#tw; irresponsible with medication

[gutterclan]

Moon 5 - Part 2

Synthsong is more than twice as old as the next oldest cat in the clan btw. & he's like. middle aged.

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[un-fwuit-un-fwog]

The Rain is Especially Loud Tonight

Synopsis: The Prefect gets hurt due to Crowley's negligence.

TW: Injury, Stitches, Medical Stuff, Prefect gets caught under a collapsed Ramshackle

Part 1 (here), Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11 (coming soon), . . .

Tick Tick Tick Tick

The room would be completely silent were it not for the ticking of the clock on the wall.

The environment was more comfortable than your usual medical setting, but it still felt cold in a way.

The door creaked open and in stepped professor Crewel. "Hey, Pup." His voice lacked its usual stern tone one would hear in the classroom; instead, his voice was gentle and almost hoarse.

The hoarseness was no doubt a result of him screaming at the headmage in a roar you shiver even recalling. He had spent hours tearing into the man for his gross negligence and irresponsibility.

"Pup?" His voice became more worried when you failed to answer.

"Sorry." A meek, rasped voice leaves you throat. Your throat burns with dryness despite the 6 glasses of water you already drank, and it feels like every syllable echoes through your head and causes an intense, throbbing pain. You don't recognize the voice that claws its way out of your throat as your own.

You hear the soft scrape of a chair on the floor next to your bed. "No. Don't apologize, Pup." Rocking your gaze slowly over to him its clear to you, with the way his jaw clenches and unclenches while his eyes search the blanket covering you, that he wants to say something, but isn't sure what.

You slowly rock your head to look forward again. "Everyone's been in such a panic. . .and it's my fault, I-"

The man cuts you off as you choke on your words: "Pup. This is not your fault."

"But-" Your throat feels like its been given a massage with a thousand razor blades. The coughing your attempts to speak cause only make the pain worse.

Crewel quickly grabs another glass of water and holds it up to your lips for you to drink. "But nothing, Pup- Keep those arms down or you'll re-open the wounds. That old building was bound to collapse at some point. We all knew it. If the fault is on anyone it's on us staff. Crowley made you stay there, and we didn't stop him." The glass cup clinks slightly too harshly onto the nightstand as he sets it down.

Silence falls between the two of you.

Tick Tick Tick Tick

The ticking of the clock numbs your thoughts. You force your mind to stop focusing on the pain radiating from every inch of your body and instead listen to the steady ticking of the clock. The only other sound that can be herd is the occasional hurried footsteps outside the door as the other staff do their best to take care of the situation.

Your injuries have already been treated by a specialty team sent from STYX the moment the news got to them. They were the only ones aside from Grim, Leona, and the staff that had seen your mangled form before you were wrapped up like a mummy. You didn't have to ask how bad it was. Seeing Crowley throw up at the sight of you was enough to tell you it was bad.

The STYX team had spent nearly a whole 24 hours stitching you back together like some ragdoll and rearranging the many pieces of you that had been ripped and jostled out of place. If not for them. . .well, you don't want to think about it. If you looked like a mummy on the outside, you were sure that under the bandages you looked like Frankenstein's monster. There really wasn't a single bit of you that got out of that death trap unscathed.

You were kept in the school infirmary instead of being carted off to some high-tech STYX facility only because they needed to operate on you as soon as possible and didn't want to move you too much after the initial procedures. They made do by shipping a ton (literally speaking, more like 3 tons) of medical equipment to the school, most of which was now littered around the infirmary in a rushed yet professional way.

Despite your closeness to your friends, the only people who had come to see you were the staff. It's not that none of your friends wanted to see you, but that they weren't allowed to. The doctor's worried having them in so soon, when they were still full of hysteria from the news, wouldn't be the best idea. They weren't able to text you either as your phone had been crushed in the collapse.

"How's Grim?"

Professor Crewel hums: "Physically, he's pretty unscathed. He just has a few scrapes and bruises. Mentally, he's a bit traumatized."

You supposed that made sense. You didn't remember much, but what you did remember was Grim's voice. He had been returning to the dorm from after school detention when he found the building in shambles on the ground. He called out to you but your lungs were filled with debris and your torso was being crushed by layers of rubble. The dorm ghosts met Grim at the edge of the junk pile that used to be a dorm and confirmed that you were inside and that you needed help. The ghosts talked to you as you laid there, not being able to physically move anything off you themselves. They kept you awake and assured you that Grim was getting help.

Not long later you heard shouting. Two of the ghosts stayed with you while the third went out to meet the staff and fill them in. You were told after the fact that that's about the time they called up Leona to use his unique magic so they could get you out as soon as possible (that was the first time many saw the lion run).

You were blanking in and out of consciousness when they found you, but you remember them finding you. The feeling of the weight of the rubble lessening as it was methodically turned to sand and removed (in order to not end up crushing you with sand instead), the small grains dripping on your face, and eventually, the full force of the pouring rain battering your face as the last of the rubble was removed from above you. You remember Leona's manic eyes turning horrified, Crowley puking, and worst of all, Grim's face.

"STYX sent over a few trauma counselors. There are ones assigned specifically to Leona and Grim as well since they saw some of the worst of it." Crewel finally broke the silence again.

"And you? You and. . .the other teachers were there too. . .and Sam."

"Calm down, Pup. We've all had evaluations done to assess how we're handling it. We'll be fine.

"What about. . ." Your voice trails off, but from the look in your eyes, Crewel can tell what you were about to ask.

"What about the headmage?"

You nod, wincing slightly when the motion disturbs an injury on your neck.

"He's under investigation." Crewel responds after a brief pause. He knew that you surely couldn't be all that fond of the crow, but as you saw it, he was probably also your only ticket home. Crewel looked up to gauge your response, but your face remained neutral.

"And you, Pup? I obviously know you aren't doing particularly well physically right now, but what about mentally?"

"Hm?"

Crewel hesitated, not wanting to dig around in a mental wound and make it worse, "You were. . .under there for a while. I'm sure it must've been. . .scary."

You think for a moment before responding: "Was I really under there that long? It didn't feel like it. . .I think I passed out a few times." Your mumbled words put Crewel at ease in a way. He's not happy that you had been passing out, but he was at least glad that you weren't stuck under there fully conscious and feeling every second tick by as if it were an hour.

"Hmm. I see." Crewel nods. "I ought to let you rest now. A counselor will stop by tomorrow to talk to you about what happened." He stands up as he says this, his knuckles still white from how tightly he'd been gripping the fabric of his pants. "Rest well, Pup."

You simply nod, this time more carefully as to not disturb your wounds, and watch him walk out. When the door closes you swear you hear a choked sob.

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[devdozes]

♠ Double package of tits and wits

i swear tge title is a joke okaya 💔anwyays, maybe innacurate medical knowledge and reader yaps about spiderverse theories tw- description of surgeries, gore (not much), surgeon mydei and reader.

The first time you met Mydei, he was standing in the middle of the ER, clipboard in hand, reading over a patient file with the expression of someone who had just been assigned to clean a crime scene with a toothbrush. He was new, fresh from a high-end medical program, and carried himself with the kind of quiet confidence that made nurses whisper and interns both respect and fear him. He had an air of efficiency, crisp in both movement and demeanor, like a man who had everything under control.

Naturally, you had to mess with him.

"Oh no, another serious one," you fake gasped, leaning against the nurses' station, balancing a cup of coffee precariously on a stack of patient charts. "You look like you're contemplating life choices. Did you lose a bet to end up here?"

Mydei slowly looked up from his clipboard, unimpressed. "No. But I assume you did, given your current posture and general air of irresponsibility."

Your smirk widened, tapping your fingers against the cup. "Ah, he's got claws. Good. You'll need them here."

Before he could reply with what you were sure would be a clinical-level roast, a nurse rushed over. "Dr. [L/N], emergency surgery. Chest trauma. OR 2. Now."

Your entire demeanor shifted in an instant. Gone was the playful teasing and casual posture. The coffee was discarded onto the counter, forgotten. You pushed off, face tightening with focus as you nodded. "On it. Let's move."

Mydei watched as you strode off, barking orders at the surgical team like a general leading an army. The contrast was stark—one moment, you were a chaotic sister figure of the hospital, the next, a razor-sharp surgeon whose presence commanded the room with no room for erorr. The ease with which you transitioned between those two states intrigued him. It was impressive.

It became a running joke in the hospital that you never walked—only sprinted. Due to the absurd number of trauma cases flooding the ER, you had been dubbed the "Marathon Runner" by the staff because you were always dashing to the emergency room or the OR, barely catching your breath between surgeries.

One particularly chaotic evening, yet another murder victim was rushed into the ER, the fifth in five days. You were already running before the announcement had finished crackling over the speakers. "Where's Mydei?! I need extra hands!" you yelled over your shoulder.

You caught sight of him further down the hall, walking at his usual composed pace. Not fast enough. In one swift motion, you grabbed his ear and yanked him along, continuing your sprint toward the ER.

"Move it, newbie! We don't have all day!" you barked, barely sparing him a glance as you dragged him with you.

Mydei stumbled slightly but quickly regained his footing, shooting you an exasperated glare. "Is this how you usually recruit your surgical team? Physical assault?"

"If it works, it works! Now stop whining and keep up!"

By the time you burst through the ER doors, Mydei’s expression was a mix of mild irritation and resigned acceptance. The staff barely batted an eye at the scene—just another day in the war zone, and just another mad sprint for the infamous "Marathon Runner." ♥♥♥

The patient was already prepped by the time you and Mydei scrubbed in. Gunshot wound to the underside of the thoracic region, severe internal bleeding, possible liver damage. Time was not on your side.

"Scalpel," you said sharply, hand outstretched as the instrument was placed into your palm.

The moment you made the incision, the world outside the operating table ceased to exist. The chaotic, joking version of you disappeared, replaced by a laser-focused surgeon with only one objective: saving this patient’s life.

"Retractor," Mydei instructed, his voice calm but firm, matching your energy perfectly. Despite his usual stoic demeanor, he worked with the same level of intensity, sharp eyes scanning for complications before they could escalate. "The bullet's lodged near the hepatic vein. High risk of rupture."

You nodded, steady hands navigating the delicate area. "We'll need to remove it without causing further damage. Hold traction here."

He complied without hesitation, and for the next hour, the two of you worked seamlessly, the tension in the room thick as you maneuvered through the critical steps. Nurses exchanged glances—rarely did a new surgeon adapt so well to your pace, but Mydei was holding his ground.

Finally, with careful precision, you made the incision, gently extracting the bullet with forceps. Mydei immediately clamped down on the bleed as you worked to close the wound. "Hemostasis achieved," he confirmed, voice still level despite the high-stakes procedure.

You exhaled sharply, finally allowing yourself to acknowledge the strain in your muscles. "Good work, newbie. Maybe I won't have to drag you by the ear next time."

His mask couldn't hide the slight quirk of his lips. "A relief, truly."

The nurses stifled laughter as the tension broke, and you smirked beneath your mask. Just another day in the war zone cod mentioned

Over the following weeks, the emergency murder victims didn’t stop. If anything, they became more frequent. More victims, more emergency calls, more all-nighters in the OR. You barely had time to breathe between surgeries. The staff was growing anxious—talks of a serial killer floated through the hospital halls, whispers of patterns, speculation about who the next victim would be.

One night, after finishing another back-to-back surgery, you leaned against the break room counter, rubbing the exhaustion from your eyes. Mydei sat across from you, arms crossed, his usual composed expression marred by something contemplative.

"You notice it too, don’t you?" you muttered, cracking open a cold energy drink. Mydei inhaled slowly, "Mhm. Yeah, I did, it is truly concerning. Who could be doing all this? and why are these happening to only those who are connected to the hospital in some way or the other?" "As much as I would like to say that it's a conspiracy theory although this seems too..well planned," You reply before taking a huge gulp of your energy drink, and cringing out as the brain freeze kicks in "OH FUCK BRAIN FREEZE!!" "Good lord"

Surgery after surgery. Shift after shift. Barely enough time to breathe.

You were used to this—the endless flood of trauma cases, the sleepless nights, the way your body screamed for rest but never quite got it. The hospital never slowed down, and neither did you. And with the murders increasing, the ER had become more of a war zone than ever.

But if there was one silver lining in this chaotic, bloodstained mess, it was that you had a new plaything—Mydei.

He had only been here for a couple of months, but the poor bastard had already been roped into your whirlwind pace. Every time another trauma case came barreling through those ER doors, it was like clockwork—you and Mydei, sprinting through the halls, elbow-deep in someone's guts five minutes later.

And to your shock? The guy was handling your bullshit.

Mostly.

♥♥♥

Surgery #1 “Another one?” Mydei muttered as he scrubbed in, glancing at the case file.

You huffed, aggressively tying your mask. “Yup. Because life is fair and normal and totally not a complete joke.”

“It is, in fact, not fair or normal,” Mydei agreed dryly, stepping into the OR beside you. “We just had back-to-back stab wounds two hours ago.”

“Welcome to the life of an average surgeon,” you shot back, holding out your hand. “Scalpel.”

The instrument was placed in your palm, and you immediately got to work, making the first incision. The moment the skin parted, blood surged up like a dark tide, and you barely resisted the urge to curse.

“Gunshot went clean through the left lung,” Mydei noted, his hands already moving to assist. “We need to clear the hemorrhaging before we can close it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Look at you, newbie. Talking like a real trauma surgeon.”

“Unlike you, I actually paid attention in medical school.”

“Unlike you, I actually know how to function on three hours of sleep and an energy drink,” you retorted, maneuvering the forceps with ease.

He didn’t even dignify that with a response, focusing instead on securing the ruptured artery. The monitors beeped wildly as the patient’s vitals dipped, and for the next hour, it was a brutal game of tug-of-war with death.

But eventually, after what felt like forever, the bleeding was controlled, the lung repaired, and the incision closed.

Another one survived. Another round of exhaustion settling deep into your bones.

As you peeled off your gloves, you nudged Mydei with your elbow. “Good work, newbie. You only looked mildly horrified this time.”

“I was not horrified.”

“Sure you weren’t,” you said, smirking behind your mask.

♥♥♥ Surgery #5

Mydei had just sat down in the break room, a cup of coffee in one hand and his sanity barely intact, when you kicked the door open, with the most tired, zombie-like eyes ever, but your energy said otherwsie.

“We have another stab wound victim,” you announced dramatically, pointing at him like you were accusing him of a crime.

He stared at you for exactly three seconds. Then, without breaking eye contact, he calmly put down his coffee, stood up, and walked past you.

“You coming?” he said flatly.

You grinned and followed after him, practically skipping.

By the time you were both in the OR again, hands scrubbed, gloved, and ready to operate, you could feel the weight of exhaustion pressing down on you. But at this point, exhaustion was just another permanent state of being.

“Another day, another stab victim,” you muttered, making the first incision. “I should start keeping a tally at this point.”

“I assume you already do,” Mydei said without looking up, using a retractor to hold the muscle layers apart.

“I do, actually. I carved it into the back of the break room door.”

He blinked. “You did what?”

“I’m kidding.”

“… Are you?”

“Maybe.”

He exhaled sharply, muttering something under his breath about unprofessionalism and ‘why do I work with you’, but his hands never faltered.

And as always, you and Mydei worked seamlessly, patching up yet another poor soul and dragging them back from the brink of death.

♥♥♥

Surgery #9

It had been twenty hours since either of you had properly rested, and you were running on nothing but spite, lemon-flavored energy drinks, and questionable life choices.

“Did you seriously just chew a lemon before scrubbing in?” Mydei asked, his voice filled with both disbelief and vague disappointment.

“Yup,” you said cheerfully, barely suppressing a yawn.

“Unbelievable.”

“You say that like this isn’t my standard operating procedure.”

“… That is the problem.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before shaking his head and focusing on the patient before you. It was a nasty case—multiple knife wounds across the abdomen and thigh, excessive blood loss, risk of sepsis.

The moment you started cutting, it was pure chaos. Blood loss was extreme, the heart monitor was fluctuating wildly, and the nurses were scrambling to keep up with the damage.

Through it all, you and Mydei moved in perfect sync—suctioning, stitching, clamping arteries before they could burst.

“Patient’s BP is dropping,” a nurse warned.

“We need to move faster,” Mydei said, his voice sharp.

You didn’t hesitate, maneuvering the forceps with expert precision, your breathing controlled even as tension mounted. The OR was filled with nothing but the sounds of beeping monitors and the relentless rhythm of your hands moving against time itself.

And then—

Stabilization.

The vitals steadied. The bleeding stopped. The worst was over.

You let out a long, exhausted breath, finally stepping back. “Oh my fucking god. That was hell.”

Mydei, equally exhausted, glanced at you. “At least we’re still alive.”

“For now,” you muttered, tossing your gloves into the bin.

♥♥♥

After nine surgeries in less than two days, the exhaustion finally hit you like a truck.

As you walked into the break room, Mydei following behind, you dramatically collapsed onto the couch, draping yourself over the armrest. “I am dying. This is it. Tell my story.”

Mydei raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “No.”

“Rude.”

He ignored you, instead pouring himself another cup of coffee with all the grace of a man barely holding himself together.

You peeked at him from the couch. “You know, newbie, for someone who acts all serious, you’re weirdly good at keeping up with my insanity.”

He took a slow sip of his coffee, meeting your gaze with a look of complete indifference. “Because someone has to make sure you don’t actually die from your own bad habits.”

You grinned. “Aww. You care.”

“I don’t.”

“You totally do.”

“I don’t.”

“You’re looking out for me. Admit it.”

He sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. “I regret working here.”

“No, you don’t.”

He took another long sip of coffee, not answering.

And despite how exhausted you both were—despite the blood, the chaos, and the looming shadow of the unbelievably many cases—you couldn’t help but laugh. You then stand up, stretching your arms upwards and bending down until you feel a sense of relief. "Alright, I'm going to go in the dorm to rest now, call me if anything happens" You sluggishly say while walking outside the door, not giving Mydei a single look as you slam the door shut.

The hospital was never quiet.

Machines beeped, nurses murmured in hushed voices, and somewhere down the hall, the steady rhythm of footsteps echoed against the tiled floors. It was a never-ending cycle of exhaustion and urgency.

But for once, you weren’t in the middle of the chaos.

You had crashed in the break room after nine surgeries back-to-back, running on caffeine and pure adrenaline. The moment your body hit the couch, you were out—four hours of deep, dreamless sleep. It wasn’t enough, not even close, but at least you could function again.

You groggily blinked awake, stretching slightly as your stiff muscles protested. Something felt different.

Lifting your head, you noticed the dimmed lights and the faint chill of the air conditioning. And then—your gaze landed on the figure at the desk.

Mydei.

Fast asleep.

His arms were folded on the surface, head resting on them, his usual sharp posture completely gone. His strawberry-blonde hair, with its signature faded red tips, was a little messier than usual—strands falling over his forehead, some brushing against his closed eyes. Even the normally well-hidden red tattoos that curled faintly along his collarbone and neck were just barely visible beneath the slightly loosened collar of his uniform.

You stared.

It wasn’t like you’d never seen Mydei exhausted before—you practically lived in the trenches together, spending ungodly hours in the operating room, barely catching breaks between emergencies. But this?

You’d never seen him this unguarded.

His sharp golden eyes—usually keen, unwavering, always calculating—were closed, his breathing deep and steady. Without that intense gaze, the usual tension in his expression had softened, leaving behind something… calmer.

… Honestly? He kinda looked like a big, overworked tiger curled up for a nap.

Which made the urge to mess with him even stronger.

Still groggy, you dragged yourself off the couch and plopped down beside him. Instead of waking him up, you mirrored his position—arms folded, head resting on them.

And then—you just watched him.

Not in a creepy way, of course. 🤨

You were just… admiring.

The way his hair fell over his face, the subtle rise and fall of his breathing, the faintest crease in his brow like even in sleep, his mind was still running through checklists and surgical procedures.

It was rare to see Mydei so… still.

You exhaled softly, tilting your head slightly, and without really thinking, you reached forward—lightly brushing a stray strand of his hair out of his face.

His hair was softer than you expected.

Not fair.

“… Damn,” you whispered, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Didn’t know you could actually look peaceful.”

No response.

“… Or that you had a soft side. Thought you just ran on stress and stubbornness.”

Still nothing.

You chuckled, shifting slightly to get more comfortable. Maybe you’d just sit here for a while.

The break room was quiet—a rare thing in a hospital where chaos never took a break. The distant hum of machines and the occasional muffled voice from the hallway were the only reminders that the world outside was still moving.

But here, at this moment, it felt like time had slowed down.

You had only meant to sit beside Mydei for a little while—maybe tease him when he woke up, maybe just steal a moment of peace. But the exhaustion that had been dragging at your bones for hours finally caught up to you.

Your breathing evened out, your eyelids grew heavier, and before you even realized it… you were out.

Your head tilted slightly, resting against your folded arms—barely a few inches away from Mydei’s.

For a while, the two of you just slept there.

The break room remained undisturbed, the dim lighting casting soft shadows over the both of you. The warmth of exhaustion settled in, and despite the hard surface of the desk, despite the stress of the hospital, you slept soundly.

It wasn’t long before Mydei stirred.

His sharp golden eyes fluttered open, blinking away the haze of sleep. It took him a moment to register where he was—the familiar scent of antiseptic, the low hum of hospital equipment, the faint chill of the AC brushing against his skin.

And then—he noticed you.

Still fast asleep.

Mydei froze.

You were so close.

Your head was resting on your arms, your breathing slow and even. Your hair was slightly messy from the way you had collapsed against the desk, a few strands falling over your face. Your usual smirk and teasing remarks were absent, leaving behind a rare, peaceful expression.

For the first time since he had met you, you looked completely relaxed.

His gaze lingered.

Longer than necessary.

The way your eyelashes rested lightly against your skin. The way your lips were slightly parted in sleep. The way your entire presence, which was usually so chaotic, loud, and restless, was now quiet and soft.

Mydei’s fingers twitched slightly—as if resisting the urge to reach forward.

He swallowed, looking away for a brief moment, but his eyes inevitably found their way back to you.

Why did you always manage to surprise him?

Every day in this hospital, you ran on energy that should’ve been impossible, pushing through sleepless nights, impossible surgeries, and the constant storm of emergencies with a smirk and a sharp remark.

But now?

Now you were just a person. A tired, overworked person who had finally given in to exhaustion.

Mydei exhaled slowly, his gaze softening ever so slightly.

“… Idiot.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but there was no bite in it.

Just something quiet.

Something unspoken.

Something fond.

His golden eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he sighed and leaned back, closing his eyes again.

♥♥♥

Not even after a few minutes, his sharp golden eyes fluttered open again. And Mydei remained still, his sharp golden eyes lingering on you as you slept—your breath slow and even, lips slightly parted, exhaustion weighing heavily on your features.

It was rare to see you like this.

Usually, you were everywhere—a constant storm of motion, teasing remarks, and sharp wit. You sprinted through hallways, laughed in the face of pressure, and dragged him into surgeries without so much as a warning.

But now?

Now you looked… adorable.

A rare sight. One that made something tighten in Mydei’s chest.

Without fully thinking, his hand moved on its own.

His fingers brushed against your cheek, featherlight—hesitant, almost uncertain.

His touch was gentle, warm despite the callouses from years of steady-handed practice in surgery. He traced the faint warmth of your skin, watching the slow rise and fall of your breathing, the way your eyelashes barely fluttered in sleep.

Soft.

You always carried yourself with a reckless energy, a chaotic presence that burned like an uncontrollable fire. And yet, here you were, fragile in a way he’d never seen before.

Mydei swallowed, pulling his hand away reluctantly.

You needed rest.

And if he knew you at all, the moment you woke up, you'd be right back to running through the hospital like a madwoman.

With careful movements, he shifted forward, sliding his arms beneath you.

His hands settled under your back and legs as he lifted you effortlessly—your body light in his grasp, head naturally falling against his shoulder.

You stirred slightly.

A soft murmur left your lips, barely coherent, but you didn't wake.

Mydei stiffened, pausing for a second as his heart gave a single, unexpectedly loud thud.

Then, when he was sure you wouldn’t suddenly snap awake and make some kind of smug remark, he continued moving.

Crossing the break room in a few quiet steps, he carefully lowered you onto the bed.

The mattress dipped slightly beneath your weight, and Mydei took his time ensuring you were comfortable. He adjusted your arm so it wasn’t awkwardly twisted, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear before pulling the blanket over you.

He watched for a moment.

The way your lips parted slightly in your sleep. The way you instinctively curled into the warmth of the blanket.

Then, finally, he exhaled—stepping back.

His gaze lingered.

Just a little longer.

The next day, the emergency room was in chaos again.

Another murder victim had arrived—stabbed five times across the torso. But this time, it was different. The victim was one of the kidney donors for an upcoming transplant surgery.

"Damn it," you hissed under your breath, already sprinting down the hallway. "Where’s Mydei?!"

Just like before, you spotted him walking toward the ER. Without hesitation, you grabbed his arm, dragging him along at full speed.

"Another one?" he asked, voice edged with something colder this time.

"Yeah, and it’s bad. Let’s go."

You burst into the OR, scrubbing in faster than you ever had. As you pulled on your gloves, the sight before you made your stomach drop. The victim was barely hanging on, the stab wounds deep, organs likely compromised. fuckfuckfuckfuck.

♥♥♥

The operating room was already a bloody fucking battlefield by the time you and Mydei scrubbed in, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood. Nurses moved with trained precision, hooking up transfusions, adjusting monitors, and preparing for what would undoubtedly be a long, grueling surgery. The overhead surgical lights cast harsh illumination over the patient’s torso—five deep stab wounds, oozing dark crimson with every weakening pulse.

Heart rate: dangerously unstable. Blood pressure: crashing.

Your jaw tightened as you surveyed the damage. Stabs this deep weren’t meant to be survived. Whoever did this had aimed to kill.

“Damn it,” you muttered, snapping on your gloves. “If we don’t stop the bleeding now, he’s going into irreversible shock.”

Mydei, standing opposite you, let out a slow breath, already tying his mask over his face. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—sharp, calculating—scanned the wounds just as fast as yours. “Five stab wounds. Two to the upper left quadrant, three to the lower right. If the knife went deep enough, we could be looking at a perforated intestine or a renal artery injury.”

Your pulse spiked. A renal artery injury was a death sentence without immediate intervention.

“Massive transfusion protocol,” you snapped. A nurse responded instantly, prepping units of blood and plasma. “We need volume replacement now.”

Mydei nodded. “We’ll clamp first, repair later. If we go straight to suturing with this much blood loss, he’ll code on the table.”

No arguments. No wasted time. You were already reaching out.

“Scalpel.”

The cold metal handle was placed into your palm within seconds. You made your incision with expert precision, cutting through damaged tissue with just enough force to expose the internal injury without worsening it. Blood immediately welled up, pooling at the edges, but you ignored it.

“Suction,” Mydei instructed. A nurse responded instantly, clearing your field of vision.

You leaned in, eyes narrowing as you inspected the worst of the damage. “Wound number three tore straight through the abdominal muscles—there’s internal bleeding near the right kidney, but no penetration to the organ itself. Wound number five is the real problem.”

Mydei adjusted his grip on the retractor, carefully exposing the area. “It’s deep. Arterial involvement is definite.”

You exhaled sharply. “We need to clamp the renal artery now. If we don’t stop this bleed, the kidney’s gone.”

Without hesitation, he reached for the vascular clamp and maneuvered it into place, securing the artery just enough to slow the hemorrhaging without cutting off circulation completely. The heart monitor beeped erratically, a sharp, nerve-wracking rhythm reminding you both that time was running out.

Your mind worked at lightning speed. A clean suture wouldn’t be enough. The artery needed reinforcement.

“Vascular shunt,” you ordered.

The nurse handed it over, and Mydei carefully inserted the temporary tubing into the laceration, allowing blood to continue flowing while preventing further hemorrhage. It was a calculated move—buying you time to stabilize the patient before a definitive repair.

The surgery stretched into hours. Each stab wound presented a new set of complications—layers of muscle damage, ruptured capillaries, tissue trauma that required intricate repair. At one point, the patient’s vitals dipped dangerously low, sending a wave of tension through the OR.

“Heart rate’s dropping,” a nurse announced, voice tight.

You snapped your fingers, already moving. “Increase fluids, push epinephrine if needed.”

Mydei’s voice remained steady despite the pressure. “The renal artery’s secured. Moving on to muscle closure.”

You nodded, exhaling sharply as you reinforced the sutures around the artery and checked for residual bleeding. “Alright. That’s the worst of it. We’ll leave the abdomen open with a temporary closure—he’s too unstable for a full close-up now.”

The next steps were grueling. Stitching up torn muscle, ensuring no internal bleeding remained, placing protective barriers to prevent sepsis. The process required patience and absolute focus.

By the time you secured the final surgical dressing, the monitors had stabilized. The heart rate was still weak, but steady. The kidney function was preserved. Against the odds, the patient had survived.

The room was silent for a moment—no words, just the heavy weight of exhaustion and relief pressing down on you.

Then, finally, you leaned back, stretching out your stiff shoulders. “Well,” you said, voice hoarse, “that was an absolute nightmare.”

Mydei removed his gloves with that same composed expression, though there was a flicker of something else in his gaze—something unreadable. “But he lived.”

You huffed out a breath, nodding. “Yeah. He did.

The second you stepped out of the OR, the weight of the past few hours slammed into you all at once.

Your legs felt like lead, exhaustion pressing into every joint and muscle. The harsh fluorescent lights of the hallway blurred at the edges of your vision, and your pulse drummed sluggishly in your ears.

The moment you made it past the door, your knees buckled.

You barely had the energy to curse before your back hit the wall, and you slumped down onto the cold tile floor. Your head lolled back against the surface, eyes fluttering shut as you exhaled sharply.

“Shit.” The word came out as more of a breath than a complaint.

The sheer amount of adrenaline, focus, and precision that the surgery had required had drained you completely. Even though you’d done longer procedures before, something about this one had left you bone-tired.

Maybe it was because the patient shouldn’t have made it. Maybe it was because you’d spent every second fighting against the inevitable.

Maybe it was just the way your body was finally giving out.

A pair of footsteps stopped beside you.

You barely cracked an eye open before a shadow loomed over you.

Mydei.

Still in his surgical gown, mask pulled down, golden eyes sharp and alert. He stood over you, arms crossed, brows pinched slightly—though whether in concern or exasperation, you couldn’t tell.

“You look pathetic,” he noted, though his voice lacked its usual bite.

You gave him a half-hearted smirk. “Flatter me more, tiger.”

His expression barely flickered, though the faint twitch in his jaw told you he was holding back a sigh. Instead of responding, he simply crouched down beside you.

“You should get up.”

“I literally can’t feel my legs.”

“Tch.” A beat passed before Mydei exhaled through his nose. Then, without hesitation, he reached out and—

Grasped your wrist.

His fingers curled around your pulse point, firm and steady, grounding you to reality.

Your breath hitched slightly, but you didn’t have the energy to react beyond that.

“Pulse is weak,” he murmured.

“No shit,” you mumbled, head lolling slightly to the side as you closed your eyes again. “It’s almost like I just performed a life-saving operation or something.”

There was a long pause.

Then—before you could fully process it—you felt warmth press against your forehead.

Mydei’s hand.

His palm was broad and slightly cool, pressing against your damp skin in a way that was almost soothing. And his scent—you may have just come out of a 12-hour surgery with him but god he smelled good, a hint of raspberry, vanilla, and pomegranate? You almost leaned into his touch before stopping yourself and tightening your body.

Checking your temperature. That’s all it was. Just routine.

Still, your stomach did a strange little flip.

“You’re burning up,” he muttered. His voice was quieter now, softer, but still carrying that same weight of irritated concern.

“I’ll live,” you said, though your body very much disagreed.

He didn’t move his hand away immediately. He stayed there for a second longer, studying you. Then, finally, he pulled back, exhaling sharply.

“Come on.” He pushed himself up to his feet, then—without warning—reached down again and grasped you by the forearm.

“Wait—”

He hauled you up.

Too fast. Your body protested instantly, knees nearly buckling again.

Without thinking, you grabbed onto his coat for support.

For a moment, the two of you were far too close.

Your forehead nearly brushed against his collarbone, and in that brief second, you felt the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the slight heat radiating off of him, the faintest scent of disinfectant and something vaguely warm—like ginger and cloves.

Your fingers tightened on his coat for just a second.

His grip on your arm lingered.

Then—Mydei cleared his throat.

“You’re impossible.” His voice was gruff as he steadied you properly, making sure you could stand on your own. “I swear, if you collapse again, I’m dragging you to a bed myself.”

You forced out a weak, tired smirk. “That a promise, doc?”

He stared at you for a second. Then, with a huff, he turned on his heel.

“Break room. Now,” he ordered over his shoulder. “Before you actually pass out.”

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck.

With how heavy your limbs felt, you had no choice but to obey.

The break room was dimly lit, the overhead lights turned down low to keep the atmosphere calm. A faint hum from the vending machine filled the space, along with the occasional soft beep from someone’s pager in the distance.

You were lying on the couch, one arm lazily draped over your stomach, feeling much better after your forced rest. Mydei, on the other hand, sat on a chair nearby, long legs stretched out, one arm resting against the table.

He had forced you to rest. You had technically obeyed. You closed your eyes. You stayed still. You didn't pass out from exhaustion. Success.

…But now you were bored out of your goddamn mind.

Which led you to this.

“So technically, in ‘Across the Spider-Verse,’ Miguel’s entire logic about ‘canon events’ is flawed because the entire idea of a multiverse means infinite possibilities. You can’t have a strict set of events that must happen in every universe, because that would contradict the whole ‘infinite variation’ thing—”

Mydei was actually listening.

Despite his usual deadpan demeanor, he hadn’t told you to shut up or leave him alone yet. Instead, his sharp golden eyes were fixed on you, brows slightly furrowed as he processed your rant.

“…That’s assuming the multiverse follows a quantum branching system,” he said, voice calm and thoughtful. “But if we apply a more structured framework—like the Many Worlds Interpretation—then it’s possible that only specific variations of events can exist while still allowing divergence.”

You blinked. “You’re actually engaging in this conversation.”

He gave you a look. “You sound surprised.”

“I am surprised. I expected you to roll your eyes and tell me to sleep.”

Mydei shrugged. “I don’t mind listening.”

You stared at him for a second, then grinned. “Damn. You’re a nerd.”

He exhaled, shaking his head, but you caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips.

Undeterred, you continued.

“But Miguel is literally contradicting himself,” you argued, shifting slightly on the couch. “He says Miles wasn’t supposed to be Spider-Man, meaning he technically never had a ‘canon’ to begin with. So why would the universe force him into one now?”

Mydei tapped his fingers idly against the table. “It could be that the multiverse adapts, forming new constants based on anomalies.”

“But that would mean anyone could be Spider-Man.”

“Perhaps.” He tilted his head slightly. “Or perhaps Miguel’s mistake was believing he could control a system that was never meant to be controlled in the first place.”

You stared at him.

“…I’m actually impressed.”

He raised a brow. “You thought I wasn’t capable of holding a conversation?”

“No, I just didn’t expect you to willingly entertain my Spider-Verse nonsense.”

Mydei let out a slow breath, leaning back slightly.

“…You like talking about it,” he murmured. “So I don’t mind.”

Something about the way he said it made your heart do a weird little flip.

You quickly covered it with a smirk. “Careful, doc. You’re gonna make me think you enjoy my company.”

He simply looked at you.

A pause.

Then—

“Go to sleep.”

You groaned dramatically, throwing an arm over your face. “You were doing so well, and then you just had to ruin it.”

Mydei huffed softly, shaking his head. “You’re exhausting.”

Mydei sat at the table, flipping through a patient file, but you knew he wasn’t really reading it. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, had that half-lidded, exhausted look—the kind that screamed I have five minutes before my brain shuts down.

You weren’t much better.

Despite your fake nap, sleep still refused to claim you, leaving you restless and annoyingly aware of how much your body ached from standing in surgery for hours. Your stomach twisted—not in pain, but in that weird way that told you hey, dumbass, maybe eat something before you actually collapse.

But…you’d ignored hunger before.

It’d pass.

Probably.

Then, Mydei spoke.

“Change your clothes.”

You blinked, snapping out of your haze. “Huh?”

He barely looked up. “We’re going out.”

You raised a brow. “Since when do you voluntarily leave the hospital?”

“Since I realized you’re just as bad as me when it comes to taking care of yourself.” He finally met your gaze, golden eyes unwavering. “Neither of us has eaten anything real in over twelve hours. If we don’t fix that now, we’ll both be too dead to function tomorrow.”

You wanted to argue. Really, you did.

But he wasn’t wrong.

You had both been running on caffeine, adrenaline, and sheer spite for the past…God, you didn’t even know how many hours.

“…Fair point.” You let out a slow breath, pushing yourself up from the couch with a groan. Holy shit, your muscles were stiff.

Mydei had already stood, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of the last few hours. His hair—normally somewhat neat—was slightly disheveled, the faded red tips a little more pronounced under the dim lighting. You caught a glimpse of the faint tattoos along his neck when he stretched, but—as usual—he made sure not to expose too much.

He didn’t like drawing attention to them.

Not that you’d ever ask why.

“Alright, doc,” you sighed, stretching your arms over your head. “Let’s go eat before we actually drop dead.”

Mydei simply nodded, grabbing his coat.

And just like that, the two of you left the hospital behind—two overworked, half-dead surgeons, finally taking care of themselves for once.

♥♥♥

The rumble of Mydei’s bike beneath you was oddly soothing, the crisp night air rushing past as the two of you sped down the empty streets. The hospital was long behind you, and for once, you weren’t drowning in the stench of antiseptic and blood—just fresh air, neon-lit roads, and the low hum of the engine.

You leaned back slightly, arms wrapped around his waist, feeling the warmth of his body through his jacket. He was solid. Reliable. Steady.

Not that you’d ever tell him that.

“You always drive this fast?” you teased over the wind.

“Faster, usually.”

You snorted. “Damn. And here I thought you were the responsible one.”

Mydei didn’t respond, you roll your eyes and then you suddenly a hear a slow, deep amused chuckle from his side. Fake ass scary wannabe

The place Mydei picked was a small, cozy restaurant—dim lighting, warm colors, and the scent of something freshly baked lingering in the air. Definitely not the high-energy bar you half-expected him to take you to.

You slid into the booth across from him, propping your chin on your hand as you lazily glanced over the menu.

“So,” you mused, “what’s the Mydei Special?”

He barely hesitated. “Strawberry ice cream shake.”

You blinked. Paused.

Then you burst out laughing.

Mydei just stared, unimpressed. “What?”

You tried—tried—to hold back your laughter, but the mental image of this tall, buff, scary-looking man sipping on a strawberry-flavored ice cream shake like it was the most normal thing in the world was sending you.

“Oh my god,” you wheezed, “you have the biggest sweet tooth, don’t you?”

He didn’t confirm. He didn’t deny it either.

“…It’s good,” was all he said, as if that was enough of an explanation. And you swear you see a small pout on his stern face along with a slight blush on his cheeks.

You grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief. “So you’re telling me, out of all the drinks on this menu, you saw ‘strawberry ice cream shake’ and went yep, that’s the one?”

“Yes.”

Your grin widened. “No regrets?”

“None.”

You shook your head, still grinning, before waving the waitress over. “Alright, alright, respect. I’ll take a limoncello.”

Mydei nodded at her. “And I’ll have the strawberry ice cream shake.”

The waitress smiled politely before walking off with your order.

You still hadn’t stopped snickering when she came back a few minutes later—with your drinks.

Only…

She placed the limoncello in front of Mydei and the strawberry shake in front of you.

Because, of course, everyone assumed the big, brooding man with golden tiger-like eyes was the one ordering alcohol, and the chaotic, snarky, sweet you was the one drinking something soft and sweet.

There was a beat of silence.

You bit your lip, trying so hard not to laugh again.

Mydei just stared at the drink in front of him.

Slowly, he looked back up at you. “Switch.”

“Wait, no, this is hilarious.”

“Switch.”

“I should take a picture first—”

“Switch.”

Now you were full-on laughing. “Oh my god, you’re actually embarrassed.”

He wasn’t. Not really. But the flat stare he gave you made it so much funnier.

Eventually, you relented, swapping the drinks properly. But as Mydei sipped his strawberry shake—totally unfazed—you couldn’t help but admire just how effortlessly him he was.

Big, intimidating, and secretly soft as hell.

Yeah. You were keeping this information for blackmail later.

The ride back to the hospital was uneventful, but there was a strange sense of dread lingering in your chest. Maybe it was the way Mydei’s grip on the handlebars felt a little tense, or maybe it was the way the city lights seemed too quiet for this time of night.

Or maybe—just maybe—it was intuition.

When you stepped off the bike and walked back inside, the sterile white halls of the hospital were as cold as ever, humming under dim fluorescent lights.

But then—

You saw her.

Standing in front of the breakroom. Arms crossed, expression unreadable, piercing blue eyes locked directly onto the both of you.

Aglaea.

The hospital director.

Your stomach plummeted.

“Oh. Shit.”

You felt Mydei stiffen beside you. Not visibly—but you knew him well enough to notice.

Aglaea wasn’t like the other directors you���d met in your life. She was meticulous. Calculated. Sharp as a scalpel and just as dangerous when she wanted to be.

And right now, she was staring directly at you both like a mother catching her kids sneaking in past curfew.

“…You’re back,” she said smoothly, voice as cool as ever.

You cleared your throat, nudging Mydei slightly. Say something, idiot.

“…Yes,” Mydei said simply.

Silence.

Aglaea’s gaze slowly flickered between you and Mydei.

Then, she sighed. “Do I want to know where you two have been?”

“…Cafeteria,” you blurted.

She raised a single, perfectly shaped eyebrow. “The hospital cafeteria closes at 8 PM.”

“We took the long route.”

Mydei shot you a look. The ‘seriously?’ look.

Aglaea, to your absolute horror, looked vaguely amused.

“You took the long route,” she repeated, clearly not buying a damn word of it.

“…Yes,” you said again, just to commit to the lie.

For a long moment, Aglaea said nothing. Just stared at the both of you with that air of quiet superiority, as if she already knew exactly what happened and was merely giving you a chance to embarrass yourselves.

Then, finally, she sighed.

“I assume you both at least ate something?”

“…Yes,” Mydei answered.

“And slept?”

You and Mydei hesitated.

Aglaea closed her eyes briefly, as if resisting the urge to scold you both like children. Then, after a moment, she just exhaled slowly and rubbed her temple.

“I don’t know what I expected,” she muttered to herself.

You exchanged a glance with Mydei.

Then, cautiously, you asked, “Are we… in trouble?”

Aglaea opened her eyes again, looking utterly unimpressed.

“No, but you will be if you keep this up.” She gave you both a look. “Surgeons are only as good as the state they keep themselves in. If you start making a habit of neglecting your own health, I will personally ensure you take forced leave.”

You grimaced. Forced leave meant staying at home, doing nothing. Which was actual hell.

“Noted,” Mydei murmured.

“Good.” Aglaea turned, stepping aside. “Get some rest. I expect you both back on duty in four hours.”

Four hours. That was generous.

You exhaled in relief, muttering, “Understood.”

Aglaea shot one last glance with her sharp yet cool cyan-green eyes at the both of you before walking away, leaving you slumping against the breakroom door.

“…That was terrifying,” you muttered.

Mydei hummed. “She went easy on us.”

“That was her going easy?”

He didn’t answer, just pushed open the door to the breakroom. You followed him inside, stretching out with a long, tired sigh.

“Well,” you huffed, flopping onto the couch. “That went better than expected.”

Mydei didn’t respond—he was already shrugging off his coat and tossing it onto a chair before sitting down beside you.

For a long, comfortable silence, you both just sat there, the exhaustion slowly catching up.

Then, finally, you nudged him with your foot.

“…Strawberry shake,” you murmured with a teasing grin.

Mydei didn’t open his eyes. “Sleep.”

“You like cute things—”

“Sleep.”

You snickered. Maybe you’d get some rest. But only after you finished teasing him about this for another ten minutes.

♥♥♥

You didn’t even bother changing into something more comfortable before dragging yourself to the breakroom. If Aglaea was going to forcefully make you rest, you might as well do it on your own terms.

And by ‘rest,’ you meant laying on the small bed with your phone, zoning out.

Mydei followed in after you, shrugging off his coat before sitting down near the sink, his sharp golden eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.

The restroom was dimly lit, the overhead fluorescent lights buzzing faintly, mixing with the hum of the hospital beyond these walls. It was quiet here. Too quiet.

You sighed, taking out your phone, plugging in your earphones, and scrolling through your playlists before finally settling on something slow, dreamy, and detached.

The soft, melancholic strum of the guitar filled your ears as you leaned back, closing your eyes. The aching tiredness in your bones was undeniable, but sleep wouldn’t come that easily.

And then—

A warm hand suddenly plucked an earbud out of your ear.

You opened one eye just in time to see Mydei casually pop it into his ear, settling beside you like he owned the place.

Your brain lagged.

“…Did you just—”

“Yes.” His voice was smooth, as unreadable as ever. He leaned back slightly, his expression neutral as if he didn’t just steal your music.

You blinked at him.

Then, without thinking, you muttered, “…Double package of tits and wits.”

Silence.

Mydei slowly turned his head to look at you. His golden eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to determine whether he actually heard that right or if he was simply too tired to process it.

“Excuse me what the fuck?” "Erm.. that was a compliment"

anwyays hi i have math exam next killl me credits to my sister to helping me with all the medical knowledge 💔

[kuro8066]

“Who Said You Had Nine Lives?”

Calcharo x Medic!Reader | Wuthering Waves

Tw: calculator might be ooc ok? Self indulge fiction or whatever you say. This came to me like a divine revelation on a random Thursday.

___________________________________________

The tent was quiet when Calcharo stepped in, save for the low rustle of sterilized gauze and the faint sound of someone mumbling—annoyed, it seemed. He didn't knock. He never did. Just pushed past the flap like it owed him space.

And there they were. The new medic.

Fresh-faced, not from innocence, but from hope. That kind of fire didn’t last long in the Ghost Hounds, he thought. But it made for a decent show.

They looked up and froze, staring at the blood trailing down his arm.

“You’re late,” they said, flatly.

“I came straight from the field.”

“You shouldn’t be standing.”

“You sound like you’ve been briefed.”

“I have,” they snapped, tossing a towel aside and rising from the supply crate they were perched on. “Apparently, our fearless leader thinks he has nine lives. And that they all renew after each mission.”

He blinked, just once. A scolding? From them?

They pointed at the cot. “Sit. Shirt off. And don't argue.”

He moved slowly, more out of curiosity than submission. This was new. Ghost Hound medics usually kept quiet, too scared or too dead-eyed to backtalk. But this one—this bunny-faced, furrow-browed medic with their arms crossed and a pout on their lips—they were genuinely pissed off.

Cute.

Who said that?

...Oh. Right. That was him.

“You throw yourself into every fight like you’re invincible,” they continued, dabbing at the wound on his ribs with a practiced hand, but a touch gentler than expected. “It’s reckless. You act like shielding the others justifies walking into bullets.”

“They’re my team.”

“And you’re still a person. You bleed too, you know.”

The alcohol stung, and so did the words.

He glanced at them again, catching the way their lips pursed when they focused. Their brows were knit in frustration, their cheeks puffed ever so slightly with every exasperated sigh. He’s faced monsters, mercenaries, even natural disasters—but this little medic scowling like an angry bunny might be the most disarming thing yet.

“You’re not scary,” he said suddenly.

Their hands froze. “What?”

“You’re… puffing your cheeks.”

“I’m scolding you!”

“Right. Adorably.”

A pause. Then a flustered shove to his uninjured shoulder. “Ugh—hold still!”

He chuckled. Actually chuckled. And sat quietly while they wrapped him in gauze with a bit more aggression than was medically necessary. He let them fuss, let them mumble about 'irresponsible squad leaders' and 'how did you even survive before I got here'.

He could’ve argued. Could’ve told them he’s been living this way for years, that pain was just noise he’d learned to ignore.

But instead, he listened to them.

Because somehow, in their anger, they cared more than anyone had in a long time.

He didn’t say thank you. That could come later.

But he didn’t stop himself from watching those lashes flutter, or the way their nose scrunched when the bandage wouldn’t stick right. He’d never say it aloud, but maybe having a bunny-like medic scolding him wasn’t such a bad punishment after all.

[doc-hudson]

Of course the kid went all defensive.

Paul couldn't blame him, he would do just that if placed on his situation -hell, he'd probably do more than just frown and shoot some passive-aggressiveness the other person's way.

But that wasn't exactly and answer: even worse, there'd been no real answer to the question, the man just kept going.

(In more ways than one).

"Nothin'" Doc replied, waiting a couple of seconds more to catch his breath, then deciding that McQueen simply wasn't going to listen to him like this, that he'd need to do more to maybe be heard (to supersede the other man's pride).

So he ran, regardless of pain and the voice in the back of his mind that reminded him that he'd grilled people for less idiotic decisions than that -that his bones, his muscles, simply weren't in condition for such a thing and that in some hours time he'd probably be screaming in pain or trying to drown it down with pills.

But he had to, if he wanted for McQueen to hear.

"Are you even tryin'?" he shot back.

@lightning-kachow

Zero to sixty in 3.5 years | Hudlight

[tonguetiedraven]

So I was cleaning up a few manga panels for my other blog, and darn it, I need to talk about my thoughts on two scenes in the Shimane Illuminati arc (specifically chapters 61 and 62) because Kato deserves all the applause for everything. This post will be for chapter 61 and I'll post 62 later.

TW/CW for character death, medical abuse, and mental health struggles. Content below the cut.

First, in chapter 61 we get this heart breaking page when Tamamo Kamiki dies.

To get into what I'm seeing with this panel, I need to give a brief (or I'll try and make it brief) overview of Tamamo. Tamamo gets introduced to us in chapter 52 and the first panel we get of her is her sobbing into the camera that everyone acts so cold towards her because she is sleeping with the head priest and not married to said high priest.

We are then told that she was an irresponsible and careless woman by Mike. We find out three really important things though.

Tamamo is judged by the people around her and gets a cold shoulder

Tamamo relies heavily on her daughter and the byakko to have the house run at all and has dreams of a fantastic family and house she has shown no ability to actually run.

Tamamo is in love with the (shitty) Chief Priest of Inari and that he isn't married to her.

We then find out:

That Tamamo and her entire line have always managed the terrifying and unruly Nine Tails by assimilating the god and becoming her, and that the town/shrine distrust her because of that, even though she does it to protect them. They ostracize her for the duty her family has and they judge the entire family because she had Soji's children.

Notice Soji isn't in the judged club and that Soji has never seen his daughters. He's never been to her house. It is always her going to him.

This theme of ostracization is something that pops up over and over and over again in Blue Exorcist. Almost all of the main characters had a childhood that was lonely and where they were rejected by their peers--almost always for things outside their direct control and almost always in someway connected to demons, even if they didn't know it, but I'll get to that more in a moment. Suffice to say, at this point we can see that Tamamo is isolated outside of her illicit meetings with Soji (not at all healthy as we'll see later on) her interactions with the demons around her, and her daughters, neither of which are old or mature enough to offer her the type of companionship she's in need of, which leads to everyone in this tangled dynamic having unhealthy relationships with each other.

We see Tamamo seeking connections and affections and largely being rebuffed by it everywhere except Tsukumo and the byakko. Soji's affection has strings attached, and Izumo is too fed up to offer any affection. The other members of the shrine ostracize her and give her a cold shoulder, and I'd bet money that they're vocal about their opinions any time she's around. (And they likely don't care if the kids are around or not.)

What I'm getting at is that Tamamo is lonely and you see that in how desperate she is for approval and connection and it mostly comes out with Soji. She does whatever he wants to keep her connection to him intact. We've also had a few indications thus far in the manga that isolation and depression and poor mental health are things demons take advantage of. We'll get more explanation on that later on, but suffice to say that Tamamo is not at all in a healthy spot to be constantly risking possession against an immensely powerful and evil demon.

I'll be honest and clear up front that I have no love for Soji and think him deplorable and he did not do anything to help Tamamo that we see. Rather, it seems he exclusively used her for his own pleasures without any care for her or the consequences their time together had.

I also think it's important that everyone know that Nine Tails -- at least the Nine Tails in this story -- is based of Tamamo no Mae who is an infamous yokai in Japanese lore. She has a long and complicated history with her origins unknown and a lot of political manipulation, but an important thing to know about her is that she is always depicted as a child eater. She devours women as well, and thrives on seducing men. She's beautiful and powerful and alluring, and she's manipulative.

So generations of women manipulated and regularly partially possessed by Nine Tails down the line, we have a shrine and town that reject Tamamo and her losing her grasp on the one adult who 'likes' her, and we see this moment:

We see her staring at him, enjoying the light atmosphere and gathering her courage (the sweat drop in the panel has me thinking she's nervous about this because it's not the first time this convo has happened.)

She wants him to come to her house and is trying to make it as appealing as possible. She wants a family and the life she's been dreaming up.

Soji rejects the idea entirely and pushes further by saying if she asks for him to interact with the kids in any way he'll dump her. The one adult connection she has will be lost because of her children. (Not actually. It's because he's a dick but she sees it as the children being the problem.)

She then goes immediately to Nine Tails to do the dance of spirit invocation which we're told this about:

So Tamamo--who has been isolated and lonely for at least a large chunk of her adult life is now seeing the one connection she's made with another adult (and an unhealthy one at that) potentially break because of her children-- goes to assimilate the Nine Tails in that unstable and unhealthy emotional and mental state.

It is heavily implied that Nine Tails started to take her over at this point, and you see her become more and more obsessed with Soji and more angry with her children, further isolating herself away from the small amount of support and connection she did have until she's entirely possessed by the vengeful and malevolent spirit of Nine Tails.

She murders Soji and tries to do the same to her children before the Illuminati take her and subject her to years of torture, all while she's still possessed by the Nine Tails.

One more detail and I'll get back to the scene in chapter 61.

When Tamamo was last fully in control of her faculties and saw her daughter, she saw Izumo in the same place she was. Ostracized by her community with no one but their small family to lean on. Her daughter was doomed to follow the same path Tamamo had, and at this point, it looks like this was a cycle that had been going on for at least a few generations. Isolated and connection starved women raising daughters who were isolated and connection starved children. Tamamo became overly touchy and clingy to everyone where Izumo became mistrustful. (And man does she have a lot of reasons for that.)

Now back to chapter 61 and the moment Tamamo dies.

She wakes up amongst the chaos of the zombie hoard going towards possessed Izumo, and she immediately intervenes to get the Nine Tails spirit back inside herself to save her daughter.

That's important to understand for her. She moved before the next moment I'm going to talk about. She saw Izumo possessed and didn't seem to hesitate to save her daughter. She has been tortured for five years and immediately moves to start that horrible possession again.

But while she's dancing to contain Nine Tails in herself, this is going on in the background:

Each of the other teens in the room came to get Izumo and they're shouting their support of her even while they fight an endless hoard of zombies because they came to get her. Tamamo can hear that happening and she can see that they came to help Izumo.

No one came to help Tamamo. At no point did anyone ever come to rescue her or fight for her. She was blamed for everything and was left to bear all the consequences for five years. (I am not blaming Izumo for that. She was a child and was not responsible for saving her mother.)

But with "We're here for you!" ringing in Tamamo's ears, she completes the ritualistic dance and frees her daughter from the possession.

Tamamo in her dying moments looks at her daughter and sees a community around her that Tamamo didn't have. She sees people willing to intervene and help and fight even though Izumo is pushing them away and possessed and not easy to get along with.

Tamamo, from everything we saw, was isolated and rejected by her community and had no one to support her. She was manipulated and played by her significant other and left vulnerale to possession by a society that needed her to do the thankless job and hated her for doing the thankless job. She was bubbly and friendly and still pushed away and rejected and ostracized until she succumbed to Nine Tails.

back to chapter 52

Blue Exorcist talks a lot about curses and ostracization. All the main cast suffer from it in some way or another. They've all been called terrible things and most of them have been treated as if they aren't human, and a lot of them have complicated lineages and may not be fully human which just amplifies the amount they're rejected by their peers.

For Tamamo, that curse was literal and figurative. The literal curse was the constant absorption of an insane demon that eventually consumed her until she'd destroyed what little family she had.

It was figurative in that as the head priestess and medium in charge of the rituals, she was rejected by the community she needed to support her. She was left floundering on the outside, always given just a taste of what she could have had if she was born to a different family, and left with a longing for what she would never be given and always wondering why she couldn't have it. (And yes, I'm probably reading into some things and filling in the blanks with hypothesis and assumptions.)

But in that final moment, Tamamo sees that curse of isolation and rejection has been broken by Izumo. That her daughter, who like all the daughters of the Kamiki line was alone, is no longer alone. That she has friends and support. Support that followed her into this hell and reached out to call her back even from a demon like Nine Tails.

I don't know if I've made myself all that clear, but I love the way that Kato has shown this over and over again and keeps showing the rejection of isolation and ostracization as any kind of solution. That she keeps showing through each of these relationships and arcs that it's reaching for and connecting with other people that brings change and healing and hope, and I love how she shows that through moments like this. It's a little moment that's so easy to miss, but it's so immensely huge when looked at in the context of the entirety of Tamamo's life.

I wish she knew that they would have come for her if they'd known she'd been there all this time. I wish she'd have found a community to support her and I wish she'd had someone to tell her Soji was a dick and she could do better.

I wish she could see Izumo now, still connected to her friends and even though it's the end of the world, she's fighting with and beside them. That she's seeking out connections and learned her lesson about not needing to be alone. That she's teased and loved and welcomed.

But I'm pretty sure in that final moment, she saw it all anyway.

As always, check out my tag #raven rambles for more aoex meta and analysis

[aguineapigcouldntdothis]

tw for irresponsible usage of prescription drugs, addiction, and slight references to suicide

do not do what I do! this is not advice. step away from the substances addiction will not save you. they did not save me and this is not fun

anyway yesterday was the 4 year anniversary of the worst day of my entire life which obviously gave me a ton of ptsd and is what directly caused many of my other almost as bad days. it was absolutely life altering in the most horrific way possible and if anything worse than that happens im not sure what id do.

I always have a lot of nightmares going to sleep on this night so I was originally going to drink, but then I remembered the only alcohol I have is cooking wine and that doesnt taste good unless its used for its actual purpose. which is cooking. and then I was gonna smoke but that requires driving to a spot where I can be alone which I didnt feel like doing. plus I need to really cut down to once a week because I'm on testosterone and ive smoked the past like 3 days.

so I have made the knowingly stupid decision to go so so fucking hard on the sleeping pills. not a suicidal amount, just enough that it is definitely not safe and not recommended. I am hoping that it'll either put me such a deep sleep that I dont dream at all or give me such vivid dreams that they dont bear any relation to the trauma im avoiding. the only reason I feel like I can do this without ODing is I spent a few months abusing prescription medication for funsies. didnt even rely on it for anything and I could function just fine I just liked seeing how they combined and how much I could take. got bored of it pretty fast.

anyway this is absolutely not a smart decision do not copy this i am an unhealthy person with bad coping mechanisms who regularly uses substances to cope. I also have done enough substances that I am extremely aware of my limits. if this works I am schrödinger's idiot. both a genius and the dumbest man alive at the same time.

there's always a risk so if I dont wake up tomorrow then oh well! if I die it isn't a suicide and I wasn't killed its just sort of something that happened

also if youre gonna bitch about me making bad decisions with drugs I will block you. addict does addict shit. fork found in kitchen. hay found in guinea pig enclosure. you get the point.

[deldotpng]

⊹ Kafka lore dump ⊹

Basic info Name: Kafka Chen Gender: female Age: 24 Height: 170cm Affiliation: Cleaners Occupation: Cleaner

Personality

 Kafka is quite phlegmatic, good at keeping her head cool and thinking on her feet. You can call her a workaholic: she treats her work conscientiously and expects the same from other janitors, having a strong dislike for irresponsibility. She’s more street smart rather than book smart.

 Despite appearing to be a complete introvert, Kafka likes being around other people, even though she listens more than she speaks. She is empathetic enough and cares about the well-being of her colleagues, but rarely expresses it (doesn't feel the need to let them know). 

 The harsh past she went through has damaged Kafka’s mental health and led to her developing sadistic tendencies, which, however, show up quite rarely. It usually gets the better of Kafka when she is in the middle of a tough battle and is all fired up; you can catch a glimpse of a grin on her face. Kafka isn't really aware that she enjoys the chaos of violence, thinking the excitement she feels simply comes from a natural rush of adrenaline, which is only half true.   She has anger outbursts from time to time but tries to repress them.

Is not a tactile person, she only allows physical touch from her partner and few close friends (+ kid janitors).

 Kafka likes reliable, self-sufficient individuals, who respect other people's boundaries and don't jump into conclusions. She likes people with a good sense of humor (very bad at making jokes herself).

tw: drug use and s/h mention ahead

Background

 Kafka doesn’t remember the faces of her biological parents. She lived on the streets her entire life until she joined the Cleaners. She was affiliated with one of many teen gangs who didn't have a home and earned a living by getting hired for shady tasks of all kinds (info collecting, raiding, blackmailing, drug dealing etc). 

 Kafka grew up as a very closeted person, cautious and distrustful. She had to protect herself solely with her fists.

 She had a long-term addiction to drugs, which subsequently led to an overdose. She was admitted to the hospital, and during her stay she took a liking to the doctor who looked after her. They both became close enough for Kafka to open up a little, making a genuine human connection for the first time in her life. So when Kafka later learned that the woman was brutally killed by a trash beast that burst into town, she was completely devastated by the loss of who she saw as her parental figure. After being discharged from the hospital Kafka stole a tuning fork that once belonged to the doctor to have something to remember her by.

 The item became her jinki when Kafka was cornered by a group of trash beasts. It released its power which she used to crush the monsters into pieces. After learning to wield her newly obtained weapon, she decided to patrol through her hometown and clean out any threats. Soon, she was noticed and approached by the Cleaners who made Kafka an offer to join their forces, which she accepted right away.

Jinki

 Kafka's jinki (a.k.a. "Hammerhead") is a medical tuning fork. Its awakened form is a giant sledgehammer equipped with chains. Once transformed, the inscription “128Hz” engraved on it changes to “777Hz”.

 Beside the obvious way of using the hammer (i.e. shattering things into pieces), it is also used to damage the subject from within/disorient it by sending very strong mechanical waves (manipulation of vibrations). 

 If Kafka has to fight a human and not a trash beast, she usually tries to use her weapon carefully, in mind to only reach her opponent indirectly, concerned that she might get carried away with the battle and simply murder her enemy with the impact of her blows.

Relationships

 Kafka is married to her colleague Arak Chen (@dyfavorable's oc) whom she was close friends with before they started dating. They often work as a duo. 

Kafka looks up to Semiu, who is her mentor but also a close friend. They like to gossip and discuss novels together in their free time.

 Has a poor relationship with the Hell Guards, because she used to be the cause of their headache along with the other street kids. Kafka tries to avoid Kyoko whenever she appears at Cleaners' doors.

 Kafka visits Dr. Stilza quite often, since Alice is a former colleague of her late parental figure. Kafka is on good terms with Stilza's grandchildren as well. According to August he and Kafka are practically best friends (not true).

Trivia

had a history of resorting to self-harm, which continued until she was in a better environment and found a purpose in life. Has scars on her upper arms and forearms.

very strong physically, which is required to operate such a massive weapon as hers;

in her younger years she had very long hair, which she cut off in a meltdown one day when a man was harassing her and patted her hair. For this reason, she doesn't like to have her hair touched;

Kafka has a very keen ear;

she likes extra sour candies and lollipops;

she has a very pretty laugh, although t's a rare occurance;

Kafka is very shy in relationships, any romantic gestures make her flustered and anxious;

Rudo confused her with a guy when he met her for the first time.

[chthoniclakewitch]

TW: Abuse and suicide

My BPD is getting so bad again. Why am I such a piece of shit? Why can’t I allow myself to be loved? Why can’t I properly show love? When will I meet the limit? Will he ever be the same.

Apollo, I know what I need to do, but I still fail. I still choose to be irresponsible with my medication and I still chose to give into my abusive behavior. Why???? Why must I disassociate so fucking badly??? Why can’t i care that I am breaking all of my stuff until after the fact???

I cannot stop fixating on the fact that people in other countries who have BPD qualify for assisted su1cide. I ask and beg for something similar here and I am yelled at and shamed.

I just want to be good and sfop destroying. I want to be loved (and actually feel it normally, too)

[hiraethhq]

Welcome to HIRAETH, Jaren, Winnie, & Dorothy! Make sure to follow the checklist and send the link to your blog to the main within 24 hours.

ashley

NAME: jaren sinclair

AGE: 25

GENDER & PRONOUNS: male, he/him

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: heterosexual

STATUS: resident

CLASS: vice

HIERARCHY: jack

ADDITIONAL:

OCCUPATION: owner of xcaliber dome

HOUSING: beatrice’s purgatory

FACE CLAIM: cody christian

GOOD: generous, charming, imaginative

BAD: irresponsible, unfaithful, flippant

UGLY: [redacted]

BACKGROUND: jaren is the younger son of torrance sinclair, one of the vice kings. he grew up in a life of luxury, in the upscale penthouses of the paradiso whenever not at the academy. despite his father’s strict upbringing of jaren’s older brother, jaren often skated by simply because no one expected any better from him. his grades at the academy were average at best, he held no particular ambition for greatness – in fact, his parents rarely seemed to remember he existed as more than a spare. by his teenage years, he’d begun to pick up on the realization that attention was only granted not by excelling, but by creating a more and more dramatic fiasco. no one cared if jaren managed to finally ace an exam, but “oh no, jaren’s angered another king by sleeping with their daughter” or “what do you mean jaren totaled three vehicles in a race?” those did pay off.

while jaren sometimes wondered what life might be like in virtue, the decision to remain vice after graduation was an easy one. he’d never truly want to leave his family, he had incredible (in his opinion) friendships, and a proclivity towards a numerous amount of… well, vices.

as easily as everything else came to jaren, so did his current career. his father had sighed and demanded he show even an ounce of ambition in terms of work, to not end up as a club, so jaren had… well, he *had* taken action? one of his favorite places had always been the xcaliber dome, and jaren showed up and offered to buy the place out with, frankly, far too many credits and a vague threat that his father would show up if the offer was declined. just like that, jaren became a jack. now saddled with a business that barely breaks even and no particular skills or experience to run a business, jaren mostly relies on overpaying the park manager and his father’s financial advisor and jaren’s favorite “accountant” to keep the company afloat.

admin sierra

name: winifred "winnie" barrett

age: 28

gender & pronouns: she/her

sexual orientation: pansexual

status: visitor

class: tyro

hierarchy: student

additional: 

occupation: n/a

housing: the carroll house

face claim: Sophie thatcher

good: charismatic, clever, fun

bad: dishonest, cynical, mischievous

ugly: [redacted]

background: (grooming tw, self-harm tw, death tw)

The girl Winnie once was would never understand how she ended up here.

Born to two vastly different parents—a devout Catholic father and a passionate scientist mother—her childhood was surprisingly normal. She was a good daughter, a loving older sister. Their home was stable.

She adored her little sister, playing with her, looking after her. When she was born, their parents told her she was her protector now, and Winnie took it seriously. Her baby sister was always loved, always safe.

Middle school changed everything. A teacher took an interest in her—praised her poetry, called her wise beyond her years. What started as compliments turned into something secret. Something dangerous. A "relationship" she was told to never speak about.

Her behavior shifted. It started small—refusing to eat, refusing to clean. Then it escalated. Fighting at school. Stealing her parents' car. Cliff-jumping. Laughing in the face of danger. She became reckless—untouchable by the rest of the world.

Her parents were desperate. Her sister was scared. Medical experts found nothing wrong. Priests were brought in to counsel her, assuming a crisis of faith. This only annoyed Winnie more. They all failed. Some quit. Others called her beyond saving.

When funds ran low, a U.S. reality TV crew stepped in. They offered to pay for her “treatment” if they could film her journey for a new show. Begrudgingly, her parents agreed.

As soon as the cameras rolled, her teacher left. Too much attention. He vanished. Moved away. Left her alone.

With him gone, she spiraled further. The more they tried to "fix" her, the worse she became. They tied her to a bed, starved her, forced exorcisms on her. The pain was constant.

When they thought she was "cured," she’d immediately turn it into a game. Tacks in her parents’ shoes. Self-inflicted wounds for shock value. Whispered horrors to her little sister just to see her parents break.

She was convincing. Too convincing. She didn’t realize just how much her sister was suffering. Didn’t see how deep her fear ran. Maybe if she did, she would’ve tried harder to stop it.

But honestly, they wouldn’t have believed her anyway.

Her sister finally snapped. In a desperate attempt to poison Winnie—to end it all—she made a fatal miscalculation. Everyone drank. Everyone but Winnie.

That night, Winnie was allowed to eat a snack with her family again. A glass of milk, cookies, a note inviting her downstairs. It almost felt normal.

Problem was, that she never drank plain milk. She loved chocolate milk. Her little sister should have known that. Winnie dumped it back into the carton. Ate her cookies. Watched them do the same.

Winnie only barely noticed how her little sister was confused that nothing was happening.

Then the foaming at the mouth. The gasping. The clawing at their throats. Their wide, horrified stares as they thought she’d finally done it. But it wasn’t her. It wasn’t her.

She sat there, slumped on the floor for 48 hours, staring at their lifeless bodies. She hadn’t poisoned them, but she had killed them. This was all her fault.

The reality crew found her like that. They claimed they deleted the footage. But if you know where to look, it's still out there.

Wicked Winnie: The name stuck. The investigation ruled it a tragic accident, but the world had already made up its mind. She was sent to a group home.

That’s where she met Lizzie—sharp, quick, and in need of someone to survive with. Winnie saw pieces of her sister in her. This time, she wouldn’t let her down.

They ran. Created chaos. Survived. Winnie knew how to manipulate, use her body if it came down to it; Lizzie knew how to fight, keep them moving. A perfect duo.

One day, they opened the door to a motel room and found something impossible on the other side. A place where no one knew Wicked Winnie or Lizzie.

Fate had given her a fresh start. Maybe she could clean up her act.

But… Who Doesn’t Love a Good Joke? She couldn’t possibly give that up.

name: dorothy maraschino

age: 54

gender & pronouns: she/her

sexual orientation: bisexual

status: resident

class: virtue

hierarchy: king

additional: 

occupation: leader of virtue

housing: st. mary’s palace - penthouses

face claim: carla gugino

good: passionate, decisive, seductive

bad: hedonistic, vindictive, secretive 

ugly: [redacted] 

background:  (domestic violence tw, death tw)

Regardless of being born to visitor rejected parents, Dorothy grew up adored by her Mother and taught that the world & all its creatures were beautiful. It was one of the reasons she was named after the main character of The Wizard of Oz. 

Her father, on the other hand, was a man of control and violence and taught her what she never wanted to become.

While her brother and father bonded over a thrown ball, she was expected to cook, clean, and sew alongside her mother. It was a life she despised… She despised it. 

Her father wasn’t just a controlling man—he was a key player in the illegal tonic trade. And behind closed doors, he used his strength to break her mother down. Dorothy never forgot the bruises. Never forgave the sobs.

School was her sanctuary. Learning gave her control when her home offered none. She took every class possible, before and after hours. Even dance became a refuge—offering grace and balance when her life had neither.

Every evening, she walked home with Jean. There was something unspoken between them. A connection she never had with anyone else.

The night her mother ended up in a Rejected clinic, battered and broken, Dorothy saw the cycle for what it was. It would never stop. Unless she stopped it herself.

With Jean’s help in research, In her garden, among the vegetables and herbs, she nurtured something special—foxglove. A little dose could treat a weak heart. A stronger one? Well…

Her father came home expecting his evening beer from a dutiful daughter. Instead, he collapsed. A heart attack, they called it. Grief over his injured wife.

Her Brother was broken for a while and her Mother— She never quite looked at Dorothy the same way again. Though, the secret would always stay between them. 

At the end of the day, they were rejected. Their lives didn’t matter enough to investigate further. It was just another day. 

Later in life, Dorothy devoted herself to her mother’s well-being, sending her money, calling it "charity for the Rejected." But in truth, it was always for her mother alone.

When her brother came of age to choose, he refused to leave the Rejected behind, saying it was "what their father would have wanted." Dorothy couldn’t understand. Why stay shackled to a dead man’s expectations?

That was strange to Dorothy. Why would you ever want to follow in that man’s footsteps? Why wouldn’t you ever strive for more?

Dorothy worked harder, pushed further. She clawed her way into the university, defied the odds as a double major. She relished the doubt in their eyes, thrived in their underestimation. 

Though, this wasn’t to say she didn’t have her fun. She had plenty of it. She indulged. The allure of Vice was intoxicating. The freedom, the chaos, the power. For a moment, she wondered if she was actually built for a life in Vice. The freedom, the seductive energy—-it drew her in like someone freezing to fire. 

Still, when the time came, she chose Virtue. Order and knowledge mattered more than reckless pleasure. She belonged where structure thrived.

She had thought Jean wanted the same things. Believed they would walk the same path. Watching him choose Vice felt like a betrayal. Men truly were disappointing.

She accepted it. She graduated. She fought her way to dean of the college. Earned a place in the leader’s circle.

She was an easy choice for a successor. A success story of a girl from the bottom going to the top.

They didn’t know how she still found herself disguised in Vice clubs, eventually pulled right back into someone’s embrace. No one could know. No one ever would.

If anyone knew, it was Madeleine—her most trusted friend. She would do anything to keep her safe and happy. Anything. And woe to anyone who spoke ill of her.

Still, as Virtue’s leader, she took her role seriously. Order and wisdom were the foundations of a thriving city. There’s a balance to everything and she aimed to maintain that for the sake of Hiraeth as a whole.

So, in steps to establish peace, Dorothy has committed herself to meetings with Jean to negotiate what’s best for Hiraeth.

Sometimes those negotiations can be tense—especially with who they were as people, but Dorothy was insistent upon trying. 

And the work did get done. She hopes to quell the power struggle on their hands— calm Jean down from making a mistake he could never take back. 

But if war did come—if he forced her hand—she would be ready. She would win. She would make an example of Vice’s leader.

Wouldn’t be the first time a man turned up dead because they underestimated her. 

[devouredsouls]

( ana de armas, cis woman, she/her ) — is that really alicia matos? i thought so, since i heard breakfast by dove cameron blasting just now. well, welcome to cole, wyoming! what brings you here as a 34 year-old? a job as a nurse and bartender at bario’s? wonderful. we’re glad to have you. talk around town is you can be a little stubborn trait, but i myself believe you’re more caring… but is it true that you’re not a workaholic but just in craze debt? wild. well, i’ll let you get back to it!

tl;dr: was raised by her grandmother and helped her out a lot growing up because of her bad health, which made her always want to be in healthcare. she was the only family that she had until she passed while alicia was in high school. it kind of sent her into a wild phase and she basically wasted all her inheritance on drugs, alcohol and her mother. she got a scare when she was going to fail out of school so got herself together and got into med school. eventually, money ran out and she did the stupid thing of getting out loans, credit cards so she's hella in debt. she's working as a bartender on the side to get more money and has taken more money than she should from drunken clients but it's a secret of hers because she's just so desperate to get the collectors off her ass.

personality — she is super caring for people in general and kind of leads with her heart most of the time. she does have some trust issues and is scared to open up because of the loss of her grandmother and how much that hurt. she can be stubborn to do things on her own but ultimately will do anything for people. she's a bit of a flirt because she does believe in love and does like to be in relationships even though it never works out for her and she never gets there. probably because she stands in her own way most of the time.

death tw, financial struggles tw. 

alicia was raised by her grandmother after her seventeen year old mother got pregnant by a guy at a party she met and never saw again.

despite it not being a secret to the young girl, alicia saw her mother more as an older sister who appeared on and off throughout her life.

her elderly grandmother was the most stable thing she had despite the way she struggled with health for most of her life. alicia took pride in helping out her grandmother by going to fetch her pills, presciptions, bringing her water or blankets.

eventually, her condition got the best of her and her grandmother died when alicia was in high school. the loss of her grandmother sent the teenager for a wild at a very detrimental age in her life and alicia found herself grieving in unhealthy ways.

the inheritance she got was quickly being spent on drugs, alcohol, and on her mother who was very much still irresponsible with money and partners.

the letter she received from school indicating that she was going to be kicked out due to failing classes and skipping was a wake up call and alicia put her main focus on finishing.

she graduated at the height of her class and got into medical school but never anticipated the loans and debt she would be in.

when her inheritance ran out, she did the mistake of accepting loans and credit cards from banks, added with her medical school debt, has been eating away at her credit.

despite getting paid well as a nurse, alicia had to find a second job in order to pay some of her debt off, even going forward to steal from drunken men a time or two for more money, in order to pay off her debt sooner now that the debt collectors are continuously trying to get in contact with her.

[chaosandcrimson]

no way is that BEATRIX 'TRIXIE' VOS.. they’re a 28-year-old HUMAN notoriously known for being IRRESPONSIBLE  &  FLIGHTY but there are some people who have seen them being CHARISMATIC  &  NURTURING.  if you ask me, they remind me a lot of ripped jeans, messy bedsheets and messier hair, and little cuts and bruises from accidents, but that could just be because they’re considered the GOOD BAD GIRL around town. just keep an eye on them  &  see if their true colors shine through..

Splendidly selfish, charmingly helpless Excellent fun 'til you get to know her Then she runs like it's a race

OVERVIEW

Name: Beatrix Kendra Vos

Nickname(s): Trixie (by everyone), Beatrix (by Ian)

DOB: August 31, 2096

Age: 28

FC: Lili Reinhart

Height: 5'6"

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Bisexual

Occupation: Nurse at Moggadeet Medical Clinic / Interrogator for the Skyport Mafia

Relationship Status: In a relationship with Ian Dutton

[+] charismatic, spontaneous, nurturing [–] irresponsible, impetuous, flighty

BIOGRAPHY

tw: child abuse, involuntary drug testing, sex work

Trixie was born into a very poor family in the lower class district. She has two older brothers, Ollie and Halen, as well as a twin sister, Chandler. Their parents were generally neglectful and only treated them as a means to an end.

All of the Vos children were used to make money by being put into illegal and unregulated product testing—usually by the Big Three and their subsidiaries.

Like her twin sister, she was subjected to extensive drug testing as a teenager. Unlike her twin sister, the drugs she tested were not designed to be used in the medical field, but rather in covert military operations.

The effects of the drugs included but were not limited to inducing specific hallucinations in targets, lowering their inhibitions, increasing their suggestibility, and generally making them more submissive and compliant.

As soon as she turned 18, she moved out and severed all ties with her parents. Finally, she knew what it was like to have a clear head after escaping from years of being in a constant stupor, and she vowed to never take another drug again.

She worked as a cam girl and later an escort in order to save up money for her education. The service she provided as an escort was strictly limited to being a paid companion slash professional girlfriend. There was no expectation of sexual favours, but she did have sex with clients, on occasion and at her discretion.

She kept her job as an escort through her entire education and training as a nurse. At one point, someone in the mob hired her as a companion for the night and ended up offering her a job at a mob-affiliated clinic once she qualified.

She met Ian Dutton when accompanying a client to the VIP section where he works as a bartender. They eventually began an on-again off-again relationship that continues to present day. At first, it was simply impractical for her to engage in anything long-term due to the nature of her work, but now that she no longer has that excuse, she still finds herself incapable of commitment.

She enjoys her work at the clinic, and has ended up with a more favourable opinion of the mob than she has of the corporations—which is perhaps understandable considering what she went through at their hands.

MISC

She does not smoke, drink, or take any kind of recreational drugs. She is even averse to taking drugs for medical reasons and has to be convinced to do it.

[dcb-z]

tw sick animal/pet death

being the resident adult having to weigh the "are they comfortable? how much is unreasonable to pay for medical treatment for a disease with such a short life expectancy? what's the QoL going to look like with aggressive treatment?" questions with a pet is one of the worst experiences. you want to go everything you can but you have to be mature and understand that there comes a point where there's no benefit QoL-wise for what you're paying and you have to let go. i wish i were still a kid so i could just be upset with my parents feeling like they're not doing enough instead of feeling guilty at myself feeling like i should be doing more even though i know im doing way more for him than my parents ever would have

he's still alive but his breathing is distressed (70p/m sometimes) and he doesn't go in to the vet until tomorrow morning. he's still eating but during the day he only really wants to eat out of my hand. sometimes he'll play for a little bit. i don't think he's in pain but i know he can't be comfortable with the dyspnea. i don't know where to draw the line on "he's suffering and i need to make the final call" and "he's a little uncomfortable but still has time left with palliative care." i don't want him to hurt but i don't want to be without him either and im scared of calling it too soon and taking away years that he maybe could've lived.

i hate having this kind of responsibility on my shoulders because i love him and i want to do everything i can for him but it's super irresponsible to put myself into debt for a senior animal whose QoL is only going to decrease with aggressive care, especially since the stress of that care will exacerbate his disease. i hate being in this position and i wish he could just be fixed with pills. i wish i could just have a sign that would light up telling me when it's time to give up so i know im not making him suffer or taking his life too soon. i hate it i hate it i hate it

and i wish i didn't feel so gross asking for kofi donations since i haven't written in forever and i wish i didn't feel so gross when my friends offer to give me money. i haven't accepted it because she has a baby on the way and her husbands father is dying and i just can't accept a loan when they're going through that. but i really wish i could because the financial stress of a sick cat is awful

[lcvelctters]

D O M I N I C H U A N G

Name: Dominic Huang

Faceclaim: Lewis Tan

Gender & Pronouns: Cismale & He/Him

Age: 37

Birthday:  February 23, 1987

Occupation: Psychiatrist

Neighborhood: Summit Lake

Sexuality:

biography

TW: death

dominic grew up the oldest of 3 siblings and the one with the most responsibility, as expected. Not only did he have the weight of the most responsibility on his shoulders but he also had a ton of expectations that his parents put onto him at a young age. It truly didn’t matter what he wanted at the end of the day. He was to be perfect at everything he did. He was to make straight A’s, get a black belt in karate, and be valedictorian. All of those things were things he accomplished and not because it was goals of his own but because it was things his parents, once again, expected from him.

Despite all of the pressure that was put on him, he never let that distract him from his relationship with his younger sister. That mostly being because they seemed to toss her aside or act as if she weren’t as important as the rest and well, to dominic, she was his little sister and the most important person in his life. Of course, he had another sister but his relationship with her wasn’t anything like his relationship with the youngest sister and he always kept the youngest sibling tucked under his wing for as long as he could. That being, until he left for college.

Dominic got into an Ivy League School and unfortunately was as far away as Massachusetts. since he attended Harvard. Though he was far away, he still kept in contact with his sister and did what he could for her. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel as though there was no one there for her and well, he was sure that’s exactly how she felt when her parents forced her into an arranged marriage. The entire situation infuriated him, especially since it was something they had forced on him and he even tried to step into her shoes but they wouldn’t allow it and boy, did he hate his parents for putting her in that situation. Even more than that, he had who his parents put her with and he felt as though he really let her down.

He regularly visited home during the holidays but not for the sake of his parents but for the sake of his sister. She was and would always be someone he would feel he had to look after.

During his senior year of college is when he met his future wife. He didn’t meet her at school. He met her at a bar and she was teacher, something his parents wouldn’t be happy about. The thing about his parents is that they wanted the best and so he was sure that they expected him to find someone who had a job that would be the equivalent of his own once he was done with school. Regardless of that, Nina was someone he immediately found himself smitten with and the two were moved in together within months.

His goal had always been to get married before he started his family but during his first year of medical school, Nina informed him that they were going to have their first child together. Dominic couldn’t have been more thrilled and immediately proposed to the woman. The timeline of things were what his parents called “irresponsible” and they hated the fact that he was with her. He didn’t let that push them apart and instead, worked even harder to make sure that he could get through medical school so that they could have a good life.

Their first child, a girl named Maia, was born in April and he swore he’d never loved anyone more. Dominic had genuinely never been more happy than he was with the two women by his side.

When he finished medical school and finally received his psychiatry license, he moved back to Magnolia Springs in order to be closer to his family and at that time, it was the time that his youngest sister got together with her future wife. He was genuinely happy for her. The girl's partner seemed to make her happy and that’s all he really wanted for his sister. Sexuality didn’t matter as far as he was concerned but that wasn’t the way that their parents saw it and he was threated to be cut off before he could give his fiance a proper wedding. That’s all he needed his parents for, nothing else and so, much to his dismay, he had to give one of the most important people in his life the cold shoulder.

Dominic and Nina were married in the fall of 2016, and that’s when they began attempting to expand their family. It wasn’t as easy as the first time. In fact, they seemed to have some issues getting pregnant this time around and it took nearly two years for the two of them to get pregnant with their second child, a boy named Oliver. Not too long after Oliver, and without trying, their third managed to make an appearance and they named him Kai.

Everything, except for his relationship with his sister, seemed to be perfect. At least, until his wife was killed in a car accident. She was driving home from work late one night, having had to stay for a parent teacher conference, and the other driver ran a red light and plowed right into her. She died almost instantly and Dominic lost a piece of himself that night. His heart was completely broken and not only for himself but also for his kids. And despite wanting to give up, he knew that he couldn’t. He had to be there for them.

The day of her funeral was the day he finally cut his parents off. They made a comment on how he could finally find someone better and he hasn’t spoke to them since.

Now, two years later, he’s trying to find a way to fix things with his sister and parents a twelve year old, six year old, and two year old.

[dominichuang]

INTRODUCING → DOMINIC HUANG 🧠

"i've always liked tomorrow. you haven't made any mistakes yet in tomorrow." -ATTICUS

Name: Dominic Huang

Faceclaim: Lewis Tan

Gender & Pronouns: Cismale & He/Him

Age: 37

Birthday:  February 23, 1987

Occupation: Psychiatrist

Neighborhood: Summit Lake

Sexuality:

BIOGRAPHY

TW: death

dominic grew up the oldest of 3 siblings and the one with the most responsibility, as expected. Not only did he have the weight of the most responsibility on his shoulders but he also had a ton of expectations that his parents put onto him at a young age. It truly didn't matter what he wanted at the end of the day. He was to be perfect at everything he did. He was to make straight A's, get a black belt in karate, and be valedictorian. All of those things were things he accomplished and not because it was goals of his own but because it was things his parents, once again, expected from him.

Despite all of the pressure that was put on him, he never let that distract him from his relationship with his younger sister, Mei. That mostly being because they seemed to toss her aside or act as if she weren't as important as the rest and well, to dominic, she was his little sister and the most important person in his life. Of course, he had another sister but his relationship with her wasn't anything like his relationship with Mei and he always kept the youngest sibling tucked under his wing for as long as he could. That being, until he left for college.

Dominic got into an Ivy League School and unfortunately was as far away as Massachusetts. since he attended Harvard. Though he was far away, he still kept in contact with his sister and did what he could for her. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel as though there was no one there for her and well, he was sure that's exactly how she felt when her parents forced her into an arranged marriage. The entire situation infuriated him, especially since it was something they had forced on him and he even tried to step into her shoes but they wouldn't allow it and boy, did he hate his parents for putting her in that situation. Even more than that, he had who his parents put Mei with and he felt as though he really let her down.

He regularly visited home during the holidays but not for the sake of his parents but for the sake of his sister. She was and would always be someone he would feel he had to look after.

During his senior year of college is when he met his future wife. He didn't meet her at school. He met her at a bar and she was teacher, something his parents wouldn't be happy about. The thing about his parents is that they wanted the best and so he was sure that they expected him to find someone who had a job that would be the equivalent of his own once he was done with school. Regardless of that, Nina was someone he immediately found himself smitten with and the two were moved in together within months.

His goal had always been to get married before he started his family but during his first year of medical school, Nina informed him that they were going to have their first child together. Dominic couldn't have been more thrilled and immediately proposed to the woman. The timeline of things were what his parents called "irresponsible" and they hated the fact that he was with her. He didn't let that push them apart and instead, worked even harder to make sure that he could get through medical school so that they could have a good life.

Their first child, a girl named Maia, was born in April and he swore he'd never loved anyone more. Dominic had genuinely never been more happy than he was with the two women by his side.

When he finished medical school and finally received his psychiatry license, he moved back to Providence Peak in order to be closer to his family and at that time, it was the time that Mei got together with Carmen. He was genuinely happy for her. Carmen seemed to make her happy and that's all he really wanted for his sister. Sexuality didn't matter as far as he was concerned but that wasn't the way that their parents saw it and he was threated to be cut off before he could give his fiance a proper wedding. That's all he needed his parents for, nothing else and so, much to his dismay, he had to give one of the most important people in his life the cold shoulder.

Dominic and Nina were married in the fall of 2016, and that's when they began attempting to expand their family. It wasn't as easy as the first time. In fact, they seemed to have some issues getting pregnant this time around and it took nearly two years for the two of them to get pregnant with their second child, a boy named Oliver. Not too long after Oliver, and without trying, their third managed to make an appearance and they named him Kai.

Everything, except for his relationship with Mei, seemed to be perfect. At least, until his wife was killed in a car accident. She was driving home from work late one night, having had to stay for a parent teacher conference, and the other driver ran a red light and plowed right into her. She died almost instantly and Dominic lost a piece of himself that night. His heart was completely broken and not only for himself but also for his kids. And despite wanting to give up, he knew that he couldn't. He had to be there for them.

The day of her funeral was the day he finally cut his parents off. They made a comment on how he could finally find someone better and he hasn't spoke to them since.

Now, two years later, he's trying to find a way to fix things with his sister and parents a twelve year old, six year old, and two year old.

[donttouchtheneednoggle]

realising ur trans is so stupid bc before yes it felt like life was just always gonna suck no matter what I did and I was doomed to low-mid grade misery with occasional high grade sprinkled in forever and all I could do was not dwell on it as much as possible but now I know what's probably causing it and that there's a way forward I actually have to do something about it and I don't know where to starttt