#medical admission form

[fortuneeducationsblog]

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[merinelsa]

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[globledream]

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Nepal is our neighbor country, which contacts the line of Bihar, Uttar Pradesh and West Bengal. So the making a trip is extremely helpful to Nepal.

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[harmonyd]

Amplats Medical Services Application Form 2023/2024

Amplats Medical Services Application Form 2023/2024

Amplats Medical Services Application Form 2023/2024 Online | How to Apply Amplats Medical Services Application Form 2023/2024 | The Amplats Medical Services application and registration form/dates for the 2023/2024 academic year has been released check Below to Access   The Amplats Medical Services Application Form 2023/2024, application fee, admission entry requirements, programmes duration,…

[bby-deerling]

doctor's orders (law x reader nsfw)

law tries his best to be professional while he gives you a physical...and fails

18+, nsfw, mdni wc: 1.4k masterlist

cw: afab!reader, established relationship, lil' bit of medical stuff, law gives you a breast exam, biting, creampie, sex on an exam table, cocky smug law, teasing, degradation, law is a smidge mean ;)

There is a certain melding of boundaries that exists when your partner is your captain and your physician, but Law was insistent that he could maintain professionalism as he oversees your yearly physical examination.  And for a while he does, checking your vitals, and slipping his cold fingers and stethoscope under your shirt to listen to your lungs, heart, and stomach.

It’s all so routine and normal, until he makes his way down his checklist to one particular question that opens Pandora’s Box.

“Do you give yourself regular breast exams?” he asks, his intense eyes focused on your chart.  He drums his pen across the top of his clipboard rhythmically as he waits for your response.

“I know I should be, but I’m not quite sure how to do them properly.” you say, a bit embarrassed at having to admit to any form of incompetence in front of him, even over something silly like this.

He takes your admission in stride, simply nodding in response.  “I’ll show you how to do them.” he says nonchalantly, “Shirt off, hands up.”  Though Law maintains his bedside manner, turning away from you while you undress, you find it hard to separate the simple command from the way he normally orders you around in bed.  When he turns back around to face you, there’s a spark in his eyes as he catches a glimpse of your breasts that is so fleeting that you’re sure your mind is playing tricks on you; after all, Law was in doctor mode right now, and was simply giving you a completely normal physical.  Keeping your wandering mind in check becomes even more difficult when he starts his movements; he gives you instructions, but all you can do is nod and try to focus on anything but the way his hands knead your breasts.

“If you didn’t catch all that, you can just give me a reminder and I’ll do it for you in the shower.” he says with a bit of gravel in his voice.  The barrier between doctor and patient had become muddied, and your mind begins to drift towards something between a reverie and a memory of Law pressing you against the wall of the shower and pinning your wrists above your head.  The absence of hot water touching your skin causes you to shiver, making you crave the heat of his body all the more; his hands grasp at your breasts greedily, making his cock twitch against you.  He works you up slowly, circling his thumb softly over your nipple, and then, once you get comfortable, tweaks it between two fingers; the sensation feels palpable and real, too real to be a mere creation of the mind.

As your eyes snap open, twitching slightly as you jolt back into reality, you find your intuition to be right on the money—Law is getting handsy with you.

“Law!” you exclaim, surprised by both the unexpected touch and the whiplash of being pulled from a daydream into a manifestation of one.  He still stands behind you, but every subtle shift in his movement is tangible and you can feel the pull of his lips into a smug, satisfied smirk as he watches your cheeks grow warm and rosy under his touch.

“Exam’s over.  Spread ‘em.” he murmurs, leaning down to ghost his lips along the shell of your ear.  Heat pools at your core as his inked hands grope at and roam your body; one stays on your breast, kneading and squeezing it gently, while the other trails downward on your torso, playing with the waistband of your pants.

“Be a good girl and take these off for me.” he whispers, pupils blown wide as he watches you slip off your sweatpants; you do him the favor of sliding off your panties too, making him exhale as his cock twitches in his jeans. “So eager, you’re always such a little slut for me.” he mumbles in your ear, making you squirm as he runs his tongue along your ear and then blows cool air across it.

“You’re the one who couldn’t wait until later to have me.” you snap back, flustered by the degradation; however, you can’t hide the way his words made you spasm and flutter around nothing—you were already practically drooling for him, a fact that only feeds his ego as he settles himself between your legs.

“And you’re the one enjoying it.” he says slyly, slipping a finger inside your needy sex.  The action turns the sarcastic retorts on the tip of your tongue into soft little gasps and mewls; once he slides in a second, your mind scrambles, mesmerized as you watch the tattoos adorning his fingers disappear and reappear in a rhythmic cycle.

Quiet whimpers fall from your lips as he pulls you apart, curling his fingers against your sweet spot with no remorse.  He has you right where he wants you—running hot, shameless, and desperate to come around his digits—but you’re so incredibly amusing to tease that he can’t help himself from denying you, pulling his fingers out of you right as your thighs begin to twitch.

“Come on Law…” you whine in frustration.  Insistent on being good for him, you bite the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from talking back—you knew that getting visibly upset with him for edging you only made him draw out your climax longer, up to and past the point of tears.

He darkly chuckles at your protest, unbuttoning his jeans and slipping them off before crawling on top of you; he’s not unlike a big cat pinning his prey beneath him as he hovers over you, giving you a feral, predatory grin.  “You gonna be good for me?” he asks, running his fingertips along your jawline.  The movement sends tingles running underneath your skin and through your veins as you nod.

“I promise, Law.” you whisper, voice dripping with need.  Doe eyes, spread wide like saucers meet his narrow cat-like ones, convincing him to show you mercy.

“You better be, or I’ll tease you here all night and still not let you come.” he warns, dipping his head to leave heated kisses along the column of your neck. Your hips twitch against his as he lines himself up with your slick entrance, pressing just the tip of his cock into you until you let out a whine, a wordless plea for him to give you more.  “Take it for me, slut.” Law whispers as he bottoms out into you and sinks his teeth into your shoulder.

Each stroke he gives you is dizzying, deep, and full of need; his warmth radiates through his sweatshirt and into your skin, smothering you in the fabric of his presence and his musky scent as he rocks his hips into yours.  The space between you becomes sticky and humid, creating a dense, hazy fog of lust and passion.   You’re dripping around him, unable to keep quiet; the power behind his thrusts increases with each lewd sound that rolls off your tongue.  The melody of your voice as he makes you sing for him is saccharine sweet as it rings in his ears, spurring him to growl and give it to you harder.

He’s feverish as he ruts into you, claiming your lips and possessively swirling his tongue against yours.  Your hips rub against his in a needy attempt to get off, dragging your clit against him with each pass of his cock; bliss clouds your mind as heat builds in your abdomen, the thread tethering you to reality threatening to snap with each thrust.  Law sighs against your skin as he feels you begin to flutter around him, ridiculously smug about being able to make you fall off into the abyss while trapped underneath him.  Trembles overtake your body as you unravel, warmth flooding through your skin and drowning you in a pool of ecstasy; he holds you close, burying his head into your shoulder as he feels you spasm around his cock.

Law struggles to keep his composure for much longer, and the way you milk his cock has him spilling ropes inside of you.  He’s biting and growling against your skin, lost in a haze as he succumbs to his urge to mark and claim you.  The harsh sucking against your neck turns into soft kitten licks as he comes around, making you sigh and melt into his touch.

“We’ll finish up your exam tomorrow.” he mumbles in your ear, planting kisses along the angry red marks he had left across your skin.

“Are you gonna be able to keep your hands to yourself?” you tease, snuggling into his touch and pressing your lips into the column of his neck.

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.  Depends on how I’m feeling.” he says with a sigh, reaching down to give your hips a loving squeeze as he pulls out of you.

In other words, that’s a no… you think to yourself, giving him a dreamy smile as he helps you clean up.

[queenshelby]

Chemical Reactions (P. 20)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy as J Robert Oppenheimer x Student Reader

Warning: Age-Gap, Infidelity, Smut, Torture

Words: 1,889

Note: The fic is spoiler free and my own fantasy and imagination. It is not historically and scientifically accurate.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, the separation between Robert and you became agonizingly long. The weight of the situation bore down heavy on both your hearts, as you tirelessly navigated through the treacherous waters of uncertainty and danger.

Albeit the fact that you had been moved to more pleasant prison just two days after you had been arrested by Pash, you were still confined to a secure facility which, luckily for you, had medical care.

In this facility, the months dragged on, a never-ending cycle of uncertainty and despair.

While you were away from him, Robert felt as if he were living in a purgatory, caught between his duty and his love for you. The revelation that Kitty Oppenheimer, his own wife, had betrayed him like this was a bitter blow. It shattered any semblance of trust he had left, leaving him feeling betrayed and empty.

It was her who leaked secret information to an agent of the soviet union and the investigation into Kitty's actions revealed a web of secrets and lies that she had woven meticulously.

She had leaked information and tried to divert the blame onto you in order to get rid of you and this, itself, was a dangerous game that she was playing.

It was a twisted and cruel act, one that Robert never thought he would witness from someone he had once loved. The fallout from Kitty's betrayal only complicated matters further. The authorities were now wary of potential moles within the project, questioning everyone's loyalty and motives and despite her partial admission, the investigation into your past continued.

With Kitty’s actions, it seemed that no one was above suspicion, including Robert himself. Every step he took was scrutinised, his every move monitored while he led the project. Desperate to protect you and ensure your safety, Robert used his influence where he could. He pulled strings, called in favours, and pleaded with higher-ups to expedite the investigation so that you could reunite. But bureaucracy moves at its own pace, and justice seemed painfully slow.

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. Robert could only imagine what you were going through, locked away in a military facility, while the world passed you by.

His heart ached at the thought of you being subjected to the harsh realities of prison life, especially with a child on the way. Time seemed to stretch endlessly, each passing day marked by a dull ache of longing and a gnawing fear of the unknown.

Robert grappled with his own guilt, feeling responsible for the situation that had befallen you. He questioned every decision he had made, wondering if there was something he could have done differently to protect you.

As the months went by, Robert found solace in his work. He threw himself into research and experimentation, channelling his frustrations and fears into the pursuit of scientific breakthroughs. He pushed the boundaries of his own knowledge, hoping that some great discovery would alleviate the pain of his separation from you.

***

Unable to see each other or communicate directly as visitors were strictly prohibited at the facility, the only solace came in the form of letters.

General Groves became the messenger, reading your heartfelt words and delivering them to each of you personally.

Every letter was a lifeline, a fragile thread connecting your hearts in the midst of an unpredictable and unforgiving world. Through ink-stained pages, you shared your hopes, fears, and struggles, desperate to hold onto the love that had been abruptly torn from your grasp.

The letters were filled with a mix of joy and sorrow, as you recounted each day's events, except those related directly to the development of the gadget.

You described the unbearable loneliness and longing for each other's embrace, the difficulty of trying to remain strong amidst the harsh conditions. But amidst the darkness, there were glimpses of hope as you spoke of the unwavering belief that one day, you would be reunited.

Robert, ever the optimist, wrote poetry to cheer you up and you poured your heart onto the pages, documenting the challenges you faced, both physically and emotionally while being confined.

The uncertainty of your fate weighed heavily on you, but you refused to succumb to despair. Instead, you clung to the memories of your time together, allowing them to fuel your determination to overcome the adversities you faced.

General Groves, touched by the depth of your love and resilience, took it upon himself to ensure the safe passage of each letter. He knew the importance of this lifeline, recognising that their words held the power to inspire and sustain you. With each delivery, General Groves witnessed the unwavering devotion that bound you together.

Your love, tested by distance, confinement, and uncertainty, remained steadfast, growing stronger with each passing day. These letters became a testament to the power of love in the face of adversity, a bond that refused to be broken. And so, the months crawled by, punctuated by the arrival of each letter. They became the rays of hope that pierced through the darkness, reminding you that love could endure even in the bleakest of times. Every word, every sentiment, forged a connection that transcended the physical divide, drawing you closer together even in your separation.

***

Then, one day, General Groves attended Los Alamos without a letter in his hand, informing Robert that he had something much more exciting to give to him.

Handing him a photograph, he said “Congratulations Robert! You have a healthy baby boy.”

With trembling hands, Robert took the photograph from General Groves. As his eyes settled on the image, his heart skipped a beat. There, captured in a moment frozen in time, was a tiny bundle of joy cradled in your arms. The weight of the world seemed to lift from his shoulders as he gazed at his son for the very first time. Tears welled up in Robert's eyes, a mixture of relief, longing, and overwhelming joy. It had been a year of unimaginable anguish and uncertainty, but seeing the radiant smile on your face as you held their child close, he knew that everything he had fought for had been worth it.

“He is perfect,” Robert declared tearfully, unable to take his eyes off the photo. In that instant, all the heartache faded into insignificance compared to the overpowering sense of pride and love surging through him. This new life embodied the essence of your undying commitment to each other, standing tall against the forces that sought to rip them apart.

Looking anxiously, Robert said, "This baby will change things and all our sacrifices won't go to waste."

"No, they won't Robert," the General said before he nodded resolutely, acknowledging the weight of responsibility resting on Robert's shoulders as well as his own.

"Please, can I see him. He is my son," Robert asked, his voice cracking, but General Groves told him that this was not an option due to security reasons.

Heartbroken yet understanding, Robert swallowed back tears and thanked the General for the photograph.

"I understand, General," he managed to say, his voice hoarse with grief and happiness mixed. 

"When you see her next, can you give her my letter and tell her that she is doing amazing and that I am proud of her?" His voice breaking slightly, he added, "Tell her how brave she is. How beautiful she looks holding our little miracle. Tell her I miss her dearly. And let her know...let her know..."

His voice trailed off as Robert realized he couldn't quite put into words exactly what he wanted to express about his feelings toward you, about their relationship, about their shared experiences - especially after learning about your bravery in giving birth under such difficult circumstances.

"I suggest you write it down, Robert. I will be here until noon," said General Groves, sensing Robert's struggle to articulate his feelings. "Take your time," he told him with a pat on the shoulder. 

Grateful for the supportive presence, Robert nodded and quickly retrieved paper and pen from his office. Sitting down, he began scribbling feverishly, trying to find the right words to convey his thoughts and emotions towards you.

In a few moments, he finished composing the most honest and vulnerable message he had ever written and it was this very honest and raw letter of his that brought tears to your face. 

*** The Letter ***

My Dearest [Your Name],

Words cannot express the overwhelming emotions coursing through my veins as I hold this photograph of our beautiful baby boy. Seeing his innocent face has cast a brilliant light upon the darkest corners of my weary soul. In this single image, I find solace, hope, and an abundance of joy that courses through my every fiber.

I stand here, with tears streaming down my face, in awe of the miracle you have brought into this world. Our son, our precious creation, is a testament to the strength and resilience of our love. He is a beacon of hope, a symbol of our undying commitment to one another and to a brighter future.

I cannot help but think of the sacrifices you have made, the hardships you have endured, and the relentless determination that has guided you through this tumultuous journey.

Our love has endured the trials, the uncertainty, and the immense pressure placed upon us. And now, in this moment, the weight of the world seems insignificant compared to the boundless love radiating from this tiny bundle of life.

As I gaze upon this photograph, I am filled with an indescribable pride for what we have created together. Our love, our bond, has transcended distance, sacrifices, and the devastating impact of this war.

Please tell our son, when the time comes, that his father loves him more than words can convey. Tell him about the countless lives that will reap the benefits of our sacrifices. Whisper to him our story, a tale of resilience, bravery, and the unwavering love that binds us all together.

And to you, my love, I want to express something that words alone could never encapsulate. Your indomitable spirit, your unwavering courage, and your unyielding love have sustained me through the darkest of days. In you, I have found my anchor, my refuge, and my reason.

Please know that you are an extraordinary woman, my love. Your bravery, your strength, and your unwavering spirit during the pregnancy and birth have left me in awe. The thought of you going through such a monumental moment without anyone by your side breaks my heart, but it also fills me with immense pride. You are my rock, my source of inspiration, and the embodiment of everything that is beautiful in this world. Our son is fortunate to have you as his mother, and your love and guidance will shape him into an incredible human being.

When the time comes for us to be reunited, know that I will hold you tightly, for I have missed your touch more than words can express. Until then, my heart stays with you, my love.

Yours, forever and always,

Robert

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[macgyvermedical]

Inpatient Mental Healthcare

This was a request from someone (actually 2 someones) who requested not to be named.

What is it like when you go to a hospital for a psych problem?

In the emergency department:

The first place most people go for a psych problem is the emergency department. The only thing they determine here is whether or not you are a threat to yourself (actively or via an inability to take care of or protect yourself) or someone else. The person that makes this determination is a psychiatrist. Depending on when you come in and how many other people also need the psychiatrist, it may take a long time for them to come see you.

Until that time, the goal of the emergency department is to keep you safe. This usually looks like either putting you in a specific room that has no cords or sharp objects, or putting you in a room with a "patient companion" or "sitter".

A patient companion is usually a nursing assistant. They are not trained to counsel you or provide any psych care. They are simply there to make sure you do not hurt yourself (and provide nursing-assistant-level care if you need it. This is help cleaning yourself, going to the bathroom, or dressing yourself). From this point on, you will not be alone, even in the bathroom. This is to keep you safe, even if it is at the expense of some privacy.

From this point on, the hospital is also responsible for keeping you and everyone around you safe. If you threaten another person in the hospital, such as staff or visitors, the police or hospital security will be called. You will also be offered medication to help you calm down. If you do not take it, but continue to threaten, you will likely be given the medication involuntarily.

Once you see a psychiatrist and they determine you need inpatient care, they will ask you to sign a "voluntary form" (called different things at different places). This basically says you are voluntarily admitting yourself to a psych facility until a psychiatrist says you are fit to leave. Understand this. You cannot decide to leave tomorrow once you sign the form. You will have to wait for a psychiatrist to clear you to leave.

If you don't sign the form, but you have said you have a plan to die or hurt someone else, or are deemed incapable of taking care of or protecting yourself from harm, they can write an emergency order to admit you for 72 hours to further evaluate you and see if you need additional inpatient care.

In a standard hospital:

Once an admission order is in place (voluntary or not) If you have medical needs (say, you made an attempt on your life already and need medical care for any injuries, or if you just have a serious medical problem on top of your psych problem) you will go to a standard hospital floor with a patient companion. You may also be admitted to a standard hospital floor if there are no beds available in psych.

In this location, you will see a psychiatrist at least daily to work out which meds are best for your condition, and to re-evaluate your mental health status.

The unfortunate part about this is that you do not get the benefit of group therapy or educational activities directed at psych patients. You also do not get the perspectives of other psych patients that you would in a psych facility. This is usually just to keep you safe until you can go to a psych facility.

In a psych facility:

If you are medically cleared and okay to go to a psych facility, you will be transported there by ambulance (if it's in a different building). Yes, even if the building is across the street. You will be given a room or a bed (depending on how the facility is set up). You will be read the rules of the floor. Your belongings (including phones and wallets) will be locked so they cannot be stolen or used to hurt someone. You may have access to things like clothing or shampoo if you brought it, while other facilities may insist that you wear their clothing and use their toiletries.

A psych floor is usually set up as a relatively free space like a day room, a hall of rooms or dorms, then a couple meeting rooms for counseling, and classrooms. Furniture in psych facilities is either too heavy to pick up or else bolted to the floor. Doors that lead off the floor are locked in both directions.

Days are structured differently at different facilities. Usually this is something like breakfast at a set time, then time to clean yourself up for the day, then group therapy, then a break, then an educational session, then lunch, then free time, then a meeting with your psychiatrist, then a meeting with a counselor, then dinner, then free time. Generally, unit phones and TVs are turned off during activities like group time or educational sessions to encourage people to attend.

[gamebunny-advance]

Misc. Pikmin 4 Character Trivia

(Updated 05/21/24)

Recent updates: Added info about Ohri and Nijo to the Planet Generalizations section due to new information from the Pikmin Garden website.

Ever wanted all the Pikmin 4 character trivia in one place? Well, here you go. If I missed anything, feel free to let me know and I'll update this post.

Note: I'm not covering the Hocotatians & Koppaites because the former are major characters with a lot about them already written, and the only interesting trivia (IMO) about the latter is already "common knowledge."

This also isn't a document of *every* line of dialogue that a castaway can say. This is just stuff that I thought was interesting and/or info that you can't get from just reading their ID or talking to them once. Some castaways don't have any entries because they're either not that interesting or don't actually talk about themselves much.

Rescue Officers

Collin

Has a wireless transceiver that has been passed down to him by his grandfather. He refuses to replace it and instead just fixes it whenever it breaks.

His hobby is tinkering with machines.

He's worked several odd jobs in the past to help pay for his education. These jobs include collecting space trash, ship construction, and cleaning the "outer walls of the colony". He considers his work as the comms operator to be significantly more difficult than any of his past jobs.

This has caused him to be multi-talented, but it also causes others to take advantage of him.

Despite this, he apparently isn't one for "physical labor."

Collin considers PNF-404 to be tiny, though this may be in reference to the universe, in which all planets could be considered "tiny."

Shepherd considers him young, but in reference to who/what is unknown.

Only in the comics, Oatchi seems to dislike Collin.

Shepherd

She has the highest certificate ranking in the Rescue Corps, and a special certification in Rescue Pup training. This is something very few officers have.

She spends all of her breaks at a dog run near the Rescue corps HQ.

Apparently, she spends much of their budget on dog food.

She met Dingo before she was captain when they were both training. This may mean that she's known him the longest of the other members. Most others are implied to have met her/been recruited by her when she was already captain.

She exceeds Dingo in martial arts and cross-country.

She doesn't seem aware of Dingo's crush on her.

She seems to experience some form of imposter syndrome during the main campaign but overcomes it near the end of the game.

Her family has lived with dogs since at least the first Captain's generation. Additionally, their family is implied to be immigrants from a different planet. Their original planet is unknown, but is highly implied to be Earth/PNF-404.

Her family's motto is, "There's no better judge of character than a dog."

By her own admission, the only creatures she can "handle" are dogs. Whether this also excludes other domesticated creatures is currently unknown.

Russ

His family runs a megacorporation on Giya, and as a result is incredibly wealthy. They're so wealthy that they can regularly afford golden pikpik carrots and just casually blend them into juice for a snack.

Said family is also very large and extravagant and seems to always invite the other rescue officers to their many parties, much to the latter's chagrin.

His mother is notorious in the Rescue Corps for "being quite the character."

He claims to have only joined the Rescue Corps out of curiosity.

While he lords his intellect above most others, he still recognizes Yonny as a genius in the medical field.

He wears a lab coat under his spacesuit. His mother gifted him 64 of them to bring on their current trip.

The Emergency Kit was the first item he prototyped after joining the Rescue Corps.

He is a fan of the reporter Muggs.

His natural hair color may be green, as this is the color of his eyebrows.

He's apparently prone to "interesting" injuries, likely due to failed inventions.

Dingo

Decided to become a rescue officer after being saved in the mountains by Shepherd's father, the previous Rescue Corps captain.

He dislikes dogs due to being traumatized by one during the same rescue, as he believed the rescue pup was trying to attack him.

He appears to fear Russ's mother.

He apparently believes that any drink (and possibly food, given his theft of Bernard's pizza) sitting out belongs to him.

Acknowledges that Collin is probably their most important team member, but he still takes advantage of his kindness from time to time.

He tends to refer to most of the officers by their title/job rather than name. (Comms guy for Collin, Science guy for Russ, the captain, etc.) Except Yonny which he shortens to "Yon."

He's childhood friends with Yonny.

Yonny

He's an avid reader, but prefers paper books to digital ones. He has boxes of them shipped to HQ regularly and they would have taken up 27 shelves on the ship if he were allowed to bring just the ones he wanted.

Has experimented on at least Shepherd and Dingo without their full consent. The former by not being transparent about what was in a vitamin supplement he gave her, and the latter by abusing his tendency to drink anything that's just sitting out. He has attempted to experiment on Collin, but it is unknown if he succeeded in doing so.

Apparently bursts into maniacal laughter when working in the lab by himself. The other officers just ignore it.

He's childhood friends with Dingo.

Bernard

He is very picky about food, to the point that their food storage has a special section just for him. It consists of expensive, specialized foods.

Like Collin, he has worked several different jobs over his career (including the president of a space-flight company). In the Japanese script, this is *apparently reflected in him having a combination of different dialects.

Also, like Collin, he considers his job as an officer to be significantly more difficult than his other jobs. However, he also considers it the most rewarding.

He invented an all-in-one meal drink that put a boxed lunch company out of business, solely because he finds digging through lunch boxes to be a pain.

Shepherd recruited him after he was able to deliver some packages for her faster than the post office would.

He has a history with a castaway named Santi whom he considered himself to be a part of a "dynamic duo" with. They were born about the same time, went to school and college together, and at some point became the latter's flight instructor. Bernard thinks of Santi fondly, but the feeling is not mutual.

He once piloted a 20,000 hour (just over two years) flight.

*(source)

Civilian Castaways + Their Planets

Research Task Force

Twyla and Komo are close friends due to their mutual introversion. They consider each other "irreplaceable".

Komo considers Chet easy to talk to.

Twyla considers the concept of plate tectonics to be unheard of on her home planet. This may imply that Conohan doesn't have any natural mountains, volcanoes, trenches, earthquakes, etc.

Sammy's home planet of Ocobo was not always ravaged by perpetual storms. But once they started, the entire planet flooded and their planet's engineers developed artificial islands for the people to live on.

Sy is the youngest member of the Research Task Force.

Osa is Kit's senior.

Chet has considered asking Ren to try cooking the creatures of the planet, but ultimately decides against it.

TV Crew

Wolfgang and Muggs get engaged at the end of the game. If you talk to Muggs before rescuing Wolfgang, she will drop hints about already having some romantic interest in him.

Muggs is possibly one of only other people that can understand what Oatchi's thinking if her comments from Oatchi are to be believed.

Vonda claims that Wolfgang is apparently a good singer. Comparatively, she struggles to say nice things about Olimar's humming.

Frisé wrote a song called, "Song of Love." This is likely a reference to "Ai no Uta" a song used in the promotion of Pikmin (2001). The title directly translates to "Song of Love." However, the lyrics of the two songs seem completely different.

Satella Travel Employees + Guests

Molly appears to have a crush on Russ. She finds his intellect attractive and wants to wear his glasses.

Molly might also be of a higher intellect given that she once made and launched an unmanned rocket in a single night by herself (even if it exploded).

The name of the travel agency that Chewy and Santi work for, the Satella Travel Agency, is a reference to the Nintendo Satellaview.

Sheeba apparently resembles Chewy's boss.

Santi learned his piloting skills from Bernard.

He also seems to have a similar "accent" to Bernard, but it only comes out when speaking about the latter.

Santi appears to be fond of Chewy and is considering becoming a permanent employee for her sake. Whether these feelings are romantic in nature is unclear.

Planetary Science Club

Despite being the Planetary Science Club's adviser, Mika actually teaches ethics and knows very little about any kind of planetary science.

Sheeba appears fearful of Oatchi.

Sheeba wants to become a teacher when she grows up.

The Planetary Science Club students went on the planetary tour on a free raffle, but Mika had to pay out of pocket.

Kaia gave Mika a nickname: Meeki. Mika likes it, but Sheeba thinks it's unprofessional.

Keesh is apparently stronger than Sheeba, Kaia, and Mika combined.

Others

All of Beaux's roles in movies/shows are references to other Nintendo games and IPs. Specifically the first 3 Pikmin games where he plays the Olimar expy, Animal Crossing: New Horizons, Mario, Kirby, and Link.

In a similar vein, his twin brother Alpin's company is called "e-Leader" as a reference to Nintendo's "e-Reader" accessory.

Alpin inherited the company from their father and works so Beaux can pursue his dreams of being an actor.

Alpin knows Fawks well enough to know exactly how he likes his coffee. (1 cup of coffee with 2 spoonfuls of milk, and 3 sugarcubes.)

From Kayz we learn a little about the different biomes on the other planets: Siguray has a scorching desert, Flukuey has steep, rocky mountains, and Ooji has a lush jungle.

Patch admits that he sees a "darkness" in Olimar's eyes, which implies that this is not his first life-or-death experience.

Patch is implied to have been or was inspired by a pundit to pursue his current lifestyle.

Bernise will actually change her fortune for you every in-game day.

Dalmo has been interested in creatures since childhood.

His hometown also has a waterfront, confirming that Sozor has at least one significant body of water.

While Dalmo never ascribes malice to any of the creatures, he appears somewhat cynical about society, calling adults the only beings capable of intentional deceit and acknowledging that being popular means not having to work as hard to get to the top.

Shnauz's home planet of Siguray apparently has iridescent, water-dwelling newts.

Jin has studied traditional sports, combat sports, martial arts, and the art of battle.

One of Corgwin's first builds was a dog-house.

Speculative material below the cut.

Planet Generalizations

Some castaways from certain planets seem to have similar personalities/traits. Given that it's stated that things like the Koppaites' general inability to plan/being picky eaters is inherent to their race, it's possible that these generalizations apply to the rest of the races as well. I have not included planets with only one castaway. These are detailed below.

Sozor (Dalmo, Grace, Horatio): Have anti-social personalities. Dalmo prefers creatures to people, Grace seems disinterested in society as a whole, and Horatio seems inept at social interactions.

Flukuey (Jin, Molly, Dash, Patch): Have unstable professions and/or are adventure seekers. Jin is an explorer, Molly is a streamer of limited success, Dash is a spelunker from a well off-family, and Patch is unemployed but purposefully puts himself in dangerous situations for the thrill.

Ooji (Francois, Kingsly): Love flowers/plant life. Francois studies plant-life, and Kingsly is a florist.

Koodgio (Lapi, Boris): Artistic types. Lapi is a painter and Boris is an author.

Siguray (Shnauz, Kit, Osa): Interested in the qualities/history of materials/items. Shnauz appraises treasure, Kit is interested in minerals, and Osa is interested in archeology.

Ohri (Yonny, Dingo): Their kind is especially "tough" due to living in the mountains. This is said on the Pikmin Garden website and is reflected in how Dingo is a ranger and is able to complete most dandori challenges single-handedly, and Yonny who was active during the night time, the most dangerous time of the day, before he was rescued.

Nijo (Bernard, Santi): It's common for their people to change jobs frequently while they look for their "soul work/job." This is said on the Pikmin Garden website and is reflected in how both Bernard and Santi have claimed to have worked several different jobs during their lives. It seems that both have also found their "soul work" with the Rescue Corps and Satella Travel respectively.

Castaways where it's difficult to determine if their similar traits would be found in their race due to other factors:

Ogura (Sy, Pitunia): Bother are interested in studying the onion and their environmental factors surrounding it, but both are also a part of the Research Task Force, a group made of individuals that are interested in studying the planet in general, so it's hard to say if this would be something inherent to all Ogurains, or if they just happen to have a mutual interest in this area of study.

Enohee (Ren, Frise, Muggs, Wolfgang): 3 of the 4 are a part of the same crew so would have common interests by default. Arguably all 4 are interested in entertainment as Ren was on a cooking show, so TV might be a very important industry to Enohee.

Neechki (Kaia, Sheeba, Keesh, Mika, Chewy): 4 of the 5 are in the same club and would have similar interests by default, and Chewy has little in common with the rest of them.

Planets where I couldn't identify a common thread:

Enohay (Puddle, Vonda, Bernise): I would have said creative/artistic fields due to Puddle being a stylist and Vonda being a singer, but I don't think a fortune-teller really falls under that.

Conohan (Twyla, Chowder, Alpin, Fawks, Beaux): They all have different professions and interests, two are siblings, and none have especially similar personality traits. In a sense, I suppose this would imply that Conohan is a very diverse planet.

Giya (Shepherd, Collin, Russ): Another diverse group. However, given the stark difference between Collin's and Russ's financial situations, may imply that Giya has significant class inequality.

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Capitol Punishment I

Haymitch x Reader

Summary: The Capitol continues to torture it’s victors no matter how long ago they won through punishment, exploitation, and worst of all; their relationships.

A story in which Haymitch��s lover is a plaything for the Capitol.

Warnings: Canon level violence, rape (though never explicit), alcohol, murder, systemic poverty, exploitation, rebellion (?), more reliance on movie than book

Word Count: 3.6k

Prologue II | Masterlist | Part II

You removed your arms from the boy from District 1’s shoulders and chest, allowing him to fall to the ground, his neck bleeding. You hear a cannon fire and the head game maker who you hadn’t bothered to learn the name of come over the loudspeaker. “Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the 67th Hunger Games, Y/N L/N!”

~

You don’t remember much after you were announced the winner. Just flashes of a peacekeeper meeting you in the arena, guiding you onto the ship. You remember sitting in the same seat they brought you to the arena in, District 1’s body laying maybe 10 feet from away. They hadn’t even bothered to give either of you the dignity of respectfully handling his body.

Your memory still consisted of brief flashes until Haymitch. You were laying on the table, medics flitting around you treating cuts, bruises, and a broken rib you had suffered at the hands of District 2’s male tribute. But when Haymitch burst in, you were leaping from the table, pushing away the medics who tried to restrain you, and throwing yourself into your mentor’s arms. You immediately began to sob when you reached him, breaking down in his arms. You truly had no one left but him.

“You’re safe, you’re safe,” he shushed, stroking your still tangled hair. “You’re going to be okay. It’s over.” You now realized those were merely empty comforts he uttered to try to calm you down. You would never feel safe or okay, the Capitol’s games never stopped.

Haymitch eventually convinced you to allow the Capitol people to do what they needed to do but he never left the room. When you were finally alone, you spoke about the games.

“I had no idea you had it in you,” he whispered. “You shocked everyone when you started killing careers close range. Even I didn’t do that.” You only shrugged, not saying anything. Even thought they were the supposed big, bad careers who had trained their whole lives for the arena, they were still just kids that you had killed. Recognizing how you felt, Haymitch spoke. “I know it’s not easy to kill someone, especially living with it but you have no idea how happy I am you’re alive,” he admitted. His baby blue eyes pleading with yours. “It was terrifying watching you in there.”

You weren’t sure what to say, all you knew is that the only person in the world you valued seemed to value you too. Still unable to verbalize your feelings you chose to show him. Scooting over in the surprisingly large hospital bed, Haymitch took the hint and stood from the chair he had pulled up, climbing into bed with you. He wrapped his arms around you as you clung to him like a scared animal. His chin rested on top of your head and he stroked your now smooth hair as he had before. “You’re going to learn some terrible things about being a victor and the thought of you having to learn them breaks my heart. But you have to learn them. The first one is that I care about you and that’s dangerous so don’t piss off Snow.”

Your heart fluttered at his blatant admission of his feelings for you. But you wanted to sob at the thought of how hellish your life will be if you can’t do something as simple as care about someone. “I care about you too,” you mumbled into his chest, still craving any form of gentle intimacy compared to the brutish Capitol.

You were interrupted a couple moments later by your stylist, Vodka. You had once found it hilarious that her parents named her after an alcohol that was mostly drank before Panem. “Ah my Victor!” she cheered, completely disregarding the man in your bed. “We have to get you ready for your ceremony! I’m so excited you finally get to use a Victor design. Everyone told me don’t bother making any Victor dresses until you’ve moved up a couple districts but look at you proving them wrong,” she cheered. You wanted to roll your eyes at her cheer and the fact that she didn’t even recognize the torture you went through. “Now, you,” she pointed at Haymitch as the rest of the stylist team came in, “out.”

“No,” you snapped. “He stays.”

Vodka huffed but didn’t say anything else, just gestured for him to move out of the way which he did. The team got to work on you, waxing and tweezing everything below your neck. They then applied your makeup until you were put in a sheer dress with strategically placed lace, leaving very little to the imagination. Once you realized what they were putting on you, you sent a frantic look to your mentor. “Woah what are you doing?” he demanded, gesturing to your dress. “Victor’s outfits don’t look like that,” he said. While tributes frequently appeared in the pageants in sheer clothing or even nude, Victors were usually crowned in suits and non-see through ball gowns.

“Snow said her sponsors that you,” Vodka said, giving a pointed stare to Haymitch, “secured want to see her. And see her they shall,” she declared, proudly looking at your dress.

You looked at Haymitch, terror likely splashed across your face. ‘What are these sponsors going to do to me?’

~

Your question was answered after your crowning ceremony. After the cameras were turned off and the citizens of the Capitol had gone home, you were brought to Snow’s office. The office was cold and isolating, making you want to run back to District 12 forever. “Congratulations Y/N,” he greeted with a simultaneously kind and sinister smile. “Your sponsors were very pleased with your performance. They are eager to… see more of you,” he said, eyes raking down your practically nude body.

Your blood ran cold. You had heard of this happening to the beautiful victors of the career districts, but why were you, a random girl from 12 who had nearly descended into savagery, been picked? “What?” was all you managed to get out.

Snow only smiled coyly, and you heard the doors open behind you. In walked an older man, maybe 50, with silver hair and an eccentric suit. You wouldn’t call him handsome or ugly, merely average and unremarkable. “Mr. Phillips here has paid a lot for your virginity.”

Your eyes widened at Snow’s comment. “What?!” you demanded as two peacekeepers grabbed your arms. “How do you-”

“There’s old, largely useless footage from District 12 that let us track your every move since you reached adolescence,” Snow simply explained, not caring that he was selling an 18 year old into sex-slavery. You had no time to respond as the peacekeepers dragged you away, Mr. Phillips following with an eager look on his face.

~

Haymitch wearily entered President Snow’s office. “Hello, Mr. Abernathy,” he greeted like a supervillain.

“President Snow,” Haymitch greeted, gritting his teeth. He wanted to strangle this man with his bare hands for everything he had done to him simply because of the way he won his games.

“I understand you’ve become close with our victor,” Snow said.

“I don’t-” Haymitch began to lie, ready to protect you. But he was quickly cut off by holographic video of himself in bed with you from earlier that day.

“I’m sure you don’t have to remind you about your family’s deaths,” Snow said in a domineering tone. Haymitch clenched his jaw at the president’s words. “This is Y/N now,” Snow continued, the image changed to a live feed of Y/N with a man on top of her, doing unspeakable things to her. Haymitch saw red as he observed the tears running down her face, the man’s hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her whimpers of pain. “And believe me, if you so much as step a toe out of line, her clients will become much worse.”

“What do you want? Me to stop seeing her? I’ll do it, I’ll go back to the alcoholic who only comes here for the booze and desserts,” Haymitch said. Inside he was begging for any way to stop Y/N’s torture. And while he knew it’d hurt her for him to completely turn his back on her, he had to do it if it meant sparing her from this fate.

“I couldn’t care less about you,” Snow dismissed. “Like you said you’re the drunk no one takes seriously. I don’t care if you have a relationship with her, her fate is sealed whether you break her heart or not. The question is do you care enough about her to spare her from her life getting worse? So by all means, fall in love, have a relationship with her. You, after all, are the only one I’ll allow to protect her.” Haymitch was seething at the audacity of this guy for trading the two victors’ pain for the other. “That’ll be all, I’ll be monitoring the both of you for your decision,” Snow smiled before the peacekeepers led Haymitch out.

~

You had finally been released by that man after god knows how long. It was like being removed from the arena again. You just remember flashes of a peacekeeper leading you into a car and being led into the tributes’ building. In the lobby sat Haymitch and once again, just like after the games, you threw myself into his arms, sobbing. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

He tried to lead you upstairs but you were immobilized by your grief for your former life and any chance you had at happiness. So he settled on scooping you up bridal style and bringing you up to your room. He sat down on the bed as you nuzzled your face into his neck, sobbing. “I saw, and I’ll kill him, and Snow, for doing this to you,” Haymitch whispered.

“Why me?” you cried. “Why won’t they just let me go?”

“Because you’re beautiful,” Haymitch blurted without thinking.

Both froze, realizing what Haymitch said. Y/N pulled away from his neck. “You think I’m beautiful?” she asked, tears in her eyes.

Haymitch’s blue eyes locked on hers. “Of course you do,” he admitted. “So does everyone else here and in 12.” You felt your heart flutter, no one had ever bothered to call you beautiful before. The boys in school had simply called you hot while Mr. Phillips had moaned that you were sexy. So you pressed your lips to Haymitch’s, tasting the every present alcohol on his lips.

Haymitch responded to the kiss, allowing your lips to mold to his. Inside he was ecstatic and relieved that you had been the one to make the first move.

When they pulled away their gazes were locked on each other until Haymitch spoke. “I promise I will protect you as best you can.”

“I will too,” you promised, kissing him once again.

~

Once they returned to 12 you were brought to your house in Victor’s Village. It was a beautiful house, much more luxurious than any place you had seen before the games. But it also felt hallow and empty. You felt completely isolated even though Haymitch was right next door.

After being watched and surrounded for god knows how long you wanted to sleep in “your” house alone the first night. You fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow but you were met with the most terrifying moments in both the Capitol and the arena. You were surrounded by dead tributes, blood covering you, bringing you to the realization that you killed them. Snow stepped over their bodies, dragging you towards a group of Capitol men who you knew wanted to do unspeakable things to you.

You were suddenly jolted from your nightmare by Haymitch who you found shaking you, screaming that it wasn’t real. “Hay-Haymitch?” you stuttered. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard you screaming,” he admitted.

You immediately felt mortified, blood rushing to your cheeks realizing you disturbed the peace. “Oh- I’m sorry for waking you, you didn’t-”

“No, it’s okay. I wasn’t asleep anyways,” he soothed.

“Can you stay with me?” you asked, not wanting to be alone in the dark.

You were surprised to find that he looked relieved at your request. “Whatever you want,” he agreed. He climbed into bed with you, wrapping an arm around you, gently pulling you down to lay on his chest. “Have you visited friends yet?” he asked, his chin once again on top of your head as he stroked your hair.

“No, I didn’t really have friends after my dad died,” you mumbled, feeling empty. “Mom died in childbirth, he died in a mine explosion.”

You felt Haymitch sigh. “I’m sorry you’ve known more loss in your life than anyone should.”

You shrugged. “It’s okay, it’s all I know.”

“The good news now is that you can buy anything you want,” he tried to console. You both knew it was a meager consolation prize for the trauma. “You’ll never have to know cold or hunger again.”

You didn’t want to feel hollow or scared anymore so you allowed yourself to divulge in the fantasy Haymitch was trying to create for you. “I’ll buy every cake in the bakery,” you mused. “When I had to buy bread, as I was waiting for it I used to stare at the cakes. I was so jealous of the bakers, the mayor, and the peacekeepers since they were the only ones who could afford it. And you I guess.”

Haymitch chucked at that. “I do like cake,” he agreed.

You eventually fell asleep, the nightmares were far less scary but still there. But rather than being woken up by your screams, you were woken up by birds singing outside your window. Rather, Haymitch was woken up by the birds while you were woken up by peppered kisses on your hairline.

~

Over the next two weeks Haymitch and you became closer. You had both been alone for so long that it was a breath of fresh air to have real human intimacy. You still couldn’t sleep alone so you spent most nights in either your or Haymitch’s bed.

We spent our mornings together until Haymitch would go to the The Hob to get alcohol. you had tried to get him to try getting sober or at least drink less but you could see he seemed truly terrified of having to deal with the demons that lurked just past his drunken haze so you let it go. He never wantedyou to be seen at the Hob, saying that it was dangerous foryou now. So you stayed at home, tidying up a bit when you heard the door open. “I’m in the kitchen,” you called to Haymitch, already getting out a glass for him.

you heard footsteps coming towards you, now realizing that there were too many and they were too heavy to be Haymitch’s. you turned, greeted by several peacekeepers with their leader standing in front, helmet off. you didn’t recognize the one with his helmet off and their uniforms were all too pristinely white to be from District 12. you took a step backed, fearing what these men would do or say to me. “Ms. L/N, we need you to come with us,” he ordered in a commanding voice.

“Why?” you asked, your voice shaking.

“You’ve been requested by some Capitol citizens,” he explained, his voice gaining an angry edge. “You’ll be brought to the Capitol and returned here once you’ve fulfilled your duties.”

“No,” you uttered in terror, tears coming to your eyes. “No, please I can’t go.”

“President Snow’s orders, Miss,” the peacekeeper dismissed as two of them grabbed you.

“No! Haymitch!” you began to shriek in terror but your screams were quickly cut off with a hand clamping over your mouth and a needle in your neck.

“This’ll just calm you down,” the man explained. “And no one can hear you,” he taunted.

you began to sob as you lost consciousness, slumping against the peacekeepers carrying you out of your home.

~

When Haymitch returned to Y/N’s house he knew immediately something was wrong. All the footprints on the ground indicated that. He ran into the house, throwing open the door. “Y/N!” he called, searching through the house. When he got to the kitchen he saw a knocked over chair and a shattered glass. Haymitch felt his heart drop, realizing the Capitol got her.

He continued to run around frantically, praying he was wrong and maybe she just had an accident. When he made it to his house, hoping that she went over there for whatever reason, he was greeted by two peacekeepers in the living room. “Where the fuck is she?” he seethed.

The peacekeepers gave no indication that they had heard him except for one stepping up to him, handing Haymitch an envelope before wordlessly leaving, the other one following him out.

The envelope had a Capitol seal, igniting rage and guilt in his chest. He promised Y/N he’d protect her and he failed. Tearing open the note, he read.

Haymitch,

Y/N L/N’s services have been requested in the Capitol. Pending citizens’ satisfaction she will be returned to you in three days. I suggest you take that time to indulge your addiction, it will keep her safe.

President Snow

Haymitch crumpled up the paper angrily. Why did Snow insist on punishing him for his games even 15 years after? He wished he’d died in that arena. Wished he’d never become close with Y/N so she couldn’t be used against him. At that thought he felt incredibly guilty.

Not knowing what else to do and needing an outlet for his rage and fear, he picked up one of the many empty liquor bottles around his home and threw it. It exploded against the wall, raining shards everywhere.

Haymitch continued, drinking and throwing things until he fell to the ground, drunk and exhausted.

~

When you were able to return home after almost three whole days of being used, they simply left you shaking at Haymitch’s door like an orphaned child. Fortunately you had the sense, through your traumatized haze, to push the doorbell. “Oh my god, Y/N!” Haymitch exclaimed when he opened the door. He had to practically drag you inside but as soon as he did he realized his home wasn’t in a state you could be in.

So with you still in a borderline catatonic state, he scooped you up and brought you next door to your house. He placed you on the sofa before going to light a fire in the fireplace. Once he was done he took in your appearance. Makeup the stylist had no doubt put on you was smudged, he could see lingerie from underneath your sheer “robe” both of which were torn and barely staying on. He could also see bruises and hickies littered your body.

“Oh Y/N…” he began with an empathetic tone, stroking your hair. “I’m so sorry.” Haymitch genuinely felt guilty for not being there for you.

You didn’t say anything for a minute, simply staring down at the floor. “There were so many,” you suddenly said. “They locked me in a dark room and just brought them in one by one. I didn’t think it would ever stop.” Haymitch was once again seeing red but he made no indication of it, not wanting to spook you. He was sure you had seen more than your fair share of violent, angry men in the past couple days. “I met Finnick,” you suddenly said as if you were telling a friend about a vacation you took. “He’s like me, he said that he gets paid in secrets and I can too if I hold my ground before they… y’know.”

Haymitch’s heart not only broke for you, it filled with anger. They made you so powerless and your life so miserable that now you were excited to be paid with gossip while Snow actually got paid and still sold you into sex-slavery.

~

As the years went on you settled in as best you could into your new life. Snow tried his best to terrorize you and Haymitch, sometimes you were literally ripped from Haymitch’s side and bed in the dead of night. It worked on Haymitch who was terrified to leave you alone, it only hardened you. You allowed yourself to become a sweet, demure, Panem loving Victor to the public but behind closed doors, you became a force to be reckoned with. The other former victors had known you as a ferocious tribute who had killed every career in your arena. But as you met them over the next couple years they realized what was happening to you. Why you’d disappear randomly, coming back with hickies and bruises. And when you weren’t off being sold, everyone knew you were Haymitch’s. He was always near you, an arm usually around your waist if you weren’t in front of Capitol people.

You had initially been eager to befriend other victors but as your torture continued and you watched your kids be slaughtered, you came to only trust Haymitch and Finnick who knew exactly what you were going through. The Capitol also made a show of parading you around, both you and Finnick often eclipsing the tributes.

Prologue II | Masterlist | Part II

[mistyresolve]

| His Foresight - Simon "Ghost" Riley X

Medic!Reader (Part 7)

Word Count - 4.7K

Tags/Warnings - Blood and Injury, Depictions of war and violence, Explicit Language, Character Death, Slow Burn. This chapter describes scenes that some people may find disturbing, such as war crimes, mutilation, and death.

A/N - This chapter is tuff ngl.

Part 1 ❤︎ Part 2 ❤︎ Part 3  ❤︎ Part 3.5  ❤︎ Part 4 ❤︎ Part 5 ❤︎ Part 6

Masterlist  ❤︎ 

“Better,” Ghost said from somewhere at your side, his attention divided by watching you practice your throwing knife skills and cleaning his rifle, “But stop flicking your wrist, it’s unnecessary.” 

Since you arrived here Ghost had dedicated a surprising amount of time to teaching you how to throw a knife. Your aim was still off and you had the occasional miss, but you were improving. He’s had you standing in front of the piece of wood for the last hour throwing the knives he’s so graciously let you borrow, picking them up and doing it all over again. He was a good teacher, but a tough one. Not even you could be spared from his hazing lectures of form and technique. And on more than one occasion you stomped off on him in frustration, only to sheepishly return after some time to restart after cooling off. 

You glanced over your shoulder at him, your expression bored, “Are you even watching?” 

“Yes. Now, throw,” he instructed, dark eyes flicking up to you, and when he saw that you were still looking at him he twirled his finger in a “turn” gesture. 

With a sigh, you turn back around and aim at the center of the target painted into a wooden board. You lined yourself up, your tongue instinctively sticking out, a habit you had since you were a child when in focus, and threw the blade. The handle banged off the board and clanged to the ground. 

“I just told you to stop flicking your wrist,” he commented as he slid ammo into one of his magazines. 

You spun on him, annoyance twinging your tone “You come over here and throw one.” 

He placed the magazine on the table beside him and strode towards you with a confidence you envied, plucked the blade right out of your hand and threw it. It embedded itself deep into the wood. Right in the middle. He held his hand out for another. Again, it landed in the middle with a satisfying thud. Impressively close to the first. He threw two more and only one of them wasn’t a bullseye instead it landed in the next ring. 

You clicked your tongue, “Alright,” you pushed him back towards his guns and ammo, “Go away.” 

For the last two days, it’s done nothing but storm, and everyone has taken shelter in the warehouse where there was still a working heater. But now that the nightly meeting and dinner had been served, everyone was headed back for the bunks for the night. The emotions have been running high the last few days and the weather was making it even harder to get things done. Soap was trying his best to keep up morale, but even he grew weary of waiting. Price and Gaz had gone on recon today to check out the town and came back with the news that the military was pulling out. Laswell was less than thrilled to have the entire team invading her space while she tried to work. 

She, out of all of you, felt the pressure the most.  

Tonight it was your turn to take the night watch, and Ghost stayed behind until midnight to keep you company. He even went on the few patrols he was with you for, “You never talk about your family,” Ghost clutched at his rifle as he strolled beside you, purposefully shortening his stride so you could keep up.

“Well, I could say the same about you,” you knock your shoulder into him, trying to come off as playful but in truth the last thing you wanted to do was unpack the fuckery that was your family. 

“That’s because I’ve got skeletons in my closet,” he shrugged, seemingly nonchalant about it. You’ve become accustomed to his casual attitude; where normal people would become skittish with that type of admission, he wasn’t. 

You hummed, inching closer to him. Even in the rain his body heat radiating from him. 

“Well,” you started, chewing on the inside of your cheek as unease rippled through your gut, “My parents divorced when I was sixteen. My mother is the kindest woman I’ve ever met. She used to take me to the theatres every Sunday for the matinee.” 

“And your father?” He asked carefully, sensing your hesitation on the matter. His attention was on you but he made it less intense by looking off into the darkened shadows of the trees beyond the fences. 

“He’s…” your throat narrowed at the memory of him, of his hardened face and emotionless eyes, “He’s the worst man I’ve ever met. And I was his favourite,” you wrung your fingers, the tips of them going numb from the cold air, “He’s estranged now and I haven’t heard from since the divorce.” A lie. You knew exactly where and what he was doing. You also knew he kept a close eye on you and yours. “My mom has since remarried. To a guy she went to high school with, it’s quite adorable,” 

“Any siblings?” He asked as he opened the door to the warehouse for you. He didn’t push for more information, understanding that were some things better left unsaid.

“Two,” your heart skipped a beat, “Both significantly older. But one of them died when I was in high school. A car accident,” you didn’t give any more detail than that. Didn’t think you could handle dredging up old wounds. 

You silently thanked Simon for not giving you a half-hearted “I’m sorry” at the mention of your dead brother.

You told him about your childhood friends, and about the sports you played. You told him about how your brothers used to have epic fights in the backyard, and how one of them had ended with your father making them run laps at the track until one of them collapsed and the other threw up all over the grass. 

Ghost quietly listened, adding little comments here and there. He just liked hearing you talk and would sit here for hours completely content with doing just that. 

As soon as the clock struck twelve a yawn interrupted him mid-sentence and you sent him off to bed. 

“I’ll be fine. I’ll keep out of trouble. But you were up last night for your watch, you need to sleep,” you shooed him out the door. Before stepping out the door he turned to you, bending down to catch your lips with his. It was a quick, innocent gesture, and the boyish grin of his that accompanied it was even more so. 

The rest of the night was fairly tame, but your raincoat never seemed to dry and you were forever cold. Gaz had pulled out a space heater at some point but even that couldn’t seem to thaw your frozen bones and muscles. What you really wanted was a hot shower. Or even better, a bath. You’d grown weary of the cold showers. 

The silence and isolation of the night watch were welcomed. It gave you time to think and to work through your ever-flowing thoughts and emotions. You were beginning to wonder what comes after this. If you were labelled as deserters, would they just “let” you get back to your normal job once you exposed Spector? There were so many questions and you were too afraid to find out what the answers would be. Would anyone even believe you guys? 

You spent the rest of the night trying to distract yourself before you found yourself spiralling. You reorganized the makeshift kitchen area, sewed a rip in your jacket pocket, and read the first few chapters of a particularly boring book Gaz had brought with him. You had quickly become thankful for the hourly strolls outside.     

“What are you doing up?” You asked, setting your rifle down, having done a patrol. It was a little past 4 am when you returned to find Soap lounging on one of the chairs at the makeshift table. 

His cheery blue eyes found yours, “Thought I’d come and keep you company.” 

“Couldn’t sleep?” you took a seat across from him, fiddling with a propane lamp before lighting it. 

He yawned and stretched out his arms above him, “Have you been able to?”    

You shook your head. Truth is, you haven’t had a good sleep since you got blown up. You grabbed a deck of cards someone had left on the table for everyone to use, “You shuffle,” you said, handing it to him. With practiced hands, he shuffled and dealt out a hand of canasta. 

He won the first round, and he sighed, “One more game, I’m starting to feel bad for you.”  

“Laswell find anything?” you asked. Laswell had left to meet up with one of her contacts and wasn’t going to be coming back until tomorrow.

“Not really,” he scratched at the growing beard on his face, and exchanged a card from his hand, “She’s stressing. So is Price.” 

“I don’t blame them,” you murmured. If you were going to ask anyone and not fear that they’d think you a doormat, you were going to ask Soap, “Are we still going to have our jobs once we figure all this out?”  

He blinked at you, “Our job?” then his expression softened in realization. You’d been uncharacteristically recluse these last few days and everyone had noticed it. And Soap was just relieved to have finally understood why that was, “When we find that bastard Spectator and pull his pants down in front of the brasses we’ll be handed medals.” He leaned back in his chair and it creaked against his weight, “There are, of course, probably going to be some legal measures that will need to be addressed, but when are there not? A few years back we were being hunted down by every allied force for ‘espionage’.” He rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness of the idea. “We’ve got our hands tied behind our backs a few times, and yet they haven’t gotten rid of us.” 

The looming misery that had been breathing down your neck for the last few weeks backed off at his answer.     

“That makes this a little less stressful,” You wished there was more you could do, but none of this was your specialty. “You want tea?” the chill you developed from your patrols was becoming unbearable. You got up to heat up water in a pot on the propane stove before he could answer. 

“Absolutely,” he replied. 

You turned back towards him just in time to catch him trying to peek at your cards, “Are you joking?” you threw up your hands in disbelief. You’ve played a lot of cards with Soap in the last two weeks, and never once did you win against him. Now you know why. You tossed a tea bag at him.

He slid back into his seat with a sheepish grin. 

“I’m not making you tea anymore,” you glowered over at him, “You can make your own.”

You cracked open the door to take a peek outside. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, the ground sodden with water. It smelt like fresh earth. An hour later Ghost joined the two of you, claiming that Price was snoring so loud that he woke up thinking someone was attacking him with a chainsaw. Soap asked if he cared for a game of cards to which he curtly replied with a very stern, very definitive “No, you little crook.” 

After a brief discussion, you and Ghost decided it would be as good a time as ever to check in on the town. He wanted to scope it out to see if the military had pulled out yet. You wanted to check in on the school. 

The drive into the town was silent, the pit of your stomach was turned inside out. Your intuition screamed at you that something was wrong. 

Thick fog clung to the trees and made the drive more unsettling.  

A strange pungent smell invaded the cab of the truck a few miles back from the town. It smelt like smoke and something else you couldn’t place a finger on. The smell got stronger and stronger the closer you got, to the point where you shoved your nose into the collar of your shirt. 

“Ugh,” your eyes began to water, “What is that?” 

A large dark form lay on the side of the road as you turned a corner and Ghost slowed the vehicle, his hand dropping to the pistol at his thigh.   

So he feels the unease too. 

That thought alone was alarming. 

As you rolled forward confusion clouded your thoughts. The corpse of a horse was left in the ditch. Its brown coat stained darker in some spots—with dried blood. From the looks of it, this happened days ago.

“They killed off all their livestock,” Ghost grumbled, his attention fixed on something ahead of us. You followed his gaze. The herd of cows he passed every day we drove into town was left to rot in one of the fields surrounding the town. Their bodies are already half-decomposed. In their state, it was obvious this occurred days ago. 

“Isn’t this a war crime?” 

He nodded, features hardening. 

You wondered why no one had tried to dispose of them. 

In fact, as you neared, there wasn’t anyone around. No passing cars or people walking their dogs. 

As the town came into view, and the fog fell away from the buildings to could better make out the shapes hanging from the sign. You squinted, leaning forward. Your blood ran cold, “Riley–”

“I see it,” he grunted.

Three bodies hung from the town's welcome sign. The faces were mottle shades of blue and grey. Hands tied behind their back and feet bound together. Two men and one woman. They had died long after the cattle. Their clothes and hair remained dry, despite the last few days of rainfall. 

Ghost nodded his head towards the woman, “That’s my informant's wife.”    

If you hadn’t known him as well as you did you would have thought him indifferent to the sight but guilt lined the edges of his words. 

You looked back to the women and your stomach rolled. Her neck bent at an unnatural angle, “Did–” you shook your head in disbelief, “Why would they do this?” It was hard to believe that the same army you fought for could do something like this. Something so animal. 

Beside you, he didn’t answer. His eyes scanned the empty streets, finding nothing and no one. 

“Take me to the school,” you breathed, worry piling up inside you. 

He opened his mouth to say something, probably to argue but thought better of it. 

He rolled to a stop just outside the school, his brows furrowing, “Are you sure you’ll be fine?” 

You nodded, but you couldn’t find it within you to smile at him.

“You just need to click twice on your radio and I’ll be right back,” he was going to go check in on his informant. If his wife was dead, the probability that he was too was high.  

He waited for you to enter the building before he pulled out and went on his way.   

The school was desolate, no single child milled about. No teachers lined the halls. It was a school day, you were sure about that, yet no one was around. 

You followed the now-familiar path to the classroom at the back of the school. Peaking into empty classrooms on the way there. 

Your hands shook as you reached the door to the classroom, and eerie silence on the other side. You knocked but the door wasn’t shut properly and creaked open. The lights were off, and no voice answered from within as the sound of your approach. You swallowed the lump in your throat before pushing the door completely open. 

The room was empty. Yesterday's date is still etched in chalk on the chalkboard. 

Along with the angry rushed words, “Your sympathizers will be killed.” 

You didn’t need to ask to know those words were meant for you. You looked around the room once more, searching for any sign of life. But the room was nearly spotless, there was no blood, no sign of a struggle. Textbooks and pencils still lay on the desks of the students, ready for their next lesson. 

You picked up one of the books, examining it. 

Something outside caught your attention, a flash of a silhouette as it rushed across the courtyard.

You peered out the window and into the courtyard in hopes of seeing who was out there.

The breath wooshed out of your lungs, and the textbook in your hand slipped from your grip. You didn’t even hear it fall. 

Outside, hand-tied above their head to a wooden post was what was left of a female body. There wasn’t much left of her but the chard-blackened flesh. Gone was her scent of rosemary and pepper. Gone was her soft voice and youthful face. 

A hand flew up to cover your mouth as bile rose up your throat. 

The door behind you creaked open and you spun, hand going for your gun. 

A small familiar figure appeared, her usually emotionless face tear-stained. When she caught sight of you her face contorted into one of distrust and hate. 

It was the girl you had been helping heal the wound on her arm. 

Then she was rushing at you, her slim fist slamming into your armoured chest, her voice cracking as she yelled up at you. She kicked her feet out at your shins and ankles. You couldn’t understand her but her face revealed what she was saying. There didn’t need to be a language barrier to know what she was calling you. What she was saying. 

“This is your fault. You killed her. You’re a monster. A killer.” 

There was no doubt that her screams would draw attention if anyone was still here. You covered her mouth, hushing her. She trashed against you, nails digging into the exposed skin on your wrists. Her feet stomped on yours. 

Voices echoed down the hall and the both of you froze. Wide eyes connecting in dread. She stopped breathing entirely. You lifted a finger to your lips, prying she’d remain silent. Slowly and as quietly as you could you brought her to the windows, opened one of them and signalled for her to slide out. Her brows furrowed with skepticism but she obeyed. 

I was the lesser of two evils in her eyes.     

“Run,” you whispered to her, palming a throwing knife into her hand and she climbed out the window. 

She didn’t turn back to look at you as she sprinted to the other side of the building. You watched as she hesitated before running past the brutalized body of her teacher. You watched her dip out of one of the many doors. 

You tore yourself from the window and the scene beyond it, wishing you could at least cut her down from the post. 

But there was someone else here. 

You crept back out into the hallway, following the same route to the main foyer, trying to avoid the direction the voices came from. 

Wrong. 

At the end of the hallway were two men, their attire and the patches on the side of their arms making it obvious that weren’t here to be friendly. You considered ducking back behind the corner but they had already seen you. Their concealed faces snap towards you. 

Your hand reached for this radio at your shoulder and clicked it twice.  

“What are you doing here?” one of them called out, his head tilted to the side trying to get a better look at you. There was no way in hell you were going to get away with pretending to be a local. You were decked out in a bulletproof vest. Instinctively, your hand dipped for the pistol at your thigh but stopped short. They weren’t the enemy, they were here following orders. 

You cleared your throat, “I was told to meet the lieutenant here,” you could only hope they didn’t ask for a name.

They shared a look, the postures stiffening, before turning back to you, “Lieutenant, Smithers left yesterday morning.”

Welp.

You pulled one of the knives Ghost had given you earlier this morning from its sheath, “I don’t want to have to hurt you,” you swore. 

But it was too late, and this was going to be a short-lived fight. You were outnumbered and outmuscled. You could only hope you would be able to hold them off until Ghost got here.  

The first one moved quickly, and you flung the blade in his direction. You were aiming for his throat but missed. It landed in his shoulder, which worked well in slowing him down but wasn’t going to put him out of this fight. The second one closed in on you, throwing a dangerous left hook that for sure would have knocked you out cold if you hadn’t sidestepped him, now behind him you kicked out at the back of his leg. His momentary loss of balance was enough for you to drive your knee up into his face. Bone cracked, and his nose immediately started spewing blood everywhere. 

The first guy was still recovering from your knife, but he was still more than capable of doing major harm once he regained his composure. 

Your fingers found the warm metal of the soldier dog tag and wrapped your fist around it, tugging at it until his gargled protest echoed. You grabbed for the second knife equipped at your chest. 

An arm wrapped around your waist and you were being hauled up into the air and slammed into the wall behind you, knocking the wind out of you. You brought your elbow down in the soft spot between his shoulder and neck. Once. Twice. He let you go, driving his fist into your jaw. Your head snapped to the side and stars blossomed in the corners of your vision. 

You grappled at your assailant for purchase, but you were already being yanked into the other soldier's arms, your hand twisted painfully behind you.

“Bitch,” he missed in your ear.

Your vision was swimming but your eyes landed on the blade still jutting out of the first guy's shoulder. You leaned your weight back, lifting your feet to kick the blade in again. The man stumbled back, screaming. You dropped your weight as fast and hard as you can, bringing the last guy down with you. 

He was faster than you. Climbing on top of you, pressing into your back with a knee. His finger gripped at your scalp, bringing your head up only to smash it back into the ground. Again and again. 

There was a bang that cracked through the air. And you waited for the searing pain that usually accompanied a bullet. 

The heavy weight above you began to suffocate you, and you struggled for breath. A whimper escaped you. 

There was the sound of a struggle somewhere above you but you couldn’t find the strength to so much as look up. 

The weight was lifted off of you, and you came face to face with the unseeing, dead eyes of the soldier who was just bashing your face into the floor. Then you were being flipped and your eyes met familiar brown ones.  

Alarm flashed across his face, “Shit. Can you walk?”, his arm slipped under and around you. 

“Yes, I think,” You blinked up at him, your vision blurring. You wiped at your eyes, “I can’t see.”

“You’ve got blood everywhere,” Ghost hissed, shifting your weight onto him. The floor beneath your feet was slick and you fought to keep them under you. He nearly carried you to the truck before shoving you into the passenger seat. He was driving off before you could register where you were.  

“Was it just them?” He asked, trying to keep his eyes on the road but they kept snapping over to you. 

Your arms felt heavy and you slumped in your seat, “I didn’t see anyone else.” 

He drove fast back down the road and out of the town. If there were two soldiers still here there was bound to be more. And he wasn’t going to stick around to find out. 

He reached into the back to find something, anything for you to wipe the blood from your face. You weren’t sure which of it was yours and which of it was the now dead soldiers. 

He found a plain white cotton shirt from his pack.

“You’ll never get the blood stains out,” you half joked as you wiped at your face.  

“I’m not too attached,” he ground out but you could tell he wasn’t in the mood for jests right now. 

“Did you find your informant?” you strained as you wound a particular sore spot above your brow. A break in the skin that would surely scar. 

“He was dead.” 

Nausea gripped your stomach and you weren’t sure if it was the signs of a concussion or because of the aftermath of what you’d seen at the school. Most likely both, “Riley,” you struggled, fingers finding the door handle, “Pull over.”

“What?” 

Saliva flooded your mouth, “Pull over.” 

He turned into the ditch, tossing you a concerned glance before he moved to open his door.

“Stay in the truck,” you ordered, before slipping out your door. 

You were retching before your feet found the earth. You retched until you couldn’t anymore. Until your stomach was empty and your legs were useless.  

He didn’t say a word when you stepped back into the truck, but his knuckles turned white in the steering wheel. 

He handed you the bottled water from the cup holder and you rinsed your mouth out before speaking again, “We can’t involve any more civilians,” even to your ears you sounded defeated, “They will hunt them down. They did. They…called her a sympathizer,” you swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. You told him of the school, and the message written on the chalkboard. You told him about the little girl and the teacher had to leave in the courtyard. “Did you informant know anything about the rest of us? Did he know I was at the school while you were with him?”

He stiffened, “No and yes. He wasn’t aware that anyone other than us two were on the run,”   

We drove for another few hours before he turned off the road once more. 

He was jumping out of the truck and reaching into the back seats before coming around to your side. His head was on a swivel, as he walked, looking for any signs that we had a tail. He opened your door, “We can’t go back to camp just yet,” he handed you your pack and placed his at his feet.

You had noticed that he was going in the complete opposite direction of the base a while back. Those soldiers knew we had been to that village, and they had been waiting for us to turn back up. There was still a chance they were following us, hoping we’d bring them back to everyone else. 

“Agreed,” 

“Dress in your civi’s,” he took out a fresh pair of jeans and a plain grey sweater, “The closest safe house isn’t as secure as the last,” He looked over your face and removed his vest, “I can stop on the way there and get you some ice for your face.” 

Then he was shirtless, then he was nearly naked. 

And too soon he was dressed again. His sweater pulled tights across his chest and shoulders. He looked even better in regular clothes than he did in his uniform. He moved to help you with your vest, the velcro a harsh sound in the silence. He helped you wiggle out of your shirt. You were sticky, cold, wet and with blood. He handed you a hoodie and waited for you to put it on before closing the door.

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Pt 2 to soap x medic!reader??

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐍𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄 – 𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍𝐍𝐘 '𝐒𝐎𝐀𝐏' 𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐇

synopsis: when you admit you're nervous, johnny tries to calm you down. he does the exact opposite.

pairing: johnny 'soap' mactavish x f!reader (stitch)

warnings: medical themes, mutual pining, yearning, dirty jokes, johnny being the loveable arsehole he is, vague references to nsfw.

soap masterlist: here [ pt 1. here ]

Slipping the steel cutting needle through the split skin above Johnny's eyebrow, you chew the inside of your cheek in a desperate attempt to ease the threat of a tremor in your hands. You're almost certain by the stinging ache buried in the meat of your face that you'd gnawed at the flesh to the point you'd bruised it.

"Remind me again why you chose me?" Johnny's accent grumbles under his breath, wincing as the needle pierces the mangled flesh again.

He's referring to your decision to request that he come to you specifically in the event of an injury. You need practice, fresh out of training and still mildly terrified of an inescapable fate: hurting people while trying to help them. 

It was inevitable, of course. There's no way you could medically attend to a wounded soldier without hurting them in the process, bar doping them up to their eyeballs in ketamine. The sutures would sting, and the needles would prick– a certitude you had learnt to swallow begrudgingly. 

As for your reason for requesting Soap visit you in his need for medical assistance? You were honestly attempting to figure that out yourself...

"Truthfully?" You sigh, a smile pulling at the edges of your mouth, "You're always in the medical bay, Sergeant MacTavish. It's a perfect opportunity to practice."

Soap inhales sharply, a gasp, and it causes you to freeze in worry, eyes widening. He tries not to move too much, but places his palm to his tac-vest as though he's clutching at invisible pearls. "I cannae believe yer calling me clumsy!"

The lurch of your heart stills once you realise you hadn't hurt the ridiculous man. Letting out a trembling sigh, you try to exhale the pricking adrenaline teasing at the edges of your brain before continuing the procedure. 

"Would you disagree with me? I can't count on my hands how often Lieutenant Riley has carried you in he–"

"Yer meant to be curing me, Bonnie, not bruising my ego," Johnny grumbles again. Again, a smile stretches your lips, and you let the teasing comments die on your tongue while focusing on the stitch pattern. 

Annoying knots form in your lower back as you lean forward in your chair. Both of you are, quite frankly, an amusing tangle of limbs. In order to get close enough to the wound, one of your knees had settled between Soap's thighs, the other situated beside his left hip. The soldier's hands fall in his lap, your own pulling at the sutures. 

The Scot's blue eyes remind you of the ocean; they do little to douse the fire that heats your face. Instead, they fan the flame, the stare you can feel him levelling at you dredging up the remnants of the epinephrine you'd managed to suppress. 

"Always lookin' like yer gonnae be sick when you do this." Soap's voice is oddly soft, packed with cotton as he attempts to dig for answers, "Bein' squeamish seems like it'd be enough to put ye off bein' a nurse."

You let out a weak laugh, shaking your head to dismiss his assumption. The ridiculous man raises his brow in intrigue, only to wince his eyelids at the pain that followed. 

"It's not that," you admit quietly, chewing again at the inside of your cheek, "'M worried I'm hurting you." 

"Promise you, Stitch, ye hurt a lot less than bein' shot," he muses, those blue irises dancing in your peripheral when he scans your expression. It's such a mortifying admission. Of course it hurts when you treat patients, but something about it knocked you nauseous. 

Soap seems to realise the lack of humour in your profession. He hesitates momentarily, watching you work before placing a gentle hand against your knee in a comforting gesture. You know he means well, that he hopes to ease your churning anxiety, but kicks your heart into a gallop. 

Despite trying so hard to focus on your work, you are highly conscious of his searing gaze tracing the curve of your lips. Soap does it all the time, spends so much of his time with you gazing at your mouth like he's trying to commit the anatomy, each crease, to memory. In turn, you'd spend the silent moments between you and the Sergeant imagining what it would be like to kiss him. Like clockwork: bumping noses, the gentle scrape of his stubble against your chin and cheeks––

"We need you to ease up, Stitch. Can tell ye some silly jokes," he insists, tearing you from the daydream that threatens to pull you under. You cringe playfully, glancing down to catch his gaze for a moment. 

"Don't you tell me jokes anyw––"

"What's a pig put on dry skin?" He interrupts you, a grin spreading across his lips. You roll your eyes at the corny intro to the joke, letting out a mock sigh of exasperation that causes the Scot to chuckle. 

"I don't know, Soap. What does a pig put on dry skin?" 

"Oinkment."

"Thank God you joined the SAS; they wouldn't have let you into the comedy club," you muse, chest warming when Johnny's hearty laughter bounces off the infirmary walls. 

"Alright-" pausing again, Soap's eyes crinkle in the corners. There's a glint of something dangerous in those sea-blue rings around his pupils, and a smug smirk warns you that he's cooking up another joke. "What d'ye call a nurse with dirty knees?

Hesitation freezes your muscles, needle hovering over his skin. Your brows pinch together in contemplation, tongue suddenly too large for your mouth and coated in cotton. 

"I-... I don't-?"

Johnny smirks wider, his palm still on your thigh but somehow feeling as though it's burning through the flesh. 

"A Head Nurse." 

It's embarrassing, the choked sound of shock that works its way up your throat when your lungs collapse in on themselves. Heat burns across your face, like Johnny had placed a personal branding iron against your cheeks. 

The shakes that had been looming the entire time start in your wrists, and Johnny laughs at your mortified expression when you sit back in your seat. 

"Sorry, Stitch. Did'nae mean to make you feel uncomfortable." 

You want to tell him no again, reassure him that he hasn't–– but you can't admit the real reason his utterly absurd joke had crippled you. Couldn't force the words out of your mouth: that the mention alone had caused a surge of need. 

You'd dirty your knees for him. 

The heavy silence that settled between you has Johnny's laughter flatlining. His lips press together, jaw slack as he notes your expression. You can see the lightbulb flash above his head, the realisation settling into his features quicker than you can argue your case. 

Oh. 

"I'm gonna call another nurse to finish this––"

"Yea," Johnny chokes, swallowing nervously as he watches you stand from your seat. "Good idea." 

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Neet pg admission assessment | Neet pg admission criteria Neet pg admission

MD Radiology course is accessible in numerous states and confidential clinical schools in India. After finishing of MBBS, the understudies contend in a public level test NEET-PG which is led by Public Leading body of Training (NBE) trailed by NEET-PG directing to get passage into this course. It is one of the top-most clinical specializations in India, because of a high profession development a large portion of the NEET qualified wannabes dream to get confirmation in MD Radiology, yet getting affirmation in this course isn't that simple because of its popularity the NEET-PG cutoff for MD Radio diagnosis is for the most part exceptionally high, To get confirmation in MD Radiology the competitors need to break NEET-PG with a decent percentile.

[harmonyd]

Clinix Health Medical Centre Application Form 2023/2024

Clinix Health Medical Centre Application Form 2023/2024

Clinix Health Medical Centre Application Form 2023/2024 Online | How to Apply Clinix Health Medical Centre Application Form 2023/2024 | The Clinix Health Medical Centre application and registration form/dates for the 2023/2024 academic year has been released check Below to Access The Clinix Health Medical Centre Application Form 2023/2024, application fee, admission entry requirements,…