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Dove & Captain: 3 - Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader Series

Words in Total: 9.2k

Pairings: Dr. Jack Abbot x fem!reader

Synopsis: She's his Dove. The ER nurse who is the definition of chaos, trauma and humour in scrubs. He's her Captain, gruff, emotionally guarded war veteran with a prosthetic leg and completely in love with her. Six years together, a mortgage, four dogs and the ability to conquer anything. This is a story of their life in one day. He is 49, she's 30. This is one day of their life based on the 15 episodes of 'The Pitt'. There will be little imagines of their relationship over the years.

Warnings: Swearing, Age Gap, Trauma, Medical Language/Procedure, Pregnancy, etc.

A/N: This is a complete series of ~60k. I will post a few snapshots of their relationship over the six+ years they've been together.

Hope you enjoy :)

Series Masterlist

-

1000

Y/N was standing at the board reading it when she sensed someone next to her. There was a deep glare, but she knew it was out of love.

            “You love to stare at me, Dr. Robinavitch,” Y/N said casually. “Are you secretly in love with me or something?” she hummed with a smile as she glanced over.

            Robby let out a light chuckle. “You know where I stand on my feelings,” he replied with a smirk.

            She nodded slowly. “What did I do now that is making you glare at me like I spiked your coffee…which I didn’t, by the way.”

            He chuckled. “You gave our rookie a TED Talk on emotional resilience,” Robby said, straight-faced. “And convinced him that writing letters to corpses is normal coping.”

            Y/N raised a brow, staring at him. “It is very normal to use writing as a therapeutic tool to express, work through and understand your feelings, emotions and trauma,” she replied. “I can quote research.”

            Robby shook his head. “You want to quote psychological research to me before 10 a.m. You’re dangerous. Is this foreplay?” he hummed.

            Y/N chuckled. “Oh, Cowboy, if you want foreplay, I can whip in some astrophysics information in there too.”

            He shook his head. “Sometimes your brain scares, and then I question why you’re a nurse and not some world leader,” he replied. “Why is Jack with you again?”

            Y/N went back to look at the board. “Because I’m great at head,” she replied coldly.

            Robby choked on his sip of coffee, spluttering. “Jesus Christ, Y/N.”

            She didn’t even flinch, still studying the patient board as if she’d just commented on the weather. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, laughing under his breath. “You cannot say that in here.”

            She turned to him with a perfectly straight face. “Why not? We’re health professionals. It’s all anatomy. If you can deal with rats in the ER, I bet you can deal with my sexual comments.”

            Robby stared at her. “You are unhinged.”

            “Possibly,” she said sweetly. “But you do absolutely love me. I ran your trauma code flawlessly this morning, stabilised several patients before I had my second cup of coffee and gave your rookie a breakdown and a life lesson in under fifteen minutes. It’s a great day and I’m on fire.”

            He nodded. “You got to him, though. I was worried the kid had no game. Dana and I were making bets.”

            “Making bets on the poor children? That’s traumatic for them. Unstable childhood can lead to a lot of mental disorders in the long term,” Y/N replied. “Don’t destroy the future of medicine.”

            He chuckled. “He wants to write a letter to the patient’s family. Said you taught him that.”

            Y/N raised her brow. “Jack taught me that. So, I relayed the information. He wants to give it to the family?” she asked, chuckling while shaking her head.

            “Yup.”

            “I said write it. Not send it. Jesus,” she muttered. “I need to be more specific to the kids.”

            Robby chuckled. “This is what happens when you monologue at them.”

            Y/N shrugged. “Wasn’t monologuing, rather using my psych degree I spent sixty thousand dollars on,” she replied. “Might as well use it for practical use.”

            “This isn’t a first-year psych elective,” Robby replied.

            “May not be a lecture hall, but psych is very relevant in medical practice. In fact, I have taught several psych classes while an undergrad,” Y/N said with a smile.

            Robby chuckled. “Why aren’t you a psych nurse then? Could use both your degrees for practical use.”

            Y/N looked over to him. “I prefer the company of gunshots, motor vehicle accidents and stabbings to stabilising someone who is hallucinating,” she replied coldly. “Wait, we do that too,” she whispered the last part. “I use my psych degree here all the time.” Then she smiled at him, wickedly and smugly.

            “Well, Dr. Freud–“

            “Boy, do not call me that,” Y/N replied. “Do you know a single Freud theory? Because yeah, the main ones are rational, but they get more and more fucked. I would say I am rational and not fucked,” Y/N said. “Now, stop flirting with me and let’s get back to work.” She turned to him and crossed her arms. “You’re very welcome for using therapeutic rapport with your rookie. He will always remember me as the one who listened and responded perfectly.”

            He looked at her, leaning in. “Rumour has it we are sleeping together,” Robby whispered as she stared at him. “Kids are talking. They are putting two and two together after you dropped the whole ‘I’m with an attending’ fact.”

            “Oh, I bet you love it. Always wanted me to see me naked. Let me tell you, it’s great. Never had complaints,” Y/N hummed, winking as she walked away.

            “Jesus, Y/N,” Robby mumbled, shaking his head.

-

Y/N was in the hallway. She leaned against it as she took a breath. She had too many deaths already this morning. The kid with the OD, the older man with his kids who was on his last legs, Mr. Milton, and she had heard of so many more. Normally, she was not affected by this. Normally, she would shrug it off. Normally, she would just deal with it and lets it be another day.

            But right now, her head hit the wall as she stood in the stairway, letting the tears come to her eyes. Pulling her phone out of her pocket for the first time this morning, she turned it on and saw some messages.

            One, Jack. There were a few.

            First one, “Home now. Granny got meds. Let all the dogs out again. Going to bed. Will text when up.”

            Second, an image of the dogs on the bed before he crashed. All four of them on the King size bed. Granny taking most of the bed as she laid on Y/N’s side of the bed. Her snowy face that had seen so much fast asleep. She was deaf in one ear, stubborn, hates fireworks, rides shotgun like she won the car and her bond with Jack…well, that was sacred.

            Next to her was Ranger at the end of the bed. A mutt who they believe was a lab, shepherd or even a cattle dog. He was six. They adopted him, a foster fail. He was from the streets locally. Loyal, obedient, always on patrol. But a sweetheart.

            Delta was on top of Jack, teeth on display, but in a way of happiness. Just over one, but a little shit yet loved. Found starving near a trailhead on her own. Y/N’s college friend, who was in vet med, told her about her, and Jack came home after a shift to see the German Shepherd, husky mix in their house. Always in trouble, but the baby, they call her Hellspawn constantly.

            Then there was Winston, a gift to herself when she graduated. She always imagined owning a dog, and she used the last of her student loans to buy him off a breeder up North. A long-wire-haired dachshund who just hit eight was sleeping against Granny. Best buds. A diva doesn’t like mud, would not walk in anything but shine. Wears bowties on holidays and is the only one that slept in the bed. Sometimes Alaska (Granny) would sneak in if her joints were aching but Jack had a serious “no dogs in bed” policy until they moved in. Therefore, seeing all the dogs in the bed brought a smile to her face.

            Then he followed with another text, “I know you, Dove. Something is up. I know you will tell me soon, but please don’t dwell on this alone. I’m always here. When I wake, thinking of getting those steaks you like. Will grill them tonight, and we can pop a bottle of that fancy wine you bought a while ago. I’m in your corner. Also, I will buy more coffee. The good type and not that shit you like. Saw there was a new documentary released on Netflix. However, I’ll budge and rewatch Bridget Jones’ Diary for like the hundredth time. Or throw on Sex and the City, and I’ll listen to you bitch about how Big isn’t right for Carrie because then you’ll go on about how much he needs to be more like me. I think we are on season three…but you might’ve been watching it without me. Not mad, just disappointed due to your betrayal.”

            Y/N stared at the screen, thumbs hovering over the keys. A smile graced her features, biting down on her bottom lip as she stared at the phone. He sent these messages around eight-fifteen. He wouldn’t be up around eleven-ish…max twelve-thirty. He’s a man who could run off of three hours of sleep, max five. Rarely sleeps ever, truly.

            God, she loved him.

            She wanted to grab him by the cheeks and kiss his lips and scream, “I’m pregnant!” but she had her whole day ahead. Her eyes welled up again, but this time it wasn’t because of the death, the codes, or the overwhelming morning. It was him. That voice in her life – calm, constant, hers. Somehow, even his texts felt like they had arms, wrapping around her, telling her to just breathe.

            Six years of them together. Basically, nine years of knowing him because she spent her last practicum at the ER. Though no one counts that. However, she officially had been working there for eight years as a nurse. One year of being professional and one year dodging feelings until Robby and Dana locked them in a room and said, “Talk it out”. Y/N stole his heart through therapeutic rapport and active listening. Also, he couldn’t get over her knowledge, critical thinking and quick moves.

            She wiped her face with the sleeve of her under armour for her scrub top. A cheetah print that blended well with the grey the nurses wore. She looked at the photo again, and tears came to her eyes. Their life was so perfect. So fucking perfect.

            Granny with her snowy muzzle and claim over the entire bed, Delta looking like a rabid gremlin despite the grin. Ranger on perimeter duty, even in his sleep and Winston in his curled-up dignity like he’d found the house himself.

            He’s the only one who isn’t fully potty trained…normal Dachshund behaviour. Drives Jack fucking insane.

            Jack always expressed that their dogs were like a personality test. Between the four of them, they’d collected every part of the spectrum. Though Y/N would shut the conversation down by bringing him psychological facts and research would Jack would joke by saying, “Talk dirty to me.” Which would always bring a smile to Y/N’s lips, and she would relate research to him, which he would actively listen to and ask questions.

            Soulmates. Truly were.

            He’d be asleep still. He was a light sleeper, and anything would wake him up. Ex-military, indeed, but also a man of the house. He wanted to be on guard constantly…like Ranger.

            “Captain,” she began to type out. “You’ve made my morning. You don’t know how much I needed this. It’s been a day already. Steak sounds amazing. Please, could you make that mushroom sauce? I’m craving like potatoes as well, you choose. But I need to get some form of vegetables in me…kale? I can send you my warm kale salad with a vinaigrette recipe. Of course, parm and bacon! Ugh, your cooking gives me mind orgasms just thinking about it. Looking forward to it, Captain. Give several kisses to the babies. But…can we talk about another? Serena sent me a link to a Pitbull named Dolly who needs a home. Rescued from a fighting ring, used for breeding. Lovely, friendly and great with kids. She needs a home. Also, kinda down for something new. Can we watch something serious? Kind of feel like either finally watching the new season of Peaky Blinders or finally starting that crime show we keep talking about – can’t remember the name. However, with the way this shift is going, I might have to throw on something funny. Always with love<3. PS. Robby is on my ass. Send help. But he does it with love. He’s annoying.”

            Y/N went back to her phone. Opening another message.

            “Ugh, why do you have to be so smart? Mom did pills when pregnant with both of us, but you turned out to be a genius and I’m the fool? Fucking tests made me an idiot,” she read from her brother, Beckett.

            Y/N was thirty. Beckett was about to turn twenty. He was in university. He was her half-brother, and Jack, who makes way too much money was paying for his tuition and dorm.

            Jack and Y/N never talked about salary. Though, they both kind of know through their bank statements. Jack makes way over 400k – closer to 500k, while Y/N makes just over 100k. According to research, the average salary for a couple in America was 146k. The two of them combined just make around 600k. They bought their house a year ago. Though they could’ve done it with cash, they didn’t. Just a small mortgage. It was due to the two of them being smart, responsible and very them. Some renovations, but not many. Four bedrooms, one made an office for Y/N’s art.

            It was good. Comfortable. Enough.

            Though Y/N stared at the message from her brother, sighing. “You’re not an idiot. You’re just tired and stressed. Uni is hard. SO hard. Don’t overthink, bet you did fabulous. Take a moment to breathe, drink some water, and eat some food. You’ve got this, Beck. Always here, and if you need somewhere to crash, let me know. Jack is making steak tonight. Love you to Mars. Just Mars. Because I do hate how much you don’t clean up after yourself and date terrible woman. Also, I saw a physics equation that hasn’t been calculated on the university forum yesterday, but I doubt you can solve it as you don’t remember my birthday.”

             Beckett’s reply came almost instantly, probably because he was already doom-scrolling after the test on the bus. His quantum physics test was behind him. A man of intelligence like her – physics with a speciality in quantum, while doing a minor in math but debating psychology like his sister.

“OMFG, you’re rude. I always remember your birthday. Maybe not Jack’s but he’s old as fuck. Send me the equation, you bitch. Down for steak. I’ll bus to you unless you want to help the poor, broke college kid ;). Still to Mars, I know all the planets now. Love u to the next universe, whatever it’s called. HAHA didn’t do na astrology major so off the case. Can I crash? Maybe Jack will let me shoot cans in the yard tomorrow. Tell the dogs I say hi, especially Ranger. Kidnap him. I will.”

She smirked. “Fine to everything. Text Jack about can shooting. Ranger can’t go home with you. He needs his raw mix, his stimulation ball, his best friends and the acre to run on. Your dorm room won’t suffice. Have you talked to Mom this week?”

She smiled, then sent another text. “Beck, you and I are intelligent. But don’t compare us. You’re brilliant, so incredibly brilliant in your own messy way. I will let Jack know you’re cashing and eating.” She then screenshotted and sent the equation. Ranger would love to sleep with you tonight. He is mainly a floor boy, sometimes a bed boy, but if Beck is in town, he’s a hot water bottle double. Then she sent the photo that Jack sent of the dogs.

            Closing her phone, she placed it back in her back pocket. She needed a moment to think once again. Therefore, closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. Her feet were heavy, her heart full but sore, and something about those dogs in bed with Jack just grounded her. Moments like this, she needed to hold onto with the world of chaos outside the stairwell.

            Finally, she pushed off the wall and pulled her badge out, scanning back into the ER. Back to the trenches. Patients needed her. But her mind flickered back to what held her, the backyard at home, the garden, the little ceramic garden statues she bought from a thrift store that Jack despised, but refused to move and the patio light he swore he’d fix three weeks ago.

            And dinner. She was excited for dinner.

            However, she had to survive the shift. This whole twelve-hour shift, which she was a few hours in. For Jack. For herself. For Beckett and for that baby inside her.

            Once back at her station, she checked her patients and was back administering reports. Her fingers were typing furiously on the keyboard, reading glasses on as always. Her notes were detailed, sharp, but a little chaotic because that was beautiful Y/N her special ways – packed with medical precision and a tiny bit of ranting.

            She was writing when someone leaned on the counter in front of her. Nursing a coffee, a female cleared her throat, and Y/N instantly knew who it was. Y/N glanced up to see the woman staring at her.

            “That’s the look of someone who wants something,” Y/N muttered.

            “No, just curious,” she casually said.

            Y/N’s typing paused.

            “Curious about?”

            Robby arrived next, sliding behind Dana with a knowing smile. “Curious about what, Dana?” he hummed, looking over to the older woman.

            “I want to hear what she bet for the ambulance chase. I’m not betting, but I want to hear her logic, calculations and ideas,” Dana told Robby.

            Robby hummed, nodding. “I would love to know,” he agreed, smirking and looking over to the younger nurse.

            Y/N looked up, raising a brow. “Why?’

            The two of them looked at each other before looking at Y/N. “Christ, Ace, I know you, you’ve calculated this. Bet you can count cards,” Robby replied, shrugging.

            Y/N looked at him blankly. “How’d you know?”

            Robby smirked. “Just a vibe,” he hummed.

            Y/N stared at the two of them, raising a brow. “So that’s the rumour,” she muttered before going back to work.

            Robby stared at her. “I heard about Atlantic City.”

            Y/N’s face fell.

            “Subtle remark about Vegas from our favourite ex-military man,” Robby added.

            Y/N stared at him but decided to ignore his comment. “Have you bet?” she asked, sending him a small smile.

            “I have, but I want hear yours,” he replied.

            “Good, don’t want to change your idea,” she muttered, looking back at her computer.

            “So can you?” he asked.

            “Can I what?” she asked, still focused.

            “Count cards?”

            “I think you know,” she whispered.

            “Would rather hear it from you, Ace.”

            Y/N looked up, crossing her arms and raising a brow. “When I was twenty-two, I went to Vegas after my degree before I started here. I spent the three days strategically playing poker and let’s just say, my student loans were paid for afterwards,” she muttered, looking back at her computer.

            Robby stared at her. “What about Atlantic City?” he asked.

            “What about it?”

    ��       “You and Jack went to Atlantic City?” he replied.

            “Um, he tagged along. I was there for a concert with some college friends. Loud noises for him are a big no, so it was me and some friends. This was a few years ago,” she replied, focused.

            “And gambling?”

            She looked up now. “Oh,” she replied, staring for a second before chuckling awkwardly. “We were new in a relationship. Wanted to impress him. So I gambled. Won.”

            They both stared at each other. “Won what?” Dana asked.

            “Enough,” she replied. “I’m charming,” Y/N added, clicking a few buttons for work. “I wear a sexy outfit, flirt with old, rich men and play the fool. No one suspects the pretty, young, sexy girl at the blackjack table to be counting cards.”

            “So, you can count cards?” Robby remarked.

            “Did I deny?” she hummed, staring at him and raising a brow.

            Dana choked on her coffee. “Jesus.”

            “You won?” Robby replied. “Like a lot?”

            She shrugged. “I only bet enough to pay what I need to pay, then get out. No greed. No heat. They watch you like a hawk there, so you need to be smart. Me, well, there’s a key to counting cards. Know when to walk, when to halt, when to fold, let go, fool, you know…” she muttered, going back to her screen. “Leave a little dumbfounded, a little disappointed, a little fooled, but overall, chuffed with what you got.”

            They just stared at her. “Remind me to go gambling wit her,” Dana replied. “I have to pay for my daughter’s trip to Europe for school.

            Y/N looked up. “What are you doing next Friday? We can skip town? Head to our favourite town of gambling and beaches?” Y/n hummed.

            Dana stared at her. “I genuinely don’t know if she’s joking or not,” she mumbled.

            Robby shook his head. “I don’t know either,” he replied as he stared at her. “So, about this ambulance bet…”

            Y/N leaned back in the chair, stretching her arms overhead before she gave them that signature smirk. The one which she outsmarted them.

            “Simple,” she shrugged which they rose their brows. “It’s September. This means it initiation month for every frat in North America. This includes our city’s main university. According to my research, this year the invitation isn’t something subtle or simple, rather they want something more daring, idiotic, and more visible…” She looked at them. “Ambulance. Simple. Plus, free drugs, bonus points.”

            Dana blinked and Robby just stared at her.

            “How do you know this?” Robby asked.

            Y/N shrugged. “I dated a frat guy in undergrad. Didn’t last long but had a thing about chaos and beer pong. I learned how the initiation season works. The whole goal is shock value, and for our local university, an ambulance is definitely shock value. So, I bet frat guys and in our zone. Because I secretly want the trauma to come in so I can shame them for ebing an imbecile.”

            The two of them stared at her. Shocked. Face wide with curiosity.

            “Vegas,” Dana whispered.

            “I was twenty-two, broke, pissed off, and fucking brilliant. I had just finished my undergrad in nursing and psych. I needed to pay off it off…Let’s just my mother isn’t one with a healthy 529 Plan.”

            “She taught you how to count cards?” Robby asked, intrigued.

            Y/N chuckled. “That’s the only thing she taught me. That and how to be a shitty mom. However, it’s just math. It’s called finite mathematics. It’s a bunch of equations about the probability an card can be shown and all,” she hummed, winking. “Thanks, mother for the skill that got me through life.”

            Robby just shook his head. “I have so many questions about that trip.”

            She shrugged. “Not much to tell. I was alone. I went there to see my mom’s sister to help with something. I was bored, ended up at the casino and played my cards right. All classified. Need-to-know basis”

            “Does our military boy know?” Dana asked.

            Y/N chuckled. “Yeah. He learnt when we were at Atlantic City for a concert. He watched me. Then he just leaned over and was like, ‘You better split that pot with me, Dove. You’re buying dinner’ and I knew I would be with him forever.”

            Robby chuckled, shaking his head. “You two are a goddamn Bonnie and Clyde.”

            She rolled her eyes. “Hope not. Rather not be on the run and rather not die. Plus, we didn’t do anything illegal. If a casino finds out you are, you can’t be arrested; rather they ban you from that casino or ask you to leave. So,” she smirked, “I’m not a criminal.” They just stared at her. “We’re soulmates. Jack and I. War wounds, war hero, super hero, etc. And me, just someone with a brain too big to be true.”

            They stared at her.

            “If I win, let’s make this bet into a triple,” she smirked, winking. Then she got up and went to check on her patients.     

-

1100

Y/N was back to sitting at the nurses’ station after checking in with her patients, administering meds, taking orders and being her normal nurse self. Dana was talking to her about her daughters. Princess asked to put the hijack of the ambulance on TV, which Dana allowed, earning a light chuckle from Y/N.

            “Have you thought of names?” Dana asked as she checked her tablet.

            Y/N glanced up. “Names?” she repeated.

            “For fetus,” Dana nudged, looking over to the younger nurse. Y/N stared at her for a moment trying to register if she heard Dana correctly.

            “Dana, I just found out yesterday,” Y/N replied. “I was told I could never get pregnant. No, I don’t have names.” She didn’t mean to be rude, but it seemed like Dana and Robby were more excited about this than Y/N. However, Y/N knew her body and knew not to have her hopes up. However, the way Dana looked over to her, she caved. “I’ve always loved Arlo for a boy or Otis. Charlotte for a girl. I’ve always loved the name Charlotte. So many nicknames like Lottie, Charlie, Harley,” Y/N mumbled.

            Dana nodded. “Charlotte is pretty. Royalty name,” she replied. “Why are your names so British-based?” she chuckled, smirking.

            Y/N shrugged. “I don’t know. I like regal names, but not something basic. Fuck, my boyfriend’s name is Jack…so unoriginal…so American. I need to be creative. I want something different, something new, but not wild or strange.”

            Dana nodded. “Fair.” However, their conversation was soon ended when Santos came up.

            “Got a second?” she asked, glancing between the two of them. She was jittery.

            Y/N raised a brow. “Sure.”

            “It’s never a second, but shoot,” Dana replied, looking at the intern. “Did you two hash it out?” she asked, looking over at Y/N.

            Y/N smiled at the intern. “We’re right. All good. Just miscommunication,” she said, looking at Santos, who glanced at her before going back to Dana.

            “Uh, yeah,” she muttered. “Anyway, I think there was an issue with a vial of lorazepam used on our last patient, and it should be reported to the drug manufacturer.”

            Y/N raised her brow, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned back in the chair. “What kind of issue?” she asked, curious.

            Santos glanced to Y/N before going back to Dana. “The cap was really hard to take off, almost like it was super-sealed shut. I’m worried it could be a bigger issue.” The way she glanced at Y/N answered her question but refused to make eye contact, rather looking at the charge nurse instead.

            “Like?” Dana asked, raising a brow.

            “Like maybe the temperature wasn’t properly controlled during transportation and the seal on the vial melted shut, which could mean the medication is compromised.”

            Y/N slowly nodded. “I doubt that. When transporting medications there is a lot of regulations…rules to follow to ensure that the medication stays at the proper temperature. Additionally, it’s not summer, so the outside heat won’t affect it,” she said with a shrug and her brows furrowed.

            Dana glanced at her partner in crime, nodding in agreement with her. “True,” she said. “Are there any other vials affected?”

            “Uh, just this one,” Santos replied, holding up the vial of benzodiazepine.

            The way Dana stared at the intern, unimpressed mostly but bothered that she would bring something up like this when the chance of it happening was slim. “Ok,” she replied, tone short. “Check the manufacturer’s website, see if there’s been a recall of the lot number.” Then she glanced back down to her work.

            “Um, what if this is the first irregular vial?” Santos added.

            “Then hold on to the vial in case there are any other issues,” Dana said, hands on her hips.

            Just then, a loud voice was heard. Langdon, who spotted Jake, Robby’s basically step-son walked into the ER. Y/N turned the chair to see the young boy, swaggering in like he owned the place. A smile came to her face.

“Jake the Snake! It’s 11 A.M. aren’t you supposed to be in school?” Dana asked, jumping into parent mode as Jake hugged Langdon before walking to Dana.

“Mom let me ditch for Pittfest,” Jake replied, hugging Dana.

Y/N got up, walking over to the boy.

“How’s your mama?” Dana asked, engulfing him.

“Oh, she’s restoring some house in Squirrel Hill, so you know, she’s pretty busy.”

Just then, Jake’s eyes landed on Y/N. “Hey, resident genius,” he grinned as she hugged him.

“Hey, troublemaker,” she hummed back, giving him a short but loving hug. “How’s school? Math fucking you still?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Always, but Beck has been great with the tutoring,” Jake replied. “Thanks again.”

“Anytime. I would do it, but you know me, stuck here day and night,” she hummed back, winking.

“Are you looking for Robby?” Langdon asked, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, he’s got our festival passes,” Jake replied.

“Oh, you going together?” Langdon asked.

“We were supposed to, but, you know, I decided to go with a friend,” Jake replied, trying to be casual, but Dana and Y/N noticed the blush on his cheeks and the light smirk.

“Who’s the girl? What’s her name?” Y/N asked, nudging him. “Tell me about her…” she edged on, winking.

Jake, who became flustered, looked between Dana and Y/N. Not embarrassed, but face written with smitten love.

“Leah,” he muttered, voice low, shy but smirking at the same time.

“Ok, ok, ok, ok…don’t hold out on us,” Dana hummed as Langdon started to bug him.

“We need details. Where’d you meet? How long have you been together?” Dana asked, trying to get information.

“We met at junior lifeguards this summer. And we’ve been dating for two months. Yeah, she’s pretty great,” Jake said, smiling like a fool. The three of them stared at the teenager, smirking.

            Young love.

            “That’s sweet. I’m gonna go find Robby, let him know you’re here,” Dana replied.

            “Young love. Remember young love, Dana?” Y/N hummed looking over to the blonde.

            “Boy, do I ever,” Dana hummed, chuckling as she walked away to go find Robby.

            Y/N smirked, patting Jake on the back before walking off as well.

-

Y/N heard her name called and she glanced up from charting to see Robby staring at her. He beckoned her over with his hands.

            “Got a post-tonsillectomy haemorrhage,” Robby replied as she grabbed gloves.

            “Ooo, messy…bloody, my favourite,” she hummed as she came over.

            Robby shook his head, and a chuckle came from him. “Nebulised TXA, quick as you can.”

            Y/N nodded as Whitaker came over, wearing morgue-coloured scrubs. She glanced over and rose a brow. “Downgraded?” she joked, smirking.

            “This was all that was left,” he replied and Y/N chuckled, shaking her head as she grabbed onto the gurney and wheeled into trauma room two. Robby was speaking behind her to Whitaker, asking if he was up to it.

            Once in the room, they got to work, transferring the patient from the gurney to a medical bed in the room. Y/N instantly grabbed the device that administers TXA and told the patient to breathe through it.

            “Take long, slow, deep breaths on that,” Robby said. “The TXA is gonna help your blood clot.”

            “Any medical problems?” Whitaker asked, writing down notes.

            “No, just a ton of strep. That’s why I had the surgery,” the patient said.

            “You take aspirin? Any other medications?” Whitaker continued to ask.

            Y/N was working on getting basic labs and an IV in.

            “Lungs are clear bilaterally, no stridor,” Robby said, stethoscope in hand as he pressed it to the patient’s chest.

            “Ok, sure. Do you feel like throwing up? Any pain your belly?” Whitaker continued to ask as they all worked.

            “No.”

            “Labs?” Robby asked, adjusting a light.

            “Uh, CBC, BMP, maybe coags?” Whitaker muttered.

            “I would add a type and screen, just in case,” Y/N replied, working on the patient.

            “Agreed,” Robby said.

            “Good stats at 98%. BP is 115 over 80,” Y/N announced, glancing over to the monitor.

            “Ok, good,” Robby said. “Four by four on ring forceps. Let’s take a look.” He handed over a pair of forceps to Whitaker.

            “Ok,” Whitaker mumbled. “Head back, open wide for me.”

            They inserted a device, checking for active bleeding, which was negative, however, there was some white and dark brown residue in his mouth where the tonsils used to be.

            “That’s good. That’s a fibrinous clot. That means the TXA is working,” Y/N replied, faster than Robby could respond.

            Robby looked over at Y/N, chuckling and shaking his head. They all knew she was a nurse, but had the knowledge like a doctor.

            “Parents on their way?” Robby asked.

            Y/N handed the patient the device that was administering TXA again. “Keep breathing this in,” she said.

            “They’re in Baltimore for a wedding,” the patient said. “I didn’t want to bother them.”

            “Trust me, they’re your parents, and you’re in the emergency room. It is never a bother. Write their numbers down, and I will call them.” Robby then looked over to Whitaker. “Call Head and Neck. Stay with him until they get here, ok?

            Then he was gone.

            Y/N continued working on the patient with Whitaker.

            However, once the patient was stabilised, Y/N left. Minutes later, Whitaker was screaming, coming out of the trauma room, asking for help. Instantly, she was on her feet, grabbing gloves again and running over.

            “It’s a post-tonsillectomy haemorrhage,” Whitaker said as a team came in. Langdon, the senior resident, jumped in as Y/N went to grab the suction device.

            “Uh, Yankauer and sponge stick,” Langdon called out.

            “He was stable. Then it just opened,” Whitaker stated, panic in his tone.

            “Call the blood bank,” Langdon called out. “Two units, whole blood. Get a second line.”

            Instantly, they all got to work. Quick moves, haste motives, they needed to stabilise this patient. Already, too many people have died today.

            “Head and neck wouldn’t come down to see him,” Whitaker explained.

            “Assholes,” Langdon muttered.

            “Tachy to 120. His sats are down to 90%,” Y/N called out.

            “Ok, get a high-flow nasal cannula, 100 of ketamine. Set up the GlideScope,” Langdon demanded. “Y/N, hold suction!”

            Y/N halted.

            “I’m going try for direct pressure,” Langdon explained, holding forceps and gauze, placing them in the patient’s throat. “If Head and Neck still won’t come down, call Garcia.”

            “You’re good. You’re good,” Whitaker repeated, looking at the patient in the eyes and muttering the silent reassurance.

            Robby came in as they worked. “What happened?”

            Langdon looked up to see his attending. “Bleeder opened up. Ketamine on board to intubate.”

            Robby rushed to the side.

            “Sats holding 97,” Y/N said, looking over to Robby and Langdon.

            “Can you get an airway?” Robby asked, leaning into Langdon.

            “Come on,” Langdon muttered. “Keep pressure on the scab.”

            Y/N continued to work around them, adrenaline kicking in and nothing else mattered that moment. However, the monitor continued to beep rapidly.

            “Nothing but blood,” Langdon muttered, looking over to the screen where the camera was set up for intubation. “Can’t see the cords.”

            “Sats 94,” Y/N called out.

            Just then, Garcia walked in, coming over to the side.

            “Not sure we have room for the tub with the sponge stick,” Langdon explained.

            “If I pull out, there’s going to be even more blood,” Whitaker explained.

            “Doesn’t look like you secured that airway,” Garcia jested.

            “He’s working on it,” Robby fired back.

            “Open a crike tray and prep the neck,” Garcia said.

            Y/N instantly began to gather supplies for a crike.

            “Y/N, hold on, I’m going in blind with a bougie,” Langdon called out. “I might be able to feel the tracheal rings.”

            Y/N halted, holding the supplies in her hand, looking at the scene.

            “And I might have a three-way with Madonna,” Garcia quipped. “Move.”

            “Not happening,” Langdon fired back.

            “Pressure.”

            “Make room for the grown-ups,” Garcia stated, pushing her way in.

            They continued to work, and Robby looked up to Y/N, seeing if she had any ideas. He shook his head, and instantly she froze for a moment, thinking hard. Closing her eyes, her brain fired, trying to retrieve information. Things she read, learnt, etc. Usually, she could recite knowledge in seconds, but something hit her now.

            “Retrograde intubation,” she whispered, and Robby heard her clear.

            Robby nodded. “Yeah, let’s try it.”

            “A what?” Garcia asked, confused.

            “There’s no obstruction. We just can’t see what we’re doing. So, we take a needle, and we cut it in the cricothyroid. We run a guide wire up and out of the mouth, and we slide the ET tube over the wire,” Robby said, grabbing supplies with Y/N. Both are working like a well-oiled machine.

            “Never seen one before.”

            “Sats 90,” Y/N called out. “It’s an alternative and considered rare when it comes to modern medicine,” she explained. “But we need to do it.”

            “No time to play MacGyver with this kid,” Garcia added. “Time to crike.”

            Robby looked over to Garcia. “It’ll be quick,” he hummed with a smile.

            “You got one shot, and then I cut,” Garcia replied, serious.

            Robby looked to Y/N. “Know what to do?” he asked, smirking.

            “Always,” she hummed.

            They got to work. Robby accessing the next with the syringe before looking over to Y/N. “Guide wire.”

            She nodded, handing it to him. She watched him insert it, carefully, but like a professional, as if this was just habit.

            “Let me know if you start to feel it up top,” Robby said, watching carefully his movements.

            Y/N nodded. “Nothing,” she whispered. “More suction,” she said, looking over to Whitaker.

            “I’m trying,” Whitaker muttered.

            “Still can’t find it,” Y/N replied.

            “Why are you letting a nurse help perform such a complicated procedure?” Garcia asked, raising a brow.

            “Because she is the best of the best and knows a lot more than most people,” Robby replied. “If you worked in the ER, you’d know.” He then chuckled. “She has an IQ of 170–“

            “178,” Y/N replied.

            “Indeed and a eidetic memory,” he said.

            “Doesn’t mean she can preform such a complicated procedure,” Garcia fired back.

            Y/N glanced over to the surgical resident. “An MD doesn’t always mean you’re the best at performing medicine,” she snapped. “Sometimes us average folk can preform medicine too.”

            “Average folk? You call yourself an average folk?” Langdon quipped, shaking his head with a smirk. “Now you’re making me feel like shit.”

            “Enough,” Robby barked quickly.

            “Keep going, Robby,” Y/N whispered.

            “Sats down to 89,” Langdon said now, taking Y/N’s spot.

            “This is not working,” Garcia stated.

            “Give us a second,” Y/N replied a little too harshly.

            “Until he arrests?” Garcia continued to bug.

            “Oh my God, I’m gonna lose another patient,” Whitaker mumbled.

            “Shut up, Whitaker. Let’s get on this,” Robby snapped at him lowly.

            “Sats down to 87,” Langdon said now.

            “Redirect the wire, Robby,” Y/N suggested. “Go at a different angle.”

            “Sats still dropping, 86,” Langdon said, voice a little bit more rushed.

            “Robby, I believe in you,” Y/N whispered. “You’re the cowboy, and it isn’t your first rodeo,” she whispered.

            A few more seconds went by as they tried their best to guide the wire.

            “Sats at 84,” Langdon said now. “We need to bag him.”

            “Christ,” Y/N muttered. “Fucking Christ. Come on.”

            “I’m sanctioning like crazy,” Whitaker said.

            “Good job, Whitaker. What a good boy,” she replied, as she focused what’s on hand. “Sorry, that was a little rude. Treating you like one of my dogs,” she muttered. “Excuse my behaviour.”

            Whitaker looked at her, but she was focused on the task at hand. “Um, it’s fine.”

            Garcia was having enough. “Ok, we’re done playing doctor,” she bit. “Lose the wire. I’m criking this kid,” she barked the orders.

            “Y/N, we tried, I’m sorry, but–“

            “Shut the fuck up everyone,” Y/N bellowed. “Just shut the fuck up.”

            Robby looked at her. “Y/N,” he tried. “We got–“

            “Got it!” she hollered. “I got it!” Pulling the wire out through the mouth, smiling.

            “You still don’t have an airway,” Garcia explained, brows furrowing.

            “Y/N, keep the laryngoscope in place so the tube passes easily,” Robby whispered to her. Then looked up to grab more supplies. “Pass the T, the T tube over the wire.”

            “Yup,” she whispered.

            “Hand on to that wire,” Robby stated as he worked alongside her. “Do not let go of that wire.”

            “Affirmative,” she whispered.

            Robby nodded. “I’m going to give you a little slack so you can get past the cords,” Robby said as she continued to work. “Yeah, yeah, feel you at the trachea.”

Y/N nodded, looking at her work for a second, though her hands were in this kid’s mouth. “25 centimetres at the lips,” she said.

“That ought to do it. Pull the wire, bag him,” Robby commanded.

Y/N nodded, following suit, pulling the wire out.

“Balloons up,” Langdon muttered.

Y/N grabbed the bag, bagging the patient.

“Yellow on CO2. That’s good,” Whitaker muttered, smiling.

“That is very good,” Robby replied. He grabbed his stethoscope and checked the breathing pattern of the patient. “Good breath sounds bilaterally.”

“Sats coming up,” Y/N said, looking at the monitor as Langdon took over. “90…92…”

“Guess you’re gonna have to save that scalpel for another day,” Langdon replied, smirking.

“You guys got lucky,” Garcia replied before looking over to Robby. “Though letting a nurse preform a doctor’s duty–“

Y/N looked at her. “I know how to intubate. I was trained in nursing school on how to intubate,” she barked back.

“Not in a complex case like this,” Garcia argued back.

Y/N snickered and shook her head. “What’s the difference between being taught it in nursing school the normal way, compared to an attending doctor teaching you the complex way. Last time I checked, medical students, interns and residents learn from attendings as well. It’s all education. Patient isn’t dead and I saved a slash to his throat,” Y/N replied. “Skills, doll face. Skills,” Y/N smirked as she looked over to the surgeon. “Don’t underestimate nurses.”

It was amazing. She watched as Langdon and Whitaker took over with Jesse the other nurse. She stepped away. Holy shit, she preformed something, and it wasn’t a nurse’s duty. The adrenaline was serious, the flutter in her stomach was there, and a smile so grand, nothing could ruin her mood.

Y/N stepped out of the trauma room, heart still pounding in her chest, gloves and gown stained, hair falling out of the messy bun she had at the base of her neck. She pulled over the gown and gloves, throwing them in a biohazard bin and leaned on the wall next to the doors. She closed her eyes and exhaled like she was trying to release everything she was feeling.

This is why she did what she did. To help. To heal. To save lives. However, she was a doctor at that moment, not a nurse.

Robby followed her out a few seconds later. She didn’t have to look at him, knowing he was standing beside her, hands on his hips, that quiet little grin playing on his lips.

“Not bad,” he muttered.

Y/N smirked, opening her eyes. “Not bad?” she echoed, chuckling. “Yeah, it was grand. Thanks for trusting me.”

He turned slightly, facing her. “Jack taught you that?” he asked.

She looked at him before nodding. “Yeah. One night… a long time ago before we began being us. I think it was within my first or second year being a nurse. We’d had a really complex case, and he performed this. I was curious, questioned him about it and then he sat me down afterwards. Opened a textbook, pulled up videos and then set up a training dummy in an empty room. It’s just Jack being Jack, he taught me,” she replied. Then she shrugged. “Plus, I read about it when I was in nursing school. Well,” she chuckled, “we weren’t taught it. I was just bored one night in the summer before my practicum and decided to do a deep dive into complex medical care for the ER.”

Robby tilted his head as he listened, the corner of his mouth twitching into something half fond, half impressed. “You did a deep dive into emergency airway procedures for fun?”

Y/N smirked. “Hey, I was single, never went out, couldn’t afford a Netflix subscription, so I had to entertain myself somehow. Medical journals are free because I was in university, and YouTube exists for the general public. I always wanted to be in the ER. Needed to rock the boots off you ER cowboys when I eventually came,” she hummed, smirking.

He chuckled, eyes crinkling. “You shock me constantly.”

Y/N shrugged. “I’m just abnormal. Quirky. Autistic. Fun.”

Robby’s brows furrowed. “You have ASD?” he asked.

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, I actually just got diagnosed like a year or two ago. Level one, but yeah, autistic. Got my brother to get tested as well, and he has it too.” He nodded. Though he wasn’t shocked. “It’s not a secret, Robby,” she added. “I’m not purposely hiding it, if you think…”

Robby just shook his head, more in understanding than anything. “It doesn’t’ surprise me,” he replied eventually. “Just never thought about it,” he mumbled.

Y/N shrugged. “Well, like you say a lot, I keep you on your toes and constantly surprise you.” Then smiled. “Helps my reputation as the terrifying, cut throat, blunt, knowledge nurse who’s incredibly sexy,” she hummed, winking.

“And the one who suggests the med students to write death letters–“

“Hey! I can quote research on that!” she hollered, holding her hands up. “Plus, Jack taught me that. So, it’s not the sparkle that adds to my sparkly personality.”

Robby chuckled. They stood in silence for a beat, both caught in the residue of adrenaline and awe. Robby glanced at her again, that softness back in his gaze – the kind that only ever appeared when he was genuinely proud.

“You know, you were a doctor in there,” he said eventually. She looked up from looking down to her blood-stained sneakers. “Straight up. That wasn’t nursing. That was next-level clinical judgment and technical skill.”

She just nodded before shrugging, trying to play it cool. “I’m just good at learning and doing what I do.”

“No,” he replied. “You were good. Excellent. Terrific.”

She smirked. “Going soft on me, Cowboy? Or just flirting with me?”

He chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. He placed his hands in his pockets and began to rock back and forth on his feet. “I’m going to ignore that,” he hummed, though they all knew he enjoyed her comments. “I am going to suggest something which I know you will swat away, but–“

She knew what he was going to say and instantly, she groaned, throwing her head back. “Don’t.”

“I think you should consider going to med school and becoming a doctor,” he finished his idea, looking at her. Y/N just scoffed. “Why didn’t you?”

Y/N looked back at her feet. “Because I couldn’t,” she said honestly.

He rose a brow. “Because?”             “I needed a good paying job, a quick education and something I loved,” she replied. “Nursing made sense.”

“What do you mean?” he continued to ask.

She met his eyes. “You know me–“

“I don’t know you as much as you think,” he interrupted. “I know what you let me know. I know you have a younger brother, and you’re distant with your mom. I know you love Jack with everything in you, but,” he paused, letting out a breath.

“But?” she asked, confused.

“He wants to marry you, you know?” he said. She raised a brow, confused. “But he’s scared to because he knows that you’re scared of things being too much.”

Y/N let out a loud sigh. “He can marry me. I just don’t want it to be a big deal,” she eventually said. “I also don’t want to,” she sighed, licking her bottom lip. “He lost his last wife. I just don’t want to–“

“I know. But back to what I was saying, why didn’t you go to medical school?”

She stared at him for a beat. She trusted him. Everything about him. She loved him like a brother. “What has Jack told you?” she asked, raising a brow.

“Nothing. Says its not his story,” he replied.

She nodded, smiling. What a good man. “Right,” she muttered, looking back down. “Like said, I need a quick degree so that I could get a job quickly, stable, excellent pay. Then there’s my personal needs that I needed something different everyday and I needed something that challenged me.”

“So, nursing?”

She nodded. “I had a brother to raise,” she said. “I became his legal guardian at nineteen. I took care of him. I’m not from money. My childhood was a mess. Mom’s an addict. My dad…I didn’t know him till I was seventeen. Beck’s dad is gone. We believe he’s in prison. I couldn’t let my brother live that life. Then when I graduated at twenty-two, I worked my ass off to give him the life he deserved. Fuck, I worked my ass off in nursing school to provide for him. I worked at the hospital as a mental health worker. My life hasn’t been easy. Fuck, it’s finally easy now and I deserve that,” she whispered.

Robby stood there, quiet for a long moment, the hallway still around them except for the distant hum of machines and the low murmur of voices. For once, no screams. He stared at her. Then nodded slowly. He knew her. He knew her a lot more than she thought, maybe not fact-wise, but behaviour-wise.

“You do deserve it,” he said. “Every inch of what you’ve created for yourself, you’ve deserved. But I think you do deserve more.”

Y/N pressed her tongue to the inside of her cheek and nodded, exhaling. “I know,” she whispered, looking up to the Gods above as tears came to her eyes. “I’m praying to the science Gods for this baby, Robby,” she whispered. “But I’m letting life take its course,” she looked back at him, smiling. “Don’t push me to go to med school. For one, it doesn’t make sense if this baby does happen,” she whispered. “Two, I would scare Jack away with school me. Assignments, quizzes, labs, exams, etc. I’d be a stressed out like a motherfucker.” Robby chuckled. “Three, I’m thirty. I’m too old for that shit anyway. I’ll be forty when I’m done with school and residency.”

Robby stared at her. “I would hug you, but there are rumours about us,” he whispered. She rolled her eyes. “Come here,” he muttered, grabbing onto her arm and pulling her into a hug. His arms wrapped around her, comforting, warm and strong, holding her close. “You deserve this baby. No matter what,” he whispered into her ear. “But I’m offended if you think thirty is old, let alone forty. Do you know how old I am?”

She smiled, chuckling. “I’m fucking a forty-nine-year-old and I call him my old man,” she whispered, looking up to his eyes. “But you were my old man first before that one came and stole my heart,” Y/N whispered, smiling. “Now you’re just my cowboy.”

Robby exhaled through a smile, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes – an ache he masked too quickly. Robby loved her. He loved her within weeks of knowing her, but he never pushed himself to pursue that love. Jack stole her in two years, and both would never know the truth.

He pulled back enough to look at her, one hand still resting at her shoulder. Epitome of beauty, but the definition of genius. He stared at her. The way her cheeks had a light blush to them, bright eyes filled with life and hair long but cared for. She was everything he needed, but she was happy with another man. His brother from another mother. His best mate. Old rival. And he was happy that she was happy with him.

“Well,” he said softly, “I was a goner the way you rolled in the ER wearing what was it, turquoise and pink under shirt for your scrubs and told me off on how I was charting.” He chuckled. “What was the word you used?”

“Methodical,” she whispered. “I said you weren’t methodical with your charting.”

“Right,” he nodded. “You didn’t even work here yet. A practicum student. Cocky as hell–”

“Intelligent. Confident. There’s a difference.”

“Say all you want, woman,” he hummed, smirking as she gave him a mock glare. “Jack got to you first, but me, well, I’ll always be proud of you, Ace.”

She smiled, warm and full of depth. “I know,” she whispered. “You’ve always been in my corner and one of my greatest mates.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I’ll always be here,” he replied, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Whether you’re a nurse, a doctor, or the woman who made me cry with a speech about grief in the supply closet once.’

Y/N looked at him, trying to remember before laughing. “Oh my God, I forgot about that. A long time ago. You were such a wreck.”

“I was going through a breakup!”

She nodded. “I’m good, though. Great therapist, but I prefer blood over tears,” she replied, winking. “Nurse over psychologist.”

“Cheers to that,” he hummed,

Then they stared at one another. “I’m not going to med school,” she whispered, glancing down. “Don’t try to get Jack to convince me…”

He chuckled. “No promises. But if you ever change your mind, I will write you a letter of recommendation so fast it’ll make your head spin.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I’ll hold you to that if I do indeed get a midlife crisis,” she teased.

“Already got the dogs and the man. All you need is the convertible and the medical degree.”

She smirked. “I love my Bronco. But degree…mhmm we shall see. But I’m happy with just my vegetable garden and the ability to raise a baby.”

Robby’s face softened again. He wanted to reach out, cup her cheek and rub the tears that were welling under her eyes. She wasn’t a crier, but the hormones… He thought better than to do it. “You’ll be a great mom, Ace.”

“Thank you,” she muttered. “I hope so. Didn’t have the greatest person to look up to, but Jack’s mom…she’s amazing.”

He nodded. “You raised Beckett.”     

She scoffed. “Barely. Well, tried my best. I think he turned out ok.”

“Kid’s doing quantum physics,” Robby said with a raised brow. “He’s basically building the future–“

There conversation got short because Robby got called somewhere. He nodded, hummed his response before looking at her again. “I’m always in your corner,” he whispered.

“Likewise, Old Man,” she replied smirking.

He shook his head in disbelief. “Don’t make me move you to triage,” he replied, smirking.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she barked back as he walked away.

-

taglist:

@bubbleraccoon00

@beebeechaos

@travelingmypassion

@kaisanpoint

@sweetwanderlust05

@kmc1989

@hiireadstuff

@dizzybee03

@keileighr

@wolfbc97

@introvertathome

@sharkluver

@katydunn047-blog

-

Hope you enjoyed. xoxo

Ava <3

[mosoderbergh]

Emmrich and the good old fashioned body heat trope

Ok, there’a a thing about Rook and Emmrich pre-romance and the “caught in the cold” trope that is just beautiful to me. Because it would go a lot more innocently than with other pairings. Emmrich is far too much of a gentleman. But that’s what makes this so cute. Like… hear me out.

Emmrich knows the importance of keeping warm and the advantages of sharing body heat. He’s the sort of man who would read up on survival procedures before venturing out into extreme weather.

But surely, a shirt is thin enough to not significantly hinder the transmission of warmth. Surely he couldn’t be expected to strip entirely. He gets rid of some layers, but stays buttoned up to his neck. (Rook is shirtless the moment the words “it might be advisable to, well, huddle up” exit Emmrich’s mouth. They notice Emmrich spends the rest of the night holding intently focussed eye contact.) They cocoon themselves in blankets, sitting by the fire, shoulder to shoulder, backs leaning against insert obligatory cave/cliffside/tree trunk here. Emmrich has read just enough bodice rippers that an image comes, unbidden, to his mind. Of a broad-chested hero gallantly drawing the object of his desire into his muscled arms as they shiver and swoon. He is shocked at himself when he feels a blush creep up his neck. To even allow such a thought! This is nothing like that. A dashing hero may be present, yes, but they are caught in the cold with a colleague several decades their senior. There is nothing swoonworthy about it.

Emmrich files the thought away, and despite the awkward situation, the evening goes on… really rather pleasantly. They end up talking for a good long while. Rook opens up about their own upbringing and Emmrich elaborates on his. They share nostalgic memories. Emmrich recounts some shenanigans from his student days, and Rook can’t believe there’s a mischievous side to him (the mischievous side in question was called Johanna, but Emmrich doesn’t speak her name).

At some point, the comfortable silences stretch out longer and longer. Rook’s head rests on Emmrich’s shoulder. They aren’t quite asleep yet - when he reacts to the contact with an intake of breath, they draw back for a moment. But then, Emmrich leans in, just slightly. Just enough to let them know the touch is not unwelcome. The way Rook curls up at his side then makes Emmrich ache a little. As someone who is an authority figure to so many people (in a way that isolates him sometimes) this simple act of intimacy is precious to him. A show of trust on such a personal level. It takes him more courage than he’d like to admit to rest his cheek against Rook’s hair. The way Rook sighs contentedly gives him goosebumps. It’s been quite a while since Emmrich has shared a bed with anyone. And this is an unusual situation, but still… he can’t help but think how he has missed it. The companionship. The warmth. Sinking into sleep with the comfort of a friendly presence. The intoxicating closeness of someone who has found their way into his heart - this is another thought he tucks away neatly.

And because I can’t resist another trope, of COURSE they shift in their sleep. Emmrich wakes to find himself spooning Rook, with one hand resting on their stomach. They are soft there, and radiating heat. Emmrich thanks every deity he can recount that he tends to wake up early, because if he hadn’t been hard upon waking, the sensation of their body against his, their skin underneath his fingertips would have done the trick. He retreats discreetly to lie on his back. Only for Rook to shift and settle with their head on his chest, one leg draping over him, grazing his erection in the movement. Emmrich forgets to breathe.

He does wake them up, after he’s gotten a hold of himself somewhat. They untangle from him with a sleepy apology. And Emmrich, for a moment, wants nothing more than to stop them, or pull them back into an embrace, or…

He chastises himself for being a touch-starved old fool. Making so much out of nothing. But then Rook slides a hand up to squeeze his shoulder, and they smile at him brightly, beautifully, and ask him if he slept well. And it’s all he can do to swallow a rather wordy confession of his growing infatuation.

(The beauty of Emmrich, to me, is that he’s both a “I could out-sex any man in this room” kind of guy AND an “omg I can’t believe our hands touched” kind of guy. I love him.)

[chronicbitchsyndrome]

speaking of professional dx, i think it's important to recognize that professionally dx'd disabled people are at a severe legal disadvantage compared to disabled people who purely self-id; one of the reasons i'm so intensely pro-self-dx and actively advocate for people to self-dx over professional dxing is because professional diagnosis comes with a cavalcade of systemic oppression and violence from the state, no matter what country you're in.

some things that professional diagnosis of a disability might do, depending on what disability and which country you live in:

bar you from adopting children

get your preexisting children removed from your care

bar you from immigration to most countries

open you up to conservatorship or other form of legal guardianship past the age of majority by your parents or other adults who care for your medical needs, without regard for your consent

remove your ability to consent to medical procedures or withhold consent for medical procedures

bar you from accessing gender care (if trans)

obviously, there's plenty of resources that are artificially gatekept behind professional diagnosis, like mobility aids that are only affordable through insurance, prescription medication, testing like blood tests and MRIs, AAC devices, and more. but i think it's important to remember that those of us who need these things aren't necessarily privileged by our professional diagnoses, insomuch as we're forced into a situation where we have to subject ourselves to endless state violence via professional diagnosis in order to have access to those necessary resources.

i think it's particularly important for those of us professionally diagnosed to remember that. there's a tendency in some circles to treat professional diagnosis like it makes us better or more "legitimately disabled" than self-id disabled folks; this isn't true and it's important to remember that we shouldn't feel the need to define ourselves by a thing that actively harms us. plus, just because someone doesn't have a professional diagnosis doesn't mean they don't need the resources that are kept behind it; often it means they can't afford to weather the state violence that comes with the dx, and so instead they have to suffer without medication or aids or testing and have a significantly worse and shorter life because of this. just because they have legal privilege over you doesn't mean they necessarily have social privilege over you or quality-of-life privilege.

[theguarddogofallyourfeverdreams]

tadashi headcanons

tadashi is here

generally

goody two shoes

never touches alcohol; will get asian flush after the first two shots

has never grown out his hair past the middle of his ears

boxer briefs kinda guy

owns a collection of scarves and gloves because he likes being warm and cozy

plays guitar or some instrument (he has to hes asian asians know)

not only surfs (a surfboard can be seen in his part of the room in some scenes) but also plays tennis and runs

has been approached for modeling gigs because he's well built and tall but he's turned them down, simply not interested in them

not very active on social media but whenever he remembers he has an account he just posts whatever he found interesting for the day like it could be mochi, a bowl of ramen, or littered packaging on the side of the street and then he would disappear off the face of the platform

sent to karate lessons as a kid so knows a bit of self defense which came clutch in situations spawned by hiro's teenage recklessness

he's the type to hide his injuries from his loved ones but get worried over the smallest cuts for them

sleeps like a fucking rock he needs several alarms and even aunt cass telling hiro to cause a ruckus to wake him tf up

learned how to cook from aunt cass because sometimes she is busy and away and hiro gets hungry

learned japanese conversationally from while his parents were still around, routinely tries to upkeep and improve his language ability through japanese books, movies and media

tries to teach hiro and get him to do the same but with hiro's young age and boredom from school he really doesn't think about anything other than his own interests robotics projects and botfighting

listens to pop and calm instrumental music like bossa nova

lowkey a swiftie

heavily dependent on caffeine; like near finals and midterms he can't function without coffee

until at some point he tried out matcha and was completely blown at how the matcha latte didn't give him jitters and caffeine spikes

so a matcha guy but will drink coffee if it's the only thing around

he's not lactose intolerant but hiro is and he makes fun of him for it

has really bad allergies though

keeps an extra futon in the storage of his lab because there have been way too many nights where he just passed out on the floor of his lab too exhausted to go home

i could see him in a VW beetle

or just any car that would run

appreciates any weather for what little delights they hold but interestingly i'd say he's a cloudy, chilly, crisp cold air that makes your breath look like steam, on-the-verge-of-raining day guy because he gets to bust out his cardigan and blazers and make himself a warm little drink

smells like fresh laundry, coffee and delightful little pastries -- like stepping into a warm bakery on a chilly day-- because the brothers have to help Cass open

on days he's busy with baymax and other robotics projects he comes out of his lab smelling more like metal, lubricant, oil, soldering-- all that stuff that comes with mechanical tinkering and is conscious of it; if he has a class after he will go home and shower and make himself a matcha latte and he smells like a bakery all over again

crazy well-regarded not just in his own department but in school overall

like not only was he able to make a portable huggable robot capable of 10,000 medical procedures with a built in defibrillator which is actually insane legend crazy work on its own

but he's insanely nice and kind to anyone he passes by on campus and offers help whenever he can

^ many girls and even some guys are head over heels for him they can't fathom that he's a real person and not some prince that came out of a fairytale

he's lowkey a loser when it comes to his brother (and other aspects covered later) though

since hiro and aunt cass are all he has left of his family he's insanely protective of them, especially hiro who is in his teenage rebellious years

like in an argument with hiro when hiro says something mean to him in the heat of the moment like "Why are you like this?! It's none of your business!!" or whatever he gets sad and even beats himself over it lowkey like "Am I a bad brother after all...?"

there have been multiple instances in which he didn't hang with the gang because he wouldn't trust hiro to run off and get into a botfight in some shady ass crevice of the city SCENE: hiro is grounded by tadashi yet again and tadashi insists to escort hiro to and from school Hiro: Why do I have to be dropped off by you? And you're picking me up too?! And why do I have to wear this stupid T-Shirt?!!! [t-shirt says "i got in trouble for not listening to my brother and nearly getting us arrested]

like look me in my tumblr icon and tell me that's never happened bruh

lowkey needs glasses but has contacts, will wear them if in a rush

hes a cool robotic genius prince in shining armor whos also lowkey really lame and dorky 😭😭😭 

romantically

since he's a goody-two-shoes so he's low-key romantically inexperienced and easily flustered

^ he's probably a virgin ngl

like he gets bitches "oh tadashi? from the robotics department? yeah he's really nice; he helped me carry some stuff this one time. and suuuper cute. would." / "yeah I would date tadashi if I weren't, you know, a heterosexual guy" ...but he doesn't act on any of the action he gets

part of the reason being that hiro hamada exists and that alone is a responsibility in itself

like he had to sew GPS tracking systems into hiro's clothes if he went on a date his date would get interrupted by hiro's jacket pinging from some sketchy ass dead end alleyway like 4 miles away

and even if he brought someone home he wouldn't be able to do anything peacefully since he shares a room with hiro, the only thing separating the brothers being a thin, timeworn shoji partitioning

would blush if brought into a victoria's secret-- he wouldn't know where to put his eyes so he would be flustered and his eyes darting all over the place

^ if one were to ask if he was okay from all the victoria's secrets being revealed in front of him he would stutter like a stereotypical flustered teenage boy

love isnt limited by gender kinda guy

he's just a chill guy who has so much love to spread all around you know

bigger spoon, loves cuddling

love languages acts of service and quality time

vvvvvvv sweet and considerate

sooo gentlemanly

is a clingy sticky affectionate sappy drunk to his s/o

free pastries and coffee for breakfast from the lucky cat cafe

would cook for his s/o maybe even breakfast in bed

would help wash and blow dry s/o hair

very polite (very demure very mindful LOL) often asks before a lot of things "can I hold your hand?" "can I help you with that?" "can I hug you?"

gives his s/o rides home on days they have to go home at night because lets face it even san fransokyo in 20thirtysomething has sketchy dangerous bums

he is very athletic and has crazy endurance from playing sports all throughout school and having to run, chase after, and rescue hiro out of botfighting "misunderstandings"...

^ crazy endurance... iykwim...

soft top, would be open to reasonable experimentation

rarely gets jealous but if he does, bottles it up

until he cant anymore and he does some slightly possessive stuff like putting his jacket over his s/o and he will feel a little romantical when he is alone with them iykwim

is sooo cute just trust

some darker stuff maybe(?) tw/ trauma, death, unresolved issues or whatever idk

as hard as he is on hiro and his loved ones he's hardest on himself

he was old enough to remember and feel his parents death so it was harder on him than it was for hiro

part of the reason why he wants so desperately to help everyone is because he wishes he could have done something to save his parents

it's not explicitly stated but i get the feeling their parents died instantly from a terrible accident that unfortunately first responders weren't able to save (which was probably the inspiration for Baymax, who is portable and capable of 10,000 medical procedures which is crazy work btw)

he lowkey has survivors guilt from it

any nightmares he has of his parents and the accident and he wakes up panicking and teary-eyed he goes to the bathroom to compose himself to not let it affect hiro

lowkey he might have a small issue of basing some of his self-worth off how helpful he is

nevertheless he's a well-adjusted and healthy young man who has gone to therapy and overcome his trauma but experiences from his past influence and manifest in his work of trying to help others through robotics

which manifested in many sleepless days and nights and innumerable pots of coffee during baymax's development stages

hates health insurance companies (don't ask how he feels about luigi's mansion)

hes so so gorg i love love love like since forever

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from Common Dreams:

Climate defenders and farmers sued the Trump administration in federal court on Monday over "the U.S. Department of Agriculture's unlawful purge of climate-related policies, guides, datasets, and resources from its websites."

The complaint was filed in the Southern District of New York by Earthjustice and the Knight First Amendment Institute at Columbia University on behalf of the Environmental Working Group (EWG), Natural Resources Defense Council (NRDC), and Northeast Organic Farming Association of New York (NOFA-NY).

The case focuses on just one part of Republican President Donald Trump's sweeping effort to purge the federal government and its resources of anyone or anything that doesn't align with his far-right agenda, including information about the fossil fuel-driven climate emergency.

"USDA's irrational climate change purge doesn't just hurt farmers, researchers, and advocates. It also violates federal law several times over," Earthjustice associate attorney Jeffrey Stein said in a statement. "USDA should be working to protect our food system from droughts, wildfires, and extreme weather, not denying the public access to critical resources."

Specifically, the groups accused the department of violating the Administrative Procedure Act, Freedom of Information Act, and Paperwork Reduction Act. As the complaint details, on January 30, "USDA Director of Digital Communications Peter Rhee sent an email ordering USDA staff to 'identify and archive or unpublish any landing pages focused on climate change' by 'no later than close of business' on Friday, January 31."

"Within hours, and without any public notice or explanation, USDA purged its websites of vital resources about climate-smart agriculture, forest conservation, climate change adaptation, and investment in clean energy projects in rural America, among many other subjects," the document states. "In doing so, it disabled access to numerous datasets, interactive tools, and essential information about USDA programs and policies."

EWG Midwest director Anne Schechinger explained that "by wiping critical climate resources from the USDA's website, the Trump administration has deliberately stripped farmers and ranchers of the vital tools they need to confront the escalating extreme weather threats like droughts and floods."

[gf2bellamy]

captured — bellamy blake

pairing: bellamy blake x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: bellamy rescuing you from mount weather content warnings: being kidnapped by mount weather, danger of bone marrow transplant but nothing happens, multiple mentions of a syringe

The cold, clinical corridors of Mount Weather stretched endlessly, their sterile silence broken only by the distant hum of machinery and muffled cries from other prisoners. The fluorescent lights above flickered erratically, casting distorted shadows that seemed to writhe along the walls like specters. 

Every breath was heavy with the stench of antiseptic and fear, a nauseating combination that clung to the air. Somewhere in the labyrinth of hallways, you were trapped—another victim of Mount Weather's cruel experiments. 

Inside a dark room, you lay strapped to a metal table, your wrists and ankles bound tightly with unforgiving restraints. The surgical light above burned brightly, its glare blinding and relentless. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest as you strained against the bonds, the cool metal biting into your skin. 

The doctor beside you moved with precision, his gloved hands organizing an array of instruments on a tray. You could hear his voice, low and clinical, discussing the procedure with an assistant as if you weren’t even there. The sound of their conversation sent shivers of dread down your spine. 

Your breath hitched as the doctor leaned over you, syringe in hand, the liquid inside glinting ominously in the harsh light. Panic surged through you. Tears pricked your eyes as you squirmed against the restraints, but they didn’t give. 

Somewhere beyond the thick walls, Bellamy Blake moved with quiet urgency. 

Clad in tactical gear and armed with nothing but his gun and  determination, he navigated the corridors.  

So far, he’d freed several captives, each one more injured and terrified than the last. But it wasn’t enough—not until he found you.  

Back in the room, the doctor moved you with the syringe. Your eyes widened, and a strangled cry escaped your lips as you turned your head away, tears streaming down your cheeks. The assistant held your arm steady as the needle hovered closer. 

The door suddenly crashed open with a deafening bang, the force sending the assistant stumbling back. 

“Step away from her!” Bellamy’s voice thundered, cutting through the tension like a blade. His rifle was raised, his finger steady on the trigger, and his eyes blazed with anger. 

The doctor froze mid-action, his face paling. For a moment, silence hung in the air, thick and crackling with tension. 

Bellamy’s gaze darted to you, strapped down and trembling. Something inside him snapped at the sight—your tear-streaked face, the fear in your eyes, the way your body shook against the cold, sterile table. 

He didn’t hesitate. 

With two quick strides, Bellamy closed the distance, his boot kicking the tray of instruments to the floor with a loud clatter. The assistant bolted for the corner, hands raised in surrender. Bellamy turned his focus back to you, his hands working frantically to undo the restraints. 

“Bellamy,” you gasped, your voice breaking on his name. Relief washed over you like a tidal wave, and for a moment, the terror receded. 

“I’m here,” he said, his voice softer now but still laced with urgency. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.” 

His hands trembled slightly as he worked the last restraint loose. The moment your wrist was free, you surged up, throwing your arms around him in a desperate embrace. His gun clattered to the ground as he wrapped his arms tightly around you, one hand cradling the back of your head. 

“It’s over,” he murmured into your hair, his voice a soothing balm against the storm of your emotions. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.” 

You clung to him like a lifeline, your fingers fisting the fabric of his jacket as you buried your face against his chest. His heartbeat, strong and steady beneath your ear, grounded you. 

“I was so scared,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I thought they were going to—” 

“They didn’t,” Bellamy interrupted firmly, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. His gaze was intense, full of a mixture of relief and guilt. “I’m not letting anything happen to you. Not now, not ever.” 

You nodded, the weight of his words sinking into your chest.  

“Can you walk?” he asked gently, his hands still braced on your shoulders. 

Your legs felt like jelly as you swung them off the table, but with Bellamy’s steadying arm around your waist, you managed to stand.  

“Yeah,” you said shakily, leaning into him for support. 

“Good,” he replied, his tone firm but reassuring. “Stay close to me.” 

With one arm wrapped protectively around you, Bellamy led you out of the room. The oppressive halls of Mount Weather seemed less daunting with him by your side. 

[drabbling-doll]

Doll takes care of Mech Pilot

~~ in which we find broken things taking care of broken beings and other way around ~~

At first (not technically first, because there were events preceding this), the room was empty, only a lone doll was in it, furniture taken away, the inhabitant lying on the ground when its joints needed to rest. Its past witch named it Blue, after the elaborate patterns on its porcelain hands. The dear witch was now buried in the cemetery of Avian Lane 52, sector 5, row 4, grave number 23, Ywess Thornton. Blue made sure her grave was orderly and pretty.

Blue went to see this errand, fresh flowers in its hand. It would kneel at the grave for the next day or two, depending on the weather. It wouldn't want to further deteriorate before proper scrapping as part of Miss's legacy. It was clearly defective, it was turning off randomly, and no one wanted to claim it. After three months of that, or when losing permanent residence, it would be signed for decommissioning by Act 4295 paragraph 541. It was okay, turning stray wasn't something Blue was capable of.

It was approaching the graveyard when it noticed a woman blocking the small side entrance it usually used to enter. It waited for a bit. Autumn wind was rustling the leaves around.

"Please, if Miss could only be so kind…"

The woman's eyes looked upon the doll and were so barren. Is it another doll, perhaps?

"Does that one have a place to stay?" asked Blue. "Negative," replied the unknown doll. It spoke military, like a combat doll! "It can stay where this one stays, there is a room and its Miss liked to take care of strays, it would serve her legacy." There was no reply, but Blue remembered how Miss did it. "Here, come with this one!" it said and took the other doll's hand, then took her to the Miss's grave, where it knelt, but only for an hour or two, then they walked to Miss's past home.

~~~

It didn't take long to notice that the other doll was kind of strange. In the first place, It seemed to use the toilet, which is very unusual for a doll. But maybe it just went to clean it and flush, it should be done from time to time, so at first, Blue let it by. Then, the other doll drank water. Well, maybe it is thinking of drinking tea. Blue didn't offer any. And why wasn't it still, but still moved a bit? Then, the strange doll went out and returned with half eaten bread. But the most shocking thing was that it ate the bread. This alarmed Blue very much.

"Why did that one eat the bread?" asked Blue. "Was hungry," replied the strange one with a flat voice. "Hungry? But… is that one not a doll?" "No…" "Then…"

Then it made a horrible mistake!

"Please Miss, please forgive this one, it apologizes. It thought that… it means, it thought Miss was a doll, it is very sorry."

Silence for a while. Blue used the moment to recollect its thoughts. It already invited the strange woman to its Miss's home, there is no going back from that. She seemed to be a stray, doll or not. Maybe this changes nothing, just requires a different type of care.

"Would Miss like to stay here?" Blue asked her. There was no reply. "Can it know Miss's name?" "A10." "It's nice to meet Miss Ayten!" said Blue and did a curtsy with a smile.

~~~

Upon closer examination, the situation was not so pleasant. The money for Blue's errands left by its witch was sparse, and most of it was already used on flowers for Miss's grave. The apartment it lived in was to be rented soon by its witch's family. Blue promised to look after it in the meantime. But for now, Ayten had a place to stay.

Blue went to buy some groceries for her. She didn't have any preferred choices, so it bought nutritious things, as Miss looked a bit undernourished. She also smelled a lot, and when Blue showed her the bathtub she immediately undressed, went under the shower, and let the water fall on her without any movement.

Blue took care of Ayten and scrubbed her body. This whole procedure revealed several things about Miss Ayten. First, the malnourishment was severe. Second, she had plug entries on her back. Third, there was a barcode on her body. From examining these clues, Blue came to an understanding that the new guest was a mech pilot. This novelty was turning misses like Ayten into almost mindless beings capable of only piloting giant machines. They were used for construction, disaster recovery, or wars, but there wasn’t one right now. Sometimes, it happened that they turned stray, like dolls, especially when they were… insufficient. Blue's witch frequently talked about this with a strange vigor in her eyes.

Doll didn't exactly know how to care for a mech pilot, but it has to start somewhere, for example, turn on the refrigerator again.

"It will have to go to buy many things, it can take a while," doll explained and left and returned and rekindled the flame in the kitchen and made food for Ayten, which was probably too spicy, so it tried again and again, until new Miss didn't get a rash or other adverse reactions from it.

~~~

After two weeks, everything stayed the same, the only thing that changed was that the new Miss started to gain some weight. A progress!

Then the incident happened. Blue was cooking in the kitchen, when suddenly there was smoke everywhere, Blue was safely placed on the ground away from it and Ayten was opening the windows.

"Please Miss Ayten, please forgive this one. It is defective and sometimes it just turns itself off for a while." "I guess we both are huh," said Ayten in reply. Doll counted six words on its hands. That's the longest sentence the new Miss said yet! "Thank Miss Ayten for taking care of it and the kitchen." "Yeah… gotcha. I won't let anything happen to you." "That is very kind of Miss." During the conversation, Blue noticed a strange gleam in the eyes of Ayten. Like if life was returning to them, but it quickly faded.

~~~

Money was almost gone. Blue eventually had to find work. But according to law, dolls couldn't work alone, only in service of its Miss witch. And Blue didn't have one.

"Miss, if it would…" it tried asking Ayten. No response. "Please forgive Blue, but it is very important for Miss's well-being." That got her attention. "The money Blue used to buy food and things for Miss is almost gone and it needs to work to get more, but it needs to have a witch for that and it doesn't have one and no one wants it and…" the Something which ran inside the doll puffed a bit of air out of its ears. It couldn't ask for this. No. "It can't work without the witch so…" Puff. Ayten looked at Blue without blinking. "Please, it is really important, otherwise there wouldn't be anything to eat…" That somehow made the light return to Ayten's eyes. "But, I'm not a witch," Ayten said. "It understands," said Blue very dejectedly. "Would just signing something be enough?" Blue might have jumped a bit when it heard that. "Yes, Miss!" Then… just before the glimmer from her eyes dissipated, Miss Ayten smiled! It was the most beautiful thing for Blue to see.

~~~

Somehow, it easily found a work in the archive. Dolls apparently were in high demand there. It explained it is narcoleptic, even if it wasn't, but it was close enough for them to understand. It was alright for them, it was an archive job and Blue promised it will make up for the lost time.

~~~

Blue found that the apartment was to be rented out in a month. After a consultation with Miss Ayten, in which Miss said exactly zero words, but nodded faintly, Blue found a new home for them. Very small, with one bed, but it was enough. They don't take up much space and Blue didn't need a bed anyway. For Ayten, it was an improvement, as she slept on the bare floor before. Blue directed her to bed the first few days and then Miss went there on her own.

Then it remembered… Blue was to be decommissioned! But it can't now, can it, it officially has a witch now. Miss Ayten was a… strange Miss though. Blue was a broken doll and it got a broken Miss. Its witch never wants anything, there are no orders for it. Doll missed orders a bit, but it found it can function without them just as well. Before, it read stories about mech pilots recoveries and of love blooming later. Recovery didn't seem to happen in this case, maybe these were just fairy tales. Maybe it is like that because both of them are broken? Miss smiled sometimes though, which was like seeing an angel.

Most importantly, there's the Purpose now. And where there is Purpose, there is love. Blue will see to it.

[bohemianrapshawty]

Elbows Deep in Love

Dr. Robby had seen countless emergencies in his time, but nothing quite prepared him for what he saw when he walked into the trauma bay that night.

The ER was buzzing with the usual chaos—monitors beeping, nurses rushing about, and the soft murmur of anxious family members. But as Dr. Robby pushed through the doors, something stopped him in his tracks. There, amidst the whirlwind of medical staff, was her.

The intern—he didn’t even know her name yet—was deep into a procedure, blood spattered across her scrubs, her focus razor-sharp as she worked on a trauma victim who had come in with severe injuries. She was elbow-deep, literally, in saving this person’s life, her hands steady and sure as she applied pressure to the wound to stop the bleeding. She was calm, controlled, in a zone that seemed almost ethereal.

Dr. Robby blinked, his heart skipping a beat as he watched her. She wasn’t panicking, wasn’t flustered; her whole demeanor was one of quiet confidence, a soft but undeniable strength. It was hypnotizing. She worked with a sense of urgency but without any outward sign of stress. Every movement was fluid, practiced.

"Pressure’s still not enough," someone called out, and without looking up, she barked an order. “Get me the clamps! Now!"

Robby had been through countless surgeries and procedures in his years, but there was something about the way she commanded the room, how her hands moved with precision, that felt… magical. She wasn’t just saving a life—she was performing a symphony with a scalpel and sheer willpower. The sound of her voice, the calmness, the way she didn’t even flinch as blood splashed across her face—it all made his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

A few minutes later, the bleeding was under control. The trauma victim was stabilized, and the room slowly began to settle. Everyone who’d been working alongside her seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. Dr. Robby, still standing at the doorway, felt like he’d just witnessed something extraordinary.

She turned, wiping her hands on a towel, and her gaze flicked up—right at him. And for a split second, everything seemed to stop. Her eyes locked onto his, and he could have sworn there was a spark, something between them. A connection, no matter how fleeting.

"Dr. Robby," she said, her voice warm and calm, “we’re going to need some blood. Can you pull it from the bank?”

It was simple, a professional request. But to Robby? It was like hearing his favorite song played live in front of him. *She knows my name*—and even better, she wasn’t running the other way at the sight of him standing there like a deer caught in headlights.

“I—yeah, yeah, of course,” he stammered, immediately feeling a flush creep up his neck. He nodded and hurried to fulfill the request, but all he could think about was her. *Her.* The way she held the room, the way she saved lives with such quiet determination.

From that moment on, Robby was... well, obsessed wasn’t quite the word. But he found himself wandering the halls more often than usual, popping into the ER just to see if she was around. He’d ask about cases she was working on, pretend to need a consult just to linger a little longer near her. Every time he saw her, his heart would race a little faster.

And every time she spoke to him, even if it was just a quick comment about a patient or the weather, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d just won some kind of prize. Her laugh was soft, warm, and it made his knees weak every time he heard it.

He began to take notes—mental notes—on everything he could about her. How she always tucked her hair behind her ear when she was focused, how she never seemed to need coffee even though she was always the first to arrive in the morning, how she always asked if others were okay before heading home herself.

It wasn’t long before Robby started to realize something: he was falling. And hard.

One evening, after another long shift, he found himself standing beside her in the quiet ER, both of them staring at a patient file, the low hum of the hospital around them. Robby cleared his throat, his hands sweating slightly as he fumbled for the right words.

“You… you’re amazing,” he blurted out. His cheeks immediately turned red, and he mentally kicked himself. Smooth, Robby. Really smooth.

She turned to him, eyes softening as she gave him a small smile. “Thanks. It’s just what we do.”

For Robby, that moment—the moment he truly understood the depth of his feelings for her—marked the beginning of something he couldn’t quite explain. Maybe it was the way she saved lives with such grace. Maybe it was the way she made the impossible seem easy. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the way she made him feel like the world was a little bit brighter every time she walked into a room.

From then on, Robby was hopelessly smitten. And though he couldn’t yet find the courage to admit how he felt, he knew one thing for sure: she was the reason he came to work every day.

[meteorologistaustenlonek]

#WhatNOAADoes - Thanks to #NWS Peachtree City GA for hosting a new #Skywarn severe weather volunteer storm spotter training course to be held Friday, March 28, 10 AM -- 12 PM at College & Career Academy in #RinggoldGA.

More info & register here: https://www.weather.gov/ffc/skywarnsched

[sylusonychinus]

Episode Seven: Under Pressure

Series Masterlist Next Episode

The next morning, [Reader] woke up to the quiet hum of the city outside her window.

She blinked blearily at the empty space beside her, only to realize—Caleb was gone.

Her fingers brushed against the sheets, still warm from where he had slept. Then it clicked.

He must have left early for his first flight of the day.

With a soft sigh, she rolled out of bed and got ready for work.

As soon as she stepped into the ground control tower, a flurry of voices and rapid commands filled the space.

The storm had already begun rolling in, and the radio buzzed with transmission after transmission of rerouted flights struggling to land.

She was just settling into her station when an emergency call came in.

"Mayday, this is Flight 308. We have a passenger suffering from a heart attack. Requesting immediate priority landing clearance."*

Her stomach dropped at the voice on the other end.

Caleb.

"Flight 308, this is ATC," she responded quickly, her training kicking in. "Due to severe weather conditions, several runways are currently unavailable. We are assessing the safest landing option for you now."*

"Understood. Passenger is unresponsive—medical assistance needed ASAP."*

She clenched her jaw, eyes flicking over the control screens.

Almost all the active runways were occupied. Some flights were already circling, waiting for clearance. If they didn’t act fast—

"Tara," she called, turning to her colleague. "I need you to contact emergency services and have an ambulance waiting at Gate 12. Make sure the paramedics are ready to go the second that plane touches down."*

"On it," Tara nodded, already dialing the number.

[Reader] took a steadying breath before switching back to the transmission.

"Flight 308, diverting you to Runway C for immediate landing. Adjust your heading to 270 degrees and begin descent now. Tower will guide you in."*

"Copy that. Beginning descent."*

Her grip on the console tightened as she monitored the approach, her entire focus locked on ensuring Caleb and his passengers made it down safely.

Seconds stretched into eternity before—

"Flight 308, touchdown confirmed. Welcome to Linkon International."*

A collective breath of relief filled the control room.

She watched as the plane taxied toward the gate, where paramedics were already waiting.

"Nice work," Tara murmured beside her. "That was fast thinking."*

But [Reader] barely heard her, only feeling the tension ease slightly from her shoulders. Caleb had landed safely. That was all that mattered.

Meanwhile, at the Gate

Caleb sat in the cockpit, exhaling deeply.

"That was some quick landing," his co-pilot praised. "Not easy in this weather."*

"Wasn’t just me," Caleb replied, unbuckling his seatbelt. "The ground crew handled it well."*

As they finished their post-flight procedures, Liana approached, a smile curving her lips.

"You handled that so well, Caleb," she said smoothly. "You’ve always been good under pressure."*

The other crew members glanced between them, sensing familiarity in Liana’s tone.

"Wait, you two know each other?" one of them asked.

Liana tilted her head. "Of course. We were friends back in college."*

A murmur of intrigue passed through the crew.

But before the gossip could spread, Caleb shut it down immediately.

"We were batchmates. That’s all," he said firmly. "Nothing more."*

Liana’s smile stiffened for a split second before she laughed lightly. "Right. Just batchmates."*

But the curiosity in the air lingered.

Later, during break

[Reader] was just about to grab a coffee when her phone buzzed.

Liana Reyes: Meet me outside the terminal. We need to talk.

Her fingers hovered over the screen.

She already knew this wasn’t going to be a friendly conversation.

Still, she sighed and headed to the meeting spot.

Liana was already there, arms crossed.

"You should break up with Caleb," Liana said the moment [Reader] arrived.

[Reader] raised a brow. "That’s bold of you."*

"I’m serious."* Liana stepped closer, lowering her voice. "You think you belong in his world? With his kind of family?"

[Reader] stiffened.

Liana smirked. "You don’t want people knowing who you really are, do you? The daughter of a mistress?"

Her stomach churned, but she kept her face unreadable.

"And what if Caleb finds out?" Liana continued, voice dripping with fake sympathy. "Do you really think he’ll look at you the same way?"

"I don’t know," a voice suddenly cut in. "Why don’t you ask me yourself?"

Both women turned—

And there stood Caleb.

His gaze was sharp, unwavering.

Liana’s confidence wavered for the first time. "Caleb—"

"You really think I didn’t already know?" he interrupted, crossing his arms. "That’s what you wanted to hold over her?"

Liana opened her mouth, but Caleb took a step closer, voice low.

"Listen to me, Liana," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I was never interested in you. Not in college. Not now. Not ever."*

Liana flinched slightly, her lips pressing together.

[Reader] watched in stunned silence.

Caleb’s gaze flicked to her, softer now. "You ready to go?"

She blinked before nodding. "Yeah."*

Without another word, Caleb took her hand, leading her away—leaving Liana standing there, her plan completely shattered.

Taglist: @jinwoosbabyboo @kithyyy @mcdepressed290 @nezuswritingdesk @elegantdeerlady @yuuuumii @duhgurl @lumieresdreams @bidisasterforevermore @i-messed-up-big-time

@that-one-scoundrel @justpassingdontworry @ansbobcar @nagireos

[salternateunreality2]

Why are they in a blanket burrito? AGSZC

Angeal:

He's cold, his big ol bear body is great and all, but he's just cold today, ok? And maybe a little bit hiding from his mentee, who just found out about skibidi. He's happy and sleepy in his cocoon.

Sephiroth:

It's the closest he can get to feeling like he's back in the womb. Extra bonus points if someone else does the wrapping, but usually he has to wrap himself and it's not quiiiite tight enough. But he needs it. He feels melancholy but there's a hint of warmth to it.

Zack:

He is FREEZING!!! Jungle boy Zack is NOT prepared for Midgar weather!!! He is trotting and hopping around on just his heavily socked tiptoes trying to find a snuggle buddy. Also slipping a lot due to the socks. He's having a great time.

Cloud:

It's anywhere from several hours to a single nanosecond before he absolutely has to wake up, and if you bother him, you will perish. He is sleep-growling. He may or may not be comfortable and happy, but he is DEFINITELY going to rip your face off if disturbed.

Genesis:

He has to be restrained for a medical procedure, such as Angeal FORCE-FEEDING him HORRIBLE POISON (cough syrup and/or antibiotics) that's NOT EVEN APPLE FLAVORED. It is CRUEL, it is HARSH, it is A BREACH OF TRUST, he is IRATE!!! MAY THE GODDESS SMITE YOU ALL!!! Don't worry, the entire housing block knows of his plight.

[bcacstuff]

Timeline 15 - December 2024 - February 2025

For completeness and to consult when there’s discussion about his whereabouts. In addition to the previous timelines.

Timeline 15 covers 2 December 2024 - 16 February 2025

For previous dates see timeline 14

On 3 December he meets Jake Norton in Kathmandu and starts his journey to Everest by flying to Kathmandu and per helicopter to Chheskam. Jake Norton posts some pics and info as well. The adventure involves a new trekking route, the Mahakulung Muddhi-Kongma Dingma Trail, which gets inaugurated in Chheskam before they take off on 6 December 2024. Off the grid for a week

After 10 days in no-mans-land, the first glimpse we get to see is posted on 16 December, a video by himself and a pic by Jake Norton, who also gives some more clues about the trail they did and further plans.

Many more pics and videos from the travelers are posted, Sam shares a 4 parts post of the journey, Jhanak shares beautiful pictures and Jake wrote on his blog and shared pics , another blog on 30 December and a third one in January. On 22 December the hotel they stayed also shared 2 videos.

Sam didn't share anything for the holidays, but shared some footage from his ski vacation in Andermatt, Switzerland on 5 January 2025.

On 12 January a picture is posted showing him at Romeo's in NYC. He's in NYC for the TCND promo.

On 13 January he's guest at the NBS Today show

15 January he's taping the Tonight show with Fallon in the afternoon and in the evening HSC with Josh. Several Pics and videos. (more in archive).

On 17 January he's scheduled taping the Kelly Clarkson show which airs on 27 January. (more in archive)

In between he did several promo videos for TCND (US release) and OL finale S7B. All from his hotel on zoom or in person. (more in archive*)

On Saturday 18 January he is live on IG for MPC

The next day Sunday 19 January he runs in the Hudson River Park near Pier 46

On 20 and 21 January we learn he's in Williamsburg at Bar Madonna doing a photo/video shoot for his new book The Cocktail Diaries, where he also records the announcement for another US SS tour.

On 22 January he's seen walking in Soho NYC heading to the gym for a workout

On Burn's Night he's at O'Hara's pub& restaurant, he has a visitor as company all week with whom he explores NYC and several touristic places.

On 8 February he's first signing some bottles at Broadway Spirits in NYC, and later on the 'winter tour' starts in Westbury, NYC. Many fan pics, videos (more in archive*)

The same night they apparently dined at Passerine and took a walk in the snow having fun.

Next up is Louisville KY, 11 February, where he took a walk (or run) in the morning or the day before, close to the hotel he's staying. The same procedure of queuing up hours before he arrives and the fan pics of the bottle signing. Working out the next day in the hotel gym

14 February is Chicago's turn, queuing up in the middle of the freezing night for a 5 sec. fan pic and hoping to gift him something he'll keep. And another snowball battle in the evening

Time for some better weather in Miami and a motorbike trip to the Keys on 16 February. Then to arrive the next day for the signings as well on mortorbike, where people queued up 24+ hours ahead. Welcomed by bagpipes he parades into the shop for the fanpics.

Note: From some events there are more posts and pics to be found in my archive, you can filter on the according month

Other timelines:

Pre Hawaii timeline

Timeline 1 August 2020 Timeline 2 September 2021 Timeline 3 February 2022 Timeline 4 August 2022 Timeline 5 October 2022 Timeline 6 January 2023 Timeline 7 April 2023 Timeline 8 June 2023 Timeline 9 August 2023 Timeline 10 October 2023 Timeline 11 December 2023 Timeline 12 March 2024 Timeline 13 July 2024 Timeline 14 October 2024

[pmamtraveller]

SCENES FROM MODERN LIFE; THOMAS EAKINS

Thomas Eakins (1844–1916) was an influential American painter known for his realism and focus on the human form. His father was a calligrapher and writing teacher, and at first, that seems to have been Thomas Eakins’ direction, too. He studied at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts where he learnt drawing and anatomy.

The Champion Single Sculls (Max Schmitt in a Single Scull) (1871)

Created to commemorate the victory of Eakins's friend, Max Schmitt, in a rowing competition on Philadelphia's Schuylkill River. Eakins, a passionate oarsman himself, depicted Schmitt in a moment of calm rather than in the throes of competition. The painting captures great detail in the water, oars, and weather, Eakins even included himself in the artwork, rowing in the background.

Portrait of Dr. Samuel D. Gross (The Gross Clinic) (1875)

It is a portrait of the renowned Philadelphia surgeon in the surgical amphitheater of Jefferson Medical College (now part of Thomas Jefferson University). Eakins includes himself in the painting, seated at the far left, sketching the scene. The patient's mother, who looks away and shields her eyes, unable to watch the surgery, is also included. The procedure took place before the advent of aseptic technique, so instruments were clean but not sterile, gloves and gowns were not worn.

Arcadia (c 1883)

This painting was an unusual venture into mythology, created during a period when Eakins was experimenting with photography. Eakins had bought his first camera in 1880 and started to use it as a photographic sketchbook. Although it can be read as another step in his campaign for painting from life, the work features models posed in a pastoral setting, including his future wife, Susan Macdowell, and his nephew, Ben Crowell.

Swimming (The Swimming Hole) (1885)

Bathers have been a popular and recurrent theme in paintings since the dawn of the art. Here, Eakins features identifiable figures, which are Eakins himself and several of his students. However, its exhibition in 1885 sparked controversy due to its graphic portrayal of nudity and identifiable figures. This backlash contributed to Eakins's resignation from the Academy in 1886 after a series of complaints about his promotion of nude studies.

The Agnew Clinic (1889)

This fine painting shows the surgeon performing a partial mastectomy, and the whole scene is a testament of how surgery had advanced in just fourteen years. The clean white gowns worn by the doctors, the use of sterilized instruments, techniques promoted by Agnew. Eakins completed the painting quickly, in just three months, rather than the year he took for his earlier masterpiece, The Gross Clinic.

[abigailnussbaum]

OK, Severance theory time: we know that one effect of the severance procedure is control of the severed employees' perceptions (beyond the fact that Mark isn't seeing what's actually on his screen in MDR, there's also the "guides" in the ORTBO, who clearly aren't actually there because they appear and disappear, and also aren't dressed for the weather). We know a refiner was "watching" Mark and Ms. Casey in some form while she was on the severed floor, in much the same way that Mark's screen is showing Cold Harbor. We know that the rooms Gemma enters on her floor have the same names as the files the refiners are working on, that when she goes into those rooms her severed personas experience traumatic or frustrating experiences, and that her caretakers are particularly concerned with whether there are any emotional (as opposed to physical) leftovers from her experiences in those rooms.

So: the work of macrodata refinement is in creating the personas or splinters associated with each severed identity. In making sure that the traumas associated with one's severed experience can't bleed out into the outie persona or other severed identities (because trauma isn't simply a matter of memory but of physical, autonomic responses). That's why refinement involves identifying and corralling "scary" numbers - it's about ring-fencing those negative experiences in a way that isolates them only to one persona. And it's why there's a refiner observing the severed floor - because either Ms. Casey, or (more likely, given that the refiner is credited as "Mark watcher") Mark still need to be refined and to have their negative emotions, such as Mark's grief, filed away.

So Cold Harbor is yet another severed persona, and presumably the reason that Mark is the only person who can complete it is that he knows Gemma best and is able to perform the minute adjustments that lead to whatever it is that Lumon wants her to become. Which still leaves the question of what makes this persona different than the others, but I think there's a clue in both the "Mark watcher" credit and in the fact that Dr. Mauer is told that once Cold Harbor is complete, he won't see Gemma again. I think despite what Mark believes, severance isn't actually eliminating his grief for Gemma. There's a refiner working on him and corralling those feelings away so he doesn't experience them. What Cold Harbor is intended to do is produce permanent severance, a complete disconnect from unwanted feelings - in this case, presumably, Gemma's love and longing for Mark - that doesn't require nonstop maintenance.

Aside from everything else, this would be a nice twist on the underworld/Orpheus and Eurydice associations this season (and "Chikhai Bardo" in particular) seem to be courting. Mark isn't just Orpheus searching for his lost love, he's also Charon feeding her the waters of the Lethe. If he completes Cold Harbor, Gemma will be completely lost.

[usafphantom2]

Blackbird lands in the dead of night, a Christmas miracle.

December 22, 1982, SR -71 # 974 Emergency landing at Grand Forks Air Force Base, North Dakota.

The crew coordination between the pilots and RSO (Reconnaissance Systems Officer) was one of the strongest contributions to the SR-71’s outstanding safety record.

This trust and bond between them allowed two separate individuals, sitting in two separate cockpits with two different roles, to perform like one individual.

During the emergency descent, Pilot Smith could not see the runway. This was his last chance to land in zero visibility. RSO McKim said, “Strobes on site.”

Then Smith pulled the throttle to idle and felt the runway!

On the night of December 22, 1982, Lt. Col. Bernie Smith and his RSO Major Eddie McKim experienced a left generator failure while on a mission over Iceland / Canada. They selected Grand Forks AFB in North Dakota as the nearest suitable emergency airfield. During the descent, a primary hydraulic system failed, one of the most severe emergencies on the SR-71. They needed to land immediately.

They dumped fuel to reduce the landing weight as they neared Grand Forks. The weather was deteriorating rapidly. It was now two hundred feet overcast, with one-half-mile visibility and a slippery runway with freezing drizzle. During this emergency, Smith flew the instrument landing system down to a minimum. The "Minimums" callout is made at the minimum altitude, and this is the point that the Pilot Flying has to make a decision -- continue landing or bailout. The runway environment was not in sight, and visibility was so bad he could not see anything. The idea of a missed approach was not an option, though, as there were no suitable alternate fields available, and they were too low on fuel.

Smith will never forget Ed’s words while he sat there staring into zero visibility at close ground proximity. “I have the strobes in sight. You’re on the centerline. Keep on coming.” With no visibility around him either, Ed was looking through his viewsight and had picked up the sequence of flashing lights beneath the aircraft. It was this bond and trust that made Smith pull the throttle to idle and sit there until he felt the runway. Miraculously, they landed, blowing out the tires on a sheet of ice. There was only one hangar that would be able to house the crippled Blackbird 605 was just barely big enough to hide the top-secret airplane. Armed Air Force security surrounded the SR-71, protecting it from onlookers, which was standard procedure. On Christmas Eve 1982, Smith and McKim took off for Beale Air Force Base, their home, with a little bonus tail art. “Merry Christmas, Grand Forks”

Eye witness Tom Bennett, “ I was there when it happened. I was a nav in the 46th Bomb Squadron (B52Hs), and we partied with the crew at the club. I believe the pilot’s name was Bernie Smith. The crew lost hydraulics somewhere near Iceland en route back to the States. They wouldn’t make it to Beale, and GFAFB was the last northern tier base open because bad weather precluded them from landing elsewhere. Their departure was on a Saturday, and a large crowd gathered to see it take off. They did an air show for about 10 minutes in the pattern (mostly high-speed runs), and then at the end, they slowed for an approach gear down, then went a gear up, hit the burners, and disappeared into the overcast. A lot of noise, a lot of speed.... “🔥🔥

Four years ago, John Des Portes shared this story with me, and I paraphrased it. One Photo credit goes to Dale Riggs, who was there at Grand Forks and took these two photographs. Second photo credit to Don Hinton who took a picture of the tail art I expanded, and re-took the picture ~ Linda Sheffield

With Ed McKim

@Habubrats71 via X