#au: clinic

[toiletwipes]

Whenever I'm Alone (With You) | clinic!wilbur

MOUTH SO SWEETLY TELLING LIES — PART TWO

5k words. / [Two months after the festival you're left in the dust of what to do with yourself when you've been ghosted by a really cute guy. Depression hits and it's not a good mix.] [watch out for self-deprecation, slight suicidal ideation, kind of an unhealthy relationship brewing out of pain]

Part 1 — Masterlist

fic title from Lovesong by The Cure but the chapter title is from Cut by The Cure

thank you @drop-of-void for proof-reading!! and i'm tagging some lovely folks now. @sleeby-anon @loversj0y @struggling-with-delia @l0veb0mb1ng @boiled-onionrings

xxxx

After the first month, it’d been easy to slip into the same old routine. Wake up too early, stare at the wall until your alarm goes off, manage either the longest shower ever or brush your teeth, then go to work and come home exhausted. Maybe eat. Stare at the wall a little more, go to bed. Music was optional.

And Seff wasn’t having it after the second.

“If men do this to you, then they don’t deserve you.” You grunted, listening to him ramble as you sat on the couch, arms feeling like noodles as you fold towels that sat on your bed a little too long, with Seff mopping your floor, the rugs rolled up and against the wall. The room smelt like fabuloso. “I’m serious. They don’t get to have a great night, express that they want to get to know you more, exchange numbers and then do jackshit with it.” He stops mopping, opting to lean against the length of it, eyes staring straight at you. You don’t make contact.

“Well it’s not up to me what they do, remember?” It’s hard not to be mean about this, you’re all too aware that when men do this, it’s not your fault. (...Entirely.)

“Vividly.” He says, before finishing up the last corner and putting the mop back in the bucket and putting it off by the laundry room. When he joins you, you’re halfway done. He helps you with the rest of the towels, getting you off the couch and forcing you to tuck the towels into the cabinets. When you get back almost ten minutes later, you find the living room fan turned on high and the floor drying faster, Seff himself back on the couch with gummy candy. He offers some to you when you join him on the couch. You dig a hand into the bag and pop them into your mouth, chewing on them as you let the cleanliness of the place wash over you.

“Doing anything feels like I’m moving through- through a thick goo, like tar. And I can’t get out of it.” The words come out only a smidge louder than a whisper but it was so loud between the two of you. Seff doesn’t say anything. So you continue. “It wasn’t… just him. It was all of those guys. Like, how could all of them have one night and change their mind so fast, like it wasn’t real for any of them.” But it was him. He was the last straw. He made the choice to come up to you and spend the last of the festival with you, it was him that wanted your number. It was all him and then- and then- tears prick your eyes again.

And it was him again, ghosting you, just like the others. They were so different from each other, how could they all do the same thing? There had to be a reason and the only logical one is that it was you. They regretted what they did, what they said, and they regret you.

You feel the hazy feeling wash over you, the tar-like substance coating your limbs and mind as Seff hums, wrapping an arm around you. He knew you so well, you wondered why he stayed. “They’re jackasses, don’t forget that, no matter how nice they were or how they smiled at you, they decided that being a coward was easier, it had nothing to do with you.” You nod, not really listening… but still, it’s a little nice to hear the words. Even if they didn’t stick like they should’ve.

He rubs your shoulder, offering you more candy and letting it sit in his lap when you decline. “Here, let’s finish up cleaning and then you hop in the shower. Vick wants you over for dinner tonight, she’s making your favorite, okay?” You nod, Vick was always so nice and sweet to you, snarky towards her husband. And on good days it didn’t hurt to be around them, to see them in love like crazy people.

“How’d you do it?” You don’t recognize the words coming out of your mouth, foreign and sickly tasting. He hums, sighing as he breathes out while he looks around the apartment.

“How’d I do what?” He asks.

“How’d you know it was her, I mean, you guys moved so fast, how did you- just- how?” Words failed you and you wanted answers but even on autopilot, you’re unsure of what you want to know. Of what you want to hear.

Silence grows as he mulls over the answer. Then he starts standing, getting you up on your feet with him, speaking as he pushes you to the shower, “I’ll tell you when you’re done, how about that?” He smiles as you reach the middle of the tiled bathroom floor, turning to him helplessly as you shiver.

He’s about to close the door when you stop him, reaching out with a hand. He stands there, unmoving, eyes moving up to meet yours and you gulp.

“Thanks.”

He smiles and he shuts the door with a click.

You undress, making no attempts to look at the mirror as you step into the shower, closing the curtains. The water hits your scalp and you try to picture your ails being washed away with the oils in your hair. You try to follow your old routine as best as you can but when thirty minutes pass and all you have to show for it is clean hair and nothing else, you turn the shower off. You’ll take a win where you can. You don’t entirely know it’s been thirty minutes to be fair, but when the water turns from hot to cold you can take the hint it’s time to get out.

Getting dressed and drying your hair with a shirt, you exit your room to find Seff on the couch, finishing the bag of gummy candy off. The corner of your lips twitch up as you toss the shirt at his head, snorting when he shouts and somehow falls onto the ground. “And after all that I’ve done for you!” He says as he wrenches the shirt off his head, throwing it right back at you. “I’ve rolled the rugs out AND I’ve got your bag and keys, and this is the thanks I get?!” A small smile plays on your face, wrapping your arm around his neck in a limp headlock as he continues to mumble about how unfair it was.

“Come on, you big baby, let’s get you back home to Vick,��� and at the mention of his wife, he perks right up, handing your things over as he rushes to the door. You follow after him but as you lock the bottom lock, you hear a banging on your window. Your head snaps to the living room, just barely catching the dimmed blue sky of the night, nothing to be seen in the glass. You’d check it out but then you hear Seff call for your name. Turning away, you finish locking your door, following your best friend down the stairs and breathing in and out as your thoughts try to race ahead of you. Despite the genuine fear of a burglar… you couldn’t be bothered to worry too hard about it. One, there wasn’t a thing you could do now, pulling the seat belt over you as Seff started the engine. Two, and you’re sure it’s a bad thought but your mental health has never been known to be particularly okay, but you almost hope there’s somebody waiting for you. Whether they’d kill you immediately or to kidnap you, you’re clueless to which you want more, both are fine options. Maybe torture. Maybe you’d come out of this haze your mind seems to be stuck in.

You hardly notice the car parking, only when the door unlocks and you, automatically, take your seat belt off, opening the door and watching with blinking eyes as Vick, the beautiful woman she is, finds the two of you and hugs both at the same time. It’s a nice hug. Her soap smells nice. Makes you feel sleepy again.

Dinner is filled with laughs and despite your small fears, she doesn’t bring up Wilbur and she doesn’t bring up anybody and she doesn’t say that you deserve better. She just finds ways to make you laugh, make you gasp with the drama she’s heard, helps you with setting the table as Seff finishes off the toasted bread.

Wine is poured in your glass and Vick’s, juice for Seff. You quirk an eyebrow at him and he raises both in return, “what?” he asks as he lifts the fancy glass to his nose, swirling the liquid and then smelling it, with a satisfied nod.

“Pregnant?” He hangs his head in shame as Vick snorts, getting the salt and pepper from the kitchen.

“We wanted to be sure it was hers,” he sends a wink your way before beaming at Vick, accepting the bowl being passed for bread.

The night passes fast and before you can soak the warmth and happiness in for the long run, Seff is already dropping you off, double-checking that you’ll be okay for the weekend. “We’ll be at her mom’s place and you know her mom, middle of nowhere. No signal and—” you cut him off with a tight hug. He doesn’t say anything else until you let go. Until you’re sure the wine isn’t the only thing warm in your chest and belly. You’re slow to pull away but when you do, you walk backwards into your apartment, hand tight around the doorknob. The fear from before is back and though you know he has to leave, you wished he would stay. But that would mean asking. And you can’t ask that of him, not when he’s done so much for you already.

“See you when you get back.” He nods, tight-lipped.

“See you.” He starts the walk back to his car when you call out to him.

The words choke up in your throat but you manage to force them out, tasting bitter like vomit, “love you, be safe.” He parrots it back and tears blur your vision as you wave, watching as he disappears down the steps and then out of sight when his car drives away.

You swallow the lump in your throat, hoping you wouldn’t throw up on the floor after he mopped it, the fear of a familiar pit in your stomach as the door closes behind you. It’s quiet.

Way too quiet.

You turn your TV on, just loud enough to cover the ringing silence in your ears as you sit on the couch, not daring to check your bedroom or the kitchen for any intruders. You’re not sure what you want to find.

Head falling to your lap, phone open, your hand trembles as you press the icon for Wilbur’s contact. Despite him not answering before, you kept texting him and everyday it would stay on delivered, nothing would change. It felt maddening. Lonely. Desperate. You start typing a message out, speaking as your fingers moved, “Seff came over… helped clean and everything. I don’t know… where I’d be without… him.” Tears dripped onto your cheeks as you felt stupid and pathetic and- and- you couldn’t breathe, not around the sobs that escaped your mouth, covering it with one hand as you sent the message. He was just a guy and he only spent one night with you. It wasn’t even that special- you weren’t that special- why would he ever think-

It’s hard to focus but when the tears stop falling and you can breathe, at least through your mouth, you wipe the snot off with your sleeve.

Burglar be damned, you walk into the kitchen, tearing a paper towel off the roll and blowing your nose. It’s loud and it’s warm when you pull it away, groaning at the sight. “Fucking hell,” you mumble, tossing it into the trash.

The floor is cold beneath your feet walking back to the couch and when you sniff, you catch a whiff of that fabuloso again, pressing a hand to your forehead as you reach down to grab your phone. Your breath catches in your throat.

They’re- the messages- they’re not delivered anymore. He’s opened them. Thousands of emotions run through you in the matter of seconds. Air lodges itself in your throat, leaving you dizzy and unable to breathe as you think about it. Shame, humiliation. He’s seeing this pathetic, sad and lonely person vomit in his messages. Shock. Did he- did he lose his phone? Briefly angry, why couldn’t he just open it that night why did he have to wait till now? Staring down the phone screen, you can hardly recognize your thumb pressing on the call button. Without question, the cold press against your ear brings you to the moment, your mind clears of the haze as you’re forced to think, in milliseconds of a game plan. You thought of one over the last two months, wondered what you’d say to him, given the chance, but with your self-deprecating ass it was hard to think at all right now. Taking him back so quickly definitely was wrong, as was assuming he wanted you at all. Oh what to say?

As the call goes through and rings, hearing a vibrating noise outside the window you stiffen up. The one where you heard a noise from-

And the phone picks up, the vibration stops and all you can hear is the distant city noises, and perhaps the quietest panting you’ve heard. You approach the window, holding both hands at your phone, clutching as you whisper, “Wilbur?” Turning around until your back meets the wall beside it, you try to see if looking out would do anything. It doesn’t. It’s just as dark as it is inside of your living room, the only thing disturbing that inky blanket of darkness is your TV. You’re almost scared to turn it off. “Wilbur, what- are you there?” You didn’t know if you meant in general or right outside your fucking window but you can only imagine the answer when you see a phone drop onto the fire escape, a body falling to its knees, you can barely make out the silhouette. You drop your own phone when a hand smacks against the glass, dragging down as it smacks again and again. The shake in your hands makes it hard for you to flip the locks and you slide it up, just barely asking the question: just what in the hell are you doing??

But the hand falls off and a head of fluffy brown hair sticks in and he falls in with as much grace as a limp noodle, groaning all the way. You move him enough only to reach out and grab his phone, looking around to make sure nobody caught him sneaking in. You hope that in the case they do, they assume you’re only sneaking in a boyfriend— even if the assumption hurts to ache for.

“Fuck, Wilbur, what happened to you?” You hiss as you close the window, crouching as you help him sit against the wall, trying to look over him as his head rolls back. His eyes stare up at the ceiling as you look back at the window, catching sight of the red tint dragging down in the shape of his hand. Picking his wrist up, you do see the drying blood coating his skin. Your chest coils tight, thinking the worst of the worst. You try asking him what happened, where’s he hurt before his eyes drift down and find you, his face softening and a deep sigh rattles out of him, interrupted by a hiss and an attempt to press against his ribs. You need to call the ambulance, hell, take him to the hospital yourself but the way he’s sitting on your floor, already adjusting himself seems a little too… relaxed. As one can be relaxed when, no doubt, pain is at the forefront of your mind. “Wilbur, say something,” you beg with gritted teeth. You need a reason to not kick him out, to not pull him into your arms and kiss the wounds away no matter how tempting and how useless it would be. “Say something before I kill you myself.” And then he passes out.

You groan out in frustration, having caught his head in a panic when his body slumped over again and making a dive for the tile. “I cannot be doing this, Seff will kill me-” and then the sudden reminder, of oh yes, as of right now, you cannot call him. Despite more than likely being in the city together, you didn’t want him worrying over you again. You cannot keep doing that to him, he has a life of his own, Vick needs her husband and they’re going to visit her mom— and in your panic, a minute has passed and his head is still in your hand. You, out of nerves, started carding your free fingers through his hair, finding it… wet. You sniff close to his head and nearly groan again, yeah, his hair is wet with sweat.

You push his head back and reach around him, mumbling to yourself about how you should do it. Picking him up by the waist doesn’t do you any favors, neither does pulling on his arms. Bad idea in the first place. Sighing, you make a note to apologize later if he doesn’t die on you when you drag him to your room. It’s no question that he lies on your bed- after a towel has been laid out for him. If he’s bleeding, you don't want too big of a stain. You had considered leaving him on the floor… but then you couldn’t do it.

You check his arms, pushing his sleeves up and finding none of that. You check his head, nothing bleeding there. You take his shoes off but… that’s about all you do besides getting the first aid kit and setting it next to you, along with water and painkillers. If he was bleeding in the legs or chest or hell, even his feet, you needed him awake for that. And despite him literally being on your fire escape, which raises all sorts of questions mind you, you couldn’t undress him. You couldn’t.

After a few minutes, you shake his shoulder, giving his face a few smacks when he wakes up with a jolt, looking around until he finds you and then he groans, clutching at his side again, eyes shut tight. Then he tries to sit up. “Hey slow down there,” you say, holding onto his shoulder when it seemed he would stand up.

“Please, I should-” he swallows and you despise yourself for looking at his throat move, “I should go.”

“You shouldn’t be moving at all, now where’s the blood?” You speak fast, hoping to hide the shake in your voice if you were mean about it. He tried to fight you on it but when you pushed on his chest, stepping between his legs, he couldn’t move, head flung back as he tried to reel the grunts of pain in, trying to be quiet. “If you needed the hospital- or- or a clinic, you should’ve gone there first. But you didn’t, so you’re gonna tell me what’s hurting so I can help you.” He lays limp on your bed, unable to look at you as his mouth dropped open and snapped shut several times. “If you don’t tell me where it hurts, I’m going to stab you and then stitch you up myself and then throw you out my window so fucking- say something.”

It’s silent. Until it wasn’t. “Everywhere,” he rasped, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “It hurts everywhere. I can’t-” he gasps, hand coming up to where your own still processes, in the middle of his chest and over yours“-think.” You retract your hand immediately, backing up as you give him space. Space for yourself.

“Is there anything bleeding?” You ask and when he shakes his head, you think back to the clear blood on his hands, on your window. It doesn’t add up but taking it with a generous fistful of salt, you want to scream. “Okay- okay. Fuck.”

In the end, you have him sit up, half-apologizing for the pain and the other of you lets him have it, he can handle it just this once. He could’ve called, he could’ve texted, anything, but no, he had to wait until he was literally too hurt to move.

“Did you break anything?” You ask, digging through the first-aid kit while you waited for him to take his shirt off, “because with the way you’re bitching about these bruises—”

“—bitching?” He cuts you off, shirt halfway over his head.

“— yes, bitching, you’re not bleeding, if anything was broken you would’ve, surely, gone to a clinic. A healer, just, fucking anybody. No, you had to come to me.” You say, pulling out the self-adherent wrap and opening it up, unable to fault yourself in finding a battered, bare-chested Wilbur on your bed and losing your voice for it. The hair on his chest that leads down his stomach that leads further down into his pants… you breathe in as he himself is quiet. Starting at his ribs, you have him hold it down as you begin wrapping it around his torso, dedicated to ignoring the heat of his skin, how close you are to him. How you have to stand with one leg between his and lean into his space.

With each go-around, you make sure it’s not too tight, just enough to keep pressure and when you tape it down, you have him lay back down, gathering the first-aid kit to put on the nightstand. Heading into the kitchen for an ice-pack. In the middle of making one in a ziploc bag, you wonder what the fuck you’re doing. You’re patching up a guy who fell into your living room after having ghosted you for two months.

You want to be mad at yourself, you want to punish yourself so badly for letting him in so easily.

“Listen, I just wanted to say—” he says when you walk in and you couldn’t help yourself, you chucked it at the bed and snatched the throw blanket on your dresser, ignoring any other attempts at conversation.

“Get some rest, don’t call for me unless that bag is melted.” You say over your shoulder, closing your bedroom door shut and you can’t help the pathetic slide down against it. Tears try to fall but you wipe them furiously. He does not get to wander in and fuck everything up. For goodness’ sake, you’ve just mopped.

Setting up camp on your couch, you lie down with the knowledge that yeah your neck will be shit in the morning, but you don’t care. You don’t care. It won’t matter in the morning because in the morning, he’ll be okay enough to get up and stand somewhat straight and maybe without help and he’ll insist on leaving. That’s just how it’ll go. He’ll say he never meant to end up on your fire escape and in the morning, he’ll apologize for taking up your bed. Because that’s just how it’ll go. And then he’ll go. And you’ll never see him again.

That’s how it’s going to be. It’ll never be anything more. You sniffle, can’t even stop crying for a night. How fucking useless. You bury your head into the throw pillow and shiver under the thin blanket. It’ll be over soon. It’ll be over and he’ll be gone and you can pretend that you never intended on letting someone murder you. You can pretend that you’re normal and pretend everything is okay. Breathing out, you let sleep fall over you.

You rub the ache in your neck, grimacing as you flip another pancake, successfully burning it. It goes onto a stack of burnt pancakes. Turning off the stove, you don’t even pull butter or the syrup out of the fridge. Maybe your bitterness will fade away with time… maybe you’ll be able to look back in time and say, it’s okay. It just wasn’t meant to be. For right now, you get to be petty and serve your bruised guest burnt food.

Opening your bedroom door, you halt in your footsteps; finding him fast asleep. The ice-pack is nowhere to be found. A sigh falls out of your mouth, the sound of the plate that knocks against the dresser is almost as loud as your defeat. You take the blanket you’d slept with and drape it over him, tucking the edges under him. The idiot slept on top of the cover. Standing up straight, you look at him. This is the first time you’ve seen him in two months, and you feel hopeless. He looks so peaceful, so handsome, so pretty, so helpless you can’t help but want to stay. But he’s hurt you. No matter what he has to say.

You breathe in deep before turning to leave and you would’ve made it out the door had he not reached out for you, grasping your wrist with cold fingers. You shiver under his touch as his head falls to the side, his hair falling into his closed eyes. “What you do to me is cruel,” you whisper, sliding down to the floor and letting him hold your wrist. You don’t know how much I regret meeting you and you don’t know how much I cherish meeting you at all.

It takes twenty minutes for him to wake up, two minutes after that for him to let go. You stand up, throwing a new shirt at him. This one happened to be completely oversized and old for you, perfect for him. “Get dressed and eat, I’m either taking you to a hospital or a healer you know, fifteen minutes.” You don’t give yourself time to loiter in the room, you don’t give him time to explain himself. (You know that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mean to ghost you but let’s be real, you’re you. And he’s Wilbur. The math isn’t adding up. He just wasn’t that interested.)

About ten minutes after you walk out of your room, he stumbles out, gripping onto the walls and he groans with his mouth closed. You don’t let him see your flustered face at the sound, just walking out and letting him follow you to the stairs. You pull one of his arms over your shoulders and make a point not to talk to him, even when he tries to get you to let go. Saying all about how he can walk on his own and stairs are no problem… you couldn’t resist it though, he was pretty insistent that he’d be okay and maybe you’re still upset. You let go and watch as he falls down one step, catching him before he scraped himself up even more.

“And you said you had it under control.” You mutter and you can see he wants to say more but you send him a look that has him clenching his jaw again.

“Look, you don’t need to take me to a hospital.” He begins after the two of you are settled in your car.

“So you know a healer?” You turn to him, giving him a blank stare.

“Well- maybe- I-” he stumbles over his words as you start the engine.

“You have very limited options right now. Either I take you to someone who will help you or I will dump your ass on the front step of the nearest doctor. Pick one.” His jaw sets and you make it a point to stare ahead as he gives you directions.

In no time, you find yourself in front of an apartment building, helping him get out of the car and into the lobby. You barely helped him into the elevator before turning to leave, watching as he leaned against the elevator doors. He stumbled over his words again.

“I couldn’t text you. I wanted to, so badly.” He says, with the wettest eyes known to man.

“So you’re telling me, you saw I was texting, couldn’t respond  for some mysterious reason and you expect me to tell you it’s okay?”

“I’m not saying it was.”

“Two months, Wilbur, you left me alone for two months.” You say, throwing it out there and he wants to say more, you can see it so clearly. You can see he wants to say why, wants to tell you everything. His big, sad eyes stare you down, tears close to falling. You look behind you, holding onto the elevator doors as you lean closer into the enclosed space. “And we’re only talking because you showed up at my window, bruised to hell and back with someone’s blood on your hands. Talk to me when you’re healed. Because yeah, I have questions. And if you can’t answer them when you’ve healed up, just go back to ignoring me. It worked perfectly fine for the both of us, didn’t it?” You don’t know why you said any of that, bitterness and hurt chokes you up, your words coming out stilted or too fast. Because no way in any version of reality were you okay. You wanted the truth. You wanted to know exactly what went wrong that night for him to ignore you.

And if he’s being honest with you right now, you’re not sure what to make of it.

But you’ve said your piece and the first tear falls down his cheek. So you lean in, palm smacking the button for the doors to close. You don’t wait a second before turning around and heading back to your car. Breaking down right in front of it.

You were so far from being okay, so, so fucking far.

[lotus-pear]

HIII SORRY FOR NO NEW ART have some concept sketches for the fic i'm working on instead

[lovemoroporo]

🥹🥹🥹

[tamagoneko]

hey can we get this kid some therapy?

[weirdlookindog]

Desilo - Die Geistwesen aus der Eastside-Klinik (The Spirits from the Eastside Clinic)

cover art from Silber Grusel-Krimi #149, July 26, 1977

[crows-of-buckets]

Au where Carver, instead of fleeing Ostagar, ends up with the hero of Fereldan, and follows them around to help stop the blight. He eventually ends up at Amaranthine, and becomes a full warden alongside all the others. He becomes kinda friends with Anders (I think he would be a bit less of an ass to pre justice anders) and somehow the two end up leaving for Kirkwall together.

Hawke walks into the clinic looking for grey warden maps and runs into their baby brother they thought was dead. He's just chilling in the sewer clinic like it's a normal thing to be doing.

[brucewaynehater101]

I wonder if Tim wanted pets as a kid but was told no by all his available adults, bc he gives the vibes of a kid dragging home an opossum bc “he needs help!”

Let Tim turn Drake Manor into a homemade vet clinic where he rescues any animal he sees (especially when he's stalking the Bats) and nurses them back to help.

He could volunteer with Leslie for a bit to learn the basics, volunteer at a shelter, and research the hell out of techniques online.

He has to rapidly hide all proof and any animals he has whenever the Drakes come home

[starrysharks]

reassassination swap AU... fuckin.... unassassination idfk

[robo-milky]

[CW: Dark/absurdist humour + may mention blood/gore + may swear]

A Silly Dialogue Only Event Featuring…

Follow the questionable shenanigans of the apathetic Cloche, out-of-date Mors, and too-nice-to-say-no Leikata on their endeavour to exploit injured students for rep/money with the worst solutions imaginable find a use for Ramshackle’s many rooms! The bedding is dusty, and all bandages are made from cut curtains, but do you really want the school nurse to find out about your stupidity? Unlicensed healing magic and potions are illegal anyways, so you might as well come down here. But wait- There’s more! Ramshackle Clinic is also opening up “free” therapy for hardworking students!

Reblog for a ticket number and mail your concerns to the inbox! Ramshackle Clinic will be on its way to help.

Ex. “I want work.” “Lilia’s cooking upset my stomach…” “I heard XYZ visited a couple days ago, why aren’t they out yet?” “A request for the Doctor/Nurse/Receptionist to…” “I’m here to visit XYZ”

OCs and Canon characters welcome! Can’t say if they’ll be treated well…

[hellothereimaloser]

veryy choppy first try animation for SIRENNN AAAA ahsash

EDIT: THANK U SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT U GUYS <3

[cartooemcanhis]

!!Happy tree clinic!!

oo evil lab/hospital au ooooo!! (note, this au is a w.i.p so information might change over time lmao)

Welcome to the happy tree clinic! A place where you'll never leave but still be left in stitches! or with some missing limbs.. depends on how we're feelin

You can and WILL die! but no worries, you'll probably come back!

Feel free to ask stuff about this au!!

[toiletwipes]

Whenever I'm Alone (With You) | clinic!wilbur

~4k words. / [It's a festival day in this fine park and you were unknowingly matched up by destiny! Warning! Might get sad towards the end, otherwise a pretty happy, fluffy piece.] hope you enjoy! i definitely wasnt avoiding two other fics by starting this one! might have a part 2!

Disclaimer: this is the Wilbur variant from the Tommy's Clinic for Supervillains fic, inspired by my lunatic daydreamings

Title inspired by Lovesong by The Cure

xxxx

“And you’re not dating anyone?” Seff, your friend, asked you, chewing on kettle corn as you wandered the venue, and you had to roll your eyes and then immediately apologize to a couple you bumped into because you weren’t looking. He could hardly hold his laughter back as you gave him a hard look.

“How is that so hard to believe?” You respond, stealing some of his snack, holding a handful as you look around.

“It’s hard because well- just look at you.” You gave him an unimpressed glance, “any person would be lucky to have you as a date, even luckier as a person.”

“Guess these people have shit luck then.” Shrugging, you end up under the musicians’ tent, the music blaring from well-placed speakers with plenty of chairs set up in front of the slightly elevated stage. And it’s decorated with the cozy environment, lights strung about and over the heads of everyone, flowers arranged in front of the stage and vines wrapped around various speakers. And then there’s the musicians. It's a small band with the drummer, a bassist and the lead singer. It’s a nice vibe for a night like this, a festival of good music and good food, and sometimes, you send Seff a stink-eye, good company. “Come on, let’s have a seat.” You didn’t want to walk all night and if Seff was going to be annoying, you didn’t want to add aching soles to the list.

As you sat down and the band played a few more songs, Seff had little else to say about your dating life and it’s not like he didn’t mean well but- dating does you much good in this life. Because in this life, it’s not just surviving a nine-to-five job and the traffic, it’s about surviving the horrors of having superheroes and vigilantes and supervillains. Seff had a hard time convincing you to come because of how little the heroes or villains are seen around the venue. Despite being on the edge of down-town, the venue was a lovely little heritage park with plenty of trees, plenty of benches and plenty of grass.

Sometimes the grass wasn’t a good thing and for that, you looked stupid, leaning down to scratch at your ankles. Bending over, though, you meet the eyes of a man who turns in his seat to look over his shoulder and it makes you shiver. He’s too fucking pretty to be real and his eyes glide right off of you the moment you move yours off, looking down and scratching till your ankle was red.  But fuck, he was so pretty. Brown hair curling on his head, almost in his eyes with big eyes to match his wide smile, sharp jawline, and, with a quick glance and a mental curse, you could tell he would be a tall man. Wearing a yellow sweatshirt, he matches his jeans with a dark beanie and boots. Not to mention his hands, long fingers gripping the chair and-

Shit.

Breathing in and out, you sit up straight and reach for the kettle corn, “hey!” Seff could choke, for all you care.

After the band plays their last song, the somewhat decent crowd claps and cheers and the lead singer thanks the audience and you and Seff stand up from your seats and as you’re about to head down the aisle to the exit you end up brushing past the pretty man, chests grazing and just barely catching his eyes and apology. Seff curses him out from under his breath but you could hardly breathe, how could a man be so pretty and just be so close?

Once Seff figures out you’re not overstimulated by the rudeness of the action and just his looks alone, he teases you. “Oh, well now you have to talk to him.” He says, wincing as the tattoo artist gives him a flash tattoo.

“I don’t have to do jack-shit,” you flash the bird at him.

“It’s fate, getting so close and then having to part with each other, can you think of anything more romantic? And at a festival like this?” Groaning, you lean back into the lawn chair, covering your face with your hands and pulling at the skin below your eye.

“It was an accident, Seff, please can we move on?” You plead with him as the artist hums and finishes up.

He gives you a side-look, “I mean, what if he’s a cool person and he has lots of money?”

You give a frustrated sigh as Seff gives his new tattoo a lookover, paying her, he gets up and gestures overly dramatic for you to get in the seat. “I’m only getting in this chair because you’re paying her, don’t forget that.”

He slaps your shoulders, somehow avoiding your immediate flapping of hands to get him back, “wouldn’t dream of it, now, how are we feeling about stars, my good friend?”

And it’s not even a few minutes after you decide on a design when she starts and you happen to look away from her handiwork to find big eyes under a mop of brown hair staring at you from across the walkway. Your breath catches in your throat and you want to choke on it and die in that moment but then he turns to- oh, that’s the drummer from the band playing earlier. Oh that’s nice, he went to support a friend. Okay, yeah, he’s just a normal person. Just a normal person you’ll forget at the end of the night. You work on breathing in and out as she continues with her work and Seff is the only that notices your reaction. “If I look, and it’s the pretty boy, I’m telling him you like his butt.”

You quickly hiss at him, “you do that and I’ll throw your ass to the Syndicate, don’t even think about it.” Glancing in the pretty man’s direction, he’s turned away for now. “And if not for the laws of this land, I would run you over, reverse, and run you over again.”

“Okay, okay, I hear you loud and clear, but come on, a second time you’re running into him, don’t you think-” 

“-this park is small, of course I’m gonna run into a couple of people during a fucking festival-” 

“-don’t you think, you should give fate a chance?”

“This isn’t fate.” You tell him, and refuse to dignify anything he had to say after that with a response. Twenty minutes later the tattoo is done, a little red but for the most part, it looks good and you thank the artist profusely as Seff pays for the order. After he pays, the two of you compare your tattoos and grinned at each other. “Now, time to get what I’ve been looking forward to this entire evening.” Seff drapes an arm over your shoulder and you mind your wrist as you do the same, heading towards the food vendors again. The kettle corn had been only enough to satiate Seff for the time being. “My favorite, cotton candy.”

There’d been a long line, getting in it, Seff had the brilliant idea of trying to get you to consider that maybe there was more to play than just people attending the local festival. “What do you have to be afraid of? The worst he could do is say no,” Seff tries saying, but you shake your head.

“Absolutely not, that would not be the worst thing that could happen. Worst thing that could happen is that I trip and die before I get rejected or right after. And then a meteor strikes right on top of me just to put a cherry on top.” You ramble, irrational fear creeping on the back of your hairs as you think about talking to the pretty guy. “All I’m saying is, yes he’s pretty but I have no idea who he is or what he likes, what am I going to do if he says yes and I have to plan a date right then and there? If I say coffee and he says he doesn’t drink it, do you know fast I’d start digging a grave? Pretty fast, I’ll tell you that.” Your eyes are pulled forward as the line moves up and up, the guy in front of you being fairly tall so you don’t think twice about leaning away from Seff and checking the menu. “Like I was saying, I would rather drink spit from the bathroom floor than get rejected. At the festival, no less, where I’m supposed to be stress-free. What happened to that, Seff, I feel pretty stressed right now, I think I might even go home.” Seff sighs as loud as he can before wrapping his hands around your shoulders.

“You need a Xanax or something, I swear, look, we still have the light show and more bands to check out, I’ll even buy you a stuffed animal, and I’ll lay off the pretty boy.”

“Thanks.” And then, for some reason, you hum. “He was really pretty, wasn’t he?”

“He was, with the hair and the-”

“The eyes and his smile-”

“He was so pretty, especially in the yellow sweater, it’s unfair.” You sigh, looking up just in time to see the person ahead of you receive their two items, cotton candy hand in hand as they turn around, in the very same fucking sweater you lamented about, and he smiles with a blush on his face. You would thank your lucky stars if he hadn’t been stuck in line, listening to two strangers arguing about asking him out and ranting about his prettiness. You would say your heart leapt out of your chest and buried itself beneath the grass and dirt under your feet.

“I’m not sure what to say but I appreciate the compliments,” and he nods his head and walks away.

Your mouth dropped open into a gape and as Seff places and receives his snacks, quickly smacks him when he gets out of line. “I hate you, I hate you so much!” Seff has the audacity to laugh into his snacks, snorting even as you resist the urge to bury your whole body into the ground, sure to receive a ticket maybe, for disturbing the peace but still. Don’t they know that the worst thing has happened?

“I’ve changed my mind, this is the worst thing that can happen, so if it's all the same to you, I would like to swim in a toaster bath,” you whisper under a hushed breath, looking over your shoulder and shivering, turning back to Seff as you bite your knuckles, “what if he comes back with a restraining order? Seff, I can’t get a restraining order against me-”

“Okay, okay, let’s go have a seat, you’ll feel better once you do, I promise.” You wanted to bite his head off so hard, but damn it, these things are serious. That must’ve felt so creepy and off-putting and fuck, he probably thinks you’re a freak or a weirdo. And nothing is worse than an unassuming pretty boy assuming you’re a freak-slash-weirdo. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck.

Back at the musicians’ tent, you find yourself being lulled to a pacified calm by a new band playing something softer. A sweeter, yet nostalgic tune. The accordion, violin and key-tar working well with each other and with the accompanying piano and drum players. It keeps you under this soft blanket of peace until the band bows, breathing in with the beat Seff taps into your knee. The two of you continued to sit in silence, occasionally Seff would comment something about the bands but it wasn’t until the third band that someone sat next to you and cleared their throat. From the panic to the now somewhat peace you had in your mind, you are startled out of your skin when you find the pretty boy sitting so close, his knees just a few inches away from yours, the beanie adjusted and the look on his face seemed nervous. Oh, please don’t be a restraining order, you mentally chant, forcing yourself to politely smile at him.

“I know eavesdropping on conversations is rude but… would you forgive me if I asked you to walk with me for a little bit? I don’t know this place like the two of you seemed to.” He admits and in the same breath… does he ask you out? No, probably just for directions and since they were so direct and polite and respectful, you get to be killed off in a less-public area.

“I’ll be here, my wife should be coming in soon.” Seff peers around to smile at the stranger. And then he leans in closer, “still have that knife in your pocket that I gave you?” You elbow his side before turning to the pretty boy, flashing a quick, apologetic smile.

“If I die because of him, I’m coming back to haunt you.” You say standing up and shoving his shoulder back.

He gives a shout as you walk away with the stranger, hands tapping your side as you look anywhere but him, slowly walking the paths the festival had set up. “Did you have anywhere in mind, or did you just want to walk around?” You ask, unable to help yourself, looking at the string of lights hung above the wooden posts of the vendors.

“Oh, well,” you finally turn your head to look at him, finding him sheepishly smiling at you and it takes your breath away again, “I just wanted to talk to you alone.” You don’t know whether to be afraid or flustered, though fear was making a run for the money.

“Was there any reason, then, you wanted to talk to me alone?” You ask and that’s when he stops the two of you, underneath the biggest tree in the park, decorated with lamps hanging above and tealights on the ground. You can’t help but see the romantic notions the people have put on this tree and you wonder if the two of you were closer to the first couple or the last couple to come here for the night.

His eyes dart over your face and if it weren’t for the various lights around, you would’ve never seen the blush dusting his cheeks and ears. “Forgive me, I just- when I was eavesdropping in the line earlier, I thought you were funny and I did- I mean- I also found you very pretty. If it helps. And I almost didn’t come to you when I did but my friends- they-” he stumbles over his words before stopping completely, offering an apologetic smile as if you didn’t find everything he did endearing. Fuck, how were you supposed to breathe normally when this guy is just so fucking cute. “I wanted to get to know you.”

“Okay,” you begin, and then you look around, trying to think of something to say, something normal before you turn to look back at him and he was smiling something so gentle it left a hole in your chest. Why is it so hard to breathe around this pretty boy? “Then let’s start with names, yeah?” You say yours, sticking a hand out and feeling like an idiot until he takes it in his grasp, the touch of him easily making you feel faint. He leans down, and yeah, you’re gone, gone forever, to be buried because what pretty boy leans down and brings your hand up ever so gently to kiss the back of your knuckles?

“I’m Wilbur,” and you nod, breathless for the rest of time because he fucking stole it, and he smiles, switching hands so when he turned to start walking, your fingers were interlocked and swinging between the two of you. Wilbur, who’s so fucking sweet, sends you a smile as the two of you join the thinning crowd to go find things. “Aren’t there any rides?” He asks, and you give him a look, stopping and pointing behind you. “Seems there is,” the smile, you swear, it’ll be ingrained in your memory as the best thing you’ll ever see. The ride in question happened to be the staple of this festival. The ferris wheel. “Do you want to go on it with me?” He stops the two of you from walking into the line, “I don’t want to force you into doing something you don’t want to do.” The serious look is just as pretty as his smiles but you nod.

“If you don’t get on the ride with me, I’ll assume you hate me or that you kick puppies, one or the other,” you say, while stepping into the line and he’s quick to follow you, almost toppling you over and you have to laugh, steady him with one of your hands on his shoulders.

“I wanted to make it clear that neither of those things are true- you know, I don’t- I think kicking puppies is unforgivable and one of the worst things you can do.” He says and you peek at him through the corner of your eye.

“That so?”

“Yes, so.”

“So does that mean you like me?” You ask, accepting the help to get into the capsule, smiling at the attendant briefly before turning to Wilbur, holding your breath in as you offer your hand, your knees weak for what’s about to happen next.

He sees and beams at you, sliding his hand into yours as if the two of you were made for nothing else, as if there could’ve been anything else in the world you were made for. Thousands of years in the making and it’s come to feeling his thumb swipe over your own, nothing else made more sense than now. The ride begins to move and your grip on him tightens.

“Are you sure you wanted to go on this ride?” He asks, noticing you refused to look down, or anywhere really, it was easier to space out for a quick second while you were moving. “We could’ve gone to another one,” he assures you but you shake your head, trying to send him a reassuring smile.

“I appreciate it, I do, but I really did want to go on this ride with you. Mostly because you wanted to go on it. I just don’t- I don’t do well with heights.” And he hums before carefully moving, moving as not to rock the capsule. He sits facing you and squeezes your hand, managing to get you to look at him.

“Tell me about Seff.” He says and you stammer.

“He’s a friend-”

“-yes, he’s married, but you looked close, like siblings. Tell me about him, I meant it when I said I wanted to know you.”

And so you tell him all about Seff, your good friend and yes, he also happens to be closer than siblings you ever could have. You tell him about the stupid things he does, things that frustrate you and things that make you afraid you’ll never be a good enough friend for him. The conversation shifts and by the time the ride has gone twice in a circle and lets you two off, you’re certainly shocked. Surprised. Whatever word is best, it’s what you are because he still smiles at you and helps you out and holds your hand and points at a game with plenty of plush prizes to win. Still not over how he helped you through the ferris wheel, you’re happy to be gifted a stuffed bear, one with a bow on it.

Following the winning of your bear, it was heard that the light show would begin so you helped him find a spot in the grass, the two of you sat close as you watched the sky and waited, the sound of laughter, talking and the music playing combined with the smell of food was enough to keep the silence between you two happy. You honestly could not have thought of a better way to spend your night, because no offense Seff, but after his wife would arrive, you would spend the rest of the night as a third wheel or alone. Neither sounded fun. And to be fair, Wilbur is wonderful company. One that’s one you a bear.

So the two of you are sitting, content in the silence when Wilbur opens his mouth and begins to speak when there’s a loud noise and then fireworks in the sky, children starting to scream and laugh louder, running with sparklers. You startled in that moment, not because of the noise, but because of the way he sought out your hand immediately, holding it tightly.

You turn to look at him fully, watching the lights flash on his face, how they light up every feature you’ve come to adore in the time you’ve known him. He doesn’t turn to you for a moment, waiting to look you in the eye and you save him a gentle smile of your own.

“You were here for the last festival, weren’t you?” The last festival, you were afraid, didn’t have a good ending like this one might have.

He looks at you, eyes searching for something in your face before exhaling and nodding. “I saw- I saw it happen.” You squeeze his hand.

“Me too.” The look he sends you is heartbreaking, his beautiful brown eyes almost watering, enough for you to let go of the bear for a moment, to scoot closer and hold his hand with both of yours. “And it’s okay, it’s been a year and nothing has happened yet.” You repeated exactly what Seff told you at the beginning, told him what soothed you and you hold his hands as he holds both of yours. You ignore the show for him, making sure he’s breathing right, that he’s doing a little better than when the show started.

And closer to the end, he turns to look at you, your face closer than before and you wonder what he has in mind. He leans in closer to you, his gaze focused on something lower on your face before he meets your eyes, smiling briefly before squeezing your hand again. “I want to know you more, and if you’re okay with it, completely okay with it, would you be okay to exchange numbers?” You let out a breath of air, laughing slightly as you untangle one of your hands.

“Hand your phone over.”

It’s a matter of seconds before the device sits in your palm, cool to the touch and you find the lead singer laughing with him on the lockscreen. He unlocks the phone and leans his head against yours as you add your contact information. Before you could stop yourself, you opened the camera and held it away from the two of you smiling, nerves shot as he hid his face against your hair, tickling your neck. You take it while laughing to yourself. “You’re too cute,” you say offhandedly, moving to confirm the picture not even realizing what you said, till he pulls back and makes you breathless for the countless times you’ve seen him smiling.

“You think I’m cute?” He asks even though both of you are more than aware how he heard you in the snack vendor line, practically shouting how you found him pretty.

“I take it back, you need a bag to cover,” you gesture to his face, “all of that.” You say with a half-hidden smile and he whines, slipping his phone back into his pocket with a pout. Then he taps your fingers and asks for your phone.

And he saves himself to your phone with a picture of him smiling and you just barely hiding your face in his shoulder, protesting how you didn’t want to be in it just like he did. You smile at the picture before also putting your phone away. “Well,” you look around, “the show is almost over, was there anything else you wanted to do before leaving?” You could’ve sworn his eyes dipped to trace the bottom of your face before flicking back up to your stare, but then he was smiling again, that damned smile, and shaking his head.

“This is possibly one of the best nights I’ve had in a while…” and when he trails off, he reaches for your hand. “Thank you for that.”

“I didn’t do much, honestly,” you squirm under the sincerity, but he takes none of it, throwing his arms around you and holding you tight. And he keeps going, talking about this or that, but your brain blanks out after being hugged, you could smell the soap on his skin, a hint of cologne and deodorant and it makes your head spin. How does he do it? Smell so good and look so pretty? When he pulls back, you try for a smile.

Nothing else happens, he helps you stand to your feet and interlocks a few of your fingers with his, guiding you back to the area where you parked, guiding him to it with your stuffed bear tucked in your elbow. He’s so kind to open the back door and buckle your bear in, patting his fuzzy forehead with a gentle head. When he comes out of it and you shut the door, the two of you just stare at each other. “This was, really, a good night,” Wilbur starts and you agree. “Text me when you get home safely?” You nod and before you can process it, he steps into your space, almost crowding you against your car. He leans in, closer than before, his nose just barely touching yours with the two of you experiencing the fan of the other’s breath.

Then he moves away from your face, slightly, and presses one soft kiss to your cheek, lingering close for a few seconds before he leans away. He holds your hand and squeezes and then another firework goes off and he looks away.

“I’ll see you around.” He promises and then lets go of your hand, walking away slowly till he has to turn around and keep moving forward. Walking away till you can’t see him, blending into the crowd on the sidewalk. Still, you can’t help but watch the crowd move for a moment more. Wondering if you’d see your pretty boy.

… “Oh that was too cheesy, get a fucking grip, you simp.” You groan to yourself, slapping a hand to your forehead before getting into the car and starting the engine. And when you open your phone later that night, when you can still feel his lips against your cheek, skin burning where they once were, you send him a text. A simple one, telling him you’re in bed and wondering if he made it home safely too.

Despite having work in the morning, you refuse to go to bed without seeing a response. And despite the good night and the kiss he left you with, you never receive one.

Clocking out and checking your phone, you sigh when you see that the text is still on delivered. Part of you wants to hope that he just lost his phone or meant to respond but forget but you’ve gone through this before. You’ve had great nights with perfect gentlemen who made your heart flutter and made you feel special and seen. And you’ve had to pull your heart and head together when they never spoke to you again. You just have to come to terms that Wilbur, your pretty boy, is one of those guys. Only to be remembered with great care.

You try to console yourself in the car, trying to tell yourself that it’s okay you may never get to see him. That he might not have meant it when he wanted to know you, when he wanted to see you again. When he lets you put yourself in his phone and himself in yours just to never look at it again.

You stare down at the picture and somehow, you can’t bring yourself to delete the contact information. You’re tired from work and the lack of sleep and the lack of response, it’s time to go home.

(With it being so late in the day, with so little energy, it’s a wonder how you get home safe but that’s also probably due to the eyes watching you at the moment. Probably.)

[brown-sugar-89]

waaarghh

[number1yisuchongfan]

“What?”

This is based off a moment in my Incubus Scout fic on ao3 (x)

[hwashiningstar]

admin medical assistant jiung au where he’s working at a local clinic or office to get more experience and hours. it’s strange isn’t it? that suddenly there’s a guy close to your age calling out your name for your appointment. you don’t mean to stare, you really don’t. But as he clears his throat, you realize you’ve been looking at him with surprised eyes, now self-aware that your reaction was very much the opposite of subtle.

you mutter a quick apology, not quite meeting his eyes, but he quickly nods in understanding with a smile, helping you avoid what could’ve been an extremely awkward situation.

embarrassment finds its way to you (although you try to not let it show this time), and while thoughts race through your mind, you miss the amused smile the appears on jiung’s face. He stares just a tad bit longer than he should, he knows, and as he goes over some information with you, you finally look up at him.

catching him off guard, he quickly runs through the rest of his words, and tells you the doctor will be there soon. he shuffles out of the door as fast as he can (but makes sure to quietly shut it), and makes his way to the front desk. his fellow assistant, keeho, sees jiung’s face, a faint blush growing and just a little out of breath.

keeho wants to say something, but for now he’ll hold his tongue, waiting until jiung shares what might make their time at the clinic all the more interesting.

[monsterroonio]

Roo and her loyal dog don.

Ref link tehe