#bp scribbles

[askboompom]

🎉Happy 10 years! 🎉

Well, on September 20th but I didn't want to wait that long. I wanted to do a side by side of the characters for the occasion! They've come a long way from being pasty white ghosts, and I like to think my art style has improved a lot too.

This community was so much fun, in and out of it's prime! I've always been a really introverted person(still am) and had a really hard time just taking the first step to meet new people. This community really helped me step out of my shell and help me feel comfortable talking to people. I've made a lot of incredible friends from this blog, some I still talk to and visit in person!

Anyways thanks everyone who's sent in asks, followed, reblogged, liked, or even just stopped by to check out my blog while it was active. The engagement truly helped me keep it going for as long as it did, and helped me improve on my art more and more.

So thank you for all your support! 💖

And here's the my first post on this blog for the side by side!

[psycho-scribbler]

imma post it one more time outside the writing community so ppl can interact without joining lol

time-horror archeology short horror story go brrrrrrrr

Traces of Blood, 14000 BC

‘Great weather for digging into an arctic cave, huh?’

Ericsson walked up to me with a steaming thermos of coffee in hand. Well, his entire hand was steaming, since it was well below negative ten degrees celsius and he’d been working away at the cave all day. I had a feeling my entire head was steaming with how the gears were turning within it.

‘Yeah’, I responded absently, staring out over the view of the fjord.

‘What’s on your mind?’ Ericsson asked. He took a sip from his thermos of coffee, joining me in gazing out over the valley and the glacier on the other side of it.

‘Oh, nothing’, I assured him, reaching for my own thermos in the bag over my shoulder. It held tea, not coffee, but I’d put enough sugar in it to last the entire workday. Hopefully I’d be able to make it last long enough to have some warmth from the thermos to keep me company during the night, when it would be even colder.

‘Nah, I know that look.’ Ericsson looked back at me with a broad smile on his bearded face. ‘You’re thinking ‘bout something, I know you are.’

‘Yeah, I guess I am. I’m just… thinking about life, like an old lady.’

Ericsson chuckled at my answer. Then he reflexively looked over his shoulder like he was doing something he shouldn’t, before he remembered who he was talking to.

The action made me smile. ‘I promise not to tell anyone’, I whispered jokingly. Ericsson gave me a playful punch over the arm, laughing quietly.

‘Come on Dioji, catch me a break! You can go flash your promotion in Adrian’s face instead, I’m sure he’d love it.’

‘The guy’s already tortured enough knowing I’m the leader of this excavation’, I grinned. ‘Talking about Adrian though, isn’t it time for you to head back into the cave?’

‘Damn, break’s over that quick?’ Ericsson sighed, but obliged and turned around to go back into the cave system.

But just as soon as he’d turned around and laid eyes on the opening of the cave - that dark, seemingly infinite black mouth of an opening - he turned right back to me with a slightly pleading look in his eyes.

‘Just five more minutes? Please?’ He begged. ‘I haven’t even finished my coffee.’

‘Sure’, I relented, sipping on my tea. ‘You might want to save some for later, though. It’s gonna get colder and I have a feeling the cave won’t really get warmer.’

Ericsson nodded gratefully and walked away to sit down with a couple of our coworkers who were also on their break.

As for me, I stayed where I stood and kept looking out over the fjord.

I didn’t really want to look at the cave. Ever since we - the archeology team - had arrived to begin charting out the place and checking how many cave rooms we had to deal with, pretty much everyone had gotten an odd feeling about the cave itself.

It just didn’t feel right. I couldn’t figure out what exactly was wrong, but excavating a cave system that’s been revealed after a glacier has rested on top of it for thousands of years… it felt like we were intruding, even when nothing was there.

That feeling of being watched was always there as soon as you entered the cave, the deeper you went the more the bouncing echo of water dripping onto rock sounded more and more like whispers.

Adrian, who was easily the one most engulfed with Germanic-Scandinavian history of our team, was going on and on about how we had to find some ancient piece of history in here. I doubted that we’d even find the skeleton of a rat, but I didn’t want to strike down on my coworkers.

Thankfully for me, I could choose to stay outside and look out over the Norwegian fjords during my lunch break. I didn’t get much better sleeping conditions than the others, we kept to the simple cabins that’d been built in preparation for our arrival, but the extra long breaks were pretty much what was keeping me sane from the cave’s gloom.

I raised my thermos to take another sip of tea, but just as I brought the lip of the thermos to my mouth, my phone began beeping.

I sighed and closed my thermos, putting it back in my bag and grabbing my phone instead.

I was surprised to see that it was Ericsson - and he was calling me via emergency contacts…?

‘Charlan, we’ve… we’ve opened the last chamber’, he said.

His voice was shaking - was he scared? Ericsson was a tough guy, the kind to mindlessly throw himself in the way of a boulder or an avalanche to save a coworker. So if he was scared… that automatically made me scared too.

‘Yeah, what about it?’ I replied slowly, feeling a chill develop and lazily slither down my spine.

‘How- how far away are you from the last, uh… the last chamber? Are you still outside?’

‘I’m still outside, yeah’, I answered. ‘What’s going on? Did something happen?’

‘W-we… we’ve found something’, Ericsson shuttered back. ‘You- you really need to take a look at this, boss.’

‘I’ll be right there’, I assured him, ending the call and pulling out my flashlight from my bag, reluctantly turning to the entrance of the cave.

The entrance was a dark diagonal crevice in the wall, barely a meter wide. The stalactites along the edge of it made it look just like a mouth. Too much like a mouth.

I swallowed hard. What the hell could Ericsson and the others have found that made him stutter in fear? The carcass of an ancient animal, runes and occult symbols, maybe some animal that had made it into this cave before we had?

But anything bigger than a raccoon couldn’t have gotten here before us. Some small vermin, sure, but the entrance was far too small for a bear or lynx to get through unless they had magical powers to put the rock wall together behind them.

I hurried through the first and second chambers, both luckily pretty flat-grounded compared to the last three.

As I hurried through them, I kept noticing more and more details I’d thought of as indifferent before this message from Ericsson: small indents in the walls, crevices holding water and dirt that looked like the material had been placed there, spots of suspiciously smooth rock that had no geological explanation.

Some of the dirt even looked red - how the hell would red dirt have made its way up into the Scandinavian mountains? And how in the world could sections of rock be almost smooth when the inside of this cave hadn’t met the inland ice even once?

Then I reached the edge of the last chamber - and there stood my entire team.

All of them had their eyes glued to whatever was in chamber six, but Ericsson slowly turned to me and stepped out of the way to let me see what was in the room. He didn’t say a word, but the horrified look in his eyes said it all:

This shouldn’t be possible.

I took a deep breath in, stepped up on the edge of the ridge between chamber five and six, and as soon as I laid eyes on what was in that room… The world shattered.

I was an easily scared person, but I was a serious archeologist and I didn’t appreciate jokes and pranks at work. I could tell that this wasn’t a joke, and this was scaring me to the degree I almost wanted to quit my job and start an entire new career to get out of the cave I was in.

Something was sitting at the back of the chamber, twisted into a slightly too awkward and unnerving position. It was pale as quartz, too carved-out and animated to be natural, and staring back at us with pearly white, orb-like eyes.

It was a human.

[sugarpsalms]

it's no longer WIP wednesday but I couldn't have possibly mustered the energy to post a snippet after yesterday's happenings™, so!! here's a tiny lil peek at the next installment (this one largely an excuse to write a crew bonding circus arc) of my shuggy series ⚓

———

They raided a scant handful of the villages they paraded through that summer, and those only days after they'd taken the tent down, spending the intervening time idling a few miles offshore; and only at night, when none of the villagers who woke up would recognize them.

The season's storms blew raggedly across the open ocean, worse than any Buggy had weathered since he was fifteen. The Big Top shipped it green so many times that every one of the crew had nearly been swept overboard. There was little hope of getting anywhere fast and less of getting there safely.

It was better to wait the worst of it out in the shallows and little port towns that made up the trailing Gecko Islands. Nicer, for now, to have their feet on the ground.

At least, it was when they weren't in the middle of a show.

[kk095]

Shay’s Sudden Arrest

The automatic doors hissed open, letting in a pair of paramedics. Between them rolled a stretcher bearing a young woman with sun-kissed skin, tangled blonde hair matted slightly to one side, and piercing blue eyes that blinked against the bright hospital lighting. She looked more like someone headed to a weigh-in than someone checking into an emergency room.

“Name’s Shay Strong, twenty-six year old female.” one of the medics called out as they proceeded towards Trauma Bay One. “Passed out cold during light sparring- she’s a pro MMA fighter. Trainer said she looked a little off just before she hit the mat. Tachycardic on scene, BP’s a little soft. No trauma. No drugs or alcohol on board as far as we can tell.” The second medic rattled off.

Dr Lindsay approached and glanced up from the chart she’d been reviewing and nodded for them to bring her in. She was already tugging on gloves as she stepped into the bay, with Dr Jen the resident trailing behind her and Nurse Heather circling around.

“Hey Shay, I’m Dr Lindsay. I heard you fainted today?” she said as the stretcher clicked into place beside the trauma room table. Shay nodded, her voice low and a little hoarse as they transferred her over to the table. “Yeah. Just felt… weird, ya know? Like, a little dizzy I guess.”

She didn’t look like the type to go down easy. Even lying flat, she carried herself like someone used to getting hit and getting back up. Her toned arms were a canvas of bold, dark ink- coiled serpents on one bicep, a geometric tiger on the other, the edges of color disappearing under the bands of muscle. A glint caught the light where a nose ring curved through her right nostril, and as Heather snipped her sports bra to attach monitor leads, Lindsay caught the flash of a piercing through her nipples. Some cursive ink framed the sides of her ribs and curved along her right thigh was a floral tattoo, all intricate.

Heather worked quickly, pressing leads to Shay’s chest and murmuring quietly. “HR’s 132. BP’s 92 over 58.”

“Got PVCs on the monitor. Could be nothing. Could be something.” Dr Jen chimed in, already pulling up a blank EKG strip.

Lindsay leaned over to meet Shay’s eyes. “Any chest pain? Shortness of breath? Dizziness before you went down?” the doctor asked. “Not really. Just… I don’t know. I’ve been feeling off the last couple days. Figured it was overtraining or something.” Answered Shay. She didn’t look panicked. Just slightly dazed, maybe a little too quiet for someone her age in that kind of shape. That in itself was a red flag.

Lindsay exchanged a glance with Heather. “Let’s get labs, full cardiac panel. EKG, portable chest X-ray. And let’s call cardiology early- I don’t want to wait on this one.” Ordered Lindsay. Jen scribbled notes while Heather gently guided Shay’s arm to insert an IV. The tattoo of a phoenix flared up from her forearm, its wings half swallowed by gauze and tape. Shay looked up at the ceiling, blinking slowly. “This is probably nothing, right?” Shay asked. Lindsay hesitated before answering. “We’ll know soon. But your heart’s throwing out some signals we don’t want to ignore.” Answered Lindsay, her tone neutral and calm.

By the time the EKG machine spat out its second strip, Dr Jen was already frowning. “Frequent PVCs.” she muttered, holding the paper up toward the overhead light. “This isn’t just stress or dehydration. Something’s messing with her conduction.” Added the resident. Lindsay leaned in, scanning the sharp, jagged rhythms marching across the strip. “It’s diffuse. Not localized. And look- ST depressions in the lateral leads.” Dr Lindsay pointed out. Heather appeared from the hallway with a tray of labeled tubes. “Cardiac panel’s off to the lab. I rushed it- told them we’d owe them coffee.” Nurse Heather informed them.

Jen was already pulling up the portable chest X-ray on the trauma room computer. It took a moment for the image to load, but when it did, Lindsay narrowed her eyes at the screen. “Mild cardiomegaly. You see it?” Dr Lindsay noticed. “Yep.” Jen answered. “Heart’s too big for someone her age, especially with this kind of conditioning.” The resident continued.

Shay, still lying flat on the table with a light sheen of sweat forming on her collarbone, blinked over at them. “I take it this isn’t just a pulled muscle?” Shay chimed in, sensing something was off. Lindsay offered a tight smile. “We’re just being thorough. Something’s irritating your heart- could be an infection, could be something else. We’re running some tests to find out exactly what’s going on.” Explained Lindsay. Shay gave a small nod, unfazed. “Good. I’ve got a fight scheduled in eight weeks.”

Heather shot Lindsay a glance over the top of the monitor. Troponin’s already popped in the system: elevated significantly. “Alright. Let’s get a stat echo. I want to see her heart up close.” Lindsay said, tone shifting. Jen paused. “Should we call cardio back? We haven’t heard anything.” asked the resident. Lindsay nodded. “And book her a CT angio chest just in case. If this is myocarditis or worse, we don’t want to wait. Something’s going on here.” Responded Lindsay.

Heather slipped a BP cuff around Shay’s arm again. “Still tachy. 140s. BP 91/56.” Updated Nurse Heather.

Shay looked at all of them, calm but now visibly more alert. “You guys keep looking at each other like something’s wrong.” Shay chimed in. Lindsay didn’t sugarcoat it. “We’re seeing some strain on your heart. The kind we don’t normally see in healthy twenty-somethings.” Lindsay told Shay, succinct and to the point.

There was a beat of silence. Shay’s eyes dropped to the edge of the table. Her shoulders stayed still, but something in her expression flickered. Heather raised her brows slightly, exchanging a quiet glance with Jen behind her. Lindsay didn’t press it yet. “Let’s get that echo first. We’ll talk more when we’ve got a clearer picture.” Lindsay told the two of them.

Lindsay turned and stepped out towards the hallway just as the cardiologist on call, Dr Weiss, arrived with a rolling echo cart and a resting skepticism in her tone. “You called me for a young athlete with some PVCs?”

Lindsay crossed her arms. “Elevated troponin. PVCs, mild cardiomegaly on X-ray. And a gut feeling.”

“Alright, I need to work with a little more than a gut feeling, Dr Lindsay.” Dr Weiss responded, pushing the echo machine into the trauma bay. Dr Lindsay rolled her eyes “yeah, what do I know.” She thought to herself.

Shay remained still as cold gel was spread across her chest, the ultrasound probe tracing between tattoos and muscle. On the screen, her heart came into view, beating fast. The walls thickened. Movement reduced. Echoes of fibrosis scattered like shadows across the septum. Dr Weiss’s jaw tightened. “That’s not what I hoped to see.” She thought out loud. “Alright, make sure she gets a CT angio of the chest. Call me back when you get the results.” Dr Weiss stated, before getting the echo equipment and leaving the room.

Jen and Heather worked quickly and got Shay over to radiology. The radiology wing was quiet, insulated from the steady buzz of the ER. The fluorescent lights shined faintly overhead, casting a sterile glow across the white floors. A lone CT tech tapped at the console as Dr Jen walked alongside the stretcher, Shay lying supine. Nurse Heather hovered nearby, keeping an eye on the monitor attached to the portable stand.

Shay hadn’t said much on the way over, just muttered something about her chest feeling “weird.” Still calm. Still out of it.

“Alright, Shay, We’re gonna get a scan of your chest. You’ll hear some mechanical noises. Just stay still for us, okay?” the tech explained softly. Shay nodded.

With practiced efficiency, Heather and Jen helped guide Shay off the stretcher and onto the scanner table. She moved like someone weighed down by lead. Her arms were positioned overhead, palms relaxed, fingers curled slightly. Her blonde hair spilled behind her head like a golden halo, the tattoos on her arms displayed on her skin like stories written in ink. Something coiled and dark sat on her ribcage, rising and falling with each slow breath. The tech returned to the control booth. The scanner whirred to life.

Jen folded her arms, watching through the glass of the observation room. The lights within the CT room glowed around Shay’s still form. It was almost peaceful.

Then, without warning, Shay’s body twitched. Her chest rose awkwardly- then fell flat. Her fingers curled into loose fists. Alarms erupted. One sharp, continuous tone. Inside the control booth, the tech’s eyes went wide. “She’s coding!”

Heather was already moving. “She’s in v-tach!” Heather eyed the monitor. Jen burst through the door, grabbing the crash cart parked just outside the suite. Shay’s body was still on the scanner table, her arms still overhead, eyes wide open now, staring at nothing. Her lips parted slightly, unmoving. “Pads on!” Heather shouted. Her hands moved quickly. “Charging to 200!” Jen shouted. Heather climbed halfway onto the CT table, hovering over Shay’s torso. “Ready!” Heather nodded.

“CLEAR!”

Shay’s body jumped. Her shoulders shrugged forward. Her head lolled slightly to the side, eyes wide and unblinking. No change. “Still pulseless.” Jen shook her head, eyes locked on the monitor. “Charging again to 300!”

The second shock caused the young MMA fighter’s body to jolt sharply. And then, the monitor beeped. One beat. Then another. “She’s got a rhythm!” Heather shouted. A carotid pulse returned beneath Jen’s gloved fingers. Weak. Thready. But there. The silence that followed was no longer peaceful. It was hollow.

Shay remained unconscious, still laid out on the CT table, chest rising and falling with ghostlike shallowness. Her nose ring glinted beneath the fluorescent light. A single drop of sweat slid down her temple.

Jen swallowed hard, voice low. “Sinus tach. Let’s get her back to the trauma bay, now. Let’s keep Dr Lindsay in the loop.”

Back in trauma room one, Dr Lindsay was gloving up as Dr Jen and Nurse Heather wheeled the young fighter in, the monitors above her head still blinking erratically. Shay was conscious (barely) but she looked far worse than she had thirty minutes ago. Sweat clung to her skin in a thin sheen, her breathing fast and shallow, chest rising and falling like she’d just run ten miles.

“She coded in the CT scanner- pulseless v-tach. We got her back after two shocks, but she was down for about a minute.” Dr Jen rattled off quickly. “Jeez…” Dr Lindsay muttered under her breath, moving beside the gurney. “Get her back on the table. Full workup. Get cardio back down here just in case.” Ordered Dr Lindsay.

Heather worked fast, placing leads back onto Shay’s bare chest. The pro fight laid there, barefoot, down to just her compression shorts. Patches of electrode adhesive still stuck to her sweat-damp skin. Her ribcage rose and fell quickly, tattoos stretching and shifting, black and gray roses climbing her right side, inked vines curling around her hips. Her arms, marked with fierce script, coiled dragons, and edgy ink, lay still at her sides, fingers curling slightly with each shallow breath.

“Shay? Can you hear me?” Dr Lindsay leaned over her. Shay’s eyes fluttered open, barely focused. “Mm… yeah. What… happened?” she mumbled. “You passed out during your scan, but you’re back. You’re okay.” Lindsay answered gently.

But she wasn’t. The heart monitor beeped rapidly- perhaps too rapidly. Nurse Heather glanced at it, then turned toward the others. “Guys, she’s running hot again. 160 and climbing.” Heather shook her head. “Let’s push some mag and prep for another round of epi if needed.” Dr Lindsay barked. Then the monitor’s tone changed. Heather’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “V-tach. Pulseless.”

Alarms began to blare again. “She’s coding!” Jen shouted. “Start compressions!” Dr Lindsay ordered. Heather jumped onto the stool and began rhythmic chest compressions. Shay’s body jolted with each one, her bare chest rising and falling unnaturally. Her tattoos danced under Heather’s gloved hands- one hand pressing just over the roses coiling across her ribs, where her heart was supposed to be working. Her chest caved in, recoiling hard, her toned belly with abs rippling out.

“Charging to 200 joules, everyone CLEAR!” Lindsay called out, taking charge. Shay’s body flopped hard on the gurney when the shock hit, pierced nipples twitching slightly, her arms limp at her sides.

“Still v-tach. No carotid pulse.” Heather called after a glance at the screen. “Back on compressions, Heather. Push one of epi and one of amio.” Dr Lindsay ordered. Jen moved fast, syringes sliding into the IV line. Shay’s skin was growing cool under their hands. Her breathing had stopped altogether. Her jaw slackened.

“I’ll take over for a cycle or two” Lindsay said, moving in to relieve Heather on compressions. Lindsay’s long arms pumped with sharp, trained force. “Come on, Shay. Come on.” Lindsay said under her breath, pumping away at Shay’s chest. “meds in!” Dr Jen called out.

After a cycle of compressions and a little time for the meds to kick in, the next defib shock was administered. Another shock. Another jolt. Shay’s body twitched sharply in response to the dose of electricity. Still no pulse afterwards. Heather rechecked the monitor. “Now it’s v-fib.”

“Keep going, charge again. Let’s hit her at 300.” Dr. Lindsay said, panting now from compressions. The next shock caused Shay’s feet to kick up above the table and drop back with a thud, showing off the deep, wavy wrinkles in the soles of her size 8 feet. “Still no change.” Jen eyed the monitor, checking the rhythm. Dr Lindsay shook her head. “Keep going.”

The room stayed locked in resuscitation mode. Every move crisp, controlled, coordinated. But behind the monitors and meds, a silent current was beginning to build. 26 year old Shay Strong- healthy, undefeated in the ring, fierce as hell, was slipping further away with each failed shock. Now, she lay sprawled across the trauma bay table, her blonde hair a total mess, her arms limp at her sides. The chaotic beeps of the monitors gave way to chaos in an instant.

“She’s still in v-fib, no pulse!” Jen called out, eyes locked on the EKG rhythm twisting across the screen like a coiled snake.

“Alright, let’s run through a cycle or two of compressions and go from there.” Dr Lindsay barked. “Heather, swap with me and start compressions.” Lindsay directed. Heather launched into CPR, pressing hard and fast into Shay’s chest, her tattooed ribcage rising and falling unnaturally with each deep compression. The motion caused her small perky breasts to jiggle slightly.

“Charging to 200!” Lindsay called after the cycle of compressions were finished, the machine emitting a rising, high pitched whir. Everyone stepped back when the shock was delivered. KA-THUNK! The MMA fighter’s toned, athletic body was tossed around effortlessly on the table by the defib’s electricity. Unfortunately, there was no change.

At the head of the bed, Jen kept an eye on the ambu bag and airway, squeezing rhythmically, watching the monitors like a hawk. Her gloved hands trembled just slightly. “Still no pulse.” the young resident murmured. “Next epi’s in.” Nurse Heather confirmed between cycles of CPR, her arms visibly tiring but steady. The flat, wet thud of her palms against Shay’s bare chest punctuated the room like a grim metronome.

“Let’s go again, charge to 300. Everyone… CLEAR.” Lindsay’s voice was firm, her blue eyes scanning around the room. Shay’s toes scrunched up involuntarily in response to the shock, wrinkling the soles of her feet once more, showing off the black nail polish on her toes. A high pitched tone screamed through the room. “Come on…” Jen whispered under her breath. Still no change.

“Push another 150 of amiodarone. Let’s tube her. 7.0 ET.” Lindsay signaled to Jen, who was already sliding the laryngoscope in. Shay’s mouth hung slack, jaw open, eyes half lidded. Despite everything- the tattoos, the muscle tone, the toughness- her body looked terribly vulnerable now.

The resident quickly slid the tube in place, securing it with some tape. “Tube’s in. Still no rhythm change.” Jen confirmed, voice tight. Heather didn’t stop. Her hands pounded against Shay’s sternum repeatedly, sending ripples through the inked skin of her torso. The nose ring caught a glint of light with each compression. Her chest looked raw and bruised. “Hold compressions. Charge to 360. Everyone CLEAR.” Lindsay ordered. Shay’s body tensed up hard, almost shivering for a second or two. Still v-fib.

The room was quieter than before. The thud of compressions, the hiss of oxygen through the ambu bag, the alarms on the heart monitor silenced. A minute passed. Then another. Dr Lindsay’s hand slowly came up. “That’s twenty-five minutes down.” she informed the team sternly. Her gaze moved across the room, catching Heather’s tired face, Jen’s white knuckled grip on the ambu bag. “She’s not coming back, is she?” Jen thought to herself. Her eyes flicked to the monitor one more time. Still v-fib. Dr Lindsay gave it a moment longer. Then softly, “Heather, hold compressions. Time of death… 13:42.” Announced Lindsay. Nurse Heather stopped compressions. The room seemed to exhale all at once. The monitor, now silent, showed the jagged, erratic waveforms of refractory v-fib.

No one moved right away. Shay lay motionless on the table, her chest rising faintly from the final puffs from the ambu bag, her body glistening under the harsh, bright overhead light. For someone so strong, she looked impossibly fragile now. Lindsay peeled off her latex gloves slowly. “Let’s clean her up.” she said softly, more to the room than to anyone in particular. No one spoke. They just moved. Careful, efficient, and quiet. The fighter had gone down, and not even the best resuscitation could bring her back.

Trauma Room One was quiet now. Shay laid motionless on the trauma bay table, her athletic frame still positioned how they’d left her- flat on her back, arms at her sides, a faint sheen of sweat clinging to her skin. The harsh rhythm of CPR had ended moments ago. What remained was eerie stillness.

Dr Lindsay stood at the foot of the bed, her eyes fixed on Shay’s pale face. Her mouth was slightly parted, her chest unmoving. The bruising from the chest compressions was already starting to show- deep purples and dark reds spreading across the middle of her chest. The endotracheal tube remained in place, protruding from her pale lips. Nurse Heather stepped to Shay’s side and gently detached the ambu bag from the ET tube, setting it on the nearby cart. The heart monitor, still showing v-fib, let out a soft, continuous tone that filled the room with a hollow kind of finality. Dr Jen reached over and silenced it with a tap of her gloved finger.

Heather leaned in again, her hands methodical and respectful as she disconnected the EKG leads from Shay’s chest. One by one, the stickers peeled away, leaving behind faint impressions on her pale, clammy skin. Dr Jen removed the IV lines from her arms and coiled the tubing neatly before tossing it into the biohazard bin.

Lindsay took a toe tag from the tray and filled it out in quiet pen strokes. She looped the string gently around Shay’s left big toe, the tag dangling against the wrinkled soles of her foot. Dr Jen found a clean white sheet at the end of the gurney and pulled it up slowly, covering Shay’s legs, her torso, then finally her face.

Dr Lindsay stepped closer, gently placing her fingertips beneath Shay’s chin and tilting her head just enough to shut her half-lidded eyes. One last glimpse of life, now gone. The faint line of a nose ring caught the light again.

The room was still. The chaos from earlier felt like a distant memory, something that had happened in another place, to another person. Now, there was only the quiet presence of the three clinicians standing beside a body that had, just a little while ago, been fighting to stay alive.

Dr Lindsay gave a single nod, then turned and stepped toward the door. Heather and Jen remained a moment longer, hands at their sides, saying nothing, each taking one last look at Shay’s covered, toe tagged form before exiting the room.

[shiny-kaibernyte]

I'm like in a huge Drayton brainrot right now, is it too much if i ask for a scenario of how Drayton would handle the reader when she overworks herself too much? I don't that man just has a huge grasp on my heart i swear.

Keep up the good work by the way! I really enjoy reading all of it <3

I am in the same boat man, we rocking together on this. And don't think asking something is to much! I am more than happy to do these, might take me a while though but i will do them.

Take a moment | Drayton x Reader

“I’m almost done…” Your voice dragged as you spoke, focused on nothing else but the sound of typing and pen scribbling. Making notes; comparing results,  and finishing report after report. You had to get these Pokemon battle reports done. You hadn’t even had a chance to tackle the champion battle sections yet. How long did this year's champion challenge run anyway?

A defeated sigh mocked your words behind you, the sound of leather shifting and footsteps mimicked the typing. “You said that the last ten times.”

“I mean it, I'm almost… done…” 

“And that, the last two.” Drayton continued, walking up behind your chair as your words dragged yet again. Watching you lean closer to your monitor double checking you had spelt something right. “Come to bed, your work is still going to be there tomorrow.”

“But I'm here now. I have to get these reports. Geeta wants to know every detail about what happened in Area Zero, not just when I went down there with Kieran! But also all my other trips down there. I can’t disappoint her, these must be perfect, if i miss something or if i calculate something wrong! What if G-”

With a quick motion your words were stopped by the feeling of your chair spinning followed by Draytons lips on yours. It was only for a moment but it was just enough time for him to grab your attention. “When was the last time you ate something treasure?”

“I uh… i” You couldn’t answer him, your face flushing red with embarrassment as you realised just how long it had been.

“Mhm thats what i thought. You ramble when you're hungry. And as much as I love hearing your sweet voice, I think even you realise you’ve been sitting here too long. Come on up you get.” Drayton smiled, holding both hands out to you, moving one of them to encourage you to take them. Even though the offer was tempting and the feeling of emptiness in your stomach was certainly a looming one. Your monitor's glow kept luring your head back. “I’ll make pancakes.”

Tempting offer, his chocolate chip pancakes were to die for! But perfecting this Pokemon report still had a stronger pull. It was only a few more pages after all.

“I’ll buy you another pokedoll.” Drayton added, looking over his shoulder to the collection behind him.

Just a few more pages…

“I’ll get you dream balls and luxury balls. I’ll even try to get you a master ball from the item printer. I have the BP to spare.”

“Deal” That got you. Pokeballs. That's what got you to take his hands and let him pull you up into him.

With a victorious grin, Drayton spun you around so your back was to him as he gently pushed you towards the kitchen, his hands never leaving your shoulders. Stopping only to pepper your cheek with kisses causing a laugh to escape you. A sudden wave of tension left your body, something you hadn’t even realised was there. Seems Drayton noticed it too, a flicker of concern flashed in his eyes only to be replaced with care upon seeing your smile. “Alright you sit here and relax. The speakers are connected to my rotom-phone so play whatever you want. I shall be making my beloved treasure pancakes. As per our agreement.”

With a very loud clap, Drayton spun on his heel and got to work. You leaned back in the chair he sat you on and picked up his rotom-phone, scrolling through absentmindedly until you found someone you wanted to listen to. He couldn’t see you smiling, but he could feel it. And it was contagious. Whilst he couldn’t keep you away from your work forever, sometimes a momentary distraction is all someone needs to wind down. It will still be there tomorrow.

[abilouwrites]

THE BEFORE, AND THE AFTER

SERIES MASTERLIST

2

I clock in again the next day, the same routine. A familiar face in Dynamight; Bakugo Katsuki’s room. A woman who I assume is his mother fretting over her son. Bringing him water, and knitting as he sleeps.

“Are you one of Katsukis nurses?” She asks as I walk into his room, hair clipped up as I check the IV and his BP.

“Yes” I respond, “has he had any complaints about pain? Headaches?” I ask her. She scoffs and shakes her head.

“No, not that he’s told me. He’s stoic like that; doesn’t let anyone know he’s in pain. It can be very annoying” she smiles a little, greying hair loosened around her shoulders. She leans back in her chair and sighs

“They make the worst patients, the cast is off and I think some physical therapy will help with function in that wrist. Do you want that contact?” I ask and she nods, “I’ll put it in his chart”

“Thank you” she squints her eyes to see my name, “Y/l/n, that’s a beautiful name.. your husbands?” She asks

“No” I say weakly, “I’m single” I hear her tsk and shake her head.

“That’s such a bummer, you’re so beautiful” she murmurs, “ah, I’m so sorry.. I must be wasting your time.. I’m sure you have other patients to see”

I shake my head, “it’s all good, I’m hoping by tonight he should be able to go home. Do you know if he has someone who can take care of him?”

She shakes her head, “no, I’ll have him stay with me and my husband. Will that work?”

I nod, “just for a week. The neurologist is still nervous about that concussion but he should be fine to be at home on bed rest”

She nods and thanks me as I walk back to the nurses station. Which is typically how my days go, I sit and finish charts online.

Bakugos mother leaves that afternoon to go home and shower, “how are you feeling?” I ask stepping into his room once again.

“Like I got hit by a bus and you won’t let me leave” he groans, shifting from the bed to stand. Leaning on his portable IV drop, “what? Am I not supposed to be walking?”

“I guess. Only if you don’t mind me walking next to you. I’m required to do so” I explain as he slowly walks out of his room.

He rolls his eyes, “I don’t get why I feel like this.. only my arm was hurt right?”

I shrug, “you were hit very bluntly in the chest— and you have been bed ridden for a day so it’s all very expected” I watch him nod and slow his pace.

“Y’know my mom asked about you” He speaks softly, a little wheezy and with a soreness to his step, “she’s nosy like that”

“I’ve heard” I raise my eyebrows, “let’s turn back now”

“No I can keep walking”

“We’re turning back”

He huffs and pouts a little before following me back to his room, I help him sit back down and he has this shut eye look about his face, “do you want some more painkillers?” I ask, “we’re trying to ween you off but if you’re in a lot of discomfort.”

He shakes his head, “no. I’m fine. How much longer until I can be back on the streets?” He asks.

“I dunno, you’d have to ask your doctors. I’m just a nurse” I tell him once again, “but you should be going home tonight”

“Y’know, I’ll miss our talks” He teases, a running gag that I do my charts with him when his mother is home. Someone to keep me company.

“Yeah, sure you will” I roll my eyes as I sit down and flick open a chart and begin scribbling some notes down.

“Why didn’t you become a doctor?” He asks, sitting up and looking at me, “you’re very smart”

I shake my head, “mom pushed me into it, said it’d be easier to keep working when I uh eventually get married.. if that ever happens”

I hear Bakugo laugh, “you’re twenty sixish? You have years until you need to get there”

I smile at him, “yeah yeah, tell it to her.” I shake my head a little and look out the window and see no-one. Which is fairly usual as the halls up here are empty. We keep the nurses few as to prevent leakage and paparazzis.

“I’ll miss this, but I am so ready to not eat hospital food” he jokes. There’s a seriousness to his face and he shifts a little, “hey mom” Mitsuki walks in and smiles.

“Y/n!” I’m quick to stand and tuck my chart into my armpit before wrapping her in a tight hug, “I’m here to bring Katsuki home” she smiles. In the two days I haven’t seen her she’s cut her hair. It falls just at her neck and she looks a little more rested.

“Yes, he’s told me”

“You were an absolute doll and a wonderful nurse, when he gets hurt again I’ll be hoping you’re on his case”

“Thank you Mrs. Bakugo, but I hope I won’t see him for a long time”

I wave goodbye to her and Bakugo as she slowly wheels him into the elevator, and maybe I’ll miss him. Maybe just the slightest bit.

And so I drive home in my crappy little car to my apparent. Which is how my nights usually go, some left over pasta and chicken that Suki made while her boyfriend was staying with us. It’s good and just enough to push me through to shower and detangle my hair.

Suki comes in my room as I slip into my sleep shorts and begin braiding my hair, “hey cutie” she smiles as she jumps onto my bed and lays down. She’s only twenty and has picked up the little sister act perfectly. She sniffles a little and stares at me, “how was saying goodbye to your boyfriend?” She teases a little— although not knowing who the person is I’ve told her about the guy I’ve been keeping company throughout his stay.

“It was fine? He’s not my boyfriend you know” I correct as I tie off the braid and lay down next to her, “and I ate your leftovers”

“You suck” she groans. She rolls over and stares at me, “are you going to bed?”

“Yeah, don’t you work early tomorrow?” I ask and she nods, getting up. But not before stealing my moisturizer and blowing me a kiss goodnight.

“Goodnight Suki”

[literallynharmonia]

Days since drawn death in babygirl pose:

79 0 😔

this shot from the wttbp video is sooo funny to me its a song about the patient coming to terms with his own mortality and youre acting like a whore. sidenote i keep seeing the nurses in the video and thinking ONLY of nurse gerard. sorry

[kindersurprisebacterium]

Furlough (Soap/Reader)

CW: prisoner of war, canon-typical violence, description of medical procedures, near-death experiences, mild angst, established relationship, lots of crying, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, intimacy, mentions of pregnancy

Gender Neutral AFAB Reader

WC: 5.2k

Read on AO3

My skull felt like it was rattling. As if a sine wave ripped through my ears, leaving behind a constant ringing. My limbs felt heavy. Thick ropes bound my wrists and ankles, dragging my body down into the depths of semi-consciousness. My only hold on orientation was the throbbing ache of my crooked nose. Dank, coagulated blood filled my senses. The taste of copper and dirt coated my molars. 

My lungs burned, only growing hotter with every breath. My eyelids fluttered closed as I tried to clear the image of my ribcage, contorted and mangled, from my mind. Something ran down my cheeks, whether it was tears or blood, I couldn’t tell- nor did I care. I was too hot, too fidgety as I lay against the concrete.

Why was I here again? My mind flashed to the tattered embroidery on my worn clothes. Task force 141. Hastily scribbled mission plans flashed in my mind. Regret pooled in my rigid abdomen. 

I longed for a mattress, somewhere to lay my battered bones. The thin dormitory mattresses would feel like heaven under my bruised skin. A glass of scotch. Water. Anything to wet my dried lips. Some of Gaz’s home cooking. One of Price’s exaggerated stories of conquest and combat. 

Was this the end? A thankless death on the floor of a cellar? If I knew this is what would come of my efforts, I don’t know if I would’ve even bothered. 

Any remaining warmth evaporated through my skin. My vision, blurred but still intact, began to slowly darken. Desolate surroundings now disappeared into nothing but a figment. My breath, fragmented and shallow, drew softer. 

Perhaps my closest comrade in combat was McTavish. His voice echoed in my head, scolding me for being so careless. My lips curled into a smile as I imagined what sort of quick quips he’d come up with. My teeth chattered as I imagined him wrapping my battered limbs in dressings. Hands warm against my bare skin. Voice soft as he leaned in.

“We’re gonnae get you out of here-”

My brows furrowed, a growing sense of loneliness settling in my chest. I clung onto the fragmented memory of his voice. Gruff, with a thick accent. Clung onto the image of the crooked smile he flashed whenever he said something snide. And his laugh, deep and bellowing. He always threw his head back whenever he laughed, sometimes bumping his head into the drywall.

“Stay with me-”

His hands were calloused. I’d glance down at his hand, and the way it engulfed mine. It was a small action that could brighten up my mood. Of course, he’d only lace his fingers with mine under a table, behind his back, anywhere out of view. It’s strictly forbidden. He always repeated it with a forced pout, arms crossing over his chest. Strictly forbidden, he’d say before stealing a kiss from me when no one was looking. We never labeled things, but friends never act the way we did.

“I’m gonnae need a medic at exfil-”

I thought about the hoodie laid out on my dorm bed. It was too small, shrunk in the wash. I never told him I could see him searching up how to shrink cotton fabric. Never told him I could see the gleam in his eye whenever I wore it around the base. Never told him it stopped being about convenience when I’d wear it near constantly. I lied through my teeth when I told him my own hoodie was in the hamper. 

“Shit- BP is 78/56. Spike the bag for me stat!”

I can’t remember when Johnny himself became a replacement for the hoodie. Warm arms draping over me like a hand stitched quilt. Heartbeat lulling me to sleep as my head lay upon his chest. He told me to ignore the hushed voices that seemed to follow us everywhere. Faint memories of the two of us in a tent flickered in my mind before being snuffed out. Deer, deeper the ropes pulled me. 

“Get the AED, I doubt they’re gonna make it.”

A tingling sensation settled in my limbs. I could feel my being feathering into the cold air. My body melted, mixing with space itself. Static soaked into my skin, washing clean any remaining thoughts. 

-

My body ached. Every inch of my skin, was now engulfed in misery, enveloping me like tar. I furrowed my brows, clenching my jaw tight as I tried to push through. My limbs slowly moved through the honey, breaking free just enough-

My eyelids opened, only to flutter close again as a blinding beam of white flooded my vision. I drew in a sharp breath. The oxygen flowed through my lungs, stinging like fresh menthol. 

As my eyes adjusted to the light, I became acutely aware of all the faces surrounding me. Furrowed brows, parted lips, adorned in pale blue surgical masks. 

Glancing down, my eyes widened as I was met with the sight of my bare chest. Small, round stickers littered my chest. A mess of multicolored wires littered the bedside. My gaze raked down the rest of my body, down my tattered jeans, to the gloved hand on my ankle. 

Bloodshot blue eyes locked onto me. As soon as I saw those sparking irises, my body moved on its own. I sat up, shifting onto my aching knees. The iv tubing tugged at my arm as I threw myself at the man. In that instant, the aching of my joints ceased, as if his touch was medicine. 

His chest heaved, broken sobs rising from his throat as he pulled me into his embrace. He pressed his face against my neck, leaving behind damp puddles, stained with tears. 

“Lay down, lay down.” He cooed, gently nudging me back. I grunted as I lowered myself back onto the stiff hospital bed. He reached out hesitantly, like a child to a plate of China. As if I’d break from a single stroke of a finger. His blue eyes flicked rapidly across my body. Across the bloodied dressings and fresh sutures. 

Drawing in a breath, he reached forward. His calloused palm cradled my cheek. His touch was feather light. I leaned into his hand, letting my eyelids flutter closed. Clatter rose from behind me as the group of medics slowly dispersed. Hushed voices spoke softly, softly enough to be indecipherable over the ever present tinnitus. 

With his other hand, he tugged a wool blanket over my bare body. It was warm, as if being freshly dried. His fingertips carded through my hair, gently cupping the back of my head. He leaned in enough for his heated breath to fan over my sticky skin. 

“You ripped your leads off.” He chuckled.

-

With the passing time, my aches dulled into a gentle reminder of my mistakes. Blood coagulated, flaked, and rinsed away. Bruises, once purple and black, faded to yellow. 

The first few nights, he wouldn’t leave my side. He slept with his knees tucked to his chest in the armchair beside my hospital bed. As I slowly regained my composure, pieced together my fragmented memories, I found myself reaching out to him. I shifted on the mattress, making space for him beside me. 

It’s too soon, too late, too intrusive, he’d say. Sighing, I’d nod, watching him flip through the pages of a book. The way his tongue swiped over his thumb before every turn of the page. He’d gently hum to himself as he read, soft voice lulling me asleep. By the time I woke up, he was gone. 

When I was allowed to sleep in my own dormitory, I thought things would’ve changed. Hoped they would. I opened the door to my room, holding my breath in case I found him inside. But I didn’t. I needed uninterrupted sleep, he’d explain. And to him, that meant sleeping alone. 

The rest of the task force continued working like nothing happened. Running drills, going out on missions. If I didn't know better, I would’ve thought I was a ghost, haunting the halls of the base. The lingering whispers that followed me through the halls only intensified, speculation growing as his blatant affection vanished. Was it something I did? If even Johnny wouldn’t look at me…

“Nobody’s blaming you,” Price explained, folding his hands in his lap. A neatly stapled packet of paper sat atop his mahogany desk. I pursed my lips in a meager attempt to bite back the tears welling in my eyes. My throat felt raw, ready to explode with rage. 

Four months of medical leave and the looming threat of medical discharge. My fingers toyed with the cool aluminum crutch in my grip. I didn’t deny that I wasn’t in a state to serve, I could barely take a piss without a nurse peeking in on me to make sure I didn’t end up on the floor. I grew incoherent with anger when I thought about being away from base, back in fucking Leeds. 

Drawing in a breath through flared nostrils, I balled my hands into fists. I pushed down the fear that rose in my chest. This was about serving my force. Not about the growing sense of longing. Right?

“Heal up and we’ll have you back.” Price tapped his palm against the desk with a sense of finality, grunting as he rose to his feet. Without another word, he left. My head dropped, gaze falling to the sling draped from my shoulder. I didn’t move when I heard a soft rap against the door frame. I knew who it was. 

“I think y’ could really use some rest. This is a good thing, yeah?” 

His words stroked a nerve in my chest. Biting back my tongue, I nodded. I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the urge to burst out yelling. 

“Why do you treat me like a fucking freak?!” I wanted to yell. Whether from pity or disgust, he wouldn’t lay a finger on me. Backing away from kisses, or only offering a brief, detached peck on the lips. I could feel his gaze burning through me, and yet he couldn’t even look me in the eye. For the first time in months I was sleeping alone. Once again I was pulling his hoodie over my battered frame, this time as a replacement for his touch. Sighing, I stood, fingers tending around the crutches. 

-

My fingers brushed along the ridge of my nose. Narrowing my eyes, I studied my reflection. The swelling had gone down, leaving behind a crooked lump. I looked noticeably different, stained with wear like an old whiskey barrel. The static that settled in my limbs never really left. It stayed put, a constant nagging mosquito beneath my skin. Nerve damage, the doctor said, was one fickle bitch. 

Even the apartment I was in didn’t feel like my own. Sure, I paid the rent. My name was on the lease. Yet it functioned more as some sort of sick shrine to the past. A monument to better years. Would my family even recognize me? I glanced at my younger, naïve self in a framed photo. 

My phone hadn’t gone off once in the three weeks I’d been back home. To be fair, I hadn’t told anyone I was back in town. Even then, this utter void of communication was out of the norm for the task force. Usually there would be something. An incoherent meme, a drunken text, a chiding message from price. 

Sighing, I picked up the remote off my nightstand. My thumb dug into the little plus sign. In an instant the soft melody swept across my apartment. Droning bass drowned out the constant ringing in my ears. I stepped forward, knees brushing against my couch. 

A knock at my front door drew my attention. My brows knitted as my head turned toward the sound. I was nearly ten, the sun having long since set. The hardwood floors creaked beneath my feet as I stepped into the hallway. My fingertips brushed against the lock, sliding it out of place. Feeling my heart race, I glimpsed down at the doorknob before me. Swallowing down my anxieties, I turned the knob. 

He was dressed in a thick wool sweater. An olive beanie sat atop his brow. Tiny snowflakes clung to his lashes, threatening to melt in the heat of the indoors. He didn’t move an inch, only giving me a smile. At his side was a small carryon. I narrowed my eyes at him. I don’t think I could’ve expected anything like this given his attitude toward me. If the carryon meant what I think it meant, he had a lot of nerve looking for a place to stay after the way he’d been acting. 

“Your bruises have faded,” he rocked on his heels, eyes flicking to the living room behind me. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, kicking the door aside for him. He murmured a small gratitude before stepping inside. I pushed the door shut behind us, draping the two of us in darkness. His blue eyes fixated on me. As if about to speak, he parted his lips. Nothing but a short exhale escaped his mouth. Furrowing his brows, he pursed his lips. 

Giving only a huff from my nose, I turned toward the fridge. If I had to put up with this, I could at least break into the case of beer in my fridge. My finger slid underneath the tab, pushing it open with a soft crack. I let my eyes flutter closed as I took a sip of the drink. 

“You look good,” he finally spoke. I shot him a quick glance over my shoulder. 

“How long are you off for?” I asked, not knowing why. Maybe to make conversation, maybe to know what I was getting into. 

“A week,” he said with a grin. “I took time off so I could see you.”

I couldn’t help the smile that crept across my face. I stepped forward, leaning against the counter. Maybe it was just a fluke, a momentary spell. With those eyes on me, that smile, he’s got to be back to his old self. 

“I was about to watch a movie if you wanted to join,” I said, bringing the can to my lips. 

I sank down onto the couch, pulling a blanket over my body. Johnny poured himself a glass of scotch. It was a Christmas gift he’d given me a year ago. A bottle of the top shelf stuff to make up for all the “lousy” beer I’d been drinking. I thumbed through Netflix, settling on a horror movie. Johnny always said he liked them. The cushions shifted as he sat down. Looking over at him, my smile soon faded as the loud thudding of the intro boomed over the speakers. 

He sat at the other end of the couch, knees tucked to his chest. His shoulders stiffened as he brought the glass to his lips. My eyes screwed shut. He had to be fucking with me, it had to be a joke. Any minute he’d curl up by my side, slide under the blanket, hands over me like we’d done so many times-

Was something wrong with me? Was this…distorted visage of myself too overbearing? Was he being malicious? Was he playing the long game?

He laughed at an obscene joke made by one of the characters. He laughed. How could he be laughing, seeming so casual? There’s no way this wasn’t intentional. No way this wasn’t some sort of ploy to tug at my heartstrings. Sure, he could’ve done it at any point, but doing it at my lowest?

“No fuckin’ way-” he shook his head, grinning brightly. “Did you see tha-”

I could feel his gaze on me, and it only seemed to spur me on more. I clenched my jaw tightly, pursing my lips into a thin line. 

“Everything good?” He asked, waving his hand in my peripheral. Without warning, my lips moved before I could think of what to say, how to phrase it so I don’t come off as an asshole-

“Is there something wrong with me?” I blurted out. A scream echoed over the speaker, accompanied by the low rumble of a chainsaw. His blue eyes widened, thick brows raising. 

“I don’t-”

“You won’t touch me. You haven’t since that mission. You- Christ, you won’t even fucking sit next to me!” I gestured to his curled up form. He sputtered, lips parting in a vain attempt to speak. “You act like I’m some fucking monster- and- and I can’t tell if it’s some sick, twisted mind game, or because of my busted fucking nose- or-”

“Stop!” His glass clattered as he set it on the coffee table. I drew my attention back to him. Thick tears streamed down his cheeks, soaking into his sweater. “You- you almost died. I wouldn’t even let go of your hand when they did CPR. I wouldn’t-” he paused, exhaling a shaky breath. “Every bit of you was broken. I stayed awake three nights straight, praying to god ye’d see me first when waking up.”

He reached a shaky hand out, only to let it drop to his side.

“I can’t explain it. Any time I touch you…” he paused, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. “I can’t stop thinking I’m going to hurt you.”

I could feel the tension leaving my body. My shoulders dropped, and in an instant my lungs expanded. My lips curled up into a crooked smile. 

“You’re fuckin’ stupid.” I laughed. “I’m sorry-” I clasped my hand over my mouth in a poor attempt to quell my laughter. “Please, just touch me. Hold me. You’re not going to break me, Johnny.” 

I pulled the blanket off of my body, making room for him beside me. With a small sniff, he moved closer. His palm skimmed across my bare calf. In an instant, he softened. His fingers skated up my thigh, over my hip. Exhaling a shaky breath, he wrapped his arms around my waist. I cradled his face in my hands. With the pad of my thumb I stroked away the tears on his blotchy cheeks. 

“I missed you.” He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. A soft noise rose from his chest as he trailed his lips over my jaw. His fingers flexed, gripping my sides tight. He hummed, pressing his face into the crook of my neck. He drew in a deep breath, undoubtedly taking in my shampoo, vanilla and cinnamon. 

He grunted, pushing my knee aside so he could settle between my legs. His “favorite spot” as he put it. Like reciting a script, my fingers ran up the back of his neck, carding through his messy Mohawk. Everything felt instinctual, exactly as it once was. 

He rested his cheek on my chest, gaze fixed forward on the TV. My longing was sated- somewhat. I felt my body sink into the couch below, any tension melting in his grasp. And yet one nagging thought swarmed around my brain like a buzzing mosquito. I wanted more. 

I yearned to relive the memory of his hands on my body. Sought it out like a moth to a flame. Glancing down at the man on my chest, I bit down on my lip.

“Your hearts racin’. S’it really that scary?” He tilted his head to look up at me. When his gaze settled on me, my expression, his eyes widened. Like a trained dog, he could tell in an instant what this meant. A single gaze could communicate even across the room- and it had many times.

“Johnny…” I spoke softly. 

“I really don’t think we should-” he shook his head. Turning down affection was out of character for sure, but turning down sex was almost more out of character. 

“It’s been almost two months, come on.” I whined. Two months since the mission, two months since we’d had sex. Two months since we last basked in each other’s touch, blissfully disregarding any established code of conduct. Two months since I’d even felt his bare skin. 

“I want to feel you,” I added, my grip on his hair tensing. Barely audible was the noise that fell from his tongue. His cerulean eyes darkened, turning his irises into deep navy pools. 

“I’ll eat you out, and nothing more.” He offered, voice stern and unyielding. My lips curled into a smile, a smug sign of victory. Quickly, I pursed my lips in a weak attempt to hide my assurance.

The cushions shifted as he moved, not between my legs, but onto his feet. Brows furrowing, I glanced up at him. 

“Our first time in two months isn’t gonnae be on a couch.”

He held his hand out for me. Staring at him through my lashes, I took his hand. His thick fingers laced with mine, tensing as he pulled me to stand. I leaned into his chest, pressing my lips to his in a slow kiss. I lingered on his lips, taking in every taste, every jagged bit of dried skin. Only then did I pull away. 

I trailed behind him as he stepped into my bedroom. I slid my palm across the wall, feeling for the plastic switch plate. With a click, the room lit up. I looped my finger into the collar of his sweater, tugging him behind me as I stood before the bed. The springs squeaked as I lowered myself onto the bed, scooting back just enough for my feet to just barely dangle off the bed. I curled one finger towards myself, urging him to step forward. 

“Just head, okay?” He stated again. I wonder if he too knew that was a boldfaced lie. John McTavish was not one to fuck his hand when he had me lying before him. 

“What’s head without some foreplay, huh?” I smirked, watching as the man moved to lie between my legs. Every move of mine from this point was calculated, from the way I crossed my ankles behind his back to the way I toyed with his shirt hem as I kissed him. His tongue ran across my bottom lip. With a soft moan I parted my lips for him. He groaned, licking into my mouth. 

I eased his shirt up over his abs, pushing higher and higher. Shifting his weight onto his knees, he pulled his sweater over his head, dropping it onto the floor. In an instant my hands were on his bare skin. His muscles tensed, shifting under his skin with every breath. 

“Come on, your turn.” His blue eyes skimmed across the faded screen printing on my shirt. A pang of anxiety struck in my chest. Every patch of scar tissue, every burn, every lingering bruise came back into my mind. Swallowing down my thoughts, I pulled the shirt from my body. 

I could feel his gaze raking across my scars, taking in the sight before him. Heat rushed to my cheeks as he looked back up at me. He leaned down, pressing his bare chest to mine. Beating heart against beating heart. His lips met mine, only this kiss was soaked in a softer feeling. 

He trailed his honey sweet kisses down my neck. I whined as his teeth grazed my skin, sinking in just enough to tease me. His tongue darted past his lips, laving over broken blood vessels and faint teeth marks. Down my collarbone his lips traveled. My back arched off of the bed when his lips wrapped around my nipple. His brows furrowed as he sucked, and then parted his lips to make way for his tongue. 

He kissed over my ribs, and down my stomach. I shuddered as he slipped his fingers underneath my shorts. He glanced up at me with a look laced with desperation, pupils drinking in every little reaction he pulled from me. I lifted my hips for him as he tugged my shorts down. 

I parted my legs for him, catching my bottom lip between my teeth. His pupils dilated as he took in my bare frame. 

“Missed you so much,” he mumbled softly as he slid his fingers up my core. “Such a pretty thing. So wet for me.”

Heat rushed to my face as I realized he wasn’t talking to me, but my cunt. His eyelids fluttered closed as he leaned in, dragging his tongue up my core. Instinctually, my hips jolted off of the bed. He groaned as I gripped his hair tight. 

I tossed my head back against the pillows as I melted into his touch. Every flick of his tongue, every brush of his facial hair against my skin had me coming undone. The tension, the pain, the self consciousness building over the past few weeks now lapped away by his tongue. 

He pressed open-mouthed kisses to my cunt, tongue sliding over my clit with fervor. Over his groans I could just barely hear the clinking of his belt. I watched as he took his cock in his hand, thick fingers wrapping around his shaft. 

He shook his head, attempting to push even closer to my twitching cunt. My chest rose and fell as I drew in ragged breaths. Every exhale I took was punctuated by desperate noises. 

My back arched painfully off of the bed, hips pushing further into his mouth. With a groan, he slid his palm up my body, reaching out to toy with my nipple. I felt myself falling deeper into sensation. A burning hot tension slowly built within my stomach, pulling tightly at my limbs. 

He wrapped his lips around my clit, sucking harshly. Tears welled in my eyes, only spurred on by the way his tongue moved against me. I could feel a growing desperation, bubbling like a geyser threatening to blow. 

I cried out his name, pulling tight on his curls. As if on their own, my hips began to rock against his face, begging for more stimulation. Anything to push me over the edge. Just a little more. 

The crescendo hit its peak with another harsh suck. The red hot spring in my stomach snapped. I clenched around nothing, cunt fluttering against his lips. My limbs contorted, muscles going taut as every one of my nerve endings ignited. It felt electric, jolting up the back of my spine and settling in my hips, a heavy pressure.

He pressed a chaste kiss to my clit before pulling away, blue eyes fixated on my heaving chest. I drew in heavy breaths, lungs burning with every bit of air. He pressed honeyed kisses to my thighs, hand still stroking up and down his length. 

“Johnny, please just fuck me.” I whined, twirling my finger around one of his loose curls. “I need to feel you.”

He bit down on his bottom lip, brows furrowing. His blue eyes flicked across my bare body, before settling back on my dripping cunt. The mattress squeaked as he shifted onto his knees. His warm fingers splayed over my knees as he tugged my legs over his hips. 

“Look what you do to me,” he said, voice laced with lust. He wrapped his fingers around his cock and slowly began rutting his leaking head against my clit. His jaw went slack, a soft noise falling from his tongue. He pulled back, lining his cock up with my entrance. With a nudge of his hips, he slowly pushed inside of me. 

“Fuck-” he sputtered, eyes fixated on my cunt as I swallowed him up. Every inch he gave me, I took, body craving his touch. “Takin’ me so well,” he groaned. 

His hips stilled as he bottomed out. With a soft moan, I looped my arms around the back of his neck, pulling him flush to my chest. His lips met mine in a tender kiss, swallowing up any noises that fell from my mouth.

He began to slowly roll his hips, groaning into my mouth. His cock dragged against my insides, sparking pleasure in my stomach. I missed this, missed being filled up by him. Missed all the little noises he’d make. 

His pace was slow, and he took his time feeling every inch of me. He savored my cunt, slowly rocking both of our bodies against the mattress. His fingers dug into my hips, groping my flesh tightly. 

“I’m not gonna last long,” he said, pulling away to look at me with those deep blue eyes. 

“That’s okay, just wanna feel you.” I cradled his cheeks in my hand, facial hair tickling my palms. The look he gave me was one of intoxication. He’d been drinking me in all night, and it was finally beginning to show. 

With every deep stroke, I could feel his cock head nuzzling against my cervix. He filled me up deliciously, gentle stretch burning in my loins. It felt natural, instinctual, the way he toyed with my body. 

“Take what you need, Johnny.” I spoke with half-lidded eyes. My words stirred something in him. His pace began to quicken as he lost himself in pleasure. Soft clapping echoed through the room as his hips met mine. 

He buried his face in the crook of my neck, pressing sloppy kisses against my skin. He left behind a trail of saliva and bruises that were sure to stay with me for a week. I’d wear them proudly as a mark of companionship. A mark that I made it through.

The tension in my core returned. Like a red hot steel spring slowly contracting. Tensing, squeezing my organs tight. My head fell back against the pillows, fingers firmly holding his hair. 

I took in shaky, shallow breaths, letting my eyelids flutter closed. His moans grew higher in pitch, more frequent, more unrestrained. My mouth fell open, a stream of incoherent babbles and praises falling off the tip of my tongue. His pace grew erratic, arrhythmic, and hastier as he reached his climax. Moaning against my skin, he thrusted into me, cock twitching as he came. 

The searing hot coil snapped once more, igniting jolts of static in my sticky limbs. I held onto him tight, tight enough to feel his pounding heart against mine. Right where I wanted him. I seized around him, milking his orgasm and drawing a breathy whine from him. He pressed his lips to my neck, muffling his melodic moans. 

His cock softened inside me, cum spilling down my thighs. With a soft huff he pulled out, laying at my side. I felt my lips curling into a smile as I reached out, tugging a thick blanket over our bodies. He held my face in his hands, blue eyes taking in my expression. I leaned in, pressing my lips to his. 

-

“Well, your bloodwork and physical checks out.” Price said, thumbing through the packet of paperwork. Johnny stood behind me, resting his elbows on the back of my chair. I tapped my foot against the hardwood flooring, unable to quell the excitement bubbling in my gut. 

This meant I could be taken off leave, and finally be able to move back onto base. While this sabbatical was relaxing- and boring- to say the least, thinking of being back on the field stirred something in me. Excitement was one word to describe it, ‘home’ would be another. 

“Except one thing,” Price added, sliding a paper across the desk. My stomach dropped. Nausea swelled in my throat as I glanced at the paper. I was unable to make out any of the words. Positive. I knew what that meant. But what was- what was-

“You’re pregnant.”

Masterlist

[666anxiety666]

Do your job!

A mandela catalogue tickle fic!

Lee: Jonah Ler: Adam

TW: none :]

Art made by @tkl-fluff-xian, this artwork also inspired this fic! 💙

♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎

It was currently 12:26 am. Adam Murray and Jonah Marshall were coming back from a tip they had received at an abandoned school on the other side of town.

Their mission hadn't gone exactly to plan... with Jonah messing around, making stupid jokes, and not taking the job seriously. Due to Jonahs goofing off, a lot of footage and evidence was not captured during the investigation.

The two BPS workers got back to the black van they had stolen a month ago. The two getting into the back where they slept.

It was quiet. No one spoke. Adam was pissed and it showed in the silent treatment he was giving Jonah.

Jonah rubbed the back of his head. Looking over at Adam, who had his arms crossed.

"Are you mad..?"

Jonah asked. Silence... Jonah looked away nervously. Then he got an idea

"C'mon dude... it was all in good fun..."

Jonah smiled, reaching out and poking Adams side. Adam jumped, glaring over at Jonah. Jonah grinned slightly, poking Adams side once more.

Adam snapped, lunging forward at Jonah. Jonah yelped, falling back as he tried to fight Adam off.

"D-Dude! Wha- get o-"

Jonah words got cut off with his own loud squeal. It took Jonah a moment to realise Adam wasn't hurting him but was, in fact, scribbling his fingers all over his sensitive tummy.

"A-ADAM! HAHA WHAHAT ARE YOU DOIHIHIHING?!"

Adam looked down at Jonah, pinning the squealing boy down by straddling his hips.

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

Adam asked bluntly, yet you could see the small smile forming on his face as he continued to scribble his blunt nails over Jonahs soft tummy

"D-DUDE! HAHAHA WAHAHAIT! HAHA A-ADAHAHAHAM!"

Jonah was thrashing around, trying to pry Adams tickling fingers away from his sensitive tummy

"What's wrong? don't you like this? I thought you loved laughing. "

Adam teased. Adam couldn't hide that he was secretly enjoying watching Jonah thrash around and laughing his ass off.

"N-NOHO! HAHA ADAHAHAM! HAHAHA GEHEHET OFF MEHE!"

Jonahs laughter filled the van as he kicked his legs against the mattress behind Adam. Adam spotted this, reaching around to squeeze Jonahs knees. Jonah squealed. Throwing his head back as his face flushed red.

"Oh you don't? Too bad. Maybe you should've taken the investigation more seriously earlier..!"

Adam complained. One hand still scribbled over Jonahs tummy while his other hand kept up the squeezing on Jonahs knees.

"ADAHAHAHAM! HAHA PLEHEHEASE! HAHAHA IHIM SOHORRY!"

Jonah howled, his face getting more and more red by the second. Adam smirked when he saw this. Not hiding the fact that he was enjoying this anymore.

"Oh, you are now, are you? You didn't seem so sorry earlier when you fucked up our footage!"

Adam faked an angry tone. The fingers on Jonahs tummy moving to his belly button, causing Jonah to squeal once more.

"PLEHEHEASE! HAHAHA IM SOHORRY! HAHA IHI REHEHEALLY AHAM!"

Jonah cackled. His hands that were trying to pry Adams tickling ones away grew weaker. Adam smirked, moving both his hands back to Jonahs tummy.

"Are you sure?~ Are you sorry? Will you not do it again?"

Adam asked with a cocky tone, both of his hands scribbling over Jonahs poor tummy.

"YEHEHES! HAHAHA YEHEHEHES! IHIHIM SOHOHORRY! JUHUST PLEHEHEHEASE! HAHA I WOHONT DO IHIHIT AGAHAHAIN!"

Jonah was in hysterics at this point. His face bright red. Adam finally felt satisfied to stop. He took his hands away from Jonahs tummy for good and got off the now breathless man.

Jonah panted, still giggling a little even after Adam stopped as he hugged his sides and tummy.

"Y-you are... horrible..."

Jonah panted, looking up at Adam from where he lay on the van floor. Adam just smirked as he looked down at his best friend.

"Oh yeah? I didn't hear you say stop~"

Adam teased with a grin. Jonahs face flushed red once more, sitting up as he lightly hit Adam on the shoulder, causing Adam to laugh.

"S-shut up..."

Jonah grumbled. Crossing his arms. Yet he couldn't pretend to be mad at Adam. He soon laughed a little, too. Maybe Jonah should mess up on more missions in the future... just not too many...

♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎

And done! I hope you guys enjoyed my first fanfic on here! I plan on writing way more more the mandela catalogue and a lot of other fandoms! Requests are open if you have any! :]

[ramblings-in-imagination]

A Silent Threat (Part 3)

The ambulance screeched to a halt in front of the emergency department, red and white lights flashing like an alarm in the night. The back doors swung open, and the paramedics wheeled the gurney out, their faces drawn with urgency.

“She’s 19, carbon monoxide exposure from a faulty boiler. Found unresponsive with emesis and seizure activity. Hypotensive, tachycardic, BP dropped to 78 over 45 en route. Oxygen sat’s hovering around 85% on high-flow. Midazolam given for seizure control. She’s currently altered, GCS at 8,” the lead paramedic rattled off as a trauma team descended in a flurry of white coats and scrubs.

“Respiratory on standby,” a nurse called. “Page anesthesia for possible intubation!”

Dean nearly tripped over his own feet trying to follow, his eyes locked on his sister’s pale face as they rushed her through the sliding doors. He reached for the gurney, but a nurse put a firm hand on his chest. “I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t go back there.”

“Heyyyyy” Dean protested, but Sam was right there, grabbing his arm and pulling him back.

“Dean, let them do their job,” Sam said, his voice tight, but calm. “Some things… some things are better not watched.”

Dean’s jaw worked like he was chewing glass, his eyes wild as he stared through the small window into the trauma bay. Inside, it was chaos: monitors beeped in staccato rhythms, nurses calling out numbers and requests, the doctor barking orders over the noise.

“Patient remains obtunded,” one doctor said as he examined her pupils. “Dilated, sluggish. We need to protect her airway, prep for intubation.”

“Copy that,” a respiratory therapist replied, already setting up the ventilator.

“Labs: get a CBC, CMP, VBG with co-oximetry, lactate, carboxyhemoglobin levels stat,” another nurse called out, scribbling notes.

“Get the EKG: rule out any CO-induced arrhythmias,” the trauma attending ordered. “And hang a liter bolus, she’s borderline shocky.”

Dean’s breath hitched, his fists clenching as he watched them place a large-bore IV and thread an oxygen cannula around her neck. Her face was pale, waxy, and her lips were still tinged blue.

“Dean.” Sam’s voice was gentle but firm. “Come sit down, man. You’re not helping her by falling apart.” He tugged Dean away from the window and guided him to a bench, forcing him to sit. Sam sat beside him, one hand resting on his brother’s shoulder, anchoring him to the here and now.

Dean’s knee bounced with nervous energy, his eyes darting back and forth. “God, Sammy. I should’ve….”His voice cracked. “I should’ve been there.”

“She’s strong, Dean,” Sam said, gripping his shoulder. “She’s gonna fight. Just like you taught her.”

The minutes crawled by, every second stretching into an eternity. Finally, the trauma attending, a tall woman with her hair tucked under a scrub cap stepped out. She stripped off her gloves and mask and approached them, her face a practiced mask of calm professionalism.

“Are you her brothers?” she asked, glancing between them.

Dean jumped to his feet. “Yeah. How is she?”

“She’s stable for now,” the doctor said, her tone brisk. “She arrived with significant carbon monoxide poisoning. Her carboxyhemoglobin level was 22%, which is markedly elevated, normal is less than 2%. That level can cause significant hypoxia and neurologic symptoms, which explains her altered mental status and the seizure you witnessed.”

Dean’s eyes were wide, panic still thrumming under his skin. “What did you do for her?”

“We secured her airway via rapid sequence intubation using etomidate and succinylcholine to prevent aspiration. She’s currently ventilated at 100% oxygen to displace the carbon monoxide from her hemoglobin and reduce the half-life of CO binding. We also gave her a bolus of normal saline to address her hypotension, as well as intravenous benzodiazepines: specifically lorazepam, to control her seizure activity. We’ve started continuous cardiac monitoring to watch for arrhythmias, given the hypoxic insult.”

Sam nodded, absorbing every word. “How’s her brain? Is there a risk of damage?”

The doctor’s expression softened slightly. “We performed a Glasgow Coma Scale assessment, and she’s at an 8: which is concerning, but not irreversible. We’re monitoring her oxygenation closely and have ordered an arterial blood gas to check her acid-base status. The good news is that she responded to the initial interventions, and her oxygen saturation is now at 97% on the ventilator.”

Dean exhaled shakily, his shoulders slumping. “Can we see her?”

“Once we get her transferred to the ICU and settled in. I’ll make sure you get to see her as soon as possible. Right now, she’s critical but stable. We’ll keep you updated every step of the way.”

“Thank you,” Sam said, his voice thick.

Dean scrubbed his face with his hands, his jaw tight. “Just—just keep her safe, okay? She’s… she’s everything.”

The doctor gave them both a steady look. “We’ll do everything we can.”

As she disappeared back through the trauma doors, Dean leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Sam’s hand stayed steady on his shoulder, grounding him in the one thing they could both hold onto: hope.

[psycho-scribbler]

shitty MS paint memes of ToB-14000-BC :P (may contain spoilers for chapter three but i just posted it so)

[roosterforme]

I Would love to hear more from the batting practice story. I read everything you write and It's All so good. But I still think about BP All the time. If you have the time /energy/ wish to do it ofc

N O N N Y. I was just thinking about Coach this morning. I do have a few ideas for one-shots scribbled down somewhere that I can revisit. I would love to write something more for them, especially since you are interested! Please let me know if there's something you'd really like to read about.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Been a minute...

...since I read this old buzzfeed article about Black women writing fanfiction (specifically The Walking Dead/Richonne).

This was back in 2016, so the fandoms discussed are all IR pairings. Would love to see one written about the Black Panther fandom and Black women writing about Black characters being with other Black characters.

It's always fun to look back at different eras. I was getting back into my Star Trek Uhura/Spock reading groove back then and started slowly scribbling a few things myself.

One of these days I may actually write about the BP fandom myself because I jumped in after the initial start months later with my niche N'Jobu fics, so I missed out on being in the bigger mixes like T'Challa or Killmonger. I missed all the fandom drama wars initially because only a few people were reading my fics and I never got traction in my tags and barely had my N'Jobu fics reblogged. It wasn't until I wrote "Forty-Seven G" that I began to get some circulation in the Killmonger streets.

I enjoyed the creative variety of tales Black women/Black Queer Fam were churning out in the Black Panther fandom. Reimagining Killmonger as Tarzan ( I know it sounds sketchy, lol, but that good sis made it so enjoyable and plausible). Having T'Challa and Killmonger have the ability to turn into panthers. Some stories gave them tails and actual panther/ cat behaviors. College life. Killmonger's time in the military or with Linda as a mercenary. Versions of what Killmonger would've been like had N'Jobu taken him home. Entire worldviews told from Shuri or Okoye's eyes. Stories about T'Challa and Nakia getting back together. Storm and T'Challa and Nakia. Storm and Killmonger. Killmonger paired with M'Baku. M'Baku falling for Okoye.

There were some folks who took it into areas of ick and discomfort with pairings that elicited backlash, conversations, heated debates, anger, and even disgust. I just appreciate that it was all out there for people to see. It was one of the most intriguing eras of Black Fandom that strictly dealt with a wholly Black world. Even white folks and other non-Black folks dipped into our waters and had the audacity to center their white women as queens of Wakanda---chile--, and got mad when we snickered, snorted, or stood up for centering Blackness without whiteness ever being present in our stories.

Anyhoo, if you want to read an interesting snapshot of Black women fanfic writers (many who aren't writing anymore or rarely update) check it out HERE. Most of it is about Richonne, and I like I said before, it mainly details fandoms that had a Black woman paired with a white man.

[askboompom]

Piper: “WE’RE BACK AND WE CAN TAKE ON SOME OF THOSE QUESTIONS FOR YOU MOM!”  Barrett: “Sorry it took so long, ran into some trouble along the way.”  Princess Peach: “Oh it’s no trouble! Glad to see you both home safe.”

// THANK YOU @latenitewaffles FOR THE IDEA! Went with a bit of a mix of two of the concepts you gave. Though doing more Nintendo-verse employees sounds fun in the future... 👀

[butter--peanut]

Ok I would LOVE to write something for KakaObi week but I seem to be clinically incapable of having plot bunnies that don’t become behemoth longfic. If anyone wants to suggest a scene/plot/dynamic go ahead. If it vibes I will try to write. <3 

[computerram]

been rotating some ginger guy in my mind lately