#eeg test for brain | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cupcakeslushie · 15 days

Text

First || Prev || …

Here’s the next part of the Kendratello AU! I knew it was going to be very dialogue heavy, so I figured writing it out would be fast, but I’m so ready to be done with it that I’ve not really beta read it. So I apologize for any errors. But enjoy!

Splinter loves his sons, but these last few days have been eating away at his already shriveled and fraying nerves. Watching his children ambling around their home, for months, each in varying states of anxiety, fear, and distress, hasn’t been easy on his old heart.

They’ve been through so much, experienced more hardships than Splinter has ever wanted for them. But the latest crucible tearing his family apart was caused, not by some ancient demon, or world-ending threat—but a fiendishly smart, young woman.

One who’d kidnapped his son and replaced him with a stranger that Splinter hardly recognized.

The bitter tale is too familiar for the old movie star to painlessly swallow. It seems fate played such cruel tricks sometimes. Always seeming to strike harsher the second go around. With outcomes even more brutal and painful. His son was stolen by a hateful, sadistic woman, and kept locked away, until she was satisfied with the new toy that emerged from the shadows.

So it stands to reason how…relieved Splinter had been that one, early morning. When his three sons had pulled Purple into his bedroom, piling into his bed, nothing but wide eyes and panicked shouting; one over the other. Looking back now, he can recognize how short-sighted his quick relief had been. But in the moment, as a father, Splinter had only seen this new, strange development as a blessing.

Donatello might have been confused, and irritated with his brother’s manhandling, but Splinter could clearly see more life in those eyes than he’d witnessed in months. Splinter had shushed the rest, and spoken to Purple directly, finally getting a better grasp on what his sons were shouting about.

Amnesia.

So, of course, relief. Because how could forgetting all those horrible, tortuous weeks in that woman’s grasp, possibly be a bad thing? By some miracle, Splinter’s boy had been returned to him. Nowhere near that frail ghost of Donatello, which Splinter would sometimes find curled up on the floor of his own lab, screaming Kendra’s name and sobbing to be returned to her care.

He had been spared all of that, like it never happened. Their family had been handed a gift, and Splinter truthfully wasn't interested in the whys of it all…

Until Michelangelo chose to contact Draxum, and words like “brain damage” and “tumor” were thrown into the mix.

An entire day of testing yielded…varying results. They were able to rule out the scariest of options. No dark shadows were seen in the X-rays of his son’s beautifully brilliant brain, and no concerning squiggles were pointed out by the Hidden City doctors who studied the fast moving waves appearing on the EEG. It was all a bunch of nonsense to Splinter, but Donatello nodded like he agreed, when he was handed the papers over to inspect himself.

Everything was normal, physically.

That left the most difficult part of the day. Getting his son to speak to a psychiatrist—seriously, and without snarking back at every possible question he would eventually be asked.

Draxum had thankfully picked a good one. Briefing her beforehand on…everything. She seemed prepared for Purple’s special brand of cynicism. The sheep yokai was apparently at the top of her field.

A tentative diagnosis of “dissociative amnesia” had been given, along with a small number of pamphlets and printouts. The doctor had informed Splinter that certain treatments might improve Donatello’s situation, but no cure had been discovered for something like this.

They would just have to take things one day at a time. And they’d been doing so well. Almost like everything was back to normal.

Splinter had become very good at ignoring that pending feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. He smiled at his sons every day onward, like nothing was wrong. And all of them, in return, began falling back into a more comfortable ease around each other. The stress had just been starting to loosen in Red’s shoulders and jaw. Orange was giving real, honest smiles again. And Blue was no longer a shadow around corners, hiding from Purple like a bomb he was scared to set off.

But the other shoe that had been the root of Splinter’s dread, finally dropped, and the rug was pulled from under their feet once more, violently, with no warning.

Even after they’d managed to calm Donatello down. There was no negotiating the terms of his reality, and he was stubbornly convinced that the world around him was fabricated. Without caring about the consequences, he refused to be civil towards any of them, treating them all like jesters in a play, where no one had the script.

The family’s usual process for dealing with Purple’s anger–letting him cool off alone in his lab until he collected his thoughts–was unfeasible this time around.

Splinter didn’t think he could ever forget the image of his son, turning the knife he held in his hands inwards, and threatening to end his own life.

No; leaving him alone was not an option.

Which led back to Splinter’s previously mentioned frayed nerves.

Four days into this new, stressful change, and his genius son was still managing to find creative ways to sneak past their watchful eyes. Six attempts, in total. Each time, caught with seconds to spare, and just as traumatic for everyone involved.

Raphael and Michelangelo at the moment, were going through their home, removing every sharp implement they could find. Anything that could possibly be used to “put an end to the loop” that Donatello was convinced he was stuck in.

While the two performed their important task, Blue and Splinter had the harder of the two jobs; watching Purple.

Splinter was currently sitting comfortably in his chair, but it was far from his usual level of relaxation. Despite plenty of bean bags to occupy, the twins were locked in a shoving match. For some reason, they were fighting over the single, smallest one they must’ve owned.

“If you don’t get out of my personal space, I swear to Oppenheimer you will regret it, Leonardo!”

“And I swear to Ryan Renolds, that I’ll shred all of your softest hoodies if you kick me in the nuts one more time!”

“That Barbenheimer joke doesn’t even make sense, you idiot, that was Ryan Gosling!”

“Who mentioned Barbie? I’m talking about Deadpool and Wolverine!”

“What does that movie have to do with anything?!”

“Fuck dude, what did I just say about nut shots!”

“Then get out of my kicking radius, and your non-existent nuts will be safe!”

“BOYS!”

Both his sons quickly pause their arguing, giving their father their undivided attention.

“Leonardo, go help your brothers.” Splinter demands. “I will watch Purple. He has not had a moment of free time from any of you in days, and it is clearly wearing on all of us.” Blue gives his father one of his patented unimpressed stare downs.

“No offense, Pops, but how is you watching him, any different than me?”

“Because I will sit in my chair, and Purple will scroll on his phone, and there will be quiet.” Splinter can’t stand the bickering any longer. He knows both his sons will benefit from this time apart. It’s just convincing Blue of that.

Donatello’s gaze is boring holes into the back of Leonardo’s head while his second oldest son matches Splinter’s scrutiny. The rat can see the need for some fresh air battling against Blue’s desire to stay close. But Leonardo is his sharpest son, and even he can admit that his constant presence has become too grating for his brother.

“You need to watch him like a hawk, Dad,” Leo glares at his twin out of the corner of his gaze, “sometimes you can get a little…distracted.”

The new projector, playing Splinter’s same old programs, flashes against the curtain hung on the wall. The volume is set to low, but Blue still looks pointedly between his father and the screen. Splinter doesn’t blame him for his concern, so he tries to put all the gravity he can into his tone, enough that when he does promise to stay vigilant, it seems to convince Blue to place his trust in him.

Purple stays quiet through the exchange, only breathing a sigh of relief once his brother is long past the threshold of the den. He looks ready to lean back into his hard won pillows, but Splinter realizes that Blue had something of a point. Donatello is positioned quite far from him, and he’s suddenly nervous about catching something in time.

“Purple, how about you come sit with me.” Splinter suggests it kindly but firmly, and with a smile– so his son can’t refuse. He pats the bit of cushion next to his legs, “I will honor my promise to leave you alone, but I would be much more relaxed if you were within my reach.”

His boy merely blinks at him, blank faced, and staring at the very spot that Splinter has just created for him.

It isn’t as though his recliner is small, even if Splinter himself is. Donatello had custom made it for him, after one too many complaints about his old brown one hurting his back. It practically swallows Splinter, but remains just stiff enough to provide plenty of support for his lower back. He could even lay sideways and still have some space to stretch.

Splinter recalls very clear memories of all his sons fighting for a spot by his side when they were younger. But it has been some time since those days…perhaps Donatello thinks he’s far too old for such a thing as sitting by his aging father. Yoshi remembers himself at eighteen, and shudders. He’s forever thankful that no matter how lacking his parenting skills might have been, that his boys are kinder to him than he ever was to his Jiji.

Donatello pulls at some invisible thread of his black leggings. Since this new alteration of his memories, Purple has taken to wearing more layers. It’s nearing fall, but not nearly cold enough for the large sweatshirt, black leggings AND socks that his son is currently donning.

Splinter just barely hears Purple murmur a jumbled, “Huh?”

Splinter catches some sort of emotion actively being suppressed behind the bewildered shock at his offer, but it’s hard to tell what it is. Over the years Splinter is ashamed to say, he has grown very bad at reading his own children. Especially Purple, who, if he was being honest, has always been very hard to decipher.

Splinter starts to think the offer will be rejected, when Purple finally climbs to his feet and ambles slowly over. The unknown emotion skittering at the edge of Donatello’s expression morphs into something closer to suspicion. This one easy to identify, especially when it practically drips from his next words.

“Trying to endear yourself to me won’t sway me into falling for your tricks.”

The barb is said just as unkindly as everything else Purple has thrown at his family these last few days. Splinter lets it slide off him like water. He knows his son would (probably) never speak to him like that if he wasn’t stuck in such a painfully clear mode of survival and uncertainty.

“Yes, yes.” He says, untroubled. “Come sit and I can finally lean my chair back.”

Donatello watches him the entire time as he cautiously settles into his spot. He yelps when Splinter grabs his ankles and pulls his son’s long (thin, still much too thin) legs across his lap. For an instant, Splinter freezes, growing worried he’s overstepped. The act had been done without a thought. It’s the way Purple has always liked to sit, finding it more comfortable than any other way. Donatello preferred to keep his distance. A deviation from his siblings, for sure.

Michelangelo would press as close as possible, two sides smushed together like a hug, only without the constricting limbs (though, if Orange were ever to fall asleep in Splinter’s chair, those too would eventually find their way to catching him in their hold).

Leonardo preferred to sit on the arm of his chair, never staying still for long enough to find a comfortable position. But when he slumbered, after a long night of binge watching Novela’s with Splinter–he would curl up, head in his father’s lap, limbs held tight to his body. Like he was afraid even that was asking for too much.

Raphael, his poor, eldest son, hadn’t sat with him in so long. Splinter could still remember a little turtle tot in red, climbing up and splaying out onto his lap when he needed a good cry–or just a moment of peace from his much too loud siblings. Sadly, it wasn’t long before his Red was too big, and his father too small to provide such a refuge. The last time Raphael needed consoling; after the Krang, Splinter had been forced to climb up onto his own son’s knees in order to reach and wipe away his tears.

In the few rare instances of Purple seeking out physical touch, this was all he would allow. Legs stretched over his father’s lap, but his upper body was always off limits. Pulled just far enough away from the threat of any sort of long term contact.

Splinter used to wonder if Purple was scared to ask for anything more, like Leonardo, or if he thought depriving himself of a comforting hug would make him seem stronger, like Raphael, or even the rare times when Michelangelo wished to appear more mature and refused to be comforted. Eventually, Splinter caught on to the truth. His son was asking for comfort, in his own unique way. He was content with the minimal amount of closeness, as long as he felt like he was able to dictate the terms.

But one thing Purple would always allow his father to do, was loop his fingers around his ankles. Trusting the grip would hold his legs in place and keep him stable. He once said the pressure was small enough that it wasn’t overwhelming, but strong enough that it could ground him when everything became too much.

Even now, the act of reaching out to pull his son’s long legs up had been so instinctive. When Splinter looks over and sees the uncertainty still on Purple’s face, he knows he’s pushed too far too quickly.

It’s a risky move, but he’s already pushed, and it’s something that never fails, not once since he’s discovered it.

Purple has always been the most ticklish of all his brothers. Another thing that never really helped his sensory issues. But Splinter long ago discovered that there was a particular spot, which could always earn him a giggle and a brighter smile.

Splinter grips the meat of Donatello’s right knee and jiggles it back and forth. The silly action seems to do the trick and knocks something loose in his son’s overwrought head. His gamble pays off spectacularly, and Splinter is overjoyed to see a small smile erase most of the uncertainty clouding Donatello’s face. It isn’t a full peal of laughter, but the wariness makes way for something softer, and the huff of air from his nose is just as rewarding as a full body laugh.

His boy rests his shoulder and head onto the cushioned back of the chair and Splinter presses the button that will lift up the leg rest, and recline them both into a more restful position.

After a few moments of quiet, Donatello slowly pulls his phone from the pocket of his hoodie. Even without looking directly at him, Splinter can feel his son watching and waiting for the reprimand he thinks will come. Instead, Splinter raises the volume of his show just loud enough for him to hear, but not enough to completely shatter their peace. He wants to make Purple feel more at ease; like he’s not being constantly surveilled–not providing more overstimulation.

They sit like that for some time. Splinter rubs a thumb back and forth across the meatier part of Donatello's calves. He’s learned that repetitive touch is the best kind of grounding technique for Purple. The patterned motion always worked to calm his nerves.

Even still, after only so long Splinter catches Purple lowering his phone.

He keeps his own gaze forward, locked on his commercials. Splinter can see, without looking, that his son is studying him, trying to take apart something in his mind that he doesn’t understand. Splinter allows him all the time he needs to gather his thoughts.

Finally Purple speaks, “Dad…?” It’s so quiet, if Splinter hadn't been waiting for it, he might’ve missed it.

He pauses the repetitive kneading for just a moment, squeezing his hold, and humming in order to prompt his son to continue his thought.

“Can I tell you something?” The inquiry is whispered to him so delicately. It takes everything in him to keep his face open and soft and his movements steady. It’s clear that Donatello is trying his best to remain aloof, but his gaze is locked on his hands that are settled in his lap, the fingers of one pulling on the digits from his other.

At some point he must’ve put his phone completely away. Splinter feels the pressure of having Donatello's complete focus aimed at him.

The tugging intensifies. Splinter wonders if he should reach out, but he’s not sure how well that would be received. It doesn’t look painful just yet.

“I don't know what Kendra is accomplishing by showing me this.” Donatello growls, suddenly digging his palms into his eyes like he can still feel the weight of the screen blocking his vision. “Trying to make me happy, only to rip it all away from me? Or attempting to make me feel, even more like a useless burden than I was?”

It’s the first crack in his armor that Purple has shown in days. A clear sign that he was not as unaffected by Kendra’s lies as he’d been trying to project. Donatello sighs, but as it dies out Splinter thinks it sounds closer to a sob.

“You can’t tell the others…” Donatello looks at him with wet, desperate eyes, and it’s unclear if his son still doubts who he’s speaking to, but Splinter works to ease his fears all the same.

“I swear, whatever you tell me will remain between us, alone.”

Donatello nods faintly, eyes trailing downwards once more. Splinter may have had trouble before, but now the many emotions jumping across his son’s face—fear, shame, frustration, all are easy to catch.

With a shaking breath he whispers his secret. “I lied.” He’s crying now, real tears that he doesn’t even bother to wipe away. The pulling at his skin grows more violent, and Splinter finally interferes to carefully pry Donatello’s hands apart before damage is done. In place he cradles his son’s hands like delicate porcelain and runs a thumb over Donatello’s palm.

“I told everyone that I could tell. That I wasn’t being fooled, but that’s not exactly true. The last few loops have…it’s been getting harder, and harder to remember things— how they really happened. Too much is…plausible.”

Splinter keeps silent. This confession has clearly been weighing on Donatello. He deserves to get it all out, and hopefully feel lighter for it. Even if Purple suspects the family, something is letting Donatello open up enough for him to share his fears.

“There was one loop…Mikey broke…he broke the remote…When I said I didn’t have time to fix it. He threw the pieces at my head. He would never do that, though…right?”

“No, of course not,” Splinter answers immediately, quick to banish the doubt from his son’s mind. Donatello only blinks at him, like his thoughts are moving too slow, and cannot comprehend such a simple, stark contradiction to what he experienced.

“It felt so real…it all feels so real. But…I could feel how one of the sharp, broken corners had cut through my mask and how the wet fabric stuck to my skin with blood.”

Donatello raises a hand and touches the spot where the phantom wound must’ve sat. The pain now gone, but the memory of it haunts his eyes and rattles the tremors building in his hands.

“I thought…I thought I was handling this—maybe not well…But I’d hoped I would be strong enough to last until you all came for me…And now Raph is saying it’s already over.”

It’s a simplified form of the truth which they had tried to get Purple to believe, but even that much clearly doesn’t sit well with him. “If it is over, why does my body feel like one massive bruise? How did you all find me? How long did I last? Was I in there long enough to…?”

He’s clearly scared to ask Splinter any more questions, so he trails off, curling in on himself and pulling his hands up to his chest, pressing there, as if checking to make sure he feels something still beating.

Splinter decides he’s waited long enough and slowly pulls Donatello out of his hunched ball and guides his head to his own chest, making sure his ear is aligned against his own pulsing heartbeat.

Donatello resists slightly at first, but the moment he’s close enough to catch the sound, his breath catches and he glues himself to the spot.

“I don’t want to be there anymore,” Purple murmurs. It sounds like sleep is catching up with his son, the exhaustion pulling him down and slurring his words.

Splinter cups the back of Donatello’s head and carefully tug his fur lined blanket down from where it’s been sitting on the back of his chair. The blanket slots over the both of them and Donatello curls even closer to his father, tucking himself into his warmth.

“Go to sleep, when you wake up, you will be right here.” He’s sure to say it softly but with as much reassurance as possible, and Donatello seems too tired at this point to hold onto his doubts.

“Okay…,” Donatello mutters. Then, practically hanging on to the waking world for one final query hesitantly asks, “…Dad?…Do you love me?”

Splinter doesn’t even think. “Of course, my son.”

Donatello’s breathing finally evens out, and Splinter feels a few tears finally escape.

He’s not sure what next steps they should take, or what kind of state his son will be in when he wakes, but Splinter can only hope this is progress. He prays it won’t be undone…but regardless, Donatello is home. Any steps back or forward will be taken together, and that is the most important part.

#kendratello au #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise donnie #rise splinter #rise leo #tw brainwashing #slushie writes

348 notes · View notes

amsgrey · 11 months

Text

Deja Vu II

Part I

Okay so, I have been researching more and trying to get things at least somewhat accurate before I wrote part two. In the first part, I wrote TBI, with further research, what I was actually trying to write is an Anoxic brain Injury (still technically a TBI). The whole idea there is when the brain is starved of oxygen critical functions are impacted and there can be a whole bunch of differing symptoms after it. OBVIOUSLY, I am NOT a medical professional, so take everything with a big ol' grain of salt. I am thinking of writing some more parts to this but purely when I have time bc adult life sucks. I kept the ending open but also al actual end, unlike the first part. Hope it is somewhat enjoyable.

WARNINGS: Medical stay, seizures, talk of needles + medical procedures, hospitals, Will and Jay being their usually angsty selves, poor writing and zero editing

"Will?"

Abrams looked between the Halsteads, not sure what his place was. Everyone remembered when Pat Halstead passed, mostly because the Halstead brawl was talked about for weeks. Will Halstead was known for causing headaches for plenty of people around Med, he was the topic of gossip all through the building.

Abrams was saved by the bell - literally. His pager started beeping, excusing him from the brewing storm between the brothers.

"I'll put in for the tests," He tossed over his shoulder, disappearing into the stream of medical workers.

"Will." Jay snapped, glowering at his brother.

Will scrubbed a hand down his face, "Abrams needs to run more tests."

"More tests?" Jay pressed, "What just happened, Will?"

Will shook his head, looking at his younger brother he knew, telling Jay how bad this might be, would destroy him. Jay hated hospitals, hated medical things in general. Will couldn't look him in the eye and plant the same fear he had gnawing at him.

"I don't know, Jay," Will sighed, "I'm not a neurologist."

Jay didn't want to accept his answer, but Will didn't give him much of a chance. He turned back to your hospital room, forcing a smile as he entered.

"What was that about?" You asked, exactly where they left you.

"Just more tests," Will smiled. He stopped at the top of your bed, checking you over with doctor's eyes. You could always tell when he flipped between Big Brother and Doctor because Big Brother Will wore his emotions. Doctor Will was better at keeping his poker face like he was now.

Will's eyes flittered around the monitors before settling back on yours. His eyes softened, the slight furrow in his brow disappearing and a smile pulling on his lips again.

"You feeling alright?"

You nodded, "I'm just tired."

Will nodded, he reached out and brushed the hair off your forehead, "Get some sleep, yeah? We'll be here the whole time."

Jay reached out and squeezed your hand, before pulling up the blanket and tucking you in.

A few hours later, you were sitting up in your hospital bed while a Neurology Tech attached electrodes to your scalp. Jay had left for home, for a shower and clean clothes. He promised he would bring back your blanket and pillow and some other stuff to make you more comfortable, seeming Will said it would be okay.

While he was gone, Will sat at the end of the bed, holding your hand through the Electrode placement. After the Tech finished, you were attached to a monitor with wires upon wires, all differing colours. The tech apologized for the cap that sat over all the leads, promising it wasn’t too bad.

“it’s a new fashion trend,” you joked, smiling at the tech, “Nuero floor chic.”

The tech laughed, continuing her work. When she was done, she walked you through what she had done. Explaining the placement and the leads, and how it all worked.

"This is your personal EEG," She explained, gesturing to the boxy machine on wheels that your wires were attached to, "Try to keep it close."

She explained a few more things, then promised to return in a little while. In her absence, Dr. Abrams stopped through again. He looked over the techs work, mumbling to himself and making medical comments only Will understood.

"How are you feeling?" He asked.

You had already taken a nap, so you weren't as tired as you had been.

"Sick of sitting," You said, stretching your legs and accidentally nudging Will in the process. Will playfully batted at your feet, feigning offence.

Abrams pulled at the EEG machine on wheels, testing how the wheels glided, "If you are feeling up for it, you can go for a small walk."

You lit up, "I can?"

"If you take it slow," Abrams ordered, "And Will is by your side."

Will nodded, "Are you feeling up for it?"

"Yes."

Will helped you detangle yourself from the blanket, letting you adjust to being fully upright for the first time that day. Your feet dangled over the bed as you took a moment to compose your spinning head. Will pulled a pair of socks over your bare feet, muttering something about keeping your toes warm. He held your arm as you stood up, supporting your weight as your body adjusted again.

"You alright?"

"Mmm," You responded, focused on staying upright.

"Okay," Will wrapped an arm around your waist, "One step at a time, we'll try to make it to the nurse's station and back."

It was slow going. With every step you took, it felt like the world was twisting, like walking through an earthquake. Will's arms hovered around you, only holding you up when you needed the support. He was so steady in his support, his warm presence keeping you grounded and calm.

Two steps outside of your room, Jay bounded up with your pillow and blanket tucked under his arm.

"They're upright," He commented, "Nice hair, too."

He reached out and pretended to ruffle your hair, careful to avoid touching the wires around your head. You reached out to smack his hand, but missed drastically.

You frowned at Jay, frustration barely contained, "Sshut. uphh."

The words sounded fumbled through your gritted teeth. Abrams had mentioned how you needed to take things slow and Will tried to tell you that it might be frustrating at first, but you weren’t expecting to feel such anger. It was gnawing away at you. A week ago you were dancing around with Makayla, wrangling her for a weekend while Kim and Adam worked. You had run around, danced, sung, every little thing that made Makayla happy. Not you hardly knew how to move your feet, could hardly tell what direction was up.

The anger grew and held firm in your head, making itself known with its red cloud fogging your mind.

Will grabbed your hand, "You okay?"

"Hmm."

Your vision blurred, everything swaying and twisting as you fell forward.

Will was faster than Jay was, for once. He saw the signs a mile away, already braced for when you would fall. He held you to his chest, lowering both of you to the ground and cradling your head as your body started to convulse.

Jay immediately dropped what he was carrying, falling to his knees by your side. Jay looked up at Will trying to ask silently what to do, but the eldest Halstead had gone full doctor mode.

"Need some help over here!" Will shouted, calling for the nurse's assistance.

"I need you to breathe,” Will spoke with such certainty, like he was treating any other patient.

“You’re okay,” Will kept repeating, “Just breathe, I’ve got you.”

Jay was ushered out of the way by the nurses, who crowded in with monitors and equipment to help Dr Halstead. All Jay could do was watch helplessly.

Jay held his breath as the medical team got you off the ground and transferred you back to the hospital bed. The leads they had removed that morning were reattached, placed on your ashen skin.

Dr Abrams rushed into the room and ordered Will to get out of his way, the forced politeness gone now the situation was emergent. Will stepped back, somewhat dubiously, letting Abrams run his team.

“How did you do that?” Jay asked when will stood by his side, the pair of them watching as Abrams and the team worked.

With a dose of meds, the convulsions stopped, but the team checked over the leads and kept working.

“Do what?” Will asked, turning to look at his brother. Jay had grown pale, the fear and anxiety he felt spelt out across his features. His eyes kept darting from you to the heart monitor screen like it was going to flatline.

“Stay so calm?” Jay whispered, taking a deep breath for the first time in the last few minutes. The nurses placed a mask over your face, securing it behind your head and then leaving the Halsteads and Abrams in the room.

“Jay…” Will tried to find a way to explain it, how he could just shut off his fear in that moment to help you. But he couldn’t find the words.

“She’s stable,” Abrams spoke in the silence that had formed, “From now on, we’ll keep giving her (insert med) to keep her relaxed. No more strolls, even if it is supervised.”

Will nodded, taking it in.

Abrams was mostly speaking to Will, Jay was by your side, focused solely on you. He held your hand, careful to avoid the IV that was in the back of it. He watched you breathe, every-time you exhaled, he watched the mask fog up. He listened to the quiet puffs and the melodic beeping. You were okay. He kept trying to force himself to remember that. You were okay.

“Hopefully we can get this under control. In the meantime, we’ll keep monitoring, keep on with the EEG testing for the next few hours. Hopefully we’ll learn more.”

Will nodded, clapping Abrams on the back, “Thanks, Sam.”

The big brother in him wanted to press for answers, but the doctor in him knew that sometimes Doctors didn’t have the answers. If Abrams knew, he would share.

Will did a check over you and the monitors with his eyes, again. Then looked over to Jay, who looked completely deflated. It was no secret that Jay hated hospitals and medical treatment in general, especially needles. Spending time in hospitals usually gave him the creeps and he would always say to Will, “I don’t know how you do it, man.”

But Jay hadn’t complained even once. Not when he was watching the IV get put in your hand, or while you were attached to countless machines. Will knew it was because he felt hopeless. The same look that he wore at their dads bedside he wore now. Will stood and stared for a while, the memory playing in his mind in time with real life. This was different. You weren’t on life support like your father had been, things were different. That didn’t change the memories Will had of his dads last moments plaguing his mind.

“I stayed calm because i had too,” Will finally spoke. Jay looked up, watching his brother cross his arms over his chest and take a deep breath.

“I had to stay calm, for her.”

Jay shook his head, “I just froze, Will. And you-“

“Trained for years to react in medical emergency situations, spent years working the ER,” Will interrupted.

“Jay,” Will reached over the bed and gave jays shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “I do this every day. I know how to tune out the emotions and focus on medical stuff.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Will sat on one of the chairs, mirroring Jay across the bed, “Listen. I could never get used to being shot at, could never be shot at and react how you do. Because I’m not trained, I’m not good at that. You aren’t a doctor Jay, stop beating yourself up over something that was a basic human reaction.”

Jay didn't answer, letting silence fall over the room. Neither one of the brothers was up for a conversation, mostly just consumed with their own thoughts as they watched you sleep.

You had stirred a few times in the coming hours but mostly stayed sleeping. Will told Jay that it was a combination of the medication and the stress of recent events catching up with you. In his words, it was nothing to worry about.

"Hey," A soft voice called from the door, Will and Jay stood to greet Hailey as she stepped into the room.

Will and Jay had been off work since you had gotten worse, staying by your side or close by ever since. Both Voight and Goodwin understood, giving them all the time they needed.

"I brought some supplies," Hailey joked, handing food over to the brothers, "And I stopped by home and Wills, got some clothes."

"Thanks, Hailey."

"Yeah, Of course." Hailey stood by Jay, taking his hand for his comfort. "How's she doing?"

Will relayed the events of the day, the incident in the hall and all the things that had happened since. Things were moving fast, more tests and hopeful treatment plans were being talked about.

"It'll be okay," Will finished, mostly trying to convince Jay more than himself. He knew the look on Abram's face, knew that everything was far from okay.

Will told Jay to go back to work after a week, promising him that sitting by your side was a one-man job. Will had spoken to Goodwin, who agreed to let him take his occurred PTO for as long as he needed. So for the three weeks you were in the hospital he stayed by your side. You weren't used to having Will there every single minute of every single day, but you didn't mind it too much. Mostly he helped you go on walks or watched over you like a personal nurse. You knew that he and Jay were worried, but the overprotective brother act was suffocating at times. During the last week of your stay, you managed to convince him to let you have more space - that when he left the room you wouldn't make a break for it like Jay would. He agreed hesitantly, mostly hanging around from lunch until you fell asleep at night. You complained to Jay when he visited every day, but you were thankful he was there.

On the last few days of your time in the hospital, you were more independent, nothing like what you were before the accident, but more than before. You could walk small distances unsupported and some of your fine motor skills came back. The PT had told you it was common after TBI's for patients to lose control of their movements and motor skills, she promised that you would get better as time went on.

Dr Abrams had spoken to Will and Jay about Rehabilitation centres, there were a few in the city that focused on TBI rehabilitation but Will had been dragging his feet. Jay wanted to do what was best for you, even if it meant you might have to stay in a rehab facility. Will had a sour taste in his mouth over it all.

"Come in," Goodwin called from inside her office.

Will pushed open the door, greeting Sharon and Peter.

"What can I help you with, Doctor Halstead?" Sharon asked after Peter had left.

Will explained his plan, reviewing all the details he had sorted out. When he finished, Sharon was nodding in approval.

"Are you sure about this?"

"I am," Will was sure nothing could change his mind now.

"Okay then, I will talk to Dr Archer, and see how we can help," Goodwin bid Will the best, letting him continue on his way.

Will met Jay right outside your room, almost running straight into him.

"Will," Jay grabbed his brother's arm, "We need to talk about the rehab facility-"

"Yeah," Will nodded, "I know, i have a plan."

Will ushed Jay back into the room. He gestured to Jay to a chair and took a seat at the end of your bed. You were expecting him to stop by, sitting up properly on the bed expecting some kind of serious conversation from the eldest Halstead.

"What is it, doc?" You joked.

Will smiled, reaching out and holding your hand, "I have spoken to Dr Abrams and Sharon Goodwin and I have decided that we won't be trying to find a rehab facility."

Jay sighed, he had been arguing with Will about this for the better part of the week. "Will-"

"I think you should stay with me," Will told you directly, "I've taken a leave of absence, I think you should be home and recovering."

You looked to Jay, who was just as surprised. Jay hardly got caught off guard by Will, right now he had never been more surprised.

"Are you sure?" Jay broke the silence that settled over the room.

"If that is what you want?"

You could feel the joy blooming in your chest, a wide smile breaking across your face, "Yes. Please, yes."

Will mirrored your grin, pulling you into a tight hug and kissing your forehead. At times like this, you were reminded how much Will and Jay became like parents to you after your father's death. Although it was painful for all of you, you didn't have a good relationship with your father. He was never caring or affectionate, he never came to your sports games or awards, that was all Jay and Will. They stepped up and took care of you, they always have and promised they always would. You were so drained from the last few days of tests and the week in the hospital that you felt like you might burst into tears.

Will could sense your fragile state, staying sitting by your side and holding your hand. Jay got to his feet and pulled you into a hug too, then clapped Will on the back.

“So when am I allowed out?” You pressed, hoping to be home and somewhere familiar.

“Slow your roll,” Jay laughed, “There's still things that need to be organized.”

You let out a loud dramatic sigh, “I hate it here,” You whined.

Will wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him and playfully messing up your hair, “It won't be too much longer, promise.”

“Pinky promise?” You raised your finger, dramatically pouting.

Will indulged you, linking his pinky through yours and giving you a serious stare, “Pinky promise.”

taglist: @halstead-severide-fan

#chicago pd x reader #chicago med #chicago pd imagine #jay halstead x reader #will halstead #jay halstead #halstead!sister #jay halstead x sister!reader #will halstead x reader #chicago med x reader #one chicago x reader #one chicago imagine #chicago med imagine #chicago fire x reader #chicago fire imagine #jay halstead imagine

381 notes · View notes

strangebiology · 6 months

Text

The Science of Humane Slaughter

I asked an expert on humane livestock slaughter how we decided on certain methods of slaughter as more or less humane than others, from a scientific perspective.

He pointed me to this document (PDF) from the European Food Safety Authority called “WELFARE ASPECTS OF ANIMAL STUNNING AND KILLING METHODS:” Scientific Report of the Scientific Panel for Animal Health and Welfare on a request from the Commission related to welfare aspects of animal stunning and killing methods.

It's long, and old (from 2004) but it's a pretty useful document summarizing a lot of the science of why certain methods of killing may be more or less humane.

You can test a method, for example, by hooking an animal up to an EEG and monitoring its brainwaves after stunning it, or delivering a fatal blow (functionally killing it, but it won't always die instantly following a fatal injury, so you can still monitor it.)

Other ways of monitoring and measuring suffering include recording: how many times does an animal vocalize (moo, grunt etc) after being put in a chute? If it moves, does that matter, or is that a post-mortem or unconscious spasm? Does it immediately collapse, does it blink when you touch its eye (corneal reflex)? Is the animal permanently brain-damaged (which is a good thing when you want it to die fast!) or is it only a little knocked out and immobile, with the potential for recovery if you were to not bleed it out? (Which is bad in that circumstance!) A scientist can test that by testing a stunning method on a group of animals and then seeing if they recover. Those individual animals are likely not happy if they do return to consciousness with a hole in their heads, but such is science.

Anyway, while the testing might sound gruesome, I thought you'd like to know that slaughter regulations are pretty serious and well-studied. And those regulations seem pretty consistent among everywhere I've seen (EU, Norway specifically, the US.) With some minor differences here and there.

Perhaps we will discover better ways to slaughter meat animals in regard to their welfare, or perhaps we will find one day that our preferred method wasn't as good as we thought! There might also be people doing things in very bad, unintentionally cruel ways because of silly, disproven myths (but, if someone is legally selling meat, any US slaughterhouse is required to have a USDA rep see every death.)

I don't want to imply that every animal death goes perfectly well, or that it's even acceptable, or that the meat industry is perfect or good! But I do want to share that there is scientific precedent for why people kill livestock the ways they do, and you can read the studies in the aforementioned document. There are tons.

PS. If you have any interesting insights on the science of humane slaughter, I'd love to see them! Or, even, just tell me how it's done in your country, the role of the government, etc.

#animal death #humane slaughter

128 notes · View notes

thekinkymadscientist · 5 months

Note

Oooh a mad scientist! What kind of freaky experiment are you doing. All hypnosis? Need a test subject? An obedient pet who helps carry them out? Both? Heheha-🧡

Both could be useful, indeed. Currently been thinking about active brain monitoring techniques. Sadly you can't really miniaturize fMRI gear, but EEG equipment is small and light. Trance states are visible on EEG, so you could theoretically set up a vibrator to provide more pleasure the deeper the subject goes.

Now, would you like to be the test subject, tied down and forced to stare at a spiral while wearing a headset and a vibrator, or would you rather be the obedient assistant who straps the test subject down, inserts the vibrator (and maybe other equipment), and then eagerly waits for praise, overjoyed to be of service?

#hypnosis #brainwashing #hypnok1nk #mad science fantasy

112 notes · View notes

roxygen22 · 6 months

Text

Chart

Summary: Timothée Chalamet x female reader. Timothée gets a call that you were in an accident. Happy ending!

C/W: car accident, injury (not too graphic), hospital setting, pregnancy

A/N: not my best work, but I've been sitting on this for weeks and finally made enough progress that I was comfortable posting.

<><><><><>

"Your wife has been in a car accident. She is stable but unconscious."

The words kept running through his head as he drove like a maniac to the hospital. Barely keeping it together, he ran up to the emergency room registration desk.

"I got a call. My wife is here. She was in an accident. What room is she in?" he stuttered through panting breaths.

"What is her name?" the receptionist responded calmly.

"[Y/N] Chalamet."

"She's in room 302 in the trauma wing."

The blood drained from his face as the word "trauma" sank in. With the help of some staff, he finally found your room. He froze as soon as the door opened. You had a huge cut on your forehead and a c-collar around your neck. You were hooked up to IV fluids in one arm, and a blood pressure cuff surrounded the other. Aside from the beeping of the monitor, your room was silent.

As he closed in on your bed, he saw more damage. There were airbag burns on both of your wrists. One of your legs was uncovered to allow the deep gash on your left shin a chance to breathe. He gently took your hand in his and rubbed his thumb over your knuckles. "Oh, [y/n]." That's all he could muster before breaking down into a puddle of tears.

After a few minutes, he heard the door open and looked up. The nurse came in to check your IV. "Oh good, I'm glad someone could get here quickly to be with her. Are you Timothée?" she asked.

"Yes. Can you tell me how she is doing? She's so...still."

"Sure." She pulled up your chart on the computer. "She was brought in about an hour ago. The police said a drunk driver ran a red light and t-boned the passenger side. EMTs said she was unconscious at the scene."

Timothée shuddered and placed his hand over his mouth.

"Her EEG showed normal neural activity, and her pupils were reactive, so no signs of a brain bleed. The doctor ordered x-rays of her neck and leg and CT scan of her chest, but since she's pregnant, we will take precautions to shield..."

"Wait, what did you say?"

"She's...oh, you didn't know. Oh my. We had to run bloodwork, which includes an HCG test. Her levels were indicative of early pregnancy. We did an ultrasound of her abdomen when she first got here to check for internal bleeding. The baby seemed unharmed. It is very early but there was a strong heartbeat. We printed this." She handed Timothée a black and white picture on slick paper.

"A baby?" was all he could mutter as he looked back at you. "How long will it take for her to wake up?"

"It could be any minute now, or it could take hours. Sometimes, the brain just needs to rest." She squeezed Timothée's arm reassuringly. "I'll be back once it's time to take her to CT. If you need anything, the nurse's station is just across the hall."

Once the door closed behind the nurse, Timothée looked down at the small picture in his hand. There was an arrow pointing from the word "baby" to a dark, bean shaped spot inside of a larger gray oval. The two of you had decided last year to start trying to get pregnant, or at least not prevent it. And to think he could have lost both of you in the blink of an eye before he even knew. Likely before you even knew. You were terrible at keeping secrets, especially one that big.

"Please wake up, my love." He clasped your hand between both of his and leaned his forehead against them. Silent sobs wracked his body. After a few minutes, he felt your hand twitch. He shot up from his slouched position to stare at your face. Your eyelids twitched as you slowly regained consciousness.

"What's go- Timmy?" you asked groggily.

"Hey," he grinned and loosened one hand to smooth your hair down. "[sniffle] hey there, love, I'm here. I'm here." You looked at his teary eyes and red, puffy face in confusion.

"What happened? Why am I-?" You started to move to sit up, but soreness and the c-collar kept you from doing much. You looked down at the IV in your arm and back up at him, frightened and disoriented.

"Hey, shh. Don't move around too much. You were in an accident. A drunk driver ran a red light. They need to do some more scans just to be sure, but so far everything shows you're going to be alright. Probably sore for a bit, but nothing broken or bleeding."

You leaned your head back against the pillow to look at the ceiling and take it all in. After a few moments of silence, you said, "I'm guessing my car is totaled." You loved your little red sports car. It was your first big "adult" purchase after you graduated from college years ago.

"Probably. I came straight here, so I haven't seen it. But...," Timothée paused. "Maybe this time we should look for one with four doors?"

You pulled your head back up to shoot him a puzzled look. He smiled and handed you the ultrasound printout.

"An ultrasound? Is- is this mine?!" you squeaked.

"You know I can't keep a secret to save my life," you replied with a laugh. "We're going to have a baby?!" Then you felt yourself go pale, remembering what brought you here in the first place. You placed your hand on your stomach. "Is it okay?"

He laughed and cried simultaneously. "I guess that answers whether or not you knew."

"The nurse said there was a strong heartbeat." Timothée placed his hand over yours. "We're going to have a baby, [y/n]." He nuzzled your cheek with his nose. "I'm so glad you both are alright."

<><><><><>

Bonus chapter

Masterlist

136 notes · View notes

thinking1bee · 1 month

Text

You Haven't Failed Part 15

Requested by Anonymous

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Tags: Spidey!Reader, Venom!Reader, So Much Angst, Fluff, Established Relationship, Graphic Depictions of Injuries, Blood, Violence, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Smut

Everything Taglist: @ara-a-bird, @alexawynters

The next several hours were an absolute blur for Wanda. She could only remember broken fragments of what happened, her mind threatening to shut down when she couldn’t process her grief. It was like her brain refused to accept what was now going to be her reality. After her powers sent out a shockwave of red, destructive magic, Wanda couldn’t comprehend anything besides her pain and anguish. She remembered someone removing you from her arms. Then, someone else was shaking her shoulder in an attempt to make her respond. Wanda could barely feel them. She was practically catatonic and she had to be scooped off the ground. Wanda thought that she knew death. She thought that she knew grief. Wanda even thought that she knew pain, but with you…she didn’t have the words. She couldn’t think. She could barely breathe, and she didn’t know if she was going to be able to live without you.

***1 month later***

Coma.

Dr. Cho said that this was the best-case scenario considering the extensive damage that was done to you physically. It was Bruce that scooped you out of Wanda’s arms and it’d been Tony who tried to snap her out of her unresponsive state. Bruce was the fastest to react. He’d grabbed you and used his incredible strength to launch himself back to the compound. Nick was just entering his office when the ceiling shook, and he had his gun cocked and readied as he waited for what he thought was a threat. Instead of an intruder, he was met with a green giant that moved you swiftly to the med bay. Bruce didn’t explain. He only told Nick to call Dr. Cho and Nick did so without hesitation. Bruce did what he could with his limited medical knowledge, and he was able to stabilize you long enough for Dr. Cho to arrive. She planned to medically induce you into a coma to prevent you from dying when you slipped into one all on your own.

And you stayed that way for a month.

Wanda was sitting by your side now, her jaw still quivering at the look of you. The black veins were long gone but you still looked so pale. The hushed whoosh of the ventilator kept you breathing, and she looked at the tube that was inserted into your mouth. The heart monitor was her only reassurance that you were still alive. She peered into your brain many times only to be met with emptiness. Wanda begged Dr. Cho for an EEG, her anxiety seizing her ability to think. Scenarios of the worst filled her mind and Dr. Cho performed the test when she saw Wanda on the verge of a panic attack.

“They’re alive, Ms. Maximoff,” she told her in her soft spoken voice. “They’re not brain dead.”

“But I can’t feel them.”

The moment Wanda said it, the tears that she tried to fight ran down her reddened cheeks. Every day was full of tears. It was too the point where she almost passed out due to dehydration from the combination of crying and her inability to keep food down. Thor had to carry her to the med bay, and when the woozy, nauseating sickness she felt finally dissipated, she became aware of the IV in the crook of her arm and the fluids bag hanging on the IV rod.

“Coma is different for everyone. For some, brain activity increases, and for others, it diminishes greatly. Only time will tell when Y/n wakes up.”

“When??” Wanda blurted, the question almost sounding callous. Dr. Cho raised her eyebrows slightly and Wanda closed her eyes as she shook her head. She hadn’t meant it like that.

“I mean, how can you be so sure?” she tried again.

“Because of the powers that they have. By classification, Y/n is a mutate.”

Wanda didn’t understand. “But that’s what I am.”

Dr. Cho shook her head. “You are a mutant. That is a human who has their powers because of a mutation they possess called the X-gene. Y/n is a mutate. It just means that they weren’t born with powers. Something affected their DNA, in their case it would be a radiated spider, and that disruption is what led to them having powers. It’s more common than you think. Bruce and Peter are mutates and it’s a similarity that they both share with Y/n. They all have their powers because of radiation exposure.”

“So, what does this mean for them?”

Dr. Cho looked at you. “It means that if they were normal, if they didn’t have the power to regenerate like they did, I would be giving you much graver news. This isn’t to say that there won’t be difficulties in the future, but they are alive and it’s all thanks to their powers.” She turned to look back at Wanda. “They will wake up. We have to give it time.”

***2 months later***

You still hadn’t woken up, but Wanda wasn’t going to give up hope. She still sat by your side, her hand in yours as she saw your chest rise and fall. To say that she was doing better was a complete lie. She was an emotional wreck. Seeing you hooked up to so many wires and devices was a punch to the gut every time. In her eyes, you had never looked so fragile. Right now, it felt like one wrong touch was enough for you to shatter beneath her hand.

“Please get better, детка. I can’t do this without you.”

Wanda stood and leaned over you, her lips pressing against your forehead in a tender kiss. Her jaw quivered a bit as she exhaled a shaky breath, but she sighed and sat back down, her green eyes never leaving you.

She sat by your side. Fury understandably took her off any missions for the foreseeable future. Wanda couldn’t handle it. Not now. Missions required restraint, and with her emotions all over the place, she was liable to continue the body count she accrued several years back. So, she sat, and she waited for you to return to her.

Tony joined her later that night, and when he walked in the room, she welcomed his company. It was so quiet, the silence suffocating when you were the talker in the relationship. Wanda never had to contend with such silence, and she found herself growing restless when Tony walked in. He gave her a gentle smile before he pulled up a seat and sat next to her.

“Hey,” he greeted quietly.

“Hey.”

“How are they?”

Wanda shrugged. “They’re alive.”

That’s all she had to say. That’s all Wanda could say. Tony understood nonetheless and nodded as they both sat in silence.

“It’s just another brutal reminder of mortality,” Tony murmured, breaking the quiet after a few moments.

“Hmmm?”

“I mean,” he began, as he looked at her, his brown eyes slightly wide as his hands moved. “We have all these powers and all of these abilities, and yet, we’re still so fragile.”

“We’re human, Tony,” Wanda murmured as she returned his gaze. “At the end of the day, and no matter what we can do, we’re still human.”

Tony nodded and went silent again. They both watched the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest as the ventilator hissed. Tony swallowed and looked at her.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What was it like?” he asked. “To be blipped?”

Wanda nodded slowly, her eyes leaving you to focus on her hands that suddenly grew sweaty. Tony saw the way her breathing picked up in pace and rested a hand on her shoulder.

“If it’s too hard-”

Wanda shook her head. “No, no it’s okay. Just…give me a second.”

She took a deep breath and tucked some of her auburn hair behind her ear, her green eyes shifting slightly as she remembered back to that day.

“It felt…terrifying,” she whispered. “It was like the moment that I knew it was happening, I lost control of my body. I was on the ground and on Y/n’s lap before I even realized. It felt inevitable, like meeting the eyes of an animal that has every intention of mauling you to death. It felt finite. Final. Devastating.”

Tony was quiet as she described what it was like for her to disappear. When she swallowed thickly, he asked another question.

“Did it hurt?”

Wanda shook her head. “No. I was just scared.”

“Well yeah. You were turning into dust.”

Again, Wanda shook her head. “I wasn’t scared for me. I was scared for Y/n. I knew that my death would affect them, but I never could have foreseen the anger and guilt that they harbored for themselves. Their pain ran deep, deeper than I would ever dare to imagine.”

“What did you see?” Tony asked. “If that’s okay, I know things are personal. When Y/n left…I mean we were a mess. All of us, but Y/n…” he shrugged as he remembered what you were like during that time. He didn’t have to say anymore. Wanda knew. “I didn’t see Y/n again for another two years until I used what was left of SHIELD to hunt them down.”

Wanda remembered that memory as she considered Tony’s question.

“They were lost,” Wanda began as she purposefully omitted the finer details. “They were…hurting. They raged, much like when Clint became the Ronin, and that’s when you found them.”

Wanda didn’t want to bring up the wedding ring, or when you visited the graves of her family. That felt personal to not just you, but to her too. She was still trying to digest it all, even after two months.

“Wow,” Tony whispered. “And you?”

“Me?” Wanda echoed.

“Yeah, what about you?”

She shrugged. “It was like I blinked, and five years of my life just disappeared. I was in Y/n’s arms and a heartbeat later, I was by myself in Wakanda.”

“I’m sorry that you were alone.”

Wanda shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t care about that. My immediate response was to be happy that I was alive.”

“If we hadn’t said anything about Y/n, would you have known something was wrong with them?”

“Yes,” Wanda responded, her accent thick in the word. “They tried to hide it, but I could see it in their eyes and in their mannerisms.”

Wanda motioned to her own eyes as she talked about yours. “The usual brightness in their eyes was dimmed, muted,” she explained. “Though they smiled, sometimes it looked forced, like they were doing it for my benefit.”

“Didn’t you read their mind?”

“Strangely, no,” Wanda admitted. “While they usually let me in, it felt wrong to see what happened to them in those five years. They never really talked about it, and I didn’t want to force it out of them like that. They weren’t ready to talk, and after everything that happened, I don’t think that they ever would have been ready to tell me the truth.”

“Would you have read their mind sooner if you’d known this was going to happen?” he asked as he motioned around the med bay.

“Had I known that it would lead to this, then, yes. If I could have sooner reassured them, then yes. If I could have sooner comforted them, then yes. Hindsight,” she said with a tired breath. “It’s a bitch.”

Tony offered a small smile, one that reached his eyes. He was about to say something else when movement from his peripheral vision caught his attention. His eyes widened and his eyebrows furrowed as he slowly stood up. When you moved again, your finger twitching, he showed Wanda the movement. She was bewildered, and they both stood up and flanked your sides right as your eyes snapped open. A choked whimper left you, your throat tightening around the tube that was helping you breathe. After another choked sputter, you looked around wildly. Your hands went to grip the tube, readying to yank it out, but you were stopped by Tony while Wanda cupped your cheek and directed your panicked gaze to her.

“Breathe, детка. Breathe, baby,” Wanda tenderly murmured to you.

When you met her eyes, you swallowed thickly, a cough leaving your throat as your mouth opened, your throat bobbing as you tried to speak.

“Shhhh, don’t talk,” she said. “Just breathe.”

You offered a small, perceptible nod as you looked at the ceiling, your focus on your body and calming it down. Tony gently released your arms and reached into his back pocket, grabbing his cell phone. He hit the quick dial and held the device to his ear.

“Dr. Cho. They’re awake.”

Part 16

#ladies of marvel #the avengers #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #reader insert #x reader #fem!reader #spidey!reader #venom!reader #graphic depictions of injuries #graphic depictions of violence #angst #so much angst #fluff #smut #violence #blood #feelings #lgbtqia

47 notes · View notes

beemovieerotica · 2 months

Note

if you feel comfortable with sharing, can you explain the process for the psilocybin trial? like what you had to do, who was with you in the room, the people involved, ect.

Oh for sure!

The whole process took about 4 months from the initial screening survey to the first actual treatment. (I still have another treatment scheduled for a couple weeks from now, as of writing this).

To get started, I filled out a survey online, sent an e-mail to their point of contact, did a brief phone interview, and then I was enrolled.

I had 2 big in-person pre-treatment events, and the first was a full 8-hour day of psychological and physical screenings (lots and lots of surveys) - including an in-person sit-down with a psychiatrist going through basically everything in my past. Adverse events, my childhood, life stress, relationships, anything that might come up during the psilocybin session and that plays a part in aggravating OCD.

I also talked with an OCD specialist, another remote psychiatrist, and did a full physical with their medical team, got a complete blood panel done, and an EKG since hallucinogens can cause spikes in blood pressure, and I would have been screened out if I had any cardiac conditions.

Once I got the all-clear on my blood panel and EKG reading, I was able to move on to he second in-person visit. It was a full day of EEG testing to get my baseline brain activity down - they hooked me up to a monitor with electrodes on my head, and I played a lot of very boring video games, did memory tests, and they showed me distressing, neutral, and happy images to see what my reaction was - again, for a full 8-ish hour day.

All of these in-person visits required urine drug screenings - I was not allowed to take THC or any other substance for the duration of the study. Specific prescription medications are also not allowed.

We then set the date for my actual dosing sessions and I was assigned two guides. One of them is an MD + psychiatrist, the other is a psychiatrist. I had three prep sessions with them, going in-depth and basically letting them know who I am and why I want to do all this, and they were there to answer any questions I had and help get me mentally prepared. Overall we wanted to establish trust & safety, because they would be the two people watching over me and interacting with me during my session.

I went in-person two days before my session to see the space where I would be tripping and meet my guides face to face. The space is a very soothing psychiatrist's office type place with a sofa, comfy chairs, nice carpeting, and peaceful pictures on the walls. My guides are awesome - they were selected for me by the point of contact who had helped me through most of the screening, who worked to match participants with study staff. There's always an open line of communication - I've been able to text and call them with concerns, and I was also notified that if I want to change guides at any point (or if I want to drop out of the study altogether) I can do so with no repercussions.

The dosing session was a full 9-5 day: I arrived at 8:30 to do a urine drug screening, fill out surveys, and then I took a blue pill and waited for the effects to kick in. The whole session was recorded for my safety and for accountability of the guides.

The sofa had been converted to a bed - I was asked, as much as possible, to just lie down, put on a sleep mask to block out any vision / light, and wear noise-canceling headphones with a pre-selected playlist of instrumental music on it. I really enjoyed the playlist (lol) I felt like it set the tone for a lot of the revelations I had, and they genuinely did a great job choosing tracks.

The whole point was to minimize outside influences and to have the participants look inward and work on themselves. The guides offered two options for physical reassurance: if I wanted, I could put my hand out and one of them would come over and ask, "Do you want your hand held?" and if I replied affirmatively, they would hold my hand firmly until I asked them to stop. They also offered a "shoulder touch" - firm pressure on the shoulder - but I only took the hand hold for about a half hour on the come-up before sailing off on my own.

They also said that I was completely free to remove the headphones and mask and talk to them at any point if it became overwhelming - they would engage with me as much as I needed to, but they would gently encourage participants to re-enter the "default state" (lying down, eyes closed, music on).

I ended up only talking to them when I needed bathroom breaks - they walked me over to the bathroom (no lock), waited outside, and walked me back to make sure I didn't fall.

They had a medical kit in the room, and I was told that if my blood pressure ever reached a concerning point, they had sub-lingual meds that could lower it and put me back in a safe zone. My BP was fine the whole time, and other than my heart rate being a bit high from initial anxiety, it leveled off as soon as the peak hit.

I was in it, processing and crying for the whole 5 hours of the trip and only responding when they needed to take my blood pressure and heart rate (at first every 5 minutes, then 30 minutes, then every hour - this was done with minimal interruption, I barely noticed it happening). After the trip, I came out of it and talked to them and processed a little bit of what had happened still on the video recording - they were really curious about big first impressions and highlights of the trip. I filled out a bunch of surveys. Spouse came and picked me up, and I was asked to do a full write-up at home capturing everything I'd experienced on the trip.

I'm currently in the "in-between" phase and am doing my check-ins and processing of the first trip before I do my second one next-next week. The full study length is six months long - I'm going to keep doing check-ins and surveys into next year to see if the positive effects actually stick around for that long. Six months is kind of the gold standard for a lot of clinical trials, and I think it's also about as long as they can usually retain people and keep them responding to surveys lol. I'm trying to think if I've missed anything, let me know if you have any other questions!

#ask

35 notes · View notes

ryukenzz · 11 months

Text

Fear's Favorite Test Subject

♱☠︎.𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙: Headcanons of the Fear and his most prized possession. These headcanons will be about As Nodt as a yandere mad scientist with a female reader in mind.

♱☠︎.𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: There will be content that'll include human experimentation, yandere themes, manipulation, gore (subtle flesh picking, needles, drugs, etc.), As Nodt being a warning himself, mad scientist themes. If any of these topics are triggering for you, I would suggest not reading this for your own comfort. If I missed any other warnings, please don't hesitate to let me know!

♱☠︎.𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝕮𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 1.3k

♱☠︎.𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊: This is for @nagumoan's Dance with the Dead collab. This is also my first time writing yandere, so I hope this is good jdskf. I gave As Nodt a backstory of him as a neurologist that went into being a neuroscientist. I tried my best with the research I did for these careers, so I apologize if I got any facts wrong 😭.

The Neurologist and His Patient

As Nodt. Oh boy. The very embodiment of fear itself. This quiet man would be formidable as a mad scientist. He is no Mayuri or Szayel, but he is a madman in his own right. His knowledge on the nervous system and negative human emotion makes him one of the worst, if not THE worst mad scientist to come across. And when you add “yandere” to that status? It’s essentially game over for anyone who intrigues him.

A long time ago, As Nodt was a renowned neurologist. He barely spoke to anyone, always preferring to keep to himself and just do the job. To him, the idle chit chat was distracting and unnecessary while attending to his patients. He was a firm believer of interruptions being a hindrance to his work. He barely even spoke to his own colleagues. It all became a daily routine, over and over. Every day was silent. Every single hour became dull. That is until he made an unintentional discovery while looking over a recording of a patient's video EEG test session. Your EEG test session.

His dark eyes were trained on the recording, reviewing your results. The tapping of his pen against his clipboard matched the tempo of the machine in the video. His interest was intrigued by the amount of activity your brain displayed. Your reactions to the variety of clips being shown was brilliant. But, what really had his sights set on you was your fearful reactions. The way your beautiful face contorted whenever a killing scene appeared sparked an unfamiliar feeling. It didn’t sit right with him, but… it piqued his twisted curiosity. How much fear can the brain take before it breaks? How long does it last? He wanted to explore the possibilities. He needed to find the answers. And these thoughts began to chip away at As Nodt’s curiosity… all until it descended into something twisted and deranged.

It seems that dual graduate program will be useful to him, after all.

From that day on, As Nodt began to keep tabs on you. Your appointments, the days and times where you came and picked up your medicine, all of it. He even made arrangements to make sure that you went to him and him only. You didn’t think much of it at first, believing that he favored certain patients over others. As didn’t say a word to you in the beginning, his only responses alternated between blank stares and curt words that lasted two seconds at most. Even with his custom doctor’s mask and lack of eyebrows, his demeanor did the talking for him.

But eventually, he began to make small conversation with you. His words were still short, but definitely way more than what his coworkers received. The sudden change didn't make much sense. As Nodt, the most nonsocial person on Earth, showing interest in something other than his job? Impossible. You figured that was just his personality … but little old you failed to realize that your new friend lover was leading you on a gurney straight to Hell.

As the months went by, As Nodt stopped showing up to work. You didn’t even realize he was gone until you came in one day and another neurologist handled your appointment. You assumed he was on vacation, so you didn’t worry too much. You went home that day and did your daily routine, watching a cheesy reality show with a snack. It was only a shame that you didn’t catch the small camera that was placed within the console below the flat screen. Or the carnival teddy bear’s eyes that were now camera lenses. Every small corner in your home had been turned into a secret watch party for As to learn everything about you. From the clothes you wear down to the way your fingers moved when you held something of value. His dark eyes burned everything into memory. He couldn’t wait to see that look of fear in your eyes again.

The Fear and His Frankenstein

The day you were taken from your home was akin to a scene right out of a psychological horror. You came home from your errands as normal, but things just felt out of place. The feeling of being watched crawled all over you like flies on a piece of food. It was a mystery… up until a small flash on the TV console caught your eye. You thought it to be a reflection of light from outside, but they don't flicker like a heartbeat. The moment you got closer to it, As Nodt came from the shadows and used a chloroform cloth to make you pass out. It took five minutes for you to finally go unconscious. The neuroscientist’s face crinkled into a creepy expression as he carried you out bridal style.

When you woke up, you were met with grim lighting and advanced machinery. The room was filled with computer monitors, graduated cylinders with foreign chemicals, and multiple shelves of books. You were in a lab. Your eyes studied the room until they landed on As Nodt’s figure. You were filled with confused relief to see him, and went to ask where he had been, but he cut you off with a deep and eerie command.

“Experiments should keep their mouths closed until they are given permission to speak. And I did not grant you that, so I suggest shutting your mouth unless you want to end up like the failures in those tanks.”

Life after that first day was pure agony. Every single moment brought misery. It would make even the strongest people crumble. As Nodt would tell you it’s “for the sake of research and health” but you knew better. He was sick and obsessive, but what could you do? You had little to no power, so your insults and words meant nothing to him. They were as valuable as the dirt that clung to his shoes. Throw every single curse word at him if you want to. It won’t save you from what will come.

His experiments were tormenting and painful. Needles and brain-prodding machines chipped away your sense of self every day. There was no hour where you weren’t being picked at with a needle, or an MEG scanner being attached to your head. The flashing lights and constant clips of horror movies was nothing compared to the pain-inducing drugs that invaded your nervous system. Or the electric buzzing that made your senses numb. The daily experiments were already bad enough, but when it came to his punishments, he became a sadistic creature. Anything that would bring you pain, physically or mentally, As Nodt would turn it up ten notches.

For every offense that you commit, this silent scientist will base the experiment on whatever it was you did. If you leave the house without permission, he’ll use a special medicine that renders the nerves of your hands useless for two weeks. He’ll feed you and all, but don’t see it as a token of appreciation. Now, if you mess with his other experiments… you’ll wish you’d be one of those brains in the tanks. As Nodt would strap you to a chair and use an MEG scanner and clips of him experimenting on the other “failures” to torment you for hours. In your best interest, and others, don’t underestimate his ruthlessness. If you desire to keep your body and consciousness intact, just keep quiet and be his good little test subject.

“Why do you insist on being so difficult? Because of your constant insolence, I’ve been forced to end the trials of two nearly successful subjects. Thanks to your little belief of escaping, they’ve paid the price. You’ll make up for that, won’t you?”

♱☠︎.𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊: I apologize for posting this three days after Halloween is over hfbdjf. But I hope you all enjoy these spooky headcanons for As Nodt!

#bleach #yandere bleach #bleach x reader #yandere bleach x reader #as nodt #as nodt x reader #yandere as nodt #yandere as nodt x reader #<< dark content ahead ⚠️>>#dwtdcollab

132 notes · View notes

kidrauhlschik · 10 months

Text

2. Tangled Memories ~ Lee Know AU

Post Traumatic Amnesia (PTA) is a transient state of confusion, disorientation and memory loss that occurs immediately following a traumatic brain injury. PTA is sometimes also referred to as post traumatic confusional state and can occur from the moment of injury until the return of continuous memory.

The accident was a tragedy.

But it was the best tragedy to ever happen to you.

PT - 2 - See pt 1, 3, & 4 on the Masterlist linked above

Warnings: angst, f!reader, enemies to lovers, drunk driving, gaslighting, Fighting, yelling, cursing, angst, heartbreak, lies, angst, accidents, minho is mean, lmk if I missed anything!!

Words: 5.5k

In the hospital waiting area, the air felt thick with tension. No one could say a word, almost too afraid to speak.

It had been hours since the incident at that point. A witness came forward and gave their statement to the police. Apparently, you had been been walking alone with your eyes glued to your phone screen. When it came to the point of crossing the street, you made your way across without glancing up. Unaware that the light was red and a car was barreling down the road towards you. It had all happened very quick. A the sight of you, the driver immediately stepped on the brakes as he was speeding towards you, but the damage was done. No one dared to pick you up, too afraid of furthering the damage.

Once Minho told Chris what he had seen, the eight men packed themselves in two cars and sped to the hospital. Minho was planning to stay back but Chan wasn't having it. The second Minho said something in suggestion of not going, Chris blew up. You were his best friend after all.

He shoved Minho to the nearest wall. They never laid hands on each other, not like this. Minho's head hit the wall, causing a sharp pain, leaving him stunned, gaping at Christopher in confusion.

Chan got close to him, pointing an accusatory finger to his face.

"You're going, because you are the reason she walked out, you are the reason she was walking down the road, and you are the reason she's hurt right now. So god help me, Lee Minho, you better pray that she's okay because if she's not..." Chris stops himself from going further. He shoves Minho one last time and turns to grab his car keys.

Minho wanted to argue, he felt wrong going to the hospital, but Chan was right. He couldn't stand you, but he knows deep down, that if something serious happened to you, the guys would never forgive him. Indirectly, the accident was his own fault. So even now, in the waiting area, he knows that if he speaks, the response would be less than pleasant.

The doctor treating you emerges from the hallway, and immediately got swarmed by seven men, Minho being the only one to stay in the corner where he had been standing on for hours.

“Is she okay doctor? She’s okay, right?” Jeongin is the one to ask.

The doctor sighs and looks at his clipboard, “She’s going to be okay,” and a swarm of relieved sighs could be heard around the room. “Aside from a few broken ribs, a broken leg, and a broken arm, she held up pretty well. The team thinks that she took most impact on her arms, while trying to lessen the damage.”

“Can we see her?” Seungmin asks.

“She will be in a medically induced coma for a couple of days. However, I have to warn you. I was concerned with the damage the patient took to the head, so I decided to run some tests.”

“Tests? What kind of tests?” Felix’s voice drips with concern.

“The team ran an MRI, CAT, and an EEG scan. We wanted to ensure nothing was missed”

“I’m sorry doc, but what does that mean?” Jisung asks, not knowing what to make of what the doctor was saying.

The doctor takes all the boys in. They obviously cared deeply about you, so he knew that what he was about to say would severely affect them. “It means, that once we ran the tests, we came to find out that she received severe brain damage. We have a suspicion that she may suffer from post traumatic amnesia. We will not know for sure until she’s awake though, and through the EEG scan, it seems that she may suffer from seizures as well. She will need immersive care once she is released. I am truly sorry to inform you of this.”

At the news, Minho finally looks up from the tiled floor that he’d been inspecting. Much to his dismay, Chan meets his gaze. While Minho looks like a deer caught in headlights, Chan looks like he’s about to run him over.

Chris makes his way to the corner Minho was standing in.

“This is all your fault.” He says while Minho does his best to avoid his gaze. Chris knows that he is acting harshly, but in the midst of panic and pain, he couldn't help himself.

“I know.”

“I bet you’re happy aren’t you? You wanted her to go away, right? I hope you're happy. with what you've done” Tears well up in Chan’s eyes, imagining that there’s a possibility his best friend won’t remember him.

“Chan.” Minho begins, but Chan is quick to cut him off.

“When she wakes up, you apologize. You get on your fucking knees and apologize. When she’s out of here, you are taking care of her. You better make fucking sure to show how sorry you are.”

Minho wasn’t as concerned for your well being as the guys. However, he was concerned about the consequences. He was very aware that everyone in the room was truly angry at him. More than anything, he was aware of the guilt he felt. It felt as if he'd let everyone down, as if he was truly the monster everyone made him out to be.

“Okay.” Is the last thing Minho said to Chan.

It had been a week.

A week that everyone ignored Minho. He was kicked out of the group chat, he got the ignored every time he reached out to any of the guys, and he got the cold shoulder anytime he’d see one of the guys in person.

He felt alone. Abandoned. He was watching his friends leave him, just like he had before, and it was no one’s fault but his own. He knew he deserved it, he deserved all the hatred and animosity. He did what he was best at, he fucked everything up. It was like history was repeating itself.

Now they all sat around the waiting room once again. Instructed by the nurses, in order to prepare for the worst case scenario, they thought it'd be best for the guys to stay out of the room. Anxiety was building up for seven of them, all while Minho felt nothing but dread.

All he received was a message telling him to show up to the hospital at 5pm from Seungmin. Presumably the only one willing to make any interaction with him.

Finally, a nurse comes out, and similarly to the doctor , she gets swarmed by a hoard of boys. Much like the last time, Minho stands in his corner while staring at the floor. He hoped the Earth would open up and swallow him alive.

The nurse instructed for the guys to go in one by one. "We already explained the situation to her. We told her she'd have some visitors that would come see her. Make sure you introduce yourselves first, and explain what relationship you had with her. Don't overwhelm her with information, as she is still in a delicate state. You shouldn't cause any more stress to her situation."

With that being said, Chan doesn't even bother to inquire with the rest of the guys before stepping up towards the nurse, "I'll go first." No one dared to argue.

One by one, the guys filed into the room until Minho sat alone in the waiting area.

He was fighting his own mind, doing his best to avoid the demons that kept trying to make their way inside of his head.

That’s the only way he can cope. He’d rather not feel anything at all, rather than to be face his emotions. People call him cold, but he doesn’t want to feel hurt in the way he has hurt before. The way he's hurting now, for instance. He let himself love too much and now that he screwed everything up, he has to deal with the pain of having his best friends hate him. All because of you.

Lost in his own thoughts, he didn't realize Jeongin had joined him in the waiting area.

"Chris asked me to come get you." The youngest seemed confused by this. Probably overwhelmed by the situation, he didn't bother questioning Bang Chan's strange request. Minho didn't bother questioning it either.

Going into the room, the vibe was off. Christopher had tears in his eyes. Changbin and Seungmin both looked angry, waiting for something or someone to fix everything, nothing was coming to help them though. Jeongin, Han, and Felix all looked out of it, as if trying to take in the situation. They all knew what to expect, but seeing their best friend lack recognition of them, was a feeling none of them could have been prepared for.

You were in bed, and for the first time, you looked at Minho with curiosity. The animosity was missing from your stare. It was odd to him. Chan sniffled a bit and collected himself, "Y/N, this is Minho. He's um... a friend."

The way Chan paused in the middle of his sentence caused Minho to wince. He knew he wasn't in their best graces, but to doubt their friendship was something he was not prepared for.

He feels as if he says anything, it will be taken in the wrong way, so Minho opts to stay silent. Although he's looking everywhere but you, he feels your gaze. Inquisitive. He's probably the first person you've seen since you woke up that didn't immediately start hugging you and screaming his concerns in your face.

"He's going to be taking care of you for now." Which causes both you and Minho to stare at the eldest. Was Bang Chan out of his mind? They would kill each other, (had you recognized him).

Minho can already picture it. The second you get your memories back, you are sure to murder him. At the same time, he's painfully aware that taking care of you is the only shot he has at redemption.

"I'm going to visit you periodically, check up on you to make sure Lee Minho is taking good care of you. Alright?" Minho doesn't miss the way that his friend is gripping your hand with a little too much force. Almost as if he's scared that you'll vanish into thin air. In a way he understands. Had it been one of the guys to get hurt, he'd be just as restless, if not more. Maybe he underestimated exactly how much you meant to Bang Chan. Hell, maybe he was right with the thought that Chris wanted to get into your pants. He won't admit that out loud though.

You nod slowly at his question, everyone can just assume how confused you must be.

"Are any of you my family?" You ask, unsurely. Still not fully grasping the situation.

Hyunjin clears his throat, awkwardly trying to cleanse the air from the stiffness that your question brought to the room. "You weren't exactly close to them, your family, I mean" He responds.

"But they'll come if we call right? I mean, I should have a family right?" Your voice is now filled with anxiety. Are you really supposed to trust the 8 random boys that presented themselves as your friends?

Chris, a bit less shaken now, presumably because he realized that if anyone could calm you down, it would be him. He knows you best after all.

"Hey sweetie-"

"Don't call me that." It hurts him. You may not remember your best friend, but the hurt in his face is almost impossible to miss. He is typically good at hiding his emotions and being everyone's rock, but he felt like he was taking hit after hit.

"I'm sorry, but I'm just really confused. I think I just need some time. You seem like a really nice guy, you all do, but please just give me a couple of days. I just want to go home.” Minho can feel the stares. He feels animosity from his friends, they don't trust him, and that much is obvious. But he tells himself that he can prove them wrong. All he has to do is make sure that you don't die while you recover from your wounds. He tells himself that it shouldn't be that hard.

Chan throws on the best fake smile that he can muster. "I understand sweet- Y/N. If you need space, we can at least give you that." You nod slowly at his words, shoulders relaxing. The expectations that they all had for you felt like too much. Seeing all of their faces, one by one, look so disappointed that you didn't recognize them felt overwhelming. It made you feel guilty. The only one that wasn't visually affected by your predicament was Minho.

It felt nice.

Walking into your house, or rather getting rolled in felt awful. The place, your home, felt strange and foreign. It hurt to think about it too much. You and Minho were silent the entire ride home. While he was struggling to get you in and out of his car, he remained stoic. He hadn't forgotten that not long ago, you had his car towed for shits and giggles, and he'd always been a little too good at holding grudges.

When he leaves your apartment once again to grab the remainder of his clothes out of his car, you take it as an opportunity to look around the place. The task doesn't come easy with your broken arm and leg, yet slowly but surely, you manage to reach the few spaces you could get to without any help.

All of the pictures surrounding the place had some of the guys in the frame. Mainly the guy that introduced himself as Bang Chan. No one else is pictured aside from the guys, which made you feel more at ease with your decision to trust them.

You couldn't help but notice the lack of Minho in the pictures. Didn't they say he was also your friend? You make a mental note to ask him about it later.

Minho walks in and throws his bags by the entrance, immediately making his way towards the kitchen. He had been in his head since the second he agreed to take care of you. It's not like it was much of a choice, but he'd been stressing over how exactly he would approach the situation. He wasn't doing this for you, he was doing it so his friends could forgive him. That's what he kept repeating to himself in order to actually come through with his assistance.

You roll into the kitchen as he was making dinner. He doesn't pay you much attention, the only thing that lets you know that he noticed you in his space, is the avoidance of your chair, running around and swiveling around you.

"Do I have a phone?" You ask him, but it throws him off a bit. There was no sarcasm in your tone, it was nothing but a question, but it comes off as a odd to him. Having known you for a little over a year, not once had either of you had a civil conversation with one another.

"It broke in the accident. Chan is buying one for you, I think." Still not bringing his gaze towards your direction. You silently nod in response.

"I must be pretty close to him, for him going out of his way to buy me a phone."

"Mhm." He is still very unsure on how to approach you. He briefly thinks about kicking your chair while passing by you, but quickly shakes the thought out of his head. Chris is still going to check in on you, and he knows that if Chris finds out that Minho was treating you less than perfect, he'd have another argument with him. Minho wanted to avoid anymore conflict. Through everything, he just wants his best friends to talk to him again.

"Were we close?"

That question actually throws Minho in for a loop. Should he lie? What is he supposed to say? We hate each other? I'm the reason you lost your memories? I'm the guy who practically pushed you into the accident? "Huh?" Is the only thing he manages to say in response.

"Well, there are no pictures of you here. All of the people at the hospital are in the pictures. You're the only one that didn't throw himself into my arms and damn near burst into tears. I'm assuming that we weren't that close." There was no ill intent with your question, just pure curiosity.

"Well-" You interrupt him before he can actually come up with an explanation. "You have been avoiding me like the plague since you picked me up, and all the guys visited me every single day since I woke up." Minho asks himself if you'd always been this talkative.

"We weren't as close as you are to the other guys."

"So why are you the one to take care of me?" For the first time in a while, he finally makes eye contact with you.

"Chris wanted us to get closer." Is the best lie he can come up with.

"Why?" God, why are you asking so many questions? Minho wondered.

"I don't know. He's your bestie, you'll know when you get your memories back." Now you're taken aback.

"Do you think I ever will?"

"I hope so." He does. This whole situation feels uncanny to Minho. He doesn't remember a conversation that you guys have had, that lasted this long and hadn't escalated to screaming and it felt odd.

With that answer, you drop the conversation. He obviously didn't want to talk, and you felt as if you had pried enough for the night

For the next couple of weeks, things go as smoothly as anyone could hope. You and Minho coexist which is more than he expected. He goes to his classes and comes back to your apartment everyday. Most nights he comes back to cook dinner, then he helps you bathe, and then heads to bed. It's a stark difference in comparison to when the other guys are visiting you.

You manage to get a couple of questions in every night, but he typically doesn't show much interest in shoving your past down your throat. You don't bother to pry, mainly because you get plenty of information when the guys come by, especially because of Felix. He seems like a pretty sweet guy, but it's very easy to get overwhelmed when he shoves his phone screen in your face whenever he comes to visit.

"Wait Y/N! Look at this! You asked if we could go to the beach and obviously I am always down to hang out with you. That day we left super early and spent the whole day lounging around in the sand. You almost managed to drown me with your lack of swimming skills. It was kind of funny actually." He means well, but it almost feels like he's trying to guilt you into remembering. The guilt that you feel when all you can do is smile and say, "Woah, sounds nice." Is incomprehensible. They try to hide their disappointment, and move on to the next memory that you can't recall. You know that they're trying to help, but it doesn't make you feel any better.

That's why Minho's silence is welcomed. It's like he doesn't expect anything from you, which feels like a breath of fresh air.

Minho is slowly falling into a routine with you. Initially everything felt strange to him. Your sudden friendliness, the need to be taken care of, the lack of bite with your words, all were foreign to him. Prior to the accident, you were very independent. Almost terrified to let someone take care of you.

Even the bathing part became causal to him. Initially, he felt very awkward, almost flustering to him. He hardly knew anything about you, and now he had to see you naked. He couldn't help the blush that took over his face when he first had to help you clean up. Now, he mainly disassociates and gets it done as fast as possible.

"Did you have a crush on me?” You ask all of the sudden, causing him to choke on his dinner. Eyes wide as saucers stare you down.

"I'm sorry???"

You shrug nonchalantly. "I'm just asking."

"What would make you think of that?" He asks, still just as flustered.

"I mean, why else would Chris ask you to get close to me? Why were you always acting so weird around me? The only explanation I can think of, is that you had a crush on me and you were too shy to approach me." You explain nonchalantly, shoving more food in your mouth.

"I did not have a crush on you." He says a bit too aggressively for you liking.

"Or maybe you hated me." Once again, speaking entirely way too casually.

"NO." He almost screams. Which confuses you even more.

"Damn. Make up your mind dude. Love or hate me, it would be nice to know." You chuckle a bit with your response.

He composes himself a bit before replying. "I mean, I mean, um, we just had a weird relationship."

"Relationship huh? So I'm hearing you were in love with me and I rejected you."

This was a new side of you Minho was not used to. He had never played around with you. You could hardly look at each other, and now you were implying that he had a crush on you. How is he supposed to reply without admitting that you guys loathed each others presence?

"I mean... It did hurt when you rejected me." He couldn’t just admit that he hated you, then you’d be apprehensive towards him. He knew, or he wanted to believe that you'd regain your memories one day. So he honestly wasn't sure as to why he kept on lying to you, whenever you got your old self back, you'd for sure murder him.

"I knew it!" You slammed your uninjured hand on the table, seemingly proud of your 'deduction skills', as wrong as they were.

By the time you were able to get your arm out of the cast, everything was a lot more casual between you and Minho. It seemed as if you had accepted his fake confession with grace. You dropped the subject and moved on. Minho had no idea how wrong he was.

He failed to notice how soft your voice had gotten with him, and missed the way your eyes would linger on him for a second too long after you made a joke to see how it’d affect him. He was oblivious on how you always seemingly flocked over to him when the guys were over out of instinct. He definitely didn't see that whenever Chris called you to see if he could come by, you'd deny his requests, opting to stay alone with your ex enemy.

The two of you fell into a new routine. You'd watch movies until the first one dropped, though it was typically you. He didn't think much of it. He would never ponder on the fact that he'd watch you sleep sometimes, and observed your light snores and weirdly found them comforting. He told himself that it was like watching a snake taking a nap. He never thought much about the nights that he'd allow himself to run his fingers through your hair without thinking.

The forced proximity grew your relationship so organically that before he knew it, he didn’t dread sharing a space with you. Yet, he refused to acknowledge the fact.

Eventually, there were no casts, no broken bones, and no reasons for him to stay with you. You still didn't remember anything, so that's why he reasoned that he should stay.

One day, he woke up in the middle of the night. You and Bang Chan had a sleepover, you had gotten comfortable with your best friend again, after many months of him trying to make himself back into your life, you had begun to let him. The memories he always tried to remind you of, softened your heart. He spoke in a way that seemed safe, causing you to build a strange sense of trust with the man.

"Hey, I was thinking that you should be good to stay on your own once again. I don't think that Lee Minho is doing much but getting in your way." Neither of you were aware that he was standing in the hall. Hoping to get a glass of water, but instead being met by your conversation.

"I want him to stay." Minho grips his empty cup a bit harder. Not expecting to hear those words from you.

Chris was very clearly taken aback. He had heard good things about Minho. He knew that he was acting out of guilt, but he didn't mind much. You needed someone to be there for you, and Bang Chan hoped that even if it was superficial, you could at least have all the help you needed.

"What? Why" He questions.

"Well, didn't you want us to get closer?"

"I mean, I guess but..."

"Then you got what you wanted." You say with a sly smile.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't know what my deal was before, but I think I'm ready to accept him." Your words make Minho look around the hallway in a panic. What the hell were you talking about?

"Accept him?"

"Yeah, I mean he's handsome, he's very mysterious, but in a good way. He feels safe, like he is just staying by my side because he wants to, not because he expects something out of me." Minho leans against the wall with worry and exhaustion. You misread everything. He didn't expect anything out of you because he expected forgiveness from his friends. How did he let it get to this point?

"Hey sweetie, I don't know if it's my place to tell you this-" With Chan's words, Minho immediately makes his way to his bedroom and loudly slams the door, making it appear as if he was barely coming out. He makes sure to make his steps as loud as possible, as he fakes the best groggy voice he can manage.

"Hey guys, what's going on?" You and Chan both freeze in place.

"Oh, me and Chris were just catching up." He nods at your response and makes his way back to the room that has became his.

Chan quickly changes the subject. How is someone supposed to tell you that the man that they all forced into your life used to be your mortal enemy? So he merely avoids it.

It is not as simple for Minho though, he can't avoid you, so he simply shuts you out in his own way. He answers your questions even less, he stops making you dinner, opts to go to his room during movie night, and overall, tries to spend less time at your place. This does not go unnoticed by you though. His new attitude makes you wonder if your lack of memory is finally getting to him. Has he gotten tired of you? Tired of waiting for the person he had been infatuated with? Those questions make their way into your head with the lack of his attention.

"Hey Minho." You begin the second he walks in through the door, stopping him from making a beeline to his room.

He stops without looking at you, dreading what your next words may be.

"How have you been?" That being the last thing he expected you to say.

"What?"

"I feel like we haven't talked too much lately. It's strange." That's strange? Minho wants to laugh. After experiencing the oddest of the past few months with you, the fact that he's distant is strange? God, if only you knew.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you think we could go do something? Maybe go skating or maybe shopping?"

"What?" If he agrees, that would be the first time the two of you went out alone. He didn't expect this situation to arise. He wanted to say no, you were the person he hated most afterall. Yet, the you now wasn't the old you. The you now, looked at him in a different way. You trusted him. Which he genuinely enjoyed, mainly because no one really trusted him as of lately. It is odd that you of all people, are making him feel better.

On the way to the park, he can't help but wonder. What if you got your memories back right then and there? Would you immediately recoil from his side? Acting as if he had burned you? You'd know that you had been lied to. You wouldn't only be mad at him, but at everyone else as well.

He briefly wonders if everything that they're doing is right. He had never asked himself that, always looking at his ultimate goal. Seungmin and Hyunjin had talked to him first, mainly to ask how you were doing. Then Felix and Jeongin had been the next to reach out, asking if you could all hang out together. Changbin, Jisung, and Chris were harder to crack though. However, they had all gotten significantly kinder toward Minho. He takes all of it as wins, but can't help but think about the way you'd react toward the past couple of months full of lies that they all fed you. Minho of all people? He remembers your murderous behavior, and can already see you breaking down, and breaking them, whenever you remembered everything.

"Do you have any dreams?" Your words break him out of his thoughts.

"What?" You know he's standoffish, so you already had a response for his questioning ready.

"I always wanted to be a singer." You say to persuade him to confide in you.

"Wait, wait. What?" He stops your walk at the unexpected statement.

"Yeah... I think I'm remembering somethings," The thought causes Minho to shudder. "I don't recall much, but I think I'm beginning to remember my parents."

"Wait what?!"

"Don't tell anyone though." You shake your hands as if to say 'no' to make it a point that he is the only person you're telling about this.

"But... do you remember anything else?"

"Huh, not really. I think my memory is working itself backwards. Sometimes I have dreams of what used to be. Sometimes I wake up remembering what I did before, but it is mainly things from way back. I'm beginning to remember why I cut everyone in my family off, and why I stopped chasing my dreams." The way you said it so calmly, lead Minho to infer that you've been remembering things for a while. It makes him feel weird to think that you're confiding in him of all people.

"Well, why did you stop chasing your dreams?" Had anyone told Minho that you two would be walking through the park together, talking so casually, he would've thought they were psychos.

"I haven't got to that part yet. What about you? Why did you stop chasing your dreams?" The question takes him aback. He can't remember telling you that part of his life.

You take his confusion into account, and continue talking, "I noticed the way you're an amazing singer. You're not really quiet when you shower." You laugh at your own statement. "I hate to be intrusive, but Chan also told me that you had unfinished business with that," Before Minho could get mad at your curiosity, you kept speaking. "I didn't let him tell me much more. I assumed that I was right, but you're free to tell me that I'm wrong right now." With that, he's at a loss for words. It was a longshot, but you were meeting the mark.

"I wasn't really made for it."

"I think that you are."

He doesn't reply to that. He takes a bit to take in your words. For a second, he forgets how you used to be. Had you always been so observant? So caring? The person that had made him feel like shit for so long felt like a stranger in comparison to how you were right now.

"You're nice." He says before he could stop himself.

"That must be why you were so in love with me." So confident. That was also new for you.

"I wouldn't go that far." He chuckled to himself. He finds it odd that you were so funny. He's seen bits and pieces of you for a while, but never directed towards him in that way. He feels a confidence coming from you that he had always failed to see before.

Although you don't reply to him, he feels as if he couldn't leave his statement unended. "You're maybe kinda sorta cute. I guess." Which brings a laugh out of you.

"Ha, good way of hiding your never ending love for me." If only you knew.

He is not sure why, but your statement makes him smile.

"Hey Minho,” your next words would make his mood flip in an instant, “you make me feel safe." Your words bring bile to his mouth. He feels like a faker. He feels like he’s betraying you, not the old you, but this new version that he strangely liked. It’s all so confusing to him. He's supposed to hate you.

"You make me feel okay." That's the best thing he can muster before wrapping his arm around you. It felt like the right thing to do but the wrong universe to do it at.

He hoped that your memory would never come back.

A/N: i'll try to wrap this up by this weekend. thank you so much to those who have given me encouraging words :)

TAGLIST: @stanstraykidsskz @weareapackofstrays @linos-kitten @cassidymb121

70 notes · View notes