#self-doubt in writing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aventurineswife · 6 months ago

Note

Dan Heng with a reader who loves to write stories of their own but rarely show them to others in fear of criticism or getting made fun of. But one day, they decided to ask him if he would read their story (since Dan Heng loves to read books) telling him if he can give a feedback about it as they fidgeted with their fingers nervously while Dan Heng read through the contents of the story, awaiting his reply. (You can also add other characters who fits this scenario if you'd like!)

Pages in Light

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Emotional Support, Encouragement, Writing and Creativity, Trust and Vulnerability, Gentle Critique.

Warnings: Mentions of self-doubt and fear of rejection, Introspective moments (emotional vulnerability).

The clatter of the cafeteria quieted around you, the usual hum of intellectual debates and the clinking of cups barely registering in your ears. Sitting across from you, Dr. Ratio loomed larger than life, his hair catching the light, eyes as sharp as ever. His presence was both reassuring and utterly intimidating—a paradox that left your fingers twitching nervously against the notebook in your lap.

You had spent weeks debating this moment. The stories you poured your soul into had remained private for years, hidden away in notebooks and files on your datapad. Sharing them wasn’t something you did—not because they weren’t good, but because the idea of someone laughing at your words, at you, was unbearable. Yet, here you were, about to hand your story to one of the most brilliant minds in the universe.

“Dr. Ratio?” Your voice was quieter than intended.

He glanced up, his eyes piercing as they met yours. A golden ring around his pupils flickered in the light like an unspoken challenge to match his intellect.

“Yes?” His voice was calm but commanding, effortlessly filling the space between you.

You swallowed hard, gripping the notebook tighter. “I… I wanted to ask if you could read something for me. A story I wrote. I—well, I’d appreciate your feedback.”

The corners of his lips twitched upward, an amused expression dancing across his face. “A story? That’s a departure from the academic essays and research papers I’m typically handed. Intriguing.”

He reached out, palm open, and you hesitated before placing the notebook in his hand. His touch was steady, the slight brush of his fingers against yours sending a wave of nervous energy through you. As he flipped the first page, his eyes narrowed in focus.

You watched him, fingers fidgeting against each other under the table. He was silent, entirely absorbed in the words you’d poured your heart into. The silence stretched on, each second feeling heavier than the last.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he closed the notebook and set it on the table. His gaze returned to you, thoughtful and intense.

“This is remarkable,” he said, his voice as steady as ever.

Your heart leapt, but you quickly tamped down your excitement. “You… you really think so?”

Ratio leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Yes, though not for the reasons you may expect.” He gestured toward the notebook. “Your writing carries a certain rawness, an honesty that is difficult to achieve. Your world-building is vivid, your characters compelling, but it is your voice—the unpolished sincerity—that makes it stand out. It is not perfect, but perfection is overrated.”

His words were firm, yet kind, their impact settling into your chest like a weight lifted.

“Th-thank you,” you stammered, warmth flooding your cheeks.

He leaned forward, his golden shoulder piece catching the light as he rested his elbows on the table. “You hesitate, don’t you? To share your work. You’re afraid of judgment, criticism.”

You nodded, averting your gaze. “I just… I don’t want people to think it’s silly.”

“Let me tell you something,” he said, his tone softening ever so slightly. “The greatest ideas in the universe were considered ‘silly’ at some point. Genius is not born from fear of ridicule. It is born from the courage to create despite it.”

His words hit harder than you expected.

Ratio pushed the notebook back toward you. “Your story deserves to be shared. Not because it is flawless, but because it is yours. There is nothing more extraordinary than that.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you blinked them away quickly. “Thank you,” you whispered.

He smiled, a rare and genuine expression that softened the sharpness of his features. “Now, if you ever need further feedback—or simply wish to share—I am here. And next time, try to believe in your own brilliance, yes?”

You nodded, clutching the notebook to your chest as a small but growing confidence blossomed within you. You would take his advice, you decided. Your stories were worth sharing.

Ratio’s gaze lingered on you as you stood to leave, his expression unreadable but warm. “Until next time,” he said, and you swore you heard a hint of pride in his voice.

The softly humming engine of the Astral Express served as background music to an otherwise still evening. You sat in your quarters, nervously clutching the manuscript in your hands. Words you had poured your heart into, meticulously crafted, yet kept hidden for far too long. Tonight, you decided, was the night to share them—with someone you trusted.

Dan Heng had always seemed like the perfect confidant. His quiet demeanor and love for literature had endeared him to you in ways you hadn’t expected. If anyone could offer constructive feedback without ridicule, it would be him. And yet, as you approached the archive room where he often spent his evenings, your courage faltered.

You lingered in the doorway, peeking inside. Dan Heng was seated at his usual spot, a book open in his lap. His hair caught the glow of the lamp beside him, and his expression was serene yet focused, as always.

“Hey,” you called softly, stepping inside.

He looked up, his sharp eyes softening when they met yours. “Something you need?”

“I, um…” You fidgeted, gripping the pages in your hands. “I was wondering if you’d… if you’d read something for me. And maybe tell me what you think?”

His gaze flickered to the papers you held, then back to your face. He set his book aside and leaned forward slightly. “Is it a story you wrote?”

“Yes,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I don’t usually show my writing to anyone, but I thought you might… you might be the right person to read it.”

He nodded, his expression calm but encouraging. “I’d be honored to read it. May I?”

You handed over the manuscript, your fingers trembling as they brushed against his. He noticed but said nothing, only shifting in his seat to make room for you to sit beside him.

“Stay while I read?” he suggested, his tone gentle.

You hesitated, then nodded, sitting at the edge of the seat as he began reading. The silence that followed was almost unbearable. You fidgeted with your fingers, chewing your lip as your thoughts raced. What if he hated it? What if it wasn’t good enough?

Minutes stretched on like hours as his eyes scanned the pages, his expression unreadable. Occasionally, his lips quirked or his brows furrowed, and you found yourself holding your breath, hanging onto every subtle reaction.

Finally, he set the manuscript down and turned to you.

“Well?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Dan Heng regarded you for a moment, then said, “You’re talented. Your writing is vivid and heartfelt. I could tell you poured yourself into this.”

Your chest loosened, relief washing over you like a wave. “Really?”

He nodded. “There are a few places where the pacing could be tightened, and some descriptions that might benefit from more clarity, but overall, it’s captivating.”

His words filled you with a warmth you hadn’t expected. “You mean that?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t,” he said, his tone firm but kind. “You have a gift, and it would be a shame to keep it hidden.”

You ducked your head, a blush creeping onto your cheeks. “Thank you, Dan Heng. That means… a lot.”

He leaned back slightly, his gaze softening. “If you’d like, I can help you refine it. I’ve read enough books to know what works and what doesn’t.”

Your heart swelled at the offer. “I’d like that.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, rare and fleeting but genuine. “Good. I look forward to seeing more of your work.”

For the first time in a long while, you felt confident in your writing—not just because of Dan Heng’s feedback, but because you had taken the first step to share a piece of yourself. And knowing he was by your side made all the difference.

162 notes · View notes

katsu2ji · 1 year ago

Text

imagine telling sugawara all about your special interest and him just sitting there and genuinely listening to you. he loves the way your face lights up as you talk about the thing you love so much to the point that it’s sometimes all you can think about. he’d ask questions to keep you going and make the conversation feel less one sided, to show you that he truly cares. he doesn’t mind that you’re rambling, barely aware of how long you’ve been talking or whether or not he even knows what you’re talking about—the fact that you trust him enough to talk about your special interest with him, to share this part of you, is more than enough. he doesn’t care how “weird” or niche it is, he’s just happy to be there learning from you. if you feel guilty afterwards for info dumping and being “too much,” he wouldn’t hesitate to remind you that you are anything but. all he wants is for you to be happy, and seeing you this excited makes him the happiest man alive.

384 notes · View notes

babynorppa · 16 days ago

Text

Jere’s obsession with a waiter/bartender foreplay should be studied more

#just as his drinking habits on a verge of alcoholism #it can be such a nice plot device #the man basically went viral for a song about how he can unwind himself while being drunk #it’s right there why are we not talking about it more?#okay okay i got it heavy topic who wants to think about it everyone wants to ignore it #but it’s so inspiring!!#(i have weird sources of inspiration i know)#no but seriously imagine it #self-loathing thoughts about not being able to quit about not being good enough for someone because of it #“what am i? an alcoholic?” his words not mine #the ability to make out or sleep with a guy only while drunk…#because while he’s sober he’s too shy or it’s too scary for him or it becomes way too real and he can’t make a joke out of it #the list is endless #i wish i had enough brain capacity to write something about it #or at least not to delete what i’ve already managed to post when i suddenly decide that i’m not capable to continue it 🤡#this man is such a beautiful wreck sometimes #and it’s not just about his smudged post gig make-up #it’s about his complexity and doubts and inner conflicts and finding the balance between helping others and helping himself #okay i lost my train of thought and i don’t know what these tags about anymore…#i guess i just wanted to talk about jere #love him with all of his perfect imperfections to the moon and back <3

63 notes · View notes

glowettee · 1 month ago

Note

Hey girly~~

I'm a writer and blogger recently navigating Tumblr. Sometimes I worry that no one will really care what I have to say, or care about my ideas. What's the best thing to focus on when I feel this way? I think I'm just looking for a little encouragement💗. I hope this makes sense!

hey sweetheart, so sorry i've been extremely inactive. finals have been draining, exhausting, and overwhelming!! i'm almost done, but i wanted to answer your question because it made me sooo freaking happy!!!

this question literally touched my heart because i've been exactly where you are!! that feeling when you pour your thoughts and creativity into your writing, hit post, and then wonder if anyone out there is actually connecting with your words? i completely understand that vulnerable feeling, bestie!

first of all, i want to say how brave it is to create and share your writing in the first place! putting your thoughts out into the world takes so much courage, and the fact that you're doing it already shows how much passion you have. that's something to be proud of regardless of the notes or reblogs!

when those doubts creep in (and trust me, they visit all of us, even people with thousands of followers!), here are some gentle reminders and perspectives that have helped me create my blog:

1. remember why you started writing

✧ was it to process your own thoughts?

✧ to connect with others who feel the same way?

✧ to create something beautiful?

✧ to document your journey?

returning to your original purpose can be so grounding when the external validation feels uncertain. i keep this in mind whenever i'm planning ideas, writing my posts or even when i feel unmotivated to write a bunch of words onto the tumblr word processor. this generally just helps you focus on the purpose for your blog/writing.

2. focus on quality over quantity

✧ one genuine connection with a reader who truly resonates with your words is worth more than hundreds of passive scrollers

✧ some of my favorite writers and bloggers have smaller but incredibly devoted followers

✧ meaningful engagement > follower count (always!!)

3. celebrate the uniqueness of your voice

✧ no one else has your exact perspective, experiences, or way of expressing things

✧ the internet doesn't need more people trying to sound like everyone else

✧ your specific voice is exactly what someone out there is looking for

✧ authenticity always shines through and attracts the right people

4. remember that growth takes time

✧ most "overnight successes" actually took years of consistent posting

✧ tumblr especially works on connections and community building

✧ your words might be quietly collecting in someone's bookmarks even if they haven't engaged yet

✧ some of my posts that got almost no notes when first published suddenly found their audience months later!

5. create for yourself first

✧ write what brings you joy, healing, or clarity

✧ if you're excited about your content, that energy will naturally attract others

✧ when you love what you create, external validation becomes a bonus rather than a necessity

✧ the posts i'm most proud of aren't always my most popular ones!

✧ make sure to utilize aesthetics in your post, ones you enjoy are always a bonus, and it's so fun to design your post according to whatever aesthetic/vibe

6. engage with other writers/bloggers and creators

✧ leave thoughtful comments on posts you love

✧ reblog with your own additions

✧ join writing challenges or community events (example: tag games)

✧ respond to asks and messages

✧ community building is a two-way street! this is my favorrrrittee part of being a girlblogger.

7. trust the timing of your journey

✧ some days will be quiet, others will surprise you with connection

✧ consistency matters more than immediate results

✧ your words might be exactly what someone needs to read tomorrow, or next month, or next year

i also want to remind you that even the most popular writers and bloggers have moments of doubt! it's part of the creative process to sometimes wonder if what you're making matters. but just know your perspective is inherently valuable. your experiences are worth documenting. your creative expression deserves space in this world.

when i first started my blog, i would sometimes post things that got almost no interaction. but then i'd get a single message from someone saying "this was exactly what i needed to read today" and it would remind me why i started in the first place.

keep nurturing your writer's heart, keep showing up for your creativity, and keep sharing your unique voice with the world. the right readers will find you, i promise. and in the meantime, take pride in the courage it takes to create and share in the first place!

sending you all the creative inspiration and confidence vibes!! hope this helps <3

xoxo, mindy 🤍

> submit to the hotline so we can trauma bond: https://bit.ly/glowetteehotline

56 notes · View notes

st4rryyynight · 2 months ago

Text

✷ — headcanons: rise!turtles with a reader that uses humour to cope !! (requested by a user on quotev)

★ — summary: how the turtles deal and react to the reader using humour as a coping mechanism !!

★ — can be seen as both platonic and romantic.

★ — warnings / tw: mentions of depression and self-worth issues.

★ — content warnings: canon x reader, androgynous reader, depressed reader, headcanons, short headcanons, angst-y (??), usage of humour, coping mechanisms, concern, the turtles may be occ, repeative vocabulary

★criticism and advice are advice are always welcome !!★

❤️ — raphael x reader that uses humour to cope !!

☆ — okay, your comedic way of deflecting the sad parts of your life is.. worrying- and although he doesn't want to offend you by not laughing or at your jokes, he doesn't exactly find it funny when you turn your struggling in life into something that's to be laughed at. sure he is glad that you are using a somewhat healthy way of expressing your negative emotions but yet again, hearing you reduce your life trauma into nothing but a humourous remark is still concerning, isn't it ??

☆ — still, he'll throw a little laugh here and there, as to not bring you down, even if you just spat out something horrible about yourself. but that laugh is awkward, force- and you can see the reluctance in his eyes while he does crack a laugh.

☆ — so he kind of tries to be supportive of the way you choose to deal with your issues- but just.. can't really bring him to. though he is a bit reluctant about just saying straight at your face that 'hey, the things you are saying are NOT cool'. no, he's scared that if he does so- he may come off as too sharp, and that may dwindle down your mental state further- and he doesn't want that to happen.⁠

☆ — still, he is tempted to confront you about your coping mechanism. and he does- somewhat. he starts by making little remarks to every one of your quips, with the goal of reminding you of the worth that your life has, the worth that you have. he's there to remind you that whatever you're going through shouldn't be viewed as humourous quip, and that "uh- raph is willing to hear ya' out, if you wanna talk !"

💜 — donatello x reader that uses humour to cope !!

☆ — oh god, not another leo situation, please not another leo situation. or at least, he thought that was the case- fearing that you will, as well- throw cheesy one liner's and puns that have been repeated over and over again.. but you- you throw dark one-liners that revolve around your life that are repeated over and over. it's definitely a cause for concern.

☆ — "what. what do you mean by that." he questions, before giving you a firm look after you make a self deprecating joke about yourself. why are you laughing at yourself, it's not funny. matter of fact- it's frustrating seeing you demean your self like that.

☆ — congratulations, since you couldn't keep those dark-humoured comments about your life in, now you have a agitated softshell asking that you word out a whole essay as to why you would make fun of your struggles, urging you to tell him what that so called 'joke' that you made meant.

☆ — he may not be the best with handling others emotions- not even his own, but don't take him for a fool when you try to hide your inner struggles behind a comedic display, he knows you are hurting- you make too obvious, even when you put up your humourous facade.. yeesh, maybe you are a little too much like leo. Nonetheless, even if he has difficulty when comforting others, he is still willing with helping you out- maybe bringing out a whole statement as to how important it is to.. ewwwgh.. express your feelings instead of turning them into something funny.

💙 — leonardo x reader that uses humour to cope !!

☆ — WAIT ! waitwaitwait, he uses humour to cope as well.. but his way of joking around isn't so self-demeaning, despite him having self worth issues and such. but you struggle with said issues as well- so how about you two joke about your lives together ??

☆ — oh how fun.. he finally found someone that won't dismiss or talk down his oneliners. even if his humour is at times self-doubting and may be used at inappropriate. well- to be fair, your humour is equally as self demeaning as his.. maybe a bit more so.

☆ — when you two are around each other, it's like a battle of who can make the most self deprecating remark possible and you- concerningly, always seem to win. and it gets leo feeling down.. though he can't if he down about this situation because his sense of humour just got doubled down, or because you might actually need help.. spoiler alert: he figures that it's the second one of those options.

☆ — oh uhm. that's a bit awkward.. what he thought would be a friend that is willing to crack jokes with him, now views those little remarks that you make about yourself as warning signs. though, he sympathises with you. you aren't the only one here who puts up a mask to hide their issues- and he is there to let you know that- to empathize with you.

🧡 — michelangelo x reader that uses humour to cope !!

☆ — hah !! you're so funny.. or that's what he tries to tell himself - trying to sympathise with you in a way before jumping in to help manage your emotions. he is happy that you are not taking out those negative feelings in more destructive ways, but c'mon, belittling your own difficulties like that- laying off as something be entertained by- instead of treating them accordingly isn't exactly healthy for your self-image either.

☆ — while this boy is all about fun-loving and humourous situations- that is not to be said for you downing your own worth as such, no matter how funny you try and make it out to be.

☆ — he in fact, gets sad when you to talk about your struggles as if you are a comedian on a stage, and if he was in the crows- he would constantly raise his hand to butt in and yell encouraging things at you, reminders that whatever you are going through matters, and that it bothers him when you throw your self deprecating jokes.

☆ — no but really, what made you think it was a good idea to joke about your issues while the heart of mad dogz is around ?? don't you know that he has a whole power-point prepared about loving your self ?? don't you know that he is going to sit you down on a chair and have you communicate about your struggles ??

56 notes · View notes

vesanalt · 2 months ago

Text

But what if you make it and it’s good?

65 notes · View notes

genericpuff · 6 months ago

Note

Hello! I'm someone with autism (and I'm suspecting ADHD too) who's planning multiple projects. Do you have any advice when it comes to overthinking a lot about decisions on a project? Be it the first step, planning, questioning if you're moving too fast, etc?

ouuuu I think the biggest thing I struggle with personally is just like... the overbearing weight of expectation that isn't necessarily even there. Like, expectation to do everything right all the time, to never make mistakes, to never fall through on promises, to never break any 'rules' (real or imaginary) and most of all, for everything I do to matter in some big, recognizable, memorable way - but the steps to that goal aren't defined, I just know what the goal looks like, with no clear path as to how to get there, and so it often results in me aiming at my own "best guess" and then beating myself up for not hitting the target LOL which is completely unfair to myself and my own work!

What I try to regularly remind myself of is that I am one person, who is only capable of what one person should reasonably be able to accomplish on their own, no matter how much my auDHD tries to convince me otherwise that I "should" be able to handle more than what's reasonable. And in that same sense, there isn't any more pressure on me to put out something perfect than there would be on any other person. I am not Atlas carrying the fate of the greatest work known to mankind on my shoulders - I'm a chronically online dweeb making stuff that's interesting to themselves and sharing it in the hopes that even just one other person will like it too. That isn't a diss on myself, that's me embracing what I am so that I can keep doing it better and more confidently each time.

Though I don't know if this exactly applies to you, I'm gonna say it just in case: I know when it comes to balancing multiple projects, it can be hard not to go "oh well I SHOULD be working on xyz!" but at the end of the day, you're not a failure for preferring to work on something else or needing space from projects that used to thrill you and have now become monotonous. In fact, it turns out that's how it is for most neurotypical people too! I know they make a lot of shit look easy, but even they have shit they loathe doing - they just don't have to deal with the unique hurdles of being neurodivergent.

Always remember to set boundaries with yourself and your work. Remember, just because you're really excited to work on something, doesn't mean you have to work on it all the time. I've learned to appreciate those moments when I'm stuck doing my day job and I'm excited to get home and work on my passion project, because it means I can actually look forward to it and it'll feel all the more rewarding when I finally get to do it! Pushing yourself too hard to fulfill that excitement all at once right off the bat often just means you're gonna spend it all way too quick, and that won't feel good because then you'll be left wondering where all the love went.

Set little goals for yourself. Stuff that's manageable and achievable within a reasonable amount of time. I know we tend to dive into thinking huge right off the bat, because that's what's exciting to us, but when it comes time to actually do the work, those smaller goals can keep us moving forward far better than the big, far off, ambiguous goal hiding somewhere off in the horizon. While it's good to plan ahead, not setting smaller milestones for yourself can burn you out faster because it's really hard to work towards an "end goal" that might be too far away for us to even conceptualize. The small goals allow us to reward ourselves along the way, and they do ultimately still build up to the bigger picture in the end, even if it feels like we're "not doing much". It can be anything like "get to this chapter that I can finish in the next few weeks" or "fully write out this scene that's been living in my head rent-free".

As for the overthinking... yeah, I wish I had some magic solution to that, but it's really just about learning what you enjoy doing vs. what you don't, so that you can have confidence in knowing when your creative decisions suit the project you're working on. This is something that gets better with practice and experience, but I feel like it's better tackled by reminding yourself that any project, no matter the outcome of how popular it gets or whether or not it "takes off", is an opportunity to learn and grow. Treat every project as a learning experience and you'll hopefully find the process itself more enjoyable, which will subsequently buff up your confidence. It's all a process of honing in on what works for you, what you excel at, and what you enjoy doing; while learning what doesn't work for you, what you could improve at, and what you don't enjoy doing.

Finding a writing buddy or someone who's willing to read your work and give you feedback is super helpful for this, too, because sometimes it takes another perspective to help us navigate the fog of indecision and find a solution.

And again, remember - you are one person, and you are under no obligation for any of your projects to be some perfect, infallible holy grail. You will write stuff that you will inevitably look back on with disgust and cringe. You will create projects that you will eventually outgrow or move on from. That does not invalidate the time and effort you put into those projects - it's proof of experience and growth. Embrace the growing pains, find peace in the process in whatever way you can.

It's not a question of right or wrong - it's asking yourself what feels true to you and your voice, and finding out along the way.

#writing advice #ask me anything #anon ask me anything #anon ama #ama #and that is my bag of cents!#idk how helpful this is but i hope a little bit of it resonates with you!#it's definitely hard esp when it comes to the imposter syndrome and self-doubt #but the biggest thing is just being patient and kind with yourself #you're allowed to write stuff that isn't perfect! most stuff isn't perfect! even the stuff that we really enjoy!#and you're allowed to take your time and create things at your own pace #there's no divine punishment waiting to strike you down if you don't accomplish everything right this second #just take it one day at a time and find your joy in the process of creating your art <3

80 notes · View notes

uhbasicallyjustmilex · 17 days ago

Text

i just caught up with my comments over on ao3 and this literally me right now

#to every lovely human who’s left me such kind and generous feedback:#i hope you know how ridiculously happy you’ve made me 🥹🥹#i was honestly super anxious about posting again after so long #and now i just feel filled with joy at how wonderful it is getting to write and share it with people 🫶#i’ve said it before but i’ll say it again #this fandom is truly one of the loveliest i’ve ever encountered #i absolutely love how many amazing creative people there are in it #and how much we encourage and inspire each other ✨#sorry for the super soppy post but my heart is just feeling so full rn 🥹#it is the most wonderful feeling to write something that’s so close to your heart and then have other people connect to it #it makes all the moments of self doubt and writer’s block pale into insignificance #to all the people who leave feedback on stories you make the world go round 💫✨#also i’m suddenly realising i have met some of my closest fandom friends through them commenting on my work/me commenting on theirs #creativity truly connects people 🥺💖#okay i’m off to flail a little more and then try and calm down and do some writing before i sleep!#i have a scene to edit towards the end of the next chapter that’s going to be very interesting 😏#four walls #milex #milex fanfic #alex turner #my gifs #lulu posts

33 notes · View notes

mulders-too-large-shirt · 21 days ago

Text

missy’s death is really important to scully’s character arc and the overall narrative of the show - both mulder and scully losing a sister to senseless government plots, a baptism of blood into the search for The Truth - but i can’t help but wish we got to see more of her ☹️

#maybe we’ll get more flashback scenes later on but i’m nearly done with the OG run so i doubt it :(#i wish they had fleshed out scully mourning her a bit more but TV always fails to grasp that nuance of losing someone IMO #well if i write self-indulgent missy lives fics… don’t judge me!#missy scully

29 notes · View notes

staycalmandhugaclone · 6 months ago

Text

Fool's Errand Pt 11

Part (11) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

It is 1am. I stayed up waaayyy to late to finish this, but if I didn't get it out now, it would have to wait until Monday, and I really didn't want you make ya'll wait.

This one's a little rough, loves; so grab an emotional support cock(tail).

Btw - little aside! For anyone who no long wants to be tagged, feel free to shoot me a dm or you can submit another taglist just saying to be untagged. For those that want to be tagged, please remember to give me your tumblr name. I've received a few email addresses and several names that don't seemed to link up to anyone. Sorry, but there's not much I can do with that ❤️

Warnings: heavy into medical procedures; a lot of grief, guilt, thoughts of self-doubt; near-death experience; blood; gore; needles; cpr; body horror; eye injuries; profanity. I think that's is, but, As always, please let me know if I've missed tagging something!

WC: 3,867

I used to love forests. Agamar boasted a rich abundance of biomes, but the farmlands where I was raised were far from anything so wild; thus, the thought of finding myself lost in unending stretches of trees so tall and numerous as to grant an artificial night to those trapped within their shadow was mesmerizing in a way that forgave any thought toward what danger those shadows might conceal. I knew better now.

I’d lost Emmy while flying over a forest; the scent of campfire smoke dancing just beneath that suffocating tang of fuel. I’d nearly lost Tech to the dangerous fungus thriving in the rokna trees of Endor. And then my brother… No. Forests no longer held that tantalizing mystique. They were beautiful. And they were deadly. And, as I stood between two of the countless, towering trees mere meters from the still forms atop the ramp of the Marauder, I realized how much I’d come to hate them.

My entire body was shaking with adrenaline and fear and rage, wide eyes darting from the dark armor to the crying girl, pistol still clenched in her trembling hands.

“Sweetie… I need you to put down the gun. Okay?” I murmured, the thin vail of calm forcing my words into something far removed from the desperation simmering beneath them. Her gaze darted to the weapon held before her as though just as terrified to find herself still holding it as she was at the thought of letting it go.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Just… just set it down.” I pressed, some ancient, feral instinct forbidding me from shouting at her hesitation. One hand slowly pulled away from the grip, but it was the other one that still had a finger pressed far too snugly against the trigger, and I wondered if she’d ever held a gun before.

“That’s good… You’re doing great… Look at me, honey.” I whispered, surprised at how quickly her attention snapped back to me. “It’s okay. Just put it down.” Her fingers began to loosen. The instant the weapon that looked far too large in her hands began to fall, I darted forward. I wanted to scream at her; to berate her for what damage she might have caused, for the delay her fear had forced between my men and the care they desperately needed, but I didn’t. I raced forward and instantly locked her to my chest, quiet shhh’s leaving on barely controlled breaths as I carried her rapidly into the ship, stopping only when the outside world was hidden by those worn, metal walls and quickly settled her atop Hunter’s bunk.

“Alright, baby; I want you to stay right here for me, okay?” It wasn’t quite an order, but it was far from a request, hands shaking as I swept the hair from her face to ensure she was looking at me. Snot covered her upper lip as tears flooded her cheeks, her entire body convulsing with sobs, but the small nod she managed in response was enough for me to quickly press my lips to her forehead before turning on my heel and sprinting back outside.

It was Hunter’s pistol. I kicked the damn thing inside if only to get it out of my way before dropping to my knees beside them, searching for signs of blasterfire or crushed plastoid or breath, and finding neither.

No. That wasn’t right. Crosshair’s torso was still shifting beneath short, jilted gasps. But Hunter…

“Hunter? Hunter, can you hear me?!” I didn’t wait for a reply I knew wasn’t coming as I struggled to untangle them, belatedly realizing he’d collapsed while carrying his brother up the ramp.

“Cross? Hey-hey, you with me?” I asked, begged as I eased him onto his back, but his body merely flinched with shallow breaths, faint grunts far too akin to whimpers catching on trembling lips. But he was breathing. He was hurt, but he was alive. My heart jolted as I quickly threw myself at Hunter, fingers slipping beneath the sharp notch of his jaw as my other hand quickly yanked at his helmet.

Numb. There’s a quiet that comes in moments like this, born of hard-learned necessity as even a taste of the emotions hiding just beyond the distant storm would bring with them doubt. Hesitation. And when even a second of such hesitation could be the difference between life and death, if takes very few mistakes to learn how to hide oneself in that quiet, to let hands move and thoughts rage with a careful detachment.

My body no longer shook as I wrestled the heavy chest plate from his limp form. I didn’t look at the deathly pale skin that gleamed beside the faded half-skull tattoo, nor at half-lidded eyes that were so violently wrong without laugh lines dancing at the corners or that brooding intensity as his mind raced to find solutions to impossible problems. In that moment, he was a number. He was a list of vitals and pre-existing conditions and a rapidly evolving treatment plan. He was patient 1, triaged and assisted and listed by priority, and if I held to that as I should have, I would have let him die, but I watched with a pointed lack of emotion as I finally freed him of that damned armor, his body falling back to the ramp with a thud I couldn’t bring myself to worry over in the wake of how wrong that stillness was.

It was a thoughtless action, the way my fingers twined together as my hands stacked atop each other above his chest. I needed to move them – both of them – out of the risk of enemy fire. Hell, I needed to move for that same reason; needed to get Hunter on level ground to maximize the efficiency of my compressions; needed to check for lung capacity and inevitably insert another chest tube; needed to see just how bad the chemical burns still eating into Crosshair’s eyes were and try to figure out some way to help him. I could still hear the girl crying and wasn’t surprised to see her standing at the very corner of the hallway, peaking out just enough to watch us, and I’d never felt so impossibly, irrevocably alone.

Curses spitting from my lips, I abandoned the half-completed count of compressions and threw myself to my feet. Couldn’t get deep enough… The tantalizing wealth of muscle I’d so shamelessly admired every time he’d see himself into my bed beneath the guise a massage that we both knew had nothing to do with pulled muscles or stiff joints, that breathtaking display of power that saw him so effortlessly through the endless missions and struggles of this war left his chest too stiff to readily yield beneath the too weak thrusts of my palms.

If I could get him inside – get him on a flat surface, then I could push harder, I could force his damn heart to beat and chase all threat of that encroaching chill from skin I so clearly remembered feeling like fire against mine.

“Honey, there’s a button on that interface, there. Can you press it – close the ramp?” I asked breathlessly as I began dragging Crosshair inside as well. A slightly louder groan caught in his throat making my heart drop. I barely noticed the girl dart forward, tiny hand nearly slamming onto the controls as movement returned to those long limbs.

“Shh, Cross, I’m right here, okay? I’m going to take care of you, but I have to help Hunter first.” If he heard me, if he heard the crippling apology that threatened to rend my breath into hiccuped gasps and rob me of that blessed detachment, he was too lost in a growing agony to offer any form of a response. My hand shifted beneath the desperate need to reach for him, to somehow ensure he knew I was there, but that would waste precious seconds I didn’t have, and I quickly spun back to Hunter, jaw tensing anew at the utter absence of life before me.

Airway. Breathing. Circulation. It was rote. Mindless. But something in me still died at how cold his lips felt against mine. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. And I nearly broke at how much effort it took to push even a whisper of breath into his lungs. Crosshair was starting to move, clawed hands reaching toward the black visor I only just realized was shattered, deep cracks spider-webbed across the dark crescent. If I looked, I could just make out slivers of skin between some of the larger cracks, but I couldn’t see enough to even guess toward the damage hidden within as I wrenched the medpack from my shoulders.

Hunter’s body rocked listlessly beneath the force it took to shove the chest tube between his lower ribs, expression void of the pain I’d never been so eager to see on his handsome face. What poured from the fresh wound was dark and thick and filled the small room with the heavy scent of copper and sick, and I refused to even look at it as I dragged the sheers down the front of his shirt, half ripping the fabric away in my haste.

I didn’t hesitate before arching my body over him and slamming my elbow into his chest, ignoring how the sound of ribs cracking beneath the strike was enough to make even Crosshair flinch, ruined helm shifting uselessly toward me for just a moment before that pain overruled his attention once more. My knee pads scrapped loudly against the metal grate as I pushed myself up enough to straddle Hunter’s waist, cupped hands returning to their position over his sternum.

“Crosshair… Cross, if you can hear me, you need to try to get that helmet off.” I panted, voice undulating with the rhythm of my entire body beating quickly against his brother’s chest. His head shifted again, the movement jerky and only barely noticeable, and I couldn’t imagine how the wet crunch, crunch, crunch that so perfectly marked the passage of time must have sounded in the dark, eyes surely blinded by whatever cruel thing had been used to cripple him.

“I know; I know, baby – I’ll help you as quickly as I can, but I need you to help, too.” I pressed on huffed, rapid breaths, relieved when his shaking fingers began groping at the rounded ridge following his jawline, but I couldn’t ignore how quickly that trembling was getting worse, the sound of air hissing through clenched teeth breaking between barely restrained groans that so wanted to be screams, and I realized that Hunter must have given him something stronger – something that managed to knock him out before I reached them, and it was rapidly fading.

But I couldn’t do anything for him. Not yet. Not until I managed to force some bit of life back into the man below me. Kriff, was I just wasting time? The longer I worked on Hunter, the more potential damage Crosshair suffered… I could only guess toward how much time had passed since his heart… how long he’d been down before I reached them… and the longer he’d been like this the greater the risk of…

No. No, no; I couldn’t think like that. Scowling at the way my hand was just beginning to shake again, I reached out to check for a pulse, straining to mediate my own breaths enough for me to actually feel for his heartbeat over the frantic racing of my own. Nothing… I quickly leaned down to push two more breaths into his lungs, wincing at the way his nose cracked slightly between my fingers as I pinched his nostrils shut.

“He’s… i-is he…” I could barely make out words through how shaky his breath was, and I instantly found myself wishing I hadn’t heard him at all.

“I’m doing everything I can for him, Crosshair; just focus on getting that helmet off, and I’ll try to get you more meds soon.” There was that careful detachment again, automatic response unhindered by the grief and panic I tried so hard to ignore.

“To-… told ‘im t… l-l’ve m…” I couldn’t think about the sob that robbed the strength from his voice, nor the hiccuped gasp that followed as his hands clawed over his ruined visor, my teeth grinding into the inside of my cheek to keep my own breath from breaking.

Still no pulse. The precious few seconds it took to dig into my bag once more made my skin crawl, some wretched whisper in the back of my head telling me everything that could go wrong, everything that I’d done wrong; that I wasn’t fast enough, strong enough; that I was killing him – that I was killing both of them.

Guilt made my stomach churn as a small drop of crimson marked where I’d nicked him with the razor as I rushed to clear enough hair from his chest for the electrodes. It was stupid. Such a tiny wound… and yet my eyes kept trying to return to it, as though I hadn’t just shoved a tube through his side, as though I hadn’t just broken several ribs to allow adequate compressions, as though the man beneath me wasn’t, by all medical standards, already dead.

The small device let out a warning trill, and I quickly jumped clear of him, waiting anxiously for the timer to finish. Hunter’s body seized beneath the violent surge of electricity, torso snapping up, spine locking in a tight arch. And then he crashed back to the metal grating, rocking listlessly from the momentum.

I didn’t wait for the AED to finish reassessing, fingers reaching for his throat the instant his back hit the floor. Whatever momentary lucidity had granted Crosshair the clarity of mind to mumble those heartbreaking words was gone, crushed beneath an agony no longer muted by whatever drugs Hunter had given him. His legs dragged uselessly against the metal beneath him, deep, keening groans occasionally breaking into a barked scream as he writhed in pain. And, still, there was no sign of life beneath my fingertips.

One more… I’d grant myself only one more moment of denial, one final attempt to bring him back…

“Dammit; come on, Hunter!” I didn’t mean to let the words escape me as I pounded against his chest. “Don’t you do this – don’t you kriffing dare do this!” I remembered the first time I’d performed CPR on a real person. “We need you, dammit! Come on!” The patient had already been pronounced. “Come back! Please, please, come back!” But residents were encouraged to “practice.” That knowledge that they were already dead, however, did nothing to relieve me of the sharp rush of adrenaline, the desperate urgency to somehow do better – be better… to save them… That knowledge did nothing to rid me of the consuming guilt of failure when I finally walked away.

I couldn’t silence the sob as I pressed my lips against his one last time, pushing the air from my own lungs into him with every unspoken plea and promise and curse forever forced into a silence I feared I’d regret until my own heart stopped as well.

Something beeped. Doubt robbed me of recognition. Fear forbade me from even looking. Barely ten percent of patients come back from something like this. Some horrible, broken part of me had accepted his death the instant I’d realized he had no pulse, but denial had granted me the strength to try anyway. Now, that denial refused to let my eyes fall back to the small device connected to his chest, but Crosshair was screaming, and the Senator’s daughter was crying, and there was too much at stake for even a moment to be lost for something so useless.

Still, I couldn’t understand the dancing line steadily making its way across the monitor. I’d seen it countless times before, but…

My chest bucked in a sharp gasp, body finally remembering how to move. In an instant, I was at Crosshair’s side, hands grabbing at his in an enraging struggle to finally rip that damned helmet off.

“Crosshair! Cross, baby, I’m going to help fix it, but you – ugh! – you have to… stop… fighting me!” I grunted, finally trapping one of his hands beneath my arm long enough to grab the ruined bucket. His scream turned desperate the instant the light reached him, and my stomach dropped. The skin around his eyes was scalded, red and oozing, and how could I possibly give him any words of reassurance that might offer even a breath of comfort in the face of those wounds?

I offered no warning before jabbing a hypo against his neck. He didn’t notice it anyway, lips wrenched clear of teeth gnashing around hitched gasps and feral cries he couldn’t begin to restrain.

“I’ve got you, Cross.” I murmured as those frenzied movements began to fail, one arm wrapping around his back to help guide him carefully to the floor while the other snatched for my med scanner with some futile hope that it might be able to identify whatever toxin was searing into his flesh. “That’s it, love; just breathe for me; okay?” I wasn’t sure if the drugs helped, or if they merely left him too weak to thrash anymore, and I wanted to shout apologies until my lungs gave out, but I didn’t turn away from the small scanner, eyes quickly studying every word that scrolled across the screen before dropping it to snatch my comm.

“Tech! Wrecker! Do you copy?!” I shouted, already pushing myself to my feet and sprinting toward the medbay.

“Yeah,” Wrecker answered barely a second later. “They okay?”

“I’m working on that,” I nearly cringed at the exhaustion in my voice, but quickly moved on. “I need something to neutralize an acid. Are you in a position where you can look this over?”

“Do you have an approximate idea of what the substance is?” Tech asked, words breathless in a way that made my guilt spike. I shouldn’t have to ask them… I should be able to figure this out myself… but the chemical equation dancing across the scanner was far too complex for me to work through in time.

“I’m sending it now.” I replied, fingers already flying over the scanner to share the readout.

“Oh.” I wasn’t surprised to hear the dread in Wrecker’s voice, but if he recognized the chemicals, then there was hope that he knew how to safely wash it away. “Yeah… think I can tell yuh what yuh need.”

Tech didn’t interrupt him. This wasn’t hardware or trivia or anatomy. This was chemistry. And, while I wouldn’t have second-guessed a word the pilot may have said, Wrecker’s knowledge was a matter of passion. The same interplay of atomic bonds and volatile reactions manipulated to detonate a building could be used to form acids powerful enough to melt through entire ships, and I trusted his word without a moment’s doubt. Still, the time it took to prepare the solution was torture, and I couldn’t run back through the ship fast enough to begin to ease that crippling guilt.

He was barely moving when I got back, shivering body curled onto his side, one hand clutching at his eyes while the other was locked around Hunter’s arm, and I felt the tears threaten to suffocate me as I realized he was too disorientated to recognize the steady rhythm still singing from the small monitor to understand that his brother was alive.

“Crosshair; hey-hey-hey, listen to me.” I murmured quickly, satchel of equipment dropping carefully to the floor as I rushed to his side. “He’s alright. Hunter’s alright, but I need to take care of you now.” If he heard me, he didn’t respond, and I didn’t waste additional time trying to explain.

My heart was racing, anticipation searing through my nerves like lightning. He wasn’t going to like this. Kriff, he wasn’t going to like this…

He barely flinched when I gently laid my hand on his forehead, but the instant the first drop of liquid touched his cheek, whatever illusion of weakness the meds granted was gone. His limbs lashed out in a frenzy of panicked rage, kicking himself away while his arms swiped toward me in a vicious attempt to push me back. Cursing, I spun out of his reach just long enough to regain my footing.

Any other day, I’d have no hope in holding him down, but the body can only withstand the degree of agony he’d been subjected to for so long before even his muscles began to fail, so when I pinned his arms at his sides, my own legs quickly wrapping around him in a powerful hold, I had just enough time to empty that first syringe entirely, flooding his face with the neutralizing fluid.

I knew it would burn at first, and my face twisted into a sympathetic scowl at the fresh cries of a hurt I couldn’t imagine ripping through his already raw throat, but by the time I was halfway through the second, his thrashing began to ease, jaw hanging open around sputtering coughs as he spat out what trace amounts of fluid accidentally slipped past his lips.

“Good.” I murmured, hand once more settled atop his brow in an effort to carefully keep him still. “I know; I know it hurts, but this is helping, right? It’s getting better?” I expected no response, and he offered none, but he didn’t need to. I could feel the tension slowly fading despite the occasional twitch and choked grunt.

“Honey, I need to help you open your eyes, now. I need to make sure we rinse all that gunk out.” I warned, and my heart ached at how quickly that tension returned. “I know, but we’ll go slow, okay?” Voice quiet, gentle in a way I could only hope he might understand, I whispered to him, thumb already moving to pull at his upper lid as my thighs tightened at the way his arms wrenched against me. His head thrashed, desperate to escape my touch, but I followed him with ease, relentless until a dozen empty syringes lay strewn about the cabin, tossed aimlessly that I might hurry on to the next.

“Almost done.” I breathed, but he’d already begun to fade, body only occasionally managing a weak flinch as I pushed the last of the solution over his other eye. That redness was still there, and only time would tell how well his eyes would heal… but the danger was over. I quickly coated the abused flesh in a generous layer of bacta before securing thick pads over his eyes with bandages.

They were alive. I could still see the steady rhythm of Hunter’s heartbeat scrawling atop the monitor beside him, and the cruel acid used to incapacitate Crosshair was neutralized. They were okay… Even the little girl had stopped crying, wide eyes watching me with an emotion I was far too exhausted to try to name as I staggered to my feet. Couldn’t leave them here… I’d get them to the medbay… get them settled… then I’d let myself breathe…

Next Chapter

Click here or message me if you'd like to be added to a taglist!

Click here for my Masterlist.

Taglist: @arctrooper69 @eclec-tech @jennrosefx @echos-girlfriend @starqueensthings @manofworm @merkitty49 @idoubleswearimawriter @abigfanofstarwars @chopper-base @daftdarling222 @pb-jellybeans @bacta-the-future @rosechi @legalpadawan @drummergirl1701 @6oceansofmoons @dangraccoon @ji5hine @dathomiri-mudpuppy @mooncommlink @inneedoffanfics @totally-not-your-babe @delialeigh @callsign-denmark @blondie-bluue @ray-rook @iabrokengirl @arcsimper5 @rndmpeep @amorfista @flawsandgoodintent @passionofthesith @followthepurrgil @heidnspeak @roam-rs @foodmoneyandcats @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff @9902sgirl @captainrex89 @waytoooldforthis78 @msmeredithrose @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @anythingandeveythingstarwars @littlefeatherr @thegreatpipster @melonmochii @totallyunidentified @mickeyp03 @hipwell @echos_pile_of_bones @leotawrites @Asgre_Thar @fruityfucker @babyscilence @skellymom @youreababboon @echo9821

64 notes · View notes