#Alcoholic in Patient Treatment

[getsoberprogram]

Alcohol Addiction Counseling and Treatment Online: Choose to Internal Repair in Yours

Addiction to Alcohol A mix of therapeutic components, including behavioral treatments, medicines, and mutual support groups, are used in counseling. Alcohol Addiction Counseling sessions can be used in behavioral therapy to assist patients in changing their problematic drinking habits. If you've never taken part in individual therapy, you might be curious about what it involves and why treating alcoholism with it is advantageous. 

Working one-on-one with a licensed alcohol addiction therapist at Get Sober Program is known as individual therapy, and it is one type of treatment for alcohol use disorder. A qualified therapist may pinpoint particular treatment requirements during individual addiction therapy sessions that call for referrals for further help, such as job, psychiatric, medical, or other supporting services.   

What Does An Online Alcohol Addiction Counselor Do? 

The Alcohol Addiction Treatment Online program that each individual receives from an alcohol counselor will change from person to person due to the unique nature of the recovery process. During the first several months of recovery, you will often visit with your alcohol counselor often, both individually and in group sessions. 

Meetings may decrease after a few months, depending on your progress. Additionally, they assist in altering these detrimental behaviors by utilizing methods, such cognitive behavioral therapy, that teach addicts new techniques. However, if you're having a rough week or are having trouble resisting the impulse to drink, you can arrange to meet with your counselor in between meetings. A counselor for alcohol use can assist: 

Give facts about alcoholism and talk about the process of becoming well.

Create a well-organized, practical treatment and recovery plan based on your requirements.

Assist in identifying any underlying problems and drinking triggers

Provide advice and methods for achieving long-term sobriety and a successful recovery.

Make routine evaluations to gauge your development.

Encourage and provide emotional support to you at every step of your recovery

What are the Benefits of Alcoholic in Patient Treatment? 

Therapeutic treatments

To address the behavioral, emotional, and psychological elements of addiction, Alcoholic in Patient Treatment uses a range of therapeutic treatments. These might include dialectical behavior therapy, motivational interviewing and other evidence-based techniques customized to the requirements of the person.

Holistic Approach

Inpatient alcohol treatment programs frequently employ a holistic approach to recovery, meeting the social, spiritual, and emotional components of addiction in addition to its physical and psychological manifestations. This all-encompassing strategy encourages general well-being and provides people with the means to create a meaningful and long-lasting sober life. 

Medical Detoxification

To assist people in safely and comfortably quitting alcohol, a number of inpatient alcohol treatment programs include medical detoxification treatments. Medical specialists oversee medical detox, keeping an eye on vital signs, managing withdrawal symptoms, and giving medicine to ease discomfort and lower the chance of consequences.

24/7 monitoring and Support

Our Alcoholic in Patient Treatment is available to give round-the-clock monitoring and assistance to participants in inpatient alcohol treatment programs. This ongoing observation guarantees security, responsibility, and help availability at all times, particularly in the difficult initial phases of rehabilitation.  

[trans-axolotl]

also in regards to that last article about varied ways of thinking about psychosis/altered states that don't just align with medical model or carceral psychiatry---I always love sharing about Bethel House and their practices of peer support for schizophrenia that are founded on something called tojisha kenkyu, but I don't see it mentioned as often as things like HVN and Soteria House.

ID: [A colorful digital drawing of a group of people having a meeting inside a house while it snows outside.]

"What really set the stage for tōjisha-kenkyū were two social movements started by those with disabilities. In the 1950s, a new disability movement was burgeoning in Japan, but it wasn’t until the 1970s that those with physical disabilities, such as cerebral palsy, began to advocate for themselves more actively as tōjisha. For those in this movement, their disability is visible. They know where their discomfort comes from, why they are discriminated against, and in what ways they need society to change. Their movement had a clear sense of purpose: make society accommodate the needs of people with disabilities. Around the same time, during the 1970s, a second movement was started by those with mental health issues, such as addiction (particularly alcohol misuse) and schizophrenia. Their disabilities are not always visible. People in this second movement may not have always known they had a disability and, even after they identify their problems, they may remain uncertain about the nature of their disability. Unlike those with physical and visible disabilities, this second group of tōjisha were not always sure how to advocate for themselves as members of society. They didn’t know what they wanted and needed from society. This knowing required new kinds of self-knowledge.

As the story goes, tōjisha-kenkyū emerged in the Japanese fishing town of Urakawa in southern Hokkaido in the early 2000s. It began in the 1980s when locals who had been diagnosed with psychiatric disorders created a peer-support group in a run-down church, which was renamed ‘Bethel House’. The establishment of Bethel House (or just Bethel) was also aided by the maverick psychiatrist Toshiaki Kawamura and an innovative social worker named Ikuyoshi Mukaiyachi. From the start, Bethel embodied the experimental spirit that followed the ‘antipsychiatry’ movement in Japan, which proposed ideas for how psychiatry might be done differently, without relying only on diagnostic manuals and experts. But finding new methods was incredibly difficult and, in the early days of Bethel, both staff and members often struggled with a recurring problem: how is it possible to get beyond traditional psychiatric treatments when someone is still being tormented by their disabling symptoms? Tōjisha-kenkyū was born directly out of a desperate search for answers.

In the early 2000s, one of Bethel’s members with schizophrenia was struggling to understand who he was and why he acted the way he did. This struggle had become urgent after he had set his own home on fire in a fit of anger. In the aftermath, he was overwhelmed and desperate. At his wits’ end about how to help, Mukaiyachi asked him if perhaps he wanted to kenkyū (to ‘study’ or ‘research’) himself so he could understand his problems and find a better way to cope with his illness. Apparently, the term ‘kenkyū’ had an immediate appeal, and others at Bethel began to adopt it, too – especially those with serious mental health problems who were constantly urged to think about (and apologise) for who they were and how they behaved. Instead of being passive ‘patients’ who felt they needed to keep their heads down and be ashamed for acting differently, they could now become active ‘researchers’ of their own ailments. Tōjisha-kenkyū allowed these people to deny labels such as ‘victim’, ‘patient’ or ‘minority’, and to reclaim their agency.

Tōjisha-kenkyū is based on a simple idea. Humans have long shared their troubles so that others can empathise and offer wisdom about how to solve problems. Yet the experience of mental illness is often accompanied by an absence of collective sharing and problem-solving. Mental health issues are treated like shameful secrets that must be hidden, remain unspoken, and dealt with in private. This creates confused and lonely people, who can only be ‘saved’ by the top-down knowledge of expert psychiatrists. Tōjisha-kenkyū simply encourages people to ‘study’ their own problems, and to investigate patterns and solutions in the writing and testimonies of fellow tōjisha.

Self-reflection is at the heart of this practice. Tōjisha-kenkyū incorporates various forms of reflection developed in clinical methods, such as social skills training and cognitive behavioural therapy, but the reflections of a tōjisha don’t begin and end at the individual. Instead, self-reflection is always shared, becoming a form of knowledge that can be communally reflected upon and improved. At Bethel House, members found it liberating that they could define themselves as ‘producers’ of a new form of knowledge, just like the doctors and scientists who diagnosed and studied them in hospital wards. The experiential knowledge of Bethel members now forms the basis of an open and shared public domain of collective knowledge about mental health, one distributed through books, newspaper articles, documentaries and social media.

Tōjisha-kenkyū quickly caught on, making Bethel House a site of pilgrimage for those seeking alternatives to traditional psychiatry. Eventually, a café was opened, public lectures and events were held, and even merchandise (including T-shirts depicting members’ hallucinations) was sold to help support the project. Bethel won further fame when their ‘Hallucination and Delusion Grand Prix’ was aired on national television in Japan. At these events, people in Urakawa are invited to listen and laugh alongside Bethel members who share stories of their hallucinations and delusions. Afterwards, the audience votes to decide who should win first prize for the most hilarious or moving account. One previous winner told a story about a failed journey into the mountains to ride a UFO and ‘save the world’ (it failed because other Bethel members convinced him he needed a licence to ride a UFO, which he didn’t have). Another winner told a story about living in a public restroom at a train station for four days to respect the orders of an auditory hallucination. Tōjisha-kenkyū received further interest, in and outside Japan, when the American anthropologist Karen Nakamura wrote A Disability of the Soul: An Ethnography of Schizophrenia and Mental Illness in Contemporary Japan (2013), a detailed and moving account of life at Bethel House. "

-Japan's Radical Alternative to Psychiatric Diagnosis by Satsuki Ayaya and Junko Kitanaka

[crystallinestars]

How They React to Your Death

My HCs about how I think the Genshin boys would react to your death. I wanted to write Kaeya too, but ran out of steam.

This month has been terrible to me, so I was in the mood for angst. I don't know how well these turned out, but they were fun to think about.

Part 2 here.

Characters: Alhaitham, Childe, Heizou, Kaveh, Lyney, Neuvillette, Venti, Wanderer/Scaramouche, and Wriothesley

WARNING:

Reader has death descriptions. Some are more graphic than others, but I don't get into the nitty gritty details.

Spoilers for the backstories of all the mentioned boys.

MAJOR SPOILERS for Act V of the Fontaine Archon quest in Neuvillette's part.

Childe's part contains mention of suicidal thoughts.

Kaveh's and Venti's parts contain alcoholism

🎧 Alhaitham

Despite Alhaitham’s considerable wealth, no amount of money could cure your Eleazar sickness. His money could only buy treatment that prolonged your life a little bit, but ultimately your many years of battling the illness ended when he got news from the doctors that you had passed away in your sleep.

Alhaitham had accepted the news fairly quickly. He knew your death was inevitable, could see you slowly wasting away each time he visited you in the hospital over the past few months. So it was no surprise to him when the day finally came. The other patients and staff thought it strange how Alhaitham had no visible reaction to the news, but some chalked it up to shock when in truth the Scribe was simply accepting of that fact. There was no use denying something that already happened.

When Alhaitham came home that day, the house felt silent and empty. It reminded him of how the house felt when his grandmother passed away when he was younger. The sensations were similar. However, he did not cry over your death. Instead, he carried on his life as normal, or as close to it as he could now that you were no longer a part of what he considered ‘normal’.

At first glance, people thought that Haitham was unaffected by your death. Nothing about him changed. Not his mannerisms, his quality of work, or his expression. He remained the same reserved, stoic Scribe who had no time for trivial nonsense or extra work. He also never talked about you to others aside from confirming their question if you were truly gone. Alhaitham was like a well-oiled machine that worked efficiently like clockwork, keeping up the same even rhythm.

What they don’t see is how he comes home with the expectation of hearing your voice greet him upon entering, only to be faced with a defeating silence that makes his heart sink. They don’t know that Alhaitham wakes up throughout the night, expecting to find you snuggled up next to him in bed the way you used to before your sickness got worse, and you had to be hospitalized. However, you weren’t there no matter how many times he looked towards your side of the bed, and the Scribe could only sigh and try to fall back asleep while ignoring his aching heart.

No one sees how Alhaitham gets too lost in his books in the mornings and accidentally makes two cups of coffee instead of one due to force of habit. Or how, for once, he finds the silence of his house bothersome without your voice and the sounds of your activities resounding within the walls, and it’s enough to distract him from reading. He could be found reading at the House of Daena and Puspa Café more often from then on.

During his afternoon naps, Alhaitham sneaks back home and cradles your favorite blanket to mimic the sensation of holding your soft body in his arms the way he used to when you joined him for naps. He listens to recordings of you talking with him just so he can hear your voice again. He was glad he made the decision to record your voice at the hospital before you became too weak to speak. It gave him the chance to hear you one more time even if the sound of your voice made his chest hurt so much that he occasionally had to stop the recording to collect himself.

Nobody sees how Alhaitham finally picks up the fiction books you recommended him because they were your favorite. He prefers non-fiction, but these books are the last things he has left through which he could connect to your mind and way of thinking. He reads them all cover-to-cover even if he finds the story lacking or the writing not to his taste. He will learn to treasure each and every word because you once did.

What someone might see, as Kaveh did when he moved in with the Scribe, is a bookshelf filled with a few journals, a thick book with an emerald cover, and an assortment of fiction books that exist nowhere else in the house. Alhaitham never talks about these books unless asked, but their well-worn covers are a sign of frequent use, and sure enough, one can catch him reading a rare fiction book during one specific month each year.

🐋 Childe

You went missing after going out to collect some firewood in the woods near Childe’s home. A search party was arranged to find you with Childe in the lead, and he was also the first one to find your remains. Your body had been torn apart, blood and innards splattered across the snow, no doubt the work of some rifthounds. Usually, Childe would relish in such a gory sight, but not this time. Not when it’s your blood and flesh painted in the snow.

The sight leaves him numb. He’s numb when the search party comes to retrieve you, numb when he sees your parents weeping over your gruesome death, and numb when he takes on the duty of exterminating every rifthound he finds around Morepesok.

He wants to cry too, to grieve for you the way he needs, but refrains. He doesn’t want to appear weak and unreliable when his younger siblings mourn and cry over your death. You were like family to them, and your death broke their little hearts to pieces. Childe didn’t want to burden his siblings further by breaking down in front of them. He needed to remain a reliable older brother who could support them through this tough time, even when his own heart bled and he cried in his sleep when he dreamed about you.

Childe’s underlings noted that the Eleventh Harbinger became colder and more irritable after your passing. Any mention of your name would garner the speaker a harsh glare, and if Childe assumed what said person said about you was disrespectful, he didn’t hesitate to start a fight and beat the other person within an inch of their life. He became violent and unhinged, much like how he used to be when he returned from the Abyss as a fourteen-year-old boy.

Childe knew his behavior was irrational, and it pained him to see even his own family fear him due to his violent actions. He felt restless. Spending time at home among your belongings summoned feelings of longing and sadness, but even so, he couldn’t bear to throw anything away. He lived among the ghosts of your existence, however, it drove him mad with grief.

Childe needed an outlet for his emotions, so he took to fighting monsters and other strong opponents. He became even more reckless in battle. If before, the Harbinger sought out strong enemies to test his mettle against them and grow stronger as a result, now he sought out an opponent that would be worthy of taking his life.

Childe didn’t want to abandon his family. He loved them dearly and wanted to see his siblings grow up to be happy and successful people, but life without you felt so hollow. A part of him wanted to return to his family, but the sense of his family feeling incomplete never left him. You were just as much of a family to him as his siblings and parents were. He had plans to start his own family with you. But now… now, a part of him yearns to reunite with you in the afterlife. He promised he would stay by your side no matter what, and Ajax is not one to break his promises.

🔍 Heizou

Heizou was one of the first to hear about your stabbing that occurred in an Inazuman alleyway late that evening. You were rushed to a doctor to have your wound treated, but the robber who attacked you hit a vital area. Your blood loss was colossal, and it wasn’t long after arriving at the doctor’s that you succumbed to your injury.

To Heizou, the news brought on a sense of deja vu. He’s already lost a friend to crime in the past, and now he lost you to crime, too. The knowledge made him furious and heartbroken. He was angry at the robber for stabbing you just so he could steal some money that you didn’t want to part with, and he was angry at himself for failing to prevent this. After his friend passed away, Heizou swore to nip crime in the bud by discouraging criminals from committing crimes with the threat that he would find and capture them no matter what without fail. But what good did his resolve do if you still died because of an armed robber?

The heartache and guilt he felt ate away at him as the memory of your ashen face during your last few moments haunted him. He lost you. Never again would he get to spend time with you and make you laugh, kiss and hug you, or tell you he loved you.

His anger drove him to capture the murderer in record time, but hearing the criminal’s subsequent sentence for theft and murder didn’t comfort the detective. No amount of jail time would ever atone for the loss of your life.

After that day, Heizou lost his playful demeanor, becoming somber and reserved. He threw himself into his work, feeling pressured to capture as many criminals as he could in as little time as possible. However, his grief and exhaustion caused his mind to dull and make mistakes while investigating clues. It got to the point where Kujou Sara had to forcibly send him on vacation so he could take a break and properly process your death.

Despite his protests, Heizou knew he wasn’t much use in his current state, so he took this free time to visit your family and mourn together with them. He apologized for not doing a better job of protecting you, fully expecting your parents to lay blame on him for not protecting their child. To his surprise, your parents didn’t blame him at all. They even thanked him for catching the murderer and helping them to feel a little more at peace. Heizou’s interaction with your family helped him feel a tiny bit less guilty about your death.

The experience left him feeling a little less broken, so in the following days he sorted through your belongings in your shared home. He packed away some items to return to your parents, some things he put in storage, and others he gave away that he remembered you wanting to get rid of. A few of your items he kept for himself, one of which was a scarf you mentioned you bought because it was the same shade of green as his eyes which reminded you of him.

Heizou wore your scarf as a keepsake and good luck charm and would hardly be seen without it when he finally came back to work. What once served as your reminder of him, now served as his reminder of you, the person he loved with his whole being. But with the memories of you came the reminder of how you died. Though the memory was painful, it helped Heizou work up the will to keep pursuing his goal of eradicating crime. Even when the case was extremely tough with conflicting clues, your scarf would remind him to not give up, to not let another incident like yours happen again, and Heizou would persevere. He would continue to persevere no matter how long it took because he didn’t want innocent lives like yours to be snatched away so cruelly. Maybe one day, he will see you in the afterlife and proudly tell you all about how he achieved his dream. Until then, he will work hard to be worthy of the title of Inazuma’s best detective.

🍷 Kaveh

Kaveh had a lot of work to do. He was saddled with creating drafts for another large project while also trying to work on the commission for constructing a library in Aaru village for the children. Wanting to help alleviate his burden, you offered to take the finished drafts over to Aaru village yourself so he could focus on finishing up work for his other project. Kaveh tried to object, saying you really didn’t need to trouble yourself on his behalf, but you insisted, expressing your desire to help him finish his work sooner so the two of you could spend more time together again. After some deliberation, he let you go to the village by yourself, confident that you could make the trip since you accompanied him there several times before.

A few days later, Kaveh received news that you had died on your return trip from the desert. When he heard the cause of your death, his stomach roiled. You perished in quicksand just like his father. You died doing something for his sake, just like his father did.

Whatever future plans he was building together with you, whatever progress you made in helping him slowly heal from his trauma, it all came crashing down around him. Your death reopened old wounds Kaveh was only starting to heal from, as well as left new scars that tormented him every waking moment.

The first few weeks, Kaveh couldn’t stand to be in your shared home. It was full of memories of you, and each and every one of your belongings would stab at his heart like a blade. Moreover, the house felt so silent without you around. It reminded him of when his mother left for Fontaine, leaving him alone in a house too big for only him to live in. Now, he was reliving that moment all over again, but it was worse this time because, unlike his mother, he would never see you again.

Kaveh also couldn’t stand to look inside his sketchbooks. The pages were covered in various sketches of you, and looking at them only made the anguish and guilt grow in him tenfold. He blamed himself for your death, attributing it to being his fault just like he attributes his father’s death as his fault too. No matter what anyone says to console him, he will never stop believing it’s all his fault.

Fueled by guilt and self-loathing, Kaveh spent several weeks visiting Lambad’s tavern practically every day. One could even say he lived there since the architect seldom went home. He used what little money he had to buy alcohol, especially of the stronger kind. He wanted to numb the pain in his heart and to pretend that you weren’t really gone from this world. The alcohol helped to muddle his mind until his intoxicated brain conjured happy memories of you together, and Kaveh would mumble your name in a drunken haze. Other times it didn’t help, and Alhaitham, Cyno, or Tighnari could often find a drunk Kaveh quietly crying while slumped over a table and trying their best to drag him home while listening to his drunken babble of self-loathing and regret.

It will take a long time for Kaveh to feel okay again, and even then, he will never be the same optimistic and cheerful person he used to be. You were his muse, the one who made him feel like maybe he was deserving of love after all. But with you gone, he lost his creative spark. His designs no longer held the same extravagant and artistic flair they used to. Now, they’re more tame by comparison. With your passing, you took with you the little bit of joy he felt towards the world, and it seemed more bleak than it used to be when he was with you.

Kaveh refused to seek out love after your death. He’s lost too many people he held dear and has been left alone over and over again. The pain of being left behind and of feeling like he will only bring misfortune to those he cares about, made him seal off his heart. He doesn’t want to let people close to him like that again, and neither does he want to replace you. You were, and still are, very special to him.

Despite numerous years going by after your passing, Kaveh never forgot you, and he didn’t want your memory to be forgotten either. He built an art school and dedicated it to you in honor of being the one who inspired him so much in his creative endeavors. He hopes that your name will live on and continue to inspire future generations of artists long after he is gone from the world.

🎩 Lyney Having grown up in the House of the Hearth with Lyney and Lynette, the twins were practically like family to you. Though admittedly, Lyney and you developed romantic ties rather than familial ones the more you got to know each other. It was no surprise to anyone when the two of you became a couple, and Lynette even encouraged it.

Being a member of the Fatui, you were often sent out on dangerous missions to infiltrate enemy territory and report your findings back to Arlecchino. You were good at your job and had major successfully completed missions under your belt, but even the best slip up sometimes. After infiltrating enemy headquarters, you regularly reported your findings back to the House, however, one day the correspondence stopped. You went completely silent. The thought of you being caught immediately crossed Lyney’s mind, but he was hopeful that as an experienced agent, you would manage to find a way out somehow. You always have in the past, and after having worked together with you during joint missions, he saw first-hand how capable you were. To pass the time, he focused on polishing a magic trick he wanted to show you upon your return.

Days go by, and just as the magician is about to lose his patience and run off to try and find you, news about your body washing up on a riverbank reaches his ears. The heartbreak Lyney experiences upon hearing the news is indescribable. He felt lost, disoriented, and anguished. A part of him refused to believe the facts, but after witnessing the gruesome sight of your corpse, he had no choice but to face reality.

You were dead.

Lyney wondered at length about the cause of your death, and while his own guesses made his stomach knot, the autopsy report he read a few days later made him livid. Numerous torture and abuse marks were found on your body. It seemed that the enemy had captured and tortured you, hoping to force you to spill some of the Fatui’s secrets. Judging by the severity of the most recent wounds, you must have kept quiet because more brutal torture methods were used on you until the enemy figured out they wouldn’t get anything out of you, and disposed of you. Lyney knew how loyal you were to your family. You would never betray them even at the cost of your own life, but in that moment, he really wished you would have treasured your life more. Maybe then you could have survived. Maybe then he would have had the chance to hold you in his arms and tell you he missed you while you were gone. Maybe he would have had an opportunity to show off the magic trick he created specifically for your eyes only. But now, he’ll continue to miss you until the day death comes for him too. Lyney’s initial reaction upon hearing of your torture is overwhelming fury. Lynette had to hold him back from recklessly running off to take revenge against the enemy. It took a lot of reasoning on her part, but eventually, her brother calmed down.

Once his bout of anger passed, Lyney broke down. Lynette didn’t hide her own tears as she held her brother in her arms while he cried. The siblings both missed you dearly and mourned your loss, but Lyney took your death especially hard. He felt broken. One of his most precious people was taken from him in such a cruel manner, and the mere thought of how you must have spent your last few waking hours made him feel horrible.

He was anguished and angry, and the potent concoction of negative emotions weighed down on his heart and mind. Gone was his cheerful smile and outgoing attitude, replaced with a cold and somber frown. His calculative side took center stage. Though his initial burst of outrage passed, he wouldn’t give up on his desire for revenge until the act had been carried out. Aside from the twins, Arlecchino also refused to take your death lying down. You were her precious child, someone she put in a lot of love and effort to raise, and this transgression angered her as much as it angered Lyney. Together with Arlecchino, Lyney and Lynette infiltrate enemy headquarters and make every person a part of that organization pay. The magician ensures that the perpetrators experience the same pain you went through during your torture, and by the time they’re done, not a soul is left alive.

Even after exacting revenge, Lyney barely feels a smidge better. Though your captors have been neutralized and won’t hurt anyone the way they hurt you ever again, it doesn’t satisfy Lyney. At the end of the day, all he wants is to have you back in his life. He consoles himself with pieces of your clothing. Your clothes smelled like you, and Lyney hugged one of your items every night, breathing in your scent and soaking the material with his tears as he quietly cried. It takes a long time for Lyney to get himself together and act like himself again. Though he could easily put on a fake smile for his audience, his heart still aches inside. He misses you no matter how many months go by, and Lynette has her hands full comforting him when he breaks down at night and cries about how much he wants to see you. Lyney would have had an easier time accepting your death if you had passed away more peacefully, but knowing you were tortured to death will forever haunt him.

Once he feels more like himself, Lyney incorporates the magic trick he originally wanted to show you upon your return into his magic shows. He only performs it during special occasions so it would leave a great spectacle upon his audience. It was once made to awe you, but now it awes his audience, and a part of him feels some semblance of catharsis in knowing he could inspire others to feel the same joy you made him feel using just this trick. At times like these, Lyney feels as if a part of you was still there with him, enjoying the show he secretly dedicates in your honor.

⚖️ Neuvillette

You were visiting your friend Navia in Poisson, when the Primordial Sea flooded the area and caused a great catastrophe that took the lives of many of its residents. Neuvillette was aware you were in Poisson when the disaster struck, and he tried to get there as quickly as he could to check on you. He would have arrived there immediately were it not for the pressing matters he had to settle prior. He hoped the Traveler and Paimon would find you and keep you safe since they knew you were the Iudex’s beloved.

When he finally made it to Poisson, to his morbid surprise, he found neither you nor Navia, but some Fatui members helping to mitigate the damage. When he asked about your whereabouts, he was told that nobody had seen you. Immediately, his thoughts ventured to the worst scenario, but he refused to believe in his fears until he could get confirmation. He held out hope that you were alright, and went in pursuit of Navia and the Traveler, hoping that maybe you were with them, or they knew what happened to you.

It wasn’t until he was saving Navia from getting dissolved in the Primordial Sea water, did he catch a glimpse of your face. You were trying to protect Navia from certain death, along with Silver and Meluse. At the time he was too anxious about saving Navia to fully register the implication, but an unsettling thought sprang in his mind that maybe you really were— No, he didn’t want to accept it.

When Navia regained consciousness, Neuvillette asked her about your whereabouts. Her answer pierced through him like an ice-cold lance. With tears in her eyes, Navia recounted how you were helping Silver and Meluse rescue the residents of Poisson when the Primordial Sea flooded in, and how she saw your body dissolve in the water along with her loyal subordinates with her own eyes. The news settled in Neuvillette’s stomach like a boulder, causing it to sink and make him feel nauseous. Dread filled him, but he could only muster a quiet “I see…” and stare off into the distance. He felt crushing sadness, but he wasn’t given time to properly process his emotions and your death until he managed to make it out of the ruins.

That evening, Fontaine was hit by a torrential downpour that lasted several days. The rain fell in heavy sheets, flooding the streets and urging most of the citizens to seek shelter in their homes. Only the Chief Justice had the gall to stand outside and let the rain seep and soak through his clothes.

Neuvillette let the water droplets cascade down his face, imitating the tears he wished to shed as the realization that he would never see you again settled in. It was strange. Though he was on land, each waking moment he was pursued by a constant feeling of drowning. His chest felt heavy as if burdened by a great weight that made each breath he took feel like a herculean task.

Neuvillette felt a lot of emotions he couldn’t find the words for. He was frustrated and angry that innocent civilians had died in the flood because nothing was done to prevent it. So many people died. You died. If nothing else, he wanted to get justice for your and the others’ deaths.

However, Furina refused to provide answers to his questions despite his probing and insistence that now was not the time to keep secrets that could potentially help prevent an even greater catastrophe. That was when he turned to seeking aid from his companions, in the hopes that Fontaine could still be saved. Neuvillette lost and gained many things in those few days. The citizens of Fontaine were freed of their curse, and Neuvillette had obtained a position of complete authority, however, it all came at the cost of the lives of innocent civilians, Focalors’s life, Furina’s mental state, and… your life. Those were great prices to pay, and Neuvillette mourned each and every sacrifice.

Now that he had some time to himself to process his feelings, Neuvillette recognized that what he felt was grief and longing. He wanted to see you at least one more time, to feel you in his arms again. To have you taken from him so suddenly was too painful. He never got to tell you one last ‘I love you’, and he could only hope that his words reach you wherever your consciousness might be now. Fontaine will see frequent rainfall in the coming months. It won’t be easy for Neuvillette to get over your death, and some part of him will always ache and yearn to see you again. But one thing he can do is strengthen his resolve to make Fontaine into a nation that both you and Focalors would be proud of. A nation where tragedies like these will never happen again.

🍃 Venti

Venti liked to climb up on high places like his statue in front of the Favonius church, the rooftop of the Cat’s Tail, or the great tree at Windrise. Today, you found him high up in the tree, absentmindedly strumming a new tune on his lyre. Wanting to surprise the bard, you tried your best to climb the tree as quietly as you could, but right as you were about to pop up and surprise him, the branch you were on snapped, and with a heart-stopping shriek, you plummeted down to the ground.

Your scream alerted Venti. He felt your presence before you even started climbing the tree, but he failed to foresee the danger until it was too late. He didn’t react fast enough to summon a gust of wind to safely lower you down. The sickening crunch of your skull hitting the ground made his stomach roil, and for a brief moment he felt as if the blood in his veins turned to ice. He felt frozen in place.

Snapping out of his momentary stupor, Venti rushed to your side to check on you, but the enormous pool of blood blooming around your lifeless body made him throw up.

Not again. He lost someone he loved once more. The painful emotions of losing you triggered a cascade of memories of seeing the broken body of that one boy he called a friend thousands of years ago. The same boy whose face he now wore as a way of honoring his memory and giving him an opportunity to live out his dreams of freedom through Venti.

Venti felt that same feeling of heavy emptiness once again as he cradled your lifeless body in his arms, your blood smearing the white sleeves of his shirt. One of the bard’s hands cradled your still-warm cheek, and he wept. To have you taken away so easily through such a small accident… it was too much.

Venti didn’t attend your funeral. He couldn’t bear to. However, he forced himself to watch from a distance as your loved ones gathered around your grave. He fully empathized with their grief.

In the following days, one could often find Venti at a tavern. He started with Angel’s Share, but after consecutive days of heavy drinking and drunken ramblings about how remorseful he felt and how you deserved better, Diluc put a stop to Venti’s visits. The Anemo Archon wasn’t getting any better from drinking himself into a stupor until he could barely hold himself upright. It was heartbreaking to see.

Even after being banned from the Angel’s Share, Venti would visit other taverns in the city and rinse and repeat. He so badly wanted to numb the pain in his heart and forget the awful memory of your lifeless body. Only after several bans did Venti finally stop coming to the city altogether. He disappeared for a while, and nobody was able to find him. Only after many weeks did the bard suddenly pop up in the town square with his lyre in hand.

During his absence, Venti wrote a few songs as a way to cope with his grief, and after a while, finally felt well enough to play them. As a bard, he was well-known in Mondstadt for playing cheerful and beautiful tunes, but this time his melodies were melancholic, even sad. They listened to him sing about a love he can no longer say ‘I love you’ to anymore, someone he can no longer forge new memories with and can only carry on in his heart as a memory. The music he played captured the attention of every member of the audience and touched their hearts so deeply that they, too, could feel the sorrow the bard was trying to convey through his melodies. His pain became their pain, too. The heartache was so profound, so raw and crippling, that many people couldn’t hold back from crying.

Venti wasn’t playing the songs to earn money or share his sadness with others. He was playing them for you. He hoped that his feelings would reach you wherever you were and that your memory wouldn’t fade away even if he remained the last person alive who knew of your existence. His songs will keep your memory alive in the hearts of the Mondstadt citizens, never to be forgotten.

☂️ Wanderer

You have been fighting chronic sickness for months, but despite the treatments, each week you seemed to get worse and worse. Neither the doctors of Sumeru nor even Nahida herself could figure out a cure for your condition. You were bedridden with barely any strength to move. Wanderer took responsibility for nursing you back to health by helping you get to places you needed, cooking all your meals and feeding you, as well as getting your medicine and administering it.

Despite his efforts, you could tell you wouldn’t last long. While you still had the strength to talk, you apologized to him for being forced to part from him.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed, with a frown pulling at his lips. “Rather than talk about such nonsense, use that energy to get better instead.”

He didn’t want to face the facts, to accept the reality that you could disappear from his life. But then came a day where you no longer opened your eyes when he called your name, nor stirred when he tried to shake you awake. Your body was cold and stiff and so unlike what he was used to seeing you as. The life you possessed was gone in all senses of the word.

Something in Wanderer snapped that day. Falling to his knees, he let out a guttural scream that tore at his vocal cords. He unleashed a wail that carried all the anguish and misery he’d been keeping bottled up inside for hundreds of years. He’s lost so many people he cared for in the past. Each time he met someone he grew attached to, fate would always tear them away from him, and you were no exception.

He cried bitter tears in the privacy of your shared home, cursing Fate for doing this to him over and over again. He was angry and heartbroken. Though he lacked a real heart, the sensation in his chest felt like something inside him broke into a million tiny fragments. As if sharp needles pierced through his non-existent heart and caused him to scream until he lost his voice.

He wanted revenge, but how can one get vengeance against Fate itself?

You were gone, so cruelly torn away from his side despite his best efforts to keep you alive. You were the little ray of light that never gave up on him no matter how cold he was towards you or how much he pushed you away, and helped him heal little by little. You accepted him in his entirety and wormed your way into his non-existent heart, so how dare Fate mock him like this? Wanderer truly felt as if Fate was purposely torturing him by taking away all those whom he held dear.

Helpless and anguished, Wanderer reverted to the days when he used to be Scaramouche, the sixth of the Fatui Harbingers who was infamous for his callousness and mercilessness. His roiling emotions spurred him to repeat these spiteful acts against anyone who got in his way. It was the only way he knew of how to vent these overwhelming emotions that made him feel like he was choking on his grief.

It took Nahida’s interference to calm him down and get through to him that you wouldn’t want him to be like this. The Wanderer you fell in love with wasn’t such a hateful person driven by negative emotions, and though he was loathe to admit it, the God of Wisdom was right.

Having quelled the initial burst of wounded anger, Wanderer would think more clearly about what he should do from now on. He could keep all your items, photographs, and letters, but they would never replace you, only help preserve some of the memories attached to them, which a puppet like him had no need for. He won’t forget even the smallest thing about you, not as long as he’s alive.

Wanderer becomes a regular visitor of your grave, taking care of it so your name won’t be erased from the gravestone by time too quickly. He would frequently bring your favorite foods and flowers and place them in front of your grave, before taking a seat next to it and staring off into the distance without saying a word. He did this mostly at night so he could stargaze, just like how you both used to when you were alive.

Even centuries later, when everyone who knew you took their memories of you to their graves, Wanderer will remain to watch over your final resting place, unwavering in his devotion.

🐺 Wriothesley

You accompanied Wriothesley on another one of his swims out in the open waters surrounding the Fortress. Since you weren’t a vision holder, you had to wear a diving suit to breathe, unlike your beloved Duke. You’ve had these private little swim dates a few times before, so your guard was down when you swam through some jagged areas of the Fortress’s scaffolding. The shoulder of your diving suit caught on a sharp edge of metal and tore a hole in it. The tear was fairly large, and you panicked when you felt water rush inside your suit. Wriothesley was quick to freeze the hole and pull you up to the surface to get the suit off of you, but by the time he did, it was too late. You had inhaled too much water and were unresponsive. Wriothesley tried to keep his anxiety at bay and utilized all the CPR knowledge he learned from Sigewinne to try and save your life. He breathed air into your lungs and did chest compressions with enough force to hear your ribs crack, but even after 30 agonizing minutes of trying, you wouldn’t wake up.

Wriothesley had no choice but to accept the fact you died. Wriothesley doesn’t cry for you. He’s no stranger to death. His exposure to it in his younger years made him all too aware of how easy it is to die, and that death came for all without exception. As a result, he was able to accept your death a little easier than most, but it doesn’t mean he made peace with it. The staff and inmates at the Fortress all said Wriothesley looked the same as usual even after your death. He kept up his laidback yet intimidating demeanor and busied himself with the variety of work someone in his position was required to take care of. Only Sigewinne could tell that Wriothesley was not alright despite all the strained smiles he gave everyone. The bags under his eyes grew more prominent by the day, a clear indicator he wasn’t sleeping well. She saw how he threw himself into his work, barely taking any time to rest properly, as if wanting to keep his mind busy from the horrible memory of seeing your corpse. Though he tried to mask it, in truth, your death affected Wriothesley deeply. He had frequent nightmares about watching you drown and being unable to save you, and they would keep him up at night. He usually awoke in a cold sweat, his heart pounding from intense panic and dread until his mind cleared, only to be replaced with a stone-cold reality that made the feelings of guilt come rushing back. Out of habit, he turns to your side of the bed to seek comfort in your presence but seeing it cold and empty served as yet another harsh reminder that you were gone. Wriothesley can’t sleep after his nightmares, so he opts to work out or fuss over his gauntlets to distract himself from his feelings. It takes all his self-control to keep a lid on his emotions and not become the angry, irritable mess he knows he will be if he’s not careful.

When he makes tea, Wriothesley accidentally makes two cups out of habit. One for you and one for him. Even weeks after your passing, it was still a difficult habit to break. For the first while, Wriothesley would even stop drinking your favorite tea blend because it reminded him of you. Rather than enjoy the flavor, all he tastes is bile in his throat. The flavor of your favorite tea makes him nauseous because it makes him think about how you will never taste this again or have another tea date in his office.

There was one occasion when he tried to drink your tea shortly after your death. He thought maybe the flavor would remind him of the happy times he shared with you, but all it resulted in was a broken teacup from the force of his grip, and Sigewinne fussing over his cuts and burns. He didn’t drink your favorite blend for a long time after that, only being able to find enjoyment in it again many years later when the startlingly clear memory of your death didn’t hurt him as much. Wriothesley felt lonely without you. You were the friend and confidant he told his deepest and darkest secrets about his past, the comfort he sought after a difficult day, and the soothing presence that made him feel accepted for who he was without all the embellished titles. But after your passing, the Fortress of Meropide seemed cold and gloomy, as if devoid of the warmth it once had that made him call it home. It was as if your death snuffed out the little ray of warm sunshine he felt when spending time with you.

[liftoffrecovery]

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[tinydefector]

quietly whispers (for your consideration)

ratchet x human reader

sex pollen

Pheromones

Ratchet x human reader

Word count: 2k

Warning: smut, thigh fucking, sex pollen/ pheromone spray, #valveplug

Ratchet masterlist

Request and ask open, read pinned post

So what about, Cybertronians react to perfume in the way humans react to Sex pollen hehehe. I love the idea of human perfume mix with skin contact makes an almost intoxicating scent and sends Cybertronians feral when they get a hint of it. They love how it makes humans skin taste, and it over rides their interface systems.

So enjoy.

_____________

The human moves around Ratchet's medical lab looking at different vials and flasks their eyes flickering over the difference Liquids. " Hey ratchet what are all of these different vials?" They call out to the medic. Ratchet looked up from his work when he heard the human call out to him. He put down the datapad he was looking over and walked over to where the human was examining the various vials on the shelves.

"Those are different medical compounds and chemicals I use in treatments and repairs," Ratchet explained. "The colourful ones contain powerful medications and sedatives. The clear ones hold things like bonding agents or nanite solutions. Others are a mix of experimental solutions" 

He pointed to a vial with a swirling pink and purple liquid. "That one is a broad-spectrum energon healing compound I developed. It speeds cellular repair and regeneration, within Cybertronian functions." His optical ridges furrowed as he watched the human carefully look over each vial. 

"You know better than to touch anything in here, less you break something and contaminate yourself with something i can't fix" Ratchet said sternly. "Some of this equipment and chemicals could seriously harm an organic being like yourself." Despite his gruff tone, his words held more care than scolding. Biology was complex, and humans were so small and fragile compared to Cybertronians. He hoped his favourite little patient and helping hand was being careful not to endanger themselves.

"It's just fascinating is all, kinda reminds me of a mediaeval apothecary" they chuckle. "Do you ever just take samples for fun, like when you're out and about on planets?" They ask, they were always curious over what things ratchet tended to keep.

Ratchet huffed a small laugh at the comparison to a mediaeval apothecary. "Fascinating perhaps, but also dangerous if mishandled," he remarked.

He considered the human's question for a moment. While most of his samples were acquired for medical necessity, he couldn't deny a certain curiosity about other life forms and ecosystems. 

"On occasion I have collected specimens from planets we've visited, simply for observational study," Ratchet admitted.  He walked over to retrieve a data pad containing photos and analyses of plant samples from their recent away missions. "Here, let me show you some I recorded on our last stop." Ratchet enlarged the images for the human to easily see. "This radiation-resistant lichen seems to secrete a natural antifreeze. And these fungi act as natural air filters in their toxic environment." The medic's optics glinted with interest as he discussed his findings. Perhaps exploration held some appeal, even for a skeptic like himself.

They stand close to Ratchet looking over different specimens, “some of these plants look like they would make really nice perfumes'' they mumble while flicking through the different photos reading the small information bubbles around them. As the human stood near Ratchet examining the data on his specimens, something about their scent suddenly registered in his olfactory sensors. An overly sweet aroma was emanating strongly from their skin, but it was clearly not the normal scent of an unadulterated human.“perfume?forgive me, I'm not accustomed to what that is?” he asked with a raised optical ridge

Their eyes flicker to Ratchet. “It's like scented alcohol or oil we put on our skin, most times it alters our scent. We humans happen to have a big fascination with them, and have millions of different perfumes.” they explain before tilting their head in slight amusement. “I'm surprised Cybertronians don't have something similar” they reply. 

“once millennia's back cybertron did try making things like that, but due to our metallic body's it doesn't stay on us, or it tented to cause rust spots from the ones they did try and make” Ratchet explained, sensors flared as he analysed the unfamiliar composition, immediately detecting unusual chemical traces that seemed to send strange pulses through his neurocircuitry. The smell was strangely enticing yet worryingly off-kilter at the same time. He tried venting deeply to clear his nasal chamber but the scent only grew stronger. 

"What in the Allspark..." the medic muttered, not meaning for the human to hear. His optics dimmed slightly as redundant calibrations ran, trying to make sense of why the scent was affecting his processor. Ratchet crouched down and focused his sharp gaze on the human in concern. They smile up at him offering for him to examine. 

"By my scanner  it seems as if you've been contaminated with something. Are you positive these ‘perfumes’ are safe? I need to analyse your system for potential toxins." He asked while trying to figure out why the scent was having such an effect on him, it was as if his processor had thrown care to the wind. 

They let out a laugh as his optics try analysing, he moves closer taking another inhale of their scent "haha yes Ratchet, it isn't harmful, humans have been using it for hundreds of years" they state. “Ratchet are you alright?” They ask while cupping his face. 

Ratchet's sensors were in disarray as the potent scent overwhelmed his circuits. He vented heavily again, coolant failing to properly flush the heated energon now racing through his fuel lines. His optics flickered with minor instability as calibration errors cropped up across multiple systems.

Though lacking his usual gruffness. Ratchet leaned in closer, trying to pinpoint the source, but only succeeded in inhaling more of the intoxicating aroma. A rumble rose in his chassis against his better judgement. “ your scent...", he struggled to find words between fragmented logic protocols. "It's affecting my sensor net. Overloading my functions. I need to...run a full examination. Determine why this perfume is making your scent overwhelming..." 

His field pulsed with uncharacteristic confusion and static electricity. Ratchet knew he should contact someone for assistance, but found himself unable to call out in his muddled state. The human's safety was his top concern, yet he feared touching them in this condition. Some natural, impossible chemistry was at play here, and the medic had no control over his compromised systems.

As gently as his shaking grip allowed, Ratchet grasped the human in his large palm to properly scan them from close range. His detailed medical scanners searched every inch, They gasp as Ratchet glossa meets their throat, fingers shootout to grip the side of his faceplate. 

A throttled moan escaped his vocalizer against his will. That light touch from their hands nearly shorted out his already fritzing systems. vents plume in hot exhaust. His interface panel felt too hot and tight , barely clinging to integrity protocols as the pleasure centres of his processor went haywire. 

“your scent...overloading my sensory net...cannot...resist...” Ratchet calls out through groans,his grip unconsciously tightened around the small organic in his hand. His free hand scrambled for purchase on the table, denting the metal. Something primal and powerful part of him was unravelling his mental restraints, and no calibration or forced shutdown seemed able to stop it.

Their eyes go wide. "Ratchet! Are you alright do in need to get a Perceptor or first aid?" They ask as the medic leans down into their shoulder, denta nipping at the skin as his digits try removing their shirt as quickly as he physically can. They yelp as he pulls them back together with him, his lips work along their smaller frame desperate to taste the sweet flavour and scent that had taken to their skin. capturing them against his heaving chassis. His optics blazed with static and uncontrolled charge.

"No...don't leave," Ratchet growled through clenched denta. Every fibre of his being screamed for more. His panel snapping open with an echoing click, massively engorged cables twitching in the open. Coolant and lubricant poured from his interface array, drenching the human involuntarily as he grinding against them, bright glowing pink stains their pants and paints their skin in his transfluid. 

His hands trembled, barely able to restrain their desire to claim the tiny body before him. Rational thought was impossible under the onslaught of chemical signals frying his cognition. Ratchet bucked erratically against them, whole body illuminated by dancing electricity. 

"Need you... interface protocols are in-gauged, can't fight it...please,!" he pants to the human as his spike presses against their back. Blunt node swelled monstrously at its tip.

Their back arches into each grind of Ratchet's spike. “Ratchet!” They whine out. 

Their soft noises egg ratchet on, his servos move quickly, trying to discard the pants sticking to their form, he hisses out in annoyance before finally getting them off their legs, throwing them across the medical room. Twisting them around so he can see thier eyes. 

Ratchet growls eagerly spike swiftly sliding between their thighs and against their stomach. His spike is already dripping with lubricant. As he ruts against them. Each inhale of their scent has him spiralling more. 

"Is this what you want, sweetspark? My spike filling you up?" His voice is rough with lust. Gently spreading their legs wider. Watching the bright pink stick to their legs "Primus... I bet you feel amazing." 

He moves slowly pressing his spike against them, tormenting as he presses into them inch by inch. Needy moans leave their lips, hands clinging to him desperately as they roll their hips. “Ratchet!” They cry out. 

 Their stomach bulges from Ratchet's spike, the bright pink splatter across their skin nearly has ratchet overloading from the mere sensation, not to mention the intoxicating scent of their skin. Ratchet groans deeply at the sight of his spike bulging their abdomen, his engines rumbling with feral satisfaction. One hand strokes almost reverently over the taut swell.

"So stunning like this... stretched wide around me, primus so small and tight”

Slowly he draws his hips back, then thrusts forward, grinding deeply into them. setting a steady pace, rockin into the slick heat enveloping his spike. Ducking his head, he captures their shoulder between his denta, glossa flicking against the sensitive skin as he tries to lap the perfume from their skin.

Ratchet growls deeply, thrusting harder at the way they clench around his spike. The table creaks and trembles under the force of his movements but he can't bring himself to slow down. 

"Yes, just like that," he rasps. "Keep that sweet valve squeezing me. Feels so good..."

captures their cries in a heated kiss. "Want you to overload for me," Ratchet purrs. "Let me feel you come undone around my spike, sweetspark..."

His engines are roaring furiously now, spike swelling and throbbing powerfully inside their smaller body. Ratchet groans deeply as they clench around him again, the feeling of that slick heat clenching and rippling around his spike is incredible. 

"That's it love, overload for me... you feel exquisite. So good" 

The sensations quickly become too much for his own systems to bear,the feeling, scent and the pure primal heat running through his system hits hard. With a staticky shout of Julian's name, he buries himself to the hilt and overloads powerfully. His transfluid gushes hot and thick, pumping deep into their smaller form. 

His engines vent heavily as he leans over them, face pressed into their shoulder, a deep guttural moan leaves him, Shuddering with aftershocks. When he finally leans stack to take in their exhaust and truly used form their lungs desperately inhale and exhale drawing in air as if it was their life line. 

Bright pink transfluid pudding around them as Ratchet's systems finally subsided. His optics flicker on them. “ Are you alright?” he asked softly, his human companion replied with a soft whine and nod. “ Remind me not to wear my perfume out in public” the call out in shuttered words. It makes ratchet chuckle as he leans back down to them. “a wise decision” 

[pinkmirth]

nfl reiner braun tears his alc and requests the best surgeon to work on it. he gets, youuuu, sweet smelling pink doctor coat wearing you and he can’t even take you serious when you’re going over his chart or requesting to feel the muscle with those pink gloves on. you even look younger than him and he’s telling you: “darlin’, listen… im a big deal around here and i need someone to help fix me not give me a boner.” or something like that and you almost don’t have the heart to tell him that you’re the best that there’s ever been at this hospital.

RECOVERY, reiner braun !

୨୧ — pairing: footballer!reiner braun x fem!reader

୨୧ — synopsis: this doctor’s got a hardheaded patient! it’ll take some effort to convince him of your effectiveness . . .

୨୧ — contains: ( 1.4k words of . . . ) modern au, slight nsfw (more like suggestive!), footballer!reiner, surgeon!reader, fem!reader (black coded), reiner has an ACL tear, reiner’s touch-deprived/sexually frustrated, rei’s kindaaa conceited (just a little bit!), palming, minors shoo!

୨୧ — mira’s note: ramona, my love! i adore all your reiner concepts, they’re always sooo perfect 🎀 thank youuu for sharing your rei-rei thoughts with me :) now here’s a lil drabble for my gorgeous man! (not really proofread thoroughly, i apologize for any typos or mistakes!)

isopropyl.

it’s all that reiner can smell. he’s a healthy man, he hardly belongs here— in this chilled surgeon office with the most pale, unflattering lighting. the parchment-like exam table paper rustles beneath him with every stretch and maneuver he makes, and his weight is enough to pry a creak out of the treatment table every now and again.

a recurring clack of footsteps and the whine of the door lets reiner know that you, the ‘sexy doctor lady from earlier’ has returned from reading his screenings. he wasn’t able to catch your name amidst the splitting pain from his acl tear, so that’ll make do in the meantime.

you set down your clipboard and turn to face him. your dear patient appears a bit mussed from the big game that took place earlier— his golden hair’s all fluffy and wild, that red football uniform of his is streaked with the green of the field, and his left cheekbone got a little scratch somehow. you’ll make sure to dab that with rubbing alcohol later.

“your vitals are well above average.” you commend. his reply’s a mere grunt. he can’t bring himself to take you seriously. just fucking look at you; pink latex gloves pulled over manicured hands, welcoming eyes all doe and shiny, with a sweet glossed smile that he won’t forget for days to come. he hates having to meet such a beauty under these grim circumstances– after all, you’re the kind of woman he’d take out on a date.

“lucky for you, mister braun, your injury isn’t a complete tear . . . so your recovery time shouldn’t be too long. it’ll last about six months, give or take.”

he isn’t listening.

reiner isn’t even sure of when he began to space out; your lips are just so plush, so alluring. his surname sounds sweeter than it should when falling from your mouth. before long, you clear your throat. it’s enough to snap him out of it. “i’d appreciate your undivided attention, sir. we’re currently going over your healing plan— ”

“lemme ask you, sugar,” he interjects with a low rasp. reiner braun’s well known around these parts, and you can only assume that being such a big deal has gotten to his head. what he says next throws you off, “when’s the real doctor comin’ in, hm?” it’s hard to remain professional, but you do. no furrowed brows, no scrunched up face— nothing but a tight, forced smile.

you suck in a breath through your nose, maintaining composure. “what makes you think it isn’t me, mister braun?” he can hear the tinge of vexation in your voice. clearly, this footballer has struck a chord or two.

“you’ve got pink gloves on, barbie.” he snarks out a laugh, just a bit mean. he’s much too handsome for such a condescending tone.

you bring a gloved hand flat to his chest, pushing reiner back into the examination table. his breath catches in his throat when you knead your fingers into his thigh, right where the tear resides beneath firm muscle. you’re assertive, and goddamn, does he love it.

“i’m your doctor.” you assure, voice firm. he groans out at the calculated pressure; it feels good. makes the throb of pain fade, just a bit.

“you’ll have to put some faith in me, hm?” your tone is warm, words soft and patient in a way he doesn’t deserve. reiner can’t lie, it was crass of him to have undermined you that way.

“my apologies, doc.” he addresses you in the rightest way he can. it’s his tiny little way of making amends.

“so, how long— fuck, how long did ‘ya study for?” reiner tries for small talk, voice low and shaken. you’d like to believe that whatever left his lips just now wasn’t a moan. no, it was more like . . . a groan of pain, perhaps?

“about six years. graduated early,” no wonder you look just about his age, if not younger. all his previous doctors were just as old as his parents.

“smart and pretty, huh?” he graces you with a feeble grin, a white gleam of teeth surrounded by neatly trimmed stubble. it’s safe to say that he’s your hottest patient up to date.

you continue on with prodding into the thick meat of his left thigh, and those throaty whines of his make you feel a way you simply shouldn’t.

it’s been a while since reiner’s been touched this way. he knows it’s just a regular inspection for his stupid injury, but he can’t recall the last time a woman’s splayed their hands on his body. he’s always busy with football this, training that. there’s never any time remaining for hook-ups, talkless of a relationship. that being said, it isn’t long before he begins to grow excited.

“m— mister braun,” you call out, voice airy, “you seem a little, um . . . worked up.”

“huh?” his eyes flit up to meet yours. you lock onto his honey-brown pools of desperation.

nothing else is uttered. you wordlessly direct your gaze towards his crotch, and give him a knowing look. reiner finally catches on— he fucking knew he felt his bottoms getting tight. hesitantly, the blonde lifts his head to peer down at his pants. surely enough, a boner’s prodding at the centering cloth of his football shorts.

“goddamn,” he drops his head back onto the examination table, bashfully throwing his forearm over his eyes. humiliation eats at the proud man, reducing him to a jumble of hormones.

you can hardly bring yourself to contain your chuckle, which makes his reddened cheeks burn further. it seems that his bodily reaction to your skilled hands has given him a sense of humility at best, and embarrassment at worst.

“i’ve never been appointed to a lady before . . .” is his hushed excuse. he’s still got his eyes shielded with his arm— he can’t even fucking bear to look at you. it’ll only spur him on further.

‘i turn you on?’ is what you’re just longing to question him. you know that you do— he’s been looking at your lips with bated breath since he got here. not to mention the peeks he’d taken at your ass whenever you turned around to read his chart or grab a cotton ball.

it’s quite bold of you— more like dangerous— to bring your ministrations upwards, closer to the ache under his pants. you’d tell yourself to stay on task, but professionalism has long been thrown out the window.

your gloved hands trail mischievously, placed directly atop reiner’s hard-on. warmth radiates from your palm, and you squeeze. his eyes blink shut, hips gently bucking upwards. his tear burns from beneath his skin, but he doesn’t fucking care. he bets he could cum from your hands alone.

reiner eventually manages to pull his arm away from blocking his viewpoint, chest heaving with every passing second. if you were to use your stethoscope on him, his heartbeat would be nothing short of erratic.

“trust me, mister braun,” is your reassuring whisper, “you’re in good hands.”

[hard-core-super-star]

could you write kate missing reader's birthday party ?? pls and thank u

-💜

i bet it stung [K.Bishop]

pairing: kate bishop x reader

summary: kate tries her best to be there for everyone but sometimes, she messes up.

warnings: angst with happy ending; mutual pining, friends to lovers; kate's a mess but she's trying her best; allusions to sex + mentions of hickeys; NOT proofread

wordcount: 1.7k

a/n: HEY GUYS! i've been spending most of my time working on polishing vampire!kate and trying to figure out an upload schedule for new chapters BUT i suddenly got hit with inspiration to tackle this request and now it's here. i actually really liked how this turned out, sorry to the anon who requested this because it took me a RIDICULOUS amount of time to write it 😅 as always, thanks for the love, support, and patience. hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

You didn't want to think the worst of your best friend.

You wanted to be kind and patient and understanding and not give her the silent treatment like she deserved. But what else were you supposed to do after she broke yet another promise to you?

Maybe it was stupid, maybe you were being overdramatic, or maybe you had a damn good reason for feeling so disappointed.

It wasn't the biggest deal in the world, you knew that, but that didn't stop you from wanting to shut down and hide in your room. You couldn't do that, though, since you were still in the middle of your living room, celebrating your birthday.

Well, celebrating is putting it nicely.

It's more like you're sitting on your couch, surrounded by people who know and love you, and trying to act like your heart isn't sinking down into your stomach and making it churn with something akin to anxiety. What's bothering you isn't anxiety, though.

It's the fact that Kate looked you right in the eye and promised she would be there before the end of the night. Your birthday wasn't exactly the best day for the archer to go off on a complicated mission but it wasn't like she had a choice.

At least, that's what she had said before running out the door with that breathtaking smile on her face.

You had believed her at that moment but then night came and Yelena showed up at your apartment with a bottle of unlabeled vodka in her hand and no awkward archer at her side. It would have been fine if the blonde hadn't mentioned she had no idea where Kate was even though she had told you Yelena had assigned the mission to her.

You didn't want to make a scene, though, you were supposed to be enjoying your day and getting slightly too drunk with your friends while eating ridiculously expensive cake.

Your change in mood didn't go unnoticed by the Russian or the rest of your friends.

"She'll be here," Peter says, offering you a small smile. "She's just a little late."

"Yeah!" Kamala joins in, giving your knee a reassuring squeeze. "When has Kate not been late to something, right?"

Yelena opens her mouth to answer but the glare you send her way makes her rethink her words. "She is…awful at time management."

You snort, lifting up your cup. "Cheers to that."

Your friends join in and you down the rest of your drink, thankful that the bitter taste of the alcohol distracts you from your bitter feelings.

The rest of the night looks the same with drinking and crappy jokes and far too many slices of cake. Your friends leave a few hours later and it's not until you turn the music off and silence engulfs you that you remember your disappointment.

More than that, it suddenly dawns on you that you're alone.

That Kate still isn't back.

It hurts more than it should.

You know she didn't lie but she still chose not to tell you she wouldn't make it. She promised she'd show up and she didn't.

You're in the middle of cleaning up the kitchen, doing your best to hold back your tears because you are not going to cry on your birthday, when you hear the sound of the front door opening.

It takes a lot of self-restraint to stay instead of running away like you want to. You already know you'll end up forgiving her for missing your party, no matter how stupid the reasoning she gives you is.

"y/n."

The simple sound of her voice is almost enough to get you to break. You're determined not to break down this time, though, and certainly not in front of her.

You take a deep breath before turning around to face her. Your eyes instantly fall on the badly wrapped present and the almost crumpled bouquet of flowers in her hands. Any other day, you would have found it cute.

It's hard to break your habit despite how upset you are and you find yourself scanning her for any clear or severe injuries.

It doesn't take you long to notice the marks on her neck. You assume they're bruises, that her messy hair and disheveled appearance are part of whatever trouble she ended up getting herself in tonight.

But then you look closer.

And suddenly the room feels far too small, the air too thick to let you breathe.

Kate instantly takes notice of what's stolen your attention, placing the flowers down before her free hand comes up to nervously rub at her neck. You're not a genius but you know all her tells by heart.

"You didn't," you say, your voice barely above a whisper but brimming with danger.\

"It's not- I didn't-" She cuts herself off with a sigh.

You know exactly what that means. She doesn't even have an excuse. No stupid explanation to make you feel better. If anything, that makes her guiltier.

Of what? You're not too sure. You just know your best friend was out getting laid when she was supposed to be here with you.

Your unspoken feelings for her only make her betrayal worse.

"You're fucking unbelievable, Kate."

You see a flash of hurt stain her usually bright eyes but you don't care. You can't. Because all of you've done since you met her is care and it's gotten you nothing but heartache.

"y/n."

The soft tone she uses tugs at your heartstrings and yet you force yourself to keep going. To walk away and put enough space between the two of you so you don't have to keep staring the truth right in the face.

Kate doesn't love you. Not the way you want her to. And even though you love her, you can't keep letting yourself get hurt like this.

Not anymore.

So, you walk away.

Unfortunately, you still live together which makes your plan to ignore her for at least a few days practically impossible. Maybe it's immature but the only thing you can do is stay in your room and avoid interacting with her as much as possible.

Avoiding her does little to soothe your hurt feelings, though, and hearing her pace outside your locked door like a scolded puppy makes things even harder. All you can do is remind yourself you already know what her excuses will be anyway so what's the point of letting her in just to be hurt again?

It's a good plan but it doesn't take into account how…persistent Kate can be.

You assume she'll end up doing something to catch your attention but you never once think she'll climb the fire escape and knock on your window.

That's exactly what she does, though, which leaves you pretty much unable to ignore her.

You think about it for a second but then your eyes meet hers and you get up before you can stop yourself.

It's stupid, you know that, but that knowledge doesn't stop you from opening your window. You don't let her in even though it's ridiculous to make her stay outside.

"Do you need something?" You ask.

"Yeah, to talk to you," she replies, her eyes nervously searching your face. "I need to apologize."

"You don't have to, you-"

"Yes, I do and you have to let me in." She seems just as surprised as you are by her words.

You momentarily think about shutting her out and yet somehow, for whatever stupid reason, you don't. You take a step back and allow her to climb in through your window like all those times before. At least this time she's not bleeding.

An awkward silence settles over both of you as she stands in the middle of your room. You regret not cleaning up a little before making your way to the window since now she's subjected to all your haphazardly thrown tissues and incredibly messy bed.

"What now?" You question, already fidgeting with your fingers while you wait for her to talk.

"Now…I tell you how sorry I am and how big of an idiot I am."

"Kate, we've been friends for years, I already know you're an idiot," you say with an eyeroll that holds way too much affection.

"True," she says with a chuckle. "No, I um…I really messed up but not in the way you think. I did miss your party but I…I didn't hook up with anyone. Not really, I-"

"You really don't have to explain this to me." You rush out, not at all wanting to hear those kinds of details from her.

"Yes, I do." She takes a step toward you and it takes all your restraint to not step away from her. "I don't want you to think I went out and slept with someone else on your birthday-"

"Kate," you try again. "You're an adult, you can do whatever you want."

"I want to do that with you!"

There's an edge of desperation to her voice that makes you pause. More than anything, her words confuse you.

"What are you talking about?"

A groan escapes her lips and before you know it, she's getting rid of the space between you and gently taking your face in her hands. She tilts your head until you're looking right at her and your breath gets caught in your throat from the proximity.

"I. Want. To. Be. With. You." Kate whispers every word into the small space between your lips. "I did get caught up on a stupid mission but I didn't sleep with anyone else. I just had to get creative and I took a page out of Natasha's book. I didn't think I'd end up with a massive hickey, though."

It's absolutely ridiculous.

It honestly borders on stupid.

So much so that you laugh.

You laugh until the weight you've been carrying for who knows how long falls off your shoulders.

Until finally, finally, you're able to lean in and kiss the girl of your dreams.

Kate may be an idiot who always gets herself in the worst kinds of troubles but…she's your idiot.

Finally.

[novlr]

how to write a character dealing with addiction (like drugs, cigarettes etc..)

Writing a character with an addiction is to write about someone who is controlled by that substance. They are chasing that first experience of euphoria, pain relief, excess energy, or relaxation. They are avoiding the emotional and physical crashes of withdrawal. Their behavior to outsiders often appears erratic and illogical. It is a powerful motivator for a character and can drive a plot, be an obstacle, and/or an antagonist. 

How does addiction work?

Addictive substances typically mimic naturally occurring chemicals in the body. They amplify the effects of these chemicals and flood the body. Stimulants will give a person extra, even excessive, amounts of energy, relaxants will relieve tension, and pain relievers will bring about euphoria. Whatever the substance of choice, it counters stress in some form. 

Many people self-medicate for underlying physical or mental conditions. Others take them to fit in with a social group. As a writer, you need to ask yourself a very important question: Why did your character first start taking this substance? That will inform you about why they continue. Are they escaping pain? Quieting anxiety or racing thoughts? Do they need to take it to fit into their social group? What happens when they stop taking it?  

Addiction is an illness. It is a medical condition. Treating it as a matter of willpower is to doom a person to suffer. There are effective medical and psychological therapies that, especially when combined, can provide a way back to health, sobriety, and thriving.

Cravings

The important thing to understand about these substances is that the high always goes away. The emotional payoff of that first use is never achieved again. Each subsequent use has diminished payoffs and the after-effects are worsened. This is because the body is a fantastic accountant and will produce less of the mimicked substance because, hey, there’s an excess here. So your character will crave the substance in order to just feel baseline normal. 

Withdrawal

Don’t underestimate the fear of withdrawal. It is an uncomfortable and sometimes life-threatening set of physical symptoms. 

The degree and nature of the symptoms will vary depending on the substance, the amount usually consumed, and the length of time it’s been used. Caffeine, for example, will trigger headaches. Alcohol withdrawal can include shakes, nausea, seizures, and damage to the brain’s memory and balance systems. Opiate withdrawal can cause anxiety, nausea, muscle aches, and insomnia. Read up on the specifics of the substance your character is using. Be sure to use reputable medical websites. I’ve listed a couple in the resources section. 

People want to avoid withdrawal and will use substances to ease those symptoms, thus feeding the addiction. Again, there are medical interventions that can soften the withdrawal and support the patient through this medical crisis. 

Recovery

People with addictions can sometimes respond well to treatment and have a low risk of relapse. Others are not so fortunate and will bounce in and out of recovery. 

Fear of withdrawal is one reason. Another factor is developmental. The younger a person is when they start taking a substance, the harder it is to stop. This may be due to learned coping mechanisms, changes to the developing brain and body, or a combination of the two. 

How old was your character when they started taking the substance? Who introduced them to it? Was it a parent handing them a beer at age five or a pain pill at age twelve? Was it friends at a high school party? Or did they start in adulthood? This will inform their likelihood of recovery and how hard that path will be for them. 

Struggles to quit, or why does this person keep relapsing?

Withdrawal and cravings are part of the reason it is so hard to stop an addiction. There are medical and psychological therapies that can help. Rehab is a major industry in many countries. There are also several obstacles to overcome. Cost is a factor in places without universal healthcare. Then there is denial. Many people with addictions don’t believe they have a problem. And when they do, they may feel shame if they live in a culture where addiction is seen as a matter of willpower rather than a medical condition. 

How do friends and family, employers, and others in the community treat your character? Does admitting to addiction mean they are admitting to weakness?

Another social factor is that it is hard to stop an addiction if the person doesn’t change their environment. Friends that also use that substance will enable and even encourage them to start using again. Places can be strong behavioral cues. Can an alcoholic walk into a familiar bar and resist ordering a drink? 

It’s also important to remember that substance use is often a coping mechanism for stress. What happens the next time your character encounters a stressful situation? How do they resist reaching for their addictive substance if they haven’t learned other ways of coping? Do they trust or remember in the heat of the moment that they have other options? 

Do your research

Here are a couple of my go-to sites for reading up on addictions and treatments. 

Spirit Lake Wellness is a non-profit dedicated to educating the general public about health and wellness. They have a podcast, booklets, and a YouTube channel that covers a range of topics, including addiction. All information is available for free. I am fortunate to be on their board of directors and reached out to one of the doctors we work with for this article. 

The American Society of Addiction Medicine is another excellent resource for learning more about addiction and treatment. 

written by Kimberley Long-Ewing

[kokoch4n3l]

DEAD GIRL'S BEACH࿐ྂ "just givin' the same care you gave me, bunny. so whatcha' crying 'bout?"

(KUROKAWA IZANA x f!oc x SANO MANJIRO)

summary: she is a newly graduated psychiatrist and unfortunately, very broke. she gets a job at Sunshine Grove Psychiatric Hospital and catches the attention of a very dangerous patient who likes to hold grudges, even against those who are oblivious of their actions...

pairings: izana x f!oc, chifuyu x f!oc(one-sided), mikey x f!oc

warnings: DARK CONTENT, violence, toxic behaviour, possessiveness, gang violence, criminal activities, drug and alcohol use, mentions of prostitution, non-con elements, non-con drugging, drugged sex, drug addiction, overdose, drug withdrawals, withdrawal symptoms, near-death experiences, extreme violence, past child neglect/abuse, betrayal, misogyny, murder, strangulation, inaccurate depictions of psychiatric hospitals and medical treatment/conditions, stockholm syndrome, emotional incest, polyamory, torture, age gap(9, 6, 5 years), masochism, sadism, voyeurism, hard kinks, piv, smut, psychological horror, power imbalance, torture, waterboarding, fear play, major and minor character deaths, UNHAPPY ENDING,(MORE TO BE ADDED)

total series word count:

moodboard | headcanons & character info

ONE — mr kurokawa

chapter summary: enter Kaneko Maya, a newly graduated psychiatrist with a shit load of student debt racked up and her scary but hot patient from 4th floor, Kurokawa Izana.

cw: unrequited love, inaccurate depictions of psychiatric hospitals, usage of drugs, mentions of gang violence, mentions of pedophiles, mentions of suicide, mentions of addiction, mentions of alcohol, f!oc with absolutely zero self-preservation skill

—

TWO — beachy dreams

chapter summary: Maya finds herself at Chifuyu's place with his rowdy friends before hitting the club and she's drawn into flirtatious exchanges with a mysterious club owner. Tensions arise when a revelation links Maya's work to her social circle. Izana gives her an intriguing invitation.

cw: mentions of body image, clubbing, alcohol use, intoxication, mentions/implications of forced prostitution, mentions of gang violence, inaccurate depictions of psychiatric hospitals, f!oc with zero self-preservation skills

—

THREE — iv bags and daffodils

chapter summary: Maya faces a moral dilemma, trying to pick between her livelihood and ethics all while under the watchful eye of the hospital director and her patient, Kurokawa Izana.

cw: inaccurate depictions of psychiatric hospitals, mentions of alcohol, mentions of depression, drug use, allusions to sex, abuse of authority, power imbalance, unethical use of drugs, mentions of alcohol, mentions of rape, mentions of murder

—

FOUR — drunk walk home

chapter summary: Amidst the emotional turmoil of guilt due to her job and Izana's treatment, Maya is left to grapple with the harsh reality of unreciprocated love after spending the night at Kazutora and Chifuyu's place.

cw: alcohol use, intoxication, insensitive comments, (badly written)sexual content, (kinda consensual)drunk sex, penis-in-vagina sex, implied multiple rounds, loss of virginity

—

FIVE — little bunny

chapter summary: with the apparent lack of staff at the hospital, Maya has no choice but to clock in despite her begging for a day off and goes through an unforgettable night. good thing she's wearing running shoes.

cw: minor character death, suicide ideation, self-loathing, mentions of vomiting, corruption, exploitation, death threats, murder, torture, blood, gore, non-con drugging, unethical use of drugs, use of weapons, noncon/rape(not mc), noncon touching, mentions/implications of forced prostitution, inaccurate depictions of psychiatric hospitals, f!oc with zero self preservation skills

—

SIX — the beach house

chapter summary: willing or unwillingly, Maya takes up Izana's invitation and he shows her just what he was feeling the past two months he was admitted into sunshine grove.

cw: DARK CONTENT 18+, abduction, murder, chase scene, noncon drugging, blood and gore, vomiting, physical abuse, slapping, death threats, waterboarding, torture, drowning, near-death experience, dehumanization, objectification, noncon touching, enabler!shion, psycho!izana, PTSD(post traumatic stress disorder), panic attacks, making out

—

SEVEN — the sano family

chapter summary: Maya learns the shocking truth and the tragic life of the Sano Family, all while Chifuyu and Naoto search for answers.

cw: MANGA/ANIME SPOILERS, bribery, noncon drugging, mentions of different torture methods, past waterboarding, vomiting, murder, mommy issues, implied child abuse/neglect, cheating, dehumanization, dubcon, noncon, coercion, choking, thigh riding, humiliation, making out

—

EIGHT — open water

chapter summary: After a phone call with Chifuyu, Mikey and Maya begin to drift closer like two boats caught in a storm and Izana watches with great interest, getting ready to crash down on both of them when the time is right.

cw: dark content 18+, corruption, bribery, implied/referenced prostitution, wet dreams, masturbation(m), jerking off, narcissist!manjiro, mention of past waterboarding, torture, noncon drugging, dehumanization, (slight)humiliation, hand kink, finger sucking, murder, dom/sub undertones, making out, soft dom!manjiro, praise kink, fingering(f receiving), overstimulation, biting, hickeys, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, slightly unrealistic sex, smut, p in v sex, vaginal penetration, dacryphilia, creampie, unprotected sex, aftercare, brief mention of Korean + Japanese history, gang activity, mention of suicide

—

NINE — spider

chapter summary: with a drug deal gone awry, and multiple drug rings raided, Izana decides that he and Mikey need to blow off steam.

cw: dark content 18+, unreliable narrator!maya, stockholm syndrome mentions of suicide, depiction of corpses, blood and gore, character death, funerals, murder, mentions of drugs, police raid, use of weapons, corruption, bribery, mentions of suicide, implied memory loss, implied dissociation, torture, forced drugging, withdrawal symptoms, addiction, vomiting, power imbalance, dehumanization, humiliation, drugged sex, MAJOR dubcon, noncon(tagging this just in case), no prep, unprotected sex, p in v sex, extortion, hickeys, bondage, ruined orgasm, voyeurism, drug use/misuse, fingering, threesome(kinda), making out, unsafe sex, temperature play, waxplay, dacryphilia, sadomasochism, creampie, aftercare, first-degree burns

—

TEN — i don’t smoke

chapter summary: Kakucho forces Maya to face the reality of her situation and Izana reveals some not so nice things to her

cw: DARK CONTENT 18+, unreliable narrator!Maya, vomiting, drug use/misuse, withdrawal symptoms, possibly inaccurate depiction of at-home withdrawal care/survival, first-degree burns, depictions of injuries and burns, blood and gore, hickeys, bite marks, kissing, thoughts of self-harm, emotional manipulation, slight infantilization, betrayal, dehumanization, depiction of corpses, mention of suicide, MAJOR noncon(not detailed), noncon to dubcon, allusions to sex, unprotected sex, forced orgasm, coercion, implied creampie, memory loss, dissociation, past torture, past waterboarding

—

ELEVEN — what was i made for?

chapter summary: Izana gets carried away and Kakucho and Maya do damage control, bringing them right back to the start.

cw: dark content 18+, character death, depiction of corpses, corruption, slight religious themes, suicide mention, suicide attempt, suicide ideation, self-loathing, slight hanagaki takemichi slander, scarring, bite marks, implied relapse, drug use/misuse, mentioned drug addiction, withdrawal symptoms for unnamed drug, possibly unrealistic/inaccurate withdrawal care, possessive!izana, betrayal, mentions of past torture methods(noncon drugging, waterboarding, noncon, noncon waxplay, first degree burns), emotional manipulation, mental health issues, MAJOR dubcon, unprotected sex, no prep, piv, making out, nipple play, hair pulling(m), multiple orgasms, tummy bulge, creampie, implied cockwarming, implied dissociation, aftercare, possessive!manjiro, noncon, mirror sex, coercion, forced orgasms, hair pulling(f)

—

TWELVE — his dead girl’s beach

chapter summary: Mikey thinks about the past while Maya tries to remember what she missed. Izana helps Kisaki choose an engagement ring.

cw: dark content 18+, self-loathing, mental health issues, mentions of scars, mentions of burns, drug addictions, drug use/misuse, withdrawal mentions, mental breakdowns, emotional manipulation, stockholm syndrome, past noncon, infantilization, possessiveness, emotional incest, mommy issues, dehumanization, oral sex(f receiving), cunnilingus, fingering, implied multiple orgasms, slight hair pulling(m receiving), praise kink, dacryphilia, dom/sub undertones, overstimulation, aftercare, slight ooc!Kisaki, draken & og toman slander, mental health issues, depression, vomiting, toxic and unhealthy relationships, implied emotional abuse, past character death, past picture taking, implied voyeurism, scars, memory loss, kissing, smut, handjob, piv, no prep, dissociation, creampie, use of guns, blood and gore, depiction of corpses, major character death

—

THIRTEEN — can’t catch me now

chapter summary: Mikey goes to the Philippines, leaving a trail of bodies behind him. Takemichi returns to the future. Maya keeps her promise to Izana.

cw: dark content 18+, manga and anime spoilers, multiple character deaths, murder, guns, use of weapons, stabbing, mentions of suicide, blood and gore, depiction of corpses, scars, torture, depiction of wounds, unhealthy attachments, toxic and unhealthy relationships, vomiting, suggestive themes, mental health issues, depression, dark impulses, emotional manipulation, blackmail, corruption, bribery, torture, allusions to sex, suggestive themes, dehumanization, toman + draken slander, slight grandpa sano slander, non-linear narrative in one part, slight emotion incest, funerals, grieving

—

BONUS — sugar bunny

chapter summary: how Maya's first day on the job would have gone if she had been nosy or, Izana and his sugar baby bunny

cw: dark content 18+, inaccurate depictions of psychiatric hospitals and medical treatment/conditions, canon typical violence, gang activity, dehumanization, drug addiction(c*caine), drug addiction recovery, drug withdrawals, withdrawal symptoms, abuse of power, murder, non-graphic torture, blood and gore, panic attack, blackmail, alcohol, slight sugar baby-sugar daddy dynamic, suggestive themes, possessiveness, gold digger!oc, guns, vomiting, threats, very fast-paced, making out, kissing, implied smut, suggestive themes, slight bondage, implied virginity loss, collaring(?), open ending, not edited

notes: cross-posted on my wattpad. I DO NOT condone any of these behaviours or any crimes committed in this fic. This is purely for my own entertainment. Please read all the warnings before each chapter.

All medical terminology is inaccurate and inconsistent as I know nothing about psychiatric hospitals. However, this is a fanfiction so I will write the way that fits the plot the best.

Takes place during the Manila Future Timeline with bad Toman. This fic is simply my take on what happened during that timeline and it will include many canon aspects from the Tokyo Revengers manga/anime.

I CAN NOT write [y/n] fics to save my life so the oc has a name. If you do not like that, then do not read, simple as that.

Enjoy! Asks, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated. It gives me the motivation to continue writing.

this work belongs to me. do not copy or steal my work and do not use my work in any AI or chatgpt program. I also do not want any republishing or binding of my work

banners all done by myself

all dividers by @benkeibear

© kokoch4n3l — Please do not copy, translate, modify, or post my work to other platforms. ♡

[bebsi-cola]

the flip side of people not really grasping that you can be the most compliant patient and try all the advice and treatments and stay disabled or get even worse is that they feel vindicated to shame any disabled person who isn't perfect. which, most people can be construed to be imperfect anyway. but people will gleefully jump to condemnation for the disabled person who smokes or vapes or does recreational drugs, admonish the disabled person who refuses to take their meds, and have a great time telling disabled people who aren't perfectly compliant "well i told you so." or "it's your fault anyway." you know an alcoholic with liver failure can be facing death right. what do you get out of rubbing that in their face??? if a disabled person faces medical abuse or neglect it is awful to tell them - a victim of trauma, that it's actually their fault. if someone has made their health worse they still need treatment you know. healthcare isn't a reward for being morally good it's a basic human right

[getsoberprogram]

Alcoholic in Patient Treatment

Alcohol Addiction Treatment Online

Alcohol Addiction Counseling

[candycandy00]

Roses in the Sky - An Original Alien x Reader Story Part 1

In a future where humanity huddles in decaying domed cities controlled by alien invaders, you and your best friend Anna work as make-shift nurses in a tiny clinic run by the young doctor Terrian. The city is ruled by the aliens' violent, half-breed offspring who serve as brutal overseers. You and Anna have always tried to avoid these overseers at all cost, but your life is changed when one of those same terrifying offspring is brought into the clinic, injured and unconscious.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

This is an original Alien (well half alien) x Fem Reader story! I hope everyone who enjoys my fanfiction will give this a shot! I’m posting the first chapter just to check for interest. Any feedback whatsoever would be loved! I’ve already written this story so it’s not going to delay my fanfics. Just thought I might post chapters of this between fanfics if anyone is interested.

Slow burn, as this is a novel-length story, but there will be smut in later chapters! Also: violence, blood, rape attempts, death of side characters, etc.

The sky was red, and you hated it. You hated more the fact that you couldn't remember what it looked like when it was blue. The whole city looked like it was coated in blood. You saw enough blood already.

You walked along the littered, decaying streets of Gallica with a blue duffel bag on your shoulder. You kept the hood of your gray jacket pulled down over your head and your hands buried in your pockets. Standing out was never a good idea, at least not where they could see.

As you rounded a corner, you were suddenly sprayed with red liquid, and you only dared to steal a quick glance down the alley it came from. A body was tumbling to the ground, and you didn't even have time to see who it was or what sort of wound had drawn such a huge amount of blood. Your eyes had been drawn, in that brief moment, to the pair of black-clad figures standing frighteningly still beside the body. Their bi-colored eyes flicked upward, toward you, but you returned your gaze to the street in front of you and walked quickly away.

Your heart pounded and your hands trembled in your pockets until you were far enough down the street to safely assume they would not stop you. You knew what happened to those unlucky enough to somehow provoke the half-breeds, regardless of intention, so you hurried along toward the clinic without looking back once.

When you reached the small, rundown clinic, you were met at the door by a girl in a nurse's uniform who placed her hands on her hips and scowled at you. “You're late!”

You pushed by her and dropped the duffel bag from your shoulder, flopping it onto a nearby cot. You unzipped it and pulled out your own uniform. "My alarm clock didn't go off."

The other girl stood leaning in the door way as you stepped into an empty patient slot and slid the dirty curtain closed. "Terrian is gonna be pissed at you,” she said. 

You emerged from behind the curtain in a white button-up shirt that was a little too tight and a skirt that was way too short. “He'll get over it."

"Yeah, as soon as he see's you."

You laughed. "You're jealous, Anna."

"Because that perverted freak lets you get away with anything?" Anna asked. She was so petite that even the smallest, tightest uniforms Terrian had given them seemed to fit her just right.

"No, because I look better in the uniform."

Both of you laughed as you laid out your supplies on rickety metal tables, organizing them neatly into categories according to how often they were used. The alcohol, thread, and needles were first in line, followed by bandages, then ointments and creams.

The door leading to the main treatment room flung open and a man with shoulder-length, pale blonde hair tied into a short ponytail walked in. He wore wide-rimmed glasses and a lab coat covered in blood stains. He looked angry as he approached, glaring at you, but suddenly froze when he rounded the metal tables and the full length of you came into view.

He smiled brightly, wrapping you into a hug. "You wore it today!"

Anna rolled her eyes and brushed her bangs, the longest part of her auburn hair, away from her face with her hand.

You pulled free from Terrian and adjusted your ill-fitting clothes. "It's the only uniform I had clean."

"And it's my favorite," Terrian said, then glanced toward Anna. "Stingy Anna always wears pants, even though I beg her to wear the skirt with the slit up the side."

Anna gave him a dirty look and he gave her a grin in return. He looked over the supplies then held out a thick stack of papers. "Look at all this. These are all patients who left the clinic in the last month and haven't returned for their checkups. Next week I'll be making a lot of house calls."

Both you and Anna frowned. You hated it when Terrian made house calls. He was the only doctor at the clinic, and you two were the only nurses. Things were hectic enough with the three of you, but when he was gone, the clinic was thrown into absolute chaos.

"Anyway," he spoke up, "we have a lot of patients waiting already. Let's get to work!"

You and Anna had no formal training, had not even finished high school, but you had both been living on the streets three years ago when Terrian approached you about working for him. He taught you two the basics, and the rest you learned over time. In this city, injured people couldn't be picky.

Together, you and Anna wheeled your metal supply tables through the swinging doors into the main treatment area of the clinic. Cots were lined up in two rows, facing each other, for the entire length of the large room. There was only enough room for one person to walk between each cot, and all but a few were occupied. People were moaning, screaming, crying, or unconscious. Anyone not in mortal danger was sent home after being stitched or bandaged up.

Illnesses were not often treated, as serious diseases were most often fatal no matter what the doctor did, but injuries were extremely common. Blood dripped from nearly every cot in the room, and a few patients were bandaged to the point of looking like mummies. You and Anna had both learned quickly to develop strong stomachs.

The two of you were checking on a patient that had been brought in last night with a chopped off leg when Terrian came zooming past you, pushing a stretcher.

"Emergency surgery!" he called, disappearing into the room you had just changed in.

You both dropped what you were doing and ran after him, then stopped dead in your tracks as soon as you were through the doors, staring at the figure on the stretcher.

"Doctor, that's... one of them,” Anna said, her voice almost a whisper. 

The man on the stretcher wore an ornate military uniform - black pants and a long black jacket with golden buttons up the front and matching trim along the cuffs and collar. The uniform was instantly recognizable to every single person in the city, because only they wore them. His skin was ghostly white and his hair a jet-black mess scattered across his face.

Terrian was ripping that glorious black uniform from the man’s motionless body. "I know what he is, Anna, but he's still a patient. And right now, he's dying unless we can stop the bleeding."

You and Anna hesitated just inside the door, looking at each other and then back to the man. Anna shook her head. "I can't... I can't help him. Not after all they've done."

Terrian stopped and looked at her. At first, you were sure he would scold her, but he merely sighed and nodded. "I understand. Go tend to the other patients."

You watched the other girl leave, then turned to Terrian. He looked at you with a pleading expression. "He'll be dead within the hour if we don't do anything."

You took a deep breath, then rushed over to Terrian's side. He held out his hands while you poured alcohol over them, then rinsed your own. Looking down at the young man, he seemed fragile, vulnerable. Almost human. His torso was exposed, revealing a long, deep cut across his abdomen that was gushing out blood. Funny how his body was absolutely impeccable, toned to lean perfection and resembling a stone statue, but marred by that huge red gash.

The cut was so long, and the bleeding so severe, that each of you began stitching on separate ends of the wound so that you would meet in the middle to tie things off. A sloppy job, yes, but the fastest route to closing the wound. He would heal faster than normal people, would probably be fine in a matter of hours, but only if you stopped the bleeding.

Once you and the doctor were finished, you again cleaned the wound and Terrian began bandaging the patient up. "Amazing, isn't it?" he asked when he was done, "It won't even leave a scar. Not on him."

You washed your hands in the nearby sink and thought of Anna. "It's not fair."

"Of course it's not," Terrian told you, wiping the blood from his hands on a stained towel. "Nothing in this world ever is.”

You dried your hands and walked again through the swinging doors. Anna was changing the bandages on a young girl's arm, but looked up when you approached. "How could you stand it? Helping that thing?"

"I didn't enjoy it, okay? But he would've died. This is a clinic, Anna. We're supposed to help dying people."

Anna stood up and stepped away from the young girl's bedside. "Yeah, people. Not them."

"But he's half human, isn't he? Isn't that enough?"

Anna snorted. "Was that enough to stop those creatures from barging into my house and slitting my mom's throat? Was it enough to stop them from crushing my brother's head under their boots? Was it enough to stop them from... from what they did to me?!"

You went silent. You didn't know what to say. You knew the half-breeds had killed most of Anna's family, but you had yet to hear any details before now. Finally, you reached out and took the other girl's hand. "I'm sorry, Anna. I'm really sorry."

Anna pulled you into a hug. "I know. I'm sorry I jumped down your throat. I just don't want to see you be hurt by them too."

"I don't think he's in a position to hurt anyone right now," you told her after you separated. "He's not even conscious."

Anna looked toward the swinging doors. "Be careful. Even when they look harmless, they're still dangerous."

You nodded, and wheeled your cart over to the other side of the room. You stopped at the bed of an elderly man who was missing both his feet. He was sweating and breathing heavily. You took his blood pressure and wrote the results in a tablet. He looked up at you with astonishingly kind eyes.

"If the nurses look like this, I'm gonna have to get my feet cut off more often," he said with a chuckle.

You pulled back the sheet to check his bandages. "You sure are a charmer, Mr. Renaldo," you said as you began unrolling the strips of cloth.

"Don't believe a word he says!" Anna called across the room, "I told him yesterday he could hold my hand while Terrian stitched him up and he said he'd rather hold my ass!"

Rhoswen stopped cleaning the bloody stumps where feet used to be long enough to lightly slap his shoulder. "You shameless flirt!"

He laughed and looked at the man in the bed next to him, who didn't seem to be in such good spirits. "Can't blame me for trying, can you?"

The other man gave a weak smile and looked away.

"Now now, let's not disturb the other patients," you said gently.

"Everybody's so glum. That's what those damn Pagoda want," he said.

You finished his bandages and patted him on the arm. You bent down and whispered to him, "Thanks for cheering us up, Mr. Renaldo."

The next few hours went by steadily but quickly, as you made your way around the room checking on people, giving out soup, changing bandages, and occasionally holding someone's hand while Terrian performed some sort of painful procedure.

Unfortunately, pain relievers were as rare and expensive as genuine jewels were in the olden days, when the sky was still blue. The only way to put a patient to sleep was to quite literally knock them out with a blunt instrument, which was a last resort.

The clinic was dirty and crowded and in shambles. The people were desperate, demanding, and understandably irritable. But you liked being there. You liked being with Anna and even Terrian, who could at least make you smile. You liked helping people who were suffering, because you enjoyed seeing a tiny flicker of hope in their eyes.

Because you could almost grasp a little bit of hope for yourself.

The clinic was all you had after your parents died. And everyday you dreaded returning to your tiny apartment where hope drained from every inch of you like red sun fading into black night. But at least you could always come back the next day, where you could laugh with Anna and everything else would fall away into dust.

It was almost time to go home, and all the patients had been taken care of. Anna left out the front door, not wanting to walk through the back room where she would have to see the lone patient on the stretcher.

You waved to Terrian, who was making one last run around the room to check everyone over, then walked into the back room. The young man was still unconscious and the rest of his clothes had been removed, a sheet draped over his body. You crept up to the stretcher and looked down, watching him breathe. After feeling certain that he was indeed unconscious, you walked into the empty patient slot you had changed in earlier and pulled the curtain closed.

You couldn't walk home in your uniform, as it was dangerous enough for a girl to be alone on the streets in the evenings, but wearing an outfit like that was a definite no. You quickly pulled it off, then reached for your jeans. But before you could even unfold them, you heard the curtain suddenly fly open.

You whirled around in anger, certain that perverted Terrian would be standing there grinning like an idiot. But you were not met with the smiling doctor, but the cold, expressionless face of the now conscious patient. His eyes, one blue and the other lime-green, bore into you, unblinking.

He was completely naked, save for the bandage across his abdomen, and you tried your best to keep your eyes on his face.

You suddenly realized that you were only in your underwear, and backed up until you bumped into a cot, holding your jeans in front of you. The man’s eyes never left you, and your heart was pounding rapidly in your chest. You had never been face-to-face with a half-breed before, not in this close proximity.

There was a pause, where both of you stared at each other for several moments, not moving. Then, in the blink of an eye, the man lunged forward and was inches away from you. You jerked backward, inadvertently ramming yourself into the cot where the metal collided with your bare back. You dropped to your knees, wincing.

When you looked back up, the half-breed was looming over you, and suddenly reached out one hand toward you. You had seen what the hands of half-breeds could do, had treated many a patient who had somehow ran into one of them. In fact, just today you had bandaged up a woman who's left arm had been pulled right off, like the wings off a fly, by a half-breed.

You curled into a defensive ball and screamed, your horrified voice ringing out through the clinic and undoubtedly to the buildings nearby.

[yeoja-dream]

Found/Fated/Forever

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Pairing: BTS OT7 x Reader Genre: Fantasy, eventual smut, porn with plot, slow burn, hurt/comfort Characters: Supernatural!BTS, Vampire!Jungkook, Supernatural!Reader Content Warning: Y/N in danger, medical scene & terminology Word Count: 3k

Jungkook held your body, cool, clammy, and lifeless in a state of panic. He didn’t mean to go that far, he thought desperately. He put his head on your chest and prayed to any gods that would listen that he hadn’t killed out outright, and a tiny blip of relief washed over him when he hurt the faint, slow beating of a heart. It wasn’t too late. 

“What am I supposed to do?” He said, anxiously pacing. The idea hit him suddenly. If there was someone that could help, it was Namjoon. 

Jungkook picked up your body, handling and cradling it like it was the most delicate flower. Standing in the middle of your apartment, in a puff of dark smoke, Jungkook willed the two of you to disappear, then reappear again on the roof of the largest general hospital in your city. At this time, the morning sun had begun cresting over the horizon, its warm rays falling onto the two of you. Jungkook for the first time felt his grip on you weaken and his muscles begin to strain and ache under your weight. Where you were weightless to him before, the sunlight was weakening him considerably. He wasted no further time dashing into the rooftop access door and into the hospital proper. 

If Jungkook knew Kim Namjoon, and he was certain he did, he knew that it was almost certain that Namjoon hadn’t yet gone home from his shift as an emergency room attending. Jungkook hadn’t been to the hospital often, the stench of alcohol, death, blood, and other bodily fluids was overwhelming to his heightened senses and churned his stomach. Looking to blend in, he used the glamour magic afforded to him, disguising both of your forms as he navigated the halls, appearing to be just another doctor carrying a box of medical equipment. He paused, closing his eyes and concentrating, mentally pulling and tugging at the bond he shared with the older man. 

Where are you? I am here.

Office. The bond answered back.

It wasn’t long until he was in front of the office of Dr. Kim Namjoon. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door. 

Inside was a tired-looking, young man, busily typing and scratching down notes on a piece of paper. As Jungkook entered, he looked up, his expression initially pleased at seeing his mate quickly turned to one of shock and horror at what he was carrying. 

“Hello Jungk-” Namjoon cut himself and stood suddenly from his desk, seeing the body he carried in his arms. “What the hell is this?” 

“Help her, please,” Jungkook begged. “I can explain more later.” 

Namjoon walked over, feeling for a pulse. “Did you do this to her?” He asked, his voice grave. 

“Yes,” Jungkook replied, ashamed. 

“Well you didn’t kill her,” Namjoon stated with a sigh. “She needs urgent treatment. Disguise yourself and bring her up to the 8th floor, B corridor, last room on the left. We will have a bit more privacy that way. I will be up right behind you.” 

With a simple nod of solemn understanding, Jungkook turned on his heel, and made haste out of the office, following Namjoon’s instructions carefully. The B corridor on the 8th floor was sparsely populated, it appeared to be mostly storage for patient care monitors and machines, Jungkook noted passively. He tried the door of the aforementioned room, finding it unlocked, before letting himself in. The room was minimal, with a bed made up with only a pillow and a single fitted sheet, a bedside monitor, and a chair. Jungkook quickly laid you down on the bed before drawing the blinds to prevent any additional sunlight from getting in, it was making him feel like shit enough as it was. 

It wasn’t much longer after Jungkook entered that Namjoon entered as well. He came, backpack slung over a shoulder and pushing a rolling table. Wordlessly, he unpacked the supplies and began setting you up on the monitors. 

“Her pulse is thready, weak, and slow, but it's there. Regular rythm.” Namjoon noted out loud to no one in particular. “Her blood pressure is really low so I’m going to have to start her on a blood transfusion and fluids. Is that going to bother you, or do I have to kick you out?” 

Jungkook shook his head emphatically. Namjoon nodded in understanding, but stood in place, unmoving. 

“DO something!” Jungkook insisted, anxiously. 

“I can count the number of times I’ve placed an IV on one hand and as for the IV pumps, they might as well be set to a foreign ancient language. I promise I am the last person you want handling this stuff. I’ve already paged my nurse, Clara. She should be here any moment.”

As if divinely timed, the door handle jiggled and opened, and a short, stout, human walked in. Clara was the veteran nurse of veteran nurses. She had been working since she graduated at the age of 22, she could place an IV in your forehead, she could run a code blue better than most of the resident doctors, and she was wise enough to know when to not ask too many questions. 

“I got your page, Dr. Kim,” Clara said, walking in, and quickly assessing the situation. 

“Clara, we are running a hypovolemic protocol on this patient. She needs bilateral peripheral IVs, 1-liter Lactated ringers at 120 milliliters an hour, packed red blood cells should run at 200 milliliters an hour, and platelets at 400. Take whatever blood you can and run a CBC, Jane Doe, stat. I have all the supplies here.” 

“Yes, doctor,” Clara responded before quickly getting started. Clara worked fast and efficiently, with a work ethic born from years in the emergency room. Sliding the IVs in place, she expertly set up the fluids and blood products to transfuse and finally drew a vial of blood for testing. “I am going to run this to the lab. Will you be doing the transfusion monitoring, Doctor?” 

“Yes. Thank you, Clara, for your work and your discretion,” Namjoon said, dismissing her. She excused herself with a simple head nod, and the two men were again alone in the room. 

“She’s going to get better now, right?” Jungkook asked, bouncing his leg anxiously. 

“She should,” Namjoon said, seriously. “But this is not over, and we will be discussing what the hell happened here because if I am doing some of the mental math here, I suspect this…” he said gesturing to you, “is an everyone problem.” 

Jungkook looked away. The older man wasn’t usually so serious or harsh with him, and if he was honest with himself it definitely hurt on top of everything else that was going on, not that he didn’t deserve it. 

The pair sat in silence for some time. Namjoon stood at your bedside carefully monitoring your vital signs. As the minutes passed, steadily your vital signs improved, and steadily Namjoon was able to relax.

“It was good you got here when you did,” Namjoon finally broke the silence. “She would have certainly died if you hadn’t.” 

Jungkook swallowed hard at that. The last words you had said to him before this all started echoed in his mind, swallowing him with guilt. Please don’t hurt me.

After about 30 minutes, Namjoon received a message on his phone, your lab results. Confusingly, almost all the values were low. Did you even have any blood in your body, no one can survive this kind of low. Namjoon knitted his eyebrows together in confusion, and just as he was about to look up and question Jungkook, the monitoring alarms started blaring. 

“Fuck!” Namjoon cursed. “She’s having a reaction to the blood. That should be impossible it’s O- blood, no one reacts to that! I checked it 5 times, FUCK! He cursed again. 

“What do we do?” Jungkook stood now, panicked. 

“Stay here, I need to get some medications I will be back as fast as I can.” Namjoon typically tapered his mannerisms and movements to the human world he worked in. He moved deliberately slowly, but at this moment, he allowed himself to use the maximum of his powers. Truly in a flash, he had gone and come back with armfuls of different medications he wasted no time in administering. 

“This is really bad, Jungkook,” Namjoon said, looking over your body anxiously. “Her blood levels are so low, no human should have survived, and now she’s reacting to the one type of blood that everyone should be able to tolerate. I can give her some medications to encourage her body to make more blood cells faster, but I’m not sure she’ll survive that long.” 

Jungkook stood, running his hands through his hair pacing. “She asked me not to hurt her, Joon. She asked me and I did this to her. She trusted me.” His voice waivered, boarding on tears. 

“If I am right about what I suspect, you couldn’t control yourself, Kook,” Namjoon said, attempting to be comforting. 

Jungkook continued to pace, chewing on his nails as he watched Namjoon attempt to resuscitate you. 

“What if she wasn’t human?” Jungkook suddenly asked. 

“What?” Namjoon asked, spinning around. 

“What if she wasn’t human? She does crazy magic and her blood tasted weird. Different. I’ve drank a lot of human blood and it was never like that.” 

Namjoon drew in a breath, answering in a cool, measured way. “You mean to tell me this woman can do magic and it’s only now occurring to you she’s probably not human? What human have you ever met that possesses anything resembling magic? Never mind the fact that her blood was completely unlike any other humans you’ve tasted, now I’m thinking the next thing we should be testing is your head because I’m desperately concerned that it is entirely empty!” 

Jungkook looked down, ashamed, at the older man’s chiding. 

“No wonder she had a reaction to the blood I gave her! Explains the impossibly low lab values too, she’s a bit more durable than the average human. Don’t be mistaken, these medications will likely have limited effect on her, and she is still gravely ill.” 

“What can we do?” Jungkook asked, eyes misty. 

“We,” Namjoon said emphasizing the word. “Can’t do a whole lot. You can teleport to Baba Yena and hope she’s feeling charitable today.” 

Jungkook groaned internally. Baba Yena was known to be exceptionally powerful, but exceptionally apathetic. Legend states that she was older than time, older than the gods and the powers that created them. She possessed incredible powers, but was, in a word, incredibly stingy to whom she blessed with them. Jungkook’s run-ins with the woman had been scarce, but the few times he had, were certainly memorable. At all costs, he had wanted to avoid being around her, but on the other hand, it was the least he owed you after nearly taking your life. 

With a heavy sigh and crossed fingers, Jungkook walked to the center of the room, and in yet another puff of black smoke instantly disappeared, leaving Namjoon alone with your body. 

He sat next to your bedside, going between monitors, checking medication flow rates, and staring at you.

“If you keep fighting, I will fight for you,” Namjoon said. “Welcome to the family.” 

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

Jungkook appeared suddenly and to his relief in front of a large, dome-shaped house. Baba Yena’s house was located in a pocket dimension, and without the proper talismans or magic symbols, teleportation here was… unreliable. The house itself seemed to be made out of packed dirt or fired brick, the roof overgrowing with moss. The house was seemingly the only thing in the pocket dimension, and aside from Baba Yena’s home and overgrown yard, a black abyss stretched on in all directions seemingly endlessly. 

Jungkook steeled his nerves, walking up the short, rough stone walkway to the large, wooden front door. There was no door knob, Jungkook suddenly realized, but as he raised his hand to knock, the door flung itself open. Taking it as an open invitation, he let himself in. 

The inside smelled fairly pleasant of wood, and for good reason. Betraying the fired brick exterior, the interior of the home seemed that of a log cabin or other wood-inspired architecture. In the entryway, there was a single spiral staircase going up, and corridors leading to who knows where on the left and right. If Jungkook focused his hearing, from the right direction he could hear a female voice humming and mumbling to herself. He decided to follow. 

The corridor was plain with wood paneling, but most bizarrely seemed to stretch on for much, much longer than it had first appeared. Jungkook found himself walking first for 1 minute, then 5, and when 10 minutes passed and he still hadn’t reached the room he was walking towards, his anxiety heightened. He stopped, thinking. 

“I seek your help, Baba Yena!” He called out. He waited a few seconds, and when nothing changed he thought of a new approach. Baba Yena was also called the Knowing Mother, and to her, information was worth its weight in favors. “A girl of an unknown race lies dying in a hospital bed, and without your gracious help, she will perish an unknown, and her secrets will die with her.” Jungkook waited a few more seconds. He felt a rush suddenly and was nearly knocked off his feet as a large, invisible force picked him up, and shot him forward, dropping him off at the threshold of the room once impossibly far away. 

Jungkook entered the room which he quickly assessed to be a kitchen of sorts with black and white floor tiling, scuffed with age, a dark wood table covered in various ingredients, tubes, flasks, and other unrecognizable equipment, a ceiling littered with drying herbs and meats, and a sink next to a counter, on which is something that was clearly freshly butchered. On the side closest to him, there was a forge of sorts, a large stone pit full of red-hot coals, perched over which was a large, black cauldron, the depth of which was at least half of Jungkook’s height. Standing over the cauldron on a step stool was Baba Yena, a diminutive old woman. Hair silver and white was wild and long, her face a map of wrinkles and liver spots, and her hands, gnarled, twisted, and bony. If she noticed Jungkook enter, she didn’t show it and continued stirring whatever concoction bubbled loudly in the kettle. 

Jungkook cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably, attempting to get Baba Yena’s attention to no avail. 

“Baba Yena,” Jungkook began, taking a tentative step forward. “I bring you information in exchange for some of your magic.” 

Baba Yena didn’t look up from her work but finally spoke. “The Liar Boy comes to me asking for favors, tell me Liar Boy, how does that pendant serve you?” 

“It serves me well, Baba,” Jungkook said holding it in his hand instinctually. “There is a girl, not human, not demon, not fae, not angel. She is dying.” 

“I see…” Baba Yena stirs her pot more aggressively now, reaching up, plucking a dried herb from the ceiling, and mixing it in. “You, Liar Boy are the one who almost killed the girl…” 

“I was compelled by the Smoke. It is my fault nonetheless, and I have come to beg for your mercy.” 

“I have saved you once, Liar Boy. Many who come to my doorstep don’t have even that many chances.” 

“The girl is unusual and powerful. She could be of interest to you.” 

“You again offer the girl as a sacrifice, and yet nothing of personal sacrifice, how peculiar.” Baba Yena said with a small cackle. 

“I have nothing left to give,” Jungkook replied, forlorned. 

“I see the girl,” Baba Yena said, staring into her cauldron. “The horned one cares for her well, but she is as ill as you say and- ah! She is mated to you, she holds your final Fragment, I see. No wonder the Liar Boy again finds himself on my doorstep.” 

“You understand why I humbly bring myself to your home. Allowing her to die would be a punishment too heavy for someone innocent, she is guilty of only trusting me. I intend to earn her trust in earnest, and I only ask for the opportunity to do so.” 

“So it would seem…” Baba Yaga said, half listening. She stares intently at something, the light from the cauldron giving her an even more menacing look. Her eyes dart around as if watching something intently, and Jungkook watches as her face twists into a wolfish smile. 

“I ought to sever your bonds and cast your soul to wander the Astral Sea for being such a pain in my side, Liar Boy. I will help this girl, but not without sacrifice from you.”

“Anything,” Jungkook said earnestly. 

“Oh, I have something in mind,” Baba Yaga said, climbing down from the step stool and waddling across the kitchen before phasing through a portion of the wall, disappearing from view. Jungkook could still hear the sound of items being shuffled, glass clinking against glass, however. After a minute or so, Baba Yaga returned, a dusty, palm-sized, green potion in hand. 

“Drink this and we will be on our way.” She said, handing him the bottle. 

Jungkook took it from her, turning it in his hand, examining the liquid inside. It was a sickly lime green color, and he noticed, to the dismay of his stomach, that the texture of the liquid was actually quite viscous and grainy. He wondered if it was a poison, naturally, perhaps one meant to weaken him severely but never kill him outright. He had a mind to ask, but understanding how fickle Baba Yena was, he knew better. He lifted the cork out of place with a solid thunk, closed his eyes, and focused on not vomiting as he poured the potion down his throat. He didn’t fight the wave of magical something that passed through his body, bracing himself for pain or weakness. He opened his eyes and checked his body, felt his face, but somehow, he felt completely fine. 

“You’ll know what it does in time, Liar Boy. Now come, let's go save this girl.” 

[liftoffrecovery]

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[geralallfandoms]

Hii I’m not sure if your still taking requests but if you are could you write a mark sloan x reader which involves him protecting reader from something idk is that makes sense 🫶

Hiii! Yes ofc! Hope you like it!! 🫂✨🧚

Requests are open!!

[An unlucky day]

Being a doctor has never been easy. Not only because of everything that had to be studied, the long hours of work, the mistreatment of superiors, or the poor treatment of patients...for you, the most difficult and annoying thing about all of this were the drugged or drunk patients. Most of them did not know where they were or they forgot it all the time, they did not know why they had arrived at the hospital or they deeply denied having consumed anything although their studies will confirm it.They blamed the perfumes, the chocolates that their grandmothers had given them and they didn't know they had alcohol in them, or they tried to make excuses like birthdays, weddings, New Year's Eve or Christmas.

Your 42-hour shift was about to end, there were only 4 hours left and you could return to your comfortable bed. But of course those hours would not be peaceful. It was as if the universe knew you were about to leave, that it decided to send you a bunch of patients together.

"Car crash. Two cars involved. One of the drivers was under drugs. You two, come with me." Bailey said, obviously pointing at you and another resident.

You tried not to snort too hard, you knew that if Bailey noticed, every time a case like this came up, she would call you just because she knows it bothered you.

The ambulance arrived at the same time you finished putting on your gloves. The doors opened quickly and the nurses took out a man in his 50s, unconscious, with a wound on his arm and a couple of bruises and cuts on his face. Bailey, seeing that the man was not in life-or-death conditions, pointed a finger at you, indicating that the patient was yours.

The nurses helped you take him to a more private room, just as another nurse entered.

"Thank you very much, I can so ir alone from here. Could you call Dr. Sloan? His face has a couple of bruises that I want him to see." I asked the nurse who nodded quickly and left the room next to the stretcher bearer, leaving me alone with the patient.

You began to prepare your things, turn on the machines and other things, turning your back to the patient.

And that was the worst thing that you could do.

While you were preparing the needle with tranquilizer to give it to the patient, the man had woken up. And not in the best conditions. He was under substances, in a place he didn't know, tied to a stretcher, with his entire body in pain, with a possible concussion and with someone who was about to prick his arm with something he had no idea what it was.

"Oh-" You said when you saw the he had woken up. But before you could say anything, the man let go of the stretcher and hit your hand, causing the needle to fall to the floor.

"Who the hell are you! Where I am? Let me out!" He screamed as he tried to free himself from his other restraints.

"Sir...calm please, you are in a hospital, you-"

"NO! YOU'RE LYING, YOU DAMN BITCH!" The man yelled before he could completely let go.

When you saw that the man got up from the stretcher, you took advantage of the fact that he was distracted and ran towards the door. Just as your hand had grabbed the door handle, the man grabbed your hair, pulling it back at the same time as you opened the door.

Luckily for you, when the door opened, the first thing you saw was Mark's face.

"Let me out! Let me out or I swear I'll kill them!" The man shouted in your ear as his other arm wrapped around your neck.

The nurse behind Mark quickly ran off in search of more help, as Mark's face contorted on fury.

"Let them go now! You're in a hospital, you can't do these things. Let them go now if you don't want us to call the police." Mark said with a strong voice. Although the reality was that the police would come anyway to arrest him for driving under the influence.

"T-the po-police..." The man said as he backed away. His arm was beginning to let go of you and when Mark noticed it too, he grabbed your arm quickly, pulling you away from the man.

Mark quickly put you behind him. He was much taller and bigger than you, so you had been completely hidden behind him, seeing his big back. The man started screaming again, this time running towards us. Mark was backing away with his hands at your sides, trying to protect you from the man who was trying to grab you again. But the man was able to take Mark's robe.

Seeing how the man and Mark were pulling, you ran to the table, took a needle and filled it with a tranquilizer. once Once you knew it was enough to put the patient to sleep for a few hours, you quickly injected it into his shoulder.

The man turned around quickly, hitting you in the face, causing you to fall sitting on the floor. And just as Mark was about to hit him back, hospital security ran in, arresting the patient.

Once they had him grabbed, and pulled away from the room, Mark quickly approached you, crouching down next to you.

"Are you okay? Did he hurt you? What hurts? That fucking son of a bit-" He said as he watched your nose begin to bleed.

"Mark!" You shouted to interrupt him. "I'm fine, really...and you?"

"Your nose is bleeding, probably broken, and your eye is black. Don't tell me you're fine, that bastard ruined your face..." He said seriously as he took a cotton ball and put it on your nose.

"But luckily I have you to fix it, right?" I said while smiling, trying to get him to relax.

"Of course darling..."

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I hope you enjoy it! Sorry if something is written wrong, English is not my first language! But let me know!

🫂✨🧚