#Medical Consent Form Translation | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

milksuu · 1 year ago

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Don't Worry. I'll Support You. | PT. 01

❥ prompt: Your HEARTSTEEL boyfriend has to undergo minor surgery, and they chose you to be their caretaker for the day. Let's see how they are before and after anesthesia. ❥ content/warnings: fluffy fluff, drugged behavior (all medically safe), mention of needles, mild profanity, minor angst ❥ characters/pairings: v!Heartsteel! (aphelios, ezreal, kayn) x girlfriend!reader

an: i don't know why this was tumbling around in my head. wow, this post got longer and longer the more i wrote. i swear I'll write for the other babes too.

APHELIOS

Unfortunately, this wouldn't be the first time Aphelios had to undergo surgery. Happened when they had to remove the nodule from his vocal cords. And he doesn't remember a single thing from that day. Alune took care of him at the time, but she never mentioned anything beyond how he slept most of the day (probably to spare him from embarrassment).

He appreciated you taking a day off work to take care of him and be his interpreter. He was fine with all his consents and paperwork. But when it came to more detailed questions concerning his medical history, he would have you translate his sign language to the medical staff. Thanks to you, the process went smoothly.

IV's were never fun to have. Especially when it had to be in the hand. Aphelios couldn't lie and say he wasn't nervous about it, despite his aloofness. But all he had to do was shift his eyes away for a moment, and look at your cute, bubbly face. He could tell you were rambling on trying to distract him, and he guessed it worked. By the time he looked down again, the IV was in. He denied the golden star sticker usually meant for the pediatric patients, but you took it for him as a momento.

When it was time for him to go into the OR, the medical team gave you two a moment. You slipped a hand into his and gave him two love squeezes. He smiled softly and gave three love squeezes back. A quick peck to his lips and you left to sit in the waiting room.

When he was brought to recovery and awake, you were taken to his bedside. When you stepped through the curtain, you saw him resting as if he were asleep at home. Slowly, he opened his eyes, glazed over with mild recognition. Although he felt lethargic, he signed sloppily with his hands.

Is this heaven?

You bit your bottom lip to keep from smiling too much. You shook your head and reminded him where he was.

Oh. Really? Because you look like an angel to me. And if they want you back up there. Forget it. I'm keeping you.

You covered your mouth to keep from giggling too loud. You weren't sure if he was being serious or actually trying to flirt with you. It wasn't common at all for him to be so corny, but you blamed the anesthesia for that. When the nurse came to the bedside, she went over discharge instructions while you held his hand. He kept giving you light squeezes and rubbing his thumb gently against your fingers. Just to make sure you wouldn't fly away. Of course, anytime you had to let go and sign a paper, he sighed heavily (almost a whine if he wasn't careful), until your hand floated right back for him to take. Then he was sighing with relief again.

While at home, it was just the same. Aphelios didn't want you to leave his side for even a moment. If he had his way, you'd be sleeping next to him, still holding onto his hand. You had to remind him many times that you had to take care of him, so no cuddles or naps just yet. You also had to remind him he needed to eat and take fluids after fasting for so long. If there was thing you knew, he was a picky eater. Aphelios seriously thought ketchup packets counted as a full meal and satisfied his daily fiber intake. Luckily, you were able to spoon feed him some soup with a couple of crackers.

After you had him take his first dose of medication, you could finally indulge him. You settled next to him in bed, and he took no time to wrap himself around you, nuzzling your chest. A small, sleepy smile formed against his lips. Maybe you weren't a real angel. But you couldn't convince him you weren't his heaven on Earth.

EZREAL

Oh, boy. This was the first time Ezreal had to have any kind of surgery. Even though it was supposedly minor, that didn't stop the nerves itching underneath his skin. Is it normal to be this nervous? He wasn't sure, but he tried his best to hide his chattering teeth behind a forced smile. He really didn't want you worrying about him more than you had too. You were already doing him a big favor by taking care of him. He just hoped he wouldn't be a wreck before and after.

Apparently, signing consent forms and answering medical questions became a challenge. His hand trembled so much, his usual confident signature looked like a preschooler forged it. And when it came to answering medical questions, he found himself stuttering, feeling like someone stuck cotton balls inside his mouth.

When it was time for the IV, his whole body was ready to collapse in on itself. Was it always so hot in here? Sweat dampened the top of his skin. W-What's the big deal anyway? Not like he was afraid of some tiny, sharp...needle....OK, the room was spinning now. Great—awesome. Man, he felt so lame.

Seeing the color drain from his complexion, his head drop back, and his eyelids fluttering close, you politely asked the nurse to give him a moment with you. She laid him down in the stretcher and brought you a wet cloth. Wiping at his damp face and neck, you rested a comforting hand against his heaving chest. "It's okay to be afraid, Ez. It's not easy to have surgery. You're brave for even being here." He shook his head weakly, clenching his eyes tight. "B-brave. Yeah right, babe. I mean, look at me. I'm practically comatose and the nurse barely even wrapped the tourniquet around my arm."

"Brave doesn't mean not being afraid of anything. It's doing something even knowing it's scary." Another wipe of his cheek and you planted a reassuring kiss. "There's no one braver in my eyes right now." Ezreal swallowed the ball of anxiety nested in his throat. A couple of more inhales and he gathered his remaining courage for the next step that had to be done.

You held his hand the entire time the nurse worked to get his IV started. You told him to close his eyes and take big breaths, and it would be over before he even knew it. He did as instructed, and just like you said, it was done. He admitted to you that it felt a bit itchy, but that he could deal with. Oh, but was it so worth it when the nurse offered him that golden star sticker. He slapped it on the chest of his gown like a badge of honor.

When the medical team arrived to take him in the stretcher, he gave you that million dollar smile and peace sign. Granted, you whispered to the anesthesiologist to give him some relaxing medication before he went in. The anesthesia provider was way ahead of you. When he started giggling, waving, and blowing kisses like he was out the sunroof of a limo driving down the boulevard—oh yeah. You knew he was feeling it.

When it was all over and they called you back to recovery, the nurse informed you he couldn't stop talking the moment he opened his eyes. And all that he was talking about was you. "Babe! Babe! I did it—I can't even believe it's over. I don't even remember them putting me to sleep. Crazy, right? Like, did I count down from ten? Did I make it to zero? I bet I made it to zero." He practically wiggled himself over the safety rails on the stretcher. You sweetly instructed him to keep still so that the nurses could get a decent blood pressure on him. "Okay. Okay. I'll be good. Promise." He forced himself to lay back, but that didn't last long. While the nurse was going over instructions, he was tugging on your shirt sleeve, calling your name, interrupting every moment wanting your attention. Apparently, he had a lot to say to you in the span of thirty-minutes you were separated.

When you arrived back home, by some miracle you were able to have him settled on the couch once you put on his favorite K-Drama. While sitting next to him (and making sure he didn't get up) he rested his cheek against the top of your head. "Thanks for everything, babe. Honestly, you make me feel like the bravest guy. Like Indiana Jones....or Captain Kirk...maybe even that...one actor from National Treasure...." before you could say anything back, you felt his body relax further into you. His light breaths signaling he dozed off seamlessly. With a warm smile, you pulled the blanket over the two of you, and snuggled closer before you joined him for a nap.

KAYN

GOD DAMN IT'S EARLY! Kayn wanted to shout when you woke him up for his 6AM arrival time. Instead, he grumbled, kicked on his crocks, and went in his pajamas. He was too tired to really argue and complain. He just wanted to get this done and over with so he could move on with his life.

Kayn didn't diddle-daddle with his forms and medical questions. He wanted to put on his gown, toss himself into the stretcher, and possibly get a few more winks before his surgical time. You sighed—this was going to be the longest hour before surgery.

Although still in a foul mood, Kayn eased a bit when you worked up a distracting conversation with him. And when the nurse came in to do his IV, Kayn didn't bother blinking. He probably stuck himself countless of times with other—probably sharper—and deadlier objects. Actually, he took it one step further. When the IV was inserted, just to mess with you (and the nurse), he made a loud, and seductive moan. You pinched his arm for startling the nurse. Poor thing didn't even know how to react to that nonsense. "Ow. Ow. Nurse—nurse, she's hurting me." He said, cowering away from you. "You deserve that for almost giving them a heart attack. What if they missed and had to stick you twice?" Kayn smirked, rubbing at his nipple line. "More of a good time for me, then." You rolled your eyes, begging for him to behave for the next half-hour.

When the surgeon came to the bedside, he discussed the procedure at length and a few expectations afterwards. When he finished, he asked if either of you had any questions. Kayn raised his hand like the serious kid in math class. "Yeah. Question, Dr. Shen. When can I have sex again?" You almost spat out the complimentary coffee the front staff so kindly gave you. You couldn't believe he had just asked that question so casually at...let's see.... 06:50 in the morning!

You apologized on his behalf, but Dr. Shen merely dismissed it. "That's quite alright. It's a fair question. And one I receive plenty of times from my male patients. Even ones well into their eighties, and surprisingly, nineties." Kayn nodded with a grin and you rubbed your warming forehead. Of course. What else would they bother to ask? The surgeon went on to say; "As far as any kind of exertional activities, that will all be discussed and cleared at your follow-up appointment in two weeks."

TWO WEEKS!? Kayn almost fainted right then in there. He looked at you with such concern, as if someone told him a Pentakill concert sold out before he could even buy a ticket. He reached over and grabbed your hand, holding tight. "Listen, kitten. I don't think I want this surgery anymore. Can we go home now?" You shook your head disapprovingly. After hearing such news, and you not bailing him out, Kayn sulked as if he was getting surgery to forever castrate him.

When it was time to take him, he begrudgingly let you kiss his cheek. Otherwise, he didn't reciprocate your affection. He tossed his chin away and said. "Whatever. Let's just get this crap over with." Once again, he had you shaking your head, and you apologizing to everyone in the room.

When the nurse came to bring you back into recovery, you noticed he was sleeping on his side, back turned to you. You wondered if he was still upset by the whole ordeal. When you reached out to touch his shoulder, he tensed, but slowly turned over. "Kayn. Are you feeling alright? If you're in pain, I'll tell the nurse—" Before you could finish, Kayn reached forward and grabbed you, pulling you into the tightest hug. You felt him bury his face into your neck and shoulder, hands desperately clinging to you.

"Oh, thank you, thank you." You heard him choke up. You brought a hand to gently comb through his hair, asking him what was wrong. He shook his head. "I...I don't know. I thought— just before everything went black—what if I never saw you again. And the way I acted before they took me..." he squeezed tighter, burying his sulking face deeper. "I'm sorry. I love you, okay? Just, trust me on that. Please."

"It's okay. I love you too," you hummed and stroked his back, continuing to assure him. "You don't have to worry anymore. It's all over. You're still here. The doctor said you did so good, and there were no complications." Pausing, you planted a kiss to the top of his head. "How about we get you dressed so we can go home, hm?" He nodded against your shoulder, and you helped the nurse dress him for discharge.

When you brought him home, Kayn wanted to do nothing but turn off the lights, close the blinds, and lay next to you in quiet darkness. Breathe you in, feel your warmth, and listen to the softness of your pulse against his ear. Focus on the fact that he was alive and you were alive with him—nothing else.

#heartsteel #heartsteel x reader #heartsteel ezreal #heartsteel aphelios #heartsteel kayn #aphelios x reader #ezreal x reader #kayn x reader #league of legends #reader insert #x reader #my man dr shen making an appearance #divider by leafsea

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the-kr8tor · 1 year ago

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Silk & Cologne

Hobie Brown x Silk!Reader Relationship Headcanons.

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Silk! gn Reader/ Spider-Punk x Silk! gn Reader

Word count: 3.8k

Tags: No use of Y/N, No specific physical description of the reader, TW blood, TW needles, TW injuries, canon typical violence, fluff, hurt/comfort, Kinda soulmate AU.

*I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms*

You meet Hobie while you're running away from his team of spider-people.

You are an anomaly who accidentally entered a different dimension from yours, but you didn't know that at the moment. Your biggest worry right now are the various spider-people going after you for some reason.

Running and swinging from unfamiliar rooftops, you feel an invisible rope tug at you, this is probably your silk sense telling you where to go, you thought, so you follow it on instinct.

Unbeknownst to you, Hobie Brown aka Spider-Punk feels the exact same invisible rope pull him towards somewhere. He just got out of the inter-dimensional portal when he felt an unfamiliar feeling.

Also thinking it's his spidey senses keeping him on his toes, he follows it. He ignores all the calls from his comms to follow his instincts.

You both swing towards the mysterious pull, until you both almost collide in the air with each other.

You and Hobie both lean away last minute from each other to prevent the collision.

Your eyes lock with his for the first time.

You both feel the invisible rope stop pulling, it's replaced by longing and an unidentified urge.

As you both swing in the air you get a good look at each other. Time seems to be in slow motion as you both swing in a circle just watching each other.

The others catch up to the both of you, stopping at a nearby rooftop, watching you both curiously.

"What the hell am I watching?" Gwen Stacy asks as she watches you circle each other.

"Looks like some sort of mating dance" Peter B. Scratches his neck.

"Oh God, they're a silk variant, Lyla, Get Miguel and tell him to bring the silk blockers, this could get ugly" Jess says in her comms.

"Ohh, Dramaa. Miguel's on his way" Lyla reports.

It seemed to be hours just circling each other, waiting for either one of you to make a move.

Suddenly you both get tackled at the same time, landing on a dirty rooftop, you bite and scratch at the assailant.

You see from your peripheral that he's getting manhandled by someone in a blue suit, you watch as he quickly injects something in him, that makes your stranger go limp. The same invisible pull you felt dulls a little bit.

You turn back to the woman holding you down, your eyes widen before she plunges the needle with the same color in your neck.

Darkness wraps you immediately. The last thing you see is the sunlight bouncing off the metal on his suit.

You wake up from the noise of different voices arguing.

You're in a futuristic prison of some sort, you listen to the conversation for some answers, the magnetic pull seems to get stronger every second.

"Hobie you didn't see how they reacted, they're like feral or something!" Gwen pleads.

"Yeah, because you bloody tackled them!" Hobie uncharacteristically screams at Gwen.

"Let them go now" He demands Miguel.

"Don't you see Hobie, you're already captivated, it's because you were both bitten by the same radioactive spider, it created an irresistible attraction between you two, it will overwhelm you once the blockers I injected in both of you wears off" Miguel pinches the bridge of his nose "You two are linked together. You need to take this pheromone blocker to see reason"

You see him hold a blue pill.

"Take it before you become a danger to yourself and them" Miguel points at you.

They all look towards you, now awake, your pupils blown up like a balloon, with all the eyes on you, your only attention is on the leather clad form.

Hobie looks at you then to the pill, every second he wastes not taking the medication, he feels the pull towards you get stronger, it's almost painful.

Listening to Gwen, he grabs the pill quickly downing it.

He sighs as the pressure subsides.

Hobie feels like himself again.

You sigh as you feel it too, the pain without him next to you dulls. It's like an itch you can't scratch.

Hobie crouches next to you.

You lock eyes, the attraction still there, but you both don't have the animalistic need to be with each other.

"They need to take it too, so the medicine can take full effect" Miguel gives Hobie an identical pill.

"Where am I? Who are you?" You meekly speak for the first time.

"My name's Hobie Brown, apparently we were bitten by the same spider, we're linked with each other," Hobie looks towards Miguel "open it, they won't do anything"

"How'd you know?" Miguel raises his brow.

"I just know"

Miguel deactivates the orange glow around you.

You stand up to your full height, Hobie mirrors your movement. He hands you the pill, your hands brush against each other, electricity cackles around Hobie's hand.

You swallow it down dryly. Feeling the pressure completely alleviate, you finally feel normal.

Hobie feels the same, he still feels connected to you, somewhat. Like a lingering aftertaste. But there's no feeling of suddenly jumping your bones in front of everyone.

"Okay, now where the hell am I?" You push past Hobie, he gets surprised with your sudden change of tone.

Miguel gives you the spidey orientation added with some context on silk variants.

Learning that you were bitten by the same spider feels kinda weird. Like how Lyla put it simply "it's like your soul mates, kindred spirits" then she sighs while holographic hearts float above her head.

Then finding out what you both felt hours ago, was actually an animalistic urge to mate? That is the weirdest thing ever.

After hearing the word mate leave Miguel's mouth, you take a step further away from Hobie, you just met the man and you were ready to rip off each other's clothes the second you saw each other?

Miguel, the boss of the entire spider society, you just learned, offered you a place in their elite group. As long as you and Hobie keep taking the medication of course.

You accept the offer. A few hours ago, you thought you were the only person with spider powers, being locked in a bunker alone for almost ten years makes you lonely. Now that there's an entire team who understands you and a man who's basically your soulmate you cannot say no.

You don't want to be lonely ever again.

You've been part of the spider society for a few weeks now, becoming friends with the other spider people.

You were afraid of coming out of your assigned room for the first few days just in case there's another spider-person out there who was bitten by the same radioactive spider. You definitely don't want to ever feel that way again.

Miguel tasked you to train so you could hone your skills.

In your surprise you see Hobie in the training room, honestly you were avoiding him, with how weird you two first met, who wouldn't?

"O'hara, really?" You glare at Miguel.

Weirdly enough, you and Miguel have become fast friends, probably because he keeps you closely monitored in case your 'charms' go haywire again.

You call it your 'charms' since you didn't like that everyone called it pheromones, it gave you the ick.

"Being in close proximity to each other helps in training you in keeping your urges in check" Miguel informed you both, "you've taken both your meds, right?"

"Yes bossman, otherwise I would be all over them right now" Hobie teases you both.

You almost broke your own neck with how fast you turned to look at Hobie.

Miguel sighs "Whatever just keep it PG" He leaves, the doors hiss closed once he stepped outside.

"I like your suit" Hobie breaks the ice as he roams his eyes over your form.

"Thanks, I made it from my own webbing" you lift your arms to show it off.

"That's -"

"Please don't say hot"

"I was gonna say punk rock, but that works too"

Ignoring his last comment, you walk towards the console to start up the training simulation.

"You've been avoiding me" he says matter-of-fact.

"Hmm, I wonder why" you play with the console's settings, continuing in ignoring him.

Suddenly you feel strong arms caging you in, you turn around, and find yourself trapped by Hobie, your back gets blocked by the console so you don't have anywhere else to go.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You can feel his warmth with how close he is. You look up at him through your eyelashes.

"It bothers you then? Our connection" Hobie tilts his head in question.

"No it doesn't, it's just weird and awkward. I've already wasted ten years of my life locked up, I don't want a spider defining the rest of it, do you?" Despite your brain telling you to just swing away, you fight it off and speak your mind.

Hobie smirks, oh how he likes that fire, he intends to feed it, let it spread, he would let it burn him as long as he gets to see the real you without the pheromone fog clouding his thoughts.

"No I don't, but we've both been away from each other for a while, and yet you still feel it don't you? The want to be near each other, the need to protect each other" Hobie rambles on, "I think it's our shared spider senses telling us something, it would be a shame to not explore it"

"What a shame, then" taunting him, you lean up closer, your breaths mixing with each other.

Suddenly Miguel's booming voice surrounds the large training grounds "LEAVE ROOM FOR THE HOLY SPIRIT!"

You both pull away snickering at Miguel's comment.

No matter how hard you try to ignore what Hobie said you can't, because he's right, even though you take the medication, you still feel him. Every time he goes back to Nueva York, for some reason you feel his presence even though you didn't see him around the building; same goes for when he leaves, you feel some sort of emptiness inside you.

You ask Miguel whether his medication isn't completely working.

"It's not the medication's fault, there'll always be that lingering feeling. You're connected to each other, whether you like it or not" Miguel has his back turned to you, "best to just ignore it"

You huff at his comment, dissatisfied with his answer.

You try to ignore him, you do but it's basically impossible since you're friends with his friends and you both work at the same place. You keep seeing him EVERYWHERE.

Hobie does it on purpose though, whenever another spidey gets partnered up with you on a mission, he convinces them to swap with him.

"You, again?!" You scoff. "Lyla said I would be partnered up with Noir this time"

"He had something come up," Hobie shrugs. "Right Lyla?"

Lyla appears suddenly "yep, some goons to punch and what not"

"Ugh!" You swing away.

Hobie winks at Lyla as she shapes a heart with her hand.

Whenever you come to the mess hall with a long line of hungry spider-people, Hobie's already sitting down with an extra tray of food next to him. He nonchalantly looks at you with a smug smile on his lips.

You would ignore his invitation but he's always with backup, he would be with Gwen or Pavitr, whom you have grown fond of over the last few months. So you reluctantly swing towards them.

It also doesn't help that he's your assigned trainer, all the lingering looks and touches when he's correcting your form, wakes up the butterflies in your stomach.

You spend so much time with him, it's impossible to ignore the feeling.

Hobie loves leaving you cd's of movies and music you missed from the last decade in your dimension. He drops it on your doorstep every chance he's got.

One time you got hurt while on a mission without Hobie, you tried to hide the deep gash on your shoulder from your team, but of course you stubbornly deny it.

Entering the inter-dimensional portal, you feel the stabbing pain on your shoulder. Ignoring the pleas from your team, you give them a pained smile, telling them that your enhanced healing will fix it.

When you reach the hallway where your room resides, you see Hobie leaning on your door, you feel the magnetic pull towards him. With no choice but to confront him, despite the pain, you saunter towards your door with your head held up high.

"I don't remember ordering a doormat" You tease him, You felt a chill run through your body from the pain and blood loss.

"I felt that y'know, the cold" He stares at you seriously. "I felt the exact moment you got injured, I never want to feel that ever again" he straightens up, anticipating what comes next.

"Hobie I'm - " You feel nauseous, you fall towards him, he catches you in one swift motion.

"Stop being so bloody stubborn. Let me help you please" He softly says right next to your head.

You shift your head to look at him directly, memorizing every detail of his face, counting every single one of his piercings.

He shakes you out of your stupor, "Oi, stay awake for me, yeah?"

You swallow down the pain, "Okay, Hobie, you can help me"

Without missing a beat he carries you towards the med bay, expertly weaving through spider-people.

The entire time you were in the med bay, he was there with you, with every stitch to close your wound, he was there. You instinctively reached for his hand to hold on to.

When you finally woke up, he was sitting on a chair next to your bed, asleep. You take note of his hand still holding yours. You watch him, his chest moving up and down, taking note of every single detail of his suit, every crease of his boots; the different pins he has on his vest. You count every callus he has on his fingers.

When Miguel finally approves your proposal to finally go back to your own dimension. Now that you're both stable enough to be around each other; your stomach flips when you remember it's also Hobie's dimension.

With your reintegration back to society, you ask Jess, (the only adult you trust) to help you in finding a place to live in. And possibly a Job, to feel like a normal human again.

Thanks to Jess your transition back to your own dimension was pretty smooth. You still feel the pull here and there, but now you've gotten used to it. So used to the feeling and his presence, you didn't notice him perched on your windowsill.

"Nice place you got here" Hobie whistles.

"Christ!"

"Just me, lovey" he takes off his mask and enters your abode. "D'you need a doormat?" Hobie holds a brown rectangle in his hand.

"What?" You take it from hobie with a raised brow, "Come back with a warrant" laughing once you read it out loud.

"Glad you liked it, nicked it from another flat" Hobie smiles hearing your laugh, he goes towards your fridge to rummage through it.

"Wait, what! Please don't tell me it's from a neighbor" You follow him, opening the freezer, showing him different kinds of soda he can choose from.

" 'Course not, got it from another building in a nicer neighborhood" he opens a can of orange soda.

"So you basically swung around the city, holding this" you hold up the doormat. You must like me a lot. You wanted to add but you bite your tongue.

"Yeah, what of it?" He rummages through your cupboards. "You got any food in this dump?"

You roll your eyes, knowing his schedule you hand him a packet of biscuits for his patrol. You wish he could stay though.

Whenever you're both free from your responsibilities and obligations, Hobie mysteriously appears in your flat, holding a dvd of another movie you missed and a large bag of popcorn, three feet tall, how and where in the world did he even get that?

Sometimes though you're the instigator, instead of movies and a comically large popcorn, you bring him to different places around the city. Museums, a walk in the park, cafés, and concerts of bands that Hobie likes (that you like too but you don't specifically tell Hobie that)

When you're swinging together on patrol, you point at places that have changed since you were in your bunker. Telling him stories about your experiences in some places.

Whenever you feel hungry, sad or in pain, Hobie feels it too. He's there waiting for you and you do the same thing for him. You take care of each other.

Once you two got bored in your flat and decided to make a conspiracy/theory board on how and when you two got bit by the same spider. Both of you were so invested in it, you didn't sleep till five am.

You woke up from the soft snores and the strong arms around you. You force one eye open, the first thing you saw was the large board you two made, riddled with pins, and pictures of places you've both been to all connected with red strings tied around the pins.

You hear him snort in his sleep, you smile softly. Cuddling further onto his chest. He hugs you tighter, half lidded eyes looking down on you.

"First I was a doormat, now a pillow" He says in his gravelly voice from just waking up.

"Go back to sleep or you'll be a punching bag next"

You were in Nueva York, just hanging around with Gwen, when suddenly you felt a painful pang in your chest. You hold on to a nearby wall to steady yourself.

"You okay?" Gwen asks.

"I think -" another stabbing pain but in your skull this time. Your eyes widen in realization.

You look up at Gwen "Hobie" you gasp, swinging towards Miguel's command center. Gwen following your move.

You didn't waste a second once you landed in his area. "Where's Hobie?!" You scream in your urgency for him to answer you quickly. Miguel's up on his platform, his back turned.

"They didn't ask for backup, stand down, Silk" he watches his numerous monitors.

"I don't give a shit, O'hara! Tell me which dimension!" You demand.

Miguel finally turns to you, he looks down on you menacingly "I said stand down"

You feel the pull again, a lot stronger this time, it's a primal need to protect him.

Gwen, noticing the tension in the air, decides to simmer it down. "It's okay Miguel, we uh, understand we'll wait for them to call for backup" she stares at you to wordlessly say: play along.

"Fine" you say, faking a smile.

Miguel grunts and finally turns around back to his monitors.

Gwen subtly knocks your shoulder with hers.

Lyla appears on a nearby table, hiding behind a console, she beckons you over.

You crouch in front of her, she puts her index finger on her lips, she summons a board out of thin air, written on it is the dimension where Hobie is.

You mouth a thank you to Lyla. She makes a heart with her hands.

Wasting no time, you run away from Miguel, finding a spot to open a portal, Gwen and you swing towards it quickly.

Once transported, smoke and chaos greet you. Your eyes roam around the area where various spider people swing around the giant mech of an octopus, clambering up the buildings.

You panic, not seeing the familiar glint of his spikes.

"Gwen go help the others, be careful" you instruct her.

"Go find him" She nods.

Without being able to see him, you panic, so you use the invisible web that ties you both together. Closing your eyes, you concentrate on finding the other end of the web. You try to remember his smell to help you in locating him.

Reaching the end of the rope you finally feel him, you can hear him breathing out slow breaths, you feel every cut and bruise on his body. A tear slides down your cheeks, but you don't have time, so you swing towards him.

Dodging mechanical octopus arms, you ignore Miguel's orders ringing from your armband.

You finally reach him inside an abandoned restaurant. He's sitting down on the floor, back against the cashier counter, his head down low, chin on his chest.

He looks up at you the moment he feels your presence.

"You come 'ere often?" He jokes despite the pain.

"Hobie Brown, you're an idiot" you walk towards him.

"Yeah, but you're the one who came here, so who's the bigger idiot?" He coughs out the last part of his sentence.

You carefully grab his chin to assess the damage. His mask torn from the side, his brilliant brown eyes now dull, you get a glimpse of a dark red gash on his chest.

"Let's get you out of here, okay?" You hold his face, keeping him awake with your touch.

"Have I ever told you that You're the most gorgeous person I've ever seen?" He managed to get out.

"No, but you show it often," you smile. "Will you let me help you?"

He gives you a blood soaked smile, "Yeah, you can help me, love"

You both feel the tug and pull of the web, straining against itself, now taut, it finally breaks.

You kiss him on his bloodstained lips, ignoring the taste of iron. He kisses you most fervently.

You feel like a dam just broke in you, overflowing your senses with just Hobie flooding every fiber of your being.

Hobie feels rejuvenated, like he can get back out again and fight the giant octopus by himself.

You both pull away for air. Gasping and staring in each other's blown out eyes. Hobie leans forward and kisses you again, as if he hadn't seen you in years.

"We need to take out doc oc" Hobie whispers against your lips.

As if on cue, the octopus mech falls down on the ground with a loud crash, followed by the cheers of the spider-people.

"Guess they didn't need us" you chuckle.

You hold him up by his arms, slinging one on your shoulder, you help him up.

The sunlight greets you both as you step out of the building.

You hear Gwen yell out your names. She drops down gracefully.

"You're both Okay!" She bounces on her feet in happinesses.

"It takes more than that to kill me, Gweny" Hobie holds on to you tighter.

Gwen opens a portal back to Nueva York. You all step in.

You sigh in relief when the three of you finally reach the med bay. You get Hobie admitted, you hold his hand the entire time he gets treated. Thank goodness for 2099 medicine.

He finally falls asleep, still holding your hand. Miguel enters the room, one angry look from you, he grunts as if to say 'another time then' before leaving you both.

When he woke up you made sure that the first thing he sees is your face.

"Hey, trouble" his gravelly voice making you smile in relief.

"You're okay?" Tears threaten to spill over your eyes.

"Come 'ere," Hobie brings out his arm so you don't crush it as you lay down next to him. He moves his head towards you for a kiss, you close your eyes, anticipation flooding your senses.

His kiss reminds you that you'll never be truly alone in this world.

A/n: that awkward moment when you realise that you almost accidentally wrote an a/b/o fic lmao I had so much fun writing this! Couldn't even sleep without finishing it up. Is this still technically a headcanon when it's this long lol. Hope you liked it! As always comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated ❤️

*image above is from pinterest*

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thaisibir · 7 months ago

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SEES members react to getting anesthesia: headcanons from a real anesthetist

(Go here for post on Phantom Thieves react to getting anesthesia)

Makoto: the guy who secretly smokes weed, chews through roc every 15 minutes, needs over 1.5 MAC maintenance sevo. (Laymans terms translation: smokes weed so he burns through a ton of muscle paralytic agent (rocuronium) and anesthetic gas (sevoflurane) needed to keep him relaxed and deeply asleep)

Yukari: had her hair and nails done the day before surgery, wakes up from anesthesia asking if she said anything dumb and apologizing if she did. (Complimenting patients on their nice nails is part of my small talk to attempt calming nerves when they're rolled into the OR)

Junpei: would try to fight anesthesia and count past 10 seconds, tries to cheat by counting fast (he loses anyway) (It's so amusing when patients try to challenge anesthesia. Some put up a good fight, but in the end, anesthesia always wins.)

Mitsuru: takes 300 mg of propofol on anesthetic induction, scares the shit out of OR staff when she still reaches for the airway device as the anesthetist tries to insert it. (Redheads tend to need more anesthetic than average. For context, the induction/knock-you-out dose for propofol is about 2 mg/kg. For frail old people, I halve that dose. Most people don't need more than a single 20 ml syringe/200 mg of propofol. I push 200 mg for big tall football/basketball guys. I've seen redheads take at least 2, even 3 syringes. Mitsuru would be a tough one to knock out.)

Akihiko: the extremely athletic ASA 1 guy with baseline bradycardia bordering on need for anticholinergics. Will most definitely wake up swinging fists and knocking out teeth and trying to jump out of the bed if he didn't get enough sedative on board beforehand. (Healthy athletic young patients (HAY patients, I call them) tend to wake up violently and delirious from anesthetic gas. To mitigate this, there's a sedative called precedex that helps smooth out emergence from anesthesia. Good to give for little kids, teenage girls, and big strong-looking guys. As soon as I see I'll be getting an Akihiko/HAY type patient for an upcoming case, I already know to draw up and dilute precedex to have at the ready.)

Fuuka: actually a very pleasant and compliant patient, but has family history of malignant hyperthermia and allergies to practically everything, apologizes for all the trouble. (Malignant hyperthermia is a very rare, but very deadly anesthetic complication if not treated promptly. Many anesthesia providers go through their entire careers without ever seeing MH, but we're trained to know what to do if it ever happens. Anesthetic gases and a muscle paralytic agent called succinylcholine are MH triggers. The anesthesia machine must be completely removed of the gas canisters and flushed through with high flow oxygen for an hour or so, to really make sure none of that stuff is exposed to an MH patient. I like the idea of Fuuka turning out to be a patient requiring an extensive anesthetic plan when she totally wouldn't mean to)

Ken: the rare kid who's cool with getting an IV in preop. (Pediatric patients typically do not get an IV placed before being rolled back to the OR, as most kids are terrified of needles. Induction of anesthesia in the OR must instead be achieved by delivering high flow anesthetic gas through a mask. Once the kid is unconscious from the gas, then an IV can be placed to give medications throughout a case intravenously. Amada seems like the type to be fine with getting an IV placed when he's awake because that's what adults have to do.)

Aigis: is a robot, physically can't process anesthesia. (Probably goes without saying)

Koromaru: Mitsuru or Akihiko, as the oldest members of SEES, act as guardians to sign anesthesia consent forms. Holds out his front leg and rolls over to offer his chest so staff can put on the blood pressure cuff and EKG stickers. Adored by the vet and vet techs for being so smart and adorable.

Shinjiro: the guy you think would smoke weed and drink a lot but actually has a history of post-operative nausea and vomiting (PONV) and prolonged emergence from general anesthesia. (Somehow I like the idea of Shinjiro turning out to be a delicate flower when it comes to anesthetic requirements)

#persona 3 #persona 3 reload #persona 3 headcanon #makoto yuki #akihiko sanada #mitsuru kirijo #yukari takeba #junpei iori #koromaru #fuuka yamagishi #ken amada #aigis persona 3 #shinjiro aragaki #p3r has been my comfort game after work for 2ish months and i wanted to combine the two somehow #when i finish p4g i will try to make a post for the investigation team

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 8 months ago

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Hand in Hand, to Hell and Back, I Will Follow You

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Carol Peletier

Setting: France

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; blood and injury; poorly written smut

Summary: Finally.

A/N: This can stand alone or be the third part following Two Sinners Can’t Atone from a Lone Prayer and You Wanna Shut Away the Pieces of a Broken Heart

©celtic-crossbow 2024. I do not allow for my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or placed on any other platform without my consent.

“Here! In here!” Carol held open the door, watching the surrounding area nervously while the people she had led away from the battle filed into the small room. Three men. One woman. And a boy. She made sure they weren’t followed and closed the door, pulling down the yellowing shades before pushing a desk in front of the entrance. The papers, letters long forgotten, scattered onto the floor. She took but a moment to consider if they were meant for a loved one who would never read the words.

“Qui es-tu?” The blonde woman was shielding the child behind her, as if Carol meant them harm after running into the fray and leading them to safety. Well, at least some form of temporary safety.

Regardless, she had no time for questions.

Her focus was on the man hanging between the other two. The reason she had crossed an ocean and fought her way through an unfamiliar land on just a single thread of hope she would find him.

“Daryl?” Carol took his face in her hands, lifting his head, her thumbs stroking his cheeks. She had hoped her voice would have been enough to rouse him. “Shit.” Frantic blue eyes took stock of the room, filled to the brim with books and documents, everything coated in a thick layer of dust and entirely useless.

“Who are you?” The woman spoke again and was once again ignored.

Moving quickly, Carol swept her arms across a table, sending everything onto the floor to be forgotten. “Put him here.” The men took a moment to regard one another. “Now!” She barked, reluctant but not unwilling to pull her gun. Daryl obviously knew these people if he was willing to fight with—for—them, but she didn’t.

“How do you know him?”

Carol gritted her teeth. She wasn’t out to make enemies but she wasn’t striving for friends either. Placing Daryl’s crossbow on the desk, she unshouldered her bag and dug through it for the medical supplies she had gathered along her journey.

“It’s okay, Isa.” Carol spared a glance toward the boy, but then gathered her supplies, all she could carry, and returned to the table where Daryl lay prone, pressing two fingers to his neck just to reassure herself he was still there. “She’s his lady Carol. She isn’t here to hurt us.”

She froze for a moment, knife in one hand and the other hovering over the bullet wound in Daryl’s thigh. Focus. Cutting through the trousers and wiping away the blood with a piece of fabric torn from her own shirt and several alcohol prep squares, she could get a better look at what she was dealing with. Through and through. There was no way of knowing if it had hit the bone but it had definitely missed the artery or she would be putting him down rather than patching him up. With any luck, it had gone through the muscle alone. His limp would likely be more profound but it was preferable to a shattered femur.

“Bullet went through.” She sniffed, holding back the tears that so desperately fought to fall. He was there, alive and breathing, and she was going to make sure he stayed that way. Carol unbuckled her belt, granting the room’s other occupants a moment’s worth of her full attention before she slipped the leather through the loops and worked it beneath Daryl’s leg.

“My name is Fallou.” One man offered, stepping closer while she secured the belt as a tourniquet. She didn’t respond and wouldn’t. Daryl may have been less than truthful about his life and family in order to protect the ones he’d left. Without him awake, she wouldn’t risk unweaving the tale he may have told. “This is Losang.” Her eyes flitted up from the gauze she was applying, following Fallou’s gesture toward the other man.

“I’m Laurent. This is Isabelle.”

Carol couldn’t help but nod and give the kid a tight-lipped smile.

“And you’re his Carol.”

His. “Yeah? And how do you know that?” She was genuinely curious. Winding the bandage around Daryl’s thigh didn’t take much focus aside from trying to do so without cutting off the entire pant leg. The wound would need stitched whenever they could find the supplies necessary.

“I can just tell. Monsieur Daryl spoke of you.” She chuckled quietly but said nothing else. She should have been wondering what he had said about her but all she could think about was his facial expression at being called a monsieur. Carol froze again when the boy continued. “You have the same look on your face as he does when he speaks of you.”

Everyone else in the room disappeared and there was only Daryl, peaceful behind the blood and bruises in a way she wished she could see without injury. Finally able to relax, she pulled over the office chair and collapsed into it, leaning forward with one elbow on the table, the opposite hand smoothing the hair away from his face.

“Everyone rest. We have to wait this out.” She instructed, words given on autopilot that she wouldn’t remember later.

He came to gradually and then all at once, a burning, jolting pain in his left thigh that radiated down to his toes and back up to his hip in a hot gasoline trail. “Fuck.” He rasped before even opening his eyes. He was disoriented, feeling everything spin behind closed lids. Where was he? Had they lost? Had the Nest been taken?

“Easy.” Isabelle’s voice broke through the barrier of pain, a relief enveloping him to know she was alive. The steadiness in her tone told him that Laurent was safe, but there was a hesitance there as well, a heaviness that was out of place.

Daryl turned his head toward the soft call of his name and blinked open tired eyes. They had been outnumbered, that much he could recall. Codron has switched sides, offering them knowledge of the attack and thus time to at least form a line of defense. He remembered the blinding pain when the bullet struck his leg. He had only just struggled to his feet after a blow to the head, taken right back down in a cocoon of agony. Then there was nothing.

Almost nothing.

He’d heard Carol’s voice. It wasn’t unusual. He always heard her when he slept. Her soft syllables reminded him of why he continued fighting to keep the boy safe. He needed to finish what he’d started and then get home to her. France could never be home. Not without Carol.

He’d be lying to them and himself if he promised to stay, even when the mission wasn’t complete, when any opportunity to make it back to the Commonwealth might present itself. He’d leave them behind the tide and never look back.

So he never promised.

He had promised Carol he’d make it home. And he’d never lie to her. He didn’t intend to start now.

An electric current of pain snaked out from the wound, and he jerked, attempting to shake it, somehow grasp it and hold it at bay.

“We will return soon and you can rest and heal.” Isabelle was holding his hand and though he didn’t pull away, the touch felt wrong.

“Did—is anythin’ still there to go back to?” Her blurry silhouette shrugged, distant shouts and gunshots muffled behind a closed door.

“We had to run. You were injured and the hungry ones came. She came then too. She led us here and we’ve been safe.”

She? “Who?” Isabelle didn’t answer, forcing him to wait until his vision cleared before trying again. “Who?” She smiled sadly with a distinct jerk of her chin, indicating the other side of him. Daryl rolled his head and his breath hitched before stopping completely. He’d know that crown of silver hair anywhere. “Carol?” Her head was on the table, rested atop her arms just beside his elbow. If he was going crazy, he was taking Isabelle with him. She could see the woman too. It was all enough to have him ignoring the pain and scrambling upright. “Carol? Carol!”

She jerked awake, finding his gaze with ease, her own eyes wide as her hands began to flail in ill fated attempts to subdue him. “Daryl, wait! Calm down, you’re hurt—stop it!”

He didn’t. He couldn’t.

Carol didn’t resist when he found her upper arms, damn near pulling her onto the table with him to crush her against his chest. He was crying, pride be damned. She was there and whole and there and he couldn’t let go. “Carol.” His voice shook and cracked as he held onto her, not realizing nor caring that she was returning the embrace. He just needed to feel her there. The shame of being so desperate for her would come later.

“I’m here. I’m here.” She soothed, petting the back of his head. She was shaking, sobbing softly into his shoulder.

It wasn’t long before his body reminded him of his injuries, his energy waning, but he refused to let go and sagged against her, clumsily holding on and adjusting his grip on her jacket each time it failed him.

“It’s okay, Daryl. I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.” Her voice was fading as he was left no choice but to give in to the pull of exhaustion and blood loss, still clinging to her with weak fingers while she eased him onto his back. “Rest now. I’m here.”

“Carol.” He croaked, hands falling away, one thudded against the table while the other fell right into her waiting palm. He was so tired, overwhelmed by the strong notion that she could still be just a dream. As darkness crept into the edges of his vision, he whispered the same words he always did when he’d seen her while he slept. “I love you. Don’t go.”

He was no longer on a hard table the next time he clawed his way into the waking world. Though the mattress wasn’t much of an improvement, it still eased the ache in his muscles and the throbbing pulse in his leg. She was his first thought, his hand squeezing the soft weight of fingers curled around it.

“Easy, Daryl.”

He let out a sob, uncaring of the weakness he displayed. Carol was really there. His eyes found hers, tired and red-rimmed. “You’re here.” He breathed, struggling to sit up. She didn’t stop him but slipped an arm behind his neck to assist his efforts. “How?”

Once he was upright, still holding tightly to her hand, Carol rubbed at her eyes with her free forearm. Her jacket, he noticed, was discarded on the undisturbed bedroll behind her. “I found a clue and followed your trail.” She smirked and placed a palm against his cheek, rubbing her thumb over the stubble there. “Getting sloppy in your old age.” She chuckled and he blushed, feeling the burn of it all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Glad I was this time.” He admitted.

Carol gave him that gentle smile that always turned his heart inside out. “Your color is better. You were cold as ice when we got you here. I stitched up your leg. Everyone was worried but I know you. It’d take way more than this to take you down.” She gestured toward his leg.

Daryl nodded, grateful for that bit of praise when he truly felt as if a strong breeze could knock him over. He hadn’t had the presence of mind until that moment to look around. The room was unfamiliar but definitely one found within the walls of the Nest. It still stood.

He had grown accustomed to a thin mattress or bedroll on the floor of the shared sleeping area. This room was nice, private and bright with a balcony. One of the upper rooms he’d never been curious enough to explore during his time there. He’d never wanted to, not even in brief stints of boredom. The unfamiliarity of the place had kept him centered, focused on going home.

“I have a way back home. Back to the Commonwealth.” He turned back to her and she flinched, eliciting a tilt of his head. “That’s if you wanna go.”

“Course I wanna go.” He stated firmly but not unkindly. He was confused. “Why wouldn’t I wanna go?”

“Seems like you’ve got something here.” Carol released his hand. He thought he caught the shine of a tear as she turned away and stood, approaching the door to the balcony. Arms crossed, she looked out over the place. “Like you have someone.”

Now he was beyond confused. “What the hell’re ya talkin’ ‘bout?”

She looked over her shoulder at him, the sun warming the side of her face in a way that made her look unreal, like a painting that belonged in a museum before the end of the world. She smiled, that same know-it-all grin she had given him when she had suggested he settle down with Connie. “Isabelle. She loves you, you know?”

“Nah, I don’t know.” He was having trouble keeping his tone level in the face of her assumptions. She turned away again.

“I could see it back in that office. The way she watched over you, held your hand.” A beat of silence before she sighed heavily. “You told her you loved her.”

Daryl’s face twisted into a grimace, trying to pull together any recollection. He remembered going down, the pain. He remembered Isabelle when he woke. He remembered being consumed by Carol, nothing but her once he had set his eyes on her.

I love you. Don’t go.

Shit. “Carol, I—”

She chuckled. “You’ve got nothing to explain to me, Daryl. I’m glad you’ve found happiness.” Her shoulders slumped a little, and he could see the defeat in that posture. “I said I wouldn’t leave without you, but I only meant that if you wanted to leave. You don’t have to leave her. Or the boy.”

He hated letting his silence linger but he needed a moment to get himself off that damn bed. Everything hurt. His body had been given one taste of proper rest and had then decided it liked it and didn’t want to cooperate. Finally, finally, he made it to his feet and limped his way across the distance, stopping just behind her.

He didn’t touch her even though his body was being drawn to her like a painful magnet. “Wasn’t sayin’ that to her, Carol.” Her back straightened, but she didn’t move. “Look at me.” He wanted to sound sure of himself, had really tried. It still came out as a weak request. Regardless, she turned around, her head bowed. Daryl hooked a finger beneath her chin and guided her up to where his gaze waited, hoped she could read the honesty on his face, the naked longing. “Not to her.”

“Daryl.” The way she said his name both broke his heart and made him shiver, the combination sparking a flame to life beneath the desire that morphed into courage he wasn’t sure he’d ever gather again if he didn’t tell her right that moment.

“I love you, Carol. S’always been you.” His knuckle caressed her jaw before his palm opened just below it, his large hand cradling the side of her neck while his thumb stroked her cheek. “Wasted so much time, made so many mistakes when I could’a told ya so many years ago. Maybe could’a saved ya some’a the pain ya’ve been through. M’sorry. I was a coward.”

Carol gasped, and even though he’d never taken his eyes off her face, it was as if he was seeing her for the first time. “Daryl Dixon, you are anything but a coward.” She said it with such conviction that he had no choice but to believe it. “You’ve done more for me, for everyone, than any of us ever deserved from you.”

“You deserved it.” He said more forcefully than intended but Carol never even blinked. “Ya deserve everythin’, Carol.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Do I deserve you, Daryl?”

He snorted weakly. It wasn’t funny but the very idea that she didn’t deserve the entire fucking world was ludicrous to him. “Better than me.”

Carol took that last step forward, pressing them chest to chest, forcing her head back to look at him properly. “There is no better than you.” Her eyes followed her hand as she cupped his cheek, fingers trailing over the stubble and gliding to brush his hair behind his ear before stilling on the side of his neck, almost mirroring the way his hand still laid against her. “I’ve had my man of honor all along.”

It was instantaneous, the way he bowed his head and she tilted hers, their lips coming together in a kiss that was way overdue. It felt electric, the hairs rising on the back of his neck beneath her fingertips. She shivered and sighed into his mouth when his lips parted in invitation, her tongue delving inside with no further prompting. They were moving before he’d even realized it, his limp playing a substantial role in the unsteady course toward the bed.

Carol fell first, her hold on his biceps dragging him along with her. Daryl caught himself easily enough, keeping his weight off of her but failing miserably in protecting his leg from bumping the mattress. He hissed a breath through his teeth and arched upward to favor the injury while she overflowed with apologies. “M’fine.” He grumbled, taking a moment to allow the ache to subside. When he opened his eyes, crystal blues were trained on him. Her mouth was turned down, worry and disappointment visible enough in the lines. “Said m’fine, Carol.”

“Maybe we should wait.” She hadn’t made a move to shift from beneath but her body was rigid and ready to spring the moment he gave the word.

Daryl shook his head before jerking his chin toward the area above her, silently demanding that she move more onto the mattress. “Waited long enough.” With a curt nod, she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and complied, watching him with such intensity as he gingerly followed that it made him slightly uncomfortable. Tilting and holding his weight more on his right side, he lowered to his forearms—his hips settled between her thighs— to press his mouth back against hers. He knew he was already hard, his poor body trying to figure out whether his pulse should be in his injured leg or his throbbing erection. His hopes that she hadn’t noticed were quickly dashed.

He pulled back, breathless, to find her smirking at him. “What?”

“I think we’re entirely overdressed for this occasion.” Rubbing her lips together behind that same smug smile, she snapped one of the suspenders and he dropped his head. He was never living that one down. “We’re going to talk about these later. And by talk, I mean I’m going to tease you until the end of time and you’re going to say stahp on repeat.”

“Shuddup.” He griped through a lopsided smile while pulling up the bottom of her shirt.

Getting undressed was more challenging than it should have been. The wound in his thigh made moving difficult, several colorful words finding their way past his lips. He was pale and sweating, leaning heavily on the wooden nightstand by the time he was down to his underwear.

“You sure you’re up for this?” Daryl’s eyes lifted to find Carol sitting on her knees, bare save for the modest, mismatched bra and panties hiding the things he wanted to see most. Her eyes skirted down for a moment and then back to his face, that smirk firmly back in place. “Well, parts of you are definitely up for it.”

“You’re killin’ me with the commentary.”

“Sorry, Pookie. Come over here.” She moved back to give him room. “Lie on your back.” Her hands were out, ready to assist if he needed but he wasn’t a fucking invalid. He could manage getting onto a damn mattress.

Maybe.

He groaned once his head hit the pillow, physically and sexually frustrated. He was quite literally aching for her but his body was one giant ball of pain. She noticed his plight. Of course she did. Daryl opened his eyes when he felt her moving beside him and then her hand on his ribs, just over a deep bruise. She had some contusions and lacerations of her own, each with a story he wanted to hear but knew it was not something to ask about at that moment. She was about to give him an out and he wasn’t having it.

“Nah, don’t even.” He shook his head. “Want this, have wanted this. Not willin’ to wait if its what ya want too.” Carol seemed to mull over the words, eyes narrowed but not arguing. He took that as a good sign.

“Fine, but you let me do all the work.”

His mouth fell open to retort but clicked shut when she leaned over him to press a kiss to the skin above where his pulse raced and then to the front of his throat, dipping her tongue into the hollow between his collarbones. When she shifted to circle the wet muscle around his right nipple, he drew in an unsteady breath, the adrenaline flowing from her attentions giving him both the will and the energy to push her onto her back. Goddamn, that hurt.

Worth it.

“I said to let me do all the work!” He was already sitting back, balancing awkwardly on his right knee, and pulling her panties down her slender but strong legs.

“I didn’t agree to nothin’.” He smirked, hooking a finger beneath the material of the bra, just over her sternum. “Take it off.” He had no idea where this confidence was stemming from but he rode with it, would until it fizzled out.

“When did you get so bossy?” She quipped, opting to pull the garment over her head in lieu of wasting the time unfastening it. The sight of her breasts had his mouth damn near watering but he had an agenda to keep before his leg gave out completely.

He fell forward to catch himself with a hand on either side of her hips, wrapped an arm around each thigh to spread her open.

“You don’t have to do—oh.” Carol collapsed back, her protest forgotten once his mouth descended on her. His tongue pushed through her folds, trusting her reactions more than fearing his own lack of experience. He was nothing if not adaptable. He made note of her cues; each twitch, each sigh. The places that made her hips jolt and the motions that made her keen. When his tongue flicked across a stiff little nub, her hands shot up to twist into his hair. He repeated the action, over and over until her thighs were shaking and his name was a broken prayer from her lips. He had originally planned to bring his fingers into the mix but when she arched off the mattress, singing his praises in a chorus of sounds and words that made no sense, he was almost disappointed not to have the opportunity.

Well, that time anyway. As long as she was willing, he wanted to explore every inch of her, inside and out.

He lapped at her languidly, helping her ride out the aftershocks while drinking down her nectar, an exquisite offering he would gladly indulge in as often as she’d allow. He didn’t stop until she pushed him away and pressed her thighs together to smother the sensitivity he’d left behind.

Balancing just as he had before, he grinned and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Told ya I’d go down first.” The way her eyes widened and her mouth fell open was plenty enough reward for his lame attempt at a joke.

“You are unbelievable.” She laughed, actually covered her flushed face with both hands and laughed. He could only watch her with a fond smile for a moment longer before his leg waved the white flag.

“Ah, fuck.” His tumble to the pillow beside her was anything but graceful. His arm was thrown over his eyes, his way of shielding himself from what would likely be disappointment on her face. That, and if he looked at the pale skin of her breasts with those dusty rose nipples, he thought he just might really embarrass himself.

“Are you okay?” There was residual laughter in her voice. The mattress moved as she shifted next to him, her curves pressed to his side in a way that made him groan.

“No.” He sighed. After years of skirting around their love for one another, he was finally where he was meant to be and he couldn’t perform for her. Not for the reasons some men his age couldn’t, no, he was definitely not inept in that department. His cock was painfully hard and with very little persuasion. He was injured and it was just too painful to give her everything he wanted to, show her exactly how she made him feel.

Carol’s small, warm hand came to rest on his stomach, her fingers kneading the skin there, softened by time but still covering strong, capable muscles. The contact was nice, a balm to the fresh burns of his own self-deprecation.

“Daryl.”

“Hmm?”

“Stop that.”

He lifted his arm to peer from beneath it, not moving it away entirely. “Stop what?” Carol ducked below that same arm for a chaste kiss, hovering there with her thumb stroking his bottom lip.

“Doubting that you can please me.” God, she could read him like a book. “You just did something no one else has been able to do. Ever.” He let the barrier between them fall away completely then, his hand coming to rest on her bare hip.

“No one’s ever—?” His eyes flickered down in broad indication of their lower halves. Carol chuckled.

“No, that’s happened.” She clarified. Daryl waited, arching a scarred brow while his fingers drummed on her skin when she simply remained silent.

“You’re usually ‘bout as subtle as a shotgun. Can ya at least pretend to acknowledge that m’clueless here an’ throw me a bone?” The second the words left his mouth, he knew he’d opened himself up for another teasing retort and shut her down before the smirk could even fully form. “Not one word.”

Carol ran her pinched fingers across her lips as if closing a zipper, that same hand then finding its way to his forehead to brush back his unruly hair. “No one’s ever—got me there without my—” Daryl squinted and followed her hand as she made a vague gesture while trying to find the right word, “participation.” And then she waited while his head tilted and he pieced together what she was trying to say, nodding with a smile the moment she saw it click.

“Well, least I did somethin’ right.” He shrugged a single shoulder.

“You do a lot of things right, Daryl. They may not be in the category of sexually intimate but they’re just as important, if not more so.” Before he could object or even move to stop her, Carol was straddling his shins and pulling down his faded boxer-briefs.

She knew what she was doing. He was much too focused on the damp heat he could feel hovering above his skin to realize that she was stripping him bare. When his brain finally caught up, Daryl fisted the duvet to avoid the strong urge to cover himself. He had never really worried about his size before, never had a reason to feel inferior. Now he was on display in front of the woman he loved and he couldn’t get it out of his mind that he wasn’t enough for her in absolutely every way.

“Daryl.” That was a warning tone if he’d ever heard one. He forced himself to relax. If Carol had a problem, she’d tell him. He trusted her to do that. Swallowing hard, he watched her crawl back up to sit beside his hip, her gaze not on his obvious need for her but on the square of gauze taped to his left thigh. “Always giving for everyone else.” Her tone was distant, laced with sadness as her fingertips hovered over the bandage. Just like that, her focus was back on him, the smile back on her face. “Now will you let me do all the heavy lifting?”

Daryl snorted at the phrasing, earning an arched brow. “Fine.” He grunted. Blue eyes shot wide when Carol wasted not a single second in throwing her leg over him to straddle his hips. He wasn’t sure when he had grabbed hold of her thighs but he was squeezing for dear life to keep himself in check. She was holding herself over him in a way that he could see the slick glistening on the tuft of hair just above where his cock was hovering over his lower abdomen. If she touched him at the moment, he was coming apart and he knew it. “Won’t—ain’t gonna last, Carol.”

“I know.” Her voice was soft, her eyes overflowing with a million emotions that he couldn’t name but the ones he could calmed his anxiety almost instantaneously: love and acceptance. He knew both to be true already. She had always loved him in some way from the moment he had handed her that pickaxe, just as he had loved her. They had accepted one another, faults and strengths, broken pieces and methods of mending. It’s why he was always drawn to her; why he trusted her when he was hurting.

The moment her fingers touched the velvety skin of his cock, Daryl went rigid, wound tighter than an eight day clock. It took every ounce of restraint he possessed not to cum before he even had the chance to be inside of her. It was unnerving, the effect she had on him.

“Relax.” Carol cooed. Easier said than done. She didn’t tease him, though it was quite apparent she wanted to, a frustrated restraint in the beautiful lines on her face. His hand was on her cheek before he realized he had even lifted his arm.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispered, watching in awe as she bowed over him to bring their mouths together, entrancing him with a kiss while shifting his cock to notch against her entrance. His gasp was swallowed eagerly, his tip stretching her open, his hands fumbling for her hips. “Fuck. Fuck.” Every word brushed against her lips while he filled his mind with anything and everything to keep from filling her that very moment. Walkers. Saviors. Fuck, even Mercer made an appearance with that expression of disappointment that was followed up with a reprimand.

She sank another inch, then another, and another until she was flush against his pelvis, her ass tilted to keep any pressure off his injured thigh.

“Gimme—goddamn, gimme a minute.” And she did, occupying herself with tracing the lines on his face, his scars, his collarbones. It was barely working for her, the fluttering of her walls around him making his hips jerk.

She bent down to nuzzle her cheek against his, the shift in angle prompting a sound from him that he wasn’t aware he could even make. “Please,” was all she said and he couldn’t deny her, he had spent too many years doing that trying to keep her safe, to try and choose her path for her when the easiest one would have led them to each other all along.

Fingers flexing on her hips, he encouraged her to begin rocking, the groans leaving both their throats were sinful. If any sisters overheard, they had surely fallen to their knees in prayer. It didn’t take long for him to pull her higher, closer, allowing his lips to finally indulge in a pale pink nipple while his hips lifted to meet each of her downward pushes. Sucking and flicking his tongue over the pebbled nub, his other hand massaging the otherwise neglected breast with movements somewhere between desperate and tender.

The breathy call of his name was enough to assure him that he was doing things right. Still, the sudden buzz at the base of his spine brought everything to a level of urgency. There was no time to revel in how beautiful she looked bouncing over him, her head thrown back with breathy gasps of ah ah ah yes oh my god. He was close and by fuck, he was taking her there first.

Finding her swollen clit was simple from this position, the angle of her hips and his cock splitting her open had the little bundle of nerves pushed out. A large hand splayed over her lower abdomen, his thumb flicked over her and then pressed firmly to rub tight circles. “Need ya to let go, Carol. Need to feel ya.” He was barely hanging on, his hips already losing any rhythm.

“Oh god, Daryl, I—” She clung to him, nails biting into his chest as her body spasmed. Her cunt hugged him tight, squeezing and milking until he shouted hoarsely, his single grasp on her hip, holding her still through the initial waves, the contractions of her inner walls pulling each warm rope of him deeper and deeper inside.

Urgency softened into lazy thrusts and gentle rocking, his hands on her sides squeezing with reach aftershock. He knew the shame and embarrassment would come soon enough but for that moment, he simply watched her with hooded eyes. Her breaths were shallow but quick though the slightest partition of her pouty lips. Her eyes were closed, brows raised ever so slightly. The agonizingly slow rhythm of rising up and sinking back down as she continued to pulse around his softening cock was mesmerizing. Overstimulated as he was, each movement making him fight a jolt, he couldn’t tell her to stop. He wouldn’t. She was too beautiful soaking up that pleasure, the limited bliss he was able to give her.

“Daryl.” She breathed with a smile, eyes still closed. He slipped out of her when she fell to his chest, her face immediately burying in his neck. Just as the shame began to crest, her lips pressed against his pulse point. “I want to do that again and again. You made me feel so good. God, it’s never been like that.”

He reared back and angled his head to see her, content and smiling into his skin. “You shittin’ me?”

“Nope.” She still straddled him, wiggling and slithering her arms underneath his back to press herself closer. “You make me feel new again.”

“Was like—a minute an’ a half at best.”

Carol chuckled. “This time. Next time, you’ll give me a run for my money. Unless you’ve been making the French women say oui oh mon Dieu, it’s been years for you.”

“Don’t wanna know what that means but I ain’t made ‘em say nothin’.” He wasn’t offended, knew she was jesting, but he still felt bad. Still felt like she could do better. He could only offer her a broken man who was mediocre in bed. He had made her wait until they were older and worn.

“If I have to say stop that one more time, I swear, Daryl Dixon—”

“Ya threatening me?” He shot back playfully, out of reflex. “Just—Carol, ya—”

“Do you know what a refractory period is, Daryl?” Carol folded her arms on his chest, rested her chin on them.

“Pfft, course I do.” He didn’t.

She smirked, pushing her ass back against his cock. He was half hard in an instant. His fingers pressed into her ribs, a groan pressing eagerly against the back of his teeth. “Well, yours is impressive.”

“Thank you?” Carol laughed, Daryl sighed. He was just lost in her joyful sounds, the lines on her face that came with age and not pain. “Are ya mine, Carol?” He blurted out, it was unintentional but he didn’t want to take it back, even when he tasted her tears as she kissed him.

“I’m yours. Are you mine?”

“Always have been.” She was laughing when she buried her face in his shoulder again but it was different. It was relief, a gratefulness for something desired for too long, regret for time wasted, and excitement for things to come. Daryl pressed his face into her hair, inhaling the scent of home. His heart echoed all that she was expressing and then some. He didn’t believe in god, not even after his time with nuns and prophets, but something or someone had given him his Carol, and he silently thanked them.

When she finally pulled away and sat up wiping at her red rimmed eyes, he lifted a hand to help, swiping his thumb over her cheek. Of course, Carol being Carol, she wiggled her ass on top of his cock, bringing him to fully hard in no time flat. “Let’s spend a little more time making the nuns blush.”

Daryl chuckled. “Alright. After that,” he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her mouth to his, each syllable a whisper against her lips, “an’ then we fuckin’ go home.”

Carol nodded. “Then we fuckin’ go home.”

#murda writes #daryl dixon #carol peletier #caryl #caryl fanfiction #caryl is endgame #twd caryl #caryl positivity #caryl fandom #caryl spinoff #daryl x carol #carol x daryl #daryl dixon x carol peletier #carol peletier x daryl dixon #daryl loves carol #carol loves daryl #Spotify

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saltsicklover · 1 year ago

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Part Two - STCHT

Title: Someone To Come Home To

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3300+

Rating: R

Warnings: Talks of Sick Parent, Crying, so much crying, Drinking, Heavy Conversation, likely inaccurate medical stuff.

Best Friends to Lovers Romance! Marriage of Convenience!

Disclaimer: I do not own Jake Seresin, or anything related to Top Gun Maverick within this piece. Not Proof Read or BETA'd. All mistakes are my own.

I do not consent for my work to be edited, reposted, or translated.

You are responsible for your own media consumption. This is a work of fiction that may contain mature themes. If you are sensitive to those subjects, please do not read.

---

Bags hang off Spurs' shoulders, weighing her down as she stalks up the driveway. Her SUV is packed full; what was once in her dorm is now stacked in the back of the vehicle. It's strange, to have her whole life fit in the back of a vehicle. Everything that makes her, her, outside of her body now on wheels. Spurs tries not to think about the fact that everything she has with her is her entire life. The idea that somehow, someone might be alright with living so minimally never sat right with her. The thought that her existence only expanded as far as she could reach doesn't quite settle in her bones.

Maybe it's the fact that it is her life alone, no one else's things mingling with her own.

So, she thinks about a nice holiday at home with her Mom, and the fact that being in school was never her dream anyway. Her life is supposed to be more than sitting behind a desk. She needs to reach as far as she can and learn without limits.

The handle on the front door of her mother's house still jiggles a bit as she turns it. It's been that way since Jake and Spurs rammed a couch into it while moving it through the threshold. It was supposed to be an easy task, really it was, and Ms. Jett wanted nothing more than to have a new couch. What she wasn't bargaining for was a doorknob that would jiggle for the next three years and counting. There is a scuff mark on the siding of the house right by the front door too. Spurs runs her fingers across it as she pushes through the threshold.

"Hi, Mama, I'm home!" One bag clatters to the ground right in the entryway. "Happy Easter. The ham smells fantastic," and down goes another bag, settling itself right in front of the stairs.

"Hi, Captain, Sweetheart! In here!" Lizzy calls, her voice carrying from the back of the house. When Spurs turns the corner she is met with the sight of not only her mother but the Seresin's as well.

Mr. Seresin sits in one of the large leather recliners, a large Stetson atop his head. In his hand he holds a glass of what can only be a whiskey-coke. Spurs has only ever seen him drink whiskey-cokes. His wife is sat on the arm of the leather chair, he large hair styled to perfection. Her outward appearance hadn't changed much. Her favored red nail polish still shines brightly on her fingertips as she runs a hand down the collar of her husband's shirt.

Jake is a few feet away, wringing his hands and pacing a few steps back and fourth. He looks nervous, more nervous than Spurs had ever seen him. She watches as he runs a hand through his hair and then down his face, attempting to collect himself.

"Jake!" Her backpack falls to the ground with a dense thud. She scurries over, throwing her hands around his shoulders. He tenses. He has never tensed under her touch before, and she recoils. He can't speak, his body too tight with tension. So, she pulls her hands back, stepping away from his still recoiling form. Jake stands before her, still green around the gills, looking completely uncomfortable.

"Jake, what's wrong? You don't look so good," Spurs brings a hand up to push his hair back from his forehead. Her fingertips are met with sweat that has collected around his brow. He attempts a small smile her way, but it comes out in more of a grimace.

"Miss Jett, we are glad that you could join us," Mr. Seresin interrupts, pulling the eyes in the room toward himself. He runs a finger along the lip of his glass, a content smirk over his lips. "We have some very important business to discuss."

"What's going on?"

Spurs looks towards her mother for any clue as to what's happening. Her mother wears a soft expression, one that is riddled with underlying knowing that Captain can't quite make out. She gestures to the couch with a flick of her wrist, an unspoken invitation for her daughter to sit. Captain sits down uncertainly, her Mother sitting in the open arm chair next to the Seresins.

Their son still stands just off to the side of the group, sweaty and pacing, like he might be able to walk an indent in to the carpet and displace the gnawing feeling in his chest. Nothing could have prepared him for the conversation that was about to take place, but through his anxiety, he can't help but wish he could have given Spurs a heads up as to what she would be walking in to.

That's the way the world is though, right? There is always something lurking around the corner, no notice printed, always subject to change. Somewhere between fate and choice, the group sits, the air thick with tension that seems to ripple over their skin.

"We need to have a conversation," Lizzy speaks first, her voice almost too certain. It makes Captain's adrenaline sky rocket. The Seresin's sit, hands intertwined. Lizzy mulls over her words; they seem too big for her mouth, intruding on her gums.

"I'm sick, Captain, and I don't have much time left," Lizzy finally spits out. One might think there would be a trace of worry on her face, maybe a tear in her eye, yet, Lizzy wears a small content smile. There is no fear behind her eyes, nor do her hands shake. The news she has delivered has been accepted by her soul- no room for fear. It just is.

Captain, on the other hand, shakes. Bile creeps up the back of her throat, dragging the nausea with it. She thinks she might be sick- her body flashing between hot and cold without warning. Tears invade her eyes, everything in her field of view now swimming.

"What?"

"I have an inoperable brain tumor," Lizzy explains, "The doctor's have given me a year at most. They said that they didn't catch it early enough, and it just keeps growing-"

The sentence is interrupted with a strangled sound from Spurs, her hand doing nothing to muffle the noise that escapes from between her lips. She isn't crying- too shocked to find it in her. Instead, she feels like she has just been pushed to the floor, the wind escaping her chest from the impact.

Lizzy observes the discomfort on her daughter's face, but continues anyway. There is too much to say and not enough time to say it.

"Oh honey. There is nothing to be afraid of. You know that death isn't an end, it's just the beginning of the next step, the next life," Lizzy attempts to comfort her daughter, but the words don't have the effect she wishes they did.

"When I found out, I went and talked to the Seresin's, and the three of us came up with a plan," Lizzy continues, her eyes drifting over to Patricia, who holds a hand out to the other woman. They clasp their hands together, exchanging a look between them. Patricia nods, squeezing Lizzy's hand.

"I want to know that you will be taken care of when I'm gone, Captain,"

"And we want to know that Jacob will have someone to come home to after flight school, and the Navy takes more kindly to those with families," Patricia continues, her words sure, though there is a bit of tension in the lines of her face. This is the first time Captain notices age on the older woman's face, the feeling hitting her in the chest.

"What are you saying?" Captain's voice is strained, throat almost raw. She sounds like she has taken large gulps of salt water; like she has been fighting the current of the ocean.

"We have arranged for you and Jacob to get married," Mr. Seresin lays everything out on the table. He brings his drink up to his lips, taking a deep drink of it.

"What?"

The question is met again by Mr. Seresin, who leans forward and places a small box, velvet box on the coffee table in front of Captain. Her eyes lock on the dark purple velvet. The way the edges are sewn is perfect, not a stitch out of place, and with all the news being thrown at her, Captain can't help but trace her eye along the edges of the box. Her mouth hands slightly agape, tongue resting against her bottom lip.

Time seems to slow for everyone. All the attention is on the small, square box sitting on the coffee table. After another moment, Mr. Seresin leans forward and pops open the box before directing it back towards Captain.

"That ring there was a gift from my grandfather, to my grandmother in 1945. They had gotten married right before he got drafted. His mother, my great grandmother, wanted him to have a wife to return to when the war was over- and when he made it back, he presented my grandmother with that ring. He said that he hoped it would make up for all the time they had spent apart,"

Captain can't take her eyes off the ring. The large, square emerald sits in the center of the band, flanked on either side by smaller, rectangular aquamarines. The stones are set on a delicate gold band, the whole piece shining under the lamp light. The stones remind Captain of Jake's eyes, the delicate blue and the piercing green, melding together with the richness of the gold.

The whole situation is overwhelming, and Captain can't quite catch her breath. She hasn't dared to glance at anyone else in the room, especially not Jake. She is too afraid of what could possibly be seen behind his irises.

"Spurs," Jake's voice breaks through, "Please say something,"

Jake rings his hands together, sweat slick, pulse thrumming through his fingers. He hates how this is happening. He hates that his future with his best friend is being planned for him. He hates that she almost doesn't have a choice, that neither of them can walk away form this fucked up situation all together.

If Lizzy wasn't sick, then Captain could live her life however she wants. Jake could go to flight school, sleep around, find out who he is and claim his place in the world. But now? He is forced to see his best friend sitting in front of him, do doubt overwhelmed and aching. This wasn't how life was supposed to go.

"Let me get this straight," Spurs pulls her eyes from the ring to meet her mother's. Her mother is blurred through tears, but she does the best to make eye contact anyway.

"First off, you are dying," Captain counts the facts off on her fingers, "But you don't seem overly concerned about it,"

"I have had a full life, Captain, and now that I know you will be taken care of, I am at peace with the fact, yes," Lizzy's voice is so soft. It makes Captain want to cry harder.

"Two," She turns to the Seresin's, "You want me to marry Jake?"

The three nod, all content with their choice.

"Can I talk to you outside?" Spurs turns to Jake, wiping at the tears that have threatened to escape her eyes. She gets up and heads down the hall without a word from Jake, but she knows that he is on her tail. He snags the ring box as he walks after her, shoving it into his back pocket.

They step out into the evening air. Captain leans awkwardly against the wall beside the door, waiting as Jake steps out onto the porch. The moment the front door is closed, Captain is thrusting herself into his arms. This time, he sinks into her touch, his own arms winding around her body.

The tears finally fall, sobs racking through her frame in the way that shattered glass hits pavement. It's all sharp and made of anger. Jake brings a hand up to her neck, pressing her cheek harder against the firmness of his chest.

There hasn't been time for either of them to really look at each other. From touch alone, they know so much has changed.

Jake brushes her hair over her shoulders. It's shorter now, but still soft as it threads through his fingers. Her body fuller than the last time he saw her, he can tell from the way the softness of her stomach presses against his body and the way her strong arms wrap around his frame. The sweet scent of her shampoo swirls around his senses as he kisses the top of her head.

Captain can feel Jake's newly toned muscles under her hands, under her cheek, against her stomach. The Navy has toned his body and now he feels different. Stronger, leaner, like a force to be reconned with. But he still smells just how she remembered, like the ocean wind right after a rain storm.

So much has changed, but yet, they are still the same, even after it all. Best friends till the end.

Jake shushes her sobs, his thumb rubbing over the back of her neck. His shirt is damp down, sticking slightly to his skin beneath it. He wishes that he could do more, comfort her better- but then he remembers that's exactly why he agreed to this damn thing in the first place; to take care of her.

"Spurs," The name is mumbled into her hair, "I've got you, sweetheart, I've got you,"

His calming words do little to ease the tidal wave of feeling that is hitting Captain square in the chest. She feels like she is drowning, overtaken by grief over a situation she has no control over.

"Ja-Jake," She hiccups, her fists wound into the back of his shirt.

With everything, Captain has been too preoccupied to notice just how nice Jake is dressed. A deep blue pearl snap, complete with a delicate white polka-dot pattern is tucked into his best jeans. His brown belt match is well conditioned boots, the bolo tie around his neck complete with a beautiful silver slider, the Texas Star in the center.

"Talk to me, Sweetheart," Jake coos, pulling her face from his chest. He is met with tear stained cheeks and red skin. He swipes his thumb lovingly over her cheek, streaking some tears across her face and into her hairline.

"They aren't- they aren't joking, are they?" Captain snakes her hands down his body, grabbing ahold of the belt loops on either one of his hips. Her fingers are wedged between the thick leather of his belt and the denim straps, the constriction of her fingers grounding her to him. She pulls on the loops, trying to get his body closer, but they are already pressed chest to chest. She can feel her heartbeat all through her body, her fingertips feel like the are pulsing, ready to explode.

"No, Sweetheart, they aren't. God, Spurs, I am so sorry," He takes her shoulders in his hands, combing his fingers down to her elbows and back up. She relaxes under his touch, looking up to his face for the first time since they exited the house.

"We aren't dating, hell, we've never even kissed! I don't think we have even come close to it, and they want us to jump into marriage head first without a fucking life preserver, huh?" There is a light bit of humor hiding beneath the sadness of her tone.

Then, she catches Jake completely off guard when she laughs.

The sound is so out of place in the somberness of the air around them. It's light, but not quite happy. Jake can't help but narrow his eyes at her, his full eyebrows pulling together, causing a deep wrinkle between them.

"What's so funny?" Jake can't believe he is asking a question like that, given the week he has had. From finding out about Lizzy's prognosis to the marriage he is all but being thrust into, then having to keep it all a secret from his best friend, his nerves are rattled.

"I don't think I've seen you this dressed up in years," She hums, laughter still undertowing her voice. She untangles a finger from his beltloop to run it down the pointed collar of his shirt. Her touch is barely there, but gooseflesh breaks out over Jake's skin like it's thirty degrees colder. "What are you so dressed up for, anyway?"

"I couldn't rightfully ask my best friend to marry me in my uniform, now could I?" Jake can't help the chuckle that laces with his words. His chest rumbles a bit under Captains touch as she places her palm flat to his chest.

"I guess not-" Her fingers trace over the star on his tie, "I dunno, guess even after the whole thing was all laid out, we didn't really have a choice. Didn't think you'd actually ask,"

"There is always a choice, Spurs, you know that,"

She waves a hand, attempting to dismiss his words as her fingers pass his shoulder. He holds onto her a bit tighter, like she might slip out of his grasp.

"Are you serious about all this?" Her eye brow is quirked, "Or are you being forced into it?"

"Like I said, there is always a choice,"

Hands wind around her waist again, holding her against his chest. Her cheek is pressed against firm muscle as he speaks again.

"Your Mom and I went over the logistics of it. She was a lot better about it than my folks. You are going to need health insurance after she passes, and you are going to need a place to live. Plus, a support system. You have me already, and my family, but there is support within the military that can help you out if we are married," He explains, brushing his hands over her body. The motion is more to calm his nerves than it is to calm hers. Neither of them comment on it. "It doesn't have to be forever, but I want to be there for you. Looks like this is going to be the best way,"

Captain doesn't think about anything outside of this moment. The way she can hear Jake's heartbeat thumping against his ribcage, and the way his hands trial over her arms. She focuses on her breathing and the way everything seems to buzz around her.

Maybe its all the information clogging up her brain, or maybe it's the impending grief she knows she is going feel, lingering over her like a hangover. Whatever it is, she doesn't exactly care to pinpoint it. Instead, she pushes Jake back just a bit, enough for her to look up into his swirling green eyes.

"Alright,"

"Alright?"

"Let's do it, let's get married," The words sound more sure than she expected them to when they slip passed her lips.

"Really?" He asks. She nods. "Okay,"

Then, Jake takes a step back, dropping down on to one knee. He pulls the purple velvet box from his back pocket, presenting it to her as he pulls it open.

"Y/N "Spurs" "Captain" Jett, my forever best friend and honorary cow girl, will you do me the honor of becoming your husband?" Jake's voice wavers as he speaks, the tear he spots in her eye almost breaking him.

"Yes, Jacob Samuel Seresin, I will marry you,"

They embrace, Jake still down on his knee, Captain meeting him there. He slips the ring from the box before taking her hand gently with his own. He guides the ring onto her finger before kissing the back of her hand.

And so, the pair are engaged to be married under the amber glow of the broken porch light, next to the old scuff marks on the siding from misadventure of years past.

TAG LIST

@inky-sun

#jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x y/n #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman x y/n #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin marriage of convenience #marriage of convenience #top gun maverick fanfiction #STCHT

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colinmkl · 10 months ago

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Kamen Rider NRV Lore Dump!

Manticore

Manticore LLC is a major medical technology company. Publicly, they are most known for their artificial organs and limb prosthesis as well as several other medical devices and equipment used in hospitals worldwide. Less widely publicized are their numerous military contracts, developing cutting edge medical treatment technologies but also advanced weapons, drones, and other offensive hardware.

Nanoderm

The scientific breakthrough that lead Manticore to dominate in the field of med-tech is the invention of micro-sensors that are capable of reading brain signals in the nervous system and translating them into data a computer can interpret with absolute precision. These microscopic sensors can be integrated into programmable nanomachines that interlock in a mesh that forms durable skin-like material called Nanoderm. If an exposed section of human tissue is covered in Nanoderm and then allowed to heal, the Nanoderm will become integrated with the tissue like a layer of natural skin. Any impulses or signals sent by the brain to that part of the body will be received by the Nanoderm and translated into data. That data can then be read as motor commands by a Manticore prosthesis. Basic prosthesis models can receive this data via magnetic nodes embedded in the surface of the Nanoderm but more advanced models, capable of finer dexterity/expanded functionality, require a “bone spike,” a rod-like data plug that interfaces with a port in the Nanoderm area that is connected to more advanced sensors. The socket and sensor hardware is imbedded in the body through a surgical procedure.

The catch with the Nanoderm system is it must be applied to the body before the exposed tissue heals over and the exposed nerve endings have a chance to close off, or in other words, while the wound is “fresh”, otherwise the healed tissue must be cut away and a fresh wound made. This means that in emergency situations a patient or their next of kin must make a snap decision to undergo the expensive Nanoderm compatibility surgery as part of their emergency treatment. Of course some insurance plans will cover some or all of this cost. Additionally Manticore has deals with some insurance providers that the surgery come standard with higher end coverage plans, forgoing the need for patient consent. Manticore has exclusive patent rights to the Nanoderm system, meaning once you are Nanoderm compatible, you are locked into the Manticore ecosystem of prosthesis and devices. Additionally your devises can only be serviced by Manticore certified technicians and only Manticore doctors are trained in Nanoderm patient care.

Remote Command (RC)

Manticore is a sprawling corporation with many secrets. One such secret is the Remote Command program. A project Manticore has been working on behind closed doors, the Remote Command program involves research into sending brain signals over great distances without a physical connection between the sensor and the receiving devise. With RC a person could control a prosthetic arm in another part of the world as though it were part of their body. This is achieved by broadcasting the impulses across a proprietary electromagnetic wave length to the receiving nodes. The signal travels point to point and back again at light speed. The potential RC has for the future of drone warfare is staggering, not to mention the potential for profit.

Sensitive as this information is, there’s another layer. All Nanoderm currently in use by people around the world is capable of receiving Remote Command. With the right inputs it can reshape its self, self-replicate, and even, under certain conditions, send signals back to the user’s brain, causing brain damage or, theoretically, controlling them. Whether this functionality of Nanoderm was an intentional feature or not is unknown to anyone currently employed at Manticore but the company has no pans currently to use the Nanoderm in this way. What is known, however, is that if this function ever becomes public knowledge it would be disastrous for Manticore, not to mention the chaos that would ensue if a bad actor were to exploit this function for malicious purposes.

Manticore Special Security (Spec-Sec)

Manticore LLC has secrets, and it has enemies. To protect its secrets, combat its enemies, address the threats to public safety those things pose, (and protect its corporate interests), Manticore formed the Manticore Special Security Division. More than just your standard private security outfit, Spec-Sec is a fully equipped task force and strike force designed to identify, target, track, confront, and nullify any threat to the company and its assets. Thanks to Manticore’s history of generous donations and good standing with local police forces, the Spec-Sec Division is able to operate with a certain degree of discretion, allowing them to carry out operations without interference from police or the legal system. Lead by Special Security Director Sloane, her hand-picked crack team of Special Officers have carried out dozens of high risk operations with ruthless efficacy and, so-far, minimal casualties. Spec-Sec utilizes the most cutting edge technology and weaponry Manticore has, often before it’s even close to market ready. In some cases necessity dictates that Spec-Sec operations serve as ad hoc field tests for experimental equipment.

Core Drivers, Data Boosters, and the Kamen Rider program

The Core Driver is a piece of technology that was developed as part of research into the use of Nanoderm to enhance a soldier’s physical performance on the battlefield. The concept was to temporarily cover the user’s entire body in a layer of Nanoderm mesh that could respond to the signals from the user’s brain in such a way that would increase their strength, speed, perception, and reflexes. The solution was the Core Driver, a device that would house the billions of Nanoderm nanomachines and serve as the computational core for the whole mesh network. Along with the Core Driver was the Data Booster, a flash drive-like device shaped like a syringe. The data booster contained the information that told the nanomachines to deploy from the Core Driver and cover the user. Additionally the Booster came with its own payload of nanomachines that, when the plunger of the syringe was depressed, would also be deployed through the Core Diver and take the form of armor and weapons. Basically, a user need only insert the Data Booster into the Core Diver, clearly speak a voice authentication phrase, and depress the plunger and they would instantly be wearing a powerful yet flexible armored body suit. The project was called the “Kamen Rider program” after the masked visage of the user’s armored faceplate (“Kamen” being the Japanese word for “mask”).

The Project had its drawbacks, however. For one a user would need to already be Nanoderm compatible for the suit to work at all, meaning, practically speaking, the user would need to be an amputee, and the prospect of convincing soldiers to sacrifice a limb to use the Driver was deemed a “hard sell” and the idea of a approaching a freshly maimed soldier with the offer of further combat, well, that wouldn’t be a good look either. The second and most important drawback was the simple fact that the Kamen Rider program was far, FAR too expensive to be profitable, and the thousands of man hours it took to produce just one Core Driver meant mass producing them to sell by the battalion, as Manticore had planned, was simply out of the question.

The Kamen Rider Program was not completely abandoned, however. The first completed Core Driver, designation SVR (Special Versatility Rider model or “Sever” colloquially) is currently coded to Director Sloane of Spec-Sec, who happens to be a double transfemeral amputee. With the Director’s input, the device and the suit itself have been modified heavily over its years of use. It now features the ability for additional Data Boosters to be employed, loaded with weapons and tools in the form of appendages that attach to highly advanced versions of Bone Spike sockets on the suit at the amputation sites of the Rider’s body. The nerve signal enhancing properties of the suit allows the Rider to manipulate these complex, non-human-like appendages with a natural ease and minimal adjustment period.

A second Core Driver has just recently been put to use in the field at Spec-Sec. The first Kamen Rider designed from the ground up with Spec-Sec modifications. Designation NRV (Neo Rider Variant or “Nerve” colloquially) is encoded to the Division’s newest member, Special Officer Nat Agbayani. A right shoulder disarticulation amputee, he was promoted to the Special Security Division from the internship program in the research wing by the COO of Manticore himself… wait what? That can’t be right…

The existence of any other Core Drivers, in use or otherwise, is classified.

Thanks for reading

#art #my art #my text #sketch #lore #oc lore #kamen rider #kamen rider nrv #kamen rider oc #sci fi #original character #nat krnrv #sloane krnrv #medical tw #surgery tw #tokusastu #krnrv lore

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jewish-sideblog · 1 year ago

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I wanted to ask whether I should believe a specific news article (I think from The Independent), that said something about Israel giving Ethiopian women birth control without their consent, in the past. I had already seen a lot of discussion about Israel supposedly forcibly sterilizing Ethiopian women. But I had also seen posts debunking that and saying it was medical negligence rather than systemic forced sterilisation. But another article said something about how some activist had a letter from the Health Ministry of Israel praising the use of said birth control. And apparently that specific birth control was given only to Ethiopian women. So, I don't know if I should believe it or not as there is a lot of misinformation going around.

Reuters, my preferred news source for situations like this, does have an article written on the subject-- but I get an error when I try to access it. If you can access it, take it at face value over anything I say here. Because I can't access Reuters, I'm deferring to reporting from Forbes, Times of Israel, and Haaretz, which all corroborate the same story.

Back in 2013, it was revealed that Ethiopian immigrants to Israel in 2005 were sterilized using Depo-Provera, which is a long-acting but not permanent form of birth control. There doesn't seem to be any doubt that this happened, that it was reviewed by Israeli medical boards, and that it is no longer happening. As you've mentioned, the issue is trying to figure out whether this was intentional sterilization or if it was medical negligence.

It seems, based on available reporting on the subject, that this was medical negligence resulting from poor communication and xenophobic tendencies. Israeli medical personnel giving the sterilization shots worked for the Joint Distribution Committee, an American-based relief organization. JDC personnel were quoted saying they used Depo-Provera because it was a commonly used birth control in Ethiopia, that communication with Ethiopian women was difficult due to language barriers, that Ethiopian women were not directly singled out, and that Israeli medical personnel feared for the safety and comfort of women who had already given birth several times. Since 2013, the Israeli government has mandated that Ethiopian women not be issued birth control unless a translator can guarantee that they understand and consent to the risks.

The head of the JDC did receive a letter of commendation from the Israeli Health Ministry, as you've mentioned. It does praise a higher level of birth control use among JDC-treated Ethiopian women than other Ethiopian women in Israel. But I think the rates of use mentioned here are important. The letter says that usually, only 5% of Ethiopian immigrants in Israel used birth control, but at the JDC, 30% of Ethiopian women used birth control. The overall birth control usage rate for other women of African descent in Israel is about 70%. It seems to me like the Israeli government was praising the increase not because they were trying to prevent the pregnancies of Ethiopian women who wanted to give birth, but because rates of birth control usage among Ethiopian women were extremely low on average. They expected women who didn't want to give birth to go on birth control at higher rates, as long as they had adequate access to birth control options.

So... kind of. It's accurate to say that Israeli medical personnel didn't engage in adequate standards of care for an immigrant population, and that failure to uphold those standards of care led to health complications and a birth rate decline among the Ethiopian immigrant community in Israel. It's an indication that the Israeli medical field has racism and xenophobia issues to overcome. Most Western medical fields have to overcome similar challenges. But I don't think it's accurate to say that the Israeli government engaged in an intentional sterilization campaign against Ethiopians. Especially considering that an American-based non-profit seems to be responsible for most of the sterilizations and that the Israeli government put a quick stop to the practice once it was publicly revealed.

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transcriptioncity · 5 months ago

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littleesistler · 9 months ago

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more tickle questions beucase I’m bored 😂

Glitch's Tickle Questions | Volume 1 |

Trying my hand at the tickle question creating game 😋 Calling it "Volume 1" in case I end up making more, don't know for sure if I will yet, we'll see how this one goes. Did my best to come up with some fun questions, I hope you all like them!

Feel free to reblog this around to receive some questions from your followers, just as my followers can send some to me if they'd like 😜

🥞 If you could make one spot more/less ticklish, which would it be and why?

well I’d make my ribs less ticklish because I’m so insanely ticklish there to a violent degree. When I was a kid my dad tickled me a lot until he tickled my ribs to harshly and I kicked I’m him the jaw. So he bit his lip and bled a bit (not a lot). So my point is I don’t like to be ticklish to a violent degree. I don’t wanna hurt my poor ler 🥲

🍦 Can you tickle yourself, and if so, do you do so often?

well when I have acrylics or press on nails, I tickle my tummy and wrist every time before bed. Since I love to be tickled there. Also if I turn of all my light I can tickle myself with an electric toothbrush on my ribs and in my bellybutton since these spots are so sensitive.

my mom tickles be before bed usually but because she’s also chronically ill sometimes she’s to exhausted. So that’s when I step in 💅

🔪 Are there any ticklish spots you have that you'd prefer not to be tickled?

well I’m kinda not into feet stuff, especially when it’s with tools or motion tickles. Like fine tickle my feet but I’m not comfortable with my feet being the main focus. Like when I watch a tickle video I usally skip the feet portions 🦶😷

🍿 If you could have any superpower, what would it be and how would you use it for tickles?

well I’ve always wanted to talk any language, including animal ones. So think how funny like I give lots of teases in an ancient or just a rare or uncommon language my Lee can’t understand. So when they pull out google translate and literally have a fluster attack. Especially if they don’t know how to spell the words and say it themselves 😈

also think how funny like I’m tickling someone and I hear a fly or bird or heck their dog just tease the Lee to and I translate it heheh 😝

🍭 If you could choose one spot to be magically continuously tickled, which spot would it be and for how long?

my tummy, and here’s my essay form me as an educated zookeeper:

you know when a puppy or kitty shows you their tummy is a sing of trust. And the reason for that is most of the body is protected by bones. Like a rib cage, but the tummy doesn’t really have any bones except for like hips and spine but these bones more give structure. So my point is when you tickle or rub someone’s tummy you’re right on top of their digestive system and reproductive system. That’s why in the animal kingdom showing the tummy shows you trust them since you give them free access to hurt or damage your organs. That’s why tummy attention is one of the most vulnerable ones.

and since you are right on top of their organs tummy tickles and rubs helps with digestion and period cramps.

so my points is, if I let you tickle my tummy or someone else let’s me tickle their tummy. It’s an honor ❤️🤲

🌶 Think of a crazy wacky way you can think of to tickle/be tickled that you wish you could experience. No logical constraints. What is it?

Hunger games but with tickling instead of killing.

people get to enter and a friend can sign you up as a surprise, but consent to participate it needed

its a televised show in a secluded or closed of area

the crates from sponsors have tickle tools or restraints

food, water, hygiene and medical care is included

When someone safewords they “die” (not for real) and get disqualified

last one standing of the games is the ler of the year

🍞 Look around wherever you are while reading this. You can choose one item to come to life and tickle you. What item is it?

electric toothbrush…

🥯 If you could choose any fictional character(s) to team up with you to help tickle someone, who would you choose and why?

the dream them, like I got obsessed with the Dsmp during the pandemic, so yeah and I love the fandom’s head cannons.

Dream - more Lee then ler and will probably just hold me down and cuddle me to help me relax ☺️

Sapnap - a true switch and he’s very gentle and teasing, lots of games since he’s the youngest they play lots of games with him😉

George - more ler then lee and he’s ruthless, tickling any spot he can reach and siding in his bony figners 😈

🧇 If you could have an animal friend that loved to tickle you, what animal would it be and how would you want them do it?

a golden retriever ❤️🥹

Decent sized dog that can pin me down

has a long snout so the puppy can blow lots of raspberries and nuzzle it’s nose in my belly button and give little nibbles on my sides

a long fluffy tail that’s like a feather duster tickle tool

flappy ears so when the doggi shakes its head during nuzzling it tickles more

the playfulness so the dog will give lots of teasing

that slight smile or smirk on some individuals

and those puppy eyes

🍟 If you're feeling brave.. which friends, mutuals, and/or other tickle blogs would you want to tickle and/or be tickled by?

oh Noo hahah here we go again I guess, I love to expose myself, let’s see if my favorite blogs find me🫠

@kikibumblesqueaks

@the-shy-ler

@covenofwives

@fluffallamaful

@awkwardtickleetoo

@wishitweresummer

@eldelascosquillas-blog

@emmadoodlewrites

@kasey-writes-stuff

@mushiewrites

@missamyrisa2

@trashyswitch

@sleepysheepytea

nothing personal I just love your works and everything, so I wouldn’t mind if you guys wrecked me or I could give you a little tickle 👉👈 ummm yeah. I got so flustered when a few responded to me last time and guess what I wanna get even more exposed hahah 😍

#tickle fluff #tickle thoughts #lee #ler #answered #tword community #ask answered #sfw tickling community #tword content #asks #sfw tickling #tickle questions #umm yeah #tummy tickles #tickle content #Exposing myself

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starset21 · 10 months ago

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A Heavy Weight

Standard disclaimer: I do not consent to the posting, translating, or publishing of my work to any 3rd party site, the only place it may currently be found is on tumblr and Wattpad under the name @.itswildflower

Looking for more? Chicago Fire Collection Masterlist

Word count: 2235

Warnings: cannon typical depictions of fires/accidents, mentions of suicide

“We work a dangerous job. We all knew that when we signed up. A firefighter dies in the line of duty, we are shocked. Our hearts are broken. But in some dark corner of our mind, we are bracing ourselves for that possibility. But a firefighter takes her own life? That is not a contingency that we can prepare for. We can't change what happened. But we can learn from it. We all missed the signs here. And we can never let it happen again. So you reach out to each other. You be there for each other. Not just for today, or this week... always. I never want to see another member of this family slip through the cracks. Let's go to work.” With those words Boden finished the morning brief and everyone disbursed out into the common room. “Hey, roomie. Cable bill's due. Make with the cheddar,” Cruz told Otis, dropping an envelope into his lap. “$140?” he questioned after looking at it. “Yeah. That includes the setup fee,” Cruz shrugged. “Yeah. And your NFL package,” Otis protested. “Your half is $70,” Cruz tells him. “I haven't seen Clarke this morning. He still subbing over at 25?” Mouch asks from his usual spot on the couch. “Clarke's not subbing out. He transferred,” Casey told them. “What, just like that? No explanation? No good-bye? What a jerk,” Herrmann grumbled.

Dani walks out from behind the kitchen counter with half a toasted bagel and takes a seat on the other side of Matt. “Gabriela Dawson?” An officer walks into the common room. “Oh, God, what'd you do this time?” Shay teases and nudges Dawson. “Yeah?” Dawson asks, standing up. “This note was left behind for you in Rebecca Jones' apartment,” the officer tells her. “Why?” Gabby asks, a lump forming in her throat. “I wouldn't know,” the officer told her before handing it to her and leaving. “Why would she leave me a note?” Gabby asked quietly as Matt moved to stand behind her. “Only one way to find out,” he tells her. Just then the alarm bell rings. “Engine 51, Truck 81, Squad 3, Ambulance 61. Fire. Grand and Ashland.” Dani stuffs the last bite of her bagel in her mouth before heading for the truck. It’s somber as they get on the road, lights and sirens going. They pull up on scene and climb out. “Otis, make sure the pumps are shut down! Everyone, get in there with extinguishers! Don't wait for 51!” Casey yells. “You gotta get my wife! She's in the car!” A man begs. “We'll take care of her. Get out of here!” Casey tells the man. “Shay!” Herrmann calls out, after helping to put out a man’s jacket that was on fire. “Got him, Herrmann,” she moved from the ambo quickly. “Okay, okay. Let's get you out of there!” Herrmann tells the woman still in the car. “I can't! I can't!” she cries hysterically. “All right, all right. Just stay put! Stay put! All right, listen! She can't get out of here! She's in a full leg brace! Let's get this fire out!” Herrmann called out. Herrmann moved to grab an extinguisher when the husband who had been with the medics shook his head and sprinted towards the vehicle. “I got you, Janice! I got you!” he yelled. “Sir, wait! Casey!” Dawson shouted. “Hey!” Casey shouted as the man got in the vehicle, started it and backed into another car and pulled away from the pump, still connected to it. “What are you doing!” Casey yelled at the man. He had pulled forward and ripped the hose from the pump, spraying gas all over the back of the car, causing it to catch fire as it went close to the inflamed truck in front of it. “Stop! Hey, get under the pickup!” Casey yells and Dani and Herrmann are able to put it out quickly. “It's okay. We got you. You're okay. We've got you,” Casey reassured the woman as he helped her out. Herrmann went to the driver's side and opened the door. “Get out of there, numbnuts!” Casey shot Herrmann a look through the car, after Cruz had taken the woman over to the ambo. “Sir, please step out of the vehicle, if you'd be so kind,” Herrmann grumbled.

“That was the dumbest move I've seen in a long time,” Herrmann grumbles on the ride back to the station. “Yeah, Darwin-award thinkin' right there. Ha! What a call,” Cruz scoffed from the driver's seat. “Hey, what do you guys suppose Jones said in that note to Dawson? I'm just curious,” Mouch says after a moment of silence. “The other night… Jones stopped by Molly's. She was looking for Dawson,” Herrmann told them. “Really? What for?” Casey asked. “No idea. But she apparently went straight home and… You know the rest,” Herrmann sighed. Tension in the firehouse when they got back was high, the heavy cloud of Jones' death hanging over them and Dani spent most of the time between calls sitting on her bunk and drawing, it was her way of trying to find some semblance of peace in the chaotic place they call Life. “Truck 81. Squad 3. Ambulance 61. Accident,” the alarm rang out.

“We got a driver pinned in the car, hurt but conscious,” the officer told Boden. “What about the bus?” he asked. “Ah, kids on their way to the prom, banged up, but nothing too serious.” The Chief nodded before grabbing for his radio. “Casey, Severide... we have a pin-in in the gray car. Get 'em out, Dawson, check on the victim. Shay, assess these kids.” he ordered. “Copy that,” everyone split off to do as told. “Hang in there, sir, we're going to get you out, okay?” Dawson had climbed onto the car through the passenger side and placed a C-collar on the man. “Casey? We're good,” Dawson told him. “All right, let's move this car. Ready? Lift! Ready? Lift! Ready? Lift!”

“Mouch, Otis, check the bus,” Shay calls out after talking to one of the girls. “You got it,” Mouch tells her and the two climb into the bus. “Sweetie, have a seat here. Where was she sitting?” Shay asked. “I don't know. We were all goofing around, and... we hit something, and the bus started swerving, and that's when I hit my head,” the girl told her. “There's nobody else in here,” Otis tells Mouch. “Why is this window open?” Mouch asks. “Oh, no. Chief! I think somebody was ejected!” Otis called out. “Oh, my God,” Mouch murmurs. “The girl could have fallen out wherever the bus first lost control. We are gonna shut down the road, run a search,” Boden tells the officer. “My guys have been up and down this road. They didn't see anything,” the officer continues directing traffic. “We should have some firefighters take a look,” Chief tells him. “Look, be my guest, but I can't close this road,” the officer huffs. “You do realize you have a girl that is unaccounted for,” Boden counters. “Yes, I do. But my guess is that she got out with the others, and she wandered off,” the officer tells him. “You have an open emergency exit! Somebody was ejected!” Boden nearly sneers. “Chief, let me talk to him,” Casey tried to cut in. “I'm shutting down this road!” Boden exclaims. “I can't let you do that,” the officer tells him. “Truck 81, block off this road,” Chief calls into the walkie. “Last warning, Chief,” the officer tries. Boden gives Casey a look. “Go ahead, Cruz,” Casey calls into the walkie.

“Halstead, Mouch, Herrmann, Otis, fan out, search back along the road.” The four of them nod, and begin heading down the road. “This is my scene, Chief. Are you really gonna make me arrest you?” the officer asks. “You know what? You're just gonna have to do what the hell you need to do,” Chief offers the officer his hands. The officer takes his cuffs out. “Really?” Chief asks. Just then Severide looks over to see the officer placing the cuffs on the chief behind his back. “You gotta be kidding me,” he mutters in disbelief. “You picked the wrong cop to piss off,” the officer mutters. “Oh, I haven't even started on you. You seeing this?” Boden asks Casey. “Yes, I am, Chief.” The officer took his helmet off and pushed him down into the squad car. “I got her! I got her! We need a backboard, and a black bag,” Dani calls into the radio as Herrmann and the others come over. “Officer Woodall? Is this really the hill you want to die on?” Casey asks the officer, who takes a minute, thinking on his words. The 81 crew comes over carrying the girl and places her on the stretcher. The officer lets Boden out and takes his cuffs off. They finish clearing the scene and load up to return to the station.

“After you. I insist,” Herrmann starts when he almost bumped into Mills after he had closed the truck door behind Dani. “Hey, whatever's going on between you two, can you drop it?” Severide asks. “I'll drop it when he apologizes,” Herrmann scoffs, causing Mills to turn back towards him. “Apologize for what? For speaking the truth?” he asks. “Knock it off, both of you,” Casey cuts in. “Yeah? He's saying that we made Jones suicidal, and I'm supposed to swallow that?” Herrmann asks. “No! No! Just own up to your behavior and admit that you could have handled things better!” Mills exclaims and Casey puts up a hand to stop him when he takes a step towards Herrmann. “How dare you!” Herrmann yells and storms towards Mills. “Herrmann! Hey!” Severide and Casey grab the older man, stopping him from continuing towards Mills. “I was the last one to see her alive! You think I didn't wonder over and over again what I might have done different, what else I might have said that would have changed her mind?” Herrmann yells. There was a tense moment of silence in the garage. “Is this what you all took from what I said this morning? Is this really how we're gonna get through this thing?” Boden asks. Herrmann wipes a hand down his face and Dani places a hand on his shoulder. “Look, blaming each other or ourselves doesn’t bring her back. All we can do is be better and be there for each other, that is what chief was telling us this morning,” Dani speaks up. Boden tipped his head to her in silent thanks. “Severide? Bloom is inside,” Capp comes in from the common room. “Sorry, Chief. Got one more save to make tonight,” Severide apologizes before heading inside. “Well, I guess I'm gonna get a lecture about skipping out on rehab, let's get it over with,” Bloom huffed. “No, Bloom. I got no more lectures for you,” Severide tells him. “Yeah? Then give me my wallet,” Bloom crossed his arms. “Just relax. Capp's getting it from my locker.”

“What are you all lookin' at?” Bloom sneered as the company gathered at the edge of the common room. “What, you need an audience? You ruined my white board. That was permanent ink,” he huffed. “I'll get you another one,” Kelly laughs. “What is this?” Chief asks as the chaplain comes in with two men. “I know, I'm not staying. Severide asked me to pick up these two up at O'Hare,” the chaplain told him. “Chaplain,” Severide greets. “Lieutenant. This is Damien, and this is Aaron,” the chaplain introduces. “Screw this,” Bloom huffs. “Bloom, just give me one second,” Severide tries. “You are a son of a bitch,” Bloom tells him, getting in his face. “Hey, it's not like that, Captain,” one of the guys, Aaron, tries to say. “Oh, Captain! Captain. Aren't you cute? You can mail me my wallet,” Bloom hisses at Severide. “We didn't know what happened to you, Bloom,” Damien says. “Now you do,” Bloom gestured to himself. “We're sorry. That's what we came to tell you. The way we treated you back in Denver… Well, you gotta understand, we were upset,” Aaron tells him. “Oh, you were upset? You were upset? I was the captain. Those were my men in there! They were my men!” Bloom exclaims, tears beginning to form in his eyes. “We said a lot of awful things in the heat of the moment. But we had a lot of time to think about it. We were wrong,” Damien tells him. “You made the right call.” Bloom looks between the two men. “If you would have let us inside, we would've still been in there when the roof came down. There's no question, you saved our lives. Your boy could only afford two plane tickets. Otherwise there would have been a dozen of us here. We all feel the same way,” Aaron tells him before pulling out his phone. “This is my daughter, Lily. She wouldn't exist if you hadn't tackled me that day. 'Cause I was going in, Captain. I was going in.” Those words hit all of the firefighters in the room right in heart. The former captain had tears streaming down his face.

The crew finished out the shift and left, still a little somber, but a fair few of them met up at the local bowling alley. “To Jones,” Mills said and everyone raised their beer before taking a sip and getting set up for a few games.

#starset writes #chicago fire #matt casey #kelly severide #dani halstead

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hanszoe · 3 months ago

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not sure if amab hansi anon is still out there but i'm thinking more about it today. i have read only very little original language material for the series and haven't read the manga so it's really difficult for me to say, but i was reminded of their childhood character profile written for that online game (反撃の翼?) around 2014 that i translated.

in canon as far as i know no one ever refers to hans with gendered terms. this is much more possible in japanese where gender neutral honorifics are used almost all of the time otherwise the subject or object is inferred. i've translated the panels where levi and eren talk about them in third person and あいつ is used, which is gender neutral (but is really informal, especially since levi talks about them in a rude way here).

however i remembered in that game class material, other characters' profiles refer to them with gendered terms, but hansi's uses 子供, "child".

i don't know what isayama's said about this actually, i don't know what's hearsay or not. i know he requested they not be gendered in translations after the kodansha usa issue, but he's also gendered them himself in quite a misogynistic way in volume 5 bonus, so who knows what exactly the originals look like or if something escaped popular notice that i just don't know about, or when exactly isayama has had to make these decisions about gendered language with them or what he communicated to other publishers, since in initial volumes it seems unlikely to me he would have explicitly avoided gendering them as female.

but anyway, assuming the publishers of that online game genuinely did receive instruction not to gender them, they used a neutral word here. now you have to consider what is "natural" in the sense of the language, which i am definitely also not able to say on my own, but in a group of children being called "girl", or "boy", it reads to me as strange, from an in universe perspective, to arrive at hansi and suddenly omit gender by saying "child".

obviously at 10 years old hans would have expressed some form of gender identity. but children are also very powerless, and only really have the knowledge and language that they have been taught. so much of intersex related trauma is being forcibly categorized. most of the world, japan included, does not view a child's consent as relevant before coercively assigning them a sex through surgery or hormones. it thus reads unusual to me that considering the context of eldian society, adults would avoid gendering hansi.

in meta, explained by isayama probably instructing them not to. in canon, interestingly implicative of something else making it difficult for them to. i'm not sure why adults in eldia would be any less childist than they are in our world, so why would what hansi said about their own gender identity matter? adults forcibly assign sex to children based on their primary sex characteristics. that is unless hansi genuinely was intersex, and at birth adults were unable to categorize them because there was no precedent for intersexism or medical assignment.

it wouldn't make them amab, since at that age i think they would have still been forcibly gendered that way, but does provide an interesting potentially canon intersex reading of them.

#and though im 99.9% sure unintentional by him #is probably the closest literal reading of the adamant #'hansi's sex is hansi'#つらい作業

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killed-by-choice · 2 years ago

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Ying Chen, 30 (USA 2009)

In 2009, 30-year-old Ying Chen came to an abortion facility in San Gabriel, California. Chen only spoke Chinese, so a translator came with her to set up her appointment.

Chen was 16 weeks pregnant on the day she had her lethal second-trimester abortion. No Chinese interpreter was brought to help her that time. It was later discovered that the facility had her sign consent forms (that she likely couldn’t read) for a first-trimester abortion even though she was well into the second trimester. She never consented to what was actually done to her.

She didn’t know that abortionist Andrew Rutland had been sued many times before for injuries, deaths and unnecessary surgeries. His licence was suspended in 2002 and revoked in 2007. He also did not have the training for anesthesia use and was not qualified at all as an anesthesiologist.

Andrew Rutland gave Chen a toxic overdose of anesthesia. She quickly threw up on her killer, who instead of helping her only took off his vomit-covered shirt in disgust and left the building.

In his statement to the medical board, Rutland later said that he wasn't aware that the facility even had a crash cart, which was kept at the back of the facility and was stocked with expired medications. Rutland didn't use his own crash cart, which he'd brought from his Anaheim facility, because he'd left it in his car. Nobody at the facility was certified in CPR.

There was a significant delay in calling the paramedics. When the paramedics arrived, Chen already went into cardiac arrest. The paramedics tried to save her, but she died 6 days later. Her death was later classified a homicide and Rutland was ordered to stop doing abortions, but he should have been stopped long before.

Ying Chen and her baby would still be alive today if Rutland had been shut down and held accountable for his long history of malpractice in the first place. He never should have been allowed to continue his abortion business long enough to kill her.

#tw murder #tw ab*rtion #tw abortion #tw death #pro life #pro choice #abortion #abortion debate #unsafe yet legal

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hyperlexichypatia · 8 months ago

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respectfully, i’ve noticed a hole in ur statement re: life doesn’t have to be coercive. if u r interested, we can discuss it. either way, i contemplated it and got myself into a dead end. here’s what i’ve came up with:

i’ll say upfront that i totally agree that we should strive for a society without coercion and do as much as we can to put that in practice. the person themself should be the ultimate authority in their life, body autonomy must be as absolute as possible.

that said, there always will be a significant power imbalance in a field of such complexity as medicine. ideally, i should be fully informed about my current situation and given full autonomy to decide what to do with my body. ideally, i should have a solution that fits my life the best, and i should have access to all the necessary medical treatments to make my life better.

realistically tho, there will (almost?) always be a specialist with more knowledge, experience and expertise on any given issue my body might be experiencing at any given time. i won’t be able to gain that same knowledge and experience a specialist has after decades of study and practice. even with all the consent forms, the one with the knowledge and the skill becomes the one with power. i end up depending on their explanations, and they end up being in power when they translate their knowledge to a simpler form for me to grasp. they’re technically are withholding information from me, information about my body, thus taking away all the potential choices i could be making.

and, to make things worse, i might not lack just the necessary education to have that specific nuanced knowledge to make my own truly fully-informed choices, i might be physically and even cognitively unable to access it due to things like illiteracy, inaccessibility of information, my cognitive impairments or intellectual disabilities, and etc. i might be in too much pain to study my condition, or i might even be unconscious and thus fully unable to comprehend the information provided, or to consent to any procedure whatsoever, unless i’ve consented to and legally validated it way prior.

also, i might want what’s better for me but have the wrong information forming my opinion, i might be refusing the correct treatments and procedures while demanding the ones unsuitable or downright harmful for me.

in the end, i end up relying on the experts to teach me what’s happening with my body that is causing my suffering and i end up having to trust their expertise due to my incompetence or inability to know everything at any given time, and thus i’m being coerced in practice.

Yes, you're right that complete freedom from coercion is more of an aspirational goal than something we can ever fully attain.

In addition to the points you brought up, there are babies and young children who may need medical procedures before they're old enough to give informed consent.

But even though those cases may occur, I think we can (by "we" I mean "society as a whole") try to minimize them as much as possible, in all the ways you already mention. But also by recognizing that these situations are inherently problematic, even when they can't be avoided, and should be handled very carefully. There's a whole mindset difference between "This person can't give informed consent at this time, so we should be very careful, and limit interventions to what's minimally and immediately necessary" and "This person can't give informed consent at this time, so we can do whatever we want," or worse "This person can't give informed consent at this time, so, quick, do it before they can wake up and say no."

There's been so much discourse about sexual consent and how "Consent is a process, not just a checkbox or a barrier to overcome" or "'No' does not mean 'convince me'" and that's great, and I wish there were that much emphasis on medical consent and general "help" for disabled people consent.

And yes, as you point out, the "informed" part of "informed consent" can be a gray area, because the doctor usually knows more than the patient (not always! *waves in fat* but often). But the goal can still be "as informed as possible." Which gets back to the provider's attitudes, too: Are they assuming that "some people" just can't understand? Are they trying? Are they bringing in interpreters, using plain language, using alternative/augmented communication? Is their goal "Get them to sign the paper," or is their goal "Ensure that they have as much information as they need to make their decision"? Are you recognizing that even if you are the expert on whatever medical condition or procedure, the person whose body you're dealing with is inherently the expert on xyr own body, and knows the subjective experience of living in that body better than anyone else can?

Final point -- to be clear, I absolutely do not believe your question is in bad faith at all, but I did write a brief response to bad faith hypotheticals that you might find interesting: https://www.tumblr.com/hyperlexichypatia/700783138556821504/hypothetical-and-actual-autonomy

#bodily autonomy #disability rights #liberation

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translation-info · 23 days ago

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Who Can Benefit from Kannada Translation Services?

With over 40 million speakers, Kannada is one of India’s major languages, primarily spoken in the southern state of Karnataka. As businesses, governments, non-profits, and individuals aim to connect with Kannada-speaking communities, the demand for Kannada translation services has steadily grown. Whether it’s for marketing, legal compliance, healthcare, or educational purposes, translation services help bridge language barriers and foster better communication. This article explores the various sectors and individuals who can benefit from Kannada translation services and how they can leverage this resource to enhance their reach and impact.

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Conclusion

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#Kannada translation services #translation services

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