#doctor doctor gimme the news

[starfoam]

//ow

[queenkaiju]

How did The Doctor regenerate with piercings?

[causalityparadoxes]

Judging by the ❤❤ we're getting a timelord character and i would die for it to be Iris Wildthyme

Look at her and tell me you couldnt see her as Iris!! It would be off the walls and so fantastically camp!!!!

[woundlingus]

“I don’t support selfcest it’s basically incest” well I do get outta my way DORK 14/15 fuckfest when???

[dandyshucks]

clara's having difficulty with the doctor's new regeneration and I'm sitting here like RIP to you but I'm different, I'd fuck that old man !!!!!

[wawawawawawawawawawawawawa]

hospital............

2!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and by 2 i mean . 3

[rubiatinctorum]

i hope if seward wins the sexyman contest we will all be playing some robert palmer for him

[nazorneku]

ღ (spill the beans ais, for kuras 😏)

An exceedingly conceited smirk stretched his lips, as no vocal commentary was provided to the doctor. The results were absolutely and completely open to the other man's interpretation.

Romantic attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme Sexual attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme Aesthetic attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme Sensual attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme

& attraction prompt         ||          accepting

[gremlingottoosilly]

Your writing is so captivating!!!

I've seen you touch on this a bit in other asks, how would Konig respond to the reader being down to be his mate, willingly being affectionate and maybe even asking for his eggs?

I'm trying to imagine reader like leaving their nest and hunting him down in meeting to crawl into his lap because she missed him.

Or maybe she recently delivered a clutch and she just got cleared by the doctor to be able to handle a new clutch - que her running to him being like "good to go so gimme your eggs"

He parades you like a champion pet! Not at first, he thinks it's a ploy from your side, that you're just trying to make him forget about human resistance just so you strike him in the back...but time passes and you're as willing to be his mate as ever - just a little bit more nervous because you continue to serve him like a good girl, but all he does is makes you feel like a liar( When he finally makes you pass all the possible tests and you're, in fact, not trying to get him killed...he starts to be calmer and calmer, allowing you to roam around the base almost freely, as long as you don't have eggs near clutching or not. hurt. He trusts his men to behave around you, you carry his scent, after all - but if they need more convincing...he won't be afraid to punish them and you on pair, just to make sure you're staying in line.

If you're willing to accept his eggs without crying, he would be on the heights of his obsession with you! He will breed you in front of other monsters, so they could see how perfect pets behave and how they need to act if they want a good little mate on their own. You'd be so embarrassed because everyone is watching, but he praises you for being such a good girl for him, making sure that every monster in his team has the understanding of how a perfect mate should behave...you have privileges - only relative, of course, but you can roam around the base, you can annoy him at meetings(as long as you climb on his lap and claim that you and eggs were really lonely, so you just need another clutch right about now) and playing into your desires. In a normal situation, Konig brings you stuff he thinks you'd want - but if you're how willing good girl, he would actually listen to your desires! One of the perks of being his loving wifey - he would even call you his pretty girl in front of everyone!!

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Doctor Doctor, Gimme The News

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Doctor!Reader

Summary: You receive a particularly difficult patient by the name of Bradshaw and you try your best to resist his charms.

CW: tall Bradley, Mavdad, it's goofy af you've been warned

WC: 1800+

A/N: I don't know, you guys, I just couldn't get this scene out of my head hahah

Your back is turned when the two men enter the office, so you don’t notice right away that one of them is practically shoving the other inside. You hear the grumbling though.

“I’m fine,” and “Let go,” and “This is a waste of time.”

You glance over your shoulder as one of the nurses places a clipboard outside an exam room and gestures for the men to wait inside. It’s a slow day at the clinic so, after finishing up the notes from your previous appointment, you head over to check the chart before walking in to greet your next patient.

The two men look up when you enter. The younger one is sitting in a chair and the older one has a firm hand on his shoulder as if he’s forcefully trying to keep him there.

“Good afternoon, I’m Doctor Y/L/N,” you say, placing the clipboard on the table as the two men say hello. “What seems to be the problem?”

“He hit his head,” the man who’s standing says.

“I’m fine,” the other assures you.

“Hard,” the first man points out.

The seated man rolls his eyes. “He’s overreacting.”

You narrow your eyes slightly and approach them. “What’s your name?” you ask the man with the apparent head injury, crouching down so that you can look at his face up close.

“Don’t you have my chart?” he asks. He's wearing a cheeky grin and you can tell that he's flirting.

“It’s Bradshaw,” the standing man says. “His name. And I’m Captain Mitchell.”

You glance up at the older man. “If you could refrain from answering for the patient, please, Captain,” you say, slightly annoyed.

“Right,” he nods. “I apologize.”

The seated man raises his eyebrows. “Well, that’s a first.”

You move to grab a chair and position yourself in front of him. “Full name and rank?”

“Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw. What’s yours?” the man asks with a bit of a smirk.

You tap on the name tag hanging off your lab coat coolly. You’re not unaccustomed to receiving this kind of attention, however it doesn’t happen too often at work. “What’s the date today, Lieutenant Bradshaw?” you ask casually, reaching for your clipboard.

“You don’t have a calendar, Doctor?” Bradley asks.

You glance up at him pointedly. “Are you always this cooperative?”

“This is the kind of shit I have to put up with on a daily basis, Doctor,” Captain Mitchell mutters.

“Well, that’s good news,” you say, smiling up at the man. When he furrows his eyebrows, you clarify, “No noticeable change in personality.”

Captain Mitchell grins wryly. “What a relief.”

Bradley snorts and starts to get up. “We’re done, then?” he asks.

“Not quite,” you say, indicating for him to sit back down.

Bradley sighs wearily but resumes his seated position across from you. He places his hands in his lap and lifts his eyes to meet your gaze with a skeptical expression.

“Are you experiencing any dizziness?” you ask.

“No,” he responds, keeping his eyes locked on yours.

You glance down at the clipboard in your hand, slightly unnerved that he’s so boldly watching you. “Headache or nausea?” you ask without looking back up.

“Nope,” he responds.

“Can you count backwards from 100 by seven?”

“Are you serious?” he asks.

You glance up at him sharply. “Would you like to conduct the examination, Lieutenant?”

He sighs and starts counting.

You stop him after several correct numbers and ask, “What is your profession?”

There’s a brief pause during which Bradley lets his head dip to the side to study the contours of your face. You glance up at him expectantly and he looks into your eyes again. “I’m an aviator,” he says nonchalantly, although you notice his chest puff up with pride. As if you don’t regularly meet pilots working at the health clinic on base.

You look down at your clipboard as though you’re reading the questions off the page but, really, you’re just avoiding his gaze because his eyes have a we’re-gonna-fuck look about them and you’re almost starting to fall for it. “Any previous head injuries?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” he responds, and you notice the sexy rasp in his voice despite trying very hard to ignore it.

“He crashed his bike into a tree when he was five,” Captain Mitchell chimes in.

Both you and Bradley look up at him with some amusement, having nearly forgotten he was there. You blink at the captain pointedly before returning your attention to the chart in your lap. “I hope he’s better at maneuvering these days,” you comment.

Bradley starts laughing which makes you look up at him in surprise. Captain Mitchell is also chuckling mildly. “He has his moments,” he says.

 You give them a tight smile and rise from your seat, setting your clipboard down. Bradley stands too, towering over you because he’s still so close. You take a step back, nearly stumbling over your chair, and both Bradley and the captain grab your arms to keep you from falling.

“You alright?” Bradley asks.

You nod, straightening out your lab coat and pointing to his chair. “Sit, please,” you say, not meeting his gaze.

“You got it, Doc,” he says, sitting back down. Captain Mitchell smirks in amusement.

“Tell me what happened,” you say, approaching your patient confidently to perform a physical exam.

Both he and the captain start recounting two vastly different versions of the same event while you check Bradley’s vital signs. Once they’ve finished speaking and you’ve located the swelling on Bradley’s head, you glance between the two of them skeptically. Then you pull a penlight out of your lab coat and say, “Follow the light.”

You watch Bradley’s pupils constrict in response to the light but, when you move the penlight to one side, his eyes remain fixed on yours.

“The light, Lieutenant,” you remind him.

Bradley shifts his gaze to the right as instructed, but every time the movement of your penlight crosses the midpoint, he lets his eyes linger on yours for a split second. You flick off the light and observe as Bradley’s pupils return to normal size. His mouth quirks upward slightly but he never breaks eye contact.

“Good,” you say, dropping the penlight back into your pocket. “Now you can stand.”

Bradley gets out of his seat while Captain Mitchell watches on cautiously, as though he expects him to fall over. When the captain steps closer, Bradley holds out his hand.

“I’m fine, dad.” Bradley’s sarcastic tone indicates that the captain is, in fact, not his father, but his companion’s affectionate expression in response probably puts him in the category of loveable uncle who has frequently – albeit unsolicitedly – stepped into the role. Bradley straightens his back and looks over at you calmly, awaiting your instructions.

“Stand on one foot for me,” you say.

Bradley smirks. “Anything for you, Doc,” he says, bending his left leg upwards.

Captain Mitchell lets out a tired sigh, shaking his head, while you attempt to not roll your eyes. “You can put your foot down, Lieutenant,” you say crossly.

“You want me to put my foot down, Doc?” he responds suggestively.

“Rooster!” the captain warns.

“I’m kidding!” Bradley chuckles. “She knows.” He extends an arm out to point at you. “You know, right?” he verifies, glancing over at you.

“I apologise.” Captain Mitchell shakes his head again.

“That’s the second time,” Bradley notes.

You raise your eyebrows at the two of them. “Well,” you say. “That’s another good sign.”

“What?” they both ask.

“His sense of humor is intact,” you say.

Bradley grins at you. “You think I’m funny?”

The captain closes his eyes.

You fight to keep a straight face. “As long as you think you’re funny, Lieutenant.”

“Do you recommend treatment, Doctor?” Captain Mitchell asks.

You look at him with a small grin. “For the humor?”

Bradley snorts but the captain considers your question. “Might come in handy,” he says.

Bradley lets out a sarcastic, “Ha-ha.”

“No,” you say. “He’s fine.”

“Told you,” Bradley mutters to the captain.

“But,” you say, “if you start experiencing any of these symptoms” – you hand him a brochure on concussions – “come back in and we can do a more comprehensive assessment.”

Bradley takes the brochure from your hand. “I’ll do that,” he says with a nod.

…

As you’re heading back to your office, you notice Bradley eyeing you from the front desk. He mutters something to Captain Mitchell, in response to which the latter glances in your direction before looking back at Bradley pointedly. Then, he gives him a couple of claps on the shoulder and heads out the door.

Having arrived at the door to your office, you don’t linger to find out what Bradley is up to. But, just as you’re about to sit down at your desk, Bradley’s head peeks in through the partially open door. He drums on the doorframe with his knuckle despite already having gotten your attention.

“Was there something else, Lieutenant?” you ask, walking back around your desk toward him.

Bradley grins sheepishly. “May I come in?” he asks.

Truthfully, you’re surprised he’s not already inside. You gesture for him to enter.

“I uh,” he starts, hesitating when you meet his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he says, grimacing. “For being an idiot.”

You raise your eyebrows but give him a warm smile. “We can blame the head injury.”

Bradley nods slowly. “Let’s,” he says. “Although, I’m afraid it’s permanent.”

You chuckle. “Well, at least you’re self-aware.”

He cringes slightly but it quickly turns into a grin. He takes a deep breath, holding your gaze. “I like you,” he says bluntly.

You’re slightly taken aback by his directness, so you simply stare at him for a moment.

 “I hope that’s okay,” he adds when you don’t say anything.

“Uh, sure,” you respond awkwardly, panicking slightly because he’s so tall and broad-shouldered and charming.

“I sort of want to take you out,” he says, taking a step forward.

You sort of wonder how often he pulls this kind of thing. You’re nothing if not a veteran skeptic. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

Bradley watches you with a knowing smirk. “But do you want to?” he asks.

You let out a nervous laugh, shaking your head. “Doesn’t matter.”

Bradley sticks his hands into his pockets, his eyes sweeping you up and down. “It matters to me,” he says.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I can’t go out with a patient” –

“I’m not your patient anymore,” he says, the low rasp of his voice even more persuasive than his words.

“You’re a patient of this clinic,” you say.

“I can find another clinic,” he responds.

You lower your gaze, pursing your lips to keep from smiling too widely. “I work long hours, Lieutenant. I don’t exactly have much time to socialize.”

When you glance back up at him, Bradley flashes you a dazzling grin that demonstrates how fantastically unconvinced he is that your busy schedule is truly a reason for concern. “I haven't heard a no, Doctor,” he points out.

“You haven't heard a yes.”

Bradley chuckles. “That’s fine,” he says, taking several steps back toward the door. “I’m not in a hurry.�� And with these words, he walks out of your office.

Rooster Tag List:

Please feel free to let me know if you no longer wish to be tagged in my Rooster fics. The rest of the tags are in the comments!

@simp-for-fictional-people

@ollyoxenfrees

@iamabeautifulperson18

@living-in-my-imagination88

@wintercap89

@mavrellover91

@gingerbreadandpaper

@lonelywitchv2

@cashwheelersgirl89

@callsign-jupiter

@kindablackenedsuperhero

@everything-i-love-in-life

@malindacath

@rosiahills22

@wandering-wah

@olliepig

@m1llydins

@emilyniamh3679-blog

@footwatter

@books-for-summer

@harper1666

@coffeeaddictedmay

@diabeticgoth

@katiebby04

@problematic-420

@wishfulhope

@elizabitchsshit

@inarabee

@boringusername3

@zombiedixon89

@izz-ayes-world

@ratedtvpg

@mak-32

@sunnysofia

@a-nostalgic-disaster

@aaliyahjovel

@anyonehaveanyorangeslices

@bcon24

@lovemesomevesey

@daydreamingalways

@gerudolivinliv

@emilybradshaw

@olivethenerd16

@kaitlynw011

@l-rexter45

@xoxo-lyss

@beebslebobs

@dracosluvbot

@peoniarose

@annedub

[rentalboos]

I just think the Doctor should get to mock the Master about this forever, actually. He should be like "Aw, it's good to see you again, honey, gimme that toothy grin of yours!" here and "Wow, you look great, you're basically shining!" there, with a bit of "I like the new look, very polished" until the Master absolutely FUMES and the Doctor can get a "He's going to be chomping on that one for a while" in as the final blow.

[hennyjwrites]

Rio trapping his wife again

Y’all already had 5 kids. All boys. You gave up a long time ago on having a little girl but Rio hadn’t. Your youngest was almost a year old and for some reason Rio thought that gave him the green light to have another.

“Christopher im gonna punch you if you don’t leave me alone.” You mumbled as he kissed on your neck. He had told you earlier that night. that he wanted to try for another baby. Your sons were spending the night with his grandma upon her request and that gave Rio the perfect opportunity.

“Gimme just one more.” He begged, sucking slightly on your sweet spot.

You tried to resist him, you really did. But a few more begs, traveling fingers, and a few more kisses, ended up with you fucking him. All night.

He was so good that by the end of the night, he had you begging for him to give you another baby.

That would end up being his routine. After you gave him the green light, He made sure to cum in at least once a day, to ensure he would get his daddy’s girl

A few months later, after getting sick every morning for over a week, and become nauseous to every smell, you went to the doctor. Even though you recognized the symptoms, surprise surprise! Your pregnant.

Of course Rio took care of you your entire pregnancy. Held your hair if you sick, massaged your feet, talked to the baby everyday. Only it wasn’t just him, it was all your sons too. They cared for you and their youngest sibling just like Rio did.

Rio felt this pregnancy was different. He just knew that you were having a baby girl. And boy was he right and wrong at the same time.

By the time you were 5 months you were as large as a house. You brought it up at your doctors appointment and weren’t you surprised.

“There’s baby number 1.” The doctor said showing you where the first baby sat. “And there’s baby number 2.” She moved the mouse over a little bit more. “And then there’s baby number 3!”

Both yours and Rios mouths dropped when she announced you were having triplets. The doctor asked did you want to know the genders and you and Rio both said yes.

“It seems that your having 3 identical girls!” Congratulations mom and dad!” The doctor cheered before giving you some privacy.

Rio stood and gave you the biggest hug and kiss in the world, with his eyes filled with tears. “You heard that beautiful? Three little girls.” He held you for what seemed like eternity in joy.

When you got home and announced it to your sons, the amount of joy that was through the house could blow the roof off. All throughout your pregnancy they all helped you pick out clothes, shoes, and toys all for their little sisters

3 months later and you went into early labor. Your labor lasted for 32 hours, with you screaming, crying, and even staying calm at some point. When you were finally able to push it took around 30 minutes to get each baby out.

Rio stood next to the bed holding his first daughter, on his right and his second daughter in his left. You held your third daughter from the bed. They looked more like you than him. They had the perfect shade of brown with your beautiful eyes, but they took his nose. Each girl was born with a head full of hair.

He couldn’t wait until they started to develop into their own person. He wanted to see would they take after you or him. It was his favorite parts of watching his babies grow up.

“Thank you.” Rio whispered. “You gave me 3 more beautiful kids. I love you more than you’ll ever know baby.” He leaned down and kissed your lips. When he pulled back he bit his lip. “2 more and we’re done.” He laughed, hoping you would agree.

You scoffed, before looking at your babies. “These 3 are going to run you down, not even including the other 5. your not gonna want anymore.”

You both laughed and waited for your sons to come and meet their new baby sisters.

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Because I adore the elementary series ; I’m curious if there will be more drabbles about their first baby & the cute moments like the birth, first shots, first everything; smiles, first mom insecurities, etc.

My apologies if you are not taking any requests of the sort! 🫢

The Firsts

pairing: elementary!joel miller x f!reader

rating: M (talks of labor from a person who’s never given birth so bare with me, talks of shots/needles, first-time mother highs and lows, joel being the husband of our dreams)

wc: no clue but probably around 2-3k?

a/n: sorry this took so long @jennfromthebayarea !! this semester’s been a bitch, but i’m trying to find the spark to write again so bare with me if this is a pile of shit 🫶🏼

elementary masterlist

| The First Delivery |

Though you were well warned and made aware of the pain caused by childbirth, nothing compared to the reality of a contraction, or the searing pain of pushing a baby through your fucking vagina.

Even Joel seemed to have underestimated what birth would be like, his face pale and sweaty as he stood at your side, allowing you to squeeze his hand so hard he was sure it was broken.

“You’re doin’ so good, baby,” he cooed, wiping the sweat that gathered on your forehead away with a damp cloth. “Can already see her head.”

“Fuck this,” you cried, tossing your head back into the pillow you brought from home, your eyes clamped shut as you pushed again, hoping that this one would be the last.

“Doin’ so good,” he murmured against your hairline as he pressed a kiss there. “Just a few more pushes, baby.”

“I’m getting the epidural next time,” you panted, taking a second of rest to gather your strength.

“Next time?” he grinned, but you didn’t reply as you started to push again, hard enough to get her shoulders out. “Hardest part’s over, baby. Soon she’s gonna be cryin’ her eyes out in your arms.”

“Can’t wait,” you groaned, your head rolling back against the pillows. “This better be the last one.”

“Go on, then,” he urged with a smile. “Gimme our new babygirl.”

Though it felt like the next few minutes took hours to pass, your entire body screaming at you from overexertion, none of the pain seemed to matter or register the second that the room filled with your daughter’s gargled little cries. Joel let out a choked sound, something between pure joy and disbelief, as he left your side to cradle your messy newborn in his arms. Neither of you were capable of listening to the nurses or doctor’s congratulations as he carefully lowered your bundled up daughter to your chest, her screams music to your ears just because it meant that she was finally here.

She was real, made up of equal parts you and Joel. His dark hair and your kind eyes, his curved nose and your lips. The epitome of love come to life.

“Oh, babygirl,” Joel cooed, a tear rolling down his cheek. “You sure put up a fight on the way out.”

You laughed, something exhausted and yet so full of love and joy and relief.

“I can’t believe…” You shook your head, allowing your tears and emotions a moment to breathe before turning your glossy eyes to your husband. “We made her. Isn’t that insane?”

“I think we did a pretty good job,” he chuckled, lifting a thumb to wipe a rolling tear from your face. “Got all her fingers and toes. Looks like you, not like me. I’d say she’s perfect.”

You gave him a loving pout, rolling your eyes before turning back to your slightly calmer daughter in time for the nurses to take her away for a little clean up.

“How long ‘til she’s back?” Joel asked, his eyes fixed on his daughter as they laid her in her cart.

“Just a minute,” the nurse assured with a smile.

“I still have to push out the—“

“God, forgot about all that,” Joel winced, resuming his seat beside the head of the hospital bed, his hand finding yours. “You know how proud I am, baby? How much I love you?”

“How about you remind me,” you grinned, eyes batting with exhaustion. Joel leaned over, his lips ghosting against yours.

“So fuckin’ proud,” he murmured in between kisses. “And so fuckin’ in love with my wife. Mother of my girls. Fuckin’ everything to me, baby. Everything.”

| The First Shot |

“How long are we supposed t’wait?” Joel groaned, adjusting his posture in the uncomfortable plastic chair in the pediatrician’s waiting room. You grabbed his wrist, lifting the face of his watch up to read the time. “How long we been here?”

“An hour,” you sighed, letting your head fall back against the wall as you let your dry, tired eyes rest for a moment while Iris took a nap in her car seat on the floor in front of the two of you.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he cautioned, reaching his hand over to lay flat on the top of your denim-covered thigh, his touch warm and soothing even in all your irritability. “Y’know they’re gonna call us as soon—“

“Miller family?” the nurse called from the door leading to the patient rooms. With a rub of your eyes, you stood up along with Joel who, thankfully, already had Iris’ car seat handled. The nurse smiled at the three of you in a way that looked trained rather than genuine, but given your exhaustion and annoyance at having to be out in the world doing real people things with a newborn, you might just be extra critical. “Hi, come on back, guys.”

“S’about time,” Joel muttered under his breath, seemingly just as cranky and desperate to get home as you. “Any reason it took an hour for us to get called back?”

“Just a hectic day, I do apologize,” she offered, though once again…trained. Leading you down a hall, she pointed at a room with an open door on the right. “Right through here.”

Joel was even more tense than you as the two of you watched the nurse take your diaper clad newborn’s vitals before handing her back, Joel’s hands quick to take her into his arms.

“Fuckin’ cold in here,” he murmured as the nurse left the two of you with the assurance that the doctor would be right in. “Baby girl’s probably freezin’.”

“She’s behaving at least,” you said, reaching over to place her blanket over her as Joel kept her cradled in his arms. “No tears yet.”

“Until the needles come out,” he snarked.

“Just because you faint every time a needle comes near you—“

The sound of quick, sure knocks cut you off as the doctor walked in. “Miller family?”

“Yep,” you offered her a smile.

“Alright, and this must be Iris,” she said, walking over to Joel. “May I?”

Joel looked tempted to tell her to fuck off but conceded, handing Iris over.

“She’s a cutie, isn’t she?” she asked as she rested Iris on the examination table.

“All from her mama,” Joel added, forcing a smile onto your face.

“Well, her stats are looking great,” she said, pressing her stethoscope to Iris’s chest. “Only thing left to do is give her some shots, and I’m gonna need one of your help for that.”

“Joel,” you nudged him, not entirely confident in your ability to keep your daughter still in the middle of a potential tantrum.

“I’ll faint,” he said, no humor in his voice. “You gotta.”

“Fine,” you sighed, nerves coursing through you as the doctor walked Iris over to you. “How many shots?”

“Three today,” she said as she and the nurse set up the needles.

“Okay,” you nodded, taking deep calming breaths while Joel chose to close his eyes altogether as the doctor walked over with the first needle. “Alright, baby girl. Don’t hate me.”

“Just a quick pinch,” the doctor said as she injected the shot into Iris’s right thigh, the so-called “quick pinch” tearing a wail from your daughters chest.

“Oh, baby,” you frowned, holding her tight as she screamed her lungs out. “Just two more.”

The crying didn’t end until the three of you were seated in the car, the color drained from your faces as you all recovered in silence.

“Next time, I’m leavin’ the room for the shots,” Joel said, turning the key in the ignition.

“I feel so bad,” you frowned, leaning your head back against the headrest to listen to your daughters sniffles. “Poor baby.”

“Fuckin’ doctors,” Joel grumbled, shaking his head. “Makin’ babies cry.”

“Absolute sickos,” you agreed with a chuckle.

| The First Steps |

“Baby!” Joel’s yell was almost enough to get you to drop the sudsy plate in your hand as you washed the dishes. You quickly set the plate down and wiped your hands off on the dish towel hanging off the oven door before hustling out to the backyard where Joel, Sarah, and Iris were.

“What happened?” you asked in a panic, finding Joel half-crouched over with his back turned to you.

“Look,” he smiled over his shoulder before nudging his head to call you over. You hesitantly approached, rounding his frame until you saw what had him smiling so hard.

“She’s standing!” Sarah announced, squatting in front of her little sister while she held onto two of Joel’s fingers for balance.

“Stay,” you ordered the three of them before sprinting inside to grab your camera. When you returned to the patio, however, you almost forgot what you’d set out to do as Iris, guided by Joel’s clunky steps behind her, waddled and stumbled towards you. “Damn it, I don’t want to cry.”

Joel laughed, “Take the damn picture, baby.”

You sniffled away your tears and held the camera up, watching through the viewfinder as Joel leaned down to blow a raspberry against Iris’s cheek, making her laugh. You clicked the camera a couple times, determined to get a good photo unlike all of your previous attempts at documenting her growth—closed eyes, frozen frames of her right before she turned herself red with a tantrum, dribble flooding down her chin.

“Jesus, I’m getting this framed,” you cooed, frowning adoringly at the picture. “She looks so much like you when she smiles, Joel.”

“Poor girl,” Sarah teased, walking up to you to look at the picture. “She is a cutie, though. Especially when she’s not covered in barf or drool or snot or—“

“Like you were any different?” Joel teased her right back as he scooped Iris into his arms to settle her on his hip. “Had to get rid of half my shirts back in the day ‘cause someone wouldn’t stop pukin’ on me.”

“I probably did you a favor given your fashion sense,” she returned with a flip of her curls.

“Okay, you two,” you chuckled, handing Sarah the camera before reaching for your daughter. “You interrupted my chores so now they belong to you. I’m gonna go cuddle with my precious little—“ A whiff of something familiar hit you the second you hugged Iris closer. “Oof. More like my stinky little girl.”

“You’re takin’ diaper duty over dishes?” Joel asked, arching his brow.

“You’re right,” you said, handing your daughter back to him. “You’ve been doing it longer than me, I’m sure you’re better at—“

“Load of shit,” he laughed, leaning over to kiss your cheek. “Sarah’s got the dishes. You go sit down and think of some new ways to manipulate me into changing her diapers. Material’s gettin’ stale.”

| The First Day |

“Joel,” you sniffled as you started on Iris’s hair for her first day of preschool. “I can’t drop her off. I’m gonna have a breakdown and then she’s gonna have a breakdown and then I’m just going to cave and bring her home. You have to go do it.”

“Baby,” he laughed, his voice still coarse from sleep as he leaned in the doorway of Iris’s bedroom with a cup of coffee in hand. “S’gonna be fine.”

“No, it’s not,” you returned, more snippy than you’d intended. “I’m already a blubbering mess.”

“Mama,” Iris frowned, turning in your lap to stare at the tears sliding down your cheeks. “S’okay. Don’ cry.”

“Mama’s alright, baby,” Joel intervened, setting his coffee on the dresser before coming over to sit on her twin mattress beside the two of you, his arm wrapping around your waist. “You’re excited to go to school, ain’t ya?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, flashing a toothy smile. “Sissy said it’s not scary, so I’m not scared.”

“Good, there’s no reason to be,” he smiled at her before turning to you. “See? She’s good, baby.”

“But I’m not,” you managed through a whisper. Joel frowned and reached over to wipe your cheek free of your tears. “Can you please just come with me? I know you’ve got work but—“

“I’ll call Tommy n’ let him know,” he said, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “How ‘bout you go take a second to yourself and I’ll finish up here? Sound good?”

You gave him the sort of smile that screamed appreciation and undying devotion, one that was reserved just for him. “I love you.”

Joel placed a kiss on your shoulder and scooped your five year old out of your lap and onto his. “We love you more, mama. Don’t we?”

“Mmhm,” Iris grinned. “More than the whole wide world.

“Don’t get me started again,” you chuckled, wiping a few fresh, happier tears from your waterline. “Alright. Pig tails, she said.”

“What’s that? A lopsided ponytail? Comin’ right up.”

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XVIII)👽👻💚

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

PART ONE is here PART TWOis here PART THREE is here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here PART ELEVEN is here PART TWELVE is here PART THIRTEEN is here PART FOURTEEN is here PART FIFTEEN is here PART SIXTEEN is here PART SEVENTEEN is here..welcome to eighteen..

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

Where we last left off... Uh... *checks notes* UH... *flips frantically*...listen my laptop exploded and I lost the original version of this chapter gimme a break. I think it was the oatmeal ch. last off.

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

💚👻👽👻💚

So. Danny is halfway through his squeeze this, please exercises where he has a grippy thing the doctors give him where he tries to squeeze this until they make calm noises again when something bursts through the door.

He’s so distracted that he drops his squeezing machine. 

Everyone immediately gets terse and guarded— the lady who looks out for him the most actually pulls up in front of him? Like, protecting him? With her body?? It’s so far out of left field Danny has to wonder if they’re, like, keeping him for something important down the line instead of just treating him. 

The doctors take shelter behind medical equipment where they can, but whatever the assailant is, it’s too fast for them to put up their defenses. For a second, Danny is instinctually scared— the doctor in the periwinkle scrubs sees him almost every day, changing out his bag and fussing with his lower half under his blankets. The doctor in green makes him do the hand stretches he doesn’t want to do and sit up so that he can do it more often again. 

He’s used to them. He doesn't want that to change, or— Or for them to get hurt. 

The blur darts through the doors and past the doctors and is definitely aimed at Danny, so when the lady catches it (with one hand??) and hauls it up out of reach of Danny’s cot, Danny’s relieved wheeze is genuine and emphatic. Ohgodthatwasscary. 

On the other end of her arm is a teenager. A teenager in a…red…outfit, probably, unless he really likes gray and Danny’s eyes are actually working normally for once. Gray hair. Some kind of face, presumably. 

The teen’s legs keep spinning until he realizes how caught he is. Then he goes completely limp in defeat. 

“Cild Lihting se þridda,” the lady scolds, not unlike how Danny’s heard Vlad scold his cat for throwing paperwork off his desk. “Hwæt eart eow dydest?”

“...Naþing ,” the teenager lies, badly, and it sounds so much like Nothing, mom, wasn’t me, that Danny can’t help but choke out a laugh. 

It makes his chest muscles spasm and his throat sore, sure, but that’s not the point. The lady keeps scolding the teen she’s holding up midair, but the teen lights up at Danny’s choked out wheeze like the sun. Almost literally, actually— the green starts accumulating in Danny’s field of view as his body tries to compensate for whatever’s going on in the atmosphere around him. 

The doctors slowly let down their improvised shields, fetching Danny’s lost grippy tool (ugh) and putting it back in his hand (UGH). Danny gives one, pathetic squeeze of the tool, and then decides to visibly languish, because this sucks, obviously. The fact that no one can sympathize with his struggle isn’t new. Just watch him go limp about it. 

The next time the lady and the teen stop making scolding and scolded noises, Danny looks over; the teenager has been, apparently, wrangled into a hair net and face mask. Okay. So it’s not that Danny is off limits then— or maybe he is, but either way, it’s more about getting people into the right gear than about keeping them away from him. Once the teen’s been sprayed down with something that smells absolutely gross, forcibly gloved, and dropped unceremoniously onto the ground, the teen is back on his feet and hollering as he leaves the lady behind. “Þancie eow!!” 

“Slaw, lytel Lihting!” 

Slow, Danny understands, parsing out the weird words as they reach him. Lytel might as well mean little. This sucks. He can never tell if he’s right when he guesses, and he just gets lucky when people understand him back, or whether people are pretending to understand him more than they actually do. Lighting is a weird nickname for a kid though. 

—And then the teen is a foot away from his face and babbling at top speed, entirely at ease with their proximity and hands moving a mile a minute, and Danny has not been losing enough time for that to be anything other than either magic or a superpower. 

Oh, his brain corrects. The word clicks into place. Lightning. 

It’s probably some kind of magic, Danny’s guessing, because as he’s absolutely flabbergasted that someone is leaning into his face and trying to engage him that talk that isn’t happening, his ghost sense flares with a backwash of OMGHIHELLO!!MIS/SEDYOUMISSED//YOUPLAYING?? that. Uh. Is very…a lot? Very intense??

Very…welcoming?

The lady who minds him but isn’t a doctor sighs, picks the teenager up by the waist (??) and sets him a whole foot back. The teen doesn’t even stop chattering, his aura flaring alongside a story Danny is definitely missing, but not unappreciative of. 

He throws something onto Danny’s bed. Danny drops the grippy tool in order to grab it, to the doctor’s verbal dismay. 

But. 

Like Danny’s model shuttle, which never leaves his side, the thing on his bed is Danny’s. This is Danny’s weird, flimsy, squishy toy.

The teen practically vibrates with pride.

…Okay, then. He’s kind of confused, but like. You know. He’s not against this.

Danny picks the squishy, blue thing in his trembling fingers and shakes it around without any sense of fine motor control, and the thing leaps out of his fingers and lands on the floor pretty much instantaneously.

It makes a weird suction noise. Danny peeks over the bed to find it sitting upright, stuck to the floor.

The teen responds by throwing even more colorful, oddly-shaped toys on the bed.

Danny knows enough about doctors to know that there were probably structured plans on how Danny was supposed to spend his time on specific exercises to target specific muscles and stretch specific parts of his hands, but the teen sits at his bedside and plays with toys Danny doesn’t remember with him, and no one stops them at all.

It’s nice.

For about an hour, until Danny truly tires, it's almost…normal.

[criesinliess]

━MAY 2023; susan's recs

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