#by the time they were put back on the medication would have worn off anyway

[abutterflyobsession]

I pull out so many random facts about the making of Lord of the Rings that people usually respond with, 'how do you even know that?!'

oh, friend.

my brother, a most pretentious lotr fan, snatched up the extended edition hot off the shelf and for weeks it was the only thing on the tv all day long. I've seen every commentary, every special feature . . . twice. maybe more. I didn't have a choice.

#a butterfly obsesses #I've forgotten so much but still #maybe I just don't hang out with nerdy enough people and the rest of you know all this but: #billy boyd every time Minas Tirith is on the screen: I love Minas Tirith #Dominic Monaghan: shut. up. #sean austin forgot to put his waistcoat on for the scene where they all say farewell to frodo so they had to reshoot the whole thing #everybody had to cry again. but the second recording ended up blurry and they had to reshoot a 3rd time. nobody was happy with sean #when sam shows up to fight shelob his hand and sheathed sword appear first like the start of a duel in a western #that's actually peter jackson's hand #sean austin could 'see' shelob when they were filming those scenes. he could very vividly imagine her. #after he saw some cgi test footage of her he lost the ability to imagine her and had to work to get it back #dominic or billy I forget but one stole a skull from the scenes with the army of the dead #after pirates of the Caribbean came out they had to change the design for the army of the dead because the ghost designs were too similar #they built a huge dead Oliphaunt for the battlefield (peter wanted it to be bigger tho) #the people linking up plastic rings for the chain mail wore away their fingerprints on their pointer fingers and thumbs #they basically thawed a frozen stream so andy serkis could dive in and chase a fish in the ice-cold water #I want to say it was billy boyd who had to get a dental procedure done and opted to do with without being numbed #because he had to shoot a scene right after. however he sweated so much his hobbit feet came off #by the time they were put back on the medication would have worn off anyway #viggo mortensen got part of a front tooth chipped off and wanted to finish the scene before having it fixed but they forced him to go #when auditioning horses for the scene the horse kneels down to let the wounded aragorn get on a horse was disqualified for sit on the dummy #the HUGE ring they used for perspective shots

[zvdvdlvr]

— Leaning to Live Again.

— 🪻. Synopsis. It’s been four and a half months since your fall. You’re starting physical therapy, and the team (and your husband) is there for you every step of the way- as Aaron gets started on filing a product liability lawsuit.

— 🪻. Warnings. Foul language. Frustrated reader. Female reader. Welder reader. Husband Spencer. Physical therapy. 1.6k fic. Mildly rushed ending. Not mych dialogue. I have no physical therapy experience, so I apologize for any incorrect terms/activities/phrases. Pet names.

— 🪻. Extra. Welder!Reader is getting a lot of love :))) Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

— 🪻. Other Welder!Reader fics. Lunch Break. Alive and Breathing.

You spent five weeks in the ICU, four of them in a medically induced coma. The doctor said that it was so you actually gave your body time to recover; the first few weeks after surgery was always the rockiest stage of any major injury.

Spencer spent every waking hour with you, if you were conscious or not. He read to you, had conversations with you, and told you anything that came to mind because he knows you love his voice. After three nights straight at the hospital, the nurses practically begged Spencer to go home, rest, recuperate, and get cleaned up. And Spencer admits, he felt a lot better after going back to your shared home.

When the doctors decided it was time to wake you up, Spencer was all but shoved out of the room. Something abour “not overwhelming her” or something. Spencer wasn’t listening anyway. After texting JJ, she told Spencer she’d let everyone know the news as they were currently in South Dakota catching a serial rapist and killer. And then Spencer resolved to pacing, reciting each song lyric you told Spencer reminded you of him. He repeated the few poems he had gotten you to read, voice softening as you read the words. And Spencer repeated the vows you and him had written for each other, remembering your face and your voice, the way you stood and how you smelled. He relived it as you were being pulled out of the darkness of your unconscious.

“Dr. Reid?” The nurse asked, pausing Spencer mid-step. He watched a few other nurses file out, and Spencer felt his heart beat a little faster in his chest.

“Yes?” He answered, breath held.

“Mrs. Reid is awake. You are more than welcome to go in there, but don’t put her on any additional stress.”

Spencer had barely said ‘thank you’ before he was hightailing it to the side of your bed. He felt the wind rush out of his lunge when he saw you blinking harshly, eyes trying to adjust to the light.

“Hey sweetheart,” Spencer whispered, tears trailing down his cheeks. He sat down and carefully took your callused hands in his.

You cleared your throat. “Hi,” you said finally, voice gravely from disuse. “You okay?”

A watery laugh bubbled out of Spencer. “You fall off a building and you ask me if okay. Baby, I love you so much.”

“Takes more than a fall to take me away from you, husband,” you murmured, letting your hand trace Spencer’s cheek. “But… how is everyone doing? I heard some of the things you guys said when I was… out, but I want to hear from you.”

The genius looked away, salty tears dampening his beautiful eyelashes. “Hotch is planning to prosecute the guys who made the safety harness that you wore because we all know you never would have worn something that was unsafe or had been recalled. We’ve just…” Spencer sniffled, turning his head to look back at you, “I guess we’ve just kept busy.”

You hummed. “How long will I be out of the showbusiness?”

Spencer looked at you, your eyes tired despite all the sleep you had been getting. He knew your world would shatter when he told you that you’d be in recovery for at least another year and a half. Your lipped twitched- an attempt to get the man you loved to smile. Yet again Spencer felt his heart crack: this was going to break you. “Doc says… about two years.”

The pointer finger still tracing Spencer’s face stilled. Your face blanked and Spencer felt the ari leave his lungs at how you looked at him. “What did you say?”

Spencer took your hand in his, kissing your knuckles as his tears fell onto your own and then slid down down down to the cold hospital floor. “Two years, baby.”

“Years. Tw-Two years,” you repeated in a whisper. “Two years.”

Spencer’s eyes shut. Your head fell back on the pillow, eyes boring holes into the ceiling as your own tears welled in your eyes.

“I know, baby, I know,” Spencer cried as you wept silently.

“You got this, wife,” Spencer whispered, pecking the crown of your head before going to stand across you, metal bars on either side of the wheelchair you carefully stood from.

It was your twenty third day of physical therapy, and boy was it hell. Your entire bottom half hurt, feeling as if fire consumed your muscles as you shakily got used to being on your feet again. Your back hurt the worst, though. You tried to play it off the best you could, but when the shooting pain took hold of the sensitive nerves of your spine, you couldn’t do more than screw your eyes shut andprace your head for the inevitable fall.

It had been getting better, you thought. Taking your first six steps was getting easier. Getting out of the pool was easier, and you could stand up without yelping in pain. But still, as you pushed through eveey PT session, you couldn’t help but feel disgusted at yourself for not being able to do basic human activities.

Spencer really atuck to his vows, remaining steadfast at your side through everything. He was at your every beck and call, updating you on your coworkers and all the other people you’d grown close to as a welder and as a woman. Spence took pride being able to help you, being your rock as you always are for him.

Aaron was actively prosecuting the company that produced the faulty equipment. As requested by Spencer, Aaron didn’t tell you much. It was better in both of their minds that you focused on recovery and not having Hotch dumb down the details of legal stuff- not that you were dumb, you just weren’t as educated as Spencer and Aaron. Obviously.

Penelope made a point to bring you food every other day. With her she brought a big hug, warm smile, and hot tea. You listened closely to the gossip she had to share, grateful that she didn’t try overly hard to comfort you- she was just like a sister in that way.

Emily stopped by when she could, but understandably had other plans for her time off; i.e.: napping. When she came Emily brought a book or two she had seen and thought of you about or a magazine.

J.J. tried as hard as Penny did, bringing Henry and Will whenever possible. You appreciated the family, feeling fully accepted as J.J.’s soul sister, despite only knowing Spencer’s coworkers for almost a year. Henry had clicked with you right away and told you stories as he snuggled up to you in the hospital bed. When he fell asleep, Will and J would make conversation with you.

Derek had dinner with you and Spencer every weekend. He brought something new every time and always shut sown your protests at how expensive it must have been, aspecially since the three of you combined could eat $300 worth of food- having fast metabolism and being an athletic person was worth bragging about while shoving half pound birgers into your mouth. Despite just the good food, Derek made sure to talk with just you, offering a deep conversation or a lightheard bickering session, letting you know you weren’t alone.

Rossi visited every time he had time. David had grown fond of you and your personality. You were a hardworking, sincere, and (painfully) honest person. All admirable traits, Rossi thought. He always brought flowers, chocolate, and a milkshake/smoothie for you. Though his visits were shorter in comparison to Derek’s or Penny’s, David visited more frequently. He filled you in on details of the lawsuit Aaron was working on, staff drama, and other fatherly conversation.

Slowly, the months passed.

60 more days passed before the hospital finally brought up your discharge.

Through all that time you had managed to re-gain the ability to walk, run, swim 2 laps uninterrupted, and were improving daily.

You were proud of your progress, but especially thankful of all the people that had stood by your side the entire way. Your eyes burned just thinking about the love Spencer’s family your family had for you.

When one of the nurses you had grown close to finally brought up your discharge, you threw your arms around her and practically cried tears of joy. Spencer kept his composure better, but you could see the shine in his eyes as he discussed the details as you pulled yourseld away from the nurse.

The team was on a case when you reported back to them, but J.J. and Derek immediately set up a quick video call to voice their happiness. Even Aaron stepped in frame, a warm smile on his face as he spoke of how happy he was for you. David showed up right at the end. You swear you saw a tear roll down his cheek as he told you how proud he was of you, how strong you are, and how thankful he is that you’re okay.

Beside you, Spencer ran his hands through your hair with a shaking hand. He, too, cried.

It was two weeks later when you shoved your bags in the back of your truck (you insisted it be the vehicle Spencer drove home) and left the hospital.

“I love you Spencer Walter Reid.”

The two of you stood, leaning against each other, in front of your home. The feeling of Spencer’s warm body under your touch made you feel alive- electric, even. You felt like you could do anything as you carried your own bags into your own home with your own husband.

With Spencer by your side, you were finally learning how to live again.

#female reader #x female reader #jules writes 📓🖊 #x reader #fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid criminal minds #bau team #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #welder!reader #x welder!reader #spencer reid x welder!reader #hotch #rossi #bau #spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds angst #criminal minds imagine

[television-overload]

Field of Dreams (X-Files fanfic)

Mulder's favorite movie inspires him to fill his seemingly endless free time with a special project shortly after moving into the Unremarkable House.

I was reading a bunch of fics about dad!Mulder and baseball, and had the sudden realization that my favorite baseball movie of all time is so Mulder-coded, that it would 100% be his favorite move too, full stop. And thus this was born. It seems all my X-Files fanfics are going to be accidents, none of them planned.

Read on AO3

She should have known this was coming eventually.

The well-worn VHS had been sitting on the coffee table for the last two weeks, in the living room of their new, unremarkable house.

Kevin Costner. James Earl Jones. Ray Liotta. Baseball and dreams and ghosts and time travel and the healing of broken father-son relationships...

It was his favorite movie, but for reasons so personal to him that he never spoke of it, instead claiming that Caddyshack or Plan 9 from Outer Space was his top pick if anyone asked. She'd never even known he had it until she woke one night to find him downstairs watching it alone in the dark, his face lit up by the flickering images on the screen. He said nothing, but allowed her to sink into the cushions of their shared couch beside him, curling into his side. They watched it together in silence. No words needed to be said, after all. She knew him well enough to understand what this movie meant to him. As the credits rolled, he flicked the TV off and the living room of their creaky house was enveloped in darkness once again.

He'd been lonely here at home. He tried not to let it show, but she knew anyway. It was only recently that they'd finally been able to settle down, purchase a house out in the middle of nowhere while she put her medical degree to good use. But while she was away, he was left alone with his thoughts for hours at a time, nothing but the peaceable silence of the Virginia countryside to keep him company.

There were certainly signs she should have picked up on. Dirt under his fingernails. A splotch of grease on the corner of his sleeve. The smell of gasoline on his hands when she came home from work and was welcomed with a kiss.

He wasn't sitting idly in his office all day, that much she knew.

But it wasn't your run-of-the-mill yard work he was busy with, either.

He seemed happier. She tried not to question it. For the first time since they'd moved in, he seemed more like himself, and she saw a future where they could be happy here, establishing a comfortable routine and finally getting started on living a somewhat normal life.

She came home one day to find Mulder a couple hundred feet from the house, wrestling an overgrown chain link fence with his chosen weapon of a pair of bolt cutters. He waved at her with a smile, and she felt her heart flutter. She wouldn't ask what he was up to, not yet. When he was ready, he'd let her in on his secret.

A week later, he was in the small shed behind the house, drenched in sweat but seemingly gratified at the work he was doing cutting wood planks with a hand saw and sanding them down to perfection.

Some days he wasn't even there when she pulled into the driveway, and though she missed the way he would run up to her like a puppy to welcome her home, she was glad he'd found something to pass the time that made him happy. She secretly appreciated the flush of color on his face and sweat stains on his t-shirts when he finally made his way back to the house in time for dinner, bounding up the stairs for a quick shower before joining her at the table. It was a side to him she didn't see often before, what with his white-collar job and Armani suits. He'd even acquired a thin layer of facial hair in recent days, having forgotten to shave, and she couldn't bring herself to be mad at his new rugged, manly look. In fact, she quite enjoyed it.

Scully was napping on the couch, exhausted from another long day of work, when she felt a hand on her shoulder shaking her awake.

"Scully, wake up," a soft voice spoke, "I wanna show you something."

"What's that?" she slurred, her eyes blinking open blearily. His hands cupped hers and pulled her to her feet, steadying her on her wobbly, half-asleep legs.

"Come on," he said, and he tugged her toward their back porch door.

The first wisps of crisp fall air danced across her face as she stepped into the backyard, following Mulder with her hand clasped comfortably in his.

"Where are we going, Mulder?" she finally asked. They'd passed the boundary of what she traditionally thought of as their backyard, and were now traveling down a trail through the tall, wild grass that filled their sprawling property.

"You'll see," was all he said, but she saw the gleam of enjoyment in his eye and the way the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile.

The sun had begun its retreat to the horizon, the longer days of summer beginning to fade into the shorter ones of autumn. The sky around them was painted in vivid oranges, yellows, and pinks, the aftermath of a brief storm that had passed through. The earthy, fresh scent of the air filled her lungs, and she was once again in awe of the peace they'd finally been able to find, after all they had been through together. She squeezed his hand tighter.

As they came up over the hill, she saw it.

Freshly turned dirt, darkened with moisture from the rain, in the shape of a diamond. The grass was mown short, weeds removed until it perfectly mirrored the well-manicured outfield of any respectable baseball stadium. There were wooden benches on each side of the field, set up in raised tiers so that hypothetical onlookers could see above the heads of those in front of them. And the chain link fence had been modified and built into a decent impression of a backstop behind home plate, which appeared to be made of a burlap bag of sand. Beyond the outfield, the wild grasses and flowers grew up tall, stretching as far as the eye could see.

Scully felt a tear slip from her eye, and she quickly lifted a finger to wipe it away.

"Did a ghost tell you to build this, Mulder?" she asked, the hitch in her voice betraying the emotions that laced her joke.

He smiled and pulled her into his side. She hadn't noticed the baseball jersey he wore before, but it brought back fond memories.

"Yeah, actually, but it turns out the Lone Gunmen don't have an ounce of athletic skill to spare, so it got boring pretty quick."

She let out a watery laugh, wiping more forcefully at the moisture on her cheeks before turning back to him.

"Well, are you gonna show me around?"

He grinned and took off, walking backwards toward the field with a spring in his step. As they approached the field, this field that he had built, he paused to grab something out of a dirt-encrusted wheelbarrow that sat adjacent to the tall grass. From behind his back, he produced a baseball glove and a wooden bat, offering both to her.

"You pitching or batting first, Scully?" he asked, the fire of purpose, of passion in his eyes for the first time in a long time.

She smiled and grabbed the bat, which he used to drag her giggling toward the field.

"Up to bat first is Shoeless Dana Scully, coming out of retirement after 5 years for the opening game at this unremarkable field!" Mulder narrated, the playful tone of his voice sending her back in time. She dragged her feet exaggeratedly to home plate, lifting the bat above her shoulders as Mulder took his place on the pitcher’s mound.

"Fire away, poor boy," Scully called, earning a flashing smile from the man with the glove. She had thought that somewhere along the way, between dingy motel rooms and nights spent sleeping in their car, he had lost that boyish look he sometimes had. But there it was, that carefree, life-loving look of wonderment that had only made her fall deeper in love. Her stomach did a flip.

Mulder drew back in a windup before firing a fastball right over the plate. It whooshed past, clanging into the rattling chain link fence before Scully could even blink.

"What was that, Mulder?" Scully protested, raising her palms to the air in question.

Mulder laughed, kicking the dirt with his dirty sneakers before looking back up at her.

"I know your secret, Dana Scully," he said, mischief glinting in his eye. "You were on your brother's little league team as a kid. I found the pictures in that album you keep hidden in the closet."

Scully's jaw dropped and she let out a laugh.

"You've been holding out on me, slugger."

"Well, that was a long time ago," she reasoned, doing an impressive job of hiding the fact that she was guilty as sin.

"Uh huh, I'm sure," he nodded, tossing the ball a couple times in his right hand. "Let's see what you got, babe."

An eyebrow raise.

"Like Babe Ruth."

She rolled her eyes.

Accepting her fate, Scully got in her batting stance and prepared to hit the ball. He whipped one at her, and she made contact with a satisfying crack! sending the ball soaring into the outfield.

Mulder nodded his head up and down, doing a circle around the pitchers mound as he cracked a sunflower seed between his teeth. "Yep, that's what I thought. So you mean to tell me all these years I could have been talking baseball stats with you? Scully, who's your favorite team?"

Scully rolled her eyes and dug the end of the bat in the ground, tracing shapes in the dirt. "I never actually liked baseball, Mulder, I only played cause I refused to let Bill do anything without me."

"Are you hiding any other spectacular skills I should know about? Do I need to build a magical basketball court next?"

"Magical, Mulder?" she said, raising a familiar skeptical eyebrow in his direction.

He shrugged and gestured around him. "What? This feels pretty magical to me," he answered with a wink, all that natural charm he possessed coming out in full force.

She shook her head, laughing softly at this side of him that she had missed.

"I think it's safe to say I'm not hiding any basketball skills," she spoke, gesturing at her 5'3" form.

Mulder reached down to grab another ball from the bucket beside him, idly passing it between his bare hand and his glove.

"Good, because this was a lot of work."

Dusk slowly turned into night, the cool air turning cold as they took turns batting and pitching, until they'd exhausted their stash of baseballs. They'd be lost to the darkened fields until the morning, when the sun would again illuminate the landscape.

As Mulder led her back to the house, flashlight lighting the way before them, the words from the movie echoed in her ears, as if from a disembodied voice. "Ease his pain."

She wrapped an arm around his waist, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. His hand moved in small circles on her lower back, warming her against the chill that had settled in.

Whatever regrets they had, whatever dreams were broken beyond repair, they had this. They had each other. And even if this is how things always would be, nothing more than the two of them and this unremarkable house, she would be happy. And so would he.

"Is this heaven, Mulder?" she asked, her voice soft and pensive.

Mulder smiled and pressed a kiss to her hair.

"I think it just might be."

------

Anyway, the only way Field of Dreams could be more Mulder is if an alien showed up in it. I mean, it has ghosts, time travel, baseball, and difficult father-son relationships. What more could you want? Go watch it if you haven't. Even if you're not a baseball fan. The end literally makes me weep every time.

I may come back for a follow up, if the vision strikes me. One word: Jackson.

Now what are you still doing here, go watch the movie!

Tagging: @today-in-fic @randomfoggytiger @cutemothman

#txf #x files #x files fanfic #my fanfiction #field of dreams #baseball #fox mulder #dana scullyl #pre-IWTB #post-series #Spotify #msr

[vvatchword]

So. I got fired.

When a big family emergency hit back in November, it just knocked me the fuck out. Just blew me right out of the water. I kept thinking I'd get back into things, but I never did. I was just completely flattened.

I started being late. Dreadfully late. Then I started not working at all. I could just NOT WORK. Like I couldn't get out of bed--it was that bad. I mean I couldn't. I wanted to get up, I was willing to get up, but I couldn't fucking get up. If I did work, it was at a crawl. I have never had as much trouble with alarms as I do now: they can't wake me up, or I simply cannot get up. My communication fell off. My work fell off. Simply the worst work and the worst worker you've ever fucking seen. As far as my personal life was concerned, I started missing appointments and I stopped being able to cook. I just couldn't fucking cook! It didn't matter if I had a whole box of ingredients and the recipe book in front of me, I couldn't do it. It wasn't happening. I lost something like 25 pounds because if I couldn't make myself go shopping I just wasn't eating.

And we were putting out a BOOK.

Anyway, I got my first-ever "less-than-satisfactory" job review. I got a list of things to improve. It was a fucking torment, but I was pushing myself, I spoke to friends for accountability's sakes, I was up front with my bosses, I went to therapy, I was making sure I was medicated... I thought I was improving as of the last two weeks!

But it was too little, too late. I think they'd already decided they wanted to drop me. And that's because--well, at my yearly review, my greatest nightmare occurred. Y'all know I'm autistic as fuck. And part of being autistic is pretending you're a human being. Look at me! I'm a fucking human! I smile at the right time and speak the right way and meet your eyes just the way I should. Don't get in a conversation with me when I'm tired or it starts getting weird but otherwise-----

Well, us autistics call this shit "masking." It's a labor. It's a skill. And at my yearly review, I had to sit down with this brand-new A-type executive director we have--and it did NOT feel good. It felt like a goddamn job interview. I could tell he was judging me on a level I wasn't prepared for. I was pretty worn down from months of family and personal bullshit--not the least of which was the low fucking pay and terrible benefits, which, combined with astronomical rent and car issues, have put me heavily in debt. Oh, and did I mention that I have a problem with older men? It's not something I realized until after I spoke to my therapist about this particular event, but under certain circumstances--of which this was the perfect storm--I revert to a child. It's a trauma response. Don't ask.

My mask straight-up shattered and I looked and sounded like I was fucking mental. I don't know how to explain it to you and half of that is because I hate just THINKING about it. It's like my soul was trying to leave my body. My voice pitched up and went monotone in a way I haven't had to fight since I was in college. I began self-flagellating and just uttering complete nonsense. If I were a dog I would have been rolling over with my tail between my legs. Please sir not the boot. Please sir do not hit

Obviously I only told this to like. Two people. Because it's embarrassing. It's something you should be able to fucking control. And I couldn't, just all of a sudden, in front of this exec who thinks he's cool shit (he's like Elon Musk, but a boomer. Just the worst ideas. I tell you, being rich is a curse, you turn into an idiot).

That said, honestly, I don't blame anyone? This was my fault? And at the same time I'm deeply, deeply troubled. Because when I look back, I see the seeds of this collapse in my previous job--where I was starting to fall behind on work that shouldn't have given me trouble. I just couldn't keep on track or stay on target. I was starting to be late here... and there...

This is terrifying. Like this is mortally, deeply terrifying. I don't know if I can work. I truly don't know. My own brain has turned on me. I don't know if I'll be able to keep to deadlines or get to work on time. I truly don't. I truly truly don't. I'm too scattered, I'm spread too thin, I'm too needy, money's too tight, my needs are too many. There's too much going wrong. And I'm alone and I'm tired. I don't like this world or this country or this state. I don't want to do this anymore. I'm so tired of pretending I'm a human being for people who can IMMEDIATELY tell I'm a weird fucking mistake from another planet.

Right now I'm trying to think how I can minimize literally everything. Just sell as much as possible, keep only the most important things. It'll suck, it'll hurt, but...

all I want to do is write. I'm tired. I don't want to do anything else. I want my books and I want my computer and that's it. But I have to eat somehow, I have to find shelter SOMEHOW, I have to pay for things SOMEHOW.

I'm tired of hoping life will look up. I'm tired and I haven't been given any reason for why anything is worth THIS MUCH AGONY. All the things I need to do, I can't. All the things I want to do, I can't--because I'm hung up on the things I NEED to do.

Let's face it. i'm not good at adult shit. I've never been good at adult shit. I've only ever been good at going to school, really. And I don't really think I'd be good at that anymore. I can only do things now if I am deeply interested in them, and literally none of those things pay my bills.

I'm fucking doomed.

Fucking bye y'all

#vvatchword

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Hi! This idea has been stuck in my head since I started following your healthcare AU! So I thought I would give it to you in case you wanted to write something…no pressure! Anyway, one of the links, in my head it’s Wind, is helping out with a psychiatric patient and the patient basically panics and either hurts Wind in the panic or just like holds him hostage until they get answers, and other members of the chain are there (like Wars and Legend) and they have to fix the situation while staying calm….or something like that lol. So yeah do with that what you will, that’s just been stuck in my head! : )

Hyrule stood at the doorway to the room waiting to give report after they had transferred the patient to the hospital bed. His partner had already left to clean the stretcher. Legend was clearly busy giving a different patient medication, and Hyrule wasn’t sure if there was any other nurse in this hallway.

Watching Legend chart something at the mobile workstation, brows furrowed in focus, Hyrule chewed on the inside of his cheek. He didn’t really like that his patient got sent to the behavioral health hallway since his patient’s issue was drugs, not psych, but the unit was secure and his patient did need to be watched, so he supposed that was the reasoning. Also, the ED seemed really busy.

Warriors exited the closed off nurse’s station. “Hey, sorry for the wait. I’ll get report.”

Hyrule shrugged with a smile. “It’s all good, you guys looks busy.”

The pair entered the patient’s room, and Hyrule scanned the man sitting on the bed. He looked restless, fidgeting and playing with the sheet. He scratched at his arms a few times.

“Look, man, you gotta do something,” the patient said, growing agitated. “I know I’m having a heart attack.”

Sighing, the paramedic looked at Warriors, who was also observing the behavior. “Thirty-four year old male, complaining of chest pain and feeling anxious. He said he took approximately two grams of—”

“I said I’m having a heart attack!” the patient snapped.

“We heard you,” Warriors said calmly. “Let me get report and we’ll look you over.”

“He already knows what’s going on, he didn’t do jack shit!”

Hyrule tried to continue his report when the patient stood up, fists clenched. Warriors and Hyrule both took cautious steps towards the door.

“You need to do something about this!” the patient yelled.

Hyrule watched the man carefully. He’d been an absolute disgrace of a human being the entire transport, cussing Hyrule out for not doing what he was “supposed to be doing,” and then he’d spat on the floor for good measure. Hyrule’s patience was already worn to the breaking point.

“Sir, we are doing something about it,” Warriors continued. “Please sit down so the medic can tell me what’s going—”

The patient reached out, ready to either grab or throttle Warriors, and Hyrule sprang into action. He grabbed the man’s wrist and yanked his arm behind him before vaulting off the bed onto his back, making the drug user crash to the floor with Hyrule planting a knee in the center of his back while his arm was held behind him.

At this point, the man was screaming and kicking, and Hyrule pinned his other arm. He kicked his legs, but Warriors quickly held them in place as Legend seemingly materialized out of nowhere with a needle tipped syringe in hand. Kneeling down, Legend jabbed the needle into the man’s leg and pushed the medication quickly. The man’s cussing and yelling continued for a few long, loud seconds before he settled and passed out.

Warriors pulled away, putting a hand on Hyrule’s shoulder as he leaned back. The two sat on the ground staring at the patient a moment and then out a sigh of relief.

“The hell are you bringing us, Roolie?” Legend huffed, standing up. “I heard drug use but you didn’t say they were combative.”

“I told charge he was verbally combative,” Hyrule said helplessly as he stood, keeping a careful eye on the patient as Warriors assessed him. “I’m sorry that message didn’t get relayed.”

Legend tossed the syringe into the sharps box, shrugging. “Well it isn’t a problem now.”

Hyrule let out a breath laugh before the three hauled the unconscious man onto the bed and Legend pitched in to help with assessing him for injury. As Hyrule finally managed to give him the full report, the paramedic noticed someone wandering the hallway aimlessly.

“Uh, is she one of your patients?” he asked the pair.

Legend looked up and glanced out into the hall. “Miss Nyren, go back to your room, please.”

“Okay,” she giggled, heading back.

Legend sighed, resuming his work. “She’s harmless. Sweet lady, just in a manic episode. She just needs to be redirected is all.

“Does she have a sitter?” Warriors asked, finally charting and paging the doctor.

“They’re trying to find one for her,” Legend answered. Scratching his chin thoughtfully, he muttered, “Maybe I can get her a busy blanket to keep her occupied in the meantime.”

Hyrule sighed, looking at the patient again. “Sorry for that mess.”

“You kidding? I wish I could’ve gotten a picture of that!” Legend laughed. “Asshole deserved it. Idiot shoots himself up with poison and then gets pissed at the people who he called for help. It’s been a while since I’ve done the good old B52 nap.”

“You thought he was a threat,” Wars piped in. “Simple self defense. I was about to knock him out too.”

As the doctor entered the secured hallway, Hyrule decided it was time to get out of there. Too much paperwork and too many headaches were about to happen. Not that anyone would argue with the course of action, seeing as the alternative was letting a violent patient injure a nurse.

Slipping out of the unit before the door could close and lock, Hyrule headed back to his ambulance to handle the next disaster that was no doubt waiting for him.

#psych patients are way more of a danger to themselves than others #drug users on the other hand… #most volatile patients I’ve ever had are usually drug abusers #not all of them mind you #but some were a real piece of work #and they’re already agitated because of whatever garbage they pumped into their system #it’s a recipe for disaster #you ask skye answers #lovely anon #lu in healthcare #writing

[iidigestive-readerii]

The Good Jedi pt 3

Ahsoka wakes up confused and a little shaken before she remembers that she's in Satine's apartment. It's full of neutral colors and soft pillows and throws - not what she'd quite expect from a Mandalorian.

She had showered before bed and now sitting on the mattress looking around she realizes she's in a guest room. The clothes she was wearing had been on the bed after she showered, and the logo on the shirt she's wearing is from Sundari Academy. 

Sliding out of bed, she went to the 'fresher briefly to make herself somewhat presentable. The 'fresher wasn't anything fancy, she notes while relieving herself. Plain. Like a motel bathroom, almost.

The carpet of the bedroom is soft and barely worn while she digs around for a sweater. It's not that she's cold, but the comfort of one is compelling. She eventually finds an oversized Smashball hoodie in the closet, frowning at the year before putting it on. It was older than she was. 

Looking at the alarm clock, she realized it was nearing ten in the morning. She never slept that late… Obi-Wan would…

Obi-Wan wouldn't care, she realized on the way out the door. Her second master always let her sleep in between campaigns. It was Anakin who always woke her for more training, more teaching… Shaking her head, she stepped further into the hallway. There hadn't been much of a tour last night - everyone went to bed pretty much immediately. 

The walls were orange, small glazed windows peppering each side to let light in. There was another room across the hall, the door closed. She took a few steps, then turned her head to the room at the end of the hall. The master bedroom. 

The one both Satine and Obi-Wan had disappeared into. The door was open, and she could see dark purple walls and a large, unmade bed. 

So they were awake. 

There hadn't been time to process the feelings and emotions about Mandalore the past few weeks… Or Obi-Wan's relationship with its Duchess. She had never asked - it was never her place. They seemed content enough that it never mattered. 

The hallway dumped into the living room, which was much the same color palette: soft oranges, blues, pinks, with a large sectional in the center of the room. Two cloaks were tossed at the end. There were bookshelves scattered about, picture frames on the walls, an old fashioned television. There were a few doors at the corners of the room, probably containing storage closets or a home office or something. She'd only ever been in the downstairs part of the apartment, the formal dining room and entertaining area and communication room. Not…this.

Laughter broke her train of thought, and she wandered towards the sound and the kitchen. Her stomach grumbled at the smell of waffles and caf.

"...that the caretaker meant to kill him. Even if she did not intend to. She had every right."

"They all had something to gain, no matter the relationship."

Her back to Ahsoka, Satine let out a gusty sigh and took a large sip of her drink. "Why did I let Anakin give me all these holos… Anyways, I still think it was the owner of the estate. Everyone loved him for his money, nothing else."

"Then why - " Obi-Wan turned as he spoke, pointing the spatula at Satine before he froze, his expression softening. "Ahsoka…"

"...hi."

Satine turned, waving her forward. There was a medical brace around her chest and back, probably some left over - or continuing - physical therapy. "I'd ask you if you slept well but uhh… were you comfortable?"

Ahsoka nodded as she slid into a seat, smiling a little as Obi-Wan placed a cup of cat in front of her almost immediately. "Do you have any…thanks," she mumbled as he sprayed whipped cream on top of the caf. "Were you discussing one of Anakin's soaps?"

"Had to entertain myself somehow in the hospital. They're surprisingly addicting."

"I prefer crime…documentaries.” Ahsoka trailed off as she watched her normally uptight master spray whipped cream from the can into his mouth and continued to stack waffles onto three plates. One for each of them. “Are the clothes Korkie’s?”

Satine nodded as the plates were set, followed by a platter of melon and syrup. “I figured you two are about the same size.”

“I’m sure I can have Aayla bring some of your belongings over if you want Ahsoka.” Obi-Wan sat, cutting into three waffles at once. Ahsoka shrugged, picking up her fork. “That’s okay. Where’s Korkie? Why isn’t he here?”

The silence was deafening. Something wasn’t right. Obi-Wan sighed, reaching across the table to cover Satine’s hand. “We don’t know. Haven’t heard anything.”

“...last time I saw him he was being smacked across his face and knocked unconscious.” Satine took a sip of her caf to steady herself, pulling her hand away. “I don’t think most species could handle the neck bending like that.”

“You discredit him - Korkie’s a fighter. It’s in his gene pool, he won’t go down without a fight, god damn it. I pray for Vizsla.”

Ahsoka frowned, glancing between them as she pictured the Mandalorian prince. The resemblance was there, half the Galaxy had noted it, but neither had ever said anything and -

“The answers are yes and yes, Ahsoka.” Obi-Wan’s smile was a bit crooked, his eyes misty. “Took you long enough.”

“Not my business… but what are we gonna do about all…this?”

Satine leaned back in her chair, fingers scratching at the brace. “...I have an idea.”

---

I'll post the links to chapters 1 and 2 at a later date, but I'm sure you can find fairly easily! This is on Ao3 too!

But omg, thank you all so much for the response to this fic! Woah! I'm so happy everyone likes this! Fics dealing with both Ahsoka AND Satine's arcs are rare, I'm so glad I could fill a gap! I have no idea how many chapters this will be, it was just an idea I had to get out of my head! So comment, reblog, and if you're able tip me. I'll have my updated Ko-fi link up soon. Best! - DR

#the good jedi #obitine #the wrong jedi au #the lawless au #satine kryze #obi wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #star wars fanfiction #ii digestive reader ii

[cowthropologist]

Suicide cw

I've been lying to everyone. The thing is I'm still suicidal. 2 months in the hospital, all this ECT, and I just want to die. I'm feeling a bit less bad than I was before I went in, but not much. I'm exhausted. The prospect of going back to work is just hanging over me. I can't do it. I know I won't be able to do it. And the holiday was so tiring. We went over to my uncle's and every time I go over there I get so upset. I feel so tremendously guilty because my uncle has done so much for me and I just don't know how to properly thank him and I feel like I haven't, it feels like this huge failure on my part and I don't know how to handle it. I can barely keep it together when I have to face up to it. Just thinking about it makes me cry. I'm crying right now just writing about it.

I'm worn out, you guys. Did you know my credit is just ruined? I've been so horribly depressed for years now, I just don't pay a lot of my bills. The ones I don't need to pay immediately, I tend not to, and they all go to collections. I'm supposed to move back home, move in with my dad, and buy a car with no credit. He lives in the suburbs... I can't go back there without a car. I don't know how to do this. I'm so afraid. I'm so afraid, so I'm doing what I always do, and curling in on myself and trying to hide. I want it all to go away. I want to not exist. I can't do this. I can't face up to it. I'm not strong enough, I'm not good enough. I need to work, I need to move halfway down the coast, I need to buy a car - the whole prospect of working full time is just an impossibility. I can't do it. And I don't know how to say this to anyone without having a total meltdown.

I feel like I need to just accept the meltdown and say it all anyway. I don't like crying in front of people but I've been trying to be honest. I was feeling so much better than this back in the hospital, because back in the hospital all these things were farther removed. It was all just... I didn't have to worry about it yet while I was in there. But now I'm back home and I do have to worry about it now. After a certain point I'm going to run out of medical treatment to receive and I'm going to wind up either back at work or unemployed. Both of those options are extremely unappealing.

Honestly I'd rather just lose the job. I'd rather have no money coming in than try to go back, because they'll just end up firing me in the end. I went into the hospital because I couldn't work. I'm out of the hospital now, and I still can't work. I just don't have the energy or the focus. I'm worn out. I haven't even done anything and I'm worn out. Just thinking about working is peeling me apart. I don't know how to handle this. I don't know what to do! Is there a course of action open to me besides quitting my job? I can't see one right now. Unless I magically get better in the next few weeks (dubious) I'm in real trouble.

There's just... there's no joy in my life. There's nothing to look forward to. There's nothing I hope for, nothing I want. Most people don't like me. Most people wouldn't miss me. I want to be happy, I want to have fun for more than the few hours it takes me to play through a new video game. I want to feel like I fit in and like I belong with other people, like they're enjoying my company instead of just tolerating me or being polite. I'm so completely cut off from the world and I always have been, my whole life I've felt like I was different from everyone else, I've felt so isolated. Disliked. Put up with. I can't have my life be like this forever. I can't face it. I can't go on with it. I can't. I cannot express to you the despair I feel when I think about living for another sixty years this way. I have contributed nothing meaningful to the world. Nobody will miss me. I should just die and get it over with. At least if I was dead the pain would stop.

I'm not even asking for anything making this post. Go ahead and ignore it. I just have to put it somewhere. I'm trying to be honest with my doctors and stuff and I've mostly been failing and I just feel like I need to write down how I'm feeling and put it into words so that I have it somewhere articulated and maybe that'll make it stick. Maybe that'll be a little easier to tell people, if I've written it down beforehand. I don't know. Maybe this is all just a cry for help or whatever. I don't care. I feel so, so terrible, you guys. I want to collapse. I want all of this to be over.

#suicide cw #mar vs brian

[lazuli-bloom]

Interview of Nibble under the cut

Who are you?

Well, ain't that an interesting question? I'm a lot of different things; a pest, a devil, a free spirit, but if yer wanting a name, ya can call me Nibble.

And what exactly are you?

Easy. I'm a being from an alternate dimension chock full of other kinds of digital monsters. Or to keep it simple, I'm a digimon from the digital world. Impmon, if ya want to be more specific.

Why come to Snaktooth Island?

It wasn't on purpose, I can tell you that! I'll spare ya the details, but I was laying low in some not-so-abandoned ruins. While I was checking out this huge door in some big empty room, a Skull Greymon woke up and set its sights on little old me. It spewed out an awful miasma, and while I was choking on that it geared up to take a shot at me. I dodged out of the way just in time, and the attack blew open the door. I wasn't going to hang around for another attack, so I bolted through the door. It gets really blurry from there, but when I came to, I was up on Frosted Peak and had reverted back to that little ball of fluff, Yaamon.

Why were you laying low in some ruins?

The place was rumored to be cursed, so nobody went there. Something about being destroyed by what lurks there. Sounded like as good a spot as any for a little devil like me to not get bothered by all the holy types patrolling the area. Not sure why the rumors weren't more specific though, knowing a Skull Greymon was there would have been nice.

What's a “Skull Greymon”?

A nasty digimon ya don't want to mess with. Imagine a big mean dinosaur with sharp claws and sharper teeth, as big as three barns tall. Now imagine it's so focused on combat and fighting, that drive for destruction is the only thing keeping it together as its body rots away to nothing but bone. Then strap a powerful missile to its spine. THAT'S Skull Greymon. I was lucky to get out of there when I did.

How did you get to Snaxburg?

Lizbert found me. She chased some Bugsnak into the bush I woke up in. I thought it was just a big cherry and ate it without thinking. It tasted great, but everything started to hurt a minute later. I stumbled out of the bush doubling over in pain and right into her trap. I tried to break out, to scream, but I was too worn out to do much. By the time she pulled me out from her bag, we were in Snaxburg, and I was in a panicked frenzy. I bit her, spat ink at her and Eggabell, and ended up wrecking some of their hut while trying to hide. Some of Eggabell's medical supplies landed on me and cut me up. It took a while, but I eventually calmed down and let Egg patch me up. I got handed off to Gramble the next day since I was still too weak to put up much of a fight.

Thoughts on Bugsnax?

Curious little things, huh? I'll admit the one that I did eat tasted good, but the pain I felt right after doesn't make me want to try eating any more. Plus seeing what happens to you guy's limbs after eating them, the idea of eating Bugsnax myself makes my skin crawl.

Do you think you might be allergic to Bugsnax as well?

Eh, maybe? Suppose it's possible. Either that or Bugsnax effect Digimon differently. I didn't get sick after eating one so much as it felt like... I don't know, like it was trying to alter my data? Which I guess it kinda was given the side effects you Grumpuses have after eating them. Regardless, I don't plan on eating any more. Even without the pain, I don't think Gramble would be to happy if I added Bugsnax to my diet.

Why did you leave town?

Cause Gramble took me with him when he left. When that fight broke out and Wambus and Gramble were at each other's throats, I saw red. I bit Wambus's leg as hard as I could. I may have been a ball of fluff, but I got sharp teeth and a heck of a bite. Still, he managed to shake me off and kick me pretty hard in retaliation. Which, was fair, cause I would have bit him again. Anyway, Gramble scooped me up and rounded up what few Bugsnax he had left and we left for the beach that night. Gramble fussed over me for a while after that... Part of me wishes I spoke up then and let him know how much I appreciated him.

Why did you wait so long before letting everyone know you could speak?

Well, for a while, I couldn't. That Skull Greymon's miasma did a number on my voice. Then it... just seemed easier to keep quiet. No one here knew what I was. I wasn't some low life devil. I was just, Nibble, this weird little furball that hung around Gramble and messed with Wambus and Floofty on occasion. But the secret's out now, and it's only a matter of time before things go south.

What do you mean?

No body wants to have a devil hanging around. I'll out stay my welcome sooner or later... *Sigh* Story of my life.

Any info on Lizbert?

For someone that I bit several times and spat ink at, she was surprisingly kind to me. She came over the first couple of days to try and figure what I was, since Bugsnax don't have fur or teeth. But I can't say much more, Liz was gone a lot and I mostly stayed close to the barn during the day.

And what about at night?

I went out. I always feel more comfortable in the dark. I could swipe more sauce from Wambus's garden and go around town freely since almost everyone was asleep. Floofty would be the only one still awake when I was out. They were fun to prank since they didn’t think I had the intelligence to do anything. Word of advice, never underestimate an opponent unless ya want to get caught off-guard.

What happened to Lizbert?

I couldn't say for sure. Sometimes I think I've picked up on her scent, but it's only ever Bugsnax. She's a strong adventuring type, and she can take care of herself. But I know firsthand how harsh the wilderness can be.

I think that's everything. Thanks for your time.

No problem. Honestly, it's nice to get to talk after so long. I just wish I could offer more help with finding Liz... I'm not sure I'd even be here right now if it wasn't for her.

#digisnax #my art #my writing #finally got this done. so hopefully I can work on other things now

[triscribeaucollection]

Old Hide

(Tinkering with a new fic for my Terratron AU:)

“Um, hi?” Ironhide cycled one optic partially open, and squinted at the kid standing awkwardly in front of him. “What’s your name?”

“...Old Hide,” he rumbled. It was the designation he’d put down on the application, anyway.

“Cool,” the kid said, trying for a smile and falling short. “So. You’re, um. You’re a veteran, right?”

As if they couldn’t tell. A room full of hopefuls, all of them Cybertronians sparked within the last thousand years, or humans born less than a century before. Ironhide had to be a hundred times older than all of them put together. And he looked it, too - scars marred much of his silvery protoform, some visible even in his dull red armor where he adjusted the paint strokes to highlight rather than hide the imperfections. Even his old Autobot decals were scuffed from battle, worn around the edges but still proudly displayed on each shoulder.

Rather than reply with dry sarcasm (nah, I’m no veteran, I just decorate myself like this for fun), Ironhide tipped his head forward in a nod. The kid’s optics lit up, and he aimed a quick, excited grin back at a cluster of friends watching the two of them intently. More young faces, impressed, awed, very clearly gearing up to come over and start pestering him with questions-

Double doors on the far side of the room slid open. Every youngling in the room immediately straightened, gazes locked on the slim femme who stepped through, all four of her wings angled upwards in a silent call for attention.

Ironhide winced.

The femme raised a datapad and began reading off of it, calling names to sort the applicants into groups. One by one, sets of five or six hopefuls gathered in different spots, ready to line up and head out the door. Ironhide’s alias was second to last, putting him in the final group. Included were also the kid who’d come over to talk to him (white plating with a few bright blue flames painted along his arms), a rotund copper femme (some kind of rotor attachment hanging around her hips), and two humans (one taller, bigger, brown hair cut in a short fringe and some visible scars on bare arms; the other small and slight and overall wispy, expression eager despite nervously twitching fingers).

Beyond the door, each group went down a short corridor and into separate waiting rooms, smaller and clearly meant to encourage more mingling. The femme thanked them all en masse for their patience, and promised to meet with everyone in short order.

As soon as they were left alone, Ironhide’s group immediately set about introducing themselves, before moving on to speculation.

“They can’t just be sorting us based on specialty,” insisted the copper femme, Guidewire. “I mean- I don’t think all of us are applying to medical positions, right?” The rest of them glanced at Ironhide, and he resisted the urge to snort.

“Maybe they’re assigning us to rapid response squads already,” the smaller human suggested. Nathaniel-but-call-me-Nate, as if he couldn’t have just gone with ‘Nate’ for the introductions.

“More likely they need to make the announcements of who made the cut and who didn’t,” said Bec, the other human. Bec, N-B, Earth Nations Air Force, they’d stated when asked, in a no nonsense tone that Ironhide couldn’t help but approve of. “I’ve gone through something similar before, with ENAF. We probably won’t see some of those other guys anymore.”

The kid who’d first spoken to Ironhide, Swiftstreet, sagged a little at that. “Or maybe we’re the ones getting told ‘thanks but not thanks’.”

“You really think these guys would pass up him?” Bec asked. After a beat, they turned to look at Ironhide directly instead of just gesturing in his direction. “Why are you here, anyway? I thought all the Autobot veterans had retired by now.”

Alright, for that, the old mech did snort. “Kid, this is my retirement. Everyone keeps insisting my work is done, I should take up a hobby- fine. My hobby is high-powered weaponry and thumping idiots over the head. Either the Patrol’s willing to let me in, or I go become a professional bar brawler to fill up my time.”

...they probably would’ve approved him in a sparkbeat, if he’d called up any of the ‘commanders’ who ran the place to ask for a spot. But he wanted to test the oil first, try applying under a different name but the same skills, see if the application process had room for an old timer who could remember Cybertron in an age long before the War.

And speaking of commanders...

“Good morning,” the same femme from before announced, stepping inside to join them. “And congratulations on passing our entrance exam for the Terratron Patrol.”

It took a beat for her words to register, but the kids all perked up as soon as they realized they’d gotten in. But, before any of them could whoop or do more than grin, the femme smirked in a way that boded nothing good.

“My name is Dragonfly. I run all combat and safeguard operations for the Patrol, and I’ll be in charge of your final stage assessments. For the next ten days, we’ll be putting you through the worst sorts of drills and tests to get a better idea of how you’ll hold up under pressure. Every Patrol member is expected to maintain a certain level of physical capability, regardless of assigned duties - if you pass these tests without dropping out, you’ll henceforth be handed over to mentors within your preferred specialties as probationary agents.” Her green optics flickered over to Ironhide, and Dragonfly tipped her head in a slight, acknowledging nod.

After a beat, he returned the gesture.

---

She was taller than Bee, but constantly managed to seem smaller than him, head ducked and shoulders hunched, wings never giving off more than the slightest twitches from where they stayed folded against her backplates. Bumblebee was the only one she ever let get within arm’s reach, often hiding halfway behind him when bigger bots were around. And Ironhide got it, to some degree: spend so long isolated, with no one around to talk to, slowly losing your mind from being trapped underground without wind or sky... It could take a while to get used to being around a bunch of other folks again.

Or, y’know. If one were a semi-former Decepticon, suddenly living in the midst of a bunch of potentially hostile Autobots. That could make a spark awful skittish too.

---

To her credit, Dragonfly proved to be a fairly decent drill instructor.

All five of them were put through some basic evaluations first and foremost, as she studied their ranges of motion, their top speeds, upper limits on strength - for the humans as well as the Cybertronian kids. To no surprise, the numbers all came back vastly different, though that didn’t seem to phase the femme.

Afterward came proficiency analysis with different types of weaponry, both handheld and from within assorted vehicles. Ironhide could’ve done better on the spacecraft cannons, he’d be the first to admit it; his systems were old enough to be cranky when getting linked up to the ship’s targeting module, and it showed. But otherwise? He blew the kids out of the park.

At the end of the day, Dragonfly brought them all into a room with separate consoles for single use, and started a final assessment for tactical priorities. She used a holoboard to walk through different scenarios of various types: responding to a convoy ambush, an assassination attempt on a politician, teammate down, ship damaged, so on and so forth. Ironhide and the kids all typed up responses on their consoles to submit, explaining their responses to each situation. Not a bad method for seeing which recruits focused on details, versus who looked at the bigger picture.

“That’s all for today,” the femme finally announced, shutting down her holoboard. “I’ll walk you all to your temporary quarters. There are washracks at one end of the hall, our central commissary at the other, but we ask that you don’t go anywhere else after the evening bell unless it’s an emergency.”

Ironhide moved deliberately slowly, letting the young hotshots get ahead of him. They passed by another group of recruits along the way, and Swiftstreet got to wave at a couple of his friends, looking relieved. A human in that bunch did a startled double-take in Ironhide’s direction, but he frowned sharply, and she thankfully moved on without saying anything.

“Here we are.” Dragonfly stopped at the front of the hall, letting each of the kids go on past. “Your rooms are already labeled; basic sanitation and maintenance items have been provided, along with appropriately sized uniforms.” Bec gave the femme a quick salute before stepping through one of the human-sized doors, Nate continuing on to the next one down. Guidewire and Swiftstreet disappeared into their own rooms, leaving just Ironhide with the former Decepticon.

He glanced at her. She stared back. “Bee know I’m here?”

“No,” Dragonfly said, folding her arms. “But honestly- ‘Old Hide’?”

All he could do was shrug, prompting her to sigh. “Figured it didn’t matter what name I gave, when I wasn’t gonna bother disguising my frame any.”

“Hmph.” Green optics studied him for a long moment, a far cry from the perpetually nervous ‘Con who’d constantly hidden behind her one proven friend. “He would have approved a spot for you in a sparkbeat if you asked.”

Ironhide’s turn to sigh. “I know.”

“Well. Since you didn’t, you have to prove yourself to me instead.” Her lower wings flickered, and Dragonfly offered him a small smirk. “And I’ll have you know, I’ve got high standards. Might be hard for a small-time grunt like you to meet them.”

An unbidden grin crept onto his own faceplates. “We’ll just see about that.”

#transformers #wip #getting to write grumpy old ironhide has been fun

[allisonreader]

Thoughts about past things and a more recent event in dealing with church.

I have not gone to church regularly for years. It’s something that I’ve felt bad/guilty about for a long time. Part of it is actual reasons, the other is genuinely laziness.

It started out as being too young to take myself after my parents stopped going. Which in part happened because my parents were worn out.

For several years (from about the time that I was 4ish, to about the time when I was 12ish) *we* were the church janitors. A rather unforgiving job.

Now to start off there was kind of this whole series of events that I honestly was too young to be aware of. (As the church janitors my parents saw more dirt than just the dirt we were cleaning.) It was extremely exhausting for my parents. Every Saturday was spent at the church. Often morning til night, particularly for my dad. Who was often there three times during the work week in the evenings cleaning up for certain events. While working a full time job.

He’d almost always be the one to have to go clear snow before church or different events being held at the church. We rarely ever got time off.

Being a kid at the time, it could be rather fun. We’d have full range of the church, got to play in the nursery, go places the average church goer wouldn’t sometimes.

So I ended up knowing the church building pretty well. And as I got older, starting to help more and more with the cleaning.

Then my mom got a full time job as well as having some issues for a time with medications she was put on. So we quit being the janitors, but we also stopped going to church there.

My parents just needing to get away from the church since they knew dirty laundry and had some issues with some people in the church body at that time. (Also, pretty much their/our entire friend group had moved away over the years, as they were called to other things.)

We tried a couple of other churches but none of them really stuck. Partly because we never really found ourselves being able to integrate fully. Always just sort of feeling like we were on the outside. So unfortunately, we fell out of the habit. As much as I would have loved to continue to go. But was unable to take myself and didn’t think of it once I was able to drive myself, as that was a family activity.

Then we did go regularly again for about another year or two, before my mom had health issues. So we stopped again because going to a church that you haven’t really integrated into with health problems, made it really hard. So we stopped going.

There were a couple of times that mom and I went back to church together, even a time or two where I did go alone. Though that’s another part that has kept me from going regularly. Not being comfortable going alone and other than my mom, not really having anyone to go with.

Then of course, right when I was starting to look into going back, Covid hit and kiboshed that with everything shutting down.

Which comes to now.

My mom’s close friend who moved a couple of provinces away, came for a visit. (I should note that being an only child for the first 5 and 1/2 years in my life, I spent a lot of time with my parents' grown up friends, since most of them didn’t have kids my age.)

Anyways, since my parents are up at the lake, I got to take this friend back to our old church. It was really nice to see those who were still familiar faces. Especially with the old friend, because even if people couldn’t place me right away, they could place her. Which would then actually help place me, because that’s how good of friends they are.

My favourite reaction was from my one old Sunday school teacher, who would have taught me when I was about 3 or 4 I think. He was always well loved by us kids and he looks the same as I’ve always remembered him. He used to lift us up, one kid per Sunday, to get to touch the stuffed felt Noah's ark mobile that hung in that particular classroom. He gave this startled reaction to see me all grown up. It really did feel like going home.

So come fall, when I’m not going up to the lake all the time, I think I’m going to try and start going back.

#I feel like I could have written more and explained more #but recent experience was also socially draining

[specialagentsergio]

side effects may vary

summary: An unexpected side effect brings you and Spencer closer—literally—when he’s prescribed a medication to help relieve his chronic nightmares.

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

category: fluff

content warnings: prescription drug use, one small sexual reference, discussion of tornadoes (spencer gives a small infodump)

a/n: i wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins‘ “there was only one bed” event. when i saw the “medication makes someone sleepy” prompt, i had to take it, because this happens to me regularly lol.

word count: 2k

masterlist

It’s become a habit for you and Spencer: every Friday night you can, the two of you get together and watch a movie or show. It’s always at your place because he doesn’t have a TV, but he doesn’t mind—you have the better couch anyways. He thinks he could stay on it forever, especially on the nights where you don’t watch anything at all and talk for hours instead.

He made the mistake of mentioning this Friday night tradition to Morgan once. He’d questioned just why, exactly, Spencer liked going over to your place so much. Spencer hadn’t realized Derek was teasing him until he’d already come up with the lame excuse of your couch being really comfortable.

Morgan had chuckled. “I think it has less to do with the couch and more to do with the person who owns it, kid.”

He was right, of course, but was Spencer going to admit his silly little crush? Absolutely not. Especially not to Derek. He just continued going to your place every Friday, stubbornly ignoring the smirks and eyebrow wiggles sent his way from the man.

It’s one such night a few months later when an alarm on his phone goes off, making you both jump. He nearly spills the popcorn everywhere in his scramble to turn it off. “Sorry. It’s—wow, it’s nine already.” As usually happens when he’s with you, he’s lost track of time. It’s why he set the alarm in the first place.

“You have somewhere to be?” you ask.

“Um, no. I just…” he trails off, leaning forward to dig through his satchel at his feet, searching for the white paper bag he picked up from the pharmacy earlier in the day.

You don’t ask aloud, raising an eyebrow instead. It’s you providing him with an out—you’ll let him pretend he didn’t see it if he doesn’t want to answer the question.

He sighs, pulling the little orange bottle out, a prescription from the psychiatrist you’d coaxed him into seeing. “It’s just, uh… it’s supposed to help with, y’know… dreams,” he explains quietly.

“Nightmares,” you clarify.

“Yeah. That’s what the alarm was for.” He pops the cap and looks at the little pills inside. “To remind me.”

“We can finish this later,” you say with a gesture towards the TV. “It’s okay if you need to leave.”

He shakes his head. “She said to take it a few hours before bed. There’s plenty of time to finish.” Not that he cares that much about the show. He just doesn’t want to cut his time with you short.

“The bottle says it can make you drowsy, though,” you say, pointing out the little flap on the side of the bottle he hadn’t noticed.

“It won’t,” he dismisses nearly immediately, shaking a dose out into his hand.

“You can’t know that.”

“I’m a chronic insomniac. I’ve tried medication before. It doesn’t work,” he says firmly.

“If you say so,” you say, unconvinced.

“I do.”

“Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” The words on their own typically imply annoyance or resignation, an insistence that the speaker knows better, but from you, all he can detect is amusement. And if he didn’t know better, he’d say your slight smile conveyed affection.

“Oh, I won’t,” he replies confidently, and takes the dose with a sip of water.

That confidence turns out to be misplaced.

It doesn’t happen quickly. You finish watching the current episode and he insists on another. About halfway through it, he starts to feel… different. A little… foggy and unfocused. Any movement he makes feels slow, and his eyelids are getting heavy. Try as he might, he can’t quite keep them open. He’ll rest them for just a minute….

“… encer. Spencer.” Something pokes his arm and he grumbles, shifting away.

“What?”

“It’s over.”

He blinks a few times, slowly reacquainting himself with his surroundings. Credits are rolling on the TV screen; he's about to ask why they look slanted, then realizes it's because he's slumped to the side. He pushes himself back to sitting, a delayed "oh" leaving his mouth. He rubs the sleep from one of his eyes, and catches your expression in the other.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything!" you protest but the little laugh punctuating your words gives away what he knew you were thinking: I told you so.

With a sigh, he begins gathering up his things, pulling his bag into his lap and untying his shoelaces so he can put them back on.

“What are you doing?" you ask.

"Um, going home?"

"You can't ride the Metro like this," you say. "You're half asleep."

He tries and fails to suppress a yawn, but still insists, "I'll be fine."

"Spencer, I don't like you riding the Metro this late even when you're totally lucid. You know that."

He does. You often express such worries on your Friday nights, offering to let him stay with you. He always declines. Your couch may be comfortable when he's sitting, but it's not long enough for his legs horizontally.

He also worries about what he might say in his sleep. He's been playfully teased by team members often enough already. The last thing he wants is to ruin your friendship by expressing his feelings for you in his sleep.

He's got one shoe on and is about to put on the other, but you snatch it away. "Hey."

"No,” you say firmly. "You're staying here tonight."

"(Y/N)--"

"Take your shoe off." You flip the TV off, stand, and stretch. "And come to bed."

His mouth drops open a little. Come to bed. Did he really just hear that? You say it like it's the most natural thing. It sounds so...domestic.

He really likes it.

His eyes follow you as you walk to your bedroom. You stop in the doorway and look back to him. "Come on."

He's in a bit of a daze as he walks towards you, not realizing he's still wearing one shoe for a few steps. He clumsily kicks it off, then follows you through the bedroom door and into the adjoining bathroom, where you provide him with a spare toothbrush.

Normally he wouldn't want to share toothpaste with someone. He's even refused to do so a few times on cases when his little travel-sized tube has run out, instead going down to the front desk of whatever place they're staying at for a replacement, no matter how tired he is. But tonight he doesn't even think twice, just takes the tube when you pass it to him. It simply feels...normal, as if you and him do this every night before bed.

I could get used to this.

Spencer's still a little groggy from the medication, so it isn't until he’s standing in the bedroom that he realizes that there’s a problem. "There's only one bed."

"Um, yeah," you reply. "What, did you think I had bunk beds?"

"No, I just..." He's not sure how to explain it when you're pulling back the covers like it’s any other night. "There's one bed... and two of us."

"That's correct. It's a queen. It's made for two people," you point out. You sit down on one side, then pat your hand on the other.

He slowly approaches the bed, but hesitates, twisting his fingers a little. Your expression shifts, and he blinks. Surely that's not a look of disappointment he's seeing?

Your voice is quiet when you speak. "Spencer, if you don't want to share a bed with me, you can just say it."

"What? No!" he exclaims. "That—that's not it at all."

"Okay, then, what is it?"

"The opposite,” he says with a nervous laugh. “I can't believe you want to share a bed with me."

"Why wouldn't I?" You say it so simply; he can hardly believe it.

"Well, because I'm... me," is the reply he comes up with. "I'm annoying, and I talk too much, and my limbs are all long and weird--"

"I don't think you're annoying, Spencer," you interrupt. "We wouldn't be friends if I did."

"Oh. I guess... I guess that's true. But my arms and legs--”

"Are fine,” you reassure.

“I…” He’s a little too out of it still to think of something else. “Well, okay.”

“Since that settled..." You smile up at him. "Would you get into bed?"

He can't help but smile back. "Okay."

You both settle in. Right before you turn off the light, he speaks again. "I talk in my sleep," he says quickly, heat rising to his cheeks. "Just thought you should know.

"So I'm gonna get your fun facts in the night, too?" you ask, the corner of your mouth turning up.

"Maybe." He fiddles with the collar of his shirt. "Derek says every night is a toss up between that or gibberish…”

You laugh. "Noted."

You turn the lights off and silence falls over the room as you both find comfortable positions. The medication definitely hasn't worn off; sleep is quickly approaching him again. He feels a light touch on his arm. It trails down to his wrist. A slight pause, then you're sliding your hand into his. On instinct he winds his fingers through yours. He hears a content sigh right before he drifts off.

---

Morning light spilling through the curtains wakes him up. He takes in a deep breath and stretches. He feels amazingly well rested; more than he has in a long time. And he had the best dream about you….

Spencer rolls over, then jumps a little—you're right there next to him, awake and looking at him with a soft expression.

"So it wasn't a dream," he says aloud.

You smile. "No, it wasn't.”

"We slept in the same bed," he says, dumbstruck.

"We did."

"You... held my hand?"

A nod and a bashful smile. “I did."

"Huh." He's quiet as he processes this and gathers his memories together. There's a question that comes to mind, but he doesn't know if he’s brave enough to voice it. Instead, he asks, "Did I sleep talk?"

"You did," you reply. "You told me the widest recorded tornado was 2.6 miles wide."

"The 2013 El Reno tornado," he says automatically. "It’s also the second most powerful tornado recorded. It occurred on May 31 of that year. Though it officially ranks as the widest tornado on record, current Doppler estimates of the 1999 Mullhall, Oklahoma tornado indicate that it may have been 4.3 miles wide."

You blink. "That's terrifying."

Spencer winces. "Sorry."

"It's okay." You hesitate a little, biting your lower lip, then slowly reach out and take his hand. Again, his fingers thread through yours perfectly.

He looks down at your joined hands, then back at you. His question from before returns. "What does this mean?" he asks quietly.

"It means..." You take a deep breath. "I like you.”

He frowns. "I know that. That's why we're friends."

"That's not what I meant." You squeeze his hand as if to remind him that you're holding it. "I meant that I like you as more than a friend."

His eyebrows shoot up. “Really?" he squeaks.

"Really," you confirm. "If you don't feel the same, I understa--”

You're cut off by him leaning forward and pressing the lightest little kiss on your lips.

"I like you as more than a friend, too," he says softly.

You give him the most wonderful smile. "Then get back here and kiss me properly."

Spencer obliges. He's never cared less about morning breath.

You scoot closer to him when you break apart and push his limbs around slightly to get into an embrace. "Finally," you murmur into the skin of his neck.

The sensation makes him shiver. “What do you mean?"

"I’ve been trying to get you into my bed for weeks."

He nearly chokes on his own sharp inhale. "I—what?"

"Not like that," you clarify. "I just wanted a good opportunity to confess. I figured you'd be too comfy in bed to run off right after I told you."

“You think I'd run off on you?"

You shrug. “You tend to remove yourself from a situation if your feelings get too intense. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, but in this case, it’s the last thing I wanted to happen, you know?”

"Yeah, I get that,” he says. "I promise not to do it with you, though. About anything.”

You lift your head to look him in the eyes. “Kiss me again."

Spencer does.

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

tell me what you thought here!

smut follow up: hands to myself

general taglist: @calm-and-doctor​ , @spencerreid9​

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid #fluff #my fic #thinkin of writing a ~saucy~ companion to this... #also shoutout to clonidine for being the only reason i can sleep regularly ✌

[neon-junkie]

Hello, I have a request for Crosshair

Could you please write him and reader being friends with benefits? I think totally think that he would have one ksksks

Anyways, thank you (:

Headcanons for this. He would 10000% have a fwb, no doubt about it (gender-neutral reader)

Whose idea was it? Yours? His? Neither. This just... happened.

Since you first joined the Batch as their medic, you two have always had this flirty, teasing, bullying type of... thing going on. It was a thing, at first, a weird thing where you two spoke to each other like garbage, with sweet and flirtatious undertones.

"Messy job," Crosshair once commented as you bound his arm. "I thought those nimble hands could work better than that," he added with a laugh.

"Ugh, bite me," you hissed through gritted teeth, attempting to focus on your work.

"Where? Point it out, and I'll leave my mark," Crosshair snickered.

You were silent for a few moments, focusing on fastening the bandage around his arm. Without thinking, you gestured to your neck, one of your favourite areas, and before your hand could move away, Crosshair had dipped his head down and begun nibbling along your neck.

Things went on from there, despite Crosshair's minor injury.

At first, it was a strict 'no strings attached' arrangement, mostly because you two wanted to keep this a secret, not wanting to put a wedge between the Batch, or work, (even though it was painfully obvious, and the Batch knew. Neither of you were exactly quiet.)

One of you would leave after each session, depending on whose room you were hooking up in. It was usually yours since your bed is comfier, given that you purchased proper bedding, rather than sticking to the GAR assigned garbage.

And maybe that's why Crosshair fell asleep against you one night. It was your comfortable bedding, right? He just wanted to sleep in a proper bed, right? Even though you were cuddled up in his arms, both worn out from a heated and heavy session.

Crosshair was gone before you woke, leaving you with the question, 'what the kriff happened last night?'

He distanced himself from you for a while. He became blunt, snappy, no longer flirtatious and playful.

Everybody noticed. Hunter pulled him aside and informed him that he needs to knock it off, and then pulled you aside to ask what happened. You told him nothing, reassuring him that everything's fine, that Crosshair must have been going through one of his distant patches.

A week passes, and now that everybody's back on Coruscant, it's time to celebrate with a night out at 79's!

You head to the bar to purchase another drink, unfazed by the multiple shots already flowing through your blood stream. The music is pounding, the lights are blurry, and you don't mind the stranger that approaches you and begins chatting away.

Oh, but Crosshair does.

He watches, at first, death-gripping his own drink, the glass threatening to shatter in his grasp.

He slams his now-empty glass down on the table, not muttering a word to his brothers as he slips out from the booth, heading straight to the bar.

The sensation of somebody slipping their arm around your waist startles you, and you peer over your shoulder to see Crosshair, fire burning in his eyes.

"They're taken," is all Crosshair says, swiftly shooing the stranger away, who obviously do not fancy getting himself tangled up in this mess.

"Since when?" you question as you turn back to Crosshair.

He doesn't answer you.

Instead, he orders a drink, and pays for yours whilst he's at it. You repeat your question, failing to draw another answer from him.

"So much for no strings attached, huh?" you slyly comment.

Crosshair finally snaps. "It's not like you've moved away from me," he says as he gestures to his arm, still snugly around your waist.

"I don't want to cause a scene," you innocently shrug.

"I do," he huffs. "We can cause one right here..." Crosshair begins saying. He firmly grasps your chin, keeping your gaze fixated on his furrowed brows as he continues talking.

"...How about I kriff you right here, huh? For all these regs to see?" Crosshair continues, and dips his head down to kiss along your neck, nipping at your jawline, leaving his marks on your skin.

"Maybe then they'll realise that you're taken, that you're mine."

"Cross-" you gasp, and gasp once more when you feel his hand slip down your waist, kneading firmly at your ass. "Restroom, now," you order.

Crosshair chuckles, moving his lips from your soaked neck. He swiftly downs his drink, and you do the same, followed by grabbing his hand and pulling him to the nearest restroom.

Before you enter, you turn to him, your brows slightly furrowed as a stern tone takes over your voice. "But after this, we're talking about things, alright?"

"Alright," Crosshair agrees with a chuckle, slyly smiling as he urges you on, ready to bend you over the restroom sink for all the regs to see.

#tbbwriting #swwriting #crosshair x reader #nsft #gn!reader #gender neutral reader #tbb crosshair x you #ct 9904 #the bad batch #reader insert #crosshair #tbb #star wars #tbbheadcanon

[baronessblixen]

A prompt if I may ask for one, how sick does Scully have to get before she will admit she is sick? Cancer arc hurt/comfort please

I hope this enough hurt/comfort! There's definitely cancer arc angst. Wc: 1340. Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2021

Fictober Day 2: Whispered Words

She's been on her feet all day, slicing and dicing, trying to keep up with Mulder. Same old, same old. Except it's not. Her muscles protest as she changes out of her scrubs. Her legs barely lift, and she stumbles, catching herself just in time against the lockers. She looks around, her cheeks flaming red, but she's all alone. She sits down to tie her shoes and when she leans forward, the slight headache she's been ignoring all day, presses against her forehead, reminding her of the unspeakable.

Mulder is waiting for her, roaming the halls restlessly like a caged animal.

"There you are," he says when he sees her, and she forces a smile. "Any anomalies?" He asks, cracking a sunflower seed. The sound is loud in her ears, and she startles.

"No," she says, "nothing abnormal." Mulder makes a disappointed noise. She can't blame him; they're stuck in this case, every lead a dead end.

"Let's go back to the office. There must be something we're missing." She tries to keep up with Mulder's long, athletic strides and finds that she can't. She should have kept on her sneakers. The heels squish her toes, make her slow and sluggish. Mulder stops to open a door and Scully, breathless, averts her face so that he doesn't notice. When his fingers come into contact with her back, right where they always do, at the tip of her tattoo, tears shoot into her eyes. Her glazed skin cracks and she winces.

Mulder, oblivious to her internal turmoil, removes his hand but the pain remains. Ahead of her, his form turns blurry. Every step is agony, like she's walking on coals. The heat spreads thickly, gathers in her stomach.

"Scully? Are you okay?"

How many 'I'm fine's’ are too much, she wonders as she stares at him, leaning against the wall. She's breathless, can't take in enough air. Her stomach revolts against everything and she prays silently like she never has before to please, please not be sick right here, right now.

"Hey." Mulder is by her side, crouching down to be eye-level with her. She doesn't want to look at him. She wants to tell him that she's fine. She wants to be okay.

"I'm- I don't-," she breaks up, sobs; she doesn't want to cry but her tears fall anyway. If she doesn't say it, if she doesn't admit she's sick, then she won't be, right?

"It's okay," Mulder says and touches her arm. "Do you- can you walk on your own? Do you need an ambulance? I'm gonna call-"

"Mulder, no." She puts her hand on his where it lays on her arm. "I just want to go home. Just... home."

He helps her out of the building and into the car. They're taking baby steps. One foot in front of the other as if she's just learned how to do it. Mulder is quiet next to her but his thoughts are screaming, piercing through her mind.

"What about work?" She asks once they start driving. Her tongue feels three times its normal size and it's a struggle to get the words out.

"Work can wait. It's not that important."

Any other day she would protest. Any other day she'd tell him she was better already. Today, though, she stays silent, accepts the fate her body has inflicted on her.

She leans her head against the cold glass window, watches the scenery pass by. It makes her nauseous. They drive past roadkill; a small fox, its life over before it's really begun. Scully closes her eyes against the pain, against the unfairness of it all.

She doesn't remember falling asleep but when she opens her eyes again, they're at her apartment building and she's in Mulder's arms.

"What are you doing?" She asks, her voice thick with sleep.

"Didn't have the heart to wake you," he says, his words in her hair, like new fallen snow. "How are you feeling?"

"Sick," she says, too exhausted to lie.

"We're almost there. Can you stand? I need to unlock the door." As if she were his grandmother's porcelain, he puts her down and opens the door.

"I can walk," she says quickly before Mulder can pick her up again. He follows her like a guard dog, watching her every move. She walks straight to her bedroom and collapses on the bed.

"Do you want me to call your mother?"

"What for?" She mumbles, feeling Mulder remove her shoes.

He doesn't answer right away but he's still there because she feels his hand on her ankle.

"Mulder?" She asks.

"To help you... get changed, eat something. Do you want me to call her?"

"No. I'm fine." As long as she doesn't open her eyes again. She will manage. Her clothes are loose enough to sleep in; she's done so before.

"Tell me if anything is uncomfortable." She hears Mulder's voice, but it doesn't register. The sound of a zipper tears through the silence and as cold air hits her legs, she realizes it's her own. Mulder is removing her pants. She should say something, stop him. But she can't. The words won't come. She shivers and Mulder mumbles an apology, quickly finding her pajamas.

"I won't look," he swears with a gentle smile that distracts her for just a moment. He opens her blouse, one button at a time. "Bra on or off?" He asks, glancing at her face. Only someone who's never worn a bra would ask that question.

"Off," she manages to say. Mulder nods, keeps his eyes on her face and takes her bra off. How often has she dreamed about Mulder undressing her? How many fantasies has she had? None have ever been like this. Not a single one. She’d scream if she had the strength.

He helps her into an oversized t-shirt that she's certain used to be his. Neither comments on it.

"Lie down," he says. "I'll get you your meds." Scully listens to him moving around in her kitchen and swearing once or twice. She can't move. Her eyes keep falling shut, too heavy to stay open. She fights it, fights everything. Somewhere in her apartment, Mulder is talking. She hears snippets, deducts that he must be talking to her mother. 'Tired' is one word, 'worried' and 'stubborn' are uttered as well.

"I'll take care of, Mrs. Scully. I won’t leave her alone," Mulder says close to her bedroom. Fresh tears threaten to fall. This is everything she didn't want. Nothing was supposed to change. She's a medical doctor and she should know better. This is only the beginning.

"I'll call you if anything changes. Bye." Mulder walks back into the bedroom and sets a cup of tea and crackers on her nightstand. He leaves again, returns with a small bucket, a towel, and another blanket.

"I hope you're not crying cause the tea tastes bad." She touches her cheek, unaware that she's started crying. "Do you need anything else? Do we need to call your doctor?"

We. Not her, we. She merely shakes her head no, not trusting her voice.

"I won't leave. Anything you need, just tell me. Okay? Anything at all." He touches her forehead, his fingertips gentle against her skin.

"Try to get some rest, hm?"

"Where are you going?" She asks him.

"The living- I can stay here if you want." She's too tired to fight it. She knows in half an hour, an hour tops, her limbs will feel as if they're freezing. She will shiver and there will be nothing that can keep her warm. Except... tonight, she wants to take. This disease is taking from her every day, chipping away at her life every passing moment. Tonight she'll, too, be outlandishly demanding.

"Stay," she whispers. "Please stay."

In the next few hours, she falls in and out of sleep, eats, drinks and gets sick. Repeatedly. Mulder is right there with her, never once leaving her side. In the morning, when she feels better, they don’t mention it. They never do.

#fictober21 #this is angsty #i felt crappy today so i wrote this fic #and i like it #i hope you do too #msr #xf fanfic #my writing #my fic

[favoniuscodex]

ataraxia. - ch. 1 [ diluc x reader ]

ch. 1 - april showers pairing: diluc x gn!reader warnings: injuries, blood, but no violence. sfw. words: ~1.3k words fic masterlist [ prev ] - [ next ] chapter summary: you’re trying to find your dog in the rain. unfortunately, however, you find the collapsed, injured figure of a strange man who definitely isn’t from fontaine... great. a/n: this is more befitting of a prologue but,,, hm. chapter one it is. ch. 2 is done and will be posted sometime tomorrow / today ???

you first meet diluc ragnvindr before he meets you.

the day you encounter him is one rife with unpleasant weather. torrential rains pelt the ground around you, muddying the grasses of your family farm. it makes each step in your well-worn rainboots a struggle, but you trudge on nonetheless in pursuit of your dog. he had bolted out the door the second you peeked your head out onto your porch to ensure that the furniture wasn’t getting annihilated in today’s uncharacteristic weather.

for fontaine, the skies are normally a vibrant blue with clouds akin to soft white cotton filling the sky. today, however, is a different story. grey paints the world above your head and, in the cold of the rainstorm that manages to seep past the protective barrier of your jacket, you shove your hands further into your pockets and carry onwards.

when you finally spot the familiar silhouette of your dog, you’re met with the fallen figure of another. your dog pays the rain no mind, barking repeatedly at the man who lays face down in the dirt, bleeding out slowly. you stop in your tracks after finally realizing what exactly was happening, but your dog fails to cease his onslaught towards the poor man in front of him. your dog nudges the redhead’s hand and, in return, gets a weak pat on the head in response.

he’s conscious, you discern, but you aren’t sure if the man is concussed or not. you have little to no first aid experience. what you do have experience with are treasure hoarders. you wouldn’t put it past them to flop a half-dead hoarder down in order to ambush you, but you can’t just leave the injured man. your conscience wouldn’t be able to handle it, especially if you returned to a dead body in the morning.

in current weather conditions, the strange, collapsed redheaded man wouldn’t make it without your assistance. by the time you make it over to him, his eyes have fluttered closed. you nudge him with your foot and receive no response. your efforts to shout over the rain are fruitless as well, so you kick him harshly in the leg for good measure, trying to see if he would be able to respond, let alone stand up. no response.

so, you do what any rational person does best. you leave the unconscious, wounded man alone with your dog in the rain.

you do, however, return shortly with a wheelbarrow, much to your own behest. you couldn’t carry a man in this weather, especially when he was a.) a stranger and b.) probably covered in wounds based on the way the green grass around him has a faint tinge of red. the transportation of him back to your house is rather unceremonious, but he doesn’t stir from his likely blood loss-imposed slumber. your dog circles around your legs as you walk, but eventually comes to his senses and bolts back into the house, making you grumble jealously to yourself as you struggle to steer the wheelbarrow through the mud.

the shed seems like a pretty good option for leaving this man to come to his senses on his own terms, but his skin is far too pale now to be normal and you’ve already contaminated the corpse. if he does die, you’re a liability and you don’t really want to spend your life in fontaine’s musty jail cells, so you do what every person does with peculiar men they find on their farmlands: you take him into your house.

it’s a bit of a struggle, especially with the way the two of you drip water everywhere, but you miraculously manage to bring him to your dining room table, where you splay him out. you catch your breath and look down at his sopping wet figure with a sigh. even if you weren’t going to treat his wounds, you would still have to change his clothes for him to avoid both ruining your table and to help him avoid hypothermia.

in a brilliant stroke of genius, you leave the redhead on your dining room table alone to go search for a first aid kit, towels, and a fresh set of clothes for your newest guest. you slip into a new, dry outfit yourself before returning to the kitchen. startled at the sight that greets you, you nearly drop your newly accumulated supplies. the redheaded man has managed to sit up and now shakily points a knife at you. the two of you stare at each other and you let out a sigh as he clearly struggles to keep his eyes open, hand wobbling midair.

you have no doubt this man is a brilliant fighter, but you’re quite certain that even lil ol’ weaponless you could beat him in a knife fight at the moment. his ruby eyes seem to acknowledge this, yet he points the weapon at you anyways.

“who are you?” he grunts, before wincing at the movement. you wonder if he has a broken rib because of it.

“(y/n).” you respond and, even in his nearly delirious state, he looks at you, bewildered.

“that does not give me any information.” he says, somehow having the audacity to be annoyed with your response. you narrow your eyes.

“i don’t really care, if i’m being honest,” you respond, setting the supplies down near his feet. “just go back to sleep, you were easier to deal with then.”

“what are you planning to do to me?” the redhead asks. his voice sounds utterly pained and melodramatic and you roll your eyes. this dude definitely thinks he’s the tragic star of some action movie, you think to yourself.

“i’m trying to help you, even with my limited medical experience. i’m going to have to take your clothes off though, not to be creepy,” you explain and you’re not even quite sure as to why you’re bothering to elaborate your plans to this man who decided it was a good idea to wear a fur-lined coat in the middle of a rainstorm. he stays silent for a few more moments before letting the knife fall from his hands. it clatters onto the ground next to him and you only hope that it doesn’t nick the flooring.

“fine.” he responds and your eyebrows raise in amusement at the way he gave in far sooner than you expected. the loud thump of him slumping backwards, passing out once more, provides you the reasoning behind his actions. despite the situation at hand, you can’t help but let out a small laugh at his once-again-unconscious form.

you had certainly gotten yourself into the mess of a situation, huh?

the jingling of your dog’s collar interrupts your thoughts as he pads lazily into the room, looking between you and the man resting on your dining room table, wagging his tail. he stares up at you obliviously and you frown at him, but he just wiggles in response before leaving the room. little shit doesn’t realize what trouble he brought me, you think bitterly to yourself before returning to the situation at hand. right. providing medical attention to a passed out stranger. how exciting.

when you finally finish, your feet are screaming at you to sit down and your body quivers with exhaustion. you hadn’t bothered to put a shirt back on him -- the pants had been difficult (and awkward) enough. plus, the guy definitely had a broken rib. you weren’t about to agitate it further. bandages, stitches, and makeshift splints cover the stranger’s body, but you don’t desire to admire your handiwork.

instead, you sit down at one of the dining room chairs next to him, fold your arms on the table in front of you, and promptly pass out, resting your forehead on your forearms. hopefully when you awoke, he wouldn’t try to stab you, if he would even be able to.

#genshin impact x reader #diluc x reader #genshin impact #diluc #//ataraxia

[wing-ed-thing]

Mob Wife (Kakuzu x Reader, ft. Hidan) Part IV

Synopsis: The Akatsuki are in emergency mode. Kakuzu leads Hidan to the only place he knows for sure is safe to regroup.

Word Count: 

Warnings/Tags: Violence, Blackmail, Language, Fem!Reader, HouseWife!Reader, Moll!Reader, Attempt at Humor, Ceremonial Drinking of Sake, Traditional Wedding

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Finale

Notes: It’s back. Writing Hidan has got me feeling a certain way rn

It rained on your wedding day: weather fitting for, and not minded by, a criminal and a deserter. As you approached the temple, he tried to tell you many times that you were going to be turned away, but as you spoke to the shrine masters, you were greeted warmly and welcomed. You were young with a warm face that offset Kakuzu’s intimidating exterior. Everyone always loved you right away, a way about you that Kakuzu could never begin to consider replicating. With your open heart, you brought a foreign concept into his world: acceptance. The few priests and priestesses at the temple on the border of the Land of Stone looked upon you kindly, a kindness that you and Kakuzu continued to repay years later. The small village of a few hundred that housed that shrine would never see a shinobi attack. Now, only you continue to repay years later.

You could tell that Kakuzu didn’t like being in the temple in the slightest. He had never been one for religion or structure or ceremonies, so you tried not to laugh the first time you saw him in his montsuki haori hakama. You wondered how much grumbling went into getting Kakuzu in such formal attire with a goofy, lopsided grin. Even as he gazed upon your amused, upturned lips, his infamous temper laid unusually dormant. Kakuzu never thought that he would see his own wedding day. Being the kind of man he was, he never thought that he’d have one. He didn’t think that he deserved it, but for once as you stood in front of him in your shiromuku, all of his jaded thoughts seemed to fade. Of course with you, all doors opened.

Kakuzu knelt next to you at the shrine, ever stoic. He put his hair up before the ceremony and secured it neatly behind his head. You remembered it when it was short. As the priest announced your marriage to the gods, you couldn’t help but glance at Kakuzu out of the corner of your eye. He held himself together better than you imagined he would.

“Well, yes. I am an adult,” he would tell you later.

But at that moment, he received the first sakazuki. The priest's vessel tipped over the small cup two times before pouring. Kakuzu brought the dish up to his lips and took three sips: pointless seeing that neither of you had parents, but traditional nonetheless. You were taught to always honor your ancestors, but you doubted that Kakuzu felt the same. You received your cup and the same sake, taking the same three sips and the ceremony went on. The second sakazuki represented your vow to care for each other. You received a slightly larger cup and once again, you each touched the sake to your lips three times. The third represented fortune and fertility.

The Heavens, the Earth, and the People.

You offered Kakuzu a light smile as you moved to the next part of the ceremony, a gesture to assure him that it was almost over. He would have rolled his eyes in any other setting, but Kakuzu didn’t even have to speak for you to know exactly what he meant. You knew that more than anything, he was happy to be with you. Out of all the things that he had done as a shinobi, he could handle a stuffy ceremony.

“I thought you liked stuffy things,” you teased him later, parts of your robes slung over forearms and shoulders for better mobility as you walked through the gardens. Your hand rested in his as you balanced yourself on some raised, rock ledges. His expression could have easily been mistaken for exasperation as he scoffed, but you knew better. He looked happy. “You’re a shinobi. Now that’s stuffy!”

The priest had you stand and you received a flowering branch to offer to the gods. As you held the sprig in your hand, you glanced at Kakuzu. His eyes met your own and you quietly prayed over your offerings before presenting them together, stem first. You bowed together, the rituals vaguely familiar to you as you performed them.

With the blessings of the gods, you had received your rings. Your thumb ran over the skin of Kakuzu’s hand. They had a familiar gruffness to them and held smooth bumps from old scars. His fingernails were short. You slid the band onto his ring finger. The black suited him. He squeezed the fingers of your other hand. The space behind your eyes stung as you held back tears watching as he placed the ring on your hand.

Neither of you had family, so you thanked the shrine priests and priestesses and enjoyed their hospitality. You took a single picture. It was the same frame that you held in your hands now.

Kakuzu walked out a few hours ago, taking Hidan with him. Your kitchen was, for the most part, wrecked. Your doing. Your tears had since dried up and your trembling was beginning to fade. With a shaky breath, you brought yourself to your feet. You placed the picture face-down on the counter and reached for the broom in the corner. Your heart hurt, but the world continued on. And if the world continued on, so should you.

***

You didn’t want to eat, you didn’t feel hungry, but you stood over the sink anyway biting into whatever you could pull from your fridge. You cleaned up the kitchen to the best of your ability. Trash piled up in neat bins outside: splintered wood, broken plates, and any other particles of dust that you managed to sweep up. You could handle it later. At least the rest of the kitchen was spotless. You glanced down at the thick wedding band that sat in your hand. Twirling it between your fingers, you bit into your bell pepper like an apple. That was the kind of night you were having.

A harsh pounding came from the front door and for a split second you wondered if your husband came back. Ex-husband. You didn’t think so. You kept your eyes on the kitchen window but the pounding continued adamantly. A slight shiver went down the back of your neck. The next farm wasn’t for miles. That was definitely not Kakuzu.

You put down your pepper and rolled out your utensil drawer. Your fingers danced across the kunai strapped to the bottom as you silently hoped that your training hadn’t worn off too horribly. The banging ceased as the doorknob began to rattle. The door swung open and you launched your kunai with immense velocity and precision. It was snatched out of the air.

“Fuck! That hurts like a bitch!”

Hidan stood in the entryway with his hand still held up and wrapped around your weapon. Blood dripped onto your floors as the kunai clattered to the ground. He shook out his palm, now sporting a deep gash. All you could do was stand and blink, wondering why he was there and if Kakuzu was with him. Hidan threw his cloak onto the rack. It slid, hardly staying on as he marched over to you. The door didn’t fit into its frame the same as it did before and there was no sign of Kakuzu.

“Can you patch me up, lady?” He looked around your kitchen for somewhere to sit, but found none. He dripped more onto your floors. You quickly guided his wrist over your sink and looked up at him. Beads of water fell down his face. You didn’t even hear the rain outside.

“What happened?” you asked sternly, your voice cracking a bit with worry. Hidan groaned.

“You fucked up my hand, can you at least fix me? I’m traumatized over here.” You sighed, yanking him forward before turning the running water on over his hand. You held it there for a second as if telling him to keep it there before running off to get your medical kit.

“Hidan, you have to tell me if there is an emergency,” you said as you heaved the box onto the counter from your spare room. You cleaned his palm with soap and disinfectant before applying pressure. While you didn’t have to worry about blood loss with Hidan, you also didn’t want him passing out on your kitchen floor either. That would make one more thing to clean up. “Hidan—” You pulled the gauze extra tight. He didn’t seem to be listening to you. —“Is there an emergency?”

“No, lady, it was just cold as fuck and Kakuzu’s got a stick up his ass that’s worse than usual. But you already know what that’s like.” The atmosphere stood still at the mention of Kakuzu���s name.

You knew that you shouldn’t worry about him. As far as you were concerned, he had just divorced you a few hours ago, and even if he hadn’t, you were certain that he could take care of himself. You apparently didn’t do a great job at masking your worry.

He usually didn’t care about the effect of his words, but as you frowned to yourself, Hidan couldn’t help but consider how sad you looked. He pursed his lips, never one for comforting others. For a split second, he wondered whether or not he should have brought up his partner at all. Two fingers gently bumped the bottom of your chin and you looked up at Hidan.

“Don’t look so down. It doesn’t look good on you.” He hesitated. “He’ll come back.”

You dropped his wrapped hand, not noticing that you’ve been drawing loops around his knuckles with your finger.

“I don’t know. He’s usually pretty certain about things and I can’t dwell on that.” You shook your head, turning the water back on to wash your own hands. “You have to go. I know that you have things to do and my— and Kakuzu won’t like that you’re here.” He pouted as you moved around him. You had blood to clean up.

“But it’s raining…” he pouted, expression falling in your peripheral. “And he’s miserable right now which means I’m miserable. C’mon let me stay, I’m miserable.”

“Hidan.” You turned to him and leaned on the doorway from your kitchen to your small living area. “Your partner doesn’t live here anymore.” You flicked on the entryway light, your bucket in hand. Hidan followed behind you, now taking your spot in the doorframe.

“But that doesn’t mean that I have to leave. You know he’s being stupid, but that doesn’t mean that I need to suffer out in the rain because Kakuzu’s a crotchety, old bastard.” You sighed, resting on the handle of your mop. You shook your head.

“I’m sure by the time you get to town the two of you can find somewhere to stay.”

A silence overtook the house again, full of raging, but unspoken thoughts. You squeezed out the yarns and tended to the floors. It, at the very least, gave you something to do. Hidan’s blood already dried part way and you scrubbed harder, but not before it was snatched out of your grip. Hidan shoved you over to take your place. The backs of your knees hit the armrest of the modest couch that you almost toppled down onto. He took to scrubbing.

“So what happened?” he asked.

“Sorry?” Hidan peered at you with his bright violet irises.

“I’m trying to be nice and ask you about your problems, so you better start chatting before I lose interest.” The mop splashed back into the bucket. “Who else do you get to talk to?” You pursed your lips. You knew that he was biding his time to wait out the rain, but his words weren’t wrong. The hurt still felt fresh and perhaps you were feeling a bit desperate to get it out of your system.

“I’m not sure what happened. I asked, but, well, you know how my… how Kakuzu is.” And you found yourself retelling the entirety of what happened: the argument, the ring, Kakuzu’s misplaced comments about children. You left out the part about the wrecked kitchen. “And then he said something about ‘now letting this happen’ which had to be the last straw for me.”

“Did you want brats?” Hidan had since stopped his cleaning. Surprisingly, he listened intently to your rambling as he propped himself against the wall. You swung your feet back and forth over the side of the couch.

“I never really thought about it before and Kakuzu and I never talked about it, so I don’t know why he brought it up.”

“Because he’s a dumbass who thinks too much. I never know what’s going on in that fucked up head of his. If I had a home to come to like this with a cute little thing in an apron—” Hidan scoffed. —“Fuck the Akatsuki. I wouldn’t be hiding you out here because of some band of losers in capes.” That made you laugh.

“You’re in the Akatsuki,” you giggled and Hidan raised a slender eyebrow.

“So? I’m the best one out of all those guys.”

“The best out of some band of losers?” The corners of Hidan’s lips turned upwards into a brief smile as he rolled his pretty irises.

“Listen, I got my devilish charms going for me which is better than Ragdoll. He looks like a fucking pin cushion.” Your hand came over your mouth as you laughed. Hidan looked down at where you sat, pride swelling in his chest at the prospect of cheering you up. But your face quickly morphed into something sentimental.

“Aw, but he’s a cute pin cushion…” Your bottom lip curled into a pout, but at least you didn’t look quite as sad as before. Hidan leaned a bit forward.

“He’s a little over a hundred-eight centimeters tall and has a big-ass nose.” You let out an amused breath. “I’d hardly consider that ‘cute’.”

“But it’s a cute nose. It’s slender and has that cute little bump in the middle.” Your voice grew quieter. Another silence, the third of Hidan’s visit.

It all felt too confusing for you. Maybe Kakuzu was never that interested in you in the first place. You shook your head then and there, much to Hidan’s confusion. Despite Kakuzu’s attitude towards most everything, you knew that he cared deeply about you. Perhaps he had grown bored. Despite ninja work not being of interest to you, you knew that many found the profession very exciting. You ran many profitable operations in the surrounding area, but more money could be made elsewhere, you knew that much. Your lifespan was nothing compared to Kakuzu’s nearly a century of living. He had done everything in life that he had wanted to do and all you had little to show for your existence.

You kept replaying his words about the time that you had. That you had enough time to do more. But if you really thought about it, you were content living the way you had been. You were happy and for a split second you considered whether or not Kakuzu actually saw himself as worthy of you. You shook your head for the second time. No, if anything, you considered it the other way around. You’d imagine that you would come off as boring and childlike to an immortal.

“That’s a lot of thinking.” Hidan had taken to wandering around the room. You hadn’t noticed. “Fuck thinking. You deserve better than taking care of some place in the middle of nowhere and running numbers on boring-ass shit.” You smiled again to yourself, something else that you didn’t notice.

“I actually like it here,” you mumbled. Hidan yawned.

“Can I stay now?” You deliberated to yourself before grabbing the bucket and the mop away from him. He didn’t do a great job, but you found yourself relatively uncaring at the moment.

“Yes, you can stay,” you sighed. Hidan was already halfway down the hall by the time you finished your sentence.

“Good because I was going to crash here anyway.”

@brokennerdalert @unsatisfiedanddisappointed @krispypotato @meme-queen-1999​

Notes: Reader and Kakuzu had a Shinto wedding if anyone’s interested. 

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed and otherwise supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

#kakuzu x reader #hidan x reader #kakuzu #hidan #Akatsuki x reader #akatsuki #naruto x reader #naruto x y/n #naruto x you #naruto imagines #naruto imagine #naruto scenarios #naruto scenario #naruto headcanon #naruto headcanons #x you #x reader #reader insert

[aalbedo]

injured!tartaglia x reader (part 2)

part two of this

request: Hello I absolutely loved your one shot of Tartaglia helping an injured reader sdjgksjfkf if you don't mind I'd like to request a part 2 where reader asks him the story behind that big scar he pointed out? Maybe reader finds HIM injured and returns the favor and asks about his other scars while they treat his wounds?? Ahaha reader's just like "fuck I can't just leave you here to bleed out but don't you dare think this means I care for you or anything" lmao

format: two-parter (again, read part one first)

ship: tartaglia x reader

tags: fluff, reader is the traveler-ish (a completely separate character from aether and lumine, but still the traveler, does that make sense?), author forgets basic wound care halfway into the fic

warnings: blood, mildly graphic depiction of injury, stitches and needles

words: 3027

notes: hey so uhhhhhhhh i kinda went off the rails with this one, i didn't really follow the prompt in some points since uh... the part about the stories behind the scars... i kinda forgot about that... or like... eh you'll see, anyway, - banner still fucked up it will be fixed i prommy

Despite the high number of hilichurl camps, abyss mages, fatui agents, ruin hunters and ruin guards, Lisha was still one of your favorite places to explore, it was full of treasure chests to open, sweet flowers to pick and ore to mine. Plus, the atmosphere managed to still be peaceful, the open fields where the sun would shine uninterrupted for hours and hours on end were your favorite place to sit down and bask in the sunlight.

Your leg was still recovering from the tough hit you had taken a few weeks prior, which meant that you had to take more breaks while adventuring. Not that you would complain, taking breaks, putting some numbing cream on your wound, eating some reinvigorating food and drinking fresh water was just as satisfying as exploring.

After resting for about half an hour, you decided to get up, careful not to put any pressure on your injured leg. You threw your bag over your shoulder and walked north-west, towards the road to the chasm.

In the distance, you started hearing sounds of fighting, and as you got closer to them, you could see a tall figure fighting not one, but two separate ruin hunters, with a bow. It was too far away to see the person’s face, but you had half an idea of who it could be.

Then, out of nowhere, a bright purple flash, and in less than a second the ruin hunters were both on the ground, completely destroyed. Yep, it’s Tartaglia.

You thought about turning away and changing your direction before he could see you. You had already reluctantly thanked him for helping you that day, as well as paying for your medication out of his own pocket, but you still felt like you owed him a favor that you really did not want to fulfill. He was still the guy that almost destroyed Liyue, and made you fight for your life, despite everything.

Until you saw him fall to his knees, and as he turned to face your direction you could see his chest covered in blood.

You acted on instinct, ignoring your brain telling you to leave him alone, that he could tend to his own wounds, and you sprinted towards him. He may be an asshole, but you just want to avoid him, not leave him to die.

He was resting his back on a wall, head thrown back. Even from far away, you could see that he was breathing heavily. That same backpack you had seen on him the day he helped you was now sitting next to him, his left hand already rummaging through it.

His head shot up, he had definitely heard you coming towards him, his eyes widened as you kneeled down right in front of him and got a better look at his condition. You could see a cut crossing his chest, from his right shoulder to the middle of his torso, right over his heart. His grey coat was soaked in blood, as it pooled on the bend of his hips and slid down to the ground.

“So you do care about me.” he broke the silence, struggling to talk through heavy breaths and groans. He was completely out of breath, covered in blood, definitely in pain, and all he could think about was joking.

“I don’t. Just because I hate you, it doesn’t mean I want to see you dead.” You didn’t have time to get mad at him. “Also - I owe you a favor, I guess.” The only thought in your head was to help him, so you did not think twice before quickly unbuttoning his coat and undercoat and moving them out of the way.

You got a look at his chest and through the blood you could see several other scars, most of them looked years old, a few of them looked pretty large, carving his chest and abdomen. You wondered if his entire body looked like this, and why his face didn’t.

“Like what you see?” he joked again, his voice sounded hoarse, strained, very clearly struggling to talk. You sighed, couldn’t he just shut up for a minute?

You turned to your own bag to pull out anything you might need to help him. Potions, numbing cream and even a stitching kit laid next to you. You had bought the kit after that day, and started learning how to stitch wounds.

“No,” you dismissed him again. He whined quietly, you weren’t sure if it was because of your response or the wound.

All of the sudden, you felt… fear? Fear of what? Him passing out? And anger, at the fact that he wasn’t taking the situation as seriously as you were. He could easily die from this wound and all he was doing was making jokes.

You quickly started cleaning the blood with a cloth in one hand, while holding a bottle of antiseptic potion in your left, ready to pour it on top of the cut. You were being quick, passing your hand over his chest as fast as you could, trying to gather all the blood while avoiding the open skin, but there was so much of it that in mere seconds the cloth was soaked and completely useless.

You looked up at him and he was staring at the ground, his eyes completely unfocused. “Childe,” you called him and he squeezed his eyes closed, “try to stay awake.”

“Easy to say,” he muttered. At least he was awake.

You threw away the bloody cloth, and poured the antiseptic potion directly on his scar with no warning. Despite knowing that you were just helping him, a wave of guilt washed over you as you heard him cry out from the pain and throw his head back, wincing again when he hit the wall.

Half a bottle of potion and another clean cloth drenched in blood later, the wound had completely stopped bleeding, and you finally breathed out all the tension you were holding in your body.

His face, and body, were completely pale from the blood loss. His mouth was agape, eyelids half closed - looking at you, he sighed, barely letting any air out. You glared back, but by the way his head was positioned, you couldn’t help but look at his lips, the way they moved slightly every time he breathed out, they seemed so… soft, sweet. You brushed aside a thought that had snaked into your brain. His mouth curled up and he barked a laugh, but he stopped immediately and groaned again. Had he noticed that you were looking?

“Don’t laugh, it’ll hurt you,” you reminded him as you threw away the second blood drenched cloth.

“Sure,” he replied, voice still strained. “Whatever you say.”

You find a third cloth, the only clean one you had left, used some water from your bottle to make it damp and used it to wash your hands.

“Don’t talk either,” you looked at him as you opened a small glass jar containing numbing cream. “What were you thinking, being here alone and fighting two ruin guards?” He opened his mouth. “Don’t answer, you’ll tell me later.”

“I was just collecting some debts when those two attacked me.” He groaned again.

“I said, don’t talk if it hurts.” You made it clear from your tone that you were annoyed at the way that he was acting.

You dipped a couple of fingers into the cream, and hesitated before placing your bare hand on his chest, carefully placing the cream around the wound, so that he would not feel pain when you would be stitching it closed. As you got a better look at the cut, you noticed how the skin had been basically mangled, it looked like it would not be an easy recovery.

“You look like you know what you’re doing,” he pointed out, before groaning again. You were starting to wish you had taped his mouth with something.

“Because I know what I’m doing, I’m not an idiot. And you’re making me regret helping you, just shut up already.”

“Make me.”

Your hand froze over his skin. You moved your eyes back up to him, trying to decipher his expression. Was that an invitation, or just teasing? He hadn’t even tried to put on a smug face, his expression just looked tired and worn out, which made it even harder to decipher.

The longer you looked at him, the weirder it would get, you would have to do something before it got awkward and that thought from earlier slammed back into your head.

You wanted to wish you had run the other way, but the truth was that you were glad you hadn’t. Maybe it was all of the tension you had accumulated while seeing all that blood flow out of him, maybe it was the heavy lidded look he was giving you, but you placed your clean hand on the side of his face, cupping his cheek. His eyes widened, mouth parted ready to say something, but, before he could, your lips were on his.

The kiss was fast, you pulled back almost immediately and averted his gaze right away. You could feel him staring at you as you put your hand back into the jar and picked up some more cream.

“I didn’t think you would actually-” he didn’t finish the sentence.

You quickly caught a glimpse of his expression before focusing on taking care of the wound. You contained a laugh as you saw him look absolutely dumbfounded and flustered, he had seriously been rendered completely speechless by what could barely be considered a kiss. If he hadn’t lost that much blood that day, his cheeks would definitely be red.

Honestly, you couldn’t believe what had happened either. You couldn’t believe you had even done it. You could’ve just laughed it off and kept medicating him in silence. But you were glad that you didn’t.

Neither of you uttered a word for a while, and even though the atmosphere wasn’t explicitly awkward, you wished he would say something. After a thick layer of numbing cream and several minutes of silence, you finally gathered the courage to look back at him. He was clearly pretending to look away, as if he hadn’t spent the entire time looking at you working.

“Is the pain gone? Can I stitch it now?” Your voice came out unexpectedly soft. You touched the skin around the wound, waiting to get a reaction from him.

His head snapped back to face you, and he nodded. “Can’t feel a thing,” he said as he touched his own chest. “I can stitch it though, if you wa- Ah!” He lifted his right arm, the injured one, and immediately stopped mid-air, “fuck- shit, not this,” he almost yelled.

“You ripped a tendon.” You gently took his right arm, putting it back down for him, and looked at his shoulder. “I’ll stitch it, don’t worry - I’ve learned.”

He didn’t say anything, and you took it as permission. You opened the kit you had bought at Bubu pharmacy weeks prior: recurved needle, thread and tweezers. You could feel Tartaglia’s gaze on you as you struggled passing the thread through the needle, but in the end you managed to do it.

As you hovered over the wound, your gaze fell on a large scar, the one that would normally be visible from over his coat on his neck, and it went down over the left side of his body down until his hip. It looked pretty old, but it was still very visible.

“Can I ask you… how did you get that?”

“Mh?”

You pointed at the scar with your pinkie and slightly traced over it, “this scar, what happened?”

He followed your finger with his gaze, and kept his eyes on the scar even as you moved back to the still open wound. “Oh, that?” You passed the needle through the skin and pulled it out on the other side. “I was 14.”

You saw some blood trickle from the cut as you carefully pulled the thread and passed the needle through one more time. By the way he had spoken, you felt like he was going to continue talking, so you didn’t interrupt.

“Uhm, when I was 14, I-” you heard him pass his tongue over his lips, “the Abyss, you know.” You nodded quietly as you passed the needle through a few more times.

“You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to,” you reassured him, you knew that it was a pretty sensitive topic, or at least you imagined it would be. You stitched a few more loops with ease, getting progressively more comfortable with what you were doing.

“It’s fine, I- I was in-” his voice was starting to shake the slightest bit, but you noticed the change of tone in his voice.

You finally reached the end, and you cut the thread, tying it tightly at the end. You put the needle and the tweezers back into their container.

“I had to fight this… huge- and when-” once you looked up at him, you realized how lost in thought he was, looking at his scar, unable to take his eyes off it, he was probably getting some flashbacks. “I-” his voice cracked, his lower lip trembled ever so slightly, and you could not bear it anymore. Without even thinking about it, you grabbed the side of his face and dragged him in for an actual, proper kiss.

He fell right into it and reciprocated immediately, placing his left hand on the side of your waist. It was sweet, and tender, and you got a better feel of what his lips were like: just as soft as they looked.

You pulled back first once again, and as you got to look at his surprised face, eyebrows raised and everything, your mind started racing. You had just kissed not just a Fatui, not just a Harbinger, but the Harbinger that had tried to kill you, that manipulated you and that nearly destroyed Liyue for the second time. And he was sitting in front of you looking like an idiot.

You couldn’t figure out what you were feeling, but there was something going on deep in your chest, and stomach.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you quickly clarified before he could say anything. “Neither of them do, they were just to shut you up.”

“Were they?” he asked. And just like that, he came full circle back to the false smugness.

You really, really did not want to think about the weird feeling that was growing in your stomach. “Look at what I got from Baizhu.” From your bag, you pulled out a thick strip made out of cotton and a small vial full of Slime concentrate.

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“What do they mean to you?” you bit back, waiting to see if he would face the question himself, or back out like a hypocrite.

“What did you get from Baizhu?”

You both chuckled, and you noticed his bare chest rising and falling back down as he laughed. “He said it’s a new type of bandaging, you use slime concentrate to stick it to the skin.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t love the sound of that, actually.”

“I was skeptical too the first time I tried it, but trust me - it’s much more comfortable.” You heard him sigh in defeat as you already spread some of the slime condensate over the strip, and set down the half empty vial. “It won’t hurt.”

“Do you promise?”

He looked into your eyes with a relaxed expression, you looked right back. “I promise,” you replied with a kind smile, before turning your attention to the strip and stuck it over the wound, carefully placing it so that it would cover the entire cut.

“All done,” you said as you started getting up, but you felt a hand grabbing your arm, another one grabbing the side of your face, and tugging you back down, and before you could realize it your lips were once again on Tartaglia’s.

You couldn’t help but reciprocate the kiss, his lips were still soft, and at that point you felt like you could get used to them. The kiss was exactly as gentle as the one before, you could feel your fluttering in your chest as Tartaglia’s thumb started gently rubbing your cheekbone.

He pulled back first this time, and as you opened your eyes back you could see a wide smile on his face.

“Sending me mixed signals, huh?” you pointed out.

“I told you, I never had anything against you personally,” he said as he put his clothes back on, trying to fix them as much as possible, despite the very clear cut on his chest and the blood covering them completely.

“I’m gonna need some time before I’ll believe that.” You got up and reached down a hand for him to get up. “You’re gonna need to prove it to me.”

He grabbed it with his non-injured hand and stood up beside you. “While you take your time, care to walk me to Bubu pharmacy, so I can buy some of these sticky bandages?” he asked, a wide smile still on his face.

“Sure,” you simply replied, picking up both of your back and tossing them over your shoulder.

You watched him move his injured arm slightly, to figure out how much he could move it. Unsurprisingly, not much.

He hummed. “I’m gonna have to take some time off from duty, hopefully they won’t kill me for it,” he said in a joking manner, but you could sense that he wasn’t kidding about the killing part.

“Well,” as you both started walking back to the harbor, you got an idea, “you could use the time off to show me that you truly don’t hate me.”

“Like what?” You could feel his gaze on you.

“Like, we could go out for dinner,” you suggested, keeping your eyes in front of you. “In a completely neutral way, and then see what happens from there.”

“Sounds good.”

“It’s a plan, then.”

#likes; comments and reblogs are incredibly appreciated!!! #next one is gonna be albedo x reader again lmao i cant leave the man alone #i'll try posting once a week i guess #more than that i just cannot do #genshin #genshin impact #genshin childe #gi #genshin tartaglia #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact childe #genshin impact tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #childe x reader #genshin childe x reader #genshin tartaglia x reader #how many fucking tags #x reader