#cool ppe

[monstyra]

look i thought there would b more excuses in there to draw cool scifi armor okay enviro suits dont count

[shadybug]

thinking abt aliens showing affection towards each other again and getting rly sappy about it

[mefilas]

did not realize their height difference is this severe. the worms in my brain are duking it out over this as we speak

[sunflw3rbouquet]

doctor! doctor! - hc

zayne x doctor!male reader

overview: zayne and his doctor boyfriend hc! notes: condensing the medical career bc this is fiction and lighthearted (i didn't wanna be logical), not lore compliant (reader is a doctor), cute boyfriends, unedited again bc of time, reader cooks, title from zb1! tw: mentions of being a doctor!

…sun✰ ive been on lads for over a month now and zayne is the loml

✰as much as the two of you would like to pretend your relationship was some interesting office romance, it truly didn’t start like that ✰you went to the same med school, that was the only reason you knew each other. ✰zayne was a 3rd year while you were a 1st year,  ✰you had mutual friends, which allowed you to meet decently often ✰you didn’t get together until you were a 2nd year and he was a 4th year, but you’ve been together ever since! ✰he was the one to ask you out, mostly because he hates being in the dark about important things, like your feelings for each other ✰however, he couldn’t have chosen a worse time if he tried

y/n had just finished his first cadaver dissection of his second year of med school. he had been standing up for almost the whole day, his back aching as he finished the last dissection. the doctor watching the students' work dismissed them, instructing them on the work they had to complete before their next class.

the students talked calmly as they excited, a slouch forming in y/n’s posture as he walked to the biohazard trash can. he took off his ppe, sweat drenching the area under his gloves and chest. the cool air of the restroom took the edge off the heat. the bathroom was on the opposite side of the hallway, y/n shutting the door to the surgery room behind him before entering in the restroom. after approaching the sink, he splashed water on his face, his black undershirt covered in sweat stains. he looked as bad as he felt, the 8 plus hour surgery a monster on his body.

as he exited the restroom he was met with zayne standing outside, a look of subtle panic etching the man’s usually stoic face. “can we talk, y/n?” zayne asked, blinking once after he finished the sentence. y/n thought he could hear the smallest quiver in his voice while he spoke.

“can it wait a bit? i just finished my dissection-“ y/n asked, zayne running a hand through his hair, glasses falling down his face. he was wearing a pair of grey, cotton scrubs, his hospital id hanging from the pocket in his pants. purple bags lived right under his tear ducts, but not only were they not as noticeable as other students’, they somehow made him look more attractive.

“it’s urgent.” zayne had lost the fear that rested in his voice, his hand moving to push up his silver glasses that had fallen down his nose. taking a deep breath, y/n pushed his hair back, sighing. 

“fine.”

y/n expected for zayne to say something, but there was silence. unbearable, loud silence. he looked at the man, waiting for the words to leave his lips. y/n’s eyebrow raised, lips pressing into a straight line.

“would you like to go on a date with me?” zayne asked, his eyes glimmering with the smallest bits of emotion. y/n’s jaw almost dropped, eyes widening.

“i would love to, oh my god.” he spoke, zayne’s hand trailing to find y/n’s. 

“are you free wednesday?” “for you, i am.”

✰like the snow melting on a sunny, spring day, zayne warmed up almost the instant they got together ✰his indifferent expressions turned into bright smiles, and his awkward posture turned into comfortable and relaxed affection ✰zayne is a cuddle bug. entirely. ✰long shifts and tiring days drain every cent of energy from his body, and now that you’re boyfriends, there’s something to replenish his energy!

the clock read 3:37.

y/n had finished his shower, damp hair resting on the pillow of his full bed as he waited for zayne to finish washing up. the two were home late for different reasons: y/n had finished another dissection and was writing multiple essays, while zayne was in the final stretch of his shift.

every second that ticked by made y/n want to close his eyes even more. it was exhausting staying up. it was exhausting working every day. he wished for a break more than he wished for the sun to shine bright on a cold day and for a glass of water when he was thirsty. 

and then zayne entered the room.

water dripped from his short bangs, pajamas hanging loosely on his body as he practically limped to the bed because of the sore muscles in his legs and back. but this zayne, this tired, wrecked, zayne, made everything worth it.

“my bloods going to start clotting if i keep only standing and sitting all day.” zayne muttered, sitting down on the bed before pulling the covers on top of him. y/n laughed, moving closer so he was next to zayne’s side.

“you’re going to get a cold if you fall asleep with wet hair.” y/n spoke, adjusting zayne so he was sitting up, stealing the damp towel from his hands to dry the man’s hair. zayne scoffed, moving his hands to rest on y/n’s thigh. 

“that’s not real, you know?” y/n rolled his eyes, rubbing his head a little harder, just to let zayne know he meant to tease him.

“i’m just trying to be a caring boyfriend, stop going all doctor on me.” y/n pouted, shifting once more so he now sat on zayne’s lap. zayne smiled, his hands wrapping around his boyfriend’s waist as a smile creeped onto his face.

“oh, i see. carry on then, handsome boyfriend.” zayne smiled proudly. y/n let out a scoff, pressing a soft kiss to zayne’s cheek. “finish drying my hair, i feel a cold coming.” y/n stopped his movement of drying the man’s hair, looking at his face. he cocked his eyebrow, zayne’s lips pursing. the man let out a fake cough, doe eyes sparkling as he looked at y/n.

it took all of the strength in y/n’s body to not give in to the man. but sadly, he still gave in to him. he leaned forward, a pressing a kiss to his lips happily. “i love you, now sit still so i can dry your hair.” y/n muttered, zayne breaking into a smile, any traces of that “cold” gone.

✰residency was truly when the “office romance” started  ✰due to the opening of the deepspace tunnel all those years ago, linkon city’s medical program had condensed substantially, meaning zayne was already out of residency and a cardio surgeon by the time y/n was a first year resident at akso hospital ✰long glances at each other when walking through the halls turned into lingering touches when you visited him in his office in the second you were alone ✰somehow, seeing zayne at work but not being able to engage with him was harder than seeing him a little a home

y/n sat on the couch in zayne’s office, his arms grazing the floor as they moved back and forth.

“you’re so mean, zayne.” y/n pouted, his eyes looking up from the piece of the floor he was touching to see zayne sitting at his desk. zayne was looking at the files on his desk, sifting through papers until a certain section caught his eye, causing his eyebrows to furrow. there was no response to y/n’s statement, much to y/n’s dislike. “you see! you’re ignoring me. i finally have a break while you do and you just ignore your boyfriend of 2 years.”

with a sigh, zayne picked up his head from the papers he was processing. he changed his gaze to meet with y/n’s. “how am i mean?” he asked, a smile appearing on his lips. the new attention made a heat run to y/n’s face.

“you’re.” he started, his words failing to come out smoothly. y/n coughed to clear his throat, a smile appearing on his lips. “you’re ignoring your boyfriend when he’s busy and came to see you.” zayne stood up from his desk and walked over to the couch. he leaned down, his hand reaching out to caress y/n’s head.

“i’m sorry. i might not have patients, but i have things to read and charts to do. it doesn’t mean i don’t love you.” he whispered, zayne’s fingers caressing through the strands of y/n’s hair. “i’ll pay attention to you now, i finished my work.” y/n leaned into his touch, nodding happily.

“i know you don’t hate me. i like teasing you.” y/n said, adjusting his position on the couch so zayne could sit down comfortably, y/n resting on his chest.

“you didn’t say it back.” zayne spoke, y/n’s hands mindlessly playing with zayne’s long fingers. he caressed the scars on the knuckles while zayne held him tightly. 

“what did i not say back?” y/n asked, looking up from zayne’s hand after zayne’s arms squished him once more. zayne sighed, his fingers breaking from y/n’s grasp to squish the man’s cheeks.

“you didn’t tell me you loved me after i said it.” there was almost a pout in zayne’s voice. was he really that upset?

“i love you sooooo much, my zayne! don’t forget that.” y/n said, his head leaning back to see zayne. with a smile, zayne responded back quietly. their lips inched closer together, contact happening for only a millisecond before there was a knock at zayne’s off.

y/n jumped off the couch in fear at the noise, hitting zayne’s chin. he ran to the chair in front of zayne’s desk, zayne rubbing his face while calling the person in to enter his office. “i have the information you requested, dr. zayne.” the resident said, entering in while zayne walked to his desk. “oh, hi y/n.” y/n nervously waved back to the resident, a small smile on his face.

couldn’t y/n have zayne to himself for a moment?

✰with the increasing of wanderers in linkon city, positions in the hospital were rearranged once more, and y/n was now in the upper levels as a thoracic surgeon ✰this change also corresponded with the couple’s 4th year anniversary! ✰now that y/n was not a resident, the couple could finally be public in the hospital ✰it was the flip of a switch: one day zayne and y/n acted like normal coworkers, then the next, they were walking to lunch holding hands, comfortably chatting

the change was amazing. being with his boyfriend in public was amazing. zayne’s hand was laced with y/n’s, a soft smile on the latter’s face as zayne talked about his morning.

“the resident i was talking to you about did really good on their rounds this morning. i think they’re flourishing into a confident doctor.” zayne’s voice was steady, his gaze matched with y/n’s. “oh, and the patient who had a cardiac tamponade is recovering well. they should be discharged by the end of the week.” y/n listened to zayne, nodding his head every so often to show he was listening.

zayne’s monologue continued as they walked to the cafeteria, sitting down at a table that caught a majority of the light from the large windows. staff and patients walked around the area, some sneaking glances at the two affectionate doctors.

“i brought two different options, so take whichever you want.” y/n said, opening his lunch kit to reveal two glass containers, one with cold noodles and one with an omelet leftover from breakfast. zayne reached for the cold noodles, opening the lid. he grabbed the two spoons and chopsticks, handing one of each to y/n.

“have some, these are the ones you made. they’re really good.” zayne said, already digging in to the meal. y/n smiled, taking a spoonful of the broth before trying the noodles.

“woah, these are good. i only made them for your lunch while i was at home two days ago, so i haven’t tried them.” y/n spoke, zayne’s expression one full of happiness.

“i love you. if i didn’t tell you that today. and this is not because of the cold noodles, but it’s a little because of that.” zayne rambled, y/n pecking his cheek.

“i love you too. let’s eat quick, because then we can go outside on a walk before we have to go to work again.” y/n spoke as he pulled away, zayne nodding.

the couple ate their lunch, zayne packing up in lightning speed before reaching for y/n’s hand. the two made their way to the outdoor garden, a smile on y/n’s face as he rested his head on zayne’s shoulder. the conversation between them had gone quiet, the silence allowing them to enjoy the presence of one another. the springtime had caused flowers to bloom in the hospital grounds, zayne picking a pink buttercup from the grass and handing it y/n, repeating the process until the man had a bouquet and they both had flowers tucked behind their ears.

they could get used to this.

✰in the present, y/n and zayne are both attendings at akso hospital! ✰all of that worked had finally paid off (and all of that money) ✰the matched level of seniority allowed y/n and zayne to have a more synced schedule, which gives you more time together ✰7 years had passed since the couple had gotten together, and they couldn’t be happier ✰they held hands in between surgeries, instructed residents together, and were stuck at the hip whenever they weren’t needed for something emergent ✰they were the model couple of the hospital (so much so that the hospital wanted to use them in promotional material) ✰there are two things zayne loves in this world: y/n and his job, so having them together all the time might have just made him the happiest man alive

y/n’s couch was soft. zayne had picked it out himself, grumbling about how he “regretted the couch he bought for the own office” and he “wanted to make sure his boyfriend was comfortable”. y/n didn’t fully believe this answer.

especially paired with the fact that zayne was now always in his office.

“did you buy this couch specifically so you could bother me while i’m working?” y/n asked, staring at his boyfriend as zayne flopped onto the couch. 

“no, i bought it because it’s soft and you never-” he said, y/n cutting him off, his hand mimicking zayne’s mouth.

“get enough rest! you stay here when you’re on call instead of coming home to ME to cuddle.” y/n mocked, his lips forming the same pout zayne makes when giving the same speech. a weak laugh escaped zayne’s lips at the mockery, y/n cooing. “did i embarrass you?” he asked, getting up from his seat to lay himself over zayne’s spread out body.

“ouch. and no, i’m not embarrassed, i’m happy you know me so well.” zayne said, his nose touching y/n’s. their eyes held each other in a tight gaze for what could have been nothing more than a second before y/n felt zayne’s lips on his on, gentle moving back and forth, waiting for y/n’s to kiss him back.

y/n responded back, a conversation without words reverberating between the two.

i love you.

i love you even though i’m tired every day. 

i love you even though work is hard and scary.

i love you for you, and everything you are to me.

i love you.

there was a knock of the door of y/n’s office, y/n pulling away for a moment to respond to the person. “i’m busy! if it’s not an emergency, come back later!” zayne barely let y/n’s response ring before he laughed, connecting their lips again. they were in their rightful place. with each other, loving each other, holding each other.

nothing in the world could top it.

✰happiness couldn’t describe all the feelings that zayne felt about y/n (and vice versa) ✰y/n made him so happy, in fact, that there’s a box containing a ring with a big, glittering diamond sitting inside zayne’s desk right now

my handsome man, zayne <32708 words

[that-girl-from-nicu]

Saving the Savior - Part 2

Trauma and therapy.

Song inspo: Way Down We Go - Kaleo (it's the song at the top of his 'stamina' playlist. He listens to that when he needs to keep pushing through something. Playlist is like 185 songs long because he's deeply troubled)

Said I wouldn't write again but here we are.

Warnings: implied gun violence. Blood. PTSD. Panic attack. Death. Death of partner (10 years ago). Shared bathwater (some people find it gross okay? Don't be judgin'). Slight smut. Angst. Fluff. Dork behaviour. Implied diamond ring in a cute box. Cold tea. Hot shower. Crying.

Scene: fem reader comforts Dr Robby as best she can after the Pittfest shift. He falls harder than ever for you and you accidentally find a token of just how committed he's about to ask you to be.

You stood stiff in the lounge, grasping a long-cooled cup of chamomile tea that you didn't even remember making.

Live coverage of the aftermath of the Pittfest mass shooting illuminated the room. You hadn't blinked in God knows how long, only realising when your eyes stung from dryness; a contrast to the wet tears that filled them hours ago as Robby sternly told you to go home.

It was ten years to the day of the largest mass shooting in Pittsburg history. The day he had lost her in his arms in the Pitt, and the day his walls went up. The timing of today was cruel.

----

Your shift had ended at 3pm, fifty minutes after the casualties had started rolling into the Pitt. Gloria, suddenly sweet as pie, had asked for any adequately trained staff members to help in the Pitt after their shift. Obviously you felt pulled to go. Anything to help Michael.

You got down to the Pitt as soon as you clocked out, and your eyes searched for Michael. He felt them on him and then found you. He came straight for you, fast and mildly furious.

"Get out of here. Please. Go home" he said, desperate and urging.

He was stressed but focussed. His PPE covered in the blood of undoubtedly at least a dozen victims.

"I'm here to help. I want to help." You almost begged him.

He grabbed your wrist and spoke so quietly, it was almost inaudible. But you heard it. "I'm not having you exposed to this level of trauma. I can't knowingly damage you the way I am damaged. I won't allow it. Go home. Now."

He let your wrist go after a quick squeeze and a loving look, and dashed to his next patient. Tears threatened at your eyes.

You looked over to Dana. She'd heard the whole interaction.

"Can't I stay?" You pleaded.

Dana shook her head and ushered you toward the staff exit. "You know he's going to need help when he gets home tonight" she said with her arms crossed. She was right. You needed to be there for you man when he came home extra broken.

And that he did.

-----

Still standing with your cold tea in your hand, staring at the television, your attention turned to the front door which was being unlocked.

Michael. He's home.

You placed your cup on the bench next to where Michael dropped his backpack haphazardly, and jumped up to sit on the marble countertop while he grabbed a glass of water with ice. He quickly finished it and stood next to you, leaning forward into the bench, reddened eyes fixed on the marble.

You could see the stress of the day in his features. His knotted brow. The dark circles under his eyes. His knuckles were blanched as his hands rested in tight fists on the counter top. Neither of you had spoken tonight. Not yet.

You reached your right arm to him, grabbing him gently by his bicep to pull him toward you. "Come here", so softly you lead the way. He moved to the front of you, his hands either side of you, still feeling the cool sensation of the countertop. He leaned forward to place his head at your sternum, and your hands found his hair in a loving and truly compassionate embrace of this man's beautiful mind.

Michael felt safe. He felt secure. So he started to let go, just a little. His tears came first, followed by slightly erratic breating. Hitching in twice, and out once. Panic was coming. He knew it well but so did you.

In an instant he began to hyperventile. You pushed him back a little and slipped off the bench and into his field of vision as he was towering over you, looking down.

"Michael. Michael I'm here. Feel my hand. That squeeze? That's me. That's real. That's now." You tried using your voice to tether him in the present, but it wasnt enough. Michael drifted further into panic. His eyes darting back and forth, occasionally shutting tight in the hopes of shielding himself from the flashbacks.

You took both of his hands. You held one of his hands to your chest, and the other to his own. The jerking of his breath was worsening, his shoulders high to give his lungs extra space to fill.

"Michael. Breathe with me. Feel me breathing?". He opened his eyes briefly to look at you and nodded through his tears, shutting his eyes again in an instant. "OK. Try to match my breathing. Just a couple of times, come on let's try this together. In..." you exaggerated a long breath in through your nose and Michael attempted the same, a noble effort but not quite deep enough. "And out..." You slowly exhaled and he did too. "You're doing great. Keep it up, let's go again". Together you breathed in and out. But Michael was struggling to slow down.

"Hold on a moment, baby. Keep breathing for me. In and out. I'm going to keep helping you. I'm right here" You kept talking to him as you moved to the medicine cabinet and took out a lorazepam tablet from his stash, returning to him with the type of insistence only a nurse could bring. "Here. Take this. It's for the nerves."

Michael shook his head, continuing and escalating his hyperventilation.

"Michael. Help me. Help me, help you. It'll take 20 or so minutes to work and in the meantime, I'm going to look after you. But you've gotta take it. Do you trust me?".

He looked at you briefly, eyes bloodshot and his deep smile lines dragging in pain. "I trust..." two sharp quick breaths in, and one out "...you."

He took the small white tablet from your hand and quickly chased it with some more ice water.

"You're doing so great. Thankyou for working with me. Let's keep it going okay?"

Michael felt light-headed. He had blown off far too much carbon dioxide and needed to sit immediately. He slid down the side of the island bench to a crouch on the floor.

You followed quickly to sit facing him, legs crossed. You held space for him, knowing this would be over soon, trying to convince him of that.

"Shhh. You're safe. You're safe now. It's over. I'm here". Your hand rested on one of his knees as he clenched the gold chain at his neck. This was peak panic for Michael; desperately praying to a God he claimed not to know. His right hand covered his eyes. And he manically recited the Sherma. He was losing touch with reality now, seeking relief in the comforting memory of his grandmothers morning prayer.

His words were rough and hurried. Desperate. He prayed in English rather than Hebrew, but the plea was the same.

Michael's words became clearer. "Place these words of mine upon your heart and upon your soul, and bind them for a sign on your hand", and he clung steadily to his chain. Eyes still covered in reverent prayer.

You joined him and carried on, with Michael suddenly silent in disbelief as he uncovered his eyes to be captivated by you "and they shall be for a reminder between your eyes. You shall teach them to your children, to speak of them when you sit in your house and when you walk on the road, when you lie down and when you rise."

Your recital had silenced the ringing in his ears and calmed the tides of shaking fear. He looked at you in silence, his breath had slowed considerably and he was present again.

You smiled at him, and shrugged lightly. Unsure if you'd made an error of wording, or of faith. You weren't Jewish. You weren't sure if you believed in a God, but if God existed he was right there in front of you.

"When did you learn that?". He asked, still breathless but bewildered. "Why?".

You pushed your glasses up a hitch and considered how best to respond.

"I love you. Thats most of the 'why' covered. I've seen this happen before and I wanted to join you in prayer. I thought it might help? So I learned the Shema. Thankfully you pray in English because I would have slaughtered the Hebrew version and probably ended up in hell as punishment". You felt unsure of yourself for a moment, but Michael reached his hand out to lift your chin and looked ever so lovingly into your eyes. "Thankyou." His breathing was slowing more, his mind finding peace in your eyes locked on his.

You stood and offered Michael your hand. "Come with me". He rose slowly from the ground and you led him down the hallway to the bathroom. A few candles dimly lit the cosy room, and the steam from the hot bath you'd prepared hung gently in the air.

You spun to face him. "What's this?" he was curious.

"It's therapy. But instead of a couch it's a bath. With magnesium salts and lavender oil and your girlfriend. You're going to take a bath with me. We're going to talk and I'm going to hold you through it. And at the end, the water will go down the drain and take the day with it." You stood on your tip toes to meet his lips with a gentle kiss, and began to undress. He lovingly watched you let down your hair from its high ponytail, his eyes red. He didn't move, though.

You lightened the mood. "If you're waiting for a rubber duck, I'm fresh out."

"Can we not call it therapy?" he asked, a hand rubbing the back of his neck, as you started removing his scrubs.

You rolled your eyes and let out a breathy laugh. "Sure. Let's call it a debrief."

"Better" he said as he kissed you, both of you now entirely bare in the flickering candlelight.

Michael relaxed into the warm water, a gentle sigh escaping his lips as his back rested against your chest and your legs encircled his waist.

You grabbed a wash cloth and soaked it, gently dabbing at his exposed chest.

"Today was..." he started but didn't finish. Twenty seconds passed.

"Yeah", you squeezed the wash cloth over his collarbones, keeping his attention on the present. "But you're here now and you're safe." You kissed just behind his ear and he relaxed a little further.

"I wish I could say I've never seen anything like it, but..." again he didn't finish.

"You have. And maybe you will again. And it will suck every damn time. I can't imagine what you went through today", silent tears blurred your vision slightly.

Michael gentle squeezed at your knees and spoke softly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so harsh with you. I didn't want you hurting. I stand by my choice but I love you for wanting to help us today"

You ditched the washcloth and started massaging his ears. "It's okay. I get it now. Plus I think my skillset is more useful in the bathtub than the Pitt. Hindsight."

"I don't think it'll ever stop hurting", he said quietly.

"Mmm? What's that?" You encouraged him to keep talking.

"Losing a patient. It hurts the same every time. Saint or sinner, it doesn't change the pain. They all hurt. They hurt because I couldn't save them. I wish I could save them all" His hands were softly resting on your legs now, and even though you couldn't see his eyes, you knew they were weeping.

You wrapped your arms around his chest and nuzzled into the back of his head. "We don't have the right timing to save everyone. Most of the time we don't have the science either, yknow? And sometimes we don't have the resources, like today. But their deaths aren't through lack of trying, Michael. Doing what you can, with what you've got, is the aim. But the wins will always outshine the losses, you just have to let them. And if a day comes where a death doesn't affect you, it's time to take Gloria's job." He huffed a small laugh.

"I'm sorry it was today, of all days..." You started, cautiously but with love "That must have been extra hard. Just cruel."

He tilted his head back, surprise in his eyes, "you knew?".

"How could I not? She is an important part of the man you are today. The man I'm so proud of. I just know she would be proud of you too". A tear escaped your eye at the thought of what it would feel like to lose your love. You kissed Michael's brow gently, the water now slightly cool, bordering on unpleasant.

After drying each other off, you ceremoniously pulled the plug and held Michael's hand as you watched the day go down the drain with the water.

-----

Michael made love to you twice that night. Sensual and sweet and with a worship you felt in your soul. His lips must have whispered "I love you" a dozen times while he was inside you.

----

Morning came too soon, his arms wrapped lazily around you as the sun came up. You scooted quietly from the bed to make him breakfast and pack him a lunch that he wouldn't get time to eat. His alarm would sound in 10 minutes, so you hurried along as quietly as you could manage.

A banana and a ham sandwich. You laughed at how pathetic your attempt was, but knew Michael would chuckle at the penned inscription on the banana. 'undress me and put me in your mouth'. Such a dork.

In your hurry you accidentally pushed Michael's backpack off the bench where it had been leaning precariously from the night before. The sound woke him and you heard him yawn and stretch. Picking it up from the ground, you quickly gathered its contents to pack with his lunch. Wallet. Keys. Pens that he definitely stole from nurses who will now have beef with him. A little blue velvet box. Your breath caught in your throat. You heard Michael's footsteps in the bedroom and hurried to cover up the very obvious situation.

You sheepishly sipped your coffee as Michael wearily padded toward you. You placed your cup on the bench and he pulled your head into his chest, planting a kiss on your messy hair. "Morning, beautiful, you're up early?"

You eyed him lovingly. "Yeah, something was poking me in the toosh at 6:15." and you nudged him.

"Must have been dreaming about you. Not my fault" he said with his hands raised. "You're off for 4 this weekend right?"

"Mmmhm" you agreed.

"Me too. Come to the cabin with me. Weather's going to be amazing. We could hike. Swim. Maybe just spend four days in bed together?" He winked.

"You lost me at hike but you had me back at bed. I'm for the sheets, not the streets Michael, you know that" you chuckled.

He looked a little panicked but covered it quickly. "Well you can either come with me on a hike to a breathtaking lookout, or stay in bed alone while I go. No wifi, remember".

You feigned imminent death with the back of your hand across your forehead "no wifi, how will I cope?" Your response next was deadpan but playful. "Fine. I'll hike. I'll even pretend I love hiking"

His hand grazed your stomach as he moved toward his backpack, peeking inside it and smiling to himself - probably at the banana but maybe at the velvet box - "Trust me, there's nothing on earth quite like this view. I promise, you'll remember it forever."

Your heart skipped a beat or ten, as Michael went and turned on the shower. Your brain consumed with what might - will - happen at the lookout.

"Showers lonely!" He yelled from the bathroom.

You rapidly joined him in the shower and he had you pinned against the wall under the scorching water in under two minutes. Not long after, you whined his name into his neck and you both unravelled in the steam together.

Michael headed off to work ten minutes later, handing you his credit card as he kissed you goodbye. "Buy yourself some hiking gear. I need you to be comfortable so go for the good stuff."

The door clicked shut and you immediately started daydreaming about the upcoming weekend away. The whole trip was so Michael-esque. Rugged and wild, measured and planned. And just a hint of sparkle.

[thatonegreyghost]

Ok, I keep seeing hot takes about this, so I'm gonna pitch in my two cents: both Jayce and Viktor know how to follow safety compliance rules.

Jayce grew up in a forge. He would absolutely know how to be compliant with safety rules. His first memory is probably somebody lecturing him on the signs of heatstroke. Not only is he capable of being safe, he probably also has a pretty good habdle on when it's ok to disregard that. Does he need eye protection to retrofit this handle? Well, that depends on the tool he's using. Does he need gloves to handle that piece of steel? Well, that depends on what he's doing with it. He knows how to be safe around dangerous tools.

Viktor, conversely, grew up in Zaun. Everything is jerry-rigged down there. He can tell an electrical outlet is failing just by looking at it. He walks into the lab one day and knows they have a gas leak immediately. Viktor has grown up around poorly maintained structures, he would know an equipment failure on sight. And, because he knows that danger so intimately, he also knows when to GTFO.

That being said.. just because they *can* doesn't mean they do.

Jayce has, more than once, shocked himself on a live wire because "I don't need gloves, the voltage is too low to do lasting damage". Viktor has cut himself on sharp metal because "I'm not going to be handling it for that long, it's be a waste to put on a bunch of protection". Both of them have numerous burns, cuts, bruises, and bumps from just grabbing things they're not supposed to. PPE who? They're just gonna be moving the hot metal really fast, it's mostly cooled anyway, it won't be that bad!

[covidsafecosplay]

Welcome to Covid-Safe Cosplay!

This blog was founded for cosplayers who want to show off their passion and hard work, but can't attend conventions or other cosplay events due to COVID-19 and other accessibility concerns. As fun as cons and fandom are, it's just not worth the risk for plenty of disabled and immunocompromised people, and it feels crappy to be left behind while the rest of the cosplay and fandom world moves on.

Here you will find posts about cosplay, COVID-19 news and advocacy, health and safety, incorporating mobility and other aids into costumes, crafting advice, tutorials, book reviews, and more! If it relates to COVID-19 safety or accessibility in fandom and cosplay, I want to talk about it!

This is also a place to spotlight cosplayers and their hard work! If you have a sweet cosplay to show off but you can't make it to a con, show it off via the submission box or using the tag #CovidSafeCosplay! To those of you masking up for events, or making cool character-themed PPE, we want to see you, too! Let's show the cosplay community that masking for crowded indoor events is still important! Let no disabled cosplayer be left behind!

We also have a Discord server, which you can join at this link!

(Blog admin: @renthony, they/them)

[kastlequill]

iv/v. ‘til my pulse loses time: pulsus alternans

pairing: kyle gaz garrick x f!reader word count: 2.3k synopsis: the fourth and final time you save gaz tags: whumptober, angst, gunshot wounds, feelings realization, medic!reader, 4+1, no y/n warnings: near death experiences, war ao3: read here ← prev | next →

IV.

As a medic, you could only do so much. 

Stitching together sliced skin, surgically removing bullets from traumatized flesh, administering first aid in the field—all within your skill range. Hell, even resuscitating a still-warm, newly-dead body was possible on special occasions. But you were neither God nor Death, so you couldn’t breathe life into the expired corpse of a friend, nor was it your place to hold a scalpel to the jugular of a foe. 

These mortal limitations weren’t to blame for the horrors that would unfold during the coming hours, however. The true crime committed there was your complacency. 

You had grown accustomed to setting broken noses and relaxing muscle spasms, to staring into dilated pupils and realigning dislocated joints. With every passing day of relative calm, your worries gradually waned; and with every successful surgery, your easy confidence grew. Not one soldier had coded on your operating table, and not one soldier had succumbed to their injuries whilst under your care. 

A random Thursday brought about the end of your pristine record. 

Getting paged for an emergency surgery in the dead of night wasn’t anything new; sleep was a luxury few could afford out here, medics least of all. The days when you struggled waking to the sound of your pager were now a tiny speck in the rearview mirror of your professional career. 

So the pager itself wasn’t the reason you were currently attempting to shove your trembling feet into a pair of boots, not bothering to untie the laces, ignoring the way your heel uncomfortably rubbed against the firm backend material. Rather, you were sprinting to the medbay because of the three chilling words you’d read on its display:

Bravo. Critical. STAT. 

Once you arrived, shit really started to hit the fan. 

The place looked as though a bomb had gone off. Two nurses were situating a limp masculine figure onto a gurney, skillfully sticking electrodes along his chest and hooking the wires up to a nearby monitor-on-wheels to display his vital signs. Meanwhile, three technicians tried to restrain a hulking mass of skull-faced muscle. Not far behind was the familiar mohawk of the Scotsman, with whom Captain Price was solemnly exchanging words. Which left one key member of the Bravo Team unaccounted for:

Gaz. Kyle.

You swallowed the panic that threatened to make itself known. Losing your cool would accomplish nothing except disrupt your focus and double the stakes. 

“Report,” you demanded, rushing to the PPE station to don a pair of surgical gloves and tighten a mask around your face. 

Next to you, the lead nurse grabbed hold of Gaz’s forearm and inserted a needle into his most prominent vein. “27-year-old male admitted six minutes ago with BP of 63/47, unconscious. Almost finished setting up the IV line.”

“He got lit up. Five shots made contact by our count,” Ghost interjected, voice gruff and posture unapologetically looming. “Maybe more.”

Too preoccupied with analyzing your patient’s current state and authorizing the nurse to administer a milligram of epinephrine, the words registered as little more than white noise, reduced to ‘five shots’. You cradled the nape of Gaz’s neck, carefully leaning him forward to hike up the bottom edge of his blood-soaked, tattered shirt. Trained eyes searched for exit wounds marring the expanse of his back and isolated a lone hole in his right shoulder before lowering him. 

“What happened?”

The captain rubbed a hand down his face, and you couldn’t help noticing how tired the man seemed. “Exfil went sideways. Gaz got the worst of it, I’m afraid. Nasty hit to the shoulder, see, but ’least that one went straight through. The others, not so much. Four points of entry across his abdomen—”

You unclipped a penlight from your coat pocket and shined it into the fallen soldier’s eyes, gently lifting his lids with your thumb. The size of his pupils remained unchanged, unresponsive to the stimulus.

“—no exits.”

That earned a grimace from you; always did, always would. One of your first interactions with Gaz involved you excising a bullet from his leg, but abdominal gunshot wounds were plenty worse. The fact several small pellets of lethal lead were still inside him, possibly embedded in organs vital for sustaining life, spelled disaster.

Fingertips pressed against the cold skin of his inner wrists, you were dismayed to feel his pulse hasten yet gradually lose strength. Your pinched gaze lifted in supplication to the heart monitor, desperation verging on belief, praying a merciful god might will the EKG line to stabilize. 

Instead, it went flat. 

A flurry of frantic alerts pouring from the monitor drowned out any and all other sounds. The grand scale of the universe seemed obsolete as each of your five senses honed in on this singular instance. 

“Code Blue!” you yelled, recovering fast. Someone reached to cut open Gaz’s shirt while you situated your right palm on the center of his chest and covered it with your left, fingers clasping the hand beneath. “Starting chest compressions at approximately zero one-hundred hours. Charge the defibrillator to 200 joules for the initial shock.”

Above him, elbows locked and pressure severe, you initiated CPR. Trying your damnedest to mute the surrounding whirlwind of chaos, to not be shaken by the sight of Gaz so motionless, so unlike the suave SAS sergeant who had burrowed into the cavity of your being. 

Two paddles emerged from your peripheral and settled firmly under his left pec and to the right of his sternum. “200 joules. Clear!”

You stepped back, arms raised, watching his torso jerk off the gurney in tandem with a spike in the EKG. His body then dropped onto the padding below, and the line descended to null once again. 

The current coursing through him had barely subsided when you resumed delivering compressions. His ribs began to crack during the second set, but you kept the same pace and depth for the full two-minutes. 

What did a few broken ribs matter if it meant he’d return to his brothers-in-arms? 

To you?

“300 joules. Clear!”

Like a dormant spore reawakened by a drop in defenses, fear unfurled within your gut, its noxious fumes suffocating you from the inside-out. The defibrillator capped at 360 joules, and if that wasn’t enough to restart the electrical activity of his heart, then—

A nearly inaudible blip from the monitor broke through your train of thought before it had the chance to spiral any further. The blip morphed into a series of beeps, which slowly but surely climbed to a less-concerning rate. 

Your shoulders slackened, caving inward as your lungs expelled a heavy sigh of relief. 

Gaz was alive. In critical condition and soon to be rushed into emergency surgery, yes, but alive. Which was more than could be said five minutes ago.

Thinking the worst had passed, Ghost crowded around the bed, jostling several of your colleagues in the process of attempting to catch a better look at his incapacitated teammate. He paid no heed to the toes on which he stepped, or the shoulders with which his own collided.

When it came to men like the 141, relinquishing even an inch of authority was as good as allowing them to take over the whole damn lot. True, they might be used to calling the shots out in a warzone, but, here, you had the final say. 

“I won’t have your lieutenant scaring my staff shitless, Captain,” was your one and only warning. “Handle him, or I will.”

The other sergeant, Soap, had the decency to appear chastised, ducking his head a tad. In different circumstances, you‘d even appreciate the fierce loyalty on display for the man you both regarded highly. 

Just not when it came at the expense of properly doing your job.

“We’ll take it from here.”

Based on the slight laxing of their stances, there would be no further protests. Regardless, no amount of posturing or glaring would’ve deterred you; at this point, anything unrelated to Gaz had no hope of receiving even a morsel of your attention. 

Two technicians seized the gurney and rolled it in the direction of the operating room, the lead nurse with her portable monitor trailing close behind. You followed your team to the sinks, where you then scrubbed and scrubbed until you were finally ready to cross the threshold into the sterile field. 

There, everything awaited you; a metal tray, a fresh set of surgical tools, and two units of B-negative blood hanging from a transfusion stand. At the middle of the OR was Gaz, resting on the table, covered in green drapes, illuminated by bright overhead lights. And as you stared down at him, at the dewy breaths fogging up his oxygen mask, a comforting sign of life, you found yourself confronted by a terrifying realization:

All that stood between you and someday loving this man was time. 

The surgery, to its credit, went relatively smoothly. Meaning, the patient didn’t go into hemorrhagic shock on your table, and you managed to dig out the four bullets still lodged in his viscera. One lodged between his lower left ribs, though luckily not deep enough to damage the vital organs beneath; another two along his intestinal tract; and the last mere centimeters from his mildly-lacerated liver. 

It hadn’t been pretty, but Sergeant Garrick would survive with only scars to remind him of the moment he died and crawled back to the land of the living. 

“Alright,” the strain in your voice bringing hours of inner turmoil to the surface, “good work, everyone. Let’s sew him shut and reset shop for tomorrow morning.”

You vomited the moment you stepped outside the infirmary. 

The wave of nausea that accompanied the night’s must had you doubling over and gripping both knees to support yourself against the force of the retching. With no food in your stomach to purge, there was just the sting of acid rushing up your esophagus and then clear liquid dribbling down your chin. It shouldn’t have gone on for as long as it did, but each time you recalled how the sergeant’s usually rich and lively complexion had looked so ashen in the fluorescence of the OR, that sick feeling returned with a vengeance. 

When the chain-puking finally abated, you straightened your spine and wiped the grime off your mouth with the back of your hand. Not yet an hour prior, that same hand had held a scalpel to the hole-ridden flesh of the man whose smile could easily give way to your own, even on worser days. Days like today. 

Only this time, he couldn’t take the pain away. This time, it was your turn to ease his ache.

You swiveled around until your body faced the medtent, gravel crackling and crunching beneath your boots at the sudden movement. As if they had a mind of their own, your feet carried you right back to him, one in front of the other in a quick, almost frenzied succession. 

Inside, the lights had dimmed to a faint glow. A heart monitor hooked up to electrodes on his chest translated rhythmic contractions into a steady stream of beeps, and the sound echoed through your mind like a macabre metronome. He laid unmoving on a cot, exactly how you’d left him; Sergeant Garrick wasn’t the type to disobey an order, whether consciously or unconsciously received, not even in his sleep.

Then maybe I should’ve ordered him not to get shot up full of lead, you mused with a wry, half-hearted chuckle. Or fall out of helicopters.

No, it’d be wrong to ask of him the impossible. Selfish to demand he treat his body as more than an enlisted weapon, unfair to make him swear never to show up half-dead at your door again. In the same vein as asking you to take lunch breaks longer than five minutes, to not work yourself to the bone despite the omnipresent queue of wounded men and women in need of medical attention. Not unreasonable requests, just unrealistic for occupations built on too much blood and too little time. 

So while you couldn’t very well expect the man to compromise the job to which he’d dedicated the whole of his existence, you could control your proximity to said man. A comet was best admired from afar, where its flaming tail looked beautiful rather than damning, and where its inevitable dissolution occurred beyond your field of view.

You needed to put an end to this thing while it was still in your power to do so. You needed to nip whatever feelings you carried for Kyle Garrick in the bud, lest they bloomed beyond management. 

But that could wait. For now, he was simply an indisposed soldier requiring your medical oversight—no more, no less. He was Sergeant Garrick of the 141, not the man capable of turning faulty moments into fond memories and easy shifts into emotional shit-shows. Just a patient entering the next stage of his recovery.

And there wasn’t any harm in holding a recovering patient’s hand, you reasoned.  

With that, you dragged a foldable plastic chair to rest beside him, settled down into the uncomfortable stiffness of its seat, and gently reached for his bandaged fist. Carefully extending his fingers, gently grazing your palm against his. Familiarizing yourself with the callouses there, the skin that had torn open and grown back thicker, stronger time after time until, one day, it could bear the very worst of the world without demanding ichor be spilled. Memorizing the feeling of warmth and weight, tracing the loops and whorls etched into his fingertips, never to again be found in another. 

No harm at all. 

tbc.

[wayemd]

I want to have a cool title for this but frankly it’s just my obsession with Etho consuming me.

Small ramble below cut.

Guys please go read @boxmakerr ‘s Fallen Stars series I beg of you. This doodle is based on her Etho and the injuries he sustains to canonize his face scars.

I’ve written myself about Etho’s injuries (shameless self promo for my AO3… here).

I think that in the Minecraft world, I hc his injuries to be caused by redstone activation and exposure, because we KNOW my man doesn’t use PPE. In my oneshot, I wrote about it being an accidental scrape that was exposed to active redstone (which burned the flesh and soft tissue).

In a modern/real world au, I am not sure. Box did an awesome job in her fic incorporating it into the story. When I wrote a modern fic, I straight up didn’t give him the scar. (Well.. not yet. Ehe. Still more to come.)

Anyways if you read this: hi thanks. Take care.

[ratgrrrrl]

Wonderful skater girl

So this has been what's preoccupying my thoughts lately. Here’s my iwatex oc!

Her whole story is that she's from the Heliopause and has been trained to be a soldier since she was young but after landing on Vertumna she decides she wants a career change, and becomes the colony's first delivery woman!

[justanothermutantkid]

While Ex continues the tradition of having dubious lab safety during his experiments, he's careful about it. He's experienced first-hand how devastating it can be to be just a little too stupid during his work, and is now very meticulous about only being just careless enough to look cool while not getting hurt. Hels, on the other hand, doesn't know the meaning of lab safety and refuses to learn. It drives Ex absolutely insane, because when Hels ends up passed out on the floor of his hovel (which Ex notes is neither a home nor a lab), they're the one who have to come get him. Still, no matter how many lectures Ex gives, Hels continues to work in unventilated spaces with no PPE, not even the evil PPE Ex has gifted him.

[blitzy-blitzwing]

Don’t forget your PPE!!! 👷🥽⛑🦺

Do I look cool at least? :V

[theknightlywolfe]

I like how the practical, ventilation/filtration and eye protection, are worked into the aesthetic.

Plague masks?

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

I’m not 100% sure you’re still taking these, but if you aren’t I hope you’ll maybe save this one for a rainy day?

I’m loving the trans!Eddie stuff so 🧜🏻‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️🧜🏼‍♂️. And then I am *always* jonesing for some throuple stuff so take some 🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼 too!

I always am! I just update my key when things change.

And thank you so much! Glad you're excited for these.

99 for 🧜🏼‍♂️:

---

“Sorry!” Buck blurts. “Sorry, that’s… That’s not the right way to ask that. I mean, like, are you secretly wanting to be she/her or-”

“No,” Eddie cuts him off, smirking a little. “The opposite direction. I started transitioning as a pretty young teenager.”

“Oh! Okay, cool,” Buck says. 

“Cool?” Eddie asks warily.

“Yeah, totally, man,” Buck shrugs. “Does not change a thing for me. Just, uh… I just don’t want to say the wrong thing. But I’ll do research!”

“Research?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah! So you don’t have to answer any questions I have. Like, I don’t want to put that on you. I’ll figure it out, a-and you just… I mean if there’s anything you want me to know, then-”

“Buck,” Eddie raises a hand to cut him off. 

Buck shuts his mouth.

“That’s super kind,” Eddie says. “You can ask me questions, though. I think… I mean I have a lot for you.”

“That’s fair,” Buck replies. “Uh, I’ll try to answer them. I’m… I’m new to this mermaid business. I don’t know how it works always.”

“Mermaid?” Eddie asks. “Don’t you mean merman? Or was I right, but in the wrong direction?”

“Oh my god, merman,” Buck gasps. “I forgot that was an option. You’re right. Merman.”

Eddie shivers a little. “Okay, um… Maybe we can exchange questions out of the water?”

“Yeah!” Buck agrees. “Yeah totally. Just, uh… You’ll have to give me a minute. It’s harder to shift back than to shift to.” 

Eddie nods. “No worries. I’ve got time.”

🌊

They sit on the stony beach, a few feet of space between them. Eddie is sort of curled tight into himself, sopping wet. Buck is stretched out, leaning back on his hands, tail still fully out. As much as Eddie tries to not - and it’s clear he’s trying not to - he keeps staring at it. At the gills on Buck’s chest and neck. The webbing on his fingers. Buck can’t blame him. He’s an anomaly. Unfortunately - he thought he might not be. 

“Who goes first?” Buck asks. “Questions wise?”

“Uh, me?” Eddie asks. “Then we go… Back and forth?”

“Yeah,” Buck nods. “Okay.”

Fair to let Eddie start. There are way more pressing questions. Eddie is just a normal person, after all. Buck is a creature. 

“Okay, uh… You said you’re new at this?” Eddie asks. “How did it happen?”

Yeah, Buck sort of figured he’d ask this. Of course he’d be curious. Want to know. Only problem is, Buck hates thinking about that night. The cold. The dark. The sea on fire. Dead people bobbing in the waves. And Bobby… Almost losing Bobby. It makes him sick to think about, even before what happened. 

“There was a… A really bad call,” Buck says. “In January. I was only five months on the job. A plane went down in the water. Right off El Segundo Beach.”

“Is this where you almost drowned?” Eddie asks. 

Buck raises an eyebrow, confused how he would know that.

“Sorry,” Eddie says. “Hen mentioned that you did.”

---

102 for 🔼:

---

It’s a long, terrifying call. Eddie isn’t often scared on calls. Very few things are as frightening as what he saw in the army. The earthquake was nerve-wracking, mostly because he was worried about his son. The tsunami was horrific for similar reasons. The day of the ladder truck bombing, Eddie had been scared for Buck. Today? Today he’s scared for everyone. Mostly for Bobby, but for everyone. 

Radioactive waste is on fire. The air is sort of poison, right? The turnouts and other PPE they have doesn’t feel like enough. Eddie’s skin crawls, even though nothing has happened to him. This would be the worst time ever to get radiation sickness. 

Bobby has to stay in the tunnel longer than the rest of them. They’re all sort of freaked out. He has to be officially decontaminated and everything. Eddie and Chim are scared, but it’s nothing compared to the look of horror in Buck’s eyes. Eddie wants to take his hand. Squeeze it reassuringly. Hold and tell him it’ll be okay. But he can’t. Not here. So instead, he makes like he’s clapping Buck on the shoulder, and lets his hand linger for a second. 

Buck looks at him. Wide-eyed and tight-jawed. 

“He’s going to be okay,” Eddie says. 

He’s not sure where the confidence comes from. He doesn’t really feel it. All he knows is, despite everything Bobby and Buck just went through with each other, Buck is the person who will worry for him most. There’s a dynamic there that’s different than with anyone else on the team.

“I hope so,” Buck says weakly. “He has to be.”

They take him to the hospital after. The victims are being transferred by another station’s RA unit. It’s not until Bobby has called Athena and been admitted that any of them bother looking at their phones. 

“Whoa,” Chim says. “Lots of missed calls from Maddie.”

“Same,” Buck says. “And from Shannon.”

“Shannon?” Eddie asks, looking at his phone. “Oh, shit. Me too.”

“Aren’t they together today?” Chim asks. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “Fuck.”

He calls Shannon back as quickly as possible. A billion things are spinning in his head. Is Shannon okay? Is Chris okay? Is the baby okay? Maddie was a nurse. If there is some kind of emergency, Eddie is glad she’s with them. Terrified, but glad. 

The call picks up after a few rings.

“Eddie? Oh thank god.” 

It’s not Shannon. It’s Maddie. On Shannon’s phone. 

“What’s going on?” Eddie asks, panicked. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she’s good. You need to get to the hospital, though,” Maddie says. “Shannon-”

“Which hospital? I’m at the hospital.” Eddie blurts. 

“Southern California,” Maddie says. “She’s in labor, and it’s progressing quickly, okay? You don’t have a lot of time.”

Labor? She’s in labor? His daughter is… About to be born? Today?

“Eddie?” Maddie asks when he’s silent for a beat.

“I’m coming,” Eddie says. “I’m coming. I’ll be there. Can you tell her I’m on my way?”

He’s at Cedars. Fifteen minutes away if traffic isn’t bad. Traffic is bad, because of the shutdowns the tunnel fires caused. Shit. 

“I’ll tell her. And I’ll keep you updated on progress. It’s moving really fast.”

The complete opposite of last time. Shannon must either be elated or completely freaking out. Maybe both? 

“Thanks, Maddie.”

They end the call and Eddie explains the situation to Buck and Chim. 

“Take the engine,” Chim says. “I’ll stay with Bobby.”

[lockandkeyblade]

Okay okay I know I'm back on this again but in terms of Kingdom Hearts lets please talk about something called the Chain of Responsibility*･゜ﾟ･*☆

In a work place, essentially what the the Chain of Responsibility*･゜ﾟ･*☆ ensures is that when one person fucks right up, like, fucks it up Hard, you look at the whole picture of the Organization (lol) and you go "okay so what was in place to stop this Fuck Up, what kind of company culture is in place about Fuck Ups? Who incited the incident, but who else could have stopped this from occurring?"

The important thing about the Chain of Responsibility*･゜ﾟ･*☆ is that it doesn't just allow companies and leaders to throw their employees under the bus and say that they are at fault for, say, accidentally crushing someone under a forklift. Because where was the signage to watch out for forklifts? What PPE is there? Are their specific lines on the ground, indicating where forklifts should and should not be? Was the person driving the forklift licensed to be on a forklift? And this doesn't just apply to workplaces, parents and guardians get this too. If a child burns 90% of their body because they grabbed a kettle off the stove and poured boiling water all over themselves you don't sit there going "dumbass kid poured boiling water over themselves lol", you go "wow is that criminal negligence or just a tragedy? Should... should someone go to jail???"

So when we look at Xehanort this should be a really obvious sort of, yeah okay he's to blame for practically everything. Like no duh he's happily taking credit for the atrocities done in his name whether people (usually Nobodies) knew they were doing it in his name or not.

What people really need to understand here, is that when I look at DiZ, when I look at Eraqus, I don't give two flying fucks about their Tragic Backstories™. Tragic Backstories™ are great at giving context but they do not lose the Chain of Responsibility*･゜ﾟ･*☆ just because all their friends died and some twunk stole their name, sorry.

Oh no, Terra has been possessed! He fell into the Darkness! We have had, as the kids say, a Fuck Up! Quickly Robin, to the the Chain of Responsibility*･゜ﾟ･*☆!!!

What lessons about Darkness did he have? Was he ever taught self control? Does he comprehend stranger danger? As as teacher and a parent, where does Eraqus sit on the Chain of Responsibility*･゜ﾟ･*☆

Oh no Batman! Radiant Garden has fallen and now some dude in a mummy wrap is worse than death-ing a 15 year old! Here we go, Robin, back to the Chain of Responsibility*･゜ﾟ･*☆

Is mister mummy man ignoring other responsibilities in the pursuit of vengeance? Like, I dunno, helping his scattered and traumatised people, many of whom have gathered in Traverse Town, recover? Is he creating a Fuck Up just as bad as the original Fuck Up that caused him to lose everything? How is his treatment of his employees? Does he pat Namine on the head and tell her good job?

Yes enjoy the old fold and their Tragic Backstories™ because they are cool and they are sympathetic and it's Really Neat, I like that we have that expansion of their character but when I calmly sit here with my tea and stare hard at the Chain of Responsibility*･゜ﾟ･*☆ it is not about turning around and saying they can't still be sympathetic, it is saying they had responsibilities. And they Fucked Up.

[phagodyke]

home now and I'm still disgustingly sweaty 😭

WHY IS IT SO HOT IN THE LAB TODAY...