#what are sinuses why do we need them

[verfound]

MINIFIC: October 2022: 10: Oktoberfest (MLB/Lukanette)

Read on Ao3

“Oktoberfest?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.  Her Papa laughed as he rolled a chocolate bratwurst.  “Isn’t that normally in September?”

“The director of the Saengerbund was sick at the time, so they postponed it,” Tom said.  “They moved it to this weekend instead.”

“It’s so cool that they order from you,” Luka said, holding up his own chocolate brat for Tom’s approval.  At his nod, he started on the next one.  “I’ve always loved the festival.  They have some sick music, and the food is really good.  Wanna come with me when I make the delivery, Marinette?”

“It is the only one we have scheduled for that day, and your Maman and I can handle the shop.  Why don’t you kids go?  Have fun?” Tom suggested, grinning at them.  Marinette glanced at her own bratwurst, ignoring the knowing Look Tom was giving her.  The telling waggle of his bushy eyebrows.

“Sure.  Sounds like fun,” she said, reaching for more chocolate.  Luka smiled, putting his next finished brat with the rest.  “It’s a date.”

She smiled all the wider when he fell off his stool, knocking half the finished brats over in the process.

[ssahotchnerr]

👉🏼👈🏼 is it ok to request a fic where jack starts trying to take care of the reader the way he sees his dad does? like maybe hotch is away from a case and reader gets sick or sad or idk, so jack takes it upon himself to be there for reader? like maybe he even starts referring reader with the same pet name hotch calls her? tysm!

like dad does

aw 🥹 cw; fem!reader, established relationship, mentions of sickness, fluff <3

you awoke with a gentle start; a trail of cold water trickling down the side of your face, pooling vaguely in your ear.

likewise, a more concrete sensation was set on your forehead - a cold compress. most likely a washcloth, and one that hadn't been wrung out too much at that.

but it was relieving, a delightful contrast from your burning forehead.

"oops," a small mumble came directly from your left ear, as well as a soft exhale of a breath. "sorry."

"jack?" you muttered, rather drowsily. you forced your eyes open, finding jack's sweet, concerned face beside you. "what're you doing?"

"i'm taking care of you." he explained softly, his tone so nonchalant as if it were the most obvious and simplest thing in the world. he reached forward, adjusting the top of the blanket that was draped overtop you. "like dad does. he put the washcloth on you yesterday, you 'member?"

he was right; you were on day two, maybe three? of a nasty bout of the flu. quite honestly you didn't know what day it was, they all blurred together, and your scattered sleep schedule didn't help. you offered him a nod.

"thank you." you gave him a small, closed mouth smile. if it weren't for the germs, you'd reach out to touch his cheek. you sat up a bit from your position in bed, your voice hoarse. "where is your dad?"

"a meeting."

your eyebrows furrowed, the facial movement burning your sinuses. "he's home?"

jack nodded, "he's in his office, but he said it might take a long time. so that's why i'm helping you feel better."

his face brightened a bit, as if a realization struck him. he reached into his pant's pocket, retrieving a few cough drops he had shoved in there, dropping them onto your blanket covered chest.

"i'm sorry i can't make you soup." jack apologized, solemnly as his shoulders dropped. "but i'm not allowed to use the stove."

your face softened, the weak smile resurfacing. "that's okay bud, don't worry. you can help dad make some later when he's done, how 'bout that?"

he nodded enthusiastically, before hoisting himself onto your bed.

"hey no no no, i wouldn't," you protested gently, your heart also melting at his action. "i don't want you getting my germs."

"if i get sick i get sick." that's the same thing aaron had said, multiple times, when he insisted on getting into bed with you earlier. jack scooted somewhat close, staying mainly on his father's side of the bed.

"and if i get sick, i don't need to go to school."

you laughed softly, but finding yourself too weak to argue, you did the only thing you could - go right back to sleep.

it was restless; you were in and out of slumber, and could roughly process jack getting up here and there - solely due to the distant sensation of the washcloth leaving and returning to your forehead, dampened once more.

and once aaron's meeting had ceased, he went in to check on you, and was pleasantly surprised, and touched, to see jack accompanying you.

you were out, with jack diligently watching over, while also keeping himself busy - his sketchbook and colored pencils were scattered amongst the bed.

"how's it going?" aaron asked him from the doorway, the door producing a sharp creak as he pushed it forward a tad.

"good. i brought cough drops, the washcloth, and made sure she got lots of rest. just like you did." jack continued to draw as he spoke, before his head shot right up. "can we make soup?"

"sure buddy," aaron nodded, a tinge of pride pulling at his heart. he tilted his head towards the hallway, and jack immediately scrambled off the bed. "c'mon."

[danikamariewrites]

Sickly

Poly!Batboys x reader

Notes: I’m not sure why but a lot of my poly batboys stuff has been Cassian. At this point I should just make these ideas just Cassian x reader but I love including all the boys

Warnings: mentions of medicine and the flu

Kissing and hugging each of your mates goodbye never gets easier. Today was an exception though. You were excited to stay home alone for a few days—alone time is rare since your mates are always around.

Cassian feels the opposite. You saved his goodbye for last knowing how clingy he gets when he goes away.

“I’m gonna miss you so much, sweetheart.” Cassian groans into your neck as he squeezes you. Patting his shoulder you let out a small ‘aww’.

“I’m going to miss you too, baby.” You move to let go but Cassian tightens his hold on you. Rhys lets out a deep sigh. “Cassian, we have to go. Now.”

Cass groans louder, finally releasing you. He ruffles your hair and gives you a small pout. “Bye, sweetheart. We’ll be back in a few days.” He says genuinely sad. You smirk and raise a brow at him. “I know that, do you know that?”

Cassian messes your hair again as Az moves to pull him out the door. “Bye! I love you guys!” You yell after them. “Bye, sweetheart!” Azriel rolls his eyes, “She knows Cass. She will be fine.”

“But what if she isn’t-” before Cassian can get another word out Rhys winks at you, grabbing onto the males to winnow away.

Shutting the door you take the stairs two at a time to your personal chambers. Nuala and Cerridwin had set up a spa night for you and without the boys interrupting you it was sure to be a peaceful one.

Hours later with your hair brushed and braided the twins helped you settle into bed. While your mates would only be away for a few days you were going to revel in this short lived peace.

Your peace was, unfortunately, was shorter lived than you expected. When Nuala came to wake you for breakfast she found you absolutely miserable. Cough, runny nose, aches, and a fever that had her snatching her hand away from your forehead as if you burned her. You had tried to wave it off as nothing but a cold.

“Should I call for the High Lord to return?” Nuala asked carefully. You shook your head slowly so as not to aggravate your sinuses. “No. I’ll be fine, I just need to rest.”

“As you wish, my lady.” Nuala bowed before leaving you.

About halfway through day two you were wishing for your mates to come home and take care of you. You dreamed of Rhys using his powers to take your pain away so you could sleep peacefully. But you couldn’t find it in you to call them home knowing how important their work is.

But today they were finally on their way back. They promised you they’d be back in time for breakfast. All morning, every sound had you jolting to stay awake as you waited in bed.

Your eyes fluttered open as a large calloused hand cupped your cheek, tsking at how warm you felt.

“Hi sweetheart,” Cassian whispered. You mumble an incoherent greeting thanks to your lips feeling too heavy and your tongue sticking to the roof of your dry mouth.

“Has she been sick since we left?” Cassian asked softly, but you could hear the restraint in his voice. You didn’t have to open your eyes to know his jaw was clenched. “Yes,” Nuala replied smoothly, “she didn’t want to call you all home, insisting she rests. Madja has seen her and left tonics.”

Cassian’s fist clenches in your hair, quickly releasing so he wouldn’t hurt you. “Thank you, for keeping an eye on her.” “Of course.” The wraith bows her head, turning on her heel to leave.

Cassian always hated leaving you in case something happened. Even if it was just a cold, Cass wanted to be there to save you from it. The fact that you’ve been suffering for three days without him makes his stomach tie in knots from guilt.

“Can I get you anything? Did you take any tonics yet?” He asks softly.

“No,” you mumble. “Will you get it for me, and some toast?” Cassian leaves a light kiss on your forehead. “Of course I can, I’ll be right back.”

In his absence Rhys and Azriel check on you. The pair dote on you, telling you about the snowfall in the Illyrian mountains. You were starting to wish you went with them, but winter would arrive in Velaris soon.

When Cassian returns he gives the two males a scowl reserved for his soldiers. “Cass, this is not an I-told-you-so moment.” Rhys tells him gently.

“Out, so I can take care of our mate.”

Rhys and Az hesitate, not wanting to leave you while you’re sick.

“You two should go. I don’t want to get all of you sick.” You pout at them, giving them sad eyes for good measure. The pair conceded and left you in Cassian’s care. Az gave you a quick peck on your forehead before Cassian shooed him away.

You watch as Cassian rips your toast up into bite sized pieces to feed to you. You smile at him with hearts in your eyes. Watching the General of the Night Court do something as mundane as angling the straw in your water cup so you don’t worry about spills just makes you fall in love all over again.

Cassian feeds you a few pieces of the ripped up toast before handing you the tonic. As he cuddles up to you Cass lays a cool cloth on your forehead, relieving your high temperature and the splitting headache he knows is coming. A satisfied hum leaves your lips as you snuggle closer to Cassian. “Thank you,” you say quietly. He lightly kisses the top of your head, “Of course, sweetheart.”

[luveline]

kbd —your youngest daughter’s second birthday is hectic but perfect. dad!steve x mom!reader, 1.7k

“It’s crazy that she won’t remember.” 

“I know, but they remember all the love, right?” you say, stretching the neck of a balloon before attaching it to the hand-pump. “That’s what makes them happy kids. They were happy babies.”

Steve glances around the living room. There are shining cellophane banners on every wall, streamers in the eaves, bunting across the stairs and now balloons to be taped to the windows and hung from the ceiling. It’s five in the morning, and while you and Steve are both a tad slow with the clinging dregs of fatigue, neither of you are grumpy. It’s hardly much earlier than you wake up most days.

“I guess so,” Steve says, stretching his own balloon. 

“Even if she doesn’t remember, we’ll still remember,” you say with a shrug. “Don’t you remember Avery’s second birthday?” 

Steve remembers every birthday, and he gets your point. He wasn’t suggesting you make less effort and you know that, but it really freaks him out sometimes that the girls won’t remember their childhoods like he does. He’s telling you because he tells you everything.

“We got her a purple puppy teddy with those weird glass eyes and she accidentally hit you in the face really hard,” he says.

Steve remembers you pretending it didn’t hurt, and wiping the instinctive wetness from your eyes. You hadn’t been upset, but injuries near the sinuses make everybody cry. He’d wiped your tears away and he’d been deadly concerned; that was at a time where he was still marginally insecure about being a family, scared you’d one day realise you didn’t want it with him, that it was too hard and he was doing too little, every gentle caress of his thumb pleading with you not to hate him for it. 

But that was dramatic, in hindsight. When Avery noticed you were upset and began to cry too, you’d ducked away from Steve’s touch to pick her up and soothe her. You love Steve like breathing and Avery ten times as much. Your tears really were because you couldn’t help them.

“Ouch,” you say, slipping the balloon from the pump to tie around your two fingers. “I’m glad they don’t like Beanie Babies. That puppy almost took my teeth out.” 

He gives you a long look. “You’d still be cute without teeth, probably.” 

“Thank you.” 

You overestimate how much time you need to finish decorating. At 6AM you’re done, and at 7AM you’re napping, you and Steve with your heads pressed together on the couch, your snores blending into one sound. 

It’s Beth who wakes first sometime around 7:30. She doesn’t disturb you, only laughs at all the balloons and your strange predicament as she drags herself up the leather couch. It’s cracking now, you’ve had the same couch since she was born, but her dad always raves about it because he can wipe it clean with a clorox wipe. She avoids the spiky skin of it and curls up gently against Steve’s chest. She sniffs his shirt, and usually he senses someone’s close by to wrap an arm around them, but it’s you who feels her and covers her tummy with your hand. 

Upstairs, barely twenty minutes later, Dove wakes. She’s trapped in her cot and furious about it, whining behind a closed door, but luckily her best big sister Avery is waking up too. 

“Hi, Dove,” she says, beaming at her frowny sister, “it’s your birthday, did you know? Happy birthday!” Avery reaches arms just long enough to help Dove over the crib and onto the floor. “Wanna hol’ my hand?” 

“Okay.” 

Happier to be released, Dove and Avery backtrack to your bedroom and find it empty. “They must be downstairs,” Avery assumes. “Do you want socks?” 

Avery outfits them both in socks. You and Steve would be sorry you missed it if you knew it happened, Avery at her most gentle as she slips a pair of her socks over Dove’s tiny feet, and then her own. “Warm toes,” Avery says, “why does the floor get cold at night time?” 

Dove doesn’t know. She holds her hands out and Avery shakes her head. “Dad said I can’t carry you on the stairs. Come on, let’s go see what’s for breakfast. It’s your birthday so you can probably get to pick.” 

“Toast?” Dove asks. 

“Sure, Dove, I like toast. French toast? With cinnamon sugar?” 

They make it to the bottom of the stairs unharmed and find a hallway turned to a dreamscape. “Wow!” Avery says, pointing at the balloons. They’ve been taped into a rainbow arch around the door to the living room, and there are streamers hanging down as a curtain to walk through. 

Dove is pleasantly startled, her giggle one of promised excitement. “Wow!” she says. 

On the couch, Steve snorts awake. 

He blinks dry eyes, arms instinctively squeezing the small mass at his chest, worried he’s grabbed a kid and forgotten and the poor girls about to fall. After a second he gets his wits back and realises it’s only a dozing Beth, your hand sandwiched under his arm. 

He blows out a breath and finds the source of the commotion; Avery and Dove stands giggling in the doorway, the pink paper streamers kissing their faces as they look up at them. 

“Good morning!” he says, giving you a little nudge. “Dove, baby, it’s your birthday! Happy birthday! Can you see, the decorating fairies came when you were sleeping.” 

“Happy birthday!” you croak agreeably. 

“Thanks,” Beth says, rubbing her nose against his chest. 

“Not yours, sweetheart,” Steve says. 

“Okay.” She settles with a good pat on the back. 

For breakfast, Dove indeed wants French toast with ‘minnamin’, and you couldn’t be happier to make it. You sit her in her high chair with a pillow behind her back, you and Steve performing something of a dance as you rush to feed three hungry girls while satiating the birthday girl's demands. “You can have anything you want,” Steve promised. Why would he do that? Now Dove wants a kiss, and the bag of chocolate chips from the pantry, and another kiss, and Mommy, can we have cocoa? 

It’s hectic, but it’s fine. If she wants some hot cocoa of course she can have it, it’s just a lot to happen all at once. 

“Careful,” you say, lifting Steve’s arm away from the burner. He’s shifted the pan off of the heat and forgotten about it. “Ooh, saved your arm hair.” 

“Jesus,” he says, yanking his arm out of your touch, but more importantly, away from the heat. “Shit, sorry.” 

“Mom, can I have water please?” Beth asks. 

You lean up into the big cabinet full of glasses for her favourite plastic cup and rinse it out. You fill it from the jug in the fridge and put it down in front of her with a big kiss pressed to the back of her head. “Okay?” you ask. 

“Thank you.” 

“Avery, what are you gonna have to drink?” 

“Coffee.” 

“I don’t think so, little miss. Coffee isn’t very good for you, and it tastes strong.” 

Avery tries to stop you from walking away, so you stay, despite Steve’s scary-looking cooking. He’s dangerous about the heat. 

“What?” you ask, looking down at her. 

“Are you gonna give Dove the presents after breakfast?” she whispers. 

“Yeh, bub. Don’t worry, I wrapped yours last night.” 

She beams at you. She’d stuck up in bed like a dagger when she remembered she hadn’t wrapped it, but you promised to do it if only to get her to go to sleep. 

She hums as you tip her head back and tap your noses together, upside down.

“And… ta da!” Steve puts a plate of chopped up French toast and sugar soaked fruits in front of the birthday girl. The toast is thick and browned, but cut into little squares so she can’t choke. “Birthday breakfast for my beautiful girl.” He kisses her chubby cheek. 

“Who’s next?” he asks, pulling up. “Bethie, you want French toast too?” 

“Yes, please.” 

“You want to help me make it?” 

“I can?” she asks, propping herself with two hands on the table. 

“Steve, please be careful,” you beg. 

“What, like I’m gonna let her get burned?” 

He scoops Beth up. You wrap your arms in front of Avery with your chin atop her head, two girly shields to protect you from the oncoming argument. 

In her high chair, Dove laughs around a mouthful of raspberries and bread. “Dad, stop frowning!” she demands. Frowning sounds like ‘fwoming’ and raspberry juice stains her chin, but it is her birthday, so you and Steve leave your playful arguing for another time. 

“You’re on my list,” he whispers threateningly. 

You pull up a seat between Dove and Avey to make sure Dove doesn’t hurt herself in her greed. “You’re on my list.” 

Dove doesn’t need help eating anymore, but she seems to enjoy the attention, so you begin feeding her one forkful of yummy sugary breakfast at a time. “Want maple syrup?” you ask her. 

Her eyes go wide as saucers. “Yes!” 

“Okay, baby. Dad, can we get some syrup over here?” 

“Lazy, awful woman. What happened to her legs?” he asks Beth, who giggles like she knows she shouldn’t laugh. 

Dove smiles. She looks as happy as she ever has, with her slept-in pyjamas and her bed head, pink on her lips, brown sugar dusting the front of her nose. “I can’t believe you’re already two,” you say, wiping her nose gently. “Is that yummy?” 

“Yummy,” she says agreeably, lips parting the second you raise her fork. 

You got a present for each of the girls, though it isn’t their day, because you didn’t want them to feel left out, but honestly they don’t seem like they’ll need any extra spoiling. Bethie’s laughing sitting on the counter as Steve lets egg drip on her knee, squeamish giggling that in turn makes Avery laugh and attempt to join them. Steve grabs her under the arms and puts her right next to Beth. 

“Two assistants!” he says. “I’m spoiled. Which one of you wants to find the maple syrup? It’s somewhere in all that mess.” 

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

2: UNWELCOME DISTANCE

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter

Dinner with Bucky didn't go as well as you planned and now you're suffering from the outcome of being ditched in an autumn thunderstorm.

Word count: 3.2k

Warning: feelings of betrayal, shitty communications skills, illness (upper respiratory tract infection) description, Coney Island and cotton candy, jealousy, Bucky... Barnes is a warning

The following morning, you woke up feeling a little worse for wear. You buried your face in your pillow willing the tickle in your throat and at the back of your nose to disappear. A small groan left your lips as your attempt to sleep in was thwarted by the aching throughout your body. Sitting up did little to make you feel better, other than shifting the balance of mucus in your sinuses, making you sneeze and worsening the scratchiness of your throat. You looked up at the clock, you’d missed the breakfast time that you were expected to attend, but there weren’t any messages on your phone expressing concern from your friends.

A throb of self pity and doubt flashed through your mind. Did any of them even care? You had lost Bucky to another woman, but clearly none of your other friends had noticed your absence. You weren’t special, you’d only been invited to join the Avengers Initiative because of your powers. The thoughts were just forming, your mind ready to spiral into a storm of insecurity, when there was a knock at your door. Each movement felt like wading through molasses, and even sitting up seemed like an insurmountable task.

"Cricket?" Steve’s voice permeated into the room.

"Coming!" At least that was what you tried to say, your voice coming out as a small croak. You padded over to the door barefoot and opened the door to find Steve’s kind face looking down at you.

His concern was etched across his features as he took in your disheveled appearance. Dark circles clung to your eyes, and your skin had lost its usual healthy hue.

"Hey there, sunshine," he greeted, his voice gentle. "How’re you feeling?"

There was only one word that would succinctly sum up your emotional and physical state in that moment. "Shit," you mumbled, sniffing at the fluid that was threatening to leak from your nose.

He reached out, his hand cool against your feverish skin. His touch was comforting, grounding you in the midst of your misery. "You definitely have a fever," he confirmed.

As if to affirm his observation, your body pitched forwards in a violent sneeze, which you barely had the time to catch with the inside of your elbow. You ended the outburst with a pained groan, as the back of your throat burned.

Steve’s concern deepened. "You need rest," he said firmly, steering you back into bed. "I’ll make you some tea."

You followed his instructions without protest, not having the energy to argue. It would be best for you to stay in bed, you’d get better quicker with rest, and it was a great excuse to avoid seeing your best friend and his girlfriend. The practical side of you would use the excuse that you didn’t want to expose anyone to your germs. At least Steve would be protected by the serum, so you didn’t need to worry about him hanging around. So with a clear conscience, you snuggled back under your covers to wait for Steve’s return.

As he disappeared towards the kitchen, you sank back into your pillows. Maybe losing Bucky wasn’t the end of the world. Maybe having a friend like Steve was enough—a warm presence in the midst of your feverish chaos. And as the wind whistled outside, you realized that sometimes, friendship was the best medicine of all.

Little did you know that on his way to the kitchen, Steve ran into Bucky as he was leaving your room.

"Steve?" Bucky called after his friend.

"Hey, Buck."

"What’re you doing?" The real question he wanted to ask was ‘why are you leaving Cricket’s room?’.

"Just grabbing some things for Cricket. She isn’t feeling very well."

"What?" Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed with concern. "She was fine yesterday!"

"Well if you hadn’t left her alone to get drenched in that storm, she probably wouldn’t be so miserable." Steve hadn’t meant to be so harsh with his words, but you had interrupted his beauty sleep the previous night and he was feeling rather disgruntled.

"What’re you trying to say, Steve?

"You shouldn’t have left it so long to tell her." Steve was referring to Priya and how long he'd kept his relationship with her private.

"That’s my decision, Steve." Bucky countered, defensively.

"I know. But maybe you should think about why you were so ready to tell me, but not Cricket."

Bucky clicked his tongue against the roof of mouth, dismissing Steve's comments. "I'm gonna go and see her."

Steve thought about objecting, but decided against it, opting to fetch the things he had promised you.

Bucky’s footsteps echoed down the narrow hallway, each one a heavy reminder of his own recklessness. The storm had raged outside, rain pelting against the window panes like a thousand tiny fists. But he hadn’t been there to shield you from it. Instead, he’d left you alone, vulnerable, and now guilt gnawed at him like a persistent rat.

Your room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn shut against the gray morning. Bucky hesitated at the threshold, his knuckles grazing the wooden doorframe. He’d never been good with words, especially when it came to matters of the heart. But he had to try.

"Cricket?" His voice was soft, almost tentative. He stepped inside, the floorboards creaking under his weight. There you were, cocooned in blankets, your face pale against the pillows. The storm had taken its toll on you, and he cursed himself for not being there.

You stirred, eyelashes fluttering open. "Bucky?" Your voice was a whisper, fragile like a spider’s silk. "What’re you doing here?"

He crossed the room in two strides, perching on the edge of your bed. "I… I heard you weren’t feeling well." His fingers brushed against your forehead, checking for fever. "Steve told me."

You managed a weak smile. "Steve’s a tattletale."

"He cares about you," Bucky said gruffly. "We both do."

"I feel bad for dragging him out of bed last night."

"Cricket, why didn't you tell me you didn't have any way to get back home. I would have brought a car instead of my bike."

You shrugged, “I didn’t think I had to.”

He had been so caught up in his plans to introduce you to Priya that he hadn’t even considered the possibility that you might need a ride home. He had assumed you would find your own way, and he was just starting to realize how selfish that had been. He should have been more attentive, more caring. He laid a hand on your arm, “I’m sorry, Cricket. I should have been more thoughtful. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“Cricket, please, let me make it up to you. I was looking for you this morning. I made your favorite pancakes," Bucky continued. "Thought you could come and have breakfast with me and Priya, before I take her home."

"Sorry," you shrugged, hating this conversation more and more. Why was Steve taking so long to return?

"I was going to spend the day with her, but if you want, I can come back and we can watch some movies."

"Don't cancel your plans on my account." You rolled over, facing away from Bucky.

Your behavior stung, but he couldn't blame you for being angry. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat threatening to choke him. "I’m sorry," he whispered. "For leaving you out there."

"See you later," you mumbled and Bucky knew he had been dismissed. 

Bucky couldn't shake the guilt that weighed heavily on his chest as he walked away. He had always been a good friend, someone who looked out for others and made sure they were taken care of. But in his excitement to introduce you to Priya, he had neglected to consider your needs.

As he walked away, Bucky couldn't stop replaying the conversation in his head. He had let you down, and he wanted to make things right.

Steve appeared a few moments after his departure, his arms laden with homely remedies and a bowl of soup which smelled incredible. Your stomach rumbled hungrily in response, making you blush.

"Here, take this first," Steve shoved a bottle of DayQuil under your nose.

Begrudgingly, you accepted the painkiller gratefully and then proceeded to slurp up the soup. "This is delicious," you hummed in approval.

"Hey, when you're feeling a bit better, I was thinking I could take you out somewhere… cheer you up a little." Steve stuttered towards the end as he saw surprise on your face. 

You swallowed your mouthful of soup before cracking a smile. “Steve, I'd like that.”

Steve smiled back at you. But suddenly, he reached out, grabbing the bowI in your hands, having noticed the slight hitch in your breath. A sneeze rocked your body forcefully and you groaned.

“Thanks,” you accepted the bowl back from Steve.

"No problem. Don't want to make a mess."

“No,” you sighed, finishing the soup in a sad silence.

“Want me to stay?”

“No, it's okay. I'm just going to go back to sleep.”

Steve took the empty dishes and kissed your forehead, glad that it didn't feel as warm as it had earlier. “Feel better, champ.”

You sure hoped you would.

*

A few days later, you were back in fighting form. But much to Bucky's chagrin, he could never seem to catch your attention for more than a passing nod or wave. He wanted to make things right with you. He missed you, he wasn’t used to being so close to you but not being able to talk to you properly. He had the sneaking suspicion that your distance might not just be ill-timed schedules. Were you avoiding him? He wondered if you were still angry at him for not giving you a ride back home after your dinner with Priya. A feeling of melancholy settled over him as he speculated on all the things he could have done that made you take a step away from him. Every reason under the sun spiraled through Bucky’s mind except the real reason for your withdrawal.

Bucky had hoped that meeting someone else, someone who was interested in him would help him push away the feelings he had for you. Closure. That’s what they called it in the movies these days. But this didn’t seem like it was going quite the way he had anticipated. In fact, rather than feeling happier, he felt more tortured than he had before. Maybe going out with Priya would take his mind off things, so he decided to give her a call and schedule a date, she had a way of soothing his turbulent thoughts. Not as well as you did, no one understood him quite like you did.

*

Steve was true to his word, and had whipped up a surprise plan for the two of you to spend the day together. He had chosen a Wednesday, explaining that it was a good time as the place would be less busy. He made sure you had dressed warmly, in spite of the sunny weather. 

"Don’t want you getting ill again," he smiled as you got into the car with him.

"Is that why we’re not taking the bike?"

Steve shook his head, knowing how much you loved riding motorcycles.

"So where are you taking me?" you asked. You’d been trying to get Steve to tell you for the last few days, but the tight lipped Captain had resisted all your wily techniques at information extraction.

"Coney Island."

"Ohh!" you exclaimed. "I haven’t been there for years!" You laughed before a thought popped into your head, a memory. "Are you sure you want to go there, Steve?"

"Why wouldn’t I want to go to Coney Island?"

"Well, I heard about… the… Cyclone Incident."

Steve blushed. "Bucky telling everyone that story, huh?"

"Afraid so." Your smile was soured slightly by the shadow casted by Bucky’s name and you turned to stare out of the window, letting Steve drive in silence.

Steve shook his head. He wanted nothing more than for both his best friends to be happy, and for the two of you to be happy together was the ultimate goal. He hoped that one day both of you would come to your senses, but until then, he would do his best to support you both.

The weather turned out to be fine and you had shed your top layer before even leaving the car.

"Oh come on! Stop being such a dad! We can always come back to the car if it gets chilly!" you responded to Steve’s disapproval.

"Come on then!"

It was a beautiful day filled with laughter and joy between you and Steve. He was glued to your side, treating you to all the rides, indulging you when you wanted to ride the Cyclone repeatedly. Every time you got to the end of the ride, you’d turn to him and make sure he wouldn’t spill his guts. Steve rolled his eyes dramatically as you laughed hysterically.

"What next?" Steve asked. "And don’t tell me we’re doing that again."

"Come on, the girl letting people in definitely has a crush on you! Why do you think we got on for free the last two times?"

Steve grabbed your wrist, "Come on!" He led you away from the rides, over to a cotton candy kiosk, dropping a few notes into the vendor's hand and selecting two cones. You took the liberty of grabbing the blue one from his hand and tucking into it before he had the chance to object.

"Bet I can eat this faster than you can!" Steve suggested slyly.

"Oh, bring it, Rogers!" You tore the stick out of the candy cloud and scrunched it up into a tiny ball, sticking it in your mouth and letting the sugar dissolve on its own.

Steve, who had taken several large bites, looked up in confusion and awe. He eyed your empty hands, then put his finger on your bottom lip, pushing it down and peering into your mouth. 

You indulged his disbelief, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue. "See, all gone! I win!" you smile with glee.

"Wow!"

"You forget, I was the youngest of five! I had to learn to eat fast or I’d lose out." 

Steve chortled quietly at your story. "Fine, what do you want as your prize?" He waved around at all the game stalls, letting you pick your prize.

You gazed around, contemplating your options when you spotted a giant stuffed wolf. "That one!"

Steve was true to his word and threw every bean bag with perfect aim and you pointed at a white plushie which looked a little different to the others. 

"Why don’t you take this one?" the vendor tried to shove a dark gray wolf into your arms, but you declined.

"No thank you, I’d like that one please." You selected one which had been stuffed on a high shelf, away from the others of its kind.

"Honey, this one’s going in the garbage, look at him, white body with one gray leg. It’s a defective product, they made a mistake in the factory. Happens from time to time."

But you were adamant, you wanted the white wolf with the transplanted leg.

"Whatever you want, miss." The vendor handed you the soft toy, which you hugged to your chest. There was something about him that you wanted to keep safe.

Unbeknownst to you, you had been spotted by someone unexpected. Bucky had had a similar thought to Steve, he had brought Priya to the ‘island’ on a quiet weekday for some harmless fun.

"Jamie, look!" Priya tugged at his sleeve. "Isn't that Cricket and Steve?"

Bucky's head whipped around so fast, he almost had empathy for whiplash sufferers. He frowned, eye searching the crowd in the direction of Priya’s outstretched hand. He couldn't believe that you would come here with Steve. He had often suggested a trip to Coney Island to you, but you'd never managed to make the time for it. So seeing you here with Steve made his insides burn with jealousy. Another part of him, his guilt-ridden conscience told him that he didn't deserve you. Naturally, you'd choose the classical hero, Steve. He was the golden boy, even when they'd been kids, Steve was the trouble maker, but somehow Bucky was the one his parents mistrusted. 

"Yeah," he grumbled.

"Let's go over and say hi!"

"I'm sure they don't want us to interrupt them." Bucky vetoed the suggestion with a sulky expression.

"Fair, I mean I wouldn't want anyone interrupting our date either." Priya smiled, taking Bucky's hand, leading him away. Bucky stole one last glance at his two best friends, a deep ache settling inside him as Priya dragged him away from you. 

*

Over the next week, you and Bucky drifted through the compound, both longing for the other but not quite able to find it within yourselves to seek the other out. For you, it was a simple matter of avoidance. You'd made the mistake of touching the flame and now you suffered the burn. But for Bucky it was different. He couldn't understand your absence and he knew nothing of your pain.

He could feel the frustration building up inside him, until one day he caught you returning to your room. And every one of his thoughts and accusations came pouring out.

"What is it? Why’re you upset with me?" Bucky demanded.

"I’m not upset… it’s not- I’m hurt. You hurt me. It’s not that you did something wrong. In fact you haven’t done anything wrong. It’s just that I thought you’d share something big, like dating, with me. But you kept it secret. For four months! I thought we told each other everything. I … I just expected-" you shrugged. "And that’s the problem here. My expectations were wrong, and I’m ashamed. But you didn’t do anything wrong. You have nothing to apologize for. But somehow I feel like I’m going to lose you."

"You’ll never lose me, Cricket."

"But Buck, I already have. Like she said… she’s your best friend now." Bucky opened his mouth to interrupt, but you put your hand out to stop him talking. "I just need some time to deal with that. Is that okay?"

"I didn’t mean to hurt you," he mumbled. The sincerity evident in his tone and face.

"I know, Buck," you sighed. "I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty. Please, I want you to be happy. I’m happy for you."

"Please, let me make this up to you." Bucky grabbed your wrist, desperately.

"You can do that by making sure you take care of yourself. I’m always going to be with you, on missions and stuff, partner," you patted his upper arm. "I just think that our friendship’s going to change a little… and I just need some time to get used to that."

"Is this because of Steve?"

"Steve?" you repeated after him, feeling confused by the change in topic. "What does Steve have to do with this?"

"Are you together?"

"What? No! Bucky, why would you think that?"

"I just…" He shrugged, not quite able to bring up seeing you at Coney Island, or the moment of closeness you had had with Steve the night he had introduced you to Priya.

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter

Tag list: @samodivaa @scoonsalicious @literaryavenger @noonespecial90 @browneyedgrli @vicmc624 @cjand10 @capswife @julvrs @ordelixx @sashaisready @sebastians-love @thealloveru2 @belleofthebooks

[azzibuckets]

this isn’t the end or anything part 3 [pazzi]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: this is probably my favorite series i’ve ever written so i like to take my time writing each part. apologies for the wait!

word count: 1.7k

masterlist

“Seat taken?”

Paige hovers over the fifth row of seats on the bus, mouth going dry as she anticipates Azzi’s answer. She doesn’t really know what she’s doing; she didn’t board the bus planning to be stupid and try to sit next to Azzi, but when she saw how pretty the younger girl looked all bundled up in her beanie and overcoat, she knew she had to at least try.

Azzi doesn’t look up from her phone. “You know I’m not gonna talk to you.”

“That’s fine.”

Azzi sighs, and after a moment’s hesitation she picks up her backpack from the seat next to her, setting it on the floor instead. Trying to fight back a smile, Paige plops down and casts a quick glance at Azzi’s phone, wondering if the younger girl’s fixation to her screen the past few days is due to a new love interest. When Azzi doesn’t seem to notice her prying eyes, Paige moves a little bit closer, craning her neck to try to decipher who exactly Azzi is texting.

All of a sudden, Azzi looks up, making eye contact with Paige as the blonde quickly sits back with a guilty look on her face.

“Seriously?” Azzi says irritatedly.

“Sorry,” Paige replies meekly, knowing that it’s pointless to deny the obvious.

Azzi shakes her head before shutting off her phone and staring intensely out the window. Paige knows she should be more upset about Azzi’s coldness towards her, especially after what she admitted two nights ago, but right now she’s just happy to be in Azzi’s presence. And although being crammed in a bus surrounded by their teammates and coaches isn’t the most optimal privacy, it’s the closest they’ve gotten to being alone since that night and Paige is willing to take whatever she gets.

“You know I like you, right?” Once the words come out and Paige realizes what she’s just said, she fights the urge to clamp her hand over her own mouth.

Azzi’s head snaps up.

Paige shifts in her seat. She knows she’s probably going about this wrong, but the words she’s said to Azzi months ago is still weighing on her mind, and technically Azzi can’t go anywhere when she’s trapped between her and the window. So she forges on. “You said you needed space.”

“No, you said you needed space,” Azzi says evenly.

Paige rubs her eyes. “Okay, so we both said we needed space.”

Azzi is silent.

“I just…I miss you, you know? And I’ve figured out my feelings, and I don’t want space anymore.”

Azzi folds her arms over herself, as if she’s trying to burrow into herself and disappear completely. “I don’t wanna talk about this right now.”

“Can we talk about it later?”

“I don’t know.”

“Azzi-,”

“I’m not ready, Paige, okay?” Azzi’s voice is tired, and Paige doesn’t like it, doesn’t like how Azzi doesn’t just seem tired, she seems tired of her.

“Okay.” A beat. “I’m sorry.”

Azzi tips her head back and exhales slowly. “Not your fault.”

“I can switch seats, if you’re uncomfortable.”

“You’re fine.”

Paige wants to throw up. This is why she hasn’t tried approaching Azzi - no contact with her is better then whatever this awkward tension is. Paige can feel her sinuses tightening, her throat closing, that familiar feeling pricking at the corner of her eyes. But she can’t cry, not now, when there’s five hours of road ahead of them. So she puts in her airpods and tries to think of everything but Azzi. She fails.

•••••••••••••

“I don’t care about what’s going on off the court, but you better get your shit together. I didn’t make you captain for no goddamn reason.”

Geno slams the door on his way out. He’s furious, and Paige is too. 10 points, 3 assists and 5 turnovers. She knows it’s not about the stats, that Geno cares more about her effort and the way she seemed to just give up during the last quarter. But the numbers are engrained into her brain, and the persistent ache at the back of her head is throbbing now. She tries to reflect on the game, to recall the moments she’d slipped up, the moments she’d gotten too comfortable. But despite the sweat still fresh on her neck, the memories are foggy and she feels dizzy just thinking about it.

Paige’s phone lights up with a text from Nika asking her if she’s going to the bar with the rest of the team, but she ignores it. Alcohol would make her headache worse, and all she wants to do right now is lie in her bed and mourn over how bad she played. She knows it’s not a healthy way to cope. Azzi used to always get on her ass about how getting in her own head wouldn’t make it better. Azzi would force Paige out of bed, set up a laptop with film to go over every single play, both of them writing notes on their observations and then sharing it at the end. By the time their debrief finished, Paige always felt lighter, determined and ready for the next practice now with a new list of things to work on. But Azzi wasn’t here, and now Paige was spiraling.

When she gets back to her hotel room, Paige slumps into clean white sheets. She knows she should respond to her teammates’ messages, but before she knows it she’s out.

•••••••••••••••••

“You look hot tonight,” Amari cheers, hip bumping her friend.

Azzi blushes, hands smoothing down her top. “Thank you.” She looks around the bar, trying to enjoy the lively atmosphere after their tough win, but a pit of guilt settles in the bottom of her stomach when she thinks about Paige. Their teammates assumed that Paige had fallen asleep by her lack of response to their texts, but Azzi knew better than that. She felt physically sick thinking of Paige huddled in her room all alone while the rest of them were out celebrating.

Before she knows it, she’s left the bar and she’s back at the hotel, hand reaching out to knock. When she finally summons her courage to give a couple short raps on the door, a groggy Paige opens the door. Surprise flickers across her face before she straightens up. “Azzi?” Her voice is subdued with sleep, soft, a little bit hoarse.

Azzi takes in Paige’s bloodshot eyes and red nose. “You look like shit.”

Paige harrumphs. “Thanks.”

Without an invitation, Azzi barrels through the door, pretending to be curious about the layout of the room when hers is the exact same. “You didn’t come tonight.”

“Yeah, sorry. Wasn’t feeling it.” Paige goes back to her bed and wraps the blanket around herself.

“Did you eat yet?”

Paige shakes her head.

“Do you want me to order anything?”

Another shake of the head. “Not hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten in 12 hours, you have to eat something.”

Paige finally looks up, making eye contact with Azzi. “Stop,” she says, her tone worn out, her voice a little rough at the edges. “Stop pretending like you care about me.”

Azzi’s veins turn ice cold. “What?”

“I know you can’t stand me anymore. I was fucking delusional thinking that forcing you to sit next to me on the bus would change anything. But it’s fine.” Paige lies down and rolls over with her back to her best friend, hoping that Azzi won’t be able to sense the fact that she’s about to burst into tears. “I took some Nyquil. I’ll be good. You can go.”

There’s silence, and Paige closes her eyes, willing herself to hold back her tears for just a few more seconds. But the bed dips, and the touch on her face is so light and gentle that she thinks she’s dreaming before Azzi speaks. “I care about you. You don’t think I care about you? Christ, Paige, you’re all I ever think about.��

The tears slip out of her eyes, and Paige curses herself for being weak. She can’t even keep herself together for one goddamn minute. “Then why are we still like this? We can’t even talk to each other without being normal.”

“I told you, I’m not ready yet, Paige.”

“Will you ever be?”

When Azzi doesn’t respond, Paige sobs harder. She feels Azzi go in to wipe her tears, but she jerks away before the younger girl can reach her. Paige’s heart is already breaking into a thousand little pieces, and feeling Azzi’s touch would make this so much harder than it already is. “Can you please just leave?”

Azzi’s face falls. “Paige, you’re burning up and have a fever, I’m not leaving you.”

“You’re only gonna make this worse.” Paige knows she’s ugly crying now, but she can’t help it. She’s angry and she’s sad and she’s hurt, and Azzi is so close, so close yet so far away.

“You’re sick and you-,”

“Azzi, please just leave me alone.” And Paige doesn’t mean for her words to come out so harsh, but seeing Azzi sitting there forlornly with that look in her eyes is killing her inside, and she can’t take it anymore.

Azzi stands up, pain written all over her face. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“You already did.” Paige turns around, and she has a cold sense of deja vu. She’s been in this exact situation before, her lying on the bed while Azzi leaves. But this time, she’s the one who’s asked her to go, and Paige didn’t know how it could get worse from that night all those months ago but it somehow fucking has.

Despite the physical exhaustion from the game and the emotional turmoil from the day, Paige can’t fall asleep. When she hears a knock on the door a couple hours later, she half hopes it’s Azzi, but when she opens the door it’s just an Uber delivery man. “Chicken noodle soup from Frazo’s for Paige?”

“I didn’t order this.”

“Uh, well it says the person who ordered this is an Azzi Fudd? She ordered it to this room. Do you know her?”

Paige looks tiredly at the man. “No.”

The man furrows his eyebrows. “Um, well...”

“You can just take it. Free dinner, yay. Here’s a 20 for the trouble.” Paige shoves the bill into the man’s hand and closes the door. She leans on the counter with her face in her hands, a million questions running through her mind. She doesn’t understand why Azzi is so hot and cold. Why Azzi still can’t figure out her feelings after months and months of space. Why Azzi can’t just love her back. She curses, wishing she’d never met the dark haired girl in the first place. But then she thinks about Azzi’s smile, and she takes it back.

Christ. Everything hurts. Paige thought she knew heartbreak when her seventh grade crush turned out to be straight, but this is different. This is all-consuming. It’s like every cell of her body knows she’s missing something. Her heart physically hurts. Head pounding, nose sniffling, eyes watering, Paige lies down on the floor, wishing the granite would absorb her.

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Request: Knoxx Wyatt (cowboy yandere) reacting to us (his darling) deciding to go back to the city (cause we got better job prospects or something, I don’t know). What would this man do to keep us from leaving? (And I guess this would still technically be early into the “relationship” where we aren’t long term commitment or haven’t truly “defined” the relationship yet). I just wanna see this man become unhinged. See his “yan” side 😉

P.S. Don’t ever feel guilty about your pregnancy/baby stories. I love them (and probably a lot of your fans since we all most likely got breeding/pregnancy kinks…cause this is Tumblr after all…😘)

Yandere! Cowboy x New in town! Teacher! gn! Reader

WHAT IF: Darling goes back to the city?

Thanks for the reassurance anon! I was seriously getting worried LMAO. Now, I think you know where this is going with what would Knoxx do...

TW: Tampered contraceptives, forced breeding.

"Darlin... What do you mean by that?"

Knoxx gripped the saddle in his hands, his eyes wide as saucers.

You shrugged and gave him your phone which he snatched up immediately.

It was an email in which you're assigned to be a teacher in a prestigious University.

Knoxx felt cold in the stomach. The veins on his arm starting to bulge, blood pumping hastily to his heart as his mind went haywire with the prospect of you--

No, he can't even imagine it.

"But Darlin, yer only been 'ere for months. Not even a year." Knoxx whispered, trying to grit back the wallowing despair in his chest.

"That's what I said! But it's such a good opportunity. With a salary that's definitely much better. No offense."

"N-none taken."

"Besides, I still got two months here!"

Knoxx bit the inside of his cheeks, feeling his molars squish down the flesh, piercing it and letting the blood flow down to his tongue, tasting the metallic flavor before it trickled down to his throat.

Yet, no matter how much he hurts himself, he's not waking from his nightmare.

He wanted to let out a bitter cry but all he could do is laugh deeply. His eyes shaking from the raging emotions that threatened to bubble out.

His mind, heart, and body screamed to hold you down and break your legs, locking you up.

But he didn't.

He let out a trembling sigh and gave a wry smirk.

"Is that so, darlin? Congratulations." He mustered up his best acting skills and bowed with his cowboy hat on his chest.

His smirk widened when he gazed at your body, eyes hungrily drinking in your form.

"How about this, darlin? Let's make the most of those two months. You and me, fucking like animals. Just like you wanted." Knoxx grinned, gulping the blood and giving you such predatory eyes that he knows you love.

You shivered, heat pooling your stomach and lighting up arousal in your body.

"okay. Later night?"

"Oh sure, darlin."

Knoxx pocketed his fist on his jeans, fidgeting with the condoms he had in tow, while his eyes bore into the pin you have on your chest. Specifically, the pointy end.

"See you later."

~~~Two months later~~~

By the time you were supposed to leave the town, you threw up in the toilet bowl, emptying the hearty meal you prepared yourself. The smell of the paprika and pepper singing your sinuses and making you nauseous once more.

Your heart raced.

You loved pepper and paprika chicken.

You loved spicy foods.

Why would it make you sick?

Food poisoning? No. Impossible.

Your legs shook as you stood up, looking at the bedroom and seeing Knoxx's naked back hugging your pillow.

With a frantic search in the bedroom, you spot the used condoms on the floor beside your bed, and your breath hitched, seeing it leak on the tip. It's tampered with. Every. Single. Condom.

Did he also poked holes on the other condoms he used with your previous encounters?

You felt nauseous once more, but this time, due to your disgust and betrayal, mixed with fear.

You wanted to cry, to scream.

But you don't want to risk waking him up.

You need to get out of there.

With a hasty yet careful movement, you dressed up and ran outside, but stopped when you heard growls. Dog growls.

Knoxx herding dogs were circling you, backing you up back to the porch of your house. Eyes hostile yet calm, they herded you back to the frame of the door until you bumped into a hard surface.

You tensed, feeling two strong arms circle around your waist and felt the hands palm your stomach.

"Hmm... Bun in the oven. How delightful."

Knoxx's husky and deep voice sent shivers down your spine as he kissed your neck and slowly swayed you left to right.

"darlin, let's go back to bed. Pregnancy this early is especially dangerous for you."

You wanted to scream and shout, yet Knoxx's ranch was too big for other people to hear.

Was Knoxx's house this far from the town?

Was Knoxx's ranch always this deserted?

You felt something cover your head, making you flinch.

It's his cowboy hat.

Remember, he already staked his claim on you.

You're his.

[baddieladdie]

♡ Companion Shorts ♡

Fallout companions react to depressed vault dweller

Rating: Teen Charon ➼ Arcade Gannon ➼ Hancock ➼ Nick Valentine ➼ Deacon

Charon [FO3]

"What are you doing?" Charon grumbled from behind you, annoyed at the sudden stop in broad daylight. The view was nice from this vantage point, but it also meant they were in clear view of any hidden antagonists.

The burden of your loneliness beckons you to the ground. You fall to your knees, though the weight off your legs does nothing for heaviness in your spirit.

Why? You didn't know why.

Perhaps you had been too optimistic. Believed so wrongly that you could bring change to the wasteland. Or at least bring some minor degree of improvement. It was futile, all along. The wasteland was ever hungry, taking everything it was given and reducing it to rubbish. Even with the few good deeds done, the Talon company just kept sending mercenaries to kill you for the very slight of fighting the good fight. No good deed goes unpunished, right?

You look down the chasm below, half-hearted imagining your mutilated body on the rocks. Would even your death make a difference? Or would it just be one more life taken by the wastes?

"Hey," A familiar firm hand gripped your shoulder, "It's not safe here."

Tension swelled up in your sinuses as you shrugged his hand off. You clenched your hands together, digging your nails into the palm of your hand. The subtle pain was refreshing against the agony in your mind.

Charon was a victim even before the bombs fell; a constant reminder that humanity was corrupt well before apocalypse. Perhaps you really weren't so separated from the innate evil nature in the human spirit. You relied on Charon in nearly every fire fight. Taking advantage of his experience and strength through a contract you knew was akin to slavery. He obeyed every command, helped with every request. Never questioning you for a moment and always risking his life. You felt sickened on your reliance on that bloody contract. You should be finding a way to free him, and yet....where would that leave you? Dead? And what future what that be? Dead now or just dead later...

Charon grumbled as he sat beside you on the chasm's edge. He had seen ages pass, experienced more agony than he could ever be bothered to explain. For some employers, he'd leave them to their devices. But you? You are one of the few bastards crazy enough to help others selflessly in the wasteland. Even if wasteland was utterly indifferent to your efforts, it certainly be a darker place without the hope you brought others with each intentional good dead. Their very existence showed a brighter side of humanity that was a rarity in dark times.

"Tell me what troubles you," Charon's familiar gravelly voice was laced with an unfamiliar tone of... genuine concern?

"I just," You sigh heavily. "I don't know how much longer I can keep going on like this."

"I've wondered the same thing myself." Charon nodded with an empty stare.

You felt a pang of guilt at the possibility of bringing up painful memories for him.

Charon continued hesitantly. "I feel I must remind you; I am honor bound to keep you safe. From threats and, if necessary, from yourself"

"I don't want t-"

Before you can finish your thought, Charon scoops you up into his arms and walks you away from the ledge. "You need to be more careful," He complained. "You won't make a difference out here if you're dead."

He carries on walking through the awkward silence. "We passed a shelter not far from here. We could rest until you feel ready to continue again. We could uh, listen to that radio broadcast you like you so much."

"Maybe play game?" you tease.

"Don't push your luck, kid."

-Charon carries you to the shelter where he watches over you diligently until the worst of your depression episode passes-

Arcade [FNV]

You stare blankly at the ceiling above. Small particles of dust lazily hung in the air of the abandoned cabin you and Arcade took shelter in a few days ago. You really should leading the charge back out into the Mojave, but you simply couldn't find the energy to do so. Therefore, you simply rested.

Arcade knocked on the door and patiently waited for a response you couldn't be bothered to provide.

"Alright, guess I'm just going to let myself in then. I'll give you to the count of three," Arcade raised his voice from behind the wooden slat door. "You better be decent by then." you head him mumble.

Arcade cracked open the door, peering around to see your still body in the same position as when he gave you a mug of coffee hours before.

"In another one of our spells, are we?" His sarcasm brought you little comfort.

"Sorry. I just lose my heads sometimes," you sigh with a heavy heart.

"If by 'sometimes' you mean 'a lot of times', I agree. Please just....go easy on yourself, okay?"

You nodded, the vague emptiness you felt threatening to swallow you whole. Taking everything with it 'til you couldn't feel nothing at all.

"This is worse than before, isn't it?" Arcade pulled up a chair next to you. It creaked under his weight as he sat down. "Was it something I said?"

You shook your head. "No, nothing like that. I'm just....tired, Arcade. I'm fine, really." You gave a meager fake smile, hoping to appease the kindly doctor.

"Mmhm," Arcade paused for a beat. "Is that all?"

You could have sworn you were just tired, but now that you think about it, there were some troubles on your mind. Arcade waited patiently for you to open him to him about it. He did enjoy lengthy conversations more than most and always had his opinions ready.

"Ready to get back out there?"

"All right, let's not waste any time!" Arcade rested his doctor's bag on a shoulder, the enthusiasm in his voice giving away his excitement. "There are people out there to help, things to learn. Maybe not in that order, but let's get to it!"

Hancock [FO4]

Hancock chuckled, lounging on the couch next to you in the old state house. "I don't buy that shit for a minute." He shook his head, "No way, you can't fool me, sister/brother." He casually rested his hand on your thigh, immediately drawing your attention to him. "It hasn't been easy transition ya, has it?"

Your eyes began to water as Hancock looked you over with care. He nodded slowly with genuine understanding, "I didn't think so. No one should have to go through what you've been through." He gave your hand a little squeeze. "Ya always give me hope for brighter future. Cause I get to have you in my life." He smiled, "Cause the odds, it's practically impossible our paths would ever meet. I mean, you're pre-war, baby. The freshest smoothskin around and you wanna be a drugged out, dragged out ghoul?! That's how I know all that karma shit is bull, 'cause there is no way someone like you could ever end up with me."

You granted him a half-smile with the compliment. But the mayor didn't quite seem to grasp yet that you had burdens, very real and unconventionally heavy emotional baggage. Not that there was a trauma competition in nuclear wasteland, but you would have at least won a medal in most-fucked psyche. Your smooth nature stopped at skin level.

"It's been a Hell of road that brought us together, but aren't I glad I took up with you? 'Cause this person," Hancock paused, waiting patiently until you returned his gaze before continuing, " - the one I'm looking at right now. They're the one I love. I don't want to be without them ever again."

You wince slightly, his words a little too sweet. "You sure about this, Hancock? I mean, with everything I've been through...." You sigh heavily, your chest falling. "People are going to talk, Mayor" You give him a sly look, knowing how he enjoyed the occasional call to his title.

"Can't say I care much about what others think. Half the opinions out there aren't worth listening to anyway. The only opinion I care about, is yours." He grinned.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable. Are you sure?" "You kidding me? So long as I got you at my side, it doesn't matter the capacity. I'm with you all the way, rain or shine" "You're a damn fine man, Hancock. I'm lucky to have you at my back." "And God help any of 'em who get in our way."

Nick Valentine [FO4]

"In my line of work, you usually see folks at their worst. I can tell there's something troubling you. You want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly." You grumble. You swirled with antagonistic emotions, unable to tell where one pain started and the other ended. Guess that's just what happens after you go through one too many impossible tragedies. Losing the love of your life and child alone was unimaginable. Your years of service in the U.S. army gave you the 'gift' of surviving the nuclear attacks that transformed your home and country to a primitive wasteland. You've always tried to make the best decisions possible for your family. But if you hadn't signed up for Vault 101, would you have died peacefully alongside your love? Would that have been better? You stared into your hands, agonizing over the conversation you had with the Vault-tec sales rep.

"Not enough people out here are willing to try and do what's right. I consider myself awful lucky I fell in with one who is," Nick paused, the smoke from his cigarette seeping from the metal cracks in his feature. He glanced around the Boston shore, checking for any ne'er-do-wells. But the coast was clear, perhaps due to their combat efforts earlier that day. He cleared his throat, and continued with some insistence, "If there is something bothering you, I'd like to be the one to help lighten the load. I happen to know a thing or two about find yourself after losing the life you thought you had."

"Thanks, Nick," You snap out of momentarily. The Boston harbor air was foul. You couldn't escape the reality you were in, no matter how you tried. The smells, the sounds, the food - none of it was familiar. "I'll be fine. I just don't sleep well." That wasn't much of a lie. Whenever you try to sleep, the memory of your love screaming your name returned. Their blood painting the inside of their frozen coffin while you watched helpless from inside your own. When you eventually fell asleep, the unfamiliar sounds of gunfire, screams of terror from the wasteland, and shouts of mutants would wake you. It was all just too much.

"I think it's time we take a break from the case, friend."

"What?!" You jump up from the bench, "We can't stop now! Not with the progress we've made!"

Nick flinched in surprise, but quickly settled to a concerned frown. "You haven't been yourself lately. We-," Nick sighed, committing to genuine honesty as he often did. "Partner, I need you at your best to solve this case. Come on, let's go back to the agency. I'll review the case files and you get some rest."

You look away, anger and guilt fuming within you. "I don't feel much like resting, Nick. I want to finish this."

Nick let your words marinate in the pregnant silence. "Is that what you want? To 'finish' this?" He gripped a metal hand your shoulder and looked down into your eyes. "I understand, you must feel angry. You have every right to be. But hurting others won't bring them back."

You simply couldn't hold it in anymore. Tears of grief, rage, and pain streamed hotly down your face, pooling at the apex of your chin. Nick pulled you into a tight embrace, rubbing your back as you cried into his signature detective trench coat.

"I'm sorry, friend. Truly."

Deacon [FO4]

You take a long drag off your cigarette, savoring that ever-so-familiar lightheadedness. The weather was shit, as it always was in Boston. Cloudy, and damp. You wrapped your cloak a little tighter around yourself, but it didn't do you much good. The bitter cold you felt reached deeper than your bones and left you frozen to your core. Just an icy fraction of the vibrant person you were before. Before you lost everything you had fought for, everything that had mattered to you. It all was gone. And along with it, any reason to carry on.

You exhaled slowly, watching your frozen breath drift aimlessly away from your cracked lips. Deacon watched quietly from aside, nursing a chilled Nuka-cola. He cleared his throat awkwardly. Genuine words never did come easily to him. Deacon had always found it more comfortable to flirtatiously avoid the truth. Kept him safe from every getting hurt....and ever making close friends. Deacon, being a loner himself, recognized the loneliness you dwelled in.

"I know what I feels like to wear a mask. That kind of protection only ambiguity can give you. But really - are you feeling okay? Cause you can talk to me"

"Another one of your little lies?" You sigh, tapping the ash off the butt of your cigarette.

"No, not this time," Deacon kept an uncharacteristically straight face

You pause, stirred by the sincerity present in Deacon's voice. He loved the way lies could crack your usual composure. You watch his expression carefully, checking for any usual hint of his usual mischievous nature. But all that saw on his face was genuine concern for a companion he cared deeply about.

"Well, look who's acting out of character now," you tease. "Thanks, Deacon. I appreciate that. And I'll be fine. It just, uh...." you take in a deep breath. "It takes time, building up this new life. Making these new memories. Building these new relationships. Just sometimes, I uh, miss my old life. My old friends. Sometimes I see something, and I just know my spouse would have loved to see it."

"I know. But we'll stop the Insititute. For them."

"Right," You nod, filled with determination. "For them."

To.Be.Continued...

[astranite]

Love is Stored in the Pasta

Scott, John and pasta.

This started off from a tumblr post 'cause somebody needed to cook that guy some pasta!!

Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, really very mild scott is hangrysad, ft john's space issues, Chronic Illness, as thats what im treating it as and its not the focus here he's just living with it, Scott Tracy has ADHD, this is important, Autistic John Tracy, lowkey here but also Important to me, this is fun and fluffy and i love them, i hope this is like a warm comforting bowl of pasta to you too

---

“We need to talk,” John said.

On the other side of the call, Scott’s hologram slumped over his desk, his head landing in his hands. “Oh God.”

“I found your search history…” John began.

Scott peered out sheepishly from behind his fingers. “I can explain!”

“It’s just pages and pages of pasta?” 

John was puzzled, honestly. Five to ten recipe blogs and that was Scott trying to decide what to make for dinner during a meeting or while he was struggling to concentrate on work. During lulls between callouts, he and John would sometimes debate options together. More than forty separate sites visited at 3:12pm on a Tuesday afternoon and Eos had flagged it for John, on suspicion that Scott’s computer had been hacked by a malicious entity or some other AI virus.

Scott went from double facepalm of despair to full on faceplant, his head hitting the desk with an audible thunk.

“Why so much pasta?” John questioned. Now his curiosity was piqued, he couldn’t let it go or he’d be doing EVA work later, still turning over possibilities in his mind, which wasn’t conducive to the constant concentration needed while floating around in the vacuum. Outside, any misstep would be your last.

“I dunno. I just feel like pasta,” Scott mumbled into the wood.

Scott sounded…weird. Like he was about to start laughing, or coming down with a cold.

“Scott? Are you okay?”

It had better not be another flu; corralling Scott to take care of himself was hard enough even if he wasn’t feverish. John wouldn’t be able to come down either, quarantined up in Five unless he already had it. Was the slight tug of a headache at his temples from his sinuses beginning to clog up too?

Scott hadn’t looked up yet; his shoulders were shaking. John wiggled his fingers anxiously.

“Scotty?”

Big brother’s head shot up at the nickname John so rarely used. Had John intended to provoke that reaction? The name had been a slip of the tongue but if he was was honest, he sort of had meant to jar Scott out of his thoughts. He never called Scott, Scotty unless he was scared though. And Scott not answering him did tick tick tick up his system from yellow alert into red.

“I’m fine, it’s okay. Don’t worry about me.” Scott’s words ran over each other in an attempt to come first. His voice sounded oddly wet.

Tears, yes those were indeed tears dulled by holographic format, tumbled down Scott’s cheeks.

As soon as he saw John looking, Scott turned away.

Suddenly, John landed on the spark of insight that he had a hunch would crack the code to his big brother’s distress. “Have you eaten anything all day?”

Scott dug around for tissues in a drawer of the desk and gave a half shrug. “I guess not—not really? I tried to before you say anything. Got a mouthful of breakfast in and then there was a call out. Lunch didn’t happen, there was a meeting, I had to make coffee, I ran out of time. I don’t really feel hungry though…”

That did explain a few things. It was well known family lore that Virgil and Alan got hangry, and Gords went all sad and mopey. Scott and John himself though, they got …really, unstably emotional. 

So yeah, hence the unexpected bursting into tears. John got the whole shit interoception and not even noticing if you needed to eat while you were buried in work thing; Scott was way too used to ignoring his body too. 

John took a deep breath. “Scott, and I’m one-hundred percent serious about this, do you want me to come down there and make you some pasta?”

Thunderbird Five systems whirred around John in the quiet as Scott hesitated.

“Maybe,” he whispered. “Or you don’t have to, I’ll wait, Virge’ll be doing dinner in a bit anyway.”

“Virgil won’t be up until past sunset after the hours Thunderbird Two was out yesterday and into this morning,” John said gently. “You need to eat before then.”

Nor would an overwhelmed Scott and the kitchen be a good combination at this point, and John saw the moment Scott realised this, while fidgeting with the rubix cube on his desk. 

“I want to do this for you,” John told him.

Scott dashed at his eyes, sniffled a few times and finally capitulated. “Okay. Thanks, Jay.”

John smiled and signed off, heading for the space elevator. He was usually so far away, he was right now, but it was in his power to close off that distance when he needed to and today he could use that. 

He farewelled Eos; she so often missed him but the opportunities to run the space station on her own that weren’t emergencies where he was incapacitated excited her. They showed how much he had come to trust and rely on her. Plus she got full reign of their virtual chess set.

On Earth, Scott was waiting for him as the elevator docked, his hands stuck casually in his jeans pockets but looking as pale and wobbly as John felt. His face was still tearstained.

“Hey.”

“Hey to you too.” John took a few heavy steps before throwing himself at Scott, wrapping his arms around his brother tightly, all the while careful not to knock him off balance. Scott stiffened then melted into John. 

Usually that interaction went the other way around. 

Scott used the extra height space gave John to rest his head on him without having to duck down like with everyone else. John hugged him close and comfortingly as his fingers tap tap tapped their rhythm at Scott’s shoulder. All of it meant I love you.

“Pasta time?” John said eventually.

Scott nodded silently, following when John started off towards the kitchen. The raw rock wall of the hanger was rough and vividly solid in its three dimensions, as John ran his hand along it for balance as he walked that initial part. He was touching the Earth, he was in the Earth, he was on Earth.

With cold water from the fridge dispenser and the fizzy, brightly coloured tablets shook out of their tube, John made up lidded cups of electrolyte drink for himself and Scott. John needed to be sculling the stuff perpetually to stay upright down here, and he would not be at all surprised if Scott was dehydrated too. It might to something for John’s headache, could go either way for the nausea coming on.

He put a large pot on the heat. One advantage of having a stove so high powered that it could nuke anything it touched was that any volume of water boiled fast. 

An entire packet of fettuccine got tipped into the enthusiastic cacophony of bubbles. John poked at it with a pasta scoop, regretting that he hadn’t snapped the long pieces to actually fit in better. Ah well. 

He shook in an excessive-to-anyone-not-him amount of salt with a shrug ‘cause he needed it, before having another go at separating the pasta. The pasta scoop was quite an effective implement for that, there were reasons after all it was Gordon’s favourite utensil as John remembered from previous discussions. One could also use it to mash potatoes when held vertically, if one so pleased. His second favourite was the tongs as they could be clicked like crab claws and used to pinch unsuspecting siblings. 

Scott watched from his place slumped over the kitchen bench on a stool, chewing on the ragged skin at the edge of his thumbnail. He was trying to work on a couple of screens pulled up as holomonitors, as unsuccessfully as could be expected. John came over and hopped up to sit on the bench, clipping through the projected email inbox and meeting minutes so Scott dismissed them. It was with a sigh of relief.

They smiled tiredly at each other.

The pasta! John tapped at his uniform comms watch. “Eos, set a timer for the pasta, please?” John shaved the minute that had already passed off of the box time and then another couple to ensure it wouldn’t come out mushy.

“So what sort of stuff on pasta do you feel like? There’s a good lot of options you were looking at earlier.”

“We don’t have the ingredients for most of those, I checked. No eggs and no mushrooms so no carbonara. Technically that wouldn’t be authentic carbonara though. No cream cheese. We missed this week’s supply run so we don’t even have any frozen peas!” Scott threw his hands up in the air.

“Hmmm. You feel like something creamy?”

“Yeah. Honestly at this point I’d eat anything.”

John swung his legs and tapped his fingers on the counter while he thought.

“I believe some bacon is hiding in the bottom of the freezer so that’s something. And…” he trailed of as he moved his head too fast and set off a wave of dizziness as he looked around the kitchen.

“Avocado!” Scott exclaimed.

“Avocado?”

“Funny story, we ended up with several cases of them after that rescue on that farm where we saved the whole village and nearly all their trees from catastrophic flooding. They really need eating too and there’s only so much toast you can stand.”

“I have heard theoretically of putting avo on pasta and it does sound good. Mmmm bacon and avocado, John hummed. “Worth a shot?”

Scott reached towards the fruit bowl in answer, grinning at John. “Soon we will have pasta!”

John peeled off the upper half of his uniform and tied the arms around his waist in preparation. In the subtropical summer down here he was already getting too hot and while the temperature regulation built into his suit would do its best to make up for his own body’s lack thereof, it felt weird to have everything covered up from fingertips to neck down here while he was cooking.

Scott began to giggle.

“Huh?” John said, extremely eloquently.

Scott gestured at him. 

“My suit?” Was something up with his suit? The full gloved hands and sleeves flopping about without John in them had been known to amuse the lot of them on occasion, ever since he’d used the empty suit as a phoney decoy of himself to trick Eos. It was pretty funny now no one was in mortal peril and Eos was his friend.

“Your face!” Scott exclaimed.

“What’s wrong with my face?” 

John frowned. Was it his fringe that never could survive true gravity? He hadn’t gotten freckles while he’d been down all of half an hour and inside, had he? Then he looked down.

His t-shirt had a photograph of his face printed on it, and across the chest, emblazoned in neon orange read the words ‘Space Face’, courtesy of one particular fish brother. Ah yes. That.

John sighed, resting his chin on his hand to hide the smile he couldn’t quite control. “Not exactly subtle, is it? In my defence this was the only one in my closet that was clean and you can’t exactly see it beneath my suit. It’s all Gordon’s fault anyway!”

Scott was still laughing, albeit a touch hysterically and at him, but John took it as a win regardless.

Eventually Scott grabbed himself a cutting board and knife to get to work on the avocados as John carefully slipped off the bench, steadying himself on the counter as his ankles went noodley so he could handle the bacon. 

Bacon, bacon, now where had he seen that bacon? He had the image of it in his head, but that was only one piece of the puzzle, a photograph, humanly imperfect, memory woven out of instinct. Digging about in the deep freeze which the evidence pointed to as best John could tell had his fingers feeling like he’d stuck them out in space with out gloves on. They ached sharply as John cursed his crappy circulation. 

He gladly found the bacon though, lurking at the second darkest depths. He would not be willing to venture into the midnight zone of Unidentified Frozen Objects and charred dinner leftovers put away for ‘later’. He chucked the packet into the microwave and thawed out his hands by running them under lukewarm water, wincing all the while. If he’d thought this through, if he’d been smart enough, he would’ve put his suit gloves back on—his space rated, cold proof, most definitely impervious to domestic appliances gloves— and saved himself the pain.

Scott came over to rinse his avocado green hands. He dried them off then wrapped his arms around John’s waist so he could lean on him, giving in for a moment in face of daunting gravity. With Scott, he could because Scott got him; they both could.

“You alright?” And there was big brother smotherhen coming out.

John flexed his defrosted fingers. “I will be.” He turned and smushed his face into Scott’s neck for a little bit, hugging back, Scott rested his head on John’s, and they stayed there for a while.

They were both fading. The pasta would help with that, Scott really needed to eat and so did John at this point, the half a dry bagel for breakfast and another at lunch hadn’t really been enough. The trick now was finishing the task that felt as if it expanding faster by the second than the Universe, as measured by the Hubble Constant was. They could do this though. Together.

Scott chopped up the bacon roughly and John cooked it, hissing back when it spat hot oil at him. 

When Eos notified them the timer had gone off, and John had very scientifically tested the pasta was done by nomming on a bit, he called Scott over carry the large pot to the colander in the sink to strain. 

“Gravity plus boiling water plus my space noodley arms are probably not a good combo,” he laughed. 

He was getting better at knowing his limits. Scott’s smile was small and proud, he saw John.

Scott stared at the bacon with the intensity of a starved wolf with its mouth watering, then stole some pieces hot from the pan and burnt his mouth. Scoff Tracy strikes again. 

They dumped the pasta in a big mixing bowl with the mashed avocado, a little lemon juice, the bacon, and a whole lot of salt, pepper and parmesan cheese, mixing it together with the big pasta scoop.

John swayed on his feet then, grabbing onto Scott to stay upright for long enough to decide actually the best place for him right now was sitting on the kitchen floor just here. John folded himself down to the ground in a slithering pile of too long, too bendy limbs, Scott wordlessly guiding his descent. 

“You want me to grab some sporks to eat with?”

“They’re splayds, technically,” John remarked. He gave Scott the thumbs up anyway, while he rested his spinning head on his knees.

Scott waved about his ‘sporks’ acquired from the cutlery draw with a victorious grin before he sunk to the ground to join John.

John took one, passing the pasta to Scott once he was settled, lanky legs stretched out for miles, bumping into John’s.

“We forgot plates,” Scott said.

John shrugged. “At this point, who cares. We have pasta.”

“We do.” Scott blinked for a moment. “I didn’t before and I wouldn’t’ve but now we do.”

He hugged the warm pasta bowl to his chest, and when John observed more closely he saw the tears collecting on Scott’s eyelashes, sparkling in the kitchen light as he looked up at John.

“Thanks. I love you so much, Jay.”

John gave him a gentle smile, ducking to knock his forehead against his brother’s shoulder like a cat. “Love is stored in the pasta.”

Scott smiled back at him and they both dug in.

It was good pasta.

Really good pasta, because he was here with Scott and through everything they had made it, together.

[mwolf0epsilon]

Rex, doing some late night rounds to make sure everything is in order: What the...? Fives, Hardcase, Jesse & several more troopers, camping right outside of the barracks with pillows and blankets they clearly took off their bunks: Good evening captain. Rex, flabbergasted: What are all of you doing out here?! You all need to be up at 0600 sharp! Jesse, lazily resting his chin on the crook of his arms: Oh, we know that Rex. Fives, nodding: That's exactly why we came out here to get some sleep. Rex: That makes no sense... You should be in your bunks if you're trying to have a good night's rest... Hardcase: See, that's where you're wrong Rex! Rex, confused: Uh??? Jesse: Here's the situation... Dogma snores. Fives interjects: Like, a lot. Jesse: And he was keeping us up all night. Hardcase, nodding along with them: So we all came out here to get away from his snoring, otherwise we'd just not get any sleep and we'd end up zombies in the morning... Rex, crossing his arms: His snoring isn't that bad! You usually sleep through it just fine! Fives: Yeah, because its usually tolerable. Thing is, we ran out of allergy meds and Dogma's sinuses have been acting up... Rex: You're all being ridiculous. Jesse, opening the barracks doors just to prove a point: See for yourself then. Dogma, clinging to a sleeping Tup and snoring so loudly he sounds more like a roaring rancor than a sleeping trooper: Rex: Rex: I... How is he making that much noise??? Fives: I'm more confused as to how Tup can sleep through it.

[fckbatmanhiskidsareminenow]

Kill me slowly, Baby you know I don’t fucking mind

warnings: vent fic about illness, mildly graphic depictions/imagery of physical and mental illness

tim drake centric

title: life waster by corpse (don’t look at me ok im embarrassed)

word count: 912

beta read and edited by the lovely @vespertilionis

Do not cry. Do not cry.

That’s all Tim can tell himself as he stiffly walks back to his car. He knows how this is going to go, he’s not too sure why he got his hopes up. He feels like an idiot.

Finally, in the safety of his car, he actually looks down at the referrals he has been given. One for a CT scan and the other for an overabundance of blood tests. He didn’t ask for either. All he wanted was a referral to see an ENT, but the doctor hadn’t even looked at him before she started talking over him and suggesting other ideas.

There’s a few things we can do before you see an ENT. It’s been a year since he started feeling like this. All he wanted was to see a specialist, someone who would know what was wrong.

It’s probably not what you think it is. Probably?

You’re crazy, nothing is wrong with you.

Nothing is wrong.

Nothingiswrongnothingiswrongnothingiswrong

He throws the referrals across the car before slamming his fist into the steering wheel and letting out the loudest scream he could.

It peters off into a sob when he realises he can’t hear anything. Well, anything but a high ringing. He sits there hyperventilating in his own version of silence.

He calls the CT place while driving, desperately trying to sound like he hasn’t been crying. He almost breaks down when the receptionist mentions he had the same test done around this time last year.

As he pulls into the driveway of the manor, he takes a moment to calm down. Firstly, because he doesn’t want to talk about it, and secondly, because he feels guilty for being upset. At least the doctor was running tests. Sure, she didn’t really listen to him and suggested tests for allergies and anemia, which he is sure he didn’t have, but she still decided to do tests. Other people have been sick for years and don’t have doctors listen to them, so he should be grateful.

Maybe she doesn’t think he’s crazy.

He tries not to think about the fact that if the CT scan comes back and shows his sinuses blocked, the doctor might put him on his fourth round of antibiotics. Even after the other three rounds have completely tanked his immune system. Or that if the blood tests show he is anemic, she might focus on that instead of the actual problem. Like the horrible constant congestion that makes him feel like his brain is being compressed into a liquid that’s going to explode out of his ears and nose. Or that if he does have the disease he thinks he does, he might lose his hearing. He really doesn’t want to think about that part.

When he enters the manor, he heads straight for the cave. He’s hoping for the perfectly healthy distraction of vigilantism. His hopes are immediately crushed when Bruce turns to him and asks him how the appointment went.

“Oh, uh, it went ok. We’re redoing some of the tests we did last year,” he says awkwardly, wishing for once Bruce would notice he didn’t want to talk about it. Once again, his wishes go unheard as the older man just looks concerned.

“You don’t seem too happy about that.”

No shit, man, no clue how you got the title of world’s greatest detective.

He tries to push away the resurfacing anger by laughing, but it comes out wrong.

“Yeah well, last time the results didn’t really get us anywhere. So, I was kinda hoping she would try something else.” Another laugh. Bruce nods and turns away. Either he finally got the hint or doesn’t know where to go with Tim’s response.

Relieved that the conversation is finally over, he starts heading to the computer when he hears Jason scoff.

“Ya know what I think you need? Some concrete to harden you up.”

Harden you up. Fucking whiny baby.

Harden you up. Ungrateful child.

Harden you up. Nothings wrong with you Tim, you’re out of your mind.

Tim stops in his tracks and turns his head slowly to face the older boy.

“What?” he says coldly, causing Jason to raise his hands in surrender.

“Hey! I was just joking with you.” he laughs, and Tim’s eye twitches.

“No, explain it to me, so I can understand how it was supposed to be funny.” He can feel the anger rising again. Jason lowers his arms, looking guilty for his ‘joke’, but Tim couldn’t care less.

“I just meant that you complain a lot. It’s kinda miserable.” He answers, sounding defeated, but again Tim couldn’t care less.

“Why do you think that is Jason? Do you think I’m complaining because it’s fun?” “No—“ “No! I’m not! I am fucking miserable! I’m exhausted and dizzy and I feel like my brain is rotting in my skull! And I’m sick of people not listening to me and thinking I’m fucking CRAZY!”

His throat hurts from screaming. He’s hyperventilating again, but he can’t hear it over the sound of the ringing again. It hurts. He shakes his head to try and clear it, but it just makes the world spin around him. A hand reaches out to steady him but he pushes it away.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” God, his voice is always so much louder when his ears are blocked.

He stumbles up the stairs, knowing he’s probably stomping, but he can’t hear that either.

[bewitchedfeathers]

No One Will Know - Vox Cold Denial

I received like 4 other requests involving Vox cold denial and the vees so this is my fill for all of you who submitted those. If there’s something more specific you’d like to request that I didn't get to in this feel free to send it in, my askbox is open!

Also I didn't have the stamina to do the length I think this prompt deserves. But I hope you all enjoy the scene I came up with. 

–

Vox coughed heavily into a fist, hating the way each harsh burst of sound scraped his aching throat. He was left panting in the aftermath, as he let himself collapse back into the embrace of his office chair. He was on the third day of being sick and hiding himself away in his control room.

He appreciated the quiet of the space and more importantly the lack of other’s eyes. He normally thrived in the spotlight and enjoyed holding the attention of every eye in any room he was in, whether through his natural charm or his hypnotic abilities. But he felt riddled with weakness and disgusted with the symptoms of the wretched illness he’d somehow managed to pick up.

He’d been forced to dodge Val and Velvette’s calls, his rough congested voice would be a giveaway. And he’d sequestered himself away in the dark surrounded by his computer equipment. He’d only let his assistant in because he needed someone to bring him supplies to make it through this wretched cold. The amount of tissues alone that he’d gone through was ridiculous. 

He’d had to claim to be too busy with a new project to step away, even when Val was throwing one of his tantrums that usually only Vox could soothe away. Velvette had been pissed at having to manage Val in his place. And he’d bowed out of their weekly dinner, which he knew had raised both their suspicions. 

But hopefully the worst would pass before tomorrow and he could soothe their ruffled feathers and distract them before they could figure why he’d really disappeared for a few days. Vox had never liked showing weakness, even when he was alive, and it was even more important among the demons in hell. Even with the Vees who he was so close to, he couldn’t bring himself to truly let his guard down.

There was a knock at the door, he frowned but ignored it, his assistant knew how to get in and he didn’t want anyone else to see him like this.

There was a pause and then the knocking escalated to banging. He snarled in irritation but his face fell into a lax expression as he scrambled to bring a tissue to his face. “Hehhhh…..Hh’GSSHHzzt…” He let out a low groan wiping his face and vents clean, before tossing the tissue into a pile next to his chair. 

The banging stopped fro several minutes and he sighed with tired relief. Then the door slid smoothly open and Vox gestured with a hand for assistant to come bring the tea he’d requested without looking over.

“What the hell, Vox!?”

Vox whipped around to see Velvette and Valentino stepping through the doorway, his assistant unconcious behind them before the door shut, leaving them in his soundproof lair.

He turned on his customer service smile standing and moving in front of his tissue pile, with a last ditch effort to salvage this. 

“Velvette, Val, what do I owe the pleasure of your kff your company?” He tried his best to hide the congestion and raspiness of his voice but was only partially successful.

“Voxxy why didn’t you tell us you were sick?” Val whined as he sauntered toward Vox.

“I’m not sick!” He snapped, losing his composure for a moment, electricity dancing from his attenna down across his shoulder. He paused, smile back in place as he tried to placate his partners, “I’m just busy so if you could leave it’d be appre…preciated.” He swallowed heavily trying to ease the tickle in his sinuses that stuttered his breath.

“Vox, please, we’re not idiots. You’ve obviously been dodging us, and we can see that you’re sick,” Velvette stopped in front of his with arms crossed and a brow raised as if daring him to try suggesting otherwise.

Vox changed tack. “It’s just a…hah…a cold. Snf! It’s nothing. I’ll be back before you have a chance to miss me,” he said with a wide reassuring grin. 

Valentino stepped into his space, petting a hand down the side of his face. “Voxxy, baby, you were already missed. You keep dodging my calls, you don’t come to dinner, what am I supposed to think amorcito?” Valentino purred all exaggerated saccharine sweetness. 

“Really, Val, it’s only been a few days and I really have been…hh…hah-have been…” He struggled hovering on the precipice, trying to keep his eyes open, his breath even. But finally his expression collapsed and he heaved in a breath, raising his arm just in time to sneeze into his elbow.

“Hehhh’IZZZSSHHmphhh…Hh’hh’EKZzZsshh…heh’Huh’ITZZZshhhhuhh….fuck excuse mbe…” he mumbled keeping his face and vents partially hidden to hide the mess. Apparently trying to fight of his sneezes had been a mistake. 

“Salud, Voxxy,” Val said with genuine surprise, hand still hovering in the air from when Vox had abruptly turned away to sneeze.

“Gesundheit,” Velvette added with amused exasperation.

Vox had no choice but to turn away and grab a few tissues to clean himself up. But he turned back to them, already trying to do damage control.

“It’s a mild annoyance at worst. But kff seriously I have a lot to get done, Snff so if neither of you have anything time sensitive you need from me, I’d like to get back to work.”

“Vox, you look like shit and I can feel the heat coming off you from here. You need to get out of this office and go get some rest,” Velvette said with her usual bluntness.

It’s j-just warm in heeeh…SNF in here. Really I’m fine. I’ll be done soon and I promise I’ll get some sleep.” He managed to finish his sentence by the the skin of his teeth as he tried his best to keep his symptoms under control.

“Vox-” Velvette started to stay looking unimpressed but he cut her off with a sudden sneeze that caught him off guard.

“Hh’IZZZtsshhh…scuse mbe I-Hh’IHTZZZt-IZZsshhuh…snffff-HIH’SSHHzzzch…” He realized that he wasn’t going to stop sneezing until he cleared out his vents some. He stumbled as he sneezed again when he turned to grab tissues. 

“Hh’DZZShhuh!” Val was immediately there steadying him and using a free hand to grab a tissue and press it into Vox’s hand, while an arm snaked around his waist. 

“Hh’hh’EKTZZzzshuh…” Electricity danced over his skin and he could see Val’s ruff frizz with static. 

“Suh-sorry-IZZZshhuh…HIH’EIZZZshuhh…” Finally he did the equivalent of blowing his nose, clearing out each one of his vents into a tissue, Valentino helpfully passing him a fresh one. When he finished he was leaning heavily into Val’s side and out of breath.

“Bless you, amorcito. That is quite the cold you’ve been hiding,” he cooed over Vox as he guided Vox into his high backed chair. He snagged a blanket off the ground and gently wrapped it around Vox’s shoulders. 

Velvette appeared next to Valentino, giving Vox a searching look that he wilted under. Finally she sighed and rolled her eyes. “I’ll clear the floor and then we’ll get you to bed. If there’s anything time sensitive you can delegate it or it can wait,” she said as she typed rapidly on her phone. 

“You really don’t need to fuss, it’s just a cold,” he said tiredly, embarrassed at what a mess he'd become.

“Voxxy, just give in and let us do what we want,” Valentino said with a wave of one hand while another massaged lightly at the back of his neck. Vox melted a little into his touch, eyelids drooping. 

“Let us take care of you for once,” Val said quieter and more sincere than he usually ever was. Val was always the first to wave off pesky things like feelings. Vox looked up at him a little wide eyed, caught off guard by it.

“Floors clear,” Velvette said breaking the moment. “Grab the idiot and lets get him to the penthouse.”

Valentino swept him into his arms with the blanket and Vox let out a squeak of static as he threw his arms around Val’s neck for balance. Val just smirked widely at him as he carried him out of the room. Velvette followed, still typing away on her phone, ensuring that no one else saw Vox looking this vulnerable. And then they disappeared into the elevator to the upper floors to tuck their idiot partner into bed.

—-

I hope you enjoyed! Thank you to everyone who leaves comments and sends prompts!

[Fic Masterlist]

[xoxoladyaz]

It Hits Different This Time, Part 3

Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Rock Star Eddie x Steve Harrington

TW: Mentions of alcohol, drug abuse

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five

Brief updates from Eddie, a phone call with Jeff, and finally some news about Gareth

Steve woke up with a stuffy head the next morning; he’d spent a solid hour crying with Robin on the couch after he got off the phone with Eddie, going over everything Eddie had said again and again in excruciating detail. They weren’t sad tears, they were tears of relief, but it still did quite a number on his sinuses.

Thankfully, when he talked with Eddie later that evening, Eddie hadn't let his own negative emotions keep him down.“Talking with Wayne has been tough,” he’d said with a wry laugh. “I’d really been hoping I would never have to have this conversation with him, but hey, we had it, and now things can get better.” (Which reminded Steve that he needed to call Wayne and see how he was doing in all of this.) 

Aside from that, though, Eddie seemed to be in high spirits. He told Steve all about the detox process (“Terrible, I’d rather go skinny-dipping with Jason Carver than go through that again”) and about his conversations with his therapist (“Ugh, I feel like my heart is throwing up, but Doc said that was a good thing and that we’re making progress, so, yay?”) and all about his sobriety sponsor (a seventy-five-year-old Italian woman named Francesca that he called “Frankie, she’s fucking hilarious, I kind of want to set her up with Wayne.”) Steve just couldn’t get over how good it was to hear Eddie like this: how awake and alert he sounded, how clear his voice was, how loud he laughed. It made the last ten months even more glaring in how off Eddie had been before, how badly fucked up he had been on whatever cocktail of drugs he'd been taking.

They’d gotten a bit more time to talk this evening, which was wonderful, but Steve was relieved that they ended their call as early as they did because he had a few calls of his own to make, now that things were settling down somewhat.

“Hey Jeff.”

“Steve!” Jeff’s voice rang loud and clear over the line. “Shit, man, it’s good to hear from you. How are you doing?”

“Good, good. I just got off the phone with Eddie and I just wanted to say thank you, man. I can’t – I can’t tell you enough how grateful I am that you were there for him when I wasn’t.”

“Shit, Steve,” Jeff replied reassuringly. “Eddie’s my brother. He might be kind of an asshole, or, actually, he might be a lot of an asshole - ” (Steve snorted through his nose) “ – but I’d do anything for him. I was happy to be there. And I know that if I was the one getting into that deep shit, he’d have done the same for me.”

“Still, it’s hard, man. I mean, I wasn’t even there and - ” Fuck, he would love to stop getting choked up all the time. “ – and it’s been hard for me. I can’t even imagine what it was like for you.”

Jeff’s sigh was long and deep. “Well, I can’t say it was a fun time, because it wasn’t. It actually really fucking sucked, watching them just fall apart all the time because they were too fucking high. I’m just really glad I didn’t relapse myself.”

“It’s amazing that you didn’t, man.”

“Yeah, well,” he could hear the smile in Jeff’s voice, “I had an angel with me. Speaking of, Chrissy says hi.”

“Hi Steve!” Steve can hear the lilting voice of Jeff’s fiancée in the background.

“Tell her ‘hi’ back for me,” Steve smiled, although on the inside he was reeling. Why wasn’t I enough for him to stay sober?

“I will,” Jeff said back. “And listen, before you start spiraling or anything, Eddie’s drug use has nothing to do with you, man. The only reason I’ve stayed sober the last two years is because I got to a point where I wanted to be. I mean, I was into some rough shit when I met Chris, and it took me about a year and half before I decided it was time to get sober. And yeah, Chrissy was a part of that, just like you’re a part of it for Eddie, but the difference now is that Eddie wants to make this change and get the help to do it. He just got there on his own time. If there’s one thing you can’t do, it’s rush Eddie Munson.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve chuckled, and with his laugh felt the tension in his chest dissipate. “I’ve started telling him our reservations are half-an-hour earlier than they actually are just so we can leave on time. Which reminds me, he told me to treat you and Chrissy to dinner on the Amex.”

“The Amex?” Jeff whistled. “Fancy, fancy. We’ll be back in town next week, maybe you and Robin can meet us somewhere?”

“That would be great. Are you still out in Cali?”

“Yeah,” Jeff sighed, and this time his sigh was sadder. “We’ve been staying near Gareth’s facility, trying to convince him to stay.”

“Shit, man, I was going to ask what happened with him.”

“Gareth,” Jeff sighed again, “he just started the party scene later than the rest of us. It’s still new and exciting to him and he doesn’t think that all the shit he’s doing is a problem. And I mean, he hadn’t really gone that hard until that last weekend right before we came back, but I think he’s still in the denial stage with how bad it’s gotten. Chrissy is getting through to him though, I think. He’s agreed to at least stay for the four-week program.”

“Have you asked Wayne to talk to him? That might help.”

“Shit, I should,” Jeff hummed. “Wayne knows that he’s checked in, but Gareth hasn’t had phone calls until yesterday. I’ll get Wayne the number, see if he can’t help Gareth out.”

“Robin and I would be more than happy to talk to him, too. He’s family, you know? I’d hate to see him get hurt or worse.”

“I’ll let him know that he can give you two a call,” Jeff replied warmly. “That’ll mean a lot to him, I think. I’m going to try to get permission for Eddie to call him, too, I’m just not sure if there’s extra precautions they want people to take when they’re in these programs. At the very least, if Gareth sees Eddie get sober and stay sober, it might inspire him to do the same. You know how much he looks up to him.”

“Yeah, I do,” Steve replied, and he was about to say more when his phone started vibrating.

Incoming Call: Wayne Munson

“Wayne’s calling, I’m going to check in with him. Thanks again for everything, Jeff, and let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“Absolutely. Talk to you soon, man.”

Steve pressed the End Call, Start New Call button and brought his phone back up to his ear. “Hey Wayne.”

“Hello son. Glad I caught you.”

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[lazyyogi]

My Upcoming Research Study: The Effects of Yogic Breathing on Chronic Sinus Symptoms

This week I have been putting together a presentation that I will be giving about my new research project. It's a study of a yogic breathing technique called Bhramari Pranayama as an adjunctive treatment for people with chronic nose and sinus issues.

Essentially the premise is this:

Our sinuses produce nitric oxide, which then in turn effects our nasal airway and our lungs. The nitric oxide can improve nasal airflow, up-regulate mucociliary clearance, and enhance anti-viral immune activity. Additionally, humming actually temporarily increases the amount of nasal nitric oxide released by about 15 fold. Therefore my study is intended to examine the effects of this pranayama technique that utilizes humming on patients with chronic nose and sinus symptoms.

Typically for patients with these symptoms, we start them out on a steroid nasal spray (flonase) as well as sinus irrigations (something like a neti pot).

I always hear from people outside the medical field about how no one studies these things--non-pharmacologic interventions, the beneficial effects of non-proprietary supplements, or other alternative medical options. People often think that if big pharma (or someone expecting to profit) isn't paying for a study, it cannot happen.

This really isn't true likely 90-99% of the time. The problem isn't funding. I'm conducting a prospective randomized control study with human subjects in order to evaluate the benefits of yogic breathing for patients--something that if found to be helpful will bring in no additional monetary profit for anyone. How much will my study cost? $0.

But do you know what it did require?

Two things: interest and opportunity.

Firstly I, a resident physician, had an idea. I learned about nasal nitric oxide and thought it was cool. I read about how humming has a bolusing effect by transiently increasing nitric oxide output by 15x. And then I recalled that there are pranayama techniques that utilize humming.

With my interest piqued, I spoke with one of my bosses, an attending physician at an academic medical center. He's the head of our Rhinology and Skull Base Neurosurgery division and he is cool as hell. He's all about healthy lifestyle and benefiting patients as much as possible. He loved the idea immediately.

And lastly we roped in a medical student. Med students are very helpful with doing the grunt work of collecting the data into spreadsheets, running the statistical analyses and such. Sometimes they bring some excellent ideas of their own as well. In return for their work, med students are often given a significant portion credit upon publication of the study and this allows them the opportunity to add some scholarly publications to their CV. I don't really need more publications under my name, but they do.

My point with sharing all of this is that people often claim there are health benefits to doing or imbibing certain things but that they'll never be studied because there's no money to be made. And it may be true that private companies such as those in the pharmaceutical industry may not have such interest; their existence in a capitalistic economy relies on profitability. But this is part of why academic institutions are so important--because learning and discovery is part of the essential mission there. Profit doesn't dictate their avenues of research.

When it comes to the study and validation of alternative/complimentary medicine, the focus really needs to be on raising awareness and interest. Talk to your doctors, nurses, physician assistants, etc. The good ones listen. The younger they are, the more likely they are to be open-minded about it too (the older ones are hit or miss--some are so cool and some are very old school).

Just some errant thoughts this week as I work on my slide deck.

LY

[danrifics]

hey guys no one asked but im gonna analyse this screenshot of phil's side of the desk as seen in dan and phil are dating boys

okay lets start with the worst thing in the image and thats the PS4 with the imac resting on it??? that is such rich man behaviour and also its stressing me out why do you need your imac that high and why cant you just get something else to sit it on? also is there an xbox there? why do they just have an xbox controller sat there? what does it connect too??

still on the imac topicthe mac keyboard with a pc mouse is an interesting combo but as a magic mouse user myself i know how fucking annoying it is when they need charging so i'll actually let him off for that one

okay next i wanna talk about drinks, first full fat coke in a glass bottle is bougie as fuck drink out of a can like a normal person?? also full fat coke? disgusting! (correction its zero, point still stands) i am a diet girlie and im not afraid to admit it. then we get to the not 1 huel but 2??? why do you need 2? i looked it up and the can (never seen that one before) is a sparkling vitimin drink and the bottle is the classic food replacement one (i have seen that one) my conclusion is that this is why phil is looking so beefy recently and im not mad about it!

now lets talk about the SD cards! thats a lot but given the nature of their life it makes sense, i wonder what raw videos are living on those tho i crave that information

okay nasal spray, is a bit random but also like we stan clear sinuses and eyedrops are an essential clearly for a man who can barely see and also stares at computers all day, we stan hydrated eyes

lastly i believe the orange thing in front of the xbox controlller is phils custom pokemon card coaster which i think is cute for them but on a personal level i absolutely hate resin art and when they showed them i thought they were kinda ugly and i cant wait for someone in 100 years to find them not decomposing in a landfill <3

I have chosen not to talk about the pumpkin and the tea lights cos we all know it was for spooky week

[ceasarslegion]

Every time I have a cold bad enough to knock me out of work for the day I think of how many new agers probably got off track with how there's a very big difference between a cure and a remedy that isn't well-taught when you grow up. They are both important, both have a medicinal value, but the difference is that a remedy is all about making you feel better while a cure doesn't give a shit about how you feel, it's about getting the sickness at the source. I wonder how any new age medicine types got lost because they crossed the lines here

Like, a remedy is what you will use the most. Because the vast majority of illnesses the average otherwise healthy person gets do not need proper medical intervention. And in a lot of cases overusing cures can backfire because a lot of everyday endemic pathogens in the world need to be fought off naturally in childhood to build a good resistance to them as an adult. Obviously this doesn't apply to like, deadly diseases we vaccinate for, I'm talking about the various common cold viruses that form a fine film atop every outdoor surface.

If you can get it over the counter, it's a remedy. That includes things like ibuprofen. Because that just deals with the pain of your headaches, not the actual source of them. Nyquil, Epsom salt baths, ginger tea, are all likewise remedies. They do legitimately make you feel better and help to manage the symptoms but they don't fight the virus, they make you more comfortable while your immune system does its job. But like, if you don't know that, I can see how someone can get lost in the placebo effect of "well I took a hot Epsom salt bath, drank some ginger tea, and tried a shot of my grandma's cold remedy of chili paste in hot lemon water. And then all my sinuses were cleared and my aches and pains were gone, and then the next day my cold was gone. Wow, that was real medicine." And then they see what things like proper antivirals are made of and the side effects they can have and go "oh, that's dreadful :(( here, I have something much better" and then they stumble down the anti medicine rabbit hole.

The thing is though that if something actually works against a pathogen it will have side effects. Thats why I said that cures don't care about how you feel. And if medical intervention is needed it's because that cold has progressed to the point where the benefits of the effects outweigh the cons of the side effects. Biochemistry is a tricky thing.