#continually messes up procedures? check

[the-hopeless-haze]

The writers of House MD really said let’s write the WORST possible white man of all time and they created Robert Chase MD

[minhosimthings]

imagining heeseung as a gynaecologist has me drooling. this mf would either

give excuses in the form of "lay down for me,let me see" but uses this chance to manhandle you and settle you in wtv position he likes

'baby i'm just checking and you're squirming,it's so not pure of you' but irl he has 3 of his fingers on your hole,stretching it enough for him to get a good look at your aroused walls,smirking when he sees it clenching

"your insides are vibrating baby,do you really want me to do nothing about it?and let you leave?"

YOU CANT JUST DO THIS SHIT TO ME ANNONIE WHAT THE FUCK. Warnings: 18+ content, fingering, p in v, semi exhibitionism

More under cut!

Ugh I'd pass out just imagining him smirking so much, when you'd gladly spread your legs for him on the doctor's table because according to him it was a 'necessary medical procedure'. Just imagine him sticking his first finger into you pussy and flicking it upto a place he knew would drive you crazy. A secret spot only he knew.

Your vision begins to speckle and fizz, and pleasure coils blinding hot in the pit of your stomach. The sound of his pumping fingers is filthy and slick, and your cunt sucks him in. Begs more than your mouth ever could.

You meet each thrust of his fingers with a tilt of your hips, exhale a stuttering moan, when he pulls you hard against his chest and whispers a string of praise into your ear.

Without warning, Heeseung rams into you, his hips snapping against your pelvis causing you to cry out, the pain soon turning into pleasure — your nails dig into his back which were sure to create scratches as he plows into you.

His rhythm was steady, rolling his hips quickly into you before they stopped, pushing the silicone fully into you and hitting your cervix. Heeseung continue with his abuse on your cunt, hips going from rolling to snapping quickly in and out of you.

Slap after slap on your ass cheeks over and over, his strong hand making the stinging pain unbearable. You felt him sink into you again, a lewd moan shrieking from your lips, but silenced quickly by his hand.

"Wouldn't want the others to hear how much of a cumslut you are right?" His cocky smile would dingle on his face. Heeseung is relentless, slapping you until your skin is raw. His thumb slyly pressed against the clenched ring of flesh when he had spread the flesh of your ass, thumb poking and teasing.

Like a tidal wave your orgasm comes crashing down, and you let out a loud pornographic moan of Heeseung's name whilst you squirt all over his dick—he savours every bit of warmth, as he leaves marks on your shoulder with his skilled tongue.

a small puddle of drool formed at the creases of your mouth, your eyes still rolled back as Heeseung's thick cock pulled out, leaving your pussy paining, as if it was a heaven without the angels or hell without the demons.

"look at that, all fucked out for me. you liked being fucked like a slut?" Heeseung cocks his head at your panting figure, "Well, you passed you test atleast, so you're good to go." His ego only rises, seeing you all messed up in the medical gown, glaring daggers at him. He'd scoff at that, as if he didn't just give you the best doctor's appointment of your life for free.

[chronicbeans]

Nurse's Office

Needed to write a platonic Alastor x Nurse Reader Angst fic after I saw that fight between him and Adam like holy hell.

TW: Injuries and Blood, Medical Tools/Procedures, Anxiety/Slight Panic, Spiraling Mental Health

So... When you got started at the Hazbin Hotel, you didn't expect to be a nurse there. Sure, you have the skills, but you usually don't have a nurse working a hotel. Now, though, you completely understand why they'd want to hire you for that, and not the room service position you applied for. Over the little time you've been here, you've seen more injuries that you could've ever imagined at a single hotel, with so few guests.

After the fight with the angels, though? You have been working on overdrive. You've had to patch everyone up, and you can't even find Alastor. You keep doing a head count after every person you treat, seeing if you can find him, but he doesn't show up. Your anxiety only gets worse once you check on Vaggie, the last person you had to help, and he still didn't make an appearance.

You don't want to assume the worst, though, so you grab some medical supplies, put them into a bag, then head out into the debris. He has to be somewhere. Even if he's not alive, he still deserves to be found. He also couldn't have gotten far! Yeah, he kind of... disappeared at one point...? You didn't get a good look, but he did disappear from your sight. But you don't suspect he'd have went far from the hotel while injured. Just far enough to be safe. That's what you hope, at least...

You continue wandering around for a few hours, your legs feeling exhausted after a while. Climbing over all the rubble, breathing in some of the settling dust, and straining your eyes to see up ahead is tiring... that, and you keep scraping your hands and knees on the sharp rocks and broken concrete. The most disheartening part, though, is that you still haven't seen him... Then, you spot it.

A tiny little splatter of blood.

Then, another splatter nearby...

And another...

Yes, a trail! You don't know who it's going to lead to, but you can see some lights in the distance. It at least leads somewhere. You quickly begin to follow it, seeing the red light get brighter and brighter. The radio tower comes into view. You know that it has to be Alastor, at this point. Why hadn't you thought of it sooner? You climb down the rubble, beginning to make your way over to the ruined tower ahead of you.

As you get close to the bottom hatch, you hear some footsteps against the floor. Immediately, you knock on the hatch, making your presence known. "Alastor! It's (Y/N)! I'm coming in there! If you're on the door, you better get off. Don't even try to stop me from getting in, either, because I'll climb through one of the windows if I have to." You pause, hearing the footsteps stop for a moment. After a few seconds, you crawl into the radio tower.

The place is a mess, to say the least... which, you expected. You stand up, then immediately scan the room for Alastor. It's a bit dark, and knowing him, he's probably going to try to hide, somehow. He hates being seen as weak, and from all the blood you've seen so far, he's gotten injured. Badly.

"Alastor? I know you're in here. I heard you walking." You walk around the room, checking every corner. Then, you notice an oddly moving shadow, alongside a puddle of blood. You walk over to it, frowning. "I know you're there. Come on. I'm here to help." You sigh as the shadow makes a little grunt noise, much like a deer would. You then cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at it. Looks like you'll have to appeal to his ego a little.

"How do you think people would feel if you, the great Radio Demon, died here alone in the shambles of his radio tower?" The shadow grows quiet as you say this, and before you know it, Alastor appears before you. He looks terrible, holding his stomach with one arm and the broken remains of his microphone in his other hand. You take a step towards him, but he backs away a bit.

"I'm fine, dear... It's nothing I can't handle. Just give me some time to regain my energy, then I-" You shake your head instantly, gesturing to his wound. "No, Alastor! Look at you. You almost died! Sure, maybe you can regenerate, I don't know... but I spent an hour or so looking for you, with the sole intention of helping you! I didn't come here for you to tell me "No, I don't need help, even though I'm severely wounded"! I came here to assist you."

You watch his eyes widen, his already strained grin becoming even more strained. His ears then pull back, the look in his eyes becoming more distressed. He mutters something, before nodding. Then, he leans against the wall, before slowly easing himself to the floor. "Fine, dear. If you truly came all this way, I guess it would be rude if I said no to your help." You are a bit shocked he gave up so easily, as well as how uneasy he looks. You decide to just help him, though.

You crouch next to him, taking out your medical tools from your bag. "You're definitely going to need stitches... my healing magic can only do so much, but it should work better if I close the wound first." You smile gently, before you point to him. "Though, I'm going to have to, at least, unbutton your shirt and coat to do so. Are you comfortable with that? I know you are very iffy about being touched..."

Alastor then begins to show more visible signs of discomfort, his eyebrows furrowing, and a slight static hum droning from somewhere nearby. You pick up on it, beginning to think aloud. "I can try to find some way to maneuver around the fabric, instead, since it was cut open-" "No. No. I trust you, dear." You blink a few times, wondering why he is acting so oddly. "Are you sure...?" "Yes, dear. I know you well enough to trust you." He then pauses, before quickly adding "You're a medical professional, after all. You've probably seen more than an upper torso, before. I trust you to not be a degenerate."

You simply chuckle, nodding. "You better! I'd say we're good friends, after all." You then quickly unbutton the clothing, before grabbing some sterile gloves and disinfectant. As you put the gloves on, you hear him mutter something, once again. Then, when you grab a set of tweezers and a cotton ball, he makes an odd comment. "We're great friends, yes...? If I told you a secret, you'd keep it, right?" You nod as you pick the cotton ball up with the needle, cover it in disinfectant, then begin to disinfectant the wound. "Yeah. You can tell me. It'll probably keep you distracted from any pain you feel, too."

Instead of a hiss of pain, the static noise grows loud for a moment. Then, it quiets down a bit as he talks. "I'm not entirely sure if you know this, already, but I made a deal... My soul is owned by someone else. I regret it more than anything..." You let out a little hum, your expression changing to one of shock. You grab the suture needle, as well as some thread. "Why are you telling me this?"

"(Y/N), my dear... I trust you more than many others. I've seen you working in that nurse's office of yours. You care more than the average sinner about others. Almost to a hilarious degree. I can imagine you patching up a soldier on one side of a battle and sending them out, then immediately do the same with someone from their enemy's side." He then laughs, before coughing a bit. "You care... but don't care when it comes to the right things to interest me. I trust you to not care about this, even if it means you'll keep secrets from me."

You nod, before gently smiling. "I'll keep it a secret... I know others could hold this against you and use it for an advantage. So, I won't say a word. Plus, you're right. I'm a bit of a chaotic middle ground. I don't like taking sides." You then get the needle into position, beginning to actually sew him up. "So, tell me... Is there anything else you're anxious about?"

His ears flick, the static growing once more. Then, it dies down again. "I don't want to be remembered as an altruist... I don't want to be seen as someone who had died for that hotel and his friends. I know that there's probably some people there who believe I died... and knowing Vox, he probably found some way to watch what happened. That man is practically obsessed with me, after all, dear!" He laughs, again, causing you to have to pause your suturing. After a few seconds, he begins coughing more. He sounds genuinely upset, despite his laughing.

"Why wouldn't you like that?" Alastor seems to disregard your question, instead beginning to talk about his deal once more. "There has to be an exit to that deal... a loophole. Something so I can get out of it..." You begin to continue, almost done with your work. "Are you sure...? What was it?" "I'm sure, and it's private matters."

You finish up, thing up the last suture's knot. Then, you take off your gloves, putting on a fresh pair, and grab the bandages. "... Alastor, are you alright...?" He looks to you, his eyes wide. "Why are you asking...? I am perfectly fine. Not a problem here. After I get free from my deal, I'll be-"

You narrow your eyes at him. "Alastor... you're frowning."

Alastor seems to grab at his cheeks for a moment, an odd, anxious grimace spreading across his face. Then, he begins forcing another grin. His tone is a lot more frantic, as if he has begun to spiral. Or, perhaps, just begun to outwardly express that he's spiraling. "I wasn't frowning. I am fine, dear." "You're not fine... but, if you say so, Alastor. I won't push the topic." You bandage his wound, before sighing. "Okay, so... This magic works oddly. You'll be-"

Before you can finish, he begins standing up. "Hey, wait-" He, holds a hand up, shushing you. Then, he points to himself. "I'll take care of the rest. You should handle your own wounds, dear. Don't think I haven't noticed your scrapes and cuts. You look like you've ran through a thornbush on your way over here." He begins buttoning up his shirt and coat, and you're shocked to see it repairing itself as he does so. Clearly, while your friend's power is limited, he's hiding more secrets than you expected...

"Fine... You better not leave me here by myself as I do so, though." You go from a crouching position, to a sitting one, as you clean off your tiny cuts. You hear him go quiet, for a moment, but can't see his expression due to your focus now being on yourself. After a few moments, though, you hear him chuckle.

For the first time, you hear his voice clearly, with no radio waves obscuring it. "Of course, dear. I never would dream of that. The others, though? Maybe..."

[ireadwithmyears]

address the letters: “to the holes in my butterfly wings”

pairing: Kix and GN padawan reader (platonic)

Word count, guys it’s basically 10 K 💀bc apparently I am in capable of writing anything short.

tags/warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, mentions of blood and injury, medical procedures

summary:

In which, the CMO of Torrent Company discovers that you, a Padawan under his care have been hiding injuries and skipping medical checks, and now must take care of you as you suffer the consequences of your actions.

Also known as

Why you should never hide an injury from Kix. he will find out, and he will drag you off to the medbay so that he can take care of whatever mess you’ve made of yourself, scolding you all the wile.

“Look what I found on my bunk.”

You’re interrupted from eating your sandwich in the Cantina when Fives plops down beside you at the table, setting down a tray of food and waving a pink slip of paper in your face.

You’re about to tell him that “Can’t you see that you’re eating and get this paper out of my face,” when your eyes catch on three words written in bold text across the top of the page.

Mandatory vaccination updates. 

The sandwich, that up until this point has been the absolute centre of your attention, listen, you’re fighting a war and you have to appreciate any opportunity that you get to eat food that isn’t bland ration bars, drops out of your suddenly limp hand as you snatch up the paper, now very interested in the contents.

“When did you get this?” you ask slowly, you’re voice distracted, beginning to chew on your lower lip, already feeling the nervous coil in your stomach.

“When I came back to my bunk after the debriefing we had this afternoon. Apparently everyone got one. I bet you 10 credits that your master is going to pretend that he didn’t see it, and try and avoid it until Kix has to tear apart the ship looking for him and drag him to the medbay.” Fives chuckles.

Master Skywalker’s reputation for trying to avoid the medbay at all costs is widely known throughout Torrent Company..

“Kix is going to have a field day. I’ll give it to general Skywalker, he has some creative hiding places,” he continues, eyes lighting up at the memory of Anakin, half hazardously crammed into a supply closet, folded in an impressive, yet uncomfortable looking position as he forced his unwitting tall limbs to fit in the cramped space.

Unfortunately for Kix, your masters habit of avoiding the medbay whenever possible has rubbed off on you, though, you don’t think it’s for the same reason. Your avoidance stems from a place of fear, and, okay, a stubborn insistence that you can take care of yourself, which yes, definitely like master, like apprentice.

But that also stems from a fear. You’re determined to prove yourself, especially being a young Padawan working with those who are much more experienced than you. You don’t want to risk being taken off the field because of some stupid injury, and letting those who rely on you down, especially your master, who’s always bouncing back and getting up and ready to take on whatever is next regardless of what kind of peril he’s just come out of. You want, you need, to prove that just because you’re a Padawan, you’re not a liability, but an asset. You can be strong and resilient like master Skywalker.

So, you avoid. You dodge and you ignore and you pretend not to notice when the routine medical check dates come and go without your attendance. You know it’s only a matter of time before Kix gets on your ass about it. You’re surprised that you’ve kept it up this long. But, this only bolsters your confidence in being able to avoid another successfully.

“I’ll be right back,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant, setting the paper back down on the table before you run off into the crowd.

*

Sure enough, there is an identical slip of paper that’s been placed on your bunk. But conveniently, Jedi master Aayla Secura is going on a diplomatic mission to amid rim planet in a last ditch effort to try and convince them not to secede from the republic during the date that’s listed on the page when you’re scheduled for your vaccinations.

Earlier this morning, master Skywalker had asked if you had wanted to join this mission, saying that it would give you a break from being on the frontlines, and it would be easy enough to arrange, as master Secura would rendezvous with the 501st before she departed.

This morning, you had turned him down, listing several reasons as to why you needed to stay with the 501st. Your troops needed you, diplomatic missions were boring anyways, and you didn’t think that you would be of much help to the experienced and capable master Secura, who was a formidable diplomat in her own right. You didn’t think you would be able to add anything of particular value to the conversation, at least nothing that master Secura wouldn’t be able to say much more eloquently and better.

Now though, the only thing that’s running through your mind is the fear of needles and the dread of going into the medbay and that’s enough to make you reconsider everything you had said.

When you tell master Skywalker that you’ve changed your mind, and would actually like to accompany Aayla on her mission, he’s slightly confused considering you had been so adamant that you were needed here only just a few hours ago. 

But, he knows that as a Jedi, you need diplomatic experience. Experience that, before the war, would be very easy for Padawan’s to come by. He knows that you don’t have nearly as much as you should.

These are unprecedented times, though, and Padawan’s being trained during an active war is not ideal. He wants for you to be well-rounded. He has hope that your future won’t always involve war at the centre of it, and any opportunity that you get to learn how to be a keeper of peace should always be encouraged, especially during these times.

 So he gives in pretty easily, and when master Secura arrives, you happily join her. When the ramp of the ship seals behind you and you’re sitting with her in the cockpit, the warm relief that flows through your bones is palpable. 

“Success,” you think to yourself triumphantly.

*

Your triumph, however glorious it might have felt in the moment, is short-lived.

In spite of the fact that some old injuries, that you honestly thought you had done a pretty good job at taking care of yourself, were starting to aggravate you again, the unexpected joy and relief that weaved itself through the force, openly shared between you and master Secura, surrounded you like a warm blanket, protecting you from feeling the things that hurt you.

The planet you had just visited had agreed to stay with the republic, after a tense three days of debate between its political factions. The victory Was a surprise, considering how vehemently the opposition pushed to secede, but it was not unwelcome.

Aayla’s T-6 shuttle docks in the hanger bay of the much larger 501st transport. As you wait for the doors to open and the ramp to fold down before you, you’re still riding on that high, feeling, for the first time in a long time, the thrill of a success. One that you are unable to feel on the frontlines, because even when your battles result in a victory, you are surrounded by so much death and violence that in the end, you don’t really feel like celebrating. 

You’ll never admit it to your master, but privately, you think to yourself that maybe diplomatic missions aren’t as boring as you thought they were. You were able to help resolve a conflict, peacefully, without even having to brush your fingers against the hilt of your lightsaber, which, nowadays, is becoming more and more of a rare occurrence. But it’s what Jedi do, or at least, what they’re supposed to do, so you have to embrace the gratitude of the experience you just had, and try and take it with you going forward.

Your thoughts are preoccupied with these ideas swirling around your head, so you don’t see him until you’re stepping out onto the ramp of the T-6, descending into the hectic and busy as usual crowds of the hanger bay.

When you do, though, you stop dead, and your heart begins to race. 

Shit.

Directly in front of you, at the bottom of the ramp, stands Kix.

One look at his expression, and your stomach flips.

His lips are set in a thin, unreadable line, his brow creased as he observes you with pinpoint focus. Stern, brown eyes observe your every movement. There’s no question that the second you step off the ramp, he’s going to pounce on you like a cat seizing a mouse. 

He stands at attention, body forced into an unbending straight line, such positions you mostly see on the shiny’s, new troopers who are freshly trained during their first days out on the field. His hands are placed on his hips, the position that he assumes before he’s about to give someone, it’s usually your master who you’ve seen it directed at, the lecture of their life.

“Keep moving,” your brain supplies. “Act nonchalant, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll be fine.”

You feel your feet hit solid ground, and your speed picks up, all along, your brain is screaming at you to move. It’s weird how now that he’s standing in front of you, every injury you’ve accumulated over the past weeks is beginning to hit you, all comfort and protection that the force has been giving you to keep you going rapidly vanishing with each step you take.

The uncomfortable angle that your shoulder is sitting at, the pulling of stitches in your leg as you increase your speed. It throbs and aches with sudden abandon. But your fists clench, and you do your best not to falter under Kix’s unwavering scrutiny, just knowing that he’s looking for any flicker of weakness, any sign of pain that registers on your face.

“Just keep going, and maybe, you’ll be able to slip past...”

He steps in front of you, reaching an arm out to easily intercept your path. He says your name, in a tone that breaches absolutely no room for trying to ignore it.

You jump, startled in spite of yourself. He’s effectively got you cornered, and seeing that there’s no way out of this, Your nerves begin to skyrocket, raising like the sound of alarm bells in your head. You look up, eyes meeting his unwaveringly stern expression, And suddenly, you wish that the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

He looks down at you, and he must see something in your disposition that belies your true feelings, because though his face remains set, his eyes somewhat soften, and when he next speaks, his voice is quiet but firm.

“Come with me, please. I need to see you in the medbay.” Though he’s phrased it as a request, you know that it is an order, and one that you must follow.

As a medic for the GAR, and this is something that you’ve heard him say to many a complaining troopers being escorted to the medbay when they don’t want to go, it is well within his rights to exercise such authority and make these orders. Because when it comes to the health and safety of every 501st personnel, whether you’re a Jedi general, commander, or Padawan, Kix immediately outranks you.

You look down at the floor, suddenly finding the marks that are speckled across it very interesting, and mumble a defeated and quiet “Yes sir.” 

When he turns, and you hesitate to follow, he lets out a gentle sigh, moving to place a hand on the small of your back. His voice is low, but reassuring as he ushers you forward.

“Come on, kid, you’re okay,” he breathes, and in spite of the fact that you’re still thinking that jumping out of an airlock would be better than this, your feet, still unwilling, but the slightest bit reassured, begin to move.

*

Coric giving you a subtle pitying glance as he’s reading over a patient’s chart when Kix escorts you into the medbay makes you want to vomit.

Between the two medics,  Kix has the reputation of being a hardass because he’s the CMO. Make no mistake, you do not want to get on either of their bad sides. But, given the choice between the two right now, you think you’re more equipped to handle Coric, who can usually be counted on to soften the blow a bit, with enough pleading glances and apologies.

Your eyes flit to the door that you’ve just passed through, because stupidly, your brain is still trying to make the calculations that if you can just duck out of Kix’s grasp for two seconds, you’d be able to make a run for it.

Unbeknownst to you, however, both medics have been carefully observing your every movement since you’ve entered. Coric, remaining completely calm and at ease, rises to his feet, moving swiftly to stand in the doorway in several long strides. He casually leans against the frame, arms folded.

“Don’t even think about it, baby Jedi. Your master has attempted the same thing you are considering, and he has always failed,” he says, keeping his voice light and non-threatening, making it clear that you need to give up on your fantasy of bolting out of here, but also not trying to scare you off..

You’re just beginning to wonder how the kriff they were able to read you so easily, with one covert glance determining that you were about to bolt when Kix removes his hand from the small of your back, instead, fingers coming to gently grip your shoulder.

The change in his hold is obvious. He is fully prepared for if you try to run. He gives your shoulder a squeeze, in what you interpret as a warning not to. 

Unfortunately, he’s just touched on an injury, you’re not entirely sure what you did, but you messed up your shoulder the last time you were on the field, and even the slight pressure elicits a sharp intake of breath that you’re unable to stop from escaping your lips, and that immediately has the attention of both medics laser focussed on you.

Kix’s anticipation evaporates and quickly melts into concern. Carefully, so carefully, he turns you to face him, keen eyes sharp as they analyze your face.

“Hey,” he calls softly, waiting for you to look at him. “Tell me where it hurts,” he says, so gently that it makes your eyes burn with shame. You look down at your feet.

“That’s uh... that’s, a loaded question,” you admit sheepishly, trying to keep your tone light and joking, in spite of the fact that now that you’re thinking about it, the list of injuries you’ve sustained without reporting to the medbay is a lengthy one, and might make Kix have a stroke.

Kix lets out a controlled, slow breath, eyes momentarily finding the ceiling as he silently begs the stars to give him strength. 

“Kaysh Mirsh solus,” he mutters to himself.

You’ve heard Kix toss that phrase around the medbay on multiple occasions, and though you’re uncertain of what it actually means, he usually brings it out when one of his brothers has done something that he would consider incredibly stupid, which is often.

Coric makes a noise of agreement. “It appears that our stupidly self-sacrificing general has passed on his stupid self sacrificing behaviour onto his apprentice,” he groans. “Will we ever know a day of peace?” 

Kix looks back down at you, his expression calm and restrained. “Come on, then, let’s see what we’re dealing with here,” moving his hand to your uninjured shoulder, he steers you both further into the medbay.

*

Your eyes don’t leave the ground, but you can hear the sound of a privacy curtain being pulled shut around the cubicle that Kix has brought you to. 

When an eerily familiar pink slip of paper is being held up in front of your downcast eyes, you cringe, Arms wrapping around yourself in defence

You can’t even pretend that you haven’t seen it before, because the words mandatory vaccination updates have been circling around your brain the whole time you were out on your last mission.

“Do you know why the GAR enforces these?” Kix begins, and his voice is too measured and calm. 

You lift a brow, questioning. Does he seriously expect you to answer this? Isn’t the answer obvious? 

“Uh... so that we don’t get sick?” You answer, uncertain as to what he’s getting at.

He nods, his face displaying a slight flicker of approval. “Yes, that is one reason as to why, and it’s an acceptable one,” he acknowledges. His frown deepens as he continues. “However, one must look at the much larger picture, at every personnel aboard this ship. The most important reason why mandatory vaccinations are enforced is so that we can avoid many people getting sick and spreading illness to the rest of the crew, so that we may remain fully functional and operational, continuing to serve and protect the people of the republic.”

You squirm beneath the scrutiny of his gaze. You’re starting to see where he’s going with this, and it’s incredibly discomforting.

“I would’ve thought, that as a Jedi, you would be able to more easily see this bigger picture than most others,” he observes mildly. “After all, I know, and I’m sure everyone who spends a considerable amount of time with you can see that there is so much compassion and care for others within your very nature.”

His voice is so genuine, laced with such real kindness in his tone that it makes your eyes sting. Your heart constricts, because he’s just pointed out something that you hadn’t even considered in your selfish haste to avoid this.

By avoiding your vaccinations, you have put every member of the 501st who works with you in danger.

Your arms wrap  tighter around yourself, and you can’t bring yourself to look anywhere but at the pristine white floor beneath your feet.

Kix senses that he’s hit a mark, and his voice gentles considerably. “I also understand that you are young, and still learning to see the bigger picture and how your actions can affect those around you.”

“I, I didn’t, I was scared and I just I didn’t think about...” your voice trembles as you try to answer, tumbling out in a rush of words that race as quickly as your heart. 

“I understand, and it is perfectly reasonable for you to feel that way,” he keeps his voice level and measured. “However,” he continues, and you know what he’s about to say even before he says it. “We still have to face the things that scare us. If you had simply told me how you were feeling, we would have figured out a way to navigate it.” His face is reassuring when you dare to glance up from the floor that you’ve been resolutely staring at for this whole conversation.

“We still will figure out the best way to proceed. However, these vaccination updates are very low on my priority list of concerns when it comes to you, compared to this,” and he holds up a datapad, displaying medical records with your name typed neatly across the top.

The last several appointment entries are highlighted in red, indicating that you did not attend any of them. 

“Do I need to remind you that these appointments are not optional. Any member of Torrent Company who goes out on the field must report to the medbay upon return for examination, as well as attend our regular medical checks to ensure that you are fit for active duty.” It’s clear from the tone of his voice that this is a lecture that he is very practised in delivering.

You lift your head, finally looking directly at him. He’s already made you admit a fear that you desperately wanted to keep to yourself. You try and summon what remains of your dignity. 

“What do you want me to say, Kix?” There’s a hint of defiance in your voice. 

“Do you want me to admit that I avoided these because I had injuries that I didn’t want you to know about? Because yes, the truth is that I did.” Your eyes level with his as you try to make him understand. 

“I was scared of the medical procedures, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?” You snap, not particularly annoyed with him, but more annoyed at the fact that your answers sound so stupid out loud. 

“But I was more scared of the fact that you were probably going to take me off the field, and I couldn’t, I couldn’t let that happen. My master was relying on me. Everyone was relying on me, and I couldn’t let them down.” You try to shrug off his concern with a dismissive wave of your hand. “Besides, I’ve been doing fine,” you say evasively.

Kix does not rise to the bate of your seeming anger. He’s much too practised and controlled to let it affect him. He also has the uncanny ability to look at someone, and see everything, read through their feelings, whether they’ve been acknowledged or not, and understand them. So, even though you’re trying to push him away, with what at first glance appears to be frustration, underneath it all, he can tell that it’s just as plainly  fear.

He meets your storm filled eyes unflinchingly, levelling you with a look that is equal parts stern and unwavering, and equal parts concerned and filled with compassion. It makes your insides twist with guilt, and you want to look away, but you can’t bring yourself to as he speaks, his voice calm but steely.

“Are you fine?” he asks, an eyebrow raising as he tilts his head to look at you, his gaze clinical, assessing, even as you just stand there in front of him.

. “I already know that there’s something wrong with your shoulder. But aside from that, I’ve been observing you since you got off your transport. The way you move is slow and careful, not at all like the usual way you dash around the ship. Even now, you’re hesitating to put much weight on your right leg.” He ticks off the things he’s noticed on his fingers like a list.

“Apart from the fact that skipping these mandatory appointments have consequences. If you had kept this up, I would’ve had to bring this to our superiors, that includes the Jedi council,” he gives you a pointed look, even the mention of the high Council makes you shiver. in your experience, whenever you and your master have been summoned to speak with the council, it’s always to be reprimanded, and never good.

. “You could have been Court-martialed,” he says, knowing that his words will hit the severity of the situation home.  

You falter, stepping back as you feel your eyes go wide. “Court-martialed?” you breathe, feeling the blood draining from your face. 

He gently takes your arm, guiding you to sit on a bed as he continues, voice softening. “It is very clear that you are hiding injuries, and though I can understand why, in premise, You did this, the reality is that this will begin to affect your performance in battle. It will not just affect you. You will put yourself, as well as the entirety of the people you are leading, in danger. People could get hurt.  You could get hurt. Because you would be putting not just yourself, but others, in unnecessary danger, your ability to be in the position of a commander could be called into serious  question by your superiors, and for good reason” 

As much as he keeps his voice low and calm, you can sense that he’s disappointed in the way that you’ve handled yourself. Your teeth sink into the inside of your cheek, forcing the tears that prick at the back of your eyes to not fall. You hate disappointing people, and the fact that you’ve managed to disappoint Kix, one of the kindest people you know, makes you want to curl up into a ball and never show your face in public again.

“And that, the safety of yourself, and everyone aboard this ship, is my priority. It is much more important to me than having to report to any superior. The fact that you hold your safety, and by extension, the safety of  those around you, with such blatant disregard, is what concerns me the most, and that is what I need you to understand.” 

There’s a certain gravity in his voice that you’ve never heard before, but it slams into your chest and hits you like a ton of bricks. The implications of what you’ve been doing, of what could have happened to those around you, to his brothers, because of your inability to face your fears begin to swirl around your head with a rapidity that makes your heart race. 

These thoughts come unbidden, and too fast for you to process. The tears, that you’ve been so desperately trying to push back, spring free and begin to fall down your cheeks, unprompted, slowly, and silently. You don’t have time to stop them from coming.

Kix knows that he’s been very direct, and very blunt with you, deciding that this would be the only way to get through to you. He hates having to do it, though. Kix considers himself to be a fairly good judge of character, and he knows that you have such a caring, gentle heart and strong presence wherever you go. So, watching you break in front of him like this pains him.

Your breath hitches in an unsteady gasp as you look up at him, tears blurring your vision. 

“I’m sorry, Ori’vod,” your lip trembles as your voice breaks, wanting to curl in on yourself. “Ni ceta,” you get out in barely a choked whisper.

But he hears you, and it breaks him. 

You’ve never referred to him as ori’vod before, and the idea that you consider him as such, as a big brother, awakens his protective, instinctive nature to gather you close and keep you safe from harm. 

His Vod, mostly his batchmate, Jesse, calls it his mother hen instincts.

He can’t help it, though. Your voice, sounding so much smaller than he’s ever heard it, trembling and filled with tears, has broken what’s left of his resolve, and gently, very gently, mindful of the fact that you’re injured, he takes you into his arms, holding you close to him. Your head buries against his shoulder, and he easily cradles you there, feeling every sharp intake of breath as you cry.

“Oh, adika, shh,” he soothes, hand coming up to gently stroke your hair as he continues to speak softly to you. “You’re okay, I promise, everything is going to be alright. I’ve got you, we are going to sort this out.”

*

“Well,” he says, reading over the results of the medical scan he’s just performed. Would you believe me if I told you that a dislocated shoulder is the least of your concerns?” 

Your eyes find the ceiling, and you exhale a slow breath before asking, “how bad?”

He keeps his voice neutral as he relays the results of the scan to you. “According to your last medical check, you were diagnosed with Iron deficiency anemia, not incredibly uncommon, what with our limited access to rations and food with the proper nutrients,” his brow creases as he continues. “However, preliminary scans indicate that your haemoglobin levels haven’t much improved.”

He gives you a look.“You have been taking the supplement you were prescribed?” he asks, in a way that makes you suspicious that he already knows that the answer is no.

You avoid looking at him. “I was, but they kept making my stomach feel queasy all day, so I stopped.”  

Kix Lets out a long suffering sigh. “An issue that we easily could have rectified by changing your treatment plan if you had just let us know,” he scolds. “Nonetheless, I’d like to do a blood test to get exact confirmation of those levels and see how bad the numbers are so that we can Start getting them back up to baseline.” 

Your stomach does a flip and you cringe silently at the mention of a blood test.

Kix continues, consulting the scan results that are displayed on a datapad. “You’ve got untreated burns on your fingers.” He raises a curious eyebrow at you and your cheeks flush.

“They weren’t entirely untreated, I put them under running water,” you try to argue. The unimpressed look he gives you stops you dead in your tracks.

“It wasn’t entirely my fault,” you defend. “I was fixing one of the starfighters that got hit during our last airstrike. I got R2 to help me with the repairs but he wasn’t listening to my instructions. He crossed two of the wrong wires and caused the circuitboard to spark.”

“And that is why you should never ask R2 for help,” he says with a hint of amusement in his voice. “Those burns weren’t given time to heal, and the fact that you’re constantly wielding a lightsaber has exacerbated them. I will apply a burn ointment to them that should take away the pain and speed the process of healing.” 

He fixes you with a look.  

“The most concerning thing is The blaster wound on the front of your right  calf. Really, vod, you should know that injuries being treated and stitched up on the field, especially when not done by a medic, always should be looked over by a medic as soon as possible, due to the unsanitary environment that they were performed in.”

“Tup did his best to stitch it,” you say, feeling the need to defend the brother who, in spite of the fact that he was not a medic, sutured you up as you took cover from separatist battle droids.

“I don’t doubt that he did. I was the instructor who took every single one of the troopers on this ship through their mandatory medical courses, and I did not let them pass without proving that they were adequately able to handle emergency first aid on the field. However, it still remains that you’ve picked up an infection, and to treat it, the sutures will have to be removed, the wound reopened, and extraction of the infected tissue, as well as a course of both IV and oral antibiotics to clear up anything that remains.”

You stare at him, your eyes growing wide with horror as he explains. “How?” You ask, alarmed.

He senses your nerves and leans forward, taking your hand and running his thumb along the back of it reassuringly. “This is a surgical procedure, performed under general anesthesia.” 

You flinch at his words, and your fingers tighten around his with anxiety, needing something to hold onto. 

“I know that sounds scary, especially if you’ve never been put under before. But I promise, this is a fairly common operation. Me and Coric will both be here making sure that you’re okay the whole time.” he continues to stroke his thumb along the backs of your knuckles.

“Let’s take this one step at a time, though. We’ll take care of the things that are manageable, first,” he says, giving you an encouraging smile.

*

“Hey uh...” you say nervously, watching with anxiety fluttering in your stomach as Kix ties a band just above your elbow, prepping you for the blood draw. The way the band tightens, restricts  and squeezes around your arm Makes you feel trapped. You hate it.

“I have... I’ve had, issues in the past when it comes to these,” you say awkwardly, not knowing how to explain.

Kix only looks up at you, raising a perceptive brow. “Are you referring to your predisposition of fainting whenever a blood draw is performed?” he asks, completely unfazed. 

It’s your turn to raise your eyebrows in questioning. “Don’t worry, Coric already has this listed in your file. I’m going to get you to lie down when we do it.”

He has the sensitivity and grace not to mention the fact that he also knows this because he walked into the medbay to find Coric absolutely tearing into a junior medic for letting you leave too soon after you had gotten a blood draw, resulting in you crumpling to the floor in a faint right outside of the medbay doors. 

At your continued staring, he adds, his voice softening. “It’s a normal reaction, that likely is exacerbated because of your low haemoglobin levels. There’s nothing wrong with you, Vod’ika.” he reassures, gently guiding you to lay down on the bed. “Now, just lay down for me, and we’ll get this over with quickly, and if you faint, you faint. It happens, no big deal, I’ll be right here regardless.”  

And because you’re you, you do faint.

The needle itself is always not as bad as you anticipate it being. The Sting, though prominent,  is small and quick and over before you have time to fixate on it. 

It’s only when he’s pressing a cotton swab into the crook of your arm, encouraging you to keep it in place while he puts a Band-Aid over top, that you register the familiar feeling of drowsiness, vision blurring and ears beginning to ring, that always comes before you pass out.

You think that you might give him some indication, some warning, because he’s removing your hand from where it’s been pressing against the cotton round, replacing it with his own, much more steady one. Everything around you is muffled, and it’s jarring, but in a way that is too far away from your immediate concerns to really react to it.

When you come to, he’s pressing a cool, damp cloth to the back of your neck, other hand gently stroking hair away from your forehead. His voice fades back into your consciousness, a stream of gentle, soothing words as your eyes flutter open.

The feeling of the cloth cools your heated skin, and the hand gently running through your hair brings your senses back to focus, grounding you.

“Easy, adika, i’m right here, you’re safe,” he brushes his fingers against your cheek, and when you react, leaning into his touch, he gives you a small smile. “That’s it, there we go, you’re back. Everything’s good,” he soothes, gently stalling your movement when you attempt to sit up.

“Not right now, vod, stay down for a few more minutes. I’ve already got the blood work running through the scanner, and we should have its results quickly, okay.” You give him a small nod, still not really having the energy to do much else. You close your eyes, taking deep breaths as you come back to yourself, and when the scanner beeps, indicating that it completed its diagnostics, you jump slightly.

Kix moves over to check it as you slowly sit up. “Okay, so, your numbers are definitely not nearly where they should be he says, clearly unimpressed.

“But, Once we have taken care of your more serious injuries, will start you with an iron infusion delivered through an IV before transitioning back to pills. Don’t worry, we’ll have you on a much smaller dosage so that we can hopefully circumvent the discomfort you had in your stomach,” he says with optimism, which makes you feel slightly better about the fact that he’s just mentioned an IV. You’re not given much time to fixate on it, though, because he’s already turning away from the scanner, moving back to you.

“Let’s not worry about that right now, though. We have enough problems having to deal with the mess That you’ve made of yourself. I will do my best to resist calling you a di’kut as much as possible,” he says, hands on his hips, and in spite of yourself, it actually makes you laugh.

*

You didn’t realize how sore and irritated the burns on your hands were until you couldn’t hold back the audible sigh of relief that fell from your lips as soon as Kix began applying the burn cream to them. The pain instantly vanished, leaving a pleasant, cooling sensation behind. He wrapped small bacta patches around your injured fingers, explaining that it would make sure that the healing process was unimpeded by the outside environment.

That was easy, quick, painless. 

Your shoulder, on the other hand, is a completely different matter. As soon as Kix touches it, as gentle as he can be, it flares with pain, and your muscles tense, which just makes it worse. 

“I don’t know how you’ve been functioning with this for as long as you have,” he comments dryly. When his fingers press against the bone, assessing the damage with a practised familiarity, you cry out, eyes squeezing shut.

“Haar’chak,” you grit out, as behind you, Kix preps a syringe with local anesthetic. 

“Which one of my di’kut brothers taught you curse words in Mandoa?” he asks, beginning to disinfect the injection site.

You flinch at the cold and your cheeks flush. “Shit, you weren’t supposed to hear that. I can’t tell you that, I made a promise.” 

“Did you now?” he asks, fighting the amused smirk that plays on his lips. “Well, whoever it was, you might as well put your skills that they taught you to use.”

You look at him from over your shoulder, eyebrows raising in confusion.

He explains, “I need to give you an injection of local anaesthetic so that it takes the edge off of resetting your shoulder correctly. I know those aren’t your favourite , so, I am making a deal with you. Let me do this, and I give you free rein to throw whatever Mandoa insult my brothers have taught you at me, no consequences. Is that fair?”

The unimpressed look you’re giving at the syringe turns to surprise, then, slowly, a smile spreads across your face and you nod, quickly looking away from it. “Deal,” you accept, your voice still shaky with nerves but determined.

“Okay, deep breath for me,” He waits for you to inhale. “Perfect, now, on the exhale, give me that insult with all of your might. Ready?”

He waits for you to nod, then prompts you to exhale as he administers the anaesthetic into the back of your shoulder.

“Osi’yaim, that hurt, you di’kut,” what should be just a little pinch to your already injured shoulder makes you cry out the words, and you swear you can hear the familiar sound of Coric laughing from the other side of the medbay.

Your cheeks flush, you did not intend to be that loud. But you don’t apologize, either, and Kix only gives you a rueful grin, nodding in understanding.  

As you wait for the anaesthetic to settle, Kix warns, “I’m gonna be honest, kid, because of how long you’ve left this injury to sit, even with the anesthetic, setting it is still going to hurt.” 

You close your eyes, grimacing, before nodding with a sigh. “Do your worst,” you say, bracing yourself.

He lays a reassuring hand on your uninjured shoulder. “I need you relaxed, adika,” he says gently. “Trust me, it will only hurt more if you tense like that,” he continues, gently encouraging your shoulder downward with his hand.

“Easy, now. I want you to give me some good deep breath’s. In,” he inhales deeply, holding for a few seconds, “and out,” he lets his breath go in a controlled, slow stream of air.

He waits for you to copy, giving you a few breaths to settle into it as he prepares himself. “Perfect, just like that, keep it up, you’ve got this,” he keeps up the stream of encouraging words as carefully, but firmly, he rotates your arm, guiding your dislocated shoulder back into its proper place with one precise movement.

The sudden flare of pain, even dulled as it is by the anesthetic, takes your breath away momentarily, your vision instantly blurring with tears. When it clears,Kix has shifted to standing in front of you, gently wiping them away with his thumbs.

“Well done, vod’ika, you were so brave,” his words make you want to cry more, because you didn’t think you were brave. You thought that being brave meant confidence, at all times, and not letting other people see your vulnerability. You can’t fully understand it, but, now, you’re beginning to think that maybe your initial idea of bravery was wrong.

Your lip wobbles as you speak, “W what now?” you look up at him with wide, still watery eyes.

He gently strokes your hair. “Now, I’m going to get Coric, and you,” he playfully taps your nose, “are going to take a much-needed nap, if the bags under your eyes are any indication, while we take care of that leg wound.” 

*

It sounds simple enough. 

Kix explains the procedure while Coric preps you for surgery, making sure all your vitals are stable. As he wraps a blood pressure cuff around your arm, he tells you that that’s essentially his job while he’s in here. Throughout the surgery, he will monitor your vitals and make sure that they remain at safe levels. 

“I’m going to remove the sutures, clean the wound, remove the infected tissue, pack the wound with saline soaked dressings, then bandage it back up so that it can heal. It goes without saying that you’re going to be off the field for at least a week. You’ll need to stay here so that we can continue to monitor your recovery as well as change the dressings often. You will also need to undergo a course of IV antibiotics to kill off any lingering infection. This will also give us time to get your haemoglobin levels back up with an infusion.”

Your eyes close tightly as anxiety knots your stomach. “Oh, force, a week? But, my master needs me,” you protest.

When your eyes open again, both medics are fixing you with equally stern looks. “Your master needs you to be safe, and healthy,” says Coric, frowning, as he carefully attaches a pulse oximeter to one of your fingers. 

“If you want to be back on the field as soon as possible, you will take this week of recovery. If you want to argue with me about it, I will make it longer. A week is the absolute minimum,” Kix says, arms folded across his chest, wearing his signature “i’m the chief medical officer, you have no authority here,” expression.

You visibly deflate, reminding yourself that you pick and choose your battles, and picking and choosing a battle with two medics who are very competent at dealing with very stubborn Jedi would be a very stupid idea. 

You can’t help yourself, and in spite of the fact that you shouldn’t, you stare as Kix preps your wrist for an IV line.

Sensing you’re mounting anxiety as your eyes nervously flit around, watching  Kix’s Every move, Coric gently takes your other hand, squeezing when your eyes don’t immediately look at him. When you finally tear your eyes away from what Kix is doing, Coric is wearing a mischievous smile on his face. “So, Vod’ika, who taught you how to curse in Mandoa?” he asks, raising a curious brow.

You only scoff, rolling your eyes. “Kix already tried to find out. What makes you think that I’m going to tell that secret to you?”

“I’ve already got my suspicions. My moneys on Echo or Fives.” he gives you a wounded look, “I thought you would tell me, because I’m obviously your favourite.”

Kix uses this conversation to quickly insert the IV into a vein on your wrist. Reacting to the small pinch, your fingers instinctively tighten around Coric’s hand, squeezing it tightly.

“You’re definitely my favourite now,” you grumble, giving Kix a sidelong glare.

He gives you an apologetic look. “Sorry, Vod, i’m going to run the medication through the line now. It will act quickly, and when you wake up, this will be all done with.” 

You nod, biting your lip nervously. Coric notices, giving your hand another gentle squeeze. “Hey, kid, I know you’ve heard Kix say kaysh mirsh solus all the time. Do you know what it means?” 

You look at him with curiosity, shaking your head.

“Well, essentially it means they are stupid or foolish. But, the literal translation is even more direct .” Coric gives you a conspiratorial smile.

“What is it?” You ask as he leans forward. 

“The literal translation means their braincell is lonely,” he says, completely serious.

You feel a smile pulling up the corners of your lips and a surprised laugh falls from them. 

You feel the medication beginning to enter your system, but you’re so busy laughing that you can’t bring yourself to care. “You better not be bullshitting me,” you threaten,“or I...” you let out a yawn.

“I swear to the force, I,” your eyes begin to flutter and you yawn again, shrugging.

“I’ll think about it later,” you mumble sleepily, before promptly passing out, smile still lighting up your face.

*

Your leg hurts.

That’s the first thing you become aware of as Kix is gently encouraging you to open your eyes.

“Come on, adika, open your eyes for me,” he says  softly, fingers gently brushing against your cheek to bring you back to awareness.

“But it hurts, and I wanna go back to sleep,” you wine, blinking sleepily up at him. 

“Ni ceta, vod’ika,” he soothes, fingers gently caressing your forehead in an apology. “I know it hurts, and you can go back to sleep soon, I promise,” 

He glances at something that you can’t see, giving a small nod,“Vitals look good, the anaesthesia is wearing off nicely, and it doesn’t appear to have affected them too much. Let’s up that IV dosage,” Kix speaks to Coric, who moves to adjust your IV out of your eyeline.

Your leg throbs, and you let out a stifled whimper, hand reaching down, trying to at least find the source of your pain when Kix catches it in his, gently stalling your movements. “Let’s leave that alone for now, vod’ika. Coric is just increasing your pain med intake, that will make it better. Then you can sleep,” 

At the continued expression of pain on your face, he lets go of your hand, fingers gently playing with your hair as he instructs, “nice and easy, adika, deep breath‘s for me, everything’s okay.” 

You don’t believe him at first, but slowly, things become okay. The pain quickly fades and dulls , breathing becomes easier, and your eyes begin to flutter. All the while, Kix continues holding his vigil at your bedside, fingers continuing to gently run through your hair until you fall into a natural sleep.

*

When you properly wake up next, the first thing you notice is that your leg doesn’t hurt anymore.

Whatever pain meds Kix has got you hooked up to are very effective, and your lips pull into a relieved smile. 

The second thing you notice, when you glance around to get your bearings, is the face of your very concerned captain, Rex, at your bedside. You blink slowly, yawning. Although the anaesthetic has worn off, the pain meds still have you feeling like you’re in a fog, and your brain is working pretty slowly.

“When did you get here?” you ask, confused.

“I came straight here after you never reported to the bridge for today’s debriefing. The general said that you would be back today, and it’s unlike you to miss or forget about meetings,” he explains, looking at you, relieved to see you awake, but a flicker of concern still lingering in his eyes.

“Osik, sorry, Rex, I got myself into a bit of a bind over here,” you gesture to the IV that you’re hooked up to, chuckling a little.

“So I heard, don’t worry about it, kid. There wasn’t much to report, anyways.” His head tilts, and he raises a questioning eyebrow.“Who taught you how to curse in Mandoa, vod’ika?” he asks, keeping his voice light.

If you weren’t under the influence of pretty heavy duty pain medication‘s, you would have restraint, you would have thought before you opened your mouth. But for Rex, it was his lucky day.

you smirk, “good old Hardcase taught me everything I know,” you say with pride, smiling fondly at the memory.

Rex carefully files that information away so that he can scold Hardcase for that once he leaves. But he carefully keeps his face neutral.

His face grows serious. “Kix told me about all the medical appointments you’ve missed and the injuries that you’ve been covering up,” his voice is stern, every bit the commanding officer that he is in front of the troops. It makes you nervous, and you swallow, looking away from him.

“I swear to the force, if you ever pull something like that again, I will find out about it, and I’ll drag you to the medbay myself, even if it means chasing you around the ship and stunning you if I have to. do you realize how much danger you were in? How much danger you put others in? That was extremely reckless of you, commander. I’m very disappointed in your actions,  and it will not happen again, do you understand?”

Your hazy memory recalls the conversation you had with Kix earlier, about this very thing, and for some reason, it hits even harder seeing the disappointment, worry and concern etched on the face of the normally composed captain.

Without prompting, you find yourself bursting into tears. 

Later, you’ll blame the pain meds on your inability to keep a grip on your emotions. But right now, all you can do is think about the people, the brothers, you could have hurt, the things that could’ve happened because of you, and the tears just fall down your face, streaming from your eyes, falling down your cheeks, into your ears, dampening your hair.

.“I I’m sorry Captain I I didn’t I,” you gasp out, trying to explain, but your brain is still foggy, only clinging onto the hazy images of loss and pain due to your inability to act fast enough.

There’s a reason why people are convinced that Kix has eyes on the back of his head. Working as the highest ranking medic in the 501st has trained him to be hyper observant of all of his patients, even if he isn’t at their bedside. 

So, even though he’s been taking the time to update your file on a datapad, unbeknownst to either you or Rex, he’s also been watching you like a hawk, and the minute you begin to show that you’re overwhelmed, he’s swooping in on the two of you, protective mother hen mode fully activated by the tears falling down your cheeks.

He steps in front of you, broad shoulders immediately blocking your view of your commanding officer. “Captain,” he says, and his voice is still respectful, but there’s a hard edge beneath it, something stern that you haven’t heard before, even during the worst of him lecturing you.

“You are causing undue stress to my patient, and I’m going to have to ask you to leave, sir,” he continues, physically ushering Rex to the door.

More quietly, out of your earshot, he says,“I have already harshly reprimanded the commander. Trust me, this experience will ensure that the lesson will not be forgotten.  Now, if you want to be of use, get the general and bring him to me, please. I need to speak with him. Between you and me, Rex, I’m blaming this ordeal on him.” 

Rex begins to make an objection, but  Kix is already turning away, folding his arms. “I don’t care if you have to drag him out of council meetings. His Padawan is more important,” he shoots back, before quickly moving back to your side, all of his hard lines instantly fading at the sight of your tear streaked face.

He’s all gentleness and soft reassurances uttered as he cups your face, wiping away your tears. When you struggle into a sitting position, falling against his chest as your arms clumsily reach for him, his arms easily pull you close to him and you sob, trying to explain.

“Kix, I, I didn’t mean to, I never wanted to hurt anyone,” you whisper, clutching at him, burying your face into the crook of his neck, wanting to disappear, feeling his body shift, one hand splayed out, rubbing your back in slow, soothing circles, the other coming up to cradle your head, holding you against his warmth, sheltering you.

“Oh, adika, shh, I know. You didn’t hurt anyone, vod’ika, nothing happened,” he coos, tightening his arms around you. Lips press against your hair briefly, and you continue to cry, letting your emotions run their course as he cradles you to him, gently rocking you back-and-forth, as if you were a much smaller child.  

In this moment, you certainly feel like you are, and it’s comforting, the way he holds and settles you against him , making gentle shushing noises and speaking in low, soothing tones, the words eventually losing their meaning as sleep, yet again, gently pulls at your consciousness.

The last thing you’re aware of is him gently guiding you to lie back down, another medic, you think it’s Coric, passing him a freshly warmed blanket that he tucks around you, and a hand gently brushing through your hair as you drift back to sleep, your storm settled and calmed by his words and his presence.

*

Anakin Skywalker had been in meetings with the Jedi high Council all day, was running on his 3rd cup of caff, and still found himself stifling a yawn every five minutes. So, when Rex silently slipped into the room, politely interrupting the meeting to request that Anakin report to the medbay, he instinctively rolled his eyes, grumbling that he would go later. 

But when Rex stated that this wasn’t actually about him, and was in regards to his Padawan, Anakin was out of his seat in an instant, hastily making his excuses to the council before leaving the room, legs carrying him to the medbay faster than he ever had moved there before.

He doesn’t even stop to look as behind him, Rex calls to a group of troopers in a booming voice, “Hardcase, get Over here right now,  you di’kut, I need to talk to you regarding professionalism when it comes to working with young Padawan’s .”

When he’s escorted into a cubicle, his eyes grow wide with alarm at the sight of you, peacefully asleep, but your face looks exhausted and worn out. You’re hooked up to an IV and monitors, there’s a thick bandage that’s been secured to the bottom half of your right leg.

Kix keeps his voice low and quiet, so as not to disturb you, but he fixes your master with a hard look as he takes him through an overview of your current health status.

“Iron deficiency anemia, burns, a dislocated shoulder, a blaster wound that had to be surgically operated on due to an untreated infection that had grown quite severe and needed to be manually removed, as well as several muscle strains and bruised ribs that can be healed with proper rest.” 

His mouth falls open at the growing list, but Kix only folds his arms, continuing to speak. “General, sir, your Padawan looks to you with the highest regard, and you lead the way by example. All of these issues could have been caught much earlier and treated without having to deal with all this,” he gestures at everything you’re hooked up to.

“This behaviour was learned, and when I pressed, I found that at the root of the problem was fear of disappointing you and letting you down,” he waits for these words to sink in, and when they do, Anakin Skywalker, Jedi general who is known for his strength and recklessness on the field, hangs his head with shame, eyes finding the floor and refusing to look at Kix directly.

His meaning is clear, you are his Padawan, and as your master, it’s his responsibility to set a good example for you, and in this regard, watching pain medication flow through the IV line attached to your wrist, he knows he has failed to do so.

“So, just maybe, the next time you decide that are mandatory medical checks are optional and you can manage on your own, maybe just, consider this,” Kix gestures to you, still deeply asleep.

Before your master can respond, not that he really has any words to do so, Kix turns on his heel, quickly exiting the room before he can be reprimanded for speaking to his superior that way, not that he really cares, anyway.

If he had stayed, though, he would have seen Anakin tentatively move to your side, gently sitting on the edge of your bed as he strokes back your hair and adjusts the blankets that are tucked around you, properly shamefaced as he looks down at you and says in a voice that is soft and rarely heard coming out of him, “I’m sorry, kiddo, this one’s on me.”

*

“And this,” says Kix, quickly injecting the third and final mandatory vaccination into your arm, “is your ticket out of here.”

The week of recovery has come and gone, And you have finally been cleared to head back onto the field, as long as you continue to follow a regimen of oral antibiotics for the next week, and, more excitingly in your opinion, get out of the medbay.

“There you go, you did it,” Fives, who’s been sitting across from you, happily agreeing to be your emotional support/cheerleader, ready with a damp cloth if you need it, does a little celebratory dance that makes you laugh, even as Kix, sensing that you’re feeling unsteady, gets you to lay down.

Fives gently places the cool cloth against your skin, and it’s enough to ground you, pulling you back from the edge.

“That’s it, Vod’ika, well done, you did great,” Kix says encouragingly, giving your shoulder a warm squeeze. “Now, wait 15 minutes, and as long as you’re feeling back to normal, you can get out of here,” he smiles down at you, patting your head affectionately before moving out of the cubicle.

As soon as he’s gone, Fives liens in conspiratorially, face lighting up with mischievousness sparkling in his eyes. “Hey, kid, I bet you 10 credits that I could easily sneak you out right now and we could make this 15 minutes go a lot faster,” he grins.

In spite of the fact that you smile back at him and laugh lightly, you give your head a small shake and throw a cautious look over your shoulder.

“Are you kidding? I’ve been here for a whole week, and the biggest thing I’ve learned is that  Kix and Coric do, in fact, have eyes in the back of their heads. We wouldn’t even make it out of the door.” 

It’s true, you’ve seen several different troopers trying to carefully sneak out of the medbay when they think that no one is watching. 

What you’ve learned, though, is that the medics of Torrent Company are always watching. Nothing gets past their keen eyes or ears, and no one successfully sneaks out undetected. 

You grimace, “besides, I’ve just gotten off of Kix’s bad side, and I have no desire to go back there.”

“So,” Fives says, resignedly coming to sit on the edge of your bed with a sigh. “We’re waiting the 15 minutes?”

You carefully sit up, giving him a nod and a decisive look as you lean your head against his shoulder..

“Yes, Fives,” you affirm, letting out a small sigh of your own. “We are waiting the 15 minutes.”

************************* thank you so much for reading. Comments and re-blogs are always appreciated here.are always appreciated here.

Mandoa translations. Kaysh mirsh solus, they are stupid/foolish. Ori’vod: Big Brother (in this instance) can also be used as big sister or big sibling. Ni ceta: i’m sorry. Vod: Brother/ sister/ sibling. Adika: little one. Vod’ika: Little sister, little brother, or little sibling Haar’chak: damm it. Di’kut: Fool (literal translation is underwear forgeter) which kills me. Osi’yaim: shithead. Osik: shit.

[syrupgirl]

warnings:

descriptions of blood(like fr), mentions of death, i call neteyam’s injury ‘a hole in the chest’, my very limited knowledge of medical procedures(both human and na’vi), me changing the severity of his injury probably, that’s it methinks?

a/n: this one just fell out of me. a fix it fic if you will.

Lie si oe Neteyamur -Neteyam

“You cannot rush this, daughter.” Your mother says as she strokes your head.

It has been days since the battle. Many lives were lost, even more injured. And as selfish as it is, you mind would not drift away from one person.

Neteyam.

-

You had been in charge on taking care of the injured that were brought back to the village. Being a Tsahik in training, you mother deemed it essential to have experience in real conditions to feel the pressure you would be carrying until you passed on the status to the best Tsahik.

After countless gruelling hours of tending to the wounded, you heard your name being called from the shore. After passing of your patient off to your partner, you down ran to the beach, only to be greeted by a sight you never thought you would have to see.

“Neteyam?!”

Sand kicked out from under your hurried feet as you approached Tsireya who had a bleeding Neteyam attached to her side.

“H-he..He was shot! It went straight through h-him.” The poor girl was hysterical. The blood of her friend covered her hands and even some of her stomach.

Neteyam himself looked terrible. His complexion was blanched and his eyes could barely stay open. Across his chest, he looked to be wrapped in seaweed, probably to stop the bleeding. You guessed that once you undid the bindings you would also find sea moss plugged in the wound as well. Curtesy of your sister, you guessed.

As much as you wanted to curl up and cry until you couldn’t anymore, Neteyam didn’t have that time. Right now, you weren’t Neteyam’s…friend..You were the one in charge of saving his life, in charge of his healing, and, if all went well, his recovery.

“Here, give him to me, I will take him to our marui.” You shouldered his body and he groaned. “Yes, yes, I know and I’m sorry.”

Neteyam didn’t seem to be capable of conversation but keeping him conscious was your top priority until you could get your remedies.

It was a struggle up the shore but you made it, with Tsireya stumbling behind. You lay him down as gently as you could.

“Neteyam? Neteyam, can you hear me? It’s yn.”

You spoke to him as you checked his body for any other injuries. Anything that would make it more difficult to deal with the hole in his chest. Nothing turned up so you continued to speak to him.

“Neteyam? I’m going to unwrap your chest now, it will hurt but I need to to stay with me, okay?”

He was awake but you had no idea if he was actually hearing anything you were saying. With a deep breath, you slowly started to unwrap his chest.

You weren’t ready for what greeted you.

The tight wrappings had slowed down the bleeding but there was still so much. It covered your palms and wove itself between your fingers. You heart was beating out of your chest and you got closer and closer to his naked chest.

Neteyam was moaning and muttering above you but you didn’t want to take your eyes off his injury.

“Tsireya? Is he still awake?” You asked your sisters, fingers still working on the makeshift bandages.

“Uh..uhm.” She knelt down closer to his face. “Yes, I think h-he is.”

“We need to keep him with us, as much as it will hurt him, we cannot risk him slipping away.”

Tsireya nodded and started to try make conversation with him. “Your brother still needs you, he is lost but he needs you to bring him back.”

You felt yourself tear up at her words. It was not just his brother who still needed him.

After discarding the seaweed in a pile, you came face to face with the bloody mess. Fortunately, it didn’t seem to be bleeding as much as it was before and just like you thought, there was a large clump of sea moss packed around the wound. You picked it up as gently as possible and the boy above you jerked.

“It- it hurts!” He whined and you put a hand gently on his shoulder.

“I know and i’m sorry but it is what needs to be done.”

He didn’t respond after that but kept whining in pain and wriggling slightly.

“Tsireya-” your sister looked up and you handed her a tightly woven basket, “-fill this with water.”

She nodded and takes it from your hands hurriedly. You use the sea moss to clean up the sight as much as you can before putting is next to the seaweed.

In record time, Tsireya ran back to your side, handing you the basket now filled to the rim.

“Thank you, sister.” You said. You brings your hands up to her face and she closed her eyes. “Be calm, he will live, i’m sure of it.” She meets your gaze again and sniffs. You try to give her a reassuring smile before turning back to Neteyam.

With the basket in hand, you shuffle up next to his shoulder. As slowly as you can, you tip the container forward and watch the water wash into the hole in his chest. The blood melts off of him as the water takes its place.

Neteyam sounded like he was downright sobbing and you hear Tsireya whisper to him, “Be still, Neteyam. You are in good hands.”

You hoped she was right.

-

It had taken many hours of tears and screams but you had managed to bring Neteyam back to where he was stable. He now rests in his family’s marui like he has been for days, surrounded by the love of his family.

And as much as you want to see him, you know better than anyone how important family is in times like these. They need space.

“You did a great thing, without you, my love, the loses would have been so much greater.” Your mother is known for her stone cold resolve and tough exterior but you wouldn’t have it any other way. She loves you and your siblings in her own way. “I feel so proud knowing I chose you to take my place as Tsahik of this village once I return to our great mother.”

“Thank you, mother. It is a great honour.” She smiles down and you and holds you closer.

-

That night you cannot sleep, opting you go for a swim, a now common occurrence since the battle. You lie of your back, floating on the surface and looking up to the sky. You remember your father telling you that Jake Sully was from one of the distance stars. How fascinating.

Small waves lap underneath you. A small light shoots across the sky. Everything is still.

Well it is until someone dives in next to you.

You’re so surprised, you slowly a mouthful of water.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” It’s Lo’ak’s voice you hear while dying cough out all of the water from your mouth.

“It is okay,” You splutter, turning to face him. “Why do you come to me, Lo’ak?”

He looks down into the water and it is silent for a beat. “To thank you. I should have done it sooner and I apologise, but I just couldn’t..couldn’t-”

“Leave him?” You interrupt him and he nods. “I understand. After something so major, your family needs to heal. That includes you.” The sound of lapping water fills the silence between you.

“That’s not the only reason i’m here.” He continues. You look up to him again, slightly confused. “Neteyam, he has been asking for you.” Your eyes widen a little. “While our parents aren’t around, he asks us where you are and how he still has to thank you.”

It’s a bit sill, but you can feel small tears well up in your eyes; he’s been asking for you?

“Since his..injury, he has been moved into a separate marui to heal and he asked if I would bring you there.”

Now you feel like laughing; this whole time while you have been aching to see him, he has been feeling the same.

“I would like that, Lo’ak.” You sniffed and Lo’ak grins.

“I had a feeling you would.”

-

Before you reach Neteyam’s marui, Lo’ak decides to go back to his family’s marui. You try to insist that he joins you but he flat out denies and just grins while he walks away.

When you arrive to the doorway and look inside, you see Neteyam sitting up against the side of the dwelling.

“Neteyam?” His head immediately spins your way and there is a big smile on his face. It is contagious.

“yn, it’s so good to see you!” He whispers as you kneel next to him.

“How are you feeling? Should you be sitting u-”

“I knew that would be the first thing you ask me.” His smile gets even bigger and again, you match it.

“I’m sorry, force of habit.” You both chuckle. “Was there any reason you wanted to see me?”

“I want to thank you, for saving me.” You are about to tell him that you were just doing your job but he keeps going, “I was..I was so scared. I felt like a little kid again. But when Tsireya brought me here, to you…I knew that I would be okay.”

“Oh Neteyam…” Your eyes well up with tears and Neteyam out his hands on your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, i didn’t mean to make you cry.” His thumbs caught the tears that rolled down your cheeks.

You suddenly wrap your arms around his neck. “I have been so worried for you Neteyam…” Your words are muffled against his skin and he can feel the vibrations echoing up his neck. Neteyam hesitates, before wrapping you up into his embrace. Silence blanketed the two of you, interrupted only by the sound of your occasional sniffles and the waves breaking against the beach.

Neteyam is the one to finally shatter it.

“While I was out there, I fought as hard as I could…To defeat our enemies, yes, but also…I knew that, whatever happened, I had to get back here,” He brings a hand up to your face that is still planted in his shoulder and lifts it gently. “I was so scared…”

Your eyes flutter close and another tear slips down your cheek, down past your quivering lips.

“But when Tsireya brought me here, to you.” A smile weaved itself into his voice and you looked up to him. “I knew that I was going to be okay.”

Neteyam looks like he is crying now and you can’t bear it.

“Oh Neteyam..I’m so happy that you’re okay.” You lean forward and rest your forehead again his.

“The great mother is not ready to meet me yet.” He chuckles and you let out a watery laughter with him.

In this moment, all is well, all is calm. He is here. With you.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Your dear Neteyam.

[187days]

Day One

Well. It's my twentieth year of teaching. And I started it majestically... by tripping over my own two feet on my way to my classroom because my sneakers and the freshly waxed hallways didn't get along.

(I tripped like three more times throughout the day, twice in front of other people).

Buuuuut anyways.

In-service started with coffee, and The Principal's welcome back/welcome new people remarks. After that, we had four gloriously uninterrupted hours to set up our classrooms, but, if you've been following along at home, you know I did a lot of my set up when I was in for LT meetings last week- and I'm notoriously quick at doing many things anyhow- so I went and checked in with the teachers in my department. Then I started tackling the mess that is the English/Social Studies staff room. I didn't get very far on that, but progress is progress.

Lunch was pizza from one of the local restaurants. I introduced Ms. B and Mr. X to my Cacophonous friends, and they fit right in, which was awesome. A cacophony ought to expand and grow, after all!

After lunch, The Principal went over policies and procedures, new or continuing initiatives, and expectations for tomorrow's freshman orientation. He'd given himself an hour and a half, probably anticipating more questions than there were (I'd anticipated more), but only took maybe forty minutes. So everyone was free to wrap up the day however they needed to. I went over how to use PowerSchool and Smartpass with Ms. B and Mr. X, then went back to my classroom to fill out all the beginning-of-the-year paperwork I had to fill out.

I did text Mrs. T, too, to tell her it was weird to do this without her, but we're both in good places and doing what we want to do, so it's all good.

And that was that! Day one, in the books!

[lakia-chan]

Science & Faith

A parallel case study of how Alhaitham is like in love.

pairing: alhaitham x gn!reader

contains: fluff, stream of consciousness

word count: 722 words

a/n: i feel that most people either write alhaitham as loving rationally or irrationally and stick with it. but i love exploring both sides depending on my mood lol. (also yes the title is a rip off of The Script) ANYWAYS!! my very first fic!! i haven't properly written since i was like 12 so here's my debut i guess lol. i wanna take requests but felt that i needed to write something first y'know? my blog is kinda empty right now so just ignore and feel free to send in anything or interact!!

Your existence is a phenomenon.

Scientifically, you check all the boxes. Your unparalleled beauty that would make the divine envious, your pleasant demeanor that makes the coldest hearts thaw, and your soft gaze that engulfs your target.

Despite all his flaws and yours not, you've decided to grace him with your affections and time. The one in a million idyllic scenario that he concluded was only theoretically possible.

He's knowingly a rude, uncaring hermit that grimaces at the grievances and noise of the people that surround him. Yet, you have never once been the subject of his ire. Somehow, you're never too loud, never too proud and always so understanding of his disposition. It's as if you’ve cracked the code that is him, a skillful balancing act of not too much and not too little. Everything there is that makes up you compliments him, from the melodious inflections of your voice, your easy gait and the click of your heels, to the things that pique your interest that you speak so passionately about. You neither annoy nor bore him, something he’s unused to.

You're the missing piece in the complicated puzzle of his life, something he didn't even know he yearned for until your arrival. You fall into place easily, with all his awkward corners and sharp protrusions.

It just feels so right. You just feel so right.

You've jump started his heart into life, something he didn't think would happen in this lifetime, and it truly feels as if he was created solely to meet and love you.

The people of Sumeru City mourn the fact that you've decided on him out of all your potential suitors. And his own personal friends wonder about the intricacies of the seemingly odd pairing.

He feels quite the opposite. You decode all the errors of his mind, turn the negatives into positives. It's as if you're the missing variable in the formula, and the perfect solution you and him. To him, it is inconceivable that he could be with anyone other than you.

He will continue to love you so, because rationally, you just make sense.

Your existence is an anomaly.

Despite all the empirical evidence that you're just so wholly different from him and that he should find no reason to, he loves you.

Your charming image, the twinkle in your eyes, and the teasing lilt in your sinful cadence mess up the neat lines in his head, break the code in the already failing system that is his heart before you. Until the only thing that makes sense is you, loving you.

There's nothing to decode, to analyse, when it just feels so right in the depths of his chest to be with you. It's unfathomable that something that feels this right could be wrong.

Unknowingly, he has accepted you and your anomalies into the ecosystem of his mind. Thoughts of you become entangled in the web of information and pure logic he operates on. You become part of the algorithm. You're a part of him, mind, body and soul.

Now, your smile that sends his heartbeat into overdrive is part of the procedure, the tips of his reddening ears an expected outcome when conversing with you.

It's absolutely ridiculous.

It's decidedly bad for him, with the way he humiliates himself in your presence and throws caution to the wind when you're concerned. Terrible for his reputation too, might he add, with how he indulges in nonsensical mannerisms to please your whims and ignoring his ethos of order and rationality.

The people of Sumeru City constantly speculate how a mismatched pair came to be, scrutinising his actions and concocting wild assumptions. Even his own personal friends are in doubt, how far does the cliché of opposites attract truly go?

Truthfully, he feels the same. You've made the man who functioned on logic and numericals crumble at your feet, ensnaring him in the trap that is you. He's a man gone insane, having consumed the forbidden knowledge of loving you.

You're a curiosity to him, the way you've made him experience and embrace the irrationality of human nature. Under your guidance, he now believes in something as superficial as fate and coincidence, rather than calculated chances and statistics.

He will continue to love you so, because irrationally, you just make sense.

strictly do not repost or plagarise my works on any social media platforms. likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated!!

[professornightmare]

SLEEPING BEAUTY. A MEDFET SHORT STORY.

You look so calm, so peaceful that it is impossible to recognize you like that. Gone are the days when you arrived a mess, screaming and crying, cursing and beaten. You were a silent cry for help.

In those cold nights, when no one could sleep, I promised to help you. I always wanted to get closer to you and talk about my work. But you were never available to listen to a young university professor. Now look at you, you are now a vital part of my work.

Why were you helpless to see your own beauty? Why did you keep choosing your self-destruction? I couldn't remain undaunted by your situation, that's why I promised you a world free of suffering, crying, and pain. I still remember the slight shine in your eyes when you heard my words.

But if you had paid attention in philosophy classes, if you had cared to read a little, you would understand that the world is cruel and a field of tears, that there is only one way I could keep my promise.

I still remember the night you came home drunk and without pants. Crying hysterically you fainted in my arms and I feared the worst. I ran for my medical instruments and carefully checked your battered body. I had to check that those brutes, whom you called boyfriends, had not defiled you. So I carefully spread your legs and began to explore you.

You woke up, it was a surprise for both of us, and you kicked me in the face in the middle of your screams. You walked away strangely because my speculum was still inside you. I didn't worry about my bleeding nose, but rather the possibility that in your outburst you had hurt yourself. I had to wait for you to sleep and carefully entered your room to anesthetize you and continue my examination.

It's a good thing you had the habit of sleeping naked. That saved me a lot of time for your preparation. I was able to improvise a gynecological table and calmly continue with your medical examination.

I took my time, I examined every part of you, every physical and physiological function of yours. I had to gag you so I could work in peace. Your initial protests turned into moans and we were both accomplices in that delicious intimate moment. I decided to do a few unorthodox procedures and extend our experience for a while longer.

I confirmed my worst nightmares, your body had been constantly abused. I didn't know if I could repair you, for that I had to examine you more. I closed all the doors and windows of the house we shared. I called my work to say that a delicate situation had arisen with a friend who needed my help, so I couldn't show up to work for a few days. You don't work, you live off your parents' inheritance. I called a place that rented medical equipment and got the little I needed for my initial studies on you.

I was very professional. If I kept you anesthetized or tied up it was because you didn't understand my experimental methods. Remember that I am the youngest professor in the gynecology department and I like to do research.

I know that in many moments you came to enjoy our time together. Your moans gave you away. This week I worked a lot of overtime, I didn't work my usual eight hours a day, on average it was twelve hours a day when we were together exploring you.

To feed you I had to do it by force. Always tied with your mouth open and me pushing the porridge and broth down your throat.

It was Friday morning and I already had your preliminary results. I sat next to you and looked at your tiredness, I was tired too, but I found the strength to read the results to you.

The verdict is that you are a complete disaster. You have abused and allowed yourself to be abused beyond limits. I haven't done your psychological evaluation yet, but I've known you for years and I know that your mental health is not very reliable. 

I don't know if I'm capable of healing you. Many consider you a hopeless case. But I have loyalty, and although our friendship stopped being what it was, and now we are merely acquaintances, I still plan to fight to improve your life. 

There are two options, become more aggressive in my treatments and procedures or free you from all earthly suffering. NO!!! I did not mean that. I would never dare to be something so barbaric. Your life is valuable and I swore to protect and preserve all life. 

I would simply look for a way to make your dream life. You know that I am intelligent and I always manage to solve complex problems, you also know that I always keep my word. So rejoice, or you will recover what you have lost these years or you will get your dream life. No, you can't choose, I'll do that. Why? Well, I have witnessed your choices.

What will I do? Well, it's Friday morning. We are going to have breakfast and then we will begin to take the first route. Experimental methods to heal your body. And if we see that it is not possible, well on Monday we would start with plan B of your dream life.

Let's get started. I remind you that these procedures are designed to modify your body limits and alter your reactions. It won't be easy, you must endure.

This is exhausting.

You've been in the gynecological chair all weekend. I have worked on you from seven in the morning until after midnight and we have made only a little progress on you. I'll make a plan C. What is it? You don't need to know.

It's Sunday at noon. I'll give you some rest and pleasure. Don't try to avoid it, just enjoy it. While I'll make some calls. Tomorrow you will fulfill your parents' dream, you will go to university. Easy, easy. Breathe in a little anesthesia, just a little.

Now that you are a little more relaxed, enjoy my specialty: treatments for sexual frigidity.

It seems that someone did enjoy my treatment. Tomorrow we will go to university, I managed to get you into a research project where I am. There we can continue working for your recovery, and at the same time your name will appear in the paperwork, you will be famous in the scientific community. Shhh... calm down... breathe... just sleep... tomorrow will be your big day.

Yes, she is the new candidate for the research. Here are her preliminary results and papers. What role does she play in? Well, seeing as we have reached the 10 month mark in an induced coma, I want to investigate the possibilities that this type of coma can offer in the surgical field. Her body is so deteriorated that she needs a total reconstruction. Yes, it's a shame that she is so young, which is why I think her body is suitable for the procedure.

I anesthetized her before coming. So call the intern to help me take her to the facility.

Place her on the available bed. Oh, she tries to wake up. Quick, a little gas.... Easy, easy. You are in a safe place. No, don't get up... Gas, I need gas. Only a little. Someone tie her legs... Calm down, don't try to move. Stop attacking us. I want to help you... Thank you, finally gas. Pass me the mask. Just a little, I don't want her to lose consciousness yet. I already controlled her, tie her hands and arms...

She will be on the project for a long time, so she will be our long-term guest. Let's prepare her.

It's been over two months and it seems like yesterday when you passed out in my arms in the place we used to share. Since I brought you to college, I have visited you daily. I work on you, even if it's just a little and I check all your well-being.

You look so calm. I know you're calm. These months have been somewhat difficult for you, but you would be happy to know that you are now the center of attention of many men, as you always wanted. 

Only these men don't take you to bed, they take you to the table. Unlike the men who surrounded you before, we are not seeking to destroy you, we are rebuilding you.

We have taken you to surgery a couple of times, we needed to see all the internal damage and measure it.

What do we find inside you? Fatty liver, ulcers, cysts, various latent diseases, lung and heart damage, among many other things. The diagnosis given may seem uninspiring for the timid who opt for a simple hospital job. I saw something positive in your diagnosis, that you are strong and I know that you are capable of moving forward with my treatment.

I have done small outpatient surgeries on you.

I have removed some cysts and the gonorrhea has been decreasing. You are improving.

I came to check your levels and prepare you for the night, since tomorrow we start with your experimental surgeries. Many have called me stupid for the plan I developed for you. The only way I can maintain your life while I rebuild you is by controlling your entire body. I will connect you to various life support systems and monitors. This way we can work deeply on you without you suffering.

Your life was a mess, now you serve a greater purpose. We can develop new techniques and technologies in you. You lived unconsciously, so this unconsciousness has been good for you. I started marking your progress.  

The medications and small interventions that I have administered to you have improved your quality of life. You haven't smoked in more than two months, nor have you gotten drunk. But the most important thing is that you haven't cried for more than two months, living in a dream world. Do you see that I keep my promises?

I remember that your favorite story was Sleeping Beauty. Even your sweet sixteen party was with that theme. You could say that it was fate that brought us together again at your parents' funeral where you decided, without consulting me, to move into the house I rented near my work and pay half of my rent. At first it was annoying, but looking in perspective that was the beginning of our fairy tale. Only here the prince keeps the sleeping beauty asleep. See you tomorrow, princess.

Here you can read it with the pictures that are to sexy for Tumblr.

[xolliwritez]

Cackly Cords || Ninjago Tk Fic

A/N: aaaa thank the amazing @jettorii for collabing with me!! this is my first ever collab, and it was insanely fun!! hope you enjoy!!♡

collab right here

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

"Zane, stay still, I need too make sure your circuits aren't fried!" Pixal said, sighing as she looked up to see her boyfriend near the ceiling like a cartoon cat, "Or you could do that also.." She huffed.

Zane was usually really laid back and really good when it came to examinations... as a human, but ever since he became a cyborg, the examinations got a little more hectic.

"I promise to make it quick, Zanny!" Pixal swore, only to frown as her now stubborn boyfriend refused too leave his hiding spot. She tried all the best solutions to bring him down, yet he continued to deny her any agreement to come down for his appointment.

"Fine then, I'll just go." She said, walking out the room, Zane thought he had been victorious, but little did he know the trick she had up her sleeve. As Pixal had walked out, she had gone up and asked if anyone could help her get Zane too take his appointment, and with that, she had back-up.

As Zane hopped down in his false victory, he didn't expect for Cole to have tackled him, this caught the ice ninja off guard completely, "Gotcha now buddy! You know it's not good to skip appointments!" Cole said with a slightly amused tone to his voice.

"Cole, let go! You don't understand!" Zane panicked as he tried to pry his fellow spinjitsu friend to release him, only to gasp as Pixal emerged infront of him, "It's okay, Zane, it'll be quick." She said as she plopped her gloves on, makingthe ice ninja squirm more.

"C-Cole! I think I would prefer if you'd let me go!" Zane said in a panic, his feet kicking around as he thrashed in his friend's hold to no avail, his face flushing as Cole grinned, "What? I can't hear you over your nonsense!" He smirked, chuckling as his friend whined.

Zane turned his attention back too Pixal as she inched closer, "S-Stay back you fiend!" He said, making her roll her eye's playfully, as she cleared her throat, "Work with me, love." As she went towards him, she smiled, "Now, for the first procedure I'll-"

"GYAHAHAH!?"

"Oh right, you're really ticklish here, ahem, as I was saying." She held back a smirk as she had squeezed and prodded around at his side's for any loose wires or any signs of danger, as she then looked up and giggled as she saw Cole sneakily blow against his friend's ear. "Cole, stop messing with him, you know how sensitive he is." She chuckled, Cole playfully pouting, "Party pooper." He muffled, making Pixal roll her eye's again as she kept up at Zane's side's, before crawling up to his ribs, making him hitch and mix some static in with his laughter. "Gahahahah! P-Pixal, hurry uhuhup! I c-cahan't tahake this!" Zane whined out.

"Funny, you didn't ask me too stop tho-"

"PIHIHIXAL!"

"Okay okay!" She laughed, as she quickly finished up with the area, gping down and checking his stomach, "You could've broken some gears by how hard you're laughing." She teased, placing a kiss on his neck, making him snort, as she then heard a raddle in his stomach, "PIHIHIXAL STOHOHOP!" He said, as he immediately fell too the ground as Pixal and Cole let go, the two high fiving, "See Zane? You had some loose gears, without your appointments you could get worse!" She scolded, flicking his forehead as he rubbed the area.

"I guess your right.." He said, smiling as he and Pixal exchanged kisses on the cheek. "Good boy." She praised, hopefully now Zane would know appointments weren't so bad.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

I’m in a very medical kink mood so I reread your post about Steve medical kink (blow me over with a feather 🥵) and now I’m very curious how you would see post-TWS Bucky engaging with medical kink. He has a lot of trauma around medical procedures, obviously, and maybe he wouldn’t like being strapped down, but maybe…

One day Bucky makes his own eggs instead of waiting for Steve to get back from his run and do it, and Steve throws out a line like, “Wow, you’re growing into a real big boy, Buck,” and Bucky just… freezes. A memory comes back of little, late blooming Steve being jealous and fascinated when Bucky went through puberty before him, and how they’d stay up late at night with Steve asking Bucky about his check-ups. Why’d he feel your chest, did he really touch your private parts, did he say when you’re gonna get all hairy? Bucky didn’t understand the shivers that went through him then at 12, but now -

He pictures Steve asking similar things, but as his doctor. Have you been getting erections at night? Yes, Bucky, an erection IS when your penis gets bigger, you’re so smart… Oh, not just at night? When your teacher leans over your desk you become aroused? I see. That’s perfectly normal for a growing boy, and I see you growing so well. Must be eating your vegetables to get such thick hair under your arms and around your genitals. Lie back for me, please, Bucky, I need to make sure you’re developing properly. You’ve been such a good little boy but it will be time to be a big boy soon…

……….. So. If you want to expand on that.

this medical kink drabble

Mmm. I like the way you think.

I would definitely, definitely see Bucky having problems with anything involving doctors and people he doesn't know touching him post-HYDRA, like, even barber shops and hair salons are out of the picture because of the chair you have to sit in, the sharp objects, the sudden movements, the sudden movements behind you, and... yeah. I can understand why it would be triggering for Bucky for the rest of his life. No matter how many times he tries it. It might be easier, but it'll probably never be the way it was before.

However--

If there's anything to override those triggers (as is canon), it's Steve.

Steve stirs up old memories all the time, but since Bucky feels those shivers, as they shoot up his spine and spread over his arms and neck, he just can't stop thinking about it. What was that? Why? What about it?

And I know that you mentioned puberty check-ups, which I fucking love that, the new, exciting changes, the uncertainty, the on-edge of flaring hormones, the awkwardness and humiliation that can be confused with the heat of arousal... that all makes for a delicious mess.

But you know what I can't stop thinking about since you sent this in?

Follow me for a minute--

With all of Steve's ailments pre-serum, it's semi-common in the fandom to have pre-serum Steve, especially when he's in an alternative, modern univere, need glasses. And if Steve has glasses...

Can you imagine Bucky's curiosity about what happens when Steve goes to the optometrist?

Bucky's never had problems with his eyes. In fact, whenever they check his vision in school, they always tell him his eyes are better than average. So, he's got no fucking clue what it's like to go to a doctor that specializes in eyes. He has no idea what they do to Steve to send him home with pupils so wide that they swallow all of his blue irises. He feels...

He feels kind of jealous, if he's dead honest.

According to Steve, the nurses that see him before the eye doctor always coo at him and call him "darling" or "precious" and spend more time than necessary staring into his eyes. Steve grumbles about it. It feels like pity to him. Like they're making fun of him. Treating him like a child.

Meanwhile, at the description, Bucky's teeth sink into his lower lip. First, he's thinking of is the attention and the way it would make the hairs on his arms stand on edge. Then, as he continues to get lost in his head, he thinks about looking directly into Steve's eyes. The hypnotic blue color of them. He thinks about cupping Steve's chin and caressing his cheekbones and eyebrows and that handsome bump on his nose. He thinks about how hot and shivery he feels when Steve has him sit still and pose for a drawing, all of Steve's attention on him... would it be like that? If he were in Steve's shoes. All of their attention on him, face-to-face, telling him his chin is sweet, his jaw is handsome, and--

There's something so alluring about this place Steve goes that Bucky doesn't. It's a different world.

He's so curious about it.

The optometrist remains alluring and mysterious all the way until Bucky's early adulthood when suddenly, after a concussion from boxing, he goes to the eye doctor because he can't focus his eyes so well. It's what his general doctor recommends.

Eventually, the problem with his eyes turns out to be nothing--resolving itself--but... the day it happens, he's seeing double. The nurse that sees him before the doctor is his age and she's got blonde hair, it's pinned back, making it look short, she also has blue eyes with hints of green, pink, full lips, and she, just, looks like Steve. That nurse kisses him in the exam room when they're alone after quiet, intense, face-to-face compliments. Just like Steve described.

The experience leaves an impression on Bucky.

He's still scrambled from his concussion, and he's half-convinced the nurse kissing him is Steve--who he wants the most, who he's wanted since before he knew what wanting was. In the dim, warm exam room, he feels safe. A little dizzy and buzzing with soft heat, his skin prickling pleasantly, Bucky feels good. It feels better than any kiss he had had before.

Now, post mission check-ups and Steve pull that memory out of Bucky and... he yearns. At first, he's sure it was Steve who was in the exam room with him, no matter how little sense it makes. Why would Steve have come to that appointment with him?

Eventually, Bucky sorts it, and he... he manages to pull the words out of himself. Asking Steve if they can try that. Whatever it is.

Roleplay?

Medical kink?

ASMR?

Meditation?

Whatever it is, Steve orders a bunch of props for them to play with. If Bucky wants something, Steve will go through hell and high water to get it for him. He deserves it. They end up with a snellen chart, an ophthalmoscope, a retinoscope, a pin light, a handheld eye occluder, colored pens, and, of course, Steve has his hands to perform other tests that fancy instruments aren't used for. Following his fingers, testing peripheral vision, holding fingers up, wiggling his fingers at the edges of his vision, and other things that Steve may or may not come up with on the fly.

When the whole haul arrives, they can play.

Steve dims the lights, he puts Bucky on their bed, his back against the headboard, arms limp by his sides, and he eases him into it. Starting slow, allowing the atmosphere and tension to build. Steve places his hands on Bucky's face, caressing him gently, like he's made of porcelain. He touches him. His collarbones, his throat, his jaw, his lips, his cheekbones, his nose, his eye sockets, his eyebrows, his scalp, and his ears. Checking him over in an extremely intimate way; they're practically pressed together and there's no distraction of anything needing to happen, this isn't leading anywhere more. Steve's just touching him. Making sure he's okay.

Examining in a loving, affectionate way that's masked by a mock-professional setting.

Bucky feels him heart speed in his chest at the same time that he sinks into relaxation. This is Steve. He can trust Steve. Inherently. He's not even thinking about trusting him. He doesn't feel unsafe, he feels... excited.

The pent-up breath in Bucky's chest leaves in a big rush as he closes his eyes to have Steve sweep his thumbs over the back of his eyelids. It's nothing but good.

It's thrilling and relaxing.

It's making him vibrate in place, but not because he's restless. He doesn't totally know what he is, but somehow, he doesn't mind.

Steve praises him along the way, touching, touching, touching, "good boy," he murmurs, feeling his quickening pulse. Then, "good job, that's it, just like that," when he looks in the directions Steve tells him to, straight up, up to the left, up to the right, straight down, down to the left, down to the right, left side, right side. "Perfect. You're doing so well." He tucks a strand of Bucky's hair behind his ear, drawing his nail gently over his eyebrows, feeling his skill, "mmm-hmm, mmm-hmm, everything looks great. Just like it should." His breath is warm as it brushes across Bucky's face. The reminder that he's so close has Bucky's hands reaching up to grasp his arms. Yet, Bucky only hovers--he drops his hands on second thought. He wants to sink into this.

"Good."

Bucky's eyelids feel heavy, almost having a difficult time opening his eyes when instructed next. Follow the light, back and forth, back and forth. He does it, though. Just managing.

Steve starts to speak but apparently thinks better of it and adjusts his head with two fingers under his chin instead of directing Bucky to do it himself. Tipping his head back and up. Every time Steve touches him, Bucky feels sparks tremble through him. He wants to follow these orders. So badly. He wants to do as he says. He wants to be rewarded with sweet words and more touches.

Steve's thumb strays, pressing into the dimple in his chin. Under his breath, he breaks the scene, swearing, "fuck, you're pretty, baby." Then, as if he can't stop himself, he reaches out and squeezes the back of his neck.

All the weight on Bucky's shoulders disappears. He feels like he must suddenly be sitting up straighter from the relief of mass yet at the same time like he's slouched down even farther down.

When they come to the chart, Steve lays it on even thicker, "that's it, perfect answer again, you're a sharp one, aren't you?"

Bucky lets go of a soft mewl, his tummy all tight and squirmy. The praise is working its way under his skin. Collecting and wrapping tight, wrapping him up in a blanket, leaving him hot. Blushing.

Steve pretends he didn't hear and instead points to the next line. Bucky can still read it. Steve shakes his head in a disbelieving way, "those eyes of yours really aren't just for show, such a pretty color and shape, they're just perfect. Best sight I've tested."

As it continues, dragging out, stretching time like warm taffy between sugary fingertips on a contagious laughter filled summer afternoon, Bucky starts to feel drunk. What he remembers drunk feeling like--slow and lazy and underwater, if water were glittering, bubbly champagne.

It's sweet and easy, the answers to anything Steve asks him just fall out of his lips. Bucky isn't sure he even hears the questions; he isn't sure his words make any sense or if he's slurring, drunk; he doesn't know anything but the moment. He's here. Steve's here. Steve's practically hand-feeding him soft touches and praise and is so close without giving him any of the touch or words he's craving to hear.

It's relaxing and it's maddening.

It's almost like he's been hypnotized.

Guh.

With all those intoxicating feelings inside, Bucky doesn't notice how throbbing hard he is between his legs until Steve pushes their foreheads together. They must be nearing the end, the scene falling apart at the edges. The illusion unraveling.

Bucky gasps. Shocked. Still swimming in thick, warm syrup.

Steve is grabbing his jaw tightly all of a sudden. It's not clinical. It's intimate. Possessive. Like he can no longer resist. Not remaining as far away as he can while still doing a proper examination but fully pressing tight to Bucky now. His chest against Bucky is hard and hot. Overwhelming. The sudden lapful of Steve is perfect.

The erotic, addictive feeling of being desirable and irresistible floods into Bucky. Steve can't keep himself away anymore.

A moan simply escapes him.

Steve rasps, "that's it," he shakes his chin, teasing, "you did so good, baby--"

Bucky whimpers, soft but so needy.

"--You deserve a reward, but I don't want you to look away from me," Steve tells him while keeping one hand on Bucky's face while his other wraps around Bucky's cock. Stroking him dangerously slow. Uuuuuuuuup and dooooooown, uuuuuuuuup and dooooooown, uuuuuuuuup and dooooooown.

Bucky shakes. His eyes slide shut in pleasure. He wants to crawl out of his oversensitive skin, after just strictly "professional" touching, even the slow, frustratingly gentle and slow sexual touch is impossibly good.

"No. Look at me." Steve demands.

Bucky whines and forces his eyes open when Steve's fingers threaten to bite into his chin. His eyelids are so heavy! His vision is so unfocused. Steve's so close to him.

So close.

"Mmm-hmm, yeah, keep looking, and I'll keep going, just like this," he rambles, it washes over Bucky.

They breathe each other in.

Steve is hardly reacting while Bucky's chest is heaving, and with the effort of keeping his eyes open and on Steve, they're tearing. Vision blurring even more. Oh. Oh. It feels good. It feels so good. Steve's hand on him. Stroking him. Steve's eyes on him. Intense and hot. Steve's words caressing him. Sweet, praising words. Pleasure slow but consistent. It's, it's--

It's working so good for Bucky.

Better than it should.

God.

All he's doing is touching him lightly, it shouldn't have Bucky on the edge already!

Fuck.

It does, though. Bucky wants--

He wants--

Fuck.

He wants to cum.

Steve, staring into his eyes, knows. He knows everything. He is staring into Bucky's soul. His flesh and bone, body, mind, and soul. Bucky has never been more naked.

"Now." Steve orders.

Bucky doesn’t even register his obedience. His body has done this too many times for it to need to ask his conscious mind's permission. His body is simple. It does.

Wrecked, Bucky cries out, tears spill over his eyes, rolling down his hot cheeks, and his mouth drops open wide, drooling a little. Also, with the force of the pleasure, Bucky curls forward and drops his forehead into the crook of Steve's neck. Trembling all over, hanging onto Steve for dear life.

Oh. Oh. Oh.

Steve pets his hair, rumbling, "good boy, gooood boy," with the praise, Bucky jolts again and again, cumming again, or maybe more. He doesn't know. It doesn't matter. It just feels so fucking good.

God.

So this is, uh, optometrist hypnosis? 🤷🏻‍♂️ I hope you like it!

Also, I hope you don't mind me taking your prompt and writing something else with it! Because I fucking love, love, LOVE your idea, but I couldn't get this out of my mind, so it had to happen.

[the-tmnt-ficfinder]

Ficfinder finds: Turning Purple

Rottmnt Fanfic Summary: After the Krang’s attempted invasion, Donnie starts to experience some… adverse side effects from connecting to the Technodrome. This is very loosely inspired by somerandomdudelmao’s apocalyptic series on tumblr. Warnings for this fic!!! As mentioned in the tags, cancer is a big theme here. Also medical procedures, and needles. There will be lots of depressing moments, but I try to balance it out with some wholesome fluff... ya know, eventually.

Turning Purple: Appraisal and Ratings

(Don't know what fanfic "Appraisal and Ratings" means? Check out my explanation on my Main Masterpost! Looking for a different fanfic to read? Head on over to my Fanfic List Masterpost!)

Disclaimer: This fanfic is unfinished, so this post will continue to update as the fic updates. This fanfic is written by @lizaaardstuff, so go show them some love and support!!

The fanfic ratings are not based on quality, favoritism, or how good I think it is, but rather, how intense a subject may be. Like a movie review, or the tags on Ao3, letting the readers know what to expect.

Plot: 💛💛💛🖤🖤

"Plot is three out of five!! The plot for this story is riveting, and dramatic! It starts out very Donnie centric, then as the plot progresses, the rest of the group gets pulled into the story. As the fic updates, I'll updates this, as we're only 1/3 into the story!"

Suspense/Mystery: 💛💛💛🖤🖤

"Suspense/Mystery is three out of five!! The suspense is pretty intense, especially concerning Donnie's condition, which you figure out about almost right away. But seriously, the suspense!!!"

Angst/Hurt: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Angst/Hurt is five out of five!! This fanfic is filled with so much hurt and angst!! Augh, it hurt my soul!! Poor Donnie, poor Hamato boy's poor everyone!!"

Fluff/Comfort: 💛💛🖤🖤🖤

"Fluff/Comfort is two out of five!! While there is fluff and comfort in this fanfic, there is so much angst, that the comfort isn't as frequent."

Emotions Conveyed: 💛💛💛💛🖤

"Emotions Conveyed is four out of five!! This fic messed with my mind for sure!! Seriously, it covers some pretty serious topics, and it definitely messed with my head. This fic has a very strong sense of loneliness, and helplessness."

Drama/Tension Level: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Drama/Tension Level is five out of five!! The drama and tension this fic contains is crazy!! High levels of stress as well. The drama is dramaing, especially since its medical drama."

Triggers: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Triggers are five out of five!! This fanfic is very trigger heavy, especially if you're sensitive to subjects like cancer, and medical settings."

Legibility (Reading): 💛💛💛💛💛

"Legibility (Reading) is five out of five!! Turning Purple is a very enjoyable fic to read indeed!! Its written well, the writing style is smooth, its all in all, great to read!!"

Legibility (Audio): 💛💛💛💛💛

"Legibility (Audio) is five out of five!! Along with being enjoyable to read, Turning Purple is also incredibly enjoyable to listen to! Would recommend!!"

Length: 💛💛💛🖤🖤

"Length is three out of five!! Turning Purple is set to have 35 chapters, though that may end up changing as the story progresses. ^^”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Turning Purple: Chapter List

(Chapters will be added as I rate and appraise them ^^)

(Yet to be added)

[painonthebrain]

To strip back the flesh

CWs: Lab whump, experiment whumpee, clinical/detached whumper, surgical procedure/operation, vivisection, drugging/sedation (whumpee is conscious for the procedure though), non-con body modification (past), non-con touch, bodily fluids, body horror

Saul wakes up to an unfamiliar experience … being dissected alive. After all, there’s more than meets the eye with his body now.

———

Everything feels… floaty. Too light to be real. Dizzy and fuzzy and… and…

Saul shudders, lifting a heavy hand to his face. …What’s happening again?

He can hear someone’s voice, someone who reassures him, tells him it’ll be fine, but he doesn’t really believe that, not as the world sways and blurs. Another voice tells the first to leave, and he can feel something take his wrist and set it back at his side. He protests, murmuring something too muddled to understand; slurring the words into a mush of butchered gibberish.

The second voice has a face, blue and purple and orange, and honestly, that’s just too many colors, he thinks — she reminds him of ice; her sharp gaze trained on his body.

V… She’s V. He remembers. …He thinks. Val…

Val reaches for something he can’t see. He asks what she’s doing — but she obviously can’t understand.

“Enunciate,” she says, holding a… an object, something he can’t name… to his skin.

He tries. “..Dunno your… ff,,fancy words, V.”

“Hm.” She says, her voice noncommittal to anything he says. She busies herself in feeling up his chest area, tracing the outline of the… thing in his body. He gasps.

“Wha- at —”

He now realizes he’s not wearing a shirt.

“Shh.” Val checks the accuracy of her tool’s placement, then takes the instrument and cuts through the blackened, thin membrane of the core. Fluid leaks out, and Saul can feel the ugly, wet mess trickle onto him, spilling over his sides.

He can’t speak. The only sound that comes out of his mouth is a choked-back gag.

Val eases her fingers into the gap, pulling the skin back and pinning it down.

Another kind of fluid drips down Saul’s cheeks.

“No.. no- o, stop…” He begs.

Val doesn’t pay any mind to him. She plunges her hands deep into the gaping hole she’s created, probing his innards, the sensation of her gloved hands on his organs so oddly clinical, yet sickeningly intimate.

He swears his insides are literally twisting in disgust; but maybe that’s just Val pulling his intestines out of the gap and examining them, spreading more ooze and viscera across the trembling expanse of his flesh.

She makes notes on his condition, writing as if there isn’t a living, breathing person next to her, cut open and wailing, writhing — Val checks boxes and makes tick marks, filling in something that he doesn’t care about but means so much more to her than his pain.

He doesn’t even hurt that much, he’s too far away, but still too close — or maybe she’s too close, hands on his organs, pulling them out… revealing more organs, more lungs and heart and tangled up meat, hidden bones jutting through the cavity Val made that become revealed with every unwelcome touch.

Saul begs her, pleads for her to stop, drowning in a haze of confusion and inner turmoil, panic rising with every breath he takes. The intrusion of Val’s hands on his entrails is like an infection, crawling into every crevice there ever was in his body, squirming under his skin and becoming like a living thing, a parasite —

“He really does live on inside of you,” she remarks, and Saul doesn’t try to parse the meaning of her sentiment. He doesn’t want to know.

“He hasn’t woken up yet, however…” She continues. “Shame.

“There’s not much of a timeframe for this.” Val offers, as if to comfort him for being a late bloomer instead of an artificially made monstrosity.

“…But I can accelerate the process.”

- - - -

He wakes up, a gap in his mind, and he’s still fuzzy but he knows something happened, and his body is sealed together again and…

Wait.

This body…

It’s not his.

[sev-on-kamino]

Congratulations, Sev, on your follower milestone 🥳🥳🥳

May I request Fives, green, and morning for your event? SFW please 🙏🏻

Can't wait to see what you come up with!!! Might even send in a second request.

Please and thank you 💚

@the-bad-batch-baroness

Thank you, Steph 🥳🥳🥳 I hope you enjoy this lil Fives ficlet 🥰 Fives always makes me so happy. He has the best energy, and I hope these 7 sentences spark joy for you like they did for me! @the-bad-batch-baroness 💙💙

Written while vibing to: “Gold on the Ceiling” by The Black Keys

You had never been a morning person, but your time with the GAR had forced you into it, yet it wasn’t all bad, as early mornings meant training with Fives, who could even make running on a treadmill or infiltration maneuvers an interesting learning experience despite the fact that your mind was geared towards medicine and the health of the human body, and not shooting or outmaneuvering clankers.

Fives had realized rather quickly that standard military procedures still eluded you, so he’d taken some time to draw parallels between battle strategies and medical procedures, pulling you off to a table by yourselves and laying out two datapads in front of you, one with a strategy he’d developed with Echo, the other with a diagram of a field surgical procedure you performed all the time.

His deep, calming voice wrapped around you like a security blanket, as his gloved fingers navigated through the blue screen on the left and the green one on the right, checking in with you periodically to make sure you were still with him and that his analogy hadn’t dropped out of hyperspace somewhere along the way, which made you flash a dazzling smile, and assure him that he was the best teacher you’d ever had, dubbing him ‘Professor Fives’, and earning a rare shy look from the ARC trooper.

After a short quiz to make sure you had the basics, Fives took you by the hand and hauled you off to the training simulator, waving off your protests that it was just the two of you, that your scores in combat were barely passing, and that you’d once stunned Rex in the range, earning you a number of embarrassing nicknames, which didn’t phase Fives at all, as he said there was an easy mode for a reason, and you were with him, and he’d never let anything happen to you, but you had to see the strategies in action for them to really stick.

Once you’d geared up, Fives pressed a gentle kiss to your lips before placing your bucket on your head and passing you your blasters, which you holstered with a deep breath before following him into the simulator, which made your heart race at a 100 miles an hour even though Fives had assured you there were no live rounds, but true to his word Fives took point, leaving you room to practice what he’d taught you while keeping complete control of the battlefield, leading you through each strategy, staying patient when you’d stumble, encouraging you when you’d hesitate, and praising you when you’d nail a shot.

At the end of the simulation, you pulled your bucket off and laid out in the floor, chest heaving as you worked to catch your breath, looking up from your spot on the floor you locked eyes with a grinning Fives, who knelt down and brushed his hand over your face, as he told you how proud he was of you for kicking ass in that simulation, and there were some snuggles in your future…after an ice bath and a rub down, which made you sit up, and steal a kiss before asking if there was also a piggyback ride to the barracks in your future, and you grinned when the answer was yes.

The next morning, despite being far more sore than you’d ever been in your life, you were up bright and early, waiting on Fives in the mess hall, and as soon as he saw you the biggest grin spread across his face to see that you hadn’t decided to avoid him for the rest of your life, and that you were ready to continue with Professor Fives’s lectures on military strategy, which you declared was the only class you’d never skip, and as he launched into the day’s lesson he promised you were his favorite student.

taglist: @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @sunshinesdaydream @dukeoftheblackstar @wolffegirlsunite @sleepingsun501 @starrylothcat @ladyzirkonia @wings-and-beskar @pb-jellybeans @clio3kantarella @staycalmandhugaclone @stardusthuntress @idontgetanysleep @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @anxiouspineapple99 @littlemissmanga @mandos-mind-trick @amorfista @kimiheartblade @freesia-writes @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel @clonemedickix @multi-fan-dom-madness @the-bad-batch-baroness @moonlightwarriorqueen @moon-wrecked @starqueensthings

[mayihaveyournameplease]

The Wolf, the Spriggan and the BMV || Beau & Kyle

who: @xdarkhowlx & @mayihaveyournameplease when: recent where: bmv what: kyle meets the town's best bmv employee while making corrections to his identification warnings: none!

Because of a typo on a form, Kyle found himself waiting around at the BMV for his number to be called. It was the right kind of temperature where you’re not too hot, and you’re not too cold, and yet you’re clammy. The fluorescents buzzed at just the right pitch for the sound to settle into a pressing headache just above his left eye. It smelled like someone had just microwaved fish for lunch. Despite the special pocket of hell that existed in this stupid governmental office, the singular employee seemed to be having the best day possible. Kyle detested him for it. 

By the time his number was called, Kyle had created a narrative explaining all the reasons this chipper man was the way he was. Watching this man have a normal day made Kyle’s day worse. “Hi, I’m Kyle Pryce and I guess I fu–uhh, messed something up and now my tags are way past expired and I think I gotta just fill it out again,” he rushed out in a large breath. “So, can you…help me with that, then?”

—

Beau hated when people gave him their names before they asked. It was rude. It meant that he was going to have to awkwardly ask them for their names again, and they would look at him like he was stupid. At least he would get the pleasure of looking back at them like they were stupid when they realized they didn’t have a name anymore. Beau sighed, adjusting his glasses and looking down at the kid in front of him. “Kyle Pryce. Uh huh. Do you have forms 1082r, 1293c, 1082rda, and 1329p filled out already?” Beau grabbed the forms from the guy's hands and started flipping through them. 

“Uh huh. Uh huh. Hmmm. Haha, so what you can’t spell?” Beau marked something with his pen, he started typing on his computer. He really liked to put on a show when he was helping people. Working at the BMV was a production, and the show was the worst place on earth. “Very expired, haha. You could go to jail for that.” Probably. Beau didn’t actually know the law, he only knew the scope of things that involved the paperwork he needed to do here. “May I get your name?” 

—

The numbers of forms swam in Kyle’s head. Before he could even check to make sure he had those forms, they were being snatched from his hands. Kyle had to bite his tongue to keep from saying something. If he pissed off the BVM guy, he would likely have to come back and do all this again, and he wouldn’t do that. 

At the next question, Kyle felt his ears redden. He couldn’t spell, no, but this douchebag didn’t need to know he was dyslexic. That was just a mean ass thing to say. “Uh, I just made a typo. Or two. I’m human, mistakes happen.” He didn’t mean to sound defensive, but they weren’t starting this off on the right foot. He didn’t want to go to jail for having expired tags (or for petty assault of this man), so he swallowed his pride and nodded. “Yeah, I just told you my name. It’s—isn’t it on the paperwork? I swear I had to put it on there.”

—-

Beau continued the show. He typed loudly at the computer, a random key smash on the computer’s notepad. Kyle was talking. Made a typo or two. Kids these days. They never checked their work. They never did anything right. They always tried to slide by then got defensive when they were met with the consequences of their actions. Tip. Tap. Type. “Right. You’re only human, after all.” It was disdain that laced his voice, fighting with the smile plastered on his face. 

Then Kyle decided to be rude. Was it not enough to be stupid? Must he be the harrowing combo of stupid and rude? Beau let out a long-suffering sigh, still fighting with the smile forcibly plastered on his face. “It’s on your paperwork. But there are rules and regulations. There is a correct way to go about this. There is a procedure. When I ask, ‘May I get your name?’ I’m asking you to tell me that you know what name is on these papers. Since you couldn’t spell it right the first time, we need to confirm a few things to get the ball rolling. Let’s try this again. May. I. Get. Your. Name?” He paused after each word, tongue clipping them off sharply as he stared down the kid across from him. 

—-

There was a tone to this foul little man’s voice that set Kyle’s teeth on edge. He couldn’t place it, but the constant smile, the way he slammed his fingers onto the keys—Kyle was getting more frustrated by the second. He hated this man, and they’d only just gotten started. “Rules and regulations,” he parroted. “I get that, but why can’t you just read the forms? What’s the point in filling them out if you don’t read them?”

He grit his teeth, and breathed out steadily through his nose. It’s fine, he told himself. Just get through this without wolfing out. He could always go to the basement later and let it out if he was still worked up. “Fine. My name is Kyle Mahihkan Pryce.” As soon as the words left his mouth, it was like they disappeared into the ether. What had he just said? He couldn’t quite remember. There was an itch in his brain, like the words were on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t quite reach them. What had they been talking about?

—-

Beau rolled his eyes, as if this kid was asking the dumbest questions on the planet. To be fair, Beau did think this kid was asking the dumbest questions on the planet. What kind of questions was that? “Why can’t you just read the forms?” Beau repeated the question back patiently, kindly, despite wanting to use an open and mocking tone. “Don’t you know about three factor authentication to keep people from stealing identities?” Wasn’t that funny? There was a policy in place to keep humans from stealing identities, but it made it so much easier for Beau to do it? “Check the papers, check the IDs and get a verbal confirmation of the name, to ensure that the customer knows it without looking.” Beau wanted to roll his eyes. But he didn’t. He was kind like that. 

There was a magical moment right after someone gave him their name. The birds sung, and flowers bloomed, and fae magic wove around him. Kyle Mahihkan Pryce. It wasn’t just a first name. It was all of it. A tasty treat. He copied the name into his program that tracked them. The program wasn’t necessary. He could remember every name as if they had been given to him at birth, along with the faces he’d taken them from. “Perfect.” He kept typing, he did some printing. “That’ll be thirty dollars. Cash or credit?”  It would probably be canceled. Most of these got canceled, as the person realized they couldn’t remember their name and started crying. 

—-

This guy probably didn’t get paid enough to answer questions. ??? had to tell himself that, because this guy was just begging to be knocked out. The tone he used didn’t match the words that came out his mouth, and ??? was left feeling small. He hadn’t thought about multiple factor authentication. It still didn’t make sense to him. If his picture was on his ID, why did he need to give more information? Certainly a BMV employee could identify a fake ID. And his name was right there on his license. Now, if he could just remember that name…

“Cash, I guess,” he replied, fishing in his pocket for a wad of loose bills. He just needed a good nap. He was tired, he was hungry, he was frustrated. A snack and a nap would sort out his brain. That helped him feel better after the disembodied smiles thing at the cemetery. He could accept any weirdness after a nap. Slapping thirty dollars in wrinkled bills on the counter, ??? started to slide them across to the employee, but paused. “I’m sorry, can you just read the name back to me? I’m a little confused.”

—-

Beau took the money, smile turning genuine. “Can’t you just read it from the forms?” He parroted back that so annoying phrase. He typed some more. He filled in some answers and he checked his boxes. “Your identification card is done and paid for. All your typos are now correct. Unless you typo’d on the forms and then you’ll have to come back again.” Beau let out a chorus of laughter, as if that was the funniest thing he could have said. Because it really was funny that this idiot had made typos. 

Beau stapled some papers together and slid everhing back over to the kid. “All done. Bye now.” He switched the number he was now servicing and turned away from the confused soul, back pretending to be typing at his computer. 

—-

Like a fish out of water, ??? opened and closed his mouth, searching for the words to explain how much he didn’t understand what was going on. Before he could articulate his confusion, he was being brushed aside. He could cause a scene. He wanted to cause a scene. He could yell at the employee and demand an explanation. Ge could demand his money back. Or he could take a number and get back in line. Wait his turn and do this little song and dance all over again. Both seemed like awful ideas, and a headache was beginning to settle above his left brow. That nap seemed more and more appealing. This employee did not feel like the one to take the issue up with. He had laughed in ???’s face for a typo. For now, he would go home and reassess. Frustrated, ??? walked out the door, thirty dollars lighter, and unable to recall his own name.

[end-otw-racism]

The OTW Board Meeting - Notes & Analysis

July 2, 2023 was the quarterly OTW Board Meeting on discord and it was… kind of a mess. Check out others' write ups for more analysis on the disorganization of the event - [ wistfuljane ] [ runpunkrun part 1 ] [ runpunkrun part 2 ] [ fiercynn ] [ satsuma ].

What we'd like to focus on here is what the Board did say that applies to our campaign's goals:

1. TOS policy changes and content policy to address racially-bigoted harassment and abusive content.

Per kcdayton (president of the OTW Board):

Please note: the Board did not give specifics about the TOS changes (including a timeline), did not solicit feedback on the process, and did not discuss what policies and procedures (if any) they will create to empower their Policy and Abuse Committee (PAC) to enforce these changes, nor what guardrails (if any) they will establish in their TOS, their public communications, or in their PAC policies and procedures to prevent abuse of these additions to the TOS. These are all details that we here at EOR are very interested in, and are what will "make or break" any changes. Still, we're encouraged that they actually seem like they're going to make changes, which is progress!

2. Hiring a Diversity Consultant within the next 3-6 months.

Per kcdayton:

It’s unclear from this q&a whether it’s just the Diversity Consultant that’s being “actively worked on,” or whether a DEI committee is included in their answer. However, in a separate q&a (o/ indicates a question being asked, and the remainder of the text is the response) kcdayton stated:

Also of note, the DRCO hasn’t seemed to solicit feedback from OTW membership and/or AO3 users about their priorities and concerns that a Diversity Consultant could address. That being said, hiring a Diversity Consultant "by the end of the year" was one of our demands, so we’re glad to see them following through.

3. Greater transparency about their efforts and progress towards racial equity per their commitment [ https://www.transformativeworks.org/statement-from-the-otw-Board-of-directors-chairs-leads/ ] three years ago.

Per kcdayton:

While not new, the inclusion of regular updates on the OTW's antiracist work during Board meetings somewhat counts towards the transparency we have been asking for, and we're glad to see it continuing. However, given the almost nonexistent moderation/organization of this latest meeting on Discord (which included an eventual total lockdown of the ability to comment or ask questions in the main meeting channel and a slowdown of thirty minutes in the one channel where we could post) and the poor moderation of comments on news posts and lack of responses to questions on same, we here at EOR hope that they're taking a long, hard look at how they utilize these avenues of communication. Because as it stands, the Board remains far from "transparent and accessible" on not just issues of diversity and equity but on other topics, as well.

Moreover, we're especially concerned at their repeated insistence (not shown in the screenshots but repeated throughout the meeting) that the best way to communicate with the Board is through a form on their website. As many of us have experienced, submitting feedback or questions through that form usually receives only a cursory/boilerplate reply on the rare occasion someone gets a response at all. This is not the kind of accountability, transparency, or accessibility that we should expect from an organization like the OTW. Being run by volunteers is no excuse for making members/users feel stonewalled.

Additional notes:

Since our  campaign started, additional concerns about racism and xenophobia within the organization have been raised. While our campaign remains focused on ensuring the organization follows through on their promises, this does tie into our demands for greater transparency about the  organization’s anti-racist efforts. The Board addressed some of the concerns raised at the meeting, but not all.

One attendee asked:

kcdayton replied:

We don’t know how internal communications work in the OTW, but if they’re as limited and disorganized as the methods people outside the  organization are told to use to contact the organization (see prev), we’re not encouraged by this response. Couple this with the closure of the Weibo account – effectively removing an important and accessible communication tool for Chinese and Chinese-diaspora fans and volunteers –  and the lack of a real response to the actual question being asked, we wonder if the Board truly understands the scope of the problems (both public and internal) they need to fix.

Also, from kcdayton:

While  “diversity in recruitment” is a laudable goal, especially since people must have previously volunteered for the organization before being able  to run for the Board, it does little to address the issues the organization has in mistreating its volunteers and its history of, as one volunteer stated, “fostering a culture of structural racism and discrimination that   negatively impacts the well-being of its volunteers, and has driven many  more away.” Recruiting at entry level does little to change the foundations of an established institution, and if those foundations are resistant or even hostile to change, those volunteers will just burn out and leave. This means that the people who are most likely to stay within the organization are often those less affected by (or aware of)   the institutional problems, meaning they are less likely to fix those   problems.

Secondly, “volunteer coalitions” was a phrase that wasn’t clarified, and so we don’t know what form these will take, nor if these coalitions will be given institutional power to impact the working conditions for volunteers of color. And last, the diversity consultant was a commitment they already made, so it doesn’t pertain to the question.

Finally, even if these changes – which will take  time to implement – are successful in making the organization less  hostile for volunteers of color, this does not address the user-end of  the experience. In short, it does not address making AO3 and the other  projects the OTW helms (Fanlore, the Transformative Works and Cultures  journal, etc) safer and more accessible for fans of color. Perhaps they  are relying on a trickle-down effect, but in our experience, any  platform that is hostile to users of color is less likely to get them  invested enough to participate in volunteering for their organization.  Nobody wants to work for free for a space that’s allowed them to be  abused and harassed, after all.

We encourage all of you to read the write ups linked at the top of this post, as they go more in-depth on the state of the meeting (chaotic) and more of the questions that were asked and which actually got responses. The meeting is still archived on the OTW Board Meeting discord server (please note: we cannot generate permanent invite links, so that link will expire soon) for the time being, so you can go and see everything yourself, too.

Conclusions:

Ultimately, we believe the OTW is making an effort towards fulfilling our campaign's requests, but that the organization as it stands now is too dysfunctional and disorganized for us to wholly trust their commitments. Since this is an election year in which a majority (four of the seven) of the seats on the Board are up for grabs, we aren't even sure yet that the new Board will prioritize fulfilling the commitments of the old Board.

This is why our second campaign is focused on the election, but that won't be the end of the actions we're organizing. Enacting change requires more than just electing candidates committed to the goals of anti-racism, and we don't expect change to happen overnight. Voting is just what we can do right now, and future campaigns (and other actions and projects we're in the process of organizing, including an Anti-Racist Fanlore Project to better document the history of race and fandom, and a project developing strategies to combat racist harassment in fandom) will focus on other ways to enact change and continue to hold the organization accountable, both within the OTW and elsewhere in fandom.

We on the EOR team have been saying "this is a marathon, not a sprint," and we hope that we can help the community we've built keep that in mind. If you’re interested in assisting with additional/future actions, our sign-up form is still open.

In the meantime, our askbox and our email (endotwracism[at]gmail[dot]com) are always open!  

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

June of Doom day 29

“it’s really not that big of a deal” (bruises/acceptance/secret)

Content warning: Implied abuse

“It was an accident.”

Those were the first words out of Sidekick’s mouth as they teleported into the villain-run infirmary, directly into Medic’s personal office. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, nor was it the first time Sidekick had appeared pale faced and nursing a new set of injuries.

Medic sighed, pushing their paperwork aside and pulling a chair out. “Well. Come on over and tell me about this ‘accident’ then.” 

As Sidekick carefully made their way over, Medic made mental note of the limp they were doing a poor job of masking. Sidekick sat down gingerly, winching. Their voice was tight when they next spoke. “It’s really not that big of a deal. Superhero was–I just messed up, that’s all. Just–Please. We have training tomorrow and I can’t miss it.”

The explanation certainly didn’t satisfy Medic, but experience had taught them that trying to pry anything more from Sidekick was pointless. They kept their frustration out of their expression, instead keeping their expression neutrally bored as they inspected their patient.

Bruises littered Sidekick’s body, deep and rapidly turning a nasty shade of purple. Their ankle had a hairline fracture, explaining the limp. From the swelling, Medic could tell their arm had recently been dislocated. They were the same types of injuries Sidekick always came in. The same injuries Medic’s normal patients came in with after a rough fight with Superhero. 

“How hasn’t anyone realized what you’re doing? Last I checked, you don’t have healing powers yourself, and you clearly aren’t going to your own medics,” As they spoke, Medic allowed their power to hum to life, covering their hands with a warm glow that they gently pressed into each wound. Sidekick held still through the procedure, clearly used to the numb tingling Medic’s healing caused. They only flinched when Medic touched the large, hand-shaped bruise blossoming wrapped around their throat. 

When Sidekick spoke, Medic could feel their voice trembling. “W-well, um. They don’t notice I guess? Superhero never said anything, and I always come to you before anyone else, so…” they gave a jerky half shrug.

Medic hummed in acknowledgement, doing their best to make quick work of Sidekick’s injuries. They didn’t remember how they’d come to help a sidekick, let alone Superhero’s sidekick. And yet they were, carefully tending to the bruised neck of a kid with nowhere else to go. Some would see it as contrary to what Medic stood for, working in an office that helped the scum of the city, but Medic disagreed. They’d begun working with villains to help those who truly needed them, and Sidekick was no different.

 It wasn’t long before all of their bruises had faded away into nothing. When Medic was satisfied with their work, they sighed, stepping away. “You’re done. Try not to break anything again for a few days and you’ll be fine.” 

Sidekick perked up. They gave an experimental roll of their neck, before carefully standing. “Thank you so much. You don’t know how much you’ve helped me here.”

Medic could imagine. “If you want to thank me, you’ll start using the door like a normal person instead of teleporting in here.”

“But if someone saw me–”

Medic gave a dismissive wave. “They already know. With how often you pop in, I had to tell them if I didn’t want to start treating heart attacks.” When Sidekick’s face paled, Medic continued. “They aren’t going to rat you out to anyone. They wouldn’t cross me, and even if they tried, a hero’s not going to believe them.”

“I–”, Sidekick took a shuddering breath. “Okay, that’s fine just–please, don’t tell anyone else. If Superhero found out–”

Medic turned their eyes away from Sidekick “I know kid. I promise, they won’t find out.”

After a long moment, Sidekick nodded. “Thank you,” 

Medic returned their focus to their papers, stubbornly refusing to look up until they heard Sidekick leave. It was only then that they allowed themselves to frown. 

Sidekick would never tell Medic what was happening, and Medic didn’t need them to. It was telling enough that a longstanding hero couldn’t manage to train an apprentice without leaving them beaten and bruised. It was telling enough that Sidekick felt the need to come to a villain for help instead of the army of medics the Agency had. 

There was little Medic could do. They couldn’t go to the police with the information, not unless they wanted to end up in a jail cell. They certainly couldn’t go and confront Superhero themselves if they wanted to keep living. They had no hope of convincing Sidekick to leave or even tell some higher-up what was happening. And even if they could convince Sidekick to tell, Medic wasn’t sure if telling someone at the Agency would even be worthwhile. If Medic was going to do something, it wouldn’t be alone.

Medic considered their options for a long moment. Eventually, they reached for their phone, scrolling through their contacts. It only took them a moment to find who they were looking for.

They didn’t bother with pleasantries when Villain picked up their phone.

 “Are you available? I need a favor.”