#oxygen level monitoring

[medugo]

𝑴𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒕𝒉 𝑽𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒔

𝑴𝒆𝒅𝒖𝒈𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒂𝒓, 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆, 𝒇𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒍, ��𝒙𝒚𝒈𝒆𝒏 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.

[swamppossum]

Totally won the baby shower (it wasn't a competition) [actually it was] and was exposed to so many newfangled baby doodads and advice so if anyone wants unsolicited secondhand baby gear advice I'm here to let you know there's a baby holster (it's not a holster but I wish) that creates a shelf for the lil Thang to sit on so parent unit doesn't need to destroy hips and posture to support their weight

Very excited to be an Auncle type thing in 4-8 weeks [tool tip: babies arrive when they want to.] (I still won the baby shower)

[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.

[jungwnies]

wreckage - charles leclerc (3/4)

୨ৎ : pairing : charles leclerc x wife!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : as charles fights for his life, his wife faces the hardest decision: let go or fight for him. a small miracle gives hope for recovery.

୨ৎ : genre : emotional fiction, very... very... emotional, again ୨ৎ : tws : car accident/injury, arguments/conflict, anxiety/panic, trauma, medical trauma. ୨ৎ : wc : 1676

part one | part two | part three | part four

They say that the hardest part of love is knowing when to let go. The decision to hold on is easy—it’s the decision to release, to trust that the other person will be okay without you, that’s the hard part.

You’ve been sitting in the sterile, white hospital room for hours, each minute feeling like a year. Charles’s body is hooked up to so many machines, monitors flashing with numbers that seem foreign to you. His face, once so full of life, now looks pale, bruised, and still. They told you to prepare yourself for the worst, but you haven’t let yourself believe it. Not yet.

Not while there's still hope.

You’re not even sure what you're hoping for anymore. Some miracle, maybe. But deep down, you know the odds. They’ve been giving you the numbers—stats you can’t quite process, numbers you can’t make sense of. His condition is critical, and they’ve told you, over and over again, that his survival chances are slim. His organs are struggling, his internal injuries severe. The brain scans were grim at first, showing little to no activity.

But you can’t let yourself fall into that darkness. Not yet.

The room feels too cold, too empty.

"How are his stats?" you ask quietly, though you already know the answer.

The nurse glances at you, her face trying to remain neutral. "Not good. His heart rate’s been fluctuating. His oxygen levels aren’t improving, either. We’re doing what we can, but his body’s fighting against us." She hesitates, looking back at the monitors. "We’re not sure how much longer we can keep him stable."

You nod, feeling the weight of every word, but you can’t give up. Not yet.

Minutes turn into hours. You stay by his side, holding his hand, whispering to him. Every time you speak, you tell him how much you love him, how much you need him to come back. You’re not sure if he can hear you, but it doesn’t matter. You need him to know.

And then, just as you’re beginning to feel the overwhelming weight of your decision, something unexpected happens.

The steady beep of the heart monitor suddenly begins to accelerate, growing faster and faster. You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. Something’s wrong.

The nurse rushes over, her face pale as she watches the monitor. "His heart rate’s spiking," she mutters. "It’s too fast. His blood pressure’s dropping."

The room erupts into action as doctors rush in, all moving in synchronized chaos. You’re shoved aside as they begin adjusting the equipment, calling out orders, but your mind goes blank. You try to focus, but it feels like everything is spinning.

"His stats are crashing," one doctor says, his voice tense. "We need to stabilize him now."

"Is it time?" you ask, barely able to speak over the noise. "Should we—"

But before you can finish, a loud, sharp sound cuts through the room—the unmistakable alarm of a failing heartbeat. The doctor turns toward you, his eyes filled with grim determination. "I’m afraid we’ve reached the point where his body might not be able to hold on much longer."

Your breath hitches in your throat. Everything feels like it’s slipping away. You squeeze Charles’s hand tighter, as if willing him to come back to you.

But then, as if the universe is playing some cruel game, the chaos calms, just for a moment.

The alarms start to fade into silence, and the doctor presses his fingers to the side of Charles’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Your heart lurches, praying for any sign of life. The seconds feel like hours.

Suddenly, the doctor looks up, his eyes widening. "Wait… there’s something." He leans in, checking the monitors again. "His blood pressure’s stabilizing. His heart rate’s slowing down to a more normal rhythm."

You barely dare to breathe, your eyes never leaving Charles’s face.

The nurse who’s been working on him moves closer, shaking her head in disbelief. "It’s like he’s coming back."

You don’t know what to think. The last few minutes have felt like an eternity, and now, you’re afraid to believe it. "What’s happening?" you whisper, your voice trembling.

The doctor looks up at you, and for the first time, there’s a flicker of hope in his eyes. "It seems like he’s fighting. His body’s responding… it’s too early to say for sure, but this is a good sign."

You stare at Charles, trying to process the sudden shift. Is this the miracle you’ve been waiting for, or just another false hope?

The minutes stretch on, and then, just as you begin to allow yourself a small breath of relief, the monitor lets out another shrill, jagged alarm—the unmistakable sound of a fatal arrhythmia. A shocking wave of panic shoots through you as the machine flashes with an erratic, spiking rhythm.

"V-fib!" The doctor shouts, his voice urgent. "We’re losing him. Get the defibrillator ready."

The nurse scrambles to prepare the machine, and you feel your stomach drop out. This can't be happening. Not now.

"Charles!" you whisper, gripping his hand harder, your eyes welling up. "Please."

The doctors are already on him, paddles in hand, but it feels like time is standing still. Your eyes dart from the monitors to Charles’s face, feeling as if your heart has stopped with his. Then, the shock.

The force of the defibrillator sends a jolt through his chest, and the monitor flickers. Nothing.

You close your eyes briefly, bracing for the worst.

"Again," the doctor orders, and another round of defibrillation. This time, there’s a slight blip, a change. It’s not much, but it’s something.

The doctor presses the paddles down once more, adjusting the settings. "One more time. We need him back."

The seconds stretch as they try again, and then finally, the heart monitor begins to beat again—slowly, but steadily.

"Heartbeat stable," the nurse breathes.

Your breath escapes your lips in a shaky exhale. You look at Charles again, feeling a rush of relief flood through you as the panic of the past few minutes settles into a wary calm. But it’s still not over. His fight isn’t done.

Just as you think the worst is behind you, Charles’s mother bursts into the room, her eyes frantic as she surveys the scene. Her voice cracks as she calls out his name, "Charles!"

You feel a flash of guilt. You should’ve called her sooner, but there had been no time. The doctors had been focused, and you’d been too overwhelmed to think clearly.

You step aside, giving her space, but you can’t look away from the man you love, still unconscious, his body fighting to survive.

The doctor steps over to you both. "We’re stabilizing him, but we’re not out of the woods yet. We need to make some decisions."

Charles’s mother looks at you, her face pale with concern. She reaches for your hand. "Whatever it is… I trust you. You’re his wife, and you know him better than anyone. What do you think we should do?"

You swallow hard, your voice barely above a whisper. "I… I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to do. He’s… he’s still fighting. But we’ve been here for so long, and I don’t know how much longer we can wait."

Her gaze softens. "You don’t have to do this alone. I trust you. We’re a family. We make these decisions together." She squeezes your hand tightly. "But if you think there’s still a chance for him, then we have to keep fighting too."

You look back at Charles, uncertainty and fear clouding your judgment. How do you even begin to make this decision? His body is failing him, but his heart—his spirit—is still trying.

"Let’s give him more time," you decide, your voice shaking with fear but firm with resolve. "But if his chances are too slim… if we’re just keeping him alive on machines, then we need to think about letting him go."

The doctor nods solemnly. "We’ll run more tests. But if things don’t improve soon, we may need to consider other options."

As the minutes pass, the machines continue to monitor Charles’s every movement, every breath, and the room remains tense, every decision weighed in silence. But then, something begins to shift.

"His blood pressure’s coming back up," the nurse announces quietly. "And… there’s more brain activity. His oxygen levels are improving too."

You feel like you might be dreaming. "Is this really happening?"

The doctor steps forward, shaking his head in disbelief. "I’ve never seen anything like this. His vitals are stabilizing. I think… I think he’s fighting."

"Fighting?" you ask, still not quite believing what you’re hearing.

The nurse, who’s been checking his monitors, speaks softly, her voice a little hopeful. "He knows you’re here. I think he’s holding on for you."

And in that moment, you realize: you’re not alone in this fight. Charles is fighting for you too.

The room fills with a cautious optimism, but the road ahead is still uncertain. Will he wake up? Will his organs continue to improve?

Only time will tell.

Then, the unthinkable happens.

"His breathing," the nurse says, voice shaky, "it’s improving. He’s trying to breathe on his own. We can extubate him. He doesn't need the tube anymore."

You stare, wide-eyed, as they carefully begin the process of removing the intubation tube, your heart in your throat.

Everything changes in a moment.

There’s still a long way to go, but for the first time in hours, you feel a flicker of hope.

He’s still here. And he’s fighting.

But you know deep down that the next few days will be critical.

You stand there, feeling like you’ve crossed a line between despair and hope. But Charles has always been a fighter. And if he’s fighting, so will you.

For him. For the life you built together. For love.

You look down at him, and the smallest of smiles begins to tug at your lips.

Maybe… just maybe… he’ll make it through.

And for now, that's enough.

taglist: @emryb , @htpssgavi , @aleatorio1234 , @ayap4paya , @prttylight , @meadhbhcavanagh , @iluvnewtie , @hiireadstuff , @armystay89 , comment to be added

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[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.

[celestialgalaxyglow]

Batfam and Danny, Part 3

After Danny and Damian's sparing match

Bruce: Danny come over here.

Danny: Hi Bruce.

Bruce: Good job during that fight, not everyone can avoid Damian's sword attacks like that.

Damian: Indeed, you are skilled nephew.

Bruce: And while I question that whole "if there's no blood, it's no fun" thing you and Jason seem to have going on, I see no immediate harm in it, as long as you two stay safe.

Danny: Don't worry it's mostly a joke.

Bruce (laughs): Good to know. No can you follow me to the batcomputer. Before you head out to your first patrol as a formal part of the family I need to give you a chip so we can monitor your vitals and track your location. Speaking of which is the chip going to be a problem with your powers?

Danny: Most likely, my intangibility will cause it to fall out, but if I infuse the chip with some ectoplasm, it should go intangible when I do.

Bruce: Ectoplasm?

Danny: It's basically ghost energy, and don't worry it shouldn't interfere with the chip's ability to collect or transmit data.

Bruce: Ok, then let's get that chip.

Bruce walked Danny to the batcomputer and gave Danny the chip which he infused with ectoplasm and gave back to Bruce who inserted it into Danny's shoulder.

Bruce: Hmm, that's not right, according to this, your body temperature is 80°F, your pulse is 25 beats per minute, and your blood oxygen level is 90%. Stupid thing is broken. Sorry Danny I'll have to remove it and give you a new one.

Danny: It's not wrong.

Bruce: What?

Danny: Given my half-death status my vitals are also half-dead.

Bruce: I see.

Danny: Those are my normal vitals now. But I can manipulate them to normal human levels, but that takes active concentration.

Bruce: Don't worry I can just program your specific chip to your regular vitals.

Danny: Great, but also keep in mind that if I get a little too comfortable while sleeping all of that will just stop, as in my vitals will show that I'm medically dead.

Bruce (concerned): I see... Ok then I'll make a note of that, you can go back to training.

Danny: Alright, bye Bruce.

(Master Post)

[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.

[psycho-pills]

A Second Life for Strays! ฅ (•˕ •マ.ᐟ sylus x reader fanfic // prev // next

౨ৎ⭑˚ RATING; 18+ (mdni)

౨ৎ⭑˚ PAIRING; sylus x afab!reader (not the mc)

౨ৎ⭑˚ SYNOPSIS; you are a soldier reincarnated into the world of love and deepspace, except you're not the mc. she still exists. despite looking exactly like her, you don’t act or sound the same. and to make things stranger, cats follow you everywhere.

౨ৎ⭑˚ GENRE/WARNING; angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn, (mutual?) pining, eventual fluff, eventual romance, eventual smut, cursing, graphic descriptions of violence, blood, mental breakdowns, ptsd, death, isekai, reincarnation, cats/cat puns, mc is named serenophe to avoid confusion/reader is not mc

౨ৎ⭑˚ AUTHOR'S NOTE; a gentle reminder: this is written in third-person limited with she/her pronouns. only the prologue is written in second-person. i use the terms [name] [surname] instead of (y/n) (y/ln) because it's easier for me to write. also, i know this idea is kinda weird and outlandish, but i love cats and love and deepspace, so why not combine the two? ;v;

౨ৎ⭑˚ LINKS; ao3 // masterpost

ch. one — a cat-astrophic realization! ౨ৎ⭑˚ word count; 3.9k

Where… She thinks. Where am I?

Her eyes flutter open before immediately squinting from the fluorescent lights above. The constant beeping of the patient monitor spikes in sound as her heartbeat increases. Instinctively, her hand reaches to shield her eyes, only to stop short with a sharp tug. A flash of pain shoots up her arm, drawing her attention to the thin IV tube embedded in her skin. She grits her teeth and lowers her hand, squinting through the blinding lights.

Gradually, her vision adjusts. One eye peeks open, the other still closed in protest. She slowly sweeps over the room. As her surroundings come into focus, her heart rate steadies.

The hospital room is bathed in morning light that filters through the large windows. As [Name] glances toward the windows, long shadows cross the room. Outside, there's a breathtaking view of the bustling, futuristic city below. The overall view of the world is serene, completely unlike the storm of confusion in [Name]'s mind.

The room is comfortably sized. Modern yet contemporary furniture and pale grey walls accommodate the small space. Sleek medical equipment lines the side of the room, but there's a sense of luxury present—crisp linen sheets, plush chairs, and a vase of fresh flowers on a side table. It's more like a boutique hotel than a hospital room. 

A soft beige blanket covers her body, and the scent of jasmine whiffs up her nose. An unoccupied recliner sits in the corner near the windows, perhaps meant for a visitor; however, the room is isolated. The medical equipment strap to her arm and chest drones on. The rhythmic beeping indicated the steady tracking of her vitals. A small monitor occasionally blinks, recording her heartbeat and oxygen levels.

As she begins to stir, her body drags her down. Everything feels heavy. Her limbs, her eyelids, even her thoughts. There's an overwhelming sense of disorientation like she's floating between worlds. Memories stir, hazy at first, but slowly they sharpen. One after the other, they trickle back—chaos, pain, death. 

Her death.

Her body feels sore, but her head feels worse. She remembers the battlefield. She remembers succumbing to her bullet wound. The sensation of death still lingers like a cold shadow. Yet now, with her eyes fully adjusted, she takes in the pristine hospital room, and it becomes apparent that something is wrong.

I'm alive. 

The thought feels impossible. Absurd, even. And yet here she is—breathing, heart pounding—fully conscious. It was like she finally woke up from a long, deep coma.

With more awareness, she takes in the room. Across from her bed is a small, flat-screen television, turned off, reflecting the room's dusky mood. Besides it, a small door leads to what she assumes is an adjoining bathroom. Everything about the room is carefully designed to be soothing, sterile, and impersonal. However, it's oddly welcoming in a way she can't quite grasp.

Her body protests as she fumbles to sit up, mindful of the tubes and wires attached to her arm and chest. As she adjusts herself, she catches a glimpse of her reflection on the dark, glassy screen of the television. With some effort, she leans forward to take in her appearance better.

Instantly, [Name]'s breath catches in her throat. She pauses. Her reflection stares back at her, but something is off. Her face is hers, but it's not. All of her features are the same. Hair, eyes, mouth, nose… However, everything is just sharper now. Clearer. Her skin smoother, and her hair fuller. If she didn't know any better, she'd swear she looks almost identical to the female lead of her favorite otome game. 

But that can't be right. Can it?

A chill runs down her spine, and her eyes dart downward to her chest. Panic flares in her gut as she remembers the battlefield, the bullet wound that should have taken her life. Slowly, as if afraid of what she'll find, she hooks a finger under the collar of her hospital gown and pulls it away from her body, expecting to see a scar—a wound, anything.

There's nothing. Her skin is smooth, unmarked. No bullet wound, no scar, no evidence that she has ever been injured at all. Her heart stutters in her chest, and the panic she's been trying to suppress starts to rise like a wave, threatening to swallow her whole.

"What the hell is going on?" She croaks. Her throat feels dry and scratchy, like it hasn't been used in days. A rough cough forces its way up and makes her wince. She tries to settle her breathing, but it's no use. The confusion, the fear—it's smothering her.

Just as she's about to lose herself to the spiraling thoughts, the door to her room clicks open. She jerks her head toward the sound. A man steps in, tall and composed, his black hair framing his face in sharp, elegant lines. His demeanor's cool but professional. There is a slight air of authority that immediately draws her attention.

She blinks, and her stomach drops.

There's no way.

Her eyes widen in disbelief as she stares at him. It can't be. It can't be. But there's no mistaking the man standing before her, his confident stride, the careful way he carries himself. His gaze idles before settling back on his notes. She knows that face, that presence. She can practically hear her heart pound louder as the impossible claws at her.

She glances at the name tag pinned to his coat, just to be sure. Zayne. It's there, clear as day. The doctor with a cold exterior and a reputation for being emotionally untouchable. Yet beneath it all, there's a hidden tenderness. He was one of them: a character she had admired, the one whose storyline was as complex and fascinating as the others.

Her mind reels. Oh, my Gods. This can't be real. 

She blinks several times, expecting his face to change into something else, but nothing happens. He's still there, as composed and meticulous as ever. The exact character she once admired behind a screen now stands right before her.

The disbelief overtakes her. It's suffocating and all-encompassing. How can this be happening? She died—she remembers dying—and yet, she woke up here. Her body tenses. Her muscles tighten as the pieces of her situation fall into place, and realization sinks its teeth into her.

She can't breathe. It's impossible. All of this, everything around her, feels like a nightmare. A twisted dream she can't wake up from. There's no way—there's no way she's been reincarnated. And not just anywhere. In the world of Love and Deepspace, the very game she escaped into for fun is her new reality now.

"You're awake," Zayne says calmly, but verging on something more unreadable. Confusion? Suspicion? He takes a step closer, his gaze lingering on her face longer than a doctor's should. [Name] can tell he's trying to remain composed. However, his eyes hold hesitance, like he's looking at something he can't believe.

Slowly, as if worried she might vanish if he speaks too quickly, he continues, "I'm Dr. Zayne, and you will be under my care for the foreseeable future." His voice is smooth, but his words are cautious.

"And you must be Miss…" He pauses and glances down at the file. His eyes squint as if the name doesn't match what he was expecting. "…[Name] [Surname]."

She swallows, almost choosing silence, but her raspy voice escapes anyway. "Yes?"

Her confirmation is more uncertain than confident. She's frozen under his gaze, trapped in disbelief. Zayne's sharp eyes roam her face, drifting down to her upper body. It's not the casual assessment of a doctor checking on a patient. No, this look—it's familiar. It's the same gaze she used to see when playing the game, the moments when his character's cold exterior would briefly soften during some of his bonds and memoria. Her stomach churns with anxiety.

What. The. Fuck.

Zayne pushes his glasses up, and his professional mask slips back on. He steps closer to the bed, his expression shifting, but she can sense the tension beneath it. 

"I'm just checking for any signs of concussion or physical injuries," he says. However, it sounds more like he's reassuring himself than her. 

He leans in, and his eyes dart over her face. He scans her features for any signs of bruises or swelling. "Given your condition when you were brought in, we need to monitor for potential head trauma."

[Name] stays silent as he gently lifts the edge of her gown at her shoulder. His fingers brush her skin as he places the cold metal of the stethoscope against her chest. His touch is light and purely professional, but she can't help but feel a rising discomfort. 

Zayne may act like this is routine, but she can see the tension in his posture and how his gaze keeps finding her face. He's trying to hide it, but she can tell—he's scrutinizing her for more than physical injuries. It's like he's trying to fit together puzzle pieces from different boxes.

The metal is cold and harsh. She inhales deeply without him even asking. Then she exhales, and the stethoscope leaves her chest not a moment sooner. He scribbles something down in his notes. Almost hesitantly. 

"Everything seems to be in order. There doesn't appear to be any visible scarring or physical trauma," Zayne mutters. A bit too neutral. As he steps back, his eyes idle on her a beat longer than necessary. "Regardless, we'll run a few more tests to be sure."

She slowly nods, her heart still pounding. [Name] observes him, studying how his jaw tenses as he adjusts the equipment by her bedside. He's trying to play it cool, but it's clear that something is bothering him. And she knows why. He recognizes her—or rather, he recognizes her face. She looks too much like the heroine of the game, the one who's the center of this world's story. [Name] isn't supposed to be here. She isn't the main character of the game. She's something else—an anomaly.

Zayne frowns when he catches her staring at him. He quickly returns to his task, clearing his throat as if to shake off his weariness. "If you're feeling any discomfort, let me know. We'll have the results of your tests soon." He says calmly, but his eyes still carry that hint of confusion. He's hiding something. He's processing why this patient—the woman lying in this bed—looks exactly like someone he's supposed to meet under very different circumstances.

As he jots more notes on her chart, her mind spirals. This is far more than she expected—far more surreal, terrifying, and overwhelming. She never anticipated finding herself in this situation, least of all being reincarnated into her favorite otome game. But here she is, alive in a world she once thought was fiction. 

Zayne looks at her again, his lips parting like he's about to speak. His face is composed; however, there's a shadow of skepticism beneath. Yet before he can get a word out, the buzz of his pager cuts through the moment. Instantly, the room's atmosphere shifts and his posture straightens.

The hospital's overhead speaker crackles to life, the receptionist's voice urgent: "Code Blue. Code Blue. Paging all medical personnel to surgical room two, please."

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he hesitates. Zayne gives her one last look, like he's trying to commit her to memory. When the voice over the intercom repeats the emergency, he finally breaks away. His eyes tear from her face with visible reluctance. 

"Please excuse me," he says with urgency as he prepares to leave. "If you need anything, Nurse Yvonne is down the hall." 

Without waiting for her response, he sharply turns and exits the room. His footsteps fade down the hall, leaving her alone with her racing thoughts. In his absence, the room feels eerily still, like the air is holding its breath. Then, the silence starts to eat away at her. The impossible truth digs into her, and something inside snaps.

In one swift motion, she throws the sheets away from her lower body. [Name] swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands—albeit too quickly. Her legs, frail from disuse, buckle beneath her. She stumbles, catching herself on the IV pole.

The cold metal anchors her as she settles down. Her muscles are weak, but determination propels her forward. [Name] drags the IV stand along as she shuffles toward the attached bathroom. Her steps awkward and sluggish.

Reaching the door, she kicks it open with the bare heel of her foot, too focused on her next task to bother with formalities. She lumbers inside, not even closing the door behind her. The thirst clawing at her throat is unbearable, a raw itch that she can no longer ignore. Like a starved animal, she ducks under the sink. She twists the faucet open and lets the crisp, refreshing water pour into her mouth. The liquid soothes her parched throat, the cool sensation spreading through her body as she gulps down as much as possible.

When finally sated, [Name] wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and turns off the faucet. However, just as she's about to leave the bathroom, her eyes catch something in the corner of the mirror—her own reflection. She freezes, seeing her face a lot clearer in the bathroom mirror than with the television's blackened screen. 

Slowly, she leans closer, her hospital gown brushing against the wet edge of the sink. Her breath catches in her throat as she studies herself. "It’s me," she whispers. "But… Different."

Her fingers rise to touch her face, to trace the contours of her facial features. [Name] turns her face left, then right, her brow furrowing. Despite the striking resemblance to the game's protagonist, there's something off—something that makes it evident that she's different. Something subtle but undeniable. She's not the protagonist, but she's dangerously close. It's like she's staring at a near-perfect replica with slight imperfections that make it clear she's an outsider.

A thought jolts her back to the present. Actually, she thinks, why did Zayne call me by my real name? If I look this much like the protagonist, shouldn't he have called me—

Her mind goes blank. She tries to recall the heroine's name, the one who should be at the center of this world, but… nothing. She can't remember. Her forehead creases as she struggles to dig the name out of her memory. Yet the name remains out of reach, like a forgotten word on the tip of her tongue. [Name]'s mind is foggy; that part of her knowledge yet to recover from her reincarnation. 

The blankness gnaws at her, but she pushes it aside. She can't focus on that right now. Her mind races to piece together what little information she has. Considering Zayne's reaction, he knew she wasn't her despite how closely she resembled the protagonist. That may be why he called [Name] by her real name instead. Yet this realization only poses more questions. How does he know her name? And, more importantly, who had brought her to the hospital? Zayne's words implied that someone dumped her here, but why?

Her thoughts swirl as she steps out of the bathroom, a little steadier now. [Name] is exhausted, mentally and physically, and all she wants is to make sense of this unfathomable situation. She heads back to bed, ready to collapse. But just as she's about to sit down, she stops dead in her tracks.

A plump tuxedo cat is lounging on the sheets. Its round face stares at her with a manner that borders on playful mischief. Its green eyes gleam with amusement at her shock. The sight is so unexpected that she blinks several times in a row.

"Um," she stammers, gesturing the cat away from the bed. "Can you move?"

The absurdity of talking to a cat doesn't even faze her anymore. After everything she's been through, who will judge her? She's all alone in this strange, new reality.

"Sure," the cat replies. High-pitched and child-like.

Her heart skips a beat. The cat just spoke. 

Like everything's normal, the plump creature hops off the bed and waddles to the counter. [Name] stills. Her mind struggles to catch up with the sheer insanity in front of her. She can only watch as the cat leaps onto the counter and grabs a clear plastic bag hidden in the sink with his mouth. The cat drags the bag out, dropping it unceremoniously with a dull thud. The contents of the bag spill out in front of her—her military uniform, stiff with dried blood around the breast pocket. The sight of the uniform jolts her, the memories of the battlefield flooding back too quickly for comfort.

"Change," the cat orders, his tone matter-of-fact. "We're leaving."

Her mind stalls. She doesn't move. She doesn't breathe. All she can do is stare in utter disbelief. It takes a moment before her body reacts at all. When it finally does, she starts laughing—loud and hysterical—almost tipping on sobs. She's dreaming. She has to be. It's the only logical explanation for everything. 

"I've officially lost it," she gasps between fits of maddened laughter, clutching her sides as tears sting her eyes. Suddenly, the room feels uncanny, like she's trapped in some B-rated horror movie. She crawls onto the bed with shaky hands, diving under the sheets and wrapping herself in darkness.

She shuts her eyes tightly, curling into herself and willing everything to disappear. A soft chant escapes her lips. Fragile. Desperate. "Wake up. Wake up. Wake up."

The silence that follows is almost palpable. Heavy. The only sound is the soft patter of paws on the tiled floor, growing louder as they approach. Suddenly, she feels the bed dip next to her head. The cat's weight presses into the pillow. Before she can react, the tuxedo cat tugs at the edge of the blanket, pulling it back just enough to reveal her face.

"Stop playing around, Human," the cat says impatiently. "We gotta scram before they find you."

Her eyes snap open, her heart hammering in her chest. The weight of reality—or whatever this is—crashes down on her like a tidal wave, leaving her breathless. 

"Who?" [Name] croaks out, barely above a whisper. "Who's coming to get me?"

The cat lets out a huff, a sound that might have been a purr if it wasn't laced with annoyance. "Do you really want to find out?" His tone is sarcastic like the answer should be obvious.

[Name] shakes her head slowly, her body unable to process the fear and confusion fast enough. She barely understands what’s happening, but something deep inside warns her that whoever—or whatever—is coming for her won’t be friendly. Sensing her resignation, the cat sits back on his haunches, his green eyes glinting with satisfaction.

"Good," the cat says with a slight nod. "The name's Spots, by the way. Not that you bothered to ask."

Another silence settles between them, until [Name] realizes Spots is waiting for her to get up. She stills for a moment, weighing her options. 

She could stay here, close her eyes, and hope this dream fades into nothingness. Maybe everything is just a product of her exhausted mind—a hallucination caused by trauma and stress. Maybe, if she holds on long enough, she’ll wake up in the real world, back to the life she knows. However, something tells her this doesn’t end with a simple waking.

The next best solution is that she could believe what’s happening. As impossible and terrifying as it seems, she could trust the cat—or at least trust that he knows more than she does. [Name] could just ignore the absurdity of a talking cat and follow him, because the alternative is facing whoever is coming for her alone. Zayne might return, but even that possibility feels unsettling. There’s too much confusion between them, and she doesn’t know if she could handle his reaction if he discovers what she’s beginning to accept: that she doesn’t belong here.

But Spots knows. He knows something about her situation. He knows what’s coming. And right now, that makes him the only source of guidance she has.

A frustrated heave escapes her as she finalizes her decision. "Fuck it," she mutters.

Against her better judgment, [Name] slides out of bed, her legs no longer shaky as she drags the IV pole with her. She crouches down to pick up her clothes and combat boots. She glances back at Spots. He's swinging his tail lazily, eyes closed, a Cheshire grin permanent on his fluffy face.

Like ripping off a bandage, [Name] grits her teeth as she yanks the IV tube from her arm. The sharp sting makes her wince, but she pushes through the pain. She's quick to regain her composure. Without hesitation, she slips out of her hospital gown and into her military uniform. The fabric is stiff with dried blood, a cruel memento of her death.

But as she dresses, a disturbing thought begins to nag at her. If this is a dream, then… will she wake up back on the battlefield? Back in the grassy outskirts, far from the perishing city, fighting some meaningless war? Did she really want to go back to that? Can she even go back to that?

Her hand instinctively drifts to her heart, to the spot where the bullet pierced her. Her fingers brush over the dried blood. The hole in her uniform is the only proof of her last moments. She sighs and shakes her head, trying to dispel the unwanted thoughts. No. The mere thought of waking up back there—back in the war—terrifies her more than this new reality ever could.

Moving to the sink, she grabs a paper towel and runs it under cold water. Carefully, she dabs at the bloodstain, trying to clean it, but the water only spreads the mess. A frown tugs at her lips as she realizes her mistake. Spots hops down from the bed, noticing her frustration, and he is far too impatient to wait. He strolls over to her and stretches his paws against her leg, nudging her to pick him up.

Taking the hint, [Name] heaves and scoops the plump tuxedo cat into her arms, holding him close to her chest. Conveniently, Spots’ round body covers the bloodstain on her uniform.

"Ready?" Spots ask, still impatient but softer this time. He gestures toward the closed door with his head, his green eyes narrowing to urge her forward.

Reluctantly, she nods and moves toward the exit of her hospital room. Her hand wraps around the cold doorknob, but then she hesitates. Frozen with uncertainty. Afraid of the unknown guaranteed outside this small, contained room. Her fingers still on the knob as she takes a shallow breath.

"Human," Spots purrs. It's a soothing rumble against her heart. "It's okay. Whatever happens, you have me now. You're not alone in this."

[Name] presses her lips into a tight line, reassured by the cat’s comforting words. Something about his presence, about his gentle confidence, calms her. It doesn’t make sense, but she doesn’t care to question it. Right now, she craves stability, no matter how strange the source. 

Without another word, she pulls the door open and peeks her head out. She scans the hallway. The sterile, quiet corridor stretches out in both directions. Unbeknownst to her, that first step beyond the door will set a chain reaction of events into motion—incidents and experiences that will shift the story she once knew, casting her into a role she never imagined playing.

"Here goes nothing," she whispers, stepping into the unknown.

ao3 // masterpost // prev // next

[macgyvermedical]

Definitive Care for Writers

The following are things that could be believably taken care of completely outside of a hospital/without a doctor, listed by the caregiver's highest level of medical training:

With a "Lay" caregiver:

OTC Medications with labels that have instructions for use, like acetaminophen and/or ibuprofen for a headache/fever, antihistamines for minor allergies, etc..

Sunburn

Menstrual cramps

With someone who has first aid training:

Simple choking (Heimlich maneuver believably fixes this)

Small cuts, venous bleeding only (pressure to stop bleeding, washing with water and dressing is believable)

Opioid overdose (single drug, use of nasal naloxone and rescue breathing is believable as long as the person is monitored for several hours)

Heat exhaustion (get them out of the sun, give water)

With an urban EMT or Paramedic:

CPR for drowning or lightning strike only (other causes generally need medications or surgical procedures to return heart to normal rhythm)

Uncomplicated childbirth (It's not fun to have a baby out of a hospital, but it can be done)

Uncomplicated seizure for someone who has a known seizure disorder (basically just need to time it and give emergency med if longer than 5 minutes, have it at least stop after the medication)

Fainting (if it's a 1-off thing with no injury)

Low blood sugar (sugar/food with carbohydrates fixes this within about 15 minutes)

With a Wilderness EMT:

Simple fractures, broken ribs, sprains, and strains (as long as the bone ends are well approximated, a splint during the healing process will do a "good enough" job fixing this)

Some dislocations (forward shoulder dislocation, patella dislocation, finger dislocations all can be believably reduced in the field)

Small wound closure (something like a cut or bullet graze that doesn't hit an artery)

Moderately-sized wounds without life-threatening bleeding (can be packed in the field and believably heal with daily care)

Hypothermia (warm the person up and give sweet warm liquids)

With a Registered Nurse:

Uncomplicated concussion (need to do assessments every 2 hours, have them come up normal)

Severe nausea and vomiting (needs timing of medication, sips of water)

Small skin infections and abscesses (treat-able with heat)

Viral Pneumonia (not requiring oxygen)

Malnutrition

Migraines (assessments needed to determine not a stroke)

[fancyfeathers]

Requested in messages by @elvabeth

A scenario that lets say all the darlings were in the JL watchtower by themselves cause of some world ending event. The tower is on lockdown (courtesy of batman) to prevent them from escaping. Unfortunately, while the JL are at the other side of the planet or something, the watchtower ends up being attacked by aliens, robots, armed goons or all of them and the darlings can't escape. Doors to the outside are locked. The windows are barred or stuff Ps luthor is responsible Or some sort of high end terrorist group That wants to bring down the Justice League The worst part is that even when the darlings made to the backdoor or secret door whatnot, they can't leave cause of their shock bracelets. Plus the communication system in the tower have been hacked so they can't call for help. Worst part, the Justice league aren't aware of this until after they're done with their mission when Barry can't reach his darling's phone. But when they get there, The watchtower is in shambles and they meet this kind of scene

Minus the dead people The shock bracelets are on the floor soaked in blood but their darlings are no where to be found How will they take this and what's the aftermath Sorry it's so long Ps Hal's darling is paralyzed here

Yandere!Justice League AU Masterlist

Not including Diana’s and Arthur’s darling because I covered why they would not be in the Watchtower or the Hall of Justice here

TW// Very Slight Ableism, Miscarriage, Traumatic Injuries, Loss of Body Parts

It would have been an extremely dangerous incident, the level of Doomsday, in order for everyone to leave. Hell, normally Bruce leaves his darling back at the manor but he has no idea of when he would be returning.

Their one mistake was choosing to leave their darlings in the Hall of Justice instead of the Watchtower, it would be easier to get them all out on the ground if something went wrong.

The Hall of Justice was locked up so tight so that even a drop of sunlight would not even get in, or even oxygen from the outside, but the hall is big enough that they do not even have to worry suffocating.

At first the quiet and person space is nice for a change, especially for Hal’s darling since when he is there he practically never lets her move about on her own, she honestly misses those days as a detective more than anything, but then… she had her accident not too long ago.

Clark’s darling is really just happy to be around other people, it somewhat helps break the perfect family delusion he has made, a darling who is pregnant with his child. It reminds her of who she used to be before all of this occurred.

Barry’s darling is in the same boat as Clark, albeit a tad less delusional, at least lucid enough to know his darling does not want any children… yet, at least. Barry being Barry, I don’t think he can go complete no contact with his darling, so he lets her have phone which has one of those network monitors, so practically all she can do is text and call Barry and whoever else he lets her have contact with. So every few hours he calls up his darling to check up on her, and she does not even have the choice to hang up or ignore it because he has a setting to answer on her behalf, benign all happy and cheerful on the phone, asking how she’s been and having Batman yelling at him to put the damn phone down.

Both Oliver Queen’s and Bruce Wayne’s darlings is just kind of indifferent to it all, it does change any of their circumstances in the long run. Then thanks to Bruce none of them will even have the chance to get out of there, you know those ankle bracelets that people wear on house arrest? Ya turn that up to eleven, pulse, mics, precision point accurate tracking, and a small shock to keep them in line and out of forbidden areas. Though a few won’t let their darlings have this on, because what if something goes wrong or what if it malfunctions and it hurts them? This is namely Clark (because he can always have eyes, or ears rather, on his darling at all times), Hal (his darling was stabbed in the back, literally, when she was a detective and is paralyzed from the waist down, like hell he is going to let something go wrong and fuck her up and hurt her even more), and then Kyle just doesn’t like the vibe of it all.

Kyle Rayner’s and John Stewart’s darlings are just kinda all used to it at this point, with the things they have heard about from the Green Lanterns it’s normally just a question if they should be not worried, slightly worried, or very worried and normally this means how much they need to bunker down. When Hal’s darling comes along they just kinda form a group with how much they get tossed around from place to place for their own protection while they are away.

Then there is just J’onn J’onnes’ darling, who I see being in more of an aroace relationship with him, she is just over everything, literally nothing bothers her because well she does not have no more privacy of her own mind. Like while everyone else is slightly scared or when members of the League are leaving their darlings there, she is just sitting in an armchair, reading her book, completely unbothered by what is happening even when she gets one of Bruce’s cuffs on her ankle.

Now onto the interesting bit of things, it’s one of the nights when they are all alone, they had just finished cleaning up from dinner and everyone is settling down for the night, all of them going off and doing their own things.

And things certainly go wrong in the night.

…

When the Justice League returns they certainly do not expect what they see…

Everything is in ruins…

Blood lining the walls…

The cuffs on the ground and-

Oh god that is an arm.

The footage was bugged so they cannot even look back to see what happened, the power was cut which made everything a complete blackout.

Bruce would barely be able to track anything if it was not for the last security measure he put in place, a chip in his darling’s neck so he could track her if anything went wrong.

While everyone else is arguing about what to do, Bruce and Clark have already figured out their location, though Bruce is much more put together than Clark is.

The Superman looks mortified, just standing there in shock and staring down at the ground.

“There is only one heartbeat…”

Their unborn child never got to see life because of what happened.

It was some mass terrorist organization who the Justice League had bumped heads with before. They saw an opportunity and took it, god knows how they got the information but if they were able to hack the system of the Hall of Justice then they really should not be surprised.

They can’t kill…

But they have to rescue them first…

And then shut down what’s going on.

The Green Lanterns will get to the darlings first, use their constructs to stabilize whatever happened to them, Clark’s darling is a priority since a miscarriage can be deadly, so is Hal’s darling due to her condition, along then with whoever lost the arm. The others will clear the way and-

When they find them all they are a complete mess…

Serious lacerations on every single one of them.

Hal’s darling was clearly thrown against the wall when they arrived and she clearly had head damage and was laying in her own blood that she could not even push herself out of due to the injured state of her arms and the uselessness of her legs.

Serious damage to the left eye of Barry’s darling, cut by some sort of rusted weapon.

Kyle’s darling had broken her right ankle and left leg, along with a huge gash on her upper back. John’s darling was looking after her as the best she can with a broken foot.

Oliver’s darling is the one with the missing arm, clean sliced off along with a punctured lung and in a state of unconsciousness while Bruce’s darling looks after her since she was lucky to get off with only a sprained ankle.

Then there was Clark’s darling, a complete mess, head trauma, broken ribs, and a miscarriage causing her to bleed out. Similar to the previous, J’onn J’onnes’ darling was in well enough condition to take care of her, just enough to stabilize her.

When everything is said and done and they are safe again, there is a heavy bitterness in the air.

The kidnapped them saying that they were keeping them safe…

Hal’s darling entered a coma from her head injuries after being rescued and has not woken up yet after her surgeries.

Barry’s darling had to get her eye removed in order to prevent infection, and then minor damage to the other eye.

Kyle’s darling can’t move out of the awkward position the doctors put her in on her side, so she doesn’t put pressure on the gash on her back or the shattered leg with a metal pole in her leg because of it.

John’s darling is one of the lucky few with only a boot and crutches for a few weeks.

Oliver’s darling had gone into surgery after surgery for her injuries, her arm and lung getting her placed in severe intensive care for at least a few months.

Clark’s darling is in a state of pure emotional distress along with her injuries, her head having been braced and stitched up after a surgeries to take care of her head damage and her… her miscarriage.

Clark is just as much in a state of distress as his darling over her injuries and the fact that he was supposed to protect her and their child and now one of them is dead and the other has injuries she will never fully recover from.

J’onn’s darling and Bruce’s darling are far more focused in looking after the others since they are far more healthy than the others. They visit them all in the medical wing, Bruce’s darling leaving flowers at their bedside, J’onn’s darling reading to them (I think she would be a librarian before all of this), and either of them sitting with Hal’s darling while she is in her current state along with Oliver’s darling who is in recovery.

All of them are in extremely pain emotionally and physically, they were kidnapped, told it was to keep them safe and for their own good, and now one of them is in a coma after she was paralyzed a number of months prior, another is missing an arm along with extremely brain trauma, one of them is missing an eye along with being now legally blind in the other, and one of them is now dealing with the loss of a child.

God when Hal’s darling wakes up she will be having a field day when she was right all along.

[icu-fetish]

Sara barely opened her eyes. Her body felt alien, heavy, and unresponsive. The bright light of the hospital room cut into her gaze. An oxygen mask was tightly pressed against her face. Her chest rose and fell with visible effort. Fear gripped her more and more. She tried to remember what happened, but her thoughts were muddled. She felt helpless and alone.

Sara's gaze stopped on two female figures in white coats. They leaned over her, whispering soothing words. Sara tried to make out their faces through her half-conscious state but saw only blurry outlines. Sara noticed the gleam of metal instruments in their hands. These were two doctors... not nurses. "Intubation," she heard muffled.

The doctors, having put on sterile gloves, leaned over Sara. Their faces were serious. "Sara, we need to act quickly. Your lips have turned grey, and your breathing has become erratic. Even the oxygen mask isn't helping anymore, and we have to move to more invasive methods."

The other doctor continued... "Soon you won't be able to breathe on your own. So, we only have one option. After the injection, you'll be in a coma. Then we'll perform the intubation. You'll be completely connected to an artificial apparatus. Of course, you won't be able to eat or drink – we'll insert a nasogastric tube. Also, necessary catheters will be attached to your body."

Sara was in panic. She understood that without the artificial apparatus, her condition would deteriorate rapidly and could lead to a fatal outcome. Every minute counted. The doctors exchanged glances. "Everything's ready," one quietly said. The other took a syringe with a clear liquid and brought it to Sara's vein.

One of the doctors took Sara's hand and gently stroked it. The other prepared the intubation instruments. Sara's heart began to pound in her throat. She nodded, but her eyes were filled with anxiety. She felt the needle pierce her skin, and warmth spread through her veins, bringing a slight numbness. Her eyelids grew heavy, her thoughts jumbled, and everything around began to blur into a haze...

The doctor carefully opened Sara's mouth and introduced the laryngoscope, illuminating the path with bright light reflecting off the mucous membrane. The other doctor took the endotracheal tube, checked its integrity, and quickly, but with utmost caution, inserted it through the open vocal cords into the trachea. Then she secured it with a cuff, which she carefully inflated to ensure a tight seal and prevent air leakage.

A plastic holder, made from soft material that fit snugly against Sara's face without causing discomfort, was placed to stabilize the tube. The doctors checked the correct placement of the tube by listening to the lungs with a stethoscope.

Ventilation parameters were set on the monitor, showing all necessary indicators: breathing rate, air volume, oxygen level. The doctors adjusted the ventilation mode according to Sara's condition, entering the data into the system. The machine started its work, rhythmically supplying air to the patient's lungs, accompanied by a soft noise that now became part of the room's background sound.

The monitor showed that blood oxygen saturation began to stabilize, and the heart rate returned to normal, indicating the procedure's success.

The doctors spoke to each other, their voices quiet. "The nurses will insert the nasogastric tube," said one, looking at the monitor readings. "Sara will be intubated for quite some time. However, we'll probably have to perform a tracheostomy on her," added the other, with a note of concern in her voice. Before leaving the room, the doctors checked Sara's condition once more, ensuring all parameters were stable and the equipment was working correctly. Then they left for the next patient.

After the intubation, nurses entered the room. They inserted the nasogastric tube for feeding and a catheter for the bladder. They also connected a peripheral venous catheter for administering medications. All actions were performed quickly and professionally, leaving Sara under full medical supervision.

Every day, doctors visited her, checking vital signs, adjusting the machines, changing medications through the peripheral catheter, and ensuring care for all the connected tubes. However, after several days, the doctors decided to remove the nasogastric tube because Sara needed another surgery - they were to install a GJ tube. This feeding tube allows food to be delivered to the stomach. The doctors understood that only a tracheostomy would provide more stable and long-term respiratory support.

The operation went successfully, but Sara did not wake up. In the room where Sara lay, there was silence, only interrupted by the hum of the machines sustaining her life. The doctors decided to keep her on life support, performing all procedures until some sign of improvement appeared or until another decision was made.

Maybe today she will open her eyes...

[gardenladysworld]

Starbound hearts

Status: I'm working on it

Pairings: Neteyam x human!f!reader

Aged up characters!

Genre/Warnings: fluff, slow burn, oblivious characters, light angst, hurt/comfort, pining

Summary: In the breathtaking, untamed beauty of Pandora, two souls from different worlds find themselves drawn together against all odds. Neteyam, the dutiful future olo'eyktan of the Omaticaya clan, is bound by the expectations of his people and the traditions of his ancestors. She, a human scientist with a love for Pandora’s wonders, sees herself as an outsider, unworthy of the connection she craves.

Tags: @nerdylawyerbanditprofessor-blog

Part 5

-----------------------------------------

Part 6: To joke

The forest was alive with its usual symphony of sounds as Neteyam made his way toward the human outpost. The decision to come had not been an easy one. For days, he had wrestled with his thoughts, trying to convince himself that staying away from you was the right thing to do. You deserved better, didn’t you? Someone who could be more for you, someone who could give you a life where you belonged.

But no matter how many reasons he gave himself, he couldn’t shake the ache in his chest. The quiet nights felt emptier without your laugh echoing in his memory, and the days seemed longer without your smile to brighten them. So here he was, walking the well-worn path to the outpost, his heart heavy with conflict but driven by something stronger—his need to see you.

As he approached the lab, its metal walls stark against the lush green of the forest, he felt the familiar tightening in his chest. He moved silently, his steps practiced and sure, until he reached the window where he could see inside. You were there, bent over one of the cluttered workstations, your brow furrowed in concentration as you scribbled notes into a worn journal.

The sight of you eased something in him, though it also made his heart ache. You looked so small in the lab, surrounded by the cold, clinical trappings of human technology. Yet even here, in a place that was so different from his world, you seemed to carry the warmth of Pandora with you.

With a deep breath, he stepped forward, his tail flicking behind him, betraying his nervousness as he reached the heavy metal door and tapped the comm button on the panel with his huge finger.

There was a brief crackle of static before Norm’s voice came through, his tone curious. “Neteyam? Is that you?”

“Yes,” Neteyam replied, glancing around the quiet clearing. “Can I come in?”

A pause, then Norm chuckled. “Yeah, give me a second. Just stay put.”

Neteyam waited, the faint sound of the airlock’s mechanisms hissing to life making his ears twitch. The first set of doors opened, and Norm stepped out, wearing his usual grin and a lightweight mask.

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” Norm teased as he motioned for Neteyam to step into the airlock. “Let me guess—it’s not Max or me you’re here to see.”

Neteyam said nothing, only offered a small smile as he ducked through the door. Norm chuckled again, shaking his head as he tapped a few buttons on the panel. “All right, big guy, hold still. Let’s get the air cycling.”

The outer airlock doors sealed shut, and Neteyam felt the familiar rush of compressed air as the system adjusted to accommodate the higher oxygen levels inside the outpost. His lungs, adapted to Pandora’s thinner atmosphere, protested slightly, but he ignored the discomfort. He knew he could manage for the short time he planned to be here.

“Okay, you’re good,” Norm said as the inner door opened. “Just don’t forget—there’s a Na’vi-sized mask on the wall if you need it. And, uh, don’t touch anything you’re not supposed to.” Norm motioned toward his tail.

Neteyam gave him a nod of thanks, stepping into the outpost. The air inside was cooler, carrying a faint metallic tang from the recycled atmosphere. His ears twitched as he picked up the soft hum of equipment and the occasional beeping of monitors. And then, he saw you.

You were at your workstation, your back to him as you sorted through a tray of small instruments, completely absorbed in your work. Your hair was pulled back, revealing the delicate curve of your neck and the way your features were unmasked in the controlled air of the lab. His chest tightened at the sight of you, your face unhidden by the cumbersome mask you always wore outside. You looked radiant, your expression focused and serene as you hummed softly to yourself.

Norm shot him a knowing look before slipping away to another part of the outpost, leaving Neteyam to approach you on his own.

He walked quietly, his large frame moving with practiced grace through the cramped space, this was not the first time he came here, and definitely not the last. When he reached you, he hesitated, unsure whether to speak or simply watch you a moment longer. As if sensing his presence, you turned, your eyes lighting up when you saw him.

“Neteyam!” you greeted, your voice bright and warm. “What brings you here? Not that I’m complaining.”

He shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips as he looked around the room. “I was in the area,” he said, his voice low and calm. It wasn’t the whole truth, but it wasn’t a lie either.

You gave him a skeptical look, your smile softening. “You walked all the way out here just because you were ‘in the area’? Sure, Teyam.”

The nickname made his ears twitch slightly, but he said nothing, only letting a small smile curve his lips. You motioned for him to sit, and he lowered himself onto the floor near your workstation, his long legs folding beneath him. He leaned back slightly, his hands resting on his knees as he watched you return to your work. He was still at eye level with you, despite sitting on the cool floor while you stood. So different. His gaze raced over you and stopped at your arms.

You still wore the bracelet.

It was there on your wrist, the beads glinting faintly under the artificial light. His chest tightened at the sight of it. He’d made it for you on a whim, driven by an inexplicable need to give you something—anything—that connected him to you. Seeing it now, still adorning your wrist after all this time, felt like a quiet affirmation of everything he felt but couldn’t say.

“You’re staring,” you said suddenly, your voice cutting through his thoughts. You didn’t look up from your work, but there was a teasing lilt in your tone.

Neteyam blinked, caught off guard. “I am not,” he said quickly, though the faint flush of his ears betrayed him.

You glanced over your shoulder, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “You totally are.”

A soft chuckle escaped him despite himself, and you grinned, turning back to your work. The silence settled between you again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence he found himself craving—one filled with your quiet presence, where words weren’t always necessary.

After a while, you broke the quiet again. You laughed, a sound that filled the space and eased the tension in his chest. “It’s okay, Teyam,” you said, glancing at him with a playful grin. “I get it. I’m pretty fascinating.”

“You are,” he said softly, surprising even himself with the honesty in his voice. Your smile faltered for a brief moment, your cheeks coloring slightly before you turned back to your work.

For a while, the only sounds were the soft hum of the equipment and the scratch of your pen against paper. Neteyam’s eyes lingered on your hands, the way they moved with such care and precision. He noticed again how small they were compared to his, how delicate. And yet, those hands were capable of so much—creating, healing, connecting. They fascinated him.

“Why are you so quiet?” you asked suddenly, breaking the silence. You turned to look at him, your head tilted slightly, your expression curious.

He blinked, startled out of his thoughts. “I didn’t want to disturb you,” he said simply.

You rolled your eyes, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Disturb away. This place is too quiet sometimes. It makes me feel like I’m going to go crazy.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re never quiet when you’re with Lo’ak.”

Your laughter bubbled up, light and easy. “That’s because Lo’ak never shuts up,” you said, your tone teasing. “I have to match his energy, or he’ll think he’s won.”

Neteyam’s smile lingered, his heart lifting at the sound of your laugh. You had a way of making even the dullest moments feel alive.

Neteyam watched you, his golden eyes tracing the curve of your neck, the way a strand of your hair fell into your face before you tucked it back absently. You were mesmerizing, even in the simplest of actions.

After a while, you broke the silence with a soft laugh, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “You know, for someone who’s usually so composed, you look like you’re trying to solve the universe’s biggest problem right now.”

Neteyam blinked, caught off guard, and then chuckled softly despite himself. “Perhaps I am.”

You grinned, setting down your tools and turning to face him fully. “Well, if you need help, I’ve got a whole stash of bad jokes that might make the universe’s problems seem smaller.”

He tilted his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Bad jokes?”

“Oh, the worst,” you said, your tone mock-serious. “For example... Why did the tree take a nap?”

He raised an eyebrow, his tail flicking with curiosity. “Why?”

“Because it was rooted in exhaustion,” you said with a dramatic flourish, your eyes sparkling with humor.

For a moment, he simply stared at you, his expression blank. Then, to your relief, his lips twitched, and a soft chuckle escaped him. He shook his head, his smile growing wider despite himself.

“That was... indeed terrible,” he said, but there was warmth in his voice, and you could see the tension in his shoulders ease.

“Terribly good,” you corrected, pointing a finger at him. “You smiled. I saw it.”

Neteyam sighed, his smile widening despite himself. “I suppose I did.”

You beamed at him, your laughter filling the lab and easing the tension that had been building between you. For a moment, it felt like nothing else mattered—not your differences, not his responsibilities, not the unspoken feelings that weighed heavily on his heart.

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words, but when you looked at him again, his expression had turned more pensive. His gaze dropped to the floor, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, the weight of something unsaid.

“Neteyam,” you said gently, setting down the sample you’d been working on. “What’s really on your mind?”

He looked up at you, his golden eyes filled with so many emotions that it made your breath catch. For a moment, it seemed like he was on the verge of saying something—something important. His lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, he shook his head slightly, his expression conflicted.

“It’s nothing,” he said finally, though his voice lacked conviction.

You frowned, your brow furrowing as you watched him retreat back into himself. The heaviness in the room was palpable, and you hated seeing him like this—so guarded, so uncertain.

“Well,” you said after a moment, your tone deliberately light, “if you’re not going to spill your deep, dark secrets, I’m just going to have to make this lab less depressing. I have another one.”

He raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering across his face.

You grinned, leaning against the lab table. “Okay, here goes. Why did the scientist bring a ladder to the bar?”

Neteyam tilted his head, his ear flicking, clearly puzzled. “Why?”

“To reach the high spirits,” you said with a playful smirk.

Neteyam stared at you for a moment before a laugh burst from his lips, genuine and unrestrained. The sound surprised even him, filling the small lab with warmth. You laughed along with him, clearly pleased with your ability to break the tension.

“That was truly awful,” he said, still smiling.

“Thank you,” you said, mock-bowing from your seat. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The tension between you eased, the silence that followed no longer heavy but comfortable. Neteyam leaned back against the wall, his gaze fixed on you as you returned to your work, occasionally muttering to yourself or humming softly under your breath.

He wanted to tell you. The words pressed against his chest, desperate to be released. But every time he opened his mouth, they caught in his throat. What could he say? That you had become the center of his world? That he thought about you more than he should? That the bracelet on your wrist was a symbol of something far deeper than he could ever express?

Instead, he said nothing, contenting himself with the quiet companionship of being near you.

Maybe this was enough.

Maybe it was better to be here with you like this—sharing stolen moments and quiet smiles—than to risk everything by confessing feelings that could complicate your already fragile connection. For now, he would take what he could, treasuring every second he had with you. Because being with you, even in silence, was infinitely better than being without you.

Part 7

[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.

[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.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@3-2-whump @risk606

@electrons2006 @paperprinxe

@whumprince @kaz-of-crows

@mis-graves @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

@sausages-things @ragin-cajun-fangirl

@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie @glennemerald

@jasperthecapser @does-directions

@deafeninglittlecrown @jumpywhumpywriter

@blackbirdsinatrenchcoat @mylifeisonthebookshelf

@thenormalestever @whatwhump

@galatic-worm @starmoon-constellation

[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.