#brain: i got you. *gets into position to do cpr*

[soryualeksi]

Taking a photo reference to know where the arms go when, well, pressing down on something that may or may not be someone’s head (I decided to make more smut lol).

Look at the photo, very pleased, this is gonna be useful. Look at the hand position.

I’m doing the CPR pose.

...

[wonderlandwalker]

Living Nightmares | Finnick Odair x Reader

THG Masterlist / Taglist / Inbox

Summary: Finnick wakes up to find you slipping away from him. As he tries to get help, he loses track of you, only to find you in the hands of the careers. The situation seems to get worse before he finally thinks he's at peace, but you're there to remind him to keep going.

Content Warnings/Tags: angst, a whole lot of it, fluff at the end though I'm not a monster, mentions of blood, hypothermia, violence

Word Count: 3.4k

A/n: I've been obsessing over our boy Finnick so here's a fic full of angst, because apparently that's the only thing my brain can think of. Dividers by @chilumitos

This wasn’t exactly where they had thought they’d be at the moment. It all started during the second day in the arena, they had the allies, they had the supplies, and they thought they had the advantage, but worry took over as they started losing sight of each other in a chase, and they tried to find the others, only to end up in a new part of the arena. It was dark, cold, and they had lost their supplies, and there was no food or water source nearby.

Neither of them was really to blame. It had been a long day, and the surroundings didn't inspire much hope. So, both of them had fallen asleep on some of the leaves that covered the ground. The cold air was still blowing around them.

But at least he wasn't alone, two sets of minds were better than one, at least he still had you.

The rising sun urged him to open his eyes, and he stretched out his arms, which had become stiff from the cold. It was only when he sat up and ran his hand through the hair that had fallen in your face that he noticed how cold you were. He quickly got up from behind you, pulling you into his lap, tilting your head up a little. Your skin was almost as white as snow, and your lips were starting to turn blue. The colour that once held so many fond memories of the ocean and the sky, now being replaced by fear and panic. He shook you lightly, trying to wake up as if you were just sleeping deeply. When you didn't react, he called out for you, his voice laced with concern.

“Y/n? Come on love, wake up.” But the only movement that came from you was your arm falling from where it was, the harsh thud to the ground reinforcing his fears.

“No, no come on. This isn't happening, wake up” Finnick had thought about this happening, how could he not when it was the basis for most of his nightmares? But he always woke up from those to find you resting in his arms, your soft breathing comforting him back to sleep. This time he didn't wake up, and he didn't hear your breathing to soothe him. He checked your pulse for a heartbeat, but all he could feel was his own heart racing in his chest. He looked around him as if there would be someone there to help, but you were alone.

He started CPR to try and quicken up your pulse, to get you to breathe again, and while he knew you probably couldn't hear him, he had to try.

“Do you remember when you came back from your first games, I really thought that had been the scariest moment of my life. When I survived my own, at least I knew you were alright at home. When you came back, I thought it was over, I wanted to see the positive side, but you seemed so weak, and having watched you, I knew how bad of a state you were in. It tore me apart to have to see it and not be able to do anything." His voice cracks a little, his head starting to swim with more thoughts.

"I won’t do this without you. You can't leave me now, not like this." He pushes a little harder on your chest while doing compression. He's sure if he does so anymore, he will crack one of your ribs.

"I imagined us getting married. I imagined proposing to you by the lake, that little spot you showed me, I know how happy you were in the middle of the field of dandelions. Every worry seemed to slip away from you, like a little hideaway from the horrors of the world. That's how you make me feel every time I'm with you. It's like there is no one in the whole world except us. And I know how cliche that sounds, I know you never liked cliches, but it's true, you are my world, and there is nothing I wouldn't do for you.”

Right as he was about to pour out more of his heart to you, he heard a noise coming from the distance. The steps were too heavy to be coming from a small animal, but his instincts also told him that whoever it was, they weren't there to help.

He knew he had two options. try and fight off whatever was coming while carrying the love of his life with him. Or keep you hidden, try and fight while distracting them away from you and coming back when the coast was clear. He tried his best to hide you underneath a blanket of leaves, making you disappear into the surroundings, he gave you a light kiss on the forehead, scared to get too close and feel how cold your skin still was. He heard the footsteps come closer.

“Just hold on a little longer darling, I’ll be back before you know it.”

And so he turned around, grabbing his trident a little harder than normal, and came face to face with one of the careers. Finnick's muscles were still sore from the night, but he was ready to run. He had to get away from here before the tribute started to wonder if he had been alone.

He ran towards a clearing, making the tribute follow behind him. He ran to a split in the path, which gave him two options, left or right. He heard rustling coming not far behind him, and his instincts told him to go right, so he did. He ran for a while until he reached a dead end, the line of trees becoming so dense he couldn't get through anymore. The tribute was still on his heels, and Finnick had to think fast again. He saw a body of water nearby and decided that diving in, despite the creatures that might be in it, and the chilling temperature it must be, would be better than certain death. He knew he would be able to outswim the career, it luckily being one of his strengths. He started to run towards it, and when he got to the edge, he jumped like his life depended on it, but it still wasn't his life he was worried about, it was yours.

Once he got to the other side of the water, he looked back, and the tribute was nowhere to be seen, probably having decided that the risk of the wild waters wasn't worth it. Finnick wasn't thinking about the relief of escape, all he was thinking about was how much time you had left.

It was by some sort of miracle he found Peeta, Johanna and the others on a small beach nearby, and he practically ran straight into them at full speed without even announcing himself. Once the others had realized it was Finnick, and he was not a danger to them, they calmed down, but the state of despair he was in did alarm them soon after

Peeta looked up at him, he was completely out of breath from how fast he had run.

“Sit down Finnick, try and catch your breath” He told him, while placing an assuring hand on his shoulder.

“There’s no time to sit down, I need to go back.” He spoke with such certainty it startled the others.

“Go back where?”

“ To the clearing, I don't know where it was, but I remember how to get there.”

“Why do you need to go back?” Johanna asked him, seeming confused.

“Because y/n is still there, and she doesn't have long”

The others didn't need to hear more, and started to pack up the things they had with them to follow him.

When they had made it back, Johanna was in front with Finnick, she wouldn't care to admit it out loud, but she was worried about you as well.

“Where?” She asked him

“Over by the cut-down stumps, next to the maple and the oak tree.” Finnick had memorized the entire area in order not to lose track of you, and with Johanna being from the lumber district, he knew this clue would be the most helpful to her.

“There’s no one here” she said, looking back at him frustrated.

“There has to be, she was right there when I left.”

“She might have been, but unless hypothermia comes with the power to turn invisible, she’s gone.”

“Well, she couldn't have left by herself” His mind was reeling with all the possibilities, each one more horrible than the last.

“Well then who took her, there are no drag marks, it wasn't any kind of mutt.”

“I don't know, maybe-” his eyes fell to the mud next to the fallen leaves, the ground here was in permafrost, it couldn't have come from here. When the tribute started chasing him he had already put distance between where you were and where he was going. They must have gone back after he went into the water to try and see if he had any supplies, and have found you. But your body wasn't here, that was a good thing, that means you must be alive, why else would they have taken you?

“They’re at the swamp”

“How are you so sure?”

“The career, he was alone when he chased me, he has to have set up camp somewhere with the others, it can't be far from here otherwise he wouldn't have carried her.”

“Alright, but we don't even know where that is, the swamp must be massive, they could be anywhere, we can’t just run in without a plan.” Johanna tried to reason, looking over to Finnick, only to realise he was no longer there.

“Where did he go?” Peeta asks her.

“Probably to the swamp, probably without a plan.” She sighed, she was annoyed, but couldn't say she was surprised, she knew he would do anything for you, including laying down his own life.

“How do we find him, we don't even know where the swamp is, y/n and Finnick were the only ones who crossed it.”

“You don't happen to have a map, do you?” Johanna asks, sarcasm heavy as usual.

While the others were trying to figure out where exactly Finnick had run off to, he himself ran into some trouble. He knew it was his fault for going in without a plan or any backup, but he had listened to his heart, not his head. His heart convinced him he had to find you, telling him that if he didn't find you and wake you up, he’d never be able to see your eyes looking back into his. His heart was telling him to go and save you, even though his head was telling him it was probably already too late anyway.

He wasn't paying close attention to his surroundings as he should have been, trying with all his might to find you. They had found him when he was distracted and from that moment on they kept trying to break him. He was tied with his back against a tree, most of his body covered in blood and a little dizzy from the loss of it.

“It’s very easy to figure out what makes you tick Odair” the district one tribute spoke to him. He couldn't see very far ahead of him, and he couldn't see you anywhere.

“What’s that supposed to mean” He was confused and angry. Confused about what they meant, why they hadn't killed him. Angry they kept him from finding you, from holding you.

“Don’t worry, you'll find out soon enough.”

And as if it was planned, right after the career had spoken, a loud, soul-cracking scream echoed around him. Finnick immediately recognized it, how could he ever forget? It couldn't be real, it had to be a trick, jabber-jays, something. But there wasn't a flock of birds around, and nothing would be able to replicate such a crushing sound. He tried closing his eyes, but when he did his imagination ran wild with images and scenarios, and it only made it worse. The only thing he could do to calm down was tell himself it wasn't real, even if he didn't believe it, repeating it like a mantra over and over.

“It isn't real, it isn't real, it isn't real.” It was nothing more than a whisper and most probably only a mumble of incoherent words.

“Oh but that's the best part Odair, it is real, and it's not gonna stop until you give us what we want. to know.”

“You’re lying” He spit out, barely able to say the next words without falling apart completely “I saw her die.” A single tear makes its way down his face as he tries to keep his composure, cracking now wouldn't do him or you any good.

“Are you willing to take that risk? She’s pretty feisty, I'll give you that, but if you don't crack soon and tell us where your friends are, she's not gonna make it.

He tried ignoring it, trying to listen to his head instead of his heart, but once again the attempt was futile. All he could hear was the screaming, even when he was sure it had actually stopped, the sound still lived in his head. It was hard to say which was worse, the deafening screams, or the silences in between.

He tried to think with his head, tried to think what you would say to him. It would probably be something along the lines of ‘don’t do anything stupid when I'm not there.’

It was far too late for that.

When the career returned, he had a smile on his face that seemed way too happy for the situation they were in.

“She’s strong, that girl of yours, that much is true. The question is for how much longer, everyone has a point of no return, and I have a feeling she’ll cross it soon, But you can make it stop, tell us where your friends are, and it’ll stop.” The tribute had bent down so he was face to face with him, and by the look in his eyes, he now knew for sure this wasn't a bluff.

Finnick didn't know where they were, they wouldn't have stayed at the beach where he found them or at the clearing where the two of you had slept for the night. And maybe it was for the best he didn't know, because right now if he was honest with himself, he would have told them anything he knew if they wanted it. He would do anything to get to hold you again, to feel the warmth of your body against his, to feel your lips pressed against his own. But the careers weren't stupid, he had no reason to believe they would actually let you go, and even if they did, he knew a part of you would never forgive him for what he would have done.

“This is a waste of time.” He screamed, silently hoping you were close enough and conscious enough to hear his voice, hoping it would be enough to tell you not to give up. He pulled at the ropes tying his hands together with all the strength he had left, knowing it would likely not achieve anything, but hoping for it nonetheless.

But it didn't make a difference, your screams didn't stop, and his heartache didn't stop. Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into hours, up until a point where Finnick couldn't tell how much time had passed. It was difficult to keep track of time when you kept blacking out, but it was peaceful in the most morbid way. He didn't sleep, he lost consciousness, so he didn't dream. When he blacked out he had a moment of peace, a moment where he didn't hear your screams echoing around in his head. But he would always wake up and have to face reality again.

He couldn't hear his heartbeat anymore, he couldn't hear his breathing or his thoughts, all he could hear was the screaming and the cries, even though he wasn't sure if they were there or if his mind kept playing tricks on him. He had always feared this, but he didn't think that his worst nightmares would actually come true.

He looked down and saw a puddle of his blood staining the ground and the leaves he was sitting on. The last thing he heard before he blacked out again was shouting coming from the distance.

When he wakes up he can't see much, his eyes heavy and his body tired. But he can feel his cheeks getting wet, it’s a heavy liquid and he guesses it's his blood until he opens his eyes far enough to see you kneeling in front of him, your hands cupping his cheeks to lift his face while you're silently crying, the tears creating a clear path down the grime on your face.

“y/n?” His voice barely reaches a whisper, but you look up into his eyes immediately.

“Finnick, oh god, please wake up we have to get out of here.” Your voice sounds strained, and Finnick isn't sure if it's because of all the screams that must have taken a toll on you, or if the sounds have damaged his ears, he hopes for your sake it's the latter.

“No we don’t” He says with a sense of peace that doesn't match up with the predicament you're in.

“What do you mean?” You ask him, while trying to remove some of the blood stains from his skin, but failing miserably.

“We’re in heaven, aren't we, that's why you're here, I was hoping I would see you.” A sob from your throat almost interrupts his whispering, and he looks up to you again.

“Why are you covered in so much blood” He reaches out to touch your face ever so gently, as if he's scared you're only a figment of his imagination, and you could disappear anytime.

“It’s nothing, I’m alright, I’m more worried about you, you look like you could open your very own blood bank with how much you’re losing.” Your voice is shaky, and it matches the tremble of your hands.

“No need to worry about that, You're here to bring me to heaven, we’ll be together again, it’ll all be perfect.”

“Finnick listen to me! I’m not here to take you to heaven, I’m real and I'm right here in front of you and I need you to stay awake!”

Only he’s not responding to you anymore, his eyes closed again.

“Goddamnit”

You tried to lift him off the ground, but almost fell over once you got him upright. You weren't in your strongest state, and Finnick not being in any conscious state wasn't helping, his whole body weight leaning on you. You put your arm around his shoulder and put the other around his middle, trying to keep him standing so you could move. But with your hands busy trying to keep Finnick upright, you had no way to defend yourself. All the commotion must have alerted other tributes, but you didn't know how many there were to begin with, or who even started the disturbance that allowed you to break free. You thanked whoever was listening that the two of you made it out of the swamp without running into further trouble, and entered an opening of trees that finally allowed bright sunlight to touch upon your skin. You can hear footsteps close by, and prepare for the worst.

“We need to get the two of you back to the others” A familiar voice enters your ears, and you didn't know you could ever be so grateful to find Beetee.

You make your way to a lake not far away. When you get there, you refuse to leave Finnick’s side when Beetee had insisted you needed tending to as well. It was like an unspoken rule. Whenever one of you was hurt, the other didn't leave their side until you were sure they were going to be okay. But you weren't sure, and you weren't leaving him. So you lay down next to him, and the others knew it was useless to try and separate you.

After some time had passed, Finnick started to softly grunt and woke you up with him. Your face contorted in a mix of anger and pain. You leapt up into his arms. It hurt him a little with how tight you were holding him, but he didn't dare let go. Still a little afraid it wasn't real. But he could feel your breathing against his neck, hear you crying in his ear, and hear your heart beating in your chest, in sync with his, you were here, and you were okay.

[macgyvermedical]

Home Nursing Advice Column: CPR

I've stopped numbering these because I've been getting the numbers wrong but hey, I got a suggestion for an overview of hands-only CPR:

CPR is a maneuver done when the heart isn't beating correctly enough to move blood around the body. In CPR, one pushes hard and fast in the center of the chest, which compresses the heart and artificially pushes some blood between the heart, lungs, and brain. This helps keep the brain in good condition while other things are done to make the heart beat normally again on it's own.

There are 2 main types of CPR. The first is traditional CPR, where the compressions are paired with 2 breaths every 30 compressions. This helps oxygenate the small amount of blood the compressions are moving, which helps lengthen the time the person's brain will survive until normal circulation is restored.

The second is "hands-only" CPR. This is a version of CPR that is easier and faster to teach (say, in an emergency), but which omits the rescue breaths. Hands-only CPR only works for adults and older teens, and it's a more temporary fix than traditional CPR. But it's better than nothing, and usually people are more comfortable jumping in to help if the know they won't need to give rescue breaths without a face shield.

How to do Hands-Only CPR:

First, check to make sure there are no threats to you and that the scene is safe for you and your potential patient.

Second, check the person to see if they are breathing. If they are not breathing and unresponsive (they don't respond when you tap them hard on the shoulder or shout at them), you don't have to check for a pulse, just get started.

Third, call 911 or local emergency number and put your phone on speaker. Tell them where you are and that you are starting CPR.

Fourth, lace your fingers together like this:

Fifth, place your hands in the center of the person's chest and your arms straight. Push hard and fast, about 100x per minute or about the same beat as "Stayin' Alive" by the Bee Gees. You want to let the chest recoil back to it's original position in between each compression.

Continue until help arrives, the scene becomes unsafe for you, or you become too exhausted to continue.

[unumthemerciful]

Death, Skateboards, and the Snake

Huh, forgot me and my sibling even wrote this little tale. Hope you enjoy! 🏳️‍🌈

“Damn,” The grim reaper said as they took a hit from my joint. “This stuff goes pretty hard.”

“I know,” I replied in a solemn voice while watching Sam, my boyfriend, frantically perform CPR on my dead body just a few feet away from where Death and I were sitting on the asphalt. “Got it from my plug Tommy awhile back.”

“Wait, Tommy Gutiérrez?” The reaper asked as they passed me back my joint.

“Yeah,” I answered as I watched Sam give my lifeless body mouth to mouth. “How’d you know that?”

“I actually reaped his uncle’s soul back in the eighties.” The human skeleton dressed in a black robe replied.

“Damn, small world man,” I said before taking a hit off my “ghost” joint. “Hey, how’s this thing work anyway? Did it have a soul too or what?”

Death makes a disgruntled noise, waving its hand.

“Don’t think about it too hard. Anyway, Charles,” Death said as they got up dusting off their robes with gangly white hands and looking down at me. “Are you ready to do this?”

Exhaling a trail of smoke that reminded me of a slithering snake, I answered, “Yeah, let’s do this.”

The night air is crisp, the stars few, and even though I was technically a “ghost”, the uphill walk to reach Mulholland Highway’s infamous stretch of road aka, “The Snake” still managed to get me winded somehow.

Once me and death finally make it all the way up the very tip of the snake’s tail, I turn to the robed figure standing at my side, and with my newly acquired phantom board in hand, I finally ask, “So, if I beat you, I get a second chance, right?”

“Sure kid,” The grim reaper replied with a condescending laugh before adding, “But if I win, which I certainly will, you have to tag along with me to the other side without any moaning or whining.”

“Fair enough.” I said and dropped my board on the asphalt while placing my left foot firmly on the grip surface.

Positioning the rest of my body, I look down at the slithering road ahead. I swallow nervously, still as afraid of the inky black stretch of pavement as I was in life. Turning my gaze over to the reaper, I watch attentively as they reach inside their robe and pull out a board of their own with a stylized skull on its deck. I roll my eyes. Typical. Dropping the board on the road, death readies itself as well.

“Remember,” Death says nonchalantly while gazing down at the road too. “First one to reach the snake’s head wins.”

“Whatever,” I coldly replied.

“Oh, before I forget,” The reaper said, turning to me. “You’ll need this to cross the river Styx when you lose.”

Reaching into their sleeves again, the reaper pulls out a quarter and tosses the shiny object my way. Catching it with my right hand, I study it and quickly notice the year on the coin.

“Nice, the year my old man died.”

“For luck,” The reaper replies with a chuckle.

“Thanks,” I said before throwing the quarter straight ahead of me with all my ghostly strength, and adding with a shout, “But screw you!”

Again, the reaper laughs before we ready ourselves one last time.

“Three,” The reaper starts the countdown.

“Two,” A random punk song enters my ghost brain.

“There!” We both launched ourselves down the snake’s body.

At first, the two of us are neck and neck in speed, I bite my lip as I try to pick up speed. But to my horror, things quickly change when the reaper squats down to their knees, and suddenly zig zags down the snake’s main body at impossible speed, before they’re out of my sight in the blink of an eye.

I lost… I think to myself, dread settling into me, but still… I can’t give up. Even without a single view of the reaper ahead of me, I can still hear their laughter within the brisk veil of night. Asshole.

Unbeknownst to both of us however a few feet ahead, while the grim reaper continues to cackle maniacally, the quarter bearing my old man’s year of death sits up straight and proud, having miraculously landed partially inside a tiny crack on the road. Suddenly all I hear is the condescending laughter cut short with a grunt, “OH SHI—"

Seconds later, I have to swerve wildly to dodge all the random pieces of bone flying at me from within the dark. Passing the reaper’s discarded robe and their unoccupied board still rolling down the road at a snail’s pace, the song playing inside my nonexistent brain ended as I finally reached the tip of the snake’s head. I had won. I had beaten death. Well, for now, at least…

“Te felicito mi hijo,” My old man’s voice said softly from behind me. “Estoy tan orgulloso de ti.”

As I turned around… I immediately wake up back in the world of the living.

“Charlie, Charlie!” My boyfriend cries as my hazy vision soon focuses on his teary eyes.

“Sup,” Was all I could come up with.

Unlike most deaths on this earth, this one ends with the kiss of life.

End.

[gaywiththesauce]

Wait one more thing oh my god I’m so sorry I was rereading your thoughts on my fic remembering Giyuu doing CPR on Sabito while I was writing I was like “wait his whole head got. Mega Smooshed. Why would he be doing CPR what is he stupid (yes)” but then. I pictured little Giyuu like dragging Sabito(‘s body) away from the battle and he isn’t an idiot he can tell he’s long dead but he just can’t accept it and tries and tries and tries and tries anyways bc he didn’t even GET to try with his sister so he has to try he has to and when he gets home to Urokodaki (alone) Urokodaki just takes one look at him sees all the blood on the sleeves of his little training robe thing and KNOWS because his eyes are so far away he’s just completely catatonic and doesn’t speak for like. Weeks probably.｡ﾟ(ﾟ´Д｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡

Anyways. IM ANIME ONLY I DONT EVEN KNOW IF THEY EVEN WENT THROUGH FINAL SELECTION TOGETHER AT ALL so this is all just bullshit but. I’m so sorry please ignore me I just had to put that out into the world so it wasn’t torturing my brain anymore ok bye again I’m so sorry

I KNOW I WAS LIKE "did he??? did he actually?!!??!??" and I'm anime only as well but like they have the same pattern so that's my excuse. I say they went through Final Selection and now Giyuu cries alone :) also THANK YOU for sending me this bullshit, one person's trash is another person's food and oh boy is this the Good Bullshit!

I'm inspired for the angst after my long day today sooo

(No graphic description of violence or gore.)

Giyuu knows that it was useless to try. It was completely useless. Urokodaki's technique was only for people whose heart stopped beating and their chests stilled with the lack of breath. It didn't work for people who were bleeding out. It didn't work for people missing body parts. It wouldn't work for Sabito.

But, he couldn't give up. Sabito never gave up, so he couldn't either. The sun dawned on them for the sixth day, meaning things should get better now. The sun was a good sign, wasn't it?

His little hands couldn't move faster than the rate of the song he hummed to himself through broken sobs. The song Urokodaki taught him for the correct rhythm of a beating heart. Sabito's heart didn't beat like that right now. Sabito's heart didn't beat at all.

He couldn't give up despite his rational mind screaming at him the truth. It was right in front of his eyes, so he closed them and counted in his head until he had to force air into Sabito's lungs. Gently, he did so, but gentle wasn't in Sabito's vocabulary. He doubted if it would even work for him if he had a chance to save him.

Soon enough, his hands- entwined like he practiced on straw dummies- wouldn't go as deep as he urged them too. He didn't know what else to do. This was his only chance to try, he would never get another after this. He had to do something. The sun moved positioned and he could barely breathe with his efforts. He slumped forward, struggling to keep his eyes open as he passed out from exhaustion.

It was midday when he awoke again. Flies circled around both of them. Giyuu only had one thought in his mind. Sabito's body would not be eaten. He didn't have any tools other than his sword, so he went to digging a small hole in the ground. It was almost sunset when he made it deep enough to keep him level with the ground.

The shallow grave was covered with loose dirt and leaves. Giyuu did his best, he really did, but it was quite obvious that something was hidden underneath. He kneeled down, said a short prayer for him to rest in peace and to keep his body hidden, and turned around to face the moon.

Revenge wasn't his to enact, but one day, someone would be strong enough to decapitate the hand demon...

[san-myshuno-er]

Paramedic: ... about 3 liters at the scene.

Dr. Eric Tanner: Okay. Curtain 4, let's go.

Jenna: Do you need a hand, Dr. Tanner?

Eric: Dr. Kaminski, what are you doing here? According to my schedule, you're not on right now.

Jenna: I was here anyways and thought I could help out, but if you don't need me, I'll-

Eric: No, no. With me, with me.

------

Dr. Manchin: Shawn, you're a smartass. You'd like to do this case yourself, wouldn't you?

Shawn: I could do it. Yeah. I feel strong. I feel ready. I could do it, yeah.

Dr. Manchin: You're just a third year resident, Shawn. You're years away from a case like this. Hyper down.

Quinn: Clear!

Mike: No changes, still v-fib.

Quinn: How long has it been?

Mike: 47 minutes. ... Hey, Buddy, are you sure you don't want to switch?

Brad: Positive. I want to see this through until the end.

Mike: You must be exhausted though.

Brad: I'm fine.

Quinn: When was the last epi?

Mike: 7 minutes ago.

Quinn: Alright, that's it.

Brad: Wait, there's still a chance!

Quinn: We've been shocking him for almost an hour. Even if we got him back somehow, his brain is fried. Hold CPR.

Quinn: Time of death: 11.27.

Mike: God, damnit. He didn't seem too bad when he came in.

Quinn: Yeah.

Mike: ... I'll go see what else is coming our way.

Quinn: You did good there, Brad.

Brad: I had hoped I could save my last patient.

Quinn: We did everything we could for him. We're not Gods, and he coded before we could even alert cardiology. It was... bad luck.

Brad: Does it ever get easier?

Quinn: Some. But not a lot. ... You'll be a good doctor, Brad. Don't feel defeated.

Brad: But not a good Emergency Doctor.

Quinn: You don't have to be... I'd be a lousy dermatologist. (smiles) Why don't you just go home? It's your last day, I handed in your evaluation last week, and I'm sure you have laundry to catch up on before you start your next rotation.

Brad: If you don't mind?

Quinn: I don't. You were a good student, you deserve it.

Brad: Is there nothing I can do for you before I go? Charts, labs?

Quinn: You could get me my crutch from the lounge, but other than that... no.

Brad: Alright, Ma'am. Thank you.

Previous | Beginning | Next

[wellntruly]

M*A*S*H - Season 8, misc. notes

Welcome to March M*A*S*H-ness, the season in which I finish M*A*S*H

Here are some reduced notes from S8, I hadn’t forgotten! No approach this time, just whatever made the cut.

Oh you know actually there is a theme it's thighs???

— — —

Start of this season gotta be the collective skinniest this cast has ever been, babes what was going on in 1979! Mike Farrell has always been a sapling, but Loretta Swit seems to have gotten even tinier this year, Alan Alda rushed into a frame partly undressed looking markedly thinner than the last time I saw him, and when Gary Burghoff comes back?! Positively a shadow of himself!

The other notable thing is that their doctors coats are now fully "blush." [Elliott Gould voice] It’s fine by me.

I appreciate that we simply all dislike Zale

The slipshod “Previously On”s they do for the two-parters finally worth it for the implication that Hawkeye hurting his finger is going to be just as emotionally impactful as anything else going on.

Sitting Awards. And in the pink shirt.

The company clerk job going from Radar to Klinger is like a reverse Henry Blake to Sherman Potter, huh. I confess to being a little stressed.

Ohhh okay okay, I can see it, oh boy okay I can see how we pull this off: Klinger CAN be a good clerk, he just has to be a totally different kind: a renegade little rascal. Radar is like a London cabbie with the Knowledge: knows the entire map of the war and every rule and person in it. Klinger can be an improv artist, a con artist, schemes upon schemes. Oho, I would like this! Ed. note: hey I was pretty much on the money!

Okay don’t make me cry….. ah too late

Hoooooooooooo all of Hawkeye’s boyfriends simply have to kiss Radar and tell him to pass it along, huh. WHAT a way to reference when Trapper left…. !

Hey gang we’re still crying! :(

The most impactful way they could do this bit with BJ’s toddler thinking Radar was her dad is if it isn’t commented on again, we just have this wordless moment where he’s so visibly stricken by the fact that his child doesn’t know who he is.

Ah never mind, it’s the whole episode.

Y’know, when drunk BJ smashed up the still and hit Hawkeye, I thought well this is a lot to deal with, but it’s him later sobbing to him, quote: “I’m so torn up with envy I almost hate him! And I feel the same way about Trapper, and I never even met him. But he built that still with you, and…” that had me staring wild-eyed, repeating a strangled “Pause pause pause pausepause” while my hands search blind & desperate for the remote to give me a fucking MOment---

Just, the DARK GALAXY BRAIN, M*A*S*H, to go hey, how about BJ got violent because he’s jealous of your ex

...God the absolute nuclear event this episode would have caused if it aired during the Internet….we all would have aged 10 years.

“Well what else am I good at? Being a malcontent? Silliness? Booze?” The three Graces.

“Colonel, you wanted to see us?” “Not really, but it’s the only way I can talk to you.” Hahaha, Potter like, I’ve seen enough.

Whoa! Transition alert! I don’t even know how to describe this, it was like an in-camera PowerPoint wipe? Jaunty!

BJ grabbing his hands to get him to stop doing CPR, and Hawkeye just letting him hold them while he gets his own breath back. See, and now you do this…and I just…..!

Ah, I know exactly what you mean, Father. Hawkeye would ‘make a fine priest’ in the sense that he could write a good sermon. And he could write a good sermon in the sense that Danny Boyle, M. Night Shyamalan, Martin Scorsese—they were all on their way to seminary school before veering off into filmmaking. Because: they liked the storytelling. They liked getting at meaning, at feeling, through words delivered a certain way. Commanding an audience, and trying to get them to understand. Who does this apply to most in camp?

Line delivery of the episode once again goes to David Ogden Stiers, for “What is your name?”

I want to be playing poker in the sunshine with Klinger, Hawkeye, BJ, and Margaret with her sleeves pushed up her shoulders.

The way Klinger comfortingly trilled a little “Brrrr” to freezing Hawkeye as he pulls a blanket around his shoulders has gone right to the cockles of my heart. You sweet weirdo I love you!

INCREDIBLY dynamic of them to take five minutes from us for the commercial break, I yelped

Oh, SOLID Potter impression, Jamie Farr!

I like whenever they make grim jokes about this being a “police action,” not a war. Can you believe we were doing this shit all the way back in the ‘50s…. Potter, in his lil lilting gravely grandpa voice: “Believe me, boys and girls: this is a war.”

Father Mulcahy’s sad war song: it moved this reporter

Big ups to Kellye teasing Hawkeye behind the bar at Rosie’s in the most gender way possible

“Hawkeye, you’re really cute, and probably a wonderful dancer—” thanks, Scully

What does PDQ mean, Potter

Hawkeye is spelling “theremin” in Scrabble

With Radar leaving, Charles has probably taken the mantle of funniest character on this show per minute. He kills me. <3 His silly presh baby chatter, then segueing into “I talked to everyone in camp, which, by the way is a first for me—”

To everyone else they’re Class A’s, to Pierce they’re “Sunday go-to-court-martial clothes”

Uuuugh the loosened ties and unbuttoned cuffs of an off-duty Class A….

Are they using the Officer’s Club a lot more this season, or is this just me

Image set idea: every group shot where Hawkeye is half horizontal on some surface half asleep

Loretta Swit wins first actor on this show to feel for an elevated temperature correctly: back of the hand

Sometimes I wanna get at Alan Alda with Glossier ‘Boy Brow’ and just see what happens. I mean by all rights this man should have eyebrows

Wait, it’s MAXWELL Klinger. Maxwell Q! Quentin? Quincy? Quinn??

I like night in the camp when everything is quiet

Kind of appreciate that by this point putting Captain Pierce in charge is just routine. It’s only the third time but Potter’s like, it’ll be the charm. And then he’s right, it’s entirely uneventful.

I know I’ve cried at the last two episodes in a row and yet already can’t remember much of them. Truly this season is so odd.

The return of Alan Alda’s actual dad, and the emergence of Loretta Swit’s BIG HAIR. A lot to take in in one episode.

Oh and naturally EVERYONE’S FREEZING, ALANNN

That was his bROTHER????!?! Other Alda????!!

I mean we really need to bring the drag back because so far Klinger’s whole experience as the new company clerk has been essentially “god forbid women do anything”

At least Sidney’s here :)

I’m already so into the COLD & DREAMS episode and we haven’t even hit the DREAMS

AH HERE ARE THE DREAMS

Oh Klinger that’s brilliant. Warm up the blood against the bodies it wants to be back in.

The sense of spatial arrangement and time and perspective all so mutable…it’s really, really good. Most cinematic dreams are fantastical but overall too sequential—this nails that “and now this is happening” quality.

The bit where as Father Mulcahy nods off this soldier's words become nonsense?? So neat and so effectively rendered!!! Huge commendations to this actor’s seamless transition, god I loved the sensation of watching this.

Ohhhh this is not what I though Hawkeye’s nightmare would be like, and ho-ly shit

Very rare that you actually see someone in the real life swallow convulsively—5 narrative fiction points to Alan. No you know what: 7

Smitten with her deep voice. I have as the kids say, a crush.

“This is BJ, the doctor that put you back together, and this is Hawkeye, who uh, seems to be falling apart.” She’s so clever and so fun, hell yeah Mike.

WAIT “LET ME SHOW YOU MY ETCHINGS” HAS BEEN A JOKE SINCE AT LEAST 1980?? What is this from!!!!! I thought my theatrical design friends made this up in 2009!! Update: WOW! We’ve just all been making this same inside joke no one knows the origin of for over 100 years!!

I know I’ve had two hot toddies but all I want is to spend the night with Margaret and Aggie and just talk into the night while lotioning our arms, maybe flirt a little, who knows

Charles: “Klinger, as the poets would say: [lowers three inches] hubba hubba.” This episode is the most fun I’ve had all season.

Huh. Oh huh. It’s Hawkeye’s comment about how the war threw Aggie and Scottie together and now they care about each other, that cracks it for BJ. Now he can pin his feelings on the war. You gave him an out—both a way to reframe it and a tool to end it. I half-think you knew what you were doing, too.

“Everyone knows the civilian M.D.s pack away the dineros.” Excuse me?? Is ‘De Niro’ a homonym for money?? Is his name Bobby Money???? Update: Spanish for an old Roman coin. Incredible.

Just started chanting “Math! Math! Math!” through a mouthful of cake. Okay, average of 7 bowel resections a week, for 546 total = 78 weeks. Hawkeye has been there 1 and a half years. In Season 5, it was already 2 years. This has been: the Jeremy Bearimy Corner.

Potter: “Pierce, you’re like an unbroken colt, and all I can do is give you reign until you wear yourself out.” Help that’s astute.

Okay I still need to figure out what PDQ means, Sherm….. Oh hey it means “as quickly as possible,” but why...? PRETTY DAMNED QUICK ! Fuck this is going in my vocab immediately.

BJ grinning to himself at learning Hawkeye has squirreled a Jeep away somewhere as part of his “payment,” and receiving a warm conspiratorial grin in return, then later slyly stealing another Jeep for him—this is what I love.

Aaah yay they’re doing it again! Charles was eventually proven to be wrong and immediately starts apologizing and complimenting them and shaking their hands. This is very consistent!

Whaaaat we never shoot the tent from this angle??

Whaaahahahahaat is THIS ANGLE ALSO

Get your camera out from between his legs, this man is a father!!

Oh and in closing, the numbers on this season: - 3 episodes written & directed by Alan Alda - 2 episodes where they’re all so cold - Venn diagram is a completely contained circle

In the third one he wrote & directed Hawkeye still ends up under a blanket being doused in ice, and another he just directed someone else's script—and put everyone in jackets and turtlenecks. I still don’t know what this means, but by god it sure is important. To me.

— — —

Season Viewguides

These

[philipjohnclapp]

Out of Control

Featuring Johnny Knoxville as Clay Barber, mentions of death, alcohol, and Reboot spoilers.

Word Count: 792

A/N: Okay, this is a rough topic, but I really wanted to write some Clay. It’s sad, but what do you except. Could always right a sequel of this fanfiction if you’d all like.

It was just one drink, he told himself. Though one turned into two, two turned into three, three turned into four, and after a while he wasn’t sure how many drinks he ended up drinking. Enough that he was on the floors of a shitty bar bathroom, on his knees swaying in front of the toilet. It was just one drink, he told himself. It was just supposed to be one drink. 30 days of sobriety down the drain, or was it 31? He couldn’t remember now that his brain was filled with a dull buzz. His thoughts all jumbled up like a game of scramble.

He was freezing as he hurled over the toilet, though the bar was as warm as it could be. His skin caked in layers of sweat, he felt dirty, and cold to the bone. He didn’t know how he even ended up here in front of a toilet, the seat had cracks in it. Graffiti littering the walls, and a tied up condom laid next to the toilet from someone else’s endeavors.

Tilting his head forward as he felt bile come up from his throat. Soon flooding his mouth as his hands instinctively shot forward and grasped onto the edges of the seat. Finding himself gagging on the stale beer mixed with stomach acid in his mouth. And as he coughed it up he fell forward, head banging against the front of the seat, and the vomit that came from his mouth getting all over himself and the floor. His knees buckled, somewhere along the lines he ended up in some makeshift feedle position in a pile of his own puke. Which was practically a rainbow of colours in itself.

As he laid there in his pile of filth he trembled. Head pressed against the grainy tile floor, all he heard was his own heartbeat. Though, very much could be the loud music beats bouncing off the floor into his ear drum. Thump. Thump. Thump. The more he listened the more nausea ran over him, his body filled with tremors, and as the bile raised up his throat once again he couldn’t find himself able to pull himself back up and off the ground.

The feedle position he once was laying in became another. His eyes staring up at the ceiling, arms spread out like some starfish position. Limbs too heavy to lift up, and his legs bound to the ground. As he laid there, the puke that soon filled his mouth. Clay suddenly realized one thing and one thing alone. It was the fact he couldn’t open his mouth, and the more he thought about it the more stuff he started to realize, he couldn’t feel his fingers, his toes, or anything. It was like he was paralyzed.

The main thing though was he couldn’t breath. The throw up in his mouth wouldn’t go down or come out, and within an instant he was choking. His lungs stung as he tried to grasp onto just even a small breath of air, and none would come to him. Tears sprung from his eyes. All he could do now as he plummeted down a rabbit hole was think about what everyone might say. He needed to be at the set tomorrow, and Bree? She’d be so disappointed in him, but why should he care? He didn’t know, but it didn’t matter because his head was getting all fuzzy and he couldn’t think coherent thoughts. All it was filled with was his struggle to breath; and rapid heart rate. The more he struggled the more it burned, and the more he struggled the heavier his eyelids seemed to feel.

He could only choke for so long, like clockwork. After so long of choking on his own bodily fluids, his body seized, and his eyes drew shut. His rapid heart rate slowed down, and as he went out like a light he heard something, a door opening, someone frantic cause he forgot to lock the stall. By the time they got to him though, he was out

The hands that soon were shaking at him. Prodding at his chest, trying to get him back up. The attempts of cpr, the substances that came from his mouth finally, but he was out. The thumps of his desperate alcoholic heart dialed down. Until there were none, just a very sick sight. A dead Clay Barber in the presence of god knows who. Trying to get him back up, someone else in the corner of the bathroom called 911, while the other person continued at some cpr. He wasn’t able to stay sober, leaving the world behind.

With just the wonder alone of what everyone would think of him, as expected, hm?

[pumpkin-spice-whump]

Panic Attack

CWs: bbu, facility whump, shock collar, panic attack, anxiety, environmental whump (? i guess. he's cold), withholding food

Masterlist

-----------------------------------

“W-wait Handler Wiley, wait--” 847481 yelped in pain and arched his back as shocks rolled through him again. When they stopped he went limp, pressing his forehead to the cold floor and gasping around his heavy tears.

“You have another minute to compose yourself,” Handler Wiley said calmly. “Unless, of course, you don’t want to eat today.”

“No, I do, I do, please I -- I want to eat.”

“Hmm. 48 seconds.”

Training had been going well that morning. ‘481 knew all his positions and got through every test Handler Wiley tried to throw at him. He passed the virtual CPR tests where he had to prove he could stay calm, even if a child entrusted to his care was severely injured and bleeding. His hands shook a little when the virtual three year old lost consciousness due to blood loss, but he still managed to go through the motions until the simulation ended.

Handler Wiley had taken him back to his room to take a nap before meal time, as a reward for doing so well the past few days. ‘481 hoped that he’d have the shock collar taken off soon.

He’d done everything right. He was even a little proud of himself for keeping calm. He’d felt totally fine.

And then he didn’t.

His heart rate had picked up all of a sudden, pounding so hard it hurt his chest. He’d tried the breathing exercises Handler Wiley taught him but the more he concentrated, the faster and shallower his breathing got. Awful, grating panic started to eat him alive and he couldn’t remember how to make it stop. Tears stung his eyes and spilled over, animalistic whining starting in the back of his throat. He’d squeezed his eyes shut and bit his fist, trying his hardest to make it all stop but he just couldn’t. His mind was all jumbled up, every thought a terrified buzzing echoing in his ears.

That was when Handler Wiley had started to shock him.

He didn’t like the 'tantrums’ ‘481 had every so often. He was too old for them and needed to learn how to get a hold of himself. It was pathetic.

847481 smacked his head into the ground, losing control of his body as another shock hit him. A strangled cry ripped from his throat, the hot feeling consuming his chest getting even worse. Sweat ran down his skin despite the constant shivering.

“Meal time starts in about eight minutes, ‘481. Can you stop your crying within eight minutes, or are you going to wait until tomorrow to eat?”

‘481 sobbed, pushing himself up to rest against the wall. He looked up at his handler with tear filled eyes, trying his best to show how desperate he was. “P-p-please Han-handler. Please huh-help me.” The hot feeling grew heavier on his chest, pushing all the air from his lungs. Is this what it feels like to die? ‘481 wondered. Am I going to die in here? A new wave of panic overcame him and he cut off a wail that had forced its way from his throat. “Please help me!” he cried.

Handler Wiley didn’t move a muscle. “No. You need to learn to control yourself. If you do this with your prospectives, you’ll be sent right back here to be refurbished. Do you really want that ‘481?”

‘481 frantically shook his head. He’d heard of what refurbs went through, and he did not want that to be him. He didn’t want to go on the Drip again and have the serums used on him and have everything re-hammered into his brain and meet the director--

Another shock ran through his body. ‘481 squeezed his hands into fists, skin breaking beneath his fingernails as it passed. His lungs froze up for a moment, and he took a deep breath in when they unfroze.

He had to get himself under control. What did Handler Wiley always tell himself to do? He had to think of something to stop it, but what was it? What was it what was it what was it what was the thing to make it all go away?? Handler Wiley lazily pointed the remote at him again, ready to send another shock to the dreaded collar.

‘481 sucked in the deepest breath he could and held it. His lungs immediately burned, mind screaming at him to get more oxygen. He stared at Handler Wiley with his eyebrows darn together, corners of his mouth turned down. His chest jerked instinctually for air, but he kept his jaw locked tight.

Handler Wiley lowered the remote. “What are you doing?” He knelt next to the trainee, taking his chin in his hands. “Knock it off, ‘481. Breathe.”

Somehow, he felt his heartbeat begin to slow. His chest hurt even more, his body wanting him to breathe more than ever, but he refused, continuing to stare down his handler.

Handler Wiley shook his shoulders. “Breathe. Now 847481!” He slapped him. “Stop it!”

‘481 suffered through Handler Wiley’s manhandling of him right up until black spots danced in front of his vision, and then let it all out, gasping for air. He fell back against the wall and closed his eyes, slowing his breathing. His eyes flew open at the harsh slap that snapped his neck to the side.

"You do not disobey me trainee!” he yelled, hitting him again.

He uselessly held his hands up in defense, head ducked. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I can be good!”

His handler stood again, toying with the remote and watching him. He checked his watch. “You'll have to prove it to me. For now though, no nap and no food. You don't get to disobey me like that.”

Tears pricked ‘481's eyes. "Handler--" he cut himself off and ducked his head as Handler Wiley held up the remote threateningly. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Handler Wiley took out his phone and swiped lazily at the screen before placing it back in his pocket and glaring at '481. "If you were really sorry then you would change how you act." He opened the door. "Have a good rest of your night, trainee."

'481 didn't even get one sob out before the vents turned on, blasting freezing air on him from every direction. His already aching body tensed up, curling into a ball like that would stop the attack. It wasn't long before he couldn't even move his fingers, his ears throbbing in pain from the cold. He was shocked his tears weren't freezing on his cheeks.

It would have to stop eventually right? They wouldn't actually let him die there... right?

Right. The vents eventually closed, letting '481 relax slightly, thinking the punishment was over.

And then the alarms started to blare.

-----------------------------------

Taglist: @mylifeisonthebookshelf @boxboysandotherwhump @hold-him-down @winedark-whump

[eliemo]

Permafrost: Chapter 2

Summary: After Virgil agrees to follow Roman into the Imagination, a shift in the weather and an unfortunate misstep sends Virgil plummeting into uncharted waters. If only it didn’t take a matter of life or death and a race against time to realize the Prince might not hate him after all.

TW: Drowning, effects of severe cold, steps of CPR 

Notes: Romantic Prinxiety (pre relationship) I tried to make the effects in this chapter as realistic as possible but if some things are inaccurate no they aren’t

Permafrost taglist: @im-an-anxious-wreck @snowyfires @the-sympathetic-villain @my-life-is-an-artistic-mess @itsjust-la-me @ray-does-stuff @brokaw22 @johnlaurensintheplacetobe @teamplutoforlife @myrandomfandoms12 @riverdoesbadart

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Roman knew his role, and he played it well. He was the hero, charging into battle and adventures without a second thought, smiling in the face of bloodthirsty beasts with his sword at his side. Princes weren’t cowards. 

But when Virgil lost his grip and went under, Roman had never been so scared in his entire life. 

“Virgil!” 

He’d been so close, finally dropping to his knees on the unsteady ice and desperately reaching out, fingers just brushing freezing cold skin when the current took advantage of Virgil’s rapidly waning strength and pulled him under. 

Roman’s own scream, hollow and empty and terrified, echoed right back at him, thrown in his face to remind him that he’d been too slow- 

He pushed his own thoughts aside (he could blame himself later. God why hadn’t he been faster?) and plunged his arm into the water until he was shoulder deep, hissing against the sudden sting of the cold. 

But Roman didn’t have the place to complain, not when Virgil had just been completely submerged right in front of him. 

It had all happened so fast, Roman reaching into the violent river less than a second after Virgil disappeared, so maybe- maybe there was still enough time. Please please please let him be fast enough-

His fingers found something soft and solid, just barely managing to grab onto what he was almost positive was Virgil’s hoodie (please please let it be Virgil’s hoodie) before it was swept away completely. 

He was almost yanked into the water himself by the force of the current, the river fighting relentlessly to pry Virgil away, and Roman felt a sudden rush of irrational anger. 

He wasn’t sure where it came from, something defiant and protective that wrapped around his chest- something that went deeper than his desire to be someone’s hero. Because he was Creativity, and this was his realm. It didn’t get to take anything from him. 

It didn’t get to take Virgil. 

Roman reared back, mind almost blank as he fought against the water and pulled Virgil back towards the surface, heart skipping a beat when he finally caught a glimpse of purple hair floating in the freezing water. 

He hadn’t lost him. He was ok, he would be ok, Roman would make sure of it. Virgil was not going to die because Roman had been a little too eager to spend time with the recently accepted side. 

He moved closer to the edge, forcing himself to ignore the way the already unstable ice creaked dangerously, letting out a sky breath when he was able to get two hands hooked under Virgil's shoulders.

It was only then, pulling against the weight of the water trying to drag them both down, that he realized Virgil wasn’t fighting back. He was perfectly still, no more kicking or struggling as the current kept him under. 

No. No no no. He wasn’t too late. He wasn’t too late. Virgil would be fine. 

Roman honestly wasn’t sure how he managed to gain the upper hand in his fight with the current. It was strength he doubted he could have harnessed under any other circumstance, a sudden rush of adrenaline he imagined Thomas got from Virgil sometimes right before rushing on stage and pouring his heart out in front of an audience. 

Maybe it was the last of Virgil’s strength bleeding into Roman’s determination, a last desperate attempt to help save his own life. The two of them had always been a good team, even if they hadn’t realized it sooner. 

Virgil finally broke the surface, Romans’s arms wrapped firmly around his chest as he dragged him onto the ice, terrified he would lose his grip and let Virgil slip through his hands when they were so close to being safe. 

There was no gasp for air, no coughing or sputtering as he choked and spat out water. Virgil was out of the river, but he was still unmoving and silent, lips and fingertips tinged an alarming shade of blue. 

But that was ok. It was ok! (It wasn’t ok- it was the farthest thing from ok.) The ice creaked again, shifting a bit under the added weight, and Roman forced himself to move before he got them both killed. 

“You’re ok,” Roman said, despite Virgil remaining limp and unresponsive as he carefully scooped the anxious side up off the ground. He had to do something to fill the suffocating silence. “You’re ok, you’re fine. I’ve got you. You’re ok.” 

The ice was definitely unsteady as Roman brought them back to the surrounding snow, but it thankfully didn’t crack or give way any further. Apparently Virgil had managed to find the most unstable chunk in what could easily be the deepest part of the lake.

And Roman had kept walking. Roman had teased and waved off his panic. And then when he realized what had happened, when he’d heard the genuine terror in Virgil’s voice, it had already been too late. He’d been too far away.

But Virgil was in his arms now. Virgil was...he was limp against Roman’s chest, river water leaking from his mouth, and he wasn’t breathing. He wasn’t breathing. 

He pushed down his panic, even as his head spun and his hands shook from more than just the cold, carefully setting Virgil down in the snow against the nearest tree trunk, the bare twisted branches offering a bit of shelter from the snowfall. 

Virgil was horribly pale, even more than usual, and Roman hated how he blended in with the ground, everything a startling shade of white save for the heavy tint of blue his lips had gained. 

Roman reached forward with shaking hands, holding his breath as he pressed two fingers against the ice cold skin below Virgil’s jaw, searching frantically for a pulse while his eyes welled up with tears. 

There was nothing there. There was nothing, Virgil didn’t have a pulse, and Roman wanted to sob. “Hang on,” he whispered to no one, because he wasn’t sure what to say when his friend looked like a corpse. “Just hang on, Virge.” 

Before he could stare too long and spiral into worry, because Virgil’s face should never look so lifeless, Roman squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to try and recall what Logan taught them to do in a situation like this. 

It had been years ago, and Roman had decided the lesson was boring, unnecessary, and not worth his attention. And of course, now it was a matter of life and death, and he was struggling to remember a word Logan had said. 

It had been Virgil’s idea for Logan to teach them all how to perform CPR. “You never know what could happen. It’s just better to be prepared.” He’d insisted.

Back then, Roman had chalked it up to Anxiety just trying to ruin their fun and keep everyone paranoid for his own twisted amusement. He really made himself sick sometimes. 

 If Virgil was awake right now, he would be rolling his eyes and teasing him for being such a stubborn idiot. Virgil had always just been trying to help. To keep them all safe. And Roman had always responded with suspicion and hostility. 

But he wasn’t awake, and if Roman didn’t remember this stupid lecture Logan had given, he might never wake up again. 

Roman racked his brain as hard as he could, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought to picture Logan’s voice. After pulling someone from the water you have to…you have to move them…on their back! 

Roman rushed to move Virgil so he was laying down, working quickly yet handling the anxious side as if he were made of glass. He slowly and carefully placed him flat on his back, making sure he didn’t hit his head on the ground. 

Ok, first step finished. Roman closed his eyes again as he reached into his memory for what to do next. He had to put his hands- no, his palms- on Virgil’s stomach. His stomach? No, it was...it was...his chest? His chest! 

Roman wished more than anything Virgil was over his shoulder, gently poking fun at the Prince’s scrambled thoughts. 

But he wasn’t, and Roman unzipped the soaking wet hoodie to place his hands on Virgil’s chest, one hand crossed over the other, mirroring the way he remembered Logan had positioned his own hands on the practice dummy he’d made Roman conjure.

Now, all he had to do was push down to the beat of ‘Stayin’ Alive’, just like The Office taught him, and then move to tilt Virgil’s head back, pinch his nose closed, and breathe for him until the anxious side’s chest could rise on its own. 

Roman wasted no time starting the motions. He hummed the tune under his breath to keep the rhythm, quickly deciding that once this was over he would never be able to hear that song again. 

But that didn’t matter right now. Right now he just needed Virgil to breathe. 

But...but he wasn’t. Roman lost track of how many times he pressed down on Virgil’s chest, how many times he repeated that song over and over in his head, the compressions getting a little bit more desperate every time.

 He lost count of how many times he leaned over his friend to send a breath rattling down his throat, trembling and lightheaded as he touched Virgil’s frigid skin, only able to silently hope his lungs would get the message and bring him back. 

“Come on, Virgil,” he found himself pleading, vision obscured by gathering tears. “Come on, wake up! You can do it, I know you can do it. Just come back, ok? You’re gonna be ok, just breathe! Please, Virgil please. We...I can’t lose you! You have to wake up!” 

Was he doing something wrong? Had he just been too late? Too slow? Too stupid? If it was anyone else, Vigil would have already been awake by now, conscious and breathing. 

...If it were anyone else, Virgil wouldn’t have fallen in the lake at all. Virgil wouldn’t even be here. He’d be warm and safe in someone else’s arms and Roman wouldn’t be kneeling in the snow, begging him to open his eyes.

He needed Virgil to wake up. He needed him. It had taken him so long to see it, pushing it down and covering it up with insults and nicknames and denial, but now...now Roman didn’t think he could handle losing Virgil. 

He couldn’t lose Virgil’s voice, his smile, the way the whole world seemed brighter when Roman got the anxious side to laugh. Virgil was kind and sharp and funny, and he cared so much. He was...he was perfect, and Roman--

Virgil suddenly jolted under his hands, making a horrible sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a cough, eyes flying open in panic as he fought and struggled for air he couldn’t get. 

Roman’s cry of relief came out as something closer to a sob, but he couldn’t find it in him to care, scrambling off of Virgil and not bothering to wipe the tears from his face.

 Prince thankfully had the sense to turn Virgil on his side to keep him from choking, wincing at the string of wet coughs and hacking coming from the soaked figure in the snow. 

It sounded horrible, Virgil’s breaths coming in strangled wheezes as he coughed and spewed up what looked like half the river, but right now it was the most beautiful noise Roman had ever heard. 

He couldn’t imagine how much pain the other side was in right now, every breath an agonized and confused fight for air, but it at least meant Virgil was alive. 

“You’re ok,” Roman said, voice still unsteady and raw from crying. “Hey, you’re ok, you’re alright. Just let it out, you’re doing great.” 

Virgil was obviously too busy throwing up water to respond, and Roman suddenly had no idea what he was supposed to do. 

“I’m here,” he offered, tentatively scooting closer, terrified he would just make everything worse. “You’re ok, Virgil. It’s ok.” 

He carefully placed a hand on Virgil’s back, rubbing small circles in between his shoulder blades. The hoodie was just as soaked as the rest of him, heavy and cold and probably clinging to his skin. It was impossible not to notice how hard Virgil was shaking, teeth chattering so much Roman could hear it over the wind. 

Gosh, Virgil must be freezing. 

“R- Ro...R-Roman.” He coughed again, and Roman wrapped an arm around him to keep Virgil from falling flat on his face. “R-Roman--”

“Shh, I’ve got you.” He pulled Virgil back to lean against his chest, frowning at how the hoodie still dripped with icy water. “I’m gonna help you, ok? We’re gonna get you warmed up.” 

Roman moved to take the lapels of the hoodie, gently trying to slide it off the shivering side, tearing up again when Virgil made a noise of protest, scared and small. He tried to cling onto the garment, but his hands were too unsteady to get a good grip. 

“I know,” Roman said. “But the hoodie’s soaked, Virge. It’s just making things worse, I need to get it off.” 

Either Virgil understood and stopped fighting, or he didn’t have the strength to struggle anymore, but he dropped his arms and leaned even more into the Prince’s side. He just hoped Virgil recognized Roman was trying to help. 

The hoodie wasn’t easy to get off, the cloth clinging to Virgil’s bare arms, the anxious side whimpering when the wind hit his skin. “P-please, please d-don’t...Roman--” 

“I know.” God, Virgil was barely able to get his words out through his own chattering teeth. “I know it’s cold, but just hang in there. Please.” 

Roman wasted no time once the hoodie was off. He quickly laid it out beside them on the snow, hoping the wind would at least do something to dry it off, and repositioned himself slightly, one hand still wrapped carefully around Virgil’s chest. 

He detached his red sash first, tossing it carelessly into the snow and vowing not to leave it, or the hoodie, behind. It took a few seconds, Virgil still leaned heavily up against him, but Roman managed to shrug off his white jacket, shuddering when that left him in just a black t-shirt. 

It was freezing, the ruthless wind like a flurry of knives against his skin, but Roman forced himself to grit his teeth and ignore it. If he was cold, he couldn’t imagine how it must feel to be soaking wet. 

And Virgil was probably aching and bruised from the compressions…

“Here,” Roman said, heart dropping at the fear and confusion in Virgil’s cloudy eyes. “Put this on, alright? You’re gonna be ok.” 

Virgil made another quiet, indecipherable noise but didn’t protest when Roman draped the jacket over his shoulders, and the prince was able to help guide his hands through the slightly too big sleeves. 

Any other time, under any other circumstances, Roman imagined seeing the anxious side wearing the prince’s jacket would be something that would leave them both smiling like idiots, Roman left trying in vain to hide his rising blush. 

Now, it was just a desperate act to keep Virgil alive. 

Roman wrapped his arms around him and pulled Virgil close to his chest, desperate to offer as much warmth as he could, the shivering from the other side still beyond alarming. At least his lips and fingertips no longer held that terrifying shade of blue. 

He shut his eyes for a moment, dropping his forehead to rest against Virgil’s soaking wet hair, trying to figure out what on earth he was supposed to do. They needed to move, to get Virgil back home safe as soon as possible, but it was still another forty minutes or so to the Imagination door.

He never should have brought Virgil so far out, not with how unpredictable his realm could be. Roman had just...wanted an excuse to spend more time with the anxious side. 

He’d wanted Virgil to see him be the hero. For once, he’d wanted to be the hero in Virgil’s eyes, not just Thomas’s. He’d been so stupid. 

They couldn’t stay here, not while the snow continued to fall and the wind showed no sign of stopping. 

He’d carry Virgil the entire way if he had to, he knew that for sure. But the longer the storm kept up, the temperature slowly but surely dropping further, the more it was looking like he’d have to. They couldn’t afford to move slowly. 

He didn’t know what he’d been silently hoping for. Maybe for the weather to become warm again, or for Virgil to magically get better, to sit up with his skin back to its normal paleness and make a snarky comment about Roman worrying too much.

“Jeez, are you trying to steal my job, Princey?” he’d ask, smirking when Roman sputtered and blushed under the accusation. God, he’d give anything to have Virgil back to normal. 

But the sky wasn't clear, Virgil’s declining health only seemed to be getting worse, and Roman knew that the longer he waited, the worse it would only get. 

“Hey, we need to keep moving,” Roman said, hoping Virgil could understand him. “You still with me? I’m gonna pick you up, alright?” 

He felt Virgil cough again, still a broken rattling sound that sent dread clawing up Roman’s throat, and he watched the anxious side reach up to grab at the material of the jacket wrapped around him. 

“M’ here,” he said, and he was clearly trying so hard to speak clearly. “I- I can...I c-can walk.” 

“Let me help you,” Roman insisted, even as his heart swelled with pride. He wondered if Virgil recognized his own bravery. “We’ll be home soon.” 

He carefully maneuvered one of Virgil’s arms over his shoulder and counted to three under his breath before slowly lifting the anxious side off the ground. 

He froze immediately when Virgil let out a strangled gasp, broken up immediately by ragged coughs, his shivering body going tense as his free hand flew to his stomach, trying to wrap his arm around himself. 

“F-fuck,” Virgil hissed when he had his breath back, and Roman eased them both back into the snow when his knees started to buckle. “Ow, ow, ow, what...Ro-Roman--” 

“I’m here,” Roman said. “I’m right here, Virgil. What hurts?” 

“R-r-ribs, and- and I...I don’t...what’re we--?” 

“Shoot, uh...I think I did that.” Oh god, he’d hurt Virgil. He’d really messed up everything today, hadn’t he? “I had to give you CPR.” 

“You...I- I don’t- why?” 

“You fell in the river,” Roman explained, trying not to panic at Virgil’s sudden memory loss. That was normal, right? He was just a little confused, no reason to freak out yet. “Remember? I think the cold really got to you and- and I’m...I’m really sorry. God, I’m so sorry Virgil. I tried to get to you but--”

“Y-you-” Another cough, just as terrifying as all the others. “-you pulled m-me up?” 

Roman frowned, hating the bewildered confusion in Virgil’s voice. “I did. Of course I did. But you...you weren’t breathing and I couldn’t find a pulse and I...I thought you were...I thought--” 

“Well I- I’m f-fine,” Virgil rasped, dangerously pale and shivering and the farthest thing from fine. “Y-you...you really are my hero huh, P-Princey?” 

It was like something curled around Roman’s chest, squeezing at his heart so suddenly he felt a little lightheaded. Virgil’s hero. He wanted so badly to believe that. 

But he couldn’t- not when Virgil was trembling in his arms and struggling to form a single sentence. 

“I’m getting you home,” Roman vowed, holding the anxious side just a little bit tighter. “I promise you that. Just...let me carry you. Please.” 

Virgil slumped, his shaky grip growing almost desperate- despite still being painfully weak- but he nodded against Roman’s chest. “It’s...it’ s-so cold.” 

Roman didn’t know how much time had passed since he had put his own jacket on Virgil, but while it hadn’t seemed to do much to improve Virgil’s condition, the lack of protection was definitely getting to Roman.

He found he didn’t mind though, not when Virgil was awake and breathing, aware enough to talk just a little. But he knew it was only a matter of time until their luck ran out.  

Roman carefully repositioned the anxious side still curled in his arms so he could better hold him in a bridal carry, shushing him gently when Virgil made a pained sound as the Prince stood, stumbling slightly in the thick snow. 

“I know,” Roman said, barely audible over the howling wind. “Just hang in there, Stormcloud. We’ll be home before you know it. We’re so close, Virgil.”  

He started forward again, hoping Virgil wasn’t aware enough to catch on to Roman’s own rising anxiety. 

[team-heavenly]

Chapter 18 - Part 3

So far we’ve:

Prepared to storm the Affluent Yurt

Actually stormed the Affluent Yurt (and got mugged (again))

Found Team Water Meanies absolutely wrecked

Oh boy, I wonder what’s waiting for us next!

(Bad screenshots. The answer is bad screenshots. I apologize in advance.)

(Woaah did Tropius drink some glow juice in this one?)

Why did I leave this untouched instead of doing one of my silly little edits, you may ask?

Well for one, I unfortunately couldn’t find good art of Tropius in this position (with his head tilted up)

And two... this shot of Chatot is so good that it still haunts me to this day.

Alright c’mon, who are our scary and “extremely vicious” Pokémon assailants?

...ANDREA CAME FROM A GANG OF BANDITS?!?

😱The Ultimate Plot Twist!!

Also, Whismur is... surprisingly effective as a gang leader? He may be smol, but he screams loud enough to make your ears bleed :)

(Warning: white glare ahead. This one was unavoidable.)

This moment.

🥺️ THIS MOMENT...!!

Now, I don’t know if I just got exceptionally lucky with Team Heavenly’s moveset or what... but the vast majority of these boss battles have felt like jokes. I can’t recall a single one that gave me substantial trouble - and certainly not one that required a reset.

Seel went down in one Seed Flare, and I would have snagged a two-for-one deal if the move didn’t miss one. Whismur only needed two Blizzards and two Chatters. It was almost too easy.

And there they go!

We run to check on Tropius (I guess he got body checked 20 yards away in the fight idk) and as you can imagine, he is Not Doing Well.

Neither Teresa nor Andrea have the credentials to do CPR... er, more so, the hands. So imagine their relief when they hear someone coming to Tropius’s aide.

OH HI SON!

Wait, y’all remember that he’s actually a good guy, right? Though I can’t really blame them, since Gulpin’s twisted story is basically hardwired into their brains by now.

(And I bet I get to sift through that entire explanation for the next chapter!! Aha, kill me.)

Bro I get it, but I think your pride is the last thing you should be concerned about rn.

...Uh. “That’s not true”?

My... invaluable partner... Now where have I heard that before...?

🙊 Guildmaster Totodile is the hero from Red/Blue Rescue Team confirmed??

The clock is ticking, click here to get to Part 4.

[kk095]

Alyssa in Trauma

*hey everyone! I wanted to try writing a story with original, recurring characters with more of a 1st person perspective. Let me know what you think! Enjoy!*

It was a slow weeknight in our small community ER. It was just me, the head veteran nurse Nancy, nurse Ashley, nurse heather, and Dr Lindsay. The 5 of us were doing our part holding down the ER that night. We had a few minor cases- a kid who sprained his ankle skateboarding, back pain in exam room 2, and one of our frequent fliers in exam room 3 for who knows what this time.

A little after 8pm, the nurses station gets a call from dispatch. I can see Nancy nodding and responding to the voice on the other end of the phone, but I couldn’t initially make out what was being said. After the brief call, Nancy looked at me and gave me a rundown of the situation: “listen up everyone. We have a 26 year old female involved in a single car crash, possible chest and abdominal trauma. She’s hypotensive and tachycardic, and EMS intubated her on scene. ETA is 5 minutes.”

All of us quickly sprung into action at that point. I ordered the nurses to prep trauma room 1 and gather whatever supplies we may need for this particular case. While the nurses were getting things ready, me and Dr Lindsay put on a yellow trauma gown and a fresh pair of gloves. “make sure we have some unmatched o-neg, FFP, and platelets. And make sure surgery and radiology are on standby for us.” Dr Lindsay told the team, to which nurse Nancy nodded.

The following few minutes came and went quickly. We could hear the sound of the ambulance’s sirens grow louder and louder as it approached the hospital. The trauma room was quiet- the calm before the storm I suppose. We knew the patient was in rough shape, but we didn’t know what exactly to expect. Regardless, we were prepared for whatever was going to be thrown at us.

The ambulance pulled just outside the ERs main entrance and the medics wheeled the patient into the hospital and into our trauma room. To our surprise, one of the medics was performing CPR on the patient upon arrival. “26 year old female, restrained driver in single car MVC. Blunt chest trauma, lost vitals en route. Down 4 minutes, shocked ×2, meds ×1. PEA on the monitors.” The lead medic told us while the other delivered deep, violent chest compressions. “ok, let’s transfer her on my count. 1… 2… THREE!” I called out.

The patient was now on the table and under the overhead light. I looked down at the battered young woman lying on our table. Her name was Alyssa. She’s a 26 year old blonde with blue eyes, with a pretty face and a chubby build. She was just driving home from work when she swerved to avoid hitting a kid that ran out into the street, oblivious to Alyssa’s car, but slammed her car into a light post in the process.

Once Alyssa was on the table, the medics left the room and we began running our trauma code. Nurse heather resumed chest compressions, nurse nancy was ambu bagging, and nurse ashley got the next rounds of epi and atropine ready. Dr Lindsay and I decided to order some tests: STAT trauma labs, a chest x ray, and a FAST scan. After ashley injected the next round of meds, she drew the trauma labs while Dr Lindsay got the ultrasound machine ready. While that was going on, I set up the portable x ray for the chest x ray. The chest x ray showed sternum and rib fractures associated with CPR, but nothing else noticeable. Dr Lindsay then performed an echo. “oh boy, look at all that blood in the pericardium. Massive cardiac tamponade.” She said, shaking her head looking at the ultrasound monitor. “let’s do a pericardiocentesis.” She continued. “I disagree. She’s already in cardiac arrest and that’s a huge tamponade. I think we need to do a thoracotomy.” I responded to Dr Lindsay. “I don’t know Dr Kenny, I think we should do a pericardiocentesis and see if her condition improves. If not, then we do a thoracotomy.” Lindsay replied. “I don’t think we have time to wait. Thoracotomy is the way to go here.” I said, standing my ground. There was a pause for a moment. “I agree with Dr Kenny.” Nurse Nancy said, breaking the silence in the room. Nurse Nancy has been an ER nurse for over 20 years and she’s seen it all, so everyone trusted her judgement when she spoke up.

Dr Lindsay and I looked at each other for a moment and nodded in agreement. “Ok, let’s get a thoracotomy tray set up please.” Dr Lindsay ordered. Once the order was made, Ashley and I began setting up the proper equipment. Meanwhile, nurse Heather kept performing deep, strong chest compressions on Alyssa. The patient’s chest caved in and her belly bounced outwards. Her eyes were half open, staring blankly above while one of her arms dangled off the side of the table, bouncing in sync with each individual compression.

I picked up a 10 blade scalpel off of the thoracotomy tray while Ashley splashed Alyssa’s chest with betadine. While heather kept delivering chest compressions, I made a quick, decisive incision in the 5th intercostal space starting at the sternum. I extended the incision laterally across the young woman’s bare chest. Ashley retracted Alyssa’s large, d cup left breast to give me room to continue the incision. Once I extended the incision past the breast, I continued across to the mid axillary line, just a few inches shy of her left armpit. I had to make a 2nd incision I the same general area to separate the underlying fat and tissue. Once the tissue was adequately separated, I placed a rib spreader into the incision area and began twisting the knobs, forcing the young woman’s ribs apart. A loud popping and cracking sound filled the already hectic trauma room from Alyssa’s ribs being forced apart.

After her chest was adequately opened, heather stepped away, stopping CPR. I took my scalpel and made a vertical incision into the pericardium, performing a pericardiotomy in order to release the tamponade and deliver the heart. After cutting the fibrous lining of Alyssa’s heart, there was a collection of thick, gooey, coagulated blood that came out. Ashley suctioned away the coagulated blood, only for my line of sight to be filled with a large amount of fresh blood. “what a mess.. let me take a look.” Dr Lindsay said, forcing herself into my position, reaching into Alyssa’s exposed chest cavity. While Lindsay was sorting things out, I placed a vascular clamp on the descending aorta in order to redirect bloodflow to the heart, lungs, and brain- a common practice during ER thoracotomies to limit damage elsewhere and to potentially buy the patient time during the resuscitation.

Ashley suctioned out the blood that obstructed the line of sight, revealing Alyssa’s motionless heart. “starting cardiac massage.” Dr Lindsay called out. She wrapped her hands around Alyssa’s motionless heart, placing her thumbs on the left ventricle. She then began squeezing the heart, pushing her thumbs in an upwards motion in the process. “1… 2… 3… come on hun…” Dr Lindsay said, looking down at Alyssa, as if she was trying to convince her patient not to die. Lindsay continued internal massage while nurse Nancy stood at the head of the bed ambu bagging. “let’s get another dose of meds in. Hopefully we can get a shockable rhythm that way.” I called out to the team. Nurse heather went over and got the meds and injected them into the patient’s IV line. Meanwhile, Lindsay continued internal massage. “something doesn’t feel right. Her heart feels almost empty.” She said to me. “let me take a look.” I replied, inching my way closer. Lindsay continued internal compressions while I probed around in the young woman’s chest, trying to see if I can figure out what her injuries were. While I was examining the area, her heart began to fibrillate in Dr Lindsay’s hands. “ok! She’s in v-fib. Let’s get the internal paddles and charge to 20.” She called out.

Nurse Ashley charged the internal paddles to 20 joules, and handed them to me. Everyone backed away from the patient while I placed the paddles around Alyssa’s weakly fidgeting heart. “ok. Everyone… CLEAR!” I called out, delivering the shock. A dull, wet thump was heard from the shock. Alyssa’s torso flopped and her breasts jiggled in response to the jolt of electricity. “no change. Let’s shock again at 30.” I called out. Once the paddles were recharged, I lowered them back into the 26 year old’s chest, and delivered the 2nd shock. Alyssa’s toes curled at the other end of the table in response to the shock, showing off thick, silky wrinkles throughout the soles of her size 10 feet. “No change Dr Kenny" heather tells me, shaking her head while looking at the monitor. “ok. Let’s recharge the paddles to 30 and shock again.” I ordered. Nurse ashley recharged the zoll internal paddles to 30j and handed me the blood stained paddles for the next shock. Everyone backed away before the shock, knowing what was coming. This particular shock caused Alyssa’s torso to jolt sharply on the table, but v-fib persisted. “Damn it… still v-fib. Let’s push another dose of meds and shock again. This time we should shock at 40.” I told the team. Once again, we recharged the paddles, lowered them into Alyssa’s chest, and shocked her again. The same dull, wet thump was heard. Alyssa’s lifeless body twitched sharply on the table in response to the more intense shock, but her heart stopped in its tracks after that shock. “shit. Asystole on the monitor. Resuming internal massage" dr Lindsay called out, acting decisively.

Dr Lindsay reached hands back into the young lady’s chest and began pumping her heart manually. “1… 2… 3… come on Alyssa…” Dr Lindsay said to herself, thinking out loud. Alyssa’s heart felt flaccid and empty in dr Lindsay’s hands. There was a definite contrast between feeling Alyssa’s warm heart and her cold, clammy skin. Her complexion faded rapidly, and her beautiful blue eyes remained half open, with a blank expression on her face.

Dr Lindsay messaged Alyssa’s heart for several minutes to no avail. “let’s push another round of meds. And dr Kenny, how about you take over internal compressions for me? Maybe you’ve got the magic touch.” She said with an undertone of sarcasm. I nodded and took over compressions for my coworker. I reached my hands into Alyssa’s chest. I looked down and saw her heart motionless in my hands- something that’s odd to see in a previously healthy 26 year old. I started pumping her heart with my own 2 hands, desperately trying to bring the young woman back. But I knew the odds grew less and less likely as time went on. “hey, we’re out of FFP. Should I get another unit?” nurse heather asked us. “no honey, let’s hold onto it for someone we can actually save. You know how fast that blood bank can empty out on a busy day.” Nurse nancy replied, implying that Alyssa was pretty much a goner. “She’s young though, we should keep trying at least a little longer.” I said to the team, trying to improve morale.

I massaged the patient’s heart for several minutes to no avail. We maxed her out on meds in that timeframe, and nurse nancy noted that Alyssa had fixed and dilated pupils. At that point, I held compressions and the monitors went flat. “alright… does anyone object to calling this code?” I asked everyone in the trauma room. I was met with silence and a couple people shaking their head “no.” I then nodded and said “ok. Time of death, 20:46. Thank you all for your efforts.”

Nurse nancy detached the ambu bag and shut Alyssa’s eyes for the final time. Nurse heather switched off the flatlined monitors and began removing the EKG electrodes from the patient’s bare chest. I removed the thoracotomy equipment from the patient’s body, while dr Lindsay started removing her gloves and trauma gown, walking out of the ER feeling defeated. Nurse ashley removed all the IVs and started filling out the toe tag. On the blank tag, she wrote: “Collins, Alyssa. DOB 8/26/95, DOD 10/3/21, time of death 20:26, cause of death: Blunt SVC dissection. After filling out the tag, she placed it on the big toe of Alyssa’s left foot. The tag tangled in front of her soft, wrinkly soles while a sheet was placed over her battered body. At that point, I began to remove my equipment and head out of the room. Nurse nancy and nurse Ashley then wheeled the stretcher out of the trauma room to transport alyssa to the hospital morgue while heather stayed back and cleaned the trauma room and prep it for the next patient. It’s never easy losing a patient, but it’s par for the course when you work in trauma. We have to compose ourselves and move on to the next patient.

[olivetreehugger]

SnK Warriors as Health Care Workers

I’m an ICU nurse, and I’ve come across a tonnnn of different types of healthcare workers in my line of work. These are just my hc’s for what kind of HCWs the Warrior unit would be. These are totally my opinion! Also, real healthcare is NOT the same as TV healthcare, not every doctor is a surgeon (and they’re not the best, either). Anyway, here we go :)

Warnings: mentions of blood, medical procedures, opioids, death

-Zeke: he’d be a fourth year neurosurgery resident. Neurosurgery residents are either cold, arrogant assholes or fun bros. No in-between. They’re always on the move or in surgery honing their skills. They don’t sleep and they’re on call 24/7. 

Zeke is always carrying a strong, black Starbucks coffee and reeks of cigarette smoke. He’s always exhausted because he's covering all the neuro patients in the hospital overnight and then rounds with the attending (Magath? idk) in the morning til like 2pm. It’s a miracle he doesn’t kill anyone. He’s wicked smart and super talented in the OR, but kind of a dick with the nurses. He shows up at the bedside to do a quick procedure, doesn’t tell the nurses ahead of time. He grabs all the supplies on his own because “the nurses don’t know what I like” and then when he’s done he’ll leave the leftover dirty gloves, removed drain, stray bloody gauze, and empty boxes all over the room. He has a somewhat asinine attitude towards patients, poor bedside manner. He doesn’t order pain  medication for the intubated patient before removing a drain bc “they’re sedated, right?” No, Dr. Jaeger, neuro patients don’t get heavy sedation. Please order a small dose of pain meds. You’re hurting them. “Oh, right. I’ll order that.” No, he won’t. Zeke always promises to throw in orders, always forgets. 

You’ll spend your shift paging him for orders, cleaning up after him and getting rude comments over the phone. He’s gonna make a fantastic neurosurgeon, though. He’ll save your life.

-Porco: An ER resident for SURE. He loves the chaos of the emergency department. A typical male in healthcare-he loves the trauma, the blood and guts, the crazy. He tries to avoid pregnant women and kids, they freak him out. BUT, that didn’t stop him from holding a woman’s hand when she gave birth right there in the ER lobby.  Great bedside manner. So smart. And he’s super sweet, actually??? He also creates secret handshakes with the kids and sweet talks the old ladies to make them more comfortable. He tells them to call him Pock or Porco, not Dr. Galliard.

Unfortunately, When he first started, he got a little too cocky and claimed he didn’t need to scan a patient after getting hit in the chest with a hockey stick. Patient suffered a ruptured vessel and almost died right there. After a very rigid monitoring program, he was able to practice again. He’s also a giant flirt. He dated most nurses in the hospital and they ALL talk about his dick game.

Porco rides his motorcycle to work and sometimes skips his helmet. All the nurses shame him for it, reminding him of the horrible head injuries that come in through the trauma bay because of motorcycle crashes. He comes in double fisting Monster energy drinks and jamming to whatever his air pods are playing probably Hamilton. ER residents are chaotic and funny and Porco is no different. During a code blue (a patient’s heart stopped) he kept calm and hummed “stayin’ alive” while they performed CPR. He runs a code like a goddamn CHAMP. He has ACLS memorized to a T and intubates better than most attendings. The nurses will tell him the patient’s labs look better after the medication he ordered and he’ll be like “Hell yeah, let’s keep it goin’” or “A’ight let’s get crazy” before an emergency procedure. If the nurses can’t place an IV, you bet your sweet ass he’s grabbing the ultrasound and throwing a few in for them <3

Pieck: She’s an infectious disease PA. She’s very soft-spoken, patient and intelligent. Orders and notes are always flawless. Apologizes whenever she orders blood cultures and even offers to draw them for the nurses if they’re busy. She buys everyone pizza when she’s on the unit. All the nurses love her. She’s perfect. 

Annie: A nightshift CVICU nurse. There’s a joke online that cardiovascular/cardiothoracic ICU nurses are the biggest bitches ever.  And it’s true, most are. BUT. Annie is probably the best nurse to have if you’ve just come out of open-heart surgery or had a lung transplant. She knows exactly what to do when a patient is crashing and is a BEAST when it comes to chest compressions. She is a pro at putting in IVs and troubleshooting pumps/machines when they don’t work. She has every single lab value, test and medication stored in that brain of hers and can pull it out before you can finish asking a question. 

She gives a quick, concise report on all her patients and expects the same. If you don’t, she rolls her eyes at you and rushes you. “I don’t need useless information. What drips are you running?” She gets in trouble sometimes because she makes her student nurses cry, but “why don’t they know how to zero an arterial line? it’s not my fault they don’t know their stuff.” No, Annie. You’re supposed to teach them. “Oh.” 

She wears the newest, cutest scrubs and has an ivory and rose-gold stethoscope. Don’t tell her it’s basic, though, she’ll put you on her shit list lol. She also hates being floated to the medical ICU because “they don’t know what they’re doing”. 

Reiner: Our king is a medical ICU nurse who started in the ER. He loved the wild west that was the ER but started to feel burnt out after seeing so many child deaths and cases of abuse. When he finally realized what it was doing to him he applied for a medical ICU position on night shift and transferred right away.

Baby, he thrived there. This guy is so compassionate with his patients and knows how to advocate for them well. He has a great rapport with all the physicians (except Porco, when Reiner was working ER they would butt heads frequently) He’s great to give report to, never gives the previous nurse a rough time. When he reports off to the next shift, his rooms are a little messy sometimes but he ALWAYS has extra supplies for you and the patient is clean. He learned so much from the patients and his peers that he was eventually promoted to charge RN. He’s the best charge nurse. Knows all the protocols and will call any doctor for you. Anytime you need help doing a procedure, he’s your man: IVs? “How many you want?” Blood draw? “I’ll grab the tubes”. Patient’s about to code? “I got compressions”. Call security for the violent patient down the hall? “I AM security”. 

His scrubs are a little snug around his shoulders and chest and he knows this. Baby likes to show off. He likes to flex his muscles for anyone watching, but he’s not a douche. Reiner is an absolute gentleman with his female coworkers, never complains when they ask him for lifting help. In fact, he loves being of use. It’s why he’s a nurse in the first place: he loves helping people <33

Bertholdt: He started with Reiner in the ER but wanted something more stable so he transferred to the burn unit (get it?). Reiner still hasn’t forgiven him. 

Colt: He’s in nursing school but loved the idea of being a trauma nurse. Then he did a clinical rotation in the trauma ICU and fainted when a confused patient ripped a screw out of his fractured arm. After that he decided to do pediatrics lol.

[ms-demeanor]

You are the one who reblogged a post with a bunch of resources about treating wounds and foraging and using a rifle. You, other anarchists, are where I’m getting the sense of the “life” I’m supposed to look forward to. Not movies.

You know how I know you’re not talking about me?

Because I’m actually really, really fucking cautious about not reblogging information about foraging because I literally know someone who poisoned his dumb ass foraging and died and I would not share that kind of resource with someone who I’m not 100% sure is excellent at woodcraft and has a shitload of outdoor experience. I actually pretty stridently recommend that you DON’T learn how to forage from online resources.

Juuuuuust in case I double checked my blog back through august.

What are you talking about? No forage resources or rifle resources here, at least not for the last 22 days. The one wound treatment thing I’ve reblogged this month is a link to CERT classes, which are community emergency response classes.

I don’t make a secret of the fact that I am pro gun ownership but I also don’t make a secret of the fact that I think if people are pro gun they also need to be pro gun safety education - there are way too many firearms in the US for us to *not* teach kids how to handle them safely. But I sure do NOT talk about having gun battles on this blog because I think that’s glorifying a fantasy version of a fast, easy revolution that I don’t believe in.

(however, as always, if you’re in my general area, don’t know how to use guns, and would like to learn I am available to teach you the basics, as much as social distancing and global pandemics allow anyway)

But. Also.

Buddy, let’s pretend it’s four years ago, or nine years ago, or twenty years ago. Let’s pretend that whatever party is in office doesn’t matter and is totally unrelated to everything.

Have you ever lived through a large earthquake?

A tornado?

A hurricane?

Sometimes infrastructure fails and knowing how to treat wounds is a very, very, very good idea.

Everyone should take a first aid class. I think first aid classes should be a requirement for graduating high school. I first got CPR certified with my girl scout troop when I was 12 and my mom took me to a mobile morgue class when I was 7 because my mom was the department safety coordinator for the DWP in Los Angeles and she was in charge of earthquake drills and first aid training and disaster preparedness and the Northridge quake had just happened.

I grew up taking first aid incredibly seriously, reading “Hatchet,” and my idea of fun is getting a vehicle stuck in an inland sea or going backpacking and encountering a bear. Learning woundcare and treatment for heatstroke and hypothermia is. Like. It’s a pretty big part of making sure I’m doing stupid bullshit as safely as possible.

Also, yeah, I’ve totally superglued my finger closed and used fishing finger wraps to seal a cut and used coffee stir sticks and electrical tape to make finger splint. Even with insurance it still costs me a couple hundred dollars to go to the ER or several hours to go to an urgent care, and that’s when I’ve HAD insurance. Knowing how to safely treat non-life-threatening injuries is just something you should know how to do if you’re broke in America; I’m lucky that I can afford to go to the ER now; that has not always been the case for me.

You ever hung out with really drunk friends? Do you know how to check eye tracking? Do you know how to put someone in the recovery position?

You ever had a friend get clocked with a boot in the pit? Do you know how to check pupil dilation to see if you need to get to a hospital ASAP?

Buddy, you don’t have to be worried about the end of the world to want to get prepared to handle an injury while camping and you don’t have to be an anarchist to think it’s a good idea to know how to treat heatstroke.

ANYWAY there’s this flaw in the human brain called negativity bias, which is where we remember negative, scary stuff more than we remember good, positive stuff.

I’m generally a pretty positive blogger, the resource lists I reblog tend to be things like “here are mutual aid groups” and “learn how to be a hacker” and “here’s how to support people who lose access to abortion.” If you’re getting primarily negativity out of the stuff that I’m reblogging I believe you’re missing the forest for the trees, bud.

The way to handle and cope with negativity bias is to be aware of it! If you’re sitting there going “everything is terrible!” ask yourself “is everything actually really terrible or am I only remembering terrible things?”

2020 is actually a fucking FANTASTIC example of that because there has been a lot of bad shit going on but there have also been really great examples of humans helping each other and people working to take care of each other and apparently Venus might have aliens and that’s just really fucking cool. There is a BUNCH of negative shit out there and we do hear about it all the time but don’t let that bury the positive shit.

You know what I want people to take away from that resource post? That you can and should protect your community from speed traps by reporting cops on traffic apps, and that by reporting cops on traffic apps you are doing a tangibly good thing to prevent marginalized groups from being targeted by police.

That’s a real, simple, easy thing that you can do to actually help people - speed traps don’t work if people don’t know about them and it’s why cops have tried to make it illegal for drivers to warn each other about them.

The idea that the government of the United States is going to collapse tomorrow and things will devolve into gun battles in the streets and foraging to keep from starving seems fairly farfetched but even if that does happen you know that mutual aid helped people survive the great depression, right?

And I don’t want to do the “you should feel #blessed that you’re better off than those people in POOR, UNDEVELOPED countries” thing but people get up and live their lives every day in conditions that require them to forage and navigate violent areas.

It’s shitty that people have to live like that, I wish they didn’t have to and I don’t want more people to have to live in extreme poverty in places that are violent, but it seems kind of. I don’t know. Arrogant? To decide you’re better than that so you might as well lay down and die.

“What do I have to look forward to” - buddy, the world doesn’t owe you a happy ending. You have the rest of your life to look forward to. You have friendships and laughter and cool projects and the people you’ll help someday and the people who will help you someday and sunsets and ripe fruit and meteor showers to look forward to.

Nearly everywhere in the world, through all of history, even peasants danced.

You’ve got the world to look forward to.

And if everything does go to hell in a handbasket and there are gun battles in the streets and you’re trying to make sure you’re gathering morels and not deathcaps then you’ve STILL got the world to look forward to and how you go into it is going to be up to you no matter how a fucking election turns out.

[writing-in-april]

The 5 Stages of Grief

Stage one: Denial (1/5)

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader (Spencer POV)

Summary: Spencer going through each of the stages of grief after the death of the reader. Stage one is denial.

A/N: Hi guys this is my new series!! I’ve been working on this for like the past two months and I’m excited to start sharing it with y’all! This is based off of my own recent experiences with how I acted in my grief and this fic is just based on one model of how grief can present itself. This story is gonna be sad throughout and there’ll be a lot of trigger warnings as a heads up. This is also written different from my other works and is very sporadic at times because of Spencer’s mind set. There’s a lot of repetitive thoughts by Spencer so some sentences are repeated two to three times. And, there’s lots of rhetorical questions. I’m going to post a chapter once a week and sprinkle in other fics in between- other chapters are gonna be longer this is just the establishing chapter. Also let me know if you want the playlist I used while writing this- some Billie eilish references definitely are in here...And thanks to @zhuzhubii for helping me with the original idea and inspiring me (they write amazing angst). Requests are open and thanks for reading!

Warnings ⚠️: Reader death, Gunshot wound, Unreliable narrator, Spencer spiraling, Spencer getting violent, Unhinged Spencer, Talks of schizophrenic break

Main Masterlist | 5 Stages of Grief Masterlist

Word count: 1.2k

This was not happening. There was no way this was happening. This was just some sort of alternative reality or maybe a dream. Maybe I’m having a psychotic break- those were common with people who have early signs of schizophrenia right?

I wasn’t sure of anything in the few minutes that had passed since I had seen the light go out from their eyes. I was still cradling their body covered in blood, they had been shot by the unsub they had been pursuing down a back alley. I didn’t really care where the unsub had gone all my mind was focusing on was the fact that they wouldn’t wake up.

“No no no… You’re fine- stay with me! Please!”

I hadn’t even had the privilege of hearing their last words, they had closed their eyes before I had even pulled them to my lap. They still had words left in the brain that I admired, it didn’t matter that they hadn’t said anything, that they didn’t get their ‘last words’ because they would awaken again. I had to believe that.

My breathing was heavy and shaky as I laid them down on the ground to start CPR. It was the only way they were going to survive the trip to the hospital once the rest of the team got here. I wonder if they could have understood the situation with how distraught I sounded on the phone. When I started the chest compressions my hands wouldn’t stop trembling, I could barely keep the compressions at a steady pace. My mental metronome was fracturing as I started to become more frightened for the love of my life.

“Fight, please! Don’t give up!”

I felt their ribs cracking as I tried to continue my steady pace of the CPR despite my alarm. I looked for a pulse, there was a faint fluttering heart beat. Right? Yes, there was a heartbeat, I was sure of it. My ears rang like there were church bells in my ears which were soon joined by faint sirens I could hear barely in the distance as I begged for them to stay with me. I wanted to tell them that it was gonna be alright and remind them of less painful times, but the only things I could manage to say in my distressing state were pleas.

A sharp cry of No! that sounded like it was my voice rang out in the air when I started to feel myself being pulled away by a set of hands. When the hands still refused to budge I fought hard, seeing only red. I thought it was the unsub coming back to finish me off. Another set of hands joined the original pair to try and haul me away from the one I loved. Did the unsub have a partner? How could we have missed that? I had to get back to them, what if they hurt them more? What if they killed them?

“Spencer! It’s me! It’s Morgan!” The words shouted at me by someone that sounded like Morgan seemed so far away. It felt like my head was underwater, drowning in the panic and sorrow that was filling up my lungs. Everything else fell away as unimportant with only one goal in my mind crawling to the forefront.

I had to help them.

“SPENCER!” A female voice shouted hoarsely, which made me focus somewhat. Why were they yelling at me? Why weren’t they helping them? I wasn’t the one that needed help.

My eyes unblurred as I forced my rage to dissipate slightly in an attempt to figure out what was going on, the figures of Morgan and Emily then became recognizable to me. I registered that it was actually their hands on me. Both of them were in defensive positions and Emily looked frightened of me? Why would she be frightened of me? Why weren’t they helping them?

I still wasn’t confident that this wasn’t some elaborate alternate reality concocted by my subconscious. There was no reason for Emily to be afraid of me, we were colleagues and more importantly friends. All I was trying to do was help and I seemed to be the only one who cared enough to help my injured partner.

But, I realized there was in fact a reason for Emily to be scared of me. She was trying to prevent me from helping the most important person in my life, who was bleeding out on the pavement, close to death. And, the whole team knew I would fight like hell to protect them, she’s lucky I didn’t fight her and Morgan off more. They were lucky they’d only get a possible faint bruise from my thrashing, rather than what I really wanted to do to them in retaliation for preventing me from helping them.

Though, I had now realized that the hands tugging me away from their hurt body did not in fact belong to two unsubs, I started to try and fight them off again.The paramedics would need to know their medical history- especially their blood type.

I had to help them. Why weren’t they helping them?

A soft voice filled with sorrow then joined the rest that I knew belonged to JJ, “Spencer, I know you want to help, but the paramedics are the best thing for them. I already gave them their medical history.”

My body relaxed some at JJ’s words, glad that the paramedics now had the proper tools to help them. However, my mind was still racing, analyzing everything that had happened so far at a rapid pace. My mind then fixated on JJ’s tone of voice- Why did it sound so resigned? Why did she sound like she was resigned to the fact that there was nothing the paramedics could feasibly do? I may not have been in the best mental state, but I could still read the underlying meaning in her voice.

No they couldn’t be gone.

I had to help them.

Why was nobody helping them?

One of the paramedics moved forward to check their pulse as was routine and I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, someone was helping them. My hope was dashed when I saw them shake their head to their colleague, panic rose even higher within me. I was sure I was going to drown to death soon myself, all breath had completely left my body at this point.

They couldn’t be gone, I refused to believe that.

I couldn’t believe it.

I couldn’t be left alone again. When I first met them they helped me from plunging into darkness, they had pulled me from the edges of the abyss. I would be weaker than ever before if they left me, I don’t think I could survive it. My mind begged for them to fight, maybe my reasons were selfish, but the water was going to drown me soon.

As I saw the bag zipped up that held their body my blood ran cold when reality hit me hard. Morgan and Emily both had to hold me back again from racing back over to their body that was being put into the coroner’s van. I screamed in desperation, begging and pleading for them to not give up, that there must be something that they could do. But, the cold harsh reality hung over me like a dark cloud that rained over my head, fully submerging me underwater.

There was no denying it anymore.

They were gone.

—-

Tag list (message me if you want to be added):

All works:

@shotarosleftpinky @oreogutz

Spencer Reid/CM:

@calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss

5 stages of grief series:

@joonie-centric @tatesimper @half-blood-dork

[myhauntedsalem]

13 True Horror Stories from the Psychiatric Ward that Will Give You the Creeps

Death, illness and tragedy have long been part of the history of insane asylums, and for as long as they have existed, so too have the scary stories associated with them. From haunted hospitals to sadistic doctors and nurses, psychiatric wards have been the inspiration for many of our favorite horror movies and books. Yet, the true stories told by the psych ward workers below far surpass any horrors that we might have seen at the cinema or read in a book.

Without further ado, here are thirteen of some of the creepiest psych ward stories on the internet that have been shared by health care professionals.

1. Holding her own Eyes

My mom told me this story from her time at a neuropsychiatric ward while she was in grad school. She was making her routine room checks and happened upon the most horrific scene I’ve ever heard.

This was during the night shift, and generally, all the patients’ bedroom doors should be closed. So my mom turned a corner and noticed an open door. She saw a staff member’s legs on the floor, halfway out the doorway.

When she looked into the room, she saw the patient, a woman with a severe postpartum psychiatric disorder, who had just gouged both of her own eyes out with her bare hands. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, holding her eyes in her hands.

The first staff member to witness the scene, who was now lying face down on the floor, had a heart attack when he first witnessed the woman while he was making his rounds.

My mom screamed for help and frantically tried to perform CPR on the staff member. All the while, the woman just sat rather calmly, holding her own eyes.

2. The Saw

I work as a psychotherapist in a hospital system. My definition of creepy is probably quite a bit different from other medical professionals.

The one that got to me the most was a patient who came to us after attempting suicide by sawing both his arms off at the forearm with a table saw. His arms were reattached, fairly successfully too, with only limited impairments in mobility. All I could think was how bad it would have to be to live in his head that sawing his arms off seemed better than that.

He has since completed suicide.

3. Jane?

We had a young lady in our custody with quite a few issues. We’ll call her Jane. Jane’s first night at our facility staff doing a bed check found Jane in a puddle of blood. Turns out Jane had been slicing the skin around her shin with her finger nails and was pulling her skin up her leg, essentially de-gloving her calf.

Jane also had a ritual she performed every night before bed. While in her room she would run between walls in her room touching them in a crucifix pattern. After doing this for a few hours she would sit on her bed and go to sleep. This particular night Jane was frantic in her pace, practically running between walls. Our night staff observed the entire interaction and reported Jane screaming late into the night. When the staff went to check on Jane she reported Jane standing in the doorway smiling. The staff asked what was wrong and Jane replied, “what makes you think you are speaking to Jane?”

4. The Vampire

My mom worked in mental institutions in her younger years (and actually worked at a large, well-known asylum before it was shut down.)

There was one woman there that thought she was a vampire of sorts. She was only allowed out one hour a day, and they had to use safety precautions. She had already attacked and killed at least one hospital worker before these were enacted.

When my Mom asked about her, it was revealed that she had killed at least two of her children, wounded another as well as her husband because she had some sort of physical condition called Porphyria, which apparently made her crave blood.

By the time that they discovered there was something physically wrong with her, she already had lost her mind from guilt and grief.

5. The Spitter

I’m not a psychologist but my friend is. She told me about a patient of hers who was HIV positive and a paranoid schizophrenic. He thought that the nurses who worked at the hospital he was in were trying to kill him, so he would frequently bite his tongue, and spit HIV positive blood into their faces/mouths. When they had to come into contact with him, they were required to wear full masks and gloves.

6. The Only One

I once knew a woman who had spent part of her residency at a psychiatric hospital for people with severe mental conditions. Apparently, the grounds had a lovely, enclosed greenhouse. One day, one of their schizophrenic patients was sitting on a bench, smoking a cigarette, as a heron frantically flew around. It had found its way in and, not being able to escape, it was smashing into the large panes of glass. The man just sat there watching.

Finally, my counselor asked him if the bird was bothering him and he kind of sighed and said, “Thank god, I thought I was the only one seeing that.”

7. Family Photographs

My sister is the director of a psychiatric hospital. There was recently a lady there who would cut her arms, legs and torso open and place photographs of her family under her skin.

8. Under the Bed

Once, a fellow female patient told me she found writings under her bed. They were just old, small wooden bed frames with hard mattresses that would make all kinds of noises when you rolled over, but I still wondered what exactly she was doing lying under her bed to find these writings.

When she first told me, I thought it was a joke. But sure enough, one day during group we managed to sneak away, and she showed me. Indeed, there were stories written under her bed. After that, we had everyone check under their own beds, and there was more writing under every single bed.

They were stories of patients who had stayed here before, or ways they were planning on killing themselves, or who the good and bad nurses were. It creeped me out.

9. Time of Death

Well, my mother was a nurse that specialized in geriatrics, and she worked for several hospice hospitals for many years. She often described situations at her work with several of the patients. She would say that each person tends to have a very similar “checklist” that they follow right before death. This checklist often ended in a very similar way.

They would get caught talking to someone that wasn’t there. When asked who they (otherwise lucid people) were talking to, they would describe an individual who was already dead. When asked what they were talking about, they would say that their relative wanted to know if they were ready to move on. A pretty common response would be, “Yeah, he/she said that she will take me tomorrow at 3:00.” Well, it would often happen that they would die at the exact time their relatives quoted.

10. The Test Subject

I had an hour-long conversion with a delusional guy who was confined to a mental health facility, and who was probably smarter than I am. Lots of these folks believe that somebody – often the CIA – is either beaming thoughts into their heads, or has implanted a microchip in their brains for this purpose. This guy was offering a very thoughtful argument as to why such claims should not be so quickly dismissed.

“It’s precisely because such delusions are so common that mental patients make the best test subjects,” he said. There he was, confined and protected, constantly observed, his health and behavior documented, and there is zero chance that anyone would ever take his concerns seriously. How else would you test and improve such technology? Does the government not have a strong motivation and a plausible ability to create such a device?

“You can see I’m not irrational,” the man said. “I’m just straight-up telling you that they are doing this to me. I know just how unbelievable it sounds, and yet, here I am.”

11. The Boy who Loved Knives

As a tech in psych years ago, there was a 7-year-old kid sent to the floor because the mom didn’t know what to do with him. Sadly, common thing to happen, even if the kids don’t have psych issues. Anyway, the mom was shaking and crying, and they had to take the kid into another room. She was genuinely afraid of her own son. She had suspected something was wrong when she kept finding mutilated animals in the backyard, but never heard or saw coyotes or anything around. The neighbors smaller pets started disappearing. The boy had an obsession with knives, hiding them around the house. Denying anything when the mom confronted him. Then when the two started getting into arguments, he would get really violent and hit her, push her down and kick her, threaten to kill her. On multiple occasions she woke up in the middle of the night with him standing beside her bed, staring her in the face. She put extra locks on her bedroom door to feel safe while she slept. The last straw was when she lifted up his mattress and found 50+ knives of all shapes and sizes under there. So she brought him to us.

I remember talking to him, treating him like he was just any other kid that came through. He seemed remarkably normal, until you spoke directly to him. He had this way of looking right through you, or maybe like he didn’t see you at all while you were speaking.

He would respond like a robot, like he was just saying words because that’s what we wanted to hear. And he would always put on this creepy, dead-looking smile. Like all mouth and no eye involvement in the smile. Especially when he would get away with something, like taking another kid’s markers and they couldn’t figure it out. Still gives me chills laying here thinking about him.

I believe I met a 7-year-old psychopath.

12. The New Mom

I was a pharmacy technician at a hospital with a psych ward for some time. We would have to go around with a cart and dispense the patients’ medications, and being a 5’2″ girl, a security guard or male nurse would accompany me, just as a precaution. I never had any real issues other than the occasional death grip onto my arm or manic outbursts, but there was one boy who was entirely different.

His chart said he was nine and he had pale skin, dark hair, and huge bright, green eyes. He always greeted me in the most polite way, asked how I was doing, and always found something different to compliment me on every time. He was extremely well-spoken and mature for his age, so I began looking forward to seeing him, as normal small talk is definitely cherished in that setting. If he saw me outside of his room in the halls, he made sure to say hello and always called me “Miss Jones” or “ma’am.”

One day, a couple of our female nurses saw me pause to chat with him in the hallway, and waved me over to ask if I was out of my mind. Apparently, when he was in kindergarten, he grew an intense attachment to his young female teacher.

This escalated to the point of him calling her “Mom” and leaving notes for her about how he wished he were her son. He had a normal home-life with both parents, and the teacher tried to explain to him that she couldn’t be his mom because that would hurt his real mother’s feelings, and that she already had that job covered.

So, he went home and, killed his own mother in her sleep by cutting her throat, so his teacher could be his mom. The female staff had a general rule of not interacting with him excessively to prevent any kind of attachment from forming.

13. Bugs

Nothing I can say can possibly describe the year I worked in Psychiatric Intensive Care. Creepy isn’t the thing that comes to mind when I think back on it…more heartbreaking and horrifying. But creepiness was a part of it. Especially evening and night shifts, naturally.

There is always something disturbing about watching someone while they hallucinate. You can tell it is 100% real to them, and something about that makes you believe it, on some level. A lot of stories end with, “and of course, I had to look over my shoulder to make sure”. You see the emotions it brings out.

There was a woman that came in and sat down across the table from me for her admission interview. She had bandages all over her arms and scotch tape over her mouth and ears. She looked very uncomfortable and wouldn’t really sit still. When the nurse would ask her a question, she would peel the corner of the tape back and answer, then stick the tape back on really fast.

We eventually found out that she saw and felt bugs crawling all over her, and they were trying to get inside her body. The tape was to keep the bugs out. The bandages were because some bugs got in and she had to dig them out. She couldn’t sit still because she felt the bugs all over her even while we sat and talked. The worst part was, she had some idea that it was her mind playing tricks on her. Can you imagine going through your life, feeling like someone is continuously dumping buckets of cockroaches on your head, feeling like they’re all over you and getting inside of you to the point that you’re digging chunks out of your flesh in a panic, all while knowing intellectually that none of it is real?