#Might be the new meds tbh

[epic-and-kitty]

i really like my new style, but a part of my brain is telling me it doesn't really count as a style because I'm not actually drawing correctly. I don't draw out the pose or body along with the head, I just draw shoulders under the head and figure it out from there. I don't even bother making the hands look good.

Is it really art if I'm literally just shortcutting through everything?

[risingsunresistance]

wanted to work on my sketch today but i felt sooooo bad today. for a number of reasons, im sick (nothing contagious) and also i have worked TOO MANY DAMN DAYS IN A ROW !!! i work tomorrow too someone save me

i'd like to actually "finish" this drawing, idk if that means lineart or just cleaning it up a bit, so i dont wanna share it yet even tho it's nothing too special. i'll share this instead

[silanb]

You ever just so so so so so so tired?

[phagodyke]

weekend melancholy is starting to kick in >~<

[bi-buck-coded]

.

[fortunately-bi]

...... If I went on a hiatus for who knows how long again would y'all hate me....... 👉👈

[apathetic-revenant]

uh...hi?

[head pokes around corner]

so...

I've been back to scrolling around on tumblr for a bit now, and have been really wanting to get back to actually, y'know. being here. posting. not just sort of hanging here invisibly like a mournful ghost, observing but never interacting. that sort of thing. (revenants, after all, are supposed to be corporeal undead.)

but I really wanted to explain why I just kind of abruptly vanished in the first place. no one demanded this of me, but it felt like something I had to do. and then, in the typical way of self-imposed obstacles, it became a massive stumbling block. partly because of the nerves and emotions attached to it, sure, but mostly, tbh, because it was a Task. I recently (about 3 weeks ago now?) started seeing a new psychiatrist and got an adjustment to my ADHD meds which basically made my brain boot up again for the first time in way too long. this is great! but it means I am having to kind of slowly rehab my brain into getting used to doing Literally Anything again, one small step at a time. I am not being hyperbolic when I say I had to gradually build up my executive functioning for a while just to be able to write a tumblr post.

but fuck it! I really wanted to just do this already. so, while I'm sure I'll talk about all this in more detail later, for right now I'm gonna strip this down to the bare essentials just so I can get it done at all.

here's what happened:

in 2020 I had a sudden onset of extremely severe OCD.

no, not about the pandemic, actually. yeah I was anxious about the pandemic but it was a pretty normal level of anxiety for a global pandemic, honestly. my OCD took the form of scrupulosity--essentially, an obsessive worry about being a bad person.

tumblr is....not a GREAT place to be if you have a sudden obsessive fear of being a bad person.

now, to be clear: tumblr did not CAUSE my OCD, and leaving tumblr did not cure it. that's just not how OCD works. later on, I learned that atypical antipsychotics--one of which I had been prescribed around that time, for depression--have been known to cause OCD. is there any way to prove that that's what happened? probably not, at this point! so I've just been kind of sitting with that terrible knowledge for a while.

anyway. I would've had OCD anyway, but reading a regular stream of posts going "hey, here's a really terrible thing you might be doing! you might even be doing it without knowing it! you need to think really hard and be constantly vigilant all the time for any sign that you might be doing this thing!" was basically pouring gasoline on the fire.

I never made an active decision to leave tumblr--if I had I would've said something first. I just kind of thought "god, I can't do this right now" one day and didn't open the app, which turned into days and then weeks and then months, and still things weren't getting better.

it's hard to express exactly how harrowing that whole experience was. actually I just started thinking about it and realized I would never finish this post tonight if I tried to get into it just now. so I won't. let's just say: It Was Bad.

but, by an astronomical stroke of luck, I ended up getting referred to not just an OCD therapist, not just the only OCD therapist in the state who took Medicaid, but the only OCD therapist in the state who took Medicaid and also she was really good at her job. I genuinely think that woman saved my life.

OCD therapy is one of those "the only way out is through" kind of things. it's brutal and also quite surreal, but it has a high success rate and is very effective. OCD is not a thing that you can cure, per se, but it went from completely dominating every waking moment of my life to being something that I occasionally have to yell at in much the same way as when the cat starts knocking things off my desk at 3 in the morning.

but, the thing was, it took a year-and-a-bit before my therapist and I agreed that I had probably "graduated" as she put it. so, by the time I felt able to go back on tumblr without my brain catching on fire again, it had been so long that I didn't know how to do it. I felt like I'd pulled a major dick move by just dropping off without saying anything. I still thought about it (usually late at night, at Time To Think About Every Regret I've Ever Had O'Clock) but my brain very easily goes to a place of "well, no one would really notice or care that I was gone, and if they did they'd be mad at me for having left."

well. earlier this year I started on the road to getting past that idea. shoutout to @fordtato for helping with that, btw.

but it took me a while to work up the courage and then, as previously mentioned, even longer to work up the neurotransmitters.

I think I gotta wrap this up for now cause I don't have much concentration juice left. but, for what it's worth: I had a lot of emotions, coming back and seeing the names of people I used to talk to all the time. I don't know how you feel about me anymore, but I really missed yall. I would like to talk to you again.

[xr0tt3nxfl3shx]

👁💊My Medicine is underdeveloped and my Amygdala won't work.💉👁

Twomp[AU] fanfiction + art !! Pertains to the events in this post. [No beta we die.]

⚠️‼️TW: VOMITING / OVERDOSE / SUICIDAL IDEATION / UNREALITY / CORRUPT MENTAL HEALTH SYSTEM / GENERAL MENTAL ILLNESS THEMES‼️⚠️

A/N: i didnt wanna mention it tbh but just in case, ive been down the chemical consumption road 3 times, an i mention because i know the internet has opinions on mental illness in writing. But ive been there myself. All up close and personal like. so i think i can speak on it (dont castrate me)

POV: 👁Argos👁

I scratch at my skin in the dark of my room as if that'll hold in the tears from spilling over my burning red cheeks. The feeling of rage and overwhelming depression clash within me, and leave me to switch every few minutes between cursing the name of every therapist who ever told me that "I'm not even trying to get better" and crying over the idea that they might be right.

My heartbeat is so vigorous that it feels like at any moment the tendons will tear away and my heart will burst in my ribs. How could anyone say that to me? I seethe and hiss through my gritting teeth. Why can't I get better? I cry enough to fill an ocean and nearly drown in my tears.

I should be able to control all of this by now, I'm not a child. Yet, I can't stop thinking about putting the heads of those who hurt me on a platter. Or banging my head on my bedroom wall hard enough to dull the heartbreak. My eyes are running dry from all the tears, I've been at this for a while. My head is pounding from the adrenaline. All reasonable thoughts are drowned out, with intrusive and irrational ones taking the place of my internal voice of reason.

I can make it better, I can make this better. I just need to try a little harder! Just.. go a little further. These feelings, it's just a chemical imbalance right?

I'm running out of options, types of therapy, pills, at this point I might as well just get a lobotomy. I'm sure my therapist would like that.

There's still time to make this right. I don't have to end my life to end my suffering right?

I can prove them wrong. I will prove them wrong. It's just a chemical imbalance. I just need to fix it.

I rummage through the medicine cabinet above my bathroom sink, overlooking the blood crusting around the drain. There has to be something in here that can make my head stop pounding or my thoughts quiet down if not for just a little while. Maybe everything all at once? Yeah that should do!

Laid out in front of me on the cold tiled floor of my bathroom are various pill bottles. The amount of pills actually in them is varied, they like to switch my meds every other week it seems. I try to be hasty with this, pouring out a small handful of gel capsules into my hand. Each one smooth, glossy, and slightly cool to the touch.

You know, I've been here before, and typically there's some survival instinct in me, paralyzing my hands before I can do any damage. But all I can feel is anguish. And anger. And there's no more room for self preservation in me.

I take my first dose before I can come down from my emotion fueled adrenaline rush. Quickly now don't let the self preservation come back. I take my next dose of a new pill type, a tablet. It was a bad idea doing this dry but oh well!

Before I know it I'm slumped against my bathroom door, unable to continue my self medication on account of the mounds of pills I dry swallowed having begun triggering my gag reflex. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't anxious about this, but it had to be done. My therapist is always urging me to take steps in the right direction!

(Though admittedly he never mentioned which direction is the right one.)

I make it back to my bed, dragging my feet and leaning on the wall for support the whole way. It's not even five minutes in when I start to feel the effects. I probably should've eaten before taking my pills like the instructions say.

This is different though, I feel my connection to reality slip right through my jittery fingers. Like the shadows in my room are divulging their presence. Like they are reaching out their hands, ready to take hold of me, pull me in and make me one with unreality. An emptiness overcomes me, something I've truly never felt before. And it's the strangest thing, because simultaneously I've never felt more alive in my life.

Everything is really funny, I've never noticed how funny everything is up until now. Every little unorganized thought that pops up in my foggy, spacing-out head manages to get a strained laugh out of me.

Visual snow floods my peripheral, the colors of the world begin to become one with the static in my eyes.

Ah, I remembered what I was going to do in here. I need to call Mr. Plant. I need him to know that I'm going to get better, and how much I love him of course. Oh he'll never understand just how much I love him! I love him to death, haha! Literally.

I dial in the number. Moving has proven difficult, like trying to control a vehicle while tired and out of it, or in my case trying to control a vehicle through the most debilitating brain fog I've ever experienced. The disconnection from body and thought is almost calming.

The ringing of the phone is such a funny thing as well. I could lose myself in the methodical rhythm and loose vibrations running up my hands- oh look here he's answered!

"M‐r… plant! I ha-ve.. s o me thi.. ng to tell you."

I am fighting to get the words out. The weak sounds I manage to get out of my raspy throat come out in uneven tones with jarring stutters. Why is it so hard to speak?

"I took.. a lot o-f... my me-ds. Ha-ha!" He hangs up immediately.

Is he not happy for me? It wasn't long before I heard sirens closing in. Did he call the cops on me? That's no fair, no fair at all.

I've never been rolled into the back of an ambulance on a stretcher before but there's a first time for everything I suppose. It's too bad I'm too out of it to really experience it.

In the ambulance is when the first wave of nausea hits. I could barely even feel the EMT insert the IV or hear when they asked me questions.

———

The heart palpitations do their diligence distracting from the perforations left in my arm from the injections of various medications and the IV drip.

My respiration is just as irregular as my heart's chemical damaged rhythm. I feel like I'm drowning in this heavy air and it feels like the knots in my stomach have spread to my heart. This pain is so unbearable that I feel the need to crave it out of myself with a blade.

The world is doubling- no tripling, blurring, and mushing together all at once. I can feel the hum of the fluorescent hospital light buzz through my head. The scent of rubbing alcohol and sterilized equipment is evident throughout the cold medical facility.

By my own hands I've made my body a place unsuitable for living. I've "almost drugged myself to an early grave" as the hospital staff keep reminding me.

Speaking of body, I can no longer tell where I end and the wires of the EKG machine begin. Neuropathy has set in and nerve sensation has dulled for the most part, except in my stomach and heart where it hurts the most of course. But me and the machines they have me hooked up to might as well be one as long as they are taking the place of my dysfunctional body systems.

When they run the EKG scan, which they do about every half hour, they ask me to stay as still as I can, but it's hard to control the shaking when I don't know where it comes from in the first place. I'm by no means cold, or if I am I really can't feel it.

Have I mentioned the shaking? The tremors? I need to grow accustomed to the flavor of raw stomach acid soon, because that's all I've been throwing up anymore. It's all that's left.

The nausea begins to build all over again, like my stomach is writhing and contorting in my torso. I can feel the knots being tied. Over the next few minutes it builds and builds, I'd do anything to stop the encroaching bile now. The nausea completely overwhelms my senses right before another round of the most violent retching I've ever experienced. Accompanied by the most awful squelching and splattering sounds as it hits the rest of vomit already resting at the bottom of the bag.

I feel like I'm nearing being turned inside out everytime it happens. And I've filled yet another vomit bag. This isn't going to stop for days as the doctor told me. I doubt I'll get the luxury of unconsciousness.

The activated charcoal they gave me to drink is like this black sludge, "slow and steady now, don't drink so fast you throw it all up but not so slow that you succumb to the consequences of your own actions." Well maybe that's not what they really said but it's how it felt. I can tell the staff are judging me, I just know it! They think I deserve this.

At least the charcoal is cherry flavored.

My many eyes dart around the clean and pristine hospital room erratically, glancing off in every direction. I don't want anyone to look at me anymore. I can't stand the buzz of the lights and I can barely bring myself to move enough to blink. Or even move enough to breathe. I am much too dizzy and light-headed to even consider standing up. I'm so dizzy I could swear I'm phasing in and out of my body. The only thing keeping my consciousness bound to this body is the unending pain ancoring me in the reality of my situation.

It's growing increasingly unbearable.

Above all else I am losing my mind trying to figure out where I went wrong tonight. These chemicals were supposed to fix all these feelings. The pills were supposed to fix me. My psychiatrists and therapists all told me that I'm sick, disordered, and all I needed was to buy a few more medicines.

It must be my fault, it must be if hundreds of milligrams of mood stabilizers can't just make it better.

Tell me, anyone tell me, why I'm so useless that I can't even help myself?

Why am I so worthless that my medicine won't work on me?

I am almost entirely suspended in unreality. The prozac, olanzapine, mirtazapine, and everything other useless drug they gave me were meant to cure me. I've tried everything!

I've done the very most I can to try and make the bad thoughts quiet down. And are the thoughts that tell me "I'd be better dead", my own thoughts, or a symptom of one of my diagnoses?

Is the reason I'm like this the same reason I don't deserve love, or do I not deserve love because I'm like this? I want to get better. I swear I really do.

So why does no one believe me?

"Sir, you have a visitor." The nurse informs me in a harsh yet hush tone.

The words barely make it through my chemical head. I'm practically catatonic in this hospital bed. But when I do process them I pray to every divine that it is who I think it is.

Red petals on the top and bottom, two yellow petals, one pink and one blue. I was right!

I can't believe he came all the way down to this void to come see me. I really thought he'd stay home. I don't think anyone or anything could possibly understand the pure desperation I feel coursing through my veins. Right alongside the saline they're using to flush my IV of course.

My boyfriend entered my hospital room, #34 I believe, I saw when they rolled me in on the stretcher. Tears well up in my dried eyes, I couldn't feel enough of anything to cry while drugged out of my head but seeing him, well, I need him more than I have ever needed anyone before.

The look on his face when he saw me is one I didn't know he was capable of, pure horror even. I must look horrible stained with my own bile in these itchy hospital scrubs. He is quick to clasp my hand in his and rub along my knuckles and the back of my palm. Through the blurred vision and tears I can't even make him out anymore but I don't need to, I just need his touch. I need it so badly.

I have no depth perception at the moment, or hand eye coordination, and again everything is quite blurry so it was mostly unintentional when I pulled him in by the sweater. He leans into me and wraps his arms under my upper back, holding me against his chest.

He's warm against me, holding me gently in a hospital bed. I can't feel much at all other than the pain, his warmth was the only other sensation I could pin down in my head. It was such a harsh contrast from how I normally see him acting.

With him so close I can't tell where he ends and I begin this time. Even in one of my most painful moments, I feel a familiar comfort in my palpitating heart. He's the only thing keeping me from going entirely mad. He has no idea what I'd give to melt into him right here right now, become an amalgamated abomination of our half hazardly bonded flesh and bone. I'm afraid I'd ruin him and all his perfection with me and all my misshapen and grotesqueness.

I am especially disgusting as of now, making him worry about me like this. Can I not be horrible for just one second? Selfish, that's it. I must be selfish. I take another go at speaking a moment after we pull away. All I can muster is an apology that comes out more like a pathetic stammer through my tears.

The way his cold gaze met mine shook me. I've never seen real tears stream down his face. He looks so... distraught. Its like he's looking right through me and simultaneously looking directly at me. And on top of everything I've never seen him sign so frantically. He rarely signs at all.

"Please don't be sorry."

…

"Don't strain your voice."

"Just stay right there, okay? Do you need anything?"

"I'll get you anything, I'd do anything for you."

I knew he cared about me, but I guess I never realized just how much. Or maybe I just forgot. How horrible am I?

Is it possible I'm actually worth something to him? Worth enough for him to call me an ambulance, worth enough for him to comfort me in the hospital bed, worth enough for him to cry over me?

Was I really worth staying with all this time?

My thoughts are interrupted by another round of retching, it seems those knots in my stomach weren't just anxiety. Mr. Plant holds my hand through it. I'm gonna be here a while, I know that. But he's here with me, and from the looks of it he isn't leaving my side anytime soon.

I'll make it out alive, not for myself, just for him. And for the possibility that maybe he needs me just as much as I need him. I wish my mind wasn't so scrambled, so I could find the words to express just how much I love him.

I love you Mr. Plant.

[duskooky]

Hello! I was wondering if you had any headcannons about Tim/Masky?

(Absolutely love your art btw!)

Hi! First of all, I'm really really sorry for the late response, but I've been away from Tumblr the whole time 😭 (I kinda forgot I had this account tbh)

Anyways!! I have lots of HCs about him but these are the main ones, I purposely decided not to write some because they might be spoiler for my comic:

Tim started seeing Slenderman from a young age, and he used to tell everyone that a tall faceless man in a suit was constantly watching and following him.

This of course concerned his teachers and parents, who decided to bring him to a psychiatrist. He was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia and got prescribed a lot of meds, which only made his overall physical and mental health worse, but he kept seeing Slenderman regardless.

Growing up, the symptoms got worse as he started coughing blood, having seizures and even epileptic attacks whenever Slenderman was nearby. His mental health got worse and worse, and he started suffering of severe insomnia and hallucinations as there was always this static sound in his mind who would keep him awake.

No one of course believed in the existence of this "Tall Man" haunting him, so Tim spent pretty much of all his youth in a mental hospital/facility, until the day all the symptoms suddenly got better, as Slenderman decided to take a step back since he couldn't break him. Tim got released from the hospital and started living again, he even applied for college and got back in touch with Brian, his old friend.

Brian introduced him to his new friends, Jay and Alex, who were working on a film-making project (Marble Hornets). Tim accepted to help them out with their project, this causing Slenderman to start haunting the whole friend group, who eventually broke up. Years later, Tim tried to get into contact with them all, but during all this time all his friends changed because of Slenderman's influence, and they all eventually got mentally broken and then killed by him. This was the straw that broke the camel's back, the guilt drove Tim's insane who decided to finally surrender to Slenderman since he had nothing left to fight for, and that's how he turned into a proxy.

Tim turned into "Masky" the moment he became a proxy, thus losing his personality and most of the memories he made as human

[lucianalight]

Hi! I'm back :) after another long hiatus😅 I have missed all of you❤️

First of all a huge thank you to everyone who were worried and asked about my health and how I was doing. I wasn't doing well tbh. I'm one of those people who had the misfortune of never quite recovering from covid. I already had one chronic illness that was messing up my life and health. Having another on top of that takes a lot of physical, emotional and mental toll and limits my energy greatly. So I needed time to get used to my new reality and condition and learn to how manage it and live with it. It's still a work in progress and doctor appointments are seeming endless but at least some meds are helping. So there's that.

You probably already know the second reason why I wasn't doing well. I've seen terrible things…And you need time to process them. To grieve, to deal with trauma and survivor's guilt, and nurture your anger and keep fighting, keep resisting…

And well, internet connection still sucks so using social media is kind of an ordeal :D

There were a lot of times that I wanted to come back on tumblr but every time some issue would come up and take my motivation and energy. Then two weeks ago, after I couldn't crush the little ray of hope that maybe this time I'm going to see sth I like, I started watching season 2 of Loki. I watched it while promising myself that I'm not going to care anymore if it's bad, reminding myself that I might see sth as bad as season 1. Still I was surprised that I didn't hate it. On the contrary there were moments that were entertaining and even enjoyable. And those moments were more than the ones I dislike. It was better than season 1 and admittedly that's a low bar since I consider S1 one of the worst tv shows I've ever seen, but there were noticeable changes in pace and tone of the narrative and characterization in S2. Some issues in S1 was addressed. Loki was actually the main character of his series and got to do badass magic stuff :D The characters were flesh out and three dimensional and likable(I love OB so much :D). There was no romance. The ending was great.

There were of course things I didn't like. Removing Loki's backstory and his issues with his family from the story is one of them. How some of his moments in past was addressed. The episodes at times got boring or very predictable. There were times that Loki was ooc or comedic moments that weren't delivered well.

It wasn't perfect but at least acceptable. And probably the best Loki content we got since TDW. And I liked the ending a lot. I found myself keep going back to rewatch some scenes. I found myself analyzing the content happily. I had things to say. So here I am :D basically I'm 100% back to my Loki bs and I'm making it everyone's problem :P

Whether you loved the series or hated it, you're welcome on my blog and you're welcome to send me your opinions and engage with me in discussions and metas. I will tag posts accordingly in case you want to avoid certain content(tbh I still don't know what the new tags will be because I haven't written anything yet but I will make a post when I do).

There will be posts of some new fandoms so block their tags if you don't want to see those posts. The new fandoms are Sandman tv show(I haven't finished the comics so plz don't spoil them for me), Wednesday, My Hero Academia, Shadow and Bone, and The Bifrost Incident.

As I mentioned above I'm dealing with multiple chronic illnesses and have a limited energy each day. I will try to answer your messages, comments and asks as soon as I can but it might take a long time. Sry about that.

And finally a warm welcome to all the new followers and thanks to everyone who are still following me❤️

[princess-of-the-corner]

K, question. CC Himiko's parents are quickly arrested. Amnesia!Dabi, the Togas drag the entire thing into a court case that gives the HPSC awful publicity b4 they get arrested. Let's say Hikari!Lives is where Himiko's parents straight up don't notice anything till Himiko has already graduated. So, QuirkswapSoulmateAU - what happens there? A variation, or something new? . . . fuck, what if they made her take Bond Blockers?? Himiko's originally at least a year older than the class, right?

Hm!

Originally Himiko's a year older but I drop her age a year for my AUs because tbh I want her to be in their year and all? Also the age thing on the Soulbond would go fucky because both Hagakure and Sato's birthdays are in June so Himiko would switch with them before the Forest Training Camp Arc rather than during if she was the oldest.

I could see her parents putting her on the blocker meds! Don't want anyone to find out about her Quirk. Don't want someone else to be 'forced to deal with her'. I had an idea in my head that she assumes Saito is her Soulmate though so I think that either they didn't tell her what the meds are or she purposefully goes off them without their permission before running away.

She joins the LoV in this Timeline, so I think her parents would have already started in the 'oh she's some demon brat and we tried sooooo hard to keep her deviant tendancies in line!' so the public has that perception of her going, especially as she joined the LoV and was seen with them.

sometime after the Hideout Raid arc, the group kinda. Jumps ship? Like Dabi has been low-key pointing out the flaws and fucked up things in the LoV that makes most of the gang go 'hm. I know we were promised a 'if you join we can change the world through villainy' but it really seems like AfO just wants to fuck shit up for funsies rather than caring about their plight. Even Shigaraki is jumping ship because he now has tangible in-you-face proof of AfO being a fucker.

And the group as a whole kinda. Debates on what exactly to do? Not like they can go back to regular jobs without being arrested. Maybe make a real villain group of their own? Maybe go viigilante!

Pretty much all the adults though are encouraging Himiko to at least try turning herself in. She's- she's a kid. She's just connected to the Soulbond and apparently they're Hero Students. There's plenty of chance that the law will go easy on her, allow her to be painted as a troubled child that was victimized by big bad villains, and end up in just a short juvie sentence or rehab center rather than jail.

Which Himiko has mixed feelings on because on one hand she loves this new found family. But she for sure has Soulmates out there that she wants to talk to. But being with both may be impossible.

Ultimately we might end up with Dabi carrying her under his arm like luggage as he walks back to the Todoroki home like 'what's up fuckers we have a new sister'.

[phagodyke]

survived the meeting 🫠

[eliysian]

⋆ Undiscussed Feelings ⋆

INFO: From readers point of view; Leon POV is in progress, short story, messy plot, not proofread, maybe adding more to the story once I figure out where I was going with this.

A/N: Messiest story I've done, don't worry about it bro!! Umm i'll probably add more plot to this once I figure out what I'm doing.. It's been awhile since I've written, and honestly I'm just spewing stuff out and forming it together. It's not a good story, and it honestly might stay as an unfinished one-shot. Depends on if this gets popular tbh!

TAGS: gender-neutral, messy, colleague, medic, nurse, agent, unknown feelings, secret crush, crush, complicated relationship, a lil toxic, & short story

For context, you just got a new job as a medic for a small group at a private agency you'd never heard of. And as little was told to you, you were completely unaware that you would be overworked day and night patching up the strongest men you've ever seen. You assumed the job would be simple, a few shifts a week. Not constantly being called and pulled back into the agency late at night to fix up a few stitches.

And god, you hated it. For the life of you, you hated it. You could not stand being there, dealing with the constant shitty men who snapped back at you like you were the one who injured them. It wasn't like you could talk back anyway, since they could probably kill you with a punch.

Yet, you were happy that some men you worked with were atleast decent. You had a favorite, too. One of the nicer men you worked with, one that wasn't always snappy and rough. His name was Leon Kennedy, he came in often and he was always like a breath of fresh air when you'd see him walk into your office.

He went on missions constantly, so he was always needed to get new stitches, needing new pain meds, etc, etc. You didn't mind, since his sessions were quick and straight forward. Leon didn't talk much, so the patchwork would always be silent (if you didn't count his grunts from the pain). He was mysterious in a way, never saying much but always staring. And when you two did talk, it was either gruff or sweet.

He's brought you food late at night since he's aware of the long shifts, but he's also ignored you many times. You were never mad at him for it though, you felt empathy for him. You'd been informed about his traumatic past, so you attempted to be gentle with him, but he never seemed to like that.

-

"That hurt?" You murmured out, your breath steady yet slow as you focused on the stitches piercing your clients skin. "You don't need to be fuckin' gentle," Leon grunted out, annoyed by the slow, slick stabs of the needle against his calloused skin. You practically winced at the rough words, since you'd been trying to help.

"It'll scar if I'm rough," He didn't seem to care though, you assumed he was in a rush. The gruffness of his groans rippled through your ears, it was unsettling. You were used to him being more kind to you, but he seemed annoyed at you today so you tried to be silent and apply to his needs.

Though, you kept the same slow pace on the stitches. "I might aswell do it myself," Leon grunted, hands gripping at his knees from the agonizing pace of the stitches. "I'm just trying to be careful, I don't want it to bruise or scar." You retorted softly, but he only scoffed and his eyebrows knitted tightly together.

"We're not friends. You don't need to be gentle; You don't know me."

-

The memory made you cringe everytime you remembered it, it was awhile ago but it resonated in your veins everytime you thought of him or looked at him. The memory happened months ago, probably the third week you started working at the agency. 

It didn't bother you much, it was just a cringe moment you hated remembering. You didn't understand why he was so rough that day, since he never acted like that before, nor did he do ever do that after.

The next day, he was back to normal, mysterious and silent. And the next few months were the same. Random nightly calls about how he needed you to show up for new stitches, random meals late at night, mocking smirks at you during meetings when you asked a dumb question, all normal things.

You two weren't close, merely colleagues. Which is why it surprised you when your phone didn't buzz all night, and you instead heard the loud revving of a motorcycle outside your home. Honestly it scared you at first, until you heard the rhythmatic knocking on your front door. The familiarity of it bringing you back to your office, the exact same pattern Leon used when knocking on your office door.

-

"Leon?" You yawned out groggily, wiping your face that was displaying your tiredness.

Your hand weakly gripped the knob on your front door, staring up at your colleague that stood tall in your doorway. 

"Hey," Leon returned, his voice low and smooth. "Sorry, I know it's late. I assumed it'd be easier to show up here since it's late and you probably don't wanna drive to the a-"

"How did you get my address?" You cut him off, eyes narrowed as your vision adjusted to the dim lights that illuminated Leon. You've never had a colleague show up at your doorstep, and you were definitely confused as to why he was here- Not to mention the fact he had your address.

You didn't tell him it, nor did you tell anyone else at your agency. The only time it was even mentioned was on your resume papers, since it was needed for letters and updates to be sent to you. "Chris," He blurted, fingers toying with the motorcycle helmet he held by his side. Chris was your guys' employer, or in other words, the head of your guys' group. He was the one who assigned you all together for missions. Also meaning Chris had your resume papers.

"Right.." You sighed out, glancing around the outside of your home. It was dark, but your eyes fixated on his motorcycle that was displayed beside your car. There was tire marks on the dirt infront of your home, along with a flower that had been run over.

Leon's eyes matched yours, glancing over to the trampled flower and messy dirt. He chuckled out a response, "Sorry, I missed the driveway a bit." Leon turned back to you, looking down at your figure. "A bit?" You retorted, clearly a bit irritated that you wore woken up at 3 A.M. "That's a bit of an understatement,"

He sighed, chewing his lip before he slid his motorcycle helmet to his other hand. "Can you just stitch me up again? The stitches on my arm are loose. They were bleeding badly earlier," Leon said, sticking his calloused hand out to reveal the stitches loose and dangling, a large scab forming over them. You winced at the sight.

-

Leon groaned, sucking the inside of his lower lip for some sort of release as the pain in his arm was overwhelming. "Sorry," You murmured tiredly, trying to keep your eyes open as you were extremely tired. It probably wasn't the best idea to be stitching someone up while practically half asleep.

He was extremely tense, feeling uneasy under your touch as he could practically sense your drowsiness. "F-uck," He groaned out as your thumb pressed against the stitch, it was painful yet relieving. "Maybe we should take a break-" He blurted, his hand reaching for yours.

You sighed, the needle trembling in your hand as you leaned your side onto your couch. You hadn't been getting good sleep recently, and it was obvious to him as his eyebrows knitted together and his hand held your wrist tightly. "The stitch.. i-it's almost done," You murmured out, your fingertips holding the needle harshly.

"You're about to pass out," He spoke gruffly, sighing at your tired state. Your eyes were half-lidded and hazy. He sighed before letting go of your hand and taking the needle from you, he adjusted you lightly, letting you rest on your own couch. "..Just sleep, I'll leave after I'm done." He added, eyes softening as he watched your gentle nod and you curl up into a ball sleepily.

Leon grunted as he dragged the needle through his skin, eyes averting away from you as the pain soaked into his flesh.

Goddamn.. it's worse when you do it yourself.

He practically ate himself alive with his thoughts, regretting letting you sleep as it felt like he was burning alive or holding back screams of agony at the strong jabs of pain against his skin. Leon had never really done this before, and fuck it was painful; he finally understood why you were always so gentle.

As he finished the stitching, he ripped the edge as he failed to realize you had brought medical scissors to cut the string earlier. Leon cursed to himself mentally as he felt the throb in his arm, still trying not to groan out in pain as you were asleep beside him.

Atleast, that was what he thought until he flinched at the small hand he felt resting on his thigh and a cheek nuzzling against it aswell. "Shit," Leon panted out, shooken up as your tired eyes looked up at him. "You were awake?" He murmured, tensing up at you cuddling his leg.

You lightly nodded, eyes fluffing closed. "..I need to leave, Y/N." Leon murmured, keeping his voice low to not disturb you, but he did try to pull your hand off of him. Yet your squirming and whimpers of protest stopped him. He sighed through his nose, placing his hand on your back.

"Y/N," Leon warned, wanting to go home but also not wanting to disturb his tired colleague resting on his thigh. For fucks sake, did he even consider you a colleague anymore? You were sure as hell more than that to him.

-

Leon eyed the corridor, the muffled speaking outside the room catching his attention. His whiskey was set down beside him, legs spread slightly with his elbows digging into his knees. Leon shut out the other noises in the meeting room, eyebrows knitting togther as the doors opened.

Another new medic, one that actually seemed good this time. They stood beside Chris, anxiously toying with their fingers. Leon eyed them up and down, watching their movement, god they were definitely his type.

-

Leon sighed, biting his lower lip as his hand found it's way up to your hair. He toyed with it gently, finding the soft sounds of your breathing calming. Leon stared down at you as your face nuzzled his thigh, you clearly were just trying to cling to something for comfort as you slept, but it made him feel fuzzy.

He was a grown man; he didn't understand why he felt like that about you, but he did. Leon didn't understand his feelings, he didn't understand why he was so rude to you despite him finding comfort in your presence in itself.

"..Why do I like you?" Leon murmured.

Word count: 1735

[maryannecrimsworth]

Two Hearts, One Kiss

Pairing: Will Halstead x Nurse! Hispanic! Reader

Summary: Your patient needed help, and there was only one person in the Med you could reach out to. After working for months at one of Chicago's top hospitals, you knew that was the best place to treat your patient - even if no one could know her name. Even after avoiding you for days, Will Halstead was the only one who could help you.

Author's note: this is the first request i've got in a while so thanks @zaidatorcuatomorgado for helping me write again

Warnings: (probably wrong) medical terms, a little bit of blood; this one is fluff tbh

The paramedics came through the emergency entrance with you following close behind. The woman lying on the stretcher, being carried along the corridor, was announced to the Chief of the ward.

–  62-year-old female, found unconscious inside her house. – the paramedic added.

– Pressure 7x4, 50 bpm, deep cut on forehead from a possible fall. – You took the lead from the medical first responders and reached out to the head nurse.

–Dr. Choi, Room 4. – Maggie said before you could stop her.

– Not him, please. – You were in the Med for a few months now, you knew how Choi would act. You needed somebody else, you needed him. - Get Halstead.

– What's the matter? – Maggie knew there was something wrong, you didn't make requests like that.

– Please, I'll explain later, just get Will. – He was the only one you trusted.

– Choi, hold up. Halstead, she's yours. – the doctors listened and obeyed Maggie right away.

– Thank you. – you squeezed the nurse's arm and ran to the room. Will had already transferred and examined the woman.

– No sign of concussion or brain damage. – he moved the flashlight away from the unconscious woman's eyes. – let's give her a liter of saline, x-ray, and a head CT. We need to find out what caused the fall.

– I'll take over – you said to the nurse in the room, who nodded and walked away promptly. Will continued to examine the patient while you cleaned your hands and put on your gloves.

– Was it you who found her? Did you notice anything?

– No, I just saw her slumped over and ran into her house.

– So you know her? – Fortunately, Will was too focused on looking for injuries on the woman to notice your hesitation. Still, your silence aroused suspicion and he raised his face to you.

– She is my patient. I need you to take care of her without asking questions.

– Y/n, that's not–

– Please – you approached him on an impulse; it didn't matter if things were awkward between you, you needed to help your patient. – her name can't go into the system.

– Why–

– Will! – he shut up immediately: he saw the worry in your eyes, he saw your fear.

He shook his head slightly, he was going to help you. You sighed with total relief, as if a ton had come off your shoulders.

– She has rheumatoid arthritis, but she has improved with physical therapy. I doubt it caused the fall.

– Does she take any medication?

– Just MTX.

– Right. – he stared at the woman lying on the bed and took a deep breath. – Order the tests and let's wait for the results. We'll find out what happened to her. 

You smiled at him. He might not have answered your request to go out with him yet, but you knew he wouldn't deny help to a patient of yours.

– About the other night…– his words made your face burn immediately. Perhaps this was not the best time to have this conversation, but Will went on: – I was caught by surprise with your request and— 

– Halstead, new patient, I need you in room 6. — Like an angel, Maggie appeared and cut him off: the doctor barely had time to reply and the head nurse was already pulling him away from you.

You were breathing more easily with his absence, at least you wouldn’t have to get a rejection after finding Mrs. Vasquez knocked out. You turned to the woman on the medical bedside and felt a tear run down your cheek. She was stable now, her prognosis was optimistic, but you could only think about her grandchildren. They would be terrified to know and to see their Abuela like                           this — no, no, you couldn’t let them see her like that. If anyone at the hospital figured out who the woman was, the kids would be brought up and the bills…Mrs. Vasquez could not afford the bills. 

Her whole family would fail and split because you called 911.

– Y/n? – Maggie walked in: her voice was low and soft, way too delicate for a woman in charge of the emergence wing. Right now, she was approaching you like a friend, not like a boss. – Are you alright? 

– Yeah, I’m just… — you cleaned your eyes. — in shock, I guess. 

– Would you like to stay here until she wakes up? You’re not on shift.

– Yes! Thanks, Maggie. 

The head nurse responded with a kind smile. 

– I’ll try to contact her family, they should know she’s here. – she stepped aside and got ready to leave: the phone on her hand was ready to make all the necessary calls. 

– Wait! – you reached her, preventing her from moving. Your eyes scanned the emergence wing before you went on: – Would you not..? – you whispered. – I don’t think she’s able to…pay for any of this. 

– I’m sorry, Y/N, but you know we’re struggling, if they discover someone’s not paying I–

– I know. –  you had no other choice: – Put my name on the bills, I’ll pay for her, just…please, she can’t be on the system. 

Maggie frowned at you. As always, she knew something was wrong, but she gave you a shot. She agreed and walked away without saying nothing. 

You sighed again, but your chest was still tight: you could only truly relax once you knew Mrs.Vasquez was okay. 

She’s been your patient for a year now. You started to work at the voluntary physiotherapy clinic as soon as you arrived in Chicago, and she was there. A working old lady raising three grandchildren by herself. She was exhausted and in physical pain — everyone would be in her place — but she was kind and happy, nonetheless. With your help and the treatment, she was getting better – now she could cook and sew much easier than before.  As a token of her gratitude, she frequently made you scarfs and empanadas. You were wearing one of her hand-made scarfs this morning, when you found her knocked out on the floor, bleeding. 

God, you felt like crying, and you did. Helping people like her was what gave purpose to your life; losing her, being hands off like that…it was breaking your heart. 

She had to get better. 

And you would stay by her side until she did. 

X

Nearly an hour has passed when Will came in with the results of the exams. You jumped off the chair and approached him:

– So? Why she fell? 

– You can relax already, your patient’s going to be okay soon enough. – He smiled proudly. – She passed out because of a cardiac arrhythmia, caused by too much caffeine. 

– Are you for real? – you choked a loud laughter, unable to believe him. – What about the CT? She’s fully ok? 

– Yes, she only needed stitches. – your joy was contagious, and now Will was laughing too. – The saline and the rest will be good to her but…honestly, she can go as soon as she wakes up. 

– Thank you so much! – you couldn’t help yourself: you ran over to him and hugged him in the middle of the room, in front of whoever that wanted to see. You squeezed him with all the strength you had and he, to your surprise, hugged you back. 

And neither of you have drifted apart. 

The only reason why you moved away was Mrs.Vasquez. Even with your head on his chest, you could hear the old woman grunting and moving on the bed. 

– Señora Vasquez! – you helped her to sit up. – ¿Estás bien? ¿Me oyes?

– ¿Por qué no escucharía? – she was still recognizing where she was. You gave her some time to analyze the place and understand what happened. – Oh. – her eyes focused on Will. – ¿Es ese el guapo que te gusta?

She pointed at him and you turned red immediately. Will didn’t have to speak Spanish, he already understood what she said. 

Again, he smiled proudly and stepped closer. 

– Hello, I’m Will. Can you speak my language? – Mrs.Vasquez nodded. – Great. Can you tell me your name? 

– Gloria Vasquez.

You stood silently as they talked. 

– Have you consumed much coffee recently, ma'am?

She turned to you before replying him: – ¡Qué encantador! ¡Cuán educado es! – your face was burning. – Yes, doctor, the kids wanted to have a sleepover and…well, a lady like me needs extra help to keep up with them. 

You held her hand tightly. 

– You passed out because of it, Gloria, you know you can’t do things like this. You could’ve been so much worse and—

– Cálmate, querida. – she caressed your hand. – I will survive, won’t I, doctor?

– That’s right. 

– That's what matters! – Gloria cheered, taking out a laughter from your worried expression. – Can we go now? – she came closer and whispered to you. – I have some interesting news for you. 

– Really? You want to gossip now? – you shook your head as you walked away. – No way. I’ll fill out the documents and you will rest, ma’am. – you were smiling, but your words were serious: she had to stay still for a while. Only a fall and a cut on the head would make Gloria rest properly. In a really weird sense, what happened this morning would be good to her.

It was possible to hear Mrs.Vasquez's mumbles from the corridor, but you had to give her some time — and give yourself a break as well.

You got so preoccupied that you got exhausted. Your back and legs were sore as if you had just worked out, and the tiredness hit you know. 

Will could see it in your face. 

– I was going to tell her off about all the coffee but I’m pretty sure you’ll take care of it. – he joked as he came closer to you. 

– I’m so sorry, Will. I've made a storm out of a glass of water and it was all because of a sleepover. – you laughed at yourself. – I feel a bit stupid right now. 

– Don’t be. You did right, she had to come to the hospital. 

– I’m not sure…It was too risky and…– You stopped talking. Shit. Will wasn’t supposed to know this. 

The doctor frowned at you. 

– Are you in trouble, Y/N? 

You looked away immediately. You wanted to tell him — you trusted him enough to tell him – but the more people who knew, the more likely the Guardian Council would get involved and try to separate Gloria from her family. Maybe she wasn't supposed to take care of three kids by herself, but she was all they had – and vice versa. They were a family, regardless of the state's opinion.

Again, it was too risky for the Vasquez family.

– I can’t—

– It’s okay. – He cut you off, his voice had a tone you'd never heard before: too serious and worried. – I don’t need to know but…just answer me: can I help you, somehow? 

You lifted your face to him – the question caught you by surprise. I shouldn’t — after all, this was all so typical of Will – but it did: his kindness surprised you. It always did. 

It was one of the main reasons why you could help but feel better around him. 

– You already did, Will. – you only noticed you were smiling when you saw his eyes dropping to your lips. Now he was smiling too. – Thank you again. – you stepped back. – See ya. – You were ready to go back to Gloria's room, but the world around you suddenly went dark, the ground seemed too far away and you felt your legs lose strength.

Will held you, preventing you from the fall. 

– God, this is so cliché. – you grunted under your breath, but Will was able to hear you. Your faces were almost glued together, and you felt his laughter on your skin. – Mierda. 

– Let me guess: you got so worried about Gloria that you forgot to eat.

You were already capable of standing by yourself, but his arms remained around you. 

– You guessed right. – you didn’t try to move away from him. 

– Is this a good time for dinner? 

– I don't think the cafeteria has anything worthy of being called a dinner, but–

– No. – Will chuckled. His cheeks were completely red. He was the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. – I mean, do you…Do you want to have dinner with me tonight? My shift will be over in a bit. 

You smiled brightly, your whole body was burning up now but it felt good. 

– So you finally made up your mind, uh? – unconsciously, you came closer to him. – You know, it’s rude to let a girl wait.

– Well, I got busy planning the most amazing date for the most amazing woman I’ve met. – you felt his breath on your skin. – And you haven't answered me yet. – his eyes fell to your lips again. 

This time, you couldn’t force yourself to move away: in an impulse, you grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him. 

His lips were softer than you'd imagined, but he was as passionate as you expected. 

You only broke apart when you lost your breath. 

Then you noticed that every nurse and doctor on the wing were cheering and watching. 

What a first kiss.

– Love the way you say ‘yes’. – He whispered to you.

Will was breathless and happy, his hands were holding you with tenderness and warmth. 

You couldn’t help: you kissed him again. 

And, this time, you could even hear Gloria cheering from her room.

[zenyteehee]

Guys…I hate to be the bear of bad news…also this might be a spoiler that the average person wasn’t supposed to see but….

Idk if y’all noticed this (or tbh if we can even trust it considering the abysmal quality of the medicine we see in season 1)…but that prescription Hae-il had in his drawer? Dimethyl fumarate? That treats MS. Multiple Sclerosis. Aka when your immune system attacks various parts of your nervous system, often leading to things like weakness, vision changes (like that episode of blurry vision he had, not a perfect fit but)… My ass was sitting over being like awww yay he finally went to see Dr. Bae and has mental health meds—NOPE. TAKE THE FLOOR OUT FROM UNDER ME WHY DONT YA

Again, not sure if we can trust it considering what Seong-kyu’s “treatment” (or lack thereof) was for his massive head trauma (I’m still salty, that was some bullshit, they didn’t even try) but if I’m right…that is the worst thing that could’ve been done to Hae-il. His own body taking away everything he is and holds dear. MS isn’t a death sentence anymore and in many cases we can control it, but this is Korean media. Why do I get the feeling the end of this season is not gonna be a happy one?

[milli-moi]

I reblogged this as part of a thread on people’s thoughts coming off the Thunderbolts mini comic run but I’ve decided to post it on its own as well. I’m actually not sure how much of this even seems relevant to the original conversation… but I wanted to chime in on the topic as someone who is a reasonably new comic reader.

Tbh I actually still find myself struggling a bit to keep up with writers and story arcs in my head (couldn’t work out what SoL was until right now - sentinel of liberty, right?)

BUT so far I have pretty much exclusively read black widow comics or issues she features in. (I discovered that on the marvel comics website you can search by character and it will give you every issue they are in - sometimes that’s meant she has one line and I am left wondering why the heck I read a whole comic book for that lol)

Personally I have noticed I don’t pay a lot of attention to who has written an issue, but I know I have my favourites. I actually could pin an artist before a writer- Phil Noto is a god amongst all others - but it’s interesting to hear the different thoughts here.

I’ve seen a few posts with people mentioning Nat’s thought process in the Thunderbolts mini run and my ear pricked up. I LOVE writing fanfic that is based on Natasha���s inner thoughts, she is so full of depth. I would definitely think about writing this sort of thing BUT I feel I need to get my source material right in my head.

Basically the tl;dr is this- what should I be reading or re-reading? I think the names and the arcs can make it quite difficult for those getting into comics to understand what they are looking for, and the amount that characters can bounce around between issues and titles makes that even harder. I usually only know what I want to read because tumblr told me…

I know and love the Brubaker and Liu writing but I can’t say I know what the Higgins run was (is this the run following the 2012 end for Winterwidow?)

I just hope that there is more good to come for these two- they need and deserve it.

Please comment anything that might help me in a quest for fanfic thoughts on this, or just generally. Sorry my response was probably a bit of a ramble and may not have all made sense (adhd meds being messed with = brain confusion).