#ANAESTHESIA MASTERLIST

[elysianightsss]

ANAESTHESIA | PART ONE

Success comes with a lot of perks. The way people view you changes. I only found out after I succeeded that success is meaningless when you have no one to share it with.

I lost the only family I had. I lost the desire to make a family too. So, I traded a family home for a nice car. You smiled as you open the door to your black Volvo S90. The car smelled of cinnamon and pumpkin spice thanks to the new air freshener you had bought yesterday.

The light brow leather seats were what initially caught your eye when you bought this car. But then again with the money you had been offered in your hospital transfer, it didn’t matter what the colour of the seats were.

Placing your shopping bags on the seat behind you, you began to drive home. Home was an apartment above the restaurant Farah had bought. Your best friend had moved to the city with you to start her dream of opening the best restaurant slash bar slash karaoke joint in the city.

You were so happy when she told you, so happy that you weren’t going to lose her too. Still there are things you lose that you never forget. Simon comes to mind whenever you think about that. Your parents were both dead, that’s something you couldn’t have prevented, but loosing Simon. You could’ve stopped that.

You remember the first day you met him like it was yesterday; Both troubled. He owned a motorcycle and you wore short leather skirts. He’d punch guys for looking you up and down but never discouraged you wearing those outfits, it was almost like he was glad to have a reason to inflict pain. He was rough and immature. But you were so young back then, it almost seemed normal.

You know better now.

You parked and made your way up the back steps to your front door, “I’m home!” You had barely taken your shoes off and slipped into your fluffy slippers when Farah came rushing out with a ladle in her hand.

“Here! Here! Taste this!” She pushed it against your lips and watched eagerly as you slurped down the rich tomato sauce. “Good?” She waited with raised eyebrows, only seeming to relax a little with my nod. “Ah I knew it was good! The new sauce for our pasta, I’ll have Frank make a bigger batch tomorrow.” She squealed and basically skipped back to the kitchen.

You laughed at her, such a cutie. Dropping your shopping bags by the door, you shrugged off your coat and followed her to the kitchen. Looking around to find saucepans and jars upon jars of red tomato sauce.

“Um Farah? Honey? I don’t think Frank will need to make anything with the amount you’ve already made.” You looked at her like she was a little crazy and maybe she was with the way she whipped her head around to look at you, left eye twitching slightly.

“But it needs to be fresh for the customers.” She almost pouted, you felt bad. Or you would have done if she didn’t look like she wanted to become an axe murderer just to hunt you down.

“Of course.” You backed out of the kitchen, slowly. “I’m gonna take a shower.” You whispered then darted out the room, making a run for the bathroom.

A long hot shower to wash away your day was exactly what you needed. You hadn’t even started yet officially, but you wanted to get a feel for the place. The massive place. It was three times as large as the last hospital you worked at, it had north, south, east and west wings and fourteen floors.

Infinity hospital was one out of four overpriced hospitals created by the Queen long before she passed. They were the top four hospitals in the country and you’d been asked to join the biggest and best one.

It had four huge cafeterias, one in each corner, and even sleep rooms for the doctors and nurses on call. Rooms with three bunk beds in each, scattered around the hospital for doctors on extra long shifts to rest. Common areas for studying and even a library there.

It was amazing when you’d gone in to see the place. You’d wanted to look around at your own pace and see exactly what you wanted to see not what the tour guide wanted when she rushed you around a week ago.

Then after hearing the commotion that a mob boss had a head injury and his gang was making a fuss about the doctor on call not being there. You pulled on your white lab coat and made your way to the emergency area, but they were already pushing you out the way for not being a male doctor. To say you had to fight some of the gang members was an understatement.

Your years of women’s self defence classes and jujitsu classes paid off as you kicked the gang out just as the boss had a hemorrhagic stroke. You rushed him to an emergency MRI to see he had bleeding on the brain.

A nurse you couldn’t remember the name of now, had told you how you couldn’t do the surgery as the on call doctor was in charge of all surgeries today. To then find out he’d left the building you’d scoffed and rolled your eyes moving swiftly to change into scrubs and perform surgery on the mob boss.

After the successful procedure, you passed the man over to the nurses to keep on top of his health until your rounds tomorrow. You even got a Thankyou from him when he woke up. Who knew your first day at your new job would be so eventful….and stressful.

Shopping was always therapeutic for you, so filling those bags that still sat by the front door was your way of blowing off steam after a hard surgery and a team of staff that were loyal to a surgeon who hadn’t even stayed at the hospital for any emergencies that could have happened.

You dried your hair, and got into bed ready to snuggle down after a long day when your phone dinged.

Come to level 8. East wing to discuss your actions today.

- DR. Riley

No.

You replied straight away and without hesitation. This doctor Riley could wait until tomorrow. It was midnight and you had an early and very long shift tomorrow. There was no way you were going back to the hospital now. Especially not to ‘discuss your actions’.

Must be the doctor in charge of the surgeries yesterday, you thought as you slowly drifted to sleep.

“Farah! I don’t tell you how to do your job, you don’t tell me how to do mine!” Frank huffed, looking down at the annoyed woman in front of him. Frank woods, a true gem that Farah had met during a culinary class. He had just quit his last job when Farah had contacted him about becoming the chef for The 141 restaurant. He snapped the job up quick.

“My job is to tell you how to do your job!” Farah scoffed, and the bickering continued.

“Why didn’t you tell me it started already?” Joseph Allen, courier by day, bartender by night came into the kitchen eyes on the pair fighting.

“They started early.” You answered, handing him a cup of coffee.

“How long they been at it?” He pulled up a stool next to yours and sat down.

“Ten minutes already.” You sipping your own coffee as you watched the entertainment in the form of Frank and Farah arguing about how the onions are supposed to be sauté.

“Okay I gotta get to work, fill me in later please. I wanna know who wins this time.” You giggle at Joseph who shakes his head with a laugh of his own but ultimately agrees to your terms.

You leave with a bye to the kitchen staff and head on over to the hospital. It was like fate when Farah managed to buy the building practically next to the hospital you had just been moved to. You took one last glance as the lit up 141 sign above the doors before heading over to start your shift.

Simon’s head was about to explode if he had to hear how great this new fellow was one more time. It was only breakfast and the cafeteria was full of people who were talking about how amazing she was.

So amazing she couldn’t even meet him to discuss her performing surgery on a patient without his consent. “Well don’t you look happy this morning. Someone spit in your coffee?”

“Piss off John.” He cursed the man who had placed his food tray on the table and sat down in the chair opposite him. Kyle sitting down next to John with a fat grin plastered to his face.

“Seen Johnny this morning? Need to go over some things for surgeries today.” John had asked Simon who seemed to be in a particularly bad mood this morning. But if the news spreading around the hospital was anything to go by, he could guess why.

“No. Why don’t you use this miraculous thing invented. It’s called a phone.” Simon gave him a fake smile before a real smirk began. “Though since they were invented before you were even born I suppose I can let it slide you not knowing and all.”

“Oh shut up.” John barked but laughed non the less. He was a good sport like that, he wasn’t even that old but his friends just loved to poke fun, even with the small age gap between him and Simon.

Pulling out his phone and hitting the contact named ‘Scotland Yard’ he put the device to his ear. A few rings and Johnny answered, the two discussed matters of the day while Kyle continued to tease a very grumpy Simon.

“I know there’s a new fellow but we don’t know if she’s even fully trained yet——yes I did hear about yesterday but-�� Johnny continued to argue with John about his beauty sleep being majorly important. He’d been assisting with all of John and Simon’s surgeries while the hospital looked for a new fellow after the last one left. Now that she was here he could finally get some rest.

The murmuring that was already loud in the north cafeteria began to get even louder. It had all three men looking around confused to see where the outburst had come from. A huge crowd of people drew them in, all of their eyes landing on the one thing they never expected to see again, you.

“John? John!” Johnny’s voice came through the phone but John couldn’t look away from you, couldn’t even form a single thought. “Ah fuck this. I’m coming down there.” The beep beep beep from the call ending was ignored just as much as Johnny had been. John was star struck looking at you how gorgeous you were. You didn’t look that different from that night, so beautiful under him and so willing. The picture forever burned into his memory, but he never thought he’d see you again.

Kyle’s eyes were wide as he watched you smile and shake hands of the staff that were gushing over you and your actions yesterday. After your break up he did so much to try and get over you, some things he’s not so proud of. Going to medical school because of your determination to be a doctor was something he was very much proud of. He thought of your patience every time he dealt with a difficult patient, he thought of you. But he never thought he’d see you again.

Johnny arrived from one of the sleep rooms where he’d been napping to see a crowd of people, unusual for Infinity. His breath caught in his throat when one of the members of staff moved to the right a little to reveal you.

You, his friends with benefits buddy that had eventually had him wanting more. Had him wanting dinner and a movie. Had him asking you to come with him to Scotland so he could introduce you to his parents at Christmas. Then things had turned sour, you had never wanted any of that. You made that clear and so had he. Getting attached wasn’t supposed to happen and finding your things packed up and gone when he was went to apologise the next day after your fight was like a wound on his heart that still throbs every time it rains. It was throbbing now, he never thought he’d see you again.

Simon had short circuited. He was sure someone would need to rewire him to work again. He was frozen. You, his Bonnie. The Bonnie to his Clyde, stood there all made up like you had been born with a silver spoon in your mouth. You hadn’t. Was your hair always that colour? He’d pushed you so far into the back of his head to forget his precious Bonnie that he couldn’t remember. Fuck, how could he not remember? But then again, he didn’t think he needed to remember. He never thought he’d see you again.

Yet here you were.

To be continued…

[lev1hei1chou]

JUJUTSU KAISEN MASTERLIST

A- Angst

F- Fluff

C- Comfort

Requests open

GOJO SATORU

Boyfriend!Gojo (F) - Oddly specific Bf!Gojo headcanons By Your Side (A, F) - What if Gojo didn't die and was revived Dentist Calls (F) - Gojo gets a cavity Kikufuku (F) - Kikufuku chef Gojo ft. his cooking partner Serendipity (F) - A tall, handsome stranger at a bookshop 9:01 (F) - Gojo gets a piercing with you Why him? (F) - Gojo's daughter wants to marry uncle Geto 7:36 (F) - Gojo proposes in his own style As I Was Saying (F) - Gojo is determined to interrupt your phonecall First Day (F) - Dad Gojo's sends his child to preschool Skincare Rituals (F) - Gojo and skincare Jealousy, Jealousy (F) - Gojo gets hit on at a date Marked By Love (F) - Gojo finds your tattoo A Blossoming Proposal (F) - Gojo has competition: a child. Gym Time (F) - Gojo works out with you Curses Unveil Confessions (F) - Confess after getting injured in a mission Sick Day (F) - Gojo is a total pain when he's sick First Steps (F) - Dad Gojo gets a surprise when he returns from a mission Flowers For You (F) - Gojo gets you flowers, just because Birthday Present (F) - Dad Gojo teaches your toddler some words Little Snitch (F) - Gojo's son is a snitch Caught (F) - Gojo and your child have been caught lying Mini Gojo (F) - You dress up your baby like a miniature of Gojo Monopoly (F) - Gojo and the gang play monopoly Boop Wars (F) - You boop Gojo and start the boop war Birds and bees? (F) - How are babies made? You hug! Old Man (F) - A child calls Gojo 'old man' Grammy (F) - Gojo thinks he deserves a grammy Impressioner (F) - Gojo tries to impress you (and fails) Kitchen Catastrophe (F) - Gojo isn't the best cook, but he tries Fashion Icon (F) - Gojo's baby has to be a fashion icon 7:25 (C) - You think Gojo deserves better Cravings (F) - Gojo rates your pregnancy cravings Run Away (F) - Gojo's daughter wants to run away from home 3:27 (F) - Gojo finds you sleeping in his uniform A Dad's Promise (F) - Gojo meets his baby for the first time Make or Break (A-F) - You get into an argument with Gojo Abstract Art (F) - Gojo tries painting and calls it "abstract art" Family Halloween (F) - Halloween featuring your little addition Sleeping Beauty (F) - You fall asleep on Gojo A New Addition (F) - Gojo and your child return from a walk with a puppy Tantrums (F) - How can Gojo say no to his precious miracle? Gojo to the Rescue (F) - Gojo picks up his tipsy girlfriend Photobooth Session (F) - Gojo goes into a photobooth with you Physics Class (F) - Gojo teaches physics to his child, and it doesn't go the way they want it to. Cafe Drama (F) - Gojo loves drama when he’s not the center of it Aunt Flo (F) - That time of the month Daddy's Little Stylist (F) - Gojo's daughter gives him a makeover

Bunny Boy (F) - Gojo loses a bet One Piece (F) - Gojo is jealous of your favourite fictional men Gummy Date (F) - Gojo and an impromptu gummy date Anesthesia Antics (F) - Gojo feels loopy thanks to the anaesthesia A What? (F) - You ask for a baby out of nowhere Silent Treatment Prank (F) - Gojo tries the silent treatment prank on you Hoodie Thief (F) - Gojo's hoodies have been disappearing mysteriously Tricks (F) - What Gojo does to make you talk to him again Late, but why? (F) - Gojo is late to a date. Why? Cuddles and Jealousy (F) - Gojo is jealous of your baby 10:07 (F) - Soft Gojo hours A Silent Drive (A,F) - You're upset at Gojo Gojo And Love Languages (F) Little Rival (F) - Your baby is Gojo's rival

NANAMI KENTO

Faded (A) - Breaking up with Nanami The Shibuya Incident (A) - Nanami's fate in Shibuya, pt 2 of Faded Warm Mornings (A) - He's not gone, right? pt 3 of Faded Second Chances (F) - Patch up with Nanami, alt ending of Faded Trip to Malaysia (F) - Nanami moves to Malaysia with you A Future with You (F) - Nanami builds a future, pt 2 of Trip to Malaysia Sakura Blossom (F) - Cafe date with Nanami Little Superhero (F) - Dad Nanami gets called to the preschool Zoo Day (F) - Nanami visits a zoo in Australia

FUSHIGURO TOJI

Guardian (F) - Toji saves someone, uncharacteristically

GETO SUGURU

Geto's Warning (F) - Geto's daughter wants to marry uncle Gojo

MULTIPLE CHARACTERS

Orange Peel Theory (F) - Gojo, Nanami Lipstick Kisses (F) - Gojo, Nanami Makeup Artists (F) - Gojo, Nanami, Toji My Husband (F) - Gojo, Nanami Your child wants a sibling (F) - Gojo, Nanami

[coulsons-fullmetal-cellist]

Your Vampire: Chapter One

Fit as a Fiddle

(Max Phillips x f!reader)

Words: 1, 197

Summary: after being dumped by your fiancé, your friend and boss, Max Phillips comes to your rescue. You know his biggest secret…

Warnings: medical procedures mentioned, the worst ex in the world, mild swearing, lots of crying, no y/n, reader has nickname Garland

Check out masterlist here

“We need to talk.” That was what he said before you went into surgery.

It was hard to hear over the fog of anaesthesia lifting away. It was almost like floating underwater, but it wasn’t hard to understand what he was saying.

Yesterday, you were somewhat happily engaged to Jacob with plans to potentially start planning a wedding in the somewhat distant future. Now you didn’t even have a ring on your finger. The crushing pain creeping up your chest was worse than the pain from the surgery was going to be.

Then in walked your boss, Max Phillips with his three-piece suit and a bouquet of flowers.

“Hey Garland, how was surgery?”

You promptly burst into tears.

“He dumped me?”

“He what?”

“He dumped me!” you wailed. “I thought I was imagining it from the drugs wearing off but no, he definitely dumped me. Left a note just to confirm it and took my ring!”

“Did he dump you because you got cancer?”

“He didn’t exactly put it in those words but yes.”

“I always knew he was a prick but damn, that was a serious dick move.”

A fresh wave of tears started running down your face. Max started to hand you his handkerchief but realised the amount of tears and snot protruding from your face so he rethought his strategy. He handed you a nearby box of tissues.

“And I’ve got nowhere to go!” you said after blowing your nose.

“You don’t?”

“I won’t be living with Jacob anymore so now I’m technically homeless. I’ve just had surgery, and I’ve got nowhere to go.”

“Well my dear, I happen to be the solution to all your problems!” you looked up at him in confusion. “I happen to have a spare room.”

You felt like the Wicked Witch of the East in that a house fell on you. So you began to think of your next logical move. Being logical helped in situations where you didn’t want to drown in emotions.

But this only left you numb. You barely remember the change in location. Everything was too much of a blur to notice anything. The only thing you remember is ending up on a couch that must belong to Max watching the screen of what must be Max’s TV. Unsure of what you were watching, but the colours and movement distracted you enough from yourself. If left alone with your thoughts, you would fall into the depth of a sadness so dark, no light would pierce it. Also, you ran out of tissues.

Max noticed this and proceeded to help you out of this darkness.

“I’ve had a very nice bed made up for you. Are you just going to lie there like an adorable couch potato?”

You mumbled something resembling a yes.

Max sighed, unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat on the coffee table so he could face you from your bundle of blankets.

“Seeing as you’re going to wallow in your own misery, you won’t object to what I’m going to say: that pathetic excuse of a human being you call your ex-boyfriend is possibly the biggest prick in the known world. He’s as self-centred as the sun but actually nothing revolves around him. Any objections so far?”

You said nothing so he continued.

“I really should have made a PowerPoint but if it weren’t for you, he would have no chance at a promotion.”

You mumbled something and he leaned in to hear you repeat, “I knew he’d be up for promotion.”

“Well he’s only up for consideration for potential promotion. He made the wrong move in dumping you.”

“I hope it hits him in the face how much he’s messed up,” you said with more conviction.

“There we go! There’s the Garland I used to know. Now come, I have some therapy for you.”

Wrapping the blanket around yourself, you followed Max to see what he had hanging from the spiral staircase.

“You just happen to have a punching bag with Jacob’s face on?”

“Doesn’t everyone have one?” You rolled your eyes as he handed you a bat. Nodding his head towards the punching bag, he said. “Come on, you know you want to.”

You started off just poking the punching bag, it didn’t move. Then you gave it a small whack. That small whack released a tiny bit of anger in you, and it felt good. You gave it another whack. But your stitches were preventing you from releasing your maximum fury, so you put your rage on the photo. You ripped it off the punching bag and continued ripping it.

Max let out an impressed whistle as you ripped the photo with your teeth.

“Bloodthirsty, I like it. Feel better?” he asked.

You spat out the paper, “I’m hungry now.”

“Good, what do you feel like?”

“I have no idea.”

“I’ll heat you up some soup.”

“I’m starving.”

One serving of good food later, you felt somewhat normal. As normal as you could be after surgery and then being dumped by your fiancé post-surgery. The hour suggested it was time for bed, so Max led you to where he assigned your bedroom.

“Really? A four-poster bed?”

“Hey, it’s romantically classy.”

“What type of bed do you have?”

He put a hand on your shoulder, “You need some rest, my dear.”

You were too tired to realise he was avoiding the question. It was actual needing a good night’s rest tiredness, not the drifting through life tiredness. Before you felt like a ghost drifting through existence but now you felt almost human again. Almost like yourself again.

You woke up feeling refreshed and happy. But then the pain across your abdomen reminded you of your current life situation. Instead of burrowing under the high-quality bedding, you got out of bed. It was the first step to recovery.

You took the first proper look at your surroundings. The bedroom you came out of seemed to be the only room that offered any privacy. The rest of the house was open plan. The high ceilings hinted the building was much older than its modern furnishings. A spiral staircase led up to a small loft, but you didn’t need to climb up to know this was not where Max slumbered. The only other option was the only other door. You found it led to the basement. You didn’t feel the coldness of the stone steps in your fluffy sock covered feet.

As you slowly descended, you took note of the stonework mixed with modern patchwork to fill in the holes. A solid glass floor preserved the stone floor giving off a peaceful but ominous feeling.

The basement looked like a typical basement for a typical business guy. The gym equipment was so typical it was funny. What wasn’t typical or normal in any way was the door in the floor.

It didn’t look like a trapdoor, just an odd quirk made by the architect. As you pondered the strange design, the door opened.

Out emerged Max Phillips as if from a slumber.

The two of you stared at each other for an awkward moment.

“So, I’m a vampire,” he said.

“Yeah, I know.”

Lovingly tagging @chaithetics @cevans-is-classic @galaxyedging @letsgobarbs @peepawispunk @missladym1981 @kirsteng42 @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @ericamarie093 @yorksgirl

Next

[sashi-ya]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟑 DAY 23: MEDICAL PLAY Kisuke Urahara x F! Reader

Requested by: @electronicwitchcollection ➡ Hiya! I’m not 100 sure on how this works. But For your kinkiest could I please request 2 and you choose which you prefer? I can’t decide 😂. I can’t wait to see them all 💜 both with female please 20 shunsui kyoraku 23 kisuke Urahara. tw: mdni. medical play. mentions of pregnancy. kisuke kinda gaslights reader. tied to the bed. fingering. squirting. vag. wc: 855 masterlist

Kisuke Urahara isn’t a doctor, but he is a genius. Kisuke knows about the human -and souls- body perfectly well, and, when it comes to try new things, you are in charge of helping him…

“I honestly don’t understand the purpose of this experiment, Kisuke” you sigh, tied to a gyno bed.

“Come on, you know I won’t hurt you… I just want to see if Shinigami can get pregnant from a human without the need of a gigai” he calmly says, as he sits down in between your spread opened legs.

You widen your eyes. And lift your hands up.

“STOP… STOP! STOP!- WHAT? PREGNANT? KISUKE I AIN’T GETTING PREGNANT?” you protest, trying to close your legs with no positive result; your ankles had been tied to the bed.

You hear him scoff. How could he be that calm when you are freaking out?

Kisuke stands up and shows you how he in silence puts his gloves on. He comes closer, right in between your legs and smiles.

“I wasn’t planning on trying it on you… I just needed to take a look at your human features. However, now that you named it… I would pretty much wish my experiment was successful with you…” he jokes. -or maybe not-

You tilt your head and narrow your eyes. “You better don’t…” you sentence him, with your index pointing menacingly in motherly scold towards him.

He lifts his hands in sign of innocence and sits back down to keep “working” in your exposed core.

“I must say, however, that the idea might have turned you on, (Name)” he murmurs, playing with the wetness already forming in your sex. It was true, the idea seemed… interesting to say the least.

You soon notice the sterile intrusion of a latex surrounded finger. It makes you gasp, because you could swear your core felt a lot more sensitive than ever.

But you keep it calm. You don’t wanna give him the pleasure… why not? you still aren’t sure.

Then, a second one. He hums while he does, as if it was very normal to finger your “patient” with no sexual intentions.

“KISUKE!” you finally scold him. “What are you doing?” you ask, despite knowing it very well. He is having fun, and you will eventually come if he keeps doing that.

“What?” he mumbles, acting all innocent and peaking with his naughty eyes from above your legs. “I needed to test the way the human walls spasms around, in this case, my finger. I believe that part of a successful conception has to do with the capabilities of the female anatomy more than the man itself… this will be very helpful to improve my gigai prototypes”

You massage your temples, because even if it makes sense… you are sure he knows about that more than well…

“You liar…” you whisper, looking to the wall on the right. “Why am I a liar, (Name)? don’t tell me you can’t take it? Should I apply anaesthesia, so you feel more comfy?” he asks, smirking with a mocking tone.

You sigh, louder.

“Or do you want me to keep going because it feels very good? Mh?” he insists, standing up and coming even closer to your sex. “If you tell me… I can go further; orgasm is something I also need to fully study”

You feel your cheeks on fire, as you swallow and cover your eyes. “Go… further, Kisuke…” you mumble, shily -and honestly so needy-

“Say less!” he energetically answers back, and prepares to give you his special finger treatment… along maybe, with some vitamin D injection.

Kisuke sits back down, this time he takes off his gloves. “We don’t really need this, don’t we?”

One and then two fingers slide inside with no problem, and with beckoning motions he hits the upper wall of your insides. Kisuke knows exactly where and how to touch, and his hand on your lower belly pressing down makes it harder for you to keep it quiet.

You begin squirming, as the sounds of squirting liquids resonate all around his lab. You lose control of your lower half, trying to forcefully close your legs -and failing miserably-.

Orgasm is soon to arrive, and you can’t even moan by now… your eyes met his from above the brim of your hospital gown, and his smirk makes you shiver.

“Kisuke… I can’t- I am coming-“ you inform, even if he already knew by the growing spasms of your walls.

“Are you? Show me so I can take notes on every little sensation…” he whispers, calmly destroying your insides with his masturbating torture.

You nod, letting yourself go, exploding in a wet orgasm that bathes his forearm and gets him harder than ever before.

And, Kisuke, who is not willing to miss the sensation around his dick of your milking climaxing walls, immediately lowers his pants to guide his hard sex into you.

“Can I? this is also part of my investigation, you know” “Fuck me… you can investigate all you want, Kisuke ~” “Thanks for your contribution to science, (Name)… ngh fuck, you are too tight…”

taglist: @miabiaria @carmenthedreamer @stygianoir @electronicwitchcollection @aizenwifey @deputy-videogamer @efrodd17 @mizugami @uzxotic @cyberdazetragedy @bookandyarndragon @fushiguroshotwife💖

[jasmines-library]

Needle and thread.

WHUMPTOBER DAY 19. Prompt: “no anaesthesia.” Fandom: Batfamily

Summary: Dick is forced to carry out a life-saving emergency surgery when you are too far away to reach help before it becomes too late.

Warnings: Impalement, blood, gore, stitching, needles.

Word count: 1k (short but sour, I had to do this quickly sorry.)

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

Dick Grayson would never forget your blood curdling scream the moment the rebar punctured your stomach, ripping up skin and muscle as it forced its way through your back.

You had been flung sideways by the villain you had been fighting. The force of his throw has caused you to topple over the side of the scaffolding and sent you plummeting to the ground. Unluckily for you, you happened to land on the scrap metal.

He cried out, cursing as he fought to get to you. It was only supposed to be a simple patrol, but he was outnumbered. Dick fought hard, landing kick after kick and blow after blow with his sticks to reach you. When he landed heavily on his feet beside you, he could already see the puddle of blood below you. It gushed freely from your body. Raw and red and beautiful.

Your mouth was agape, panting against the pain. Your eyebrows upturned behind your mask as your face contorted in agony.

For a moment, he couldn’t move. He was stuck still staring at the blood stained steel. Your muscles clenched around it as you writhed.

“Y/n.” He dropped to his knees beside you when reality hit him like a ton of bricks. “Fuck.”

“Dick…”

His hands hovered over your body; he was too afraid to touch you as if touching you was going to break your fragile body more. He was wide eyed, mind running at a thousand miles a minute. He knew he needed to move you, but the rusty metal bar was the only thing preventing you from bleeding out completely. He had hit the emergency signal on his suit, and he knew help was on the way, but he had no way to gauge how long it would be before they arrived.

“Okay…” he breathed out unsteadily. His hands trembled as they moved around your body, coaxed in your blood. “I have to move you.”

Nodding, you clenched your eyes shut and gritted your teeth. Dick wrapped his hands around yours to haul you off of the bar. You howled, muscles twitching as it was ripped through you again. Your vision blurred as he lay you back down on the ground, applying pressure hard to the wound.

“Come on, Y/n. Just stay with me a little longer. Help is coming.”

“Dick…” you forced out through wet coughs. “You have to do it.”

He shook his head frantically. He hated doing it. It was something that was only supposed to be a last resort. “No. No, I can't do that to you.”

He turned his head, desperate to spot the red and green suits heading his direction, but all he could see for miles were the lights of the city.

“Robin, where are you?” He asked into the coms.

There was a crackle before he replied. “I‘m going as fast as I can, but I’m about 10 minutes out.”

He cursed. You were too far out for him to reach the bat cave and Damian was still too far away. 10 minutes and you would have lost too much blood.

“Do it.” Yo pleased. “Dick. Please.”

He took a deep breath and turned his head away, before pulling out the needle and thread that was kept in the small Medkit you carried in your suit for emergencies. Dick struggled to thread the needle with the way his fingers shook. But after finally sterilising and threading the small tool, he positioned it above the wound. It was still bleeding heavily.

“I’m so sorry.” He muttered as he made the first stitch.

You bucked forwards, contorting at the stabbing against your skin. He tried to be quick, but that did nothing to stop you feeling every stitch as the thread tugged against your skin to close the rift. You had almost blacked out by the time he had rolled you over to stitch up the entry wound. Every second was nothing but torment that seemed to replace the blood you lost.

By the time he had pulled the last stitch closed, you were a whimpering mess. Your face was stained with tears and your hair was a mess. Your whole body felt like one giant bruise; everything ached and your joints felt like a hinge that needed to be oiled.

Dick had tried his hardest to keep you awake, whispering sweet apologies into your hair as he rocked you back and forth in his arms, though you weren’t 100% sure who he was trying to make feel better; you or himself.

Your body had slowly begun to go numb after a while as you waited anstily for Damian to arrive. A chill had begun to set into your bones. By the time he had finally arrived, the pain and your senses had dulled into almost nothing at all.

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY 18 ⛤ DAY 20 ->

Taglist:

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

@amaryllis23

[extremelyblackandwhite]

pairing: dad!bucky barnes x au pair!reader

warnings: age gap (reader is 10 years younger than bucky), smut (18+, dni if under 18)

author’s note: sorry for the delay in this chapter, i fell asleep early last friday and then woke up at like 2AM and felt like watching Barbie instead. anyway, here it is.

masterlist

your wicked smile it says it all mixed with my sad and cynical

Y/N couldn't have followed the nurse faster the moment they told her Sadie was out of the operation room. She couldn't wait to be next to her, to see her. She already didn't like the idea that she hadn't been able to see hr before surgery so now all she wanted to do was not leave her sight. She was led by the nurse into the room they'd assigned Sadie. Once she got to the room, Sadie was already awake, looking at the TV in her room which was showing some cartoon that Y/N was certain Sadie was confused by, judging by her pouting and fiddling of the sheets.

      - Hi baby. - Y/N said as she got closer to Sadie. The red head turned around, smiling once she saw her. - What are you watching huh?

The 2-year old looked at her with glazed eyes, still under the effects of anaesthesia and other medications before shrugging. Y/N smiled, kissing her cheek and nose before grabbing the remote and logging into Disney so she could put on some Bluey for Sadie to watch. Her pout soon disappeared as the familiar blue heeler showed up on screen. Y/N straightened the sheets around her, trying to fluff up the pillow only to find it to be flatter than a pancake.

      - Hello, hello. - Bucky walked through the door carrying the toy box to place it next to the bed. - How are you, Sisi? Hm? You gave daddy a very big fright.

      - Sorry. - Sadie stared at the TV, more interested on the TV show. Bucky scanned through the box before starting to place her favourite plushies around her.

      - You got quite a tough one, Sergeant. - Doctor Tinsdale walked into the room, holding a medical board. - Surgery went well and unless something happens, you can take your daughter home. In 2 to 4 weeks, she'll be good as new.

      - Thank you. - Bucky shook the doctor's hand. - I really appreciate your help, Dr. Tinsdale.

      - Anytime, Sergeant. I'm very glad to have met your daughter and your wife.

Y/N looked up from the bed where she was with Sadie. Should she correct him? She wasn't Bucky's wife but if she said she wasn't maybe Dr. Tinsdale would put two and two together and realise that Sadie was not Y/N's daughter but instead his own daughter's daughter.

      - I'm really happy you finally settled down. - Dr. Tinsdale said, making the situation as equally awkward for Bucky. - Always thought you and my Anna would end up marrying but it doesn't look like you've done bad for yourself.

      - Yeah ... well ... - Bucky scratched the back of his neck. - Thank you once again.

      - I'll leave you three alone.

The door closed and the silence in the room couldn't be any louder. Y/N got to trying to fluff up the pillow again, going nowhere. What's the point in paying a really expensive health insurance if the hospital will only provide crepe thin pillows?

      - You're gonna be sued by that pillow if you continue to beat the heck out of it. - he chuckled, sitting on the opposite side of the bed, cuddling Sadie next to her.

      - Don't say the h word in front of Sadie. - she gave up on the pillow. - I'm gonna go to the gift shop and see if I can buy Sadie a better pillow.

      - Y/N, just rest. - Bucky put his hand on her waist to stop her from getting up. - You've been panicking over everything for the past hours. Just sit here with me and Sadie.

      - But she needs a pi ...

      - I'll tell Steve to bring hers from home when he comes to visit. - he took his phone out of his pocket to text Steve. - By the way ... who did you call? Chris?

      - You're obsessed with Chris. - she rolled her eyes, tucking Sadie in and moving her hair away from her face. - If I didn't know better I'd say you're in love with him.

      - You know, Anna showed up while you were asleep.

      - Really? - Y/N fiddled with the bedding, looking at the TV and now the very interesting episode of Bluey. More interesting than Bucky and his relentless teasing. - Nice chat?

      - It's just funny you see because I didn't call her and Steve said he didn't call her.

      - Maybe Dr. Tinsdale called her. After all you two used to ... you know ... do things.

      - Why would he call her? He thinks you're my wife and Sadie's mum so why don't you cut the lying and admit to calling Anna?

Y/N bite her lip, kissing the side of Sadie's head before telling her she would be right back. Last thing she wanted was to fight in front of Sadie, for all that Sadie knew she and Bucky only talked nice and it was all sunshine and rainbows. Bucky followed her, arms crossed. He didn't know where to find himself if angry or if super angry. How come Steve and Y/N wanted to keep playing peace makers?

      - What's with you starting a discussion in front of Sadie?

      - What's with me? What's with you? You called my kid's mother without my consent?

      - It's not like I fucked her, Bucky, you big drama queen. I called her because you were upset about her not being here.

      - You crossed a line. - he pointed at her but she looked at him unbothered. - It's my kid's mother, the most awful woman in the world.

      - I think that's an overstatement and you were upset, I wanted you to be happy. Besides, she birthed the kid, it's her right to know if she's ok or not.

      - Oh you need me to be happy?

      - I don't need you to happy! I just wanted to make you ... have you be happy. You were stressed!

      - God, you're such a little ... such a goddamn little ...

      - Bitch? - Y/N interrupted him and the colour drained from Bucky's face.

      - I didn't say that. - he raised his hands in defense. - I didn't say that.

      - Now you listen to me. - she stabbed his chest with her finger, taking a step forward as he took a step backward. - I will not apologise for telling the kid's mother that she's in the hospital. I will not apologise for telling her because if something happened, we might need her. I will not apologise, you hear me? If that makes me a bitch then be it. You wanna fire me? Fine.

Bucky opened his mouth to say something but instead just mumbled sorry before going back to his daughter's room. He thought he needed Anna to be here and she had been here so why wasn't he happy? Y/N stayed outside, she took a deep breathe. Had she crossed the line? Maybe, but she wanted him happy. She dragged her hands down her hair, holding them to the side of her face, closing her eyes.

      - Wow, you told him. - a voice made her snap her eyes open. A woman, an elegant woman, made her way towards her. - The rival companies ought to hire you.

      - I'm sorry, who are you?

      - I'm Anna. Anna Tinsdale. - she extended her hand towards her but Y/N only stared at her hand. - I wanted to meet you, well, meet you while you're awake. You did tell me you'd kill me if I didn't come to see Bucky.

      - Y/N. - she shook her hand slowly. - I ... I should get back inside before Sadie ...

      - Is she ok? Sadie? - Anna asked, a clear look of concern across her face.

Y/N felt a tang on her stomach, before giving her a sympathetic smile. She put her hand on Anna's back and guided her far from the room. Last thing that she wanted was for Bucky, Sadie or even Dr. Tinsdale to see Anna. Instead, the two walked to the waiting room and sat on the green chairs against the wall.

      - He doesn't tell me anything and just because I don't want to be her mother doesn't mean I don't worry. I mean, she came out of me for fucks sake. - she looked up. - I know you hate me.

      - I don't. I don't like you but I don't hate you either.

      - Me and James, we were friends and more than that for so long and I know that we'll never gonna get that but he just hates me now.

      - He doesn't hate you. - Y/N sighed. - He's just upset and you didn't do things the best way. I don't think Bucky actually hates anything.

Anna looked at Y/N before giving her a smile.

      - I'm glad she has you. - she held Y/N's hand, letting go before getting up. - Thank you for that. I'm glad she has you.

      - It'll get better. Give it time.

      - Not for me, but for you ... well, you'll see.

(...)

Sadie was a trooper. She'd come back home and was behaving as if she hadn't had surgery, mostly staying either in her room or in the living room whenever she got tired of the room. Y/N was cutting vegetables in the kitchen to make soup when the bell rang. She looked down at the RING camera screen on the kitchen seeing Chris. Fuck, she'd completely forgotten about Chris. She buzzed him in, before cleaning up her hands and opening the door. Chris stood there, wearing a long coat and a no doubt designer scarf while holding a bouquet of daisies.

      - Chris, hi.

      - Hey, Y/N. - he handed her the daisies. - How are you? I haven't heard from you in a while.

      - Oh you know ... - Y/N walked to the kitchen to grab a vase to put the flowers in. - Sadie got back from the hospital and I've been looking after her.

      - What about her father? Bucky hasn't left the company.

      - Bucky has work to do while I'm waiting for my supervisors to give me the final feedback on my thesis draft. - she looked at him, not wanting to get into a discussion which loomed over them. - Besides, Bucky usually takes her from 5 PM onwards.

      - So, you are free from 5PM?

      - Most days yes. - she leaned against the counter - Listen I'm sorry about not speaking to you for the past days, Sadie just got back from the hospital and I don't wanna leave her alone.

      - If you're free from 5PM, I could take you to dinner.

      - Chris ... - she sighed.

      - Doesn't have to be too far. Heck, we could go to the tapas place around the corner so you won't be too far from Sadie.

She found herself at a crossroads. She either said yes and avoided a discussion or she said no and the two would go round 4 on how Y/N spends most of her time with Sadie rather than living her own life. Right now, she preferred the first option.

      - Okay.

      - I'll pick you up.

(...)

Bucky came home and Sadie was wrapped in one of her quilted blankets, staring at the screen while Bluey played. How she hadn't gotten bored of it was still a surprise for him. He put his coat on the hanger and went to the couch, kissing the top of her head before starting to tickle her making her giggle.

      - What are you up to, bug? - he asked, straightening the blanket. - Still making a report on Bluey?

      - No.

      - No? Is this for fun then? - he leaned against the couch as Sadie cuddled against his side. - How are you today, bug? Any pain?

      - No.

      - Good. Where is Y/N? Have you banished her?

      - I'm here. - Y/N came down the stairs, holding a pair of heels in one hand and trying to put on her earrings with the other. - I'm here.

And here she was. Maybe she had decided to adopt a more formal style around the house, parading around in a black cocktail dress and an updo.

      - New dress?

      - No. - Y/N said, moving around to tidy up some of the rubbish that had started to accumulate in the living room. - Chris is coming to pick me up for dinner.

      - God, you're still going out with him. - he got up to follow Y/N to the kitchen. - You don't even like the guy.

      - Yes, I do. He brought flowers.

      - That would mean he likes you, not the other way around. Just admit it, he's boring and you don't like him.

      - I'll remember that once he's balls deep inside of me tonight.

      - Can't go that deep. - he chuckled. - You're just being stubborn. Or you're people pleasing. Either way, you don't really like him.

      - And you would know that because?

      - Because you've been dodging the guy since Sadie got to the hospital. Heck, you've been even using me as an excuse not to see him.

      - Is that all? I'm too tired to put up with you. - she threw her shoes to the ground to step onto them.

      - Why are you forcing this? So he's bad in bed, find someone who isn't.

      - He's not bad in bed.

      - Y/N, I know when a woman is satisfied in bed. I pride myself in it.

      - Oh yes because you are Bucky Barnes, lord of everything with tits.

      - You're a scholarly woman, don't use that sort of language.

      - Fine, mammary glands. - she rolled her eyes. - What makes you think that you're the only guy who's good in bed? I'll have you know that Chris is a gentleman.

      - So he cries in bed.

      - Why are we still discussing my sex life?

      - Fine. If it's not your sex life, then what is it? He is very boring but I thought maybe the two of you could discuss Columbia or something.

      - We're seeing each other, Bucky. But of course you wouldn't know about that since your idea of seeing someone is fucking their brains out.

Bucky cocked his head to the side, eyeing her up and down before walking up to her and leaning down to whisper in her ear.

      - Why? Are you jealous?

      - Urgh. - she pushed him away. - Sadie needs to go to bed by 7, Bucky. Not 9, or she'll be a little demon.

      - I would say have fun but we both know that won't happen. Maybe you should take a book not to bother yourself too much with him.

      - Maybe you should butt out of my life!

(...)

How dare he continue with this chatter? Y/N liked Chris. He was nice, he was perfectly nice. Sure, did he have anything else they conversed with other than Columbia? Usually no and his theories on modern psychology vastly diverted from hers. Yet, she was a scholar, a future member of the postdoctoral community and as such she had to accept different perceptions of theory. Moreover, who was Bucky Barnes to dish out relationship advise? The only woman she had thought had potential to be his girlfriend had been thrown aside by Bucky because, according to him, she had a weird attachment to her ex girlfriend. So, how come a man who hadn't dated a woman in probably more than 20 years had to weigh in on her relationship? Heck, he didn't even date the woman who was the mother of his child.

She looked at Chris as he continued to thrust into her. She wasn't entirely sure how long this had been going on but she did know she had checked her watch once. Was Bucky right? Was Chris boring in bed? No. No, this was just him doing what he does best, manipulating people into believing his words. Besides, what gave him the right to decide who was good or not in bed? Like, c'mon, he was attractive sure but not all attractive men are good in bed. Yet again, she had heard whispers and she had to admit he had one of those voices that dripped with lust and sin every time he used it in a whisper.

She thought about it, thought about how it would be to have him whisper dirty something in someone's ear in that accent of his. How his chapped lips would kiss down from her ear down to her neck in a prolongation of a tease, his hand skilfully toying with her clit. Now that was a man who wouldn't be a gentleman in the bedroom, he was barely one outside of it. He'd be the type to grab your hips and thrust into you without warning, moving like an animal until his everlasting stamina ran out. He'd be the type to grunt and moan against your ear.

      - James. - oh fuck. Chris starred at Y/N for a while, trying to compute what she had just said. He knew what she had just said.

Fuck. Oh, fuck.

      - What was that?

      - What was what? - maybe playing dumb would work. After all, it worked in old romantic movies. Maybe she could say she meant Thames yet who would moan over a river in the middle of less than exciting sex.

      - You moaned someone else's name.

      - Did I? - she hated herself. She hated to play the fool but she wasn't about to admit she was fantasising, wait, no, not fantasising, she wasn't fantasising about anyone, she was merely theorising about what sex with Bucky Barnes would be. Theory, not practice, not truth. - Shit, I'm sorry, I don't know where my head is.

      - I'll say. - Chris slipped out of her, pulling the comforter over the two of them. - You really need to quit that job. Your head hasn't been in the right place for the past month.

Thank god he hadn't connected the dots. That would be an awkward conversation.

      - I'm not gonna quit my job. I like my job.

      - That's not your job, Y/N. C'mon, you're gonna have a PhD in no time and then you'll actually have to go in the real world and get a real job.

      - What is that supposed to mean, Christopher?

      - Barnes has you playing housewife. Face it, you look after his kid, you cook, you do laundry. You're basically his wife without the sex. It's a waste of your potential.

      - So you're saying being a housewife is a waste of potential?

      - That's not what I meant. I'm saying you could do more than adhere to traditional stereotypes of your gender just so you can make a paycheck.

      - Just so I can make a pay check? Christopher, while you may have been born with a goddamn gold spoon in your mouth, I wasn't. Do you know how expensive rent is in New York? You think I could afford even to breathe here solely on my stipend? No! That job you think is so below me is the only reason why I have a roof over my head and don't have to worry if my monthly stipend will cover my expenses or if my manager will mind me skipping a day of work to focus on my studies. Besides, I'll be damned if I'll take feminist theories from a trust fund man baby. - she got out of bed, grabbing her shoes and her dress.

      - C'mon, Y/N, I'm just trying to help you. I want you to be able to do what you enjoy. You're telling me looking after a two year old is what you envision as career?

      - I have career ambitions. I know where I'm going, I don't need your help.

      - You don't even know if you're passing your PhD viva. - he said which made Y/N snap her head to look at him. - Maybe if you spent more time at school instead of being at Barnes even beckoning call, you'll have more certainty is what I mean.

      - Fuck you, Christopher!

taglist: @talesofadragon @themermaidscales82 @winters1917 @vladsgirlxx @stinkerbelle007 @maybefoxysouls @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @chipilerendi @kandis-mom @belennasif @fedeffy @abitofblues

[chiefdirector]

hello, can you write an imagine with Dr. Neil Melendez using prompts C & P from fluff? I love your writing, thank youu 🛐🛐🛐

Anaesthesia | Neil Melendez | The Good Doctor

Doctors, especially surgeons, know the side effects of surgeries like the back of their hands; they have too. The effects of anaesthesia are also commonly known, however they are not usually witnessed or enjoyed by the operating surgeon or anyone on their surgical staff. They tended to check in with the patient thoroughly after the majority of the medication had worn off and had been replaced with morphine.

It had been a while since Neil had experienced it first hand, it was something he swore to himself that he would change. In the beginning he had been worried when (y/n) had to go in for emergency surgery, their appendix had burst. Now, he couldn't help himself from giggling at them whilst encouraging their drug induced antics.

"You're really pretty, you know that right?" They slurred, trying to maintain eye contact with him.

Neil smiled. "Thank you, Dr. (l/n)."

"It is very, very, very, important to me that you know that." They watched as he just laughed alongside them as they continued their rambling. "I don't feel normal."

His smiled dropped.

"`What doesn't feel normal; what's wrong?"

(y/n) pondered his question for a moment, letting the silence thickly drag in the air. They didn't understand the gravity of their declaration and the million thoughts that were rushing through Neil's head. What if the surgery had gone wrong? What if they were experiencing complications and they had to go back under? What if they-?

"I know what it is."

Melendez looked up expectantly.

"I'm cold, I need cuddles."

"Cuddles?" he ask incredulously. (y/n) just nodded their head as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. At this, his worried seem to vanish in a flash and he moved so he could position himself at (y/n)'s side. "Well, who am I do deny a patient."

Masterlist

[megalony]

Like Father, Like Son- Part 14

Thank you all for the lovely supporting messages on this series, I hope you all like this part.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr​ @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel​ @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c​ @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac​ @vousmemanqueez-blog​ @jonesyaddiction​ @milanosaurus @httpfandxms​ @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls​ @mrsalwayswritex​ @rogerina-owns-me  @hellsdragon​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @crazylittlethingg​ @allauraleigh @onceuponadetectivedemigod​ @ceres27​ @avyannadawn​

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Series masterlist

Summary: Henry and (Y/n) have five children together meaning their lives are always busy and complicated. But their family is tested when their eldest son decides to take his anger out on (Y/n).  

Enjoy.

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

"Henry?"

Lifting his gaze from staring endlessly into his coffee cup, Henry felt a wave of relief and sadness welling up in his chest when his eyes landed on his mum.

He shifted Briar a little higher up against his chest, feeling the toddler nuzzle his face into his neck with his arms cocooned up to his small chest. Meeting his mum halfway up the corridor, Henry wrapped his free arm around her and pulled her into his chest. When he saw his mum yesterday he knew he had scared the life out of her with how he had almost cried that (Y/n) and the kids were in an accident and he had to go and find them at the hospital.

He couldn't stop apologising on the phone last night for how he had worried her, he didn't mean to do that and he would never just drop the kids off with her without at least two days advance notice. But he didn't want to bring the little ones to the hospital when he didn't know how badly the rest of his family was hurt.

"How are they?" Lisa rubbed her finger against Briar's cheek before they slowly started to walk back down the corridor towards the room.

Henry had taken to walking up and down the corridor to tire Briar out and so he could go and get himself a drink to keep him awake.

"(Y/n)'s finally asleep, but Harvey hasn't woken up yet."

Neither Henry or (Y/n) had slept last night, they spent the hours watching over Harvey and waiting impatiently to see if he would wake up. At two in the morning when the sedation started to wear off, he started to get distressed. His limbs were subtally shaking, he was froffing at the mouth and his heartbeat was fluctuating so he was put back under anaesthesia for the third time and anti-convulsant meds were put straight into his blood through a drip.

The plan was to keep him on the meds in liquid form, then when he woke up and hopefully started to get better, he could be put on them in tablet form. The doctors didn't know whether he would keep having seizures once his brain swelling went down so they wanted him on meds for at least a month to be sure.

"What have the doctors said?"

"Not a lot really," Henry took a big swig of his coffee but the caffiene didn't perk him up and he knew his expression gave away that he was at his breaking point. "If it weren't for the seizures they would have said he was fine and he should have been awake by now. If he can't wake up today without a seizure they want us to agree to put him into an induced coma so his brain can heal for a few days."

Henry wasn't sure about agreeing to that just yet. He didn't want Harvey shoved into a deep slumber, something about it just didn't sit right with him. But on the other hand, Henry knew that they didn't have any other choice. If he couldn't wake up without his brain going into shock and having a fit then there was very little choice. They would have to put him in a coma so they didn't have to sedate him every few hours. At least in a coma his body could rest and start to heal and his swelling could go down.

They rounded the corner and Henry pointed out the right room for them to enter. In the far left side of the room sat Briar's pushchair and next to it, Athena was in her carrier happily dozing off to sleep.

And then there was (Y/n), sat in the chair next to Harvey's bed with her arms folded over on the bed and her head resting on her arms as she finally managed to get a few minutes sleep. Both her hands were wrapped around Harvey's hand that she hadn't let go of since the early hours of the morning.

Walking into the room, Henry gently set Briar down in his chair and handed him a beaker of juice before he moved to stand behind (Y/n)'s chair. He placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned down to kiss the back of her head while his mum sat down in the empty chair on the other side of the bed.

He let his eyes wander back over to Harvey but he couldn't get over the state of his head. It didn't matter how many hours Henry had spent watching over his second boy, he couldn't help how his stomach turned into tight knots or how his heart seemed to squeeze and clench whenever he glanced over at Harvey's temple. He just didn't look right.

The left side of his head had swollen up like a balloon overnight until half of his head looked like Frankenstein's monster's huge overlapping brow. The wound was angry and inflamed with a bright red streak and multicoloured bruising splotched all around the shaved area. It was like there was a big helium balloon sitting just underneath Harvey's skin and the colours were showing up. And with how big the cut was, it made his eyebrow swollen which meant when he opened his eyes his eyelid might be pushing down a little.

Henry didn't want to see Harvey with a shaved head. Since he had been a baby he had lovely brown locks of hair that made him look just like Henry and Henry loved that. He loved his little double and he knew Harvey loved his floppy hair, whenever they went to the hairdresser he only let them snip an inch off his hair since he was a toddler.

Time seemed to slip away from them while Henry stayed hunched over the chair, kissing the back of (Y/n)'s neck and rubbing his hands up and down her arms while she continued to sleep.

When Harvey had finally settled down early in the morning, Henry had managed to convince (Y/n) to go for an X-ray and then get her chest binded when it was confirmed she had broken two ribs and fractured a third. But he was struggling to get her to agree to crutches, she shouldn't be putting weight on her knee when it had been dislocated but she didn't care. When Harvey was up and about, Henry would try again.

"Henry, look."

Opening his eyes, Henry leaned over (Y/n) to try and see what his mum was talking about and a spark of adrenaline came to life in the pit of his stomach. Harvey's fingers were moving. This meant that he was either going to go straight into a seizure, wake up and then have a seizure, or, more impossibly, he might just wake up without a fit.

Henry was praying for the latter but not getting his hopes too high after the night they had had.

"Sweetheart, wake up. He's starting to come round." He gently held (Y/n)'s shoulders and started rubbing his thumbs in circles against her skin to rouse her. (Y/n) felt like she had been asleep for hours but she instinctively knew it couldn't have been more than an hour she had dozed off. She managed a weak smile when she saw Lisa sitting opposite her but her eyes widened and she felt more alert when she felt Harvey's arm twitching underneath hers.

Moving her hand, (Y/n) gently brushed her fingers between Harvey's curls that were still there for the time being and she brought his hand up to rest against her cheek. All three of them seemed to hold their breaths and wait in agony for him to start moving. Deep down they knew what they were expecting to happen but they daren't say anything just yet.

A mumble passed through his lips and Henry tried to strain his ears to work out what he was saying but he couldn't fathom it out.

Harvey's head started to nod back and forth kind of like what Charlie did as a stim to calm himself down and his pale lips finally started to mumble 'dad' over and over, finally getting a bit louder.

"I'm here bud, we're both here." Henry could of groaned when he reached across to ruffle Harvey's hair that felt wrong to touch with how bad the state of his head was. But he wanted Harvey to have that touch that he always associated with Henry so he could be sure he was with him.

"Can you open your eyes baby?" (Y/n) kissed the back of Harvey's hand and leaned back into Henry, smiling when she felt his chin perching on her shoulder. This was longer than usual, this was the most awake he had been since the crash without suddenly droning off into a seizure. It was promising.

"Mum?"

"Yeah, it's me baby and nanna's here too. Open those eyes," Moving her free hand, (Y/n) leaned across and pressed the emergency button at the back of the bed. They needed the doctor here to assess Harvey and be around while he was awake. This was the closest they were getting to him waking up and they needed to make sure he was alright.

It took a while for Harvey to even try and blink, his eyes were moving beneath his eyelids that were twitching like they were glued shut. But when he finally started to blink, his lids fluttered like butterfly wings and squinted at the brightness of the room.

(Y/n)'s heart could have broken in her chest right the very moment Harvey moved a trembling hand up to try and touch his head. He barely skimmed his fingertip over his stitches before he shrieked and pulled back before a low, guttural moan escaped his lips. His eyes were barely open but now they were watering and big sobs started to wrack his chest.

He must be in pain.

(Y/n) turned her head to look back at Henry, her own eyes glossing with tears. What were they supposed to say? What could they do?

"Shh, buddy it's alright just calm down. You've banged up your head so don't try touch it." Henry moved towards the top of the bed and kissed Harvey's temple before he held onto his other hand when he tried to move it towards his head again. They couldn't have him prodding at it becuse he was clearly in a tremendous amount of pain.

A sharp gasp escaped (Y/n)'s lips and Henry sucked in a deep breath, trying not to recoil back when Harvey's eyes finally opened wide enough for them to see his left eye. His usual golden brown orb was there, but a deep ring of red was circled around his eye and the white of his eye was bloodshot.

"Everything okay in here?" Doctor Stone, who had been looking after Harvey since he got here, came bustling through the door along with an older nurse who they knew as Angie.

"He's starting to wake up,"

Lisa crossed around the bed and stood next to (Y/n), resting a hand on her shoulder while the doctor stood on Harvey's other side. It was evident on his face that he was relieved to see the young boy awake and not having another seizure. They got their hopes up at two in the morning that he migiht just wake up, only to watch him be sedated straight away when he seized.

"Alright Harvey, I'm doctor Stone. Can you see properly, are you having any problems with your vision?"

Grabbing a small torch from his pocket, the doctor was very gentle when he pulled Harvey's eyelid back and flashed the light across his right eye to watch it constrict. Then he did the same to his bloodshot eye which thankfully was constricting meaning his eyes were still sensitive to bright lights.

"It's... blurry." Harvey motioned to his left eye but he couldn't stop from whining at the pain that was floating around in his blood.

"That's okay, your head took a big beating yesterday. Can you wiggle your toes?" He nodded with a small smile when Harvey twitched his toes and moved his feet, showing he truly didn't get any nerve damage. "Good, are you in any pain?"

"My head, oww, mum,"

"Shh, alright baby." (Y/n) kissed his hand again when he began to cry but she looked at the doctor when he lifted up Harvey's left hand. His fingers were twitching and his hand and up his arm was trembling very subtally which didn't look good.

When the doctor let go of Harvey's hand and tried to touch and assess his head, a howling scream left Harvey's lips and his whole body jumped against the bed. (Y/n) reached across to grab his hands and hold them down, she could see he was about to hit the doctor to get him away. Violent, horrid sobs left his chapped lips and he began to screech even though the doctor was only very lightly touching his head.

"Harvey-"

Henry lightly sighed to himself and leaned down to press his hands on Harvey's shoulders when he started to wriggle and become distressed. His knees came up towards his stomach and he tossed from side to side, jerking his hands out of (Y/n)'s so he could push everyone away.

"Okay, nurse can you put some morphine in his drip please?"

"Dad!"

Jerking his arms out of (Y/n)'s hold, Harvey reached up and deadlocked his arms around Henry's neck until his dad was almost smothering him. Henry braced his hand on the back of the bed so his weight wasn't all thrust down on Harvey who would be squashed if that happened. He wrapped his other arm around Harvey's waist and tucked his face into Harvey's neck. He could feel his heart physically shattering with his baby boy sobbing into his neck.

He kept hold of Harvey while the nurse quickly injected a shot of morphine into the IV tube near his wrist.

"I'm here, shh you're alright, dad's here."

"Dad..."

Henry didn't realise how much strength Harvey had until he tried to pull back and the arms around his neck tightened like iron bars and crushed him back down to his sons chest.

"Okay, let me sit on the bed with you then." It wouldn't do his back any favours to stay stooped over the bed in a headlock for much longer.

Harvey seemed to have an internal debate before he relented and let his arms go loose. He went like a ragdoll, allowing Henry to lift him up so he could sit down on the bed. Henry sat up against the back of the bed and spread his legs so Harvey could shuffle between them and cuddle up close to his chest. Harvey laid on his side and brought his legs up near his stomach and wrapped his arms as far as they would go around Henry's toned abdomen, snuggling into him as much as he could.

Out of instinct, Henry's hand went to go towards Harvey's hair but he recoiled back and moved his hand to his son's neck instead. He couldn't touch his head without inflicting immense pain and that cut a deep wound within him.

"When he's settled this afternoon we'll take scans of his eyes, just to check them out. His brain being swollen might just be pushing on some nerves or they could be damaged from the force of the crash but it shouldn't be permanent."

"Thank you,"

"I'll take little one for a stroll, give you all some time together," Lisa kissed Harvey's outstretched hand before she got Briar's pushchair and left the room after the doctor. It would be one less child for them to worry about and they could focus on Harvey for a little while.

"What happened?" Harvey's voice was quiet and Henry guessed the morphine was already kicking into his system because he had gone rather still in his arms.

"Someone crashed into us yesterday, you got banged around in the car and hurt your head, baby." (Y/n) moved to sit on the edge of the bed and slowly rubbed her hand up and down his arm.

"Is everyone okay? W-where's Pete?" It seemed to dawn on him that the only siblings in the room with him were the ones who weren't in the car when it crashed. Peter was always by his side like a little shadow but he wasn't here right now. Was he alright? Did he get hurt?

"Everyone's fine, bud. Pete and Angel are with auntie Leah and Charlie's with grandad. You gave us a scare, though, we were worried."

A comfortable silence fell around them and Henry relished in the feeling of having his boy in his arms. During the night he had contemplated just about every scenario that could possibly happen over the next few days, one of them being the thought that Harvey wouldn't wake up. To have him here in his arms, awake and as well as he could be was the best outcome possible and it was one Henry worried they won't get.

Turning her head, (Y/n) glanced over at Athena to check she was still asleep but a tremor rattled through her body when she felt Harvey jump beside her. His trembling hand moved back to touch his head, it was so painful but it was also an itching kind of pain just beneath the skin that he wanted to be rid of.

His fingers graced over the top of the stitches before he suddenly realised his hair wasn't in the way. His hand moved rapidly around the top of his head even though it made him wince until he started to scream.

They shaved his head.

His head was the size of a watermelon.

The pain was excrutiating.

There were so many different reasons for him to start screaming and each one made his blood boil until all he could do was scream until he had no air left in his body.

"Baby, baby it's okay-"

"M-my hair... oow it hurts!" He didn't know which reason to cry for the worst, the fact that his beloved hair was now half gone and ruined, the fact his head seems to have doubled in size since he last remembered. Or the fact that he couldn't touch his head without feeling the blinding pain or even open his left eye properly due to the swelling.

"Buddy, shh. You had a really deep cut, they had to shave some of your hair to stitch you back up. It'll grow back." Henry's words weren't comforting enough so he wrapped his arms tighter around Harvey and started to rock him like he was a babe in arms again.

They couldn't have him getting so pent up like this it would make him feel worse. He didn't need any stress when his head and brain were swollen like they were.

"Shh... oh baby."

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

"Alright baby, I'll be back first thing in the morning and I'll bring Angel and the boys to see you, okay?" (Y/n) kneeled down in front of the wheelchair Harvey was slumped down in and rubbed her hands over his knees reassuringly.

She needed to go and get the kids and take them all home, they had had enough mayhem for one day. Athena needed to be settled at home and have a bath and her evening feed and Briar needed to go sleep in his own bed rather than his pushchair. The rest of the kids needed feeding and being in their own beds.

(Y/n) didn't want to leave, she really didn't. The thought of going home and leaving Harvey here after what he had been through made her heart ache but she couldn't leave Charlie, Angel and Peter any longer.

But Henry was staying. Harvey couldn't be on his own in case something else happened and he wouldn't cope without one parent sat with him and with the way he was clinging to Henry, they both agreed he should stay the night. Then in the morning they would switch and Henry would have the rest of the kids and get a shower while (Y/n) stayed with Harvey. This was going to be the arrangement until Harvey was able to come home.

"Love you,"

"I love you too," Pushing to her feet, (Y/n) kissed his temple before she rounded the chair to hug Henry. After sleeping the early hours of the morning on Henry's lap in an armchair, (Y/n) wanted to curl up in their own bed with Henry's arms around her. But for now, a lasting hug and simmering kiss would have to be enough.

"I'll call you when he's asleep. Love you, baby."

"Okay, I love you," Leaning on her tiptoes, (Y/n) kissed his cheek before she got in the lift to go downstairs. She had walked up to the assessment ward with them since Harvey was having an eye scan done.

"Alright bud, here we go."

Henry rapped his knuckles on the door before slowly opening it and pushing the wheelchair into the room when they were beckoned in. It was a simple scan just like they did at the opticians, Doctor Stone told Henry whey wanted to see all the veins and nerves and the back of his eyes to see if there was any damage. He was very sure there wouldn't be lasting damage but they needed to be safe.

"Is it Harvey?"

"Yes it is," Henry answered when all Harvey could do was shrink down in his seat.

"Let's get you sat down and it will be over within minutes."

"Dad..." Turning his head, Harvey looked up at Henry who towered over him like a real-life superhero trying to protect him. He didn't want to do this, he hated the optician and he still felt ill, his head felt so heavy and huge and painful that he was still whimpering in pain. He didn't want to have big bright lights shined into his eyes.

"It won't be for long, I'll sit with you, come on."

Moving round, Henry sat down in the seat and motioned to his lap, smiling when Harvey slowly hobbled out of the chair and clambered onto his lap. He leaned his back into Henry's chest, feeling strong arms wrapping around his middle to secure him and keep him safe.

"Alrighty, rest your chin here and press your forehead into bar there." The doctor lowered down the bars until Harvey's chin was firmly resting on the chin rest but Harvey pulled away when he tried to push the plastic bar against his temple. His head was still fragile and it hurt, he wasn't pushing his forehead into that to make it hurt.

"It hurts!"

"Okay, just get as close to the bar as you can, you don't have to touch it. Now, a little assessment first. When you see a red dot appear on the screen, press this button for me."

He pushed a little red button across to Harvey before pressing a button ready for the lights to appear. It would check how good his vision was and determine any spots in his vision or the corners of his eyes that weren't working properly.

"Dad, I have a headache." Harvey turned to look round at Henry when the two-minute assessment was done. Even behind his eyes was starting to throb and closing his eyes and trying to rest didn't help earlier. He wanted to sleep but he was in too much discomfort.

"Just the scan left and then you can go back and sleep, you're doing amazing, buddy." With a sigh, Harvey turned back to the scanner again.

"Can you open your eyes wide?"

"I- I can't,"

His left eye was now almost swollen shut and he had cried continuously until his face went blue because he hated the feeling of trying to open his eye and only partially seeing blobs and blurs. It was like someone was holding their finger on his eyebrow and constantly pushing it down into his eye.

"I'll hold it open, stay still buddy." Henry tried to be as gentle as he could when he pulled the top of Harvey's eyelid up. It was the only way they would get a picture, he couldn't help his face and forehead being swollen like it was.

Harvey didn't like it.

He didn't like the blinding white light that flashed in front of him or the dark blue that followed the camera flash. He didn't like the headache that immediately formed behind his eyes or the blaring red dot he had to stare directly at to get a good picture. The dot wasn't even a proper one, it was tiny and far away and his left eye couldn't focus on anything even with Henry holding his eyelid up.

"All done, good job."

Henry nodded and leaned back in the chair but his smile slowly faded when Harvey didn't try to get off his lap and get back in the chair. He stayed almost completely motionless apart from the odd whimper before his head suddenly flopped back against Henry's shoulder.

"What's up, bud?"

After a minute of complete silence, Henry gently moved Harvey's head so he could try and look down at him to see what the problem was.

"Harvey- fucking Jesus!"

When Harvey's head suddenly pivoted back into his face, Henry's head snapped back so hard a muscle in his neck twinged. A throbbing pain pulsed in his nose as blood trickled down the back of his throat and down his face towards his lips. Tears blurred Henry's vision and streamed down his face but he had to push through them and move because he had Harvey violently throwing himself around on his lap.

He was seizing.

Wrapping both arms around Harvey's jerking middle, Henry pushed the chair back before he slipped off the edge of the chair and went down on his knees. He laid Harvey down on his side on the floor and quickly wiped his face on his bare arm so the blood didn't pool down onto his son.

Henry kept his left hand secured at the base of Harvey's neck and moved his other hand to rest on Harvey's arm, keeping his boy laid on his side so if he threw up like he had been doing while having a seizure, he wouldn't choke. He continued to sniff and snort the blood from his nose and mouth, flinching every time Harvey voilently flopped against the floor like a fish.

He was going to be littered in bruises tomorrow.

[aswallowimprisoned]

Restless far from a Wine Dark sea - Sedation

Nurse Brunel checks in on a post-sedated vampiric merman to find their captive with significantly fewer inhibitions than normal..

Tw captivity, sedation, medical whump, drugging, injury, Dead Dove Jewish vampiric whumpee, religious whumpee

RestlessffaWDs' timeline is going off piste for @medwhumpmay

masterlist

≪ °❈° ≫

set maybe a month or two into Nathaniel Fogal's captivity. This is the first snippet that features Dr Elias Freid, a psychologist/therapist who is Nathaniel's main interrorgator alongside Logan.

≪ °❈° ≫

“This is Nurse Ivan Brunel, Post Sedation check on the merman known as Fogal, mer patient #3.” Ivan went through the familiar recording of medical protocol. “Due to the negative after effects of thiobarbiturates on the wellbeing and mood of the patient, anaesthesia for this set of tests was achieved using Propofol.” He snapped on fresh blue gloves as the pneumatic doors hissed open to reveal the sleeping form of the merman bound to his hospital bed. “It has been 30 minutes since the cessation of anaesthetics and removal of airway support, so patient is expected to be still experiencing significant sedative effects… And our resident mer psychologist Elias Freid is in observation bay to assess behaviours and provide therapeutic guidance if required...”

Ivan gave one last check of the monitor displaying the mermans blood oxygen, before unhooking the oxygen mask from his face and replacing it with nasal cannulas. Within moments, the sea monster’s face crinkled with the start of wakefulness at the smell of a human in the room, and he rolled his head to regard him, blinking sleepily.

“Glad to see you awake Fogal. We put you to sleep for a while, and I know you are probably still pretty sleepy.” Ivan kept his voice soft and calm, a familiar routine for waking patients from their deep sleep. Fogal murmured something unintelligible.

“I am just going to flash a light in your eyes now,” Ivan gently steadied Fogal’s head in his hand as he checked his responses. The merman’s pupils were blown wide, barely reacting to the light shone on them.

“Pupils are dilated and slow to respond to stimuli, but he seems both semi-aware and calm.”

Fogal closed his eyes and pushed his head into the palm of Ivan’s hand, chittering softly.

Ivan stalled for a second, before brushing his fingers though the young man’s hair. No - Fogal was not a young man, he was an ancient bloodsucking sea monster who just looked like a young man. And who, going from the delighted whirring noises, really liked getting skritches.

“Is this ok?” Ivan asked, more to the psychologist on the other side of the 1 way mirror than to the snuggly merman.

“Yes,” Elias’ voice came through Ivan’s earpiece, “Though still be careful with those teeth. Drugged means unpredictable. This behaviour is fascinating to watch. Even if he would not normally engage in such displays of affection with any of the staff here, it does suggest that he may exhibit this behaviour towards loved ones in a less stressful environment.” Elias was contemplative, "I wonder if he would be the same with someone he doesn’t like, say Dr Rana?” He was tapping information into the computer, the keys audible over the comms. “I mean, we know mer live in groups, so he is likely to be… touch starved. I do hope we can allow the captive mer to have social bonds sometime later in the project, but allowing touch when semi-sedated may be a good sign he trusts you to some degree...” 

 “I guess someone really likes Propofol.” Ivan smiled softly, “It is nice to see him calm. Even if that calm comes out a bottle.” Ivan moved to stroke the top of the merman’s head, and he let out another slew of chittering squeaks, drooling effusively.

“Indeed.” Elias hummed, “Do you reckon he is going to remember this next time he wakes up?”

“Vaguely. The levels of sedative in his system shouldn’t be high enough for complete memory loss, even if they have affected his behaviour...” Ivan replied.  

“Ok Fogal,” he raised his voice, and the merman focused his gaze on him, “Do you think you can describe how you are feeling right now, and if you are in pain?”

Fogal frowned comically before slurring out an affirmative noise.

“Ok…” Ivan swiped the merman’s doll out of the box at the end of the bed. The communication doll was one of the first tools Elias had introduced when he had started as the merman’s therapist, “Can you point on the doll where it hurts?”

Fogal groped clumsily at the doll’s arm, where Ivan knew the merman had a comminuted fracture to the ulna , then poked all round the top of the toy’s tail, mirroring the placement of the stab wounds on his body. All areas where he was expected to feel pain, but maybe some pain medication might not go amiss.

“Ok. And do you feel sick? or dizzy?”

A low hum for both assured Ivan that negative side effects of the Propofol seemed minimal. 

 “...And do you feel like you want to hurt anyone or yourself right now?”

Fogal shook the doll’s head. Then he started to stroke the stuffed merman’s hair. Ivan had to stifle a laugh as he ruffled his hair. “Good job answering questions, I just have a few more things to do, you can just doze off if you want.”

“That was good non-verbal communication!” Elias sounded impressed, “Propofol is looking good for the retention of awareness and reduction of anxiety.”

Ivan smiled as he put on his stethoscope and listened to the steady beat of the mermans heart. Fogal didn’t mind the cold metal, concentrating instead on wiping the plush merman doll’s head against his hip, crooning gently at the soft material against his bare skin. Ivan enjoyed the quiet - Fogal didn’t always wake up so calmly, the thiobarbiturates they had been using for anaesthetics triggering what appeared to be quite intense PTSD flashbacks. He peacefully allowed Ivan to use the tympanic membrane temperature probe, check his urine output into the box on the side of the bed, and other post-anaesthetic checks. 

“All done and looking healthy, Fogal. You can go back to sleep now. Can you give me the doll?”

Fogal looked up at him with watery eyes, glancing down to his doll then back up at Ivan.

“P’ease?” the merman asked hopefully.

“Dr Freid? Please advise.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Allow him to keep the doll Nurse.” There was a determined note to Elias' voice. “Unlike the previous situation where he tried to take something, the doll is not a choking hazard and has been requested fairly politely. Though this shall be discussed with Logan as his other handlers, I believe that having a possession will aid in a sense of security, and that the doll has great potential for further use as a communication tool."

Ivan gave the merman's hair one last ruffle. 

"Ok Fogal, you can keep a hold of it. Now let's get you back to sleep, ok?"

--888--

Nathaniel awoke theto the heavy tread of Nurse Brunel. Memories came back in dregs. Dr Rana had put him to sleep, so they must have done something to his body, though there were no new spots of pain...

“Hey Fogal, how are you feeling?”

His hands hadn’t cramped up as much as usual. They were clamped around something soft and thick, far better than the thin sheets he usually balled up in place of seaweed. He creased his brows and held up the item as best he could with his wrist still bound to the bed. 

The stupid rag doll stared back at him.

Nathaniel cocked his head in confusion, and looked up questioningly to his favourite nurse. 

“We sedated you for some tests, do you remember?”

Nathaniel nodded slowly, then wiggled the doll at him questioningly.

“When I went to check on you afterwards, you really wanted to keep a hold of the communication doll there. And Elias thought it may be useful for you to have him with you anyway.”

Nathaniel looked down at the soft little plush merman. His tail was the same pleasant deep red as Nathaniel’s own tail, his sewn-on expression one of peaceful neutrality.

He squished the doll’s head gently. A strange half memory rose of petting the doll's hair, and then of gentle fingers carding through his hair. Nathaniel scowled.

What would his interrogator think of him if he saw Nathaniel wanted to keep a toy?

- I. no. need. stupid. Communication doll. - He signed, trapping the doll under his wrist to form the words. 

“That’s ok too, Fogal.” Nurse Bruel spoke peaceably, “And you can let me know if you change your mind. Can you keep a hold of it while I check your eyes?”

Nathaniel nodded, and Nurse Brunel stepped forwards with a tiny bright light. Nathaniel surreptitiously shuffled Little Fogal under the sheet. He could barely see the little lump the doll made under the covers. He tucked it into the fabric and rested his hand back by his side. 

“Looking good, no post-sedation signs. I can take your oxygen mask off now.” Nurse Brunel took the bulky plastic off his face. Nathaniel wiggled his jaw.

- Thank you - He signed.

“No problem, Fogal. I’ll let you pray now, and Elias will be through for a session once you are done…”The nurse glanced down to Nathaniel's empty hand next to the little doll shaped lump, and the slightest smile appeared on his face. Nathaniel watched him warily, but all the nurse did was give him a swift gentle pat on the wrist before turning to leave the room.

Nathaniel squeezed his new possession once, and settled into prayer.

[toyybox]

Spiderwebs #24: Heather Performs A Lobotomy

Masterlist

content: lab whump, captivity, immortal whumpee, organ stuff, drugging, needles/injections

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Heather knew he was asleep, one afternoon, barely moving to breathe and curled up tightly under the blanket. She shook him, but he didn’t stir. She had given him the drug a few minutes earlier under the guise of another painkiller. When she shone a light in his eyes, he did not react at all, and she was certain she could proceed with her work.

Keeping him awake, while effective in sending a message, was inconvenient for dissections she actually needed to have done. Heather had mostly worked on cadavers during her education. Cadavers did not plead or beg and, most importantly, they kept perfectly still. For this, she wanted to be precise. 

She placed him on the dining table, with a tarp underneath, then tied her hair back and pulled on her gloves. She was curious to see what was under that skull of his—the brain, that is. It would be a difficult procedure to enact. Permanent damage was possible, of course, and she simply didn’t know how to go about it. Saw through bone or dig through the back of the eye? It would be good to have samples of brain tissue, but cutting through a skull was much more complicated than simply pushing under the soft parts of the face. And, anyways, it was better to start with something small before she got ahead of herself.

Heather steadied the needle over his face, as she pried his eyelids open with her other hand. She wasn’t exactly sure how quickly an injury like this would heal. He had recovered nearly instantly from the bullets. He didn’t seem to change much after burning to death, either.

The needle slid easily behind the curve of the eye. She remembered the way her psychology professor had described it: severing a connection of nerves, and therefore severing some part of the self that acted and was able to feel. It blunted a part of the soul. Although this was not the time to be superstitious; such theological concepts would be of no use to her. She was getting distracted.

She hesitated, then pushed the needle in.

Something gave way underneath it. She winced. I definitely hit something… Something wet and yielding had been punctured. Or cut. And that was all she needed to do. She slid the needle out, watching as a thin line of blood pulled off its underside like spit from teeth. To ensure the effect would last, she pushed the needle into his other eye.

Jackie shifted. She nearly dropped the needle.

He was tensing up, moving, waking up. I must have given an incorrect dosage. It was always a risk, when some drugs did nothing at all for him, and others would only work in lethal amounts. He opened his other eye. His gaze moved slowly, unfocused as it passed over her.

She pried the needle out. A bit of blood speckled his face, but he didn’t react. 

“I have a headache,” he said, slurring the words.  

“How much does it hurt? One to ten.”

He shrugged. He tried to get up from the table.

She clicked her tongue and gently pressed him onto his back. “No. Stay there. There’s something I need to do. You won’t move, right?”

He didn’t look pleased, but he didn’t move either.

Luckily, she had guessed this might happen, so she had already prepared lidocaine to administer local anaesthesia. It wouldn’t put him to sleep, but it would numb him. She placed the injection above the side of his neck, below the jaw.

“What’s your favourite colour?” she asked as she pressed down on the injection. 

“I don’t have one.”

“Really? I thought you would.” She removed the injection. He’s coherent, she thought, and he’s answering my questions, but he doesn’t seem to be reacting appropriately to the situation. Jackie usually didn’t like the idea of surgery. Either it was the drugs, or she truly had damaged some part of his brain. That’s still a minor cut, though. I want to see how a fatal injury would heal.

While the anaesthetic took effect, she prepared her scalpel, the drill, and the electrical bone saw. Jackie stayed quiet and still for his part, which she was happy to see. When she cut the skin open and drilled through the skull, eventually cutting it away, he didn’t even wince.

She reached into the inward valley of his skull and inserted the saw into the centre of the frontal lobe. It was incredibly difficult to cut out. The knotted pink flesh healed almost immediately. Nevertheless, she managed with some time and a lot of splattered blood, after which she placed the halved organ into a large glass jar.

Even cut out of him, pressed against the glass, it was reforming, albeit not as well as it should have been—becoming misshapen against the walls of its container, running out of space to mold with and soon slowing down its growth. She set the jar down on the kitchen counter and shook her wrist out. Her arm felt sore already.

The tarp shifted and crackled behind her. 

Heather spun around to see Jackie sitting upright, touching his newly-healed head and glancing at his unbloodied palm with mild curiosity.

“Don’t—” She marched over and seized both his hands. “You’re a terrible patient. I told you to stay still.”

“Sorry. You shoulda tied me down, doc.” He still seemed to be mostly out of it. It was a fairly powerful concoction of drugs, after all. He gave her a loopy, puppy-dog grin, smiling despite the severe head wound like the big idiot he was…

She smiled back—then she immediately turned away from him. I can’t give him the wrong idea! Ruining my work the first chance he gets. He thinks he’s hilarious, doesn’t he?  “I was being nice by forgoing the restraints, but I’ll keep that in mind for the next experiment.”

“What’s that jar on the counter?” he asked, leaning forwards. “Wait, I’ll guess—”

“It's none of your concern.” She picked up her notebook and pen and wrote a few things down. “Now, Jackie, I know you might not be in your right senses after all that. I need you to listen to me carefully and answer my questions to the best of your ability. I cut out a significant part of your frontal lobe. In a typical human being, this would result in death, or at least unconsciousness.”

“But I’m special.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. We don’t know if the damage is permanent yet. I’ll start with testing your memory and such. What’s your last name?”

“What’s a last name?” he asked innocently. 

“Don’t play games with me.”

He batted his eyelashes.

She sighed. “If you behave, I’ll give you a lollipop.”

“My name is Jackie Rockwell,” he said. “Twenty-one, born and raised in the States, about five-foot-seven. There are eighteen groups in the periodic table. The smallest land animal is the Etruscan shrew. Level, racecar, and radar are all examples of common palindromes.”

“Smartass.”

“Chienne.”

“Cabrón.” 

“I’m still waiting for my lollipop, doc.”

Pequeña comadreja. Silently, she pulled out a lollipop from her pocket and handed it to him.

“Thanks,” he said, tearing the plastic off. “You were saying?”

“Right. As I was saying, I think it’s safe to assume the removal of brain matter did not affect your memory or speech. Your nervous system doesn’t change when it heals. I was afraid—” She stopped herself. Heather knew he would be fine. He always recovered. She had already set him on fire, and he had survived even that unscathed. It was just a shallow worry, nothing worth putting words to. “In any case, I’m glad that went over without any complications.”

“And what if something went wrong? Would you not care?” 

“Nothing would…” She glanced at him. He had stopped smiling. This wasn’t a joke, apparently. “You don’t seriously think I would have let that happen, right?”

He shook his head, and his voice was sunny again. “No, you’re right. You’re completely incapable of making mistakes. I should have known. Why did I even bother to ask?” He sat up and got off the table. “What’s the time?”

“It’s half-past eight.” 

“Well, I’m exhausted from doing nothing all day.” He held the lollipop like a cigarette between his teeth. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yes. I’ll take you to your room.”

Still, she was a little put-off by his sudden distrust towards her. There was something almost caustic in his cheerfulness. Maybe she was overthinking that. He was probably just acting out to get attention, the same as always. She decided to push it out of her mind and focus on other, more immediate issues. 

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Taglist:

@theelvishcowgirl

@lthrboy

@whumpy-wyrms

@yassifiedinformation

[elysianightsss]

ANAESTHESIA | MASTERLIST

Pairings | Surgeon Simon Riley x Clinical Fellow Reader, Surgeon Price x Clinical Fellow Reader, Clinical Fellow Soap x Clinical Fellow Reader, Nurse Gaz x Clinical Fellow Reader, Doctor!141 x reader.

Summary | Simon was your high school sweetheart, Kyle was your rebound from Simon, Johnny was your friend with benefits for your first year at med school and John was the one night stand you couldn’t remember. Five years later they’re all working at the same hospital you’d just been transferred to.

Tags | Smut, Fluff, Angst, medical stuff I had to google to make sure it was accurate, awkwardness, mentions of blood, mentions of surgery and wounds, the hospital is massive, the guys pining for you while you try to ignore them, Simon being a dick, comedy gold, a written soap opera if there ever was one.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Fin

Divider credit | @cafekitsune

Tags | @6jack6rabbit6 @misscaller06 @daydreamsareallineed @tabbslouuformer

[lucy90712]

Road to recovery- part 2

masterlist Lola's POV

It's been a long week waiting for my surgery as I haven't been able to do much as they don't want me to cause more damage by walking around too much. As someone who is always active and barely sits down this week has been hell but today has been the worst. Knowing that it is surgery day but having to wait sat in a hospital has been torture seeing everyone else get called while I just sit and wait has been awful. Until today I wasn't nervous about the surgery but the longer I've had to wait the more anxious I've become as there's a big risk I means the surgery could not go to plan and then I may never compete again and that's a scary thought. My life has been dedicated to sport even my degree is sport related as I wanted to have the knowledge that helps me understand my body better so if I can't do gymnastics again I don't know what I'll do with my life. 

Eventually I was called back and the nurses prepped me for surgery. I was given a gown to wear which they had to help me into as I can't put any weight on my left leg which makes changing difficult. They did some basic checks as well like measuring my heart rate and blood pressure before hooking me up to a few machines. Then it was time to go into the operating room which just felt so cold and clinical which I know it's supposed to be but it didn't help ease my feelings of anxiety that I was already feeling. Luckily someone then came in to give me the anaesthetic to put me to sleep which worked very quickly so before I knew it I was falling asleep. 

As my eyes opened and adjusted to the lights I noticed that they weren't as harsh as the ones in the operating room and the ceiling was different too. My brain was still slightly foggy but as I was coming to my senses I realised that I must be out of surgery which woke me up a little more and I finally looked down at my leg to see bandages where they had cut into my knee and a brace was already attached to my leg to limit its movement. Just as I was about to find the button to call a nurse one walked in and offered me a smile once she saw I was awake.

"How are you feeling Lola?" She asked 

"I'm ok did the surgery go well?" I asked 

"Yes it did we were able to repair your acl and the damage to your meniscus wasn't as bad as we feared so you didn't require any further work to fix that we are going to keep you over night just to monitor you and to start physio tomorrow morning" she explained 

"Thank you" I replied 

"Also I'm sorry that you are having to share this room but we are low on rooms and you two have the exact same injury so we thought it was best to put you together" she said

I was extremely confused until I looked to my right and saw a guy who looked weirdly familiar sat on his phone also with a brace on just his was on his right leg instead. I don't know how I didn't notice before as our beds are quite close together but I guess thats what anaesthesia does to you. Once the nurse left I turned my attention back to this random guy as I was curious as to who he was but he was yet to acknowledge my existence as he hadn't looked up from his phone. Seeing as he wasn't paying any attention I took my chance to study his face to see if I could work out where I recognised him from. I noticed that he looked to be about my age the the muscles in his arms told me that he was definitely an athlete too which only made me more curious. In my head I was trying to go through the sports where acl injures are common and the first sport that came to mind was football. With him looking my age and us being in Barcelona I assumed he was part of one of the youth teams but then I wondered why I recognised him as I'm really not that into football so I'd have no idea about any youth players. 

"Do you need something?" The guy asked coldly which made me realise I was still staring 

"Oh sorry I didn't mean to stare" I said

"Whatever" he scoffed going back to his phone again 

"Wait I um have to ask how did you end up here?" I asked 

"I was playing football and landed awkwardly on my knee" he explained 

"I'm sorry that sounds awful I hope this doesn't seem weird but I'm really not that into football but I recognise you from somewhere do you play for one of the Barcelona youth teams Barcelona atletic isn't it?" I asked 

"No I don't play for the B team I play for the first team" he said so nonchalantly like it meant nothing 

He had rendered me speechless with that. I simply couldn't think of anything else to say as my brain was preoccupied with freaking out over the fact that I was laying in a hospital bed in the same room as a Barcelona player. Football isn't my thing but that being said I know how hard those guys work and how crazy it is to find yourself in the situation I am right now. Once my brain had come to terms with the fact that I was next to an actual well known athlete I realised I still wasn't completely sure who he was so I found my phone amongst all my stuff and went straight to Instagram. I went onto Barcelona's account and the first thing I saw was a post with the guy sat right next to me. Gavi. That's who he is the big star boy of the team that's why I recognised him there was a time when he was all anyone talked about whether that was because of his footballing abilities or how attractive they thought he was. Of course I had to look at his Instagram and after scrolling through a few pictures I decided to follow him. It's not like I'm ever going to see him again after we leave this hospital plus he won't even notice he already has millions of followers. 

What a day. No one is going to believe me when I try and tell them that I spent my time in hospital with Gavi and honestly I wouldn't believe me either but here we are. Good thing he doesn't seem to want to talk to anyone as I don't know if I could hold a conversation with him for more than a few seconds now I know who he is. 

[whumpsmith-participates]

AI-less Whumptober 2024

Day 10 - Pushing away a loved one

Tags/CW: heated argument

Getting injured on the job is never fun, but as a professional superhero it's almost a given. March Hare, a.k.a. Lyall, had it particularly bad today. On one hand, they finally arrested a villain who had been at large for almost eight years. On the other hand, he spent the majority of his evening avoiding a dragon in an underground maze while slowly bleeding out from a bad compound fracture.

He'd been treated since. Slept off the anaesthesia from the surgery to piece his arm back together. They told him it was all being held together with a metal plate. He could swear he could feel the screws and bolts poking into his muscles from the inside.

A painful reminder...of immortality.

"What you did last night was insane."

Lyall rolled his eyes. When his childhood friend walked in he was expecting a nice chat, perhaps even a compliment on his hard work, but instead she came to give him a lecture.

Faline Leblanc, heiress, cheer captain, beloved superhero Magnetic Girl, and Lyall's sister from another mister. Normally they got along swimmingly, but lately things just haven't felt quite right between them. Lyall blamed it on growing up. Faline blamed it on Lyall.

"Going against direct orders, you put everyone at risk including yourself! It was incredibly reckless!" she mercilessly continued, "You left Ash and the sidekicks to fend for themselves most of the night!"

"Nuh-uh," Lyall interrupted, "I got them out of that maze, past the Jabberwocky, we kicked Hatter's ass and saved all of y'all's lives!"

"You broke your arm!" Faline said, "You steamrolled all over Ash and the sidekicks and you would have died if it weren't for Mirage taking you straight to hospital!"

"Oh please, it'll take more than that to kill me."

"Lyall!"

The lights flickered briefly, the equipment monitoring Lyall's vitals stopped working as they scooted backwards slightly, and Lyall screamed out in pain as an invisible force yanked on the metal plate in his arm.

"AH! You fucking bitch!" he yelled.

Faline realised what she had done, and quickly forced herself to calm down, but the damage had been done. Lyall glared at her as he held his wounded arm.

"You think you're so perfect, don't you?" he hissed.

"Lyall, I'm sorry—"

"Daddy's perfect little princess, praised for your perfect little smile, playing life on easy mode because everything is handed to you on a silver platter!"

"Y-you don't mean that—"

"You're only popular because you were King's sidekick, but even after all that training you can barely control your fucking powers, because you never had to work hard for anything in your goddamn life!"

"T-that's not t-t-true!" Faline said, putting a hand over her mouth as she slipped back into her stutter.

"Oh really?" Lyall said, "Don't make me laugh. If you had half the control over your powers as I have, then King of Hearts wouldn't have had to retire!"

Faline's eyes widened as an eerie silence fell. Lyall leaned back against his pillow, catching his breath a bit as he tried to breathe through the pain. He didn't even care to look at the heartbroken expression his friend bore, not did he seem to hear the quiet sob she let out before promptly turning around and leaving his room.

@ailesswhumptober

Ash (mentioned) belongs to @dr-abitat-blog

Masterlist Main account

Some context: King of Hearts is a very popular here who was forced to retire after crushing his back gruesomely. Magnetic Girl was there with him and has always felt guilty about not doing more to save him, even if she was 1000% not at fault. It's a cross she'll always bear.

[maochira]

Masterlist: Kenyu Yukimiya

Full masterlist

Yukimiya's train seat breaks (headcanons)

Flirting (scenario)

Falling in love with Yukimiya (Neo Egoist League assistant series scenario/headcanons)

Crushing on Yukimiya + Karasu and Otoya try to get you together (headcanons)

Kissing his eyelids when he feels anxious (drabble)

Boyfriend!Yukimiya with an s/o who was in a toxic relationship before (oneshot)

Yukimiya x reader x Karasu (headcanons)

Yukimiya x reader x Karasu cuddles (scenario)

Big brother!Yukimiya (headcanons)

Yukimiya sings your little sibling to sleep (scenario)

Yukimiya x lolita!reader (headcanons)

Yukimiya x reader with social anxiety (headcanons)

Yukimiya x reader who's insecure about their looks (drabble)

Rivals to lovers/studying together (oneshot)

Yukimiya with an introvert best friend (headcanons)

Graphic design student!Yukimiya (headcanons)

Separating us needs anaesthesia and surgeon's scissors. (writing event drabble)

Yukimiya comforts you after a nightmare (drabble)

Comforting big brother!Yukimiya because of his eye condition (headcanons)

Sharing food with big brother!Yukimiya (headcanons)

Yukimiya when his s/o reads something angsty (headcanons)

Yukimiya x reader (drabble) ((I have no idea for a title))

Going on walks with big brother!Yukimiya (headcanons)

Gifting him a song-lyric photobook (scenario)

Being best friends with Yukimiya, Otoya and Karasu (headcanons)

Yukimiya with an s/o who's oblivious to their flirting (headcanons)

Picking flowers + making flower date (scenario)

Yukimiya and Aryu as parents (headcanons)

Making flower bouquets with big brother!Yukimiya (drabble)

Yukimiya x reader who's insecure about being tall (headcanons)

Yukimiya helps with your flight anxiety (headcanons)

Tall!reader kabedons Yukimiya (scenario)

Yukimiya, Karasu and Otoya as your parents (headcanons)

Yukimiya x demon!reader (writing event)

Yukimiya comforts you after your breakup (headcanons)

Yukimiya with a neurodivergent s/o who can't hold eye contact (drabble)

Big brother!Yukimiya comforts you about your needle phobia (drabble)

You make plushies of yourself and Yukimiya (scenario)

Best friend!Yukimiya with lesbian!best friend!reader who's too afraid to come out to everyone (headcanons)

Psst. Yukimiya has some more appearances in the Neo Egoist League assistant series

[slowd1ving]

PENDULUM ✦ . 　⁺ iv.

CHAMBER OF REFLECTION (MAC DEMARCO)

"Understand that when you leave here, You'll be clear among the better men." wc: 7.3k

JOJO'S BIZARRE ADVENTURE MASTERLIST

PENDULUM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

PREVIOUS PART ・゜NEXT PART

  Duty comes before all else; do not bite the hand that feeds you .  

In Gyro Zeppeli’s humble opinion, some scepticism was healthy when dealing with the commands from the King of Naples. He was loyal – of course he was loyal – and there were none who could refute that very fact. Was it treason, then, to wonder about the thoughts that filled the mind of the young King? He couldn’t begin to imagine having such power at his fingertips; was it whim or reason that sentenced the next person to death? 

It is not the job of the executioner to question the King . 

Unbidden, his father’s voice echoed in the caverns of his mind. Same cadence, same neutral tone: even now, he could never really tell what his father was thinking. Years of learning about how the body worked – each muscle, each organ, each bone , all etched into memory – and he still couldn’t decipher what lay beneath the impassive flesh and sinew of Gregorio Zeppeli. 

Focus . He inhaled evenly, then turned to the man bleeding out on his operating table. It was a nasty wound; the farmer had dislocated his shoulder while falling off a ladder and stabbed himself with a wooden gardening stake. The poor fool, not knowing any better, had wrenched it out of his shoulder – then had subsequently passed out after seeing just how much blood cascaded from the flesh. Even through his mask, the coppery stench had filled the entire room and overpowered the ethanolic aroma that usually lingered in the air. 

Surgeon or executioner: we must apply ourselves with the same precision to both, in service of the Kingdom of Naples . 

Gyro hadn’t grown up listening to the holy scripture every Sunday. Unlike the eldest son of each Zeppeli generation, civilians and his siblings were free to step foot in the house of God – free from the burden of daily training to carry on the family legacy, and free from the taint that sullied any faith he had. Sure, his father had no issue trespassing in the local church, but any prayers that escaped Gyro’s lips withered as soon as they left; what God would listen to a man who broke Commandment after Commandment for another who wasn’t him?  

Unlike his siblings, Gyro Zeppeli had only the words of his father as the Bible. 

“Tweezers,” he barely looked away from the mangled flesh as his mother handed him the silver instrument – with the mask strapped across his face, he could only pick up the faint scent of iodine amidst all the metallic reek. Against the macerated carmine tissue, the pale timber splinters in the farmer’s arm were clearly visible. Through his thin gloves, the dark blood slowly staining his fingertips was uncomfortably warm. “Any damage to the vital structures?”

“No – nerves, vessels and tendons are all undamaged, but any less luck and he would’ve pierced his subclavian artery,” his mother supplied with clinical precision. Clear for sutures . As he deftly picked out the offending shards, the farmer stirred with a groan of pain.

“ Mamma , prepare the anaesthetic and some saline,” he urged. Whatever spirits his father mixed into the concoction knocked the very soul out of patients for a very precise fifteen minutes – and Gyro would get this job done in ten. Trained by the best, and a doctor by twenty . He wouldn’t fail. 

He wouldn’t fail Marco, either. 

It was just as he predicted. Within a few seconds of swilling down the anaesthesia, the man was practically a corpse – not even a twitch as Gyro patiently irrigated the wound with the saline. There was nary a tremor in his hands as he felt the weight of the forceps in his steady grasp; muscle memory had taken over, leaving only an icy calm where his mind was.  

Focus – breathe out with each suture. Clean, cover, then use the Spin to set the shoulder back in place . 

I know, babbo . Seriously, what was with his old man adding his input everywhere Gyro was? He gritted his teeth beneath his surgical mask, and exhaled through his nose forcefully; still, the forceps and needle didn’t even wobble through the frustration. 

“Sharps bin, gauze and bandages, then a Steel Ball, mamma .”

It was more of a ritual for him to rattle off the equipment needed; Maria Zeppeli had worked through countless surgeries before with his father, and would likely work countless surgeries with him after. Perpendicular to the skin . At his even exhale, the needle pierced through the farmer cleanly and came out past the gaping chasm of his wound. Gyro’s hands moved in a paradox of haste and relaxation to tie off the thread – and another, and another , until a jagged row of pristine knots met his critical eye.

His hands were bloody; the congealed liquid staining the thin material of his gloves was something he could never fully get used to, even after a decade of being in the operating room. He still remembered being fourteen and becoming an apprentice surgeon: his clammy palms in the too-big surgical gloves that threatened to drop the equipment he nervously handed to his father; the bilious film coating his tongue and throat that wouldn’t go away, no matter how much he swallowed; and fear-widened eyes that couldn’t mimic his father’s professional expression. 

Despite the initial horror that festered in his gut that day, he was a prodigy. Just like every eldest son in each Zeppeli generation, he easily found his rhythm of the back-and-forth training of his bloodline and excelled in being sword and scalpel for the King.  The two-faced coin was something he felt flipping and teetering from birth itself. Perfection was the base standard for each servant of the King – something he adjusted to on a molecular level. How could failure even be an option when your duty didn’t allow for it?

Life-saver, life-taker .

This honour wasn’t lost on Gyro. Yet that first day he started his duty, he’d heaved and dry-retched in his room that night. How could he not? Those medical journals he read as bedtime stories could’ve never prepared him for this : flesh mangled beyond repair, lacerations that exposed a person's viscera itself, cleaved and hacked-off sinew that resembled a butchered carcass rather than a living, breathing human . 

He wasn’t Gregorio Zeppeli. 

That unflinching resolve didn’t come easily – he had to claw for it desperately, greedily , all to prove himself worthy of the family duty. Sure, he could argue that the movements of his limbs were instinctual , and came as naturally as breathing. He followed orders – meticulous, precise – but he was only human. He was human , but his father was not. 

Beneath his fingertips, the bandage concealing the sutures neatly adhered and tucked itself away. Clean gloves . Had he changed them? Had he just mechanically bandaged the man’s arm? He gave a perfunctory glance to his left – there was his mother, standing nonplussed. Nothing out of the ordinary: save the thoughts clouding his mind. Focus . 

Your biggest sin is your inability to fully dedicate your mind to your birthright . 

I know, babbo , he repeated bitterly. He wasn’t like his father; the questions that plagued his mind – with every swing of his sword, with every severance of a head, with every spin of the steel ball – had boiled into one writhing entity that ate away at his brain like larvae. Why ? Why did this person die, while he saved that person? He had long learnt to let the protests rot away, but something had changed recently. 

Why was that child sentenced to death ?

In his fevered palm, the perfect green sphere cradled there was frigid. It crackled with icy life when he flicked his wrist; rapidly, it spun with a blur until the lines marring it were invisible to the human eye. Inhale . His eyes flew over the farmer’s shoulder – it slumped low on the table, as if it were about to fall off the man’s torso. 

Gyro could feel the electric whir of the Spin thrumming through his veins; every capillary, every nerve, every cell was present to feel the energy that pulsed at his fingertips to use at a Zeppeli’s will. Bear witness to the Spin . Carefully, he let the steel ball hover over the man’s clavicle, before driving it into the skin that dipped into the valley of his shoulder. Sure, it was better if he flipped the man over and did this where the scapula tapered off, but he couldn’t aggravate those fresh stitches. 

Under his expectant eyes, the skin twisted and warped clockwise in an infinite, spiralling ripple of flesh. There – with a sickening pop , the bone adjusted back into place, and the ball returned to his palm. Once again, it had returned to being inanimate. Once again, the only indication it had been used was the residual crackles of energy flashing through his palm. Once again, he’d completed the procedure flawlessly; and with a perfunctory glance at the clock, he had five minutes to spare.  

“Go clean up for dinner,” his mother had disposed of the bloodied equipment when he glanced away from the clock. Already, he was peeling his gloves off at the sink methodically – the warm water and soap suds cascading over his skin did wonders to get rid of the oily sensation of congealed blood. There were only a few hours left of this routine. 

A few more grains of sand through the hourglass, and I’ll be gone. 

. 　⁺ ✦

Family meals weren’t something that Gyro particularly looked forward to. In fact, they were something that he’d actively go out of his way to avoid – maybe through pushing up a particularly intense operation so it conveniently occupied the day, or even scheduling a tryst with a pretty lady to take him out of town. Regardless of his dilemma, when Maria Zeppeli asked you to do something, you did it . And in his unfortunate case, this meant ditching his scrubs and getting ready for dinner. 

If they were any other family, he was sure the modest dining room would have laughter and conversations bouncing off the stone walls. Maybe they’d have tasteful paintings, or richly embroidered tapestries, to soften up the area and let in some colours. As it stood, his father didn’t believe in such pointless trivialities to waste money on, which meant that neither did the household. 

Frivolities like these distract one from his duty . 

Lately, the baritone voice of Gyro was sounding more and more like Gregorio’s when he was younger. It was moments like these that he questioned whose monologue ran through his head; was it his father’s teachings echoing the chamber of his mind, or his own ideas? No, that was stupid. He wasn’t going to adopt his father’s personality. Well, if he was being honest, it was probably considered a severe lack of one. 

Even when the sun hung cheerfully in the sky, it was hard to mask the oppressive atmosphere of the dining room; it looked unlived in, with only a shelf of scientific journals that decorated the room, besides the dull brown dining table and chairs. Frankly, it was dour and much too sombre in his opinion – but what idiot would try to lecture Gregorio Zeppeli on furnishings , of all things? It wasn’t as if Gyro spent a lot of time here anyway; there really wasn’t any point in complaining. 

Becoming older didn’t mellow his father out, nor did it dull the weapon he was. He was imposing as ever as he sternly eyed his family from the head of the table. From a young age, it was clear to Gyro that his father held no paternal affection towards his children, or even his wife. Everything he did was out of duty – carrying on the Zeppeli family name included. Sure, he knew the man loved his family in his own way; but it wasn’t a way that was ever externally expressed. 

Sentimentalism begets weakness .

Any feeling – any attachment – interfered with the loyalty to the crown. It didn’t matter what he felt; Gyro’s duty was to the King and to the King alone. His body was made to be a puppet to the Kingdom of Naples: the sickle of a reaper, and the scalpel of a doctor. His father had perfected the art of quenching any emotion, but his son hadn’t quite yet become the automaton that was expected of him. Sometimes, that honour became a burden. There was nobody he could talk to about it – knowledge of the Zeppeli duties was only privy to each oldest son and his spouse, then the next oldest son. It settled on his shoulders and refused to feel any lighter; with each step forward, he wondered if he would ever feel the same impassivity his father did. 

In the end, it wasn’t the terrible decor or his terribly imposing father that dissuaded him from participating in dinner the most. It was the awful silence: a horribly dense lack of chatter or feeling of companionship. No, the most he got was the scrape of utensils against porcelain, and that was if he was lucky; even Mariano, the youngest, knew not to raise the ire of his parents by clinking a knife against his plate too loudly. 

Any prayers before dinner were spoken in one’s head. Gyro was content to sit back and watch; he didn’t think any prayers he had would be heard, even if he shut his eyes with reverence and confessed his sins with the utmost piety he could muster. There was the flat set of his father’s mouth as he also forewent a blessing, and the loose clasp of his mother’s hands as she closed her eyes – this was mimicked by each of his four siblings (faithful lambs that they were).

When Gregorio had sampled from his plate, it was time to eat. Fried baccalà with potatoes and onions decorated the porcelain before him, and he stifled a grimace. Salt cod really wasn’t that high on the list of his favourite foods; he’d have to wash it down with the dry wine beside him to neutralise the flavour. That’s what I get for skipping the last few weeks of family dinners.

He chewed the salty fish as fast as he could without looking like a total buffoon, making sure to pile up plenty of potatoes on his fork to provide a makeshift buffer. Already, the pale wine was half-gone – but he simply chose to ignore the possibility of running out before he finished off the plate. 

Gyro groaned internally at his luck; of course this had to be a Sunday meal, where there was significantly more food to be eaten. Of course it wasn’t enough that fish was served; he now had to spend double the time in this prison while more courses came out. If he tried leaving now – even with his plate now cleared – his father would no doubt turn his disapproving gaze his way. 

At least the peperoni ripieni was the next course; it was relatively quick to chow down as long as he bit into the pepper properly to avoid indigestion. The meat and rice inside would get rid of the salty cod residue that refused to budge from his tongue – something he was infinitely grateful for. Unlike his siblings, he didn’t scoop the filling out before carefully eating the emptied pepper; he sliced the whole thing into eighths so both the sweet pepper and salt of the meat balanced each other out. And unlike his siblings, he put as little of the zucchine alla scapece on his plate as he could; the sour, minty zucchini would probably disagree passionately with his guts later on in the day, especially with how liberally the royal kitchen added vinegar to the dish.

He valiantly fought back the urge to pick out the herbs that he felt between his front teeth – no doubt it would make an already painfully awkward meal even more painfully awkward. It wasn’t like he could just strike up a conversation with any of his siblings either; the next oldest, Luisa, was a good eight years younger than him and he’d been relatively isolated from anyone else from the year she turned five. There was no common ground – especially with the looming presence of their father at the table. 

Finally, ( finally !) the bread and cheese was uncovered – with such a filling and carbohydrate-heavy course, it was unlikely there’d be another one. After his father served himself, Gyro reached out for a thick, herby slice of crusty bread and a ball of mozzarella di bufala . A quick drizzle with olive oil, and he could now tear into it with his teeth as elegantly as possible (he wouldn’t let Niccolo look at him with that disgusted look of derision again, not after the last time he bit the cheese too hard and the milk inside spattered over the table cloth). 

As he chewed contemplatively, he allowed his eyes to observe the room once more. This was likely the last time he’d see his whole family before departing Naples; it filled him with a mournful nostalgia that clawed its way into his very heart. Even if they weren’t particularly close, he’d miss his siblings.

With a pang of sorrow, he observed Mariano curl his chubby little hands around his knife and fork. How old is he ? Nine ? He’d missed so much – there was an easy companionship that existed between his siblings that he could never insert himself into, even though they still showed him affection in small ways: like making fun of him sneaking off with whoever caught his eye, or stealing the pastries he went out to buy. He felt like an intruder when he watched from a distance: a stranger . 

His eyes refocused back onto his youngest brother. Even in the sombre setting of the dining room, there was still that boisterous spark within him. A nine year old should be filled with curiosity for life . A nine year old should be treated with the mercy that befits a child. What if his brother was in Marco’s place? At that thought, his nails dug into the slice of bread with anger.

A nine year old shouldn’t be executed for treason . 

. 　⁺ ✦

From what the guards had told him, it had all begun when a baron named Rippi was arrested for conspiring against the Kingdom of Naples. It was immediately put into effect that his entire household be brought to trial – in a flurry of motion, they were all sentenced for treason. His family, his servants, and anyone unlucky enough to be caught inside the house: any threat to the King was to be eliminated. 

“ The boy told us his job was cleaning hats and shoes for the Baron .”

When the kid was questioned, he confessed that he came from a line of servants to aristocrats. Just a few weeks into his humble service, the military police had stormed into the manor and seen him – shining shoes and repairing the hats of the Baron and his guests. 

“ There is no doubt that he knew about it ,” the court had decreed. “ It is clear he is part of the Baron’s family .”

The decision of the state was absolute; the boy would be beheaded. 

In actuality, it had all begun when Gyro was thirteen. Before that pivotal age, he’d been blissfully unaware of what exactly the Zeppeli duty entailed – all he knew was that his father ran the local clinic. All he knew were the halcyon days of childhood: years spent playing games with his younger siblings, teaching little Carlo how to toddle after him on unsteady legs, and the joyful feeling of the eternal summer of being a kid. 

“How old are you, Gyro?” the King’s Servant had asked on one of his monthly visits to the clinic. On these days, Maria Zeppeli would prepare a small meal for his father: he’d eat the fish and loaf of bread in silence, before washing it down with red wine. Then, she’d kiss his cheek quietly – on these days, Gyro came to know that his father was being summoned to the King’s Court for a duty he’d never talk about. 

“Nine years old, sir,” young Gyro had piped up, but that singular question was all the King’s Servant would ever ask. 

That year, Gregorio Zeppeli called his son into the study. In his weathered palm was a shiny, green sphere – the challenge was to take it out of his father’s hand. “ No cheating or dirty tricks ,” Gregorio had scolded when Gyro attempted to knock some books down as a distraction, and failed miserably to wrench that stupid ball into his own, weak hand. “How will you take it from my fist with rotation ?”

“Listen, Gyro – it’s fine that you like to ride horses, and read novels and comics,” his father began in that serious baritone; it immediately piqued Gyro’s curiosity. “But you will have to learn about the Spin of the Steel Ball; by the time you are thirteen, you need to learn everything. Just like his father taught him, your grandfather taught me – just as I will teach you.”

“Why, babbo ? What does a steel ball have to do with anything?” Gyro’s eyes followed his father’s closed palm. Even as a young child, the penchant for seeking answers thrummed in his veins. 

“The men of the Zeppeli family have always done this, as you can surely do as well,” his father dismissed him. Through the closed door of the study, he could still hear his father murmur to himself. “It is easier to place something in a hand than take it away.”

When Gyro opened his small hand, there was that green steel ball – spinning and rotating in his palm as if it had a life of its own.  

“ Gyro, how old are you now ?”

As the thirteenth year of his life began its course, everything changed. One morning, his mother made two such meals: two fish, two loaves of bread, and two glasses of wine. He ate in silence with his father, copying the meaningful way with which Gregorio bit into the bread and swilled down the wine – as if it was his last meal. In a way, it was. A last meal that was dedicated to the dying embers of his childhood. Just like his father, his mother kissed his cheek quietly. Just like his father, he donned the crest of the royal family that day. 

“Listen, Gyro.”

That was how every teaching began: the command to listen . 

“Every man needs a map – a map in his heart, to ride across the wilderness.”

Later, Gyro would come to realise that this map was duty and honour : two words that had previously meant nothing more than a faraway dream. To swear on your duty was to swear on your honour; but in that moment, those words were just that. Words , that thirteen year old him couldn’t fully grasp. 

“Listen, Gyro – you’re the eldest son of the Zeppeli house – you need to protect your family, since that is where true happiness is found,” his father had continued in the carriage taking them through the gates of the royal palace. “Protecting your family is like protecting your country. For your family to fall apart is to scorn both ancestor and descendant. Never forget that .”

He had sat in silence (and slight bewilderment) as his father spoke. And he watched in silence, as his father hung his cloak up in a simple brick room with bars on the windows. 

“From this day on, you will be my assistant – performing the duty given to us 380 years ago, for generations and generations of kings by the Zeppelis.”

It was at that moment when Gyro felt that something wasn’t quite right. In the courtyard where he stood, why were all the doors made of those imposing bars? Why were there guards everywhere? Why was there someone shouting and yelling for Officer Zeppeli?

“Gyro, you wait here; listen for my orders.”

He was frozen to the paved ground as his father donned his hood – his face was completely concealed with fabric, with only his hard green eyes staring back at his son.   

“ Babbo ?” 

But his father didn’t answer. Instead, he grasped a heavy sword that a guard – with the same mask over his face – handed to him. And at his hips, swinging by leather holsters, were green steel balls: just like the one he saw in that study all those years ago . Through the bars, Gyro could see his father walking to where someone struggled and flailed underneath chains. Through the bars, he watched as his father drove one of those rotating spheres into the shoulder blade of the despairing person – watched as they stilled those pitiful movements – yet the cries of fear never stopped. 

“Be still! Silence your heart.”

It was like time itself had come to a juddering halt as Gregorio lifted the sword above his head. It was like something straight out of a novel when he heard that comical swish through the air – of course it wasn’t real. Of course babbo wouldn’t do that, not the local doctor, not the man who had stressed the importance of saving those he could: rich or poor, old or young . So why was there that sickening crunch that followed? Why did those terrified cries cease? Why was babbo walking back to him with a sword drenched in red liquid that smelled horribly metallic ? 

“You will sanitise the sword,” at that distorted instruction, time seemed to resume again. “This is the beginning of your duties.”

As it turned out, it wasn’t a dream. The executioner must know everything about the human body: vital points, where a sword can easily cut through, every muscle and tendon . That fateful day, the coin was flipped – Gyro was finally privy to both sides. The steel ball exists for peace, not pain . In less than a minute, his entire world had flipped on its axis. 

“ You are to be my successor .”

It was little over a decade later when he made his first significant mistake. Just a month ago, there had been a prisoner detained for multiple murders: nothing more than a slight bird of a woman, with a pretty face – Gyro’s weakness . She attacked a guard, but he’d restrained her far too late; the damage had been done, and that guard’s fingers wouldn’t grow back. In the struggle, she tore off his collar; it drifted – forgotten – to the prison floor. 

“This accident was caused entirely by you, Gyro,” his father delivered calmly. “Take responsibility.”

“I was the one who calmed the woman, babbo ,” he defended himself. Though, in his bones, he knew the rebuke to be true – it was his hesitancy to act that cost the guard precious flesh. 

“‘ The woman is beautiful, and she is quite small ’,” his father echoed the thoughts that raced in Gyro’s mind when it happened. He felt the trickle of shame blossom into a rearing monster that forced him to bow his head. “Was that not what you were thinking?”

When his son didn’t respond, Gregorio continued. “Listen, Gyro – it was your own sentimentality that caused this, not ‘failure’ or ‘carelessness’. No matter someone’s face or age, it is all the same – shame on you! Without the sentimentality clouding your heart and interfering with your duty, you might’ve stopped her biting the guard’s fingers off, and avoided losing your collar with the royal crest.”

“ Sentimentality begets weakness .”

It was with a heavy heart that Gyro went back to his post in the prison a few days later. Only this time, there was a disturbance in the air that threatened to break the burdensome tranquillity that was so hard-won. 

“ We’ll make you speak! This is a needle – where the hell did you get it ?”

There – sitting on the stone slabs marred with dried blood – was a young boy. When Gyro rounded the corner to the row of cells, he could feel those huge, dark eyes turn his way – and his heart sank . For the first time in his line of duty, he felt an indescribable dread that weighed down each of his limbs; it was all he could do to stand upright. No , he couldn’t give in to the sentimentality that turned his clear resolve a murky grey. 

“ Attempted jailbreak – what were you planning on doing with this? Look – under his bed is a guard’s collar! Now he’s done it; it’s an insult to our country! ”

In the angry grasp of the guard was Gyro’s collar, all freshly stitched up from where it was torn off his neck. Consciously, his fingers reached up to brush his neck, and the young boy noticed . 

“Back to your posts , ” Gyro spoke up coldly; it took every fibre of him to conceal his shaky stance and assume one of authority as befitted an officer. “I’ll talk to the ragazzino myself.”

He snatched the collar of the guard as the two of them left, and he was left alone with the too-young prisoner. Focus . Warily, he eyed the iron clamps around the boy’s thin wrist – the area around the skin was chafed and an angry red, and those cuts would likely get infected within the week. 

“So, ragazzino ? What’s the deal with the needle and collar?” Gyro gritted out. Stop . Don’t talk to him any further . 

“I… made the needle – out of a fish’s bone, sir – and that collar, sir, was ripped off by a woman and fell into the drainage – and I picked it up and fixed it… I’m sure it’s important,” Gyro should have turned away as the boy started explaining. Yet, there was something compelling him to stay; he already knew exactly what it was. Sentimentality . “Please return it to its owner – I hope that he will like it… my father taught me that if I do my best, I’ll be accepted, someday!”

A mounting feeling of dread surged within his gut; it churned and writhed with a fervour impossible to quash. Turn away . If he turned away, he could still pretend that this boy didn’t exist. 

“Is it your collar, sir? If you don’t like it, I can fix it again – I can sew anything!”

“ Stop ,” Gyro began through clenched teeth. Enough . The hand that gripped his heart was interfering with duty. Babbo was right . “Don’t speak to me .. ever again – got it?”

As he left the cell, his hands were unreasonably clammy against his collar. Stray strands of hair escaped from the shadow of his hood and stuck to the cold sweat tracing his face – in comparison, his mouth was unbearably dry with the stricken feeling of despair. 

It was that very morning that he learnt of the boy’s crime – treason – with a penalty that no one could change. Execution by beheading . Marco, nine years old, sentenced to a quick death . And the one chosen to carry it out was none other than Gyro Zeppeli, as his first official duty as he came of age. 

For the first time since he became aware of this duty, he questioned the court outwardly. A written complaint was lodged, but the decision of the state was final and absolute. 

For the first time in his life, he heard his father raise his voice at him. 

“What you did was useless, Gyro,” the finality and anger thrumming in his tone were enough to send a racing shiver across Gyro’s skin. His father’s hair was grey, and there were lines across his face that betrayed his age – but the sharpness of his eyes hadn’t changed. “Our family’s duty is not to decide whether someone is innocent or guilty!”

“ Babbo ,” he could feel the protest rising in his throat, and he expelled it from his larynx like a wave of vomit. “I only want to complete my duty with consent.”

“There is no consent , Gyro! Even towards the worst criminals – our duty is carrying out the orders of the King. The law is the law! This discussion is over. You will fulfil your task, and never speak of it again.” 

Deep in Gyro’s heart, he knew that he couldn’t shirk his duty – treason wasn’t something that let the perpetrator live. There was nothing he could do for that child: nothing at all, save a quick death. 

“ How old are you now, Gyro ?” 

“You know how old I am,” Gyro replied bitterly. In the fine mist of late April rain, the stone walls of the courtyard smelled like the lilies planted nearby; it was all he could focus on, all he could comprehend, except for maybe the sorrowful grey of the sky. “What did you call me out here for?”

“Aren’t you the one concerned about that boy?”

He froze then – never had he heard the King’s Servant ask another question, in all his years of living. Under his incredulous gaze, the wizened man simply gave him a prompting look. 

“I will take the place of my father – that hasn’t changed, nor will it – but I just want consent!” he had forced out. With closed eyes, it was easy to pretend the man wasn’t there; only the light drizzle of fog made itself known on his clammy face. “Guilty or innocent! Pride and honour cannot exist without consent – I will put my life on the line for it – but not all laws are justice!”

It was then that he could feel the full depth of his feelings; all the resentment that had slowly built up over the years brushed its ghostly fingertips over his mind, before becoming all too tangible and heavy . 

“Isn’t there another way?” Gyro’s voice cracked as he opened his eyes again. “This boy had nothing to do with the assassination plot.”

“ Would you put your life on the line for that boy ?”

“What?” 

“I’m making sure,” the old man peered at him with a tilted head; it was much too sinister – coming from that wrinkled visage – to be even remotely comforting. Gyro couldn’t breathe, let alone think . No, that was incorrect; he had too many thoughts racing through his mind to try to grasp. “You would be willing to risk your life if the boy could be innocent?”

And there – held in the Servant’s gnarled fingers – was a newspaper announcing the Steel Ball Run. And Gyro Zeppeli understood: if he won and brought prestige to Naples, the King could grant the ragazzino amnesty in exchange.

For the first time in his life, it was Gyro Zeppeli who could make that decision: to take a life or save it.  

He just had to leave everything he knew behind. 

. 　⁺ ✦

In the late afternoon, golden light streamed through the high windows of the library, and illuminated the copious multitudes of swirling dust motes. As a child, Gyro would waste whole days there: just lying on his stomach on the worn leather couches, reading whatever he could reach off the tall shelves. Now, it was a treat to savour once or twice a month – no one really encroached upon the modest space, save for maybe Luisa or his father. 

When there was nobody around, he could carefully drop the needle for the gramaphone Maria Zeppeli had insisted on buying. There were only one or two records available to actually play in the house, but he appreciated the tinny strains of doleful, crackling music nonetheless. If he closed his eyes, he was in another life; if he were born more than a century prior, he might’ve heard the warbling tones of this Handel composition in person. If it were a century prior, would he still be marked out by fate to serve the King – or would it fall upon some other unfortunate fool? 

America was his chance to unshackle himself from the weight of duty dragging him into the future. Even if it was only for a few months – even if he died along the way – it was the first time he would be able to ignore the pressure looming over him. The arrangements had already been made; he’d board a cargo ship from Genoa on the first night of May, then sail for the States with his beloved Valkyrie. 

For the first time, the lies he told everyone would be consequential. Sure, he’d lied before – but sneaking out to visit whatever pretty thing caught his eye was hardly criminal behaviour. But this was different; he couldn’t possibly explain this away. A letter ? He chewed his lip thoughtfully as Handel’s work thundered and crackled in a blistering crescendo. No, babbo never writes back . He could address it to his mother, maybe, or even Luisa. A note ? No, that was too risky – if it were found before he left port, he could be detained by the military police. 

Already, the adrenaline catalysed his rapid heartbeat at the very thought of leaving Naples. He’d be bound by carriage to the north, and that would take several hours. With the help of the Servant, it would be easy enough to state that the King’s business needed Gyro – it technically wasn’t even a lie, since it was His Majesty’s business. 

With each mournful pause that dotted the piece, he could feel the pangs of regret already. Any pride Gregorio had in him would likely rot away at his actions – it was inconceivable that a Zeppeli son could even think this way. And what if he died? Would Luisa, or even Niccolo, be forced into something that might’ve never concerned them? The aftershocks of his departure would no doubt bring his father to an unbearable shame; this was undoubtedly one of the biggest sins he could commit. 

Our family’s duty is not to decide whether someone is innocent or guilty . 

No, Gyro needed to do this. In the future, would there be another Marco? Would there be another child, looking up at him with widened eyes as he swung the sword down? Those open, accusing eyes – through which he could see another innocent soul about to be untethered much too early. No . No matter how much he’d regret altering the Fate given to him, he’d regret not breaking the cycle more. 

In such a matter like life and death, he couldn’t rely on the King to play God. 

A man couldn’t possibly hold the impartiality of justice. 

It was strange; he never gave this much thought. Duty begets honour , his father would’ve argued. Honour allows you to protect your family . What if it had been Mariano, then? A child – chained up in prisoner’s racks, just waiting for the sword to finally swing down in an inevitable pendulum of motion. Family . If he kept quiet, he wouldn’t ever be able to look at any of his siblings again. Marco was just a child: subject to the most unfortunate of circumstances, and nothing more. He was no traitor. 

Gyro wouldn’t fail him. 

“Gyro?” 

He started from the couch he was languishing on as he spotted his mother in the doorway: making sure he swung his too-long legs off the armrest as to avoid looking overly ill-mannered. Had she seen him? Probably, though it was best to not dwell on it for too long.

“ Mamma , were you looking for me?” he played it off, sounding far too natural for someone about to escape the country tomorrow. That was a lie, actually – he sounded as awkward as if he had just been caught kissing someone in one of the clinic’s halls. Painfully embarrassing . 

“You’ve been unusually sullen these past few days,” she replied. Outside the operating room, Maria Zeppeli’s voice was milder: less clinically accusatory, and more mellowed . And he barely saw her at home, so the sound transported him right back to the eternal summer of childhood. In this frozen moment, he wasn’t an executioner – he was just a son . 

“I’m sure it’ll pass,” he lied. Despite any misgivings the guards had about her, she practically rivalled Gregorio in her ruthlessness. He could see her clearly now: arms crossed in a picture of staunch incredulity, concern and exasperation warring in her raised brows, and a flat line where her mouth was. Older age hadn’t softened her – the steel-grey of her hair looked more like the glint of a knife than anything. Although, even through her annoyed stance, he could see the question reflected in her eyes: are you alright ? 

“Gregorio doesn’t tell me of his work,” her words were tainted with tired resignation. “You know how your babbo is, Gyro – all that’s on his mind is duty, duty, and honour – and I have to figure things out for myself.”

At this moment, he could read right through her; she was completely unlike his father in this regard. He could see the prompt in her eyes: a chance to explain himself before she did. Gyro kept silent – it wasn’t like the words were trying to escape his clenched jaw with any particular haste.

“When the papers came out – only this morning , can you believe it – I didn’t know what to think,” she pinched the bridge of her nose: a habit that Gyro inherited from her. “To sentence a child … even in the clinic today, that farmer had heard about it – and I already knew what your babbo would’ve said to you.”

Something clicked. The frustration that radiated off her stiff posture was never targeted towards him in the first place. 

“ Mamma ,” did she notice the tiny shake in his voice? “Is sentimentality really that bad?”

She looked at him for a long moment. “I’m not going to try to go against what Gregorio has taught you.”

“But,” she cut off Gyro as he opened his mouth. Despite the exhaustion lacing her shoulders, she kept her head up. “It’s perfectly understandable that you’re upset about this. I know how he is – this is something that he considers essential to maintain the family honour – and..”

It was then that she pressed her lips together, and let her shoulders slump. No longer did she appear imposing; the set of her tremulous expression conveyed the frailty mirrored in Gyro’s very soul. She came over to him, and held him within her arms – and it was all he could do to prevent tears spilling from his eyes. 

“What should I do, mamma ?” he whispered into her shoulder hoarsely. He felt vulnerable ; for the first time since he began treading this blood-soaked path, he’d spoken the words aloud. 

“Whether you choose to do your duty as a Zeppeli – or as a doctor – know that both paths will bring you honour ,” the words were said so quietly that he wondered if he had imagined the stirring of his hair. “I can’t tell you what to do.”

She drew back and studied the morose expression that had settled on his face. Her dark eyes roved over his features – searching and searching for an answer he wasn’t fully sure of. No , that’s a lie ; he already knew exactly what he was going to do. Maria Zeppeli recognised the look of resolution glinting in her son’s eyes, for her face broke into a serene smile. “Seems that you’ve decided.”

“Yes.”

And that was all he needed to say. Every preparation, every clandestine packing of clothes, every lie that he wrenched from his lips – it wouldn’t be for nothing. I’ll do it . He could see it now; the duty that plagued his heart was the silt marring his clear resolve. For his honour, for justice , he couldn’t bring down the sword on that child. 

When she headed from the room, it was only then that he felt the crackle of a newspaper in his palm. Boy given death sentence for treason . Execution in September . And just below that, the familiar loop of his mother’s handwriting along the wrinkled paper – had she gripped it angrily as she wrote? Did her eyes narrow upon seeing those words? 

“ I’ll keep my mouth shut about your decision .”

She knew all along.

Babbo, I’m sorry .

. 　⁺ ✦

[morocosmos]

Febuwhump 2022 Masterlist

Late in the making for but for organisational purposes lol, the masterlist for my 2022 febuwhump pieces

Day 2: Failed Rescue Attempt

Day 4: Nightmare

Day 5: “I’ll Never Forgive You”

Day 6: Hypothermia

Day 8: No Anaesthesia

Day 10: “How Long Has It Been?”

Day 11: I Dreamt You Were Alive

Day 12: Spiked Drink

Day 13: Won’t Regain Consciousness

Day 14: Can’t Go Home