandanna back on, and grabbing onto one of her arms for support.

They left the cell, Danny doing a double-take as he saw the frozen-over pathway that they had just come from. He looked to Mr. Freeze, tilting his head questioningly.

“There were guards,” he said flatly. “Now hurry up, we need to get out of here.”

Derringer grabbed the two of them, dragging them along as he sprinted through the hallways. They had to take a bit of a detour, coming out of the main entrance instead of the side one they had entered.

Unfortunately, there was an active gunfight going down.

Danny was roughly pulled behind a desk, just barely dodging a few rounds.

His hands shook as he pulled a small ecto-bomb from his bandolier, priming it and throwing it at a small grouping of night guards. They cried out as the pure ectoplasm collided with them, covering their bodies in burns.

The smell, while familiar to Danny, was still horrific.

They took a few shots off at the night guards, trying to take them down. Their group was efficient, but with the rate they were going at, it wasn’t going to be enough. Only adding to that, the gun Mr. Cobblepot had prepared for Mr. Freeze had broken after just a few uses, leaving them unable to create an ice wall.

Then, Danny heard the sound of a gun’s safety being turned off behind them, and his vision went white.

He grabbed onto Jazz and Derringer, making them intangible right as the night guard opened fire.

Waves of nausea hit him all at once and he doubled over, his vision swimming. Danny was only dimly aware of Jazz taking the guard down with a high kick right to the head, and Derringer pulling him into a protective hold.

Ignoring everything, he pulled the last of the large bombs from his bag, throwing it into the air, pulling everyone behind the desk.

The entire room went white.

Danny’s ears rung as he scrambled out from behind the reception desk, dragging Jazz with him.

Luckily, none of the hired hands on his team had gotten injured, but the guards…

Danny looked away, trying to ignore the taste of bile in his mouth.

It was fine. He was fine. Everything would be okay.

The next few minutes were a blur. He knew that he had puked only a few seconds after they had left the building, and that Derringer had picked him up afterwards, carrying him to the truck with Mr. Freeze and Jazz in tow.

Danny’s entire body was wracked with tremors, an unbearable phantom pain passing through the still-healing surgical wounds in his head and torso like lightning. He dry-heaved, shivering uncontrollably.

They drove off soon after. Luckily, no one had been left behind. Someone, probably Derringer, helped Danny rinse out his mouth and got him a bottle of water to drink, wrapping him in his jacket.

As soon as the truck doors were opened within one of Mr. Cobblepot’s safehouses, Danny became aware of the sound of wailing.

Hopping out of the truck, most of his mind still far away, he saw a man being rolled out of the room on a stretcher. He was one of the people who had been on the other truck, Danny realized.

Beside him was a teenager, probably only a few years younger than Danny, who was screaming and crying uncontrollably. They wailed at Mr. Cobblepot, who only stood there with an uncomfortable expression on his face.

“Oh shit,” Derringer breathed. Danny pulled on his sleeve, tilting his head at him questioningly.

“The guy on the stretcher, that’s his sibling.”

Danny just stared, a hollow feeling deep in his chest.

Jazz, her arms now freed from the straightjacket, pulled him away from the scene. Danny let her.

—

[the-broken-pen]

“You’re going to blow out your arms,” the villain observed. They watched as the hero merely grit their teeth, shoving themself through another pull-up. It looked painful, and if the sweat slicking the hero’s brow was any indication, it was.

They waited for the hero to let themself drop from the bar and accept the villain was stronger. But they didn’t.

Three more pull-ups, and the villain stepped in.

“Hero,” they said slowly. “You’re about to tear the ligaments in your arms. You need to stop.”

The hero blew out a shuddering breath. Struggled for purchase, fighting gravity—and let themself drop.

The hero’s hands were bleeding, calluses torn open by the bar. The hero didn’t seem bothered when their own hands shook so much that their blood began to splatter on the gym floor.

For a moment, the villain could only stare at them.

Shit.

They didn’t know how to handle this. They knew the hero was dedicated. They knew the hero was strong, and perpetually trying to be stronger, but they hadn’t thought…

They hadn’t thought the hero would be so willing to tear apart their own body for success.

It was supposed to be fun, the villain thought. They felt a little sick as the hero pressed their palms together to soothe the bleeding, an action that was practiced and familiar. As if they had done this before.

The hero reached for something in their bag, smearing blood on the side, and pulled out a roll of blue electrical tape. The villain didn’t understand why, until the hero tore a strip off and made to wrap their hands with it.

The hero would be the death of them.

They crouched in front of the hero, plucking the electrical tape out of their hands.

“What are you doing with this?”

The hero blinked at the villain like they were the strange one in this situation.

“Wrapping my hands?”

The villain hissed in a breath.

“With electrical tape?”

The hero flushed slightly, looking down at their bloody hands. They looked close to tears.

“It…sticks to skin, really well. And it doesn’t move, either, when you move your hands or wherever else, even if you’re fighting. Plus, blood doesn’t make it come off, at least, not for a while.”

The villain blinked at them.”

“Blood doesn’t make it come off,” the villain repeated, processing. The hero nodded, reaching for the electrical tape. The villain settled it out of reach.

“Not if you wrap it right.”

Dimly, the villain realized that meant the hero had done this enough times to have it down to a science.

“And you couldn’t use a bandaid?” The villain asked incredulously. The hero shrugged a shoulder, then winced at the motion.

Yeah, the hero had absolutely blown out their arms.

“Bandaids move—“

The villain hushed them.

“Be quiet for a second.”

The hero, wisely, went quiet.

The villain rubbed a hand over their face, then studied the hero for a moment. They took one of the hero’s hands into their own, studying the damage.

“Why did you do this to yourself,” the villain murmured.

“What do you mean, why,” the hero snapped. “It’s my job.”

“Your job is to save people,” the villain corrected. “Not destroy yourself.”

“I’m not destroying myself—“

“You are.”

“Shut up—“

“Hero.”

“I need to be better,” the hero snapped. Their voice rang out across the gym, echoing into the rafters, and they both froze. After a moment, the hero spoke again, voice soft. “I need to be better.”

They said it like they needed the villain to understand. The villain wondered who they were really saying it to—the villain, or themself.

“Better than who?”

“Everyone.” It was hushed, like a secret.

The villain watched them, waiting.

The hero took a shaky breath

“My whole thing is being the best. I have always been the best. That’s the only reason I matter. If I’m not strong enough, then I am nothing, so I need. to be. better.”

The hero had started crying, very quietly, like they were afraid to take up too much space.

The villain was not equipped to handle gifted kid burnout.

“There’s more to you than just being a good athlete,” the villain said hesitantly, and the hero shook their head.

“No. There isn’t.”

“Hero.”

“Can you give me back my electrical tape?” They hiccuped to contain a sob.

“No,” the villain said firmly, and then the hero really was sobbing.

“You don’t understand—“

The villain didn’t. Not really. They had never been the kind of talented that the hero was.

They wondered now if maybe that was a blessing.

“I don’t,” the villain agreed. “But I do understand that you’ve saved half the city, and you give everything you have to give, and you always do your best.”

“But I-“

“No.” The villain stopped them. “You are doing your best.” They tipped the hero’s chin up until they met the villain’s eyes. “And it is enough.”

The hero froze, eyes darting over the villain’s face. They wondered if anyone had ever said that to the hero, if whatever mentor they had was giving them anything other than orders to be stronger. Be better. Be more.

The villain had some new targets to take care of, it would seem.

For now, though, they had to take care of hero.

“We’re going to go wrap your hands,” they said softly. “And then we’re going to take care of your arms, and you’re going to take a nap.”

The hero nodded, watching them like they were some kind of good, selfless person.

“And if I ever catch you using electrical tape again, so help me, I will put you six feet under.”

That startled a laugh out of the hero, and they let the villain guide them to their feet.

“Fine.”

The villain turned to them. “Okay?”

Are you going to be alright?

The hero seemed to understand.

“Okay,” the hero agreed.

Yes.

And so, it was.

[salcreus]

2-3

Another drawing I did for @aabadendingzine ! You can get the zine for free here 🔥

[australianklaviergavin]

Realizing I've only posted GAA art, for so the AJ half of my follower-base, I'm pulling this baby bunny Trucy outta the vaults for you fellas

[jupiterswasphouse]

I thought this beetle was dead, it wasn't moving, its wings missing and its abdomen picked clean. So I took my photos and stepped away, until, after a minute, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it start crawling away.

[VIDEO AND PHOTOS TAKEN: JUNE 1ST, 2024 | Video and Image IDs: A video and four photos of a grey wood boring Buprestid beetle crawling up a relatively dirty, white metal surface. Missing its wings, the empty space showing its hollow abdomen, as well as without any motion in its far back pair of legs. /End IDs.]

Easily one of the scariest yet most fascinating things I've seen in nature! The fact that this beetle could even survive something this intense (if only for a little while before it eventually succumbs) is insane.

[neversetyoufree]

Gnawing at the bars of my cage wondering what personal hatred Olivier is referring to here.

Does he mean hatred is "the reason he's standing here now" as in it's the reason he's reached his current point in life? The reason he's stayed with the chasseurs and become a paladin? Or does he mean "the reason he's standing here now" as in the reason he's still alive?

He brings up his own relationship to hatred in the context of people clinging to it for their very survival, but he also dismisses his own feelings as "trivial," so I can see an argument for either way.

Olivier sees himself in pre-trauma Astolfo, which means he must have grown up relatively privileged and comfortable. The tiny glimpse we've seen of his childhood seems to support that. What desperate straits did he end up in that forced him to rely on hatred? Was it despite or because of that privilege? Despite or because of his involvement with the chasseurs? He doesn't seem that intense in his hatred for vampires (not relative to some other chasseurs, anyway), and we've yet to see him express particular dislike for anyone besides when he got into a fight with Gano over cruelty to Astolfo, so it could be almost anyone that he's talking about here.

I was never that interested in Olivier before these chapters came out, but MAN I'm curious about his history now.

[trans-leek-cookie]

chewing on my hands no curly did not need to fucking murder jimmy to protect Anya. He wouldn't, not Just because of the fact murder even in self defense is deeply distressing and therefore. Y'know a last resort (and Jimmy is his friend. I am curious how long Jimmy's weird resentment has existed and if it was ever obvious before the events of the game but I'm getting off track) but also. Anya LITERALLY SAYS "I have to believe our worst moments don't make us monsters" like I'm not saying she's at all okay w what jimmy did but like!!!

She's VERY OBVIOUSLY conflicted and coping! She DOESNT want him dead (well maybe she does but I don't think it's something she thinks would actually be an easy fix. She doesn't want it Logically bc the situation is. Y'know it's a spaceship w 5 ppl and he's the fuckin co pilot)

CURLY COULDVE STILL DONE MORE AND HANDLED THE SITUATION BETTER!!! Personal opinion he didn't realize it was SA and/or didn't realize how traumatic it was for Anya until she brought up pregnancy and its a mix of genuine and willful ignorance (which Logically Makes Sense but is still not an excuse) but like. He says himself she doesn't get psych evaluations!

Murder is not an easy solution! Some survivors/victims want their abusers to die and that's its own discussion, but even beyond morality and ethics: thats 20% of the fucking staff on this stupid ship!

There's a longer post to be made about the fact capitalism is the ultimate enabler of these issues and dynamics, because the combination of isolation, small crew size, complete abscence of support, disregard for employee safety and physical danger all contributed to the fact this Could Happen and the fact this Is Such A Fucking Hard Situation even if you always prioritize the victim bc. Anya's safety is threatened either way- letting Jimmy do Whatever is obviously dangerous, but also HES THE CO PILOT! The events of the game are literally an example of why you NEED A CO PILOT (though in game he's fucking. Shit at his job which y'know) because you need redundancies to make sure you arent Completely reliant on one person (like. Imagine if Anya got seriously injured. There goes the medical staff. Maybe the others have basic training but Jesus Christ being the ONLY medical expert on staff. And even then iirc she's a nurse which not to downplay the work that goes into that but it is fundamentally one of MULTIPLE medical jobs and only having A Nurse is. FOR OVER A YEAR OF TRAVEL GOOD LORD THIS IS A NIGHTMARE) anyways. Longer post by someone smarter Abt how even though jimmy is an awful person a lot of the harm he does is only possible bc of a combination of The Situation (isolation + small group) and His Power (social power as a man over the One Woman and power as the second in command)

This post got away from me bc this game makes me think a lot but what I actually wanted to say is: Curly could have done more by being more present for Anya and being more Aware of Jimmy's actions (and intervening to make sure he isn't able to interact with Anya in isolated settings). Like I also think straight up murder isn't an ideal solution but like. There's a lot of fucking THINGS YOU CAN DO TO SUPPORT VICTIMS THAT ARENT MURDER

In the end I think it's a consequence of basing the approach on punishing the aggressor rather than supporting the victim, because like. It's less important to Kill Jimmy (no matter how much you want to) and way more important to KEEP ANYA SAFE

[ghost-bxrd]

Anti Robin/MockingJay: gets injured by an enemy

Red Hood

Very accurate reaction on Jason’s behalf lol 😭

Mini Bruce knows getting injured will lead to sudden increase in work for the Gotham morgue so he generally tries to avoid it 🤣😭

[ciderjacks]

reblogs a bunch of my deadloch stuff to ensnare my dunmeshi followers into watching deadloch

[amluart]

A moment after the Siege of Eregion

[vole-mon-amour]

I don't know if I'll write this fully when I have the time and energy (depends), but I know that if I won't get it out of my system, I'll forget & I don't want that.

The short idea is: a body of water (a river or a big lake). A magical fruit tree whose trunk is fully leaning over the water, so the chances of shaking it really hard and getting the fruits are close to zero. The three grows several kinds of fruit at once: peaches, plums, apples, pears.

Halsin and Astarion have been on the road for several days. Halsin is hungry as hell, they're low on food and money (and the damn druid absolutely forbids any kind of stealing, and it's not like they've encountered a lot of people to steal from on their travelling). And here's the tree, right in front of them.

The catch is, not only can Halsin not climb the tree (he'll probably end up in the water, either out of his clumsiness or because one of the branches/trunk snap under Halsin's weight and size), but he is also magically wounded in a battle.

Why does it matter that he's magically wounded? Because he can't heal himself. No potions or spells he has tried worked, so the healing is very, VERY slow. So climbing the tree and picking the fruits himself is out of the question—dor the reasons of mentions above, for also out of fear to make the damage way worse.

So, we have Astarion that bravely climbs up the tree (doesn't even complain much, he'll do things for Halsin he didn't do before for anyone else—because he cares for him very much), picks enough food that lasts them (Halsin, because Astarion mostly feeds off Halsin's blood—his favourite meal/treat) for days. Then jumps down in the water, makes several in-and-out of the water while carrying the fruits in his shirt.

And all I can think about at that point is Astarion being a wet cat in this situation. Up the tree (he's the beauty, he's the grace; he also knows how to pick pockets, so this should be twice as faster and easier), in the water collecting the fruits (hair sticking to his forehead, a bit grumpy, sopping wet cat),getting out of the water (the clothes sticking to his entire body and it feels horrible), sitting next to Halsin—Halsin is in the shade, Astarion in the sunlight in his underwear while his dripping clothes are drying on the tree. He tried to squeeze the water out of it, but of course it's still dripping.

Halsin probably watches his attempts, then calmly offers a hand (even two) ("Let me help you with that") while also flirting and thanking Astarion in the process. It was a really nice thing that he did, considering he's still unsure of the water and it doesn't always feel nice.

I can also imagine Astarion either wanting to try and get dry in those soaking wet clothes (unsuccessfully, obviously) until Halsin suggests he takes the clothes off. Or having trouble removing the clothes/himself out of the clothes because it's clinging to his body, it's heavy, and he's already been in the water for long enough and he is now kind of overwhelmed. So Halsin helps him get rid of the clothes in his usual calm demeanor, squeezes as much water as he can and hangs it to dry.

And in a while, when Astarion's body is dry again, Halsin offers him a spare change of clothing. When Astarion refuses (hell wait for his clothes to dry, thanks very much), Halsin wraps him in a light blanket and makes him sit in that blanket until the clothes are dry—not only it's important to protect Astarion's pale sensitive skin from a possible sunburn, but to protect from getting sick. The wind, the cold lake water, and a burning sunlight can be a cruel and unpredictable mix on him and his well-being (assuming he can get a cold).

Also, I'm still 100% sure Astarion is a cat. So he acts like one, and Halsin is his well loved, loyal bear. And they're a very, very cute couple.

So.

Would anyone be interested in reading/drawing that? No writing that, please, I want to keep the idea for myself in case I do write it into a proper fic.

[triptychofvoids]

hey doc, do you have any fun facts about doves that you'd be willing to share?

not so much a Fun Fact, but i frequently see people misunderstanding dove mating behaviors. when a dove is rapidly flicking/twitching its wings that is a mating behavior. i see a lot of dove owners interpret this body language as merely being happy and then continuing to over pet and misunderstand their birds. granted, doves rarely (if ever) exhibit aggressive or harmful behaviors because of sexual frustration like parrots might for example, but it is sometimes upsetting to see people interpret a doves sexual excitement as nothing more than 'im happy please pet me' instead of what it actually is... and then spread that misinformation around. if there is one thing i would love, it would be for people to research dove body language and behaviors! i think they are very good to know and i wish more people knew about them!