#ive barely seen doctor who

[patheticpeoplesupreme]

I love how Eleven has often chosen to stay with the Ponds, no matter how short their time is

That one scene that has him asking if he could stay with them just for a little bit

And him coming for Christmas dinner

And then him staying a night(24years) on darilium with River Song

he’s not good with relaxing and keeping still, he still decides to stay with em

His family

He could have stopped coming when the Ponds stopped adventuring with him full time, but he still came back

to his family

[campirebitesarchive]

hi besties i just got back from the cardiologist and the good news is that i got answers and im not dying but the bad news is i have mitral valve prolapse and i am relieved and also still scared because it is a valve disease in my heart and it causes a bit of mitral regurgitation which is scary and i am being so brave about it

[stevestark]

Eddie only gets told snippets of everyone else's Upside Down experiences after Vecna, like, the sanitized version. The story told by each person but omitting the most personally traumatizing parts. Which means he doesn't know much about Steve and Robin Versus The Russians. Not in its full, gory detail.

So he doesn't think anything of it when Steve has a day off and wants to hang out, just asks if he minds coming with him to Indianapolis. Steve says yes immediately because he just doesn't want to spend another day alone in his big empty house, even if it means several hours in Eddie's deathtrap of a vehicle.

But then they get there and Eddie is parking outside a tattoo parlor and saying he got a last minute booking with his favorite artist and that he's so excited to cover some of the scars he has from the bats and Steve can barely hear him over the fuzziness that seems to be filling his entire brain.

He lets Eddie guide him into the shop, watches Eddie and the tattooist make small talk, follows Eddie to the table, sits on the stool next to him, and tries to look anywhere but at the tattoo gun.

Eddie doesn't notice at first, too jazzed about the idea he and the artist have come up with, blabbering about how he can finally take his shirt off at the lake again. It's not until the line work is done that he realizes Steve's breathing has gone shallow.

He asks the artist if they can take a smoke break before filling the tattoo in with color, and he gently takes Steve's hand and pulls him out back to ask what's wrong. Steve's too deep into a panic attack to answer, so Eddie just puts Steve on the side opposite his new work and pulls him in close, squeezing him as tight as he can and just gently shushing him, running his hand through Steve's hair.

After a few minutes, Steve's breathing easier, and Eddie asks him again if he's okay.

"I'm fine, I just... I hate needles. Ever since the Russians drugged me and Robin. Can't be around them."

Eddie frowns, realizing this must be one of the parts of the story he knows they were keeping from him. "Why did Russians drug you?"

Steve sighs, pulls out of Eddie's grasp, and sits on the ground against the back wall of the tattoo shop. "Dustin picked up a Russian transmission, summer of '85. We translated it, found their secret base under the mall, and realized they were opening the Gate back up. But then we were seen, and to buy time, Robin and I let ourselves get caught so Erica and Dustin could escape and get help."

Eddie sits next to Steve, their knees bumping. "Erica Sinclair? God, that kid really is the most badass of all of us."

"Yeah," Steve laughs. "Anyway, the Russians beat the shit out of me, asking who do you work for and shit like that. Didn't believe me when I said Scoops Ahoy. So they brought in this Doctor and he drugged me and Robin to get us to talk. Just straight up jammed a big ass needle full of mystery drugs into my neck. Ever since then, needles freak me the fuck out. They had to strap me down in the hospital just to get an IV in me when Robin insisted I get the bat bites checked out."

Eddie runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Steve. I never would've brought you here with me if I knew."

"I know," Steve says quietly. "'S'not your fault. I'm trying to get better at being open about things like this but it's just..."

"Hard. Yeah. I wake up screaming most nights, and I can tell Wayne feels bad because he doesn't know what to do. Because he doesn't know what's causing it."

"Yeah," Steve sighs.

They sit quietly out there for another ten minutes before the tattooist comes back out to see if Eddie wants to keep going, and he glances at Steve, sees the way he's gone pale and rigid, and shakes his head. "Sorry, man, think we're gonna have to pick this up another time."

Eddie stands, grabs Steve's hand and hauls him to his feet, and walks inside, never once letting go of Steve. He sets an appointment for a few weeks from now, on a day he knows Steve is working, and they leave the shop.

The second they're in the car, Eddie sees the color returning to Steve's face, and he drives aimlessly through the city, finally stopping at a combination bookstore/cafe.

"Come on then, big boy," he says with a teasing grin. "I do believe I promised to teach you about Hobbits."

[loserlvrss]

꒰ 𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐀 ꒱ 钱锟

summary : after waking up from anesthesia, you're faced with a handsome stranger... who might not be all that unfamiliar after all

genre : fluff, kinda angst, kun x afab!reader tws : language, mentions of surgery (not specified for what), hospital/doctors environment author notes : she a wolf she a beauty and a beast she a wolf word count : 1.6k

you blinked a couple times, the fluorescent lights momentarily impairing your vision. a hand came up to block them, shielding you as you adjusted. 

“it’ll be a little bright,” a woman’s voice echoed in your hollow mind. “you’ll be a bit sensitive for a while.” 

you turned your head, a croaked groan leaving your lips. “my arm hurts.” 

“it’s from the IV, we’ll give you something to take home with you for all the pain.” she smiled, running her gloved hand along the tape and checking your veins color. “i’m going to check your vitals one last time and go grab your guardian, okay?”

you swallowed, nodding but not hearing what she had been explaining after. however, she was a nurse, so you believed her. 

she took her time to check you over, making sure that everything was normal enough for a post-operation patient. your vision, hearing, blood pressure, heart rate and breathing. and by how long it took (which was only a couple minutes in reality) you were convinced she not only had double, but triple-checked. 

you could remember the moment before you were put under, but everything else was still a little hazy, as if it was a dream. you could barely even think about anything other than what was right in front of your face. 

she had asked you to confirm your last name and date of birth, the hesitation making her stifle a smile. 

“i’m going to go get him now,” she took her stethoscope off, hanging it around her neck like a snake would. “it’ll only take a minute, okay?” 

“who?” you had asked, too late as she was already out of the room. you must’ve spaced out, trying to conjure up in your mind who she was talking about. “who are you getting?” 

you stared at the wooden door for what felt like forever, contemplating what to tell the nurse when she came back with someone you’d never met. 

you bit your lip, fidgeting with your fingers and picking at the skin until the door finally opened again. 

your eyebrows came together, a familiar sense washing over you. you looked over the man at her side, and you swear you had to clench your teeth to keep your mouth from falling open; he was the most beautiful person you’d ever laid eyes on. 

you know to each their own, but you wanted him to be your own. you couldn’t stomach the thought of another girl perceiving him even though as far as you knew you’d never seen him before. i mean, how could you forget such a face? 

he had a bright smile plastered to his god-awfully-pretty features. he glanced down at the nurse. “she looks confused,” he laughed. “has she not fully recovered from the anesthesia?” 

she hugged the clipboard in her hands close to her chest. “not yet it seems, she asked who i was getting earlier. it should wear off—we had to give her a slightly higher dose.” 

so, she did hear you but, chose to ignore you? that was cruel, however a laugh threatened to escape your throat… maybe it was the hyper amount of drugs you were on. 

maybe she hasn’t actually gone and got him (whoever he was) yet, maybe she had grabbed another nurse; a doctor; an anesthesiologist. but he didn’t look like a doctor, or anything of the sort, clothed regularly. he looked smart, but in other senses—non-medical. 

nonetheless, you couldn’t help feeling like you knew him. somewhere in the back of your mind you knew you could conjure up his name, and you cursed yourself for forgetting someone so beautiful. 

the nurse came back over to you after washing her hands, pulling the rolling stool up to your bed. 

you leaned in. “how do i know him?” 

she laughed again, but it wasn’t funny to you. you were starting to feel distressed, stupid even, because even she couldn’t understand how you’d forgotten him. she leaned in whispering. “your husband.” 

shocked was the simplest word you could’ve used.

“this might bruise, but it’ll go away within a couple days. and, your memory will come back within the hour, okay?” she started to remove the covers from your body, your bare legs on display. “and, you can change back into your regular clothes now, i’ll step out.” she turned to the man. “just let me know when she’s ready and we’ll go over the post procedure process, and schedule her a follow-up appointment.” 

“okay, sounds good.” he smiled as the nurse began exiting the room. “thank you.” 

the clicking of the door rang out against the silence, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. your eyes must’ve been wide, eyebrows confused as you looked him over again. 

“my what?” you finally spewed out. 

“husband, y/n.” he smiled, walking over to you. “we got married two months ago. i’m a little hurt that you forgot the best day of my life.” 

“i-i,” you began, watching as he picked your clothes up off the side table. “i don’t need help.” 

“yes, ma’am.” he seemed a little taken aback, obviously amused. “whatever you want, love.” 

you groaned as you willed your legs over the side. you were still a little skeptical, but it was starting to come back to you; how could you actually forget? 

there was a feeling inside telling you that you’d been with him way longer than the two months, and his presence was starting to jog your memories—maybe that was the trick to getting them back. him. your presumed husband. 

despite feeling determined too, you couldn’t even stand up, stumbling back over when you tried. he flinched towards you, but stopped himself, obviously wanting to respect your prior direction. 

you didn’t want to give in—still a little uncomfortable with the whole thing. you wanted to make him turn around, but you feared it was him that would be doing all the work in a couple of seconds. mind over matter though, right?

the bed let out a loud crack when you tried to stand again, this time he wouldn’t (couldn’t) stand back and watch. 

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, coming in front of you and grabbing your arms. “just let me help you.” 

you bit your lip, being raised by his strong, yet gentle grip. “i promise there’s nothing to worry about.” 

you nodded, feeling a sense of relief at his touch—one you didn’t know you could feel for him. “o-okay.” 

“can you stand on your own now?” he asked, carefully letting go of your skin, but keeping them close in case you started to tip. 

once he made sure you could, he reached down to your knees, holding the hem of the hospital-gown. you took his forearm within your fingers, non-verbally telling him to stop. your stomach was turning, but you trusted him? a feeling you don’t know where it came from. 

“if i close my eyes, will that be better?” he glanced at you, soft eyes catching your perplexed ones. “i’ll do whatever you need, y/n.” 

you nodded again, not really sure what to say. how would he know what he was doing with closed eyes? how could he feel so strongly towards you that he was prepared to do anything? but, he did as promised, fingers accidentally grazing your torso when he dragged the fabric up. 

the touch, however, sent you reeling, and suddenly you could remember a little over 6 months ago when he proposed. the night you cried like a baby, the man of your dreams down on one knee in front of you. 

the whole situation was also now starting to get on your nerves. why’d you forget? why’d it all start coming back with his lingering touch? why’d you have to get a case of amnesia? why couldn’t you just remember? you really wanted to. 

he kept his eyes closed, reaching to the clothes and feeling for your shirt. he found it, holding it up. “right way?” he asked. you hummed in response, helping it over your head. this time, as he adjusted the hem, his hands held your waist, twisting the fabric. but, it reminded you of further back, when you made him slow dance with you on the second date—even before you’d ever kissed—your arms draped around his neck, bodies swaying in a gentle rhythm.

you remember enough to know how you felt about him. you remember enough to know you loved him eternally. 

“kun…” his eyes shot open, hands stilling in their spot. “i’m sorry.” 

he grabbed you further. “why?” he asked, genuinely confused by your apology. you had nothing to be sorry for, he was only joking when he said he was hurt by your medically-caused amnesia. it happens. he knew you’d never be able to really forget him. “why are you sorry, my love?” 

you put your arms around his neck, embracing him in a tight hug. a long overdue hug. you pulled your head away, feeling a shiver down your spine when his hands stroked along it soothingly. you kissed the side of his mouth, causing a gentle smile. 

“i didn’t mean t-to. i forg—“ 

“don’t apologize.” he interrupted. “you remember now.” 

how could you ever really forget? 

“yeah,” you laughed. “it’s all coming back to me.” 

he pressed his lips to yours, and you urgently recognized fine-details that you’d engrained to memory. little things about him and your life that you could never discard as irrelevant—everything about him was relevant to you. you loved him, and part of love meant knowing it all. knowing the gorgeous and down-right nasty about each other, but still seeing them in the same light. and, you’d already learned everything about him, as he did you, vowing to commit your life to each other; and the next one, and the next one. forever and ever. for better or for worse. through sickness and health, poverty and wealth. 

‘till death do us part. 

reblogs, likes and comments are greatly appreciated! thank u!

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— back to masterlist .ᐟ

[softspace-fics]

Hiiiiii I just read your new loki fic with a disabled little and I was amazing to read especially when it's relatable like that I have a bad relationship with my health 😅

If your comfortable with it I really feel that a stucky x disabled little would be a perfect match cuz bucky is disabled (just in a cooler way with the vibranium arm) and iv been reading how you write bucky and Steve and they just want what's best for they're little so I need to read them helping the reader be more comfortable with they're disability.

You can ignore this but I just wanna say I love your blog and I hope your having a great day

-🦄

Hurts.

Masterlist - All my work!

A/N - hiii! I am so sorry your request took a little bit because I wanted to make it similar yet different to my story "It's hard." because everyone's experience with pain and why they don't feel comfortable with others when in pain, or for why they have bad relationship with their health is completely different. I wish I could include everyone in each post, and if you'd like to share your story with me I'd love to know, your never alone in your battles. If you have any feed back please let me know!

Warnings⚠️: mentions of rough family life, parents saying meds should fix the pain, ignorance of how pain affects someone, negative regression, mentions of bucky in hydra but nothing significant, please let me know if I missed anything!!

Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x Little!Reader

___________

Bucky understood what it was like to be in unbearable pain, feeling like your entire body was being ripped to shreds. He had been stuck being experimented on for how long? When he told Steve about how he felt on a daily basis even after not being experimented on for a while, Steve did his best to learn how to help him out when the pain just made it unbearable.

This meant that steve tried hard to figure out the best ways to help anyone who was in severe amounts of pain. He tried epsom salts, different type of ointments, mental care, anything he possibly could think about to make bucky comfortable. 

So when they met you, you didn’t seem out of the ordinary for them, to them you were seen as such sweet person and you were pretty confident. When people would talk to you, you helped them out if you could, or were polite in saying you couldn’t. 

You had originally met the two in a library when Steve and Bucky were looking for different types of books to try and learn more about the world today. You were trying to reach for the book on the highest shelf, and pain was shooting through every fiber in your body. You were exhausted and uncomfortable when you saw Steve's shadow behind you and got spooked. You jumped and nearly fell over from moving too quickly off your tippy toes. He gently grabbed your arm to stabilize you before smiling at you and apologizing for scaring you.

He asked if you needed help with getting the book off the shelf and you quietly said yes. It was one of your favorite childhood books, you read them sometimes when you regress, although  he didn’t need to know that. You felt bad making him do it for you, even though he asked. You know it wasn’t anything significant but you had never been able to accept help. 

Your family barely paid any attention to your pain, you were thrown on meds that did nothing when you were a kid and they stopped caring. Everytime you said something you always got “Well, did you take your meds?” “Your meds worked yesterday, don’t lie to me” Meds this, meds that. It got to the point you stopped taking meds and never asked your parents for help with your pain. 

When you were able to finally get into doctor offices by yourself you got meds that helped somewhat, but you still never felt as if you could rely on anyone else to help with your aches and how you felt on the inside. You had meds which meant that you should be fine and learn to deal with the pain on your own. Right?

You had seen the duo in the bookstore quite often after the first interaction, learning they were together and they were shocked when you told them you had no clue who “captain America” or the “winter soldier” was. You never really payed attention to the world outside of your bubble, you couldn’t relate to a lot of people so you shut off a lot of the outside. 

Eventually they asked you out, and from then on is history. But something you still hadn’t told them about was the chronic pain, and the regression that came from it. You had times where getting out of bed was the worst idea ever, showering was beyond out of the question, and regression was the only option your brain had.

You’d regress young enough that you could toddle and make it from point A to point B, but past that you had no survival when you were in so much agony. This means there became times you didn’t eat for hours, you’d sleep longer than you should, and there would be times you didnt respond for hours to anyone.

Bucky and Steve got super worried on days you never replied, they tried to let you have your space, thinking that it was something that you just did, but when you didnt show up for a date at their place, they ran over, thoughts racing.

They knocked on your door which woke you up, but you had no energy to attempt in getting up. Not knowing it was them, you assumed it was a package and tried to go back to sleep when they knocked louder.

Steve continued to knock while bucky prayed that you had left a key outside to your apartment incase you lost yours. He looked under a brick and practically ran to get your door open. Thank god that he remembered people put keys under rocks.

When they got in the apartment, the quickly rushed to find you. Scanning and worridly running around.

“Y/N??” Steve shouts, checking the bathroom.

“Sweetheart?!” Bucky yells as he opens the door to your room, where he finds you crumpled in pain, your room darker than a cave.

“Please, stop screaming.” You mumble quietly, you clutch your stuffie to your chest, your regression starting to set in after being brutally awaken.

Bucky quickly comes and sits by your side, helping to pull the blanket away from your face, looking at you with complete and utter concern.

Steve eventually comes in with some things in his hands, bucky looks at him puzzled before connecting the dots.

See, Bucky found you, but Steve found your regression and safe room. Where you had soft toys and padding everywhere. It was something you had filled with everything that you could need for when your regressed, and when it hurt too much to move.

The two knew what age-regressors were from tony, seeing as him and Stephen were the proud caregivers of Peter and Wanda. So when Steve saw your pacifier and heating pads, and anything else that might help, he grabbed it all.

“Baby, can you tell us whats wrong?” Bucky softly asks, tucking your hair behind your ear, Softly rubbing your thigh with his thumb.

“Hurts.” you mumble out softly, you slowly flip over, and bury your face into bucky's stomach. His scent fills your lungs, and he slowly starts to rub your back, holding you closely. 

Steve comes up behind Bucky, his face contorted to a face of his own pain. He hated seeing you so upset, and mowing you were trying to fend for yourself, by yourself, hurt him.

“Do you want your pacifier darling?” Steve gently asks, he wasn’t sure if you knew he had found your room, and wasn’t wanting to freak you out.

Hearing him ask that question, you looked up from bucks embrace with pure terror. How did he find it? Why was he so calm about it?

Bucky softly cupped your cheek and kissed your forehead before pulling you back into his embrace, rubbing small circles on your back before he speaks calmingly.

“Doll, we know about regression or age-dreaming, there's nothing to be afraid of, we promise.”

You relax into his hold before slowly nodding. Steve hands you your paci and you slide it between your lips and just rest against bucky, the pain minorly subsiding with the extra pressure of his hug.

“Baby, I know that the pain can be hard to handle, but you don't have to go this alone, you'll never be alone now that we're here. Whatever we can do, we want to do it. Please never feel as if you have to fight this battle alone.” Bucky manages to barely whisper out, fighting his own emotions.

Your tears begin to fall, hearing words you've never heard before. You’ve had to fight by yourself for so long, that maybe them knowing wasn't for the worst.

“Your not alone anymore, never alone. We're with you now. The pain doesn't have to be suffering anymore, let us help.” Steve sits next to you and buck, rubbing your back and leaving little kisses on your head.

You slowly nod, wanting someone to be there, maybe this time, you'll be able to accept the help. The right help.

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXI)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Wonder Woman! Robin! Impulse! Danny! Dick drawings! Who says that occupational therapy and learning a second language can't be fun?

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

EXTRA TW for: vomiting, panic attacks (this chapter only)

Danny can hold a spoon now. He is unstoppable.

So, when the lady isn’t there to feed him dinner (more mush), one of the not-the-lady nurses gives Danny a tray, and lays a mat over his lap so that he can eat without completely messing up his bedsheets.

Eat he does. Slowly. Maybe a little messily, and it’s kind of embarrassing to have to admit to himself that food definitely spills out of his mouth and onto his lap. The doctor/nurse/medical person, whoever they are, turns on the television, and Danny doesn’t try to ask for the remote. The television only gets something like ten channels, and none of them are cartoons at lunch hour.

So. News it is.

Most of the news follows the same cycle; the weather, sports teams Danny can now recognize the colors of, traffic cameras, and events with long, scrolling text to detail the happenings onscreen. There’s something about dogs? That’s fun. The scientist/nurse/tech, whoever they are, says something in the tone of Aaw, aren’t they cute? as puppies run about and wrestle on screen.

Danny kind of misses Cujo. He picks at his bedsheet, and doesn’t say anything.

The dog program transitions away— there’s a bright banner in its place. Danny’s seen it before: it’s something to the equivalent of Breaking News. It’s usually weather, or crime, or something.

Um. But it’s not that. Danny’s spoon drops, because a ROBOT LADY lights up the screen with a glistening silver suit, not unlike the Ecto-Skeleton his parents used to keep in the basement. Or, well…this one might be more streamlined?

Danny shifts. He can’t help. He’s here, in the hospital. Or. Uh. The space…hospital. His body is very broken.

But there’s a robot lady wrecking a town on Earth.

And Danny can fly.

…Could fly. Could have flown. If he was. Well.

Danny’s not well, and his body aches and his hands don’t work and his legs work even less, but there’s people out there who need help. People who are getting shot at with rays and Danny can fight them, and humans can’t. Danny can help. He—

His core throbs. Danny chokes. He pulls at his chest, trying to find some kind of purchase on his medical gown to tug himself—up?? Out?? He can’t fly right now, but maybe—?

“Whoah, whoah, whoah, abide, abide.”

Danny grits his teeth. “Look!” he snaps, and jams a finger at the television. “There’s—look! There’s a giant robot out there punching buildings!”

“Wacie,” the human protests, but at least turns up the volume so that Danny can see better. “Wacie, þær eart firas þær nou.”

What does that mean?!

Danny hasn’t lifted himself in forever. His legs don’t work, but his arms…might.

He presses his palms down to the mattress. He pushes.

There is a liberated fraction of a second where Danny’s whole weight is on his arms.

—And then he comes crashing back to reality, his elbows snapping back into place. His butt slams back onto the bed and the whole frame jitters.

Danny pants. His arms quake.

The medic completely barrels through Danny’s usually meticulously-kept personal bubble, trying to make sure Danny didn’t dislodge his IV or rip his ligaments and tendons or tear his muscles or. Something. Danny barely notices, barely cares, because someone else blasts onto the television screen in a red bathing suit and gold boots.

And suddenly, both the people on screen are fighting. It’s brilliant. It’s bloody—it’s physical, in the way that flesh and bone and metal must be. Danny’s never seen serious fighting like that before.

And the new woman flies.

Danny stares.

She flies. She fights. She wins—narrowly dodging or displacing lasers with something shiny on her arms, and getting long hair singed in the process. In the end, the robot is tethered down with some kind of shiny metal rope, screaming and kicking all the way.

…Danny barely remembers to choke in air. That's so cool.

The medical person says something reassuring, but Danny’s too tired to listen. He watches this new woman take her applause, floating down on nothing but air to meet the reporter and answer questions. She looks poised. Confident. People clap. People shout things out. People smile. People cheer.

…No one is screaming. No one is running.

There are no ghost hunters in the crowd.

Danny’s exhale is manual. So is his inhale. His heart monitors are making all sorts of funky pictures most likely, but that’s not his business—he watches a woman in armor who flies take off into the sky, free to come and go as she pleases.

It…it hurts. It’s so beautiful and so peaceful and gentle and it hurts so much.

His eyes well up with tears. Why did she get this? This…niceness? Everyone had hated him when he'd tried to help—the teachers, Vlad, the town, his parents. They’d hated him! All he ever wanted to do was help like she did!

What made him so different?! Why was it Danny who got hunted down and shot at? Why was it Danny who got kidnapped and taken hostage?!

Tears burn his eyes like fire. It’s got to be the salt. Danny’s strangled whine turns into a choked off sob before he can catch it. His hand goes to his mouth, but he can’t stifle the noise.

He doesn’t want to. He wants to cry. He thinks he deserves it.

The tears come until he is sobbing, crying, wailing—because WHY WHY WHY was it so easy to hurt him?! WHY DID THEY HURT HIM, WHY DID MOM HURT HIM, HE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG!

A towel appears in his hand. They’re so nice to him here. So much nicer than when Mom and Dad had—

Danny’s cries are as much screams as they are anything else.

There are hands on his shoulder. On his back. Rubbing. Danny wants to shove them off but the lady isn’t here, which means that it’s one of the staff-members who isn’t supposed to touch him. They’re not supposed to touch him in case Danny hurts them but one of them gave Danny a clean towel to scream into and is rubbing his back because he’s crying.

They’re trying to be so nice and gentle but EVERYONE JUST WANTS TO HURT HIM.

They’re smart, though. They notice before Danny does, and have a bucket ready by the time heaving sobs turn into outright vomiting.

At least the mush mostly makes it into the bucket.

*

…So.

Having a breakdown…sucks.

Danny has to carefully brush his teeth with an extra-soft bristle brush and rinse out his mouth before he gets more water.

Someone is being very nice. There’s artificial fruit punch flavoring in his drink. He wants to feel grateful but he mostly feels dead.

…His eyes slide listlessly across the room. Ha. Dead.

Danny is horizontal and wrung dry and too tired to do anything but pant by the time the lady comes back to his room. She’s in quicker than usual—her gown is sort of sloppy, hair sticking out of her hair net, and she’s still looping her mask around her ear.

She gets down on her knees beside his bed. She asks him if he’s alright.

Danny’s not alright. He isn’t sure he’s been alright in…ages. Ages and ages. Before he was trapped and tied down. Before he was hated. Reviled.

…Before he was Phantom, maybe; before Danny Fenton had died a shocking, senseless death.

Tears try to wring themselves out of his aching eyeballs, but he’s too dry-eyed to cry; the lady make sad, wet eyes for him, and that’s probably enough between the two of them. Danny’s misery is a vast, gaping void, and all he has to show for it is the shovel he’s been digging through all this shit with for the last few years.

The lady brings her hands closer to his hairline, curled fingers hovering in the air. Her word’s don’t mean anything to him, but the gesture is clear: May I?

“…Mm,” Danny agrees. His eyes fall closed when she gently scratches at his scalp with her fingers.

No one’s touched him gently, on purpose, in…ages. When he was little, Dad used to pop him between him and Mom in bed. Mom would brush out Danny’s bangs with her fingers and Dad would hum. It was always something ill-fitting and silly. Guns N’ Roses. Led Zepplin. Santana. Sometimes Jazz would sit with them, crushing him until Dad had to pull him up and out of harm’s way.

In the quarantine lab, hurting him had just been part of the scientific process. What if there was some new discovery under his fat layer? On the other side of his ribs? Nestled between his alveoli?

Danny sniffles. He’s too dry to cry. He blinks invisible dust off of his eyelashes, and focuses on the weird lady who’s with him now.

Up close, when his eyes work, she looks nice. She has blue eyes, like him. Like Dad. They’re kinda…glowy, maybe? Sparkly? They remind him of ice in the Far Frozen—inhumanly brisk, and impossibly clean. She has eye crinkles where she smiles, tan skin making them more defined than their actual depth. Between her hair net and her medical mask, little wisps of black baby hairs shine through.

She pets him. She smiles. Danny isn’t sure why, but. Whatever. Jazz used to insist that human skin-to-skin contact was an essential need, so this is probably, like, also medical care.

Yeah. Danny squints. …Sure.

Whatever. It’s nice.

So Danny gets petted and it’s fine. He almost doesn’t notice the giant gauntlet under the paper sleeve of her gown, but then it’s right in his field of vision, and. Hey. Didn’t he see that on TV, like, an hour ago?

Danny stares.

He can’t actually tell if they’re gold under the pale blue color of the gown, but. The color is certainly some sort of unusually colored metal, cold to the touch even through the paper-like material of the gown.

…He doesn’t want to touch her, or let her know that he’s touching her. But. He brushes the back of his wrist against the bracelet, and it hums against the paper gown between it and his bare skin.

The lady blinks. She looks down at where they made contact, and asks him if he’s alright.

Danny looks away.

She knows she saw him reach out to her, though, so she takes her hand off of his hair (…hey…) and pulls back the sleeve on her gown. “Sest,” she offers. See?

It is the same kind of bracer he saw on TV. Up close he can see the designed etched into it—geometric lines stretching down from her fingers to her elbow, terminating in something structural. Not quite diamonds. Just…strong.

There’s a couple of very, very tiny letters down towards the bottom. His eyes strain when they try to make any sense out of them; they’re too small for him to actually focus on, which sucks.

She steps back, and pushes her sleeves down to show off her gold bracers. She lifts up the hem of her gown, revealing red boots that go waaaay up her thigh. They have the same gold metalwork as she does on the bracers.

Danny just saw those on the television. His eyes widen.

“You—“ he starts, and then remembers their difference in language. He points his hand at the television. “You fought? You were on TV?”

“Hwæt?”

“The TV?” Danny repeats. She doesn’t understand. Danny doesn’t know how to tell her what he means. “The…you were there?”

She looks at him to expand. Danny looks back at her.

…So they just stare at each other silently.

The door cracks open; the person who’d mediated Danny’s breakdown pokes their head in and says something. “Eower feoht wæs an þe box todæge.”

The lady blinks. Danny blinks. Wait. Did they just call the television the box?

“…Box?” Danny clarifies, and lifts a hand to shakily point at the television again.

The lady blinks, and grins. “Yea!” she returns, pumped up. She stands, to the powerful height she’d had on the television—excuse him, the box—and flexes her now-exposed arms to show off massive biceps.

Holy moly. Danny hasn’t seen any bigger biceps on his Dad.

She flexes one arm, the other, both—in front, and behind. If Danny had that much definition, he’d be showing off too! She leaps back impossibly far—and holy crap she can fly— to show off some mock punches at invisible enemies at speeds that Danny would be hard pressed to follow even with supernatural abilities.

He goggles.

She laughs at him, but she doesn’t sound mean—she sounds show-boating and silly, and teasing and playful, but not mean.

She’s like him. She’s not a ghost but she flies and she’s not human. She’s not human just like Danny. Just like that one green guy. Like the fast kid who visits him.

It’s such a relief. It’s so scary. Who are these people? Why are they healing him? Why are they keeping him?? Why do they have access to so many non-human people? What do they want him for? Is Danny supposed to fight like that?

He would fight. If he had to. He’s done it before.

If they make him fight, Danny’s pretty sure he’s going to fall apart like cheap glass.

The lady comes back when Danny goes quiet, her gloved fingers brushing up against his knuckles. The sensation is enough to bring Danny out of his…fog. Sometimes everything is so cloudy and vague. The pain medicine makes it go away, and the pain medicine brings it back.

Danny curls his hand into a shaking fist. He bumps her knuckles against his.

She makes a surprised noise. Danny feels her gently move his fingers, rearranging, moving where his thumb goes—

He huffs out a laugh. His fist wasn’t good enough to her standards. Her fist bump meets his in the middle with a smirk and a laugh, victory written all over her face.

[thewertsearch]

Ask Comp 01/07

Anonymous asked:i think youre the first liveblogger ive seen to actually remember that orphaner dualscar was eridan’s flarping name?

Mindfang clearly describes the Serkets, so I wonder if Dualscar says anything about the Amporas?

Eridan's greatest enemy does have a duality theme, after all - and he was certainly scarred when the guy stole his crush >:)

@captorations asked:i have terrible news regarding homestuck and the good place: https://x.com/nbcthegoodplace/status/1039908767763259392?lang=en not to mention that. well. the two share more than you've encountered yet. it's very likely not a coincidence. have fun! oh and. re: my ongoing campaign of pointing out the homestuck ancestry of tlt characters. please compare aradia's "i am very much alive and i intend to stay that way" with dulcinea's "i'm not in the river and i won't ever be again"

...oh my god.

On reflection, this makes a lot of sense. Homestuck's fandom is pretty large, and some of its members were bound to be involved in the production of mainstream media. Still, it's wild to see a Homestuck reference - or, technically, a Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff reference - on the official Twitter for a show this big.

And Aradia does have a lot in common with Dulcinea, doesn't she? For one thing, they didn't really start influencing the plot until after they died.

Anonymous asked: Not really important anymore, but looking at what Gamzee has in his Strife Deck, it doesn’t look like he has any ranged options: he’s got the bowling pins, what appear to be a discarded sickle and lance from Karkat and Tavros respectively, what I’m PRETTY SURE is a whip of some sort, and the Zillyhoo hammer. The closest to a ranged weapon in that stack is the whip, or maybe the pins if he’s willing to throw them, but neither seem like they’d work very well against Vriska. Barring some secret power or other plot twist, I think Gamzee would genuinely be the underdog in that matchup. (Which feels weird, because Gamzee’s been mutating into a slasher villain while Vriska’s still very much an antihero protagonist. Usually the power balance is the other way around with those archetypes!)

On the face of it, Gamzee didn't seem to have great odds in that fight - but it's hard to know for sure with this pesky Bard. His Strife Deck contains plenty of cards we haven't seen, and whatever he did to the Black King is still shrouded in mystery. Everything's just so uncertain with him.

@mimescantscream asked: I've really been holding back all this time, but now that we've met the Grand-highblood, it really is extra painful to see a Gamzee who was once incredibly loving of his friends (despite their constant ridicule) end up falling down the path that fate seems to have pre-ordained for him. Was he truly always meant to repeat echoes of the past? Could things ever have gone differently for him?

Yeah, I've been having similar thoughts. His PoV seemed completely sincere, so I don't think his original personality was a fabrication, or anything. I think there is a part of Gamzee that cares about his friends - and maybe even he wants it back.

@jade-harley-real asked: […] I want a rant on the bad doctor from you pls pls pls

Scratch is straight up the scariest character in Homestuck.

What's he up to now? Hard to say since we're not telling him what to do. Guardians can never be told what to do.

The aura of menace he's cultivated is incredible, especially considering he barely even moves. He's playing the entire cast like a fiddle, armed with nothing but a typewriter and his own supercharged brain - and there's no doubt in my mind that his confidence isn't a mask. He knows he's going to win in the end.

English is coming. He's basically already here.

@elkian asked: I'll probably never be a Vriska FAN, but I gotta admit, she really never had a chance, what with the only adults in her life being: a trollvorous spider 1 missed meal away from eating her, Marquise "I do what I want" Mindfang, and Doc Scratch. Some role models! @manorinthewoods asked: So, now that Mindfang has been revealed, here's a question for you: how much of Vriska's Vriskyness is because she's Vriska, how much is because of Mindfang, how much is because of her lusus, and how much is because of Alternia in general? ~LOSS (20/6/24)

This is why I don't think she'd be like this on Earth. At this point, it's obvious that none of her Incidents were the result of her personality as it naturally arose.

I mean, look how anti-Aradiacide she was! They weren't even really friends!

Anonymous asked: ‘AA: there are all sorts of friends to meet AA: ones you already know and ones you dont’ I mean…couldn’t she just be referring to various doomed selves? I don’t see why the dream bubbles would just be confined to the alpha timeline seeing as the furthest ring is weird in terms of time and space

I was assuming that only Alpha Timeline deaths would be preserved by the Bubbles, but you're right - I'm not sure that was a reasonable assumption.

The Horrorterrors seem to eschew the concept of the Alpha Timeline. and, they've coordinated with both Doomed and Alpha versions of Rose and Dave. Plus, yeah, there is no time in the Ring, so timelines are probably meaningless there. Why would it only interface with the Alpha?

If the Bubbles do preserve doomed souls, then we might also run into the John who died to Typheus, and the Jade he couldn't save. That's a pair of ghosts I'd be very interested to meet.

Anonymous asked: If every Aradia comes back from every doomed timeline, the number would double each time, so you could get over a thousand of her with only ten doomed timelines.

Fair point- although, if an already doomed Aradia went back in time again, she'd be double doomed. Is that even possible? Would she die twice as quickly?

@mhafanlol2000 asked: Your issues with quirks and speech-to-text are pretty simple to explain. If a troll were to speak into a non-modified speech-to-text program, it would output text with their quirk. Because they, quite literally, speak in their quirk. Terezi probably isnt actually saying “YOU H4V3 LOST TH3 G4M3”, each number at a time, but the vibes are definitely there. I don’t know, this is hard to describe if you don’t inherently get it.

I think, jokes aside, it is indeed about the vibes.

In the troll intro pages, you get told a little about how each troll talks, and I think that's how we're supposed to translate their quirks to an audible medium.

Anonymous asked: i think ppl in the fandom have over time kinda built up a like, generally separate understanding of quadrants from how theyre described in the "official" explanation. which is like, not representative of how these terms are used in homestuck, but probably more useful for describing Good relationships that Do Not Suck. like basically making moirails equivalent to being queer platonic partners, making blackrom more about having a healthy fun rivalry, that kinda stuff.

It's funny, actually - I don't think I've encountered a single asker who accepts the quadrants as they're originally described.

The main issue is that, with the possible exception of matespritship, we haven't seen a single troll relationship with reflects the infodump's explanation of the quadrants. I think Hussie might just have jumped the gun a little when dropping it.

Anonymous asked: Shoutout to Karkat poking his friends in the background! Terezi (crying over Dave) and now Soloux (talking to Terezi). Karkat isn’t sure what the right response is but wants to be included! Reminds me of actual cats, just putting a paw on you for no discernible reason. @manorinthewoods asked: I'd like to note that Karkat poking Terezi's tears is the same sprite (and same 'poooke'!) as Karkat poking Sollux's burnt-out eyesockets. ~LOSS (12/6/24)

My man just likes poking.

@alicesoinions asked: not much to say just wanted to say I really enjoy your liveblog!!

Glad you're enjoying!

I've actually got a few new followers recently. Maybe I'm showing up in people's recommendations?

@heliotropopause asked: Dream bubbles are pretty neat, eh? Neat enough to inspire half of HtN, I'd bet.

…wait.

Oh my god, you're right. It's literally a River Bubble. They're both located in afterlives, for crying out loud!

Anonymous asked: Wanted to thank your liveblog for reminding me of a lot that I had flat out missed in canon, due to not putting it together or just reading too quickly. Most recently and notably on my mind right now, is that Feferi is the one who set up the dreambubbles!!! I had always thought that they were just a part of the world that readers didn’t know about yet, like how we weren’t yet introduced to Alternia and it’s moons until act 5. This went right over my head and it has me absolutely REELING (fishing pun included just for fef!!)

Feferi truly is the MVP.

I wonder what happened to dead Players before the Bubbles?

They're certainly not the only type of afterlife in the multiverse. Alternia has at least two types of undead, which implies that the Players are very, very lucky to have retained their personhood postmortem. Imagine this was what Feferi looked like in Jade's dream.

Anonymous asked: Knowing sollux, he probably already had coded his tech to recognize if his speech ever changed, and gave himself a different typing quirk for it, long ago. Not because he knew or thought it would happen, but because he thought it would be a fun coding project ((I know nothing about coding))

And yet, you somehow know exactly how we think.

Anonymous asked: Something I hadn’t really thought about, until I started reading this liveblog, is how much VRISKA ((autocorrect decided to caps that and I’m leaving it in lol)) was manipul8ted into a lot of her violence. Scratch pushed her towards vengeance against Aradia, and she didn’t want to go through with it. Did VRISKA ever tell anyone how much of her live she spent resisting these forces, or even really acknowledge it? She didn’t hide Spidermom, and arguably her need to kill other trolls was to prevent herself from being killed. BUT on the other hand, VRISKA voice would make it sound like a compliment “I almost didn’t kill you why don’t you appreciate me!!!!!!!!”

The thing is, VRISKA probably felt a lot of social pressure not to tell people she was coerced into her crimes. That would reveal that she was reluctant to kill, which is the opposite of what the Empire wants.

@manorinthewoods asked: You could have written a great Homestuck if you'd been Hussie. I think your style, if translated from reacting-to-comic to making-comic, would work great with what Homestuck is, and could have made a better product. I think you'd make a cerebral Homestuck, which would have been cool to read, except I would have botched reading it like I botched reading Homestuck in our Alpha Timeline. ~LOSS (11/6/24)

Thank you! I've tried to write before, actually, but whenever I reread my stories, they come off as esoteric, stilted and a little hard to follow. It's not an insurmountable problem, of course, and I really need to take a writing workshop at some point.

I'd love to make a webcomic, too, but my art also leaves a lot to be desired. I can adapt sprites just fine, but original drawings are hard, guys. Did anyone else know about this?

Anonymous asked: i counted just now, and only like 24 out of all 54 paradox space comics have zero spoilers. some of them are certainly more substantial than others (e.g. i counted ones that include jade’s consorts that you havent seen yet as spoilers) but a lot of them have Very Big Spoilers

It would have been awfully messy. I'm probably just going to read it once I've reached the Gigapause of 2013, and no longer need to worry about spoilers.

@bladekindeyewear asked: “Nepeta wasn't trying to pacify Equius, nor did she seem to be fulfilling any rigidly defined 'role' in his life. They just came off as very good friends, and their relationship was much better for it.” Well, maybe we ought to look at it through the lens of real relationships between friends? Once a healthy dynamic and boundaries are established, perhaps Moirails stabilize as long as they’re together.

That's a good way to interpret moirallegence - although, it does raise an issue with the quadrant that I'll be discussing on its own post, once I've finished the comp. There's no point in prehashing what I'm about to say, so I'll see you there!

Anonymous asked: karkats message didn't go through because of trollians narrative awareness feature, where it'll display something different in service of one of the several "all"-seeing entities, of which the reader is one <3 watsonian and doylist explanations are kissing with tongue

Since the fourth wall is an actual, physical piece of technology in this world, this isn't even that far-fetched!

@sashonya asked: So, as the session's timers continues to count down, what do you think will happen after The Scratch?

Beyond 'the session ends', it's difficult to say for sure. I think the two most likely possibilities are that the kids start exploring other sessions, or travel to a location completely outside the current scope of the comic. I am, of course, hoping for both.

@ericvilas asked: "I still believe that out of all the trolls, Karkat’s traits were featured the most prominently in humanity" yeah, I guess even humans aren't free from the effects of carcinization

CG: THERE IS ONLY ONE STEP. CG: AND IT IS ME.

[desire-mona]

heard we were making house ocs and ive had a dingus floating around in my head since january so i FINALLY got around to actually making a proper ref sheet. i present my silliest

Dr. Nanette "Ninny" Amesbury :3

more under cut !

big warning lore n backstory n stuff is very bare bones and not all the way there cuz im #lazy

birthday is vague but lets go with ~35 circa s2

if i had a nickel for every oc i had who had absent parents and was raised catholic by their grandparents, id have two nickels. unintentional that it happened twice i sorta forgor the other one's lore for a bit and now its stuck so ummmmm sorry laney. wont be going into childhood bc i havent come up w that yet and honestly i dont care to!!! yada yada yada catholic guilt but not in the chase way bc she hasnt left the church n likely never will

ummmm relationship chart + template

lets just quick go over some relationship highlights cuz some are def more important than others

wilson: mr president a 4th ex wife has hit the james wilson. when were they married? ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm 😁

but they were married for like. 3 years? YES it ended bc he cheated but nin also wasn't the best either her ass was literally never ever there she was ALWAYS at work (like more than normal doctor amounts of at work - only came home to sleep and even that was only 4x a week(also worked at a different hospital))

tw suicide for next part bee tee dub

a big part of the beginning of their relationship was (big surprise) wilson's attraction to what he THOUGHT was neediness but was literally just nin wanting (and trying) to kill herself lol. once the magic of all that went away (perceived independence thats rly just #bottling shit up) he was just kinda like oh :/ its not cool to have a mentally ill wife anymore :/ i was expecting ramona flowers :/ or whatever. so infidelity impact font, hijinks and moving away for [amount] years ensue before nin being hired at ppth as the head of pediatrics. brief fwb situation w wilson Again b4 she finds out shes a lesbian at the end of like. s2.

oh yeah she also tries to kill herself again once she figures it out (see catholic guilt mention) but its cool she lives

cuddy: GAAAAAYYYYY GAAAAYYYYYYY GAY!!!!! DR AMESBURY WANTS TO FUCK THIS WOMAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! its one sided tho boooooo cuddys briefly like Wait ? just b4 nin moves away at the end of s6 roughly but shes already. thats done its not happening.

kutner: dont even fucking talk to me. i dont wanna talk about it. im gonna talk about it.

so kutner (like the slut that he is lowkey but society isnt ready for that) asks nin out just after he gets hired and shes like ermmmmmmmmmm! but sensing his loser aura she (still deeply closeted) is like hey haha i dont swing that way sorry !!!!!!! but its ok they become super mega best friends and get nerdy together

i like to think they listen to weird al together OH YEAH NINS THE BIGGEST WEIRD AL YANKOVIC FAN IN NEW JERSEY

and then nothing bad happens!

if youve seen this post about the little writing things kutner got after he croaked then hooray here's nanettes

they make me so fucking upset.

anyway as i stated above nin moves away after s6 for a bunch of reasons. 1) thanks obama 2) a big part of what contributed to her suicidal ideations n such was the fact that deep down she didnt ACTUALLY know what she wanted to do w her life. u may be like she doesnt. want to be a doctor ? NO she doesnt thats just what she did to get money to eventually do what she wants. whatever that is. something something feeling lost in life and unable to reach a goal when u dont even know what the goal is something something. also persistent depressive disorder but like spoon in kitchen.

idk what shes gonna end up doing after she moves but id imagine she shows up for house's funeral so i cant just be like lol nobody gets to know! im thinking painter but idk IDK guys her lore is ROUGH

thats it if u have questions ill answer thanks

[no-stupid-questions-official]

hi. i figured i would get less antagonistic answers Here vs on Reddit (where i was told to ask about this). i work at the Mart of Walls (iykyk) and we had a coach transfer from another department who is dead-set on firing people. i work on the front end, and run both registers and self-checkout depending on the day. when i work in SCO, i am supposed to be following the rule "greet, help, thank" which i have been doing quite well.

however, the new coach has decided that i'm not doing good enough at this, despite saying "hello" and "have a good day" to EVERY customer AT THE BARE MINIMUM. she tells me that my body language is unwelcoming, even though i am autistic and cannot help it, which i explained to her, but she doesn't care. she also accused me of being on my personal (non-work) phone, which i had used to check my schedule and text my dad about a ride to the doctor's office. team leads, coaches, and other associates use phones ALL THE TIME, but it's ONLY an issue if i do it. so she's basically accusing me of "just standing there looking at my phone" when i'm talking to people more than just about ANY associate who works in SCO. my team leads have said i'm one of the best workers they've ever had and say so proudly. the coach is quite literally the only one who has an issue with what i'm doing.

i felt like this was out of nowhere, and then i heard a rumor going around that the new coach wants a fresh, clean slate and wants to start mass-firing people. TWO of my team leads confirmed this, and i'm positive the other two would confirm it too if i got the chance to ask them. the coach is threatening their jobs too so they are also scared. so this is not ungrounded. i have solid testimony that this is, in fact, what is happening. everyone is scared.

i've worked here for a year and have overcome so many physical and mental obstacles to get to this point. my coworkers wrote a card for me and gave me cupcakes on my 1-year anniversary and they said ive improved more than anyone theyve ever seen. it sounds fake but i truly felt like i belong with these people and they don't bully me (minus ONE of the team leads) and we truly consider each other friends. i'm successful at my job, i'm very very good at it. i can't lose it now. on top of that, i'm going back to school to get into a medical field, and i own a house (yes. a house. my payments are like 700/month WITH bills bc of where i live) and i have a cat to take care of. i have so many expenses to deal with until i can finish my education, and i CANNOT lose my job now.

i reported this claim to the ethics department with a LENGTHY letter, PLEADING them to take a look at this because my job, and EVERY single one of my front-end coworker's jobs are being threatened. but my question is, finally, is there ANYTHING i can do about this? like, how to avoid getting fired, how to protect myself in the future if i AM fired, how to get the company to pay attention, how to put a stop to this in general?

any advice is appreciated i'm freaking out so bad lol

-

[1mmeee2]

The Nightmare (Gregory House x Reader) 

Request:

writing-multifandoms

Hi, I just had a pretty intense nightmare. Can I please request House x reader where reader stops sleeping due to nightmares and House notices and helps and eventually they just one day end up passing out from exhaustion and they are asleep on his shoulder? Sorry if that's too long! Thank you.

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

Today, like for the passed week or so was not good. Recently you barely got enough sleep from all the nightmares you've gotten, and it's even worse when your basically needed to the hospital 24/7 waking up early as 5am and staying late at 1am . "Ms. Y/L/N, we got a patient for you in room 231. It's a little girl with a high fever and is growing rashes on her body." One of the nurses said to me making me nod. "Uh… sure, yes… yes… Okay." You said tiredly rubbing your eyes as you walked you way to the room. Before you entered in the room you quickly fixed your hair and forced yourself a present and soft smile ready to show your not at all dying from lack of sleep.

"Good morning, Mr and Ms, Phylis." You said nicely as the two greeted you back. "So… anything?" Ms. Phylis asked worriedly as you checked all the little girl Amy's tests which showed she had a mild fever. "She's all good for now, nothing severe. Once we figure out what she needs, we'll be giving her amoxicillin to help with both her skin and her fever." You explained to the two. "What does that do?" Mr. Phylis asked making her sigh as your brain couldn't remember what they do.

"Uh… It helps kill the bacteria and helps with ear infection, strep throat, pneumonia, skin infections, and more." You said sighing hoping your not mixing up different medication. "All right, thank you doctor." Mr. Phylis said as I nodded and checked Amy's IV and left the room to turn in some papers to House.

Like before, when you stood outside is door you quickly made a soft look and tried your best not to look tired and entered in House's office. "Got some papers for you to sign." You said softly to House who looked at you weirdly. "So are you now a late drinker?" House asked you making you look at him confused. "No… What makes you think that?" You asked him a bit offended by him. "You're eye bags are very dark, your concealer isn't doing it's job." House said making you look away from him to look at yourself in a mirror close by and saw how your eyes bags were indeed showing itself.

"Shit…" You said as basically everyone, every doctor, every nurse, every patient you've seen all basically saw your eyes. "Wow, Ms Y/L/N you said a bad word." House said making you roll your eyes annoyed at his rudeness. "Okay, yes I haven't gotten enough sleep… But I didn't drink… I've just been having a hard time sleeping for the past--" "Few weeks, yeah. I've noticed." House said getting up from his office chair walking towards you.

"How do you know?" You asked while House lifts your face up to face him as he inspects your eyes more. "You're my employee of this team, and I must say, you are very terrible at hiding things." House said to you making me sigh in annoyance. "Look, I'll… I'll try to get more sleep. I just can't." You said so pissed off, but not because of House and stuff, but it was because you barely got any sleep for the past week or so. "Then what is the issue for your lacking of sleep?" House asked you. "It's just hard to sleep recently." You said fighting with your fingers.

"By the look of your posture and your attitude… You can't sleep because of nightmares… Your always anxious… you magically one day can't sleep right… any time something bad or off happens you pinch yourself probably to make sure your not dreaming… So… you got those nightmares… huh little kid." House said making you both shocked and pissed at him. "Look, if your not gonna help, I'll deal with it myself and continue my job." You said walking towards the door to leave his office. "What would you do? To help your nightmares?" House asked but genuinely curious.

"Maybe some sort of pill? Prazosin seems to be my best option." You said thinking about going to the pharmacy to get some. "No, you're not." House said suddenly confusing you. "When did you start telling what I can and can't do in my personal life?" You asked him. "It's been weeks you've been having this, and you are for sure the one person I know who'd get quickly dependent on any pill… making you and addict." House said softly at the end but to you… you just got annoyed. "Look… you have no say in what I do to help myself." You said angrily opening the door and left to continue to work.

-Time Skip-

It soon got late and your basically at the verge of passing out. So you walked over to the washing stalls and started washing your face to wake yourself up as you're going to be staying at the hospital longer then usual. As you stared at yourself at the mirror your pager rang making you look and saw House as paged you making you sigh in annoyance not wanting to talk to house.

"What?" You asked entering his office. "Whoa, you look way worse then earlier today." House said making her roll your eyes. "What is it you need?" You asked him. "You're going to rest here." House said using his cain and pointed at his couch. "I can't sleep, I have patients and paper work to do." You said but felt a hit of exhaustion making everything blurry and you soon started feeling your body move left and right. "I think you should sleep. Can't have you pass out on your patients." House said getting up from his seat and quickly helped you down on his couch as he sat down next to you. "I'm fine…" You said weakly but you and him knew you're tired. "Just rest." House said to you as you closed your eyes and let your boy finally relax. Soon enough you slowly felt your head resting on House's shoulder which would freak you out but at this point you didn't give a shit and got that sleep you needed.

As you slept on House's shoulder, he just sat there a bit awkwardly but also quite fine with you there. Recently House himself even noticed how much kinder he is towards you and how he'd let you get away with things that would usually piss him off. And sleeping on his shoulder would be that… But he just continued looking at you and didn't move not wanting to wake you up, looking at you in a loving way as he too slowly closed his eyes to rest.

[hannahssimblr]

I get suspended, but it’s not that bad. 

The last time, when I set the toilet paper dispenser on fire, it was a lot more of a traumatising experience than this. Everyone was so concerned about me becoming an arsonist that I needed to spend several hours speaking to a child psychologist about my motivations, which I explained was boredom and a fascination with watching little pieces of one ply toilet paper burn. It was likely the most worrying thing possible that I could have said. Still, through long, tedious conversation and a thousand boring questions and hypothetical scenarios we determined by the end of the week that I am merely troublesome rather than a deliberate menace and threat to the safety of teachers and students.

This is the same personality trait that got me kicked out of the boy scouts at ten. I am a disruptive influence, and the therapist simply recommended more supervision, which I did not receive from my casually neglectful parents. At least I never set a toilet stall on fire again.

This week is more about watching TV and playing my PlayStation. I do not have to go to a psychologist to go to, just the hospital to get a trio of stitches in my head and checked for a concussion, which I don't have, and then I am back, melding to the couch, playing Grand Theft Auto IV until I am jittery and my eyes are so manic I feel like I have to manually blink them. 

My mother is extremely kind to me, which is interesting. She panicked after I arrived at Trisha Bailey’s house to collect Ivy earlier than expected last Tuesday with blood pouring from a wound in my head and promptly fainted on the parquet floor in front of two eight year old girls. She had to leave work early to come and get me, and she barely even complained about it. She’s been treating me like I’m made of glass ever since, while I, in tandem, have been making an effort to play up my injuries and fake headaches as much as possible so that she is forced to make snacks for me when she’s home from work. This is a pretty good reason to develop something like Munchausen’s Syndrome, I think. I’m actually being mothered, though it's most likely that she's worried that my dying or having brain damage would mean she'll have to hire a full time nanny or bring in another au pair from France who'll lift individual diamonds from her tennis bracelet over a period of months like the last one did.

She even brushes my hair back and kisses my forehead at one point, which feels like it is crossing a line, and is so weird that I feel urged to make a joke about it. It pisses her off and she doesn’t come near me again for the rest of the day, but that’s fine. I wanted to be alone with the TV anyway. 

One evening I go to Jen and Michelle’s, who both coo over me until I part my hair to show them my stitches, which they act disgusted by, but still, they make me snacks and coffee and tell me I am brave for standing up to Fitzy. I don’t deny it even if it’s not what I truly believe. 

Evan joins us later and acts less disgusted by the gash in my head. He wants to know about Fitzy, who he thinks is a massive dickhead, and how badly I hurt him back. I exaggerate, but figure it’s okay because he is suspended too. It’s not like anybody will see him and call me a liar. I’ll tell them that the thumbnail scratch on his cheek was intentional and they will all believe me. 

He and I go out onto the seafront and smoke together, far away from Jen, who is supposed to be off them but will beg for one if she smells them, and Michelle, the daughter of a medical doctor who shuns them and judges anyone who doesn’t. 

“I kind of wish I’d seen the fight,” Evan is saying as we stroll along in the drizzle, and the end of his cigarette crackles and glows in the haze of the night, “Just to see Willy’s stupid face when you smacked it.”

“Yeah, I mean… he looked pissed off I guess. I don’t really remember, I was all adrenaline.”

“I’ve never been in a fight.”

“You don’t want to be. It’s horrible. I only did it because-” I break off and shrug, “Well, you know why, I suppose.”

I see him peering at me from the corner of my eye as I look over the bay, “Is she worth it?”

I sigh, “Yeah, sure. I don’t know. I think it’s complicated. I don’t regret it but I don’t know if she’d appreciate it either, like she might say that defending her like that is too intense.”

“Is that because you’re not properly together?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm. She should be grateful,” Evan says around a mouthful of smoke, and I don't respond. 

“What’s she like?”

I don’t really know how to answer, “Um, she’s nice, she’s, like, sweet under this cool-girl exterior, and really smart.”

Evan laughs, “No, that’s not what I mean. I’m just asking, you know, since she’s supposedly pretty experienced and all that…I just was curious…”

“Oh,” I scratch my head, careful to avoid my stitches which itch almost constantly, “Are you, like, asking me what sex is like? I dunno, man, stick your finger in your mouth. It’s like that times a million.”

“Oh, c’mon, I’ve done it. Christ sake. I was just wondering if it ever gets better.”

I pause as I try to determine whether he’s really trying to have a heart to heart with me or if I'm just picking him up wrong. Either way it's a bit awkward, and I don’t know what to say other than, “Yeah, man, I mean, I don’t know what your situation is or anything but it gets a lot better,” I flick my cigarette onto the path and immediately start pulling another out of the packet. Not that I usually smoke more than one at a time, it’s just I am hoping my fumbling around will interrupt this conversation. 

It doesn’t. 

“Michelle is pretty shy, you know, during,” He admits, and my face burns. I really do not want to think about them that way. 

“Most girls are shy. We’re still pretty young.”

“Yeah but, I dunno, it bothers me a bit, and then I see guys like you and girls like Alison and I think that you must have it all figured out. Do you know what I mean?”

“We don’t really, we’re all just kind of muddling our way through.”

“Yeah, but you must have- I mean, you always have a girlfriend.”

I’m surprised he even paid that much attention to me, “Yeah, most of the girls I’ve gone out with never wanted to do anything more than kiss.”

His eyebrows vanish under his fringe, “Really?”

“Yeah, they’re mostly not ready for anything else. It’s fine, I’m okay with it because it’s just part of how it goes. I just focus on how lucky I feel when someone does want to… let me.”

“Like Alison.”

“Yeah.”

“I think everything kind of makes sense now,” he smirks, eyes flicking to my head wound, and I’m certain that whatever he is thinking about me now, my motives and my reasoning for fighting my friend in the changing rooms, he is most likely wrong. 

“Look,” I stop walking and wave my cigarette around vaguely, “you guys will figure it out, huh? I don’t know what to tell you about it. She really seems to like you, so,”

“Yeah,” he says glumly, “I like her too, it’s just that I wish some things were better. Like, she’s barely allowed to come out at night and hang out.”

“Yeah, I suppose that's because her parents are strict.”

“Right! Her mam always gets so annoyed about her being out too late, and then it’s a big drama, and Shell wants to talk about how annoyed she is, and I’m like, why does your mam even care about what you do? You know what I’m saying?”

“Yeah, I get it. It’d be nice if it were different, but,” I shrug, “You know it’s not for nothing, right? Like, I hate to be the guy that defends someone’s strict parents or whatever, but if they’re not strict on Michelle then they can’t be strict on Jen, and if they’re not strict on Jen, well,” I exhale a lungful of smoke, “You know how it is.”

“It’s annoying though.”

“You’ll have to learn to enjoy Michelle in the light of day, and if you stay together until college then you can do whatever you like.”

“College?” He echoes, pulling a face as though the suggestion of waiting that long is ludicrous and unfathomable, but college doesn’t seem so far away for me. I’m counting down. Fifteen months until we are finished school, I will have one last long, empty summer and then I will leave, I’ll vanish into thin air leaving behind nothing but the shadow of a boy, an imprint on a couch cushion, an unmade bed and a cereal bowl in the sink.

I already have September 2010 circled in bold red marker on a calendar with arrows and asterixis all around it because that's it, freedom. That’s when I will get on a plane and go somewhere far from here and never speak to anybody from this town again. Jen and Ivy and a select few others are the only ones who will know my whereabouts. College, to me, has been aspirational before I was even a teenager.

Evan hasn’t even thought that far ahead. 

“You can probably stick it out until then,” I say flatly, “If you’re in love or whatever.”

“Uh, yeah totally, I think we are. I think we’re good together, so I can probably just learn to deal with it.”

“It's worth it,” I don’t know why it would be hard anyway. Evan is so lucky. If I was in his position and had a girl who loved me like Michelle apparently loves him I don’t think any sacrifice would be too much. I'd be on top of the world. I only get to see her during the day? Wow, how lucky I’d feel just to be able to do just that. Eighteen months until we have the freedom to do whatever we like with our time together? What’s eighteen months? If it was real love with someone then I’d happily wait years. Maybe Evan is just a bit stupid or something. 

I drop a hand onto his shoulder, forgetting that sudden movements shock him, and he leaps about a meter in the air. I clear my throat as he gathers himself again. “You’ll figure it out.” I say.

He wants to go back to Michelle’s house where it’s warm and dry, but I’d rather take a walk by the sea for a while. Several days of being cooped up inside have made me feel all soft and cosy, which Doherty would probably say isn’t a good way to feel. He’d want me to take a bracing dip in the sea or run fifteen kilometres in the driving rain just to feel life pumping through my veins on a day like this. Thinking of his big bald head and angry face prompts me to flick my half smoked cigarette away and leave it smouldering in the cycle path. 

I should stop doing unhealthy things. 

I take out my phone and text Alison. 

Are you around?

I’m at home

Want company?

ok come over

Beginning // Prev // Next

[talktomeinclexa]

Death Is Not the End

Summary: Lexa is an Angel of Death tasked with helping the spirits seamlessly move on. Clarke is a doctor who has fought her whole adult life to keep Death at bay, and now she’s the one whose days are numbered. It would suck if those two were to fall in love, wouldn’t it?

***

“Damn it. Time of death: 22:16.”

Clarke throws her gloves onto the floor and lets out a strangled cry of frustration. Her staff gives her a wide berth, well accustomed to her intense reaction every time a patient under her care dies.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Lexa whispers even though she knows the distraught woman can’t hear her. “You did your best.”

Dr. Clarke Griffin, MD, FACS, and Head of the Emergency Department of Arkadia General, has saved more gray cases than Lexa has ever seen another doctor do. She’s excellent at her job and, despite having worked for years in the ER, refuses to bow to Death. She fights for every single patient no matter the state they arrive in.

But Atom Ward wasn’t a gray case. He was brought to the hospital with a barely visible aura and a large gash to his throat that let out blood faster than the IV could replenish it. His time was up, and Clarke had fought a lost battle from the start.

Even he seemed to have accepted it. His spirit severs the connection with his body without Lexa needing to intervene, and he moves on by himself.

Not that Lexa stuck around for him. It has become a habit at this point to hover in the background whenever Clarke deals with a tough case. She’s not the one Lexa is meant to help let go, yet she hopes her invisible presence can alleviate some of Clarke’s pain whenever things don’t go the way she wishes them to.

“I can talk to his family if you want.”

Lexa jerks aside as Wells Jaha, the cardio attending, passes through her to approach Clarke. After decades spent in the narrow corridors and overcrowded rooms of various hospitals, she should be used to mortals moving through her immaterial form. Alas, as with the pungent smell of bleach inseparable from the white walls she often occupies, she has yet to ignore her disgust.

Clarke shakes her head, her brows stubbornly furrowed. She won’t cry. Not in front of her coworkers or when she tells Atom’s parents the worst news of their lives. She will hold it inside until she can find a quiet spot—the stairs or her office—and allow herself to crumble for a minute. Lexa has witnessed the scene a few times. Perhaps that’s why she feels this irrepressible need to shadow Clarke.

“I will do it,” Clarke replies, and Wells doesn’t press the matter.

Lexa is distracted from the scene by the call from an angry spirit one floor below. He doesn’t understand what happened to him and wants to linger. She’s down to her knees through the floor when she senses another Angel of Death’s presence below. They will take care of the issue and help the spirit accept his new reality.

Lexa floats back up into the room. She shouldn’t go with Clarke. There’s no need for her in the waiting area, and the hospital is full of dying people who might require her aid.

“Good luck,” she whispers in Clarke’s direction before freezing.

With the agitation caused by Atom’s arrival and the doctors’ attempts to save him, Lexa was distracted. She was supposed to focus on him. But now that he’s gone, all she can see is Clarke’s fading aura, slowly turning from its usual indigo to a washed-out sky blue.

Lexa has been an Angel of Death for over a millennium. She knows what fading auras mean—they call to her and her fellows. It’s not fair, but then, Death rarely is.

With a heavy heart, she watches as Clarke leaves the room, unaware of how numbered her days are, and sighs. “I will see you soon.”

[deoidesign]

hi i have a bit of an odd question and im so sorry if it comes off as rude at all!

ive seen a lot of your posts about canes, i have hEDS and chronic pain and im trying to convice my mom and my doctor to let me have a mobility aid. my mom is very adamant that i dont need a cane because i dont have balance issues, but my knees and ankles are pretty much always aching. i was just wondering if you think a cane would help with chronic pain or if i should look into other aids?

Canes can help chronic pain, they are not guaranteed to help you specifically

You can get a cane for ~$30 at most stores and try it out

A physical therapist and/or a specialist in rheum will most likely know more than your PCP about your specific pain and situation

Parents often don't want to admit their kids have health problems

I wish you luck

I won't be answering any more asks about mobility aids.

This is nothing about you specifically, you were not rude, I just get a lot of questions like this in my inbox. It becomes draining to get so many asks with people's personal vents about their medical issues or religious trauma or the homophobic situations they're living in.

While I would love if I could help people, I am not a doctor. I am not a therapist, I am not a social worker. I'm just a random artist on the internet who has EDS and is barely getting by myself.

I prefer to keep my blog about my art and about my work, not about my disability. It is relevant to my work, of course, and discussing my conditions in vague terms in how they relate to themes present in my work is more than okay, but I prefer this space to be dedicated to my work and getting to engage with my readers through my stories.

Personal information about my pain, my medications, my tests my doctors and my trauma are not things I want to make public.

Thank you for understanding.

[adiduck]

Snippet Sunday

...so I resisted doing a somewhat angsty scene yesterday!

I did not today.

I want to put a VERY clear trigger warning here for HOSPITALS and MEDICAL EMERGENCIES stay safe thank you I love you

-

Ice always ends up in the same part of the ICU when he has to come in--down an L-shaped hallway in the back, with two solid fire doors blocking it off. Usually there aren’t guards per se, but there are generally concerned doctors and nurses and medical students, who may or may not know who Maverick is and as a result may make the mistake of trying to order him out of the more secure area of the hospital.

Maverick walks right in as though they aren’t even there, barely gives them a glance as he arrows straight back towards the doors into the exam room. It’s not like they’re gonna call security on him without verifying his identity first--he’s wearing captain’s bars on his khakis.

“Sir,” says a nurse Maverick’s never seen before, taking their life in their goddamn hands by getting in Maverick’s way, “I’m sorry, but this area is off-limits--”

“The COMPACFLT’s in residence,” Maverick growls, and keeps walking. The nurse skitters out of his way rather than being run over. “I’m his emergency contact and power of attorney.”

“I--okay but I--can you prove--”

“This is Captain Mitchell,” says Ice--younger Ice, fuck, guess the mini-mes are still following--it doesn’t matter. “And this is… Lieutenant Mitchell. I’m Lieutenant Kazansky--”

“They’re with me,” Maverick says, and doesn’t bother to look back. He rounds the corner and walks straight at the room with some service members in uniform milling in front. 

“Sir,” says the nurse, sounding despairing. “We’re--he’s not allowed visitors--”

One of the servicemen is Silenski--one of Ice’s staff. Maverick nods as he slams the door open and walks right in. “Ice!”

Ice’s head snaps to Maverick, before his shoulders slump--a mix of resignation and relief. He’s sitting upright on the bed, white as a fucking sheet and hooked up to an IV, an oxygen cannula, a heartrate monitor, which is spiking. His eyes are very wide, he’s clearly trying to control his breathing.

He looks scared.

He’s alive. Maverick stands in the doorway, shifting to block the view of the kids behind him. “Someone tell me what the fuck is going on,” he snaps out.

[punks-never-die205]

Souled Out

Fem Reader x Demon!Eustass Kid

CW: Blood, religious tones, original creation myth, ritual, violence, dubious consent, 18+

Chapter 6: Soul Doctor

“I didn’t ask you to explain what’s wrong, I told you to fix her!” Eustass’ voice cuts through the fog in your mind, and you turn toward it as you groan. You’re sore, in a dull throbbing kind of pain, which was as much a foreign feeling as the pleasure he had managed to push into you before.

The last thing you could remember clearly was making breakfast for the screamer, but nothing after that was coming to you. At least not with the demon roaring in the next room. Whoever he was yelling at seemed to be taking it all in stride, you could hear the tones of an even and unbothered voice, but you couldn’t hear the second voice nearly as clear as Eustass’.

You rolled off the bed you were on, feeling a few brief sharp pains before you landed on the floor with a muffled grunt. As soon as you hit the floor alarms started going on, but you barely heard them over the sound of a couple stands falling over. Looking around you realize you had been in a hospital style bed, and you must’ve pulled some IVs and sensors off as you rolled out of the bed.

The door bursts open and a man – demon? – just a little shorter than Eustass steps inside. His skin seems marked with tattoos, but the throbbing pain in your body is making it hard to focus on details.

“Get her back on the bed, Eustass-ya.” He says gruffly, walking around you, pushing buttons and silencing alarms.

“C’mon contractor.” Eustass says, scooping you up off the floor like you weighed nothing. “Why’d you roll out of the bed like that?”

“Heard you,” you say thickly. You reach out for him and grab his wrist weakly as the other man grabs your other hand and puts the IV back in. “Was trying to go and ask… what was going on.” You close your eyes against the ache and look over at the other man.

His horns weren’t as obvious as Eustass’, but they were there now that you could focus on him a little. He looked exhausted and irritated, but you were certain the irritation was your fault. He was covered in tattoos, you hadn’t seen incorrectly earlier, but the symbols looked familiar.

“Glyphs.” You say it and then another pain throbs through you. “Fuck, Eustass why do I hurt?”

“You shook the screamer’s hand and it exploded.” His explanation barely makes sense to you, but you don’t imagine he has a reason to lie. “I… I don’t know exactly what happened, but you’ve got more soul in you now.”

“It has to be more of her own soul.” The other man states. From the tone of his voice it’s obviously been part of their earlier argument. “If she’d been sucking pieces of soul from people this time with such a brief touch she would’ve exploded before she summoned you.”

“What are the chances though?” Eustass questions. His voice is less loud now than it was out in the hall. “My second day here and we come across someone at the mall with a piece of her soul? Someone who decides to be my piece of ass? The fuckin’ statistics on that.”

“You were at the mall for hours.”

“We were in the food court for twenty minutes.”

“It makes sense if the person who stole my soul is watching me.” You say, pushing Eustass back weakly before you lean over the side of the bed and hurl.

“… How much pain are you in?” The other demon questions.

“She hasn’t felt pain or pleasure in twenty years, I don’t think she can answer that.”

“Enough I would like it to stop.” You answer, laying back on the bed. You could feel the sweat slipping over your body from the pain. It was an odd relief, to be able to focus on the numerous little shifts of beads of sweat vs feeling nothing but pain.

“What’s it feel like, and where is it the worst?”

“Searing. Rippling. Throbbing. Ah, um… where, where… it keeps shifting.” You answer.

“Eustass-ya, clean that up.” The other demon says as he pulls a mask out of thin air, fixing it over his face.

“Clean what -.” Eustass looks down at your tossed meal. “Oh fuckin’ no way.”

“You want me to slip trying to stabilize your precious contractor?”

“… Fuck. FUCK!”

“Sorry.” You say as he snatches a roll of paper towels from nearby.

“Don’t you say a goddamned word.” Eustass snaps, already getting things cleaned up. “Law you cunt, you could’ve cleaned this up easy.”

“Yeah, probably.” Law answers, scalpel in hand.

“Wait, what are you doing?” You question, feeling your body tense at the figuring looming over you. The mask over his face makes him look like a bug or a fish. His eyes are magnified and too big for the rest of his face. The lenses seem to shift and focus randomly, layers of different lenses clicking in and out of place with no apparent motion on the demon’s part.

“Stabilizing your soul.”

“With a knife.” You point out, reflexively starting to move off the bed.

“Calm down (Y/N), he’s good at his craft.” Eustass says, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“And his craft is?”

“He’s a surgeon.”

“With a knife.”

“You’re a little overly focused on that.” Eustass says, pushing you onto the bed.

“This isn’t an operating room.” You insist and grab Eustass’ arm in surprise as the scalpel and the surgeon’s hand disappear into your stomach. “WHAT THE FUCK.”

“That’s the most emotion I’ve heard from you since I got here.” Eustass muses, holding you in place as Law continues to work. “Look at me contractor.”

Something in Eustass’ tone pulls your gaze away from the impossible actions of the surgeon and you meet his gaze. He doesn’t say anything else, but his eyes hold onto yours and you can feel your body still. You aren’t relaxed, the pain isn’t less, but you can’t move. It almost feels like fear that holds you in place, except you don’t feel afraid, and you don’t know that you would ever fear Eustass, but no other word comes to mind.

“What?” You start to ask, but there’s a strange sensation inside you and your senses flood for a second. You can’t see, hear, or feel anything, and it’s nothing but static and bright white light. It fades almost as quickly as it overtook you, and when you can see and hear again you realize there was another odd explosion.

You and the bed were fine, but Eustass was out in the hall, standing up from the door that had crumpled under him. Smoke was coming off of him and his black scales were receding as he got to his feet. The doctor was pulling himself from the wall on the other side of you, shoving a ruined piece of medical equipment out of the way. The mask was broken, and scales were receding from what you could see of him as well.

“What in the fuck was that?” Eustass growls, shaking off bits of plaster and dust. “Are you alright contractor?”

“I think so.”

“Your contractor has quite the soul.” Law says, tossing the broken mask aside and coming over to your side. His eyes shift, like you had seen Eustass’ do before, and there’s a strangely uncomfortable feeling washing over you as he peers at you. “She -.”

He stops, eyes wide, and looks over at Eustass. “Have you looked?”

“Yeah. It’s clean.” Eustass says, his eyes shifting as well. You cover your face with your hands, it’s too unsettling to have both of them looking at you like this. “It’s… wait.”

“Indeed.” The doctor replies.

“If someone would be so kind as to clarify.” You prompt, hands still over your closed eyes.

“It wasn’t your soul.” Eustass answers.

“Huh?” You move your hands away to look at him.

“There’s two colors in there.” He says, eyes changing back to normal. “Both clean. That’s not Gilda’s soul either.”

“Gilda?” Law questions.

“The screamer.” You and Eustass answer at the same time, and nearly the same tone.

“Mm. One of the meanings behind that name is sacrifice.” He says flatly, letting the implication settle. “I wonder what the statistics are on that.”

“Are you two saying I have two souls in me now?” You question as the pain subsides. “I thought that was impossible.”

“Without a contract, yeah.” Eustass grumbles. “And no one should be able to force a soul onto another.”

“Unless they attuned it.” Law replies.

Eustass looks up at him like a lightbulb went off in his head and he’s not happy about it. The shift in the mood and tension in the air doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“What’s-.”

“Get some rest contractor.” Eustass growls.

“Like hell, what’s – going on… you… ass.” The wave of sleepiness that washes over you isn’t natural, and you muster enough energy to flip him off before you passed out.

. . . . . .

You wake up annoyed, looking at an unfamiliar ceiling for a moment before you look around. It’s a different medical style room, so however long you were out, you’re still at the demon surgeon’s place. You’re not hooked up to any monitors or IVs, and you’re covered in three or four thin blankets. It’s comfy, you give them both points for it, but you’re irritated.

You pause halfway out of the bed before you realize it.

Annoyed. Irritated.

They’re small, but they’re there.

Reaching out you run your hand over the blankets on the bed. There’s a little more sense than just pressure or resistance. You can’t feel it if you touch them too lightly, but you can almost distinguish between the smooth sheets and the coarser blankets. Some part of you wants to cry from it, but you don’t seem to have enough in you to manage tears.

Whatever the ups and downs of this whole soul business turned out to be, you were relieved to be able to feel things. However muted it happened to be.

Opening the door to the room you nearly run into Eustass. He has a tray with food on it and a cup in his hand with some sort of hot liquid in it. Smells like coffee.

“In there or out here, but you need ta eat.” He says, holding the cup out to you.

Taking the cup you glare up at him, much as you can. “I’m not happy.”

“Contractor, you haven’t been happy for two decades,” he points out as he walks down the hall back toward a place you can supposedly sit and eat. “But you needed to rest.”

“Don’t do that again.”

He snorts. “Fuck, I’m not making a promise like that.” He steps aside and lets you walk over to a table before he sets the tray of food down. “You had surgery. Mortals sleep after surgery.”

“You did it to keep from explaining-.”

“Not even a little.” He interrupts, sitting across from you. “Eat.”

You begin eating, and after you’ve had a few bites Eustass starts talking.

“People like me can attune to souls,” he begins to explain. “Usually, the easiest way to do this is with a contract. That’s the ‘follow the rules’ way of doing it, but before there were rules it was just something that was done. Far as the freak doc and I can figure someone attuned to your soul and then forced other souls to attune to it. After that it gets weird.”

“We passed weird,” you say, swallowing your food before you continue. “When he put his hand in my stomach.”

Eustass rolls his eyes a little but nods a bit in agreement. “Fair. Look, most of this is just speculation, but if we assume the person who stole your soul is watching you, and sent Gilda in your direction, then the point was to put that piece of soul in you.” Eustass cracks his neck, his tail whipping around in irritation. “Gilda wasn’t a homunculus, but her hand might have been.”

“Homunculus?”

“Yeah, fuck, look, there’s a dozen legends about them as a concept, but think of it as an artificial human. Soul jars with a sense of self, but no real humanity or autonomy.” He explains.

“And… you can just make a part? Like a hand?”

He shakes his head. “You can make one with spare hands,” he admits. “If you wanted to bother.”

You start to ask a question and stop, and then push your food away. “Wait, sorry, are you implying someone created a living creature, chopped it into pieces, put souls in those pieces and attached them to possibly random humans, and if I touch them, they’ll explode and die?”

“…That is one possibility, yeah.” He admits. He doesn’t say anything and for a long moment you’re both quiet.

“… I don’t know how to react.”

“I doubt you’d know how to react even if you had all your emotions, contractor.” He says, pushing the tray of food back in front of you. “Eat.”

You go back to eating, continuing until the plate is cleared of food. “What are the other possibilities?”

“Variations of the basic idea.” He nearly growls. “We just can’t sort out why.”

“Am I stable?”

“So far.”

You look around the room. Eustass is a ball of irritation and anger. You can feel it rolling off him like pulses of lightning. His tail is twitching and his knees are practically bouncing against the table. He looks like he wants to level the city to blow off the steam inside him.

“Eustass?”

“Yeah?”

“How does someone attune to a soul?”

[simpforchuchu]

Back to you | TsuShibaRoki (part3)

Prompts: DAY 13 - “you weren’t supposed to get hurt” @febuwhump Characters: Tsuji x Shibaman x Todoroki Fandom: High and Low Summary: The hospital and feeling of guilt

A/n for prompts: Hello guys! This is my first time trying a prompt challenge. I hope you like the short fics I wrote. I will finish them by writing some of the requests I have. I love you 💜

Sorry for the grammer or spelling mistakes.English is not my main language so...

Thank you and love you 🥰

Warnings: mention of fights, mention of fights and injuries, mention of violence

Part1 part2

Todoroki hated hospitals. He was a weak child, so he often spent time in the hospital. But as he grew older, he realized how much he hated them.

But today, he wanted to thank everyone at the hospital. He wanted to thank everyone for saving his ‘friends’.

He didn't know how he ran through the hospital door when he got out of the taxi. He was tired, his lungs hurt as he tried to breathe. He quickly ran to the elevators when he asked the desk clerk about his friends and learned that they were on the 3rd Floor. He couldn't wait for the elevator to arrive. After climbing the stairs two or three at a time, he saw the room he was looking for right across the stairs.

He was afraid to go in, but he went in without thinking. There was a nurse and a doctor in the room. They looked at him in surprise when he suddenly entered.

“I… they… they are my friends.”

He could barely form a sentence. The doctor nodded with a warm smile and pointed to the two on the beds.

“You have strong but stupid friends. It could have been much worse.”

Much worse? Todoroki was sure they were bad enough right now. He didn't even want to think further. He swallowed hard.

The doctor smiled at him and patted his shoulder.

“The one with long hair may sleep for a while, but they are both fine.”

Tsuji? He looked at Tsuji with fear. He was sleeping. He had an IV in his arm and band-aids on his face.

In the other bed there was Shiba. He was awake. He was looking at him silently.

Todoroki didn't even notice when the doctor came out. His feet wanted to go back. He didn't know what to say. He looked at Shibaman. He had a guilty expression. Wasn't Todoroki the one who should feel guilty?

"I’m sorry." Shiba whispered. Only two words came out of his lips. Todoroki looked at him in shock. He frowned and got angry.

“Are you sorry? I'm the one who should apologize. You guys… Because of me-“

“No,” Shiba countered. “It wasn't because of you. If we were stronger..."

Todoroki felt a pain in his heart again. He was the only one at fault here. But Shibaman was apologizing. His eyes filled with tears and he didn't try to wipe them away.

“You weren’t supposed to get hurt.They were looking for me. You got hurt because of me. Look at Tsuji! I'm the one who should apologize!”

The young boy's voice was trembling as he spoke. Shibaman had never seen him like this. He was also surprised. But he knew how terrible the feeling of guilt was.

So he wanted to comfort him. But he didn't know what to say.

Todoroki, on the other hand, wasn't upset because of his feelings of guilt. This was also a reason, but it was not the main reason. The pain in Todoroki's chest was caused by fear. He was terrified, he was afraid of losing them.

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