#ive never considered medicine

[tangledinink]

MY CHILDHOOD LOVE, WARRIOR CATS MY ONE AND ONLY

I MADE MY FIRST OC'S, SELF INSERTS, AND PERSONAS FOR THAT SERIES

WE WARRIOR'S FANS STAND TOGETHER IN OUR SEA OF BLOOD AND PILE OF BONE

oh BIG MOOD. i was obSESSED with warrior cats for AGES. like. lowkey baby's first true hyperfixation. i deVOURED those books. they were typically too expensive for my family to buy (esp coz there were SOO many of them) so every time a new one would come out i'd beg my mom to bring me to the bookstore and then i'd straight up just sit in the aisle and read the entire thing then and there.

warrior cats is definitely, like, a huge part of what truly got me into drawing/writing/storytelling. i used to dedicate hours to illustrating scenes from those books. i had four HUGE handmade posters up on my wall as a tween with each and every cat from each and every clan that i'd update as the allegiances changed in the books. i used to design 'warriorsonas' for each and every one of my classmates because i was a super normal child. warriors is how i got into roleplaying, which was definitely a huge influence on my writing-- i read in an interview when i was, like, 11 that the erins sometimes got inspiration for warrior names from roleplay sites, and i was like!!!!! omg i have to start roleplaying on roleplay sites so that one of my warrior names get into the books!!!!

(they never did lol)

but i still obSESSIVELY roleplayed online for YEARS, i'd draw all my characters and draw my friends' characters, too, and scenes from the rps. we'd all write PARAGRAPHS upon paragraphs with, like, proper grammar and everything (because at that age and in those circles, roleplaying *with actions in asteriks* and stuff was CRINGE and everyone KNEW that the LONGER you wrote the BETTER your writing was, obvs, and that was the only factor--) i spent, like, every waking moment on this massive chatroom-based site called kugyay that had, like, hundreds and thousands of users in its heyday. granted, like, most people had more than one account (so you could have a custom profile for each character, obvi) but i remember everyone freaked out when we hit more than 10,000 accounts.

i could talk about my experience with warrior cats and all my various ocs for... like.... ages. also like. this is random and won't mean anything to most people, esp coz i only posted, like, a few pages about it, but i also want y'all to know that this graphic novel that i desperately want to bring to life and do justice someday and that i've dedicated SOOO much time thinking about is... like....... 1000% inspired by/based on warrior cats lowkey. like. i am infected. forever and ever.

[bedforddanes75]

i should be sucking a dick and it should be his

[appsa]

Its a privilege to have people you can call upon to help you when you encounter a situation that is beyond your control, and I'm never more conscious of that than when my friend Mahmoud ( @ma7moudgaza2 ) tells me about what he is dealing with in gaza right now.

Due to the siege being carried out by the zionist occupation, experts are reporting that north gaza will be suffering from severe famine in the coming days if things remain unchanged. Mahmoud's family will have to suffer through these harsh conditions during this coming winter for no fault of their own, and at the young age of 21, Mahmoud is bearing the responsibility of having to raise funds to help his family with no one to turn to for help.

Right now Mahmoud's fundraiser is dying. he still urgently needs funds to meet his family's basic needs and prepare for winter. They need blankets, warm clothes, baby formula and diapers, food and medicines- so please consider lending them a helping hand during this dire time of need 🙏 please share and donate anything you can spare to Mahmoud's fundraiser. No amount is too little and every donation can have an impact greater than you can possibly know.

[Verified]

[lucky-clover-gazette]

(for the request thing) sometimes i wonder how Volo would feel/react if someone (like arceus’s chosen 👀) took a blow for him from a wild Pokemon or another person. From his perspective, Volo doesn’t have anyone in Hisui that cares about his wellbeing, and the game alludes to him having a troubled and lonely past, and with him having planned on erasing all life in Hisui in pursuit of his desires, would he feel guilt if someone showed him a level of care that would make them sacrifice their safety for his, when he was ready to potentially sacrifice them for his own sake when it came to Arceus?

(also wanna say ive loved your fics on Ao3, so talented <3)

(also on ao3)

You really prefer not to die in front of other people.

The edges of your vision darken as you shove Volo aside, taking the full force of the Alpha Vespiqueen’s attack. You manage the subdue your attacker with a well-aimed sticky glob and ultra ball, but not before suffering an undoubtedly fatal blow.

The consummate merchant comes to you at once, leaning over your fallen body with an oddly indecipherable expression. Usually Volo is abundantly obvious with his feelings, whether he’s passionately rambling about ruins or earnestly praising your efforts as the hero of Hisui. But the man you see now, as your vision begins to blur, simply stares.

“Caught it,” you brag.

His grey eyes widen slightly. You haven’t shared this with him, but you’ve always found them rather beautiful.

“You shouldn’t have…”

“Saved you?” you ask with a dry chuckle. “That’s why I’m here, remember?”

Volo furrows his brow. Reaches out to touch you, then pulls his hand back.

“I sincerely apologize,” he tells you, bowing his head. “If you are to perish in these circumstances, you deserve to know—”

You die and can’t hear the rest.

And then you open your eyes.

You stand on your feet now, in the last place you felt safe before the Pokémon’s attack. Volo still kneels in the distance, seemingly unaware that your body has been replaced by a fallen satchel containing your entire supply of ultraballs, a fire stone, and exactly four medicinal leeks.

You frown. This is going to be awkward.

“Hey, buddy,” you say, coming up carefully behind him. Volo’s back goes rigid at the sound of your voice, his head turning around at once.

“You—you!!”

You rub the back of your neck, sheepish. “Surprise?”

“You died!” Volo exclaims with an accusatory finger-point. “I just saw—” His head swivels to the satchel on the ground, then he turns back to you. “How?”

You sigh and sit down beside him. “Chosen One perk. I die, Arceus says my work isn’t finished yet, I get another shot. It happened for the first time when I fought Lord Kleavor. I had no idea what I was doing, and it took like a dozen tries before I got good.”

Volo looks horrified. “You’ve died a dozen times?”

“Of course not!”

“Then why—”

“My death count’s definitely in the triple digits now. Lord Arcanine was ten times worse than Kleavor, because of all the fire and bullshit arena. At least Lady Liligant was a total pushover.”

“Did it not hurt?” demands Volo, his face growing noticeably pale.

“Oh, it totally hurt,” you admit. “But somebody’s got to deal with it, and I’m the only one around here who’s been made invulnerable by God.”

Volo looks as if he’s been slapped. You suppose that’s fair, considering the shock of witnessing your death and resurrection. But to you, this really is just another Tuesday.

“I know it’s disturbing,” you sigh, putting a hand on his shoulder. His muscles are tense. “That’s why I try my best to make sure people aren’t around to see it. Just easier that way, you know?”

Volo wears another unreadable expression.

“Sucks to lose a satchel, though,” you say, lightly. “Thanks for keeping an eye on it. Without witnesses, I usually lose some of my stuff. Never the plates, though, don’t worry.”

He still looks lost in his thoughts, which is no good. You don’t know how to explain that this happens all the time, for much less important reasons than protecting your favorite person on Hisui. The pain is a small price to pay for his safety, and you’d readily pay it again.

“I thought you died,” Volo eventually says. “Saving my life.”

You elbow him playfully. “I guess Arceus is looking out for you too.”

His expression darkens. “No.”

“No?”

He looks you dead in the eyes, with a different sort of intensity than you’ve come to expect from the eccentric wanderer. “Under an unjust god, endless life is endless pain. Do you truly wish that for yourself? For the world?”

Distantly, you wonder what exactly Volo had thought you deserved to know before your presumed demise. You have a feeling he’s not going to tell you now.

You offer him a hand. “Well, unless you’ve got a better god laying around somewhere, I think we’re stuck with what we’ve got.” And I like what I’ve got, you absolutely do not tell the merchant. I like that I’m here with you.

Volo still seems distracted, but he takes your hand anyway. “Right,” he mutters, and then smiles. “We live to fight another day.”

You rub your thumb against the side of his hand. “And maybe someday, we won’t have to fight. We’ll have everything we need.”

You can picture it, with him. You wonder, maybe foolishly, if he might feel the same way.

Supporting you is actually an investment in my own fortunes, Volo had told you once.

You would protect him regardless of your personal relationship, of course. Just as you protect the rest of this world. You want things to be better, for everyone, and intend to use your god-given powers to ensure that your dream becomes reality.

Volo nods, his sharp gaze fixed on your joined hands. A chill runs down your spine as he squeezes.

“Yes,” he agrees. “Someday.”

You smile softly.

“I think I can live with that.”

[candlemousse]

ENTRY 1 ✦ ❰❰ small ways they show they care

↳ neuvillette ✘ baizhu ✘ diluc ✘ ayato ✘ albedo ✘ childe ✘ kaeya ↳ pure fluff | no warnings apply ↳ this is a draft ive had since 2023 i got sick of looking at it i needed it OUTT. i didnt edit it either so dont even bother sending hate lmfao ik. i agree with you ↳ gn! reader | 588 word count | sfw

Sweet Neuvillette who would rather give up his water drinking hobby altogether than let you walk home alone after an outing together. The mere idea was alien to him; ensuring you got home safely was as much as second nature to him. What kind of gentleman would he be if he didn't? There isn't much risk though either way, no one in Fontaine would ever dare laying a harming finger upon the lover of the feared and respected Chief Justice. But nevertheless he insists.

As an esteemed doctor, Baizhu takes his profession in medicine very seriously, and puts great effort into caring for his patients; and even perfectly healthy you're still a point of concern for him. When you aren't healthy however, his priorities shift from taking care of his patients full time to keeping you at the pharmacy to personally ensure you get better while still attending to his other patients.

Diluc isn't a fan of alcohol, which is unorthodox considering how he owns the most famous winery in Teyvat. So while he hardly ever does indulge in beverages other than water, he always has your favorite drink on hand for whenever you may show up. He'll never admit it aloud to another soul, but it isn't any secret between you two how subtly touch-starved he is; so he'd

Ayato likes to keep his work life and personal life entirely separate, which would mean keeping the details of your relationship anonymous to the public. But that doesn't mean he loves you any less, of course not. He spoils you absolutely rotten with his wealth. Anything you need? You got it. Anything you want? It's immediately at your doorstep, all completely tied prettily with a ribbon of your favorite color. And besides, he's all yours behind closed doors.

Albedo adores you so wholeheartedly that you creep into his thoughts even while he works, distracting him even in your absence. Usually, Albedo would be frustrated by the plug in his workflow; but not if it's you. His writings in his notebook morph into drawings of you that were sketched to the best of his ability, each drawing a memory he enjoyed with you by his side - your smile the day you two built your first snowman, the way your hair blew in the breeze while you packed up after the picnic with Klee, and the way your eyes shone when he surprised you with a cake on your anniversary.

Childe would hardly ever let you pay for yourself. As a fatui harbinger, money would never be an issue for someone who so carelessly spends the company funds, as well as his own. On top of that, he absolutely spoils you rotten; buying you whatever you wish within reason. He'd introduce you to his family of course, his family is very dear to him and you're a part of it now. He feels like hes falling in love with you all over again, as he sees you get along with his little siblings.

Kaeya takes it upon himself to ensure your happiness as a personal responsibility, which really isn't as troublesome as it sounds. If anything, he enjoys it- after all, the smile on your face is worth a hundred days of work. Whenever you're down in the dumps, he would most certainly be there with a box of tissues and a shoulder to cry on as he patiently listens to you rant about your miserable day, tossing in his own sarcastic remarks and two cents every now and then.

[qoldenskies]

i have like. such mixed feelings on the medic leo headcanon, coming from someone that has used it in pretty much all of his work so far. me and the medic leo headcanon are in an off-and-on relationship and every time i think we're done for good its outside my door with a boombox in the pouring rain and i feel like i hate myself a little when i take it back. it fucks like a champ though which makes it KIND OF worth it

cause like. i really think its an implementation thing that frustrates me more than anything else. to give leo a special THING feels like it disregards such a core facet of his character, that being that he doesn't have one and he feels like the others do. "face man" feels like overcompensating. initially, "leader" feels like too much, and it feels like something he TOOK from raph. there's really an implication that he feels like his brothers are SOMETHING without him, but he's NOTHING without them, and he directly states the second part. (so he overcompensates and acts like they do need him)

i think to make this an early-in-his-life practice kind of throws that out the window. leo taking this up when he's young doesnt fit him, i dont think, especially because i see him as a very.... high wisdom low intelligence kind of character. good street smarts terrible book smarts, and that's kind of apparent by him being so clever and intuitive while also taking stupid dares and making actively reckless decisions to look cool lmao. he would swallow a whole bottle of shampoo because mikey told him to and then be confused why he's in the medbay and raph is yelling at him like ten minutes later

HOWEVER. i think it is a very good way to explore some of the nuances of him that actually MAKE him a good leader, once he steps into that role. leo is a people person. he knows his family, he pays attention to them, he knows how to manipulate them and it would make him a diligent eye in the field. things dont get past him and it makes it hard to hide when theyre in pain from him. he's the most likely to be like "cool, i dont give a fuck" when they try to dismiss injuries. he'll happily make it an argument if he has to; he'd be as stubborn as a mule when it comes to their well-being, and he's more calculative than he looks, which means raph and donnie's usual tactics of dismissal and deflection hit a wall when he puts his foot down on something.

so really i just go out of my way to not make it something EXCLUSIVE to him when its included (and i always go out of my way to make it recent, because why would they have a designated medic who they already know to go to when the concept of crime-fighting was NEVER something they thought would really happen?). it makes the most sense to be something that STARTED with donnie, considering he refers to resuscitating piebald as "my science"; medicine is included in the field of what he enjoys and invests in. donnie is a jack of all trades in anything he can get his grubby little hands on, but ive always seen him as squeamish, which gives a good reason for leo to get involved.

but i think leo would always underestimate his capability despite lots of hands-on experience, even though hands-on is literally how he learns instead of reading books and studying like donnie does. no matter how diligent and practiced he is in the field, he's still not exclusive in it, and it doesnt feel like something that IS a big thing to him. so he can do a few stitches, big deal. donnie and splinter can already do that! who cares? raph and mikey probably could too if they actually paid attention to any of donnie's yap-sessions. no matter how much he boasts about how much they need their cool brother to patch them up, he doesn't believe it, even as he gets better and better and better.

it also gives him the opportunity to really come to face how meaningful it actually is, and to be appreciated for that, especially if donnie is out of commission and he actually gets to utilize that strength. doomed timeline angst potential right there.

[serickswrites]

Unhand V

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Warnings: referenced captivity, referenced torture, referenced restraints, blood, burns, wounds, unconsciousness, bedside vigil, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, hurt/comfort, caretaker and whumpee, hospital

Caretaker hadn't left Whumpee's side since the medical team had come out to the waiting room and said Whumpee was going to make. Caretaker hadn't let go of Whumpee's hand since being allowed to sit with them. Caretaker hadn't done anything since they came into Whumpee's room except watch Whumpee sleep.

Because every time Caretaker closed their eyes, images of finding Whumpee bloodied and covered in burns filled their vision. Images from the nightmare had bile crawling up their throat.

"You're alive, you're alive," Caretaker whispered, stroking Whumpee's fingers.

Whumpee looked terrible, though the worst of their injuries were hidden beneath the sheet. They slept peacefully despite the pain Caretaker knew they must have endured.

"I'm so sorry it took me so long to find you. I'm so sorry. Please. Please, wake up. I'm here. You're here. Please wake up, Whumpee."

Caretaker knew it hadn't been very long since they found Whumpee--maybe only about eight hours--and yet they wanted Whumpee to wake. Needed Whumpee to wake. They needed to talk to Whumpee to remind them that this was real. That it wasn't another dream. That Whumpee wasn't lying dead in their bed and this was something their brain had invented to avoid the truth.

And so when Whumpee's fingers twitched in theirs and gave a soft moan, Caretaker's heart skipped a beat. "Darling?"

Whumpee's eyes blinked rapidly as they clawed their way to consciousness. "C't'r," they croaked, throat working hard to swallow.

"Oh, darling. Thank goodness. You're awake. You're awake," Caretaker reassured themself as they gave Whumpee a sip of water.

"You....found me," Whumpee rasped as they stared up at Caretaker.

"Of course I did. I couldn't let Whumper keep you. I'm," Caretaker's breath caught, "I'm just so sorry it took us so long to find you."

Whumpee's face contorted with pain. "Let me call the nurse," Caretaker said, rising from their seat.

"No," Whumpee hissed, their grip on Caretaker's fingers tightening to bruising. "No sleep."

Caretaker realized with a pang of guilt that Whumpee very likely suffered from nightmares from their time with Whumper. The two of them didn't want to be trapped in their nightmares and took solace in being awake. "I won't let them sedate you, but you don't have to be in pain."

"Please," Whumpee said, tears filling their eyes. "No sleep."

"No sleep," Caretaker agreed before pushing the call button for the nurse.

Caretaker watched as the nurse came in and assessed Whumpee's pain. They checked Whumpee's bandages before giving Whumpee some pain medicine in their IV after promising it wouldn't put Whumpee to sleep.

Whumpee yawned despite themself. "Darling, you should sleep. You need rest. You've been through so much." It's all my fault.

Whumpee shook their head. "Can't. Whumper..." their voice drifted off as a haunted look filled their face.

"If you start to have a nightmare, I'll wake you up. But you need to sleep. I promise, I'll wake you. I won't let you hurt, Whumpee."

Whumpee considered a moment. "Ok," they said softly. "I need you, though."

"I'll be with you. I'll be right here."

"Not close enough," Whumpee's lower lip trembled. "Not close enough."

With a smile, Caretaker climbed up onto the bed next to Whumpee, wrapping their body around Whumpee's. "Better?" They asked as the watched Whumpee visibly relax.

Whumpee nodded, their eyelids already drooping closed. "Love you," they whispered as their breathing became deeper and more even.

"Love you even more, darling," Caretaker whispered as they kissed the top of Whumpee's head. They hummed Whumpee's favorite song as a means to soothe Whumpee even further. Whumpee was alive. Whumpee was safe. Whumpee was in their arms and they were never letting go.

Tags: @cpt-winters@thequestingbunny@bloopdydooooo@tiny-feral-arachnid-man@inscrutable-shadow

@bookworm7543 @lgcgjd @madmadder @mefattortoise @lthrboy

@st0rmm @whumppsychology @gala1981 @whumperofworlds @hiding-in-the-shadows

@artisticdemon @alluringleopards @orangeduckweed @madmadder @mousepaw

@eight-littlenightmares @eyehartart @venomdoeswhump @firelan @whatwhump

@itsjessiegirl1

[kk095]

Life and Death in the ER: Dr Lindsay

*Good evening everyone, I hope all is well. I greatly appreciate all the positive feedback on my last story Alexa's Arrhythmia! I'd like to try something a little different with the story you're about to read. Although it may not be everyone's cup of tea, I think it's a great opportunity for you guys to get to know some of our go-to characters a little better. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy it!*

Aside from medicine, Dr Lindsay’s passion in life is running. The cute, sporty tomboy doctor we all know and love was a college track star at the D1 college she attended once upon a time ago. Believe it or not, Lindsay had legitimate Olympic aspirations, and at one point in time, she was set to qualify for the United States women’s track team. But fate had other plans, which came in the form of a sudden, severe ACL and LCL tear in her left knee. Reconstructive surgery was performed and she of course recovered, but Lindsay definitely lost her X factor. Even though Lindsay could still run circles around 99% of humanity as a 33 year old with a bum knee, she lost that slight edge all those years ago, which is all it took for her Olympic hopes and dreams to go up in smoke. Sometimes Lindsay thought “what if?” in regards to her potential professional sports career, but at the same time, being an ER physician fulfilled her in a different way.

Lindsay truly embraced her role as a doctor and caretaker in the emergency department, always going the extra mile for her patients and thinking outside the box to try to save them. Time after time, Dr Lindsay found herself in the midst of life and death struggles in the trauma bay, always seeming to have her hands inside the chest of a beautiful woman. But right now, somewhere in an alternate reality, the role was reversed, with Lindsay being the beauty fighting for her life in the all too familiar emergency department.

The room Lindsay found herself in was quite a scene. A cacophony of sound hit anyone the instant they set foot in the room. Alarms and monitors were going off. Orders were being barked. Footsteps pitter-pattered around the room. The high pitched, electrical whirring of defibrillators charging echoed around the room from yet another unsuccessful shock. The tension was palpable.

All across the floor of the room, various items were strewn about. Wrappers from bits of medical equipment were tossed to the ground. Empty, used up blood transfusion and IV bags found themselves discarded. Lindsay’s bloody, tattered clothes also wound up on the light colored tile after a brief encounter with a set of shears. Small droplets of blood made a trail leading from the room’s entrance, all the way over to where the trauma room table was.

On the table, underneath the harsh, bright, fluorescent overhead light was the center of attention for the room’s occupants. Dr Sarah, Nurse Nancy, and Nurse Heather worked as a trio, each lady knowing their role inside out, backwards and forwards, from A to Z. Everyone knew their jobs at an expert level, but it was easier said than done for the emergency department’s triumvirate to maintain composure and impartiality, considering a friend and colleague was the poor soul requiring their lifesaving services this time.

Nurse Nancy, the 20+ year veteran of the ER who’s been there, done that, and seen it all stood at the head of the bed ambu bagging, sending much needed air into Dr Lindsay’s lungs. The stress, chaos, gore, and shock that came with being an ER nurse never fazed Nancy, especially after being exposed to such things for over two decades. But in this scenario, Nancy struggled. This wasn’t a stranger on the table tonight. Nurse Nancy couldn’t wrap her head around the idea of the ER’s go-to, unanimously loved leader being the one on the table this time. Heck, Nancy couldn’t even bring herself to look down at the table, not wanting to see her friend’s face, or the overall shape she was in. There was a knot in Nancy’s stomach, and her heart was racing. She hoped and prayed Dr Lindsay would pull through, but as each minute ticked by, each one faster than the last, Nancy’s hope was soon replaced by dread.

Heather, our emergency team’s dependable, hardworking nurse who regularly showed her moxie, stood off to the side of the table, tasked with keeping an eye on the heart monitors in order to note any changes, as well as pushing meds and setting up any equipment Dr Sarah may need. Heather’s eyes were trained on the heart monitors, which displayed a squiggly, sinuous, unorganized line. That squiggly line Heather watched signified something called ventricular fibrillation- a situation where a patient’s heart is twitching instead of actually beating, typically requiring a defibrillator shock in order to restore normal cardiac activity. Ventricular fibrillation, commonly known as v-fib amongst healthcare professionals, was something Heather has seen more times than she could count during her handful of years as a nurse. However, Heather found herself stunned when eyeing the heart monitor, coming to the stark realization that a familiar face was the one being resuscitated this time.

Dr Sarah, the cute, petite, nerdy redheaded doctor who, for all intents and purposes, was Dr Lindsay’s right hand man and most important ally in the battlegrounds of the trauma bay, stood right up against the table, doing anything and everything to bring her fellow ER doc back. Sarah had her gloved hands inside Lindsay’s chest, which was splayed open earlier in the struggle via a clamshell thoracotomy. The redheaded doctor’s hands were firmly wrapped around Dr Lindsay’s boggy, fibrillating heart, vigorously massaging away. A wet, rhythmic squishing sound was produced from Sarah’s internal compressions. “come on Linds… come on….” Sarah uttered under her breath, trying to fight the overwhelming emotions that attempted to consume her. “You were just talking to us Linds… Come on…” continued Sarah, trying to will Lindsay back amongst the living.

Sarah composed herself for a moment. “Let’s shock her again. Recharge the paddles to 30, Heather.” Ordered Sarah, stepping up to the plate. Heather did what she had to do. She set the crash cart to 30 joules and hit the charge button. The high pitched, electrical whining of the internal paddles charging filled the room as Heather handed Sarah the large, spoon shaped devices. Sarah pulled her hands out of Lindsay’s chest cavity and grabbed ahold of the internal paddles. Dr Sarah lowered the internal paddles into the gaping chasm of an incision site, around Lindsay’s erratically fluttering heart.

While her friends worked urgently to save her, Lindsay laid on the table, stripped completely nude, her toned, athletic body on full display in a room full of familiar faces, the violating nature of that fact going to the wayside due to the dire essence of the situation. Lindsay’s sandy, light brown hair was tied back in a messy bun or ponytail of sorts, being held in place with a black headband. The doctor’s icy, sky blue eyes remained open, her pupils the size of dimes, staring up above with a full blown death stare etched onto her face. She was intubated, with the ET tube being secured by a blue tube holder around the area of her mouth and lips. IV lines stuck out of both her arms. Her torso was littered with EKG electrodes and wires. A chest tube stuck out the left side of Lindsay’s ribs, redirecting blood and trapped air outwards. The rest of her upper torso, and belly to a lesser degree, were soaked with a combination of both blood and betadine. However, Lindsay’s chest was the main sight of shock and awe. Her chest had a large, crude, gash just below the nipple line, extending the entirety of her chest horizontally. Not only was there a massive gash, her sternum was sawed in half, and her chest was splayed open via a clamshell thoracotomy. A metal rib retractor sat dead center in her chest, keeping everything open. A large, metal vascular clamp stuck up and out of the incision site. Sarah could also be seen holding the internal defibrillator paddles in place in anticipation of a shock.

“Paddles charged. Everyone… CLEAR!” Dr Sarah called out, everyone else stepping back from the table. THWACK. The shock was delivered. “mmmph…” Lindsay moaned softly, her torso twitching sharply in response to Sarah’s shock. The trio paused after the shock. The monitors beeped fast and loud, everyone’s eyes looking over to see if there was a change. “Come on… she’s still in v-fib. I’m going again at 30. Everyone…. CLEAR!” shouted Dr Sarah, immediately shocking Lindsay again. Lindsay’s shoulders shrugged forward and her arms shivered, a wet thump being heard. Like before, Dr Lindsay’s heartbeat was unable to be restored. Sarah decided to up the ante, shocking her friend and coworker at 40 joules during the next go around. “MMMM!” Lindsay moaned louder, as if she could feel the stronger intensity of the shock. Again, v-fib persisted. “I’m going again at 40! Everyone…CLEAR!” Barked Sarah, determined to keep going. The next shock caused Lindsay’s toes to scrunch up hard at the far end of the table, showing off the bright white nail polish on her toes, along with the wavy, thin, but prominent wrinkles that permeated the soles of the big, size 11 feet she was always so self conscious of.

Sarah wasn’t giving up, and neither was v-fib, so the fight was on. “Going again at 40! Everyone… CLEAR!!!” Sarah passionately yelled out, shocking Lindsay once more. Lindsay’s torso shot up and plopped back down hard all within the span of a second. The monitors kept alarming, but by that point, the trio tuned out the noise of the monitors, considering they were well aware there was a major problem. In the seconds after that shock, Lindsay’s heart fluttered and danced weakly for a moment, before coming to a sudden, complete stop. The heart monitors flatlined, and Lindsay’s heart sat completely motionless inside her cracked open chest. Lindsay’s beautiful blue eyes stayed wide open, staring up above, almost as if she was watching her friends determine their next move.

The flatline on the monitors was an absolute gut punch for everyone. Sarah stood there holding the internal paddles, deep in rumination about her next move. At the head of the bed, Nurse Nancy shined a pen light into Lindsay’s eyes. Lindsay’s pupils were the size of dimes, completely blown, not reacting to the pen light in the slightest. “oh… poor baby…” Nancy uttered, placing the pen light back in her breast pocket. “Pupils fixed and dilated.” Nancy continued, informing everyone, shaking her head. Heather looked over at the heart monitor. “Asystole on the monitors, down 37 minutes.” Added Heather. There was a collective pause after Heather’s words. Nancy didn’t say anything, but she went ahead and detached the ambu bag from the ET tube, a small amount of air quietly hissing out. The two nurses looked over at Sarah, knowing they’ve done all they could for their friend, but needed Sarah to make the final call.

Dr Sarah stood there shell shocked. Sure, Sarah has lost patients before- any ER doctor has. But this was different. This was a coworker. A colleague. A leader. Someone she looked up to. But most importantly, this was a friend. Sarah felt morally and emotionally obligated to continue resuscitation efforts. How could she just give up on Lindsay? At the same time, Dr Sarah viewed the situation clinically and logically. She knew that all possible options were exhausted. An asystolic patient with a downtime of 37 minutes and blown pupils was too far gone for additional interventions. With all this in mind, Sarah snapped back to reality, eyeing each member of the trauma team. Dr Sarah didn’t say a word to any of them. Finally, her eyes looked over at the clock that sat on the back left wall of the room. Sarah gently placed the internal paddles back down on the crash cart, then peeled her blood soaked, latex gloves off, her heart racing, eventually making the dreaded announcement. “Time of death, 8:08pm…” Sarah’s voice wobbling, on the verge of tears.

Nobody said a word, but everyone knew exactly what to do next. Nurse Nancy switched off the flatlined monitors, silencing the once noisy, hectic room. Heather disconnected the EKG electrodes and removed the IVs from each of Dr Lindsay’s arms. A blue surgical drape was hastily tossed on top of the open thoracotomy site, obscuring Lindsay’s inert, motionless heart from view. A toe tag was then filled out and placed on the big toe of Lindsay’s left foot. The tag dangled against the fine, thin, but prominent wrinkles that permeated the soles of Lindsay’s feet. Lastly, a cover was placed over Lindsay, concealing the hauntingly beautiful gaze forever etched onto her face. Unfortunately for Lindsay, a cruel twist of fate- and perhaps irony resulted in her dying in the very place she spent so much of her time. In this alternate reality, Dr Lindsay was now the hottie who laid toe tagged and under a sheet in the emergency department.

[possibilistfanfiction]

arcane prompt "hospital"?

[jinx deserves the world, also it's nice to let cait use her girlboss disposition for good sometimes, yknow. ao3 here.]

///

you hand caitlyn a cup of black tea she probably thinks is beyond shitty; it's all they had at the cart in the courtyard, and you still have no idea how to make proper tea anyway. still, she smiles — small, and residually scared, but genuine — in thanks. she's been crying, you can tell: her eyes are red-rimmed and the sweater of vi's she'd thrown on in the middle of the night is rumpled around the sleeves, like she'd used them to wipe her tears.

'she's going to be okay, right?' you look at vi's still, bruised form in the bed. 'they didn't, like, tell you really bad news while i was gone or something.'

caitlyn steadies herself. 'no,' she assures you. 'she's going to be just fine.'

'okay,' you say, and you trust her because she loves vi and because she's a doctor, and mostly because at this point caitlyn wouldn't lie to you. you scoot your chair forward and lace your fingers together with vi's hand, the one without an iv taped into it, and squeeze gently, just a hello. the doctors had explained that she's on a lot of medicine to keep her comfortable, plus the anesthesia from her surgery, so she's not going to wake up until midday at the earliest. but just in case she can feel you, you want her to know that you're there. you remember coming out of the worst sedations, medication that was wrong for you or just way too high a dose, to vi slumped next to your bedside, her big, strong hand steadfast around yours. 'did you see her x-rays or medical history or something?'

'i didn't intend to,' she says in way of an answer.

'ah.' you fiddle with vi's fingers. 'gnarly, huh?'

she puts her tea down on the small table near the bed and runs a hand through her hair before she scrapes it up into a messy ponytail. 'i knew, in theory,' she says. 'we've talked about things, of course. i'm able to help take care of when her chronic back pain flares, and how she really should have a surgical repair on her bad shoulder. but, i just, well. i suppose i comprehend the breadth of it now, more completely at least, the details in a way i can understand.'

you don't know; you don't ever want to know, not like that. vi still has nightmares about prison, still doesn't eat enough sometimes, still refuses heating pads and advil sometimes after a hard shift. 'yeah.'

'and i suppose, too, that it's hard to know how much she's hurt, even if it's so much less bad now.' she shrugs, helpless, and looks at you. 'i just love her.'

it had been terrifying, to get a call in the middle of the night from the fire department: vi had been in a building when it collapsed, and she was hurt and it was, potentially, very bad. you're not sure who they'd called first — you or caitlyn — but she'd texted you a minute after and offered to pick you up so you could both wait at the hospital while vi was in surgery. it had taken two hours before her dad came out and explained that vi had some internal injuries that still needed more fixing in surgery, as well as a few bruises and scrapes, but she would recover fully with time.

'you should move in with each other,' you say.

caitlyn pauses for a few moments, but then she lets out a quiet laugh. 'how long have you been holding that in?'

you shrug. 'you guys have been together for two years. i know vi wants to.' you don't mention that you hack into caitlyn's person email on occasion, just because you like to be nosey; you don't mention that you'd seen her and vi send property listings back and forth the last few months. 'i know she hasn't said anything to me because she doesn't want to upset me, or make me think like she's choosing you over me, or whatever.'

caitlyn considers it calmly. 'she would never do that, you know.'

'yeah.' you do; it's the thing you know most in the world. 'i also know that she's scared that if she doesn't help me at much, i'll have another episode.'

that, caitlyn has no response to.

'i've talked about this a lot in therapy.' you squeeze vi's hand, just in case she's listening too. 'at first i couldn't manage any of it without her, for sure.'

vi had spent her first month out of prison visiting you in your tent in the scariest part of town, not pushing, just bringing you food and warm clothes, comfortable blankets; she'd sit with you for hours if you'd let her, even if most of the time you talked to voices only you could hear and saw things she never would. finally, you agreed to go to the hospital with her, and from there it was more months of getting clean, and trying different medications, and really lame group therapy, and coming to terms with your diagnosis. vi was there as often as she could be, clean-cut for once while she went through the fire academy. you don't remember many details, but when you'd finally gotten released, she'd brought you to this small, rundown one bedroom apartment that she'd made as nice as she could. the first night you were home, she fell asleep in bed next to you in less than a minute, a few tears on her cheeks, seemingly of their own accord. it's always been a measure of love you'll always be a little in awe of.

'but, like, i remember my meds on my own now. i have a system.'

caitlyn's smile is honest-to-god proud. 'that's no small feat.'

you try to act nonchalant, but she's right: most of your medications have side effects that require other medications to off-set, and it's a nightmare if you don't coordinate them properly. 'and, like, my graduate program is going well, and i have friends, and i like climbing. i feel, not good, i guess. maybe i'll never feel good. but i feel real, and most of the time the world feels real too.'

caitlyn lays her hand on top of yours, and vi's.

'anyway,' you say, clearing your throat so you don't cry. you run your free hand through your hair, grown out some now after your "interesting decision," as vi had said, last year during a meltdown. 'vi can move out, and ekko can move in to our apartment. he's —' your boyfriend? your best friend? your favorite person, other than vi?

caitlyn smiles gently. 'he is.'

'he knows what to do, if i need help.'

'and i know you want to live with vi, and i know she wants to live with you.' even though you invade their privacy by checking emails, you'd never spill the beans that they've both individually been looking at rings. 'i can manage, without her there as much. i don't think either of us ever thought that would be our reality, which is why vi hasn't brought it up. i know she's still scared, probably forever. it was scary.' you take a big breath and then let it out; when you'd first gotten your diagnosis, it seemed like you would never get to be a full, independent person, and then it would be a death sentence. 'but i want to try. i can try.'

caitlyn squeezes your hand, and vi's too. 'i believe you will do wonderfully, in both my professional and personal opinion.'

'oh. really?'

she nods. 'you haven't had a full blown episode in over a year. i see you manage your days, and your impulses. clinically, you're actually a great patient. personally, you're a pain in the ass sometimes, but not because you're unwell.'

'just because of my stunning charm and incredible sense of humor? my flair for the dramatic?'

'something like that, sure.'

you laugh. 'thank you, so so much.'

she rolls her eyes but she's still fond of you, especially in the early morning light. vi's eyes are both bruised blue, but caitlyn had told you that surgeons had finally fixed her broken nose after it broke again this time: you're pretty sure vi hasn't been able to breathe properly since she was, like, twelve. at the very least she'll snore less, so a win for all of you. 'we found a house we want to put an offer in on,' she admits.

'yeah?'

she nods. 'it's not too far from your place, and it's right on the park.'

you scoff, just for posterity. 'fancy.'

she's unfazed by this point. 'we — well, vi was going to tell you, but i know it's fine if i do. we know you and ekko want to keep your current place, and i'd actually like to sit down with both of you and see if there's any way i can assist with your rent or other budgetary items.'

you're definitely, 100% about to cry, all of a sudden.

'she is so proud of you, for even being able to consider pursuing increased independence.'

you sniffle.

'but, the brownstone we're looking at also has a fully finished basement, with a bedroom and a small living area, its own bathroom. we've planned for it to be your space, whenever you want it, for any reason, for however long you'd like to stay. a night, a year. you will always have a home with violet, which means you will always have a home with me too.'

you have to do your deep breathing: sometimes kindness, especially given freely, is what makes the world slide most off-kilter. there are always voices telling you that you don't deserve good things, that caitlyn, and vi, and ekko, and vander, and even caitlyn's parents, when you go over to their giant ass mansion for celebratory dinners or parties, are lying to you. but you put your head down against your joined hands and count to ten, whisper it aloud, and then sit back up. caitlyn is waiting patiently.

'how big is the house?'

she laughs, heartily, and pulls out her phone to show you pictures and specifications. it's beautiful — not that you'd ever expect less of caitlyn kirammen — but she also tells you the plans she has to decorate, and your chest aches with a happiness so tinged with grief when she casually explains things vi wants in each room too. it's a life you never dreamed you'd get to have, and you know vi has probably been having total menty-b's about all of this, but she deserves a home more than anyone you've ever met.

'it's fine, i guess,' you say, after caitlyn finishes showing you their plans for the patio and yard.

caitlyn laughs. 'up to your standards?'

'could use more neon.'

'keep it confined to the basement, and you've got a deal.'

'ugh.'

'the only request i have is that you not blow it up.'

you pretend to contemplate. 'that's reasonable, i guess.' you look around at all the monitors proclaiming your big sister's strong heart and lungs and brain, despite it all. 'vi's gonna be so relieved that we don't have to have a heart to heart when she wakes up.'

caitlyn looks at the still planes of vi's face adoringly. disgusting, still. 'she'll be difficult enough as it stands, i'm sure.'

'total pain in the ass.'

////

you spend the first night after vi moves out in your apartment with ekko, and you fall asleep with your head tucked into his chest, safe still, even now. that weekend, you haul a duffle bag of your stuff — clothes, toiletries, a quarter of your lab, a few cans of spray paint — to vi and caitlyn's new house. neither of them are home yet, vi stuck grumpily on desk duty for the evening and caitlyn's meeting running over.

but your key turns in the lock, and your favorite snacks are stocked in the pantry. eventually, they both get home, and they're happy to see you, and caitlyn laughs at the improvements you've already done to the walls of the basement. vi ruffles your hair and you bully both of them into ordering tacos like you want, even though they have plenty of things you could cook at home. caitlyn is polite enough to let you curl up with vi on the couch, just for tonight, and you fall asleep, safe and warm, there too.

[ask-postcrash-curly]

well. We’ve established your thoughts on Jimmy and Anya. What about Swansea and daisuke rn?

I’ve known Swansea for years. He‘a got a rough exterior, but he’s a good man. (Though apparently I’m not a good judge of that.) And an excellent mechanic! Tulpar must be on her last legs if there’s nothing he can do about the vents… Not that it matters, since the company’s collapsing and we fucking crashed anyway. I forgot about that. Ship must be beyond wrecked now. But yeah, Swansea’s great. I trust him. Can only imagine what he must think of me now…

I can’t believe he broke his sobriety over mouthwash. Can’t blame him either, considering how bad our lot is, but— No, changed my mind, I can blame him. Why would anyone drink mouthwash? It’s disgusting. I can barely stand to use it. The thought of swallowing it on purpose… Ugh. They’re probably going to start feeding it to me when the IV fluid runs out… Not like I can choke down solid food. Anya tried at the beginning. It did not go well. Bleagh. Sorry, got off-topic. I can’t stop thinking about the mouthwash. So gross.

Point is, I like Swans. He’s got a wife back home. And a dog. Kids, too. They’re not much older than Daisuke. He deserves to get home to his family.

Speaking of Daisuke: I don’t know him like I know the others, but he’s a damn good kid. Not the best mechanic, at least but he’s trying. The problem is that for Daisuke, “trying” can mean “making whatever was broken much worse.” Swansea was at his wits’ end. Hell, a week before the crash, Daisuke somehow triggered the emergency foam trying to fix the vent!

I do like him, though. He never wanted to do this internship, you know. But he’s always brought everything he has, always gone out of his way to make us all smile. Hell, even now, he visits me. Tells me what’s been going on, plays games next to me. He can still barely look at me, but… Well. I knew the kid for a few months before I (allegedly) pulled a murder-suicide on him. And he still tries to help, in his own Daisuke way.

A guy like that shouldn’t be in this place. Shouldn’t have this shitshow of an internship ruining his life before it’s even started. Damn it, I never should have let them bring him on board! They built an extra bedroom for him, but no fucking cyropod! You know, there’s meant to be enough food and drink and medicine to cover however many people there are on the crew, plus one for safety. Guess what? They didn’t give us jack shit extra when they put Daisuke on board. We should have an entire person’s worth of surplus right now, and we don’t. And I fucking let it slide.

Damn. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to keep getting worked up. God, I… Jimmy and Anya don’t have much waiting back on Earth, you know. Tell you the truth, I don’t think either of them is expecting to make it. Anya at least deserves to, anyway, but… Swansea and Daisuke have families. Families who might never see their husband, father, son, and sibling again thanks to me and Jimmy.

[praisethegabs]

HEALING

Re2r!Leon Kennedy x Scientist!Reader

synopsis: leon is in the process of healing, and this is something that requires patience, attention, kindness, and empathy. after everything he went through in the lab, now he is slowly adjusting to the world again, and he needs you more than never. you know he'll live with the scars for the rest of his life, but all that matters is his safety and the new memories he'll make.

warnings: small angst (bc why not?) at first, but ends with fluff. mentions of ptsd, nightmares, traumas, and a lot of care. reader is very supportive and patient with him. the parts in italic are from flashbacks.THIS CONTAINS HEAVY DESCRIPTIONS OF ABUSE! Do NOT read it if triggers you!

word count: 4845k

a/n: this is the second part for Freak, so you guys need to read it first! I wrote it at my job and I was really scared that someone would catch me. Anyways, enjoy it 🩵

TAG: @navstuffs

"things will dissolve and be released and settled into spaces, and you will find your place in this vast and brilliant world." Seeker

He still had nightmares.

And they keep him awake most of the night. He would wake up screaming, his body drenched in sweat, his breath labored, and his limbs trembling as if an electric current surged through his veins. Feeling scared, he seeks comfort, something small to reassure him that he isn't in the cold, white lab anymore.

Sometimes, his nightmares were so deep and dark that it was difficult to bring him back to the waking world.

But you knew since that day that he would go through with this. Although he was no longer in the lab, Leon still suffered from the aftermath of the events. He was haunted by the trauma and horrors he had experienced for many years.

The first weeks at your country house demanded a lot of energy from you. Leon was so exhausted and weak that it seemed like he wouldn't make it. You had to bathe him, change the bandages on his wounds, and essentially encourage him to eat. Eventually, he regained his body weight, and it wasn't necessary to keep the IV on him anymore. This was a significant progress.

But still, neither you nor he would talk about the lab.

It was a forbidden subject, mostly because you knew Leon had PTSD. Considering his well-being, you decided not to discuss what had happened. The stressful experiments, abuse, and everything else left him scared, traumatized, and with deep trust issues, causing him to have no trust in you whatsoever. But with patience and care, he was slowly starting to see you as his friend, not as a threat.

After two months at your country house, Leon was still recovering. Now, he was able to walk around the house without the IV pole next to him, and he didn't feel weak. You had a special diet made for him to help him regain his weight, and it was effective. Secretly, he loved your cooking, but he would never say that - at least not aloud.

Besides following a special diet, he had a rigorous workout routine. He enjoyed exercising outdoors, admiring the lush, green landscape, and basking in the warmth of the sun. After spending so many years trapped inside a padded room, he was always amazed by the beauty of nature. It didn't matter how many days he had already spent sitting in the grass, simply watching the sunset. He felt at peace.

And all of that, thanks to you.

"Please, I... I don't want it," Leon begged, his eyes tearing up as he saw you approaching with a syringe.

"Leon, I promise I won't hurt you," you sighed, as you attempted to administer the medicine. "It's just medicine."

"But it's going to hurt!" Leon shouted, backing against the wall, his body already trembling.

"I wish I could take pills, but this particular medication cannot be given in pill form, Lee," you said as you sat on his bed, attempting to convince him. "And I promise, you won't need to take the medication again. This is the last one."

Leon glanced at you, tears already streaming down his cheeks. It was extremely challenging to administer the medications he required, mainly because they all had to be injected into his body using a syringe, and, understandably, he had a strong aversion to needles.

"The last one?" He asked, searching for any sign of reassurance on your face. Noticing that, you simply nodded your head.

"Yes, the last one. After that, you will be taking pills or liquid. I didn't have time to buy any other medication," you explained to him calmly, hoping he would understand. "If you want to improve, you need to take your medication, okay?"

"But..."" His voice cracked for a moment, and then he looked down, avoiding eye contact. Tears were still falling down his face.

"I know, I know..." you gently approached him, sitting beside him. You placed your hand on his shoulder, gently embracing him. "You're doing well, do you know that? I'm proud of you."

"Am I?" He glances at you, searching once again for reassurance, to which you nod.

"So, will you be brave and let me administer the medicine?" You smiled, finally persuading him to trust you to do your job.

Leon nodded, and you helped him sit back on his bed. He extended his arm, allowing you to inject the needle into his vein. You prepared everything, gently cleaning his arm with a damp cotton pad and antiseptic solution. Right before administering the medication, you glanced at him.

"Alright, close your eyes for me," you instruct him, and he obediently complies by tightly shutting his eyes. "Good boy."

Leon smirks slightly and then groans softly as he feels the needle piercing his skin. A single tear fell from his eye when you finally administered the medication. When you finished, you covered the small bleeding wound with a cute band-aid.

"See?" It's done," you stroke his hair as a way to comfort him after he successfully tackled something that made him feel uneasy. "You did really well."

"I'm sorry," he muttered, sounding sad. Then, when his eyes met yours, he was on the verge of tears once more.

"You don't need to be sorry, sweetheart. I just want you to know that I am not mad at you for being scared, okay? You went through a lot, and now you're healing," you reassured him, gently holding his hands and intertwining them with yours.

Now that he was doing better, you were starting to worry about Umbrella finding you again. Before you left, you made the decision to find a secluded country house, far enough from the city that nobody would disturb you. It was almost like reaching another level. You took numerous safety precautions to ensure that they would not find Leon again.

You never told him about this. You didn't want him to be scared, especially now that he's finally recovering. Not only that, but you knew that someday you would have to tell him. However, this wasn't the best moment to do so. Thinking about the possibility, you had already formulated a Plan B and made all the necessary preparations to start again if needed. As long as you keep him safe, everything will be just fine.

Now, he is enjoying the peaceful life he deserves. No more tests, experiments, or abuse. Just calm and peace of mind.

"Leon!" You shouted his name from the kitchen and waved at him. "Dinner's ready!"

"Alright, I'm coming," you saw him nod his head, then redirect his attention to the sunset again. You smiled softly, knowing that he wouldn't see it.

He was a good boy, still learning about the world. He still had some submissive traits, but he was learning that he had the power to refuse and express his feelings and thoughts. Teaching Leon that he was allowed to say "no" was the next step in this journey, although you were having some trouble doing so.

"This smells good," Leon said as he walked into the house through the kitchen door. "What is it?"

"Can you guess?" You smiled at him, positioning yourself in front of the oven to block his view of what you were baking.

"It smells like... lasagna," he blushed deeply. On Fridays, you usually pamper him by giving him a break from his diet.

"Yep." "That's right," you nodded, smiling. Without hesitation, Leon set the table, preparing for dinner. "Thanks, sweetheart."

You both sat at the ornate wooden table for dinner. While you gave him a slice, you could see his eyes shining. Back at the lab, the food Leon had barely eaten smelled and tasted awful. That's why he was so skinny and weak, but now he can eat whatever he wants. Lasagna was one of his favorite dishes.

"I had a dream last night," Leon said after a moment. He glanced at you, expecting your attention.

"Really? About what?” you asked curiously, smiling at him again.

"I don't remember exactly, but... I think it was me before the lab," he said, and the last word sounded cold. "I was happy."

"Aren't you happy now?" You asked again, taking a bite of your lasagna before redirecting your gaze towards him.

His face turned pale, and he started to stutter again in response to your sudden question.

"Relax, I'm just teasing you," you laughed, trying to lighten his mood. He sighed, feeling relieved. "This is a good thing, I suppose." "You're improving, and soon you'll be able to leave if you want."

"Leave?" He raised his eyebrows, displaying visible confusion.

"Yes. You can now make your own choices, Leon. This means you can decide whether to stay or go," you smiled softly, then held his hand again.

"But... I don't want to go. I want to stay here... with you," he almost whispered the last part, but you managed to hear it nonetheless. "You're the only person I know, and the only one who cares about me. I feel safe with you, and for the first time in my entire life, I am happy."

His words were full of honesty. The way he looked at you and the sincerity behind every word he spoke. You nodded once more, then embraced him tenderly. At this point, you had nothing else to say. Instead, you felt butterflies in your stomach and a warm sensation in your chest. You wouldn't force Leon to stay with you against his own will, but now, if he wanted to do so, you wouldn't refuse.

"Are you sure about that?" You asked him after you broke the embrace, gazing into his baby blue eyes.

"Yes, I do," he nodded, whispering. He closed his eyes for a moment, gently touching his forehead to yours in a tender manner.

You're reading a book, one of your favorites. You don't remember exactly when this started happening, but now it serves as a form of therapy for both of you. He lies between your thighs, you stroke his hair, and everything is at peace.

Leon was peacefully lying in your lap, his body comfortably nestled between your thighs, and his head resting on your stomach as you gently stroked his blonde hair. You can't tell if he's awake or asleep, but you know he's calm because of his gentle breathing. His thumb traces circles on your leg, and for a long moment, there is only the sound of rain and the warmth emanating from the fireplace.

“NO! NO, PLEASE!” Leon woke up screaming in the middle of the night. "Shit, holy shit."

"Leon, what's going on?" You opened his door to find him shirtless and gasping for breath. Sweat fell down his face, and his frightened blue eyes sought solace.

"I... I had an n-nightmare,” he said, his voice cracking and his entire body shaking with fear.

He started to cry, sobbing loudly. Leon tried to hide his face in the blankets, but you gently uncovered his face, embracing him tightly. You sighed, but you didn't say a word about it. With a gentle touch, you began to stroke his hair, softly whispering a lullaby in his ear to soothe him.

"I was there again. They were hurting me," Leon hissed, his voice still cracking with tears and sobs. "I can't sleep."

He looks at you, and seeing him in such a broken and vulnerable state makes your heart ache. He feels guilty. He thinks he's a burden, and you shouldn't waste your time with him. None of this is true, of course, and you still need to remind him of that.

“I-I'm sorry. I didn't want to wake you up," he sobs quietly, closing his eyes and examining his own hands. The intravenous line on his right hand is covered with transparent bandages, which are connected to the pole next to his side. This serves as a constant reminder of how frail his body is.

"It's okay, don't worry about it. Come here, come lie with me." You gently hold his hand, leading him to your room.

Leon nodded, and with his slow pace, he followed you while holding his IV pole for support. It has only been two weeks since you brought him to your country house, and he still struggles with nightmares. He walks very slowly, and fatigue quickly overcomes him. You open the door and walk beside him until you reach your king-size bed, seating him on the mattress and adjusting the bedside table next to his side.

"I wish I could chase away the monsters... I wish I could protect you even as you sleep, but I can't," you whispered, kneeling on the floor, still holding his hand, and witnessing the pain he is in. "But I'm here, and nothing bad will ever happen to you again."

"I'm sorry," he sobs quietly, avoiding your gaze.

"Remember what I told you? There's nothing to be sorry for," you smiled gently, pushing the blankets away so he could lay down. "This isn't your fault."

"Back at the lab, they always made me think everything was my fault. They used to say that I deserved to be punished, that I deserved to be hurt and treated like some kind of animal," Leon said vaguely, his face still down as he avoided your gaze. "You know, one of the rules was that we shouldn't talk unless spoken to, and we could only say 'yes, sir' or 'yes, ma'am'. But even when we were allowed to talk, they would beat us and say that we deserved it."

Leon never spoke about the lab, and you never insisted on discussing the subject. You knew that one day he would open up to you, but you never thought it would happen after a nightmare. So, you decided to show your support by letting him vent, holding his hand, and ensuring he knew he was safe.

"During my first month, I was beaten up almost every day, at least ten times. They would often beat me simply because I was an innocent child who would cry out for my mother and plead for help. I was naive, but after a while, I learned the hard way that I wouldn't be rescued and my parents were not coming for me," Leon says, and you can see that he's crying again. He bites his lower lip, breathes in and out, and shakes once more. "There was a doctor. He pretended to be my friend, but... he touched me. I cried. I felt dirty and scared. He was supposed to take care of me, not hurt me the way he did… he said I could trust him, but when I did, he turned into a monster. He touched me for months, and nobody took any action. One day, when he tried to touch me, I fought back. This caused me to spend a month or two inside a cold, concrete cell, but it was worth it. I never saw him again"

You were shocked by his story. His file didn't contain this information, and you began to ponder what other things they were hiding. You felt disgusted.

"After I attacked the doctor, the situation deteriorated. They locked me inside a concrete cell. It was so cramped that I had very little space to move around. To make matters worse, the cell had an open top, which meant that whenever it rained, I would get drenched and remain wet for hours until the rain finally stopped. When the rain stopped, they would enter the cell and take me out, usually beating me and locking me up again," Leon let out a loud sob and a deep hiccup. His nose and eyes were red at this point. "But I didn't care. At least, I could feel the cold rain and the warmth of the sun, and I could breathe fresh air. He never touched me again. I don't know what happened, but ever since that day, I learned the hard way that I couldn't trust anyone."

He glances at you. His baby blue eyes shone with tears and sadness, his soul shattered into a thousand pieces, desperately seeking healing. Trying to find peace.

“I know none of this is my fault, but no matter how hard I try to convince myself, when I look in the mirror, I remember what he did to me and… and…” he doesn't finish his sentence. Leon started to cry again, and you immediately leaned in and rested his head on your shoulder.

The way he cried made his body ache, and you could feel him jerking as he sobbed loudly, to the point where he shut down completely. His mind is in chaos, he is drowning in darkness, and everything is a mess. He cannot talk, and he cannot breathe. You had never seen him like that before, and it scared you.

"It's okay, everything will be alright, I promise," you whispered, gently kissing the top of his head to soothe him.

It took at least an hour for Leon to completely calm himself down. You managed to lay him on your bed, using the blanket to cover him and keep his body warm. Gently, you moved his hair away from his face and hugged him tightly. Leon was so close to you that you could feel his breath on your face. You gently traced your fingers down his back, mindful of his limits, until he fell asleep.

It was the first time he had slept the entire night.

"What are you reading?" he asks in a husky voice after a moment of silence.

"Hamlet," you replied softly, your fingers entwined in his hair as you gently stroked it.

"Can you read it for me?" he asks softly, lifting his head so he can see you with his big, puppy-like blue eyes. "I like hearing you."

As the rain tapped lightly against the windowpane, you sat comfortably on the sofa with Leon's head cradled in your lap. The room was filled with the comforting scent of old books and bathed in a soft, warm glow emitted by the lamp on the side table. You turned the pages of the weathered book, your fingers tracing the well-worn lines of Shakespeare's Hamlet.

Leon's eyes were closed, his breathing steady and rhythmic, and a faint smile played on his lips as he listened to your voice. Your words flowed like a gentle stream, carrying the weight of a timeless tale. You read with a soft, melodic cadence, your voice rising and falling, like the raindrops outside the window.

"To be or not to be, that is the question," you began, your voice filled with contemplation. "Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them."

The rain outside seemed to synchronize with the soliloquy, its gentle patter against the glass creating a soothing backdrop for Shakespeare's words. You continued, your fingers running through Leon's hair, reciting, "To die: to sleep; no more; and by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished."

Your voice wove a tapestry of emotions, your words caressing Leon's soul as the story of Hamlet unfolded. He felt so at peace, as if nothing in this world could ruin this moment. He loved the way you read to him. He loves being touched by you.

For someone who was treated like an animal for most of his life, being treated as a human being with feelings and emotions certainly caused him to break. Leon never thought he could escape his nightmare. He never imagined that his life would turn out like this. Two months ago, Leon gave up all hope he had. He made peace with himself, accepting that he would die in the lab.

But you saved him.

You saved him in every possible way. You came when everything seemed to be lost, when all he knew was darkness and pain. You were the light he needed, the touch of the sun, the warmth of an embrace, and the happiness he desperately craved. You were the missing piece he had been searching for all those years. But until this very moment, he had to walk a long road.

The moonlight bathed the countryside in an ethereal glow, and Leon had spent a week recuperating in the country house, gradually healing his body and spirit. After his first week at home, you observed him gradually regain strength, patiently anticipating the opportune moment to provide him with a symbolic liberation from his past. Finally, put an end to this chapter once and for all. On this particular night, after serving him dinner, you approached his bedside with a gentle expression, filled with kindness and determination.

"Leon, I have something for you," you whispered, your voice soft and soothing. "I think it's time for us to finally leave the lab behind and move on."

Leon, still weak and pale, looked at you with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. He was beginning to trust you implicitly, but the memories of the lab still clung to him like shadows.

"What do you mean?" Leon asks, his voice still weak and husky, as if he's struggling to stay awake.

"Come with me," you smiled soothingly at him, stroking his hair.

With great care, you helped him to his feet, wrapping a warm shawl around his shoulders, while he used the pole to support his weight. You both walked slowly, your steps synchronized with his weakened state, into the embrace of the moonlit night. Leon's steps were still uncertain, and his body felt fragile after a week of rest and recovery. The path you two followed led to a field — an expanse of wildflowers in full bloom. This field was alive with the beauty of wildflowers swaying in the gentle breeze. It was a symbol of nature's resilience and the potential for fresh starts. The fragrant air surrounded both of you, providing a refreshing contrast to the sterile environment of the lab.

You led him to a makeshift altar beneath a towering oak tree, with candles flickering and dancing in the breeze. On the altar, you placed a small bundle of clothes — the very same garments he had worn as a test subject in the lab.

"Leon Scott Kennedy," you said softly, "Today marks one week since we left the lab, and it has been a week since you embarked on your new life. I want you to leave the past behind and find closure. I want you to find peace and happiness, but for that, we need to do something first. These clothes represent the darkest chapter of your life. It's time to say goodbye to them."

As you handed him the old lab coat, the attire itself served as a constant reminder of his torment. The fabric was worn and tattered, bearing the marks of his suffering. He hesitated for a moment, his fingers trembling. The memories, the pain, the suffering — all were contained in that fabric. The old uniform was worn and tattered, bearing the marks of his suffering. But now, it was time to let go. With a deep breath, he placed the clothes on the fire that you had kindled.

The flames engulfed the garments, and the flickering light cast dancing shadows on Leon's tear-streaked face. The clothes started to burn, gradually disintegrating into ashes and embers. As he watched the fire consume his past, tears started to blur his vision. As the fire engulfed them with a voracious intensity, consuming them bit by bit, you witnessed Leon's tears cascading down his face.

He cried for the pain he had endured, for the years stolen from him, and for the loss of innocence. But with each tear that fell, a weight lifted from his shoulders.

You held him close, with your arm around his shoulders, and whispered, "It's okay to cry, Leon. You're finally free."

He sank to his knees in the field filled with wildflowers, his heart burdened by the weight of his past but also uplifted by the promise of a fresh start. As the last of the lab clothes turned to ashes, Leon realized that he had emerged from the darkness. He was no longer a guinea pig, but a man, free to write the story of his own life.

He cried so much that night. He finally found peace.

Leon stood on the porch of the charming country house, holding a cup of steaming tea. The world around him was a picturesque canvas of green hills and blooming wildflowers. Birds sang a melodious chorus, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the ancient trees. The air was filled with a sense of peace he had never experienced before.

The next morning, you woke up and found his bed empty. This had become quite normal by now. Leon always wakes up before you and prepares breakfast. So, after getting out of bed and taking care of your morning routine, you went downstairs. The kitchen door was open, and a chilly breeze blew in. Despite the sun shining in the sky, it was still cold. You spotted him and smiled, grabbing your coffee mug.

As Leon sipped his tea, his thoughts wandered back to the years he had spent as a captive in that sterile lab. The painful experiments, the isolation, and the uncertainty, each memory weighed heavily on his soul. He had endured the unimaginable, and yet, here he was - finally free.

The contrast between his past and the serene present was staggering. He had been reduced to a mere subject of scientific curiosity, dehumanized and robbed of his dignity. But now, in the tranquil countryside, he was rediscovering the true essence of life.

He had his eyes fixed on a solitary red rose that swayed gently in the breeze. As he gazed at the rose, he couldn't help but wonder about the life he had missed during his captivity. His mind was filled with a whirlwind of questions. What had he missed while he was trapped? How has the world outside changed? What had become of his family and friends, if they still existed at all? Leon's thoughts were a labyrinth of uncertainty, a journey through the mysteries of his past.

A butterfly landed on a nearby flower, and he watched it with fascination. It was a symbol of freedom and transformation, a reminder that he too had the chance to start anew. With each passing day, he rediscovered the simple joys of life — the taste of fresh strawberries, the sound of laughter after a joke, and the sensation of grass under his fingers.

As the rose swayed in the breeze, he silently made a silent promise to himself: to cherish every moment of freedom, to embrace the beauty of the world, and to make the most of the life that had been stolen from him for far too long.

"I know you're watching me," Leon says, not turning back to face you, and taking another sip of his tea. Chamomile is his favorite.

"Penny for your thoughts?" you said, getting closer to him and standing by his side.

"I never thought I would see the world again. I kept imagining things in my mind as a way to escape that hell and forget the pain. But now that I'm here, I have a new chance, and I don't intend to waste the rest of it." Leon looks at you tenderly, his hand reaching out for yours. "I thought I was going to die in there, but you saved me. You gave me my life back, you helped me heal, and I'm here today because of you."

The smile on your lips was almost involuntary.

"I know it was hard for you, but thank you for not giving up on me," he says, his baby blue eyes locked onto yours.

"I would never give up on you, Leon," you almost whisper, your voice filled with a sudden happiness you never knew existed.

He smiled, then kissed your forehead. As the sun rose, the two of you sat side by side, observing the sky and the sunlight caress the lush field. After all this time, he allowed himself to feel again, and at first, it felt strange. It felt uncomfortable. He was scared that he would be hurt until you proved to him that you were not like the others. The way you made him feel, the way you showed him that life could be simple, and that it was okay to feel and be afraid sometimes, changed him. He was insecure, traumatized, and scared. You helped him see the other side of life. You found him when he was lost. Now, he had something to believe.

He was free, and he had you by his side. And no one would ever take his freedom away again. 

[chiharuuu22]

Past and Present

The only difference is when Whumpee is tormented by Whumper and when Whumpee is saved and safe with Caretaker.

In the past, Whumpee would wake up on a cold operating table or on a bare floor. Now, Whumpee woke up in bed with soft sheets, a comfortable pillow, and a warm blanket covering his body. Oh, Whumpee also felt that there were socks warming his feet.

In the past, Whumpee was always in a cold place. Now, Whumpee was also cold, but the warm blankets over his chests with electrodes, bruises, and bandages kept him warm.

In the past, Whumper tied Whumpee's hands with metal or rough rope directly touching his skin. This is done so that Whumpee stays in place and does not try to fight or run away. Now, Whumpee felt his hands being covered in a soft cloth before being tied to the bed. This time, Whumpee was tied up so he wouldn't remove the medical equipment attached to his body.

In the past, Whumpee always fought back when Whumper started putting a who-knows-what mask on his face. Now, Whumpee can't remove the oxygen mask from his face because he needs it to breathe, and surely Caretaker will stop Whumpee when his weak hands try to remove it.

In the past, Whumpee felt violence approaching his body—punches, kicks, whips, even hair-pulling. Now, Whumpee felt a gentle touch on his body, a warm handheld, a caress on his shoulder, cheek, or hair.

In the past, Whumpee couldn't sleep peacefully, and Whumper always had a way to jolt him awake. Now, Whumpee feels the comfort of sleeping without disturbance; he even hears the phrase, "Go back to sleep; you need rest; your body hasn't recovered yet."

In the past, Whumpee always hoped that he would no longer hear the monitor beeping, showing a graph of his heartbeat (because that meant Whumpee was dead and separated from Whumper). Now, Whumpee is thankful to hear his bedside monitor beeping steady (because that means he's alive and will be okay soon, hopefully).

In the past, Whumpee always felt deaf because he heard Whumper scream when he tortured them. Now, Whumpee felt calm because he heard the Caretaker's soft voice when Caretaker spoke to him.

In the past, Whumper would be very happy when he heard Whumpee's groans or screams of pain. Now, Caretakers will be very worried when they hear Whumpee groan, even if it's just a small "ouch" when a syringe is stuck into his hand.

In the past, Whumpee always felt anxious when sleeping. Now, Whumpee couldn't even hold back his consciousness when Caretaker's soft hands stroked his hair or hummed softly to lull him to sleep.

In the past, Whumpee never woke up in a good way. A Whumper scream, a splash of water, or even a punch or kick will start them opening their eyes. Now, Whumpee is always gently awakened by a touch, a caress on the hair and cheek, and a "Hello dear Whumpee. Did you sleep well? Sorry to wake you, but you must eat/take your medicine."

In the past, Whumpee never wore clean clothes or was not even given clothes at all. Now, Caretaker carefully dresses him in pajamas made of thin and soft material and even changes it every morning and evening so Whumpee is always clean.

In the past, Whumpee never ate well. Leftover food, spoiled food, or being forced to eat badly. Of course, it was very disgusting and cold. Now, the Whumpee eat very humane food—food that is easy for them to digest and keeps their bodies warm. In fact, Caretaker patiently fed. Oh, definitely eat three times a day.

In the past, Whumpee had difficulty getting water for his dry throat and dehydrated body. If Whumpee gets watered, he'll consider it a miracle because he can finally drink. Now, Whumpee is constantly reminded to drink enough water, even when tasting milk or juice. The IV in his hand also helps him keep his body hydrated.

In the past, Whumpee desperately hid the information he had from Whumper. Now, Whumpee leaks all the Whumper information he managed to gather to Caretaker.

In the past, Whumpee was always alone in his torture chamber. Now, Whumpee is always accompanied by Caretaker who faithfully sits beside his bed.

In the past, Whumper would come to make sure Whumpee was alive to continue torturing him for the information Whumpee had or because of Whumper's personal grudge. Of course, Whumper didn't care whether Whumpee was healthy or sick. Now, doctors and Caretakers are making sure Whumpee lives and returns to normal health.

Before: "You are worthless trash." "Keep your mouth shut, and I'll be your nightmare." "You won't be able to run away from me, Whumpee." "Die!" "You don't remember? Remember! Tell me now!" "How about these new wounds? Do you like them?"

Now: "You're precious to me, Whumpee." "It's okay, Whumpee; you're safe." "Nothing hurts you anymore, Whumpee." "It was just a nightmare; it's all over." "It's okay, Whumpee. There is no need to remember what Whumper did to you." "Don't force yourself to remember, Whumpee. Just say slowly what you know." "Wow, your wound is healing well. Look, I brought a good ointment. When your wound is completely dry, I'll rub it in so the scars won't be visible."

In the past, Whumpee thought that if he couldn't escape, then death was a good way out. Now, Whumpee is thankful he can still live and breathe.

[ikeasharksss]

here's the thing. i think will in mortal aus would be a good doctor. a solid, in character choice. but canon will? hm. that's a bit more complicated

none of the demigods we meet in the rrverse are, like, Thrilled about their godly parent's guardianship. like percy isn't a marine biology freak who spends every summer at the beach before he realizes he's the son of poseidon. & even after he realizes, he's never like "oh my GODS i have such a PASSION for CONEY ISLAND!!!!" we don't see that in anyone else either: piper doesn't care for beauty much before & after she is claimed, nico didnt show any hades traits before bianca died & he goes rogue, and frank was actually afraid of showing aggression (around others at least) before he was claimed if i remember son right. the only exception i can think of is leo bc he worked in his mom's garage as a kid. but even then, he isn't a mechanic bc of his dad, he's a mechanic bc of his mom. (we don't know how academic-oriented annabeth was before she came to chb. it's possible that, bc she came so young, she formed her childhood personality around athena, since she had nothing else to hold on to.) so, therefore, i don't think demigods are enthusiastic about their godly parent's guardianship specifically bc of their godly parent. i don't think will would be enthusiastic about being a doctor just bc of apollo.

being a healer at a summer camp & being a field medic in a monster war is very different from being a doctor in a clinic, hospital, or private practice. the type of illnesses, injuries, & disorders a doctor sees in the field would be very different from what will sees in his healer career. we don't actually see much of the healing process in the books outside of ambrosia & nectar, but it's obvious that will would never use them if he became a real doctor. i don't think his healing skills would translate into doctor skills.

additionally, ive seen a lot of ppl in the fandom point out that will would have to relearn all his medical knowledge if he went to med school. that's true! add in his adhd & i don't think will would be to happy to sit through 7(?) years of school learning things he either A) already knows or B) would never use bc he has healing powers.

sure, i think will would CONSIDER becoming a doctor. it makes sense! that's the only life he's ever known! but i think he'd go get a bachelor's in biology & realize after like 3 semesters that it sucks.

"but tumblr user ikeasharksss!" i hear you say. "what profession would will go into if he isn't a doctor!!!!" oh don't worry. Don't Worry. he'd go into pharmaceutical sciences.

hear me out! ive already said we don't know much about healing outside of ambrosia & nectar. & those are basically just the demigod equivalent of mortal medications. will already works so closely w/ them, so it'd make sense for him to be interested in creating an alternative that is safe for mortals. in pharmaceutical science, will could research & make mortal medicine!! it would scratch his innate need to help ppl while also engaging his mortal side!!!!!

thanks baes

[hisaribi]

I wanna screech about Aventurine/Sparkle/Sunday, but I don't have any specific points, just

They all are too smart for their own good, and while Aventurine and Sparkle have no issue with being silly, Sunday really needs someone other than Robin to help him get loose. To let himself not be the smartest person in the room with plans within plans, intrigued and undercover games (it would take a very long time for all of them to learn that they don't have any stakes in these relationship, maybe aside from Sparkle, she knows exactly what she wants, at least right now)

They don't use their birth names. It's too much to unpack for all of them, clear trauma of Aventurine, I think Sunday isn't his real name, but that's just a hc, and Sparkle most likely wasn't called that by her parents, unless Aha just created her from firecracker. And they all prefer to keep it that way (very healthy, totally won't cause any problems in the future)

Sunday usually sleeps in the middle, because otherwise he will be pushed from the bed or to the wall. He's also gonna wake up in a pose he fell asleep in. Aventurine falls asleep curled into himself and wakes up spread across the bed and usually creates a mess of pillows, blankets and cat-cakes. Somehow he never falls from the bed. Sparkle falls asleep spread around the whole bed which is a feat considering her size, and ends up hugging Sunday like she's an octopus. She usually doesn't do that to Aventurine, because he tosses and turns too much and she wakes up from that. Also Sparkle is very warm, while Aventurine is always cold. Also in case they don't have any responsibilities or calls or whatever, Sunday will wake up first, and Aventurine last.

Sparkle likes to bite, to mark both of them. Usually where only they can see. Aventurine claws, he doesn't mean to, but he doesn't like to let go for a brief moment before release. Sunday has a catholic guilt likes them for the additional pain.

Sunday is the tallest and the most fit, even though he doesn't look particularly muscular. He can hold both of them though. Aventurine has been extremely malnutritioned his whole life, so while he isn't sickishly thin anymore, and the medicine moved forward to negate most of the aftermath of that, he didn't reach an average height for men, and he can forget to eat and he sort of exercises, but not too much. He can hold Sunday in a bridal carry though, and Sparkle, but not together. Sparkle in her usual look is the shortest, and can lift Aventurine, but not Sunday, but, she has an advantage, and can just shapeshift herself to someone tall and muscular, or just grow her body saving all proportions so she can carry both of them. She does that sometimes to be annoying, or if Aventurine is stuck with his work and Sunday isn't home or is asleep already.

Aventurine and Sparkle just love the trashy horror films, Sunday just hates them, they are bloody, stupid and have a dark humor, and he gets scared easily and covers his face with his wings, he also usually holds chips as he sits in the middle with Sparcle basically draping herself over him, and Aventurine sort of leaning away (he still has issues with physical touch sometimes). He watches them though mostly because of the funny comments Aventurine and Sparkle throw the film's way and a banter they all share

Sometimes Aventurine grows silent and empty, Sparkle hates these moments and runs away, Sunday also doesn't bear with it, which isn't healthy once again, but who said they need to be healthy, they match each other's freak and that's ok. Aventurine would snap out of it eventually, and if he doesn't, well, they will bury him in the sands of Sigonia-IV. He is set to die first. He might never die

Sparkle loves very bad detectives, and makes Aventurine and Sunday discuss it all the time, they humour her, and sometimes even set on a wild goose chase if they are in the mood

Sunday and Sparkle love sweets, while Aventurine loves spicy food and extremely weird tastes. Sparkle also likes sour things

They aren't exactly in love, they are more codependant, searching for some warmth as they all are snakes in a way. Too similar in their needs, too aware of their shortcomings, and how they enable each other in both worst and best ways

So yeah, please, see the merits in these three, I can't be alone here

I also didn't want to work, ten more minutes and I'm free to go home!

[differenteagletragedy]

RIP MC (Sorry Cove)

Takes place anytime after Step 4. Cove loses (female) MC after a medical incident.

Cove stood at your closet, glancing over your wardrobe. He let his hands touch over every item, breathing in your smell that still lingered on the pieces of clothing. When he found a dress -- your favorite dress, not your nicest but the one he knew you felt the cutest in -- he paused, then pulled it out.

He put it on the bed in a pile of things to send over to the funeral home.

They'd asked him in kind, gentle voices to put together some things for you to wear for the burial, and it wasn't a task he was taking lightly. He knew your moms or Liz might want to pick something a little nicer, but he was certain he knew you best, and he knew you'd want to be comfortable.

He tried not to think too much as he opened your jewelry box, looking for something that stood out, or when he looked through your shoes and came across your beach sandals. You wouldn't be needing those anymore, but he couldn't bear to consider the depth of that.

It had all happened just so fast -- so incredibly, frustratingly, heartbreakingly fast. Your blood pressure was high, too high, but your doctors knew that, that's why they admitted you to the hospital. They put you in some medicine he couldn't remember the name of, something that went in an IV and made you a little loopy, but you were joking about it. You were still ok. You were still you.

Then it got higher, then it got higher again. He remembered nurses moving a little faster, more doctors he had never seen before coming in. He tried to ask what was happening, but only got quick reassurances, if anything at all.

"She'll be ok," they'd told him. They were wrong.

At one point you'd started seizing -- a sight he was sure he'd never shake from his memory. Then you stopped. Then you were gone.

The rest was a blur, and Cove wasn't altogether confident that this horrific moment, the costume design for your funeral, wouldn't end up in the same mess of grief that the rest of it had. He remembered his mom holding him. His dad crying. Your moms had talked to him for a while, but he couldn't for the life of him recall what they'd said.

Going over the dresser one more time for anything you might want to wear for your last outfit, he saw your perfume and stopped. He lifted it to his nose, considered it, then sprayed a bit on his wrist. When the scent fully reached his nose, he let out a choked sob and doubled over, as if he'd been punched in the guy physically instead of just metaphorically.

He couldn't do it. He just couldn't. What would life look like without you? He couldn't picture it and he didn't want to try. How was he supposed to go through each day without you by his side? You were in everything -- the ocean, the flowers, the summers spent making sandcastles and the winters spent curled up in each other's arms. Each moment brought another thought of something you'd done together that had marked him for life, or something that you'd never get to do together, no matter how badly he yearned for it.

Cove started breathing harder, tears rolling down his face. He couldn't catch his breath and he didn't know what to do with himself. He flailed his hands, sad little screams escaping his mouth, just utterly and completely lost.

Then his phone rang.

With a shaky hand, he pulled it out of his pocket -- your ma was calling. He answered without saying a word.

"Cove, sweetie," she said in a voice holding a massive sadness of her own. "We're outside, are you ready for us to come in."

"Yeah," he managed. "I think I've got everything together."

"All right, Pam and I will get it taken care of. See you in just a minute."

Cove hung up the phone and dragged his still-shaky hands over his face, trying to pull himself together. He picked up your dress, shoes and a little bag of accessories your moms could go through. That was good enough.

He was by the front door when Pam knocked lightly, and he opened it, not even bothering to try for a smile. They didn't either.

"Trade?" your ma asked.

Cove nodded. He carefully handed the outfit over to Pam, then reached out to grab the car seat that Noelani was holding. There he was -- your newborn baby boy, fast asleep in crisp white pajamas, impossibly tiny and totally clueless about the mother he'd never get to meet.

He looked over the baby, wanting to check once again to make sure he was ok. He knew he was -- little baby Holden had been closely monitored and given a clean bill of health -- but he no longer felt comfortable being too sure of anything if someone could get ripped away from him as easily as you had been.

"He's a great kid, Cove," Pam told him. "He's a good eater, a good sleeper. I think you lucked out with this one."

"I'm thinking he takes after his mama," Noelani added, fresh tears in her eyes. "You're in for a great ride."

He couldn't bear to look at them then, their own grief so plain on their faces. Instead, he kept looking at the baby -- his chubby cheeks, his tiny hands, his pouty little lips with drool pooled at the corners. He looked like you, and Cove couldn't tell whether that was a good thing.

"We'll get out of your hair and give you two some bonding time," Pam finally broke the silence. "Your parents are coming over?"

"Yeah," he answered, glancing up at them. "I told them to wait, I wanted to be alone while I ..." he gestured to the clothes, unable to verbalize what they were. He knew, and that was bad enough.

"Of course," Pam said. "Don't wait too long to call, all right?"

"I won't."

Your moms left, telling Cove to call if he needed anything and promising to call themselves to set up more time with the baby soon, and that was it. He was left in the home you shared, with the baby you carried, and you weren't there. You never would be.

The tears started again, and apparently the baby felt like having some bonding time after all -- he woke up from his nap and started crying too. Not bothering to try to stop this time, Cove just kept sobbing as he unbuckled the car seat and pulled his son out, so careful to support him properly. He held him gently to his chest, but before he could get up to prepare a bottle or check for a dirty diaper, the baby quieted, just soothed by the touch of his father.

"Oh, ok," Cove said with a tragic little laugh. "That works."

He wasn't sure how long they sat like that, taking solace in each other, but by the time the baby did start crying properly, he felt steady enough to stand up and make his way to the kitchen for a bottle. He still felt entirely broken, and the concept of feeling ok was laughably far away, but he could do this. He could take care of his son.

[triptychofvoids]

Autistic medic gives me life ❤❤. Any random hcs for him? /nf /pos

of course! autistic medic is canon to me

ive already talked a bit about him being autistic before so a few of these maybe be things ive already mentioned but ill say them anyway

this is already obvious to everyone already but his special interests are surgery and medicine! anything medical really. hes also very interested in anatomy and pigeons (specifically pigeons. he probably couldnt tell you a lot about parrots for example, but if you want 100 facts about doves then hes your guy). and of course hed have a bunch of other hobbies and interests but those are the big ones

hes more prone to shutdown than he is to meltdown. not that meltdowns would never happen, theyre just more rare. usually a shutdown would come first and on the occasion hes pushed past that then a meltdown would follow, and after a meltdown then hed have a second even worse shutdown. thankfully situations like these are rare

like ive said (and drawn) before his main stims are rocking, hand flapping, echolalia, tensing up and hand wringing, and biting. a few other less obvious/not as common that he has are sparkly/flashy visual stims, he also loves both feeling and seeing anything gorey, he likes petting his birds, certain noises would be very pleasant to him like his doves cooing or coins clinking together and the sounds of the mediguns. hed love the smell of coffee and isopropyl. hed have a few others stims too but theyd be more rare and very situational like hitting himself or toe walking.

hes weird about his gloves and his coat. as in he would put them on for a specific reason but once he gets used to having them on he would absolutely hate taking them off. he has to keep them on for the rest of the day no matter what. and vice versa, if hes not wearing his gloves or coat then he cant just?? randomly put them on?? no no its all or nothing theyre either going on for combat and then staying on for the rest of the day or not at all

hes very excitable and loves to talk and if hes engaged in a conversation or excited about something then his voice will gradually get louder and louder and he'll keep interrupting or talking over people. he wont even notice it until someone points it out to him

you cant take him to the store because hes going to touch everything and then very quickly regret it when hes suddenly overcome with the overwhelming soul crushing need to wash his hands and theres no sink around. its so over :[

bad at left vs right and identifying north, south, east, and west. nothing else to say here, its not that he gets lost easily, he can find his way around just fine its just that hes awful at directions

very strict about his routines and lists. he cannot stand it if he makes plans and they get postponed or canceled. he hates it if he makes a list of things to get and then cant get everything on the list exactly correct. hes actually more than willing to do things on impulse in the moment but only if hes already mentally planned to do that or if it doesnt interfere with something else he has going on

hes very blunt and direct. he says exactly what hes thinking and answers questions very honestly and directly. people often find him to be rude for this but he doesnt get why. speaking of him being seen as rude, he used to get in trouble for always rolling his eyes or talking back to people because for the longest time he didnt realize that trying to stretch your eyes or avoid eye contact or staring could all somehow be considered 'rolling' your eyes. or rude. and talking back... isnt that how a conversation works? hes never been very good at knowing when he is or isnt supposed to reply to statements.

ive said it before but i will say it again. he has little to no empathy. every autistic person is different of course and not all autistics have low empathy, but im tired of low enpathy being seen as a bad trait. im tired of people with low empathy (autistic or otherwise) being seen as evil and uncaring. having low empathy doesnt make you a bad person. he has very low empathy and often struggles to connect with and understand others. he frequently will have the wrong emotion for the situation and may sometimes come off as uncaring when he is not as sad about something as they are, etc etc etc but he is not some horrible evil monster for it and i do not want to see anyone saying that because its just completely incorrect. hope this helps

anyway!!!! theres some autistic medic!!!! i hope you like him as much as i do!!!!