#code or BP

[venompinks]

stunner ★

[bluepr1ntyy]

Lux because she’s so awesome and cool nobody gets her ever

Character ;;

Lux by AlainaPrana

Raven by echoiarts and human designs by me :3

Tags ;;

@yeloenk @clownray1 @lushciqqs @doodlesphxre

[nanapop]

I wanna make a vn with chat based interactions so badly like it is VERY IMPORTANT that I do this but my brain...she cannot comprehend the code

I need one of those for dummies guides that really lays it out in simple terms so I can understand what I need to do to make the screen that would mimic the desktop work. I have ideas in my head i would love to make real but unless i somehow gain mad coding skills it's just not gonna happen i guess lol :'3

[robobarbie]

whos most likely to go bald earlier than the rest (could be adonia ai or bloomic)

quest (bloomic) and major (adoai)

[drwhomstvede]

HUGE BP AND SHARDS CODE FOR DEAD BY DAYLIGHT PLAYERS!!!!

update: as @blusoldier says this will be active until 4th of January 2024, so if you’re seeing this post before then you can still redeem the code!

[gaygaara]

making fortnite art until epic hires me

day 1

[kiki-strike]

Dennis takes a mental health day he’s just like me fr😭😭

[shawnthebro]

The Animation Blueprint is strong, but we’re stronger! Let’s continue cleaning and improving the AnimBP!

[onleylonely]

r+m brain rot has gotten to the point of looking up character playlists and whoever put lost in the fire on their rick playlist is big brained and correct

[bluepr1ntyy]

Ravenpilled,,, as usual

I just like putting Raven into emotional vulnerability situations, its cool,,

I like adult Shino’s whole deal also, girl who isolated herself from her family and friends to become a scientist. There’s something there. Shes ford pines coded i think

Anyway Ravenprint too

Characters ;;

Raven by @echoiarts

BluePrint by @pepper-mint

Shino-Hana by @blue-kohina

Tags ;;

@yeloenk @clownray1 @lushciqqs @doodlesphxre

[pxrxmoore]

what the fuck are yall supposed to do at ur job once you’ve handed ur notice in like. i do not fucking caaarrrreee and i have no reason or need to even be here just let me go <3

[kaiist]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐈𝐍𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐃

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

The forest was silent. Too silent. Xavier felt it in his bones before the emergency signal even reached his com-device. His muscles tensed, lowering his sword as the vibration against his wrist sent ice through his veins.

He abandoned the trail immediately, feet pounding against the earth as he raced back to the location informed about the injured hunters. His knuckles whitened as they dug into the skin of his palm until it almost bled. Despite never doubting your abilities for a moment, he was consumed by a desperate wish that he had been there to prevent this from happening.

When he finally reached the hospital, the fluorescent lights overhead cast harsh shadows across his face. The sight of you, broken and bloodied on the stretcher, caused something to fracture inside him. He stood paralyzed in the doorway, watching as medics rushed around your unconscious form, their voices fading to white noise.

“Hunter down, multiple lacerations, possible internal bleeding...”

One step. Two. He was beside your bed now, his hand hovering inches from yours, afraid that his touch might somehow hurt you more. A nurse tried to usher him away, but the look in his eyes made her step back. He was trying so hard to pull himself together, but the facade was crumbling.

“I’m staying,” he said simply, the words leaving no room for argument.

Days passed in a sterile blur. Xavier didn’t move from the uncomfortable chair beside your bed. He didn’t eat. There was a day when he slept like he was dead, with your hand clutched tight in his to feel your pulse. He’d just watched your chest rise and fall, as if his vigilance alone could keep you tethered to this world.

When your squad members came to visit, they brought news—the mission area had been mysteriously cleared out. No Wanderers remained. Not one. The cleanup had been thorough, leaving no traces behind. Nobody had seen who did it.

One of your colleagues shifted uncomfortably under Xavier’s gaze. “Strangest thing. Like they vanished overnight. Even the nest we couldn’t breach was empty.”

Xavier simply nodded, his thumb tracing small circles on your palm.

When the doctor suggested he get some rest, Xavier simply shook his head, eyes never leaving your face. He wouldn’t leave your side until he was completely assured that you were going to be okay.

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” he promised, the words meant only for you despite your unconscious state. “I’ll always be here.”

Only when you stirred slightly, days later, did something change in his expression—a softening around the eyes, the faintest tremor in his steady hands. He leaned forward, close enough that only you could hear the whisper.

“I will always find you. Always.”

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

The operating room doors burst open as another trauma case rolled in. Zayne was mid-consultation when his pager buzzed with the emergency code. Standard procedure—until he glimpsed your face beneath the oxygen mask. Despite his professional exterior, panic was building inside him like a storm, threatening to break through his carefully maintained composure.

His clipboard clattered to the floor. “Get Doctor Dean,” he ordered sharply, already moving toward the gurney. “I know this patient.”

“Sir, protocol states—” the resident began.

“Get. Doctor. Dean.” His voice cut like a scalpel. The young doctor scrambled away as Zayne reached for your hand, his practiced fingers automatically finding your pulse.

“BP dropping, multiple trauma, suspected hemorrhage,” the paramedic rattled off. “Combat injury, ambush scenario.”

Zayne’s mind raced. As a former combat medic who’d seen countless injuries, he’d treated soldiers under artillery fire, but this—this was different. This was personal. Seeing your blood soaking through the bandages twisted his insides in ways combat never had.

“Doctor Zayne, you need to step back,” Doctor Dean said firmly, already moving to intercept him. “You know protocol.”

“I’m her physician,” Zayne countered, his voice tight as he tried to get closer.

Doctor Dean blocked his path. “Your emotions will compromise your judgment. We’ve got her.”

Zayne’s fists clenched at his sides as they wheeled you toward the operating room. Every instinct screamed at him to follow, to take control, to fix you himself. Instead, he was forced to watch through the observation window, a spectator to your fight for survival, his mind a whirlwind of unbridled fear.

Hours passed like years. His colleagues offered coffee, suggested he rest. He didn’t respond. His eyes never left the monitors displaying your vital signs, gripping the observation window’s edge so tightly his knuckles turned white.

In your recovery room, Zayne sat perfectly still, your hand clasped between both of his. His thumbs pressed against your wrist, monitoring your pulse as if the machines couldn’t be trusted. Others who passed by the room hardly recognized the distinguished cardiac surgeon in the haggard man who refused to leave your side.

Yvonne entered to adjust your IV, giving Zayne a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Doctor Zayne, you should get some rest.”

“I’ll sleep when she wakes up,” he replied without looking up, his professional demeanor completely abandoned.

When your eyelids finally fluttered open, his composure cracked just enough for you to see the storm that had been raging beneath.

“Don’t you dare,” he whispered hoarsely, “ever scare me like that again.”

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

The gallery was packed for Rafayel’s showcase, champagne flowing as critics and collectors mingled among his latest masterpieces. Thomas beamed at the turnout, already calculating the evening’s profits.

Then Rafayel’s phone rang.

The transformation was instant. The smile vanished from his face, replaced by an expression Thomas had never seen before—horror and fear combined. All thoughts of the gallery, the collectors, his artwork—everything disappeared in an instant.

The champagne flute shattered on the marble floor. Rafayel was already moving, shoving through the crowd without a word of explanation.

“Rafayel! Where are you—the collector from Rome is waiting to meet you!” Thomas called after him, but Rafayel was already gone, racing down the steps two at a time, car keys in hand.

The sports car’s tires screeched against the asphalt as he tore through traffic lights, honking frantically at slower vehicles, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. When another driver cut him off, Rafayel slammed his fist against the horn, a string of curses falling from his lips. His hands shook violently on the steering wheel, heart racing faster than the car.

“Move!” he screamed, swerving dangerously into the next lane. “Get out of my way!”

The hospital parking lot wasn’t meant for the kind of turn he attempted. The car scraped against a concrete pillar, but Rafayel didn’t spare it a second glance as he abandoned it half in a disabled spot, keys still in the ignition..

At the reception desk, his hands trembled so violently he could barely hold your ID card. “Where is she?” he demanded, voice cracking. “Please, I need to see her now.”

When they finally led him to your room, Rafayel froze in the doorway. Tubes and wires connected you to machines that beeped rhythmically, monitoring the life still flickering within you. Your skin was ashen, eyes closed, chest barely rising with each shallow breath.

“No, no, no,” he whispered, approaching slowly as if afraid you might shatter. He sank into the chair beside your bed, taking your limp hand between his. “Cutie, please. Can you hear me?”

A nurse offered him a blanket as night fell, but Rafayel shook his head. Hours passed. His stomach growled, but he ignored it. There would be no painting, no eating, no sleeping—nothing until you were stable.

When his phone rang—Thomas, undoubtedly—he silenced it without looking.

As dawn broke, a doctor found him still awake, your hand pressed to his lips, whispering promises only you could hear.

“She’s stabilizing,” the doctor said gently. “But recovery will take time.”

Rafayel simply nodded, eyes never leaving your face. “Time is all I have to give.”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

The notification from Mephisto came during a crucial meeting with the N109 Zone’s security council. The mechanical crow landed urgently on his shoulder, displaying the screen that showed what had just happened. Usually, Mephisto watched over your missions, keeping Sylus informed, but this time—something had gone terribly wrong.

He stopped speaking so abruptly that everyone at the table turned to stare. The blood drained from his face as the footage streamed directly to his personal display—you, surrounded and overwhelmed, fighting until you couldn’t anymore.

“Boss?” one of them ventured. “Should we continue with—”

“Meeting adjourned,” Sylus declared, already on his feet. “Indefinitely.”

No further explanation. No delegation of responsibilities. The council exchanged bewildered glances as the leader strode from the room, his coat billowing behind him, a storm of fury and fear brewing beneath his composed exterior.

Minutes later, the distinctive roar of his motorcycle echoed through the compound as he tore toward Linkon City, weaving through traffic at speeds that turned the world around him into a blur. The only clear thought in his mind was reaching you.

When he arrived at the emergency ward you were in, no one dared question why this person with an imposing, dangerous aura was storming through their halls.

The doctor who approached him looked nervous when Sylus started to ask questions, not bothering to mention who he was. “Mister, she’s lost a significant amount of blood. We’ve managed to stabilize her, but—”

“Show me,” Sylus commanded.

Your room was silent save for the mechanical beeping of monitors. Sylus stopped in the doorway, taking in the sight of you lying motionless, bandages covering much of your visible skin, an oxygen mask obscuring half your face.

Without a word, he pulled a chair to your bedside and sat, taking your hand in his.

“I need the names,” he said to the empty room, calling either Luke or Kieran. “Everyone involved. Every detail. Now.” Whether it was Wanderers or some shady people who did this, he would eliminate them all, leaving no traces behind.

As night fell, he remained at your side, one hand holding yours while the other tapped commands into his device, as he kept tapping his feet from either impatience or anxiousness. He wouldn’t let himself breathe peacefully until he knew you were okay.

Only when you stirred slightly, a small sound of pain escaping your lips, did his facade crack. He leaned forward, brushing hair from your forehead with such gentleness.

“Rest,” he murmured. “I’ll handle everything else.”

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

Caleb’s comm device blared the emergency alert in his office—a sound it was programmed to make for only one person’s vitals. The color drained from his face as he stared at the readout, the severity of your condition displayed in harsh red numbers.

Nothing else mattered. Not Skyhaven, not his duties, not anything except reaching you.

The hangar technicians scrambled as he approached, his expression sending them into immediate action. “Prepare my craft for immediate departure,” he ordered, already climbing into the cockpit.

“Sir, the preflight checks—”

“Now!” The word echoed through the hangar, silencing all objections.

The journey that should have taken hours was compressed into a white-knuckled descent that violated at least six safety protocols. As the craft touched down on the hospital’s landing pad, security personnel rushed forward, only to stop short when they recognized the Colonel’s insignia.

“Where is she?” he demanded of the first orderly he encountered inside, frantically searching for you.

His uniform opened doors that would have remained closed to others. When he reached the ICU, the attending physician intercepted him, datapad in hand.

“Colonel, she’s sustained significant trauma. We’ve induced a coma to manage the—”

“Take me to her.” It wasn’t a request.

The sight of you connected to life support sent a visible tremor through his body. This was worse than any nightmare he’d ever imagined.

“I should have been there,” he whispered, sinking into the chair beside you. His fingers brushed against yours, then curled around your hand. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

His mind was already calculating retribution. Whoever had done this—be it Wanderers or other enemies—they will pay for this.

Days passed. Nurses came and went. Messages from Skyhaven accumulated, unanswered. Caleb remained unmoved, his thumb tracing circles on your palm as if trying to coax you back to consciousness through touch alone. 

“Colonel, you should rest,” she suggested gently.

“I’m fine,” he responded, voice hoarse from disuse.

When you finally began to stir days later, Caleb was there, his face the first thing you saw as consciousness returned. Relief washed over his features as he pressed his forehead to your hand, shoulders shaking with silent relief.

“Welcome back, sleepyhead,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your knuckles. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Behind his smile, the knowledge that those responsible had already answered for their actions. But that was a conversation for another day. For now, you were awake, and nothing else mattered.

Another draft out. Also based on this request.

[seokmatthewz]

zb1 fancon so soon i am unbearably excited 2 see what theyll perform

[twohearts-hs]

Dove & Captain: 2 - Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader Series

Words in Total: 4.4k

Pairings: Dr. Jack Abbot x fem!reader

Synopsis: She's his Dove. The ER nurse who is the definition of chaos, trauma and humour in scrubs. He's her Captain, gruff, emotionally guarded war veteran with a prosthetic leg and completely in love with her. Six years together, a mortgage, four dogs and the ability to conquer anything. This is a story of their life in one day. He is 49, she's 30. This is one day of their life based on the 15 episodes of 'The Pitt'. There will be little imagines of their relationship over the years.

Warnings: Swearing, Age Gap, Trauma, Medical Language/Procedure, Pregnancy, etc.

A/N: This is a complete series of ~60k. I will post a few snapshots of their relationship over the six+ years they've been together.

Hope you enjoy :)

Series Masterlist

-

0800

Y/N was on it the minute she got out of the bathroom, grabbing gloves and walking straight to the next trauma.

            “Nick Bradley, 18, found unresponsive by parents. No meds, no allergies. On arrival, he was barely breathing with pinpoint pupils, bradycardic at 38. Pupils responded to Narcan, but we tubed him when his respirations didn’t pick up,” the paramedic said as they wheeled him into a trauma room.

            Robby was next to Y/N instantly and she glanced over.

            “Any drugs or alcohol on the scene?” Y/N asked as they began to prep him to move to the medical bed.

            “No.”

            “Signs of trauma?” she continued to ask.

            “Nothing.”

            Y/N grabbed hold of the bag, pumping oxygen into his lungs as other doctors joined the room.

            “On three. One, two, three,” Collins called out, as they moved the patient from gurney to bed.

            “Where was he found?” Robby asked.

            “In bed by his mom.”

            “Pupils are six millimetres, non-reactive,” Collins announced.

            “Heart rate’s 64. BP is cycling,” Y/N called out as she switched with a nurse to grab gel for a ultrasound.

            “No response to pain. GCS 3,” Mohan explained before placing the ultrasound on the stomach of the patient.

            “Does that fit any toxidrome?” Robby called out.

            “No,” Y/N replied. “If it was just opiates with Narcan, he’d be breathing on his own.” Y/N was shaking her head. What the fuck happened with this kid?

            “Uh, beta blockers shouldn’t get pinpoint pupils,” Mohan muttered.

            “Maybe parents had some prescription meds in their bathroom,” Robby suggested.

The paramedic explained that the parents were on their way. However, the PA system was heard with a code trauma, tier 1 and coming in five minutes. It was a stand-up scooter rider versus a car door, which another nurse told them.

“No blood in the belly,” Mohan told them. “No pericardial effusion and lungs are up.”

“Hemocue’s good, at 15. BP 84 over 58,” Y/N added.

Robby stood, looking over at the monitors. “What’s your plan, Dr. Collins?” he asked.

“Um, push dose epi, 0.1 milligram. Foley for urine, stabilise for CT, and throw a wide net,” Collins said, turning around from the computer to look at them.

Y/N nodded. They continued to work as she grabbed the supplies that Collins asked for.

“Systolic back down to 90,” Y/N said, looking over at the monitor.

“Another 0.1 of epi,” Collins suggested.

“Flaccid paralysis of all four extremities,” Mohan added.

“No eye movement with ice water,” Collins stated.

Y/N glanced around, but when her eyes landed on Robby, he was just staring at her. “There’s no brainstem function then,” Y/N mumbled, looking at him before shifting her eyes to the team.

“Due to?” Robby added, breaking his eye contact with her, voice loud.

“Hypoxic injury, massive haemorrhage,” Y/N muttered. “He’s gone,” she continued to whisper before nodding. “He’s gone.”

“Samira, escort him to CT,” Collins suggested. “Take the drug box with you.”

Y/N nodded, following the team to take the patient to CT. The CT came back normal, and they brought the patient back. She continued to work, figuring out what was happening. When Y/N did the urine test, she sighed. Everyone looked up to see her.

“Fentanyl,” she whispered. “The kid OD-ed on fentanyl.”

The way everyone looked at Y/N, pity in their eyes. She walked to the door, opening it to see Robby with the parents. His eyes glanced to Y/N.

“Dr. Robby,” Y/N whispered, holding the test strip up, “urine test.” Robby just sent a curt nod to Y/N before turning back to the parents of the kid. She continued to do her workups. Then she went to check on her patients.

The nausea was gone. She was back to normal, and no one blinked a eye that something was happening underneath it all.

-

Y/N walked into one of the rooms and saw Robby standing there while Whitaker, one of the medical students, continued to perform CPR. Y/N glanced over to Robby.

            “How long has he been down?” Y/N whispered, leaning into Robby, arms crossed.

            Robby glanced over to her. “Too long,” he replied quietly. Y/N just nodded.

            “Should we shock him?” Whitaker asked, looking up to see Robby and one of his favourite nurses.

            “You don’t shock asystole,” Y/N replied.

            “It could be fine-v-fib,” Whitaker pressed, continuing to do chest compressions.

            “Not a chance,” Robby muttered, glancing down.

            “Ok, uh, when was his last epi?” Whitaker asked, trying to figure out what to do.             “Three minutes ago,” Robby replied.

            “Ok. Well, ACLS says every three to five minutes, right? So, let’s push another round,” Whitaker suggested, looking over to his mentor with a hopeful look.

            Y/N sighed, looking between them, trying to not to show emotion. She knew what this meant.

            “Fine,” Robby breathed.

            Dana walked up behind them. “Robby, Mr. Spencer’s adult children are asking for you. And the parents of Nick Bradley, the fentanyl overdose, also want to speak with you,” Dana said, looking over to him and Y/N.

            Robby nodded. “Ok,” he breathed before looking over at Whitaker. “Three rounds of epi and then call it. Y/N, do your thing,” he said, patting her on her back before walking away.

            Y/N watched the more med student do his best to resuscitate the patient he had lost. She stayed there for a moment, arms crossed, watching as he administered the epi, but there were no signs.

            “No pericardial effusion. No tension pneumothorax, no cardiac activity,” Mel said.

            Whitaker shook his head before going back to chest compressions. “Try calcium. Could be hyperkalaemia.”

            Y/N took a step and placed her hands on his who were locked doing compressions. “No, his potassium was normal,” Y/N replied. “You need to call this, Whitaker,” she whispered. “It’s ok.”

            Whitaker shook his head. “No. Not yet. Dr. Robby said three rounds of epi,” he replied. “It’s time. Let’s push another amp. This one could do it.”

            Y/N slowly nodded. “Ok,” she whispered, though knowing the truth. She turned to prepare the drug.

-

0900

Y/N administered the epi into his IV before watching Whitaker continue his chest compressions. A crack was heard, and Y/N sighed, knowing exactly what this was.

            “Oh shit,” Whitaker muttered, looking up.

            “What?” Mel asked.

            “I think I just broke some ribs,” he muttered.

            “It means you’re doing it right,” Langdon said from behind them.

            Y/N glanced over to see the resident. Their eyes locked, sharing the same knowing feeling and complete answer to this.

            “Third amp of epi is in,” Y/N replied, looking over to Whitaker.

            “Oh, come on,” he whispered, continuing to try to bring him back to life.

            Langdon looked at Y/N before Whitaker. “Call me if there’s a resurrection,” he stated, turning away.

            Y/N looked back at Whitaker. “Kid, please,” she whispered.

            “No, no, no,” he whispered back. “He was fine. Gallstone. It was just a gallstone,” he muttered. Y/N nodded, understanding how hard it is to lose a patient.

            Y/N stepped closer, soft but steady, her hand finding his wrist and stilling his compressions. “Kid…he’s gone.”

            “No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “He was joking with me this morning. Telling me about his wife’s birthday, and that they went out for dinner.”

            Y/N swallowed, her own throat tightening. “I know. It’s hard.”

            Whitaker looked at her, and the panic behind his eyes hit her hard. “He was fine. I told him he was going to be fine and now,” he said again, but this time it wasn’t defiance, but disbelief. Desperation. “I don’t understand.”

            Y/N nodded slowly. “Sometimes we don’t. Sometimes it doesn’t matter how stable they were, or how minor the diagnosis seemed. Sometimes the body…it just quits. We don’t always get the answers. Not one that feels fair.”

            He stared down at his patient’s chest, his hands trembling just slightly above it, unsure whether to resume or retreat. “I don’t know how to stop.”

            Y/N gently placed her hand over his. “You don’t stop because you gave up. You stop because you did everything you could. You honoured code. You followed protocol. You gave him a chance. In this job we do everything, but sometimes shit happens,” she whispered. “You did your best. However, nature won, and its ok to accept defeat.”

            Whitaker blinked rapidly, eye shining now. “But he’s dead.”

            “He is,” Y/N said quietly, her voice steady. “And now its time to say that out loud. You need to call it.”

            He glanced over. “I never…can you?”

            She shook her head. “I can’t. You must.” Robby came over. “Third epi given three minutes ago,” Y/N said, glancing over to the attending.

            “How long has he been going at it?” Robby asked.

            Mel looked up. “Ten minutes in here, possibly thirty minutes of prior downtime,” she said.

            Santos was there now too. “Don’t suppose you’d let me try a pericardiocentesis?” she asked, raising a brow.

            Y/N scoffed lightly under her breath as she looked over to the driven intern. Shaking her head, she glanced over to Robby. “Seriously?”

            “For what?” he asked, looking over at the intern.

            “For practice,” she replied, shrugging. “In case it’s tamponade.”

            “None seen on ultrasound,” Whitaker responded, continuing to do chest compressions.

            “This is a teaching hospital,” Santos nudged, suggesting.

            “Indeed, a teaching hospital,” Y/N muttered, “but not a damn cadaver lab. If you would like to perform one, I suggest medical school.”

            Santos looked at her and raised a brow. “Last time I checked, you’re a nurse, so maybe stay in your lane and let the doctors do their job,” she fired at Y/N.

            The air in the room shifted, and everyone noticed.

            Y/N didn’t flinch. She didn’t raise her voice. She simply tilted her head, the corner of her mouth twitching into a tired, dangerous smile. “My lane?” she scoffed. “Believe me, I can do more and I know a lot more than you do, Dr. Santos. So, please, stay in your lane. Last time I checked, you’ve been a doctor for what? A month?”

            A beat passed.

            Robby stepped in them, quiet, controlled, but his tone carried like thunder. “That’s enough.”

            “Do you even know how to perform a pericardiocentesis? They don’t teach them in nursing school.” Santos asked, ignoring Robby’s comment.

            Y/N rose a brow. “Of fucking hell, I can. May not be taught in nursing school, but I’ve been with an attending for six years who taught me how to,” she barked back. “Date night. Learning medical procedures,” she quirked.

            Santos opened her mouth again, but Robby took a deliberate step forward. “I said enough,” he stated before looking over to Santos. “Dr. Santos, one more comment like that and I will personally make you be stuck in triage. We do not perform medical procedures unless they are necessary. Additionally, you were disrespecting one of my best nurses who has way more field experience, intelligence higher than most doctors and the ability to think quickly on her feet. She’s been here longer than you’ve had a stethoscope. And if you can’t recognise that we’re team in this room, then you don’t belong in this room.” Then he glanced to Y/N. “Y/N, behave.”

            Y/N looked at Robby, sent him a small smile before looking over to Whitaker. Mel added to the conversation, “Do you want me to take over?”

            “No. I’m fine.”

            Y/N shook her head. “Kid, you aren’t fine. You don’t look fine.”

            Robby sighed. “Hold compressions.”

            Whitaker stopped compressions, and they all glanced over to the monitor. The monitor showed what they needed to know.

            “Still no rhythm,” Y/N muttered.

            Robby sighed and nodded, glancing down to the patient. “Ok, Whitaker. I think that’s enough.”

            “It’s been four minutes since the last epi,” he muttered, continuing chest compressions. “One more minute, please,” he begged, looking over to Robby.

            Robby nodded, checking his watch. They all waited for that minute to be over.

            “Five minutes since the last epi,” Y/N stated, looking over to Robby.

            Robby nodded, checking his watch. “Ok, that’s it. Hold compressions.” Whitaker stopped, the beeping persistent. Y/N moved to turn the monitor off before covering the body with a blanket.

            “He took his wife out for dinner last night,” Whitaker muttered, looking over to the team. He was in shock. She realised it. “For her birthday.” His voice was shaky, confused but also shocked by it all.

            Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, placing her palms over her stomach as if she was protecting what was inside of it. Robby noticed before glancing around.

            “Ok, why doesn’t everybody take a minute?” Robby suggested. “Go check on your other patients. We’ll meet back here to debrief with Kiara.”

            People left the room, leaving Y/N, Mel and Whitaker behind. She glanced at him. “Kid, take a break. Let’s go grab a coffee. We can chat,” she suggested, sending him a small smile before reaching out and squeezing his arm.

            Whitaker shook his head. “No, I’m fine. Thank you.”

            Y/N nodded, looking around the room before walking away. Y/N walked up to Robby, finding him, her fingers grazed his elbow, and he turned around. Glasses perched on his nose, he raised a brow at her.

            “You know I love you,” she began, and he slowly nodded, “and I’m thankful for everything you do…” she continued, and Robby slowly nodded. “But I don’t need a knight in shining armour.” Robby was silent for a moment, just staring at the nurse. “You didn’t need to do that; I could’ve held my own battle.”

            Robby shook his head and chuckled. “I did it because you are having a rough day and I don’t want you swinging at my new intern,” he muttered, standing in front of a computer.

            Y/N’s brows furrowed as she scoffed. “Me…swing at an intern?”

            He glanced at her, eyes linked as he raised a brow. “I know.”

            “Know what?” she whispered, brows furrowing, confused.

            His eyes darted to her stomach, where she was still holding. Instantly, Y/N dropped her hands. “Fucking Dana,” she muttered, shaking her head.

            “Oh…” he chuckled, shaking his head, “not Dana. Just a great friend, observer and doctor. How far along are you?” he asked.

            Y/N just stared at him. “This is where you don’t know anything,” she stated. “You. Know. Nothing.” She held her finger up, eyes locked with him. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Because the only person who has the right to know right now is that man who impregnated me. So, please. Hush. He’ll know tonight.”

            He then smirked. “So, you are pregnant?” he whispered. “I knew it.” However, the way he smirked, his eyes lightened up.

            She just stared at him, mouth dropping. “You are a fucking asshole,” she scoffed. “You are a little manipulative piece of shit,” she whispered shaking her head.

            “Not nice calling your coworkers that, Miss. Y/L/N. Let alone your very good friend and best friend to your partner,” he smirked, winking. “And boss. Should I complain to HR? My best nurse calling me heinous names? Toxic work environment.”

            Y/N shook her head. “One, you’re not my boss. Two, fuck off, Michael,” she whispered, shaking her head and walking away.  

            “You love me!” he called out.

            She shook her head. “I fucking do,” she muttered more to herself.

            Y/N settled down next to Dana, opening her computer to write her patient notes. Dana stared at her for a moment, raising a brow. “Heard you dropped a bomb back there,” Dana said, casually sipping her coffee. “Something about being with an attending for six years and learning medical procedures as date night. You two order takeout and he teaches you trauma procedures?” she asked, smirking.

            Y/N groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Oh my God, it wasn’t even like that. That new intern got under my skin, got cocky and is insufferable.” Y/N shook her head. “Greenies. They are aching for chaos.”

            Dana smirked, tapping her pen on the desk. “Well, congrats, sweetheart. Rumour has it that you’re secretly with Robby now, well, that’s what the greenies think.”

            Y/N raised a brow. “Well, let them be detectives. They’ll eventually change their theories when they see Jack and me in the same room.”

            Dana scoffed. “No, you two are way too professional when working together. Never would’ve thought you and Jack were romantically, intimately together for six years. Sure, banter happens between the two of you and rivalry as well. But he acts more like a mentor with you than your partner of how many years.”     

            Y/N rolled her eyes. “Every good ER has gossip.”

            “And they think you’re sleeping with the boss,” Dana hummed, chuckling.

       ��    “Let them.” Dana rose a brow. “Actually, don’t,” she muttered back, “if Jack catches wind of this…” Then Y/N scoffed. “Technically, I am sleeping with the boss. Night shift head attending. I used to work as a night shift nurse, in fact, I was a charge nurse, but then they moved me to days to cover Cassidy because she selfishly decided to get knocked up and birth a child out of her vagina,” Y/N rambled as she typed at the computer.

            Dana smirked. “That’ll be you in thirty-three weeks,” she replied with a smirk.

            Y/N looked over, raising a brow.

            “Just saying the truth,” Dana whispered, throwing her hands up.

            “Robby knows,” Y/N replied, running a hand through her hair. “Everyone fucking knows.”

            Dana heard her. “About the little fetus?” she whispered. Y/N nodded. “Yeah, he figured that out on his own,” she replied. “That man sees, hears, figures out everything.”

            Y/N scoffed. “I just,” she sighed. “Jack will be the third person to know. If the doesn’t fire continues to spread. That’s not fair on him. Especially, his best mate knows before him. He is at home right now, still probably sleeping then he’ll listen to the police scanner, read a medical journal, watch or read the news and even play with dogs and has no fucking idea. Though he knows something is up, and his mind is probably going in circles trying to figure it out.”

            Dana nodded. “It’s going to be ok, sweetheart,” she responded, squeezing her arm for a moment. “All good.”

            Y/N nodded. “You should’ve seen Robby’s face? He smirked and admitted it. Like a smug little shit…”

            Dana laughed. “Oh, he’s going to be insufferable for weeks.”

            “I told him to fuck off. He said he was filing an HR complaint.”

            “Classic,” Dana grinned.

            Then they went back to their jobs. Y/N debriefed with the team, Kiara and the new kids.

-

Y/N was at the nurses’ station writing her patient notes. On her third cup of coffee that morning, she tried not let death get in her way. Several patients already gone and it was just barely ten in the morning.

            Whitaker came up, standing in front of her as he stared at the board.

            “Talk to me, kid,” Y/N stated, looking up to the med student. “What’s going on in that young brain of yours?” she asked.

            Whitaker looked at Y/N who continued to type on the computer. “Um, I just,” he tried, “just trying to pick a case that will not end up with the patient dying.”

            Y/N looked back up to him. “Can’t be cherry-picking. Robby will be mad,” she stated. “You’re the doctor. You treat everyone the same.”

            He nodded. “I know, but–“

            “Kid, it’s ok,” she said. “The first is the hardest. Each one after will be hard as well. There are perks to the job and this isn’t one of them. But we chose medicine to help people, and sometimes we can’t always win,” Y/N told him, sending him a small reassuring smile. “However, the perks will always outweigh the negatives here. Don’t let one thing hold you back. You’re good.”

            He nodded again. “Right, thanks,” he muttered. “Uh, how long have you been a nurse?” he asked, fidgeting with his hands.

            “Eight years,” Y/N said.

            “And as an ER nurse?” he asked.

            “Eight years,” she repeated.

            He nodded. “What did you do before this?” he asked.

            Y/N looked at him for a moment. “I’m not much older than you, Whitaker. I was in university,” she responded.

            He nodded again. “Right, I didn’t mean to like offend. I just… You’re really good,” he mumbled.

            “Perks of being in this field forever and also being practically married to an attending where I learn a lot from him,” she replied with a smile. “Don’t let the BSN fool you. I could d a crike,” she hummed, winking.

            Whitaker nodded again. “Right,” he breathed.

            Y/N stared at him for a moment and sighed. “I worked in mental health for four years while in university. Double majored in nursing and psychology.”

            Whitaker blinked. “Wait, seriously? Both degrees at once?”

            Y/N gave a tired shrug. “Yeah. That’s what happens when you have an IQ of 178 and an eidetic memory. You get bored easily. That’s why I am in ER because no day is the same,” she explained with an smile.

            He let out a breathy laugh. “Jesus. Wish I am that smart.”

            She tilted her head at him. “You are. I can tell. Intelligence is a scale and a measurement that’s hard to define. Rather, actually, IQ is a measurement that can be argued does not define intelligence. Intelligence is being studied in a series of different versions. Sure, most people believe intelligence is the way to remember, memorise, understand, learn and adapt to situations. However, intelligence can be more than just remembering the facts and performing things. Rather, intelligence can be music, interpersonal, existential, mathematical, linguistic, etc.” She mumbled, looking at him. He just stared at him lost and she then chuckled. “You are smart, kid. That’s my compliment.”

            Whitaker flushed slightly at the complimenting, rubbing the back of his neck.

            “Thanks,” he muttered. “No one’s ever really said that to me before.”

            Y/N sipped her coffee. “Well, maybe you’ve been around the wrong people. It’s ok, we’re a family here.”

            He gave her a small smile and glanced down at his shoes. “Right, I can tell.” Y/N nodded. Then he looked back at her. “Do you ever get used to it? The dying, I mean.”

            Y/N leaned back in her chair, letting the question sit for a moment. “No, I don’t think so,” she finally said. “You don’t get used to it. You just learn how to live with it.”

            Whitaker stared at her for a moment, waiting.

            “It doesn’t stop hurting,” she continued, her voice softer now. “You just compartmentalise better. The first death I saw, I dealt with, and I didn’t sleep for two days. I was a new grad nurse and needed to impress my peers and my attending sent me home because I was too emotional. The second, I cried in the bathroom because I didn’t want him to see me breaking. Then, after the tenth, my attending, who is now my partner, taught me to write letters to their family, to them. Just to get it out.”

            “Letters?”

            She nodded. “They help. Especially with the guilt. You don’t have to give them to the patient’s family, but it’s a version of therapy. Therapeutic journaling it’s called. I can argue it links to Pennebaker’s theory. It’s about how when we express our deeper thoughts and feelings, it can lead to better benefits for our health, especially coping.”

            Whitaker leaned his elbows on the counter, clearly soaking in every word. “That makes sense,” he said quietly. “I’ve been trying to act like it doesn’t get to me. That I’m built for this. But I just feel–“

            “That’s medicine, kid. Especially trauma. Either ages you more or keeps you young,” Y/N replied. “However, you’re human. Made of neurons, tissue and if you’re like me, too much caffeine. You’re supposed to feel. It’s ok to grieve, but remember you may have lost one, but you helped how many?” she explained, smiling at him.

            He nodded.

            “Kid, medicine is two lives. You have the outside world where you can be who you want to be, but in this hospital, in this ward, you have a purpose. Your duty to serve. Someone codes, you know what to do. If a teenager has a panic attack, and it’s my voice that calms them down, then it’s me. Because we are superheroes that are never praised enough,” Y/N explained. “However, you are going to get paid significantly more than me because I’m just a nurse,” Y/N joked with a chuckle. “But we don’t do it for the money. We do it cause its what we know, what we are bred for and it’s definitely in our DNA. It is us that makes the difference. We are the medical professionals.”

            Whitaker gave a slow nod, then after a pause. “You talk about it like you live it.”

            Y/N chuckled. “Well, I made it my identity. You don’t have to. However, I have a life outside of these walls. I’m with a man who I love so much. We have four dogs. We have a house outside the city with a big plot of land. We travel a lot, when we can, if we can. I am a sister, a partner, a friend and a daughter.” Then she chuckled. “You’re young, my advice is to stay in medicine, just don’t marry medicine. I made the mistake and married it, but don’t regret it at all.”

            He nodded.

            “There is so much you can do with a medical degree, Whitaker. You don’t always have to go with the most gruesome, highest prone to death, chaotic form of work,” she said and looked back up from the computer. “Family medicine exists.”

            He just stared at her. “I don’t know if that was a jab or a joke,” he muttered.

            Y/N chuckled, shrugging. “Just being honest. You new kids are dropping like flies. One fainted, you,” she looked at him, “had your first death. Emergency medicine is not for the faint of heart.” Then she sent him a smirk, and he just stared at her. “You’re great, Whitaker. Doing great,” she added, sending him a thumbs-up. “Don’t tell Robby that I’m scaring you away. I like my job,” she joked. “Though I prefer nights.”

            “Why?” he asked, confused.

            “The darkness calms me,” she whispered. “Also, better cases. More chaos, blood and higher prone to death. Plus, the premium rates are great.” He just stared at her, wide eyed. “I know, psycho. Now, go rookie, go get them tiger and don’t hesitate to holler if you need a little push, pull and guidance. Like I said, I can do cricothyroidotomy and a chest tube. I could probably due heart surgery too,” she hummed, smirking. “Go, show me you deserve the darker coloured scrubs.”

-

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Hope you enjoyed. xoxo

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[internetdaddy98]

The Ties That Bind Us - Chapter 4

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[Series Masterlist]

Content Warning: Ectopic pregnancy; blood; violence; gory description; medical procedures; I have 0 medical knowledge; if I've missed any warnings, please let me know.

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The Emergency Room was already humming when you stepped in. You walked through the sliding doors, scrub top sticking to your shoulder blades where your bag had rested, your badge swinging with each step. The scent of antiseptic and saline entered your senses.

“Williams.” Dana’s voice floated over from the nurses’ station. Clipboard in one hand, coffee cup in the other. “You’ve got that ‘I slept four hours and regretted every minute’ look.”

“At least on nights no one expects me to look awake,” you scoffed.

“I didn’t want to seem too well-rested,” you replied, suppressing a yawn. “Bad for team morale.”

You weren’t sure when the hospital had started feeling more like reality than your apartment. You hadn’t slept well since changing to day shift over a week ago, your body not adjusting to sunlight had left you in limbo.

Your first case came in less than twenty minutes later.

Code Blue—female, late twenties, syncopal episode, hypotensive. Report from EMS said she collapsed in her apartment bathroom, pulse thready, GCS dropping en route. ETA two minutes.

The trauma bay swelled with motion before the doors even opened. You reached for gloves without thinking, your brain already mapping out differentials: ruptured AAA? Sepsis? Internal bleeding?

Then she was wheeled in—ashen, barely breathing, soaked in sweat. EMS was shouting vitals, and someone called out, “Positive pregnancy test. LMP unknown. No trauma history.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Get her on O2,” you snapped, stepping in. “Two large-bore IVs, run a bolus. CBC, coags, type and cross. I want a pelvic—”

“She’s hypotensive,” Perlah said. “BP seventy over forty and falling.”

Your eyes scanned the abdomen—distended, rigid.

Robby was suddenly at your side, already snapping sterile gloves on. “Could be ectopic.”

You didn’t need to answer. The look you shared said enough.

“Let’s do the bedside,” he said, and you nodded.

He handed you the ultrasound probe with steady hands “Transabdominal first,” you murmured, angling the screen. “Uterine stripe is empty…”

“Check Morrison’s pouch.”

You slid the probe, and there it was: free fluid collecting near the liver. You didn’t need a positive pregnancy test anymore.

“She’s bleeding out,” you said, your voice low but calm. “Internal rupture.”

Robby met your eyes. “OR, now.”

“Call OB,” you barked. “We need the rapid transfuser. Get a trauma pack—no, two.”

There was blood. Too much of it. But your hands stayed steady as you started the line. Robby worked the airway, quick and efficient, while you coordinated the push to surgery. The two of you didn’t speak beyond commands to the residents, but the rhythm was still there—tight, fluid, unspoken.

When the gurney finally wheeled her out, you stayed frozen in place for a second, gloves soaked, the adrenaline still ricocheting through your chest.

You peeled off your gown and leaned against the wall just outside the trauma one. Breathing finally caught up to you. The world tilted back into focus.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low. Quiet enough that it didn’t carry.

“I’m fine,” you said automatically. Then, softer, “It’s just… fast.”

He watched you for a moment. “You’ll learn to breathe in the middle of it.”

You weren’t sure if that was meant to be comforting, but you took comfort in it anyway

At lunch, you leaned beside him on the rails of the rooftop. It had become habitual to find yourself up here with him during your shifts, finding a small moment of quiet.

“You ever get used to it?” you asked, not quite looking at him. “The… not knowing how things end?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just leaned back, hands gripping the rails “No,” he said finally. “You just get better at compartmentalizing.”

“That sounds bleak.”

“It’s honest.”

Another pause. Your eyes flicked toward him, catching the faint lines at the corners of his eyes. Not quite from age. More like from carrying too much.

You tilted your head. “You ever take a day off?”

He glanced over at you. “You ever stop asking questions?”

You smirked. “Touché.”

A pause.

“You talk like someone who’s burned out and pretending not to be.”

He glanced at you, surprised. “You talk like someone who sees more than she says.”

You didn’t answer that.

Late afternoon hit you like a sledgehammer. A code blue on 4 East, two pediatric lacerations back-to-back, and a psych hold in Room 9 who threw a bedpan at you because you wouldn’t let him leave AMA.

You didn’t know Robby had seen that until you found an energy drink waiting at the nurses’ station.

No note. No acknowledgment.

You almost smiled. Almost.

You blamed your lack of sleep, but your last case got to you. It was a diabetic foot ulcer gone septic. The smell alone made your eyes water, and the patient was aggressive and confused.

You powered through the dressing, the orders, and the call to vascular. You didn’t realize how tightly your jaw was clenched until you stepped out of the room and leaned against the wall, eyes closed.

“Hey.”

You opened them to find Robby standing in front of you, arms crossed, watching you with something like… caution. Or concern.

“You good?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just… one of those days.”

“You handled it.”

“Barely.”

He looked at you, long enough that you felt your stomach twist. Not unpleasantly. Just… uncomfortably aware.

“You’re allowed to struggle, Williams. Doesn’t make you weaker.”

You nodded, swallowing past the thickness in your throat.

“I just hate that I care so much,” you said. “About getting it right. About being good.”

He hesitated. Then, softer, “That’s exactly why you will be.”

There was silence between you then. Not awkward. Just… still.

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

Eventually, you broke it. “If you say something profound and walk away dramatically, I swear I will beg Dr. Shen to take me back-”

He snorted. “I’ll save the theatrics for tomorrow.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You didn’t leave until nearly eight. Your shift had ended an hour ago, but you’d found yourself lingering—checking your charts, double-reading labs, pretending like you hadn’t just been waiting for your heartbeat to slow down.

You finally stepped out into the night, air cool against your skin. You were halfway to the parking lot when you heard footsteps behind you.

“You always stay this late?” Robby asked, walking up beside you.

You shrugged. “I was just being thorough.”

He tilted his head. “And the real reason?”

“I don’t know how to turn it off,” you confessed quietly.

He nodded like he understood. Because maybe, he did.

You walked in silence for a while, the gravel crunching beneath your sneakers, headlights flashing in the distance.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he said, just as you reached your car. “You’re not just surviving this place. You’re learning it.”

You looked at him. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

A pause. His voice dropped slightly, not softer but lower. “And you’re not easy to intimidate.”

You almost smiled. “I fake it really well.”

“I can tell.”

He looked at you like he wanted to say something else. Like he almost did.

Instead, he stepped back.

“Night, Williams.”

You climbed into your car, closed the door, and sat there for a long moment before starting the engine.

He still hadn’t said your first name.

And somehow, that felt like its own kind of tension.

[shawnthebro]

Converting 2/2.5D hitboxes to 3D requires minor changes to our system. Let’s fully support it before integrating it into our game!