#mr morphine

[xproblematiquexx]

Before leaving for France 🇫🇷

**never use alone

[chumpy1012]

my favorite autistic character

[ajgrey9647]

Sneak preview of Build Up to a Show Down

@augment-techs @skyland2703 @lordkingsmith

“He tried to kick me in the fucking nuts!” Tommy’s snarl cut through the hushed front office, the closed door to Mr. Kaplan’s office doing little to muffle the confrontation.

“Mr. Oliver! Sit down!” the principal yelled, the forceful rap of the older man’s hands upon his desktop making the secretary jump from where she sat out in the front office. “Considering the chaos you’ve unleashed since August, I’m sure Mr. Skullovitch was somehow provoked by your actions!”

Mr. Kaplan looked to where Eugene huddled in the dated plastic chair, scrawny legs drawn up to his boney chest. It was clear the punk was still seething, shoulders rapidly rising and falling as he panted while he cut his eyes at Tommy. His shaky upper lip was lifted over his teeth in a very uncharacteristic aggressive manner.

Skull’s orange shirt boasted a blossom of vivid red that dripped down the front, his nostrils packed with rolled white gauze from the nurse’s office. Dried, crusted flakes of blood feathered around the dressing and dusted the flesh above his mouth. An ice pack dripping with condensation hung limply from one hand.

“He was acting like a dick! Like he always does, Mr. Kaplan!” Eugene managed to choke out, his voice nasally, and he coughed a few times when the blood slicking the back of his throat went down the wrong pipe. “He should be locked up in the loony bin!”

Tommy’s hazel eyes widened, and he almost looked as if he were about to launch himself again at the smaller teen.

“You’re not going to do anything to him, Mr. Oliver, so I don’t want to see one cheek lifted off that chair! I’m not kidding, young man! We discussed your colorful history prior to you starting here and I know I warned you that your past behavior wasn’t going to fly in this institution.”

The principal’s eyes went back to Eugene, his expression exasperated, yet also concerned.

“And Mr. Skullovitch…there’s no need for that kind of language. I have no doubt he did something that riled you into attacking him. You’ve been in my office for a lot of different reasons, but not for something like this. Farkas has been into see me quite often… Fighting is more his style, not yours, Eugene.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his wrinkled forehead.

“I won’t be surprised if I see him later today once he wakes up and decides to grace us with his presence. Your friends will trip over each other to tell him what happened this morning.”

Tommy rolled his eyes.

“I’m not afraid of that fat fuck…”

Mr. Kaplan shoved his chair away from his desk, his patience reaching its limit.

“Alright, Mr. Oliver, I’ve heard enough from you to last me the rest of the school year. Rather than reward your unruly behavior by sending you home, you can spend the rest of the day in the front office, doing your schoolwork and being silent. I don’t want to have to call the police as your parents never seem to pick up the phone…”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Mr. Kaplan…” the sullen teen hissed after his lips had briefly twitched in a vile smirk. “Besides my so-called parents probably won’t care.”

Skull caught the unconscious reaction, his stomach feeling like it had just knotted up in several greasy links. The Oliver house had been rather…quiet. No drunken ranting or yelling or swearing. No screeching… No cop cars in the driveway anymore.

“How the hell does no one else see what you are?” he yelled, chucking the ice pack in the asshole’s direction. “He’s evil….”

“Mr. Skullovitch!” the principal interrupted sternly.

“NO! You need to listen to us! He’s going to…” Eugene stubbornly barreled on, before another fit of blood-choked coughing stopped him.

Tommy smiled sweetly, yet his eyes had pooled that spooky black they always did when he was about to do something heinous.

“So dramatic, Eugene…” he cooed. “That hurts my feelings!”

Skull growled, swallowing the mouthful of coppery liquid.

“You don’t have feelings, prick! Except anger! You get your rocks off on hurting people! You’re a psychopath!”

Mr. Kaplan rounded his desk, trying to block the barbed banter.

“Stop this at once…”

But Tommy was obviously rankled by the mention of his questionable mental health.

“Hey! They never officially decided if its psychopathy or sociopathy, Eugene, swirling around in there. So, if you’re looking to weaponize my list of mental health, I’m going to insist on accuracy!”

[augment-techs]

Go Go Power Rangers: Issues #3-4, AKA, the foundation of the Billy/Skull friendship to enemies to whatever pipeline that the writers bitched out of exploring in favor of....everything else.

[azurezfiction]

@augment-techs, @regaliasonata, @skyland2703, and @sentinelofstories

Skull: *at Mr. Kelman, sternly* Do NOT fall for the hot Ninja Master and the Archeologist Billionaire!

Dane Romero: *smiles* Hello there.

Mr. Harford: Oh hello.

Mr. Kelman: *sighs happily* Hi....

Bulk: *shakes head sadly and crossing line on notepad* Failed step 1.

Skull: *Slaps forehead*

[shinobisage09]

|| Trini being such a goober in love is honestly adorkable~

[canticleofcanticlesforleibowitz]

It's not Thursday. Can't wait.

[thekittyfox2999]

If this thing works, we have to make out

anyone got information about the first ever telephone? I kinda need it

[britneyshakespeare]

"Go, with my curse upon you! stay with your mother's people; waste your days in foolish pleasures, and with singing women, and French jesters, and playwrights and scribblers; never blast my eyes with the sight of you as long as you live!" the furious old man had cried, in his rage, at his defeated projects; and Castiglione had answered not a syllable, but had left Rome that day, and had stayed away from it entirely for three years, until now, when the tidings of the prince's seizure had enforced his return, again, against his wishes. "Death is an ugly thing, Ruffino," he said this evening to his furry little friend. Discordant noises at that moment irritated his ear, and jangled harshly on the sweetness of the falling waters, the singing nightingales, the plaintive, mourning owls. Ruffino barked; he always conceived it to be his paramount duty to add his quota to any noise that he might ever hear.

Ruffino (1890) by Ouida, Chapter II

[one-half-guy]

So... Was anybody gonna tell me Bandora flies on a bike or was I supposed to learn it by myself?!

THAT'S FREAKING FUNNY!!

[stevebabey]

Dustin denotes his plan as a stroke of genius. Steve calls it fucking crazy.

It is crazy — going down to the police station and giving a completely faux alibi for Eddie is crazy.

But then, Steve recalls the handcuffs on the hospital bed, keeping him strapped in even though Eddie’s hardly in a state for escape, all bandages and wires. Steve remembers the fitful sleeps he’s witnessed when visiting, remembers Eddie’s ashamed whisper of fear that one of the officers would smother him in his sleep if no one stayed with him.

Steve remembers the bats. Remembers all the other shit Eddie got dragged through.

And if Steve can lessen that blow… well, then maybe he is crazy for going through with the plan.

There’s no prepping Eddie for it, of course, considering he’s being guarded around the clock. Steve thinks it’s ridiculous considering how feeble he feels just looking at Eddie. When he— when they had gotten him out, there was a moment where he was more blood than boy. Just jagged skin held together by Steve’s hands and sheer will.

He shivers involuntarily. This is crazy, Steve thinks, shifting a bit in the chair out the front of Eddie’s room, waiting for the discussion across the hall to meet its end. It’s crazy, but he’s already done it now.

Sharp footsteps sound across the hallway and Steve’s head yanks up. His heart beats too fast and he presses his palms down into his jeans to wipe them, standing up quickly.

“So?” He asks, eyes darting between Chief Powell and Deputy Callahan.

“That’s quite the alibi you’ve provided, Mr Harrington.” There’s a cool expression on Chief Powell’s face, giving away nothing. “One that not many would be so willing to give.”

Steve swallows. Presses down the panic tied to the implications of what he’s told them— him and Eddie. Him and Eddie together.

“We’d like to question Mr Munson a little as well, get everything settled. You know,” He makes a little gesture with his hand. “Make sure your stories line up.”

A new strain of panic jolts in Steve’s stomach and he hopes it doesn’t show on his face. Glancing over his shoulder, he peers between the blinds and tries to find Eddie’s face. He can only see the hospital bed, stark white sheets and hundreds of tubes. Steve tries to remember that he anticipated this, he prepared for this.

“Now?” He asks, turning back to face the officers. He tries to appear like his uneasiness comes from concern, instead of panic. “He’s just had another dose of morphine, I’m not sure how up to questions he’ll be.”

Chief Powell narrows his eyes. Steve silently begs him to take the bait — he doesn’t want to defer the questioning, he just needs a little more wiggle room in case Eddie is slow on the uptake. He’s a performer though. Steve hopes that’ll be enough to convince them.

“Now is best.”

Steve nods, his face grave. “I understand. Just… if he’s a bit slow, give him time to find his answers. He doesn’t know that I’ve… told you.”

Steve’s hand presses down on the handle to the room and the door opens with a hiss. He enters the room, his eyes landing on the officer posted by the door first before they travel onto the bed, to Eddie.

The chair beside the bed is empty for now which means Wayne must be off getting some food. Good, Steve thinks. This will be easiest with a smaller audience to convince.

Eddie’s eyes are closed, resting as best he can, but at the new noise they peek open. The ripple of happy emotion will help their case immensely but Steve delights in the fact that that reaction is genuine. Eddie is happy to see him.

“Big boy!” He rasps as a greeting. He waves one hand up, wires sticking out of it and the handcuff on it clinks uncomfortably, and he begins a spiel. “Welcome back to my humble—”

He cuts himself off when he sees there are other visitors today besides Steve. The heart monitor jumps and Eddie’s hand drops, eyes back onto Steve in an instant.

“What’s going on?”

Steve strides to his side, his hand reaching out to curl his fingers around Eddie’s limp hand. His skin is cool to touch, fingers icy. Surprise jumps onto Eddie’s face but his fingers tighten their grip, holding his hand too. Steve sits down in the seat beside the bed and lets the real nerves of the situation make his voice tremble when he speaks.

“I— I had to tell them, Eddie. About your real alibi.”

To his credit, Eddie only lets confusion wash over his face for a moment before it turns to some mixture of anger and sadness. A furrow forms between his brows, his grip on Steve’s hand tightening, and Steve doesn’t think he’s acting at all when he says, “You didn’t.”

Huh. Maybe he’s figured it out after all, Steve thinks.

Steve nods solemnly, letting his thumb wander over the back of Eddie’s hand. He remembers what it’s like to dote on girls, on Nancy, and find it’s not nearly as hard to bring it all out for Eddie either.

“I had to,” He murmurs, reaching a hand out to brush back some of Eddie’s hair. The heart monitor spikes again and Eddie’s cheeks glow pink.

Behind them, Chief Powell clears his throat and Steve jumps, remembering himself and what he’s trying to accomplish here.

“Excuse us, Mr. Munson, we have a few questions for you.”

There’s a moment where they let their words register and Eddie takes a deep breath, squeezing Steve’s hand and giving a little nod. Chief Powell continues.

“Mr. Harrington here has come forward with a statement that would place you elsewhere than the scene of the crime at the time of Miss Cunningham’s murder. Can you recall where you were that night?”

The mention of Chrissy’s name makes Eddie flinch and Steve’s glad he’s already holding his hand so he can squeeze it gently. Eddie’s gaze drops to their intertwined hands and stares hard for a moment. Shuffling puzzle pieces into place.

Steve leans down, presses a soft kiss to his bruised knuckles, and says “Tell them the truth.”

Eddie inhales sharply, steeling his nerves and turns his attention back to the officers. “I was with Steve. We were… we were at his house.”

Chief Powell nods, scratching words down in his notepad. He hums in a way that tells Eddie to keep going.

“We were…” Eddie trails off and looks to Steve, trying to follow the story already planted. Steve nods, hoping it comes off like he’s trying to be comforting boyfriend, instead of a subtle nudge.

“…Kissing.”

Steve resists the urge to snort at the absurdity of the whole situation. This whole thing is so convoluted and it’s twisted that Eddie’s even been accused but Steve’s putting his fuckin’ reputation on the line and Eddie says they’ve been kissing?

He doesn’t even need to turn around to know some eyebrows have raised behind him.

“Kissing?” Steve hears Chief Powell repeat. “Just… kissing?”

Eddie’s attention snaps forward again and Steve can see him piece together the snappy persona, the Freak, the scary dog privileges that come with being an outsider. He straightens up a bit, shoulders squaring but Steve can feel the quake in his hand.

“I’m sorry, did you want a play by play of the whole act, Chief Powell? I can go into detail if you want, who took who’s pants off first, yanno, but I didn’t peg you for that kinda guy.”

Steve can’t miss this reaction, turning his head to watch both officers shuffle uncomfortably on the spot. Chief Powell tries to keep his power, eyes narrowing, but it’s hard to maintain when Steve dots another quick kiss across Eddie’s knuckle.

“Very well.” He seems to land on. “We’ll be back to collect a formal statement later—”

Eddie gives a faint squeak, his hand grasping Steves that much tighter.

“—but I’m happy to have the guard and cuffs removed from your room for now.”

A sigh so large escapes Eddie that his chest deflates a good couple inches and Steve feels his own shoulders relax a bit. Chief Powell steps forward, key retrieved from his belt and Steve winces seeing the ring of irritated skin around Eddie’s wrist. No doubt caused from the thrashing of night terrors.

He releases Eddie’s hand long enough for it to be freed, scooping it back up in his as soon as he can, properly this time. All fingers intertwined, palm to palm. Eddie eyes their hands again and Steve pretends to not hear the jump in the heart monitor.

The officers leave, including the one holding post, the door sliding shut with a gentle click and Steve holds himself still— unsure of how to start explaining what he had sprung on Eddie. He feels bad, dropping him in the deep end, even if it was for his own good.

“Eddie—” He starts.

“Hug me.” Eddie hisses out the corner of his mouth. When Steve doesn’t react, he says it again, fiercer - it doesn’t match the way he’s smiling so sweetly at Steve. “Hug. Me.”

Steve does as he’s told, shooting up onto his feet and hesitating only for a moment before Eddie’s arms are creeping around his waist — he leans over and tries to keep his weight off him. Eddie’s frazzled curls tickle at his cheek and Steve just burrows his face in further.

There’s a faint whisper into his ear. “They were watching still.”

Steve pulls back a bit, not to check over his shoulder, but to see Eddie’s face. He’s serious, eyes skirting the window behind them but the moment Steve pulls back, his eyes shift down and he softens.

“And now… kiss me too?” He says. His tone conveys that he knows he’s being far too cheeky. Steve’s wonders if the officers are still watching. Wonders if he’d still kiss him even if they weren’t. He casts a glance over his shoulder and is met with a empty window, the officers retreating down the hall.

He turns back to Eddie with an incredulous expression. “What? Getting you off murder charges not good enough for you?”

Eddie’s face shutters for a moment, as though every emotion to do with Steve’s sacrifice floods him at once. There’s a burst of gratitude when he doesn’t mention it — doesn’t mention everything Steve might be giving up for Eddie, everything that might crumble should the details of the case become public.

He chooses the joke again. Eddie always does.

“Yes, but remember, we’re madly in love,” Eddie sings, brows wiggling about on his face and making Steve snort. “So feel free to kiss me anytime you feel like it.”

Steve snorts. “Duly noted, Munson.”

Eddie throws his head back softly against his pillow and pretends to wail in pain. “Munson? That’s all I am to you? That’s how you treat your boyfriend?”

Steve can’t help but grin a little at the theatrics and finds himself thinking that of all the people to be stuck pretending he’s dating, at least with Eddie, it’ll be enjoyable. Well, at least interesting. It will certainly be an experience.

“You have no idea how I treat my boyfriends, baby.” Steve says, voice low, just to see if he can get Eddie’s heart monitor to jump again. It does, a steady beeping as the BPM climbs up a few numbers.

Steve can feel the blush on Eddie’s cheeks, he’s so close, and it’s so nice to see colour on his face — such a stark comparison to the paleness of- well, of older memories.

Steve grins. Despite every nerve that feels singed beneath his skin, overworked from all his anxiety — despite considering every potential backlash that faces both them outside this room, outside the hospital, Steve searches within himself.

He can’t find one single ounce of regret.

next part.

[augment-techs]

Billy (ten years old, with those oversized glasses and the fluffiest hair, completely naïve): Dad, what are cooties? Mr. Cranston: That’s what we called germs you get from girls. Skull (also ten, who has an older brother and terrible parents and tagged along with Billy for dinner): Oh, you mean like chlamydia?

[azurezfiction]

Mr. Kelman from the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers 1995 Movie absolutely would be a Pink Ranger.

[queerfables]

Maybe this is just a technicality, but I need Good Omens fandom to know: Laudanum is not poison! It's a painkiller. It's made by dissolving opium in ethanol, meaning it's a cocktail of morphine, codeine and other opiates mixed with alcohol. It's strong and highly addictive, and it was a readily available medication in the 19th century. It was often used during surgery, so it follows that Mr Dalrymple would have it on hand.

In large quantities, Laudanum would absolutely be poisonous, but it doesn't really make sense to call it a "poison" any more than you would call alcohol or morphine a poison. Maybe it's not a meaningful distinction, but Elspeth didn't intend to poison herself, she intended to overdose. And here is where I feel the distinction does matter: Crowley is far less susceptible to drugs than the average human, so at no point was he dying. He was just high as fuck.

[charmedreincarnation]

Let me share you some examples of people outside of a spiritual realm using the law of consciousness. Reading about placebo opened my eyes to realize whether I believe it or not, use it or not, it is always operating.

1. During wartime, particularly in World War II, when medical supplies were limited, the use of a saline solution as a placebo became prevalent. One notable figure associated with this practice is Henry Beecher, a medic during the war. When morphine, a powerful painkiller, was scarce, Beecher resorted to injecting injured soldiers with a saline solution (a mixture of salt and water) as a substitute.The fascinating observation was that many soldiers responded positively to the saline placebo, reporting a reduction in pain. Beecher’s experience led him to further investigate what is now known as the placebo effect. He discovered that even inert substances like saline could elicit a therapeutic response in individuals, highlighting the power of belief and the mind’s influence on healing. Using saline as a placebo during wartime was a practical solution to address the scarcity of medical resources. It allowed healthcare providers to provide some form of treatment while conserving limited supplies for critical cases. The phenomenon observed in these wartime placebo administrations contributed to our understanding of the placebo effect and its role in medical practices.

2. And then there was another placebo test done with surgeries demonstrated the power of the placebo effect in the context of surgical interventions for knee pain.

The study, often referred to as the “fake leg surgery” study, focused on patients with osteoarthritis in the knee. Participants were randomly assigned to either receive real arthroscopic surgery or undergo a sham procedure where no actual surgical intervention took place. The sham surgery involved making small incisions and mimicking the actions and sounds associated with the actual procedure.The surprising finding was that both groups, those who underwent real surgery and those who had the sham surgery, reported similar improvements in their knee pain and functionality. This suggested that the positive outcomes experienced by the participants were not necessarily due to the physical intervention but rather to psychological factors such as the placebo effect.

3. The most fascinating one was this one: The study aimed to explore the role of mindset in reversing some aspects of aging.

In this experiment, Langer and her team created a simulated environment reminiscent of the 1950s to immerse a group of elderly participants. The participants were instructed to act as though they were 20 years younger and encouraged to engage in activities that required physical and mental activity. It aimed to create an atmosphere where the participants felt as if they were stepping back in time.The results of the experiment were described as astonishing. Participants reportedly experienced improvements in various areas, including physical health, cognition, and overall well-being. The study suggested that by changing one’s mindset and engaging in an environment that challenges typical aging stereotypes, individuals may experience positive effects on various aspects of their lives.

4. The Man Who Overdosed on Placebo" is a story about a 26-year-old man, often referred to as "Mr. A," who was part of a clinical trial for an antidepressant drug. In a desperate state of mind, he attempted suicide by ingesting 29 capsules of what he believed to be the experimental drug. This act was triggered by his depression, which had worsened after a breakup with his girlfriend.

However, unbeknownst to him, the pills he had taken were not the actual antidepressant, but rather placebos - essentially inert substances, often sugar pills, used in clinical trials as a control group. Despite this, Mr. A's vitals showed alarming signs similar to those of a drug overdose, reflecting the power of belief over the physical body, a phenomenon known as the "nocebo effect."

The nocebo effect is essentially the evil twin of the placebo effect. While the placebo effect can lead to improvements in health due to positive expectations, the nocebo effect can cause negative symptoms or even exacerbate existing ones due to negative expectations. In this case, Mr. A exhibited symptoms of an overdose solely because he believed he had taken an overdose.

5. Sam Londe, is one of the best but sad classic example of the nocebo effect, as detailed in Dr. Joe Dispenza's book "You Are the Placebo."

Sam Londe was diagnosed with esophageal cancer, a condition known for its grim prognosis. His doctors informed him that he didn't have much time left to live. Accepting this diagnosis, Londe quickly became bedridden and his health deteriorated rapidly, following the trajectory his doctors had predicted.However, upon his death, an autopsy revealed a surprising fact: there was not enough cancer in his body to have caused his death. The small tumor in his esophagus was not large enough or in a position to interfere with his swallowing or breathing. Essentially, Londe didn't die from cancer; he died from believing he was dying of cancer.

This case demonstrates the power of the mind over the body, both positively (the placebo effect) and negatively (the nocebo effect). In this case, Londe's negative beliefs about his prognosis led to physical symptoms and ultimately his death.

I've seen dozens of examples where of stuff like this particularly in the realms of hexing and witchcraft. Honestly, the same could probably be said about subliminals. But it doesn't matter much.Why? Because they work. It's all about observation and choice. You could say it’s the mind but the mind operates on logic. This goes beyond the mind and to your true being, what observes the mind observing the pain in the first place.

Actually I was talking to someone who had been struggling with shifting for a while about this and it really resonated with her which is why I decided to share it. She took a water bottle, labeled it shifting juice and just assumed that when she finishes the bottle she has “full access to shifting powers” is that how it works. Nope. Did she shift after two years of struggling. Yep. It doesn’t matter what story you create yourself whether you want to use logic or not whatever you assume and persist in and know as a fact will harden into truth and therefore reality.I just wanted to share this story bc I find it absolutely hilarious how we sometimes take it so seriously yet it can be so easy. I know placebo is just an assumption. It’s like when you tell children you checked under their bed for the monsters and drafted them and they assume so so they can sleep soundly at night. Call it whatever you want assumption, placebo, it’s all just words and each community calls it something different but at the end of the day it works wether you know the truth behind it or not.

[zomtart]

Chapter 1: Morphine and Lavender (Frank Castle x Fem!Reader)

okay this is terrifying but hi I am going to share some of my writing! this is just a snippet I wrote cause Frank is always on the brain. thank you tuna team for the encouragement <3

content warnings: hospital, canon-typical violence/gore, mentions of needles, language

word count: 1.1k

Frank was beginning to think they had left him in there to die when he heard a knock. You  opened the door with a huff, brushing your hair out of your face before giving Frank a curt nod.

“Alright, hi, sorry, I know I’m not your assigned nurse but everyone in my unit decided to take lunch at the same time, so you are stuck with me at the moment.” you mumbled, barely looking up at Frank as you wheeled your computer stand to his side. You stayed outside of the duct-taped line, but it didn’t seem to bother you much. In fact, you didn’t seem bothered at all. Frank’s eyebrows furrowed together as you pulled up his medical youet, searching for his name.

“Okay, you are Mr…Castle?” you asked, the sound of your mouse clicking echoing in the small hospital room.

He blinked, dumbfounded. “...yes ma’am.”

You nodded, your relaxed (but rather exhausted) expression staying constant even as you said the name that was headlining every newspaper in New York. 

“Mr. Castle, could you give me a pain rating on a scale of 1-10?”

He blinked again. He felt like he had fallen into some sort of alternate universe. His assigned nurse hadn’t talked to him in the few days he’d been here, much less give him treatment he’d give another patient. An innocent patient. 

“Mr. Castle?” you repeated. 

“Right--uh…five.” he said quietly.

At that, you raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down slowly. You eyed the numerous bruises, cuts, and scars he was no doubt covered in, and asked, “That your final answer?” 

Something like a smile itched at his lips, but he forced it down. “...yes.” 

You shrugged, typing something into your computer. “Alright, well at least the painkillers are doing something. I’ll make sure to get a refill for that--” you paused as you looked at the full IV bag of morphine, following the IV down to…the floor.

You grabbed at the IV, looking at the wire and then back to Frank. “Did you yank this out?”

“No, ma’am.”

“The fuck?” you murmured, before understanding seemed to dawn on you. The cuffs, the bright red line of tape, the bruises on his face. Frank waited for disgust, for you to become terrified, for you to spit in his face. Instead, you stubbornly set your jaw and walked back to your computer. 

“Who the hell is your nurse?” you sounded furious, but it didn’t seem aimed at him.

Frank, through his confusion, could only shrug.

You rapidly typed at the keyboard, eyes running up and down the screen. Then you stopped scrolling, eyes narrowing. “Did he have blonde hair? Eagle tattoo on his forearm?”

Frank vaguely remembered the eyes of an eagle staring back at him as he faded in and out consciousness from the pain, a man with blonde hair sneering down at him. He nodded. 

“...motherfucker.” you all but growled, and the sound turned into a jagged laugh. You threw your hands up. “Aaron. Of course it--god fucking…damnit--”

Frank felt he was obligated to ask, or maybe his curiosity got the best of him. “Ma’am, are you alright?”

You laughed humorlessly again, words tumbling out of your mouth. “Oh yeah. I’m just peachy. I haven’t slept in two days, haven’t been in my own bed in almost a week, and all because I need to take extra shifts. Why do I need to take extra shifts? Oh, I don’t know, maybe because I decided to move to New York fucking City where an apartment room costs more than an arm and a leg! And just when I think--oh just when I think I’m gonna get that promotion? No. No, I lose it to Aaron, who won’t even do his goddamn job correctly!” you finished with a burst of gusto, before collapsing down into a chair.

You just sat there for a minute, face buried in your hands, and Frank wasn’t quite sure what to do besides give you the grace of silence. 

The absence of noise was quickly interrupted by your pager going off, and you reluctantly held it up to your vision before sighing and putting it back at your hip. It seemed to snap you back into reality, and you stood up and smoothed down your hair.

“I’m…very sorry about that Mr…” you glanced up at the computer again. “...Castle. I’m--that was unprofessional, it has just been a…very long week.”

Frank’s eyebrows furrowed. “...you really don’t know who I am?” 

You grabbed some gloves from the table and snapped them on. “Someone very humble, I see.”

That got him to laugh, a low rumble that made its way out of his throat. He…couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed. It felt nice. Familiar, even after all this time. 

You shook your head with a small smile, grabbing the IV and sterilizing it. “No, I do not. I’m not even sure what day it is, to be honest.”

He nodded, stretching out his arm for you and making a fist. “But you…I mean they told you…somethin’, right? A warning?”

“I vaguely recall being told to stay behind the red line besides when absolutely necessary, yes.” you said, readying the needle. “Small pinch.” 

He stared, barely registering the sensation of the IV. “...so you…then why would you…?” He tried to find the answer in your face, but all he could see was concentration onyourtask. 

“Why would I…?” you repeated, waiting for him to continue. With the IV in his arm you took your gloves off, typing something on your computer.

“...I don’t know, you’re just being awfully kind.”

You pursed your lips, a hand going to your hip. “I’m not being kind, I’m doing my job. I took an oath to help people, no matter who they were, and that’s what I’m doing. Simple as that.” 

He grunted absentmindedly, his eyes flitting to the window. Ten stories down, New York raged on, lights flashing like fireworks. “Doesn’t seem simple.”

You shrugged. “It is to me.” you started wheeling out your computer. “I’ll be back to check on you in a couple hours. Hopefully that IV will help. If that dipshit comes in here again, you tell him about nurse malpractice. You have constitutional rights, even if you are off robbing banks or whatnot.”

With that, you were gone, the faint scent of lavender left in your wake.

Frank blinked. “...robbing banks,” he mumbled before closing his eyes, letting the numb feeling of morphine finally lull him into sleep.