#oxygen level monitoring

[medugo]

𝑴𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒕𝒉 𝑽𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒔

𝑴𝒆𝒅𝒖𝒈𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒂𝒓, 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆, 𝒇𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒍, 𝒐𝒙𝒚𝒈𝒆𝒏 𝒍𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒍, 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒂𝒍 𝒄𝒚𝒄𝒍𝒆, 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕, 𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕, 𝒎𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒕𝒉 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒑𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆.

Many practices moved from paper records to electronic health records, which provide a more efficient alternative for keeping track of information. Medugo is a online vital health recording tracking app helps give both patients and health professionals quick and easy access to any necessary health history information.

[pucksandpower]

Racing Hearts

Lando Norris x cardiopulmonary technician!Reader

Summary: you’ve had a way of making Lando’s heart race since the moment he met you

You glance down at your clipboard as your next patient walks into the exercise physiology lab. “Lando Norris?” You ask, looking up with a smile.

The young British man grins back at you. “That’s me!”

“Excellent! I’m Y/N, I’ll be your technician today. We’re just going to do a simple cardiopulmonary exercise test to get some baseline numbers before the start of the season.”

Lando nods, looking around the lab curiously. “No problem, happy to be poked and prodded in the name of science and fast cars.”

You laugh as you gesture for him to take a seat. “Don’t worry, I promise to be gentle,” you joke. “I’m just going to put some electrodes on your chest to monitor your heart rate, then we’ll get you on the treadmill for the test.”

“Sounds good,” Lando says, settling onto the exam table.

You start placing the sticky electrode pads across his chest and ribs, trying not to blush at his shirtless state. Formula 1 drivers really are fit underneath those racing suits.

“So how’s preseason training going?” You ask conversationally as you work. “Think McLaren has a chance this year?”

Lando grins. “I’m feeling good! Me and the team have been putting in a lot of hard work over the winter. I’m definitely aiming higher than 6th in the championship.”

You smile as you finish placing the electrodes and motion for him to stand. “That’s the spirit. Alright, hop up on the treadmill and we’ll get you moving.”

Lando steps up onto the machine and you start it up slowly, increasing the speed in measured increments. “I’ll take you up to a brisk jog, then we’ll keep you there for about 10 minutes while I monitor your heart rate, breathing, and oxygen levels,” you explain.

“Sounds gucci,” Lando replies with a thumbs up, his breath starting to quicken as the treadmill pace increases.

You make sure the electrode leads are secure, then step back to observe the incoming data on the computer screen. Lando’s lean legs stride smoothly along the treadmill belt as you keep a close watch on his vitals, making notes on your clipboard. After a few minutes, you frown slightly at the heart rate readout. It seems unusually elevated for an elite athlete like Lando, even at this moderate jogging pace.

“How are you feeling Lando?” You call out. “Everything okay?”

“All … good,” he huffs out, face flushed from the exertion.

You hesitate, glancing between him and the concerning heart rate values on the screen. “It’s just that your heart rate is a bit higher than I would expect,” you say slowly. “Are you feeling any chest pain or tightness?”

Lando shakes his head. “No, no, nothing like that. I feel fine!” He insists breathlessly.

You bite your lip, still frowning. “Your heart rate is quite high though, over 85% of estimated max. For an experienced athlete I would expect values closer to 70-80% at this pace.”

“Oh … yeah, maybe it’s a bit high,” Lando acknowledges, starting to breathe harder. “But don’t worry about me, I’m fit as a fiddle!”

You reach over to slow the treadmill slightly. “Let’s bring the pace down a bit. I’m concerned about these heart rate readings. We should really have you checked out by a cardiologist before the season starts.”

Lando grabs the front handrails, shaking his head stubbornly. “No, no that’s not necessary, really! I’m fine, just maybe didn’t warm up enough.”

You give him a skeptical look. “Lando, as your technician I have to advise getting this looked at. Your heart rate is elevated beyond normal parameters.”

Lando chews his lip, glancing away evasively. “Um, well … maybe there’s a reason for that.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “What do you mean? Like a medical condition you haven’t told me about?”

“No, no nothing like that!” Lando says quickly. He mumbles something under his breath you can’t quite make out over the whir of the treadmill.

“Sorry, what was that?” You ask, leaning closer. “I couldn’t hear you.”

“Oh, uh … it was nothing,” Lando mutters, face reddening further.

You stop the treadmill completely so you can hear him better, folding your arms over your clipboard. “Lando, if there’s something I should know that’s affecting your test results, you need to tell me. As your technician, I really think we should get your heart looked at just to be safe.”

Lando locks eyes with you for a moment, hesitation written across his features. He mumbles again under his breath, so quietly you can’t discern the words.

You hold his gaze firmly. “One more time, please. It’s really important that I understand what’s going on so I can interpret these results accurately.”

Lando breaks eye contact, looking down at his feet. He kicks lightly at the motionless treadmill belt, before finally whispering. “It’s you, alright?”

You blink in surprise. “Me? What do you mean?”

Lando glances up at you briefly, his face now tomato-red. “You’re … the reason my heart rate is high,” he mumbles.

You stare at him in confusion. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

Lando groans, covering his face with his hands. “Because … I really fancy you, okay?” He admits, the words muffled into his palms. “You’re just … totally gorgeous and sweet and it makes me nervous and … my heart rate goes mad around pretty girls I like.”

Your eyes widen in understanding, feeling your own cheeks flush bright pink. “Oh! Oh ...”

Lando peeks out at you between splayed fingers. “Yeah, so that’s why it’s high. Not because I have some underlying heart condition.” He gives you a sheepish smile. “Just because my technician is really fit.”

You let out an awkward laugh, suddenly feeling shy. “Wow, uh … I’m flattered, Lando. I didn’t realize ...”

Lando drops his hands from his face, looking at you earnestly. “Sorry, is that weird? I know we just met and you’re doing your job.” He fidgets with the electrode wires across his chest. “Don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

You smile warmly back at him, feeling butterflies in your own stomach. “Don’t be silly. It’s not weird at all. Honestly, I, uh … also think you’re really cute,” you admit with bashful grin.

Lando’s eyes light up. “Yeah?” A wide, delighted smile spreads across his face.

You nod, laughing softly. “Yeah, I may have been trying not to blush myself with you shirtless here in my lab.”

“Well I’m certainly not complaining about the view either,” Lando says cheekily.

You smack his arm playfully. “I’m being professional here!”

“And doing a great job,” Lando says, smile softening. “But maybe once we’re done with all this boring medical stuff … we could get dinner? If you want?” He looks at you hopefully.

Your heart flutters with excitement. “I’d really like that.” You smile at each other giddily for a moment before you clear your throat. “But first, we really should finish your assessment properly.”

Lando laughs, nodding. “Of course, you’re the boss!”

You roll your eyes affectionately. “Alright, hop back on the treadmill. And this time just focus on your breathing and try not to make eyes at the pretty technician,” you tease.

“No promises there,” Lando quips with a grin as he steps back onto the belt.

You just smile and shake your head as you start up the machine once more, unable to keep your own heart rate from quickening in anticipation of what promises to be a very special dinner date after the test is complete.

***

Several Months Later

You glance down nervously at your paddock pass as you make your way through the crowded paddock. As an unofficial member of Lando’s training team now, you have full access to the exclusive behind-the-scenes world of Formula 1. But despite months of dating the British driver, the glamorous circus still feels surreal.

Dodging golf carts and important looking people with headsets, you head for the McLaren garage. Lando had told you to meet him there before the start of the race. Your heart flutters, as it always does at the thought of seeing him again.

“Y/N!” Lando greets you brightly as you enter the garage. Engine roars echo around you as mechanics make final tweaks to the cars before wheeling them to the grid.

“Good luck today!” You tell Lando, leaning up on your toes to kiss him sweetly.

“With you here, how can I lose?” He grins down at you. His energy is infectious.

You chat together as the cars are lined up on the starting grid, Lando bouncing excitedly in his race suit. You squeeze his gloved hand. “Be safe out there.”

“Always am, love.” He winks before pulling on his helmet and climbing into the cockpit.

You make your way back to the McLaren hospitality suite to watch the start of the race. Your heart pounds as the lights go out and the F1 cars launch forward in a roar of engines. Lando makes a clean getaway, slotting into P5 heading into the first turn.

The race unfolds smoothly, Lando maintaining his position in the top five. You watch tensely on the monitors, hands clenched.

But on lap 38, disaster strikes. Heading into a fast sweeper, the Red Bull of Sergio Perez attempts a risky overtake maneuver on Lando’s inside. They collide in a shower of carbon fiber and a plume of smoke.

You gasp sharply as Lando’s car spins off into the gravel trap, coming to rest against the barrier at an abrupt stop. The McLaren crew monitor the radio channels anxiously.

“Lando, are you okay mate?” His engineer asks urgently.

“Yeh … I’m okay ...” Lando’s labored voice comes back. “Bit winded but I’m alright.”

You breathe a deep sigh of relief along with the crew. The medical car is quickly dispatched to the scene. Lando climbs unsteadily from the battered car, sitting down in the gravel trap as he awaits assistance.

Your adrenaline surging, you take off from the garage the moment you see Lando is out of the car safely. Jogging through the paddock, you make your way swiftly to the medical center.

As you rush in, Lando is just being helped onto an examination table by two medics. He’s dusty and sweaty, his hair sticking up at all angles from where he pulled off his helmet. But otherwise he seems intact.

“Lando!” You hurry over, emotions welling up at seeing him battered but in one piece.

“Y/N, hey ...” Lando greets you with a weary but reassuring smile. He reaches for your hand which you clutch tightly.

One medic cuts away the top of Lando’s racing suit, placing electrodes on his chest to monitor his heart rhythm. You hover anxiously as they check him over.

“Heart rate is quite elevated,” the doctor frowns as he reads the monitor. He glances between you and Lando with concern. “Any chest pain or tightness?”

Lando huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. He looks up at you, his green eyes glinting. “Nah, doc. She’s the reason for the fast heartbeat.”

You feel your cheeks flush as Lando grins. The medic looks confused.

“See, ever since Y/N came into my life, she’s made my heart race a mile a minute,” Lando explains cheekily.

You smack his arm but can’t help laughing too. Trust Lando to still be flirting from a hospital bed.

“Ah, young love,” the doctor chuckles. “Well, your heart may beat for her, but let’s still do a full check to be safe.”

Lando nods agreeably, though his gaze stays fixed on you. He winces slightly as they palpate his ribs and abdomen, checking for injuries.

You cling to his hand, emotionally drained from the scare but overwhelmed with relief that he seems okay. Lando keeps stealing glances at you through the examination.

Finally the doctor steps back. “All done. Amazingly, you’ve escaped with just some bruising. No breaks or internal injuries. You were lucky today.”

The medic packs up his equipment. “Get some rest and ice those sore spots. But overall good news. No reason you can’t race in two weeks’ time.”

“Phew, that’s a relief!” Lando says. He thanks the doctors as you help him down from the table.

Arm wrapped supportively around him, you make your slow way out of the medical center towards the McLaren motorhome.

“Thank you for being here,” Lando murmurs, leaning his head on your shoulder as you walk.

You kiss his dusty hair. “I’m just glad you’re okay. You scared me to death out there!”

“I know, sorry about that, love. It happened so fast.” He lifts his head to look at you sincerely. “But I’m alright. Just grateful to have you by my side.”

You stop, turning to face him fully. Reaching up, you caress his cheek gently. “I’ll always be right here by your side.”

Lando’s eyes shine. “Is it cheesy to say you make my heart race in the best way?”

Laughing softly, you pull him into a tender kiss. For this brief moment, nothing else matters but the two of you.

Lando sighs contentedly when you eventually pull back. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

You squeeze his hand, smiling up at him. “The feeling’s mutual. Now let’s get you rested up. I want my favorite driver back to full fitness ASAP.”

With his arm wrapped warmly around your shoulders, you’re reminded that no matter what challenges life brings, your hearts will keep racing together as one.

***

It’s a quiet night and you and Lando are cuddling in bed together after a long day. Lando’s arms are wrapped securely around you, your head resting comfortably on his chest. His fingers idly trace delicate patterns along your back as you lay pressed close, breathing in sync.

Though it’s late, you can tell Lando’s mind is still wide awake, trailing far from the coziness of your shared bed. His pensive silence prompts you to prop yourself up on one elbow, looking down at him with a curious smile.

“Penny for your thoughts, love?”

Lando blinks up at you before giving a small, distracted smile. “Oh, it’s nothing really ...”

You raise a knowing eyebrow. “Lando, I can always tell when something’s on your mind.” You brush a lock of hair back from his forehead tenderly. “Talk to me?”

Lando chews his lip, eyes darting away evasively. Finally he lets out a long breath, arms tightening around your waist. “I guess … I’ve just been thinking about when I picked you up earlier today.”

You think back to the afternoon when Lando swung by your lab after work like usual. “What about it?”

“Well, when I pulled up out front, I saw one of your patients leaving the exercise center,” Lando explains. His brow furrows slightly. “Some tall, muscular bloke in running shorts.”

“Oh, that was probably Brandon — he’s a sprinter I had in for VO2 max testing,” you reply casually before pausing. “Wait … you’re not jealous, are you?”

“No! No, of course not,” Lando says quickly. But the way his eyes shift away makes you think otherwise.

You frown slightly, snuggling closer against his chest. “Lando, you know you have absolutely no reason to be jealous. I only have eyes for you,” you murmur reassuringly.

Lando sighs, arms tightening around your back. “I know, I know. It’s stupid ...” He trails off, looking conflicted.

You lay a comforting hand along his jaw. “Talk to me, love. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Lando meets your earnest gaze, emotions swirling in his eyes. “I just … I wonder sometimes why you picked me, you know? You meet guys like that every day. And I’m just ...” he shrugs self-consciously.

Your heart squeezes at the vulnerable admission. You tenderly stroke Lando’s cheek. “Hey … you listen to me. You’re the only one I want. All those other athletes are just patients to me. But you ...” You smile down at him adoringly. “You’re the one who makes my heart race with just a look. The one I want to spend all my time with. The one I love with my entire heart.”

The corner of Lando’s mouth lifts in a faint, tentative smile at your words. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely,” you whisper fervently. Leaning down, you capture his lips in a sweet, loving kiss. “You’re my once in a lifetime, Lando. My soulmate. Meeting you was destiny.”

Lando’s arms wrap tightly around you again, the last of the tension fading from his frame. “I’m sorry I got all insecure like that. I know I’m being silly.” He presses an apologetic kiss to your hair. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

You nuzzle your face lovingly against his neck. “You were just yourself — that funny, charming, incredible guy I fell for the moment we met.” You lift your head to meet his eyes again. “I never stood a chance. My heart was yours from the start.”

A smile breaks across Lando’s face at last. “I really am the luckiest bloke in the world, aren’t I?”

“Damn right you are,” you say teasingly, making him laugh. Your expression softens. “But truly, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. My heart only races for you. It always will.”

Lando’s eyes gleam with renewed confidence and adoration as he rolls you both over so he’s hovering above you. “Well in that case, what do you say we get your heart racing again?” He murmurs playfully, brushing his nose against yours.

You grin up at him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “I’d say you’re on.”

Lando’s smile widens as he dips his head to meet your lips in a passionate kiss. Your pulse immediately quickens at his touch, heart thrumming as you arch up into him.

When Lando finally pulls back for air, his eyes are dancing. “Yep, definitely racing,” he laughs breathlessly, lifting your hand to his lips to kiss your pulse point.

You shake your head in amusement, heart overflowing with love for this man. “You’re the only one for me. Today, tomorrow, and always.”

Lando’s smile softens to something tender and reverent. “And you’re my once in a lifetime, Y/N.” He brushes his thumb along your cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whisper. And as his lips find yours again, you let yourself get lost in his kiss, your racing hearts beating as one.

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader - 18+ fantasy smut, description of a threesome, hospital/medical jargon request: team dinner, sick fic, someone drops the L word

"Cannae get over the size of the lad."

Orion's got a fist curled around Johnny's fingers, trying and failing to pull them into his mouth.

"I know." You roll your eyes, inclining your head towards Simon. "Are you really surprised though?"

Everyone laughs. Simon warms.

You've broken out of your shell, piece by piece over the course of dinner, shyly getting to know everyone, watching their banter and usual bullshit.

He wasn't sure it was possible, but the way you tease Soap makes him love you even more.

"No, suppose not." Soap laughs, and you smile at him, full and bright, so cute he could tug you into his lap right here in front of his entire team, spread you wide for them to see, show them how much of a good girl you are. How perfect you are, how you cum on his fingers, how tight your pussy squeezes. Of course, he'd never let Johnny or Kyle touch you, too much inexperience, too much raw energy, but his captain-

he'd help you take John's cock. Hold your back to his chest, pull your knees up towards your ears. You'd whine and cry and he'd lick your tears, telling you how pretty you are with his captain's fat cock in your belly, reaching down to rub your clit and spread his fingers over where you're stretched.

It's fantasy. Nothing more. He's shared girls with John in the past, but the things they did as younger men are in the past, where they belong. They’re both too possessive, obsessive, and neither could bear it.

You'll never know another man again.

"Okay," Cami claps, pulling his attention, "Pie?"

"I'll help." You push your chair back, leaning over to press a kiss against Orion's cheek, and then stand, brow crinkled, slowly blinking.

Everything in Simon goes cold, muscles tensing. Something is wrong. He calls your name, but you don't respond. "Hey, hey mama-" In a split second, he hands the baby to Soap, turning back just in time to see your legs buckling, falling towards the edge of the table, where Price leaps from his seat, catching you with a forearm.

Chairs scrape, Cami shouts, Gaz starts dialing as you're lowered to the floor, his captain's fingers firm under your jaw. "Pulse is elevated." Nausea roars, skull pressurizing as Simon drops to his knees at your side, holding your face between his hands. He says your name, says it over and over, desperation and fear cracking the syllables, splitting them wide. You're breathing, but your heart is racing, triple a normal rhythm.

This is his fault. He should have pushed you harder to see a specialist, should have paid better attention, should have taken better care of-

Orion starts to cry.

"They're on their way." Gaz tells the room calmly, level head prevailing. It jolts Simon, orients him, pulls him out of a dreadful spiral and back to the needs at hand. He holds onto it, composure barely a shred as he strokes his thumb across the apple of your cheek, counting your breaths, gaze locked on the rise and fall of your chest.

"It's okay," he says, hoping somewhere behind your closed eyes, you can hear him, "it's gonna be alright, honey. I'm here, 'm right here."

Time passes in a blur, everything happening too quickly and all at once, medics arriving, flat keys passing to Gaz and Cami, who offer to take Orion home and stay there for as long as needed, John and Soap promising they'll meet him at the hospital as you're loaded into the back of the ambulance, Simon stepping in behind.

"She's gonna be alright, LT." Johnny yells right before the doors close, confidence in his eyes. It's hopeful, and firm, and Simon clings to it as they race down the road, unable to look away from where you lay with an oxygen mask fitted over your nose and mouth, monitors beeping too quickly in the foreground on the sirens.

"Mr Riley?" He turns from his pacing on a dime, registering the subtle jerk from the nurse before her expression turns placid. "Your wife is conscious, we've admitted her for some testing. Would you like to see her?"

"Yes." He croaks, looking over his shoulder at Johnny and Price, who give him a serious nod. Testing. Admitted. Christ. "What happened? Is she..." he loses his words, fear seizing his lungs yet again, before he manages a breath, "is she going to be okay?" They come to a stop in front of a room, and the nurse gives him a sympathetic smile.

"She's conscious, heart rate down to a healthy bpm. The cardiologist will be by shortly to discuss everything with you." It's a non answer, building frustration in the pit of his stomach, but he nods. "Found him!" She announces as she opens the door, and you smile from across the room.

He's never closed a distance so fast in his life.

"Hey-" He covers your mouth with his, hand on the back of your head. He was supposed to protect you, keep you safe, and look where you are. "Whoa." You whisper, and he shakes his head.

"Scared me to death."

"I'm sorry. I d-don't... I don't know what's wrong." Your voice creaks, breaking on a thick note, and he pulls a chair as close as he can manage up to the bed, holding onto your hand.

"It's okay, sweetheart. It's okay. We're gonna figure it out, alright?" You nod, lower lip rolling, trembling, and he wants to wrap you up, rip himself open and bury you inside his heart, hidden away from everything, anything that could hurt you, even your own body.

"Orion?"

"Went home with Kyle and Cami. They'll stay as long as we need them." You sniffle, tear spilling down your cheek. He feels sick.

"Shhh, you're alright, mama."

"I'm scared." You're crying now, trying to wipe your face with trembling fingers.

"I know. I know you are, but it's going to be okay. I'm here, 'm gonna make sure you're taken care of. Take a breath f'me," your inhale is shaky, but you manage it, and he smiles encouragingly, "that's it- good."

The knock on the door comes a few seconds later, and Simon swallows everything threatening to upend him as the doctor steps in the room. It's okay. It's okay.

"Mrs Riley?" You manage a raised eyebrow in Simon's direction, and he gives you a small smile. Best to not get into it. You clear your throat.

"That's... me."

"A what?"

"A tilt table test. It's the most accurate test for diagnosing POTS." You're nervous, Simon can tell, glancing continually at him, who is latched onto every word coming from the doctor's mouth.

"What... how does it work?"

"We lay you flat on a table, and then after a few minutes, tilt you directly upright. At the same time, we track your heart rate with an ECG, and your blood pressure with a cuff. If the tilt doesn't trigger the response, we usually start an IV to give you a little bit of medicine which can provoke the response so to speak, if needed." You gulp.

"Is it safe?" Simon grits, the idea of you strapped to table with wires and an IV making his head spine.

"Very safe," the doctor reassures patiently, "the test has little risk of complications." You squeeze Simon's hand, and he squeezes back. I'm here.

"Okay, let's... let's do it then."

The test takes too long. Every minute, every second you're not within eye sight breaks him down, threatens to derail his level head.

By the time you’re back in the room, he’s resumed pacing, hand rubbing the back of his neck raw.

“Hi.” You smile. You seem… better. More relaxed, less scared. It soothes him.

“Hey mama. Everything go alright?”

“I fainted during the test.” You whisper, and he brings your hand to his lips.

“That’s alright.”

It’s POTS. More severe than a standard case, the doctor says, explaining how an off label side effect of a specific medication helps treat the condition. In addition, he goes over things that may exacerbate it, caffeine, alcohol, stress, and promises you can still breastfeed on the medicine and resume normal activity.

There’s a plan. A treatment. An answer, and Simon likes that. He likes knowing the path ahead, how to better care for you, how to make sure you’re supported, and you’re more comfortable too, happy to know there’s an end in sight for your symptoms.

What started as a terrifying experience ends as an okay one, and when the two of you relieve Gaz and Cami at home, he can’t help but pull you into his body, Orion snuggled in your arms.

“Want to tell me what that Mrs. Riley thing was about?” He shrugs as nonchalantly as he can muster.

“I love you, mama, and you’re going to be my wife. Might as well get you used to the name sooner rather than later.” He doesn’t miss your sharp intake breath, the shiver cascading over your skin.

Your head tips back, lips parted, and he kisses you long and slow, holding you tight, safe in his arms.

Where you belong.

[sayruq]

The Geneva-based Euro-Mediterranean Human Rights Monitor (Euro-Med) released a report on 30 April urging an investigation into Israel’s potential use of illegal thermal weapons. “An international committee of experts must be established to look into the weapons Israel has been using as part of its genocide in the Gaza Strip … including the potential use of bombs that produce such high heat that victims’ bodies evaporate,” the Euro-Med report said. The rights group cites testimonies received from Gaza which revealed a “horrific new level of killing in the Strip.” The bodies of Palestinian victims appear to have been vaporized by the weapons Israel used against residential buildings. “Thousands of victims remain missing, either because it was impossible to recover them from under the debris in light of insufficient equipment and technical know-how, or because their bodies were either hidden by the Israeli army or no longer exist,” the Euro-Med report reads. The report continues to say, “A number of the victims killed in these horrifying Israeli raids on residential buildings have vanished and may have turned to ashes, raising questions about the type of bombs used in the attacks.” Thermobaric weapons, also referred to as vacuum bombs, are two-stage munitions. The first charge disperses a fine aerosol cloud of materials ranging from carbon-based fuel to metal particles. The second charge ignites the materials used, creating a fireball, shock wave, and vacuum as it sucks up the surrounding oxygen. The blast from these weapons can last significantly longer than conventional explosives, enabling it to vaporize human bodies. Mass graves in Gaza hospitals previously raided by Israel show that civil defense staff found “bodies without skin,” according to Gaza’s Government Media Office. According to the Euro-Med report, “The Hague Conventions of 1899 and 1907, the Geneva Conventions of 1949, and international humanitarian law all forbid the use of thermal bombs against civilians in populated civilian areas. The Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court also classifies the use of thermal bombs as a war crime.” Israel has also illegally deployed white phosphorus weapons on civilians and civilian infrastructure in Gaza and Lebanon. According to a Washington Post analysis, the white phosphorus munitions used in Lebanon’s south were supplied to Israel by the US. Palestine’s Agricultural Work Committees Union said that Israel intentionally uses chemical weapons on farmlands in the Gaza Strip to contaminate its soil, posing an increased cancer risk to farmers.

[normaltothemax]

He doesn’t bother saying he would’ve been fine without Dick’s interference. Given he’d been brought to the fucking Batcave, that Dick knows Jason doesn’t want to be here, knows that he’s been actively avoiding the Cave and the manor at all costs, it must have been bad enough that Dick felt he didn’t have another choice. Still. “Could’a taken me to Leslie’s.” Even if she wasn’t around, her clinic would still be open. There would still be people there that could, would, help.

The heart rate monitor spikes at the mention of Bruce’s name. Jaw tightening, Jason doesn’t look at Dick. Right, yeah, that’s gotta stop. He refuses to have every uptick in his pulse broadcasted to an audience. And if Dick won’t just shut the machine off, Jason will deal with it himself. Huffing through his nose, he tries to follow the wires to the corresponding stickers on his chest, fingers fumbling as he tries to get the right ones off. “I don’t wanna be here, Dick. Think I made that very clear.”

Once Jason seems to have accepted his fate Dick relaxes, checking the monitors before leaning against the edge of the gurney. He's still worried - how can he not be, considering? - but if Jason is awake and alert enough to throw this much of a fit then he's probably going to make a full recovery. He's a tough bastard. It is a little disheartening, though, to hear just how fast Jason's heart is still going. He really doesn't want to be here, does he…? This place used to be home for him…it still could be, as far as Dick is concerned, but he knows better than to say that aloud. Jason doesn't want to hear it.

So push it aside. Ignore it. Focus on the basics of the situation. "You're here because I found you halfway to bleeding out on the pavement and didn't have anywhere else to take you," he says bluntly. "It's not like I can take a known crime lord to the ER without you getting arrested at the end, and honestly I'd just as soon not deal with that headache." And he doesn't want to see his little brother in jail in any case, but that doesn't need to be said aloud. Not right now.

Possibly not ever.

"Bruce is out of town, if that's what you're worried about," Dick adds before Jason can bring it up. "And if he has issue with my bringing you here then he can take it up with me. I wasn't going to just let you die." Not again. The words are unspoken but still hang in the air between them. Dick hadn't been there the first time; hadn't even known there was trouble then. This time? This time there was no way he was going to not act.

[storiesfromgaza]

It is very important to read this and share it

Today the Euro-Mediterranean Human Rights Monitor Observatory stated that Israel dropped over 25,000 tons of explosives on the Gaza Strip as part of its ongoing extensive war since October 7th, equivalent to two nuclear bombs.

The Euro-Mediterranean Human Rights Observatory, based in Geneva, highlighted the Israeli army's acknowledgment of targeting more than 12,000 objectives in the Gaza Strip, setting a record in the number of bombs dropped, surpassing 10 kilograms of explosives per person.

With the advancements in bomb quantity and effectiveness, while maintaining a consistent amount of explosives, the quantity dropped on Gaza could be equivalent to twice the power of a nuclear bomb.

Additionally, Israel deliberately employs a mixture known as "RDX" (Research Department Explosive) commonly referred to as "the science of complete explosives," with a power equal to 1.34 times that of TNT.

This means that the destructive power of the explosives dropped on Gaza exceeds what was dropped on Hiroshima, taking into account that the city of Hiroshima covers an area of 900 square kilometers, while Gaza's area is no more than 360 square kilometers.

Furthermore, Israel has been documented using internationally banned weapons in its attacks on the Gaza Strip, particularly cluster and white phosphorus bombs. White phosphorus is a highly toxic incendiary substance that rapidly reacts with oxygen, causing severe second and third-degree burns. The Euro-Mediterranean team has documented cases of injuries among the victims of Israeli attacks that resemble the effects of dangerous cluster bombs, as they contain small high-explosive submunitions designed to penetrate the body and cause internal explosions, resulting in severe burns that melt the victims' skin and sometimes lead to death. These submunitions also cause peculiar swelling and toxin exposure in the body, including transparent shrapnel that does not appear in X-ray images.

The Euro-Mediterranean Human Rights Observatory has emphasized that Israel's destructive, indiscriminate, and disproportionate attacks constitute a clear violation of the laws of war and the rules of international humanitarian law, which stipulate the obligation to protect civilians in all circumstances and under any conditions. Killing civilians is considered a war crime in both international and non-international armed conflicts and can rise to the level of a crime against humanity.

The 1899 and 1907 Hague Conventions, along with the 1949 Geneva Convention in its latest formulation, established fundamental human rights during wartime to limit the deadly health consequences of internationally banned weapons, some of which could lead to the "genocide" of civilians.

Article 25 of the Hague Regulations concerning the Laws and Customs of War on Land prohibits "attacking or bombarding towns, villages, dwellings, or buildings which are not defended."

Article 53 of the Fourth Geneva Convention states that "any destruction by the occupying power of real or personal property belonging individually or collectively to private persons, or to the State, or to other public authorities, or to social or cooperative organizations, is prohibited, except where such destruction is rendered absolutely necessary by military operations."

According to Article 147 of the Fourth Geneva Convention, the destruction of property that is not justified by military necessity and on a large scale is considered a serious violation that requires prosecution. Such practices are also classified as war crimes under the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court.

The Euro-Mediterranean Human Rights Observatory has called for the formation of an independent international investigative committee to assess the magnitude of explosives and internationally banned weapons used and continue to be used by Israel against civilians in the Gaza Strip.

This committee would hold accountable those responsible, including those who issued orders, made plans, executed actions, and took measures aimed at achieving justice for Palestinian victims.

[fazedlight]

Seafoam (rift angst, content note for self-harm)

“Supergirl is exiting the atmosphere,” Hope’s voice chirped, as a map popped up on Lena’s television.

Lena glanced up from her couch, putting her book down as she watched the yellow dot blink on screen. Kara is 10 miles above the surface?, she thought to herself, mentally noting the deceleration of Kara’s flight. She’s not going to be able to breathe there very long…

It was an old habit, monitoring Supergirl’s whereabouts. Lena didn’t check often - mostly relying on automation to alert her if something was odd - but some part of her had been comforted in knowing that she could help the kryptonian, get the DEO involved if need be.

Even after Kara Danvers had been revealed to be a liar - even after Lena learned that she had only ever been a Luthor to her - Lena couldn’t bring herself to turn the system off, just in case. Even if Kara was never the kind reporter that Lena thought she knew, she was still…

Well. It didn’t matter.

But Lena’s brow furrowed as she stood from her couch, wandering over to her television. Kara, what are you doing?, she wondered, her heart starting to pound with concern. There were no others appearing on radar - no martian at her side, no villain she appeared to be fighting. Just a solitary dot, hovering still above the Earth, unmoving in the atmosphere. Does she have oxygen?

Lena was almost relieved when she saw Kara’s altitude begin to drop - knowing that, whatever the kryptonian had been doing, she was descending to an altitude that had more air. But Lena’s relief was short-lived, as she realized that Kara was dropping way too fast. She’s unconscious, Lena realized in horror, grabbing at her tablet to trigger the activation of a lexosuit. She’s unconscious, she’s falling into the ocean. “Hope! Continuously announce Kara’s position!”

“Kara Danvers is 8 miles above sea level-”

“Where?” Lena asked, holding her arms out as components of the lexosuit reached her body, beginning to latch and form around her.

“Fifty miles west of Vancouver Island-”

The lexosuit was quickly set. Lena ran out onto her balcony and leapt into the air, pulling up Kara’s data on her visor as she soared north of National City. Kara, Kara, Kara her mind hammered, as she watched the dot on her helmet screen read 0.00 miles above sea level while she passed the coast of San Francisco. God, please don’t drown, Lena begged, her mind flashing with memories of a terrible day by a lake long ago. Kara…

Her heart was still pounding as she reached Kara’s body, feeling a small hint of relief as her lexosuit visor showed that the kryptonian was alive - if too cold - and floating face-up in the rolling waters.

Scooping up the kryptonian in her arms, Lena flew back across the skies, intent to get the unconscious blonde back to her lab. Should I tell Alex?, her mind scrambled, glancing downwards. Should I call the DEO? But she wrote off the idea, figuring that unless she found she could not help Kara, there was no point.

The flight across the dark skies was agonizing, feeling like hours even if it was only minutes, Lena worrying all the while. What was she doing? Why was she up there?, Lena thought, cursing the excruciatingly slow passage of time as she skirted past Seattle and Portland.

She finally touched down on her balcony, rushing Kara’s body to the lab, throwing on her sunlamp and hooking up Kara to vitals monitoring. She felt relieved as the strong heartbeat and good oxygenation popped up on her screen. She’s fine, Lena thought, grateful that Kara seemed no worse for wear.

It took only minutes for the soaked and cold kryptonian to warm, and she finally began to stir. Eyes fluttering open, a familiar crinkle appeared on her brow as she stared at the bright lab ceiling, a small gasp falling from her lips. Lena swallowed harshly, relieved.

Kara turned to Lena.

“You’re in my lab,” Lena said. “I pulled you out of the ocean.”

Kara glanced away, pushing herself off from the bed. “Thanks,” she murmured shakily.

“What happened?” Lena asked.

“I’m… not sure,” Kara said, trembling as she stood off the bed, but quickly righting herself. “But I’m fine. I can get out of your way.”

Lena’s brow furrowed. “You’re not the least bit curious of how you ended up in the ocean?” she asked, as Kara shuffled her way to the door. “Do you remember going up in the atmosphere?”

“I’m fine, Lena,” Kara said.

Lena moved to follow Kara, unable to find words for what she was seeing before her. It doesn’t make sense, Lena thought, taking in Kara’s lack of bewilderment, lack of curiosity at how she had ended up unconscious in the sea-

Oh.

Realization washed over Lena, twisting her gut. She mulled over the image of the kryptonian, dancing at the edge of the atmosphere, taking on an unnecessary risk just to feel something. Lena knew the urge well - one she drowned in scotch each night ever since she murdered her brother. “You did it on purpose,” Lena said, “You- you almost died. On purpose.”

Kara turned, looking to Lena with alarmed eyes. And that’s when Lena realized that Kara wasn’t just nonchalant - that Lena was watching the familiar burn of shame wash over the kryptonian’s face. “Kryptonians aren’t suicidal,” Kara murmured.

“Kara-” “I knew I’d survive,” Kara said, not quite meeting Lena’s eyes. “I hit the water, I float, I wake up. I’m fine.”

“You’ve done this before,” Lena realized.

Kara swallowed harshly, but said nothing. Lena wondered for the first time what Kara’s life must’ve been like when she landed in Midvale. How the newly invincible child would deal with having lost everything. This wasn’t the first time.

“You could’ve died,” Lena whispered.

“That’s in Rao’s hands,” Kara growled back, turning on her heel to leave.

Lena’s eyes widened as she watched Kara walk away, left standing in her lab as she heard Kara make her way up and out through the balcony door. Lena fought the urge to beg or scream. Because she couldn’t do it - she couldn’t offer Kara forgiveness, a way out of the darkness, not when she still held her own rage and pain from the kryptonian’s cruelty. If there was reconciliation in their future, it couldn’t be borne from this.

And yet she couldn’t bear for Kara to die. “If you do it again,” Lena said quietly, knowing the kryptonian could hear her, “If you’re careless with your life, I’ll tell your sister.” She heard a pause in Kara’s step.

After a moment, Lena heard her balcony door latch shut, and she was alone again.

[defiblover27]

The Next Morning

..................................

The fluorescent lights in the emergency room buzzed softly overhead, casting a harsh glow over the sterile space. Sarah sat with her best friend, Emma, her arm wrapped tightly around her. They had been out drinking the night before, but something was wrong. Emma wasn’t just hungover; her skin was pale, and her body seemed to be shutting down. Sarah couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly off.

"I don’t feel right," Emma had whispered earlier, wincing from the pain in her head. "This isn’t a normal hangover."

Sarah’s heart raced as she explained to the triage nurse what had happened, pleading for her to take Emma seriously. "She’s really not feeling well. We were out drinking, but this isn’t normal. She can barely sit up, and she keeps saying her head is splitting."

The nurse, an older woman with a dismissive tone, didn’t even look up from the computer. "Sounds like a typical hangover to me," she muttered. "Fluids and rest will do the trick."

Sarah’s frustration boiled over, but before she could argue further, the nurse finally gestured for them to follow her into a treatment room. "Fine, let’s get her back and have a look. But honestly, it sounds like she overdid it."

Once they reached the room, the nurse handed Emma a pale blue hospital gown. "Change into this," she said as she began preparing an IV. Emma could barely stand, and Sarah had to help her get undressed and into the gown. Her movements were slow, almost robotic, as if her body was betraying her.

The nurse inserted the IV with a quick, "Just a little pinch," then attached sticky leads to Emma’s chest, monitoring her heart rate and oxygen levels. The soft beeping of the machines filled the room, and Sarah’s anxiety only deepened.

Emma groaned, her face twisted in pain. "My head… it feels like it’s going to explode."

The nurse, still indifferent, glanced at the monitors. "Her vitals are fine," she said dismissively. "I’ll start her on some oxygen, just in case." She placed a nasal cannula under Emma’s nose, the soft hiss of oxygen beginning to flow.

"I’ll be back in twenty minutes to check on her," the nurse added before leaving the room.

The minutes dragged on, and Sarah sat by Emma’s side, watching her friend struggle. Emma’s breathing had stabilized slightly, but her face was still pale, and she seemed disoriented, her hand never leaving her throbbing temple.

"Em, you feeling any better?" Sarah asked softly.

Emma’s eyes fluttered open briefly, her voice barely audible. "A little… breathing’s easier, but my head… it’s still pounding."

When the nurse returned, her expression was more serious. She glanced at the monitors, noting a slight decrease in Emma’s vitals. "Her heart rate’s down a bit, but nothing critical," the nurse said, though the worry had finally started to creep into her voice.

Just then, the door opened, and Dr. Warren stepped in, a tall man with graying hair at his temples. He introduced himself with a calm, steady tone, quickly assessing Emma’s condition. After listening to her heart and lungs, he asked a series of questions.

"Emma, can you tell me what happened last night? Anything unusual?"

Emma winced, struggling to focus. "I went to the bathroom at the bar. I felt dizzy, really dizzy, and then… I blacked out. I woke up on the floor."

"Do you think you hit your head?" Dr. Warren asked, his concern deepening.

"I don’t know," Emma whispered. "I didn’t feel anything at the time, but my head’s been killing me ever since."

Dr. Warren nodded, his expression unreadable. "I want to get a CT scan, just to rule out any head trauma. We’ll make sure nothing serious is going on."

The nurse quickly made arrangements, but just as she was about to wheel Emma out for the scan, an alarm rang through the ER. The PA system crackled, "Code Blue, Room 14. Code Blue." Another cardiac arrest.

As the team rushed to respond, Sarah watched in helpless horror as an elderly woman was wheeled past the room, a nurse straddling her on the gurney, performing aggressive chest compressions. The woman’s body jolted with each push, and the sound of the compressions echoed down the hall. Sarah’s heart pounded. The reality of the situation hit her hard—this was life or death.

Dr. Warren apologized as he and the nurse ran off to assist in the resuscitation. "We’ll get the CT done as soon as possible," he said, his face grim as he disappeared with the team.

Fifteen minutes later, the nurse returned. Emma’s vitals had decreased slightly. Sarah, still shaken from seeing the elderly woman, couldn’t help but ask, "What happened to her?"

The nurse sighed, her face softening. "She didn’t make it. By the time we got to her, there wasn’t much we could do. Her heart had stopped for too long."

Sarah’s stomach twisted as she processed the nurse’s words. She glanced at Emma, who was barely hanging on, her breathing shallow and her hand still pressed to her head. "We’re not giving up on your friend, though," the nurse added. "We’ll get her that CT scan soon."

Emma was finally taken to CT, and Sarah was left alone in the room, her mind racing. The minutes dragged on as she anxiously waited for her friend to return. But then, another alarm blared over the PA system, echoing through the halls.

Sarah froze, her blood turning to ice.

Before she could react, a team of doctors and nurses rushed past the door—Emma was on a gurney, being pushed frantically toward the trauma room. Sarah’s heart stopped as she saw the nurse straddling Emma, performing CPR.

"Emma!" Sarah screamed, bolting out of the room to follow them. Emma’s limp body jolted with each compression, her face pale and lifeless. The nurse pressed down hard on Emma’s chest, her entire body moving with each rapid thrust.

Sarah chased after them, her feet pounding the floor, but the team was too focused, too intent on saving Emma’s life to notice her. They reached the trauma room, the doors swinging open with a sense of finality as Emma was rushed inside.

Sarah stumbled to a stop just outside the trauma room, her breath catching in her throat as she stared at the chaotic scene unfolding before her. Doctors and nurses crowded around Emma’s bed, shouting orders as the nurse continued the relentless chest compressions. The defibrillator was charged, the paddles pressed to Emma’s chest.

"Clear!" the doctor shouted.

Emma’s body convulsed violently as the electrical shock surged through her. Sarah flinched, tears spilling down her face as she watched, helpless and terrified.

The nurse resumed CPR immediately, her hands pressing down hard on Emma’s chest, forcing her heart to pump. "Come on, Emma," Sarah whispered, her voice breaking. "Please… please don’t leave me."

"Push another round of epi," the doctor ordered, and a nurse quickly injected the medication into Emma’s IV.

The room was filled with urgency, but to Sarah, everything seemed to slow down. She watched in horror as the nurse continued chest compressions, her best friend’s body rocking under the pressure.

"Charging to 300," the nurse called out again, preparing for another shock.

"Clear!"

Emma’s body jerked once more, and Sarah’s heart broke as she watched, praying for any sign of life.

For a moment, the room held its breath. The monitor stayed flat, the steady, haunting tone of the flatline filling the air.

Sarah sank to her knees outside the trauma room, her body shaking uncontrollably. Tears streamed down her face as she whispered, "Please, Emma… don’t leave me."

The trauma room was tense, the air thick with the weight of time slipping away. The clock on the wall showed that over 20 minutes had passed since Emma had gone into cardiac arrest. Sarah stood at the foot of the bed, her legs weak and trembling, watching helplessly as the team continued their relentless efforts. Her heart pounded in her chest, the sound of the flatline and the desperate compressions blurring into a nightmare she couldn't escape.

Emma’s body continued to shake violently under the nurse’s compressions. With every push, her chest caved in, her ribs flexing unnaturally. Sarah’s eyes were drawn to Emma’s bare chest, her breasts swaying with each compression, then jolting upwards as the defibrillator shocked her lifeless body. It was like watching a machine, Emma’s body responding to the mechanical force of resuscitation but with no spark of life behind it.

"Push another round of epi," the doctor ordered, his voice now carrying a harder edge, determination cutting through the exhaustion. He leaned over Emma, checking the monitors, then motioned for the nurse to prepare another shock.

"Charging to 360," the nurse called out.

"Clear!"

Emma’s body arched off the bed as the shock hit, her chest lifting sharply, her head lolling to the side as the electricity surged through her. Her feet jumped, and Sarah winced, her stomach twisting at the sight. But when Emma collapsed back onto the bed, the flatline persisted, the monotone beep droning on.

A charge nurse, her face lined with exhaustion and experience, stepped forward, glancing at the clock. "We’re beyond 20 minutes now," she said softly, though her voice held a note of finality. "We’ve done everything we can."

Sarah felt her heart drop, her eyes widening in shock. "No…" she whispered under her breath, her hands shaking. This couldn’t be it. Not now.

But before anyone could say more, the doctor raised his hand sharply. His eyes were fierce, his jaw set in defiance. "No. We’re not stopping." He looked down at Emma’s body, frustration tightening his features. "We should have caught this earlier. If we had… she wouldn’t be here right now. We’re going to keep going."

The charge nurse hesitated, glancing between the doctor and Emma, then gave a small nod, stepping back.

The nurse resumed compressions, driving her palms into Emma’s chest with renewed intensity. Sarah watched as Emma’s body shook with each push, her breasts trembling with the force, her ribs straining under the relentless pressure. The team worked in silence, the grim reality of the situation hanging over them like a cloud, but no one was willing to give up just yet.

"Come on, Emma," the doctor muttered under his breath as he prepared the defibrillator again. "We’re not losing you."

Another shock was delivered. Emma’s body jolted, her torso lifting off the bed once more, only to fall back down in a lifeless heap. The flatline continued its haunting wail, and the nurse immediately resumed compressions, her hands pressing deep into Emma’s chest, causing her body to rock with each life-saving attempt.

Sarah’s breath hitched as she clutched the edge of the bed, her knuckles white. Every part of her wanted to scream, to demand that Emma wake up, but all she could do was watch as the team fought to bring her back.

At the thirty-minute mark, the room was filled with the sounds of relentless CPR, the rhythmic thuds of compressions, and the beeping monitors. The desperation in the air was palpable as Sarah stood, frozen at the foot of the bed, watching Emma’s lifeless body move mechanically under the force of each compression. Her best friend—so full of life just hours ago—was now a pale, still figure on the trauma bed, her body convulsing only with the shocks and the desperate attempts to keep her heart beating.

"Let’s get a cardiac ultrasound," the doctor ordered, his voice sharp with urgency but laced with a grim undertone. He was still refusing to give up, but even Sarah could see the fatigue in his eyes, the way his hands trembled slightly as he signaled for the nurse to bring the equipment. He had been pushing hard, refusing to stop, but there was a tension in the room now—an understanding that they were running out of time.

As the ultrasound machine was wheeled in, the compressions were momentarily paused. The nurse removed her hands from Emma’s chest, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, her body lay completely still. Her chest no longer rose and fell, her limbs were limp, and her face was slack. Sarah’s gaze drifted to Emma’s half-open eyes, staring blankly at the ceiling. They were lifeless, glassy, fixed in place, and dilated.

The doctor quickly applied the ultrasound probe to Emma’s chest, the cold gel smearing across her skin. The room fell into a tense silence, every eye watching the screen, hoping for a miracle—hoping to see something, anything, that would give them a reason to continue.

But the screen remained empty. There was no flicker of movement, no hint of cardiac activity. The dark, unmoving silhouette of Emma’s heart filled the screen, completely still, devoid of the pulsing that everyone had been praying for.

"She’s in asystole," the doctor said quietly, his voice flat, his eyes glued to the monitor as if willing it to change. He moved the probe around, checking again, hoping for some sign of life, but there was nothing.

Sarah’s breath caught in her throat, her knees buckling slightly as she held onto the bed rail for support. She had heard the word before—asystole, the absence of any electrical or mechanical activity in the heart. The flatline on the monitor had already told her, but seeing it confirmed with the ultrasound felt like a punch to the gut. Her friend was gone.

The charge nurse stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on the doctor’s shoulder. "Her pupils are fixed and dilated," she said softly, almost in a whisper. "There’s no response."

Sarah’s eyes filled with tears, her vision blurring as she watched Emma’s empty gaze stare upwards, unseeing. The pupils were wide, unmoving, a sure sign that her brain had stopped responding long ago.

The room went silent. The compressions ceased, the frantic energy dissipated, and all that remained was the cold, unrelenting truth. Emma was beyond saving.

The doctor stood up straight, removing the ultrasound probe and wiping his hands on his scrubs. He let out a long, slow breath, his shoulders slumping with defeat. "We’re calling it," he said quietly, turning to the team. "Time of death…"

But Sarah barely heard the rest. All she could focus on was Emma, lying so still, her body motionless after what felt like an eternity of fighting. The tears fell freely now, and Sarah collapsed against the bed, her hands clutching the sheet as she whispered, "Emma… no, please…"

The room began to empty, the trauma team stepping away one by one, their heads low, their faces grim. But Sarah remained, frozen in place, her world shattering around her as she realized the person she loved most in the world was gone.

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rusty | Chapter 24 FINAL | S.R

Previous Chapter

A/N - not originally where I planned to take this it felt right for me to take the fic in this direction. There is a happy ending but I guess it’s kinda bittersweet?

Summary - Spencer takes one final blow in regards to his health and Luke makes a decision. Will you and Spencer get your happy ending or were you just too rusty?

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - heavy hospital talk, swearing, terminal illness, DID, catheterisation and urination, medication, lots of tears, hints at oral (m receiving), penetrative, unprotected sex.

WC - 6.3k

Chapter 24 - Bless the Broken Road

Over the next few days, Spencer started gaining some independence. But with the ups came some terrible lows. 

He was gradually weaned off of the ventilator, which was an experience in itself. Doctor Wells was confident in his ability to breathe on his own. However his chest x-ray hadn't yielded entirely good news and she confirmed her unfortunate findings with tissue samples. One thing at a time. She would get Spencer off the vent and then have the conversation.

He was given a mild sedative to relax his airways and calm his nerves. He was conscious but hazy which was for the best. 

His tube was suctioned one more time before Doctor Wells started slowly decreasing the ventilator's support and monitoring his response. 

His lungs kicked back into gear albeit leisurely. At first he struggled to remember how to take his own breaths, still heavily relying on the ventilator and gasping a little between each staggered inhale and exhale. 

Doctor Wells continued to lower the machine, while he desperately fought to breathe on his own. Once the machine was completely disconnected, the tube still down in his throat in case he needed the vent suddenly, he was subjected to spontaneous breathing trials. 

For over an hour he was watched closely by the doctor while he sat in bed and simply breathed. Every now and again he would gasp, stutter out a ragged breath and heave air back into his lungs. 

She reminded him to stay calm, to just let it happen naturally which was hard given he’d had something breathing for him for nearly a week. 

She monitored his oxygen levels and vitals and was pleased with his progress even if he didn’t think his breathing felt at all normal. She assured him it was all par for the course. 

After she was suitably pleased with his breathing, his lungs feeling like they were ready to expand right out of his chest, she informed him she would be extubating him. 

The feeling of the breathing tube being removed from his throat caused him to gag violently and cough so hard it burnt. His breathing became completely erratic and he silently begged to just be hooked back up to the machine.

It’s too hard, can’t do it alone. Can’t remember how to breathe on my own. Can’t do it. Can’t remember. S’too hard, please? 

“Doctor Reid, you’re doing great. It’s okay to feel some anxiety, it’s perfectly normal. Just breathe in and out like you’ve been doing your entire life.” 

At first he was inhaling too sharply, through his nose and sending the air spiralling too quickly into his exhausted lungs. 

Why can’t I remember how to breathe? Been doing it since you were born. It was six days, you can do this you fucking idiot. 

After several long minutes his breathing started to return to something close to normal although he had to concentrate extremely hard on each breath. 

Doctor Wells provided him with a nasal cannula although instructed he try to only use it when he really felt he needed it.

She explained it would be an adjustment. His respiratory muscles needed to generate the necessary force to move air in and out, and those muscles had been depleted whilst on the vent. 

“Can you try swallowing for me, Doctor Reid?” She asked him once he started getting his breathing somewhat under control. 

He did. And it felt magnificent. He did it again. Then she handed him some blessed water for his extremely dry throat but told him he had to sip slowly, despite wanting to guzzle it down. 

The water was glorious, quenching his hideous throat and mouth. It was such a wonderful reprieve and he relished every second. 

“Do you think you can try and talk for me now?” Doctor Wells encouraged after he finished the cup of water. 

He rolled his cracked lip between his teeth - a small action he’d missed being able to do - before gently nodding his head. 

He cleared his throat and sucked in a breath which caused his lungs to freak out and he started coughing. 

Another cup of water and several minutes of trying to calm him down he sat back against his pillows feeling a little light headed. But he persevered. 

“H-hello.” His voice was so croaky he barely registered it was his own. 

It made his throat tickle and he almost succumbed to another coughing fit but thankfully breathed through it. 

“Great, and again?” Wells prompted. 

Does she have any idea how difficult it was just to say that? 

He fought the urge to huff another breath for fear of sending his lungs into a panic again. He’d wanted his first words to be to tell you how much he loved you but since your first time visiting him yesterday you were yet to return. 

You’d stayed with him for a few hours and talked to him while he listened and dozed in and out of sleep. You talked to him about Willow and Rusty and Copper, told him Grant and Luke were staying with you and how weird it was. He continuously tapped away on your hand, repeating his morse code mantra. 

dot-dot. dot-dash-dot-dot. dash-dash-dash. dot-dot-dot-dash. dot. dash-dot-dash-dash. dash-dash-dash. dot-dot-dash. 

And to his knowledge he hadn’t dissociated or slipped into one of his alters once the whole time you were there. However, as soon as you left the old ghosts had reared their ugly head and chatted amongst themselves until he willfully fell asleep. 

Doctor Wells was watching him expectantly, waiting for him to speak. He had no idea what he was supposed to say, it was a very strange and new experience. But despite everything, he forced his voice to cooperate.

“H-hello, I am S-Spen…Spe-Spencer Reid.” The effort with which it took him to say those five words caused a heat to spread to his lungs again and he was huffing and puffing once they were out. 

Doctor Wells was quick to hand him the nasal cannula which he gratefully took from her, stuffing the little tubes inside his nostrils and deeply inhaling the sweet, sweet oxygen. And that was when she decided to deliver the blow. 

“Doctor Reid…Spencer,” her expression changed and Spencer knew that look, he’d used it so many times in his FBI career.

Bad news. She has bad news. Oh god I’m dying aren’t I? Oh fuck you’ve really done it this time. 

His head started to spin, his vision blurring. 

No, no don’t dissociate now, you need to understand what she has to say.

He focused himself on his breathing, squeezed the bedsheets in his hand. He needed to stay present, stay focused. The fuzzy edges of his vision became slowly sharper. 

We can do this, just be Spencer. 

“W-what is it?” He spoke breathily. “Just tell me, please?” 

“I’m afraid there is no easy way to say this.” Doctor Wells sighed. “During your chest x-ray we found some scarring on your lungs and the diagnosis was confirmed by having your tissue samples analysed. I’m afraid it appears you’ve developed pulmonary fibrosis, I trust you know what this is?” 

Spencer’s jaw clenched. He focused on keeping himself as Spencer, not allowing the alters to take over. Not now, he needed just a moment to deal with this himself. 

“I-I…” hardened, thickened lung tissue, makes it hard to breathe, harder over time. Shortness of breath, coughing fits, constant fatigue. “Y-yes.” 

“It is terminal, Doctor Reid, and it is progressive. However, we caught it early and although it's not curable it is treatable. It is possible that you can live for years with this disease if properly treated.” She smiled softly, her tone laced with melancholia. 

“But it w-will kill me? O-one day?” He stuttered. 

“I’m afraid so. And we have no way to know how long that will take. The average life span is generally three to five years, but I’m hopeful you can beat those odds.” 

He sucked in the oxygen through his nose, biting back a cough. His breaths were coming in short, sharp bursts. 

Better get used to that, never going to be able to breathe properly again. 

“I want to get you started on medication right away. I’m going to prescribe pirfenidone which will help slow the lung scarring, but won’t be able to reverse it. We can set you up with at home oxygen therapy once you are discharged, portable oxygen cylinders with nasal cannulas that you can use when you feel the need. 

“I can enrol you in a pulmonary rehabilitation which will help you stay active without over exerting yourself and will improve how easily you will be able to do every day tasks. This sadly doesn’t end well, Doctor Reid, as you know. But with your age and the fact we caught it early, I do believe you can live a long, relatively normal life.” 

“But not as l-long as if I didn’t h-have this, right?” He felt the tears well in his eyes.

“Right.” She agreed. 

Well done, Reid you did it. You wanted to kill yourself and ultimately got your wish. It's just going to be a slow, painful death while your lungs steadily give up on you. 

“I, uh, can I b-be alone, p-please?” He let the tears fall, rolling his head on the pillow away from the doctor.

“Of course.” She nodded and he heard her push the chair back.

“And I d-don’t want…my friends, d-don’t tell them this. I’ll t-tell them when I’m ready. N-not yet.” His chest stuttered with each painful breath. Was it normal that his lungs hurt more now he knew this?

“Of course Doctor Reid, that’s your call. But I will say that it helps to have people around while you’re dealing with something like this. Your life will be exceedingly different now and you will need people to aid your adjustment. You aren’t going to be able to do all the things you used to do, accepting help from people who love you will greatly improve your quality of life and even lengthen it.” Doctor Wells spoke but she could see he was no longer listening.

She could tell by the glazed look in his eyes he wasn’t even Spencer anymore. 

Somewhere in the deep recesses of his fractured mind, Spencer registered her words. But his presenting alter wasn’t listening. 

“Look what you’ve gone and done you fucking puta. After everything you survived, this is what you’re going to let kill you? Mierda, what a waste of such a perfect cock sucking mouth.” 

Lea-leave me al-alone. I c-can’t. Can’t. Not now. P-please just let me pro-process. 

Spencer Reid who wasn’t Spencer Reid cried himself into a fitful sleep while his slowly dying lungs tried desperately to keep him alive a little while longer. 

***

Three days later Spencer was dealing with his diagnosis the way he always dealt with things - by ignoring them. 

He’d started PT to aid his breathing for his disused lungs which he thought was pointless seeing that they were giving up on him anyway. 

He was off his catheter and allowed to move about as long as he had his portable oxygen tank at his disposal. 

Coming off of the catheter offered him a distraction from his illness albeit not a particularly nice one. The feeling of having a full bladder was an uncomfortable and new experience. He’d gotten so used to the catheter draining his urine constantly he’d forgotten what it was like to need to go. 

He often found himself not quite making it to the bathroom before he expelled himself, once in bed and a few times on the floor on route to the toilet. And when did go it was painful and oftentimes he wasn’t able to empty his bladder to the extent he needed and was left feeling dissatisfied. 

It was slowly starting to pass, he was at least able to make it to the bathroom before urinating himself now but the slight discomfort remained. 

He was prescribed pirfenidone for his pulmonary fibrosis and after a few meetings with Doctor Vikram she put him on a strong dose of olanzapine for his DID which was yet to go away. 

He’d refused at first, desperate to not be reliant on an antipsychotic used to treat schizophrenia. But as the days drew on and the alters grew louder and louder in his head, he decided he would do anything to make it stop. 

He was eventually able to shower which was an absolute godsend. And finally after nearly two weeks in the hospital, Spencer was allowed to be discharged. 

Honestly it felt like an absolute lifetime since he’d last stepped outside. The air seemed fresher, crisper somehow. 

Spring was in full bloom and he wished he could properly smell the flowers over his nasal cannula which was attached to the little canister of oxygen that Luke insisted on wheeling for him even though he was perfectly capable. 

He still hadn’t told any of you about his diagnosis, he simply lied and said he’d need the oxygen for a little while until his lungs would get back to their full capacity, knowing they never would. 

Luke drove home, Grant sitting up front and you in the back with Spencer, hand in hand. He leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes, slipping the nose cannula out and letting it hang around his neck.  

He wasn’t supposed to use it all the time anyway, only when he really needed it. Although his lungs did noticeably burn when he wasn’t using it. 

He just wanted to enjoy this moment with you, knowing it would all soon be over. None of you had discussed what happened now but you all knew it was inevitable. 

It was late and so Spencer offered Luke and Grant to stay one last night, more out of wanting one final night with you before Luke carted you away to federal prison. 

Grant cooked a large meal for which Spencer barely touched, he had other things on his mind. After you’d all eaten, he removed his cannula once more and let himself take in a fresh breath. 

All eyes were already on him. You were all far too smart and all knew he was keeping something from you. 

He closed his eyes briefly and pinched the bridge of his nose before opening them and looking back around the table. 

“Luke, I need you to do me a f-favour.” Spencer spoke breathily. 

“Anything man.” Luke quickly replied. 

“I need you t-to call the team. I n-need to tell you all some-something and I can only say it on-once.” He panted as he spoke.

You whimpered pathetically, reaching out and clutching his hand at the implication. Luke swallowed thickly, glancing at Grant as he freed his phone from his pocket without a word. He called Emily and put the device on speaker. It rang three times.

“Hey, Alvez. How is Reid?” She was speaking rapidly.

“I’m h-here, Emily.” He spoke before Luke could. 

“Reid, it's so good to hear your voice.” She smiled as she spoke.

“Prentiss, are you with the team?” Luke’s voice cut in. 

“Uh, yeah we’re all at the BAU, why?” 

“Can you g-gather them please? Need to…p-please?” Spencer whined, pressing his knuckles to his chest as a wave of pain pulsed through him.

“Of course, give me a minute.” Her tone was laced with the fear you all felt in the room. 

You clutched Spencer’s hand tighter, already feeling the tears well in your eyes, knowing whatever he had to say wasn’t going to be good. 

A few minutes of thick and tense silence passed before Emily was speaking again.

“We’re all here, Reid. The whole team is here.” 

Spencer nodded, lifting his cannula and holding it to his nose whilst taking a long pull on the liquid heaven that was his oxygen. He let it hang again from his neck and looked around the room. If he focused hard enough he could imagine the whole team was here with him.

“I don’t know h-how to say this other than to-to just s-say it.” Breathe, remember to breathe. “The d-doctor found scar-scarring on my lungs. She dia-diagnosed me with pulmonary fib-fibrosis.” Struggling, he picked the cannula back up and inserted it fully into his nose. “My lungs are going to slowly shut down. The thin w-walls of my l-lungs air sacs are t-thickening which m-makes it harder for t-them to get o-oxygen to the rest of my body. 

“The t-typical prognosis is th-three to f-five years, but D-Doctor Wells is h-hopeful I might out-outlive those odds. But either way this…this is going to k-kill me one d-day.” Breath, just breath. “I’m on m-medication to slo-slow the sc-scarring and I w-will need supplemental ox-oxygen. I…uh…I just needed you a-all to know. I n-need you all to know that I lo-love you all. And, uh…yeah.” 

He closed his eyes against a wave of tears and tugged the cannula back out of his nose. He leaned back in his chair, feeling your hand trembling in his own. He heard you sob loudly as the words sunk in.

Across the table a few tears had escaped Luke’s eyes, the eyes he couldn’t tear off of Spencer. Grant was gripping his shoulder, clinging to his boyfriend while he silently cried. 

Down the line was a lot of gasps and cries he discerned as belonging to Penelope and JJ. He heard the mutterings of “oh kid,” from Rossi and various other sentiments from the others. 

“Oh my gosh, Spence.” JJ sobbed, he could imagine her holding her chest the way she did when she was sad.

“Is there anything we can do? Anything at all?” Tara was speaking now, tone laced with concern and heartbreak. 

“Boy wonder, my heart, my soul.” Garcia was crying too. 

More words came swarming down the line but Spencer couldn’t comprehend them. They all had a lot of questions but Spencer was too exhausted to answer them right now. 

He promised to stay in better touch with them and he would answer everything in due course but right now he was too overwhelmed and when he got overwhelmed his ghosts like to come out to play.

He was still getting used to his olanzapine and had slipped into one of his dissociative personas once or twice in the last few days but thankfully it was already starting to become few and far between. 

He heard the voices still regularly but mostly in his head and they didn’t often come to the surface. But maybe that was more due to the fact he had far more important things on his mind. 

After the call ended he took in the teary eyes around the table as he pushed his chair back. He grabbed the handles of his wheely canister to steady his shaking legs, the cannula still hanging around his neck. You jumped up and placed your hands on his chest. He bowed his head and placed a soft kiss on your lips.

“I just need some fresh air.” He mumbled to you with a small smile.

He knew he ought to be spending every second he could with you as come morning Luke would be taking you away. But right now he just needed a second to gather his raging thoughts before he became someone he didn’t want to be. 

He wheeled the oxygen out onto the back porch, Copper following behind him. He cautiously lowered himself to the swing chair and Copper jumped up, immediately curling up at Spencer’s side. 

Spencer’s breathing was a little fraught from the short walk but he tried to calm it himself rather than constantly relying on the blessed oxygen, no matter how much he might like to. He brushed his knuckles over the smooth coat of Copper’s neck trying to keep the others from taking over his rampant thoughts.

“This is all your own fault.”

“You have no one to blame but yourself.” 

“You’ve not just hurt yourself but the people you love too. You’re no better than any of us.”

Maybe, maybe not. Doesn’t matter anymore. None of it matters anymore.

He cast his eyes out in the dark across the expanse of land down the hill. Eventually his breathing started returning to normal, or at least what was his new normal. He was surprised he was allowed any semblance of peace from the three of you but after a little while he heard the screen door open and close behind him. 

Spencer glanced up at the man who looked so much older than his years right then. Spencer imagined he didn’t look much better himself. Luke offered him a sorrowful smile as he pulled a wicker chair over to sit in front of him. 

“Hey,” Luke whispered, tears glistening in his eyes.

“Hey,” Spencer replied. 

“Love you, you know that right, cariño?” Luke sniffed heavily.

“Love you too, querido.” Spencer sniffed too but it caused him to cough a few times before he managed to stem it.  

“Life is just so fucking unfair.” Luke shook his head, his sadness suddenly replaced with malice. “This shouldn’t be happening to you. After everything you’ve already been through this should not-”

“Luke,” Spencer’s wispy voice cut him off before he could start ranting. “It’s my own f-fault. I tried to dr-drown myself, this is my ret…ret…retribution. Probably shoulda just l-let me die.” 

“Don’t say that, please don’t say that.” Luke’s tears returned and scored hot and heavy down his cheeks. 

“I’m terminally ill, I don’t get to ma-make jokes?” Spencer smiled wistfully. 

“Only if they’re funny.” Luke rolled his eyes. “Do you want me and Grant to stay out here a little while? Just until you get yourself sorted with your meds and everything?” 

“No off-offence Luke, but that sounds incredibly fu-fucking awkward.” He panted. 

“Fair enough.” Luke agreed. “Is there anything I can do?” 

Not arrest my fiancé. Don’t take her away from me. 

“No,” Spencer shook his head, patting Copper’s back. “Right n-now I’d really just l-like to take Y/N to b-bed and try and not def-deflate a lung in the p-process.” 

“Now who's making it awkward?” Luke frowned, wiping his tears. “We’ll take the guest room downstairs tonight I think.”

“Appreciate it.” Spencer reinstated his cannula and Luke helped him to his feet while Copper jumped up too. 

The two men stood under the sky, beautifully alight with the glistening stars peppering the otherwise black blanket above them. 

Luke reached out and cupped Spencer’s jaw lightly and the younger man hummed at the contact. 

“I’ll always…always…” Luke choked. 

“I k-know.” Spencer breathed. “I’ll always t-too.” 

Luke nodded, leaning closer and brushing his lips across Spencer’s in the most featherlight kiss he could almost believe he imagined it. 

But he knew he hadn’t. 

Spencer was soon turning on his heels and wheeling his canister back towards the house with Copper trotting behind while Luke remained still on the porch. 

Once Spencer was gone he pulled his phone out again and redialled the familiar number. This time she answered on the second ring.

“Hey Alvez,” Emily Prentiss had without a doubt been crying no matter how hard she tried to hide it. 

“Prentiss, sorry to just keep piling it on but…” he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Effective immediately, I quit the BAU.” 

***

Spencer didn’t know if it was the lack of oxygen filling his shattered lungs that made him light headed or if that could be attributed to the fact he had just experienced the most intense orgasm of his entire life.

He was on his back, panting around the cannula which was most certainly keeping him alive at that moment, staring at the ceiling while you laid next to him, curling into his side.

“I d-don’t have any wo-words.” Spencer breathed as you placed kisses on his bare chest. 

“Hmm, I did my job then.” You laughed a little wistfully. 

It was your last night together and Spencer wanted to feel everything with you before it was too late. So ignoring the voices in his head, he had finally succumbed to feeling your mouth around his shaft. 

It had been so long since he allowed someone to do that to him, he’d almost forgotten how incredible it could feel. You’d made him come in no time at all and you’d swallowed every last drop of him down. But he needed more. 

He lifted your head from his chest and kissed you, tasting the remains of his seed on your tongue. He rolled you on top of him and it was easy to feel he was already halfway to erect again. 

One hand took purchase on the back of your neck while he kissed you as fervently as his lungs would allow while the other dipped between your legs, gasping at how wet you were from simply pleasuring him. 

The gasp caused you to pull away from his lips, concerned he was struggling to breathe, which truthfully he was in spite of the cannula feeding him oxygen. His fingers slid between your folds as you looked down on him with slightly sad eyes.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea.” You whined as he brushed over your sensitive clit.

“I don’t care.” He shook his head. “Y/N, this is o-our last night together. I n-need to feel you on-one last time. P-please?” He whimpered in that breathy voice you were already growing so accustomed to.

“It could literally kill you Spen…oh fuck” You moaned as he pressed deftly against your bud. 

“I h-honestly don’t care. If th-this is how I die then I’ll con…consider myself a l-lucky man.”

“Don’t joke.” 

“Who’s joking?” He suddenly removed his hand from between your legs and wrapped it around his fully hard cock. “P-please princess, ri-ride me? We can go n-nice and slow and I’ll be f-fine.” 

Or I’ll die. But at least I’ll die doing what I love. 

“Spence, I really don’t want my last memory of you to be of you dying while I’m riding you.” You huffed. 

“If this whole t-thing has taught me a-anything it’s that our time is fin-finite. L-life is not a gu-guarantee. But love…love is infinite. And I l-love you more than wo-words can say. Let’s remember us this w-way.” He sucked in a breath around the cannula. “Whadda you say pr-princess? Hop on up here and g-give me something to rem-remember.” 

Your eyes were wet with tears as you looked down on him. Life was intrinsically unfair. In less than twelve hours Luke would be carting you away while Spencer was left here to die a slow and painful death. 

Time was finite, you knew that to be true now more so than ever. And if Spencer wanted you in that way one last time, who were you to deny him that. 

You bowed your head and captured his chapped lips in a kiss while moving his own hand aside so you could grip the base of his shaft. 

You lined him up with your entrance while sitting back on your haunches. Spencer’s eyes fell between your legs and he watched in slack jawed awe as he disappeared inside of you inch by glorious inch. 

He slowly bottomed out inside of you, your ass nestled on his thighs. He smiled up at you, breathing in through the cannula as he took in every intricate detail of your body. 

You were a work of art, sculpted by skilled hands just for him. You were magnificent in your beauty, an ethereal creature for whom he surely didn’t deserve. 

He loved every single tiny piece of you from your head to your toes and every wondrous curve in between. Even if your time together had been short, he treasured every second of it and would for the rest of his life, however long that might be. 

He gave you a soft nod, encouraging you to move. You were slow and steady in your movements, careful to listen out for any ragged breathing from him. 

Every time his pants got a little too violent you stilled to allow him to catch his breath. 

With each leisurely roll of your hips Spencer swore he felt himself ebbing impossibly deeper inside of you, reaching places he swore couldn’t be real. 

The gentle tapping of his blunt head against your cervix over and over again in a blissfully sluggish rhythm caused you to teeter closer and closer to your brink. 

Spencer held eye contact with you the whole time, laying perfectly still as he didn’t think his lungs could cope with any unnecessary movement. 

In truth his chest burned in agony with each aching intake of air but he didn’t care. All that mattered was the way you felt sheathed around him, rutting against him, clenching around him. 

By the time his second orgasm snuck up on him, pinching in the pit of his belly, he was light headed again but this time it was most certainly from lack of air. 

With a few more rocks of your pelvis you both came undone, reaching your peaks simultaneously. Spencer spilled his seed inside of you while your walls tightened around him, sending shockwaves through his entire body. 

You rode out your orgasms together but once you were starting to come down, you noticed the frantic heaving of Spencer’s chest and his slightly blue tinged lips. 

“Oh my gosh, Spence?” You threw yourself down to the bed, stroking his messy hair off his face. 

“I’m f-fine. S’fine.” He closed his eyes. 

“You're not fine!” You cried, gripping his face. 

“T-tired, okay? I’m s-sorry. Maybe…was a bit m-much. Worth it t-though. Okay. I’m o-okay…love y-you princess…”

You didn’t sleep. Not even a wink. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him all night. You stared at his chest to make sure he was breathing and if you couldn’t see any movement you’d hold your hand above his mouth and nose until you felt his breaths against your skin. 

The fear and adrenaline coursed through you at the thought of his lungs collapsing because of his insistence to have you one last time. 

The flood of relief washed over you when he opened his eyes the next morning, smiling sleepily up at you through his lashes. 

“You scared me to death last night.” You spoke in hushed tones. 

“Hmm, sorry p-princess.” He panted, his hand rising to entwine in your hair and draw you in for a kiss. 

You cuddled for a while draped in that sleep addled bliss before you both became painfully aware that your time was almost up.

You helped him shower, massaging every inch of his body much like you had done all those months ago back in Bandera. It seemed like another lifetime ago now. 

Afterwards you dressed and you assisted him carrying his canister downstairs, feeling much like you were walking the plank. 

Luke and Grant were already up, the front door was open and Copper puttered about on the porch while Grant heaved his suitcase into Luke’s rental. 

Luke was in the doorway and he turned when he heard the two of you heading down the stairs. He smiled a little wistfully at you both and stepped back inside. 

“Guess this is goodbye.” Luke shrugged at Spencer, holding his arms open for the other man. 

Spencer practically fell into them, nuzzling against Luke’s strong chest while the older man tucked him in his arms as though he was made of glass. 

“Stay in touch this time, please?” Luke whispered into Spencer’s ear.

“Promise.” He replied. 

As they were pulling apart, Grant headed back in, Copper hot on his tail. He smiled softly at Spencer with a small nod of his head. 

“Ready to hit the road, stud?” Grant nudged Luke’s arm. 

“Yeah, I think so.” Luke turned his attention to you. 

There was an indescribable look in his eyes, his lip quivering ever so slightly at the corner as you prepared for what came next. 

“Well, uh, take care then guys.” He offered you both a wave, wrapping an arm around Grant’s shoulder and turning them both back to the open door. 

You stared at the back of his head while Spencer looked frantically between you and Luke. Your heart was rampantly thumping against your chest, confusion riddled in your bones. 

“What’s…what’s going on?” You croaked out. 

Luke and Grant slowly turned back around, a curious look on Luke’s features. You were too busy looking at Luke that you didn’t notice the smile on Grant’s face. 

“What do you mean?” Luke’s lips puckered, forehead creasing. 

“You…you’re supposed to be arresting me.” You swallowed around your dry tongue. 

Luke and Grant exchanged a look before Luke turned back to you with a small shrug. 

“As of last night I no longer work for the FBI. So I guess I can’t.” 

“What?” Spencer breathed. “What d-do you mean?” 

“It was time for a change. Think I might work at one of those rehab facilities for veterans. Maybe train service dogs like Roxy, who knows. Guess the world is my oyster.” He shrugged again.

“You…I don’t understand what’s happening.” Tears flooded your vision, your bottom lip quivering. “If you don’t arrest me, your old partner will still be looking for me. I don’t…I don’t understand.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” Luke’s lip twitched into a smirk. “I’ve got it covered. Just have a good life, okay? Both of you. Everyone deserves a second chance at happiness, god knows I got mine.” 

He glanced at Grant with a smile, entwining their fingers and giving his hand a small tug. 

“Shall we go, cariño?” 

“Please,” Grant replied.

You and Spencer watched them go in bewildered silence. You kept watching them until they were in Luke’s rental car, strapping themselves in and driving away down the gravel path. 

Finally you turned to Spencer, tears flowing heavily down both of your faces. It was hard to say which one of you crumbled first but suddenly you were in each other's arms, holding each other upright while you sobbed in the doorway of that old Victorian home. 

You had no way of knowing at the time, but four weeks later Spencer Reid would receive an email from someone called queenbabygirl72@prontonmail.com on his newly acquired laptop. The email would contain no message, simply three attachments. 

The first would be a death certificate promoting your name. The second, a birth certificate sporting your own date of birth alongside the name Elizabeth Reid. And the third would be a marriage licence declaring the union of the aforementioned Elizabeth Reid and Spencer Reid. 

And later when Spencer would call Luke and ask him about it, he would deny all knowledge of it. 

The two of you would make the decision to move away from Tombstone, as much as you loved the place, it wasn’t yours. You and Spencer’s fresh start would come in the form of Grant’s idea that he sell you and Spencer his old ranch. 

And so the two of you would live out your days back in Bandera on Grant’s family ranch, equipped with a summer house in which he and Luke would frequently vacation. Eventually you would acquire more horses and more cattle and even another dog to keep Copper company. 

But that was still all to come. 

For now, Spencer took hold of your hand and wheeling his canister in the other, the two of you headed down towards the stable, Copper running on ahead. You aided Spencer in mounting Willow, leaving his oxygen supplement behind and insisting he would be alright for a little trot down to the creek. You saddled up Rusty and with Copper still in toe, the five of you headed outside into the morning sunshine. 

Spencer reached over as the mares walked side by side and took hold of your hand, offering you a slightly wistful smile as he did so. There was no way of knowing how much time the two of you had left together, it was impossible to know how long Spencer had until his life was cut tragically short. 

But with any luck the two of you still had some wonderful years left ahead before you needed to worry about his diagnosis. And you would relish every single second of them. 

His hand squeezed yours tightly, his breathing a little heavy but he gave you a look that told you he was okay. The two horses took to the incline leading down through the trees towards the babbling brook beyond, Copper running happy little circles around Willow and Rusty.

You took in the beautiful morning, allowed yourself to relish in your own freedom for which you had been certain would end today. And you swore you would never take life granted again. 

You gently patted Rusty’s neck with your other hand, silently thanking her for knocking Spencer off of his horse all those months ago, for if she hadn’t the two of you would never have met.

It wouldn’t always be this way, there would still be some challenges along that broken road you travelled, but you would weather them together. Spencer still had a long way to go with his mental health and there would be blips, times in which the ghosts would rear their ugly heads and threaten to destroy everything he’d worked for. And of course understanding how to live with his illness would be a learning curve but he knew with you by his side, he could conquer anything. 

He brought your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles as the five of you continued on your journey. You both still had a lot to learn, there would most certainly still be bumps in the road, but together the two of you could navigate just about any hurdle. 

And even if you couldn’t, it would still be okay. You were both still a little rusty, after all. 

@kalulakunundrum @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @zooni92802 @babyspiderling @pleasantwitchgarden @djsjjsjsjsjsnsnsns @bringitonhomejohnb @chineray1234

[mj-iza-writer]

Heyyyy. So random idea but there’s this experiment, can not remember the name :/, but they put a guy in a green house with lowered oxygen levels to see if the plants would produce enough oxygen to keep him alive for a few days.

Guy knew what he was getting into, but imagine a whumpee who didn’t. Whumper doesn’t say anything until the door is locked and the oxygen is lowered. So whumpee has to become very aware of how much they breathe in. But whumper is watching, just so their test subject doesn’t die.

Also good luck on whumptober! Can’t wait to see your takes on more prompts!

Thankyou so much for the good luck wishes for Whumptober. I have never heard ofbthis experiment. I do hope I did your request justice.

Whumpee was pulled from their cell early in the morning.

They were told to strip and prepare for a full body examination. After that, they were given a shower.

Nothing else was told to them. Nothing.

Whumpee paced back in forth in a sterile room. It had been hours since anyone came in.

"What do you want from me?" Whumpee couldn't control their nerves any longer.

"We are making sure you are safe to be used in this experiment... lab rat... be patient. Be happy that we even care about your health", a familiar voice came over the intercom.

"Whumper, please just tell me", Whumpee pleaded.

It was quiet... no reply.

Whumpee lowered themself to the ground and looked up at the camera.

"Please, I'm a good lab rat", Whumpee begged, "please I don't want to die."

Just then, the door opened.

A tall person in a hazmat suit came in and looked over Whumpee.

"Follow me to your experiment sight", they ordered, "do not touch a thing. You may ruin everything if you take outside germs in."

Whumpee stood quickly and nodded.

Whumpee was fitted by a team of scientists. They wore a heart monitor, oxygen monitor, and a helmet to monitor brain waves.

Whumper entered the room once Whumpee was deamed ready.

"Alright, this is a very important experiment. I need you to be on your best test rat behavior. Am I clear?"

"Yes", Whumpee nodded, "what's the experiment?"

"I can not tell you. It will mess with results", Whumper sighed, "just know, I need you to tell me every different feeling you experience. Everything during this needs to be noted. Even the tiniest muscle spasm... tell me everything. Understood?"

Whumpee quickly nodded.

Whumpee was placed in front of a door. A blue light shown up and down them, and the room.

Once done, the doors cranked open.

"Whumpee walk forward into the room", Whumper ordered.

Whumpee followed orders and went forward.

They entered a giant glass dome full of all kinds of flowers

Whumpee marveled at everything, "it's beautiful in here", they looked around for any cameras.

"It has taken a long time to prepare for this", Whumper spoke over the intercom, "you will be spending the next several hours in here, so do enjoy. Their are several snacks and drink for you. Even a few activities to entertain you. You will be monitored the whole time. We can hear everything you say. If you feel any differences, then tell us."

"Okay", Whumpee nodded, "am I allowed to walk around and look?"

"Yes, you may", Whumper chuckled, "we would like you to after all of our hard work making this green house."

Whumper turned off the radio.

"Take the oxygen level down to ninety percent", Whumper spoke over their shoulder.

Whumpee skipped along as they looked at all of the plants. All of the flowers looked beautiful. Most smelt so sweet.

Two hours passed.

Whumper came back into the monitor room.

"Status", Whumper looked into the green house from the viewing room.

"Whumpee sits comfortable at eighty-five percent oxygen. They voice no differences. Monitors also show their levels are fine.

"Decrease oxygen level to sixty-five then", Whumper frowned, "I want to reach fifty percent."

"Doc, that isn't... "

"Did I stutter?", Whumper turned, "sixty-five", they hissed.

After several moments, Whumpee looked up.

"Did something change? I don't feel right", Whumpee frowned.

"What are you feeling?", Whumper questioned.

"My chest feels tight, and I'm not sure if I'm breathing right. My head also feels weird", Whumpee felt their head, "did something happen?"

"I don't know Whumpee. We are looking into it", Whumper turned to one of the testers.

"Their heart rate has sped up. That explains the tightened chest. I suggest we restore oxygen levels", the tester frowned.

"Lower it to fifty", Whumper turned back to view Whumpee.

"Doc, that... you're going to kill them", another scientist spoke up, "Whumpee is your favorite. We can revisit this test with someone else. Someone we can push past their limits."

"Fifty... we are so close to where I wanted today's test. Take it to fifty. Only for a few minutes."

The scientists lowered the number.

Whumpee looked around as if they were confused.

"I'm getting... really... dizzy", Whumpee tried to hold themself up, "and... tired."

"Doc... heart rate has decreased substantially. Their body is displaying a large level of stress", the scientist warned.

"Restore oxygen to the rat. I want full reports on how their body handled it. Once retrieved from the greenhouse, take them to medical for another full body exam. I want all reports by tomorrow morning."

Whumper turned and watched as Whumpee studied the cameras. They took in Whumpee's heavy breathing.

"The rat does not go back to their cell until I've cleared them", Whumper turned to leave, "they will know nothing of today's test, and what happened to them until I tell them."

Whumpee quickly fell asleep once they were in their recovery room. It had been a long day for them.

Whumper told the nurses to call once Whumpee woke up.

Whumper was beginning to worry when it took so long to hear from anyone.

Whumpee looked up from their meal tray when Whumper walked into their recovery room.

"Man! Did I miss seeing your blue skin?", Whumper smiled as they sat down.

Whumpee nodded as they looked over themself, "I don't know what happened to make it do that though. No one will tell me anything."

"I know why that happened", Whumper sighed, "so I am going to tell you what that test was because I do not plan to use you for it again. It's a test you can do only once because you'll know what to expect now. You will not be allowed to speak with any of the other rats though. You are in solitary so I can protect my test. Am I clear?"

Whumpee nodded.

"The test I just put you through was to see if plants could sustain a human life if oxygen wasn't available. You started to feel a difference when the room was giving you sixty-five percent oxygen. This tells me that the plants can sustain, but not enough. I lowered you to fifty for a few minutes because I wanted to make it to fifty with the test. You started to go unconscious, so we quickly returned the oxygen to you. Your skin was blue because of the test."

Whumpee scowled at Whumper, "I-I... why woukd you have to do that? I-I don't like you now."

"Well, civilization won't like it if the earth were to ever run out of oxygen. So there's that", Whumper leaned back into the chair, "it had to be tested. I wanted you to do the first trial test because you're honest. Plus, I don't really care... what.. you... why haven't you eaten anything?" Whumper frowned at the meal tray, "you need to eat something. You haven't eaten for a long time."

Whumpee quickly wiped their eyes, "I didn't kn-know if I-I was allowed. This looks dif-different from my norm..al food", Whumpee's lips quivered.

Whumper pulled out their computer and looked up Whumpee's account.

"It's safe for you to eat. I cleared your dietary restrictions for the time being. I'm only working on the greenhouse experiment right now. So you don't have a diet. There are no nuts in that either", Whumper grinned as they read over the meal, "they even served you cake."

"Cake?", Whumpee looked up, "I haven't had that in a long time. Is that what this is?"

"Yes. I know you haven't been allowed to have any sugar for a while", Whumper grinned, "am I forgiven now?"

"Can I have a soda? Maybe if I get a soda", Whumpee grinned mischievously.

"Hmm, you're driving a hard bargain", Whumper looked over the notes on Whumpee's test, "but I can't have my favorite lab rat mad at me."

Whumpee's smirk widened.

"Alright, you may have one can of soda. You'll have to wait until tomorrow though. You've already had a lot of sugar with that juice and cake. It's been a long time since you've eaten like this... you could get sick", Whumper closed their computer, "I will deliver it to you tomorrow when I assess you. I would like you to spend the night in here. We will see how you are doing tomorrow. I may clear to go back to your cell if you are alright."

Whumpee nodded, "thankyou."

Whumper stood, "alright... am I forgiven for taking away your oxygen for a little while?"

"Yes doc, I'm just glad you gave it back", Whumpee grinned.

"Get to eating. I'll be back tomorrow. Be a good patient for the nurses as well. No soda if you misbehave", Whumper started for the door.

"I'm always a good patient. Just not to you since you do things like take away oxygen", Whumpee giggled, "I can't believe I get to eat cake."

Whumper nodded, "get some rest. You've earned it."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

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[dfortrafalgar]

I'm Losing You

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

Warnings: Read chapter 1 for warnings. This chapter contains medical trauma in an emergency room, as well as pregnancy loss.

I was going to do my usual thing and post this tomorrow, but i felt too bad making yall wait so you get a one-two punch of pain today (on the bright side, and i promise this, things start to go uphill from here, if you could believe it <3)

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock

Chapter 16

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The darkened operating theater’s focused silence was sharply interrupted with the sound of ringing coming from the phone tucked away in the circulating nurse’s back pocket.  It was very obviously from Law’s phone, but the entire surgical crew kept their heads lowered and honed in on their work.  It was quite difficult to break your stride when someone’s body was cut completely open and their beating heart was framed by a metal cage keeping the layers of fat and muscle from closing.  The nurse was checking oxygen levels of the patient and simply let the phone continue to ring.  No one said a word.

The ringing stopped.

Then it started again.

“Just let it go,” Law mumbled.  He couldn’t be bothered, not when he was quite literally inside someone’s heart.  A mitral valve replacement required just as much care as any other open heart procedure, despite being a relatively easy operation for his skilled hands.

The ringing stopped.  The nurse stepped away from the monitor and made a circle around the team, checking instruments, patient vitals, and needed materials.

Then the ringing started again.  This time, a few glances were tossed around the room by the attending surgeons and nurses, but Law kept his head down, neck-deep in his work.  The nurse pulled the phone out of her back pocket and assessed the screen.  Your photo and name were displayed.

“Doctor, it’s your wife,” she announced.

“End the call and text her that I’ll get back to her when I can.”

Following his instructions precisely, the nurse tapped the red End Call button, opened her doctor’s phone with his passcode from their previous go at this very situation, and navigated to his text messages, pulling up your conversation.  She had to suppress a smile at the photo that was set for your contact- a photo of you and what she assumed to be your dog, both grinning brightly at the camera.  She began to text.

Hi, this is Doctor Trafalgar’s circulating nurse again!  He’s currently in the middle of an operation but he’ll call you back when he’s done!

She was about to put the device back in her pocket when it buzzed with another incoming text message.

Wifey

This is Law’s friend Shachi.  Idk operating room etiquette but his wife was taken to the emergency room from her job, im here with her and another friend.  Can you relay the message somehow?  Thanks.

The unsuspecting nurse felt her heartbeat grow anxious.  She herself didn’t really know how to properly announce that information to her supervising doctor, let alone the entire room of fellow technicians and nurses surrounding a patient with his chest fully exposed and heart cut open.

“Everything good?” the tired voice of the lead doctor called from his position, slightly hunched over the body under the bright lights and protective sheet.  He had stepped back only mere centimeters to let an attending nurse go in with sutures.

“Uhm…” the circulating nurse felt her palms grow sweaty beneath her blue medical gloves.  “It was one of your friends, your wife is in the emergency room, apparently.”

Law felt his blood run cold.  His head shot upward to look at the poor nurse who was now unfortunately involved in this, staring at her with wide, golden eyes below his magnifying hood.  He must have looked profoundly stupid partnered with his surgical mask and bright blue hair net.  “What did he say?”

“That was it, he just said to call him back as soon as he could,” she responded nervously.

“Doctor, the surgery’s almost completed if you–” one of his technicians began before being interrupted by the doctor.

“No, I’ll never leave the operating room until the procedure is finished.  Don’t worry about me, continue your focus on the patient.”  But for the first time in Law’s entire professional life, his focus was everywhere but the patient.  Why were you in the emergency room?  Why were you taken from work?  What in the world had happened?

Were you having another miscarriage?

No matter how hard he tried, he could not bring his focus back to the unconscious patient on the table in front of him.  He felt like a ghost out of his own body, merely observing his rigid frame standing amongst his colleagues, frozen in time and place, glued to the cold tiled floor.  Petrified.  Chills were creeping up and down his vertebrae, spreading out to the very tips of his fingers, making him wish he could run.  Run as fast as he could, run to the next building to where the emergency department was and run through every room to find you.  He needed to find you.

The surgery could not have ended sooner.  As soon as he was given the clear that the patient was in the recovery ward, he was sprinting with all of his might through the halls of the cardiac ward, out through the lobby, and into the bright summer sun that seemed to be mocking him in his frantic state.  His lab coat trailed behind him and passing nurses and patients jumped out of his way as he barreled down the bright sidewalk of the hospital complex, passing small bundles of blooming flowers that almost shook with how fast his feet were carrying him.  He felt like his heart might evacuate from his chest, or that he would surely lose his lunch with the stress of the unknown.

He rounded a corner and entered the emergency wing through a back entrance using his ID, sprinting to the nearest nurse’s desk barely catching his breath.  The young woman behind the counter, caught off guard by his sudden burst into the space, was staring at the man with wide, blue eyes, her fingers frozen mid-typing on her mechanical keyboard.

“T… Trafalgar.  Where,” was all he was able to gasp out as he clung to the counter catching his breath.  He never was much of an athlete.

The young nurse hurriedly picked through the screen of her computer monitor.  “Room 114.”

“Thank you,” he wheezed as he pushed himself off again, this time speed walking through the large corridors of the emergency room, not wanting to cause an issue with the attending doctors.  He passed by empty gurneys and folded wheelchairs, idle medicine carts and nurses chatting with one another, another ordinary day for them.  Room 114 seemed so far away.

Finally, the number appeared on the wall to his right.  The door was wide open, multiple bodies hunched over the bed.  Shachi and Ikkaku bolted upright from their chairs, mouths open about to speak to Law, but he pushed past them and into the crowd of nurses.

Your wrists were strapped to both handles of the bed you occupied, your eyes squeezed shut and an oxygen mask was forcefully strapped to your face, so tight your skin was visibly pinching through the hard elastic straps.  The hose extending from the mask and into an on-board oxygen monitoring machine seemed so foreign on your beautiful face.  A few heart rate electrodes were placed on your chest, picking up a well above average heartbeat.  Your feet were weakly flailing under the covers as multiple nurses had their hands on you, assessing your blood pressure, your oxygen, hands on your abdomen, your legs, your breasts.

Law saw red.

“BACK THE FUCK UP,” he shouted, finally drawing attention to himself from the surrounding nurses.  Hospital etiquette could fuck off for all he cared.  His wife had her wrists bound.  “GET AWAY FROM HER.”

“Doctor, please,” a man from beside your bed rushed forward toward the cardiac surgeon, placing his hands on his shoulders.  “Please don’t yell-”

“Why the hell is she tied to the bed?!” he demanded, every fiber of his being forcing him to maintain at least some level of composure.  Behind him, Ikkaku grabbed Shachi’s wrist and dragged him out of the room, not wanting to put their friend under any more stress.

“She was thrashing in the ambulance, we needed to restrain her,” the male nurse explained, attempting to push Law back from your bed.

Law looked past the nurse’s shoulder and screamed once more.  “I SAID GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER.”

A much larger male nurse stood up from his place around your bed.  When he stepped aside, his legs revealed a bright red biohazard container on the ground, a mere glimpse of the pants you were wearing that morning peeking into Law’s field of view.  

“Doctor, calm down or I’m going to call security,” the bigger man threatened, stepping toward Law and giving his shoulders a firm shove backwards.  He was built less like your average nurse and more like a basketball power forward, and the force of his hands against Law’s shoulders sent the black-haired surgeon stumbling backward.

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” he seethed.  “What kind of nurse ties a patient to the bed when they’re panicking, huh?!  Is that what they’re teaching you ingrates?!  Tying a panicking woman to a bed to keep her still?!”

He forced his way past the larger nurse, much to the man’s discontent, and pushed through the other employees surrounding your bed.  His first action was to loosen the straps of the oxygen mask on your face, giving your skin room to breathe.  His deft hands ripped the velcro blood pressure cuff off of your bicep, tossing it back to a nurse who had stepped away, shocked by his actions.  The oxygen monitor on your finger was next, followed by the restraint on your left hand, which fell limp next to your body.  Your wedding ring was missing.

“Where’s the ring?” Law asked, forcing the blood oxygen monitor into the hands of the same nurse who took the cuff from him.

“What ring?” the basketball nurse asked, visibly angry with the doctor’s intrusion.

“The wedding ring on her left hand.  Where the hell is it?”

A very small, meek voice piped up from across your bed.  “It was removed in the ambulance because the paramedic was afraid she’d hurt herself with it.”

“Hurt herself, or hurt you?” snarled Law referring to the confused gaggle of nurses that had come into contact with his wife, already fed up with whatever excuses they were giving him.  If he was more rational, he could argue that they were simply doing their jobs, but even from his standpoint, what they were doing to you was clearly too much.  “I want every single one of you out of this room, and I want an attending doctor here immediately.  I need one of you to find that damn ring and bring it back to me.  Don’t make me ask twice.”

A few nurses took the opportunity to scramble from the room, visibly frazzled by the surgeon’s fit of rage.  The two male nurses from prior, however, stood their ground.

“You’re not in our department, doc, I’m afraid we can’t take orders from you.”  The larger nurse crossed his arms over his chest in defiance as Law stood between your body and the man.

“Then take my directions as the family member of a patient.  Get.  The hell.  Out.”  If Law were to see himself, he’d have absolutely no idea where this authoritative side of him came from.  He was never one for verbal or physical confrontation, more used to shutting down and bottling in his feelings than displaying them outright, and never would he ever think to get in the face of an extended colleague, but now was not the time for rational thought.

The first nurse to put his hands on Law placed a hand on the shoulder of his fellow nurse, pulling him toward the door.  The larger man finally relented and followed his coworker out into the hallway and around the corner out of sight.  Silence had finally settled over the room and Law rushed to the other side of your bed to unstrap your right wrist from the metal barrier.  Your heart rate on the monitor was slowly starting to even out, but was still maintaining a fairly erratic pace.  His new position allowed him to get a glimpse into the red biohazard container that was improperly placed next to your bed.  Your pants, the ones you had purchased when out with your friends a few weeks prior and that you were excited to finally wear to work, were completely soaked with bright red blood.  The rest of your clothing was in the bucket, specks of blood on your socks, and the lower portion of your flowy summer shirt.  He shoved the bucket out of the way with the ball of his shoe, forcing down the nausea that crawled up his throat.

He placed his hand on your forehead, leaning over you, his face contorted in an agony that mirrored your own.  

Your eyes slowly opened, your body completely spent and exhausted.  He barely wanted to know what kind of ambulance ride you had endured that had rendered your usually-energetic and upbeat form into a shell of your former self.  Your irises were filled with sorrow, and your eyes immediately began welling with tears at the sight of your husband standing above you.  You gasped into the oxygen mask, almost choking on the breath of cold, spicy air that flowed through the hose and forced its way into your body.  Law was quick to pull the mask off, breaking every form of protocol he was familiar with.  He knew his outburst and actions easily risked his integrity as a high profile surgeon, but as he took in the sight of you, completely burnt out, humiliated, scratched up from the binding on your wrists and straps from the mask on your face, he couldn’t find the time to care about his integrity anymore.

Finally free from the confines of the mask, you sucked in a shaky breath, heavy, salty tears flowing down your cheeks like a waterfall.  You weakly reached a hand up to his, and he took it in both of his warm, calloused ones, clenching you tightly, funneling all of his love into you.

“Law…” you tried to speak, but your voice came out more like a croak.  He felt his heart shatter, splintering into toxic pieces of fiberglass that ripped at his flesh, that stung the soul and pierced the very heart he gave to you.  Your lips were violently quivering as your body shook with suppressed sobs, not having any more energy to scream.  All you were able to do was mouth the words, ‘I’m sorry.”

Law’s resolve shattered.  Whatever was left of his pride, his dignity, his status as your strong, unmoving, supportive husband, was fractured.  He crumpled above you, his legs shaking as his head fell to your trembling chest, his hands that held your own remaining close to his own lungs as the tears he had wanted to cry for the past two years of trying for a baby finally escaped from his eyes.  He sniffled, snot rapidly pooling in his sinuses as a result of his tears, but he continued to hold your trembling hand in his as he bit his lip so hard it stung, the scorching hot tears leaving his eyes feeling like trails of magma down his skin.  The smell of hospital sheets did not belong on you.  

The world seemed to implode in on your weak form in the hospital bed, your husband’s defeated body hunched over your own.

A crackled, broken sob exited his lungs.

[hayatheauthor]

A Writer's Blueprint for Realistic Drowning Scenes

This guide is designed to help writers depict drowning scenes with authenticity and detail. I’ll walk you through the step-by-step process of drowning, the physical signs to look for and clear up some common misconceptions. With this information, you’ll have the tools to craft vivid, compelling, and believable drowning scenarios that will captivate your readers and add depth to your narrative.

Fair warning; this is a comprehensive and pretty explicit guide, so if you're uncomfortable with those topics, please just scroll away. 

The Stages of Drowning

1. Initial Entry

When a person first enters the water, especially unexpectedly, their initial reaction is often one of shock and panic. The sudden change in environment, temperature, and the feeling of being submerged triggers an immediate response from the body.

Shock Response

Cold Water Immersion: Sudden immersion in cold water can cause a cold shock response, which includes involuntary gasping, hyperventilation, and a rapid increase in heart rate and blood pressure.

Panic and Disorientation: The person may become disoriented and panic, struggling to stay afloat and breathe normally.

2. Involuntary Breath-Holding

As the person struggles to keep their head above water, they instinctively hold their breath to prevent water from entering their lungs.

Burning Sensation in Lungs

The buildup of carbon dioxide in the blood creates a burning sensation in the lungs, which intensifies the feeling of panic.

Increased Heart Rate and Blood Pressure

The body's stress response causes an increase in heart rate and blood pressure, further depleting oxygen reserves.

3. Uncontrolled Breathing

When the person can no longer hold their breath, the body's reflexes take over, leading to involuntary attempts to breathe.

Aspiration of Water

Water enters the mouth and is aspirated into the lungs, causing coughing, choking, and a strong gag reflex.

Coughing and Choking

The person may cough and choke as water enters the respiratory tract, leading to more panic and struggle.

Gasping for Air

The body's desperate attempt to get oxygen leads to gasping, but often results in inhaling more water.

4. Laryngospasm

The body's protective reflex to prevent water from entering the lungs can cause the vocal cords to spasm, temporarily sealing the airway.

Temporary Airway Closure

The laryngospasm closes the airway, preventing both water and air from entering the lungs.

Increased CO2 and Decreased O2

As carbon dioxide levels rise and oxygen levels fall, the person becomes increasingly hypoxic.

5. Loss of Consciousness

Due to the lack of oxygen, the person loses consciousness.

Hypoxia and Hypercapnia

Hypoxia (lack of oxygen) and hypercapnia (excess carbon dioxide) cause confusion, dizziness, and loss of motor control.

Fading Senses

Vision blurs, hearing diminishes, and the sense of touch becomes numb.

Blackout

The brain, deprived of oxygen, shuts down, leading to unconsciousness.

6. Cardiac Arrest

Prolonged oxygen deprivation leads to cardiac arrest, where the heart stops beating.

Cessation of Breathing

Respiratory effort ceases as the brain's control over breathing is lost.

Heart Stops Beating

The heart, deprived of oxygen, stops beating, leading to complete circulatory failure.

Brain Damage and Death

Without intervention, brain cells die from lack of oxygen, leading to permanent brain damage and eventually death.

7. Aftermath (if Rescued)

If the person is rescued and resuscitated, there are immediate and long-term consequences to consider.

Immediate Aftermath

CPR and First Aid: Immediate resuscitation efforts, including CPR and the use of a defibrillator if necessary.

Hospitalization: The person will likely need to be hospitalized for further treatment and monitoring.

Long-Term Effects

Lung Damage: Inhalation of water can cause damage to the lung tissues, leading to conditions like pneumonia or acute respiratory distress syndrome (ARDS).

Neurological Damage: Prolonged lack of oxygen can result in brain damage, affecting cognitive and motor functions.

Psychological Impact: Survivors may experience PTSD, anxiety, and a lasting fear of water.

Physical Appearance During Drowning

1. Initial Entry

Shock Response

Wide Eyes and Gasping Mouth: Eyes are wide open, and the mouth is often open in a gasp or scream.

Flailing Limbs: Arms and legs are moving rapidly in an attempt to regain balance and stay afloat.

2. Involuntary Breath-Holding

Tensed Muscles

Rigid Body: Muscles are tensed, and the body may appear stiff as the person tries to maintain control.

Strained Facial Expression: The face may show strain, with furrowed brows and tightly closed eyes.

3. Uncontrolled Breathing

Coughing and Choking

Reddened Face and Eyes: The face may turn red from the effort of coughing and choking.

Foaming at the Mouth: A frothy mixture of saliva and water may be visible around the mouth.

Gasping for Air

Open Mouth and Wide Eyes: The mouth is open wide in an attempt to gasp for air, and the eyes may be bulging with fear.

Erratic Movements: The person’s movements become more erratic and uncoordinated as they struggle to breathe.

4. Laryngospasm

Silent Struggle

Mouth Opening and Closing: The person may appear to be gasping silently as the airway is temporarily sealed.

Clenching Throat: Hands may instinctively clutch at the throat in a futile attempt to open the airway.

5. Loss of Consciousness

Limp Body

Floating Limply: The body becomes limp and may float face down or sink slightly below the surface.

Pale or Blue Skin: Skin may turn pale or blue (cyanosis) due to lack of oxygen.

Relaxed Facial Features

Closed Eyes: Eyes close as the person loses consciousness.

Slack Jaw: The jaw may go slack, and the mouth could be partially open.

6. Cardiac Arrest

Unconsciousness

Still Body: The body is completely still, with no voluntary movements.

Gray or Blue Skin: Skin color becomes ashen, gray, or blue, particularly around the lips and extremities.

7. After Drowning (Post-Rescue Appearance)

If the person is rescued, their appearance post-drowning can indicate the extent of their ordeal and the immediate aftermath.

Immediate Aftermath

Waterlogged Clothing: Clothes may be heavy and waterlogged, clinging to the body.

Coughing and Vomiting: The person may cough up water or vomit as they are resuscitated.

Shivering: If the water was cold, the person might be shivering uncontrollably due to hypothermia.

Long-Term Appearance

Bruising and Cuts: There may be bruises or cuts from the struggle in the water or the rescue process.

Pale or Blue Skin: Skin color might still show signs of cyanosis if oxygen levels are low.

Labored Breathing: Breathing may remain labored and shallow as the lungs recover.

Ways to Drown

Being Tied Down with a Stone

An ancient method where a person is weighted down with a heavy object, preventing them from surfacing.

Pulled Under by a Strong Current

Strong currents or rip tides can overpower a swimmer, pulling them away from safety and making it difficult to stay afloat.

Trapped Under a Capsized Boat

In the event of a boat capsizing, a person can become trapped underneath, unable to reach the surface for air.

Caught in Underwater Vegetation

Dense underwater plants can entangle a swimmer, restricting their movements and preventing them from surfacing.

Unable to Swim in Deep Water

Lack of swimming skills or fatigue in deep water can lead to drowning if the person cannot keep themselves afloat.

Falling Through Ice

Falling through thin ice can trap a person in freezing water, with the ice making it difficult to find an exit.

Getting Caught in a Riptide

A riptide can drag a swimmer out to sea, making it hard to swim back to shore due to the strong current.

Swimming Exhaustion

Overexertion while swimming can lead to exhaustion, making it impossible to continue treading water or swimming to safety.

Diving Accident

A diving mishap, such as hitting one’s head or getting disoriented underwater, can result in drowning.

Shipwreck

In a shipwreck scenario, a person may be stranded in open water, facing potential drowning due to exhaustion, exposure, or lack of flotation devices.

Common Misconceptions About Drowning

1. Drowning is Always Loud and Dramatic

Many people believe that drowning involves a lot of splashing, shouting, and waving for help. In reality, drowning is often a silent and quick event.

Instinctive Drowning Response: When a person is drowning, their body prioritizes breathing over waving or shouting. The struggle to get air means they can’t call for help.

Quiet Struggle: Drowning individuals might be bobbing up and down, with their mouths at water level, making little noise as they gasp for air.

2. People Always Recognize Drowning

It's a common belief that drowning is easily recognizable. However, many drownings go unnoticed until it’s too late.

Subtle Signs: Drowning can look like someone treading water or trying to swim. Signs can be subtle, such as bobbing up and down, head tilted back with mouth open, or eyes glassy and empty.

Misinterpreted Behaviors: Bystanders might mistake a drowning person for someone playing or simply floating.

3. Only Weak Swimmers Drown

Many assume that only those who can’t swim well are at risk of drowning, but even strong swimmers can drown under certain conditions.

Fatigue and Cramps: Strong swimmers can become exhausted, suffer from cramps, or panic, leading to drowning.

Environmental Factors: Strong currents, cold water, and underwater hazards can overwhelm even the best swimmers.

4. Drowning Happens Immediately

There’s a misconception that drowning happens instantly. While it can be quick, it often takes a few minutes for a person to drown.

Struggling Phase: The initial struggle can last for 20-60 seconds, during which the person is trying to stay afloat and breathe.

Silent Submersion: After this, they may silently submerge, often unnoticed.

5. Drowning Only Happens in Deep Water

Many people think that drowning only occurs in deep water. However, shallow water can be just as dangerous.

Shallow Water Drowning: Drowning can occur in as little as a few inches of water, especially with young children or if someone is unconscious.

Bathtubs and Pools: Many drownings occur in bathtubs, kiddie pools, or even buckets.

6. Life Jackets Are Only Needed on Boats

It's commonly believed that life jackets are only necessary when boating, but they are crucial in many other water-related activities.

Swimming and Water Sports: Life jackets provide essential buoyancy and can save lives in swimming pools, lakes, rivers, and during water sports.

Unexpected Situations: Wearing a life jacket can prevent drowning in unexpected situations, like sudden falls into water.

7. People Float After Drowning

A prevalent myth is that drowning victims float on the surface after they die, but this is not always the case.

Initial Sinking: Initially, a drowned body may sink due to the density of the tissues and lack of air in the lungs.

Later Floating: Bodies often float later due to gas buildup from decomposition, but this can take days.

8. Drowning Victims Always Look Distressed

People often think that drowning victims will look distressed or visibly in danger, but many can appear calm and quiet.

Passive Drowning: Drowning individuals may appear to be calmly treading water or just floating.

Lack of Visible Struggle: There may be no visible struggle, making it hard to identify the danger.

9. CPR is Ineffective After Drowning

Some believe that once a person has drowned, CPR cannot help. However, immediate CPR can be life-saving.

Restarting Breathing: CPR can help restart the victim’s breathing and circulation, buying crucial time until emergency services arrive.

Rescue Breathing: Effective rescue breathing can oxygenate the lungs and increase the chances of revival.

Resources

Books

"The Science of Drowning" by Sports Aid Intl

“It offers a significant departure from how drowning is traditionally treated by combining discussions about medical, prevention, and intervention issues.”

Link

"The Perfect Storm: A True Story of Men Against the Sea" by Sebastian Junger

A gripping account of the 1991 storm that hit the North Atlantic and the fishermen caught in its deadly grip, providing insights into the perilous nature of the sea and drowning.

Link

Articles

"Drowning vs Aquatic Distress" by Crunderwood

An article detailing the science of drowning + some interesting points.

Link to article

"Drowning Victim" by SLRG

How to identify a drowning person besides the typical flailing. 

Link to article

"Drowning Treatment" by WebMD

Guidelines and tips for healing/treating a drowning person.

Link to article

Websites

American Red Cross: Water Safety Tips

Provides extensive information on water safety, drowning prevention, and emergency response.

Link to website

National Drowning Prevention Alliance

A dedicated organization focused on preventing drowning through education, research, and advocacy.

Link to website

Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC): Drowning Prevention

Offers statistics, prevention strategies, and safety tips to reduce the risk of drowning.

Link to website

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Quillology with Haya Sameer; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors! While you’re at it, don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey! 

[icu-fetish]

Amina in hospital

Amina is in critical condition. She does not regain consciousness. Her condition deteriorated sharply. The patient was connected to an artificial respiration apparatus using an endotracheal tube. Two hoses are attached to the intubation tube, through which the ventilator will supply oxygen directly to the patient's lungs.

Realizing the importance of immobilization to prevent further injury, the nurses immediately took steps to stabilize Amina's neck by applying a rigid cervical collar. Since the woman is in a coma and cannot take food on her own, a stomach tube was inserted through her nose.

Amina is now fully connected to medical equipment that closely monitors her vital signs, such as heart rate, blood pressure, breathing and blood oxygen levels.

Amina woke up. Her eyelids slowly opened, and she looked at the ward in surprise. The machine that had supported her life for many days was turned off. Amina's chest rose and fell faintly as she breathed on her own for the first time in many days.

Despite the first steps towards recovery, Amina faced new challenges. A sharp, excruciating pain shot through Amina's body, reminding her of the trauma and instability of her condition.

Doctors put Amina into an induced coma to ease her suffering and prevent her condition from worsening. In a few minutes she fell into a deep sleep, devoid of pain and fear.

She was put on a ventilator, which will keep her alive until she is ready to come out of the coma.

Amina, emaciated and pale, lies in a coma, connected to numerous medical machines surrounding her motionless body. The rhythmic sounds of these machines are interrupted only by the quiet hum of the artificial breathing apparatus that supports life in her.

Amina opened her eyes, and the frightening reality of the hospital ward appeared before her. Her body, tangled in a network of plastic tubes and wires, was connected to life support machines. The heart pounded in the chest, squeezed by the terror of the unknown. Amina tried to raise her hand, but the muscles did not obey. Despair gripped her heart. She wanted to scream, call for help, but only a soft moan came out of her mouth. When Amina's breathing tube was removed, she was relieved.

The woman was in quite a lot of pain. Her body was still weak, and her muscles ached after being immobile for so long. Every movement, every breath was given to her with difficulty. But deep down she understood that the risk of returning to the ventilator still existed. The thought scared her, but she didn't let herself give up.

Wilder (S01: E04, E06).

[tadpolesonalgae]

Mer!azriel x reader: The Dregs of Tragedy - Part 3

A/N: Finished writing this and now I want to do another part to please… because soft touches make me melt

Warnings: mentions of torture

Word Count: 6,561

-Part 2- -Part 4-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

You don’t know how long you’d spent like that—just floating gently in his arms, allowing the water to soothe the ache of your bones.

It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, the sea lapping at the lip of the cave, his tail occasionally brushing your legs, as if checking your pulse, monitoring small changes as they occur. Like the narrow slits forming along your ribs, gills beginning to push from your skin.

Scarified hands graze your sides, skin fluttering with tiny muscles reacting to the stimuli. Air bubbles in your lungs, and you cough suddenly, throat constricting. Your fingers raise to your neck, spluttering as the muscle spasms with the new airways opening, not entirely sure how to process the evolution.

“Close your mouth,” he instructs, palm splaying across your back, keeping you steady and the gills unblocked. “Don’t breathe through your nose. Try to open the airways.” You do as he says, features scrunching as tears prick the the edge of your lashes. You follow his directions, but struggle upon feeling the burning need for breath, instinctively parting you lips.

Azriel shifts, raising his hand to place it over your mouth, fingers parted enough to let air through if you try, but not enough to properly survive on. Still, some problems arise. The tubes are sensitive and tingling with awareness, making you squirm at the odd sensation. Your nose scrunches with concentration, managing a few shuddering breaths before reverting to your preferred option.

“I’m going to take you under,” he says, hand still blocking your mouth and nose. Your eyes pop open, gleaming from the tingling sensation as you peer up at him, trying to shake your head. “It’ll help,” he says quietly, “just focus on your gills.” Your brows pull together as you try to convey the mix of doubt and fear, concern shimmering in steadily darkening eyes.

But the sea level rises as he brings you below the surface, water raising your hair from your shoulders, swaying freely, tickling your cheeks. Lids automatically slide shut, blocking out the sea salt, lips sealing shut as water presses in, and then you’re entirely cut off. His hand pulls away from your mouth, instead dragging his fingers firmly around the soft, split skin, encouraging them to dilate like his. After a few rotations they stutter to life, parting to allow water inside, capillaries picking out the oxygen that’s dissolved in the sea.

Breath eases through your body, filtering in and out as you adapt to the strange sensation. The odd tingle of sensitivity, awareness tightening and prickling at your skin, suddenly taking on waves of new information—the temperature, the weight, the direction of the weak current. Your nose remains scrunched as you concentrate on breathing, taking it slow until it’s less foreign. Until it begins to feel natural, and fade into the background mechanics of your body.

Rough skin gently thumbs across your lids, and a strange prickling sensation takes over behind your eyes, a new filmy layer manifesting, allowing you to peer beneath the briny sea water. Slowly, your eyes open, cracking apart, testing out the new development. Blinding light filters in, and you immediately squeeze them shut again, kicking your legs to tell him to go up. Dutifully, Azriel swims to the surface, and you splutter, body confused with the switch in airways.

You take a minute to shift back to manual breathing, inhaling deeply while he holds you patiently. Lungs ache a little from conscious use, but the ticklish sensation has dulled in your ribs, as if gills have always been set in your skin. Your throat rolls as you swallow, blinking heavily to get the film to retract.

“What else is going to happen?” You manage to ask, pushing strands of hair from your face. “Your legs will seal together to form a tail. That will likely be the most difficult part,” he rasps in answer, hands still splayed across your waist. Eyes flick to charcoal black, nerves wriggling in your stomach. “You said it would have been easier at the quarters in the moon’s cycle,” you recall, peering at him. “Why is that?”

“I told you the new moon is when we’re at our weakest,” —you nod— “and the full moon is when we’re at our strongest,” —nod again— “so the stages between those are when a transition would be most painless. When the time between a new moon and a full moon are equidistant.”

“How painful will it be?” You ask quietly, still feeling the faintest throb pulsing within your ankles and knees. The mer is quiet for a spell, the only sounds in the large cave the swishing of water against the rock’s edge. “It will likely last a night,” he says at last. “The more disproportioned the gaps are in the moon’s cycle, the longer it will take.” Dread ices across your skin, cold fingertips pressing into his warm skin. “A night?” You repeat breathlessly. “Six— Eight hours?” The words tremble from your mouth.

Azriel’s lips press together before he answers, but the expression alone has tension tightening in your belly. “Most likely ten,” he says softly, “until the sunrises.”

“Until the sun rises,” you echo absently, staring into onyx eyes. “You couldn’t have timed it better?” You ask quietly, but your tone is sharp. His gaze narrows, and you’re briefly reminded of the shredding teeth in his soft mouth. “There wasn’t time to waste. I needed to take you then or you would have been taken back to your town, and would’ve had worse to deal with than this.”

Your brow narrows, but you don’t deny what he’s claimed. “Anyone would take rain over thunder,” you mutter instead. He raises a brow, peering at you with those large onyx eyes of his. “Anyone?” The edges of your mouth twist down into a scowl.

“It’s an expression. Rain makes a deck slippery but at least there’s little chance of being thrown over board and left to your kind.” The pads of his fingers press a little firmer into your skin, such a slight difference in pressure you wonder if he’s even aware of it. “Our kind,” he corrects, equally softly. “And we don’t sink to torture when it comes to humans.”

“So you give them air and return them to shore?” You ask pointedly, aware of how the acoustics of the cave make your voice swell. “Such a pretty diversion,” he murmurs, large, dark eyes glinting. “We kill them once they enter our territory. We torment the ones wearing our scales.”

Something sharp glitters in his charcoal gaze, and a shiver trembles its way down your spine. “We turn to the sea because it’s our only source of food. We would starve if we didn’t go into your territory,” you say quietly, “is it really so difficult to let us survive?”

“Humans chose to settle there. They knew well that we inhabited these waters but thought they could purge us,” he returns, tail brushing against your aching legs. “We weren’t the ones to start the perpetual cycle of violence, it was the humans who did so.”

“Of course a mer would say that,” you shoot back, watching him warily.

He blinks carefully, allowing the transparent film to slide across his black eyes, as if knowing how it makes your insides squirm. Slowly, he drags you closer, grip like iron as the lithe muscle of his abdomen and tail comes to press to the soft curve of your stomach. “I was fully grown while your town was a simple gathering of huts,” he rasps lowly, features remaining neutral, if a little amused. “Forgive me if I take my own memories over the distorted tales of humans.”

Lips part in a surprised exhale, shoulders subconsciously curving inward to keep your breasts from brushing his powerful torso. “You—…you were alive back then?” But you shake your head, “the town was built by my ancestor’s ancestors—generations ago. You can’t possibly have been alive so long back…” But the doubt is clear in your voice, despite trying to argue against him.

Azriel releases you gently, and you tense in surprise as he swims away, dipping beneath the surface then reappearing a little way from you. Muscle tenses before clicking into habit, recalling the lessons on how to tread water. Pressing your fingertips together as you slowly but firmly rotate your limbs to keep afloat. The corners of his mouth are quirked upward, grinning faintly as you struggle in his home terrain. “Generations of humans amounts to no more than two centuries, at most. They live such short lives, and often rush into choices that end them up in heaps of trouble,” he says, circling you leisurely, powerful tail swishing as he’s idly propelled through the sea. “For instance, this conflict between our kinds. It’s one they won’t win.”

“You’re acting as if you’ve never lost one of your own to us,” you reply quietly. “I’ve seen the mer they capture, what they do to them. We might sustain losses, but you do to.” His expression darkens—something in the blackness of his eyes—despite the edges of his mouth remaining soft. “Is that something you’re proud of?” He asks quietly, water lapping at the rock as he completes a rotation of the pool, pausing in his place.

“Proud of what,” you question, the aches becoming more prominent at the base of your spine. He swims a little closer, and you subconsciously push back in the water, drifting away. “Proud of humanities’ brutality. Proud of their barbed hooks and burning fire. Proud of the scales they pry from our tails,” he rasps, moving forward with every spot of distance you try to put between you. “I—… I’m not proud of it,” you manage, a little intimidated by the unwavering confidence rolling off him as he encroaches further. “I just meant that we aren’t weak. And the sailors wouldn’t hate the mer if you didn’t eat their shipmates.”

He swims closer, and you flinch as the hewn rock presses into your spine, littered with tiny, jagged shells. You swallow as he gently cages you in, pinning you to the rock’s edge with his lower torso, long tail swishing idly far below. “Do you know how painful it is?” He rasps lowly. “To have them peeled back from your skin? Slowly, one by one?” Your pulse begins to spike, hands reluctantly pressing on his shoulders to keep yourself afloat.

“I don’t…I didn’t know they did that…” you say quietly, trying not to squirm with the sharp edges of the barnacles prickling your back. The corners of his mouth soften further, and he appears to be smiling faintly. “What was his name? Alaric?” He rasps soothingly, your skin prickling with warning at the calm mask he’s wearing so effortlessly. “He wore them too, our scales. Did you never notice? Or were you simply ignoring them to keep yourself happy?”

Your brow furrows, trying to shift out from between him and the rock, but the shells feel like they’ll tear with the slightest movement. “I’ve never seen him wear…” Your brow furrows, remembering the necklace he kept tucked beneath his shirt. Nausea roils in the pit of your stomach, remembering how they would drag over your chest whenever he was on top, grunting with hot, fishy breath. “I thought they were shark teeth,” you manage, quietly grimacing.

One hand finds your hip, keeping you pressed to the rock while his other twines with your own, pulling it from his shoulder. “They only keep one, but they pry them from our tails by the thousands,” he rasps softly, raising your fingers to his mouth. “Can you imagine that? Having them peeled” —soft lips brush the pads of your digits— “from your flesh?” He asks. Teeth slip beneath the ridge of your nail, applying pressure as if to pull it back, a small, tearing pain tingling along the padded bone.

You wince, trying to pull away, but he tugs on your nail harshly, making you cry out. “Azriel… That hurts. Stop it,” you order quietly. He does as you ask, but not before nipping at the tip of your finger, delivering a tiny bite to wrinkled skin. “Your husband wouldn’t have stopped there,” he rasps, releasing your hand but keeping you pinned to the rock. “He would have gone slower,” he says, dipping his head, until your noses almost touch, the damp, inky locks of his hair brushing your brow. “He would have taken pleasure in the blood rising. Would have—”

“Stop it,” you whisper, feeling sick.

Azriel pauses, but doesn’t retreat. You swallow harshly. “I’m sorry,” you whisper shakily, “I didn’t know. About the…” He hums absently, as if the thought doesn’t bother him, regarding the subject with vague disinterest. “And now you do,” he says. “So, mer, do you still wish to return to your fishing town? I’m sure your husband would be delighted to get his hands on you.” He pauses, eyes pinning you to the rock, mouth quirked in a faint smile. “Again.”

Your hand snaps from the water faster than you can think, compromising your position, your back dragging down along the jagged rock as you’re poised to strike—

He raises a single brow, watching you intently. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, “it would do you some good to learn how to hit back.” Your lips press together, hand shaking lightly as you’re locked in his stare. He watches you intently, as if daring you to strike him. But you swallow, and lower your hand.

“You’re right,” you admit quietly, reluctantly. “But that doesn’t mean you have to be so blunt about it. You don’t know anything about me, so don’t go prodding at old wounds to test their depth. It’s cruel.” He hums, a faint smile on his soft mouth, peering down at you with amusement in his dark onyx eyes. “And you don’t know anything about me, so don’t presume to know better,” he rasps, the ghost of breath bushing over your lips. “Believe me when I tell you we aren’t as barbaric as you’re lead to believe, nor as vicious or cruel.” His lips quirk into a faint grin, dark humour gleaming in his charcoal gaze. “At least, others aren’t.”

Muscle stiffens at the veiled threat, and discomfort writhes beneath your bones. You stare up into his eyes, conflicted between his opposites. On one hand he’s been gentle, patiently answering the questions you have, yet he’s firmly protective over his kind’s portrayal. The tip of your finger still stings lightly, back numb from the prickling press of barnacles, knees aching with more pronounced pain. “You recognised his voice,” you say slowly, watching him intently. “Back on the pier. You recognised my husband’s voice.”

His ears twitch, but his expression remains carefully neutral. “What makes you think that?” He asks, tail swishing against your feet. Your brow narrows as you peer at him, confused. “Are you denying it?” You ask quietly. “That you knew him?” Azriel’s silent, beats counting down as you scan his features for any sign or hint. But then he’s pulling away, and you wince as your back unsticks from the rock wall.

“That’s not a conversation for now,” he rasps, bringing you back out into the pool. Your brow furrows, “why not? He’s my husband.” Azriel looks at you steadily, unknown thoughts passing through his head. “And how would your husband react knowing his little wife was freely bare in a mer’s arms?” Wild heat swells up your spine, cheeks warming as embarrassment sears your blood. “You’re making it out to be something it isn’t,” you snap quietly, gaze dipping away from his, skin tightening with awareness.

Azriel’s lips quirk slightly, palm splaying up your spine, bringing you closer. “I doubt your husband would know any better,” he rasps, and you get the distinct impression he’s trying to find some buttons to push. “I’m his wife. I wouldn’t just run off with another…man…” Your brow tightens, unfamiliar with what to call him.

“So you want to return to him?” He asks leisurely, the pads of his fingers gently running along the slits of your gills, making the tubes spasm lightly, a tremor running down your spine as hundreds of tiny muscles flutter beneath his touch. “I’m—… That’s not the point I’m making,” you argue quietly.

He raises a brow tauntingly, and a scowl tips the edges of your mouth. You sigh harshly, tearing your gaze from his briefly. “Things may be unfavourable between us, but he is still my husband. Even if I…” You swallow, deciding against that part. Return your eyes to his. “I don’t appreciate you questioning my virtue. I will remain faithful for as long as he is my husband. That is what I agreed to when we were married, and that is how it shall remain. Don’t make something so sacred the topic of your twisted humour.”

“You truly believe if he were put in a room full of women with a promise nothing would escape to the outer world, he wouldn’t bed them in a second?” Azriel asks, amusement tilting his expression. “I do,” you reply firmly. There isn’t a doubt in your mind. He might have been an awful husband to you, but he’s pious and god-fearing, like any sane mortal is. You know with absolute certainty he would never be unfaithful to you.

“Even now?” Azriel asks, lips quirking with mirth. “Your sacred words are until death us do part, aren’t they?” Your brow narrows, but you nod, those are the words you had sworn to one another. “Then I believe the sailors on the pier will be able to attest to your passing,” he rasps lowly, “with the tales spread about our kind, being pulled into the water by me was as good as a death sentence.”

You swallow heavily, disliking him for the observation. “Maybe on his end,” you say quietly, “but I know I’m still alive—still living; still breathing—so I will remain as I was before you—” You cut yourself off, remembering the icy bite of the water. Of the cave he’d abandoned you in. Left for dead.

“You died,” he points out gently. “You drowned in those caves, therefore you no longer owe him anything.” You blink, muscles slackening at his sound argument. But you shake your head, “that doesn’t count. I know I’m alive, and—”

“Until death us do part means until death claims one of you, doesn’t it?” He asks.

“Yes, but—”

“No buts. You died. There is nothing keeping you to that town now, so don’t think of returning,” he rasps softly. “They’ll burn you alive for being turned into a monster,” he says quietly, humour gleaming in his onyx eyes—you don’t understand how he can make light of it.

A bit of despair begins to sink in, the reality of the situation dawning at the back of your brain. “I want to be alone for a bit,” you say, feeling the growing gloom beginning to ice your skin. “Please leave.”

He shakes his head, “and leave you alone while you’re changing?”

“I’ll manage somehow,” you reply evenly, closing yourself off. “So kindly leave me alone. You can come back if you’d like—” You stumble, having no concept of the time. How long has it been since he took you into the waters?

“It’s been three days. Your body needed to rest,” he says smoothly, making your skin crawl. The question still bubbles beneath your skin, but you refuse to ask it. “It’s sunset,” he answers quietly, lips softening at the edges, noting your wariness. You swallow down your despair at how much time has already passed. You don’t know why. It’s not as if you can do anything. “Then you can come back at daybreak,” you reply hoarsely, “for now I want my peace.”

He watches you silently, tail brushing your legs lightly with each swish. Then he sighs, floating back from where you bob in the pool. “You’re being foolish,” he warns as he prepares leave. “You’ll want me to be there when the aches start.”

“It’s happening tonight?” You croak, dread cementing itself in your stomach. He nods his head, dark, damp ringlets flicking with the movement.

Energy steadily drains from your body, overcome with the urge to rest. Perhaps you’ll simply be able to sleep through the night and bypass it entirely.

You turn in the pool, making your way to the lip, before hauling yourself up, water cascading down bare skin, scraping over jagged rocks. When you settle atop the padded floor, you find he’s already at the edge again, watching silently. “What do you want?” You ask softly, reaching for the cloth that had held your hair, hoping to at least get it out of the way for a bit.

Azriel is silent, observing as you put your hair away beneath the cloth. You shift uncomfortably, unaccustomed to being so completely bare before anyone other than your…than Alaric.

Finally he pushes off from the pool’s lip, floating out into the vastness of the lagoon. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” he rasps, but you don’t have the energy to protest. “If you start feeling the urge to get in the water, don’t. You need to remain on land until your body is fully prepared to change, otherwise you’ll injure yourself.”

“What do you care?” You ask quietly, wishing it had come out with a little more bite—instead it sounds desperate. His arms fold over the edge, tail swaying restlessly. “That’s something we’ll talk about later, too,” he rasps softly, making you shift on the padded bed, droplets of water still trickling over bare skin. “For now I need you to understand you are not to go into the water under any circumstances. Not until I return. If you can agree to that, you can have your peace.”

You peer at him wearily, wanting nothing more than to lie flat on the bedspread and give yourself over to mindless sleep. “How many hours?” You ask quietly, and his lips soften at the edges, amusement gleaming. “Two,” he rasps, and again you get the distinct impression he’s intentionally chosen a short time span. “Give me five,” you counter quietly. At least with five you’re more likely to be able to settle into some form of unconsciousness.

Azriel shakes his head, smiling faintly. “You won’t last five on your own,” he reasons, apprehension crawling along your bones. Does he have to be so ominous? “Then give me four,” you say, trying to angle as much of your naked body away from him as possible. Again he shakes his head, tail swishing in a way you feel displays his entertainment. “Three,” you say through gritted teeth, on the verge of scowling at him. The bed is practically pulling you down.

“Alright,” he says, relenting. “You have three hours to yourself. Don’t do anything foolish.” You can see him practically singing for you to ask what counts as foolish, but you’re simply too tired. “Okay,” you reply, relieved to finally settle down into the soft padding of the bed. “Three hours,” you murmur, eyes locking as you lay on your side, arms half-heartedly positioned to hide your breasts.

His expression is gentle but unreadable—or maybe it’s just sideways. Either way, you wish he’d leave. The emotion is already creeping up your throat, and can feel the faintest tremor in your lower lip. He stays for a moment longer, before nodding slightly, then pushing off into the water, swimming out to the centre of the pool. You watch through heavy eyes as his lithe form turns back to face you, pausing before taking the dive into the lovely warm water.

“We may not yet be fully intimate with one another,” he rasps softly, the familiar drag of his words washing over you like deadly song. “But I wouldn’t wish you pain.”

The admission registers somewhere in the back of your mind, but before you have the chance to take it out to examine, he’s disappearing in a swirl of inky black and iridescent blues, leaving you alone in the cave.

Allowing the numbness to take root, yielding to the rush of emotion, allowing the tears to freely drip out.

Softly saturating into the sheets.

————

Aches blossom across your skin, blooming in your bones as if being ground against rock. Arms are heavy, as if weighed down by stones, joints clicking stiffly as you try to roll over, a low groan dragging from cracked lips.

Your forehead gleams, an unnatural heat swelling beneath the skin of your cheeks, having to crack your lids open—strangely weighty. The padded bedspread around you has darkened, but that must be from the sea-drops that had been rolling from your body once you’d—

Water.

Your tongue swipes stiffly over your lips, having to unstick it from the roof of your mouth, feeling like lead. It’s difficult to swallow, like your throat has swollen up—absolutely parched. Breath is hauled down into your lungs, airways rasping as your gills flutter at your ribs, tingling with sensitivity, and your legs. Sweat beads, perspiration rolling down your temples into the cloth around your hair. It would all be solved if you just shifted over, then you could splash into the lulling waves of the sea, allow it to soothe the aching heat that’s boiling you alive.

Breath rattles in your chest, the bones in your legs filled with grinding rock, knees and ankles lit up with pain, as if you’d sprained them. Everything hurts, worse than anything your husband ever put you through. Another strained groan breaks free from your raw and tender throat, a series of coughs hacking dryly from your lungs, spasming with the effort.

Eyes traitorously flick to the luminescent glow of pale blue sea, calling to you, urging you to give yourself over, as if having sewn a scarf’s worth of stitches through your limbs, threaded through sinew and cartilage to drag you along the smooth floor. Lids flutter, torn between longingly staring at the soothing sea, and shutting to yield yourself to blissful sleep. Quiet pants rasp from your lips, spine arching as a lacerating pricking feeling spikes low on your back, like someone’s pressing a blade to your skin, arching to escape it.

A cool hand wraps around your wrist, and a sigh of relief breathes heavily from your chest, relaxing back into the padding.

“Can you hear me?” A low, faint voice rasps, echoing through the foggy chambers of your mind. The hand squeezes lightly, then turns your arm over, exposing the pulse to the relieving drag of his thumb. Skin faintly registers how the touch grazes further up, reaching your shoulder to grip tight. A strained noise grates on your vocal cords as water splashes, then something cool is pressing to your forehead.

“I need you to move,” the voice rasps again, and you gather together enough energy to crack open your eyes. Dark, glittering onyx stares back at you, much larger than human eyes shoulder ever be, but evolved to handle the darkness of the murky sea. “Did you hear me?” He rasps. “You need to move. Your bones need to be set.”

You groan again, from deep in your chest, before wearily forcing yourself to move. You know in your bones it won’t get better unless you listen to him—sometimes you have to move through pain before it’s banished. Breathe heavily, getting yourself into a sitting position, able to meet the eyes of the mer floating at the edge of the pool. His head dips in a nod, before gesturing gently with his arms. “Bring your legs over here, into the water,” he instructs.

“What’s happening?” You croak out, dragging your legs until they’re at the lip of the lagoon. The skin of your ankle catches on the jagged rock, nicking at your flesh, sea salt stinging as he helps lower your calves into the water. Gentle hands easing the stiff movements of your joints. A pained sound of relief spills softly from your lips, like a quiet moan, and the edges of his mouth soften as he looks up at you.

“Does that feel better?” He asks, and you manage to nod your head in confirmation. His hand rests atop your knee while reaching for something, the heat of your body soothed by the cool balm of the ocean, the reassuring weight of his palm. Enough awareness returns to your mind to fully peek your eyes open, formulating thoughts. “Yes…” you rasp weakly, back hunched, too out of it to be concerned about your nakedness.

“Keep your legs together,” he says softly, “they need to be bound to help the bones set in place. It will ease the pain if you don’t have to keep them pressed together on your own.” You manage to nod your head, shoulders sloping with the weight on them. “I feel like I’m burning,” you rasp rawly, throat parched.

“It’ll pass,” he answers, and you watch as he begins wrapping something dark around your ankles, slowly but loosely binding them together, working his way up your shins, reaching your knees.

“How much longer?” You rasp out, sweat sliding down your spine. Rough, scarified fingers flex around the bandages, before his eyes raise to meet yours. “You were asleep for half an hour,” he says quietly. Your stomach practically sinks to your toes, heart beating in your mouth, pulsing hot on your tongue. “Half an hour?” You rasp, voice breaking at the end, despair prominent in the set of your parted lips. “Not even…” heavy breaths puff from your chest, heaving as another set of coughs wrack your lungs.

You shake your head, meeting his gently gleaming eyes. “I can’t do this,” you say weakly, “I can’t do this.” Azriel is silent, hands resting atop your knees, tail swishing far below in the lagoon. “You don’t have a choice,” he says softly. “It won’t kill you, and there’s no way to ease it. You just have to wait it out.”

“Easy for you to say,” you breathe, “you’re not the one whose skin feels like it’s on fire.” You pause, mind spinning with the intense heat bubbling away.

“Maybe you do,” you mumble, spiralling off the road as the words begin thoughtlessly dripping from your tongue. “How did you get these?” You ask, the pads of your fingers brushing over the blue-tinted skin of his knuckles, tracing the rough lines of warped flesh, deformed and swollen in places.

His fingers stiffen on your bound knees, your attention settling to the scarred skin of his hands. You’ve seen the fires lit beneath the mer, so they cook slowly, steeped in discarded fish guts as the birds come to feed on the boiled flesh.

Digits link with his own, greedily taking in the coolness of his skin compared with the hellish heat in yours. You squeeze him, as if able to take in his temperature and exchange it with your own, wanting to press his palms to your skin to relieve the burning. Dry lips part in a scratchy exhale, swept away in the thought of the cool reprieve he would bring.

“Ask another question,” he manages to rasp, voice strained.

“Will you touch me?” You don’t even hesitate.

His hands stiffen, and you have just enough sanity to make a clarification. “Normally,” you say, “like you are now, but more.” You can hear the desperation in your voice, but the need’s too great to be ashamed. Your skin is practically on fire with heat, flashes of sweat beading on your back, skin gleaming in the luminescent light.

His throat rolls heavily, then his lips press together in a soft line. “Alright,” he answers quietly, and you could melt with relief. You don’t wait for him to move on his own, instead holding his wrists and guiding them to your face, hands cupping your jaw and cheeks, calming the intense heat. A sigh spills from your chest, pressing his hands closer, as if it will help the temperature recede if he’s nearer. You quietly moan, though it ends more like a sob, groaning from the intense relief, unable to grasp the inappropriate nature of how vocal you’re being.

Azriel watches silently, powerful tail swishing steadily, keeping his hands pressed flush to your skin—that’s indeed hot to the touch. Dark, onyx eyes track your movement as you incline your chin, inadvertently displaying the smooth length of your throat as you crane your head back. He’s entirely still as you bring his hands lower, not quite encompassing your throat, but moving to wrap over the junction of your shoulders to your neck, his fingers spanning across the top of your back. He can feel the pronounced beat of your pulse, elevated from the changing.

You sigh again, sweet relief cooling the patches of skin he’s allowing you to press his hands to. Your palms settle over the backs of his, soaking in the lower temperature like its a medicine. “How much longer is this going to last?” You manage to ask, meeting his deep gaze, painful aches still blossoming up your legs, reaching your lower abdomen. “At least seven more hours,” he rasps quietly, fingers splaying over your skin of their own volition, putting soothing patterns over the top of your back.

“Seven more hours,” you repeat, staring at him. You blink a few times before shaking your head, shoulders sloping. “I really hate you right now,” you murmur, feeling another ticklish bead of sweat roll down your spine. There must be a small puddle beneath you by this point, perspiration coating your body like a hot, skin-tight cloak. Damp and sticky and easily resolved by just a short dip in the—

“Easy,” he warns, one hand leaving your shoulder to press on your knee, firmly keeping you in place as you try to squirm forward. “It’ll only make it worse if you go in now,” he reminds, a note of reprimand in his lovely, deep voice. You groan with frustration, toes curling in the cold water. You can imagine how the sea would sizzle if you dipped in.

“Why is it okay for my legs to be in but not the rest of me?” You snap quietly, longing for the ocean. “They shouldn’t, but the burning shouldn’t have started this early either,” he answers. He doesn’t mention it could mean it will pass swiftly, not wanting to get your hopes up. You shift on the ledge, moving your feet a little too jerkily, sending water splashing up onto the sides of your knees. Azriel’s eyes narrow on you, but you couldn’t care less, senses zeroing in on the cool droplets evaporating on your flesh.

“What do you mean the burning shouldn’t have started this early?” You croak, too weighed with fatigue to manage anything other than reluctant acceptance. He shakes his head. “The process usually builds over a few hours, stays at a peak for two, then dips back down,” he answers quietly, thumb swiping over the bone of your knee before returning to splay over your shoulder. “After that, you would be able to get in the water to help your body familiarise itself.”

“I want to go in now,” you rasp, turning your head away as you cough, throat itching. “I know,” he replies softly, but makes no move to help you in. You sigh, head hanging as your shoulders slope. “I should have just left you,” you mumble to yourself, caught up in the haze of sickness. Shake your head, bringing your hands to your face, a breath shuddering from your lips as you try to push the emotion away. Getting caught up in feeling won’t do you any good, so instead you exhale heavily.

“How long had you been there, anyway?” You rasp, bringing your eyes to the walled-off gaze of the mer’s. Your brow dips, “Azriel?”

He blinks, features blank, different from how they’d been a few seconds ago. “Four days,” he says shortly, tone clipped. Your eyes weight shut, blocking out the light of the pool. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, “I didn’t mean it. About leaving you. Not really…” You peek your eyes open enough to catch his nod, but you don’t feel forgiven.

You swallow heavily, wanting to switch subjects. “Alaric seemed to know you were there,” you say quietly, hands pressing to your thighs, nails digging in lightly.

“You really want to talk about your husband right now?” He asks.

“I thought you said our bonds were broken,” you counter scratchily, throat sandpapery. “Does it matter what I say?” He asks, watching you intently.

Lips purse, pressing together as you look down at him. The edges of his mouth quirk, a faint smile softening the corners. “Does it?” He repeats, raising a single brow. You swallow, “in that case it does.”

“And why in that case?” You look down, eyes skating over your bound ankles, his arms raised to cool your skin, your hands curling in your lap. Your tongue flicks over your lips, gaze latching to his. “I suppose you were right.”

His mouth shifts into a taunting grin, displaying the neat rows of tiny, flesh-shredding teeth.

Your brows furrow in a scowl. “Stop smiling,” you mutter, skin prickling as minute changes occur in your body. You wince, teeth gritting together as a sharp, splintering pain lances up your spine. “I think I need to lie down,” you choke out, pain making your vision dizzy as your features scrunch with hurt. His grin vanishes almost instantly, settling back into that soft, calming set, “okay.”

Slowly, one limb at a time, with a lot of unwanted help from Azriel, you manage to lift yourself away from the lulling wash of the ocean. Lay down heavily, already lamenting the loss of his cool hands over your sizzling skin, sweat dripping from your back into the padding of the bedspread. Saturating it enough you manage to force yourself onto your front, using the thin sheets and stuffs of pillows to find a relatively pain-free position.

“How long has it been?” You ask weakly, lids weighing heavy as you try to keep them open to distract yourself from the lacerating pain up your spine, lancing through your hips and knees. “About an hour since you woke up,” he replies, and you want to sink further into the mattress. Six more hours of this… Heat prickles behind your eyes, but you keep it at bay. It won’t do you any good.

Your eyes slide shut, too heavy for you to keep the weight at bay any longer. Your skin is practically sizzling, sweat pooling beneath you, dripping between your breasts, rolling down your stomach as you breathe deeply. Head resting in the pillow, tipped to the side, your eyes squeeze shut as if it will help to block out the aches.

Cool fingers link with your own, and you manage to blearily peek open long enough to see he’s propped his arms over the edge again, digits laced with your outstretched hand.

He says nothing, and you don’t have the energy to question it. Simply drifting off out to sea, lulled back to sleep by some strange pull.

Gently lured to a kinder state of rest.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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[a-little-revolution]

hey elliot! this is a surgery question, so please take all the time you need to reply. you've mentioned you had top surgery before, and i was wondering what it was like accessing that kind of care as a little person? was it challenging finding a surgeon willing to work with you? what sort of considerations were needed for your surgery and recovery, if any? i was also curious if you had used a binder before surgery, and how you found it? i have a hard enough time donning and doffing mine with long arms, so i'd imagine it could be quite challenging for you, but maybe you found ways around it! thank you for all your hard work and patience in educating folks. wishing you bountiful spoons and lots of restful, easy days 💚

Hello! Thank you so much for your patience, I did indeed take some time to process this - I'm more than happy to answer questions related to surgery on here, as it's such a large part of my experience as a little person, but I may indeed take some time to respond as I have medical CPTSD.

Anyhoo lol Yes! I have had top surgery, and my dwarfism did effect how I accessed that care:

Because I'm at risk for spinal injury, my surgery was done at a hospital rather than an outpatient centre where most top surgery is conducted (I needed to be kept overnight for monitoring while most top surgery patients leave day-of)

Like for all my surgeries, my sleep apnea and oxygen levels needed to be monitored

But unlike my many other surgeries, this particular hospital (which will remain nameless for my own security) was incredibly inaccessible despite it being obviously well funded. No stools to be found, the wheelchairs were so high and designed with an almost bike-like frame that I needed to be liften in and out of them, and the staff was unfriendly and ableist.

My surgeon was picked for her experience with little people rather than her experience with top surgery. (I ended up unhappy with my results because my surgeon was more familiar with breast reductions and didn't follow through with my wishes. My top surgery was actually the worst surgery experience I've had - I was repeatedly dead-named by members of the hospital, overdosed on anaesthesia, and my surgeon had a terrible bedside manner)

But my touch up surgeon was my first choice! Dr. Armstrong at McLean Clinic did a fantastic job straightening my scars and removing my nipples (which I had hesitated on for the first surgery but firmed up for the second. I love having no nipples!)

Image description: a photo of my torso and lower face, displaying my healed top surgery results. Two wavy pink scars line the bottom of my pecks, and I have no nipples. With one hand on my hip and the other on my upper chest, you can see my tarot "the fool" tattoo, my kissing crows, and my sailor mercury star. On my right hand I wear a red glass ring to honor my deity Hestia. I have pail skin, a short brown beard, green curly hair and a gold vertical medusa piercing.

Post-op care was understandably different for me. Since my arms are already short and locked, the limit to my range of arm motion affected me even more. I needed even more help with care tasks than that of an average height/able bodied patient. I was lucky to several loved ones around to help :) Though compared to other surgeries, I was happy that I was able to walk and be more independent for the most part.

I also just want to add: something I see a lot on social media is trans and nonbinary folks seemingly bouncing back from surgery effortlessly. We see them at the beach, posting photos, and it gives the illusion that top/gender affirming surgery isn't the painful, emotional, difficult thing that it is. IT'S OKAY IF YOU DON'T FEEL QUEER JOY IMMEDIATELY AFTER SURGERY!! It takes a while to heal and bounce back because it is a lot on your body! Take your time, and give your body the love and care it needs!

Anyway I hope this all was helpful/educational - and I wish all my queer, trans, and otherwise gender diverse followers a lovely day!!

[kaleidoscopewritings19]

Bruce Wayne x Reader

Title: “Secrets will be told” SERIES PART 6 FINAL PART

Need a Refresher? Here are the previous parts!

Part 1      

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Pairing(s): Bruce Wayne (from the show Gotham) and Female reader. BOTH BRUCE AND READER WILL BE 26-28 in this part.

Warnings: None; I did not proofread; I quickly skimmed through

Summary of series: Bruce Wayne was captivated when he met Y/N, and the feeling was mutual. Dating turned into being engaged and engaged to married. They knew each other’s secrets and told each other everything; they confided in one another. But once Y/N follows Bruce back to Gotham, he begins to change... He becomes secretive, is he having an affair? Y/N needs to find out the truth.

The sound of beeping made me open my eyes. I frantically looked around, and tubes were in my nose, and the heart rate monitor was beeping quickly. “Y/N, sweetie, please calm down..” My mom’s hands held mine, and I turned to look at her. 

I could feel a burning sensation in my hand, and I held my hand in front of my face. The palm of my hand was wrapped in a bandage, and the doctor walked in. “It’s about time you woke up, Mrs. Wayne. You’ve been asleep for three days now; we were starting to get worried.” he said, as he looked down at his clipboard.

“Do you remember anything that happened?” he asked and I leaned back into the pillows behind me. “I-I was kidnapped... By Jeremiah Valeska, and I was saved by..by...” I started to remember last night.

“Stay standing. Don’t pass out. Just focus on me.” he said, and I shook my head. “Please, just tell Bruce I love him. Tell him, I’m not mad. Don’t let him blame himself for.. for.. th-this.”

My lungs were burning, and it felt like they could no longer hold any air.  My legs began to shake, and before my eyes closed, I heard the batman say: “I love you too...” 

“It’s okay, we don’t need to go over everything right now. But I am advising you go to therapy when we get you home. What you went through was traumatic, and I think it would be a great help..” he said, and then he cleared his throat. “But let’s discuss what is currently wrong. Your oxygen levels were extremely low from breathing in all of the chemicals. Your hand-” he lifted up my hand and unwrapped it.

My hand was red and blistered, “You will have a permanent scar on you right hand.” I lifted my hand up and the chemical burn was in the shape of a “J”.  Of course, that bastard had to leave his mark.

The doctor grabbed my hand and wrapped it with a clean bandage. “But there are some corrective surgeries that can fix it. I can get something scheduled if you would like.” he said, and I shook my head.

“Where’s my husband? Where’s Bruce?” I asked, and my mom stood up. “He went home to take a shower. He will be back soon.” Her thumb massaged the top of my hand, and I sighed.

 “Why did you go to Metropolis?” my mother asked.

“I can’t remember. I’m sorry.” I said, as she pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’m just so happy that you are going to be okay.” she whispered. 

The doctor picked up his clipboard, “Alright Mrs. Wayne. Your hand is all good to go. Now, I must advise you to get some rest. And if everything is good by tonight, I will consider letting you go home early.” he said before walking out of the door.

My mother and I sat there talking about her and my father’s recent trip, until she had to go home to clean up broken glass. I sat there staring at the bandage wrapped around my right hand. I began to unwrap the bandage and hissed at the stinging pain that shot through my entire arm. 

I stared at the raw, blistered skin. Of course, he left his mark on me. I started to cry at the site of it; I felt disgusting. I could still feel his lingering touch on my bottom lip, and the way he stared at me. I was supposed to be dead. Never has anyone wanted me dead, and I hoped that they put Jeremiah away. Because now, this felt like a game that was not going to end in my favor. 

A knock on my hospital room door tore my gaze away from my hand. Bruce stood there with a bouquet of roses. I wiped the tears from my face, and he quickly made his way over to me. “Y/N, I am so sorry about what happened. I wanted to be here when you woke up, but your mom made me go home and clean up.” he said.

He watched where my gaze went, and he looked down at my hand. “Let me wrap that up so it doesn’t get infected.” he said as he grabbed the bandages that were on the bedside table. I stared at him as he bandaged my hand, and he finally looked up at me. “We need to talk when we get home.” he said quietly, and I nodded. 

“About the divorce?” I asked, and he looked down at his hands. “If that is what you want, then yes. But I would really like for you to reconsider those divorce papers.” He spoke.

“Why would I do that?” I asked, and he pressed a kiss to my forehead. 

“We will talk about this when we get you home.” he said, and he stood up from his chair. “Right now, I’m going to let you rest.” 

An hour after Bruce had left, I had fallen asleep. 

“I want to be able to control your pain and how fast you die.” Jeremiah hissed as he dragged a knife that had the residue from the chemical down my arm. 

“Stop! Please, stop!” I cried out, and all he could do was laugh in my face. 

Slowly, he dragged the knife down my cheek, “I hate having to scar your pretty little face. Maybe if Bruce doesn’t want you after this, I will give you a chance. After all, you will look just...like....me.”

I felt a hand shake my shoulder and all I could do was scream “No! Please, get off of me!” Bruce’s hand pulled back from me. 

“Y/N, it’s just me. It’s just me.” he said, and I jumped into his arms. “Please don’t let him get me, Bruce.” I cried out, and his hand cupped the back of my head. He pulled me closer to him, “He’s not coming back, Y/N. It’s over. Jeremiah is dead.” 

I pulled away from Bruce’s chest, “He-He’s dead? Are you sure?” I asked and Bruce nodded. “You don’t have to worry anymore.”

When we had gotten back to Wayne Manor, Alfred was smiling. “It is so good to have you back, Mrs. Wayne. Want me to fix you something to eat or drink?” he asked, and I shook my head.  

Bruce gave Alfred a small smile, “I think we need some time to talk, if you don’t mind Alfred.” 

Alfred handed Bruce something, but I didn’t see what it was. Bruce picked up my uninjured hand and led me to his study. “I know I said I can explain everything, but I think it would be easier if I just show you.” 

I watched him walk over to his desk and grab a remote, and he clicked a button, and a loud sound made the room tremble. I took a step back as the fireplace retracted into the wall, revealing a dark hallway with stairs. Bruce picked up my left hand and led me down the dark staircase. “Um.. This isn’t the part where you are actually going to murder me, right?” I asked and Bruce smiled.

“You watch way too much crime shows, Y/N.” he continued to lead me down the never-ending staircase, but a bright LED light was shining at the end of the hallway. He turned to face me, “Before we go any further, please let me explain and answer your questions. And if you still want a divorce after seeing all of this, I understand.”

I followed him into the blinding light, and after my eyes adjusted to my surroundings, I gasped. A group of computers almost took up one entire wall, and a big black military looking car was on the opposite side. But Bruce led me to a glass case, and once we got close enough, I stopped dead in my tracks. 

It was the Batman suit. Bruce opened the case, and I pressed my left hand up against the chest of the suit. Memories of being carried out of Ace Chemicals replayed in my mind. 

When he spoke that night, his last words to me were “I love you too.” Those words were not spoken in the Batman’s voice, but in Bruce’s voice. The scars on Bruce’s back, the late nights of him not being home, and this is the reason why he bulked up. Bruce Wayne, my husband, is the Batman. 

I turned to Bruce with tears in my eyes, “It was you. You are the Batman?” 

Bruce nodded his head as tears ran down his cheeks. “I had to retaliate, Y/N. When I heard Jeremiah escaped Gotham, I couldn’t be a sitting duck anymore. It wasn’t just me anymore, I had to protect you.” he said.

“And that woman in your office? Who is she?” I questioned and Bruce sighed. “That woman was Selina Kyle. She was warning me about Jeremiah. She heard that he was coming for me, but she didn’t know when. But instead, he went for you.” he explained. 

“We have been friends for a very long time, Y/N. Nothing is or ever will go on between her and myself. She is the reason Jeremiah will never come for us again.” he whispered, and I lunged into Bruce’s arms.

“I was so scared that I was going to die, Bruce.” I cried into his chest. “But the last thing I thought of before I passed out, was you. And when I looked into the Batman’s eyes, I should have known they were yours.” 

Bruce’s arms tightened around me, “I can’t lie to you, Y/N, but things are not going to be easy. Now that you know I am Batman, this is going to make you a target.” he said as he pulled away from me and held my face in his hands. “I can’t give up being Batman now. Gotham needs me more than ever, and if you want to leave me, I won’t hold it against you.” 

“Because I will never forgive myself if something were to happen to you. A part of me knows I should have left you in the dark, and I should have signed those divorce papers.” he said as a tear slipped from his eye. “But another part of me, the selfish part of me, doesn’t want to lose you. I love you, Y/N. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. However, I will respect the decision that you make.” Bruce said as he pressed his forehead against mine. 

I took in a deep breath, “I don’t want a divorce, Bruce. I really don’t. But please, don’t keep any secrets from me.” I said quietly, and Bruce picked me up off of the ground. “No more secrets.” he said before pressing a kiss to my lips. 

“Mrs. Wayne, you are going to need these.” he said as he pulled my engagement ring and wedding band out of his pocket. Bruce slipped them onto my ring finger. 

A few weeks later, I was able to remove the bandage from my hand. This was the first time in weeks I had seen my bare hand. As I removed the bandage, I saw the dark red ‘J’ scar that would be a permanent mark. 

Bruce came into the bathroom and leaned against the door frame, “Are you alright?” he asked, and I closed my hand. “Yeah. I’m just trying to get used to this ugly scar.” I say and he wrapped his arms around me. 

“It won’t always be red. It should somewhat fade.” he said as opened my hand. He looked at the scar and sighed. “If I could have been there sooner.” he whispered, and I cupped his cheek. “Don’t go down that route, Bruce. I am just thankful you showed up when you did. Otherwise, things could have gotten worse.” 

He wrapped his arms around me, and I took in his scent. “Can I ask you something?” I asked, and Bruce nodded. “Will you train me, Bruce?” I asked and he pulled away from me. 

“Train you? For what?” 

“I don’t want to be that girl that was locked in a glass room, about to be murdered, Bruce. I don’t want to be the girl that is left with a scar as a reminder that I cannot protect myself.” I said and he tore his gaze away from me. “Please, Bruce?”

He stood there staring at the wall, and finally he answered. “Okay. You’re right. You need to be able to protect yourself. I will train you, but it’s not going to be easy.” 

That night, when we left “the batcave” after he told me was Batman, our lives had changed forever. I had to share the love of my life with everyone else in Gotham; they got the Dark Knight, and I got Bruce Wayne. The person I fell in love with at Princeton. 

He trained me just like he promised he would. Hell, I was so good at fighting that I was now known as the “Black Widow”. I fought right alongside my husband, helping keep the streets of Gotham safe.  

Then we adopted our first son, then our second, and then our third. Then Bruce found out he had a love child from before we met in college. And then we had a set of twins of our own. As a family, we had a pact, and that was never keep a secret. Because Secrets will always be told. 

----

I know, cheesy ending. But I hope you guys enjoyed this little mini-series. I had fun writing it, and at times it was challenging, but definitely worth it. Thank you to the readers who stuck it out until the very end of this series! 

(Also, I couldn’t figure out a superhero name. So I went with Black Widow, I mean, I always can picture Bruce with a Black Widow!Reader. I do not own the rights to Batman/Bruce Wayne, or the characters mentioned. I only own the story line. Nor do I own the rights to the hero name Black Widow).

XOXO

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