#and a subdural hematoma too…

[what-the-fuck-khr]

rest in peace, Toriyama Akira

[secretsofdbz]

So Shueisha just announced that Toriyama passed away last week on March 1st from a subdural hematoma (head injury)

The site has crashed, but it's from both official DB twitter accounts

[glamorizethechaos]

Bruised Pt 3 | Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: When you find yourself in an abusive relationship, you never thought your attending Jack Abbot would become your protector and saving grace.

TW: domestic violence, age gap relationship (reader is in late 20s & Jack is 49), hospital setting, surgery, medical inaccuracies, nudity, fluff, angst, eventual smut, Not beta read. Likely typos. Lmk if there is anything else!

Word Count: 3.2k

Authors Note: I’m so sorry it took so long to get this part up! I’ve been so busy with work, and my kids. Then it was my anniversary, my husband’s birthday and Father’s Day, so I’ve been running around like crazy. Whenever I get a minute to relax I’m just been sooo tired. This chapter isn’t my favorite at all, I didn’t want it to be too medical considering I have a history degree and have no medical background (aside from my hypochondria and time spent on webmd). So consider this to be a filler chapter I guess? Hope next chapter is good and perhaps a little smutty 🫦

Prev | Next

Feel

You felt the tether of all the wires connecting you to the countless monitors. The burn of the IVs embedded into your skin. Then the pain. The utter indescribable pain. Your head pounded, your body stiff. The slow trickle of cerebrospinal fluid from your nose was now coating your lips. You want to wipe it away, but your hands are too heavy, your fingers tingling. Your face feels cold despite the sweat that covered your body. The cold offering comfort in the chaos.

Taste

Your mouth was so incredibly dry that it was difficult to swallow. Your tongue almost sticking to the roof of your mouth, peeling it away giving the sensation of velcro. The only thing that offered temporary moisture was the salty spinal fluid that seeped into your mouth. All you could crave was water.

Smell

It all smelled so sterile. The metallic smell of dried blood, your dried blood, mixed with iodine. Had you had surgery? Why were you covered in iodine?

Sound

The beeps and clicks of the monitors were a constant, but words around you were muffled, as if you were drowning under water. As the words ebbed and flowed, you managed to make out some in all of the chaos.

“Basilar skull fracture”

“Post- traumatic seizures”

“Subdural hematoma”

“Craniotomy”

No. No. No. No. Please God no. This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t possibly be happening; but the memories begin flooding back with each passing moment. You are back in the trauma room where can hear the sound of your skull cracking as Charlie’s hands gripped your throat and bashed your head against the wall. You can hear the sound of Jacks fist making contact with flesh, Robby’s screams, and Charlie’s groans.

Sight

Darkness. You only saw black. Your eyelids feeling as if they were being held shut by some unknown force. No matter how hard you tried, they wouldn’t budge. Jacks voice enters the room and you want so desperately to open your eyes, tell him you’re okay, you’re alive. He must know you’re trying because you feel his hand in yours in an instant, squeezing it lightly and assuring you it’s alright. That it’s just the swelling around your eyes. Was that the cold you felt on your face? Was that Jack holding a compress to your eyes?

————————————————————————

With an unknown lapse in time, your eyes began to flutter open. Your vision blurry, the bright lights making them immediately shut again. While you couldn't see him, you knew he was there.

"J-" you were taken aback by how hoarse your voice was, your mouth and throat so dry that little sound came out. Before you knew it, you felt the comfort and warmth of his hands. Hesitantly he traced his rough fingertips along your jaw and down your bruised neck.

"I'm here." he whispered.

"Hurts" was all you could muster, god you needed some water.

"I know it hurts, we can get you some more morphine in about an hour."

You shook your head, reaching out with trembling hands to find his. You opened his palm and slowly traced each letter:

L - I - G - H -T

You heard Jack scurry to turn the light off, and only when the world felt less harsh your eyes opened slowly. He looked exhausted, he hadn't shaved, hair disheveled, cheeks sunken, but he smiled at you softly. Bringing his your hand up to his mouth, he shut his eyes and placed a tender kiss on the back of it, the ring on your finger still taunting you. He helped bring a glass of water to your lips, trickling down your throat, washing away the salty and metallic taste.

"Jack..." you finally whispered, tears welling up in your eyes. "Wh-wh-- h-ha " for some reason the words didnt come. You shut your eyes tightly again, trying to focus on what you wanted to say, what you needed to say. Its as if your mine and body were no longer working in sync.

"Hey, hey, slow down, it's normal to have a bit of aphasia after a brain injury. It'll come back to you soon enough." Jack assured you as the panic began to fill your eyes. "You can squeeze my hands once for yes, two for no. Okay?"

One Squeeze.

"Good..." Jack smiled a toothy grin, "Let's figure out what you remember... okay?"

One Squeeze

"Do you remember what happened at Pittfest?"

One Squeeze

"Do you remember Charlie? What he did to you?"

One Squeeze

"Do you remember going up for CT?"

Two Squeezes

Jack looked down, trying to figure out how to tell you all that happened when your eyes fluttered shut in his arms. He wanted to block the memory from his mind. The way your body grew rigid and clonic before you even made it to radiology.

"Charlie caused a basilar skull fracture, which caused you to have the CSF rhinorrhea. It's getting better, you just gotta stay flat for a while." You hadn't even noticed the trickle from your nose had almost gone to a standstill.

"Taking you up to CT, you started having a seizure, you had one last night too. Imagining found a subdural hematoma. Walsh had to do a craniotomy to relieve the pressure..."

Your hand immediately reached for the back of your head, feeling for the incision. You felt the bald patch, the stubble pricking your fingers and they traced along the staples. You stopped counting after 10 staples.

"She left as much as she could... it'll grow back. Come on don't look like that." Jack whispered, wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

"See?" you asked, pointing to your face.

Jack pulled his phone from his pocket and turned on the front facing camera. Holding the phone in front of your face, you gasped loudly. Your eyes were black and swollen, your neck bruised, tacky spinal fluid crusted on your lips and chin. A sob stuck in your throat and you shut your eyes, not wanting to look at your reflection any longer.

"Hey, hey, none of that. You're still my pretty girl, right?" he cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to face him. "Open your eyes. Look at me. The cuts will heal, the hair will grow back, and the bruising with fade. You are still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." His hazel eyes were glassy and exhausted, but he looked genuine; like he meant every word that was coming out of his mouth.

Your chest ached at his words, the world standing still. His pretty girl. The woman that looked back at you in the mirror was far from that. You saw a battered woman, a lost woman, a broken woman. Yet Jack looked at you like you were the most beautiful woman in the world. Behind those tired eyes of his, he looked at you with nothing but complete adoration. How? Why?

“Charlie?” The words seemed to come easier to you now, like Jack had promised. It took everything for him not to explode at the mere mention of that man’s name. The man who hurt the woman he loved.

“He’s here. In the ICU.”

“I want to see him.” You whispered firmly, throat still hoarse.

“I dont think th-“

“Jack, please.”

Jack pressed his back against his chair, his shoulders slumping forward a bit, almost in defeat. He rubbed his hand across the stubble on his chin, and you heard the scratch of the hair on his rough skin. With some hesitation, he stood and fetched a wheelchair.

"I'm gonna sit you up slowly, okay?" he said softly, looping his arms under your armpits to slowly guide you up. It felt like the room was spinning, all the blood rushing to your head. You let out a small cry from the pain, resting your head into the crook of his neck as you adjusted. When you were ready, he lifted you into the chair and began to push you down the hallway. Stopping outside his room Jack sighed.

"I dont know if its a good idea if I go in there." he wanted nothing more than to finish the job, break every bone in that mans body.

"Please, Jack. I need you."

With a nod, Jack used his back to push the door open and wheel you inside, trying not to jostle you around too much. Seeing him there in bed was a shock. His jaw was wired shut, an NG tube down his nose, his face nearly unrecognizable. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him, and you stared at Jack in awe of the damage he had done, for you.

Charlies head turned, eyes widening and heart rate increasing at the presence of Jack Abbot. For a moment, you almost pitied the man, your heart somehow still ached for him. With a nod, Jack wheeled you to the edge of the bed, him gripping the handles so firmly his knuckled were now white. His jaw was clenched shut, he said nothing, but his eyes said everything.

In one fluid motion you took off your engagement ring, twiddling it in you hands. Your finger felt naked, the ring that has been there for 2 years was now gone.

"Give me your hand Charlie." you demanded, before firmly grabbing it yourself, pressing the ring firmly into the palm of his hand. Your jaw was tight, you spoke through gritted teeth. "I stayed because I hoped things would change. I told myself it wasn’t that bad. That I could fix it. Fix you. But you hurt me. Over and over and over again. With your words, with your fists, with how small you made me feel." tears began to soak your cheeks as the words spilled into the air.

"Every day I tried to survive it. Every time you grabbed me, shoved me, screamed in my face—every time you told me no one else would want me—I believed you. But thats not true, Charlie." you looked back at Jack who was studying your every movement and every expression. Through the anger, through the tears, through the heartbreak, you smiled softly at Jack who looked at you with pain in his eyes.

"You hurt me for the last time." finally letting go, the ring you pressed into his hand left an indent in your palm, and you watched it slowly fade away. You knew that Charlie would leave a permanent mark on you. The scars that would remain, the trauma that would persist, those wouldnt go away. But watching the outline of your once promise slowly dissipate made this real.

"I feel sick Jack." you choked, and he swiftly pushed you out of the room into the hall. You were pale, diaphoretic, and trying to catch your breath.

"Tell me what hurts." Jack switching from protector to doctor in a matter of seconds.

"I cant breathe." you gasped, grabbing onto his shirt, looking for something to hold onto, to ground yourself.

What Jack first dismissed as another panic attack after your encounter with Charlie vanished the moment he saw the bluish tint creeping across your lips. Barreling down the hallway, he immediately called a rapid response.

"Honey, we gotta get you on the monitor to check your pulse ox, now."

With a reading of 85% he was now in combat mode.

"I need high flow oxygen mask, now!" he barked, "where the fuck is respiratory?"

"Infection?" you gasped, breathing growing more and more shallow.

"Maybe. I dont know."

"Please... dont intubate." you begged, grabbing his hand with all the strength you had left.

"Not if I can help it." Jack smiled assuringly and slipped the oxygen mask over your nose. It brought him relief to see your levels improving on just room air. Your airways felt assaulted by force of the oxygen mask, the pressure making it feel like your head was about to explode more than I already was, your chest feeling as if it were on fire. Jack reached out to grab your trembling hands are you began to pull and paw at the mask.

“I know it feels uncomfortable. Just focus on my voice—breathe with me, okay? In and out, slow and steady. We gotta figure out what's going on."

"M-Me-Meningitis?" you were a doctor, you knew the risks, and the infection risks were high. Jack simply nodded at the possibility and as he prepped you for a spinal tap. You winced and called out as the needle pierced your back.

As you waited for your results Jack sat at the edge of the bed rubbing your legs to avoid blood pooling and clots from forming. Your body was sore, and his hands felt heavenly. You moaned involuntarily as he hit a particularly tender spot, causing you both to blush.

You felt disgusting. Your hair was matted, bloody and greasy. Your skin still stained with iodine and a layer grime. You just wanted to get clean but had no means of doing so. You couldn’t stand unassisted, your breathing was labored, and your body was too weak. The thought of getting a sponge bath was humiliating.

“You don’t have to do this, Jack. I’m filthy.” You pulled your mask down briefly. Jack simply shook his head and chuckle.

“Try grown men in the middle of desert combat going 3 weeks without a shower. This is nothing, kid.”

Still— you recoiled a bit, pulling your legs away from him, causing him to frown.

“Alright, let’s get you cleaned up then.”

“What?”

“I said let’s get you cleaned up, I can help you shower.”

"Jack... I-I-I dont--"

"Or if you aren't comfortable, I can grab a nurse to help?"

You looked at him, contemplating the offer. It was strictly clinical, right? He was a doctor, he's seen hundreds, maybe thousands of naked bodies. Clinical, strictly clinical.

With a nod, Jack took a few slow steps towards you, removing your oxygen mask to see how vitals held before moving forward. When he was satisfied with what he saw, he helped you up and into the wheelchair.

"I'm gonna take off your gown now, that okay?"

Not answering, you let out a small squeak as you stifled a sob. He immediately knelt down next to you, standing at your eye level. His brow was tense as he looked at you with a painful expression. Your body was trembling, jaw chattering, eyes looking shellshocked. The bathroom grew hotter as the shower steam began to billow around the bathroom. Your reflection beginning to fade as condensation clung to the mirror.

Jack began to search for comforting words, his back leaning against the bathroom door.

"I've been in this exact situation myself, you know? When I got hurt, I was unable to bathe myself. It was a sponge bath, talk about mortifying. I'm a grown man and I had some hot nurse in a German military hospital flipping me over to scrub my ass..."

You couldn't help but chuckle, appreciating not only the imagery but his vulnerability.

"So I get it... trust me."

"Okay...yeah."

Jack untied the back of your hospital gown, slipping it off you. Instinctually, you covered your exposed body.

He lifts you into the shower, placing you on the shower stool. The hot water began to cascade over your bruised and scarred body, washing away the dirt, grime and blood. Jack began to work his hands along your body, starting with your hair. You shut your eyes as Jack began to gently massage shampoo into your scalp, taking extra care to avoid your craniotomy staples.

Then your bruised neck and down to your stiff shoulders.

He worked away at the knots from laying in the hospital bed, your head hung forward, breath quickening again. Not because you couldn't breathe, but from the sensation of his hands on your skin. The crook of your neck was now exposed to him, almost inviting him to press his lips against you. He shook his head, trying to get back to the task at hand. He was standing in front of you now, kneeling down at eye level. With more precision his hands moved lower, the washcloth brushing against your breasts, your breath hitching. His eyes met yours, checking in to see you were okay.

With more assurance his hand traveled lower, brushing against your stomach. Lower and lower, until you grabbed his wrist, stopping him before he reached your most sensitive part.

"Jack..." you whispered.

"I-I'm sorry." he whispered, handing you the washcloth. "I'll go wait outside so you can finish up, call me when you're ready, yeah?"

He left the bathroom in a hurry, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck.

"Fuck..." he whispered to himself. He felt so guilty, for wanting more when you were in your most vulnerable. Felt disgusted he felt for how good it felt to have your hands on your body, even in your condition.

When he heard your faint callings from the bathroom he went back in with a smile.

"Ready?" he helped you stand, you pressed your back against his chest as he wrapped a scratchy hospital around your frail frame. "Feel better?" he asked, helping you back into a fresh gown and into your bed with fresh sheets.

"Much, thank you Jack."

"Let me fix your hair so it doesn't get tangled again, alright?" he sat you up and started to braid your hair.

"You know how to braid hair?"

"Not my choice. I have 4 sisters." he chuckled before finishing up and admiring his work. "I'm a little rusty, but I think it'll do."

"Thank you." you smiled.

"Listen, abou-" he began before you promptly cut him off.

"Dont, Jack." you grabbed his hand, shaking your head, "Its okay. I promise. It's okay." Despite your assurance, Jack kept pushing.

"No...it’s not. Because I didnt just... I told you... you were in such a-- I wanted..." he began to stutter, fumbling over his words.

"Wanted what?"

"YOU!" he yelled before lowering his voice to almost a whisper... "I wanted you.”

He tried to get up, but you held onto him firmly. Your grip getting tighter and tighter as he spoke. “Even though I’ve been in your position and know how helpless you felt in that moment… I still wanted to touch you. And I just feel like some animal. That I’m no better than the sick fuck who hurt you in the first place.” Jacks voice cracked and in that moment you thought he was going to cry.

“Jack…” you whispered, cupping his face in your hands.

“You trusted me…” He whispered back, his eyes welling up with tears.

“I still do, Jack.” You rested your forehead against his. The tips of your noses brushing, your lips hovering mere inches apart. Both you were breathing quickly as his hands found your body again, rubbing his fingers down your bare spine through the opening of the hospital gown. You could feel each other’s breath panting against your lips. Your eyes beginning to flutter shut.

“Jack Abbot?” And unfamiliar voice pulled your attention away from each other in almost an instant. Two officers stood in the doorway, both resting their hands on their tactical vests.

“Yes officer, how can I help you?” Jack responded.

“Stand up for me and put your hands behind your back.” One stepped forward, pulling the handcuffs from his belt.

“What?” You yelled, not wanting to let go of Jack. “No, please!”

“Dr. Abbot you’re under arrest for the aggravated assault and battery of Charlie Truett.”

————————————————————————

Tag list //

@michasia24 @emma8895eb @nosebeers @runawaybaby3 @antisocialfiore @xxxkat3xxx @livingavilaloca @popeabbot @catmomstyles3 @bxxbxy @meowmeowyoongles @midnight-dixon @nerdgirljen @aj3684 @screechingenemy18 @profoundlynerdywolf @rogersbarnesxx @sebastianstangirl01 @princesssunderworld @looneylooomis @shadowhuntyi @drlangdonsbabydaddy @celiacallsitcausal @sjester42-blog @geekgirl1996 @ksyn-faith @peggyofoz @trustme3-13 @foolishseven @floofmc @anxiousfuckupon @silas-aeiou @pinkdrinkwithraspberry

(I think I got everyone! Sorry if I missed you!!!! Lmk if you wanna be added)

[scoupsleftcheekdimple]

Between Heartbeats

starring: svt leader! seungcheol x fem neurosurgeon! reader

aus: angst

warnings: none

synopsis: since she performed surgery on his brother, Y/N has been close to seungcheol. little does she know: he's fallen for her. hard. but he's too scared to confess. and she would never know.

word count: 851

A/N: i saw my ex on insta a couple of days ago.. and i found all the pictures we took together..

—

Seungcheol wasn’t supposed to cry. Not in the sterile white light of the ICU, not in front of the cameras at the hospital entrance, and definitely not when his younger brother—his whole world—was wheeled into emergency surgery with a subdural hematoma. But he did. Quietly. The only sound in the hallway was the click of a pair of low-heeled shoes echoing towards him.

“Choi Seungmin’s family?”

He looked up. That voice—cool, clear, calm—somehow grounded him. She couldn’t have been older than twenty-five. Too young to be the one doing brain surgery.

“I’m Dr. Y/N,” she said, offering a gentle nod. “I’ll be operating on your brother.”

He blinked. She? This impossibly small woman in a ponytail and navy scrubs?

“I know you,” she added lightly, as if they were meeting at a cafe and not outside an operating theatre. “You’re Seungcheol. From Seventeen, right?”

“Uh… yeah,” he murmured. Her presence was oddly calming. Like she’d done this a hundred times.

“I like your group,” she smiled briefly. “But don’t worry. I’m better at surgery than I am at fangirling.”

And with that, she disappeared behind the double doors.

The surgery went flawlessly. Seungmin woke up within the day, groggy but coherent, and Seungcheol—relieved and overwhelmed—lingered around the hospital for days afterward, bringing coffee to nurses and pacing outside Y/N/s department just to accidentally run into her.

They did. Often.

She was surprisingly easy to talk to. Grounded. Witty in a dry way that made his eyes crinkle. He found himself laughing with her, looking for her in the cafeteria, even lingering in the cold just to walk her to her car. Everyone else treated him like a celebrity. She treated him like someone who didn’t know how to make an instant ramen packet.

Which was true, unfortunately.

But she never flirted. Never blushed. Never batted her eyes or leaned in close. Instead, she laughed at him when he was dramatic. Rolled her eyes when he tried to impress her. He was used to being adored, chased, idolized. But she was... just his friend.

And it was killing him.

Because he had fallen—hard and helplessly—for her.

—

He loved her. He really did.

But the words never made it past his lips.

Because there was always something—her schedule, his tour, the way she looked at him like he was her safe place, but never her home.

Because saying I love you would mean risking the one thing he couldn’t live without: her friendship.

So he settled.

He became her emergency contact. Her late-night ride. Her ramen buddy. Her plus-one to weddings when she didn’t want questions. Her shoulder when her favorite patient died. Her arms when she was too tired to keep hers up.

But not her person.

Never her person.

—

Sometimes she dated. Briefly. Cautiously. She’d always tell him, almost apologetically.

“Just grabbing coffee with someone. Nothing serious.”

He’d smile. Tease her. “Tell him if he hurts you, I’ll end his career.”

She’d laugh. Ruffle his hair. “You’re ridiculous.”

He didn’t laugh back.

And every time she got close to someone else, he’d do something—quietly, subtly—to make it harder for them.

He knew it was selfish. Knew it wasn’t fair.

But he’d rather have her half-present in his life than not at all.

—

Once, she tried to set him up with someone.

“You two would be good together,” she said, eyes too bright. “She’s smart. Kind. Pretty.”

“Yeah?” he said flatly. “She you?”

She froze. For a moment, she looked like she might say something. But then she just laughed.

“No. I’m a nightmare.”

He smiled, even though it hurt. “Don’t I know it.”

—

Her birthday came before his.

He bought her flowers. White lilies. Her favorite.

They sat on her apartment floor, eating instant tteokbokki, watching reruns of old dramas.

“I thought I’d be married by now,” she murmured, staring at the screen but seeing something else entirely.

“You still could be,” he said. “If you’d stop picking losers.”

“I think I’m the problem,” she said quietly. “Maybe I’m just not lovable.”

He almost dropped his chopsticks.

He wanted to scream. To shake her.

I love you. I’ve loved you since the night you saved my brother and didn’t flinch when I fell apart in front of you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything.

But all he said was, “That’s not true.”

—

She left again.

For good this time. Got accepted into a global research program in London. Five years. Fully funded.

He helped her pack.

Held her while she cried.

Smiled when she asked him if she was doing the right thing.

“Go save the world,” he whispered.

Go, even if it kills me.

—

They kept in touch at first. Messages. Voicemails. Birthday gifts mailed late.

But time has a way of stretching silence until it frays.

And eventually, they stopped calling.

—

He debuted solo after SEVENTEEN disbanded. The fans loved him still. His songs got sadder. His eyes a little more hollow. He wrote lyrics that no one else could understand.

Except maybe her.

But she never said anything.

tag list: @seungkwansflower @reiofsuns2001

check out my masterlist !

[syncopein3d]

Someone passing out from fever or sickness, but in a fictional way where you can rush to pick them up and wrap them in a blanket on your couch, not where you call EMS and worry that they might have cracked their head on a sidewalk. Their eyes actually close, unlike in real life where people sometimes faint with their eyes partly or entirely open.

Someone being drugged, but in a fictional way where they glaze over and then gracefully faint, but continue breathing, instead of the real world way, where we have to have a respirator during surgery because substances that produce sustained unconsciousness also tend to paralyze breathing. I like sci fi settings where I can make up drugs for this reason, I know too much about anesthesia.

Someone being put to sleep with magic, which requires no qualifier because it never has medical health risks. I like fantasy settings because of this, too.

Someone passing out from being choked with someone's thighs or arm, but in a fictional way where they stay out without the risk of brain damage or death and they don't lose bowel or bladder control.

The comical clonk on the head is just ruined for me entirely unless it's an overt cartoon, because concussions are scary and subdural hematoma is even scarier.

As a writer I want to do research. As a whump fetishist I have learned that once I have done research, sometimes I harm my own suspension of disbelief. Oops.

[ramblings-in-imagination]

I’ve Got You (Part Two)

The hospital lights were too bright, the halls too cold. Buck paced outside the trauma room, his mind replaying every second of the day. The scan results had come back, the doctor’s voice grim but steady:

“She has a small subdural hematoma, a brain bleed. We need to get her into surgery immediately to relieve the pressure.”

Buck’s world blurred at the edges. “Surgery?” he choked out. “But—she was just running with me. She was fine—”

Maddie appeared then, her face etched with concern. She pulled him into a hug, grounding him. “Buck, listen to me. This is not your fault. She tripped. Accidents happen.”

“But I should’ve—” His voice cracked. “I should’ve made her go to the hospital right away. I should’ve—”

“Buck,” Eddie interrupted gently but firmly, his steady gaze locking with Buck’s. “You couldn’t have known. You did everything right. You called 911. You stayed with her.”

The trauma team wheeled you past, pale and unconscious, tubes and wires trailing behind. Buck’s heart clenched at the sight. He reached for your hand, but a nurse gently moved him aside.

“Please wait here,” she said, her voice kind but brisk. “We’ll update you as soon as we can.”

Buck’s hands were shaking as he lowered himself into a chair. Maddie sat beside him, her hand on his shoulder. Eddie stayed on his other side, steady as a rock.

“She was joking earlier,” Buck murmured, voice hollow. “Teasing me about how she’d outrun me. And then—then she fell, and I just—” His voice cracked. “What if she doesn’t—?”

“Hey,” Eddie said sharply, his own eyes misty. “Don’t go there. She’s strong. She’s a fighter. And she’s got the best damn team in that operating room.”

Maddie squeezed Buck’s hand. “You need to believe in her. She believes in you.”

Time moved at a crawl, every second stretching into eternity. Buck’s mind was a whirlwind of “what ifs” and regrets, each one landing like a blow. He kept seeing the way your head hit the ground, hearing the ragged edge in your breathing before the seizure took over.

“Why did I let her get up?” he whispered. “Why didn’t I—”

“Buck,” Maddie interrupted, her voice fierce. “You couldn’t have known. None of us could. You’re not a doctor. You did everything you could to help her. She knows that.”

A nurse finally emerged, her face drawn but calm. “She’s in surgery now,” she said. “The bleed is small, and the neurosurgeon is optimistic. But it will take some time. She’s strong, but she’ll need you to be strong, too.”

Buck felt his knees go weak. Eddie caught him before he fell, steadying him with one strong hand.

“You hear that?” Eddie said. “She’s strong. She’s gonna get through this. And we’re gonna be here for her, and for you, every step of the way.”

Buck scrubbed a hand across his eyes, tears blurring his vision. “Yeah,” he rasped. “Okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

And as the hours dragged on, Buck clung to that promise: that he’d be right there when you woke up, holding your hand, loving you with every ounce of his heart. No matter how long it took.

[gumdytoonsen]

Thank you AKIRA

Hello everyone, Draw Goku as a tribute to Akira Toriyama, the creator of Dragon Ball, this Anime will mark our childhood for everyone around the world.

Since my beginnings, I drew cell when I was a 13-year-old child. I was also a fan of this anime. I saw it on Cartoon Network in the TOONAMI block. I LIKED ITS GOKU TRILOGY LIKE:

DRAGON BALL DRAGON BALL Z DRAGON BALL GT DRAGON BALL Z KAI AND DRAGON BALL SUPER

I saw it with my family too. My friends who were the community of artists before I was friendly with them also to the loved, respected and talented community but I was betrayed by the Hated, Sick and Toxic community.

Well, it also has its Original merchandise in Japan, others are pirated merchandise that it sells in flea markets in all Latin American countries such as:

Figures and Toys Posters Stickers Keychains Tshirts Sweaters albums Cups Teddies and card games

I had my Goku poster and keychain and so did my aunt Nicole, well we missed them.

But there are fans who artists are loved and hated like:

Tablos, the Lolcows of the Spanish Internet, is the creator of the Fan Fiction Dragon Ball AF WAS FOUND

There are Fan Ficts or Fictions made by Fans published on Wattpad some are Good Others are bad like:

Dragon Ball Fran Fictions: Goku X Annita Goku Goku Vs Kratos Goku Vs Marvel and DC SuperHeroes Vegata vs Jesus What would happen if Goku got into other universes? And what would happen if Goku betrayed the world? And Goku locked in the time room

Also Old and New Parody Videos Published on YOUTUBE

The other one is Too Hated is Chris Chan The creator of the fan fiction between sonic and pokemon Sonichu was also remembered for doing LOVE QUEST WITH HIS OWN MOTHER How Ungracious I Use The Cursed Word with Kamehameha called CURSEYEHAMEHA

Well The Otakus And their community is hurting By Crazy and toxic Genete but they have their own fandom that is already toxic because of toxic people and Trolls

They hurt the Mexican Spanish dubbing actors like:

the singer Josafat Espinoza And Vegeta's voice actor is Rene Garcia

For Their Fans who do Bullying on social networks and there are also Drawings made by fans published on social networks and more searched on Facebook, Google and All Social Networks

Well, 8 years ago Akira Torimaya paid tribute to Stan Lee, the creator of Marvel and DC superheroes, for his taste in Japanese manga and American Manga.

Well, on March 1, 2024, the Japan Hospital sent a message from its fans around the world and said:

Dear friends and partners.

We are deeply saddened to inform you that manga creator Akira Toriyama passed away on March 1 due to an acute subdural hematoma. He was 68 years old.

It is our deep regret that he still had several works in full creation with great enthusiasm, furthermore, he would have many more things to achieve.

However, he has left many manga titles and works of art to this world. Thanks to the support of so many people around the world, he has been able to continue his creative activities for over 45 years. We hope that Akira Toriyama's unique world of creation will continue to be loved by everyone for a long time.

We inform you of this sad news, thanking you for your kindness during his life.

The funeral was celebrated with his family and very few of his relatives. Following his wishes for peace of mind, we respectfully inform you that we will not accept flowers or condolence gifts. visits, offerings and others. Likewise, we ask that you refrain from conducting interviews with his family.

The future plan for the memorial meeting is not decided, we will inform you when it is confirmed. We deeply appreciate your understanding and support as always.

Thank you Akira Torimaya for his anime that marked the childhood of his fans from all over the world.

Thank you for your Dragon Ball Trilogy

For everything and those of Mas

THANK YOU VERY MUCH AKIRA TORIYAMA

AKIRA TORIYAMA 1955-2024

[nightingalesandnorco]

I've got a character who I'd like to get hit on the head by a blunt, ball-shaped energy projectile. I've been doing some reading and I've been thinking an epidural or subdural haemorrhage would be ideal since the lucid interval then deterioration could cause some good drama. Possibly a subdural one could work too.

Either way, by the time things start going way downhill there's another character on the scene with healing powers. They can't get rid of the blood that's already out there but they can prevent further bleeding. If the internal bleeding is stopped, would that be likely to slow down their deteriorating condition?

After that, they get rushed to a hospital, so they can hopefully get treated decently quickly. Given that they're still a teenager, do you think they could get off without too many bad long-term issues? A couple mild ones would be great.

What differentiates a subdural hematoma from an epidural hematoma is the vessel that the bleed originates from. A subdural hematoma originates from a vein, and an epidural hematoma originates from an artery. Here's a diagram:

An epidural hematoma also commonly co-occurs with skull fractures.

Regardless of which type of hematoma you go with, your primary issue is brain compression. If the bleed is stopped, that will slow deterioration because the hematoma is no longer expanding and continuing to further compress the brain. However, the brain is still being compressed by the existing hematoma.

A patient with a subdural/epidural hematoma that was treated promptly may have some lasting deficits in the areas of the brain that were compressed. This is a great diagram:

Common long-term sequelae of traumatic brain injuries in adolescents are headaches, problems with coordination and motor functioning; sensory abnormalities; deficits in attention, memory, and executive functioning; difficulty with learning, difficulty regulating mood and emotions, and behavioral changes. Most of these are associated with frontal lobe injuries, which are the most common type of TBI in adolescents, so they may not be what you're looking for if your character sustained their injury somewhere else. And remember, each side of the brain controls the opposite side of the body, so if your character got hit in the yellow area on their right side, they would have motor deficits on their left side.

Happy whumping!

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

This is going to get kind of personal, and triggery for mentions of death, so if that's an issue, don't bother reading any further. Just trying to keep this a safe space while needing to get some things out of my head.

I just learned last night about Akira Toriyama's death. Feels like a giant chunk of my childhood just died. The Dragon Ball series was my first anime, and Chrono Trigger still remains in my top five favorite games of all time, if not my number one favorite.

His stories were rife with themes of never giving up and always having hope. Themes that showed that no matter how difficult the odds or how strong the adversity there was still hope; that showed how the power of will and the power of one's heart could prevail no matter how impossible it seemed. Themes that influenced me in ways that kept me going through some of the hardest and darkest times in my own life.

He still had ongoing projects. He left behind a legacy, but it was a legacy that was still ongoing. My heart is honestly broken, on behalf of everyone who loved him and who loved his work.

Acute subdural hematoma was his cause of death. It can be sudden and can happen without any cause or warning. It's the same thing that took my mom fifteen years ago, as the result of a ruptured cerebral aneurysm. No signs, no symptoms, just here one minute and gone the next. Her sixty-third birthday would have been February 28 of this year. It's cruel and unfair to anyone with so much left to offer the world, or any loved ones who don't even get a second to say goodbye.

I know I'm rambling a little. Sorry for that. This has just brought up some painful memories and thoughts. This kind of medical affliction, this kind of sudden loss is a reminder of how suddenly someone can be taken away. It's not right and it's not fair, but it's a reminder to cherish every day and love the people we love like it might be the last day we have to do so. Because no matter how unlikely it seems, it really might be the last day, and we might not know until it's too late.

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

Hey! I'm a nurse irl and wanted to chime in on the metal pipe to the head TR occurrences. So a subdural hematoma is bleeding that builds up in the areas designed to protect your brain. So your body can absorb this blood when the bleed is slow. Skull density, angles, force, speed that caused the injury all play a role in how many blood vessels get broken. When there is too much blood for the body to absorb pressure around the brain builds up and can cause all kinds of problems including death. The Wrench used to hit Shinichiro was not a pipe. That is a big difference right there. Kazutora was younger and Shinichiro was a tall man so the angle is different. With Emma the sheer force behind the blow was what killed her. I don't know how fast they were going but that is the biggest factor in her head injury. The force for sure cracked her skull which is added damage and bone fragments. Again there are a lot of factors that could lead to death or survival from a head injury. So All of these are completely plausible.

Oh that's all super cool to learn, thanks for sharing! I really really hope Wakui actually asked a doctor or nurse about this though, purely because the mental image of him asking someone what kind of hit it takes to kill someone and their response is too funny.

[ejzah]

For @anonkp, who encouraged me to turn my wish for an episode post “To Live and Die in Mexico” with Kensi caring for a recovering Deeks.

A/N: I know I’ve touched on this topic in other stories before, but i don’t think I’ve gone this in-depth. Also, emetophobia warning.

***

In Sickness and Health

Dragging Deeks through an unconscious Deeks through the Mexican desert with the federales and an arms dealer on their heals had been terrifying. There were a hundred different moments through those never ending days when Kensi thought they would die. That she would never hear Deeks’ voice or feel his touch again.

She’d been beyond grateful when Deeks woke up sooner than the doctors predicted and with seemingly few symptoms for the severity of his repeated traumatic brain injuries.

She hadn’t conceived of the possibility that it could get worse once he was back home. Because recovery from a subdural hematoma compounded by dehydration and broken ribs, came with a daunting list of symptoms that they spent every day trying to manage with limited success.

This morning had gone relatively well; Deeks had slept through the night with only a few episodes of pain or nightmares (Kensi wasn’t always sure of which) breaking through his medication to wake him.

“Hey, it’s about time for your afternoon meds, what do you want for lunch?” she asked, stopping in the den where Deeks was partially reclined in an easy chair, eyes loosely shut and one arm slung across his chest. The chair was angled at forty-five degrees since being completely upright tended to make him dizzy, but completely flat exacerbated his nausea. An audio book played quietly in the background.

“Eh whatever. You know it’s not gonna matter either way,” Deeks replied, his voice so low and gravely, Kensi knew he was battling another headache. “I’m just gonna throw it up in a couple hours anyway.” He cracked an eye open, a hint of blue showing through.

His skin was still a little patchy from being sunburn and he had a plethora of cuts in various stages of healing. Otherwise, on the outside, he looked better. It was inside that he battled against everyday.

“I know it’s rough, sweetie, but you can’t not eat at all.”

Deeks grimaced, clearly remembering the time he had avoided eating for most of the day and ended up dry-heaving for three hours.

“Mm, damned if do, damned if I don’t,” he sighed despondently. “Ok, just make it as bland as possible.” He shut his eyes again, a small groove forming between his eyebrows.

Kensi leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead, fervently wishing that the simple gesture could take away his pain, then headed for the kitchen.

Kensi gathered a selection of fairly innocuous foods: plain crackers, toast, yogurt, a protein shake, and chicken broth. Between his reduced appetite and cyclical vomiting, he’d been distinctly picky and uninterested in food, so she tried to provide a variety with the hope he’d get a reasonable amount of calories in the end.

Then she grabbed the row of orange canisters lined up on the wall beside the sink with explicit timing and administration instructions. After two weeks, Kensi could dispense them without too much thought, but she still checked the labels to be sure. The last thing she wanted to do was set Deeks back with an overdose.

When she had the 8 different pills counted out, a glass of water and Gatorade, and the food set up, she carried the full tray back to the den. Deeks had shifted onto his side in the time she’d been gone, and she noticed the audio book wasn’t playing anymore.

“Lunch is served,” she announced quietly.

Deeks picked at the toast, ripping a few pieces off and chewing them with obvious effort, in between downing the pills with sips of Gatorade, and managed a couple ounces of the protein drink before he pushed the tray back with a quick shake of his head.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” he said, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. His skin was already paler than a few minutes before and he inhaled shallowly through his nose, exhaling slowly, eyes and jaw clamping shut again.

He stayed that way, barely moving, for a few minutes, and Kensi almost thought he would be alright. Then his face grayed completely, beads of sweat popping out on his forehead. He shoved himself out of the chair with a desperate sound, stumbling into the doorway on his way through.

“Crap,” Kensi muttered, hurrying after him. She made in time to see him on his knees, arm braced against his torso as he retched. Kneeling behind him, she rubbed his lower back, providing support when his strength began to wane.

After several minutes, he moved back, slumping sideways into the closest wall with a pained groan.

Kensi wet a washcloth with cold water and gently wiped the sticky sweat from his skin. He shivered in response, goosebumps appearing wherever she ran the cloth, but he didn’t complain.

When she was done, Deeks let her pull his upper body against her chest. She’d figured out that once the initial wave of vomiting was over, talking helped, so she kept up a low hum of chatter.

“Sam said Callen’s doing a lot better. He’s driving the nurses crazy,” she said.

Deeks tilted his head, just a small movement against her, making a sound of confusion. “Nurses? I thought he was home.”

Kensi didn’t speak for a moment, thrown off as she always was when he experienced a memory lapse.

“Um…no, he’s still in the hospital. Probably for a couple more weeks at least while his lung heals and he gets his stamina back up.”

“Oh.” He shivered again, and Kensi pressed her hand against his cheek, finding it slightly cool.

“Hey, you think you’re going to be sick again?”

He shook his head a single time.

Kensi helped him up to rinse his mouth, supporting most of his weight as exhaustion and disequilibrium set in again. Them made their way into the bedroom, and Kensi got Deeks settled in bed before going around to close all the curtains.

She moved around quietly, getting a fresh glass of water, anti nausea meds, a sleep mask in case he needed it. Afterwards, she slid into bed next to Deeks, tucking herself into his side.

“You know, you don’t have to stay in here with me,” Deeks murmured, voice rough with barely any volume to it. It wasn’t the first time he’d said so in moments like this, but Kensi didn’t think this was a case of his ongoing memory deficits so much as a reminder. He got morose and defeated some days, believing he was a burden.

“Where else would I be?” Kensi asked simply.

“Yeah, cause we all know sitting in a dark, quiet room is so exciting. Can’t even watch TV.”

“I don’t mind.” It was the truth. She wished Deeks could distract himself with binging the latest Netflix offering. That the sound and screen time wouldn’t make his headaches, vision, and vertigo worse. For herself though? She’d happily lay in bed in the dark all day and night with Deeks.

She combed her fingers through his hair, listening to Deeks’ breath even out slowly. “I thought I lost you so many times Deeks. It’s going to be a long time before I get tired of hearing you breathe, feeling your hand under mine, seeing you laugh at me.” She swallowed down the tight feeling in her throat because she didn’t need to add her tears into the mix. “I love you and you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

Deeks huffed a soft sound that might have been a laugh, tilting his head to rest against hers. “Like I’d ever want that. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Kensi’s eyes did fill with tears at that, and she hugged him closer. Deeks made another soft sound, body going limp with the tell-tale sign of oncoming sleep.

“I love you, Marty Deeks,” she repeated, cupping his cheek. “In sickness and in health.”

***

A/N: Hope this is suitably whumpy and hurt/comfort filled.

[decimadragonoid]

Here's some more Dragonball Z fanart featuring some of my favorite characters: Guldo, Chiaotzu, and Gohan. However, this art piece isn't exactly a happy one. You probably might get the hint as to why I say this already, but I'll give you some details.

As a lifelong fan of Dragonball, I was shocked to hear that the creator of the series, Akira Toriyama, had passed away roughly over a week ago. It was like reading news articles about how Toriyama-san was about to announce some new projects and spinoff works he was working on; then, suddenly, the next day, I found out that he was gone. According to official reports, Toriyama-san's cause of death was acute subdural hematoma.  Basically, this is a form of severe head injury in which bleeding fills up the brain area and causes brain tissue to compress. I will leave a hyperlink in case anyone wants to know more about it, but anyway, back to Toriyama...

When I was much younger, I would watch Dragonball and Dragonball Z on Cartoon Network's Toonami and Miguzi segments. Sometimes I would find myself hurrying back home or to my grandma's house from school and my afterschool program to catch the latest episode. I would watch Goku's adventures religiously and see what kind of friends, rivals, and enemies he'd make along the way. I was also a big fan of the Dragonball Z video games, including DBZ: Budokai, The Legacy of Goku, Dragonball FighterZ, Super Dragonball Heroes: World Mission, and DBZ: Kakarot. I would play DBZ: Budokai 3 non-stop with my cousin whenever I went to his house to play his PS2 with him. I still wish I had my PS2 so I could relive my DBZ gaming memories, but I still have Dragonball FighterZ, Super Dragonball Heroes, and DBZ: Kakarot. Matter of fact, I want to return to Dragonball FighterZ at some point since the online modes have been overhauled with rollback netcode. I also want to go back to DBZ: Kakarot at some point to finish playing the game and DLCs!

Fast-forward several years later, I remember not too long ago that during the COVID pandemic, I would binge-watch the original Dragonball series and a portion of the Dragonball Z series while exercising on a machine in the comfort of my home. It was my favorite pastime and a great way for me to lose weight while doing so. In fact, I plan on continuing to binge-watch the original Dragonball Z series with the Kikuchi musical score real soon.

I'm still very shocked and saddened by the fact that Toriyama-san is no longer with us, but as a Dragonball fan and appreciator of his works, I will always keep his stories close to my heart. Dragonball is a series that has given me a reason to never give up on life and everything that I do. It's something that helps me get pumped to exercise, become a better person, and never stop improving myself in the long run. So, to give Toriyama-san a proper sendoff, I'm going to refrain from trying to collect the Dragon Balls to bring him back to life, salute him for all his hard work and his efforts to make my childhood the best childhood I've ever had, and keep his memories and works alive!

Thank you so much for the memories, Toriyama-san. May you rest in peace.

========

Akira Toriyama:

April 5th, 1955-March 1st, 2024

========

Please leave your thoughts and critique in the comment section, as it really helps me think about and improve my style! Be sure to reblog this and spread this around to your fellow Dragonball fans too!

Also, feel free to share some of your fondest memories of Akira Toriyama's works, whether it be Dragonball Z or anything else that comes to mind. I'd love to hear your fondest memories!

========

Dragonball Z © Akira Toriyama

Fanart by DecimaDragonoid

[wrestlingisfake]

The latest on Kenny Omega comes from Dave Meltzer, who says "Normally, you would have already done the surgery right away but his condition and everything was so bad that they could not risk the surgery at the time and now they are kind of just… it's going to be in seven weeks he'll either have the surgery or he won't and then at that point we'll see."

This makes it sound like they're waiting to decide whether Omega needs surgery or not, as if he'd suffered a partial biceps tear. I don't think it works that way with diverticulitis. Dave's a decent reporter but he kind of sucks at summarizing medical information. In 2017, when Katsuyori Shibata needed surgery to treat a subdural hematoma, Dave infamously reported that they literally removed Shibata's brain and then put it back.

Given that Omega waited too long to get medical help, and almost suffered a blood infection, I figure they need to wait it's safe to attempt the surgery. Kenny announced he was in the hospital on December 15, so I assume they'll make the go/no-go decision around February 2. If he's not stable enough, they'll have to decide how long to wait until they check again.

Once Omega has the surgery, I have no idea how long he'll need to recover. After Brock Lesnar underwent treatment for diverticulitis in 2009, he was back on TV in four months to promote his next UFC fight, which happened seven months after the surgery. That's probably comparing apples to oranges, but if I had to guess Kenny won't be cleared to wrestle until maybe September at the earliest. But I guess we'll see.

[altschmerzes]

🌹 🌹

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🌹 🌹

thank you!!!!! the arrangement of this is a delight and i'm going for a piece from the queerplatonic two aces fic: loneliness into loneliness

It’s probably bad form to just show up uninvited, especially this early in the morning, but in Jamie’s defence he’s got an active imagination and Dani isn’t answering his fucking phone and Jamie can’t stop imagining him having fallen down the stairs in his house and laying at the bottom unable to call for help. And alright, maybe it’s a sign he shouldn’t’ve been laying around watching like a million episodes in a row of that medical drama the other day - Roy and Keeley both told him it was going to go to his head - but he’s already not allowed to do fucking anything so he’d watched it all the next day too out of spite and now he’s got words like subdural hematoma and craniotomy and dermatology in his head and they’re not helping anything. So, if only to shut up the stupid theme song of that stupid show and the mental image of blood everywhere, Jamie and his stupid fucked-up leg and his stupid crutches are hopping their stupid way into a car he's called and heading over to Dani's house before it's even hit seven o'clock.

[ramblings-in-imagination]

Stay With Me: Part 3

Chicago Med — OR 3

Dr. Abrams stood scrubbed and focused beneath the overhead surgical lights. The sterile field was prepped. Monitors displayed every beat of your heart and breath pumped by the ventilator.

Diagnosis: Acute subdural hematoma, right-sided, with 5 mm midline shift and early uncal herniation. Procedure: Emergent decompressive craniotomy with hematoma evacuation.

“Scalpel.”

A nurse handed the tool off. Abrams made a clean incision across your right temporal scalp, reflecting the tissue and opening access to the cranium.

“Burr drill.”

With precision, he created a burr hole to relieve pressure and allow cranial access. A second was added. Then came the craniotome — the powered saw that removed a portion of your skull.

“Evacuating now.”

As the dura was opened, dark arterial blood pooled.

“Subdural clot confirmed. Hemostasis maintained. Suction.”

The anesthesiologist monitored your vitals. “BP stabilizing. MAP’s back up to 72. ICP is coming down.”

“Clot’s evacuated. No sign of active arterial bleed. Dura being closed. Bone flap stored—leaving craniectomy for swelling control.”

After 63 minutes of controlled chaos, the surgeon stepped back.

“She’s still with us.”

Chicago Med — Surgical Waiting Room

Will Halstead, still in scrubs, appeared through the double doors, clipboard in hand. His face said everything before he even spoke.

“She made it through,” he told the group.

Severide stood immediately. “What does that mean? Is she—?”

“She’s stable,” Will interrupted, voice steady. “The craniotomy went as planned. The hematoma was evacuated, and the pressure’s coming down. Her brain was swelling too much to replace the bone flap, so they left it off. She’ll have a helmet on when she wakes up and need a second surgery later.”

Jay nodded quickly, eyes sharp. “Post-op status?”

“Intubated and sedated in the Neuro ICU. Vitals are currently stable. ICP is being monitored via a bolt. She’s got a central line, arterial line, Foley, and EEG monitoring. She’s also still being treated with Vancomycin and Zosyn for the aspiration pneumonia, plus Keppra for seizure prophylaxis.”

Matt swallowed. “But she’s alive.”

Will nodded. “Yeah. She’s still got a hell of a fight ahead, but she made it.”

Severide’s voice cracked. “When can we see her?”

Will held up a hand. “Give them ten minutes to get her settled. I’ll walk you up.”

Jay stepped forward, crossing his arms. “I’m going in with them.”

Will gave a small, knowing smirk. “Didn’t plan to stop you.”

Matt looked at him in surprise.

Jay shrugged. “She’s not just Squad or family. She’s my best friend. I’m not sitting this one out.”

Neuro ICU – Room 5

The sound of ventilator-assisted breaths filled the room in rhythm with the steady beep of the telemetry monitor.

You looked small under the white sheets, head shaved on one side, a long line of sutures following the curve of your skull, now covered by a custom-fit cranial protection helmet. Your skin was still flushed from fever, and the swelling around your right eye had worsened. A cooling blanket was spread across you, working to reduce your core temperature.

Severide entered first. His breath hitched immediately.

He moved to your side slowly, careful not to disturb anything. The sight of the endotracheal tube, the EEG leads, the arterial line feeding into your wrist—it hit him harder than expected.

“You did it, baby,” he whispered, brushing your fingers gently. “You came back.”

Jay stood at the foot of the bed, fists clenched, jaw working hard to keep it together. “She looks like hell,” he said softly.

Matt stood on the other side, eyes red but dry. “She looked worse in the water.”

They all chuckled—just once.

The three stood in silence for a moment. None of them were used to being this powerless.

“She always said we were her safety net,” Jay finally muttered. “But she’s the one holding all of us together.”

“Damn right she is,” Kelly said, voice hoarse. “That’s why she’s gonna wake up.”

Casey reached out and gently touched your arm. “You rest, alright? But don’t you dare forget how much we’re waiting.”

Severide leaned in again, close enough for only you to hear.

“I love you. I’m right here. You don’t have to fight this alone.”

And for just a second—barely visible—your fingers twitched beneath his.

[pleasestopthese]

a doctor walks in to a psychiatrist's office and says "doctor you gotta help me, everywhere i turn i keep seeing patients whose ills turn out to be thematically relevant to my life and its spiral into misery" and the psychiatrist says "i'm sorry i cannot help you, this symptom is too strange. here, i'll write a referral: go to princeton teaching hospital and ask to see the great doctor house, he can fix anybody!" and the doctor is distraught, and the doctor is morose, and a shadow crosses the doctor's face as the doctor wails from the deepest depths of his shattered heart "but doctor! you're an idiot. it's obviously a blood clot causing a subdural hematoma. have foreman check my heart for cysts." and he collapses. foreman does the procedure and it turns out he was right.