#med surg notes

[in1-nutshell]

CONGRATULATIONS FOR OPENING THE REQUESTS AGAIN HONEY 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰!!! SO, do you mind doing some more slice of life with TFP Ratchet’s opposite personality daughter pretty please?? That girl is so nice and cute I would looove to see more of her.

Bringing back one of the daughter I see. Lets see how this bit goes for Buddy and the birds.

Hope you enjoy!

Ratchet's daughter with the opposite personality slice of life

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Cybertronain reader

TFP

To be perfectly fair, Buddy did leave out several notes before she left the base.

She had been reading on some bird watching in some woods on the planet. They looked absolutely beautiful.

The birds being on the screen or paper did them no justice, she just had to see them herself.

She read the hours some bird watchers went through to just see the bird.

Buddy was prepared.

She had packed everything she might need while outside the base.

From her data slug to keep the pictures in to her tasers.

It was such a busy week at the base she barely had any time to actually talk to anyone.

Not even Ratchet or Arcee had time.

No matter, she opted to leave several notes carefully explaining where she was going and when she would be back.

Buddy left early in the morning before anyone woke up to catch the birds in their prime time.

Undenounced to her once she had used the groundbrigde a power surge had completely wiped the bridges last coordinates and all of Buddy’s notes from the dashboard.

Buddy happily set up her little area, preparing her cameras, camouflaging herself with the surroundings and quietly playing some soft tunes.

Good thing that no humans ever came up here!

Meanwhile back at the base…

The morning rush was going on its way.

Optimus was the first to notice they were short of a member.

Usually, Buddy was already by the storage rooms.

But not today.

Maybe she was helping Ratchet in the med bay.

Nope.

Maybe she is with Arcee.

Nope not with her.

Maybe she was with the kids.

No…

Where was she?

“Ratchet, have you seen Buddy today? I have checked in the storage rooms and with Arcee, but she was not there. I assumed she was with you.”--Optimus

Ratchet looking at him slightly widened optics.

“I thought she was with you or Arcee.”--Ratchet

“…”—Ratchet and Optimus

Both mechs turn to everyone in the base.

“Has anyone seen Buddy today?”--Ratchet

Multiple versions of ‘No’ are heard.

“…”--Everyone

Concern siren, truck, and car noises intensify.

Meanwhile with Buddy…

Buddy was now caked with leaves and mud watching the beautiful birds fly all around her.

Her data slug was going to be filled by the time the day was over.

Lucky for her she had several empty ones in case this happened.

To save on some room Buddy turned off her base signal.

It actually brought more birds around.

She would turn it back on when the next data slug was filled.

Anyways, it wasn’t like anyone was going to be contacting her today.

Meanwhile in the base…

Concern siren wails are intensifying by the hour.

Everyone is panicking.

Everyone is searching around the base.

Looking outside the base.

Even considering looking into her potentially being captured by the Decepticon’s.

Ratchet is on the verge of a breakdown.

Optimus was trying to keep everyone calm but even he was worried for his godchild.

Arcee is having some flashbacks and is considering hunting down Arachnid.

The Wrecker are already moving out patrolling around in case they spotted her outside.

Bumblebee, Smokescreen and the kids were just searching around the base again in case they still managed to miss Buddy.

Meanwhile with Buddy…

“Finally! The last data slug in filled!”--Buddy

Buddy starts dismantling her little camp and starts up her new remote groundbrigde back to the base.

Buddy walks into the base caked with med and plants to see everyone on base looking frazzled and messy.

“…”--Buddy

“…”--Everyone

“…What did I miss?”--Buddy

“BUDDY!”--Everyone

When Buddy was told what had happened after many hugs and scolding's, she went to the groundbrigde controls and noticed something that had happened after she had left that morning.

She rebooted the system which brought up her former coordinates and the extensive number of letters that she wrote in case they ever wondered what happened.

Since no one was at fault and the misunderstanding was resolved Buddy opted to show the rest of the team her data slugs filled with the bird and other organic life she found.

Ratchet is still hugging Buddy.

“It’s okay now—”--Buddy

“Don’t you ever do that again.”--Ratchet

“It technically wasn’t my fault--”--Buddy

Ratchet shushes her while still hugging her.

“Aren’t you glad I decided to go to the wash racks before this hug?”--Buddy

“A bit.”--Ratchet

Buddy smiles and just lets him hug it out.

[andhumanslovedstories]

Hey so your post about pain management as a bedside nurse is so important to my own nursing practice that I've considered printing it out so I can have it to hand all the time. So thanks for that. Also, how do you deal with assignments that are busy enough that pain management is harder than it should be? I'm coming up on two years as a nurse and I feel like I take it personally when I am too busy to adequately manage my patients pain. I'm also coming from a newly unionized hospital where the ratios are still horrendous (I do 1:10 on med surg) and I'm hoping once we can enforce our staffing grids it'll be better but idk I'm burning out and I love my job so much and I really respect your nursing philosophy? I guess. Sorry for the word vomit it's been a crazy shift.

I've been trying to think of how to answer this since I got it. It's just such a horrendous ratio. With ten patients a shift, that's like six minutes an hour for each in a fantasy world where there's no charting and everything is exactly where you need it to be. I feel like I don't have great insight into this because the most med surg patients I've had assigned is five. Ten patients to one nurse is just a raw deal for everyone. Like christ no wonder you feel like you're burning out! I'll give you what thoughts I have and hopefully other people can chime in if they have suggestions. But that's such a hard patient load.

When I've been super swamped, I've found that's when being really explicit about your thinking with the patient helps. Like if I have to dash into a room and then dash back out, I'll make sure the board is updated with the next medication time and that the patient knows when the medication is going to kick in. I'll also provide call light parameters. I have a lot of success telling people, "the med should be doing something by 5:30. If I haven't checked in with you by then, and the pain is unchanged or barely changed, hit your call light and we'll try the next step. Also hit your call light if you feel any sudden change, like now you're nauseated or you have a headache or the type of pain changes or something just feels very wrong. Is there anything you need before I step out of the room?"

I like to be explicit about when to call me because I think there's two directions call light usage can go wrong: someone calls all the time, or someone never calls. With someone who calls all the time, I find that telling them when I'll be back and that I want them to call me if I'm not takes away some of that anxiety that can causes some people to call frequently. Often those patients are afraid that if they aren't on the call light, they're gonna get ignored.

For the other type of patient, the one that doesn't call, I want to make explicit that it's GOOD AND NORMAL TO CALL YOUR NURSE WHEN YOU HAVE SYMPTOMS. We've all had that patient at the end of shift who goes, "btw the gnawing pain in my leg is now a 10/10" and you're like "what gnawing pain sir?? you've literally never mentioned it before now?? I don't have any meds for that lemme page super quick????" These patients can get into pain crises easily because they don't ask for help until something is unbearable. In addition to pain crisis bad, it takes a lot more time to deal with something unbearable than it does to deal with something uncomfortable.

On that note, are you spending your very limited time efficiently? To me, that actually means spend more time talking with patients, at least up front. Manage expectations, make sure people know what to expect. Having conversations with patients that are like, "You just had surgery, it's not gonna happen that we get you completely painless. We want to get you to a manageable pain level that allows you to do whatever it is you most want to do this shift." (For me on nights, that's usually sleeping at least a little, but sometimes the realistic goal you make together is that you will feel at some point better than you feel right now.) "You have this medication scheduled, and you have this one available every X hours when your pain is severe. Is there anything you know that helps you deal with pain?"

Also establish if patients want to be woken up for certain prn medications or if they're sleeping, to let them sleep. With some patients, I will advise them to get woken up for pain medication because I know that they're going to need consistent control to avoid a crisis. (Crises take so much time!)

When I'm crunched for time, I'm fond of bringing in an ice pack and being like "if it works, great, if it doesn't, just take it off, either way here it is." Sometimes I'll do the same with a warm blanket. If I know my patient needs to take pills, I'll bring a cup of water with me into the room. If there's a basic prn like melatonin or tylenol that I think they might want, I'll pull them in advance. If the patient doesn't want them, I return them next time I'm in the med room. (Obviously, don't do this with controlled substances. It's super easy to forget to return them, and not returning opioids is one of those whoopsies people get fired over.)

Decision making takes time. Walking to go get stuff takes time. I want to save the time it takes to assess if the patient needs those things and then walk off to fetch them by just having the things already. If your tightest resource is time, be liberal with resources you can spare. If you're stuck with a patient, do you have anyone you can delegate a prn med pass to? Do you know how to do the absolute minimum charting you need to? Do you have flushes and alcohol wipes and whatever other most common things you need? And since you can't hoard time, if you've got some to spare, ask yourself if there is anything you can do now that will save you time later. If you have five free minutes now and an incontinent patient, getting them up to the bathroom now can save you from taking the time for incontinence care and a bed change later on when they've also sundowned and decide they hate everything but most of all you.

So much of this answer I realize is investing as much time upfront as you can, which I realize is so hard when you are so busy. It sucks immensely that prepping takes much less time than not being prepared does when you don't always have time to prep. Plus when you invest that time to pain plan with patients and do small preventative interventions, I think it also provides some psychological comfort that helps with pain. You're letting them know you're invested and you care and you have a plan, even if you don't have all the time you'd like. That can mean better pain control, which can mean needing to spend less time in that room overall, meaning you can save six whole minutes at some point and maybe even, if we're feeling crazy, get a chance to indulge in that greatest of indulgences: just a real leisurely on-shift piss.

[icepoptroll]

So I've been heavy into RTC in recent months. As well I work as a nurse. So naturally this idea came to me:

Everyone Lives AU where the choir kids survive the Cyclone accident, wake up in the hospital, and come to find out their nurse is a guy named. . . Yep. Karnak

Ricky wrote him a lengthy note between hourly rounds about how they all had died and they were in limbo and he was there too, and while he was there he was a magical mechanical fortune teller with prognostication and resurrection abilities, and how he's not sure how he's there with them now because a rat had killed him by chewing through his power cable. Karnak reads it and responds with a chuckle and "ah yes, your parents DID mention that you have a very active imagination, Richard." *Queue gobsmacked Ricky face*

Ocean is more scared and freaked out and still not past her initial stress response, all "How are we all still alive? How are YOU alive? You just DIED back there. And I thought you could only bring back one of us! That WHOLE TIME you were just testing us??? What kind of messed up game are we playing now?"

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oooooh yes you do! You were some kind of. . . Ominous novelty machine just before all this!"

"Ah. Curious, one of your friends accused me of the same thing. Quite an interesting phenomenon, how multiple people are on occasion found to somehow suffer the same exact nightmare. This is likely a result of your shared trauma--- I assure you I am just a med-surg nurse. I am not now, nor have I ever been, an 'ominous novelty machine.'"

"So it's just some wacky coincidence that we all remember someone JUST LIKE YOU from the afterlife and now all of a sudden we're all assigned to you? You had no part in that?"

"If I had my way, Miss Rosenberg, I would be assigned to only three of you. Unfortunately, though, safe nurse/patient ratios have really fallen to the wayside in recent years. Now. . . Before I continue my rounding, do you have any questions about your medication?"

The kids convene and question whether maybe he IS just a dude with the same name but COME ON his voice and mannerisms are all the same and he even kinda looks like him and the timing is just too perfect to be coincidental and the way he cracks a smile when someone calls him "Mr. Whatever" like it's him it's gotta be him

Definitely gonna think of more and most likely gonna end up drawing/writing stuff for this lol I just can't resist letting my work influence my hobbies haha

[kruegerspillow]

König fic — seeking for your attention and care.

Creators note: hi hiii, soo this is based on a poll I made earlier, with König literally winning the vote, enjoy your meal ❤‍🩹 English is not my first language so my apologies for any grammar/spelling mistakes I've done.

Summary: You didn't know how far König would go just to get your attention, especially care. Yet, this is the day where he'll show you himself — you weren't surprised.

Word count: 642

Warnings: Probably nothing? Wounds and blood mentioned. No pronouns are used here except for ‘you’.

Genre: fluff, what else? 👀

König had been on a relentless mission for a month or two, his unwavering commitment to duty driving him through perilous landscapes and intense battles. Wounded and fatigued, he returned to the base, his mind fixated on one thing—you. With every step, the pain surged through his body, but the thought of seeing you propelled him forward.

König had kept the thought of you close to his heart during his mission. Your warm smile, gentle touch, and unwavering support were his motivation to push through the darkest hours. But now, he needed you more than ever. He had been wounded in the final stages of the mission, a bullet wound to his shoulder that had yet to be treated.

Despite his own pain, König pushed forward, his determined steps taking him straight to the medic's station. The base was abuzz with activity, but he saw you there, tending to another soldier's injuries. His heart sank for a moment as he realized he would have to wait.

König took a seat nearby, clutching his wounded shoulder. The pain was excruciating, but he knew he had to be patient. The sight of you taking care of the other soldiers, your hands working with precision and care, was a soothing balm to his wounded soul.

Finally, you turned towards König and your eyes met his. The relief in your gaze was evident, but König could also see concern. You approached him, your voice laced with worry. "König,” you breathed out quietly.

“Meine liebling, I had missed you dearly,” he murmured out immediately after noticing the concern in your voice, standing up— betraying his legs.

You immediately urged him to sit back down, telling him that he's still hurt and he should minimize his movements. He agreed, the wince clearly visible — even just by the sight of his eyes. You knew how hard it was to be a colonel.

You took the nearest med kit, before bending over slightly to observe examine wound.

“Can you take off your shirt? I need to examine your wound before taking care of it,” you asked him softly.

He nodded, unbuttoning his shirt as he places it aside. He lets out a shuddered breath, before relaxing his shoulders to show you his wounded shoulder. Blood dripped down to the floor, the sound of it wasn't nice.

“Scheiße, sorry, I'm making a mess here,” he apologized quickly, noticing the stream of blood from his arm.

“No worries, Kö, just, stay still.” you reassured him, before grabbing the med kit and opening it.

You cleaned his wounds, noticing how he was a bit more quiet than usual. You furrowed your brows, noticing the wound was pretty deep. You let out a sigh, cleaning the wounds carefully.

You finished cleaning his wounds, grabbing a nearby bandage and wrapping it around his shoulder. He looked at you in awe, before his eyes glanced around the room— it was just the both of you guys.

“Yup, this'll be alright,” you sighed out in relief, your hands covered in his blood. You cleaned up the med kit. “You should avoid moving your shoulder too much, or else you might—”

He cuts you off, doing the absolute opposite of what you told him to do. He grabbed you by your waist softly, before placing you on his lap. He tugged his sniper hood and balaclava up before giving you a kiss.

It was a deep, and passionate one. He was definitely craving this since the start. Your eyes fluttered close, enjoying the feeling of his lips against yours.

“Schatz, sorry for making a bloody mess,” he murmured in between kisses.

He broke the kiss, letting you gasp for air as he tugged his hood and balaclava back down. A small smile tugged on the corner of his lips.

“Thank you for taking care of me, [name],”

[oceans-goddess]

I don’t know if you would be open to this idea but a tmr newt imagine where the reader hurts her knee and now has a limp like newt and she is frustrated with it and it gets him to open up and it’s all fluffy??? I have just had knee surgery so I am being very self indulgent… again if you don’t want to no worries at all!!!

Author's note: Omg of course!!! Agh, I'm so excited, this is my first time responding to a request, so I hope you enjoy! Also, I wrote this really fckin fast, so I'm sorry if it's shit.

Guys, send in more requests! This was so fun to write!!!

Pairing: TMR Newt x reader

Warnings: mentions of suicide and death, leg injury

“This bloody knee!” you hissed, tossing your gardening tool to the side and pulling at your hair in frustration.

“Did you just say bloody? I must really be rubbing off on you” Newt said from above you. You gasped in surprise.

“Newt! What are you– aren’t you supposed to be talking with Alby right now?” You asked.

“Finished early. Not much to debrief today. Aren’t you supposed to be heading to lunch?”

Your boyfriend sat down beside you and picked up the tool you’d been using, toying with it as he waited for you to respond.

“I don’t think I’m gonna make it today. I’m running way, way behind. This piece of klunk knee brace won’t let me bend down to work, and Clint and Jeff refuse to let me take it off. I have to either stand straight or sit down, neither of which are fast enough to finish all this in time.”

You finished speaking with a huff, and Newt smiled beside you.

“Hey, that’s just what a brace is meant to do. You shouldn’t bend it until you’re all healed up. It’s only been a week, love.”

A week, you thought, recalling the accident that had occurred just a few days before:

“It should be all set. Just take it easy for a few weeks, y/n,” Jeff explained, helping you to stand and placing a rudimentary wooden crutch under one arm.

“And no more messing around climbing trees,” Clint warned, opening the door that led out of the med-jacks’ building where Newt waited. You nodded, but the comment stung your pride.

Earlier that morning, you had been sitting up in a tall oak tree in the deadheads. The location was morbid, you knew, but it was also quiet. A place to breathe. To think. If you sat up there long enough, it sometimes felt like the trees went on forever– like there were no walls, no maze, standing just yards away, separating you from the world beyond.

You’d been up there a while, and you knew your break would soon be over. The gardens needed tending, after all. That, and Newt would begin to worry and come looking. You knew he could handle himself, but the last thing you wanted was to see him struggle through the underbrush of the deadheads with his bad knee because of you.

You swung yourself off the branch you’d been sitting on and began making your way down the tree. As you placed your foot onto a small notch in the tree bark, the branch you held onto with your right hand snapped. You gasped, clawing at what was left of the branch, but your foot slipped, and suddenly you were falling to the side.

You let out a scream and braced yourself to hit the forest floor. Your right knee was the first part of your body to land, and it connected with a rock or a tree root– you weren’t sure. Your right shoulder slammed to the ground, though thankfully, it seemed that your knee had borne most of the brunt of the fall. Chest heaving, you slowly sat up and you tried lifting yourself off the ground. Pain surged through your leg, and a cry of agony escaped your lips. You sat back against the trunk of the tree for a moment, then tried to stand again. It was in vain– your leg couldn’t support you.

Just when you’d made your mind up to crawl back to the field where someone would see you and bring you to a med-jack, you heard a crunch of leaves nearby.

“Y/n?” Newt called frantically. When he saw you, the expression on his face made you want to disappear. His eyes were wide, and he cringed as he saw the way you held your leg. Others followed behind him. How he’d gotten here on his leg first, you didn’t know. Must’ve been the little piece of runner still left in him. He dropped down onto his knees beside you, calling out, “Bring the med-jacks, now!”

And then you wound up here, with a makeshift brace around your leg and a boyfriend that wouldn’t stop looking at you with that nauseatingly concerned expression on his face. It was all you could do not to scream in anger and humiliation.

You shook yourself out of the memory and turned away from Newt.

“I know the brace is helping. It’s just– it gets in the way. I’m so much slower than I was, so much less graceful, efficient, I feel… I feel like I just don’t operate like I used to. Like I’m supposed to. It’s so embarrassing. Like, everyone else is pulling their weight but me.”

It was quiet for a moment. Newt only watched as you clenched your fists together, but when he noticed that you were beginning to hold back tears, he reached over and rubbed your back.

“Hey, it’s alright. I understand. Sometimes I feel the same way about my own knee.”

At that, your stomach dropped, and you clapped a hand over your mouth. All the complaining you’d just done must’ve sounded so horrible– so inconsiderate– to him. You’d only been struggling for a week; his knee would trouble him for the rest of his life. And even then, he was trying to make you feel better, like always. That was what made you care so much about him. He always did what he could to make things easier for you, to comfort you, to make you happy.

“I’m so sorry,” you breathed.

“It’s okay, honestly. It’s alright.” Newt scooted closer to you and draped his arm over your shoulder. You leaned into him and took in his warmth, his earthy smell. 

“Can I tell you something kind of sad?” he asked, his voice only a whisper. You didn’t know where this was going, but you nodded silently. Newt took a deep breath beside you.

“Aah, okay… you know I used to be a runner and everything, right? Before my knee?”

You nodded again, looking up at him. His brown eyes gazed down into yours with a mixture of affection and anxiety, but he continued on.

“Well, I don’t really ever talk about how I hurt my knee. It’s…” he swallowed. “it’s hard to talk about it now.” He shifted uncomfortably beside you, but you waited patiently.

“I… I really hated it here for a long time. It’s alright now, I’ve sort of made my peace with living here, in a way, but I just couldn’t take being trapped in this box. It drove me mad. One day, while I was on a run, I climbed up some of the vines and ended up on top of one of the maze walls.”

You could hear his heart beating faster now as you leaned against his chest. The next words out of his mouth were barely a whisper.

“I knew this wasn’t what I wanted. I couldn’t stand it. And I… I jumped.”

You gasped and sat up, looking into his face for more information. He only looked back at you with the most heartbreaking expression you’d ever seen on him.

“I wanted to be done. With it all. But, much to my resentment at the time, Alby found me. Dragged me back into the glade just before the doors closed. They fixed me up. I spent about a month under constant supervision from Clint and Jeff, and then I wasn’t allowed to be alone for another few weeks. Everyone thought I’d try again. I… I wanted to.

“It was even worse with my bum leg. Everything was harder, more irritating. I felt more useless every day.”

Hot tears rolled down your face. Newt brought up one hand and wiped them away with his thumb before kissing your forehead.

“I’m so sorry, Newt,” you whispered, and he pulled you in for a tight embrace.

“It’s alright, love,” he whispered back. “Things have gotten better since then. I found I was pretty good at gardening, and now, here I am. Made some new friends as well. And, of course, I met you.”

Newt pulled away and brought his hand back up to your face, resting his palm against your cheek.

“And I promise you I’m here to stay.”

You let out a quiet sob and pulled him in for a kiss. Your lips met passionately, and you ran your fingers through his dirty blond hair. He was as gentle, as loving, as always. When you pulled away, he was smiling.

“Another thing that’s changed though,” he began, “is that I’m seriously afraid of heights now. That fear extends to you. So please, love, please, I’m begging you. No more climbing trees. I almost had a heart attack when I heard you scream”

You let out a surprised laugh before responding.

“Okay, honey. Don’t worry. No more climbing trees. I promise.”

“Good,” he said with a nod. “Now– let’s go get some lunch. We’ll worry about the garden later.”

[caelivir]

the fault of love | orter madl

— synopsis. orter doesn’t make mistakes, but what does that make you?

— pairing. revolution leader!orter x gov. spy!reader (gn)

— genre. angst

— warnings. major character death, description of death using a gun, mention of specific crimes (kidnapping, robbery, blackmail, etc.) none are explicitly described, lmk if i miss any

— word count. ~1.7k

— notes. i stayed up until 5am to finish this i’m so dead; i tried lowercase.. let’s see how i like it. this was fun to write ngl. i hope you enjoy <3

orter madl is a bad person. he was born to be. his entire life was a cycle of left hooks, knife throwing, and gunshots. from an early age he was bound by orders and loyalty. he was raised to lead, raised to be the top in the game. show no mercy to your enemies. be the best.

everything orter does is for the suffering innocents, his family, the organization. he has to do it, even if it goes against all morals. he can’t afford to make mistakes. they’ll hinder him and ruin everything he’s worked hard for. that’s why he shouldn’t get close to anyone. attachments and emotions weaken. they mess with logical judgment, and orter would rather die before letting his emotions make decisions.

yet orter couldn’t stop himself when he got to know you, the clumsy person who spilled coffee all over his suit. he hadn’t meant to, but it was like being a moth to a flame. he sought for you, and you invaded his thoughts at every waking moment. orter wanted nothing more than to see your face, to grasp your hand into his, and to press his adoration for you onto your lips.

and that in itself–that love–would be his downfall. your entrance into orter’s life sparked a long chain of events that brought complications onto the organization that never existed before. he should’ve seen it sooner. he could’ve ended it sooner. but that’s what emotions do. they blind. they’ve blinded him for far too long, and tonight, he’ll finally put an end to it.

hours into the night, orter arrives at the empty warehouse where you’re being kept. he wears a mask over his feelings as he passes by underlings who offer their respects to him. he’s ushered inside. orter spots your figure seated in the center of the wide space. a flurry of emotions surges through him, causing him to order everyone out despite their protests.

orter sighs, taking steps closer to you, becoming more aware of your current state. your hands and legs are tied down to the chair. bruises dot along your skin, and cuts bleed from your lips and forehead. the light in your eyes has gone dead. you stare into nothing.

it pains orter more than any beating he’s ever received. he wants nothing more than to untie you, find a med kit, and clean your wounds just as you always did for him. but he knows he can’t, so he has to tighten his fists, make his knuckles turn a blinding white to hold himself back from caring for you.

he takes the seat across from you, saying nothing despite the mess of sentences bouncing across his mind. you finally pick up your gaze, keeping quiet. no words are exchanged for what feels like hours.

orter’s mask is slipping, cracking ever so slightly as you catch glimpses of confusion, anger, sadness, and nothing all at once. you manage to not betray a single emotion.

orter caves, breaking the silence with a simple question. “why?”

you bite the tip of your tongue, deciding on an answer before you speak incorrectly. “because I had to.”

“had to-” orter cuts himself off with an inhale, rubbing a hand over his face as he abruptly stands. frustration sprouts across every vein in his body. he scoffs. “do you even know what you’ve done? do you know what you’ve cost me?!”

you glare, nose flaring, finally conceding an ounce of emotion. “people are dying because of you! it is my job to stop you.”

“you just don’t understand.”

“understand? understand what?!” you cry, voice ringing through the empty room. “what else is there to understand, orter?!”

orter flinches, unsettled by the abhorrent you carry towards him. it’s unlike you. no. that was never you. it was yet another lie you had fabricated. there’s no point in making you try to see his point of view. there was no way for you two to see eye to eye. it just couldn’t happen with your backgrounds. that doesn’t stop him from trying anyway.

“do they brainwash you over there?”

“don’t be ridiculous.” you scoff.

“the people i’ve killed,” he begins. “do you even know what they did?”

your teeth clench.

“kidnapping, blackmailing, murder, robbery, trafficking, and the list goes on and on and on. they are making people suffer, and it is my job to stop them.” orter echoes your words as a spit to your face. “i know you know it too. deep down you’ve always known.”

“you’re lying.” you deny ferociously.

“the government is enabling them by turning a blind eye. you’re enabling them.” orter declares, pointing a finger at you.

“stop fucking talking!” you scream, voice cracking. you let your head fall, chest rising and falling.

orter doesn’t know what to do. it’s eating him alive, tearing his heart layer by layer. is it possible to get you on his side? but who would trust you? can he still trust you after everything?

“just what are you waiting for?” you eye him, speaking in a quiet voice that’s laced in defeat after minutes of tense silence.

“what?”

“you know why you’re here, orter. finish the job. stop wasting time.” you tilt your head back, daring him.

“y/n-”

“finish the fucking job.” you repeat, seething through pauses, enunciating each word so orter can comprehend the message.

the provocation causes orter to pull his gun on you before his brain can think otherwise. it’s aimed square at your face, yet you remain unafraid, having already accepted your doom.

orter hesitates to pull the trigger. the weapon shakes in his hand no matter how much he tries to steady himself. he has to end this. he has to. orter needs to let your relationship end like this—in rage and hate. but he can’t bring himself too, because there’s a part of him that hopes.

“was any of it real?” he asks, gripping tightly on his gun.

you know exactly what he’s referring to. maybe that’s why you answer quickly with a confident “no.”

that should’ve been enough to make orter finally squeeze the trigger, to finally put a finish to your life, but he stalls longer, taking you in, memorizing each and every line on your face. he sees your beauty even in moments before demise. he takes a step forward, pressing the tip of his firearm to your head, using it as a chance to be near you.

the trigger tightens and tightens to the point where orter thinks he’ll follow through, but the sound of your voice makes it loosen. he drops his aim to his side.

“i can’t tell you that it was real,” you state, and orter begins to see your eyes glaze. each syllable of your following words break. “because if i did, then that would mean you would be right.”

you finally break down, your facade shatters. fat streaks of tears stream down the skin on your cheeks, and you lower your head, letting them fall onto the floor.

“if i told you it was real, then i would have to admit that my year with you has been the happiest i have ever been.” you continue between chokes. “and i can’t let it be real because that would mean that i hurt you again and again and again for no reason at all.”

orter hates your anguished cries. he would give everything to the heavens to make them stop. he can only tighten his strength onto his gun.

“i have to tell myself that it isn’t real… because doing so makes it easier to deny the fact that i love you. and i love you so much, orter.”

orter reacts in what seems to be record time, pressing his lips onto yours with a passion that could set the world on fire. every unspoken word of his is poured into your mind as you move in sync with him. for this one moment, you both forget who you are. the government’s top agent. the leader of a revolution. those are mere titles squashed beneath your foot as you kiss orter with all the love you have yet to return to him.

orter’s hand finds the familiar skin of your face, stained with blood. he commits that warmth into memory, and when you finally pull away to breathe, he loses himself in your irises, examining the details that he grew fond of.

neither of you dare to go for seconds because you knew that if you did, then you would both abandon everything, your responsibilities.

so orter straightens himself up, bringing his trembling hand to hover his weapon centimeters from your forehead.

“do you have any final words?” orter forces out, bringing himself back into the cold, ruthless leader he’s supposed to be.

you grin softly. tears still soak your cheeks. “i’m so sorry. i wish things didn’t have to be this way. maybe, just maybe if we get another chance, we can live the way we wanted, and i could keep bringing you those stupid cream puffs from that bakery we love.

you inhale. “thank you for bringing my heart joy, orter madl.”

a single wet tear drops from his eyes as a familiar string of words escape his throat. “i adore you infinitely, my love.”

orter can feel the next words that bubble on your tongue, and you break out into an even brighter, toothy smile. “is that so?”

he seals his eyes shut. the trigger pulls. a shot echoes through the warehouse. the chair falls back with a clatter. orter doesn’t dare to look. if he did, then there would be nothing stopping him from letting your blood soak the threads of his clothes, screaming your name so loudly that it could reach the heavens.

orter storms out of the warehouse, allowing his subordinates to take care of the rest. and when he's finally alone, orter breaks down. his cries ring through the night. his hands bleed from countless punches he slams onto the floor.

orter madl doesn’t make mistakes, but he made the mistake of loving you.

yet he would do it again.

every single time.

[mimiriko]

𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐑(𝐒) | 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

✰ tags :: 1.8k. fluff. (scene heavily inspired by song of achilles by madeline miller) ✰ notes :: reupload! gojo gets injured for the 1st time and is dramatic (pacing is off don’t jump me i can’t look at this anymore)

He can't think. Can't move without grunting. Can't stop his shoulders from sagging.

He drags himself with slipping energy, through the streets and crossing roads, head low and absentminded to traffic. A throbbing headache pounds at his temple and he stops—eyes fluttering, sucking in a gulp of air— and continues. Orange-lit streets single out his winter hair, shades the outline of his figure with iridescent dust surrounding him. Too pretty, an Apollo like beauty.

A final three ascending steps, uniform knocks on your familiar door, soft clicks of the lock—and he's rewarded with the sight of you. Tousled hair, bleary eyes sharpening with recognition.

It’s primal, etched into him, the necessity to see you. Your face, presence, aura, flesh and bone. There’s not a point in the history of your friendship where it blossomed to life. No gradual descent to his state of want, no easing into the fact that his feet take him to you on default.

He doesn’t remember being a 1st year in highschool and painfully yearning like this. 2nd, 3rd, and 4th year he’d been more and more attached to your bone. Always friendly, like two cats hooking their tails together. But not like this. Never like this.

The memories, full of smooth faces and honey smiles, never had the hunger that tinted his lenses like right now.

You blink. "You're…bleeding.”

The words feel fuzzy. "Yeah. Hey.”

Your lower lip gets hitched up by a canine, nibbling. You decide upon opening the door wider and stepping out of the way. Scattered lamps catch his marble-cut jaw, defining the bones and the blue and purple beneath his glass skin. His eyes dull and bare without his glasses, the skin underneath sunken. Tight uniform dirty and creased, hair flat with wisps of his fringe sticking to his forehead.

(An intent to project a tragedy, you would’ve joked if not for the heaviness around him. It’s like the air around him became denser, clumped together, looking at him through a layer of thick viscosity.)

He offers a slanted smile.

Waves of pain shoot down his spine, the wound across his arm charing his nerves. He clamps his hand down to apply pressure, giving modicum comfort. Warm rouge oozes out of the crevice of his fingers, dripping to his elbow and dropping on your hardwood floor as he trails behind you, heading straight to the living room. It's quiet.

"Sho will, um, kill me if I wake her at this time, and I thought you would be staying up again so I came here.”

Your back is his only view, no gateway to your face or how you feel. It gives him a surge to talk more. "Y’know if a wound is severe enough, you can bleed to death in minutes. I take offence, you don't look so worried."

He's met with nothing.

(Faintly, he feels something shift between his ribcage. His divinity chipped off. Another jump down to the mortal realm.)

A weak squeak almost leaves his mouth when you turn on your heel, looking at him dead in the eye. "'I’ll get the med kit; wait here for me, okay? Keep the pressure on that."

He dips his head in compliance. Not a wobble of your lower lip or a hitch of breath in sight—you looked calm, reassuring. But an undercurrent of emotion, thick and raw, behind your voice makes itself known. A slip in your act of strength, laying down the grief that resides in your throat. The knowledge of it existing, the sorrow, is like a needle to his skin. Impossible to ignore.

Then it hits: exhaustion. It splinters his resolve, lowers his smile. He wishes the duo of talk and taunt would work as it would normally. The familiar barrier he brings up every sunrise— creating a foundation, laying the bricks, adding cement one by one until the top of his heart is covered— is falling apart.

For, what might be the first time in his life, he had been struck. On his arm, and light bruises forming on his back.

And if it isn’t for the muffled pads of your sock-clad feet coming out of the bathroom, motioning him to sit on the couch with a hand that trembles lightly, it could have worked. He could have been stitched back to life and left with immeasurable shame and a wink.

Your dexterous fingers peeled his hand away from the cut, crimson hand falling on your lap without resistance. Fresh beads of blood spill and he kisses his teeth at the cold air burning the spilt skin. A metallic, bitter taste coats his tongue, molars aching as he clenches his jaw harder, swallowing and wincing at his throat constricting.

Gentle touches work to clean the infected area with saline solution, your attention flickering to his face—a mixture of pain and strained indifference on his waxy features— and back down.

"D'you wanna take a shower after this?"

A hum escapes his throat. "Not really, why?"

"It’ll make you feel better." One hand clutching the antibiotic ointment, the other goes up to his cheek, wiping a speck of grime.

The gaze that falls on you becomes lovesick, "You calling me smelly?"

"Maybe. Then I can finally snoop and see what you do to keep your hair so fluffy."

The flow of the conversation, light and airy and completely juxtapositional—it charms him. The choice of your tone, hushed and kind. Legs brushing as you sit. Wiping the red away with no disgust. It’s done with precision, an intent to be soothing for him.

In the early hours of mornings, or late hours of the night, he becomes a ball of emotion, a soft egg yolk of sensitivity.

He remembers how you were the whole day; replays your actions driven by kindness to the people least deserving; smiles to himself at the people flocked to your side. Your basin of love manages to catch him in it as well, cradling him underneath your collarbones when he assumes there mustn’t be any space for him left.

He remembers everything.

Hey, your shoelaces are undone. Hold on, I’ll do them; you might fall.

He never noticed. Or cared. He wouldn’t fall from it. But you crouched down anyway.

You sure it won’t be too much for you?

It was the first thing you had said to him, after he went off on a tangent about the new line of missions he’d been assigned. He had been part agony; part joking.

Nah, it’s what I've been born for.

A crazed part of him searched for answers, hints, anything to reveal the venom in your intentions. That you’re no different from the higher ups, that you’re equal to the plastic love his parents gave. He never spoke of his conspiracies out loud, fearing that to question such a beautiful soul in his life would cause you to vanish, like winter in the desert.

Yo, the new Super Mario Bros game is out. Wanna play?

It’d been released for over a week now, and his hair was still damp from the shower he took after coming back from assignments. In fact, he had been buzzing, jittery with impatience to get his hands on it.

A gloss overpowers the sleep in his eyes, and the ignored growls of his stomach roars with delight watching you return to his room, placing bowls of sizzling ramen next to the nintendo’s.

It was a dream he’d only ever wanted to come home to.

Another memory surfaces: roughly a few years ago, a group of students—juniors, he assumed—went up to the bench you were slouched on, covered in homework. They giggled, asked if you or him remembered them, twisting the ends of their plaid skirts with smiles.

Your face shone with recognition, sweet and lovely.

Ah, Ayaka, Momo—

The girls’ smile brightened.

—Sakura and Keiko, right? From last month?

They replied with affirmation. In a school-girl manner, quick and full of life, they expressed their thanks. For helping them.

When they left, you filled in the blanks. They’re the group we escorted out of that building, from the whole ceiling curse fiasco.

How d’you still remember their names?

You laugh. They’re good people.

He finishes the last equation of his work, and fishes for the box of pocky sticks in his bag. Still, it’s easier if they only remember us.

How many times have you proved that you’re an angel on land? Without wings or a halo, but possessing the divinity just like the rest. How many times has he stomped the thought away, before coming to the point where he is now?

He studies you in the ambient light of your living room. “I’ll never share my hair secrets, but if you wanted to see me naked you could've just asked. I’ll strip for you, y’know?”

"I know." The light permeating from you, warm hands on his cold arm, wrapping a gauze with blood stained nails, it's comforting. Grounding.

Little strokes on his covered flesh, travelling down to his wrist then palm, holding his fingers and giving attention to each one, caressing his knuckles to his nail plate.

Even now, distracting him from pain and duty, you do it so well.

“Tell me one hero,” he blurts.

You smile lopsided at the mood switch. “Icarus.”

“Was he happy?”

“Err, no.”

He nods. “Give me another.”

“Odysseus.”

He snickers at the choice of Greek mythology. “Was he happy?”

You skim through it in your mind, and shake your head.

He tips his face forward, pressing his nose against yours. Smiling, radiant, eager. You missed this. “Let me tell you something.”

“Go ahead.” And he brings his mouth to the shell of your ear, ghosting the grain of his lips on your skin.

“I’ll be the first one-” he bites your earlobe and looks back at you- “I’ll be the first happy hero.”

Nothing can eclipse the constellations in his eyes, forming little hearts. You’re sure he sees the same thing in yours. “Ask me why.”

“Why?”

He pauses, pink dust on his cheeks. “Because I have you.”

“Because you have me,” you echo, tasting the words on your tongue.

It’s silent. The wound on his arm forgotten.

”C’mon hero, let’s get the bath running,” you say, pulling him up to his feet, “you can wear my clothes after.”

© mimiriko 2022, all rights reserved. [ interaction heavily appreciated! i’m emotional ab this fic ]

[john-macnamara]

Howdy folks! It took a minute, but we’re back and better than ever. And what’s a better way to celebrate our return than with one of PEIP’s biggest secrets? They like to act all high and mighty. A truly “good” secret organization. But one specific incident from ‘05 disproves that. The same incident that led to the creation of Uncle Wiley. The same incident that sent their current general down a path of self-destruction and instability. We present to you, The Portal Incident. And we’re pinning it too!

Oct. 30, 2005. PEIP HQ. Mission Report.

6:35 AM: Portal testing complete. All works as intended. Still no signal from communications devices. Final preparations for Maj. MacNamara’s entrance are beginning. 

11:07 AM: Final preparations complete. Ready to begin entrance into the Black and White.

11:37 AM: Unfortunately, Maj. MacNamara is not psychologically sound. He began exhibiting signs of anxiety at approximately 11:10 AM, and rapidly progressed into full blown panic within minutes. He seemed to wear himself out, and was prepared to continue the mission, and then promptly fell unconscious. He appears to have cracked his skull. Is in med bay for further treatment. We will find a replacement and continue tomorrow.

Oct. 31, 2005. PEIP HQ. Mission Report.

8:43 AM: We have managed to find a replacement. Col. Wilbur Cross offered himself for the experiment. We were hesitant, but he was the best option. Unfortunately, Cross is significantly less expendable than MacNamara, so we will work to ensure he comes back.

3:54 PM: We have completed as much safety training as possible. As is known, the mission did not plan for MacNamara’s recovery from the Black and White, so this is a rapid change of plans. We believe it will work, though.

7:06 PM: Cross has entered the portal. He shows signs of life and is keeping contact with us. Will send updates once an hour.

8:06 PM: Recording devices have been planted. Signal is strong. Mission successful.

9:06 PM: No updates from Colonel Cross. We are radioing to him now.

10:06 PM: Nothing. Signal has been lost.

11:06 PM: Portal has shut down. Colonel Cross has been filed as MIA. Nobody may know about this.

12:06 AM, Nov. 1: Cover story complete, witnesses are being drilled on this. Cross went missing on Oct. 20 (the last day anyone outside of PEIP saw him) and we spent days looking for him. We were given a ransom note stating that he was dead. Lt. Colonel Schaffer will inform his family. As was said above, no one may know what happened.

Feb. 14, 2006. PEIP HQ. Incident Report.

At 9:42 AM, the portal activated with no input. Agents, including Maj. MacNamara, went to investigate. No signs of break-in or illegal entry were found.

Three hours later, after the search had been completed, the portal surged. Col. Wilbur Cross emerged. He was slumped over himself and appeared to be in pain, calling for help. Maj. MacNamara approached him first, and was allowed to touch Cross. However, when a medic appeared to assist him, Cross slit her throat.

He began to laugh as he approached the remaining agents. Three were killed, and all except for MacNamara were injured to some degree. Quote: “Come on, John! It’s happy there! I have a fwendy-wend who you’d love to meet! He has a spot saved for you right next to me! We could be together! Fix this broken world! All you have to do is come with me!”

These were quickly dismissed as the ramblings of a madman. MacNamara was given the order to eliminate Cross, but failed. He escaped.

Due to the nature of Cross and MacNamara’s previous relationship, MacNamara being the only one to remain unharmed, and his failure to eliminate the threat, Johnathan S. MacNamara is suspect for working with eldritch forces against the good of humanity. We will investigate this further. As of tomorrow, he will be interrogated with whatever force necessary. Records will be provided in a separate file.

[little-orphan-ant]

ooooo you want to read my shitty lil oneshot abt my ocs so bad

Lucero is good at this by now. He knows how to fight, how to dodge, how to get in and get out as fast as possible. When there are several dozen people who all want the same supplies from the month’s helicopter drop, you have to. It’s a life or death situation.

A whirring noise grows in the distance, and in the square everyone is silent, poised for the drop. Lu lurks by the edges of the crowd, hand gripped tight around the blood-stained handle of his metal baseball bat. On his back sits a frayed backpack, currently empty. Rubbing his thumb against his bat, Lu squints towards the bright sky.

Before Lucero left, Jasper and Sammie cornered him and listed everything they needed, and he recites the items now. Tools, knives, new clothes for Jas because he’s outgrowing his current ones, pain meds (they were out), another saw because they’d fucked up their past one cutting off Lu’s leg (he’d been unconscious, of course, but he’s seen the mangled mess that was his missing ankle and foot), and on that note, crutches so Lu doesn’t always need to rely upon his prosthetic, which is finicky enough. And food, of course. They can get food in other ways, but this is the most straightforward - although it might be the most dangerous too. Which is why Lu insisted upon going himself, even while he’s still recovering.

“There it is!” someone yells, knocking Lu out of his thoughts.

He follows everyone’s gaze to see a helicopter approaching, blades beating against the blindingly blue sky. The crowd tenses, ready to spring into the action when the supplies drop.

A minute later and the helicopter is approaching the square. Everyone holds their breath as the doors open and a large package is flung out. It drops down, down, down. People surge toward the center of the square, Lucero one of them. They aren’t human anymore; they haven’t been for years. They are rats swarming toward food dropped by giants, their teeth poised and sharp and ready to bite.

It’s too loud and Lu feels like his skull is doing somersaults, but he can’t worry about overstimulation when Jasper and Sammie’s lives - and his, too - are at stake.

The crate hits the ground with a thump. It’s maybe six by six feet, filled to the brim with food, clothes, and medical supplies, sourced by who knows. 

Someone sprints by Lu on his left, axe held out before them. The blade comes less than half a foot from connecting with his shoulder, and Lu draws back in surprise. Recovering, he hefts his baseball bat in front of him and joins the crowd surging forward. The crate has already been torn open and people are shouting as they grab as much as they can carry. Lu swears under his breath and breaks into an uneven run, his prosthetic sending waves of pain through his leg whenever it hits the ground.

“Watch it, kid!” growls a man, knocking his shoulder against Lu’s and sending the latter stumbling into an old park bench. By the time he’s recovered, the man is long gone. Breathing heavily, Lu pushes himself up and wipes a sleeve across his dirt-stained face. He screws up his face in concentration and sets off at a run, determined to get to the crate before everything is gone. As he draws closer, there are more people with more weapons around him. Lu toys with the idea that he could be killed at any moment before ultimately deciding not to dwell on it. It will just distract him from his goal.

Lu is within thirty feet of the supplies now, about to enter the fray. He slows to a jog as to his left, a woman slits another’s throat with a knife. Lu swallows, his own throat twinging in empathy for the dead woman, and leaps into the battle.

Whenever he’s in a fight, which isn’t that often, really, Lu finds that his brain goes on autopilot. He isn’t thinking about what he’s doing; his body is moving seemingly without him. He dodges and weaves, sending his bat colliding . A knife whistles by his ear, cutting into his cheek. He hisses in pain, spinning around and slamming his bat into the stomach of a boy about his age, who stumbles back. 

Risking a glance behind him, Lu can see that he’s nearly to the supply crate - and there seem to be several bundles left up for grabs. With a deep breath, he makes a break for it, hoping no one stabs or shoots or strangles him while his back is turned. 

His hands connect with rough wood, and Lu drops to his knees and grasps for anything he can. He’s managed to stuff several bundles, hopefully of things they need, into his backpack before a large hand settles on his shoulder.

Lu yelps in surprise as the hand forces him to turn around till his back is pressed against the crate. His hands grip the open backpack, knuckles white. Standing before him is an older person aiming - oh shit oh fuck - a gun at Lu’s forehead.

“Drop the supplies,” they growl, and Lu sets the backpack on the ground next to his baseball bat, breaths shallow. “Thanks, kid,” they say as they reach toward it with one hand, the other keeping the gun pointed at Lu.

Lu keeps his gaze trained on the person’s face, watching for any sudden movements. He himself stays as still as possible, not wanting to do anything that might result in a bullet in his brain. 

He’s so focused on their face that immediately notices when the person becomes stock still, an expression of fear dawning on their face. 

“Give me the gun,” says a voice Lu recognizes.

He can’t help but exclaim, “Sammie!”

Sure enough Sammie is standing on tiptoe behind Lu’s assailant, holding a knife to the back of their neck. 

As soon as the gun is in Sammie’s hand, she presses the knife deeper into the person’s neck and hisses, “Go.”

They do.

Sammie lets out a breath and sheaths her knife. With the hand that isn’t holding a gun, she holds out a hand to help Lu up, which he accepts. 

Swinging the backpack over his shoulder and avoiding eye contact, he mumbles, “Thank you.”

“You would’ve done the same.” It’s true, and they both know it. Then Sammie pulls Lu into a sprint and together they escape the battlefield.

By the time they’ve gotten three blocks away, Lu is out of breath and in pain.

“Wait,” he gasps. “Can we - can we stop?”

Sammie doesn’t say anything, just watches Lu lean against the nearest building. There’s several minutes of silence broken only by Lu’s heavy breathing.

Finally, he says, “You followed me.”

A beat. He looks up at Sammie, who is already looking at him.

She replies, “I was worried.”

“Sammie, I’m fine.” 

“Well, you weren’t, were you?”

Lu grunts in annoyance. “I would’ve gotten away fine.”

She says nothing, which makes Lu even more irritated. He would have been dead meat and they both know it. But Sammie had no way of knowing that beforehand - she had been anticipating Lu needing help. This realization sends anger coursing through Lu’s mind - not at Sammie, but at himself.

He can take care of himself. That’s been true for as long as he can remember. Before the war, and during and after it, he prided himself on not needing help. And here he is, his life being saved by a thirteen-year-old. It’s embarrassing, really. He’s nearly an adult, and he’s the older brother. He should be taking care of Sammie and Jasper, not the other way around. It was hard enough letting them take care of him after the amputation, but he’s almost better now and they haven’t stopped. 

He should have been able to do it himself. But he wasn’t.

“Lu,” Sammie says slowly. “I’m sorry. I-”

“No, Sam, it’s…” He sighs. “Thank you.”

He says nothing more, but Sammie, of course, knows what he’s thinking.

“It’s okay to rely on other people, you know.”

“...I know. I do.”

“Do you?”

“I try to.”

He wasn’t able to do it himself, but that’s okay. If you never allow yourself to rely on others, you can never truly rely on yourself, and that’s what Lu realizes now. Being self- sustaining can only go so far.

Lu looks up at Sammie, then closes the gap between them and pulls her into a hug. A moment later, Sammie wraps her arms around her brother’s body and rests her head on his shoulder. They stay like that for what feels like ages, but couldn’t have been more than a minute or so. Then, without a word, they pull apart and head home. Neither of them will speak of this day again. By the time Lu is ready to bring it up, it’s too late. There’s no one to bring it up to.

[groxglitch]

Contact

Pain.

Every synapse and nerve ending in 621’s broken body burned. The sudden Coral surge was overwhelming. It felt like his brain itself was buzzing, his head spinning. Every sensor feed from his stricken AC was more noise than actual data. The last time he’d experienced this much misery in one place was his initial augmentation; unlike that time, he no longer had a larynx with which to scream. Everything was red. Outside, inside, even if he closed his eyes all he could see was that flashing, jittering, intense red. At the outer vestiges of his mind he could hear a voice; soft, feminine, surprised and curious, though he was far from capable of making out what was being said. He clung to the margins, fading in and out as his AC was thrashed around the interior of the Watchpoint. He was fairly sure he had faded in and out of consciousness a few times now. And what was that voice? He was no stranger to hearing voices - usually the med cocktail took care of them - but this was different somehow, more alien and external than a voice in his head had any right to be.  Even in his dazed state, he could pick out angular changes in orientation, hear thrusters firing. Accelerometer data confirmed the changes, when his twice-fried brain could actually understand the signals. Was he doing that? Even his instincts had their limits.

“Raven.”

There was that voice again. At least she sounded soothing. Was this it? Was this the parting hallucinations of a brain that had figured out it was going to die? Something seethed  deep inside him. This was not how it was supposed to end. He had not come this far to die in some Coral-filled hole in the ground. His AC systems read off a full readiness report he could barely even comprehend. He did make out “operator vitals stable”, so he probably wasn’t dying. Not unless the Coral in his brain decided to cook off, anyway. He also noted he had absolutely no outbound signal. He struggled to un-slump himself within the fluid of his control pod.

“Raven, you need to wake up. There’s a PCA craft on direct approach, it’s jamming our signal.”

Suddenly his mind snapped awake. Combat. The noise had died off and he could make heads or tails of what was happening, albeit with some difficulty. His AC was standing on the roof of the Watchpoint. How? He could figure that out later. There was a hostile incoming. If he didn’t get it together now he wouldn’t live to worry about getting out of the Watchpoint, or the voice in his head that was evidently not a dying hallucination. He was still struggling to function, though; his movements were sluggish and he was struggling to process his machine’s full bandwidth of data. Frankly it was amazing he was doing as well as he was given he should, by all rights, be dead.

“I’ll synchronize with your brainwaves and support you as best I can. Get ready.”

Synchronize with- what? 621 struggled to make sense of the statement, but it wasn’t like he had time to worry about it anyway. At the very least, his datastream had cleaned up, and his AC was moving better, though it felt almost as if it were moving of his own accord. Wait, is this voice doing that? Who the hell even is this? Radar tracked a large AC screaming down to the Watchpoint at high speed. It swung around and drifted to a stop opposite his position on the roof, a large biped with what looked to be an EVA extension pack on the backside.

“Scans indicate it’s an autonomous PCA interceptor, designation Balteus. Be careful.”

The machine physically reached up and dragged down a sizable MRLS rack, locking in for a salvo. 621 already registered the hostile lock tone. This is gonna suck.

“Main system: reactivating combat mode. Move, Raven!”

He didn’t need to hear the suggestion twice. He lunged his AC forward with a booster-augmented kick, dipping low to the right to drag the missile volley towards him before suddenly juking left, sending most of the flight slamming into the ground behind him as he loosed a volley of his own from the plasma launchers on his shoulders. They detonated against Balteus, a shimmering off-teal field shielding the body of the machine from damage. Of course it has a pulse shield. Fucking PCA. He staggered discharges from the laser rifle in either arm as Balteus started to move, bolts rippling across the shield as the autocannons on the support ring returned fire in kind. Damage reports were fed directly to his consciousness as stray shells splintered off armor plating. Balteus came to a brief halt, and 621 reflexively fired his machine’s lateral thrusters, just barely clearing a cannon shell screaming past his left shoulder. He took the chance to loose another plasma volley, slowing down the rhythm on his rifles to give the poor guns a chance to cool, thermal warnings whining in his head. Not like he needed them; he could feel the rain sizzling off the barrels. No pulse weapons on hand. The only way I’m getting through that thing’s shield is with brute force. He tracked Balteus’s orbit, keeping pressure on with his lasers as it came to a halt, gaining altitude over him. The lock tone buzzed in his head. Perfect. He fired off the transit thrusters on his AC at full power, scraping low again to drag the missiles clear before streaking up underneath Balteus. It started to evade but it moved too late, as 621 brought his AC’s foot up in a rocket-powered flip kick. Sensors registered the shield protecting Balteus drop, and 621 carried his momentum through, bringing his weapons to bear as gravity reclaimed his machine. This time his weapons struck true, plasma fields and laser beams finding purchase against Balteus’s reinforced hide. It started to move again, putting distance between itself and its target as more autocannon fire raked 621’s armored hide.

“Thermal spike, Raven, get clear!”

The voice called it out before he even registered it, but sure enough, gouts of flame built at either side of Balteus’ support frame. The machine came screaming forward, lashing a gouge of superheated fire across the roof. 621 barely jumped his machine clear of the sweep, firing off a wall of plasma bolts as he engaged retro-thrusters and put some space between them. Balteus came forward for another sweep, which he evaded only by slamming down to the ground. He dashed forward underneath Balteus, barely managing to keep his machine standing as he pivoted around to bring weapons to bear once more. The damned thing’s shield was already back up.

“Keep fighting Raven, we can do this.”

Gotta kick it again, it’s the only way. Back to square one. Focus. He kept skidding backwards away from Balteus, throwing in erratic changes in vector to throw off its aim with the autocannons. He shifted into a hard left at the edge of the Watchpoint, tracking as Balteus followed his movements along the edge and repositioned accordingly. It initiated a staggered set of dashes forward, firing off another cannon shell in the middle, before launching into another flurry of flame blade strikes. 621 struggled to keep his machine ahead of the assault, thermal sensors spiking well past the redzone as flames licked at his machine. Finally, however, Balteus slowed down. It’s energy was, for a short window, spent. There’s my window. Once again, 621 fired his transit thrusters and slammed feet first into Balteus with as much weight and force as his spritely machine could muster. Its shield flickered out and 621 proceeded to hammer it with as much firepower as he could muster at any one time, driving his weapons as hard as they could go. Balteus tried to regain it’s stability under his barrage, and he fired up the thrusters again, this time sending it drifting across the roof with a shoulder tackle. He kicked off high, continuing his barrage until the weapons forcibly quit fire.  Flames poured from Balteus as it struggled to get itself under control. Flames billowed from several open blasts across the hull. Its thrusters gave out, and the machine tried to catch itself on its feet, swaying before buckling and dropping to its knees. It reached up and tried to drag its missile racks down for a final, spiteful salvo. However, in the midst of them sliding into place, several detonated in the rack, leading to a chain reaction that blew the entire craft to pieces. “Sympathetic detonation confirmed in enemy magazines; enemy craft destroyed. Well done.”

621 found himself huffing inside his control pod. Even if he hadn’t physically moved much at all, pushing an AC to its limits right after brushing shoulders with death takes a lot out of you. He took a second to collect himself. “Mind explaining to me who - or what - the hell you are, exactly?” He asked. Things weren’t adding up. Sure, a voice in his head could just be a hallucination, but his hallucinations never actively helped him drive an AC before. Short wave radio comms would pick up in his skull as well, but that PCA unit was very much jamming comms so that’s out, and there is zero chance of somebody copiloting an AC remotely over radio. “I am Ayre - a Rubiconian. We made Contact when you were subsumed in the Coral flow below. The surge of Coral throughout your machine allowed me a measure of direct control, and I was able to override the autopilot and extract you. The residual Coral in your machine is already fading, however… I am symbiotically bound to your implants.” Finally, a name to the voice- Ayre. It wasn’t just another mental side effect of his implants going haywire. Arguably, it was worse; he’d picked up a stray. How? Since when were there people in Coral? It was a mineral, a fancy sparky rock in the ground. It could do a lot of things, to be sure, but since the fuck when was Coral alive? “I understand that this is probably a lot to take in all at once. I tried reaching out to you before, but I… I guess you were still too far gone then to even understand me. Or maybe I hadn’t worked out how to communicate in a way you could understand.” “Well. Thank you for dragging me out of that pit, at the very least.” He said. “So, you’re in my head?” “Yes, specifically your cerebral implants. The Coral throughout your central nervous system acts as a resonator and allows me to exist within your brain, functionally as an extra brainwave.” “Well that’s grand.” 621 lamented. “As if I wasn’t enough of a wreck as-is. I’m going to guess you can rifle through my memories and the rest of my brain at a whim?” “That is correct, yes. At a surface level, that’s how I worked out your name, and worked out how to best coordinate with you in combat.” “Do me a favor then, don’t go poking around places you don’t belong. There’s places in my brain even I don’t touch anymore.” He chided. “I… will keep that in mind, Raven.” Ayre agreed. “Something you should keep in mind yourself: look up.”

In the gaps between clouds, as the storm overhead began to part, 621 could see the bare sky. Streaked through in red, churning as crimson lightning raged within. It traced clear back to the horizon, to the northern coast, where smoke and debris were only just beginning to settle. “That Coral surge you were caught up in was but a drop in the greater tide… and only a small taste of what is to come in Rubicon’s future.” “Fuck.” 621 found himself at a loss for words. How much Coral did we just release? What kind of well was that cork holding closed? “Raven, you need rest. Both you and your AC are in rough shape. I’ll re-establish communications with Handler Walter.”

621 looked to the-now smoking remains of Balteus. Maybe the PCA had a good reason for trying to keep the Watchpoint sealed.

[whatgaviiformes]

Ficlet: This Time

A/N: *drops this and runs* It's so dumb, but guess who was singing in my head until I wrote it out? FishTank. Whump. That's it, that's the ficlet. 330 words, super quick read today

****

Virgil saw red. 

It covered his hands, dripped through his fingertips, pumping out faster than he could handle. And because it colored the textured blue of someone he loved, the red was fire squeezing at his heart and urging him to act as quickly as possible. 

They’d only just arrived at the scene of the rescue, and before they could blink, a loud bang had rung out, echoing between the mountains. Gordon had crumpled beside him, the soft “ow” a horrible understatement for the bleeding at his side,  as their suits were made for speed and pressure not for projectiles. Scott had immediately gone ballistic, surging into the crowd, and John’s voice at his collar on the open channel had demanded answers Virgil didn’t have yet. 

"This time.. baby, I'll be…bulleee..proof.” Gordon’s voice hitched as he sang the words, off key and trailing where he couldn’t quite form them properly as Virgil pressed upon the wound. 

"Gordon. Please stop singing." 

" ‘S’good for pain management,” the blond quipped, eyes glazing. 

“Is it?” Virgil knew it had to be hurting him like hell. Trying not to show on his expression how worried he was, he led Gordon’s hand to his side and helped him press down, while he took to cutting away more of the sturdy fabric for a better look. If there were any blessings in this situation it’s at least that he’d been right there already. And with the med kit to boot. “It’s not helping my pain management.”

The discordant key was less of his concern, and he tried to give his brother a comforting, if not ribbing smile. There was an expected call and response to teasing in the Tracy household, and if he knew anything about his brother it was that the tunes in his head were incessant and not in the slightest kept private. Especially if Gordon knew he was irritating an older brother.

“..I’ll be.. Bulleee..proof.”

Good man.

“This time, ba-”

“Gordon?” The hand underneath his went slack. “Gordon!”

End note: Please tell me people still know this song and I'm not getting old

[zealouscanonindeer]

Battles of past

Synopsis: The past brings out new insecurities, how will they navigate through it?

Category: Slight angst. Fluff.

********

I drummed my fingers against the smooth cold mahogany desk, swirling the office chair round and round. I was bored out of my mind and with nothing to do, I always did tend to get a little fidgety. Cleaning helped calm me down, it worked on multiple fronts, I got the nervous energy out of my system, the house looked nice and tidy and time passed by without notice.

I had finished up the kitchen, the bedroom, bathroom. The only place left was Ethan's home office. I'd never really been in there for long, only when I needed a space to work or something, my limit only had ever stretched to his desk. Not that he would mind but there wasn't any circumstance as such. Even all of my documents were in the bottom most drawer of the vanity.

I grabbed the broom, mop and the rest of my cleaning tools, deciding to deep clean the place. I began with the glass door, scrubbing until I could lightly see my reflection in it. Next was the desk, I arranged all three of his drawers, onto the floor, the tiles squeaking under my feet by the time I was done.

I moved to his cabinet, finishing the upper half before settling down, opening the huge drawer at the bottom. I pulled it as it fought back, the hinges too lazy to move in what must have been years. I yanked it open, dust floating up. I looked at various papers, certificates, report cards, albums, yearbooks. I gasped, it was Ethan's old stuff. I'd never really experienced a truly young Ethan, it always filled me with insecurity, the age gap.

I pulled out the contents slowly, wiping the covers gently with my cleaning cloth, rummaging through the pages. I laughed as I read his elementary report cards, stellar as expected.

He used to be late every time! I couldn't imagine Ethan ever being late, a letter to Alan for sneaking out of class, a school project of My Family, with a photo of Ethan, smiling wholeheartedly with gaps in his tiny teeth, how adorable! Next to him sat Alan, looking so young I almost couldn't recognize him, he sat taller, a faint smile on his lips, eyes shining with pride. His hand resting on Ethan's cute little knee. I moved my eyes to the woman, her striking blue eyes identical to the ones I looked into daily, her dark blonde hair put up in a stylish updo, her poise perfectly regal.

I smiled sadly looking at the date at the bottom of the page, three years more and she would leave,causing a hurt an entire lifetime cannot replace. I moved on pulling out more memories, high school graduation, yearbooks, Ethan with braces, med school.

I chuckled, throwing my head back at a photo of Ethan and Tobias, Tobias kissing Ethan's cheek, the latter scrunching his face in clear amusement.

Next were his med school books, Anatomy, Physiology, pharmac, I blew a raspberry at the book, it had given me all the sleepless nights in the world. I flipped through the pages, his flowing handwriting sprawled through the pages, notes and markings throughout the book. Just as I was about to place it down, two photos slipped through the pages, landing face down on the floor. I picked them up turning them.

"Wo.. Ah" I mumbled. Not even in my dreams could Ethan look so.. young. He looked so...not my Ethan. The second picture sent a slight pang through me, an irrational surge of displeasure at the unknown woman. Ethan's arms against her set my skin ablaze and despite myself I began perusing the extent of her familiarity with Ethan.

It wasn't like we came to each other virgins, I knew he had his past but having a reminder of it is always unpleasant. I pushed everything back into the drawer, getting up and sitting in his chair, my haed swirling with thoughts. At the worst possible moment, I heard his voice call out.

"Penny..Are you done with that infernal cleanliness drive of yours? "

"Hmm" I made an incoherent noise, unable to muster the words.

He peeked in through the door noticing me, smiling as he made his way towards me pulling me flush against him, his arm curving against my waist as I other one dipped down to squeeze my ass. I looked at him, the lines on his face prominent, his eyes mature.

Suddenly the photo flashed in my mind, his embrace exactly the same.

"I need.. I don't..Ethan let go, please, now. " I pushed his arm off, nudging his chest away. He didn't protest, immediately letting go, a confused look descending on his features.

"Hey, you okay, what happened? "

"It's.." I wanted then and there to go on but it seemed silly to let something old linger, deciding against it, I shook my head. " nothing "

He raised one eyebrow at me, " Well, It's not nothing, I know that. "

"It's just.. really silly"

"I love when you're silly. "

"Not like that.. It's, wait I'll show you. "

I crossed over to the cabinet, pulling the drawer and holding out the two photos. He stared at them a beat before meeting my gaze.

"And? "

"Ok, um.. wow I guess.. I don't know how to say this but.... Uh, our age gap has been sort of an insecurity for me.. I just feel like there's so much of you, versions I never saw, people I never met, like I missed so much of your life that I lost this major chunk which remains a mystery, you didn't even know I existed when you were my age.. I want to feel like I know the man I love more than anything in the world but there are these years and years that remain.... undisclosed and I have to accept that.

" I almost feel like an adolescent you wouldn't spare a second glance, that you would be suited with a woman...someone like Harper I guess. Also, your ex there didn't make things better. All this, your past it's...How am I supposed to compete with all this of your past? " I signaled to the drawer, my hand trembling.

"You have nothing to complete with, you are the absolute winner, I chose you and not her or anyone else, cause I never could have lived the way I do now, with you feels so warm and lively, a home, a place where I know I am loved, where I can be vulnerable. You helped heal wounds and scars of a lifetime,you stood by me when I was bitter, arrogant, stubborn beyond reason, everything. You make me the best version of myself. And if you insist on wanting this one" He pointed to the picture.

"I think I have an old shirt. Wait" He held up a finger, walking out to the bedroom. He returned few moments later, wearing a worn out striped shirt, leaving it open along the expanse of his chest.

"Are you wearing my necklace? " It fitted closer to his neck, the gold chain glinting.

"Well, I don't have the black thing.. So I had to improvise. I know I have a past, too much of it, I wanted to get rid of it, move on from so much, anger, grudges, pain and you did that, you guided me to let go, forgive and leave it all behind. The peace you gave me, it beats all of my past in a blink."

I grinned at him. Oh, I never did have to worry about anything, not when I had the best man in this whole damn world.

"Thank you, E"

"Anything for you, Rookie. "

**********

@liaromancewriter @potionsprefect @jerzwriter @rookiemartin @cariantha @peonierose @kyra75 @queencarb @genevievemd @coffeeheartaddict2 @openheartfanfics @heauxplesslydevoted @choicesficwriterscreations

[prettyyxprincess]

hey, do you remember how you passed maternity and med surge? i’m struggling

i will never forget maternity 😭 that class was insanity. i used a few resources, so let me break them down!

- i would skim the powerpoints for my upcoming lectures the sunday before class. i would see what diseases we were going to be discussing, and make a concept map using the textbook. just trying to get my brain familiar with the info at this point, not actually learning.

- then, i would watch a video on the topic to solidify it a bit more. this helped connect the dots more in my head so that i wasnt having to learn new vocabulary at the same time as new concepts.

- in class, i added notes to my concept maps. anything that was repeated, i underlined. anything that was not clicking, i would raise my hand and ask for clarification on. this is your education. your degree! do not be afraid to make the most of it

- after lecture, i would make a list of the topics we covered. for the remainder of that week i would review 3-4 diseases a day, since sometimes we covered 12-16 per week.

med surg is similar, but more straightforward in my opinion. i used nclex style practice questions in preparation for exams, as well as the saunders (8th?) version. its good for simplifying larger topics and helping you to compare and contrast them. i hope this helped!

[lithesunflower]

Fragile Strength Part 14

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10  Part 11  Part 12   Part 13

Author’s Note: Thanks to @hes-a-tough-kid for giving me the idea for this part and for allowing me to write it out!

Storms hadn’t really been a thing for the past few months that the Sullys had been with the Metkayina clan. But that morning had started out grey and cloudy and progressed to a full on storm outside before anyone had even woken up.

Anya had woke up earlier than normal and just laid curled up with Spider listening to the waves and some thunder in the distance. When she heard the bell for breakfast she stirred and gently nudged Spider but the boy was quiet almost groaning in protest when she kept pushing him to wake up.

“It’s time for breakfast” she said softly.

“M’not hungry” he mumbled. That was pretty out of character for Spider who was usually the one nudging Anya to get her to hurry. He was always so sure Lo'ak would take his share of the food if he didn't appear to defend it. Anya wasn't sure how to react to Spider being so insistent he wanted to stay in bed.

"I'll go and I'll bring breakfast back for you okay?" she offered and Spider hummed in thanks. After all he might find himself hungry later.

Anya wiggled out from under his arm and there was a part of Spider that wanted to ask her to stay close to him. The lack of her warmth beside him made him shudder a little and his head was starting to pound. But he knew she probably needed food.

“Just going to sleep a little longer” he assured her, though maybe it was more for himself than for Anya. He could sense the girl's hesitation about leaving him but she seemed to decide that getting breakfast for him was the best way to help.

"I'll be back soon okay?" she cooed before disappearing.

Everything started to hurt more when Anya moved away from him. He tried to say something as he felt her moving away but even the idea of speaking, of forming a coherent thought, hurt.

Spider lay there almost awake but almost asleep. There was a feeling in his head like energy was zapping it’s way through his brain, bouncing off his skull and shooting across to either side of his head. He was disoriented and confused. He tried to move but it hurt too much and the pain seemed to be getting more intense. He realized his mask felt like it was suffocating him and he wanted it off so badly. 

He managed to open his eyes and move slightly towards the opening of the hut. He needed to get to the med capsule, he could take his mask off in the lab. But every movement felt like he wasn't just moving his own body but several bags of sand, like someone had tied them all to his arms and legs, weighing him down.

It took everything he had to get to the med capsule. A few times he stumbled and wasn't sure he was going to be able to get back up but he pushed on, sometimes walking, sometimes crawling towards the pod. It had started to rain and he could hear the thunder getting closer. Each noise, the crashing waves, the thunder above, the wind blowing, it all sent threads of pain through his head. Sometimes he could hear and other times he just had a ringing in his ears.

The second he found the door to the labs he pushed the button and pulled himself inside. The door closed behind him and he yanked the mask off hoping for relief from the pressure in his head.

But the pressure didn’t stop, it subsided a small bit, enough for him to stumble to the bed that Anya had cleaned for him when he hurt his hands. He found himself wishing she was there and worrying that she wouldn't know where to find him. Maybe he should have left a note, or waited for her to come back.  She would know what to do about his head.

As he swayed over the bed contemplating how to communicate with Anya a new surge of pain splintered through his head causing him to cry out as he collapsed on the bed, curling into himself. He felt awful, nauseous, disoriented, scared. He didn’t know what was happening. Spider had only felt this kind of pain once before and he had tried to push it from his memory. 

Now as he lay curled into himself in the bed flashes from the past played in his mind. Being strapped to the cold metal machine unable to move. Unable to look away from the spinning lights above him, unable to tell which way was up or down, unable to feel his own body because of the effects of the monstrous machine.  He remembered being asked over and over where the Sullys were, Jake specifically, he had fought hard to keep from letting his mind form a thought like they asked him to. He had done everything he could to keep from giving away his Na'vi family and eventually the swirling had stopped leaving him shaking and bleeding. He heard Quaritch talking to General Ardmore and somehow pieced together that it was the Colonel that had stopped the machine.

As Spider lay there in the science lab he didn't know how to handle the pain he felt. It felt like hours were going by but he couldn't move, couldn't get up, couldn't do anything but lay there in pain, actual tears running down his face. He longed for the relief that had washed over him when Quaritch had stopped the machine. He even would have settled for Lo'ak coming and giving him a good old fashioned punch to send him into unconsciousness, anything to stop the pressure he felt.

Eventually, he felt Anya's presence in the room. Relief did wash over him for a moment as he realized the girl had found him. He knew he shouldn't be surprised anymore by how easily she managed to locate him.

"Spider?" she asked softly. Her voice was melodic and soft, it didn't hurt his head when she spoke as the other noises around him had. He found himself whimpering softly trying to explain what was wrong but words weren't forming. Anya moved closer and slipped onto the bed beside him gently turning him towards her.

"What is it? What's wrong?" she asked him, her fingers brushing over his cheeks searching for heat or injury.

"My head...it hurts..." he managed to get out. Anya shifted herself so that he could lay his head against her lap. Her golden locks falling around him like a sort of canopy.

"Where?" she asked softly. "Show me where it hurts"

Spider reached up and tapped on his forehead and Anya's hands quickly moved to begin to massage at his temples. Spider felt the pressure begin to ease away. It still hurt but somehow the gentle motion of her hands, the feeling of her presence, made it more bearable.

Slowly, the pain started to subside and Spider found himself relaxing more and more into Anya's touch. His trembling had stopped and he was finally able to open his eyes again. The warm glow from Anya wrapping him in a pocket of safety.

"Are you okay?" Anya asked her eyes full of concern and gentleness. Spider considered her question then nodded softly.  

"Y-yeah...I...I don't know what happened...that...that hasn't ever happened before, not here" he said. Anya picked up on his phrasing

"Not here? What do you mean?" she asked him. He took a deep breath and looked up at her. How could he explain this without worrying her?

"Remember I told you that I was tortured?" he asked her. She nodded slowly, the pain in her eyes evident.

"They stuck me in this machine and it would hold me down tight and spin around me. it made me sick, scared...I couldn't...I couldn't let go...I couldn't close my eyes or move and it hurt my head...like a bunch of pressure trying to crush my skull..."

"Until someone stoped them" she finished for him, tears in her eyes just from his recounting the torture.

"Yeah..." he whispered softly and she moved so she could curl up next to him. He could see that the sun was starting to peak out of the clouds now, the rain had stopped and the thunder was gone.

"I'm sorry I left and didn't tell you" Spider said. Anya just shook her head and smiled

"It's okay...I figured out where you were, you can't hide from me for too long" she teased him. He found himself smiling at her and rolling his eyes playfully. He glanced around the room and gasped

"You brought food?" Anya raised a brow and laughed at his obvious excitement. 

"Of course I did...I told you I would"

"You're a lifesaver!" he said springing out of bed, almost all thought of before erased from his mind. Anya watched him carefully but he seemed to be okay now. Perhaps this was just a one time occurrence...a flash back from his previous experiences like he said...but there was no denying that it made Anya uneasy.

Part 15

[nefelibatastudy]

nov. 2, 2021 | all saint’s day.

happy halloween ya’ll, i’ve had a very long yet stressful weekend due to the fact that i haven’t met my own deadline. however, overall non-academic wise i’ve had a very fruitful weekend.

holiday weekend in a nutshell:

clean the house (twice)

rewrite my notes on research

organize my notes on med-surge

met with my friend and she gave me these classic books!! (pride and prejudice, wuthering heights, and sense and sensibility)

bought this plant and it is called joy pathos! for only 2$

finished study med-surge (only the handouts)

currently studying on research!!

unfortunately, there are still a lot of things that i need to do, but i chose not to pressure myself over the things i can’t do since i still have a lot of time.