camilapardo

[camilapardo]

Camila hadn’t meant to stumble into the café like a deer caught in headlights — but she had, hood of her light jacket drawn up over her curls, cheeks flushed from the breeze outside and her anxiety from realizing she left her phone in a Lyft on her way back from a rotation that had gone on three hours too long. Intern life was glamorous like that. Still, the warmth of the café greeted her like a hug, and the smell — cinnamon, espresso, fresh pastry — practically melted the tension from her shoulders. She scanned the interior absently, mostly searching for an empty corner to disappear into, but then her gaze caught on a familiar brunette figure tucked into a table near the back. Alexandrea Montgomery. The Alexandrea Montgomery. It took Camila half a second longer than it should have to register the woman’s presence, and maybe another two to process that she was being spoken to. Her lips parted with a breath of surprise — because she wasn’t used to attendings even noticing interns like her, let alone talking to them like they weren’t just disposable coffee fetching machines in scrubs. But Dr. Montgomery always seemed… different. Commanding in the OR, yes, and definitely someone you didn’t want to cross, but never unfair. Always sharp. Always composed. Always infuriatingly elegant, even when her hair was pulled back into a bun that had clearly survived three surgeries and a near code blue. Camila blinked, then grinned — small at first, crooked at the edge, like a secret being let out. ❝ That sounds about right, ❞ she said as she slipped into the seat across from Alexandrea without asking, peeling off her jacket and setting it down beside her. ❝ I think I’ve burned a hole through my stomach lining from drinking the sludge they serve in the resident lounge. ❞ A pause. Then, eyes glinting with playful sharpness, ❝ But hey, at least I haven’t hallucinated any patients yet. That counts for something, right? ❞ The warmth in her voice wasn’t forced — it came from that stubborn optimism she’d clung to since day one of med school. Even when things went to hell, which they often did, Camila tried to find a thread to hold onto. Maybe that was why she’d ended up at Kingsley in the first place — still a little raw from the mess she left back in Miami, still proving to herself that she was strong enough to be here. She leaned forward a little, elbows on the table, voice a notch softer. ❝ You come here a lot? ❞ she asked, glancing around the café before returning her gaze to Alexandrea. ❝ It’s kind of nice. I mean, it smells like actual coffee instead of bleach and trauma. That’s… kind of rare. ❞ A beat passed before Camila smirked again, this time with a little more fire. ❝ You always this philosophical before 10 a.m., or did I just catch you in a mood? ❞

Where: Code Latte

With: Anyone (0/5)

When: June 2025

Alexandrea would’ve been sitting in her regular corner of the café, which she is a frequent patron of. An avid space that is one of her favourite locations to visit in town — having found the atmosphere and environment conducive to get her work done in. Ever since she transferred to Kingsley Memorial Hospital, the young surgeon has managed to make Queens’ best kept secret into her most preferred safe haven for when she needed the calming refuge of the haunt in place of her old one, Lisa's Spoon, back on the Upper East Side. Both fulfilled the main criteria of being away from the ever bustling rumor gossip mill of her fellow coworkers, which made any workspace at the hospital impossible to find any peaceful quiet amidst all of the chaos needed in order for her to concentrate and achieve the desired productivity she required to conquer all of the patients on her caseload charting paperwork that she had to catch up on filling up in a timely manner with an efficiency for accomplishing it all flawlessly.

Plus, it definitely didn’t hurt as an added benefit that the café never smelled like the atmosphere is drowning in the suffocating scent of antiseptic. Even if she is a surgeon and the smell of an operating room usually brought her much comforting joy, any medical professional would need a much welcomed reprieve from the overwhelmingly strong sterile air breathed in through the nose every once in a while with inevitable eventuality. Though, the young brunette would never be caught dead giving that brutally honest admission verbally as a confession being mentioned to her workplace insubordinates.

The surgeon has been drowning knee-deep in the recording of crucially important fine-print details of a medical case from one of her patients. Working to be a surgeon didn’t just mean that you’d cut a sick patient open just to fix what’s damaged inside of them and that your job would be completed since they’d be assumed to be healed thereafter. What it actually really meant is that she could not afford anything breaking her focus and causing her to screw up her fine-tooth combing detailing in the patient’s history because it could mean any discrepant inaccuracies being the difference between life and death for the said patient and whether you’d have taken a life that you’re responsible for in accountability.

Finally managing to look up from her laptop after having been hunched over it to the extent that a knot formed in her neck from the sheer tension when she completed filling in the mass majority of the boringly, snooze worthy administrative work that she had to get done, she straightened her posture and took a large gulp of her now lukewarm cup of liquid gold in the form of a double-shot espresso latte.

Seeing someone new enter from her optimally vantage viewpoint of the calming scenic sights at the desk she is using in the café, the young woman greeted with a politely, curt friendly smile of prideful satisfaction in a highly clear, eloquent quip from a slightly mild amusement.  ❝ You know, as a trained medical professional, we’re supposed to be warned about the effects of the overconsumption of the addictive drug called caffeine. Notwithstanding, the truly sad, overcomplicated and ironic truth is that we, as surgeons, simply cannot do our jobs to save others’ lives without having it for sustenance to survive and heal others without first destroying our own and putting our healths at risk in order to properly function at our jobs. ❞

[camilapardo]

Don't wear the glasses. You fiddle with them, it makes you look indecisive. And stop stressing, it'll be like any other job interview. What do you consider your strengths? What do you consider your weaknesses?

GREY'S ANATOMY 3.19

[camilapardo]

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒!

RIDE OR DIE — you’ve seen camila at her worst — late night breakdowns in on call rooms, arguments with attendings, that one time she nearly passed out after skipping three meals. you know when to push her, when to back off, and how to read her silences. maybe you’re another intern, a nurse, or a seasoned resident who’s taken her under your wing. you keep her grounded, and she’d take a bullet for you — not that she’d ever say it out loud.

EX/OLD FLAME — there’s tension in the air every time you cross paths. maybe it was a whirlwind college relationship that ended without closure, or something more recent — a connection she ran from the moment it started to feel real. you know parts of her no one else does, and that scares the hell out of her. things ended messy, or maybe they never really ended at all.

BAD INFLUENCE — you’re chaos wrapped in charm, and camila can’t help but be drawn to you. maybe you ride the line between fun and reckless, and she knows she should keep her distance — but she doesn’t. you get her to loosen up, to act on impulse, to feel something other than pressure. whether this is platonic, flirtatious, or both... it’s addictive and unsustainable.

CHILDHOOD FRIEND/FAMILY TIE — you go way back. maybe you grew up on the same street in miami, or maybe you’re a cousin she used to be close with before the family splintered. you remember her before the walls went up — back when she was soft, scared, and still believed in happy endings. you bring out a version of her she’s not sure still exists.

FELLOW SURVIVAL/EMOTIONAL PARALLEL — you’ve been through your own version of hell — and somehow, without even meaning to, you and camila see each other clearly. maybe it’s trauma, grief, abandonment — whatever it is, you understand her in a way that’s rare. your connection is quiet, maybe a little codependent, but deeply meaningful. you don’t talk about feelings much... but you both know.

THE RIVAL — you’re both competitive, smart, and stubborn — and constantly at each other’s throats. maybe it started as friendly academic rivalry, but somewhere along the way, things got personal. you challenge camila in all the right (and wrong) ways. there’s tension here — the kind that could easily turn into respect, hatred... or something way messier.

PERSON FROM HER PAST — you’re someone she thought she left behind — an older sibling, a cousin, or a childhood best friend who knows the full story of what happened with her dad. your sudden reappearance in kingsley throws camila off balance. you carry the pieces of a life she’s tried to forget, and whether you’re here for answers, closure, or something else entirely… she’s not ready.

IT WAS JUST ONE NIGHT — you hooked up once — after a night of too much tequila or too little sleep — and it was good. really good. you were supposed to pretend it didn’t happen, but now you’re seeing each other constantly in the hospital, and the tension is impossible to ignore. camila won’t talk about it. you can’t stop thinking about it.

THE THERAPIST SHE DOESN'T WANT — whether you’re a licensed therapist, a hospital counselor, or just someone with an annoyingly good sense of emotional intelligence, you’ve made it your mission to crack camila’s walls. she resists it hard — makes jokes, changes the subject — but you’ve seen enough to know she’s carrying way more than she lets on. you’re not giving up, even if she never asks you to stay.

THE MENTOR SHE NEVER EXPECTED — you’re tough, maybe even a little cold, and camila expected to hate you. but over time, something clicked — maybe you saw potential in her others didn’t, or you recognize yourself in her grit. whether you push her too hard or guide her too gently, you’ve become a grounding force she didn’t know she needed. bonus tension if you’re emotionally closed off too.

COWORKER WITH CLASHING VALUES — you do things by the book. camila doesn’t. or maybe you take risks with patients she believes in boundaries. either way, you constantly disagree — about ethics, about the system, about how far a doctor should go. your debates are heated, your dynamic explosive, and every time you argue, there's the lingering feeling that you could learn from each other... if you'd just stop butting heads.

THE SOFT SPOT — you have nothing to do with medicine, and that’s exactly why camila finds herself drawn to you. maybe you serve her coffee every morning, or maybe you’re her neighbor who leaves snacks at her door. you see a side of her no one else gets — tired eyes, softer smiles. you remind her there’s life outside the hospital, and that maybe it’s worth living.

THE ONE SHE CAN'T READ — you’re unpredictable — emotionally, morally, professionally. one minute you're saving lives with camila in the ER, the next you're vanishing for days without explanation. she doesn’t know whether to trust you, fight you, or fall for you, and that infuriates her. you make her feel off center — and maybe that’s exactly what she needs.

FORMER FRIEND — you were once close. maybe even family. but you chose something — or someone — over her when she needed you most. maybe you left when things got hard. maybe you sided with her father. now you’ve resurfaced, and camila doesn’t know whether to cut you out for good or finally say what she’s been holding in for years.

FORBBIDEN ROMANCE — you’re her supervisor. or maybe her best friend’s sibling. someone off limits. but the chemistry? instant. undeniable. the pull between you two is intense, slow burning, and inconvenient as hell. neither of you makes the first move — but your scenes are full of lingering glances, brushed hands, and every reason not to fall... even though you already are.

THE FAKE RELATIONSHIP — it started as a favor — a fake date to a wedding, pretending to be her girlfriend/boyfriend for a family dinner, or a setup to throw off an ex. but somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling fake. now you’re both pretending not to notice how real it’s gotten, too scared to speak up, too afraid of what happens if you do.

SITUATIONSHIP — there’s no label, no promises, no softness. just intense flirtation, shared smirks in break rooms, and a tendency to end up tangled in sheets after hard shifts. camila tells herself it’s just physical — a release. you say you don’t want anything serious. but lately, things have started to feel… heavier. and neither of you knows what to do with that.

KNOWS MORE THAN THEY SHOULD — you’re a nurse, tech, or admin who always seems to know who’s hooking up with who, who’s sleeping in the on call room, and when camila’s pretending she’s fine. you tease her relentlessly, flirt for fun, and sometimes dig a little too deep. but you’re observant, and underneath the sarcasm, you care more than you let on. and camila kind of hates that you can see through her.

[camilapardo]

Mika quit.

Millin isn't handling it very well.

[camilapardo]

「 𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝, cis woman, she/her. 」🔬 ‧₊˚ ⋆ ــــــــــﮩ٨ـ did you page 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐀 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐎 from undecided? she’s the twenty five year old INTERN at KINGSLEY MEMORIAL HOSPITAL, they’ve been working here for 1 year now. you’ve probably seen them—coffee in one hand, charts in the other—if you caught a sunlight through blinds, ink stained fingers, adrenaline highs, and bandaids on knuckles. patients who adore her say she’s compassionate and quick witted, though some swear she’s a little too reckless and defensive. time is slipping—go find her before the next code is called.

full name: camila pardo nicknames: mila, cami. age: 25. date of birth: september 18, 1999. gender: female. pronouns: she/her. sexuality: bisexual (leans toward women). FC: isabela merced. occupation: medical intern at kingsley memorial hospital.

style: effortlessly rugged — vintage band tees under scrubs, combat boots she swears by, denim jackets covered in enamel pins and stitched patches. off-duty: earthy tones, cargo pants, oversized flannels, always a beanie nearby.

body mods: multiple ear piercings (four on the left, two on the right).

scent: earthy and warm — sandalwood, dried tobacco leaves, and a hint of citrus.

distinguishing features:

a scar above her right eyebrow from a childhood bike accident.

deep, expressive eyes that always seem to carry a story.

a sharp, crooked smile when she’s about to say something she knows she shouldn’t.

hobbies:

sketching people she meets (on patient charts, napkins, anything).

playing acoustic guitar — she writes songs but never shares them.

late-night motorcycle rides to nowhere.

reading old medical journals and horror novels with equal interest.

gardening — her apartment windowsill is a jungle of herbs and succulents.

positive traits:

fiercely loyal and protective.

emotionally intuitive — she reads people like charts.

adaptable under pressure.

witty, with a dry and disarming sense of humor.

bold — she’ll call out bullshit in a heartbeat, no matter who’s talking.

negative traits:

stubborn to the point of self sabotage.

struggles to ask for help — wears independence like armor.

prone to holding grudges.

can be reckless, especially when emotionally charged.

a bit of a lone wolf, even when she craves connection.

MINI BIO:

camila pardo is a 25 year old medical intern at kingsley memorial hospital, where she’s earned a quiet reputation for being both fiercely capable and unflinchingly blunt. raised in a tight knit but turbulent household in miami, camila learned early how to take care of herself and others — patching up scraped knees and broken hearts long before she ever saw the inside of a hospital. her father’s abrupt disappearance when she was eleven left a crack in her worldview that never fully healed, but it also lit the fire that pushed her toward medicine. she’s not in it for the prestige or the paycheck — she’s in it because she knows what it means to feel like no one’s coming to save you, and she’s vowed never to let anyone under her care feel that way. during rounds, she moves with purpose, sharp witted and focused, never afraid to speak up — even if it means clashing with attending physicians. her resilience stands out; the kind that’s been earned, not taught. while other interns scramble for validation, camila works like she’s got nothing to prove and everything to protect.

outside the hospital, camila is a paradox: a loner who aches for connection, a soft heart wrapped in barbed wire. she lives in a tiny apartment filled with secondhand furniture and windowsill plants she treats like patients, talking to them while strumming chords on her beat up guitar. there’s a quiet sadness to her that she keeps buried beneath sarcasm and a crooked smile, but it slips out in her art, her music, and the way she instinctively knows when someone else is hurting. she’s the kind of person who will remember your coffee order but forget to eat lunch herself, who’ll drive out to the beach at 2 am just to feel the wind on her face. camila is complicated — equal parts fire and tenderness, trauma and hope — and though she keeps most people at arm’s length, those who manage to earn her trust find a fiercely loyal, deeply empathetic friend who would fight tooth and nail to keep them safe.

HEADCANONS:

she never takes the elevator if she can avoid it. after a childhood experience of being stuck in one for hours with her younger brother, she prefers the stairs — even if it’s twelve floors up.

carries a tiny sketchbook in her back pocket and fills it with quick pencil drawings of patients, coworkers, and fleeting moments. most of them are unfinished, raw, and deeply emotional. no one’s ever seen it.

she has a playlist for everything. “sutures & sadness” is her go to for tough days at the hospital, while “drive until the sun rises” is reserved for long, late night rides on her motorcycle.

camila’s guilty pleasure is cooking shows. she can’t cook well herself (burns rice constantly), but she watches them religiously to feel grounded — something about the routine, the warmth, the idea of home.

keeps an old voicemail from her dad saved on her phone. she never listens to it, but she can’t delete it either. it’s only a few seconds long and cuts off before he finishes the sentence.

she’s lowkey great with kids, even though she pretends to be awkward around them. her softer, goofy side slips out when no one’s watching, especially with pediatric patients.

never calls in sick. ever. it’s partly pride, partly fear of being seen as unreliable — but mostly because staying busy is how she copes with her own mental health struggles.

has a tiny scar on her palm from smashing a window to rescue a stray dog in college. the dog — a pit mix named zoe — still lives with her and sleeps on her bed every night.

BIOGRAPHY:

camila pardo grew up in the humid chaos of miami, raised in a two bedroom apartment that always felt a little too full — of people, noise, tension, and things left unsaid. her father left when she was eleven, vanishing with nothing more than a mumbled goodbye and a voicemail that still lives, untouched, in her phone. her mother worked double shifts at a laundromat and her abuela taught her how to hold pain in one hand and kindness in the other. from a young age, camila learned how to care for people — tending to her little brother’s scrapes, soothing her mother’s migraines, staying quiet when the apartment walls grew too thin for arguments. that early exposure to survival shaped her view of the world: no one’s coming to save you, so you’d better learn to do it yourself.

by the time she reached med school, camila had already lived a hundred different lives — daughter, caretaker, dropout, wanderer. she spent a year couch surfing after leaving college temporarily, unsure if medicine was the right path or just something she clung to because it offered structure in the midst of chaos. but eventually, something called her back — not the prestige or ambition, but the human part of medicine. the idea of being there for someone at their most vulnerable, and not walking away. that’s what keeps her steady now at kingsley memorial hospital, where she’s in her first year as an intern. camila isn’t the loudest in the room, but she’s the one you want by your side when things go sideways. she works hard, reads people better than charts, and always manages to stay just far enough away emotionally to protect herself — and just close enough to make a difference.

camila lives quietly, a contradiction in motion. her off hours are filled with sketchbooks full of raw, inky portraits; guitar strings worn from quiet songs she’ll never perform; plants thriving in mismatched mugs on her windowsill. she has scars she never talks about, and a pit mix named zoe who sleeps in her bed like a weighted blanket. she’s the kind of person who keeps people at arm’s length but will fight like hell for them anyway. there’s still a part of her that believes connection is dangerous — but there’s also a flicker of hope, the same one that got her into medicine in the first place: that maybe healing isn’t just for other people. maybe it’s for her, too.

[camilapardo]

Isabela Merced as Dina in The Last of Us S02E01