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inkdrinkerworld · 7 months

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Stitches, Films and Sponges Baths?

Cw: fluff, shy!team doctor!reader, Dick being a flirty shit

“Nightwing B-01, injured.” Calls the electronic voice through the comms and you get moving immediately.

“How bad is it?” You ask as you snap gloves on and reach for your kit.

“Bad enough that I’ll miss seeing your concentrated face, angel.” Dick flirts and you suck at your teeth.

The moment he comes into view, you realise that as much as he flirts he hadn’t been lying.

He’s cut under his eye, there’s another on his bicep and a tear in the side of his suit.

“Who did you lose a fight to?” That gets him to open his eyes and he spots a slight frown on your lips.

“I didn’t lose, I’m just a little more cut up than you’re used to seeing me.” You clean up his face first and your frown smooths out when you realise it's more blood than wound.

“This one isn’t too bad, maybe a butterfly stitch if you really want one. It should close within the day.”

Dick reaches for your gloved hand, “Put the stitch please, angel? Don’t want you having to stare at that cut every time you look at me;” he smiles and as if he’s reconsidered his statement he adds. “Unless it makes me look rugged and even hotter.”

Your body flushes, heat rushing through you and you nibble on your lip as you set the stitch on his cheekbone.

“You look fine, can you open your eyes now?”

He does, “Missed seeing them, did you?”

“Dick,” it’s only a warning, but he likes when you say his name so it’s one he elects to ignore- on the basis of the fact that if he does, you’re going to fluster even more. And he likes that even more.

“Your bicep isn’t too bad, just a scratch really. I’m more worried about your side, so I’m going to look at that first.”

His arms reach up for you to undress him and Dick bites his tongue to keep his smile at bay when your eyes widen and your fingers drag up his stomach as you lift off the top of his suit.

You wonder if he can tell that your pulse is rioting now?

He’s always been pretty, flirty and overly friendly to you and you’ve never known where to put all that.

Dick is gorgeous, he’s been gorgeous from the moment you’d been recruited here from the Bat, but he’s also never been by himself since you’ve been here- a little bit of a relationship man and while you’d love to pursue that, you don’t know if your poor heart will handle his flirty unleashed.

“It’s not so bad, just a little jagged so the stitching is going to hurt a bit. I’m sorry.”

Dick tuts, his heart clenching at how considerate you are- then he wonders if that’s just your bedside manner.

“No need for that, I can take a little pain.”

You nod, and get started with your needles and thread, closing up Dick’s wound with a steady hand.

“These are dissolvable, but they can still rip if you aren’t careful so you’re on bed rest until they dissolve.”

“How long will that take, angel? Trying to plan how many days I have with you.”

You clench your jaw to stop your smile, but Dick takes note of the way that your eyebrows jump and your eyes crinkle with little crow’s feet.

“A week or two for the most, but you can’t go around training like usual until they dissolve.”

He nods, “So what do you say to movie nights and reading challenges all week?”

You do let yourself smile then, Dick’s proposed things you like that he doesn’t necessarily find that mind blowing.

“And what will you do?” You ask, a vote of confidence to play along with his tease.

“Probably work on some tech stuff, but we’ll at least be together so you can have all the time in the world just staring at me till you’re ready to make a move.”

You grumble and scrub your face making Dick chuckle.

“That was mean, I’m sorry angel.” He coos and you look up to find him still smirking.

“Mhm, I totally believe you,” you finish his stitch and cover it with a piece of gauze and medical tape. “I don’t think I’ll be able to spend the entire week with you Grayson. I’ve got class.”

His eyebrows jump, “Class? Did you start a new programme?”

You nod, “Behavioral analysis.” Dick smiles, a little wicked at the confession. You move to his bicep, cleaning up the blood to find three claw-like marks tearing through his skin.

“Do you need real life case studies? I’ll be happy to help you out. You can analyse my behaviour when I’m with you.”

Your belly heats, and you’re sure the way you fluster is evident to Dick and that makes you feel even more bashful.

It’s clear he does feel a little bad about how flushed he’s making you when you feel his hand reach up to your cheek.

“I’ll stop for a little, angel. Don’t want you to pass out from all the heat you’re pushing out.”

“Dick!” You whine and he laughs, a full belly laugh that makes your frown turn to a small smile. “You’re the worst.”

You finish cleaning and dressing the scratches on his bicep, they only needed a few stitches on one of them.

“Oh am I?” He coos and you grumble, biting your lip to stop from swearing at him. “Okay okay, I’ll really stop now.” He promises; you look up at him through your lashes as you pull away from his hand and start cleaning up.

“Wanna watch a film with me?” He asks as you finish cleaning, his body suddenly tired now that he’s not worried about flirting and teasing you.

“One of your black and white French films?” It’s his turn to flush a little, clearly not expecting anyone to notice his choice in movies. “You always leave the disk in, and I don’t think anyone else is watching espionage French films except you.” You explain with a little smile.

“Maybe not a French one, we can do Russian or Spanish- I know you watch those.”

You shrug, “We can trade off, one French, one Spanish.”

Dick nods, groaning as he stands. His hand pressed tight to his side. “Why don’t you choose first, angel. Gonna get Alfred to sponge me off,” he pauses at the door, a mischievous smirk on his lips as he turns back to you. “Unless you want to do it, which I have zero objections to.”

“Go get your sponge bath Grayson, I’ll be in the media room.”

#dickgrayson #dick grayson #dick grayson one shot #dick grayson fanfiction #dick grayson fluff #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson drabble #dick grayson fic #dick grayson blurb #dick grayson x yn #dick grayson x shy!reader #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x black reader #dick grayson x gender neutral reader #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x female!reader #dick grayson x you

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thealogie · 1 year

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Martha having to scrub floors and endure 1913 racism while the doctor just prances around in his cool suits and teaches classes and has a side-quest love interest. Girl I am telling you that you need to kill this man

#doctor who #I understand he doesn’t remember but he still deserves to die

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d4yl1ghts · 6 months

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Hey!

Can you make a Mark Sloan fanfic?

Y/n and Mark Sloan are a couple and they are expecting their first child together which they had found out three weeks ago. They were surprised when y/n had found out that she was pregnant but Mark was thrilled about it.

Y/n has started with morning sickness and she was tired of it, every morning she woke up feeling nauseous. Mark felt bad for his girlfriend since she was feeling the way she felt, he was just trying to be there for her.

They have an ultrasound today.

Y/n is working at the hospital as an attending and she is really close friend to Callie Torres who also is pregnant.

Something with Mark just being there for his pregnant girlfriend, and how she falls even more in love with him everyday.

change

mark sloan x pregnant, fem!reader

summary: you’re struggling with the changes you’re undergoing through your pregnancy but mark helps you

warnings: pregnancy

It was six in the morning currently and you’d yet again been awoken by morning sickness. You hastily walked to the bathroom (your room fortunately had an en-suite bathroom). You grabbed your hair before throwing up in the toilet. A cold hand pressed against your back and took your hair. You leaned against him, you could tell it was Mark by the feel of his hands.

Luckily for you, today you were meant to be at work early so the morning sickness wasn’t wasted. “Get back into bed, baby. I’ll make something for you.”, Mark said as he headed to the kitchen. “You don’t have to, babe.”, you replied but your regretted that when you felt the soft mattress of your bed. “Never mind, please do.”, you shouted to him. He just chuckled.

Mark called you into your spacious kitchen and placed a plate of toast and eggs in front of you. “Thank you.”, you kissed his lips tenderly.

Once you had finished your breakfast, you put something casual on and got in the passenger seat as you waited for Mark. As you messed with the radio trying to find the best station, you heard the car door slam abruptly, indicating that Mark was ready to leave. “Ready?”, he asked you. “Yeah.”, you responded.

“Did you know that I already ordered a crib?”, he questioned. “No… aww that’s so cute, Mark, you’re such a dad.”, you stated as you reached over to squeeze his hand. “I also got some toys, don’t worry they’re gender-neutral.”, he added. “You’re so sweet and thoughtful, Mark!”, you said in a teasing manner but you really meant your words, Mark knew this though despite your mischievous take on it.

Mark helped you it the car after parking, even though you were only twelve weeks pregnant and had no bump at all, he would still insist on helping you the most he could. “I have an ultrasound today, it is at three, can you make it?”, you asked. “I believe I’m in surgery at two and it’s a long one. I’ll try and make it but if not would you be able to print me the photos?”, he questioned kindly.

“I always get the photos anyway, I’ll just go with Callie since she has one booked just before mine.” Mark nodded his head. You were an orthopaedic attending and so you and Callie were quite close, especially now due to you being pregnant at the same time.

Mark let go of your hand as he headed to get changed into his scrubs. You got changed into yours before catching up on your rounds.

Before long, it was two fifty and so you made your way to the OB/GYN ward. Callie walked out. “Hi, how was it?”, you asked sweetly as she sat next to you. “It was great, look at her now.”, she said as you looked at the ultrasound picture. “She? Is that an instinct?”, you questioned. “Yeah. You know I just have that feeling she’s going to be a girl. What about yours?”, she reciprocated. “Hmm, I’m not sure, maybe girl as well actually.”

“Y/N Y/L/N.”, the receptionist called out. “Come on.”, you walked over to a gynaecologist who had just walked out. Turns out it was the one Callie had just had. You lifted up your shirt as the doctor put the cold gel against your stomach. “This will be cold.”, she stated matter-of-factly. She placed the wand against the gel and on the screen you could just make out your baby. You stared in disbelief, you couldn’t believe you and Mark were really having a baby. “Would you be able to print off two sets of the sonogram, please?”, you asked kindly. “My boyfriend’s in surgery right now, so…”, you added, feeling the need to explain yourself.

As you exited the room, you found Mark just walking into the waiting room. “Hey, baby.”, he called you over as he noticed you. “How was it? Did you get the pictures?”, he asked you excitedly. “I’m so sorry I missed it. It was a mandatory surgery that I needed to be in for.”, he explained. “Babe, it’s fine. I work as a surgeon too, you don’t need to explain yourself.”, you kissed him to ease his worries. “Here’s the sonogram.”, you handed him one set of them.

“Aww, I can barely make her out. She’s so little.”, he said. “Do you think our baby is a girl?”

“Hmm?”, he asked, not paying attention to what you asked as he stared at the images. “You said her.”

“Oh, yeah. What do you think she is?”, he questioned. “Me and Callie were just talking about this. I think she’ll also be a girl.”, you stated. “I’m kind of hoping for a girl.”, Mark muttered gently. “You do give me the vibes of a girl dad.”, you joked. He laughed. You stared deeply into his eyes and he pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “I love you.”, you smiled. “I love you and our baby more.”, he replied as he smiled.

#mark sloan #mark sloan x reader #mcsteamy #greys anatomy #greys anatomy x reader #greys anatomy imagine #greys abc #fem!reader

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literaryvein-reblogs · 2 months

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Writing Notes: Autopsy

Autopsy - dissection and examination of a dead body and its organs and structures.

The word autopsy is derived from the Greek autopsia, meaning “the act of seeing for oneself.”

Also known as: necropsy, postmortem, postmortem examination

Why is an autopsy done?

To determine the cause of death

When a suspicious or unexpected death occurs

To observe the effects of disease; when there's a public health concern, such as an outbreak with an undetermined cause

To establish the evolution and mechanisms of disease processes

When no doctor knows the deceased well enough to state a cause of death and to sign the death certificate

When the doctor, the family or legally responsible designee of the deceased person requests an autopsy

Who does the autopsy?

Autopsies ordered by the state can be done by a county coroner, who is not necessarily a doctor

A medical examiner who does an autopsy is a doctor, usually a pathologist

Clinical autopsies are always done by a pathologist

How is an autopsy done?

After the patient is pronounced dead by a physician, the body is wrapped in a sheet or shroud and transported to the morgue, where it is held in a refrigeration unit until the autopsy.

Autopsies are rarely performed at night.

Autopsy practice was largely developed in Germany, and an autopsy assistant is traditionally honored with the title "diener", which is German for "helper".

The prosector and diener wear fairly simple protective equipment, including scrub suits, gowns, gloves (typically two pair), shoe covers, and clear plastic face shields.

The body is identified and lawful consent obtained.

The procedure is done with respect and seriousness.

The prevailing mood in the autopsy room is curiosity, scientific interest, and pleasure at being able to find the truth and share it.

Most pathologists choose their specialty, at least in part, because they like finding the real answers.

Many autopsy services have a sign, "This is the place where death rejoices to help those who live." Usually it is written in Latin ("Hic locus est ubi mors gaudet succurrere vitae").

EXTERNAL EXAMINATION

The prosector checks to make sure that the body is that of the patient named on the permit by checking the toe tag or patient wristband ID.

The body is placed on the autopsy table.

Experienced dieners, even those of slight build, can transfer even obese bodies from the carriage to the table without assistance.

Since the comfort of the patient is no longer a consideration, this transfer is accomplished with what appears to the uninitiated a rather brutal combination of pulls and shoves, not unlike the way a thug might manhandle a mugging victim.

The body is measured.

Large facilities may have total-body scales, so that a weight can be obtained.

The autopsy table is a waist-high aluminum fixture that is plumbed for running water and has several faucets and spigots to facilitate washing away all the blood that is released during the procedure.

Older hospitals may still have porcelain or even marble tables.

The autopsy table is basically a slanted tray (for drainage) with raised edges (to keep blood and fluids from flowing onto the floor).

After the body is positioned, the diener places a "body block" under the patient's back. This rubber or plastic brick-like appliance causes the chest to protrude outward and the arms and neck to fall back, thus allowing the maximum exposure of the trunk for the incisions.

Abnormalities of the external body surfaces are then noted and described, either by talking into a voice recorder or making notes on a diagram and/or checklist.

OPENING THE TRUNK

The diener takes a large scalpel and makes the incision in the trunk. This is a Y-shaped incision. The arms of the Y extend from the front of each shoulder to the bottom end of the breast bone (called the xiphoid process of the sternum). In women, these incisions are diverted beneath the breasts, so the "Y" has curved, rather than straight, arms. The tail of the Y extends from the xiphoid process to the pubic bone and typically makes a slight deviation to avoid the umbilicus (navel). The incision is very deep, extending to the rib cage on the chest, and completely through the abdominal wall below that.

With the Y incision made, the next task is to peel the skin, muscle, and soft tissues off the chest wall. This is done with a scalpel. When complete, the chest flap is pulled upward over the patient's face, and the front of the rib cage and the strap muscles of the front of the neck lie exposed. Human muscle smells not unlike raw lamb meat in my opinion. At this point of the autopsy, the smells are otherwise very faint.

An electric saw or bone cutter (which looks a lot like curved pruning shears) is used to open the rib cage. One cut is made up each side of the front of the rib cage, so that the chest plate, consisting of the sternum and the ribs which connect to it, are no longer attached to the rest of the skeleton. The chest plate is pulled back and peeled off with a little help of the scalpel, which is used to dissect the adherent soft tissues stuck to the back of the chest plate. After the chest plate has been removed, the organs of the chest (heart and lungs) are exposed (the heart is actually covered by the pericardial sac).

Before disturbing the organs further, the prosector cuts open the pericardial sac, then the pulmonary artery where it exits the heart. He sticks his finger into the hole in the pulmonary artery and feels around for any thromboembolus (a blood clot which has dislodged from a vein elsewhere in the body, traveled through the heart to the pulmonary artery, lodged there, and caused sudden death. This is a common cause of death in hospitalized patients).

The abdomen is further opened by dissecting the abdominal muscle away from the bottom of the rib cage and diaphragm. The flaps of abdominal wall fall off to either side, and the abdominal organs are now exposed.

REMOVING THE ORGANS OF THE TRUNK

The most typical method of organ removal is called the "Rokitansky method." This is not unlike field dressing a deer. The dissection begins at the neck and proceeds downward, so that eventually all the organs of the trunk are removed from the body in one bloc.

The first thing the diener does is to identify the carotid and subclavian arteries in the neck and upper chest. He ties a long string to each and then cuts them off, so that the ties are left in the body. This allows the mortician to more easily find the arteries for injection of the embalming fluids.

A cut is them made above the larynx, detaching the larynx and esophagus from the pharynx. The larynx and trachea are then pulled downward, and the scalpel is used to free up the remainder of the chest organs from their attachment at the spine.

The diaphragm is cut away from the body wall, and the abdominal organs are pulled out and down.

Finally, all of the organs are attached to the body only by the pelvic ligaments, bladder, and rectum.

A single slash with the scalpel divides this connection, and all of the organs are now free in one block. The diener hands this organ bloc to the prosector. The prosector takes the organ bloc to a dissecting table (which is often mounted over the patient's legs) and dissects it. Meanwhile, the diener proceeds to remove the brain.

Another method is called Virchow method, which entails removing organs individually.

EXAMINATION OF THE ORGANS OF THE TRUNK

At the dissection table, the prosector typically dissects and isolates the esophagus from the rest of the chest organs. This is usually done simply by pulling it away without help of a blade (a technique called "blunt dissection"). The chest organs are then cut away from the abdominal organs and esophagus with scissors. The lungs are cut away from the heart and trachea and weighed, then sliced like loaves of bread into slices about one centimeter thick. A long (12" - 18"), sharp knife, called a "bread knife" is used for this.

The heart is weighed and opened along the pathway of normal blood flow using the bread knife or scissors. Old-time pathologists look down on prosectors who open the heart with scissors, rather than the bread knife, because, while the latter takes more skill and care, it is much faster and gives more attractive cut edges than when scissors are used. The coronary arteries are examined by making numerous crosscuts with a scalpel.

The larynx and trachea are opened longitudinally from the rear and the interior examined. The thyroid gland is dissected away from the trachea with scissors, weighed, and examined in thin slices. Sometimes the parathyroid glands are easy to find, other times impossible.

The bloc containing the abdominal organs is turned over so that the back side is up. The adrenal glands are located in the fatty tissue over the kidneys (they are sometimes difficult to find) and are removed, weighed, sliced, and examined by the prosector.

The liver is removed with scissors from the rest of the abdominal organs, weighed, sliced with a bread knife, and examined. The spleen is similarly treated.

The intestines are stripped from the mesentery using scissors (the wimpy method) or bread knife (macho method). The intestines are then opened over a sink under running water, so that all the feces and undigested food flow out. As one might imagine, this step is extremely malodorous. The resultant material in the sink smells like a pleasant combination of feces and vomitus. The internal (mucosal) surface of the bowel is washed off with water and examined. It is generally the diener's job to "run the gut," but usually a crusty, senior diener can intimidate a young first- year resident prosector into doing this ever-hated chore. Basically, whichever individual has the least effective steely glare of disdain is stuck with running the gut.

The stomach is then opened along its greater curvature. If the prosector is lucky, the patient will have not eaten solid food in a while. If not, the appearance of the contents of the stomach will assure the prosector that he will not be eating any stews or soups for a long time. In either case, the smell of gastric acid is unforgettable.

The pancreas is removed from the duodenum, weighed, sliced and examined. The duodenum is opened longitudinally, washed out, and examined internally. The esophagus is similarly treated.

The kidneys are removed, weighed, cut lengthwise in half, and examined. The urinary bladder is opened and examined internally. In the female patient, the ovaries are removed, cut in half, and examined. The uterus is opened along either side (bivalved) and examined. In the male, the testes are typically not removed if they are not enlarged. If it is necessary to remove them, they can be pulled up into the abdomen by traction on the spermatic cord, cut off, cut in half, and examined.

The aorta and its major abdominal/pelvic branches (the renal, celiac, mesenteric, and iliac arteries) are opened longitudinally and examined.

Most of the organs mentioned above are sampled for microscopic examination. Sections of the organs are cut with a bread knife or scalpel and placed in labeled plastic cassettes. Each section is the size of a postage stamp or smaller and optimally about three millimeters in thickness. The cassettes are placed in a small jar of formalin for fixation. They are then "processed" in a machine that overnight removes all the water from the specimens and replaces it with paraffin wax. Permanent microscopic sections (five microns, or one two-hundredth of a millimeter thick) can be cut from these paraffin sections, mounted on glass slides, stained, coverslipped, and examined microscopically. The permanent slides are usually kept indefinitely, but must be kept for twenty years minimum.

Additional small slices of the major organs are kept in a "save jar," typically a one-quart or one-pint jar filled with formalin. Labs keep the save jar for a variable length of time, but at least until the case is "signed out" (i.e., the final written report is prepared). Some labs keep the save jar for years. All tissues that are disposed of are done so by incineration.

A note on dissection technique: All of the above procedures are done with only four simple instruments -- a scalpel, the bread knife, scissors, and forceps (which most medical people call "pick-ups." Only scriptwriters say "forceps"). The more handy the prosector, the more he relies on the bread knife, sometimes making amazingly delicate cuts with this long, unwieldy-looking blade. The best prosectors are able to make every cut with one long slicing action. To saw back and forth with the blade leaves irregularities on the cut surface which are often distracting on specimen photographs. So the idea is to use an extremely sharp, long blade that can get through a 2000-gram liver in one graceful slice. Some old-time purist pathologists actually maintain their own bread knives themselves and let no one else use them. Such an individual typically carries it around in his briefcase in a leather sheath. This would make an excellent fiction device, which, to my knowledge, has not been used. Imagine a milquetoast pathologist defending himself from a late-night attacker in the lab, with one desperate but skillful slash of the bread knife almost cutting the assailant in half!

Note on the appearance of the autopsy suite: Toward the end of the autopsy procedure, the room is not a pretty sight. Prosectors vary markedly in how neat they keep the dissection area while doing the procedure. It is legendary that old-time pathologists were so neat that they'd perform the entire procedure in a tux (no apron) right before an evening at the opera (pathologists are noted for their love of classical music and fine art). Modern prosectors are not this neat. Usually, the autopsy table around the patient is covered with blood, and it is very difficult not to get some blood on the floor. We try to keep blood on the floor to a minimum, because this is a slippery substance that can lead to falls. The hanging meat scales used to weigh the organs are usually covered with or dripping with blood. The chalk that is used to write organ weights on the chalkboard is also smeared with blood, as may be the chalkboard itself. This is an especially unappetizing juxtaposition.

Another example using the Virchow method:

After the intestines are mobilized, they may be opened using special scissors.

Inspecting the brain often reveals surprises. A good pathologist takes some time to do this.

The pathologist examines the heart, and generally the first step following its removal is sectioning the coronary arteries that supply the heart with blood. There is often disease here, even in people who believed their hearts were normal.

After any organ is removed, the pathologist will save a section in preservative solution. Of course, if something looks abnormal, the pathologist will probably save more. The rest of the organ goes into a biohazard bag, which is supported by a large plastic container.

The pathologist weighs the major solid organs (heart, lungs, brain, kidneys, liver, spleen, sometimes others) on a grocer's scale.

The smaller organs (thyroid, adrenals) get weighed on a chemist's triple-beam balance.

The next step in the abdominal dissection will be exploring the bile ducts and then freeing up the liver. The pathologist uses a scalpel or other similar tool.

After weighing the heart, the pathologist completes the dissection. There are a variety of ways of doing this, and the choice will depend on the case. If the pathologist suspects a heart attack, a long knife may be the best choice.

In the example: The liver is removed. The pathologist finds something important. It appears that the man had a fatty liver. It is too light, too orange, and a bit too big. Perhaps this man had been drinking heavily for a while.

The pathologist decides to remove the neck organs, large airways, and lungs in one piece. This requires careful dissection. The pathologist always examines the neck very carefully.

The liver in this example weighs much more than the normal 1400 gm.

The lungs are almost never normal at autopsy. In the example, the lungs are pink, because the dead man was a non-smoker. The pathologist will inspect and feel them for areas of pneumonia and other abnormalities.

The liver is cut at intervals of about a centimeter, using a long knife. This enables the pathologist to examine its inner structure.

The pathologist weighs both lungs together, then each one separately. Afterwards, the lungs may get inflated with fixative.

The rest of the team continues with the removal of the other organs. They may decide to take the urinary system as one piece, and the digestive system down to the small intestine as another single piece. This will require careful dissection.

One pathologist holds the esophagus, stomach, pancreas, duodenum, and spleen. He opens these, and may save a portion of the gastric contents to check for poison.

Another pathologist holds the kidneys, ureters, and bladder. Sometimes these organs will be left attached to the abdominal aorta. The pathologist opens all these organs and examine them carefully.

Dissecting the lungs can be done in any of several ways. All methods reveal the surfaces of the large airways, and the great arteries of the lungs.

Most pathologists use the long knife again while studying the lungs. The air spaces of the lungs will be evaluated based on their texture and appearance.

Before the autopsy is over, the brain is usually suspended in fixative for a week so that the later dissection will be clean, neat, and accurate.

If no disease of the brain is suspected, the pathologist may cut the brain fresh.

The kidneys are weighed before they are dissected.

It is the pathologist's decision as to whether to open the small intestine and/or colon. If they appear normal on the outside, there is seldom significant pathology on the inside.

One pathologist prepares the big needle and thread used to sew up the body.

When the internal organs have been examined, the pathologist may return all but the tiny portions that have been saved to the body cavity. Or the organs may be cremated without being returned.

The appropriate laws, and the wishes of the family, are obeyed.

The breastbone and ribs are usually replaced in the body.

The skull and trunk incisions are sewed shut ("baseball stitch").

The body is washed and is then ready to go to the funeral director.

These notes do not show all the steps of an autopsy, but will give you the general idea.

During the autopsy, there may be photographers, evidence technicians, police, hospital personnel, and others.

In the example, the pathologists submit the tissue they saved to the histology lab, to be made into microscopic slides.

When these are ready, they will examine the sections, look at the results of any lab work, and draw their final conclusions.

The only finding in this sample autopsy was fatty liver. There are several ways in which heavy drinking, without any other disease, can kill a person. The pathologists will rule each of these in or out, and will probably be able to give a single answer to the police or family.

CLOSING UP AND RELEASING THE BODY

After all the above procedures are performed, the body is now an empty shell, with no larynx, chest organs, abdominal organs, pelvic organs, or brain. The front of the rib cage is also missing. The scalp is pulled down over the face, and the whole top of the head is gone. Obviously, this is not optimal for lying in state in public view. The diener remedies this problem. First, the calvarium is placed back on the skull (the brain is not replaced), the scalp pulled back over the calvarium, and the wound sewn up with thick twine using the type of stitch used to cover baseballs. The wound is now a line that goes from behind the ears over the back of the skull, so that when the head rests on a pillow in the casket, the wound is not visible.

The empty trunk looks like the hull of a ship under construction, the prominent ribs resembling the corresponding structural members of the ship. In many institutions, the sliced organs are just poured back into the open body cavity. In other places, the organs are not replaced but just incinerated at the facility. In either case, the chest plate is placed back in the chest, and the body wall is sewn back up with baseball stitches, so that the final wound again resembles a "Y."

The diener rinses the body off with a hose and sponge, covers it with a sheet, and calls the funeral home for pick- up. As one might imagine, if the organs had not been put back in the body, the whole trunk appears collapsed, especially the chest (since the chest plate was not firmly reattached to the ribs). The mortician must then remedy this by placing filler in the body cavity to re-expand the body to roughly normal contours.

Ultimately, what is buried/cremated is either 1) the body without a brain and without any chest, abdominal, or pelvic organs, or 2) the body without a brain but with a hodgepodge of other organ parts in the body cavity.

FINISHING UP

After the funeral home has been called, the diener cleans up the autopsy suite with a mop and bucket, and the prosector finishes up the notes and/or dictation concerning the findings of the "gross exam" (the part of the examination done with the naked eye and not the microscope; this use of the term "gross" is not a value judgement but a direct German translation of "big" as opposed to "microscopic").

For some odd reason, many prosectors report increased appetite after an autopsy, so the first thing they want to do afterwards is grab a bite to eat.

The whole procedure in experienced hands, assuming a fairly straightforward case and no interruptions, has taken about two hours.

Complicated cases requiring detailed explorations and special dissections (e.g., exploring the bile ducts, removing the eyes or spinal cord) may take up to four hours.

AFTER THE AUTOPSY

Days to weeks later, the processed microscopic slides are examined by the attending pathologist, who renders the final diagnoses and dictates the report.

A final report is ready in a month or so. The glass slides and a few bits of tissue are kept forever, so that other pathologists can review the work.

Only the pathologist can formally issue the report, even if he or she was not the prosector (i.e., the prosector was a resident, PA, or med student).

The report is of variable length but almost always runs at least three pages. It may be illustrated with diagrams that the prosector draws from scratch or fills in on standard forms with anatomical drawings.

The Joint Commission for the Accreditation of Healthcare Organizations (JCAHO), which certifies hospitals, requires the final report to be issued within sixty days of the actual autopsy.

The College of American Pathologists, which certifies medical laboratories, requires that this be done in thirty days.

Nevertheless, pathologists are notorious for tardiness in getting the final report out, sometimes resulting in delays of years.

Perhaps the non-compensated nature of autopsy practice has something to do with this. Pathologists are otherwise very sensitive to turnaround times.

THE BRAIN-CUTTING

The examiner returns to the brain left suspended in a big jar of formalin for a few weeks. After the brain is "fixed," it has the consistency and firmness of a ripe avocado.

Before fixation, the consistency is not unlike that of three-day- old refrigerated, uncovered Jello.

Infant brains can be much softer than that before fixation, even as soft as a flan dessert warmed to room temperature, or worse, custard pie filling. Such a brain may be difficult or impossible to hold together and can fall apart as one attempts to remove it from the cranium.

Assuming good fixation of an adult brain, it is removed from the formalin and rinsed in a running tap water bath for several hours to try to cut down on the discomforting, eye-irritating, possibly carcinogenic formalin vapors.

The cerebrum is severed from the rest of the brain (brainstem and cerebellum) by the prosector with a scalpel.

The cerebellum is severed from the brainstem, and each is sliced and laid out on a tray for examination.

The cerebrum is sliced perpendicularly to its long axis and laid out to be examined.

Sections for microscopic processing are taken, as from the other organs, and a few slices are held in "save jars."

The remainder of the brain slices is incinerated.

Sources: 1 2 3 4

If these notes help with your poem/story, do tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read them!

#writing notes #spilled ink #dark academia #writing prompt #writers on tumblr #poetry #poets on tumblr #literature #writeblr #fiction #creative writing #writing reference #studyblr #langblr #linguistics #words #writing resources

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momolady · 19 days

Text

Chicory the Tiefling: Part Two

Female Reader x Male Monster Hurt Comfort - Amnesia - Healing - Love Returns Part One

There was an explosion at the tower. It started a fire, and from there everything is this horrible blur. You managed to get the animals out as best you could, and you think everyone is accounted for now. But-

Chicory stayed behind to save some of his inventions, his journals, and you fear it may have been too much on him. Nictis graciously took you in, giving you an entire wing of his home. Yasmin arranged for constant care for Chicory. But he still has not fully come to.

“The smoke was one thing,” Nictis murmured as he served you tea. “But everything else inside that tower of his? I’m sure his concoctions and gears catching fire only worsened things. But not to worry! We’ve gotten a great doctor and nurses to help aid our dear Chicory.”

You sat there dumbfounded, still covered in smoke and ash. You had been so wound up in caring for the animals and Chicory, you’d barely had a chance to take care of yourself. Posey hadn’t left your side the whole while. She sat there, quite comfortable but vigilant.

Yasmin came into the room, wearing clothes that didn’t seem to suit the wife of a lord. Rather, she looked like you.

“I got the pygmy alligators into the lake, they seem quite happy.” She hold up a bitten finger wrapped in a bandage. “They’re quite lovely.”

“Oh, my dear.” Nictis took her hand, holding his gently despite his boney facade.

I looked up, taking a cup of tea Yasmin offered. “Are you alright?” She asked. “I can run you a bath if you wish.”

Shakily, you brought the tea to your lips and drank.

“It’s been a few days, you should rest,” Yasmin insisted.

I shook my head. “Not until I know he is going to be okay.”

Yasmin took a gruff look, but Nictis’ hand upon her shoulder reeled her back. “What else can you do for him now?” The lord asked. “He is resting, breathing in cleansing herbs so the smoke will leave his body. You need to take care of yourself now, or else, down the road, you might not be able to care for anyone. When is the last time you had a full meal?”

I gulped, feeling the sting of hot liquid against my tongue. “What if something happens while I am away?”

“He has nurses by his side,” Yasmin said with a reassuring smile. “And the doctor is close by so we can call at any second.”

Posey meowed, giving you her wide eyed look which seemed to echo their sentiment. Take care of yourself.

You let out a heavy sigh. “I can’t remember when I last had a meal,” I admitted, giving into their care and worry.

Yasmin jumped at the chance. “I’ll get a bath prepared for you, and some clean clothes as well. You and I seem about the same size. And I’ll make you something to eat!”

Nictis seemed to want to say something as she darted off, but he kept his skull shut. “She is strong willed,” he murmured. “Comes from her meager background, it made her stronger than me, I think.” He glanced at me, concern somehow written on his face. “Chicory will be fine. I promise. He is my friend, a great one in fact, and I will do all I can to help him.”

“Thank you,” you murmured.

Nictis nodded. “Yes, well, it is the least I can do. He’s done so much for me and Yasmin.” He cleared his throat and looked down at the tea seat.

Yasmin came and fetched you later. She poured you a hot bath, sticking around to wash and care for your hair.

“I could have done this,” you murmured.

“Relax, you deserve a bit of pampering.” Yasmin said, scrubbing your scalp. “Would you have had the strength to do this?”

You don’t think so. You probably would have sat in that hot water and drifted away.

“There we go.” She rinsed out your hair. She wrung it out and started running some sort of cream through it.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

“Trust me, your hair is going to look amazing! While you’re here, you’re going to receive the royal treatment.” Her hands felt good running through your hair and scalp. “I am not some fancy lady you know? I was raised in Obresh.”

You leaned your head back to look up at her. “Nictis said something like that.”

She smirked. “Did he also tell you he bought me?”

Read the rest over on Patreon!

There's also a remaster of part one! Only available to patrons.

#exophilia #monster romance #monster boyfriend #monster lemon #monster lover #tiefling #tiefling romancer #tiefling boyfriend #human x monster #monster x reader #reader insert #female reader #fantasy romance #romantasy #creative writing #momolady monsters #my writing

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peachsukii · 7 months

Text

Hollow Heart { chapter 3 - choke }

『♡』 pro-hero fem!reader x pro-hero bakugo ╰➤ ꒰ pro-heroes au | friends to lovers ꒱ ♡ katsuki bakugo masterlist ♡

summary: you have zero clue where you are after your abduction. white walls, medical instruments, the smell of rust, and hazy memories are all that keep you company during your time in the mystery lab. the horrors that lurk between these steel walls are going to give you nightmares for an eternity. all you can think about is getting home to your best friends and family, back to the life you sorely missed. tags & warnings: mentions of blood/violence, eventual & mild smut, kidnapping/abduction, experimentation, physical & psychological torture, PTSD, implied/referenced self harm, cursing, talks of trauma | angst with happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, regret, mutual pining, friends to lovers, insomnia, eventual romance a/n: To all of you who have stopped to read this fic, thank you so much! This was my jump back into writing after almost a decade. I appreciate every single one of you!! ꒰ Ao3 version | word count; 13,885k as of ch.3 ꒱ Masterlist 『♡』 this fic has a playlist! ✩

CHAPTER THREE: CHOKE

Day One (?)

Metallic rust.

That's all you could taste when you awoke from your drugged slumber, the world stuck in a haze as you hummed in discontent.

Where the hell am I?

The thought muddled in your head as you attempted to gauge your surroundings. The numbness in your limbs from earlier had been replaced with a new sensation - your body feeling too heavy for your bones to carry.

Did someone strap a weight to your shoulders and ankles?

You rotate your head sluggishly to see an all white and gray room, one singular door directly ahead of where you sat. There's a metal table in the corner with a few machines - you can't seem to determine what their purposes are. On your left, a surgical instruments table sits ominously, a few bloody bandages and an empty syringe splayed across it.

There's a sudden pulse in your head that rattles your brain, the train of thought you had derailing instantly. Glimpses of memories begin to spark in your mind - Bakugo's anguished expression as you drifted out of consciousness, an unknown number of hands removing your hero suit and belongings, cold steel of an operating table touching your bare skin, the ungodly amount of poking and prodding of your delicate skin with needles of all shapes and sizes, and a glass enclosure.

How are you remembering all of this if you weren't even conscious for the majority of it?

As if to answer your silent question, a doctor enters the room - what you presume is a doctor, anyways, by the looks of his white surgeon coat and stethoscope around his neck.

"Good morning. Would you prefer the use of your hero name or first name?" He asks, paging through the file on his clipboard.

What the fuck?

"Uhh...hero name?" you slur as you answer, voice cracking with exhaustion. You're not able to think straight in the moment and have zero adrenaline to be combative.

"Noted. How are you feeling?" His tone is dry, like every other doctor you've met in your life.

"Shitty."

He quirks an eyebrow. "Can you elaborate?"

God, this is so annoying. Why the hell are you being interrogated?

"M'everything feels...funny. Heavy but also...fuzzy?"

He scribbles down notes on a few different pages, flipping back and forth through the stack on his clipboard.

"Is it my turn t'ask a question?" you quip, snickering at your own request.

He approaches you hastily and slaps the ever-loving shit out of you. You let out a sharp yelp, the sting of his palm radiating on your cheek.

"Subjects only speak when spoken to."

A chill runs down your spine when he uses the term "subjects." Just how many of you are there?

"Return her to containment," he orders, signaling to someone behind you before turning to exit the room. Another man enters as the doctor leaves, dressed in white scrubs with mint green latex gloves. He approaches you, latching a pair of handcuffs around your wrists while turning off a device nearby.

"C'mon, move it," he scolds as he yanks on the chain of the handcuffs. You stumble forward to your feet, wobbling on jelly legs as he's dragging you behind him. Looking down, your wrists were littered with bruises in varying shades of yellow, purple and green. Had they cuffed you earlier and roughhoused you? A few raw spots on your arm lead you to believe they had taken blood from you at some point, too. You have zero inclination to how long you've even been wherever the hell you are - anything is possible.

The mystery worker drags you down multiple corridors of dimly lit metal hallways and various steel lacing the walls. There were no windows in sight as you maneuvered your way around the labyrinth of never-ending laboratories, holding cells and various medical exam rooms. He stops in front of a frosted glass cell, swiping a keycard in front of the mechanism on the door. It opens with a high pitched beep and he pushes you inside, whipping you around by the shoulders to face him. He undoes your restraints before slamming the glass door shut, locking it with another beep of the keycard.

With the silence comes the realization of your current predicament, crashing down around you like a tidal wave. It's intense, the surge of emotion that cascades through your entire body as if someone flipped a switch inside you.

One lingering thought pulls at your heartstrings - Bakugo's face as you slipped away from him, his panic and desperation as he failed to save you.

And to top it all off, you told him you loved him.

In the heat of the moment, it felt right. But now? It feels selfish. You admitted your feelings just in time for them to be ripped away from him. You don't even know if you're going to see him ever again. What if you die down here?

Oh.

What if you die down here?

Alone and scared.

Away from your family, friends...Katsuki, your best friend - the secret love of your life.

You never got to kiss him, properly express your affection for him - the experience was stolen away from you.

You're left to your own devices inside an unknown cell, blubbering on the tiny cot in the corner, frustration burning in your chest as you're heaving sob after sob. It triggers something in you never felt before - an unfamiliar violent rage. Launching up from the cot, you snivel as you face the wall and punch it with all the energy you can gather.

"Fuck!" You wail, failing to recollect the memory that your still under the effect of the quirk suppressant. The sound of your knuckles smashing against the steel wall reverbs as it sends lightning bolts of pain up your arm, dissolving as the adrenaline makes its way through your entire being.

And then something terrifying stirs in your guts as the blood drips from your knuckles onto the floor.

The pain was satisfying.

Day Nine

Days have passed, that much you knew, but how many? That answer remained unclear, no matter how many times you begged various workers around the compound. No one ever answered you with words, just violence. You’ve lost count how many times you’ve been slapped, kicked, and pushed around for engaging in minimal conversation. There’s other prisoners here, too, but no one is allowed to communicate. You see each other sometimes in the hallways but never long enough to speak, even if you wanted to. It was like everyone was a ghost, all haunting the same burial ground.

Shockingly enough, they keep you fed and allowed one shower per day. It's a confusing system, considering how inhumane things have proven to be, but you're convinced it's to keep their subjects "healthy" for their fucked up experiments.

Your schedule consisted of a hellish rotation of broken sleep and taking whatever drugs they forced upon you. The amount of times you were pulled from your cell varied for their trials that they had planned for the day. Whether it be once, or four times, you never knew how many hours you'd be stuck under surveillance in a catatonic state.

You desperately tried to turn your emotions off to protect your psyche at any chance you could. As much as you hated to admit defeat, the endless stress and over dosage of unknown substances was more than enough to keep you underwater, sinking further toward rock bottom with each passing moment.

A guard stalks up to your cell and bangs on the glass to grab your attention.

“Y/H/N, your cooperation is needed for test 15. Up and at ‘em.”

Your body is burdened with all the medical trauma you've endured over the last few days, slowing your pace to a sluggish limp as you make your way toward the cell door.

"Hurry it up, subject. We ain't got all day!" he shouts, startling you with his sudden command.

Fuck this place.

Day Fourteen

"Test 23, Y/H/N - Forced kinetic energy release. Begin testing."

You don't have time to react before the IVs hooked to you begin to force various fluids into your veins. The competing sensations flood through you in rough currents - hot, cold, burning, stinging in cycles. A well-known tunnel vision begins to cloud your sight as you squirm in the steel throne you've been restrained to. You're body is on the verge of passing out when an intrusive illusion appears before you.

"Hello? Sweetie?"

Your mother appears in front of you, outstretching a phantom hand to touch your shoulder.

What the fuck...mom? How is she here right now?

"Are you coming home?" she asks, her face settled in a deadpan expression. Her voice resembles a computerized AI, as if someone is programming her dialog.

"Mom?" you speak aloud, frightened by how real this looks and feels.

"Honey? Are you coming home? Katsuki and Izuku need you."

"Mom, I'm right here. What do you mean?" You're becoming more and more disturbed as she continues to drone on the same question.

"When are you coming home? Katsuki and Izuku need help."

She's not real.

She's not really here - this shadow knows nothing.

Snap the fuck out of it, they must have drugged you with a hallucinogenic.

But why? What the hell does this have to do with quirk suppressants?

"You're not here," you growl, screwing your eyes shut, refusing to entertain anymore of this apparition of your mother.

"Oh, but honey, I am!"

What?

A force squeezes at your throat, cutting off an anxious breath as it leaves your lips. You scramble to grasp at the hallucination, forgetting you're trapped in the testing chamber and can't move. Your hands are flexing repeatedly under the shackles as energy is collecting in your palms, unable to control the emotional response racing through every nerve in your body.

They must have not given you the suppressant...or mixed it with something more deadly.

"No!" You croak, your scream choked out by the pressure on your neck.

Your vision turns white, a sudden surge of energy expelling from your palms, pulsing intensely over and over again. You can feel the impact against the chair beneath you, the sound of shredding metal filling your ears as kinetic energy is forcibly pouring out of you in succession.

"Cease testing, inject sedation."

The pain in your hands dissipates immediately upon hearing the doctor's orders, followed by the prick of a thick needle penetrating the crook of your neck. The white cast in your vision fades, reality returning to you as your eyes glass over. One of the scientist walks around the chair and stands before you with another goddamn clipboard.

"Y/H/N, please describe how you feel and what you saw."

That familiar fire returns in your chest from your first night here - the aggressive urge to lash out. Was this a side-effect of whatever serum they've been loading you up with?

"Fuck you," you snarl, lip quivering as you're attempting to bury the ferocity thrashing inside you, begging to be set free.

He approaches you and snatches your cheeks in a rough hold. His grip tightens around your jaw as he repeats his question.

"One more time - Y/H/N, describe how you feel and what you saw."

The flame burns hotter as your fists are trembling, the emotion becoming overbearing.

Before you can stop yourself, your palms shoot up into an offensive position, sparking with the remaining collective of kinetic energy as it bursts forward, striking the scientist and sending him tumbling backward. The bonds on the arms of the chair must have broken and freed your hands during the test - you didn't even notice until you attacked the guard.

Shit.

"Quirk handcuffs and solitary - stat," orders the doctor over the surround system.

The door to the room slams open and three more scientists scramble inside as they're rushing to surround you. One shoves you down harshly into the metal chair, bouncing your head off the back of it.

Black…everything goes black.

When you come to, you’re in a new room that you don’t recognize. It’s different from the one you’ve called “home” since your arrival. There’s a mirror in the cell they’ve thrown you in and you catch a glimpse of yourself for the first time in...you don't know how long. The reflection shows you someone you don’t recognize - the girl staring back at you isn’t you. It looks like you, but her vicious predatory grin is bone chilling. This doppelgänger glares daggers at you, tilting her head menacingly as she mouths, “get out of me.”

You throw a punch at the mirror and shatter it as a blood curdling scream erupts from deep in your gut. Stumbling to the floor, you lay on the cold concrete and stare into the blank space of the solitary prison cell. You can’t even will yourself to cry.

I wanna go home…I wanna go home…

The thought recycled on loop, taunting the strength of your mental state.

I want to go home to mom, to Izuku, to Katsuki…anywhere but here.

You need to survive...

No. You will survive.

This will not kill you.

Day Twenty Five

"Y/H/N, we are going to proceed with a psychological evaluation."

Like you had a choice in the matter.

“Can you describe your experience from test 23?”

“Horrible,” you groan, the vision of your mother flowing to the forefront of your memory. “I saw a hallucination of someone that could physically touch me.”

You’ve learned in your time here not to ask further questions - answer as plainly as possible and move on.

The scientist clacked the keys on her laptop obnoxiously. “And it felt real?”

Unfortunately, yes.

“Yes.” You turn your eyes to the floor as she proceeds to type whatever nonsense into the database. She retrieves a clipboard from the bag slung on the back of her chair, sliding it across the table to you.

"Can you confirm this report is accurate from your initial intake?"

You begin to scan over the form when the words "if you want to get out of here" catch your attention.

Y/N

Y/H/N

Subject 57 - Kinetic Energy

Do not speak or react this note, until specified, if you want to get out of here.

...What?

I'm an undercover hero from the United States. I've been here for six months, waiting for an officially ranked hero to come through the facility. I haven't been able to leave since my arrival and communication has been cut off from my agency. You're the first non-civilian they've captured.

Blink four times if you had a cellphone on you when you were taken.

You look up at her and blink four times - she shoots her eyes back down to the form, signaling you to continue reading.

Can you contact outside help? Could be the agency you belong to or co-workers.

Tap the table twice for yes and three times for no.

You tap the table twice, pretending to point to specific information on the page your reading. If you could get access to your cellphone, you might just be able to send your location to initiate a rescue mission.

"Thank you, Y/H/N," she says, grabbing the clipboard and returning it to her bag. "I'll take you back to your cell, follow me."

Following the standard protocol that you're used to, she slaps a pair of handcuffs around your wrists before exiting the room. Once you reach your cell, she steps inside with you, removing the cuffs and motioning for you to come closer.

"I can look in the evidence chamber for your phone, more than likely it's in there with the other belongings after your decontamination process. Workers aren't allowed any communication devices, but they keep all of the captor's personal items guarded in one place."

You don't have time to ask her all the questions you're dying to know the answers to - how'd she get here, how did the USA know of the lab, what her undercover work consisted of, why no one came to find her...a plethora of unknowns.

But right now? She's willing to help you, that's all that matters.

"If you can conjure up enough energy with your quirk, can you charge it?" she asks faintly.

You nod in response, confirming the answer silently. Similarly to your classmate from UA, Kaminari, you were able to charge devices by converting kinetic energy into an electronic wavelength - a trick Eraserhead taught you back in Junior year.

"Here's the plan - In five days, I'll be the guard on night shift. I'll give you an empty shot of the suppressant to make it look like a realistic dosage. Once the others have dissipated to their quarters, I can lead you to the evidence stash and let you rummage through the bins while I keep watch. You grab the phone, I'll hide it in my uniform, bring you back to your cell and toss it to the floor. I'll patrol the hall while you get things set up and make contact with another hero or your agency."

She peers out of the glass cell and sees another guard making his way down the hall.

"Don't say a word. I'll be back in 5 days, and I'm sorry for what I'm about to do," she apologizes as she cracks you on the jaw with a hearty slap.

You know she had to fake it in front of the other guard to keep her cover - it still hurt like hell.

She shuts the door with a noisy clang of the door's mechanism, a high pitched beep locking it in place.

And thus, the countdown to freedom begins.

Five days until you finally make contact with the outside world - with someone.

Someone? No, you already knew who you were sending the information to - like it wasn't obvious who you'd choose to signal for help.

Day Twenty Nine

You've come this far, you can't back down now.

All you had to do was make your way back to the evidence room with the undercover hero lady, find your phone, and sneak back to your holding cell.

And force your quirk to activate.

...and not get caught.

The suspense of the plan succeeding was enough to keep you on edge as the nightly sedations were distributed. She appeared, just like she promised, and administered a fake injection to your arm. You put on a front for the other guards, fooling them into thinking you were properly medicated.

The plan's been set in motion - she'll be back in a few hours.

Day Thirty

You could feel the liberation in your grasp - the victory of sneaking your phone back to your cell filling you with exhilaration. All you had to do was wait for lights out to attempt your escape plan. You have no idea how deep the lab sits under Sector 42 and if you'll even be able to obtain a signal in your cell.

Focusing all of your willpower into the tip of your pointer finger, you hold it closely as sparks of energy softly crackle into the charging port of the phone.

Just a minute to charge, that's all I need. Enough battery to turn it on, send a call and a text and turn it back off.

You're beginning to feel lightheaded as your phone successfully powers on with a soft vibration and the logo appearing on screen.

Holy shit, it worked!

Hurriedly, you flip the silent switch before notifications begin to pour into the device, catching up on all the missed communications over the last month. Multiple calls, text messages, e-mails, the standard amount that you expected. The battery hovered at 7% and the time read 3:05AM. You glance at the date underneath the time - it's been an entire month since you disappeared.

A whole goddamn month.

There's no time to spiral over that right now!

Hunched over behind your cot, you proceed to open your messages to keep your plan on track. You're not shocked by the amount of missed texts from everyone; Midoriya, Jiro, Uraraka, Kirishima, Mina...and Bakugo.

You had 127 unread texts from him, the last coming in less than ten minutes ago.

One hundred and twenty seven.

You freeze, a mixture of guilt, excitement, and panic surging through you. Shoving all that down - you've gotten too good at doing that - you clicked on the thread, catching the last dozen or so of his messages.

[2:45AM] i don’t want to say this in a fucking text of all things [2:45AM] especially under these circumstances [2:46AM] but i’m scared i’ll never get to say it to you [2:46AM] i’m a fucking idiot for not telling you sooner [2:47AM] god dammit [2:48AM] i love you [2:48AM] like a stupid fucking amount [2:49AM] i convinced myself i didn’t and that you wouldn’t feel the same [2:50AM] and when you come home [2:50AM] i’ll tell you every damn day to make up for all the times i didn’t [2:51AM] that’s a promise [2:52AM] i love you lite-brite

Tears are silently falling from your eyes, wide with astonishment at the words you're reading from him. There's no way this is real - you've got to be strung out from the quirk-drugs they've forced upon you. A delayed side effect of some sort? They've given you delusions in the past, it's not that farfetched.

He convinced himself not to love you? He's always loved you?!

He said 'I love you,' twice.

Twice!

You don't have time to read the rest as much as you're dying to catch up on all the potential sweet nothings he's sent to you over the last few weeks, but you do have time for one thing.

Before you chicken out, you click the "Call" button next to his name. The phone suddenly feels like a cinderblock in your hand as you shakily hold it to your ear. You think he's not going to answer until you hear faint rustling sounds on the other end of the line.

"H-hello?! Y/N!?" You can't say anything - your body straightens, goosebumps covering you from head to toe. All of the misery you were holding on to, the trauma and terror, evaporated at the sound of those two words. Those two measly words wrapped around you and offered a warmth you haven't known in weeks.

You click the "End Call" button, hating that you probably gave him a heart attack, but you selfishly needed to hear his voice.

Before you forget your initial plan, you send a pinned location to Bakugo. You know he'll come running - blasting, rather - as soon as he can pinpoint exactly how to break into the lab. You have zero doubts that he can't figure it out.

[3:11AM] *location sent*

One last thing for good measure? You send an orange heart emoji.

Right as you're about to scroll up and read his past messages, your phone powers down with the empty battery symbol displaying on screen.

Your heart is racing, threatening to beat out of your chest as his words reverberate in your mind.

I love you like a stupid fucking amount.

You can't help but chuckle at the sentiment - that's so Bakugo of him to say.

At least your plan was a success and you were able to accomplish the small goal. Now all you have to do is play the waiting game - knowing Bakugo, and presumably Midoriya? That won't be long at all.

You lay back in your cot, smiling for the first time in ages, relishing in your triumph.

And for the first night since you've arrived, a peaceful rest welcomes you with open arms. You dream of home, running in the park under the glow of the sun and finding Bakugo under the shade of a nearby tree, waiting patiently for you in the summer breeze.

next up, we wrap back to the boys as they plan their rescue mission! and they're not going alone as they recruit their closest friends in their crazy plan to get you back. and don't worry, it won't be easy. tags: @bakugouswaif @k1tk4tkatsuki @bells2319 @st0nedbitch @deftonianfr ✩ if you’d like to be tagged when updates are posted, message/comment to be added! ✩

#bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugo angst #bakugo x you #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo fluff #bakugo x y/n #katsuki bakugo #my hero academia #bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #☆.rei writes #✩.hollowheart

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protectu01 · 8 months

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Scrubs suits, lab coats, nursing uniforms, V-neck scrub | Unisex

If you're looking for the best unisex medical scrubs, lab coats, and medical uniforms, look no further. These unisex garments are typically made from durable and breathable fabric, designed to withstand frequent washing and sterilization.

#Best Scrub And Lab Coats #Best Medical Scrub #Scrubs & Medical Uniforms #Nursing Uniforms #Scrub Suits #Full Sleeve Lab Coat For Men & Women #Doctor's Lab Coat #V-neck Scrub #Hospital Uniforms #Medical Lab Coat #Apron #Doctor Coat #Uniform Supplier #Premium Scrubs And Lab Coats.

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hirawatsuniforms · 2 years

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Shop All Star 7 Pockets Medical Scrubs for Men and Women in Hirawats

Buy our 7-pocket medical scrub suits for men and women. Scrub pockets hold all of the essential tools that a nurse needs to survive a shift. Here, Hirawats offers comfortable 7-pocket medical scrubs and apparel for men and women at the best price. Our scrubs are designed for all-day comfort, so you can wear them any time. Contact us today 9885053576, or visit us here https://www.hirawatsonline.com/all-star-scrubs/

#best scrubs for doctors in indian hirawats medical scrubs pink lab suit

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 7 months

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Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 99

Part 1 Part 98

Steve spends a short three days in the hospital before they start the discharge. It’s surprising, somehow, that spending time slowly dying in the Upside-Down is more traumatic on the body than literal possession. Eddie can’t wrap his head around it.

He’s sitting on Steve’s bed, hopefully for the last time, hip to hip as he kicks his feet out over and over again at the same tempo of his beating heart. Steve’s got their fingers interlaced on Eddie’s thigh, flexing his own fingers to that same rhythm Eddie’d started up.

“You think it’ll be much longer?” Steve asks, slumping his head to the side and atop Eddie’s shoulder.

His hair tickles Eddie’s cheek. Eddie wants to reach up and smooth it back, but Steve’s still holding his hand, and the other one doesn’t quite reach.

“Nah, the old man’s good at getting what he wants.”

“That’s because he’s got the same big, sad eyes as you.”

Eddie squawks in fake affront even as warmth pools in his cheeks. Few people have mentioned a resemblance, and it makes him go soft and gooey every time. “I don’t have big, sad eyes!” He shakes Steve’s hand around gently in his - he’s always, always gentle. “I’m too tough.”

Steve snorts, small and tired. Even with relatively minor injuries, neither of them have been sleeping well in the small hospital cot. It’s starting to show in the circles beneath Steve’s eyes. Eddie wants to bundle him up in the backseat of Wayne’s truck and tuck him into their bed at home.

They won’t even have to come back. All they’ve got is some sort of cream for Steve’s burns, and Eddie’s bruised ribs and broken nose are supposed to heal all on their own. His concussion’s already behind him, even if things still go a little wonky if he moves his neck too quickly.

They can just convalesce. Maybe Wayne will bring them soup. Or burgers from the diner and a strawberry milkshake to split. Anything will be better than the mind-numbing sterility of the hospital, as long as they’re together.

If only Wayne would hurry the hell up.

It’s not Wayne who walks in. It’s not any of their friends, or family, or an unnamed doctor in blue scrubs. It’s not anyone he recognizes at all.

It’s a perfectly matched pair - like salt and pepper shakers at a fancy diner. Eddie feels his shoulders curl, a silent question mark to their upright forms.

The woman looks like a mannequin, in her gray pencil knit skirt and matching cardigan, belted tight enough to make her look like a wine glass. Her hair is a windswept brown and her chin’s raised just so.

The man’s suit is a pewter gray, matching her skirt perfectly. He has his hands stuffed into the pockets of his slacks, like he’s posing for a catalog as he looms imposingly on the threshold.

She knocks on the frame of the door, calling a quiet, “knock knock,” as the man strides in.

Eddie feels Steve’s hair brush against his cheek as he sits up and twists, to look at the new arrivals. Eddie doesn’t look toward him, can’t tear his eyes away from the pair, as the woman comes to stand beside the man, photogenic smile plastered to her face, even as the man glares down at them.

“Steven,” he says, eyebrows furrowed in an expression Eddie knows intimately. He’s seen it on Steve’s own face enough times. It’s less charming on the older, meaner model.

Steve drops his hand covertly and shuffles slightly to the left and away, leaving Eddie’s hand to flop to the mattress, bereft.

“Dad,” Steve replies.

Eddie turns, can’t not when Steve’s voice comes out so even, so lifeless, so dead. It’s just like when the mind flayer was running the show. Like Steve’s not there at all.

He is though. And that feels worse, because as Eddie stares at Steve’s perfect profile, he can almost see the years of distance and berating stacking themselves into the clench of his jaw and that familiar furrow of eyebrows.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” His Dad doesn’t shout, but the hiss somehow still feels like it’s echoing off the bare walls of the hospital room.

Steve flinches back. Eddie sits on his hand as it twitches without his permission to grab onto Steve’s own.

“For what, sir?” Mrs. Harrington’s perfect face scrunches up into a wince as she looks sidelong at her husband’s stony face. He opens his mouth, eyebrows angrier than ever, and Steve blurts, “I’m sorry.”

It doesn’t help.

“Sorry,” he says evenly, like his fist wasn’t clenched in preparation for a strike. “Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?”

Steve sits, wordless, as he stares up at him, unblinking.

Mrs. Harrington sighs. “Oh, Steve.” It sounds sympathetic, but Steve’s back curls in, arms wrapping around his ribs as he looks down at his own hanging feet.

Eddie sits on his other hand.

Steve remains silent while storm clouds bloom above Mr. Harrington’s head.

Mrs. Harrington sighs, crossing arms and tapping perfectly manicured fingers against her own forearms, that same familiar beat that Steve gravitates toward without any of the soul.

“Sweetie,” she starts, no warmth in her voice or eyes. “I understand that you might have been feeling a little sick, but that’s no excuse for the state you left the house in.”

Eddie looks at Steve out of the corner of his eyes, and sees Steve looking right back, eyebrow quirked up in a silent question Eddie doesn’t know how to answer with witnesses.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again, looking back down to the linoleum between his feet.

“You’re sorry?” Mr. Harrington demands, voice raising with each syllable he utters. “You flooded the house, Steven!”

Steve flinches at the sound of his name. Eddie reaches out for the connection between them and plucks it, thrumming it like a guitar. Steve smiles, just a little, down at his socked feet.

It’s a mistake. Mr. Harrington’s nostrils flare. Eddie sees the resemblance in the way his nose leans just slightly to the left, almost charmingly crooked. But there’s none of that familiar light behind Mr. Harrington’s eyes. He’s an empty pit, a bottomless well.

“We’ve had to replace all of the carpeting on the second floor,” Mrs. Harrington cuts in, looking down at her nails, uncaring as Mr. Harrington’s incensed further by her words.

“We wouldn’t have even known if the Allen’s hadn’t called us!” He’s shouting now, gesturing wildly toward the open door like whoever the Allen’s are, they’re waiting right outside, watching the show.

Mrs. Harrington sighs. “Oh, Richard. Don’t make a scene.”

As if spurred on by his wife’s chastising words, Mr. Harrington’s voice only gets louder. “You soiled the carpet beyond repair.” He punctuates his words with a raised finger, like he’s counting down all the sins he’s ready to lay at his son’s feet. “You made a spectacle of yourself in front of all the neighbors.” Another raised finger.

He points both fingers at Steve’s face, finger close enough to his nose that Eddie wants to snap out and bite it. “You left the garage open to be ransacked!” And here comes raised finger number three.

Steve’s curling further and further into himself, creating distance between his Father’s wagging finger and his vulnerable face.

“Leaving the door open, Steven?” Mrs. Harrington asks, just as aloof and uncaring of the scene in front of her, even as she says, “we could have been killed.”

Eddie can’t help the snort that comes out. It’s all just such a cartoonish display, almost unbelievable even as he watches it play out in front of him. He slaps his hand over his mouth, but both their gazes have already snapped over to him.

Well, better him than Stevie. Stevie, who Eddie’s seen with that same curled posture hiding in his closet, and looking up at his own goddamn house from the passenger seat of Eddie’s van.

He’d been straight backed facing down a demogorgon but just the sight of his parents has him fading into himself. No fucking way. Not on Eddie’s watch.

Eddie slaps his own thighs once, sharp enough that it stings. Mrs. Harrington jumps, just a little, at the sound. Eddie stands, shifting on the balls of his feet until he’s just slightly in front of Steve, ready to defend.

“Wouldn’t you have to actually be home for that?” Eddie asks.

Mrs. Harrington gasps, hand over her cheek like Eddie had slapped her. “Excuse me?” she asks, at the same time that Mr. Harrington demands, “who are you?”

Eddie puts his pointer finger to his chin, pouting like he’s really thinking this through. “You know, I think you’d know that if you were ever actually around.”

Steve stands, shoulder to shoulder with Eddie as his Dad takes a threatening step toward Eddie.

“This is Eddie,” Steve says, voice flat and cold. King Steve’s come out to play. Eddie grins, manic and wide in that way that’s always worked to rile up cops and teachers alike. It works just as well on the Harrington’s. He sticks out his tongue and almost laughs again when Mrs. Harrington takes a startled step back. “You’d know that if you gave half a shit about me.”

Mr. Harrington scoffs as he looks Eddie up and down, eyeing the rips in his jeans, the frayed hem of his t-shirt, the unkempt length of his hair. He turns away, dismissing him without even a word as he looks back at Steve.

“It’s time to go,” he says, glaring down at his son. “We’ll talk about this at home.”

Steve takes a step away from Mr. Harrington’s grasping hands. Eddie reaches out, interlocking their fingers again and squeezing tight. The splint on Steve’s finger sticks out awkwardly, digging into Eddie’s own hand as Steve squeezes right back.

“Eddie is my home,” Steve says, like that isn’t the most romantic thing he’s ever heard.

He almost swoons, even as Mr. Harrington rages, looking between the pair of them, making connections Eddie desperately hopes are true and even more desperately hopes the man won’t go spreading around.

“Last chance,” Mr. Harrington says. “Or we’re-”

He doesn’t get to finish. Wayne chooses that moment to walk in. His stance goes loose immediately, gaze sharp.

“Richard,” he says. Calm, cool, and gruff as he meets both their enraged eyes, one after another. “Nora.”

Mrs. Harrington sucks on her teeth, mouth pursed as she holds her silence. Mr. Harrington has no such compunction.

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

Wayne raises his eyebrow before turning his back on them to run his eyes over Steve and Eddie in turn. “You boys alright?” Steve nods, but Eddie raises his hand to flap it back and forth in a wishy-washy gesture that Wayne grimaces at. “Ready to go home?”

Richard scoffs, taking a threatening step forward. “What do you mean home?” Steve flinches as the last word lands with derision. Steve doesn’t respond, just looks down at his own shoes with a clenched jaw.

Mrs. Harrington sighs, and it lands in the room like a blow.

Wayne’s eyes have gone hold and hard as he turns around and steps fully in front of Steve. “Steve’s been staying with me for over a year,” Wayne says, tone modulated and controlled even as his hands clench. “And you didn’t even notice.”

“Steven,” Richard says, a warning hidden in his tone. “Last chance.”

Eddie leans around Wayne to look between the pair. He resists the urge to pull Steve behind him. Eddie squeezes his hand and is floored when Steve’s shoulders immediately straighten, chin raised just so, like he’s keeping his crown straight atop his head.

He stands, shoulders back, head held high. Eddie stands right along with him.

“I’m not going with you,” Steve says, boring holes into his Father’s head with the force of his conviction from behind Wayne’s shoulder.

Mr. Harrington’s jaw clenches with whatever he sees on Steve’s face. He reaches his hand out, palm open and beckoning. “Give me your keys,” he demands, curling his fingers like he’s in a cheesy karate movie and begging his opponent to make the first move.

Steve laughs. “You want my car?” His laugh is hollow. “You’ll have to go get it from the trailer park.”

Mrs. Harrington eyes Eddie and Wayne like she’s putting pieces together he’d rather she not have. Even still, she turns away with an airy, “Come on, Richard.” When he doesn’t immediately follow her directions, she continues, “this isn’t the place.”

Mr. Harrington’s snarling like a dog, finger still raised in threat as he hisses, “this isn’t over,” before turning and striding through the door with enough careless force that his shoulder hits the frame with a meaty thwack.

“See you next year, then!” Eddie calls, waving bitchily at their backs.

They all stare at the open door, waiting for an attack that never comes until Mrs. Harrington’s heels stop echoing down the corridor.

“What the hell was that?” Wayne asks gruffly.

Steve’s jaw is clenched, as he glares out the open doorway, but at Wayne’s question, he slumps, stepping closer to Eddie until he can lay some of his weight onto Eddie’s shoulders. It hurts his ribs, but Eddie takes it gladly, wrapping his hand around Steve’s waist.

“Just the usual,” Steve says, sounding exhausted.

Wayne eyes him critically as Steve avoids his gaze. Eddie squeezes Steve’s side, flickering his fingers against his waist just to feel him wriggle against the feeling.

“Alright, kid,” Wayne says, reaching out to squeeze both their shoulders comfortingly. Steve slumps further into Eddie who gladly takes his weight. “I think it’s about time we all get home.”

Eddie smiles, bumping his hip into Steve.

He was already home. After all, Steve’s right here.

Part 100

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @wonderland-girl143-blog @nerdsconquerall @sharingisntkaren @canmargesimpson @bananahoneycomb @rainwaterapothecary @practicallybegging

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie upsidedown au #my fic #anyway. Steve's disowned!!! Hop just didn't give them a chance to say it #Also Steve does NOT realize anything he said was romantic. He's just like. of COURSE Eddie is like the most important part of my life #anyway. I really enjoyed the Harrington's as a looming presence in the story. Haunting Steve in their absence #and then finally being set free (disowned) is like the best thing that could ever happen to him

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calico-cheriies · 3 months

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Hideaway |Soshiro Hoshina x Reader Fanfic|

{Chapter one}

{Masterlist}

{Hideaway Masterlist}

"I want you right here by my side, cuz' I'm dying to see your face. You act like it's something to hideaway,"

----------------------------

There it is again.

You could feel your hand slowly travel up to the collar of the lab coat, you pulled at the piece of fabric, trying to find some form of breathing room in the suffocating moment. You had done many practices before with this, that's what the schooling was for... so why did you feel squeamish this time? You turned your back away from the rather gruesome sight, you were somewhat a doctor but more of a forensic pathologist, so you dealt with the aftermath of what happened to those unlucky officers that met their demise with the kaiju's. You shuddered at the thought of meeting such fate, they were monsters who just ravaged cities and took the lives of innocent people, and the officers were just human shields that were trying to protect the people.

You quickly dug through the cabinets in search of a mask. You placed the strings behind your ears and adjusted it, it was one of those late night attacks that the third division had to take care of. You threw on the blue surgical scrub suit and you dug through the box of the gloves to pull over your hands, stretching the glove to go over your hand and up to your wrist. You already had put your hair up and you placed a surgical cap to make sure nothing would entangled into your hair. You finished dressing your up and your ears perked up at the sound of the rustling outside the room, it was at the deepest level of the building due to the grim aura that emitted. You were sure that it was just doctors or nurses working with others to bring the dead down to the morgue until you or your other colleagues could get to them.

Now it was time to get to work, you ignored the continued hectic rustling outside from the attack and you quickly got to work so you could start working on the report you would later write and unfortunately deliver to the families of the victims. You usually let your thoughts wander while you worked, you didn't want to focus too much on the cutting of the bodies and imagining what their last moments looked like. No- you liked to imagine of what the world could be if there was no kaiju. You would've for sure gotten another job, probably something less grim than this...you would have loved to do something in gardening or owning some kind of shop that allowed you to build personal connections. But those were useless dreams in this world- not when the population kept decreasing and the kaiju kept increasing.

You hadn't realized how much time had passed as you kept day dreaming and taking note of the details you gathered. It was the same thing over and over again, the same repeating details that indicted a quick and violent death. You knew you still had a handful to take care of as your other peers did, each body required clean and precise cuts so no major damage was added. Each division had a few forensic pathologists on hand since the attacks could lead to big numbers and it was easy for them to get their hands full.

You kept working, pulling in one after another to try and get through the night. That was the worst time the attacks could've happened, especially since they were picking up as each day passes. Soon they were able to lower the numbers as the hours passed, and you slumped against the counter of the room, your hands slightly shaking from the exhaustion of the repeating cuts and jotting down of notes. You took in a moment to relish the silence that was now prominent, there was no shouts or loud voices nor was there any sounds of life outside of the room. You had already stitched every organ back , or at least of what was left and did your best to try and make the body look someone presentable so the mortician could do their job properly. You placed a cover over the body before rolling the body back to the proper place so it could be transferred to the funeral home.

Now it was time to try and get a little bit of rest, at least after you properly showered. You slowly opened the door and took a peek outside, it was empty and the lights were dim for the night. You made sure not a single person or colleague was around to see you in such a state, so you had rushed to remove the entire attire you were wearing to had some unpleasant splatters from the work. You took a quick glance in the reflection of the windows that you passed by, your hair was messy and unkempt and it stuck to your forehead due to some sweat you accumulated. You didn't want to imagine the lingering smell that probably was coming off of you, the thought was enough to embarrass you to the core.

You quickly rushed through the halls and you rather have taken the stairs up to the top to avoid any interactions with the officers that could have been wandering around from the recent events in the elevators. You wanted to get a few hours of sleep to try and present the reports to your superiors. Of course you never really interacted with them unless it was for work which was just reports.

That's how you liked it.

What you didn't appreciate was colliding with a wall- was the exhaustion finally coming down on you?

It wasn't a wall,

But a man...a really strong man.

You stumbled back, your hands flailing out a bit as you dropped the manila folder with your notes down to the ground. Your back hitting the actual wall this time and your hands were plastered flat against the wall to stable yourself from the forceful contact. A gasp leaving your lips as the person stumbled back only a few steps, you snapped your head up and squinted to see who you bumped into. The first notable thing was the violet hair that was shaped into a decently bowl cut, and his eyes- they were violet as well. It was beautiful if it wasn't so late at night and when you were in this condition, how embarrassing!

"Yer alright?" Was the first thing the vice commander asked after the initial shock died down, and your breathing was slightly heavy once you finally responded. "Y...yeah, I'm sorry Vice captain," you were quick to apologize and you dropped to your knees to pick up the thick Manila folder, you cursed under your breath as your hands clumsily picked up the file and you leaned onto the wall for support to pick yourself up. "I hope I'm not bothering you, please have a good night," you bowed your head for a moment, your cheeks reddening as you realized how disgusting you probably looked to him, you were quick to try and walk past him on the other side of the wall.

"Aye," he called out, he found the clumsy girl to be amusing and almost adorable in the way you seemed to try and stay away from him. "Thanks... for what yer do, take care Miss (Y/n)," the way he drawled out your name was enough to make your chest tighten. Seriously- when did you start to enjoy the little accents? Maybe it's was because he was so attractive...?

Your response was just a small squeak, it's like you tried to hum but it came out too high pitch so you just sped up your pace and shut the door once you reached the end of the hall. You wanted to just collapse and curl up until you disappeared from the face of the earth, and you prayed you would never have to see his face again and that your schedule would never align again. That's how it's been for the past while, so this should never happen again.

You failed to realize the vice captain looking back over his shoulder as you left, a small smirk making its way onto his lips as he vowed he would corner you again, as a good vice captain, he should know his colleagues well, right?

{Chapter Two}

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#soshiro hoshina #soshiro hoshina x reader #third division #vice commander #Sōshirō #Soshiro hoshina fanfic #hideaway #kaiju no. 8 #Kaiju

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