#it's possible he got a concussion

[dazednstoned]

The theory that Dutch went “crazy” bc of his head injury on the trolley doesn't really hold up. I say this as someone who has endured multiple life-altering head injuries. To change someone's personality like people claim it did Dutch's, it would have to be an incredibly severe injury, not just a minor concussion.

I can think of one medical case where this occurred to such an extent. It was Phineas Gage where his personality changed completely. And guess what caused it? An iron rod went all the way through his head. So, the likelihood of Dutch's minor head injury being the cause of his behavior in ch4-6 is very low.

Personally, I think it's as simple as Dutch was a manipulator, knowingly or not. And when John and Arthur were slipping away his tactics of manipulation fell through, hence his change in behavior.

[backpackingspace]

a rough sketch of an idea

Polites found odysseus in the sheep's field weapons and armor and body broken and bruised. It looked like he had been dropped from a great height. He felt his gut clench at the sight. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened. But it was the worst he had ever seen his friend.

Odysseus had been collecting more and more bruises over the past year, becoming more and more cagey about their source. About his training. "Proof of athena's favoritism" he called them with a grin "it'll all be worth it when I'm the best fighter around"

But polites couldn't help but worry. Pride and honors and achievements didn't matter if you didn't survive the training to get there. Polites desperately wished there was something more he could to do to help but even if he could convince odysseus to cease this insanity, how would even get out of it without offending the goddess?

"I take it training didn't go well, my friend?" Polites asked with a smile forcing his voice to keep its teasing edge. He extended a hand to help odysseus up off the ground.

"Shut up polites" odysseus grumbled as he threw a hand up to clumsily grasp at polites hand.

Despite the muscle odysseus was rapidly gaining polites could still haul him up easily. He'd thank the gods for his height but lately praying had left a sour taste in his mouth. As he dragged odysseus towards a well paid and secured doctor he eyed the broken spear, sword, and sheild. A glimmer of an idea started to take shape. It was likely odysseus would continue to break mortal equipment as he did battle with gods and his family had been pressuring him to choose a calling already....

"Eurylochus is coming from same tomorrow" polites chatted ideally, hoping to distract his closest friend from his pain. Odysseus groaned and banged his head against polites shoulder.

"Come now!" Polites chided through his laughter "you love the man!"

"Not when he's trying to bed my sister I dont" odysseus slurred somehow managing to drip annoyance through the concussion and other pains.

(@www-dot-why-are-you-here-dot-com tagged as promise! It's more on the angsty side of my headcanons so let me know if you only want to be tagged in the fluffy ones)

[etapereine]

more 2018 jonas for your viewing pleasure

[guinevereslancelot]

i really be out here having cute flirty moments with guys that i absolutely should not date and then not even noticing when they ask me out

[ashleighneville]

I always feel like I should watch equestrian because my dad is from horse riding country but I never do.

[pathologicalreid]

Can I please request protective Spencer x BAU!Reader who get "lightly" hurt or put in danger bc SWAT or local police made a mistake, and Spencer goes OFF on them. Hotch or Rossi have to calm him down because no one but the BAU knows theyre dating. I'd love to see protective Spencer if possible :)

no sign of danger | S.R.

when SWAT makes a mistake that puts you in danger, your boyfriend is... displeased

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: flangst content warnings: bloody nose, concussion, split lip, blood, mild violence. spencer reid says the f word. word count: 1.58k a/n: anon, not to be dramatic but something about writing this changed my brain chemistry. thank you for requesting!!! i hope you like it!

The time between arriving at a scene and when SWAT cleared the building was almost always intolerable. There were too many variables at play. It made you uneasy.

So, you waited, leaning on the side of an SUV with your Kevlar already strapped on, you turned to look at Hotch, “We’ve got an audience.”

Breadcrumbs that Garcia had picked up led the team to a house in a small town in Arizona. Unfortunately, the FBI garnered a lot of attention, and neighbors were starting to gather around the house. Hotch nodded, “Reid, JJ, work with the locals on crowd control, and make sure no one is recording. The last thing we need is for the news crews to show up.”

You offered Spencer a small smile as he turned to follow the blond to the barrier. He waved behind his back as he walked away.

Chuckling from right next to you got your attention, just to see Morgan shaking his head, “You two have it so bad.”

“I like to think we have it good, actually,” you said, flushing slightly. The teasing came with the territory, dating within the BAU meant never knowing a moment of peace – especially with Derek Morgan around.

There wasn’t an opportunity for him to respond, because as soon as he opened his mouth, your radio buzzed to life in your ear, “Building is clear. No sign of danger.” At the sound of the SWAT commander’s voice, you and Morgan surged forward to enter the building, Emily and Hotch following close behind.

Behind you, Hotch cleared his throat, “Morgan, Y/L/N, take the two rooms in the back, we’ll take the front.”

Nodding at your orders, you and Morgan walked past the staircase and to the opposite end of the house, where the kitchen and the den were. “This place looks like it’s been abandoned,” you thought aloud, dragging your index finger along the kitchen counter, and cringing when it came back covered in dust.

As you wiped your hand on your jeans, you looked up to see Morgan sorting through a vinyl record collection. “You’re right. It doesn’t look like anyone’s even entered this house in years.”

You hummed, opening the first cabinet you saw, wrinkling your nose at the discovery that the house also smelled like it had been abandoned. As you went to close the cabinet, the one below you swung open, the force of the doors almost knocking you to the ground.

Stumbling back, you saw a flash of hands before you were slammed into the refrigerator behind you. Immediately, you dropped to the floor, watching as Morgan tackled the guy and shouted for Hotch and Prentiss.

“We need an ambulance, Y/N’s down,” Emily spoke urgently into her radio while Morgan cuffed your attacker.

You winced at the way the radio buzzed in your ear; the way Emily’s voice echoed combined with the throbbing pain in your head made you nauseous. “What do you mean ‘Y/N’s down’?” Spencer’s voice rang through the radios, prompting you to haphazardly yank the coiled wire from your ear.

Everything sounded like you were underwater, Emily and Hotch asked you questions as the fog cleared from your head, “You’re bleeding,” Emily said, there was a worried look in her eyes.

Hesitantly, you pulled your hand from your face, just to see it covered in blood. You weren’t even sure how long you had been holding your hand to your face. “Can you stand?” Hotch asked you, his tone was concerned, but there was something else buried within it.

Nodding slowly, both of them helped you stand. Emily hooked an arm through yours when you stumbled slightly, she led you out of the house and to the ambulance. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Morgan place his hand atop your attacker’s head, protecting it from the top of the police cruiser.

As soon as you sat down on the back of the ambulance, an EMT handed you a towel to hold to your nose. Your eyes flittered up to see Spencer approaching the ambulance, but to your surprise, he turned at the last moment and faced down the SWAT commander. “What happened in there?” He asked, his tone wholly accusatory.

“It looks like the person of interest was hiding in the kitchen when your team entered,” Commander Polk answered, obviously thinking Spencer was just asking for a sort of status report.

Spencer shook his head, “We’re hunting for a serial killer, and you had the audacity to miss the presence of an entire person?” He asked incredulously, “Did you even clear the kitchen?” He pointed in the direction of the house, where Rossi and JJ were now entering to look around more.

The SWAT commander faltered for a moment, “Someone did, but it wasn’t me personally.”

You winced as the EMT prodded at your face, surmising that your nose wasn’t broken, just bleeding badly as a result of the blunt force of the refrigerator. She pulled your hand from your face so she could inspect for any further damage. You opened your mouth to talk, but the EMT was quick to stop you, “You shouldn’t talk, not until we can look at the cut on your lip.”

While the EMTs got more supplies out, Emily helped you take off your Kevlar vest, undoing the Velcro for you and gently tugging it off. The entire front of it was covered in blood, you winced at the sight of the now-red letters.

“You need to figure out whoever checked the kitchen and make sure they know what they’re doing,” Spencer said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Commander Polk’s demeanor instantly changed, “I assure you, agent, we take training our team very seriously. This was just a mistake.”

Even from this distance, you saw Spencer roll his eyes. “First of all, it’s doctor,” he corrected – at which you rolled your eyes. “Second of all, of course, you take training seriously, it’s mandated by the federal government. This was a mistake, a mistake that ended in the injury of a federal agent,” you looked from Hotch to Spencer, hoping your unit chief would do something before Spencer got punched by the SWAT commander. “SWAT making mistakes gets other law enforcement officers killed,” he continued.

“What’s your point, doctor?” The commander asked.

Spencer cleared his throat, “I’m saying you’re fucking lucky she didn’t get killed, or else-“

“Reid!” Hotch called, stalking over to where your boyfriend was nearly getting into a fistfight with SWAT. He muttered something unintelligible to Polk before dragging Spencer away by the elbow, “What was that?”

Your boyfriend threw his hands up in the air, “He needed to be made aware of their mistake.”

Sternly, your unit chief shook his head, “They are aware, Reid, and I assure you I’m not going to drop it and there will be an internal investigation into what went wrong.” He raised his eyebrows, “That being said, it’s not your job to take care of mistakes made by other people.”

“No,” Spencer agreed, “but it is my job to take care of her,” he said, gesturing over to where you were sitting in the back of the ambulance.

Hotch pointed around to the locals and other SWAT members, “They don’t know that, Reid.” He whispered, keeping his voice down so he didn’t expose your relationship to everyone in the Arizona town. “Let me take care of it,” was his final statement before he walked back to Commander Polk.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Spencer spun around and finally walked over to you. Emily nodded at you before stepping away, “Are you alright?” He asked.

You flashed him a thumbs up, gesturing toward the EMT, who answered for you, “We just glued the gash on her lip, so she can’t really talk right now. She’ll be fine though, maybe a small scar, if anything.”

“Good,” Spencer said, ambling over and taking a seat next to you. “I was so worried about you,” he murmured, and you watched as he restrained himself from touching you.

Humming, you leaned into him for just a moment. Your movement was intentional, but it was quick enough that any passersby would assume you were just unsteady.

The EMTs left once the glue on your lip dried, directing you to ice it periodically to help with swelling and handing you care instructions.

You were left with a mild concussion, a split lip, and ruined clothes. All things considered, you felt like you were pretty lucky. The rest of the team piled into the SUVs, you and Spencer sitting in the back of one with Hotch at the helm and Emily in the passenger seat. “Who knew Reid had it in him?” Emily wondered aloud, eliciting a small laugh from you.

“I can’t believe you almost got into a physical fight with SWAT over a split lip and concussion,” you said, smiling slightly, but stopping as you felt the glue on your lip tugging.

Spencer rolled his eyes, “It wasn’t over the split lip and concussion, it was over the abhorrent display of-“

“Reid,” Hotch said in his no-nonsense tone.

Your boyfriend slouched back in his seat, “So, maybe it was over the split lip and concussion.”

Closing your eyes, you reached over the middle seat and took his hand in yours, “Thanks, Spence.” You whispered so that only he could hear, leaning over the gap between you and setting your head on his shoulder.

please remember to like, reblog, and/or comment if you enjoyed!

[ghosts-and-glory]

Is Shamura training martial arts after being taken into Lamb's cult? If they enjoyed complexity and bloodshed of war than it'd be probably dissapointing for them if they had to... drop it all

Full under the cut because this turned out really long

Upon joining the cult Shamura was a shell of their former self. They join the cult dissenting, the long term effects of the crown still clawing at the edges of their mind, but after a few days they’re mortal, just themself. Without the crown to hold them together they suffer like their injury was yesterday.

The Lamb has the doctor, Puar, perform their usual tests on them. Shamura is hardly there. They don’t know their own name, can hardly speak, can’t stand or track movement.

There was no wisdom in their slurred words. No power in the way their hands shook.

The outlook is bad.

The Lamb doesn’t really want to help them, after everything, why should they. Shamura who had The Lamb’s entire race and family killed, who killed them aswell and countless of their followers. It would cost them so much, to try and help someone who spent so long just trying to destroy them and everything they had. The time, energy, resources it would cost and they didn’t even know if they could get better.

Deciding it wasn’t worth it was one thing, but getting the other ex bishops to understand was a whole other, even the doctor disagreed with them.

Dr Puar took on being their primary caregiver. They’d been a doctor for the past hundred years and seen concussions and dementia but nothing nearly as severe as this. They wanted to help Shamura but didn’t know how.

It wasn’t until Narinder joined the cult that The Lamb saw any reason to help Shamura. But there was something wrong with him and Shamura knew something, they just had to get to it.

Kallamar was the ex bishop Puar wanted the help from the most. He was scared of the lamb and red crown but he loved Shamura more.

The Lamb took Puar and Kallamar to the ruins of the temples in Anchordeep and Silk Cradle. They spent days digging through the decimated remains of the libraries for something, anything on this type of injury.

It seemed that they where looking down possible years of intense recovery. Needed herbs and medicines that may no longer exist, techniques Puar had never heard of. But they would try.

Puar took careful and detailed notes. Timed Shamura’s responses, wrote down everything they said, tracked eating, drinking, sleeping and every symptom they displayed. Improvements where slow and sometimes nonexistent at first. They took full minutes to respond and only in single words, barley moved, couldn’t feed themselves and suffered constant migraines.

The one thing that seemed to help them the most was their siblings. They didn’t remember them most days but every time one of they came to check in it raised their spirits. One of their faces was the only thing they could focus on sometimes.

Kallamar insisted he wasn’t a doctor but still worked around the infirmary, helping Shamura was the only thing he’d do without complaining. Heket spent hours sitting in silence with them, brought them food and flowers and changed their bandages. Leshy was the only thing that could get them to smile and they where the only person he would ever lower his voice for, he told them stories even though they hardly listened.

Improvements brought new challenges. They got better at speaking full sentences and following conversations but it revealed how fractured their memory was. Forgetting names, places and important events, how often they forgot where they where, they asked the same questions over and over again.

They complained of seeing and hearing things, phantom pains with seemingly no rhyme or reason. The sun hurt their eyes, rain gave them headaches, always sleeping but always tired. They would suddenly backslide constantly. One day could walk with minimal help and the next, couldn’t even hold a pen in their hand. Have a full conversation one day and hardly spit out their name tomorrow.

Until the day Puar looked Shamura in the eye and for once they saw him. Didn’t look past them with their blank stare but looked at them. They would ask to sit outside at night in the fresh air. They seemed to know now who they are, what they where, what they lost. A tinge of grief in their words.

Improvements brought frustration. On days they remembered who they where they were overcome with a mix of anger, guilt and despair. They where a god. They had bore down on armies, killed men with a twitch of a finger, brought other gods to their knees, and now they could hardly bring a cup to their mouth.

Emotionally, their siblings said they’d never seen them like this before. Before Shamura could be frustrated but their temper was cold and quiet. Now they wore a short fuse and suffered constant mood swings. It angered them that they couldn’t read, that their hands were numb, that they couldn’t walk without a cane, couldn’t go out in the sun, couldn’t string a full sentence together, couldn’t recognize their siblings faces, couldn’t feed themselves, couldn’t sleep without drugs, everything they lacked and lost wore them down.

Regardless, they where unusually steadfast. They would always pick back up. If they got frustrated they would try again in a few days. They tried anything Puar asked of them, anything for the smallest iota of improvement.

The outlook was better.

—————

This got out of control and took me like three days between the art and write up. I got really excited when I saw this ask cause the answer is so devastating. If I was taking Narinder’s trauma seriously I’m not gonna just ignore Shamura’s traumatic brain injury.

As a side note, I’m very unsure how to write the medical stuff, my guess is that cotl is based around 1300’s-1700’s but that’s a wide net to cast. My excuse for the stronger understanding of medicine and trauma is magic.

[bbeoms]

rugby!simon headcanons

hello, my sports hyperfixation this summer is rugby union, thus here i present you my rugby player simon riley brainrot! decided to write it cause why not???? someone needed to bring this idea to life. i hope you enjoy <3

fluff, suggestive, slight hurt/comfort

- plays as a forward (more specifically, second row/lock) so he’s always there during a scrum!

- and as we know, forwards are usually huge men 🤭 so 6’4 117kg simon is the perfect candidate

- you have to restrain yourself every time he’s in his kit cause have you seen how tight their jerseys and shorts are?????

- you can’t help but stare at how the fabric hugs his pecs and how the sleeves are lowkey cutting off circulation to his arms cause of how large his biceps are (and the way his tattoos peek out from the sleeves? chefs kiss)

- hikes up his shorts when he knows you’re watching and smirks when he catches you staring at the thick muscle of his thighs

- avoids wearing his kit around you when you’re ovulating cause he’s not sure he can control himself with the way you eye him like you’re ready to pounce

- (he learned his lesson after that one time you went to a match when you were ovulating. simon didn’t think it was possible, but you managed to milk him dry after you guys went home that night 💀 the hormones made you too feral until you managed to make him tap out lmao)

- anyone else become possessed by a succubus during ovulation?,,,,,, just me?,,,,, okay,,,,

- doesn’t usually wear a scrum cap during his matches

- but there was a couple of times he had to wear it (per the doctors recommendation) to protect stitches he had near his ear

- “ohmygod si you look like the end of a pencil ✏️”

- sulked at your teasing, he didn’t want to wear it either 😭

- you cooed and proceeded to shower his face with lil kisses until he forgave you

- felt his heart melt when you squished your cheek to his and took a selfie, your smile wide as you laugh at the way his blond strands were cutely sticking out of the cap (and how he still, looked like the end of a pencil)

- made it his lockscreen immediately

- being a rugby girlfriend isn’t always fun and games though

- it’s an extremely physical and dangerous sport and although you’d like to think simon is invincible, he’s still human

- it’s hard to believe but there are quite a number of players that are taller and heavier than him (you can’t say they have the same skill set though, simon is really good at his job)

- there’s always an underlying feeling of anxiety every time you watch him play

- injuries are a given

- split skin, bleeding ears and broken bloody noses are some of the more tame injuries you’ve seen simon get.

- simon coos at your tears and furrowed eyebrows whenever you tend to his injuries during rest days

- you don’t like seeing your man hurt!!!! :(((

- (okay but it is pretty hot when he gets all bloody in the face like in the first picture like hello??? lemme jump on you)

- straddling his lap while wiping the dried blood off his eyebrow

- “gimme a kiss”

- being cheeky and steals a kiss on your lips after you ignore his request

- reassures you that he’s alright and reminds you that he’s had worse injuries

- you give him a glare, silently telling him to not remind you of that time you thought he died on the pitch

- simon got hit with a high tackle, the fucker that was attempting to tackle him had his shoulder straight into simon’s neck (the guy got a red card deservingly) knocking simon back and motionless on the pitch

- you watched in horror as multiple bodies pile on top of him, not noticing that simon was out cold

- soon enough, the team’s medics were on field and stretching him away for treatment

- simon still feels your gentle touch on his face that day, thumb rubbing his cheek willing him to be okay

- he still remembers the look on your face despite being concussed. distraught, dried tears staining your cheeks.

- you were so scared, you didn’t know how bad his concussion was and what the aftermath of such injury would entail.

- he’d never felt such tenderness before

- he couldn’t believe that someone cared about him that much, didn’t think that he would ever find someone to love him like you do

- whispers i love you for the first time in his dazed state

- decides at that point that he won’t let you go, and has become a simp ever since <3

left to right pics: david pocock, tariq sims, chris robshaw (<- he would lowkey make a good simon riley imo)

[ceesimz]

Good News

Alexia gets injured, and you're left dealing with two upset children.

tw: hospital, concussion, loss of consciousness, though nothing too serious. smidge of angst, then just fluff.

One piece of advice you were given about raising two young children together was that having a tight routine for every week would make everybody’s lives so much easier. And god was it true. 

There was a whiteboard calendar on the kitchen wall, tagged by drawings from both your children that were not to be removed, otherwise there would be tears, which set out how each day would go – from meals, to appointments, training sessions for both Alexia and Anaís, work meetings, Oriol’s nursery days and Anaís’ homework due dates. It was the simplest thing, yet it brought so much efficiency and, rather unexpectedly, joy to your family’s lives. 

The marked occasion that brought the most happiness was when there was a home game set to be played for Alexia, with it being written on the board in big, squiggly letters by Anaís in red and blue pen. Going to watch her captain Barcelona whenever there was a weekend game at home was easily the most anticipated event of the week when one was on, and though you had been attending your wife’s games for many years now, nothing compared to going with your children in their matching shirts sat beside you as you watched Alexia do the thing she did best. 

Against all expectations, it wasn’t that difficult to keep Anaís and Oriol entertained throughout the whole game, the six-year-old and three-year-old both infatuated with the sight of their Mami running up and down the pitch, leading her team towards win after win. Even if Oriol didn’t have the same strong interest in football as his sister did, though he was still a toddler so there was plenty of time for that to possibly develop, he still kept a close watch on the game. Deep down, you and Alexia both recognised that it may be because of his separation anxiety and how he loved to be able to watch her through the whole thing, even when she didn’t have the ball. It didn’t matter though, because Alexia had her family all in one place as she represented the other most important thing in her life – Barça – and you were able to relax in a familiar, comfortable, and safe setting. 

However, the shouting from your football-crazy daughter wasn’t always so relaxing, as it seemed her skills weren’t the only thing she picked up from her Mami when it came to a football pitch. For your liking, there had been way too many times that she had to have a… gentle talking to from the referee during her own matches. Apparently that habit had transferred to watching Alexia’s games too, except you couldn’t help but smile at it. 

A league game against Real Betis fell in the middle of November, and the Saturday evening it was played was an especially cold one. Anaís, as always, was barely even bothered by it, her attention solely on the game in front of her. Oriol, however, wasn’t such a fan, even with a blanket around him and wrapped up in your arms on your lap. At an unfortunate moment, your attention was on him, oblivious to the events that occurred on the field.

“That is a foul! No! Vete a la mierda, árbitro!” Anaís shouted, standing from her seat and slamming her hands down on the railing in front of her. Of course, her less than appropriate language for a six-year-old instantly caught your attention. 

“Excuse me! Do not say things like that, Anaís! You are far too young to be speaking like that, if I catch you saying anything along the lines, you will not h-”

“No, Mama, look! Mami g-got hit in the head b-by the goalkeeper!” All the fighting talk had left Anaís, instead completely and utterly wracked with anxiety at the scene she had just watched.

“What?” You stood beside her, clutching a disgruntled Oriol against you rested on your hip as you casted your eyes over to the commotion Anaís gestured to.

And she was right; Alexia was lay on her back, the referee and players of both teams desperately waving the medical team over as Irene held her head steady in place and spoke reassuringly to her. In short, it was a horrifying sight for you, nevermind for two young children.

“Mami, no…” Anaís sighed anxiously, crossing her arms on the railing and resting her forehead atop them. You immediately recognised the tremble to her voice which indicated she was getting upset, understandably, so brought a hand down to rest comfortingly on her back whilst you got your bearings.

As it turned out, as the ball was crossed into the box from the corner, Alexia jumped up to header it at the same time the goalkeeper reached out with both fists to punch it out. Unfortunately, those two things didn't combine to work out well. The goalkeeper mistimed her jump and instead ended up hitting Alexia in the side of the head with a worrying amount of force.

“Qué, Mama?” Oriol pulled back from your hold a little to get a glance at your face, somehow sensing the concern about whatever had happened.

Of course your kids would turn to you in a time of need, especially at a moment like this, but in truth you had no idea what to do. What could you do? You didn't know if Alexia was okay, if she was in pain, if she was talking, or even if she was conscious. You wanted to watch to make sure she was okay, whilst also wanting to protect your children from any unwanted memories if it all went south. 

In the end, your own stomach-churning anxiety won out.

“Mami might have just hurt herself, she'll be okay but she needs to get looked at by the medics. Let's, um… stay here a little longer and see what happens, alright?” You spoke in a soft tone, desperately trying to keep the panic out of your voice for the sake of the two pairs of brown doe eyes, just like Alexia's, that stared up at you. “She'll be okay, she will.”

It was more of a sentiment for yourself rather than your kids, a plea to whoever was listening that they'd hear your words and make them true. All you could see was a crowd around the woman you loved, and very little of her apart from her still body. There was nothing you could do but watch.

“Mami, get up!” Anaís shouted at the top of her voice, ringing out into the stadium as a couple hundred heads turned in her direction.

“Shh, it’s okay, nena, it’s okay.” You soothed her gently, guiding her to sit back down beside you as Oriol began to fuss.

“Qué pasa?” Oriol whined, rubbing his eyes before straining up to get a look at the commotion on the grass.

“Venga, Ale, por favor.” You whispered under your breath, then turned to your son and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Don’t worry, Oreo, she just needs a few minutes and she’ll be alright. We’re all okay.” 

Unfortunately, for this matchday, it was only the three of you out of Alexia’s circle that could make it to the game. That left you on your own to deal with this situation, one you never could have anticipated, even if that was naive considering how rough football could be sometimes. It took everything within you to keep composure; if you were on your own, you surely would have broken down by now. Having your children with you throughout this was as much a blessing as it was a curse. 

On the other side of the pitchside barrier, lay on the cool damp grass, Alexia blinked a couple times, coming back to herself after a brief period of unconsciousness. Immediately, as her vision began to unblur slightly, she groaned at the intensity of the stadium’s floodlights, bringing a hand up to cover her eyes.

“Woah, woah, woah, no hagas eso, Ale. Quédate quieto, trata de no moverte.” Irene told her, though the words hardly registered in her ringing ears. Her head was throbbing, she felt the pain deep in her temple, and the careful chaos around her of her teammates and opposition players and physios didn’t help in the slightest.

“Mi cabeza.” She muttered, squeezing her eyes shut and swallowing the lump in her throat. Whether it was one of emotion or due to the nausea she had, she wasn’t sure, she couldn’t exactly think straight. “Me duele.” 

“Lo sé, pero no te muevas.” 

Not a second later, the medical team began their head injury protocol. They checked that she still had feeling in her legs, that there was no pain in her neck or spine, they did the horrible task of checking her pupil dilation which almost made her sick there and then, and a few more tests. 

The only thing you saw was the stretcher that was brought over.

“She’s not getting up!” Anaís cried into her hands, turning to hide her face in your shoulder. To make matters worse, the sounds of his sister soon had Oriol reacting in much the same way.

“Mami.” He sobbed loudly, and before you knew it, there were tears of your own burning your eyes. You willed them away though and held both of them closely, bouncing your son on your knee and quietly shushing him, whilst rubbing a hand up and down Anaís’ arm. 

“We will be able to see her soon, don’t worry. She’s okay, you’re both okay.” You were a little speechless, lost with what to say in such a moment. And with each cry that they both let out, you got more and more anxious. There was literally nothing you could do. At that realisation, your first tear fell. “We’ll… we will see her soon. We will.”

Alexia’s mind felt inexplicably foggy. But in one of the worse moments of her football career, there could only be one thing on her mind.

“No, no stretcher. Por favor, para mi familia.” It took almost all her remaining energy to get her words out, though the thought of you and her children was enough incentive for her to push through the exhaustion she felt. “Por favor.”

“Crees que podrías caminar?” One of the physios asked rather disapprovingly. Another of them was already on the radio, asking for a bed to be ready waiting for them on the sideline to wheel her down the tunnel to the exam room.

“Sí, sí.” The only reason they allowed it was because she passed the initial assessments, deciding she only had a concussion, though the severity hadn’t been decided yet. However, they knew they couldn’t persuade her to get the stretcher just in case, especially with her reasoning being her family. 

Never, in your whole life, had you felt more relieved than you did when Irene stood up from her spot by Alexia’s head, turned to scan the stands, before raising her hands to give a thumbs-up over to you. Alexia was okay.

“Look! Tía Irene says she’s okay, Mami is alright. She’s okay.” You breathed out shakily, hugging them both tighter to you as you closed your eyes and willed yourself to calm down. “Mami is safe, she’s okay.” 

“I don’t like it.” Oriol sniffled, nuzzling his face into your neck as Anaís went quiet and kept her eyes on Alexia.

“I know, I know. It’s over now though, mi hijo, everything is alright. We will go and see her as soon as we can.” You weren’t too sure about that, when you could go and see her, since it was only thirty minutes into the first half. Whether you could go down at half-time or you had to wait until the end of the game, you weren’t sure. 

“Football is scary.” Anaís muttered under her breath. You couldn’t help but smile at that, unsurprised at the statement leaving your daughter’s lips.

“It is. I’ve been watching Mami’s games since before you were born, chiqui, and I still get very scared. I get scared watching your games too.” Your best bet right now was to try and keep the pair distracted, take their minds off the whole situation.

“I don’t want to play football right now.” Anaís grimaced, shaking her head. 

As you went to reply, something along the lines of supporting her no matter what she does, her gasp cut you off. Again, you turned your attention back to the pitch and saw Alexia was now sitting up, her head still being supported with hands on either side of her face. Though it wasn’t the best thing you’d seen, in this moment it was all you needed for the larger parts of your anxiety to dissipate. You saw her lips moving as she spoke, obviously too far away to know what she was saying, but you knew that being able to hold conversation after a head injury was a sign that there was nothing bad underneath the surface. 

She had a concussion, at worst. You could deal with that. Sure, it would be a challenge, having to manage that whilst navigating how to explain such an injury to two young children, but you were just thankful she was okay.

The overwhelming relief you felt only doubled when, rather lacklusterly, Alexia was helped to her feet. She swayed as her head span, hit hard with some dizziness, the arms wrapped around her waist whilst hers were lifted over the physios’ shoulders either side of her keeping her steady. Slowly, with the applause of the stadium, she made her way off of the pitch, much to the delight of Anaís and Oriol, the latter with a small smile on his face at the sight. His adorably shy expression further eased your concern, lightening the heaviness that had settled over the three of you throughout it all.

It didn’t feel so burdening when she clambered onto the bed waiting for her, since you knew she was well enough and it was most likely precaution. In fact, you had a feeling they had told her to get on the stretcher, but she denied it. You knew her too well, but you didn’t have it in you to be mad at her for it. Not in this case, where for a few minutes you were worried if she was even awake or not.

Once she had been wheeled down the tunnel and out of view, however, you didn’t really know what to do. Your attention on the game now was miniscule, as were your children’s. You had your family pass with you, as always, though whether the rules allowed you to go down to Alexia before the match was over or not, you had no idea. With the state that Anaís and Oriol were in, it was only a matter of time before they got antsy and stressed about their Mami again. The relief that she was somewhat okay would only last so long.

Fortunately for you, you didn’t have to figure out a plan of what to do. Hardly any time passed between Alexia being taken off the pitch and your phone ringing, her number at the other end.

“Hello? Ale?” You answered desperately, noticing the way Anaís and Oriol’s faces lit up with hope at the mention of the brunette’s nickname.

You should have expected it, but it wasn’t Alexia who answered, it was one of the Barcelona staff. Obviously Alexia wouldn’t be able to use her phone, especially so soon after, though your disappointment barely had any time to sit and fester when you were told you could go down and see her. You barely got two words out to your children before the eldest was up and out of her seat, looking around frantically as she tried to figure out where to go to get to her Mami.

Thankfully there was someone there to take you, guiding you through the eerily quiet stadium corridors as the game carried on, two tiny hands holding tightly onto your own. It was during this brief respite, as you let the member of staff lead you to your wife, where the reality sunk in of just how tight-knit your little family was. The smile that grew on your face at thought, a silent but overwhelming feeling of love settling in your chest, and it only intensified when you looked down at the children, your children, beside you and realised how caring and thoughtful they were growing to be. Not only that, but those aforementioned traits were a testament to what an incredible parent Alexia was. They idolised her, and it was more than you could have dreamed of when it came to being a mother. Alexia was more than you could have dreamed of as a co-parent. There was no one else in the world you could do it with. 

“She is just in there.” The staff member said, gesturing to the door just ahead of you. 

Anaís and Oriol went to rush towards it, but you stopped them gently.

“Mírame y escucha.” You said quietly, crouching down before them. They nodded and gave you their full attention, Anaís even wrapping an arm around Oriol’s shoulders, a sweet gesture that made you smile. “When we go in, we have to be very, very quiet. Mami hurt her head, any loud noises will make it hurt even more. You can hug her but you must be gentle, she will probably be in a lot of pain and we really don’t want to make it worse, alright?”

Again, they nodded, Oriol growing a little timid as his bottom lip jutted out. You smiled sadly at him and scooped him up, before nodding at Anaís for her to open the door. The young girl knocked on lightly, just as you instructed, then opened it and stepped inside.

To no one’s surprise, the room was mostly dark, save for one lamp by the desk in the corner of the room. There was just enough light to be able to see, whilst keeping it dim enough to prevent any extra harm for the midfielder that lay on the bed, her hands linked together over her eyes. At the sound of the door, she lifted one up so that she could peek out with one eye, and she gave a quiet sigh of relief at the sight of her family entering the room.

“Hola, Mami.” Anaís whispered, and Alexia responded with a small wave. Oriol was more reserved, instead sticking by your side and hiding behind your leg slightly when you put him down. Not because he was scared of Alexia or anything like that, it was simply because he was worried. And it warmed your heart.

“Come on, Oreo, you can go give her a hug.” You told him. He hesitated slightly, but once he saw Anaís head over, he followed suit. 

“Tas bien?” Anaís asked, standing beside her bed and looking at Alexia with wide eyes. Even in her depleted state, Alexia could see clearly then just how much of a mirror image her daughter was of herself. It made her smile, despite it all.

“Sí, bien. Head hurts a tiny bit.” The midfielder pinched her finger and her thumb together, and she felt the weight of the day lessen at the sound of the young girl laughing at the gesture.

“That was scary.” Anaís mumbled afterwards, a frown on her face. Alexia’s chest tightened, knowing how terrifying the scene must have been for the three of you, and she couldn’t help but feel bad about it.

“Lo sé, princesa. Lo siento.” 

You heard the apology from her and went over then. Her voice was tainted with guilt and you couldn’t bear to hear it, she was involved in a horrible injury and had the audacity to apologise.

“No, Ale, don’t apologise.” You said, resting a hand on her knee and stroking the goose-pimpled skin there. “We’re really glad you’re okay. Please don’t apologise. Just rest.” 

Alexia had experienced first hand what happened when she didn’t listen to your advice… receiving a lecture from you was the last thing she wanted then. Plus, she was so completely exhausted, she could barely string a thought together. So she lay back, flashing you a small smile as that was all she had the energy to muster, and let out a deep breath.

“Mami?” The sound of Oriol’s quiet, slightly trembling tone near enough broke Alexia’s heart. 

“Sí, chiquito, ven aquí.” You saw her grimace and gulp as she shifted up the bed a little and waved her son over. She was pushing her limits just so she could comfort her children.

“Take it easy, you.” You warned her warmly, watching as she tentatively cupped Oriol’s cheek and smiled down at him.

“I’m okay, Oriol, I promise. I promise.” She stated. He nodded after a moment and smiled back. “I love you. All of you, so much.”

“We love you so much too, Mami.” Anaís replied in an instant. Alexia looked up at you after she said it, the emotion in her eyes conveying just how much this moment meant to her. 

That you were all there for her, straight away, when she needed it the most, it made everything that bit easier.

And despite it not being the most convenient thing in the world, you and your children went with Alexia to the hospital for further checks, as the team had decided just to be sure. A head injury was obviously something not to be taken lightly, hence the visit. Before you left though, you made sure she was comfortable; swapping her boots for some sliders, removing her shin pads, and helping her put on the hoodie she wore to the stadium. She was still in her kit, which wasn’t ideal, but the main focus was getting her to the hospital. You would take care of her when she got home. 

As expected, all of Alexia’s movements were slow and lethargic, and the car ride was nothing short of torture for her. Each bump, every press of the brakes, felt like someone was knocking directly on her skull, heightening all the aches and pains she already harboured. Thankfully, there was a nurse waiting at the entrance thanks to the club calling ahead, a wheelchair for Alexia so she didn’t exert herself any harder. 

She had a head scan and the four of you waited in the waiting room for the results. With the hood of her jumper up and sunglasses seated on her nose, she had an arm wrapped around Anaís’ shoulders where the young girl sat to her left, and a hand rubbed up and down Oriol’s back as he sat on her lap. Her eyes were closed, you could see from her right side, and she had her head resting back against the wall behind her. The picture in front of you was one of love, one that perfectly summed up your family. Alexia was your rock, Anaís’ rock, Oriol’s rock, it was so clear to see. 

As cliche as it was, you fell harder and harder for Alexia everyday. Especially at times like this, where the beauty of her character shone through the darkest moments. 

Thankfully you didn’t have to wait long and soon she received the all-clear from the doctors, telling her there was definitely nothing concerning under the surface and that she did indeed have a concussion. With the instruction to rest for the foreseeable future, no screen time, and as much peace, quiet, and darkness as possible, you were all sent back home. 

Two emotionally exhausted children trudged their way upstairs, it now being past the time they should be asleep, as they went to brush their teeth together and change whilst you led Alexia to the kitchen. You kept the lights off, only switching on smaller, less intense ones like lamps or the under-cupboard LEDs in the kitchen, and the brunette leaned back against the counter as you searched for some painkillers she could have. The doctor gave you a list of the ones she was safe to have within the first twenty-four hours of the injury, and when you found some that were suitable, you popped two out of the packet and got her a glass of water.

You watched as she took the tablets with ease and finished off the drink before placing it down beside her with a sigh. She looked at you afterwards, noting the sad smile on your face, and tugged your shirt to pull you closer into a hug.

“You okay?” She asked, at which you scoffed and shook your head when you leaned back in her arms.

“Forget about me. I’m not the one that just went to hospital for a head scan.” You teased lightly, glad to see the slither of a smile that appeared. “It was scary, but all that is forgotten now we’re here. Anaís and Oriol are probably still a bit shook up. All they need is to see you’re okay, which they have, and for you to get better, then they’ll forget about it. Don’t worry about us, I’ll take care of everything. All we need you to do is focus on getting better.”

“Thank you.” You pressed a soft kiss to her cheek then and hugged her once more, glad to have her back in your arms and in one piece. Whilst embracing her, you slipped your hands under her hoodie and shirt, where you felt just how ice cold her skin was.

“Ale, you’re freezing.” You frowned.

“Lo sé. I will have a shower.” She muttered, every word coming from her mouth ladened with tiredness.

“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I don’t want you falling if you get dizzy.” You said, and she made a reluctant noise of agreement. “How about you have a bath? It might help you to relax.”

There was a minute nod against your shoulder which was all the confirmation you needed. 

Alexia led you both up the stairs, mainly because you were worried she would lose her balance, and headed in the direction of Anaís’ room whilst you went to your ensuite to run her a bath. The Barcelona captain walked into her daughter’s room and found her in bed, under the covers, with her brother beside her. They were flicking through one of their favourite books, only looking at the photos since they couldn't read on their own yet, and really it was an adorable sight. However, upon Alexia entering the room, they swiftly lost interest in the story in front of them.

“Dulces sueños, mis amores.” Alexia said to them softly, sitting on the edge of the small bed and holding her arms out.

Carefully, the pair scrambled to hug their Mami, each one sitting either side of her and wrapping their little arms around her torso. They were gentle in their movements, ensuring they didn't cause Alexia anymore pain, and it was the perfect remedy for their concern. 

Their Mami was at home, not quite happy but definitely content and healthy, and sandwiched in a hug that was more than just a wish goodnight. It put the earth back on its tilt and sent it spinning again, it hung the stars and the moon back in the sky with the silver light from the latter creeping in through the gap in the curtains and providing an extra layer of serenity to an already priceless moment. All was right in the world again, the only thing missing was the bright, joyful energy of a certain blonde midfielder. It had been dimmed temporarily with this new injury, but her kids were wise enough, even at their young ages, to know it'd be back soon. 

That's the joy of parenthood: the result of two tiny humans spending so much time with you and Alexia was that your personality traits unknowingly passed down to them. What they saw, they could be. The love, care, and admiration they witnessed between their parents and the happiness that consequently spread through their home was more than enough motivation for them to try it out for themselves. And in their every action, they mirror the love and the lessons you’ve given them, a reflection so pure and beautiful that it winded you sometimes. You were both so proud of the people they were becoming, and Alexia frequently reminded you that it was all down to the way you parented them. Each day you saw their sleepy faces in the morning and tucked them into bed at night, there was always a sense of disbelief present. You felt so much pride towards them, you couldn’t believe they were your children. You promised yourself to never take your time with them for granted.

You came in not long after, guilty that you had to split the three of them up but insistent to keep a stable routine, especially given the difficult day that had been had. Anaís and Oriol held onto Alexia for a minute or two longer and you let them, knowing that each of them needed it more than they could ever describe. The woman you loved turned to kiss their foreheads and squeezed them tighter briefly, before Anaís pulled away and got back under her duvet, her favourite teddy in her hand. You took your turn in wishing her goodnight, telling her you’d come back to check on her in a little while, and then scooped Oriol up into your arms. He rested his chin on your shoulder, snuggled comfortably into you, whilst Alexia murmured quietly to her daughter and ensured there was a smile on the six-year-old’s face before she left the room. 

Alexia trailed behind you as you walked out, admiring the view of her son in your arms with his eyelids already drooping as she closed the door quietly. He had dressed himself into a pair of Barcelona pyjamas, except his shirt was on back to front, and Alexia smiled at that. His independence was fastly building, especially with the help of his sister who taught him everything he knew, the pair of them forever glued to each other’s side, but it was the tiny details like putting on his shirt wrong that was an adorable representation of his age. He was still so young, and Alexia worked so hard to keep herself in the present rather than dreading the future where they’re grown up, so no matter how odd it seemed that she treasured these miniscule things, she really didn’t care. To her, it didn’t matter if Oriol or Anaís decided to wear their clothes inside out, socks on their hands, and shoes on the wrong feet, they would still be perfect in her eyes. 

So with that in mind, she placed another kiss on her son’s cheek and ran a gentle hand through his brown hair, her heart doubling in size at the dozy smile he responded with. Understandably, the day had tired him out more so than anyone else, and near enough the second you lay him down on his bed, he drifted off to sleep. Without disturbing him, you covered him with his blanket and whispered that you loved him, smiling at the quiet noises he let out. For a moment or two, you lingered, gazing as he slept and admiring how peaceful he finally looked. His lips were parted slightly, small breaths sounding through the otherwise silent room. Alexia slipped her hand into yours and squeezed it once; it was then, now that your kids were calm and safe in bed, that you let the weight of the day settle over you. 

It was a delayed response of course, but your parental instincts took over earlier, something you were grateful for because you knew how your reaction earlier would impact them depending on if you kept your cool or not. All you could do now was try not to dwell on how awful it had been to see Alexia in that state earlier, and instead concentrate on the feel of her hand in yours and her steady presence unwavering beside you.

“Venga, mi amor.” She hummed, almost silently. You nodded and let her lead the way out of your son’s room, walking you both back to your bedroom where her bath was soon to be ready in the ensuite.

Not so long later, Alexia was unwinding in the hot water with her head resting back against your shoulder. You were sat behind her, not in the bath, but rather on the step-stool that belonged to your children when they decided they wanted to brush their teeth with you and Alexia. Carefully, you had tied her hair into a loose plait, choosing to wash it another day when her head wasn’t quite so tender and throbbing with pain. She seemed calm as your fingers gently traced mindless patterns on each arm of hers that rested on the edge of the tub. The room was pitch black and peaceful, no words being shared and despite the ache of your back in your current position, you couldn’t picture a better way to end such a traumatic day. 

Though you were reluctant to do so, there were just a few things you wanted to get off your chest.

“I’m proud of you, Ale. I hope you know that.” Your voice was so low, she wouldn’t have heard you if it wasn’t right beside her ear. She made a noise of confusion, caught off-guard by the sudden sentiment. “You were in so much pain today, it was such an awful experience for you, and you still were the best parent I could ask to have by my side.” 

One of her hands moved from its place and took hold of yours, bringing it to her lips to kiss your palm.

“Always.” She replied, mere minutes away from succumbing to the exhaustion that had overtaken her.

“But please, all I ask of you throughout this is that you take this injury so seriously, okay? More serious than any other injury you’ve had. Let me help, don’t be stubborn, and rest.” 

“Sí, I will.”

“Promise me that, Ale.” You demanded, though the fear and concern seeped through your tone clearly enough for Alexia to understand the importance of her next words.

“I promise.” The taller woman felt the tension leave your body after she spoke, goosebumps rising on her skin with the relieved sigh you let out. “Gracias por todo.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I’d do anything for you. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” You cautiously wrapped your arms around her, crossing them over her chest, and turned to kiss her jaw. “I love you. I was so scared earlier. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

The admission felt even more sacred given the darkness of the room. Even if your voice was hardly intelligible outside the bubble of intimacy that had formed between you both, Alexia heard every word and cherished them deeply.

“Do not worry about that. I’m here, m’not going anywhere. Not without you.” Hearing her say those things provoked your emotions, the heavy combination that had collected throughout the day reaching its peak. Tears quickly formed in your eyes, and Alexia frowned at the sniffles that echoed off the tiled walls of the room. “I love you, mi amor. I’m sorry about what happened.”

“Please never do that to me again.” You cried quietly, leaning back a little and ducking your head down to muffle your cries in her shoulder. Alexia sat up and turned then, not caring about the way it sent her head spinning once more, and reached out for you. It was awkward, but you buried your head in her neck and let her hold you, wrapping your own arms around her body without a care in the world for the water dripping off her skin. “I can’t take it Ale, I can’t.”

The only thing she could do was hope that her embrace was enough to quell your anxieties, because your tears were rubbing off on her and she couldn’t quite find the words to comfort you. What happened earlier had terrified her too, worried that the head injury was serious enough to have impacts on her life and consequently her family, though thankfully that turned out not to be the case. Still, that terror remained, subtly simmering in the background and waiting for its moment to boil over, which was quite obviously this moment here.

It was a day to forget, that much was true. Yet, the silver linings from it were something not to be forgotten anytime soon. 

Not that you or Alexia would hope for anything of the sorts or similar to happen again ever, there had been glimpses into your children’s souls and how wonderful they were turning out to be. They showed qualities you only could have ever dreamed of for them to have, and they only proved those things further during Alexia’s recovery. Anaís was adamant that she wouldn’t return to football until Alexia did, both out of solidarity and of understandable fear. Oriol donated his favourite teddy to keep Alexia company through the days she spent in bed, and was constantly asking if she needed a magic hug to make her feel better. That was yet another habit that he had picked up for the pair of you, and whilst the ‘magic’ description was something thought to be made up, Alexia couldn’t deny that there was some truth in the name after receiving one from him.

People had told you, since you were young, that it was important for family to stick together. You hadn’t realised how true that piece of advice was until you had children of your own, but it might be the biggest understatement of the century. Having your children in your arms and the love of your life by your side was all you could ever need to get through just about anything life threw your way.

[alchemistc]

The call comes in just after 2 PM, and Tommy's in the air five minutes later. White male, early thirties, took a tumble off the incline at one of the intermediate hiking points near Griffith Park, the engine can't winch him up without exacerbating his injuries.

It's a quick flight. Nothing remarkable at all, until Hurst has been down on the ground for a few minutes too long and then Tommy's captain is on the radio asking him to hand over the controls to his copilot the moment he lands at Presbyterian.

He's pissed about it the entire length of time it takes for the winch to pull up Hurst and their new passenger - time and a half for a 48 hour stretch isn't anything to scoff at.

And then he hears Hurst rattling off information as the door shuts, and he's desperately trying to remind himself that no amount of outside noise has ever distracted him before.

Evan Buckley, 33, moderate concussion, sprained ankle, three broken fingers, possible broken ribs, pulse is steady but BP is trending high.

Happy fucking Thanksgiving.

---

Tommy's phone rings as they're making the handoff at, and he answers more out of habit than anything else. It's Cap again.

"You can either ride shotgun back and be man behind or I can shift your time and a half somewhere else because you've had a family emergency," Hobbes says, and Tommy would love to have a snappy retort but he's still thinking about the way Buck had come out of it enough to tell Hurst his boyfriend - "ex-boyfriend, sorry" - flies for 217 too. Hobbes clears his throat. "Considering your last family emergency was when I forced you to take a holiday off, I know which one I'd choose."

Tommy blinks. They're almost to the doors.

"I'll see you in a few days, Captain," Tommy murmurs and hauls ass towards the retreating medical team wheeling Buck into the hospital.

---

He'd listened while Hurst and her partner - a loan from 136 he still hasn't actually been introduced to - pumped some pain meds to keep Buck from hurting himself more, but it's still a surprise to see how zonked he looks, pupils wide and eyes glassy as he blinks slow blinks up at the ceiling, the doctors, and Tommy.

Buck tries to tip his head sideways when he catches sight of him, and pulls a face when the C collar impedes the movement. A hand snags out, catches on the seam of Tommy's flight suit, and Tommy can't quite help himself. He reaches out and holds the hand in place.

It's easy to keep pace with the orderly as they leave the elevator, and Tommy knows exactly how many doors he's allowed through before he's got to make his way to the waiting room and figure out where the fuck to go from there.

Buck's face is scraped up good on one side, and the hand not in Tommy's is splinted too much for him to catch the full damage. There's more blood than Tommy can consciously account for in the moment, although most of it looks to be drying. The hand in his squeezes. "S-someone should ca-." He winces. Seems to lose his train of thought. Rolls back around to it right before the final set of doors. "You'll call Tommy?" he asks, a desperation on his face that does something ruinous to Tommy's gut, but the orderly has already slowed down and now she's looking a little like she'll shove Tommy off if he doesn't let go of her patient.

Tommy nods. Squeezes. "I'll call Tommy."

Buck's smile is lopsided and loopy as Tommy lets go of his hand.

"Good," he murmurs, and the doors swing wide and then shut behind him, and Tommy spends a solid five minutes staring at the spot where the red striping in the tile at his feet doesn't quite match up to its neighboring tiles.

---

He's a coward, so he calls Eddie first and puts his foot in it immediately.

"Why was Buck alone on a hike on Thanksgiving?" he asks, before Eddie's even finished his greeting, and he's glad he's stepped outside to make this call. He's not moderating his volume at all.

Eddie pauses. Seems to reboot. "Wait, what?"

Tommy recounts what he knows, which isn't a whole hell of a lot, if he's being honest. "So. When can I expect the cavalry?"

Eddie's silent for a beat too long. "I'm in Texas, Tommy. Is he - is it serious? How bad -?"

"He was conscious. Slightly more than superficial injuries. He'll - recover."

He'll be fine doesn't have the right ring to it, when he's just watched the man wheeled away without even recognizing Tommy.

"He went on a hike? What kind of idiot -?" Eddie asks, and then he's silent for a beat too long. "Tommy, don't take this the wrong way, but if there's even a small part of you telling you to make a break for it, do it now before he has a chance to get his hopes up."

Tommy feels it like the knife it's meant to be. It'd be shutting the door, really - in the short term, he'll remember asking someone to let Tommy know, and he'll assume Tommy didn't show. In the long term he'll remember exactly who he'd spoken to and he'll be pissed enough to make it a clean break.

It hasn't even been a month, and Tommy's out of distractions. No work, no house to clean and reorganize, no engines to tinker with, a phone on half battery.

"I need to call Maddie," he says, and he can hear the echo as Eddie shifts to speaker.

"No need. She's on her way. With like, half the station, apparently." He rattles off what must be a text from the group chat.

Tommy shoves down that familiar ache while Eddie sounds off everyone who is currently in the process of abandoning their holiday dinners to come sit in uncomfortable waiting room chairs and twiddle their thumbs. He should leave. Cut the loose threads, take an Uber home, convince his captain he doesn't need Friday off.

He's silent long enough that Eddie feels the need to check and make sure he's still there. There's an ambulance swinging into the bay thirty feet from where Tommy stands.

"You screwed up," Eddie says, and Tommy grimaces, swallows, ignores the thrum of anxiety pooling in his gut. "Showing up for him now would go a long way towards making a reconciliation viable. If that's something you want."

Tommy doesn't know what the fuck he wants, anymore. He's never allowed himself to have it long enough for it to settle. But he knows how it'd felt to know the first person on Evan's mind in the midst of his pain medication haze was Tommy.

Tommy pulls up the first delivery service app he sees and wonders how big a tip he should give for ordering a dozen coffees an hour before closing time on a national holiday. "You know what everyone's usual coffee order is?"

Eddie adds him to a group chat that's going to drain the rest of his battery before Evan's out of surgery.

>>>Part Two

[sethsclearwater]

Paul headcanon right now—he’s definitely the type of guy to drive besides you if you have a tantrum, you insisting that you’re walking home after a petty argument but he wouldn’t leave you to walk alone duh. He’s 100% super protective and if it came to it he’d just throw you over his shoulder, with you kicking at his back.

UGHH I love him so much

-⭐️

PLEASE HE SO WOULD LMAO

...

"i told you i don't wanna look at you right now lahote!" you called when you realized that your imprinter was most definitely pulling up beside you in his car. despite the fact that it was pouring outside and you were already soaked, you had decided you'd rather walk back to your apartment in the rain than deal with arguing with paul over his family drama.

when paul didn't respond after a few moments, you decided to peek over your shoulder only to see him getting out of the car and striding over to you, "so fuckin' dramatic," he grumbled, low enough that you barely caught it but you did and immediately gasped, taking a step back from him.

"get in the car y/n," he ordered, clearly getting irritated over how wet you both now were getting thanks to your decision to walk home in the rain.

he rarely used your first name, generally only calling you pet names so you knew he was just as annoyed as you suspected he was. still, you decided to stand your ground and shook your head, "i already told you i don't wanna look at you," you countered, spinning back around so you could continue your miserable walk home in the freezing rain.

before you could even take a step, paul's hands were on your hips, spinning you around so he could throw you over his shoulder, "don't gotta look at me," you could tell he was rolling his eyes as he said it and you were immediately kicking your legs in every way possible to try and get him to put you down.

"put me down right now lahote!" you yelled despite your futile attempts to get out of his grip. paul was rolling his eyes again, not seeming to have much difficulty keeping you restrained as he pulled the passenger side door of his car open.

he was setting you down inside, sliding one hand to rest behind your head so he could be sure you wouldn't give yourself a concussion while you tried squirming away, "sit still," he ordered, voice somehow more firm with you than it had been a few moments prior which had you pausing your thrashing for a moment to look up at him, a flabbergasted look on your face as he buckled you in.

once he was confident you wouldn't be trying to run away, he crouched down next to you and allowed his eyes to meet yours, his gaze softening a bit when he saw the angry tears streaming down your cheeks.

"i'll drive you home," he reassured, "and then you don't gotta look at me until you want to, yea?" he suggested, sliding both of his hands over your thighs, the material of your leggings now soaked from the weather.

you sucked in a breath, not trusting yourself enough to talk yet so you settled for giving him a small nod which he seemed to find acceptable. he gave your thighs a gentle squeeze before he was getting up and shutting the passenger door, quickly coming around the car so he could get in the driver's side.

you had your arms crossed over your chest in a silent protest as he drove you back to your apartment, the drive only taking a few minutes before he was pulling into the parking lot.

once he had the car in park again, you allowed your gaze to drift over to him, "you gonna walk me in too?" you asked. you had intended for it to come across as sarcastic but instead your voice just came out much weaker than you'd anticipated which had paul letting out a heavy sigh.

he didn't want to rile you up anymore than you already were but he couldn't help how anxious he got at the thought of sending you inside alone so he settled for responding with a simple, "that's the plan."

you let out an equally heavy sigh, slumping back into the seat as paul got out of the car and came around to your side, pulling the door open for you, "i'll be quick," he reassured, crouching back down for a moment so he could uncross your arms and take your hands into his, "come on, yea?" he asked, waiting for you to nod before he was helping you get unbuckled and out of his car.

he was nothing if not a man of his word, staying silent as he guided you into your apartment complex, one hand on your lower back while he walked you to your door just as he said he would.

you fumbled with your keys, taking a few moments too long to open the door thanks to your shivering and the surging emotions currently going through your system. once you finally got the door opened, you stepped inside, quickly kicking your shoes off before you were spinning around to face paul who was patiently waiting in the door frame.

you really wished you could've come up with some kind of snarky remark to get rid of him but instead just found yourself staring at him, at a loss for words. your gaze was drifting down before you could catch yourself and you couldn't help the way you stared at the way his thin t-shirt was clinging to his skin.

"fuck it," you murmured to yourself, immediately stepping towards him so you could smash your lips against his. paul didn't hesitate before he was reciprocating and slamming you up against the wall.

[reiding-writing]

could you pretty please write something where spencer visits unsub!reader and she’s incredibly beat up and only responding in slurs and spencer’s like wtf why has no one taken her to the doctor

THE GUARDS’ HEAVY HANDS

spencer & gn!unsub!reader | 1.3k | unsub!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n— unsub!reader is in remission babyyy

WARNINGS | reader has been on the receiving end of physical violence from prison guards without medical treatment.

Four days until the board of appeals made their decision.

Four days until you would know if you truly were going to spend the rest of your life inside a concrete box or be moved to a psychiatric facility and have your psychology picked and prodded at by doctors.

You’ve been ‘visited’ almost every day over the last week, half of your singular recreational hour spent talking to some stupid appeal board official every day for the last multiple days.

You were sick of it.

You knew that they were only bothering you in the hope you’d crack, that you’d say something that could condemn you to your solitary hell and save them the effort and money in placing you in proper psychiatric care.

But you refused to placate them. You refused to let your seething frustration manifest verbally or physically, no matter how much you wanted to.

Four days. That’s all you had to last.

They weren’t making it easy though. Of course they weren’t. Because why would anything in your life ever be easy?

No. Instead you were questioned on the same mundane topics over and over by the officials, dragged harshly from meeting to meeting by the guards, and subjected to torment whenever there was a minuscule break in the monotony.

Your most recent ‘accident’ involved one of the guards shutting the food hatch whilst you still had your hand in it.

‘Accident’, because it definitely wasn’t one, and now you were dealing with a fractured index finger on top of all of the other shit that is making you want to rip your hair out.

Although you couldn’t do that either, considering you had a sizeable bruise spreading over your left temple and onto the side of your head after you’d been pushed straight into one of the phone boxes as an encouragement for you to pick it up.

It was bordering a black eye a few days ago, a mulled purple mark that stretched through your eyebrow and mottled your eyelid, but it was slowly turning green, and it’d stopped hurting now. For the most part anyway.

No use crying over spilt milk. Or a possible concussion.

There’s a sharp bang on your cell door from the side of a fist to garner your attention, along with the grating metal on metal sound as the food hatch slides open.

“Up you get freak, you’ve got a visitor.”

Another stupid visitor.

Another half an hour spend enduring the most relentlessly idiotic questions and torment of your life that you literally had to bite your tongue to stop yourself replying to and dumping all of your progress down the drain.

“Oi!” Another sharp bang. “Didn’t you hear me? Get your ass up!”

“I’m coming—” You bite back the groan that threatens to echo in your tone, muttering a curse under your breath as you’re all but dragged from your cell and thrust down the corridor into the visitor’s room.

Every minute you spent sat at that stupid concrete table in those stupid handcuffs that were way too tight made you want to rip your own hair out, or anyone’s in a five metre radius.

Four days. Then you could forget about this damn appeal and give your ‘handlers’ a piece of your goddamn mind.

And then the door opens.

“Doctor Reid,” You almost sound surprised as you pick up the visitor’s phone. “What brings you here?”

Spencer adjusted his satchel, his gaze fixed on the table where you sat, hands cuffed, a rough bruise blooming along your cheekbone. There was a fresh cut on your lip, a bit of dried blood near the corner of your mouth. The sight made his stomach twist.

He sat down slowly, his brow knitting with concern as he took in the other injuries: your knuckles scraped raw, the angry red welts visible just beneath the collar of your prison jumpsuit.

He was used to violence, certainly, but seeing it on you, someone he considered something close to a… friend, or whatever it was, made him tense with anger.

You didn’t look at him any differently despite it all. When he met your gaze, your expression was flat. Detached, indifferent. He could still tell you’d been through hell though, and as much as he hated it, he hated it. "What happened?" he asked softly, voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, you just blinked, and then that small sliver of intrigue disappears from your irises to be replaced with distaste.

You scoffed, muttering something under your breath that he couldn’t quite make out. It sounded like you were slurring, words broken, as if the energy it took to have a full conversation was almost too much.

Spencer leaned his elbows onto the table, his heart hammering. "Did they hurt you?" he asked. "The guards… have they been—?"

You interrupted with a barely audible sneer, tossing out a curse that barely registered as coherent. A string of profanity. You spat them out, each word slower and more incoherent than the last.

"Is anyone taking care of you here? Any doctors?" Reid asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

You laughed, a hollow sound that sent chills down his spine. "Doctors," you scoffed. "Sure. Lots of those. Right after the love they give with their fists."

Spencer's jaw clenched. "Has anyone done anything about this? Filed a complaint?"

Another empty laugh. “Who’s going to report them, huh? Me?” you muttered, the words broken by gasps of pain. “And who’s gonna do anything about it?”

The part of Spencer that had learned to remain neutral, clinical, started to unravel. This was wrong. Whatever you had done in your past, this treatment wasn’t justice; it was plain cruelty.

He glanced back toward the door, contemplating the confrontation he wanted to have with the prison staff. But he knew what would happen—they’d brush it off, say you were exaggerating, a troublemaker who’d gotten what you deserved. And maybe they’d even be right… but he couldn’t ignore the bruises, the hollow look in your eyes.

Spencer reached across the table, his fingers brushing the cold plexiglass between you in what’s an almost subconscious want to wipe the blood stain from your mouth. “I’ll see what I can do. I’ll try to get someone to check on you.”

You met his eyes again, expression clouded. He could see that behind the apathy, some tiny part of you was surprised. Maybe even grateful.

“Why do you even care?”

Spencer swallowed, the weight of the question settling over him. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, his voice tinged with sadness. “But I do.”

You watched him in silence, as if searching his face for a reason, an answer he couldn’t give. Then, a flicker of something softened your gaze—just for a moment, like the smallest fracture in a stone wall. You’d probably deny it later, but he saw it. A spark of relief, of trust, maybe.

He didn’t know if he’d ever get through to you, not completely. But he could try. And that would be enough.

“So, uh,” Spencer fiddles with the phone cord between his fingers. “How are you feeling, about the appeal?”

And you deflate all over again.

[annwrites]

⸻ fallen for the monster. ⸻

· pairing: pyramid head x fem!reader · type: one-shot · summary: with no memory of how you got there, you find yourself trapped within the haunting confines of the town of silent hill. and there is where you find that which has haunted your nightmares dreams for weeks on-end. but you are not horrified by him. and he wants you all the more for it. · tags: use of restraints, monster fucking, tummy bulge, body worship, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, overstimulation, nipple play, pussy smacking, clit pinching, chair sex · tw: dubcon · word count: 2,393

When you awake, you feel a dull, throbbing ache at the base of your skull.

Your head lulls to the side and you blink blearily against dim overhead lighting which buzzes quietly, and your head spins. You worry you have a concussion.

You try to swallow, but your tongue only serves to stick to the roof of your mouth.

And then your senses clear, but only minimally. Enough for you to realize your limbs are latched tightly to the large piece of rusted sheet metal which you are lying utterly naked upon.

Then is when you begin to hyperventilate in terror.

You don't recall this place.

One moment, you'd been in bed sound asleep. The next, you awake to this: being trussed up like game to be slaughtered.

You've been sleep walking again, haven't you?

This may feel like a nightmare, but you know that you are utterly awake.

Hot tears begin to slip down your cheeks while your breasts rapidly rise and fall as you strain against your restraints, even if you know that there's no use.

Nevertheless, you try and try until your skin is nearly rubbed raw in your efforts to free yourself.

Your chin wobbles and you begin to quietly sob.

You want so desperately to go home.

Why is this happening to you? Why would someone do this? Why are men such depraved, disgusting creatures? You've done nothing wrong to deserve what is inevitably coming for you.

You should've placed more locks upon your door to prevent yourself from escaping.

Even if you somehow know that even if you'd implemented a dozen...they wouldn't have mattered.

You've just begun to drift off to sleep when you hear it.

You'd tried keeping your eyes open for as long as you possibly could, but once the adrenaline began to wear off and you let the silence envelope you, it lulled you into a false sense of security. And so you had closed your lids for just a moment. Just one.

But now your heart is pounding away between your breasts once again.

The sound of something heavy and metallic scrapes against the floor not far from the room you're trapped in.

Your mind races with various horrifying scenarios.

What if he doesn't mean to rape you at all, but instead torture you? What if that is what is scraping against the floor as he comes ever-closer: a weapon? An axe, or a pipe, or a machete, or—

You begin to strain again, your cries growing in volume as you arch your back and grit your teeth and pull, pull, pull.

But even if you could free even one limb—you fear you would need to deglove a hand or a foot to even accomplish such a feat—what of the rest?

The sound stops. Suddenly. Outside the door.

Your fear you may lose consciousness again.

And then you hope for as much.

At least you would be spared that way... In a sense.

Rusted hinges creak while the base of the door scrapes against the cement floor and you go utterly still and silent as you stare with wide eyes at what is to come.

And when you see it, your mouth falls open, but nothing comes out. Not even a gasp.

You should've known.

How could you not have known?

He's haunted your dreams for months on-end.

At the beginning, you merely hid, even if the sensation of him was everywhere in your sleeping state.

Even when awake, you feel him with you—you're never alone now.

And then you had stopped hiding.

You began seeking him out instead.

You admitted it to yourself somewhere along the way: your attraction to this faceless thing.

You liked watching him and the things he would do.

The ways he relieved his sexual frustrations as cum poured from his penis when he would finish in hidden rooms that only you could find.

You admired his tall, sturdy body, sinewy limbs, and his long, thick cock.

You've touched yourself raw over it.

He slams the door shut behind him and you jerk involuntarily while spreading your legs, offering yourself up to him.

At last—at long last you can have it: him. Can be the object of his desires and darkening attentions.

Every inch of you grows warm and heat pools between your spread thighs.

"It's you," you sigh while licking your lips.

He rests his great knife against the wall before stalking toward you. His heavy boots thump against the floor, the sensation reverberating through you.

He comes to stand between your legs, his hands resting at his sides while his fingers twitch in anticipation.

You want to see his face, but that part of himself he's never revealed. Not even to you. You somehow know it within your heart that he never will.

You shed a tear at the thought.

He slides his callused hands up your shins, over your knees, and then between your thighs.

You whimper when he stops. For he is so near where you're now dripping and desperate for him.

"Please," you beg—a mere whisper.

He cocks his head to the side, then moves his hands to your chest.

He takes each of your breasts within his grip and begins to knead the soft, squishy mounds between his fingers.

Your skin is so soft and warm. Clean and undefiled. Delicate.

He pinches a tiny nipple between his fingertips and rolls it around until it is taught and pebbled.

You bite your lip and clench tightly around nothing. You need more. From him.

He does the same with your other breast, and then he lightly slaps each of them, watching in fascination as they jiggle.

He slides a palm down your stomach and runs his fingers through the smattering of coarse, yet soft hair upon your pubic mound.

He takes your supple hips into his hands and squeezes.

Everything about you is so soft and weak and fragile.

So human.

So pure and feminine.

He likes you like this: weak.

He removes his smock and it falls to the floor, leaving his form bare before you.

You gasp in shock.

Up close like this, it's impossibly large.

It will never fit.

But oh, how you need for it to.

"Will it hurt?" You whimper.

He merely grunts in response before stroking himself from base to shaft, over and over.

"Here," you whisper, wiggling your hips. "Between my legs. Put it there. Let me help you feel better."

He squeezes his tip tightly and greyish liquid oozes out, dribbling onto the floor.

You nod your head. "Ease it in where I'm wet. You'll like it. It's meant for you to have. All of me is. I want to give you relief. I'm yours."

He positions his cock before your entrance and rubs the bulbous, mushroom tip against your cunt.

You smile in response.

Nearly there.

It's about to happen.

"That's it," you encourage softly. "Right there. Shove it inside."

You know it will be excruciating initially. But you have to do this.

It's always been meant to happen.

You're meant for him to have. To utilize as he pleases.

He eases into you as you instructed, but only the tip.

Your back arches and your eyes go wide as you begin to stretch around him. "Ah, more. Give me more."

He shoves his hips forward, his girth settling inside you inch-by-inch.

You begin to softly cry.

"All of it. I have to have it all. We're supposed to do it like this. Please. Please."

He watches as shimmering tears slip from your innocent eyes.

"I love you."

He thrust inside of you then, burying himself firmly in your tight, wet heat.

He roars at the feel of you wrapped so perfectly around him.

He'd meant to be gentle with you, but you had begged him so sweetly. How could he ever deny you like this?

You choke on your tears and it burns where his body is now connected with your own, but it feels so, so right.

Like two broken, grotesque, tormented things being joined into one which is whole at last.

He grips your hips and you glance down, studying where his erection bulges against your stomach, ready to rip you open at any moment, and then he begins to brutally thrust.

He watches in fasciation as your breasts and skin and softness bounce with every jerk of his body against yours.

"More, more, more," you plead.

He cups your face between his hands, wanting to please his pure little mortal with the broken mind and heart.

He eases a thumb into your mouth and you begin to suck quietly, grounding yourself to him.

Your eyes flutter closed and you hum in contentment.

He needn't have bound you.

You would've remained all on your own, because it is he who has taken you captive.

You would never willingly leave him.

He knows this. Has known for some time.

He doesn't understand your dedication to him—your love for him—but he takes it anyway. Because that is what he does. That...is what he is: a taker.

He doesn't understand the concept of love. Has never even heard the word before you uttered it a moment ago, but somehow, he knows it is what he has when you're with him in this cursed place.

His cock throbs painfully between your walls, desperate for release.

He looks down to the tiny, swollen nub between your legs and he decides to touch it. Perhaps it feels as smooth and precious as the rest of you.

He pinches it between his fingers and your eyes open once again while you gasp in shock.

"Ah! Please," you whimper.

He slaps it painfully with his open palm and you clench around him, squeezing his veiny erection tightly.

So he does it again, and you draw him impossibly further inside.

Yes, he is inside you, while you are inside his world.

Never to escape.

No, now that he has you here in flesh and blood and bone, you cannot leave.

He cannot bear it.

His sweet, ignorant human girl...fallen for a monster.

If only you knew the blood upon his hands. But you have licked it clean. Have washed him with your tears.

He begins to rub that sensitive nub fervently—round and round—and you squeal and pull against your restraints and your legs wobble. "T-There, yes!"

He grunts and groans, pumping away, wanting to see what it is which you do when you finally reach your peak.

He needs to see.

You squeeze tightly, like a vice, and you spread your legs wide. "Nearly—"

You begin to squelch loudly against him—your cunt's arousal coats his cock now.

"So—" You whimper and cry softly. "Like that."

He slaps it again, then pinches, rubs, pinches, slaps—

"Yes!" You cry, relief washing over you as you climax around his cock. "Good, so goooood. Perfect."

You pant slowly and you giggle quietly.

"Finally," you whisper affectionately.

He doesn't stop, however. He continues to rock his hips against yours, fucking himself between your sore, pulsating walls.

But you know he needs this.

And so you let him continue for however long he may require.

Until he begins to touch it again.

You jerk, then sniffle. "It's too sensitive. You have to wait."

He ignores that.

He liked it: what you just did.

Likes it more than anything.

He wants to see it again. To feel it again. Wants you to feel it again.

So he slaps your raw cunt and pinches your clit tightly.

"Mm! Please, don't!"

He growls lowly before rubbing feverishly at it.

"No. Just wa—"

He slaps it again as punishment.

You sob.

"Ple—"

Another slap—even harder.

You force yourself to be quiet then; swallow down your protests. For his sake.

You want nothing more in all the world than to please him.

And he wants the same for you. To please his pathetic little human.

He embraced his monstrosity long ago. It's all he's ever been. And so he is not above torture. Not even of this nature.

But you like it. You can't hide yourself from him. In any facet.

His breathing grows heavy and labored and his fingers circle your red, swollen clit before he grinds down against it with the heel of his palm.

Your body gyrates atop the thin metal he has you placed upon and drool drips from the corner of your open mouth.

So he shoves two fingers inside the pool of saliva and you clamp down against them and suck at him between plump lips.

Such strange creatures you humans are. To him, at least.

But he likes your warmth, and smooth skin, and soft breasts, and squishy cunt.

So, so delicate you are. Easy to manipulate and use.

A thin sheen of sweat has broken out across his naked form and he labors to reach his peak—to aid you in reaching yours.

And then your walls begin to squeeze around him again, giving him a wanted signal.

He thrusts and thrusts, leaning over you, turning his head so as not to impale you.

You are the only one he could never stand to kill or maim.

He grips the cuffs around your wrists and pulls, freeing your limbs.

You quickly wrap them around his shoulders.

He does the same with your ankles, so you wrap them around his waist.

He lifts you into the air and grips you beneath your fleshy ass, sliding you along his impossibly long erection.

He stumbles back into a chair, which groans beneath his heavy weight and you hold yourself to him.

You rock your hips against his as your feet dangle well above the floor.

He guides you along his shaft, instructing you.

You press your lips to his neck, his shoulder, his pecks.

"I love you," you whisper once more.

And then he roars so loud it nigh-on shakes the entire building as he spills and spills and spills inside of you.

It's so much that it covers his thighs, pours onto the floor, and covers your young, fertile walls.

And then the two of you calm and he holds you close while burying his scarred fingers in your damp hair.

"Do I get to stay this time?" You whimper.

He nods.

[hhoneylemon]

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘩

dick grayson x hero!reader

summary: dick temporarily loses his hearing after a patrol

genre: fluff/slight comfort

word count: 1.2k

it was all a blur.

one moment, you’re fighting beside him. the next, he’s alone and blinking himself awake. he faintly remembers getting hit in the back of the head so hard that he could taste the color yellow.

dick doesn’t hear them. he can sense them, however, thanks to all those years in the gig. he turns as the thugs approach, sending a kick to the stomach of the closest thug, waiting to see who else would charge at him.

he doesn’t have to wait long. he wastes no time in beating a few of them with his escrima sticks, breathing hard when he sends another to the ground with a kick. his lungs and throat hurts. he can’t hear his breaths.

after punching the final thug a few times, he finally remembers he wasn’t here alone. a feeling of dread settles in his gut. he opens his mouth, roughly demanding where you are. he doesn’t hear himself, nor the reply as the thugs mouth moves. he curses himself internally; hearing loss. a possible sign of a concussion.

he drags himself out of the general area of the warehouse, searching separate rooms. he deals with the few thugs he comes across, but there are no signs of you. he’s beginning to panic. swiftly incapacitating people turns into bashing peoples heads into walls and floors. he’s more rough than he should be, less careful than he knows you’d wish he was.

upon finally emerging from the warehouse, he’s shown signs of your existence. there are a few thugs scattered about, already dealt with. he darts around in the shadows, being careful while also looking for you.

he almost screams for joy when he sees you in a small battle with someone. he’s immediately by your side, helping defeat a few other thugs who looked like they were about to gang up on you. you give him a quick ‘hey!’ as you punch the next thug, though you’re confused when dick didn’t reply to your greeting like he usually would.

the moment everyone else is dealt with, his arms are around you and the side of his face is pressed against yours. he lets out a shuddery breath and you make a noise of confusion.

“d? babe, you okay?”

he can feel your jaw move, but he can’t hear you. he lets out a noise of frustration, pulling away. there’s a look of despair on his face. you frown, cupping his chin with a hand.

“what’s wrong?”

his eyebrows furrow. what did you say? he shakes his head and points to his ear.

“i can’t hear.”

you tilt your head, giving a ‘huh?’ he breathes deeply, tilting his head to kiss your thumb.

“my hearing’s gone. i got hit in the head.”

you make a sound of understanding, then nod when you register the situation. you give him another hug, squeezing him. he quickly hugs back, gulping nervously. if he never hears your voice again, he’ll be gravely upset.

taking his hand, you begin leading him to the street. you can walk home, for all you care. or find a building with a fire escape you can climb to hop from rooftop to rooftop, either is fine. a kiss is pressed to dick’s cheek as you walk.

the usual chatter that’s shared after a patrol or mission is gone, bringing a sense of melancholy. all you have to comfort you is dick’s spandex-covered hand, which squeezes yours and makes sure you don’t have more than a few inches between each other. there are people in the streets of blüdhaven that pause and take photos of the cities defenders, though you’re left alone.

you find a building with a fire escape, pulling your boyfriend to the alleyway. he lets you climb first, following swiftly after you. together, the two of you run and leap from roof to roof until you make it to your apartment complex. he drops to the fire escape stairs and you follow him until reaching your window. breaking into your own apartment, you both climb into the bedroom.

you both strip and change into sleepwear; he grabs his tank top and sweatpants, stretching his arms. turning, he’s surprised to see you already on the bed. he didn’t hear the creak of the bed springs. oh yeah.

dick climbs onto the bed with you, settling onto his knees and cupping your cheek before kissing you softly. you place a hand on his thigh, sighing softly. he flutters his eyes at you and you frown.

“you’re so pretty.”

he gives you a look of confusion. you smile.

the two of you climb under the sheets together. he drapes himself atop of you, pressing his face against your chest. his arms wrap around your midsection, your own loosely wrapping around his waist. you peck the crown of his head.

“love you, dick. goodnight.”

he says nothing, though you didn’t necessarily expect him to. you stay awake a bit longer than normal, a sense of worry nestled in your mind, though exhaustion knocks you out regardless. dick takes much longer than usual; he’s used to sleeping to your heartbeat or your breathing, maybe the sounds of cars and such interrupting. absolute silence is frightening to him.

when dick awakes in the morning, he’s on his back with his arms flung at his sides. the room is illuminated by sunlight, the bed cold from the lack of his partners body. he groans, rolling over to hide his face in his pillow.

he heard the creaking of the bed springs.

he’s up within seconds, running down the small hallway to the kitchen. he finds you pouring a mug of coffee. he can hear the small hums that escape you, the sound of the coffee splashing into the mug.

as you put the coffee pot back into the machine, dick’s on you. he turns you, picks you up and spins you, places you back on the ground and attacks your face with kisses.

“good morning to you too.”

you smile, your arms wrapping around his neck. a sound that could be mistaken for a sob escapes your boyfriend.

“your voice is the sweetest sound on earth, babe. i, oh gosh, i love you.”

you laugh as he kisses your forehead, your cheeks, then captures your lips. his lips move desperately, as if he’d also regained his sense of touch. you smile, reaching a hand up into his hair and getting tangled in a few curls.

“well, i love you too. could i have my coffee now?”

he reluctantly releases you, watching you move with a small smile on his face. the moment you turn back towards him with your mug, he’s back to you. he gives you space to move your arm so that you can take a sip, though his hands find your hips and give them gentle squeezes.

you’d be annoyed that you weren’t able to sit if his face weren’t so pretty. a light smile carved with his lips, pretty blue eyes framed by long eyelashes, tan skin highlighted by the rays of sun that managed to leak through the kitchen curtains. with a sigh, you lean in to kiss his lips. he happily kisses back. you lean back and give him a teasing smile.

“have you even said good morning to haley yet?”

dick’s face drops. he immediately spins and skids to the living room a few feet away.

“my baby!”

you chuckle to yourself, watching as he drops to the floor in front of her. he’s such a dork.

masterlist

[citricacidprince]

I wanted to ask if you can make a doodle of that drifting star gravity falls au but it’s relativity falls. Stan gets sucked into the portal and Dipper has to take care of him.

Took a hot second but I finally did it!!!

This family makes me wanna lose my mind I adore them so so much <333

(Sorry it’s a bit messy and clunky, my brain is fried atm lol)

Notes under cut!

I like to think that Dipper is oh so tired and is trying so hard to find a way to kill Bill so he can get back home to his sister as fast as he possibly can that he’s sooooo willing to aim guns at people. Like sure a laser gun works fine most of the time, but it’s soooo much easier to bring lead to a knife fight, ya know?

Stanley would think Dipper is so fucking cool and Dipper has to do a double take because no one has ever called him cool and meant it

Stanley is wearing a mini version of his homeless hoodie, as a treat :]

Mabel was inconsolably crying for a hot second after this all happened and Stanford was utterly pissed and in denial, weakly kicking her and hitting her with his little baby arms to bring his brother back

Mabel manages to reverse engineer the memory gun to erase the government agents minds, but unlike Dipper, who could’ve done it in 5 minutes tops, it takes her about an hour, so she tells Stanford about her brother Dipper and everything that happened while she does so

While doing this she asked Boyish Dan to block the door and gave him permission to beat up anyone who tried to get in, something the concussed teen was very happy to hear

They manage to buy time, and thankfully Mabel already knows how to open the portal again, but it’s gonna take a week or two maximum to get it fully running again

Stanford is still very very pissed, but it’s a silent and resigned anger aimed at Mabel. She lied to them all summer, she not who she said she was, she won’t stop apologizing when she looks at him now, how could he not be mad?

Besides it’s easier to be mad when the alternative is being so sad you feel nauseous over the fact your brother is missing, you have no clue if he’s okay or even alive, and every passing moment is making you regret trying to push him away all summer because you miss his stupid jokes and laughter and antics so bad it makes you steal all the blankets off his bed and praying to something, anything, that he’s going to be okay so you can just hug him one more time.

Mabel isn’t doing very well either. She completely locked down the Shack until she can bring Stanley and Dipper home. She told Dan and Anjelita that they didn’t have to come to work, something Anjelita gladly accepted, while Dan insisted that he could help. After all you expect him to go home and be normal about this later??? He got a concussion and punched an FBI agent so hard he passed out. He’s in this for the long haul.

I don’t want Stanley and Dipper stuck in that portal for longer than a week, because even if Mabel and Ford opening that portal again would cause Weirdmageddon they don’t care in the slightest, they just want their brothers to come home

[moonstruckme]

hi lovely! could i pretty please get a blueberry muffin (part 2) with this fic:

https://www.tumblr.com/moonstruckme/727381518213857280/not-sure-if-youre-taking-requests-buttttt

thank you!! 🫶🫶

Thanks for requesting <3

part 1

cw: concussion, vomit mention, maybeee some d/s dynamics? in the soft sense though

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 812 words

You’ve forgotten your sandwich again. It stays suspended in the air, halfway between your mouth and your plate, while you stare at the coffee table like there’s a riddle in the scratches on the wood. 

“Sweetheart,” Sirius prompts you. You look over at him, lost, and he nods to your sandwich. “Are you full?” 

“Oh.” You shake your head. “No.” 

You take another bite and press your lips together hard as you chew. Sirius worries you might cry again. It’s been on and off tears since they nabbed you from Marlene’s and if your aim was to cut through Sirius’ anger about you going when you shouldn’t have, you’ve done it thoroughly. He feels like he’s being cleaved open with each one that rolls down your cheek. 

“Does the paracetamol feel like it’s working?” Remus asks you. 

You nod, swallowing. 

Remus repositions himself in the arm chair, propping his chin on his hand with a sigh. James stops midway between the bathroom and the sitting room, his hair wet from the shower. 

“Uh oh,” he says. “Are we talking?” 

“We’re talking,” Remus confirms. 

James makes a face but sits down. His knee immediately begins bouncing. 

As ready as Sirius was to tear into you earlier, he feels for you too. You look into your lap as you pull the sleeves of Remus’ jumper over your fingers, waiting for someone to start. 

“Dove,” Remus sounds exhausted with this already, “you knew why going to that party was a bad idea for you.” 

“Yeah,” you say quietly. 

“Then why did you?” 

You’re picking apart the knit of Remus’ sleeve. Sirius takes your hands in his, stopping you. Your eyes linger on them. “It’s Marlene’s birthday,” you say. “She’s my friend.” 

“She is your friend, angel,” James says gently. “Do you think she really would have cared if you’d missed her party if she knew how awful it was for you to be there?” 

You look like you’re chewing the inside of your lip. “It wasn’t awful.” 

“You got sick on the drive home,” Sirius reminds you. Okay, it’s possible he’s still a little angry. “Do you mean to tell me that was the result of you having a good time?” 

He immediately feels like shit when your expression twinges painfully. 

“I know you wanted to be there for Marlene,” Remus cuts in, “and to make her happy, but I don’t think it was worth making yourself miserable.” His voice is calm. Sirius doesn’t know how he does it; Remus was the most upset when they learned you’d gone to the party, but somehow he manages to keep his tone gentle, his expression kind as he talks you through the fallacies in your own reasoning. “You need to be more considerate of yourself, dove.” 

“You are a considerate person,” James says. “We love that about you, sweetheart. You’re kind, and you’re always thinking about everyone else, it’s just that sometimes you think about them too much. Marlene getting to see you at her party, versus you getting the rest you need to keep your concussion from getting worse…” He mimes a scale with his hands, making a face. “It’s not a very fair trade-off, yeah?” 

You nod but don’t speak. Your eyes are on your lap, and when Sirius dips his head to try and see you better, your lips are a harsh, tortured line. He squeezes your hands. 

“Yeah,” you say, your voice thin. 

Remus makes a soft sound, reaching for you. “Come here, babydove.” 

You join him in his chair and Sirius sees his boyfriend’s worry finally dissipating as he mushes brief, ardent kisses into your hair. James smiles softly. 

“You’re alright,” Remus promises, voice muffled from how his lips are stuck to your head. He rubs up and down your back firmly while you hide your face in his chest. “We just want you to understand. So you don’t do it again.” 

“I know.” Your voice sounds fragmented, and it’s like ice picks through Sirius’ chest. “Sorry, it’s not you guys, I just—” You take a stilted breath. James moves to perch on the arm of Remus’ chair so he can squeeze your shoulder. “I just really don’t feel well.” 

“Oh, I know.” Remus rests his forehead on top of yours. “I’m sorry.” 

“Do you feel like you could be sick again, baby?” Sirius asks. When you shake your head, he stands. “Then let’s go to bed, yeah? Do you feel sufficiently lectured?” 

Your shoulders give a little shake, and though he already suspects it’s from laughter, James’ grin confirms it. 

“Do you want us to keep Remus away from you?” James teases, giving your shoulder another squeeze. “Would that make you feel better?” 

“Yes,” you say, while winding your arms around Remus’ waist. 

Remus doesn’t even feign offense. Only cups the back of your head and mushes another kiss into your hair.