#Medical Terminology Translation

[transcriptioncity]

Translation Services for Clinical Studies and Clinical Reviews

Accurate translation services for clinical studies are crucial for medical research. Precise translations ensure that clinical reviews maintain the integrity and reliability of the original data. Inaccuracies can lead to misinterpretation; compromising patient safety and the efficacy of treatments. Leveraging professional translation services can enhance communication between international…

[shift-shaping]

despite the rain

solas and lady volant attend an extravagant party put on by the duke of wycome.

rating: t

pairing: solavellan

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first fic in this series

By the time Lady Volant and Solas arrived, the party at Castle Magnolia was well underway.

They had put off their appearance as long as they could, but each successive messenger sent to retrieve them from the apartment was more insistent than the last. They'd given excuses --needed to rest, to mend a sleeve, to answer a letter-- in the vain hope that they might wait out the party itself, or be forgotten once the drink was truly flowing. Rain, steady and cold, bought them more time still, but eventually there would be no more delaying.

Lady Guinevere Volant was dressed fashionably, yet modestly, in a long sleek dress with delicate floral details. Solas himself was once again in servant's clothes, albeit a somewhat more fitted set meant to compliment Lady Volant's. He was essentially her accessory, which suited his actual role of protecting her and watching their surroundings.

They blended in well at the party, though more so in terms of fashion than sobriety. Despite the eerie silence of their earlier tour through the city, this event was reasonably well attended. The rain had driven it indoors, with some brave, drunken souls spilling out into the darkness of the courtyard. Lady Volant easily sidestepped a stumbling couple and approached the guards at the door. At her introduction, they allowed her inside.

The ceilings of the main hall soared into vaults painted with elaborate scenes of the sea, a heavily dramatized celebration of the city's heritage. Paintings of well-dressed men and women lined the walls, some awkwardly crooked. Enormous gold-plated birds of prey stood before towering columns in a manner typical of Free Marcher excess. These birds looked unique though, with tall, thick bills and broad bodies --sea eagles? Above and around them were balconies dotted with colorfully-dressed party-goers, and to either side were wide hallways leading to other wings of the manor. Tall round tables were scattered about, most covered in discarded drinks and dirty plates. A few bards played clumsily-overlapping tunes, and a handful of half-nude men and women danced before leering eyes. He watched one dancer elegantly avoid a large puddle of what appeared to be wine on the floor, as if she'd gotten used to dancing around it.

Solas had seen far more opulent great halls, but for this age it was impressive enough. What alarmed him, however, was the suspicious lack of servants. The crooked paintings, the puddles on the floor, the unbussed tables --it was strange for such things to go unnoticed for so long at an event like this.

"Lady Ambassador!" Solas and Lady Volant turned to see a familiar bearded face smiling brightly at them. Duke Antoine seemed more at ease now, but maybe that was the result of the nearly-empty wine glass in his hand. With a prickle of apprehension Solas noticed the same elven slave from earlier lurking just over the Duke's shoulder. Solas felt less of a pull from the slave's magic on the Veil, but there was still an icy focus in his eyes.

That the slave was serving his master in this manner was not surprising in the least; Solas was extremely and personally familiar with the use of slaves to do dangerous magical bidding. What was surprising was the slave's dedication. He was obviously a talented mage, and could have defected to the Inquisition or even the nearby alienage with little effort. Solas sensed no charm present to track him, no curse to seal him to the Duke. Unless he was missing something, that left only mundane leverage to keep the slave in his place: threats to family, to friends, to a home somewhere.

If it was possible to untangle the slave from his master's web, the effort would be worth it to acquire a gifted agent. But to do that, Solas would need to find out what that web consisted of, and he saw no clear path towards that goal. His purpose was to investigate the Duke and protect Lady Volant, not necessarily to recruit.

The Duke and Lady Volant exchanged pleasantries, and the Duke offered her a glass of wine. She accepted, and the Duke looked around for a server.

He made eye contact with a young elven woman in the corner of the room. She held a bottle of wine and a few empty glasses on a round silver platter. As far as Solas could tell, she was the only server near them. She nodded to the Duke, and as she approached the bottle wavered on the platter. She reached up and steadied it, grasping it by the neck, and nearly knocked one of the glasses off in the process. Lady Volant continued her conversation with the Duke as the server handed her one of the glasses --smudged around the base-- and very slowly attempted to pour the wine into the glass.

"No more than half," Lady Volant said gently. "Too much and I'll get a terrible rash." The server nodded. The wine splashed into the glass instead of pouring smoothly, and some landed on the server's ill-fitted sleeve. She had poured maybe a third of a glass before stopping and looking at Lady Volant, who thanked her.

Relieved, the server put the bottle unsteadily back on to the platter and turned to leave. Typically, an event like this would dress servers in neatly fitted dress meant to accentuate the wealth and grandeur of the host. The uniform this woman wore scarcely looked like it belonged to her at all, with sleeves so long they had to be rolled, a baggy undershirt that barely fit under the jacket, and trousers a few inches too short.

The Duke did not seem to care, having instead launched into a lecture about the wine they were drinking, but the slave watched the server closely. She did not return to her post, and disappeared down one of the large hallways leading to another wing of the manor.

They began a tour, the ambassador once again treated as an honored guest. Unlike that morning, the Duke took the time to introduce her to other members of the upper class. Given the silence of the noble estates earlier, it was unsurprising that many of these guests were visitors from elsewhere.

Lady Volant had been clever in telling the server she wouldn't be drinking much. Avoiding any of the food or beverages at the party was wise considering there were Venatori present.

"Messere," a small voice said. Solas took his eyes from the ambassador's conversation to see a short, freckled elf with delicately braided orange hair. She bowed slightly, and the platter in her hand stayed steady. Upon it were hors d'oeuvres wrapped in napkins. "You are a guest this evening as well. Is there anything we can get for you?"

"No, thank you," he replied. Though she was short, even for an elf in this age, her clothing was a much better fit for her than the previous server he'd seen.

"Of course," she said, but she ignored his reply and handed him a shrimp tartlet. He raised an eyebrow. She nodded to him, then retreated without fully leaving the room.

Solas observed the tartlet closely, uncertain of what to do with it, before he noticed tiny scribbles on the napkin. As discreetly as possible, he unfolded the paper and read the message.

My name is Emilie. I have lived and worked here for years. I do not know who any of these servants are. Please help.

Solas quickly folded the napkin and put it into the pocket of his trousers. He looked to where the server had gone, worried she might have left the room in hopes he would follow. But then he saw her just outside the main party space, near an unstaffed bar in a state of disarray. It had a direct line of sight to where they were standing.

"Ambassador," he said softly, speaking to Lady Volant just over her shoulder. "I am going to get myself a drink." She looked up at him, and he glanced towards the bar. "Would you like anything else?"

She followed his gaze to the bar and shook her head. "No, I'm quite alright, thank you. But you should see to your own needs."

"Of course." He left her with the Duke, the slave, and several guests. The bar was close enough that he could still intervene if something went awry.

Emilie stood up straighter as he approached and put her tray of tartlets on the bar. "Messere."

He took the note from his pocket and swiftly burned it. Her eyes widened at his casual magic use, but she didn't comment on it. 

"Who are the other servants, if not the Duke's own?" He said quietly. He still held the tartlet.

"I don't know. I was only gone for a week to visit a friend in Bastion. When I came back, everyone was --replaced." She looked around for a moment before going on. "I don't know what to do. You are Inquisition, though, yes? You help people? Mages and-- and elves, right?"

It was somewhat heartening to know that 'helping people' was the Inquisition's reputation to this person, especially given that 'helping mages and elves' was primarily due to Enaste's decision-making. But it also reminded him of the target on their back.

"You should go, da'len," he urged. "If the other servants have been replaced, you are likely not supposed to be here." He looked towards the entrance hall. "Go to the alienage and hide. If anyone bothers you, tell them you were sent by Enaste Lavellan." He paused, then went on. "And if you see Enaste Lavellan, tell her Solas sent you."

"Enaste Lavellan, that's... The Inquisitor herself?" She asked, and Solas nodded. She opened her mouth, then shook her head. "But I don't know the alienage, I haven't even been there in years. I live here, in the servant's quarters. And... and what if the other servants are hurt? What if something happened to them?"

Solas looked at Emilie seriously. "What would you do to save them?"

"I..." She hesitated, then looked at him with a stubborn determination. "I know the castle. If they're still here, somewhere, I could help you find them."

"If the servants here have been infiltrated as thoroughly as I suspect, they will know the castle too. Unless you have a very good idea of where they are, you are better off keeping yourself alive by fleeing to safety."

"But they're... Some of them are my family. I know them, I..."

"And if you are hurt or killed trying to rescue them, where will that leave you?"

She looked down, visibly frustrated. He waited, giving her space to think. Then her shoulders sagged, and she nodded. "Okay. You're right."

He was relieved. As long as she got out of the estate, she should be safe and able to give them more information about the infiltration later.

She looked at his hand, then at the tray of tartlets. He went to put the tartlet down, and she cocked her head. "You don't like shrimp?"

"Abelas, please take no offense. I am simply uncertain of the precise... Ingredients."

"Oh," Emilie frowned, then took one of the tartlets and popped it in her mouth. Solas felt a little silly watching her eat it. She shrugged as she swallowed. "See? No poison."

"Fair enough, but you'll forgive my caution."

She glanced at the tray. "I do. Well," she looked past him, towards the entrance hall. "I'll take your advice. Enaste Lavellan?" She repeated.

"Lavellan," he corrected her pronunciation slightly, the Inquisitor's surname rolling off his tongue.

"Understood." She bowed quickly. "And thank you. Try to stay safe."

"We will."

…

The rain outside grew louder and the wind picked up as the party wound down to a more intimate size. The servers, few and far between, had eventually bussed some of the tables, but they were so far behind that they had no hope of catching up. At least the fireplaces were lit.

Lady Volant joined the Duke and a handful of other guests by one such fireplace, sharing hard leather couches. Solas stood off to the side, watching the ambassador and keeping an eye on the slave standing behind the Duke.

The slave's posture suddenly straightened, and the young man turned towards the entrance hall. Solas followed his gaze to see a tall, well-dressed human man flanked by several people --either servants or unarmed guards-- approaching them. The only one of the manor's servers Solas could see stiffened at the sight of the new guest.

The Duke turned in his seat and smiled, a bit too wide. "Magister Malchus! How wonderful that you've made it despite the rain! Come, have a seat."

The advisor was completely dry despite said rain, likely the result of a spell. "I apologize for my lateness, your Grace. I do appreciate the invitation." He spoke with a heavier accent than most of the Tevinters Solas had met.

"Lady Ambassador, this is Magister Lanius Malchus, of the Circle of Magi at Marnas Pell," the Duke announced as the Magister joined them by the fire. "Magister, this is Lady Guinevere Volant, the Inquisition ambassador to Wycome."

Lady Volant smiled warmly at the Magister. "What an honor to meet one of Tevinter's highest officials."

Malchus returned her smile. "I am honored to meet a woman as beautiful as yourself. And well-read: not many southerners understand Tevinter's titles."

Solas eyed the Magister's other servants. They were humans, as far as he could tell, broader and more built than the elves. He saw no sign of shackles. None of them had weapons nor were any actively using a spell.

As they talked, mostly trading pleasantries, the slave who had been babysitting the Duke retreated from his post. He still lingered close by, lurking in the shadows beside a cluttered standing table. From his vantage, he should have a clear view of the conversation. Seizing his opportunity, Solas crossed the room to join the slave. 

The young man regarded him coldly. At first neither said anything, their ears trained to the cautious political dance going on by the fire. Then, to Solas's surprise, the slave broke the silence.

"You are a powerful mage," he observed quietly, his accent thick around the words.

"As are you," Solas replied.

One of the servers approached them, and Solas tensed. She offered them both drinks, already filled with dark red wine. "Drinks, messeres?" She asked softly.

The slave looked at him. He still had that ridiculous wig, but it was better kept and styled now. The server, not waiting for an answer, put both glasses on the table. One was clearly closer to Solas, the other to the slave. Then the server left them alone.

Neither moved. "You do not have to do this," Solas hissed.

"You know nothing of me."

"I do." He stared hard at the slave, eyes narrowed. "I know you have carried the weight of shackles like a noose around your neck. I know your blood runs hot from how often worse men than yourself have spilt it." The slave finally looked at him, his expression hard and cold. "I know what it is like to want what you believe impossible to have."

"You will win no allies here, Inquisition," the slave responded sharply. "You are surrounded." His eyes gleamed in the dark. "You will die here, in your old world, and we will bring the dawn anew."

Solas snorted, and the slave flinched in surprise. "You honestly believe that? Is that what your master told you?" The slave looked away. "That your Elder One will break your chains?"

"My chains are broken," he snarled. "I am no slave, stultissime."

Though that surprised him, Solas just shook his head. "The Magister owes you nothing. He will use you again so long as you remain in his grip."

"You have no idea what he owes me." He reached for the glass of wine beside him, but Solas was quicker, and took the glass meant for the younger elf. He narrowed his eyes, but slowly took the glass meant for Solas.

The glass was no cleaner than any of the others Solas had seen that evening. The wine was impenetrably dark. He held it up to toast. "Sanitas, lethallin."

The glasses clinked together. Solas took a drink, confident that by switching the glasses, he'd thwarted the server's plot.

Then he saw the same server staring at him from over the younger elf's shoulder, eyes wide, one hand raised, and realized he made a terrible mistake. The wine tasted like ashes in his throat, and as soon as it settled in his stomach a horrid burn arced through his blood.

His vision blurred, like heat rising from stone, and he felt suddenly like his bones weren't connected to each other. There was a commotion as the fire overtook his mind, boiling his thoughts until he was conscious of little else but pure pain.

As his knees gave out underneath him, Solas watched the man he thought was a slave sip from the glass meant for him. His lips tilting into a smirk was the last thing Solas saw before everything went white, then black.

translation notes: stultissime - fool sanitas - health (used as a toast)

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[horsebf]

take this with a grain of salt because im not in the medical field but i don't think a stage two would give you five months to live

[blspracticalscenarios]

Medical terminology translations

Spanish (video)

Spanish (written)

ASL (video)

ASL (illustrated)

Cantonese (video)

Mandarin (video playlist) 

Chinese (written)

Arabic (video)

Arabic (written)

Tagalog (written)

French (written)

German (written)

[marenwithanm]

Oh occasional bouts of insomnia, my old foe. I knew we'd be meeting again eventually but... So soon? Careful now, if you come by too often I might just have to... See a doctor about it

[vistakai]

On one hand, it's frustrating when family members translate for patients because they tend to not know medical terms... on the OTHER HAND I have, multiple times, had a patient speak at length in another language and the hospital translator just says, "he said that's fine" like??? There has GOT to be another way to do this

[sakaimii]

Hello! Time for another update.

I'll probably post again tomorrow since chapter 9 of my series will be out then, but since Tokyo Debunker episode 7 came out yesterday I'll just mention that I also handled the English translation of the Mortkranken chapter. It involved looking up a lot of medical terminology lol. Not quite as tricky as translating Ritsu when he goes off about law ordinances (...it is a challenge keeping those within word limits), but humbling nonetheless.

I thought I'd speak about a fun Japanese thing involving Jiro's name though, since I've noticed a lot of people talking about names and what they mean etc. As everyone has mentioned, Jiro means "second son". "First son" is typically "Taro" or "Ichiro", with "Taro" being like...the most basic of names. "Taro Yamada" is used as the eqivalent of, say, John Smith, in terms of being a very every everyman kind of name.

However, it doesn't stop there. Jiro is followed by Saburo (三郎）, Saburo is followed by Shiro (四郎), and Shiro is followed by Goro (五郎). After that are various like Rikuro, Shichiro, etc, but they're much rarer. The "ji" in "Jiro" follows a pattern in Japanese where the second child is referred to as the "next" child (the general term for a second son is "jinan" 次男, with "jijo" 次女 being the second daughter), while everything after is numerically based.

Though Taro (and the names that follow) is considered basic/common, it's also very traditional sounding, especially compared to more modern trends in names. As an aside, names that end in "ko" for women have a bit of the same vibe. Common, but a tad old/traditional sounding. It makes sense that a certain character would like the name Taro, considering that he fashions himself after a bygone era.

Anyway, that's my mini lecture of the day lol. It's a lot easier writing these here than on hellsite, that's for sure!

Back to making this deadline...

[she-wolf09231982]

Chapter 8- Adapt and Overcome

Summary: After the German bomb run on Bastogne, the locals and American soldiers there that were left, helped piece back together what they could of the town. Medical personnel that had survived still tended to the wounded however they could with whatever supplies they had left. Easy Company remains in the Ardennes Forest preparing for an inevitable assault on German forces in the town of Foy. However, morale is low due to cold weather, constant shelling, zero relief, and numerous casualties to include a few of your closest friends as Easy pushes forward into Haguenau.

A/N: Mature audience, Joe LiebgottxFem!Medic, post D-Day, She/Her Pronouns, Y/F/N, Y/L/N, Cursing/Swearing, Derogatory Slurs, Mentions of death, Confrontation, Military Terminology, Medical Terminology, 1940’s slang, Inappropriate Nicknames, Band of Brothers References, Mentions of Weaponry, Yiddish/German/Italian to English Translation, Descriptive Wounds/Injuries, Blood/Gore, PTSD, Smoking, Banter, Pining, Consensual Physical Contact/PDA, FOREVER FLUFF

German is identified with (g)

Yiddish is identified with (y)

Italian is identified with (i)

Made the best discovery writing this piece: "Liebling" means "darling" in German!! That absolutely made my day and now is my new favorite pet name/term of endearment from Liebgott.

Beginning 1x7 The Breaking Point then transitions into 1x8 The Last Patrol

*These stories may not fall entirely in accordance with the TV series timeline. I do not know the real soldiers the actors portray in this series, so please understand I show no disrespect. Some or most of historical events and character interactions in my fanfics are fabricated purely for the sake of the enjoyment of fiction*

~~~~~~~

January 5th, 1945

German artillery fired onto Easy Company from the town as Easy soldiers scattered to the nearest foxholes to take cover.

“INCOMING! TAKE COVER!” Lipton shouts to the men as he runs to the nearest foxhole.

Blasts coming from all directions causing trees to fall and dirt to fly made it difficult for the men to navigate safe passages to their holes. You had been separated from Joe before the attack started. You lay flat behind a pile of fallen trees for cover while you shield your face from the debris. You were too afraid to move, fearing you’d just get hit.

After what seemed like hours, the ambush came to a halt, and you suddenly heard a familiar call from the distance.

“MEDIC!”

You sprang from the ground and started running towards the cry for help then you ran into LT Buck Compton.

“Buck! Are you ok!?” you ask as you look him over frantically.

He had a distant look in his eyes.

“Sir? SIR??” you take him by the shoulders and shake him.

Buck finally looked at you, “...yeah.” he whispered.

“Did you see anyone else that was hurt? I heard someone call for a medic.”

His eyes began to gloss over. You tilted your head while you furrowed your eyebrows.

“Buck? Who needs help? Please, tell me!” you urge him.

He pointed to a path through the trees and uttered names that almost had you fainting at his feet.

“Bill...and Joe.” 

You wasted no time dashing through the tree line where he had pointed to. The path lined by the woods seemed never ending. All you heard was the drumming of your heartbeat in your ears while your feet became heavier and heavier impeding your ability to get to Joe as fast as possible. Images of his lifeless body flashed before your eyes, causing tears to stream down, stinging your cheeks from the cold air.

You finally reach the clearing, stopping to assess the carnage of blood in front of you. You see Doc Roe already kneeling over a soldier lying on his back whose face you couldn’t see from where you had been standing. To the left you see Guarnere leaning against a pine, his right leg hanging on only by tendons and ligaments.

Two men rushed in with a litter. 

“Bill, you go first.” 

“Whatever you say, Doc.” Bill replied. 

“Over here. Take this man.” Gene ordered pointing at Guarnere.

Guarnere was hoisted onto the stretcher, and carried off, not before a snappy exit comment,

“Hey, Joe, I told ya I'd beat ya back to the States.”

Tunnel vision sets in as the world starts to cave in on you. You fall to your knees as you attempt to pace your breathing so you won’t pass out.

Malarkey appeared from the path behind you.

“Y/F/N! Hey, you ok??” he asked concerned as he hooked you under the arm to help you up.

His voice was distant and muffled.

“I-I-” you stuttered, but words completely fail you when you see the right leg of the soldier that Doc was helping...more so the right leg that was completely missing. You gasp slapping your hand over your mouth in a desperate attempt to stop the scream of terror from escaping. You look at Malarkey with dread painted all over your face.

“It’s...Joe!?” you managed to say between panting as you start to hyperventilate.

Don looked over and understood what you were reacting to.

“Y/F/N, that’s Toye. Joe Toye.” he clarified slowly and deliberately so you could understand.

You stare back at him, progressively absorbing what he just said.

“Toye…” you echoed back.

Don nodded. You look back at Doc and Joe Toye, finally coming back down from your shock. 

As Malarkey pulled you up, Doc turned around noticing you were there.

“Hey, Y/F/N, come over here and hold this so I can wrap it up.”

You swiftly go to help Eugene, seeing Toye’s pale face as you get closer.

“Hang in there, Toye.” you say in your best reassuring tone.

~~~~~~~

That night, Corporal Penkala and Sgt. Skip Muck's foxhole took a direct hit, killing them instantly, a moment witnessed by George Luz. A dud shell also landed next to Luz and Lipton's foxhole, fortunately sparing their lives.

The eventful day the Germans provided had you and Eugene running around like crazy, following the cries of ‘medic’ in every direction. Both of you were running on steam, and you had yet to see Joe Liebgott at all since this attack began.

When the bombardment finally calmed down, it was too dark to venture out to find him. You decided the safest bet was to stay put. You would’ve heard by now if Joe had been transferred to the aid station. Or at least you hoped.

The following day, the move on the town of Foy commenced, thankfully with LT Speirs in command. As Easy company rushed the field towards the town, a sniper effectively picks off the men as they approach. The sniper is eventually taken down by a mortar and the men quickly enter Foy. With the village filled with attacking Germans, Speirs makes a suicidal run through the German front line to make contact with I Company. However, the most fascinating thing about what Speirs did wasn't that he successfully connected with I Company, but that he ran back the same way he'd gone unscathed.

~~~~~~~

After taking the town of Rachamps a few weeks later, Easy takes a much-needed rest in the solace of a local convent. The Sisters have taken the liberty of bringing in their choir to sing for soldiers. Of the 145 men that entered Bastogne, only 63 remained. After you have tended to the wounds of the soldiers that were hurt during the assault, you wander amongst the men to find your Joe.

You find Lipton and Speirs conversating in one of the aisles.

“Hey, Y/L/N, good to see ya. You doin’ ok?” Lipton asks.

You nod, “Yes sir. You?” 

“I’m just fine.” he responded softly.

You look at LT Speirs, “Sir?”

“I’m fine, Corporal.” he stated.

“You haven't seen Liebgott by chance, have you?” You ask, trying not to sound too distressed.

Lipton looked over the crowd of scattered soldiers.

“Yeah, he’s right over there. By the altar.” 

You look where he had pointed and see Joe sitting on the floor against the stone wall by himself where dozens of lit candles stood on iron stands around him. You B line to him, picking up the pace to get to him as fast as you could. As you get within ear shot you call out to him.

“Joe!” you manage to gasp.

Joe quickly looked up upon hearing your voice. His face lit up when he saw you, hastily standing up to meet you halfway. When you reached him, he enveloped you, lifting you up from the ground as he pressed you against his body.

You bury your face into the crook of his neck as happy tears began to cascade from your bloodshot eyes. Joe’s chest heaving from joy was electrifying, leaving you a melting mess in his arms while he lowered to your feet.

“I thought they got you.” you whispered through your sobs.

Joe scoffed, “Those Krauts ain’t gettin’ me.” 

He pulled away to look at your face. He used his gloved thumb to wipe your tears.

“I’m right here, Gams.” 

You throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a desperate kiss. His arms snake around your waist, angling his head to intensify the lock he had on your lips. You unconsciously slack your jaw, allowing his tongue to slowly run along your lower lip. Although you both were lost in this magical moment, you suddenly became aware that you were ‘necking’ in a church and thought it best to behave before you both lost complete control.

You gently pull back as Joe’s disappointment clearly appeared across his face.

“We shouldn’t have done that here.” you admit.

Joe smiled at your properness. 

“If God didn’t want it to happen in His house, He wouldn’t have let it.” Joe justified.

You raise an eyebrow and smirk at him.

“It’s inappropriate.” you countered.

“So, you’re saying if it had been right outside the church, it would’ve been fine?” he countered. 

You giggle, “Perhaps.”

Joe laughed, “Well how about we find a place to rest, and we can just cuddle up?” he compromised.

“Yes.” you agree as he pulled you by the hand to where he was sitting.

The church had provided blankets to the men, which Joe had spread out on the floor picnic style. He sat against the wall, then offered his hand for you to hold as you lowered yourself down next to him. He folded his coat, placing it on his lap for you to lay your head on. You nuzzle into him, resting the side of your face onto the coat while he combed his finger softly through your mess of hair. 

Before you drift off to sleep, over the choir singing in the background, you hear a low gravelly whisper:

“Ikh hab dir lib (y)(I love you).”

~~~~~~~

February 9th, 1945

The plan had been to relieve Easy Company and head to Mourmelon. The following morning, orders changed after Hitler launched a counteroffensive in Alsace, and you were all to help hold the line in the town of Haguenau.

As Easy began loading up on trucks for Haguenau, PVT David Webster is dropped off by a depot Jeep,

"Thanks for the lift." Webster tells the driver.

As he greeted his battered comrades, he received no welcoming glance from any of them. The air of disdain grew thick as he passed each truck. He had been sent to an aid station long before Bastogne, and their collective resentment stemmed from his long stay in the hospital and his making no effort to return quickly and rejoin the company.

You're seated next to Joe in the bed of a deuce truck, huddled into him trying to keep warm as Webster walked up.

"Hey guys, some lieutenant told me to report to 2nd." he stated gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder behind him.

He looked at one of the soldiers across from you and Liebgott.

"You're name's Jackson, right?

"That's right." Jackson replied dryly.

"Who's leading the platoon?" Webster queried.

"Sgt Malarkey is." Jackson responded.

"What? No officers?" Webster questioned.

"I guess you didn't hear." Liebgott began, "They're making Malarkey lieutenant. He's on the fast track now."

"Really? That's great." Webster noted.

"Yeah, ain't it?" Joe replied sarcastically.

"Hey, Jackson, help me up, will ya?" Webster said trhowing his gear bag up onto the bed of the truck as he hoisted himself up.

Webster sat on the bench next to Jackson, then noticed you half passed out on Joe's shoulder. He observed the medic brassard on your left arm.

"New medic?" he asked, motioning with his head towards you.

Joe looked down at you, shifting your face onto his chest as he wrapped his left arm around you to hold you steady when the truck picked up speed.

"No. She's been here since the beginning." he stated, shooting a cold glance at Webster.

"So, you came from the hospital?" Jackson asked Webster.

"Yeah."

"Must've liked that hospital, cuz, uh, we left Holland four months ago." Joe sneered.

Webster felt the bitterness, “Well I wasn’t there the whole time. There was rehabilitation, then the replacement depot-“

“-Well I’m sure you tried to bust out and help us in Bastogne.” Joe interjected.

“Well, I don’t know how I would’ve done that.” Webster defended.

“That’s funny, because Popeye found a way. So did Alley, right? Back in Holland,” Joe illustrated to Babe who was sitting on your left, “And Guarnere--”

“Yeah, where is Guarnere? He still your platoon sergeant?” Webster asked obliviously.

“No. He got hit.” Jackson answered bitterly.

The trucks arrived at Haguenau then came to a hard stop. The men started to unload from the rear. Joe gently nudged you.

“Zeit zu gehen, Liebling (g)(Time to go, darling).” Joe whispered to you.

“She speaks German, too?” Webster probed.

You strain your eyes to look at him.

“Who’s this?” you ask Joe.

“Webster.” Joe answered plainly.

“Hm, don’t you look all bright eyed and bushy tailed.” You say through a yawn.

Joe scoffed, “Yeah, had a four month furrlow, now he’s ready for war.” Joe joked.

Joe jumped from the bed of the truck, then offered his hand to you to help you down which you accepted.

“Spread out. Hold along this line ‘til I figure out where we’re going.” Malarkey called out.

“Sarge? Sarge-“ Webster approached Malarkey.

An incoming shell soared over and hit a nearby building before Malarkey could respond. An unexpecting frightened Webster dove to the ground while LT Speirs spectated in the background like a child watching a fireworks display.

“What’s the matter there, Webster? A little nervous in the service?” Malarkey teased.

~~~~~~~

Later in one of the abandoned houses of the town, Captain Speirs and LT Lipton were setting the place up as Command Post. Lipton had been fighting off pneumonia since you left Rachamps and was looking rather rough. You and Eugene had been hounding him since to take it easy, but he has chosen to keep pushing through for the men.

“Sir, pneumonia has killed people with rest. You keep pushin’ yourself like this you’re gonna die.” You lecture him, “Luz, go grab the man a blanket, will ya?”

You call out to George as you guide him back down onto the couch.

“I’ll be alright, Y/L/N.” Lipton assurred.

“Sgt Lipton? Feeling all right?” Webster’s voice carried through the room.

You look up, slightly annoyed, “Look at him. He’s got pneumonia, does he look all right?” you hiss.

“Sorry to hear that.” Webster replied.

“What are you sorry about?” Luz said as he threw a wool blanket over Lipton, “He’s alive, he’s got a couch, a goddamn blanket. He’s snug as a bug.”

“Well, if the man would stay off his feet and keep warm...maybe eat something, he may actually recover.” You state firmly.

Lipton sighed, “I promise I will try harder to take it easy, Y/F/N.”

You hum is disbelief as you try to start a fire in the fireplace to heat some soup for him.

"You fuckin' Italians think you can solve everything with food." Luz said outloud.

You glare over your shoulder at him.

"Non vengo pagata abbastanza per essere tua madre (i)(I don't get paid enough to be your mother)." you mumble under your breath.

Luz's face twisted with confusion, "Huh?"

"Nothin'." you reply curtly.

“Have a seat Webster, I’ll help you get situated.” Lipton said pointing to the chair nearest to him.

Webster observed you by the fireplace.

“So, you Liebgott’s girl?” Webster inquired.

You start the fire and hang a tin cup with water and broth above it before you respond.

“What if I am?”

He stared back in shock.

“Just wonderin’.”

“You got a lot to say, don’tchya? A little advice, David Webster, quit asking these guys so many questions about who went where. Don’t make them relive all their losses so soon. Got it?” you say with spitfire behind your voice.

Webster’s jaw fell open while his eyes widened.

“Um, yeah. Got it.” He uttered.

You give him one last look over and leave the room.

Upon your return, a replacement officer arrived while Captain Speirs moved about the room shuffling through some papers he had snatched from Lipton’s hands.

“Listen, for chrissake, will ya go back in the back and sack out? There’s beds back there with fresh sheets.” Speirs ordered Lipton before he could say anything.

“THANK YOU, SIR.” You project across the room to the Captain, “I guess it takes a direct order from the CO to get you to do what me and Doc been askin' you to do for days.” You assert with exasperation.

Lipton shot you a frustrated expression, “I will, sir, I was just tryin’ to make myself useful, sir.”

~~~~~~~

Another abandoned building was designated as barracks for the companies occupying the town. Floors that were able to bare weight, had bunks lining the walls in each room. You had a single bed to yourself that was conveniently arranged where the headboard of your bed met Liebgott’s bottom bunk. You lay on Joe’s bed briefly to rest your eyes.

The new officer, LT Jones, entered the room to let Malarkey know that at 0100, a mission was to commence across the river to obtain POW’s for interrogation. After Jones took Malarkey aside to go over a few details, Liebgott took Webster to the bunks to get the information out of him.

“Hey, Web. Come here, I wanna talk to you for a second.”

“Why??” Webster asked alarmed.

“You want some coffee?”

“No.” Webster replied quickly, paranoid by Joe’s sudden act of kindness.

Joe looked at Jackson, “Fifteen.”

“Fifteen what?” Jackson asked.

“Looeys since D-Day,” Joe replied, “This kid out of high school yet?”

Joe asked looking at LT Jones talking to Malarkey by the window.

“West Point.” Webster replied.

“Isn’t that where Ike went?” Jackson asked.

“He actually graduated with his son.” Webster clarified.

“Shit. So, uh, what do you know about this patrol thing?” Joe interrogated Webster.

You sat up from Joe’s bunk.

“Patrol?” you asked, somewhat panicked.

“Uh, nothing.” Webster lied.

“Oh, come on, I know you know something.” Ramirez pushed.

“I don’t!” Webster insisted.

Joe spit at the floor, “Bullshit. You were there, right? At the CP. This is a prisoner snatch, right? Come on, Webster. Spill it.” Joe pressured.

You shifted onto the side of the mattress to hear better.

“Capt Speirs is to pick fifteen men. LT Jones wants to be one of them.”

“I say let the kid go. He could use the experience.” Joe said with a cynical smile.

“Probably could find fourteen replacements to help him out.” Ramirez added.

“Who’s going?” You chime in, asking Webster, “I assume they need a translator and a medic.”

“I don’t know who.” he replied.

You roll your eyes at him.

“Why are you holding out on me? I know you know-” Joe accused Webster, “Who?”

Webster hesitated, “Well, if I tell you, you can’t let anyone know I let you know.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, Web. Who is it?” Joe urged.

Webster paused, “Heffron-“

“Oh, shit.” Babe huffed.

“-McClung, and Ramirez.” He ended.

“He want any other guys from any other platoon?” Joe asked.

“No. I don’t know. Not that I know of. That’s all I know, I’m sorry.”

~~~~~~~

“2nd Platoon, on me!” Malarkey called right outside the shower tents that were set up for the soldiers to finally have a proper hot shower.

The men form up around him.

“All right, I’m leading this patrol. CO wants Grant, Liebgott, Wynn, Jackson, Shifty from 3rd platoon, and Webster.” He relayed.

“They don’t want anyone from first?” Cobb asked.

“No.”

“Is there anyone they don’t want from 2nd Platoon? Jesus Christ-” Joe expressed sarcastically rolling his eyes, “It’s always 2nd Platoon. I swear to God, if we were down to three guys, they’d still want us for it.”

Joe trudged off towards the showers.

You run after Malarkey, “Malark, they didn’t say anything about bringing a medic?”

“Those were the only names they gave me, Y/L/N.” he replied wryly.

“Maybe you can suggest I come with-“

“Y/F/N, those are the names. I’m sure there’s a reason they’re not sending you or Doc.” he barked.

You coward back slightly, trying not to push the subject any further.

He softened his demeanor realizing he was overreacting some, “I know you wanna be there, but we can’t afford to lose more people, let alone medics. Especially good ones. Get it?” he explained as warmly as he could muster.

“Ya, sarge, I understand.” You reply with a weak smile.

He gave you an encouraging nod and walked to the shower tent. You realized you were about to be surround by dozens of naked men and should probably head back to the bunks before you see too much.

~~~~~~~

Back at CP, Luz was unpacking what looked to be dozens of chocolate bars and candies sent from the Post Exchange from Stateside. His Easy Company brothers progressively encircling him like vultures trying to convince him to share as he counted them to record for inventory.

“Goddamn it, Johnny, you’re breaking my heart, I’m telling ya!” Luz started.

“Come on, George, just give me, I don’t know, 10, 15 bars.” Martin begged.

Luz slammed down a small pack of gum on the surface of the table, “Here, Juicy Fruit! Happy?”

Another soldier walked in behind Cobb and Martin, “Just got report of movement. 1st Sergeant Lipton wants you to lay a few bazooka rounds into a house across the river.”

“You’d think we’d get just one Hershey bar-“ Martin complained disregarding the soldier’s report.

“Come on, Luz, you’re 1st platoon at heart.” Cobb pushed.

“Jesus, Cobb, there’s not enough-“ Luz explained.

Liebgott entered the room with you right behind him. Webster and LT Jones entered not too long after you.

“Whoa, Hershey bars!!” Joe exclaimed.

“Where!?” you ask trying to look over Joe’s shoulder on your tiptoes.

Luz rolled his eyes, “Jesus Christ!”

“Wait your turn Liebgott, Y/L/N.” Cobb commanded.

“Yeah, yeah, who they for?” Liebgott dismissed.

“Not you! Not even for Y/F/N!” Luz established sternly.

You furrow your eyebrows at him, “I am offended, George! Have I not taken care of you when you needed it?”

“Yeah, and so has Doc but I don’t see him in here asking for handouts.” He replied.

“Oh, come on, George, one bar for me and Y/F/N, we’ll share one.” Joe pushed.

“No! There’s not enough to go around!” Luz claimed.

“Hey, big mouth, give the kid a Hershey bar.” A familiar voice projected across the room.

Everyone looked up and saw Frank Perconte back from the aid station after receiving a bullet by the Germans in his left buttocks.

The guys laughed collectively.

“You gotta be shittin’ me!” Luz said with a wide smile.

“Look who it is!” Joe added.

“What’s up guys? I like what you did with the place, George.” Perconte jested.

“Yeah, yeah, I did good. How you feelin’?”

“As long as you keep your hands off my ass, I’ll be fine.”

Luz chuckled, “Here have a Hershey.”

He tossed a candy bar across the room to Frank.

“He gets a fuckin’ Hershey bar?” Joe protested.

“Well, he got shot in the ass!” Luz retorted.

Martin walked over to Perconte, “Did I tell you to stick your big ass out in the wind?”

“No! But I expect a little sympathy from you, right?” Frank repsonded.

“Yeah, should I rub it for ya?” Martin teased trying to spank his left butt cheek.

Perconte quickly shuffled to the side, “Get the fuck outta here!”

“Can you believe this guy? I try to get him out of the fuckin’ war, he comes straight back!” Martin stated.

“Yeah, well, that’s not what I heard. I heard the Krauts are finished.” Frank said.

“Yeah, well, just to make sure, we gotta row across the fucking river tonight, grab a few, and ask them in person.” Joe explained.

Frank’s disappointment surfaced across his face.

“Ya kidding me?”

Joe shook his head, “Wish I was. Welcome back, Frank.”

~~~~~~~

At 1700 back at CP later that day, a briefing was to be held by Capt Winters about the upcoming patrol for that night. The soldiers listed on the roster to go sat around a long dining room oak table with LT Jones standing awkwardly off to the side.

With Capt Speirs’ and Lipton’s permission, you also attended the briefing, standing across the room where you had a clear view of Joe sitting at the head of the table. You could see the guys secretly whispering their opinions to eachother about LT Jones leading the mission instead of Malarkey.

“No way. Not on his first day.” Grant stated.

Joe rubbed his bottom lip thoughtfully, “Well, do you see any other officer here?”

Webster, standing behind Joe’s chair, crossed his arms, then looked at Lt Jones sympatheticlly, knowing the frustrations of being doubted for being “the new guy.” Another handful of Easy soldiers entered the room.

“Who’s in charge of this bullshit?” one of them asked. He looked over his shoulder at LT Jones. “No he ain’t.” he determined outwardly.

“Well, if he ain’t, it’s you, Chuck. Or Shifty, or Mo.” Babe asserted.

“Well, that would be better.” Joe appended.

You feel your stomach twist into knots at his words. And as if he felt your anxiousness, he shifted his attention to you, meeting your gaze across the room. He gave you his signature infectious Liebgott grin, and you couldn't help but smile back.

“Ten-hut!” Jones called out to bring the room to attention as Captain Winters walked into the room.

“At ease.” Winters instructed the men.

Winters explained that they were to cross the river in four rubber boats with LT Jones, the ranking officer will go along as an observer. Sergeant Martin was to lead the patrol in Malarkey’s place. He assured the guys that the battalion will be covering their withdrawal with the POW’s, and were to utilize the whistles provided to signal to them to blast the outpost after they’ve safely returned to the boats.

“Remember, it’s about prisoners,” Winters reiterated firmly, “-Don’t pop the first thing that moves.”

Winters flashed a brief glance at Liebgott before continuing.

“Clear?”

The men mutually responded, “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Picked your assault team?” he asked Martin.

“McClung, Liebgott, Sisk, Cobb, Garcia, and Webster, as translator. The rest of you guys, a base of fire with Sergeant Grant. You speak German, right, Webster?”  Martin bellowed at Webster across the table.

“Yeah, a little bit.” Webster replied meekly.

Not before wishing his men good luck, Winters made his exit.

“A little German?” Joe began, “-his German’s as good as mine. And Y/F/N’s.”

Joe motioned with his head towards you. You look at the floor somewhat flattered, but also frustrated that two soldiers who speak German would be going on this mission when they really only needed one. This thought had you pushing down angry tears.

Coincidently, Webster had the same thoughts.

As you file outside with the guys out of CP, you immediately head back to the barracks so Joe wouldn't see you upset before he left. Webster approached Capt Winters, Capt Speirs, Martin, and LT Jones.

“Sir?”

“Yes?” Winters acknowledged.

“Liebgott and I, we both speak German. You said fifteen men, there’s sixteen of us, including two translators.” Webster elluded.

“Well, fine,” Speirs began, “Hey, Liebgott. You wanna sit this one out?”

Joe’s obvious elation displayed on his face, “Yes, sir,” he looked at Web, “Thanks, buddy!”

~~~~~~~

I’m dedicating this chapter to my lovelies @wordsaresimple-imnot @mrs-greenside @skiesofrosie @yourspeirs for sharing and fueling my everlasting enthusiasm of BoB

❤️🪖♠️🦅

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[schumachersricciardo]

Shiver

Chapter Five - P. Sherman, 42 Wallaby Way, Sydney

♡ Mick Schumacher x Reader, Best friend!Danny Ricc x reader, AND A SURPRISE!!!

♡ TW: Swearing, inaccurate timeline of F1/F2/F3, badly translated German using Google, blood/injuries (not graphic, but there is are mentions of it!), mentions of misogynistic thoughts and self doubt, not really graphic, but describes the sound of what doing CPR could lead to, not proofread, angst, badly written medical terminology, etc.

♡ She/Her pronouns are used, nothing descriptive about reader except that her hair is long enough to pull back into a ponytail or braid, no reader insert, timeline skips. ALSO: WARNING!!!! I will barely be mentioning Michael Schumacher. I do not presume to know what he is thinking, or would say in these fictional scenarios. I am trying to be respectful of their privacy and not make any assumptions!!!!!! He will be mentioned here and there, but I do not believe any dialogue will be associated with him. If you do not like that, then do not read it. :)

♡ A/N: I also did this on mobile, so I will format it better if need be tomorrow morning on my laptop!

♡ 8.3k words

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Qualifying, Silverstone

The paddock once again was absolute chaos as you entered it. There were more cameras than you could count and more people flocking to ask you what seemed like the same seven questions. Being at Silverstone meant a lot for Mercedes, but even more now since Lewis Hamilton still could not race due to personal matters. He had missed the past four races, and to miss his home race was sure to add insult to injury.

And a majority of yourself felt terribly, because you were at an all time high. You and Mick scored second and third place in Monaco. In Canada, Mick scored his maiden grand prix win - a literal first for him. But the highs didn’t end there as Spain rounded its pretty face.

As the first female reserve driver, and now having to take over Lewis’ spot while he’s absent, the pressure was higher than ever. At the Aramco GP, Mick again scored first and you second. Mercedes hadn’t see ‘One-Two’ victories like this in a very long time.

But there was nothing to compare to the feeling of winning your first maiden grand prix when the Austrian Grand Prix came to you. In a stunning act of grit and perseverance, you managed to edge out Mick for first place. You don’t think you could ever have topped that feeling while the United States’ National Anthem wrung out at the racetrack. Soon, your DMs and socials were being flooded with girls and women that were inspired by not only you, a woman in motorsport, but a winning and successful one. You couldn’t help but feel moved and ecstatic that you finally had an impact on the world. And if anything, you wanted that to be your legacy.

“You and Mick have had an excellent run these last few races. How are you feeling going into Silverstone and does the weather affect your confidence at all?” The interviewer sat across from you with a polite smile on her face.

“Thanks so much,” You began with a wide smile. “I think if you’re in the UK this kind of weather is to be expected, so I don’t know if I’m really shaken about it - But, obviously the wet weather poses more issues than solutions, but I think we’re both confident in our abilities as individuals, and as a team.”

She asked you a few more questions and after the interview was done, you knew you had to get ready for qualifying. You headed to your driver’s room only to find an all too familiar blond haired boy waiting for you.

“Don’t you have your own room, Mick?”

Your friend opened your driver’s room door and allowed you to step into it first. Closing it softly behind him, he took a quick scan of the room.

“Yes, but I don’t like the thought of you being all the way over here by yourself.”

Ever since your father had come back about a month ago, Mick had grown even more protective of you. And you really didn’t mind it; you knew there was no arguing with him about that. You’d see him stealing glances at you during press interviews, and keeping an extra eye on you as you went to the Mercedes motor home for a coffee. You couldn’t blame him.

“Hopefully the rain lets up tomorrow…” You mumbled as you sorted out your fireproofs and race suit. “I don’t think it will though.”

“Probably not…” Mick straightened his posture in the chair provided in the room. “It will be your first race in the rain, Smidge.”

“So?” You shrugged, putting on your clothes.

Your bruises had healed quite nicely and thankfully, before your next race no one had inquired about your cheek. You had a slight inclination to feel as though a boy named Mick had something to do with that…

“Ich mache mir Sorgen um dich (I’m worried about you).” Mick stopped you as you finished zipping up your suit, his suit already tied and hanging at his waist.

Looking down at where he sat, he grabbed your hand and placed a kiss on your knuckles. You reached with your free hand and moved some of his hair. Mick hummed happily as you moved your hand down to his cheek, caressing it reassuringly.

“Du machst dir immer Sorgen um mich (You’re always worried about me).” Mick shrugged in relinquishment, then stood to his feet and kissing the top of your head. You relished in what little privacy the tiny room gave you.

Between all the cameras, fans, interviews, and paparazzi - You two seldom had private moments together since your team’s winning streak began. Enjoying each other’s company in the quiet and stillness of your driver’s room, you leaned your head up against his chest, the steady beating of his heart giving you more than just comfort. As you inhaled the smell of his cologne, you made a mental note to save this moment for a rainy day.

“We should get going, or else people are going to get suspicious.” You finally pulled yourself away from him.

“Schätzen, people already think we are secretly married or leaders of a cult or something. I do not think us being absent from the paddock for five minutes will make them think any differently than they already do.” Mick let out a soft laugh as he opened the door again for you. Strutting out, you both went to your perspective sides of the garage to prepare for qualifying.

And as it came to be, you qualified fourth while Mick qualified second position. Your grid-mate Max Verstappen qualified with pole position. Overall, you and the Mercedes team felt quite confident for tomorrow’s race. Despite the inclement weather, everyone was excited for Silverstone as well as wishing Lewis was here as well. It was a weird and contradictory feeling that almost everyone had, too. This was his home race and being unable to race in it after not missing it for years, just had to be gut wrenching. But like Mick said, if it weren’t a serious issue, Lewis would have raced. And in truth and maybe a little bit of guilt, you had spoken to Lewis a few times asking him how he was doing and if he was okay. Always the gentleman, he reassured you that of all people, he would want you to be the one to take his place and that nobody but you deserved his seat - even if it was temporary.

You truly didn’t feel as though you deserved the friendship he’s was offering you and the encouragement he so freely gave. Yet, your words always overflowed with gratitude to the best of your ability.

You changed out of your suit and fireproofs, and back into the clothes you came to the paddock in originally. Waiting for Mick to do the same, you decided to go to the motor home to grab one more coffee. About ten minutes later, a very panicked and surprisingly of breath Mick rushed by your side while you sipped on your coffee.

“Schätzen! What did I say about leaving without me? I do not want… I just… Please do not scare me like that again.” Mick licked his lips, hunched over the coffee bar counter as he tried to catch his breath. Mick ran a very anxious hand through his now, undone hair, slowing his breathing down. All you could do was grin at the disheveled boy in front of you.

“I’m sorry, Mickey… I was thirsty?” You made your last word a question, because you know that coffee was not the way to replenish your thirst, but you wanted to try your luck at convincing him anyway.

“Schätzen… That is… Coffee…” Mick’s total lack of amusement shown across his deadpan expression. “And not for lack of trying, but why are you having a coffee this late in the day?”

“For funsies.” You grinned again as the two of you began to walk towards his car.

“I do not know what a funsies is, but how are you going to get any sleep tonight?” Again, you shrugged nonchalantly trying your best not to laugh at him. “How am I going to get any sleep?”

"What does your sleeping patterns have to do with my consumption of a very thirst quenching coffee, I might add?"

“You will be up talking in my ear all night during your caffeine high, no?” Mick finally broke the silence as he filed into the driver’s seat after making sure you were comfortable.

“No! I will not be doing that, in fact, I am going to… Do the opposite of that.”

Mick made his way to the hotel room making certain that he did not make you car sick. He always thought it was very strange that you would get carsick sat in the passenger seat, but not while driving at 200mph. But that was one of the many, many things he adored about you. About twenty minutes later, the two of you arrived at the hotel and made your way into his suite. You insisted that you could sleep in your own room… Three doors down… But Mick was more persistent than you had the energy to argue with, and what could it hurt?

The night went on and you both had gotten ready for the long awaited sleep. Trying to hide your caffeine high, you played some stupid game on your phone as you waited for Mick to get off the phone with his mother. Soon, he strode in and stopped in the doorway. There you were again, the picture perfect image of the life he longed for that he always kept near to his heart. You hadn’t heard him come into the room. You were still trying to focus on whatever game had your attention.

Mick quietly leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded over his chest, gleaming and glowing over the fact that he was going to share a bed with you. And sure, there have plenty of times the two of you have slept in the same bed, but there was a feeling pitting in the bottom of Mick’s stomach that he should pay extra attention to this exact moment. He didn’t know what it was, but most of the time his gut and instinct were right. You looked up from your phone and met eyes with Mick. His facial expression was soft and serene. Despite the tiredness you could see wafting off of his body, you too had that strange feeling in your stomach. His gray t-shirt clung nicely to his torso, while his navy blue sweats sat just so on his hips. It was as if you were taking a million mental pictures of this silent interaction between the two of you.

Mick made his way to the side of the bed you had cleared for him. You awaited for him to get settled before tucking yourself safely underneath his arm. Mick hummed happily to himself as he began to feel sleep take over his body, his eyelids becoming heavier and heavier with each blink. Wrapping yourself tightly around him, intertwining your legs with his, you extended your neck as far as it could go to try and kiss his check, only for you to land on his jaw. His jaw pulsated in response and you could feel the breath catch in his chest. You. never wanted to forget this and you hoped that he wouldn’t either.

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Race Day, Silverstone

You took several deep breaths, exhaling as slowly as you could. It was indeed raining outside, which would make this race harder than usual… But also more dangerous. The famous Maggots, Becketts and Chapel turns hounded and clouded both your vision and your mind as you did your best to center yourself. You truly wanted to make not only Lewis proud, but yourself proud. Finally feeling grounded enough, you put your race suit on and made your way out to the garage.

You spotted Mick talking to his engineer out of the corner of your eye, hoping he caught you with his - knowing he would want to make sure you were alright, even if he couldn’t talk to you at that very second. Managing to get a few more stretches in, it was time for you to enter your car. From where you were sitting in the garage, you could tell that it was raining hard, but not hard enough for them to stop the race completely. Which had to mean the race conditions were safe enough for the drivers, which meant you felt immediately more relieved than you did ten minutes ago. Soon, it was time for the driver’s to line up for their formation lap. You could see Mick’s car two positions ahead of you, and you could almost hear him talking to himself you knew him that well. The lights went off and the formation lap began.

It wasn’t a terrible lap either, but you definitely could feel a difference in the way that the car handled in wet conditions versus when it is a dry race. And you were indeed reminded of so when you could feel the grip of your tires not performing the way you wanted them to even during the formation lap. You didn’t want anything to stop you from this race though, so you put that thought behind you. It was just rain after all. Taking one last deep breath, you focused on the lights ahead of you turning green - and away everyone went.

Lap 14

You were having trouble with your car, but not enough to want to retire it. It seemed like many other drivers were having issues after realizing just how rainy it was. Still, you persisted and managed to edge your way up to P3, while Mick held a steady pace behind Max. You were doing your best to fend off Daniel behind you.

Lap 22

Eight laps later and Mick had overtaken Max to claim P1. You were still holding strong at P3, which you really didn’t mind. If you could keep the pace you were going until the end of the race, you’d get a podium and you’d get points. And that’s all you could think about as you began lap 23.

That was until Max had dodged something on the track unexpectedly, and because of the rain you couldn’t react as fast as you needed or even see what it was that he was evading. The tires underneath you were not gripping the pavement below them either. And being that you were just behind him during the Maggots, Becketts, and Chapel you really tried your best to keep focused on the race. Max did his best and swerved out of the way of the debris, but you were not so fortunate. Maybe it was because you were a female and you didn’t have as fast of reflexes as a man… Or maybe it was because you didn’t train hard enough to be prepared for such a wet race. Or maybe it was just simply bad fucking luck.

Max expertly swerved and managed to save his car and maintain his safety, but he ended up clipping the right corner of Mick’s rear wing. Mick spun slightly out of track limits and hit the barrier as he was on the straight now.

“Mick, you alright?” Mick’s race engineer could be heard on the radio.

“Yeah, just fine. Sorry about the car.” Mick sat quietly in his vehicle for a moment, honestly only feeling a bit of whiplash.

Mick quickly exited the vehicle and made his way over to the safe side of the barrier.

Seconds later, he could hear the unmistakable noise of a high speed crash. Fairly close to him too. He crouched down and put his arms over his head instinctually even though he was still wearing his helmet. He didn’t know what had just happened.

You attempted to also swerve to avoid whatever Max was avoiding, but you had lost all control of the car, and vision of the racetrack in front of you. The rain was heavily falling and if only your visor had tiny little windshield wipers, maybe the entire thing could’ve been steered cleared from originally. Seriously struggling to keep your car on the ground, something must’ve happened between the time you tried to steer into the infamous turn, and when you tried to steer away from the barrier.

You couldn’t see or feel anything, but the car flipping at least twice while you were still in it. The G-Force was so great you could feel yourself almost immediately passing out from it. Then you had hit something else besides the barrier… Something like a car.

“Can we know your status? Can you talk to us?” Your race engineer had repeated your name, trying to get your attention. You couldn’t figure out where you were or even what to say as you felt an overwhelming dizziness take over you.

“Okay, red flag. There’s been a crash. Red flag. Red flag everybody, please return to the pit lane for now.”

The audience could overhear every single driver’s engineer tell them the same thing. All the drivers wanted to know was who crashed. As the individual drivers began to return to the pit lane, there were several of them that had to drive past you to get there. Soon, silence and quiet so thick and looming fell over the entire racetrack. Even the grandstands were silent.

Mick finally stood up from where he was crouched, also attempting to make sense of what happened. He knew he would get fined if he went back onto the track, but truly the person who could’ve possibly crashed that soon after him… That wasn’t Max… Because he saw Max drive past him after he crashed into the barrier… Would have been…

Faster than he had ever ran before, he sprinted to where your car was hanging sideways and partly upside on the barrier. He didn’t care about any fines or penalties as he hastily scanned the cockpit of your car for any signs of injury. Motionless, you slightly hung with your helmet weighing your head down. He knew he shouldn’t touch you, or move you. He wasn’t a professional and he didn’t want to hurt you any further… But his heart seemed to break into billions of pieces when he saw you there as lifeless as you were. He removed his helmet, to try and get a better look at your status.

The rain was pouring harder, but Mick remained unmoved as he waited for emergency service to get to you. He was soaking wet, and probably very cold… But he didn’t notice. And what seemed like in no time at all, they finally arrived and started to assess the situation and the best way to get you out of your very damaged car. Mick stood idly by, doing his best to not get in their way. He knew for a fact he’d be riding with you to whatever hospital they were going to take you to, but the anticipating and the painstaking slow process of trying to rescue you was making him feel anxious and afraid.

“It looks like she broke her leg, maybe her arm too”

“Her helmet is a bit cracked on this side”

“Is she breathing?”

“Okay, on three, the two of you are going to release her belt, and then we will catch her”

“Is the gurney ready?”

“One… Two…”

“Three.”

The emergency service successfully lowered your body from where it had been hanging ever so slightly. Mick immediately was at your side as they put your unconscious body on the gurney. Mick had asked someone if he should remove your helmet, just in case it was obstructing your breathing, but they insisted that they would do that at the hospital. Mick could only trust them now. Climbing into the back of the ambulance with you, Mick scooted as closely as he they would allow him to while they hooked you up to the various monitors. Again, commotion started and Mick was demanded to move over so they could begin chest compressions.

Mick could hear the way your ribs broke underneath the weight of the man trying to save your life.

It was a sound he never wanted to hear again.

In record time, the ambulance reached the hospital, the man still doing compressions. The back doors flew open and the emergency room staff arrived at either side of you to begin triage.

“Sir, you’re going to have to wait in the lobby”

“Sir, you can’t come back here”

“Sir, we are going to do everything we can, but you need to give us room and head to the lobby”

“Sir, we will call security-“

Mick reluctantly conceded as he huffed out of the emergency room, only to catch your feet behind wheeled into some room. In a state of total shock and disbelief, he headed to the emergency room and approached the front desk.

“Hi… Hello… Emmmm… My friend was just admitted with serious injuries to your emergency room… Will there be any way I could receive… Emm… Updates?” Mick nervously tapped on the front desk, his race suit dripping water onto the floor. His hair had finally stopped dripping too as he waited for an answer. He could hum in anticipation.

“Are you related to this person?” The receptionist gave a polite smile.

“Emmmm, no. Not technically, but I am really all she has…” Mick pleaded with his big blue eyes to the receptionist, trying his best not to give up and cry in a ball on the floor.

“I’m sorry, sir. Unless you are family or her husband, then we really won’t be able to share information with you. But please, take a seat and we will do our best for her.” The receptionist motioned to the lobby behind Mick. It had a few people in it, which made Mick’s heart ache even more.

The driver thanked her and took a seat in the far corner. Sitting down, he took a deep breath and exhaled. He cursed to himself in German when he realized he didn’t even have his phone with him. Groaning, he put his head in his hands and covered his face with his now clammy palms. He truly didn’t know how much time had passed before he felt someone tapping on his shoulders. Mick rubbed his eyes and glanced up from where he sat.

“Hey… I uh, hope you don’t mind me being here. brought you your phone and like a change of clothes, and stuff… I thought you might want it.” The Australian accent permeated through the soundless lobby of the hospital. Daniel stood there with a slight smile. He was also still in his race suit.

“Oh god, thank you. I was just, uh, thinking about that.” Mick thanked the Aussie again, basically begging him to take a seat. To Mick’s surprise though, many more drivers, Toto and your race engineer, began to file into the lobby.

Mick stood to his feet and greeted everyone that had arrived with whispers of gratitude. He wished you knew and that he could tell you just how many people care about you. The drivers talked amongst themselves trying to recall what led up to that moment. Mick himself tried to get some answers. But to no avail, there wasn’t a solution to everyone’s current problem. The automatic doors opened once again and as if it were shot in slow motion, every single person’s head turned to the newest person joining the group of concerned drivers.

There were looks of worry, and some of disbelief exchanged throughout the lobby as everyone stayed still as they waited with bated breaths. Sure enough, Mick walked over to the man and pulled him in for a hug.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… I’m… Fuck, I’m so sorry, mate….” Max Verstappen was in the embrace of not only his fellow grid-mate, but his lifelong friend. The Dutch driver did his best to hide his tears of frustration at himself. Mick pulled away and gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.

“It could have happened to any of us, it is not your fault, I promise you.”

The other drivers and team members seemed to relax after the interaction between the German and Dutch driver. About an hour maybe two later, Mick said more goodbyes and more thank you’s to the people who came by, but needed to leave to finish up their own reports and debriefings of the now canceled race. Daniel stayed behind to keep Mick company. As close as Daniel was with you, he couldn’t imagine how this was affecting your best friend… Or rather, your soulmate. Daniel in true form, cracked some jokes here and there trying to ease the tension. And Mick did his best to reciprocate in kind.

Four hours later, Daniel was fast asleep as he had head leaned up against the hospital wall and his arms folded over his chest. Mick tried to get some shut eye as well, but at any moment he could have news about you. The German driver once more heard the automatic doors open and now to his astonishment, an all too familiar face entered.

“Lewis? Wha-What are you doing here?” Mick brought Lewis in for a tight hug.

“I saw the crash and heard the news, I was a bit far, but I drove as fast as I legally could to get here.” Mick remained silent. “I’m so sorry, Mate. That… It really should’ve been me.”

“For Schumacher?” The nurse spoke aloud as she held her clipboard tightly to her chest, looking around the room for anyone that might respond.

Lewis and Daniel traded extremely confused looks, while Mick just stood there awkwardly, trying to process if he heard the nurse correctly. Again, she repeated herself.

“Schumacher…?” Daniel half whispered/mouthed and half said aloud with a chuckle. The nurse just nodded. Daniel ended up having to elbow Mick to get him to snap out of it.

“Right, oh so sorry. I am Mick. Schumacher. Mick Schumacher!”

Even if the boy had been trained by PR his entire life, it definitely did not show now as he timidly stepped towards the nurse.

“Lovely. Please come with me, Mr. Schumacher.”

Before Mick followed the nurse, he jogged back to Daniel and whispered something in his ear that was inaudible to the Brit.

“Don’t let her dad anywhere near this hospital.” Daniel just nodded in response, going over all the ways he was going to prevent that from happening while Mick was busy. Daniel frankly, would rather eat snails before he let your dad near you.

Mick followed the nurse to some room of the hospital. You weren’t in it, so Mick didn’t quite care for it.

“Hello, my name is Carly and I am one of the nurses here. We see you are here for…” Carly searched the clipboard as fast as she could for your name. Saying it out loud making sure she got it right, she put the clipboard down. “She sustained many injuries during her crash, all of which the doctor on call will go over with you very shortly. I am just here to get you to sign a few papers.”

“What do I have to sign? I will be paying for every medical bill she has, that is not an issue.” Mick stated as a matter of fact while she put the pen down in front of him.

“That’s good to hear, but this is just more of a legal thing. We need your signature on these three papers indicating that you were made aware, consented to, and further agreed that you are now her official medical proxy.”

“Me? But we are not married or anything.” If he wasn’t confused before, he sure as hell is now.

“Right, well you don’t have to be married to be named someone’s medical proxy if they named you legally in the case of not being able to make proper medical decisions of their own volition.” The blond haired boy listened intently as she continued. “Legally, she has named you her medical proxy for all decisions relating to her care, and if needed end of life care.”

Mick continued to ask questions, but of course he signed what needed to be signed. The nurse thanked him for his time and instructed him to wait for the doctor to arrive shortly. Mick pulled out his phone and replied to a few people before he heard the door open again.

“Hi, Mr. Schumacher, I’m Doctor Collins and I am the on call ER doctor. This is the on call ER surgeon, Doctor Wyatt.” The two doctors shook hands and took their seats across from the troubled boy. Mick’s anxiety once again began to rise.

“We want to be as honest with you as possible, because if it were our loved one we wouldn’t someone beating around the bush.” Doctor Collins cleared his throat and took out some x-rays, while Mick only could nod in response, frozen in fear. “She sustained a broken leg in four places, her arm in two, and some broken ribs too. She also has a bruised spine.”

“I was able to put some rods in her leg to stabilize it while it heals, her arm in a cast , and as for broken ribs and a bruised spine, there’s not much to do about those except for pain management.”

All the medical jargon was causing Mick’s head to spin in circles as he tried to catch up to them. They went over your extensive injuries and did their best to be as docile, but straightforward as promised.

“We saw that her helmet was cracked when she came in, but until she wakes up, we won’t know if she has brain damage. Her CT and MRI both came back clean as of now.” Doctor Collins reiterated with the smallest sliver of hope tinged in his voice.

“All in all, we believe she will make a full recovery…” Doctor Wyatt began. Mick leaned forward in anticipation. “We did have to put her in a medically induced coma for now. The trauma to her body and the fact that crashed at such a high speed, is cause enough for it. And while it will help her leg and ribs heal… We unfortunately, wont know the full extent until she wakes.”

“How long will she have to be in that coma for, though?” After several minutes of receiving and attempting to retain the information being thrown at him, Mick finally spoke up, his voice small and scared.

“We’re unsure of that, really. It could be a few days, or a few weeks. The good news is that she does still have brain function. She does respond to stimuli, so the coma is really for her internal healing.”

Mick and the two doctors traded more information, finally allowing Mick to go and see you. They were exactly as you said you would be, your leg propped up with absolutely ghastly rods sticking out of it. Your arm was elevated with a pillow as it lay snuggly in its blue cast. You were attached to a ventilator, your eyes closed. Even so, you looked so peaceful, more peaceful than Mick had ever seen you. Mick tiptoed into the room, pulling a chair beside the left side of you. His eyes couldn’t help but tear up at the sight. They moved up and down your again, broken body as he shuddered with sadness and fear. Your body was never meant to look like this… It was the most beautiful thing Mick had ever seen, and yet here you were… You were still beautiful, by god were you, but you didn’t deserve any of this.

“The doctors said that you might be able to hear me… Even though you are… Sleeping,” Mick wiped the tears from his cheeks. He sniffled trying to keep his composure. You were all he had. “I just wanted to tell you that you will never be alone while you are here. I do not care if I end up having such bad body odor, I am not leaving!” Mick laughed to himself knowing that someone was going to eventually make him leave and shower.

“Oh, Smidge… Smidge, what have we done?” Mick’s voice went just above a whisper. “I keep saying I am going to protect you, but I never have been able to… But if you can hear me… Just know that… Just know that I am going to be here for you.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

A week went by and true to his word, Mick only would go to his hotel room to shower and change clothes. You had many visitors, too. Mick’s mother and his sister often came by when it was time for Mick to rest. The other members of the current grid had sent you numerous bouquets of flowers, with Daniel and Lewis visiting you when they could. Mick had also announced that until you were better, he wouldn’t be driving and that there was an entirely new team for Mercedes. They showed great potential and everyone was thrilled to see what they could do.

Mick was startled awake by someone knocking on the door. Mick did a quick stretch and went to the door. To his delight, someone very special stood there with a bouquet of giant sunflowers.

“Uncle Sebastian! What on earth are you doing here?” Mick brought him into a close embrace, holding him closely for several seconds. Gesturing for him to come into your room, Mick thanked him for the flowers and put them aside.

“I guess flowers weren’t the most original idea.” Sebastian Vettel, four time world champion, smiled widely at the wide variety of bouquets that crowded one corner of your hospital room.

“Oh, please, you know she loves flowers and that sunflowers are her favorite. See, there are no other sunflowers here.” Mick put the sunflowers down and turned to face his closest family friend. Pulling out another chair for him, they both sat beside you. “So what are you doing here?”

“I’m here to see her and maybe spend some time with her. And of course, to check on you.” Sebastian did his best to keep his expression neutral as he looked at your healing, but still wounded body.

“Did my mother send you?” Mick was only half joking, because his entire other half already knew the answer.

“Would you be surprised if I said yes?” Sebastian and Mick spoke for another handful of minutes, catching up and making sure each of their family’s were doing well.

“So what are you really doing here, Seb?” Mick finally felt brave enough to ask. Sebastian just smiled again, looking over at his friend.

“I’m here to take over for a few days. You need to get sleep that’s not in a hospital cot, and you need to eat something that’s not hospital food.” Deep down inside Mick knew this was a losing battle. “I watched her grow up, you know? I want nothing more than to sit with her and watch her heal now.”

With some hopeless arguing, Mick started to gather his things.

“Seb, do you think I could… Just have a few seconds with her? I just want to tell her that I will not be here for a few days.”

Sebastian pulled out his phone and decided to call his wife back home while Mick said goodbye. Mick made his way over to your bedside once again, and grabbed your hand.

“Schätzen… It seems as though I’m being forced out for a few days,” Mick let out a chuckle. “But I am just a phone call away, and even better - Uncle Seb is going to be here! I remember how much you love him… So, that will be fine…” The youngest Schumacher was finding it exceedingly difficult to leave you.

What if you woke up and he wasn’t here? What if you didn’t wake up and he wasn’t here? His mind was plagued with thought after thought as he mustered up enough courage to say goodbye. Placing a longing kiss on your temple, he exited the hospital room.

“Call me if there are any changes, even if they are small.” Sebastian pulled his friend into a hug and reassured him again. Mick took one last look at you before heading down the long corridor.

Sebastian headed back into your room, getting comfortable in the chair beside you. He hummed to himself as he relaxed the best that he could. Maybe that’s where Mick picked it up from… Sebastian grabbed his backpack off of the ground and rummaged through it for a few minutes. Finally, he pulled out The Fellowship of The Ring which was one of your favorite books. Sebastian debated reading to you in German, but he decided against it because trying to translate J. R. R. Tolkien was far too much effort than he wanted to put in this evening. He just hoped and prayed that Mick could get some much deserved rest.

“When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Three days had passed and Mick was due back any minute now. Sebastian truly loved the time he got to spend to you as he read your favorite books, and got to recall some of the fondest racing memories he had. He hadn’t told you some of the stories in a very long time, and some not at all before then. You always saw him as someone you could look up to, and the fangirl in you wouldn’t believe that four time world champion was reading The Lord of The Rings to you of all people.

Mick Schumacher walked up to the room door, knocking politely as to not to startle Sebastian. Mick pressed on at the welcome of Sebastian voice. Your bruising was much better, and even though you were still comatose, Mick could tell just by looking at you that you were in fact healing quite nicely.

“She was wonderful company. She quizzed me on the entire F1 Grid once again.” Sebastian grinned and winked as he scooped up his belongings.

“Again, huh? You already beat everyone in Grill The Grid with that!” Mick teased elbowing his friend in the side.

Soon, the two friends exchanged goodbyes and Mick once again left alone with you. He sat in his normal spot, recounting his days “off” to you. There was still media coverage about your crash, but he managed to make sure that your privacy was respected and that no one outside himself and the hospital staff knew of your condition. He was still protecting you even when you couldn’t protect yourself.

Another two days had passed, and Mick was down in the cafeteria looking for some lunch. It was only until he was making his way to the elevators and back to your room, when his name was being called over the intercom. The entire hospital was looking for him, which meant only one of two things:

Either you were dead.

Or you were finally awake.

There was a steady beeping that you could notice, yet do nothing about. Your body felt absolutely frozen where you lay. And truth be told, you had little to no memory of how you got to this spot. Your eyes felt crusted with over tiredness and too much sleep. Your body for some reason too, felt like it had just been stampeded by a herd of antelopes - paralyzed by the fear of your autonomy being stripped from you. You had to know though where you were and you were going to do anything you could in order to force your eyelids open to see the world around you.

Ever so slowly you began (or attempted to at least) to relay messages to your brain to try and open your eyes. You could feel something irritating your throat, taking up all space in there for air and for swallowing whatever saliva you could possibly muster. This did not feel good. As your vision came finally into play, you were more confused than you were before you decided to end your stream of unconsciousness.

You were in a hospital room.

And you were pretty sure you were hooked up to a ventilator as well, considering the low and unwavering noise that they make ringing in your ears. You could recognize that sound anywhere. It was one of the last things you heard before your mother passed away… And how ironic would it be if it were the last thing you heard, too.

You began to viciously cough as your body awoke from its seemingly comatose existence. Your own body was rejecting whatever tube or mechanism was down your throat. You just wanted it out, and over with.

Get it out. Get it out. You repeated in your head, hoping someone would hear your thoughts. The previous steady beeping of the heart and vitals monitor began to pick up as you continued to panic. It was as if your body was on fire, but as much as you doused yourself with water, it persisted and began to seep into your skin. You couldn’t escape.

A few seconds later, you could hear someone yelling, but your auditory system had not caught up to whatever conundrum you had found yourself in currently. Your vision was still blurry, though you had been awake for what seemed like minutes. A cacophony of shouting and other words you didn’t understand surrounded you as your eyes darted from blurry figure to blurry figure. You tried your hardest to focus your vision and your breathing, but something inherently was stopping you.

“Push the morphine, we need to get her relaxed while we extubate her”

“Careful not to hurt her neck, we won’t know the stages of her injuries until we can talk to her”

“Okay, can you hear me? My name is Nurse Elsie, I’m going to be removing the tube in your throat”

“Just keep your eyes on me, I know it’s scary”

“Tube’s out, let’s get her propped up and her vitals rechecked”

“We’re going to call your friend in here now, too”

And just as quickly as you had to watch and feel this hospital staff tend to you, was just as quickly as your mind began to play tricks on you.

Minutes later, you thought your shitty vision was really messing with you now. You remained silent as they entered the room, a small glimmer of hope echoed in the lines creasing beside their eyes. This had to be heaven, it just had to be. You had finally passed and soon your mom would be striding in, too.

Coming into clear view, the blond haired boy grabbed your hand and gave it a minimal squeeze. He didn’t want to hurt you any further. He looked older than the last you remember him to be. The lines on his forehead apparent that he’s aged some. He was also more muscular, his hair longer than the short almost buzzed hair you could last recall that he had.

But as he leaned in, you could see how bright his blue eyes really were under the fluorescent hospital lights. Suddenly, you felt a calming wave of relief wash over you. All that was left to do now was figure out how the fuck you got into this situation. Moving some stray hairs behind your ear, the boy you have loved your entire life parted his lips with a small smile - filling your now working ears with the sweetest voice you’ve ever known.

“Smidge?”

You could hardly believe your eyes.

“Ja (Yes.)”

Mick’s smile just grew wider and wider as he heard your voice for the first time in almost two weeks. The nurses continued to check your vitals and did their best to work around a very thrilled Mick. You were frightened though, knowing that you were in a hospital but had no recollection of how you got there. Mick wasn’t able to sit beside you just yet, but as he hung back his eyes never moved from yours. After the nurses were all done checking your throat and your leg that still had the rods in it, a very official looking doctor walked in soon thereafter.

“Hello, it’s good to see you awake. My name is Doctor Reynolds, and I’ve been watching you and your progress for the last two weeks.” You remained staring at Mick for any type of advice. “I’m just going to ask you a few questions, just to kind of gauge where you are. Is that alright?” Your eyes went from person to person as you looked towards Mick for the go ahead. Mick simply gestured slightly and nodded. And you followed suit.

“Great, can you tell us your name?”

You did your best to talk, but your throat was killing you. You took your time as you very weakly pronounced it.

“Do you know where you are?”

“Im Krankenhaus, glaube ich (In the hospital, I think).”

Mick’s ears perked and his attention turned fully. You hardly ever spoke German to anyone else, but Mick. You were always afraid of making a fool out of yourself with such a seemingly difficult language. The doctor’s eyebrows furrowed while he wrote something down.

“Right, okay. Do you remember how you got here?”

“Ich kann mich nur an bestimmte Dinge erinnern (I can only remember certain things).”

The doctor sighed as he turned to face Mick. Trying to keep it as hushed as possible, the doctor leaned in closer.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know that much German. Do you think you could translate for me?”

“Of course… But why is she speaking German?”

“It’s hard to say, but maybe this is just her brain’s way of comforting her. She seems to know you, and seems to know that you know German. I think she’s trying to figure out a way to come back to earth, in a way.”

The pair spoke briefly some more as you waited for the doctor to return. You looked around the room and saw what had to be twenty different bouquets, cards, and gifts on the other side of the room. The sunflowers particularly caught your eye as you sat and wondered who might’ve given them to you. Eventually, Mick pulled a chair and sat between you and the doctor. He grabbed your hand, and gave it a squeeze.

“Alright. Do you remember anything before two weeks ago?” Mick translated the doctor’s question in German for you. You shook your head. “And how do you know Mick?”

“Ich kenne ihn aus der Schule (I know him from school).”

“Do you remember anything about your car crash two weeks ago?” Mick was doing his best to catch up with the two of you.

“Das Letzte, woran ich mich erinnere... Ich wollte, dass Mick mit mir zum Abschlussball geht… Das konnte er aber nicht, wegen eines seiner Formel-3-Rennen (The last thing I remember was when I wanted Mick to go to the prom with me, but he couldn’t because one of his Formula 3 races).”

Mick’s face dropped, his expression deeply saddened. He remembers how badly he wanted to take you, but he was just starting his new season and couldn’t afford to miss it at the time. But again, that was years ago, and the fact that you couldn’t remember anything since…

“Okay, last question and then I’ll let you get some more rest…” The doctor took a deep breath and sighed. Looking between the both of you, the doctor knew this was going to be a long journey, and there was absolutely no way of telling if this was retrograde amnesia or something more serious.

“Was ist die Frage (What is the question)?”

The doctor looked at the both of you, your hand wrapped tightly in Mick’s. With a faint smile, the doctor made his way to the door before turning on his heel.

“Are you comfortable with going home with Mick so you can recover at his house or is there someone else we want us to call?”

You took pause as Mick translated the question for you. Truly, you almost felt offended at the question. But again, you really were in no position to argue since you had rods sticking out of your leg and your arm in a cast. And certainly, there was probably a certain legal/liability reason behind it on the doctor's end. Taking one last look around your hospital room, you finally answered. And unbeknownst to you, it was the answer Mick Schumacher had been longing for you to say since the first time he laid a very confused, but adoring eye on you all those years ago.

“Yes…" You began in English, your throat dry and your voice coarse. "Er hält mein Herz in seinen Händen. Es gibt keinen Ort, an dem ich lieber sein könnte, als bei ihm zu sein (He holds my heart in his hands. There is nowhere I rather be, than be with him).”

[trans-androgyne]

So Perisex / Endosex / Dyadic ( and the lesser known Juxtasex ) are all roughly synonymous for "not intersex", they just have different prefixes and some Intersex people prefer them over others for different reasons.

Some Intersex people prefer to use Perisex / Endosex / Juxtasex over Dyadic because they believe it might potentially reinforce the sex binary ( since Dyad means "a pair; a group of two things" ) but the general consensus is that you can use whichever term is most understood where / when you're discussing Intersex issues and Intersexism since they all translate to "not Intersex" at the end of the day.

I'm sure you've gotten recs before but some good Intersex-run Intersex-focused blogs are

intersex-support ( information mainly for intersex people but it can be helpful for perisex folk as well )

status-quo-hater ( the most active blog discussing intersexism, especially among trans / perisex altersex communities, that i personally know of )

ipso-faculty ( runs quite a few intersex community spaces and makes informative posts )

interarchive ( for looking up specific intersex identities or asking questions about terminology. will hunt down coining posts and sources if you're interested in that kind of research. )

interactyouth ( the official blog of the interACT organization, which has great resources on their site! )

queercripintersex ( similar to ipso-faculty! great blog )

intersex-questions ( similar to intersex-support! also great )

intersex-culture-is ( not very active anymore but a lot of very personal confessions and experiences that we've shared are on there, including a lot I wish the perisex trans / perisex altersex communities would acknowledge regarding things like TME/TMA, AGAB, and other dichotomies as well as medical abuse. )

This is so helpful, thank you so much!!!

[system-of-a-feather]

Trauma, Mindfulness and Meditation

IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER: This is NOT professional advice. This is NOT medical advice. This is SOLELY peer advice and pointers from my experience with CPTSD / DID and as a Buddhist; try this and engage with the topics mentioned here at your own careful discretion

I was thinking about it this morning, but the way a lot of professionals and practitioners handle the topic of Mindfulness and Meditation comes from the way that they are clinically taught and ways that are primarily geared for individuals who have not spent the majority of their life 1) dissociated and 2) holding a shit ton of trauma in the body; thus a lot of the time, approaching mindfulness and meditation can be - often as the common best first experience - an extremely challenging thing for individuals with C-PTSD and/or DID to engage with or out right triggering / flooding to engage with. Often the methods - in my experience - that therapist have tried relate either back to the 5-4-3 Method (which helps more acutely) or jumping right into sitting in silence, paying attention to your body / breath, and clearing your mind which often simply does not work for me. The former is very helpful and I do think its a great tool and thing to practice to work on grounding, but what I wanted to kind of discuss was the latter approach.

Mindfulness and Meditation are two things that are extremely prevalent in Buddhist practice and philosophy, and multiple therapy types have taken inspiration and notes from those particular practices and it isn't to say that those applications are wrong - they aren't and both of those are things that are suggested in some branches of Buddhism and by some practitioners - but as someone who is a practicing Buddhist, I think there is some details lost in translation that make mindfulness and meditation a lot more accessible to all.

Misconceptions of Terminology

I find the words "meditation" and "mindfulness" thrown around a lot, but often times, I find a lot of people have a slightly warped / off understanding of it.

In both Buddhist perspective AND clinical perspective, Mindfulness is simply being aware of the present. In a lot of mental health spaces, mindfulness can be added onto and emphasized in specific areas - such as emotional / body mindfulness and similar - but at the end of the day, mindfulness is the simple concept of being aware of the current present moment right now.

Meditation, however, is the concept I find most people have an extremely limited understanding of and concept of in western spaces - including professional spaces. Often, when people talk about meditation in western spaces, people assume that it is sitting down in a cross legged position, hands resting connected to the side, and breathing as you empty your head of all thoughts and - in some practices - that is true, but meditation is far more than that.

Meditation, in itself, is an art form and an active and intentional action, a focus on deeply engaging and observing the action and the state of being that you are in the present moment.

Most importantly, meditation is NOT about emptying your mind of all thoughts and that is often a pitfall ALL people seem to get stuck in. If you try to not think, you will be thinking about not thinking. Your brain will always have thoughts going around, and thats okay and normal! Meditation is about focusing on the present and engaging in active awareness and letting all the other thoughts simply pass by. It's about looking THROUGH the thoughts to observe the now.

The reason meditation is often understood to be the stereotypical sitting position is because of media, Orientalism, and the fact that its a much easier to understand concept for people who are unfamiliar with it to learn and emulate. In a Buddhist perspective, that form of meditation is the act of intentional sitting and/or intentional breathing. You are practicing being fully engaged in the simple act of just sitting or just breathing which is a fundamental step to the end goal of the practice of Just Being and often, for people who are not chronically dissociated, it is a really good starting point.

In my experience, however, as a dissociative person who has been disconnected from my body and survived by endless moving and endless hypervigilance, the skill of just sitting and just breathing were WAY too high of a bar for my current capabilities; thus whenever I tried to do it, I would get uncomfortable and my brain would immediately reject it no matter how much I intentionally tried. So I wanted to provide some "steps" up to that point coming from the perspective of a Buddhist who has / had DID.

Meditation is More than Sitting and Breathing

I honestly think if anything of this post is too long wound or anything, I do strongly recommend just listening to Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche talk about awareness and meditation, because honestly he handles the intricacies better than I do.

In my practice, the first and most important mini-step in learning mindfulness and meditation as a skill, is to first practice the intention to practice it in a manner that is conducive to skill building.

With that in mind, the first goal / skill to master is a rather simple one. Practice going outside with little to no distractions (don't bring electronics or if you do, keep it off and don't use them; limit the fidgets, limit artificial / man made stimuli and distractions, etc) and just find a place to stand, sit, walk. Do this maybe two minutes every other day. Practice at that time point until it becomes easy or, even better, you find yourself naturally wanting to do longer periods.

Finding time, willpower, and the intent to take time out of your day to day to build the skills of Just Being is - in itself - a very difficult task for some, so be kind to yourself. It's hard choose to step back and slow down in modern society, and even harder to apply it

The goal of this step is to just built the habit and awareness of your intent to practice and your interest in building this skill as that habit / intuitive awareness of your intent to practice will help with the second step.

The second step, one that can be done while you are practicing the first if you are comfortable, is to build the skill of observing and intentionally choosing to being aware of things.

This is a skill you don't actually necessarily have to go outside to do, but I find the best practice of this skill is done in combination with the first one. To practice this skill, you have to just simply pause your day to day life every so often and simply *look* at something. This sounds easy, but is deceivingly often hard to do when you start. With that in mind, there are two ways I recommend practicing this depending on how it works for you.

The first way it to practice this DURING the dedicated time you have set aside for building the skill of intentional practice. If you are outside, just choose to look at something, observe it in detail. Try to keep the thing in the forefront of your mind for an extended period of time. What does it look like? How does it move? What things are interacting with it? Even if its an inanimate object, what does it feel? What does it mean? Where does it exist in the world and in life? Just let your thoughts about that object and what you see flow wherever it goes, but try to keep that object as the center of your focus for some time. Do it again with another thing, perhaps observe the existence of two things in relation to each other. Just deeply look and focus on something you see.

I personally love to look at the color green or the movement of life / living beings, but in less abstract concepts of observation; you can just observe trees, leaves, wind, birds, bugs, people, rocks, water, etc. Whatever seems nice, just observe it in depth. If your thoughts trail off from the object, that's okay! Just gently guide your focus back to the object, and return to your observations. Look at things like its the first time you've ever seen it, like you were an alien just stopped onto the face of the earth and this thing in front of you is the most mysterious thing you've ever seen.

The second way, and the most practically applicable way to build this skill is to - throughout your day and day - intentionally be aware of an object when you were otherwise just going about your day to day. That sounds easy, but the challenge is that you have to make yourself think of something when you are otherwise not thinking about it. That's why its helpful in the first step to let the intent of practice become something that floats in your mind. If you are going about your day to day, and you catch the thought passing about this post, mindfulness, meditation, practicing your skill, you can grab that floating thought as a reminder to just be aware of yourself and your action.

Right now, pause reading, look around, and find something around you. Observe it, focus on it, think about it for a bit, acknowledge its existence in relation to everything, acknowledge its state of being, what its doing, what it's purpose. Deeply and intentionally acknowledge that it is there. What's interesting about it?

Right now, I have a white plastic bin near me. I actually usually forget that it's there because I'm accustomed to it always being there that I only really notice or pay attention to it when I want to use it, but it is there. It has my pencils and pens and markers and sticky notes. I've had it actually for years and its always been there, but today I actually am looking at it, and its actually a bit lopsided as it stands because it was placed under a notebook that I actually don't remember what it has written in because I have genuinely forgotten that notebook existed. Both the plastic bin and the book are there, I had forgotten they were there and I stopped being aware of them, but they are there. I don't think I need to do anything about them being there, but maybe I should see what the notebook was used for. Maybe I should put it in another place.

With those TWO skills, you can probably fill years of practice. All of that, by the way, is considered meditation, both halves independently or in tandem, is meditation. The point of both of those practices, is the overall combined skill of actively choosing to pause the autopilot flow of life / stress and to practice being present in the moment, the most fundamental core of both mindfulness and meditation.

Overtime with practice, being able to pause your thoughts, your experience, your feelings, and to take a momentary step back and just observe yourself, your internal experience, and your external experience becomes easier; sitting and doing nothing but sitting becomes easier; breathing and doing nothing but breathing becomes easier and - the most valuable thing for me - the ability to exist with yourself and enjoy just being, becomes easier.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello! I had a lore question about Twisted Wonderland and after reading through your blog, I figured you'd be the best person to ask! ^-^ My game keeps glitching, so I may have missed any info on this. But do we have any information on witches and sea witches (Assuming they exist in Twisted Wonderland because of Ursula.) in the game? I heard Epel's grandmother is a witch, but I don't know if anything else about witches are mentioned. And if so, how are witches viewed in Twisted Wonderland?

I don’t believe there’s a distinction between male and female mages (which is what I think you’re talking about when you say “witch”?). There is not any significant lore which would indicate or imply that female mages are treated differently than male ones.

In the instance you mentioned with Epel describing his grandmother, I’m pretty certain he just says she “can use magic”. Riddle's mother is also referred to in a more generalized term ("magical healer/medical mage"). In most instances, the characters refer to people who can use magic as “mage” or “sorcerer” rather than using traditionally gendered terms. For example, Crowley is the "headmage", not the "headwizard". The terms “witch” and “wizard” are actually scarcely used. This is also true of the Japanese version of the game, where 魔法士 (mage) or 魔術師 (sorcerer) is used rather than 魔法使い (wizard) or 魔女 (witch).

The one big exception to the witch/wizard rule I can think of is when they refer to the Sea Witch/海の魔女, as that is Ursula’s title among the Great Seven. There are no “sea witches” as a group, Ursula is THE Sea Witch (singular, no others). If we want to be really technical here, Maleficent is also called the Thorn Witch/茨の魔女 in Japanese, but her title was localized in EN as Thorn Fairy. Again, like Ursula, this is her title and she is the only Thorn Witch around; it’s not a group or a classification.

In any case, words like “witch” and “wizard” are no longer used in modern Twisted Wonderland. Why is that? Well, according to Lilia in book 6, part 18, "witches" and "wizards" is outdated terminology from a time when it seems that magic users in general were feared:

If witch/wizard is used at all, it most likely comes from the fandom/fans speaking about characters or from fan translations and not from the actual game itself, whether EN or JP. Within the world of Twisted Wonderland, the terms "witch" and "wizard" are no longer considered modern (think of it as like outdated slang or how no one nowadays uses “gigglemug”). It may even be considered inappropriate (like the terms are now considered offensive), but I don't think that's the case (otherwise, why would venerated woman like Ursula and Maleficent still be called the "Sea Witch” and the “Thorn Witch”?).

Vocabulary evolves with time and culture, and isn't exactly the same between our world (where witch/wizard/mage etc. can be used as synonyms interchangeably) and TWST's world.

[demi-shoggoth]

2023 Reading Log pt 7

31. Rare Trees by Sara Oldfield and Malin Rivers. OK, so apparently that whole “less books about plants” pledge didn’t take. In my defense, this book is really pretty. It’s also very good; it’s about efforts for tree conservation around the world, and is published both as a public report and a fundraiser for the Global Trees Campaign. If you want to know what boots on the ground conservation work is like, its successes and its challenges, this is an excellent resource. And, like I said, the photographs are very pretty. The first chapter is about the overall history of forest conservation, and then future chapters discuss trees categorized by uses and by phylogeny. Honestly, I kind of wish they had picked one or the other of those organization schemes instead of splitting the difference, but that’s a quibble.

32. How To Survive History by Cody Cassidy. I’ve recommended some of Cassidy’s other books before (Who Ate the First Oyster? and …And Then You’re Dead), so I’m happy to report that this is his best yet. The theme is, what does science and the historical record tell us about how you could survive various catastrophes, or just hostile environments? I knew I was going to like it from the first chapter, How to Outrun a T. rex, which treats dinosaurs as just animals rather than kill crazy monsters. It also does an excellent job of summarizing Very Bad Times like the Donner Party expedition and the Magellan circumnavigation, and I learned a lot (like about how Magellan’s slave Enrique was the first person to actually circle the globe, having been captured by slavers in the Philippines and then being brought back around… and getting his revenge when he wasn’t freed as Magellan’s will proclaimed).

33. Snakes in American Culture: A Hisstory by Jesse C. Donahue and Conor Shaw-Draves. I didn’t expect this to be a searing indictment of the American medical profession of the early 20th century when I started the book, so that was a pleasant surprise. The first half or so is the story of how (white, upper class, male) “experts” denied that venomous snakes in the USA were really all that dangerous, while people (mostly poor, ethnic minorities and children) were dying in large numbers. Antivenin was only developed in this country as a side effect of the United Fruit Company’s desire to keep laborers from dying in the fields from snakebite, and the development of said antivenin was mostly done by volunteer labor and then marked up for tremendous profit by pharmaceutical companies! The back half, unfortunately, isn’t nearly as good, although it doesn’t go full conversion with its fairly sympathetic portrayal of snake handlers (which is something I’ve run into before). My biggest complaint is that this was written by humanities professors, and they needed a trained biologist to go over their draft. For example, they can’t format scientific names correctly, and don’t know enough about the history of science to understand that “virus” and “venom” were used interchangeably by some authors in the 19th century.

34. Marvelous Microfossils by Patrick De Wever, translated by Alison Duncan. Worst book I’ve finished this year? I think so. This book was originally written in French, but I can’t blame its problems on translation issues. It’s about plankton and other microfossils, what they can tell us about geology and how they’ve influenced art and culture. To start with the good, the book is gorgeous; each page is well organized, and it has lots of electron micrographs, photos and engravings by Ernst Haeckel. And that’s the first problem. The author seems to be a modern devotee of Haeckel’s science and philosophy, when both were full of garbage (Haeckel is the “ontogeny recapitulated phylogeny” guy, and one of the codifiers of scientific racism). His use of terminology is stuck firmly in the 19th century, and he doesn’t seem to care about modern cladistic phylogeny at all. And he has lengthy quotes from architects and philosophers instead of, you know, modern scientists, including lines specifically about how “we understand all there is to know” about plankton from like 1910. So I get huge “reject modernity, embrace tradition” vibes from this author, and that makes my skin crawl.

35. Nicole Angemi’s Anatomy Book by Nicole Angemi. Another “searing indictment of the American medical system”, only this one is more modern. The book is a loosely A-Z collection of pathologies, with case histories and photos. So this one is super gross, just a head’s up. Why I say it’s a searing indictment is that about 1/3 of the case studies talk about how the patient was ignored by their doctors initially, and had to spend time seeking second opinions taking them seriously, and how a number of things that could have been fixed more easily turned into huge, life altering (or ending) problems. The book is written by a pathologist’s assistant, and the introduction/biography would make a good “see, you can follow your dreams and get a career that you love later in life” inspirational story. I’m keeping a copy of this for my classroom, because I have plenty of students who are interested in medicine but not necessarily medical school, and because teenagers love gross pictures. Seriously, some of the descriptions of cysts and tumors made even my stomach turn.

[hayatheauthor]

How To Write A Disabled Character: The Dos And Don’ts 

As an author, it’s important to ensure the content you create doesn’t accidentally offend or misrepresent a community, especially one you don’t belong to. This is why I made my previous post talking about how to write POC characters without seeming racist, and why I decided to write this blog post on how to write a disabled character. 

Before I jump into my writing tips, I would like to put out a disclaimer. Unlike my previous post, where I could speak from personal experience, I am not disabled and thus am not attempting to be a spokesperson for the community. However, I have previously written several disabled characters and decided to make a guide of sorts for authors like me. 

I would also like to mention that I did some research into acceptable terminology before writing this, using this website and others, however, I am always open to learning and correcting myself if and when I do make a mistake. 

Don’t Make Their Disability Their Personality 

This is possibly one of the most important things to keep in mind when writing with a disabled character. This is an issue when writing about any minority, really, but it is especially true for this community. A person’s disability doesn’t define them or their personality, and the whole introverted disabled person trope gets a little tiring. 

It’s sort of like how every gay man isn’t overly feminine. Yes, there are disabled people who can be sad and quiet and introverted, just like there are others who are loud and obnoxious and extroverted. 

When writing a disabled character, you need to incorporate their disability into their personality rather than making it their personality. A fun-loving protagonist with a hearing aid might slap fun stickers onto it, showcasing their personality. Maybe a person in a wheelchair loves to paint it a new colour every other month. 

These are just examples of ways you could introduce your character with their personality rather than their disability. She saw a peak of pink behind the protagonist’s ears, he watched as a neon green wheelchair sped towards him with a whooping boy seated on it. 

When creating your OC forms, take the time to actually consider how their personality impacts their relationships with their disability and how that impacts their relations with others. 

Know What You’re Writing About 

Do your research! I sincerely cannot stress how important it is for a writer, or any sort of creator, to take the time to research the medical conditions their characters are going through. The same writers who pour over several articles to figure out how much blood would their character realistically lose by a stab wound are often the ones who choose to overlook the complexities and finer details when it comes to a disabled character. 

The issue with this is the spread of misinformation it can cause amongst your readers. This especially applies to factors such as sign language, brail, etc. Think of it this way, if you are bothered enough to use Google translate for dialogues written in a language you don’t speak, then why can’t you do the same for unspoken languages? 

Whether your character has an intellectual, physical, sensory, or other disability, it’s important to take the time to thoroughly research the issues you are portraying. 

Here are some things to consider when writing a disabled character: 

Are there any side effects caused by this disability? If yes, how does this impact them on a daily basis? 

Is the disability curable or reversible? Do other people have access to solutions your character cannot afford? 

Does their disability, develop, change, etc. over time? 

Show Don’t Tell 

Rather than simply telling us about their disabilities, it’s important for you to them show your readers. I previously mentioned how you can do this by incorporating their personalities into your writing, but that is only one aspect writers should consider. 

It’s also important to treat your character as you would treat any other character. Many authors often write long winding descriptions of the things their character can see, hear, or feel. It’s important to do the same when writing with a disabled character as well. Especially if they have a sensory disability! 

Maybe your character can’t see but their lips curl up into a smile when they hear a soft swish of fabric by their side, because they know it means their sister bought that dress she was talking about. 

Recognising a character’s limitations also gives you an idea of how your character would experience the world and allows you to accurately translate that to your readers. 

Flesh Out Their Relationships 

Finally, it’s very important for writers to break away from the cliches when writing about disabled characters. It gets tiring reading about a disabled character who is pitied by everyone around them until someone special comes along and sees them for themselves. It is also important to recognise that a disabled character doesn’t necessarily have to only befriend other disabled characters. 

Your disabled characters can have friends, rivals, love interests, mentors, etc. without these relationships tying into their disability. Don’t restrict your character’s experiences simply because of their disability! A great example of a well-written disabled character would be Isaac played by George Robinson. 

Final Words

Writing about a community you don’t come from can be scary because you need to consider whether or not you’re accidentally offending or misrepresenting someone. This is why writers often stick to the communities they come from, which directly impacts the amount of representation for marginalised communities. 

However, I feel that the right amount of research and a willingness to learn is all you really need to be able to write about a community you don’t come from.

I hope this blog on how to write a disabled character: the dos and don’ts will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.  

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and marketing tools for authors every Monday and Thursday. 

Want to learn more about me and my writing journey? Visit my social media pages under the handle @hayatheauthor where I post content about my WIP The Traitor’s Throne and life as a teenage author. 

[shadowxamyweek]

Asking you about Shadow's Chaos Energy, boots and rings!!!

First off, I love you. Secondly, yesIcandothatabsolutelthankyouforasking.

This is *entirely* headcanon. There is no evidence for this. Prepare for an absolute ramble.

(I want to state here- I am not a medical professional. This is purely for fun. I'm blending basic medical science and electrical sciences with science fiction. This is fiction. I'm not claiming it's real, and I'm not even claiming to perfectly understand the science. This is for fun. It's fucking hedgehogs XD)

( tw // body horror, just in case.)

Chaos Energy- I think Chaos Energy works like energy in this world, specifically electric just because of how it's depicted, and follows similar theories. Where it deviates is, like, it's a fantasy world, right? And there is obvious mentions and uses of magic and other stuff. I think the Chaos Energy in Sonic's world is BOTH standard scientific energy AND magic, following both sets of rules simultaneously.

Specifically, both energy (electric or not) and, by (most) common conjectures and fantasy systems, magic, have a give and take. We have seen what happens when something/someone gets overwhelmed with chaos energy, and we have also seen what happens to the chaos emeralds themselves when they are overcharged/undercharged.

I mention this because I want to establish that Sonic's dumb fucking luck, Shadow's chaos energy, Amy's multi-faceted magic, and Silver's time travel- they all fall under the purview of Chaos Energy in its various forms with its various uses.

We have also seen machines run on Chaos Energy. Hell, we've seen Chaos Energy replicated in Chaos Drives. However, with it being largely described as 'unstable' or 'unpredictable,' it's a bit of a gamble to use.

So WHY do I care so much about this with Shadow?

THESE THINGS!

(before I continue, shout out to @autisticshadowthehedgehog, and also, go check out their awesome headcanon/theory which is WHERE I found this image, finally. I had been looking for images of these since Xenohog showed me and couldn't find them again.)

Just gonna quote @autisticshadowthehedgehog here since they put it most succinctly:

"A prototype of Shadow that is present in the cutscene of Black Doom and Gerald Robotnik finalizing Shadow’s creation in Shadow the Hedgehog (2005), it’s obscured from sight but it’s there along with other tubes with other prototype Shadows."

What this translates to me to mean is that Project Shadow, even AFTER Black Doom's genetic donation, still struggled.

There have been a multitude of studies surrounding how electricity and electrical pulses can impact cellular growth. There's a bit of a back-and-forth about how effective it is and *when* it's effective. There is a dedicated field of medicine specifically for this called Bioelectric medicine. Absolutely wild stuff.

If you like reading up on this sort of thing, here are some fun studies you can read about. X / X / X

Anyway, this is where I get funky with it.

I like to think that Gerald, after trying and failing to get Project Shadow to grow correctly and live, and in running out of time with GUN, BUILT an electrical infrastructure around which Shadow's body grew. Gerald BUILT Shadow's ability to control Chaos Energy into their body LITERALLY.

By doing so, he was able to directly control the electric impulses for cellular growth (to speed up/stabalize/fine tune the growth), and also give better and more-stable 'wiring,' for lack of a better descriptor, for the Chaos Energy to be utalized through.

However, because of the unstable nature of Chaos Energy, Gerald needed to employ... well, Sonic X calls them 'limiters' and Archie calls them 'inhibitors'. I don't remember if there is a term for them used in-game and I'm VERY much a 'game lore is the only lore I care about' sort of bastard so I'm going to be a bit nebulous here due to the lack of a concrete term. I'll do the best I can though. First, however let me break down some terminology.

Electricity limiter - thing that limits current flow Surge arrester- protects against voltage surges Surge limiter- limits the magnitude of voltage surges.

WOW! WHO WOULD NEED THAT, CONSIDERING THEY'RE BUILT TO HARNESS A VERY UNSTABLE/UNPREDICTABLE POWER SOURCE?????

So my thought is that ONLY Shadow can use THEIR inhibitors because they're literally BUILT FOR THEIR SYSTEM. Maybe it's a magnetic connection, or literally a little plug in/plug out action, but they are built for THEIR SYSTEM and THEIR SYSTEM ALONE. IT would also explain why they can take the ones on their wrist off OCCASIONALLY, but not the ones on their ANKLES, because they would absolutely combust with no ability to limit the amount of Chaos Energy coursing through their body. Like, I use the phrase 'pop a gasket' jokingly but I'm kinda not kidding when I say that about Shadow. Dude could just electrically (chaotically?) fry themselves.

(side not, with both electricity and magic, there are conductive metals, and gold is a highly conductive metal in both circles. Amy's gold bracelets would be for her to better tune into the Chaos Energy/Magic and Silver's could be to also harnes Chaos Energy to help with their telekinesis. Sonic doesn't wear/use/need any because he is, I say this all the time and I say this lovingly, that bitch with the blue hair and pronouns who just walks in and freeballs everything and WINS.)

EDIT: Totally forgot to talk about the boots can we talk about the boots I've been dying to talk about the boots all day!

So, two more bits I need to go over, which also kinda factor into the inhibitors and how they work. Gonna be citing Wikipedia.

Overcurrent- larger than intended/designed electrical current exists through the conductor.

Overvoltage- raising the voltage (electric pressure) beyond designed limit of the circuit or electrical element.

SIDE NOTE: Electrical elements can include but are not limited to: resisters, capacitors, and inductors.

And what happens if you fuck with an electrical system and overwhelm its capacity? You've seen warnings for it, I'm sure.

It's fire.

Well, really, it's heat. And sparks. And shit that will cause fire. You overwhelm an electric system, you run the risk of fire. You can burn the writing and cause permanent damage to the system, which may result in melting or outright open electrical-induced flame.

The inhibitors work to stop that but you don't want that to be your ONLY failsafe. That would be dumb. And it's not like you can build an electrical breaker into the bastard, so what do you do?

You give it an inconspicuous outlet. One that utilizes the energy in a way that is productive to the system.

LIKE HIS ROCKET BOOTS.

Shut up, gremlin.

Air shoes, were they to exist like they do in Sonic's universe, would have a mechanical component which would most likely be electrically powered for air intake and outtake, forcing air out at a rate fast enough to propel. However, in every depiction of Shadow's shoes, from the very beginning, there's some sort of energy being expulsed. if Shadow so chooses, they can HOVER. They don't have to move they can just HOVER.

Okay, you say, okay, but they use colored light trails to denote speed in the Sonic universe. Fine, sure, I'll entertain the idea that these are just air shoes, but then something needs to be powering them. A physical battery would be too unstable, especially with the fact that these are taking a pounding constantly. Artifical Chaos, though more stable than regular Chaos Energy, still has it's faults, and also, there is an energy supply ALREADY PRESENT. If Shadow is able to harness and utilize chaos energy, then it would make the most sense in my opinion to have the energy being used be just straight Chaos Energy, pulled directly from our favorite mall goth icon.

Shadow alone powers the shoes.

Again, like with the inhibitors, you can come up with fun ways that they could click into the circuitry system that is Shadow. I... like the idea of Shadow being more monsterous then they realize, which is revealed as time goes on, but one of my favorite concepts (one that I've seen actually fairly often) is that Shadow has the three-toed black-arms feet. It would explain the wide/high toebox of their shoes. But I'm gonna add onto that and go hey, hey, what if we made it more fucked up and there was literally a little hole in their heel, with a pin or plug being in the shoe, that Shadow's foot fits directly into and ONLY Shdaow's foot fits directly into like the most fucked up iteration of Cinderella you can imagine. Ey? Ey? How we feeling on that one?

So yeah, with this headcanon, Shadow's a funky-ass little critter, a little critter with a wire harness.

Cheers <3 Thank you, SO MUCH, for letting me ramble about this. It's not even a headcanon I think about THAT OFTEN but even so, I love it and I don't talk nearly enough about it as I want to.