#emergency medical dispatch

[dizzydispatch]

Time-Life Critical

Content warning: emergency medical situations, death

Today I took my first time-life critical call. The first thing I have to establish with any call, no matter what type of call it is, is the location. If I can only get one piece of information, it HAS to be where I'm sending people. If I don't know what's going on, I can send everyone, and let them hash out the situation. But if I don't know where you are, I can't do anything to help.

Once I know the type of call (police, fire, EMS, or a combination of the three), I get the appropriate help started. Most of the Reg towns have policies where police respond to everything, but I still need to let them know whether they're walking into a domestic (statistically the most dangerous call type for responders), a house fire, an overdose-- whatever it is, I want them to be prepared and walk in with the right mindset and an appropriate level of precaution.

In EMD (Emergency Medical Dispatch), we have a set of cards that we read off of to give medical advice when necessary and appropriate for a situation. They're stored on what looks like an old Rolodex, except instead of dates and contacts, it's sorted by medical scenario. Different PSAPs will have different cards based on their protocol, but usually they look about the same.

The first few tabs are for getting enough baseline information to be able to get me to the right situation card. The green cards are for medical situations like allergic reactions and chest pain, while the purple are for traumas, where the patient may be injured rather than sick. Each card will have questions designed to help me decide ALS or BLS response, as well as provide clarifying information to responders so they can have the right tools ready when they arrive on scene. Once I have enough information, I give pre-arrival instructions, which are usually something along the lines of: 

    "Have the patient stay calm, and do not allow them to exert themselves. Allow them to find a position of comfort. Do not allow them to have anything to eat or drink. If they take medication, have a list of their prescriptions or the bottles ready to show responders."

At this point, if it's a low-stakes situation, I can gather the patient and caller's names, a call-back number (which I ought to have confirmed before now, but sometimes things just move too fast), and the patient's date of birth, and then hang up. I usually advise the caller to call back if anything changes, or I keep them on the line so I can keep an ear on the situation until the ambulance shows up.

Those first few cards, though, the all-callers information, also ask for something else. Different people have different nicknames for it, but I call it "C/A/B" status: is the patient Conscious and Alert, and are they Breathing? This is crucial information, as a 'no' to any of these questions will trigger a "hot" response from responding units. Meanwhile, I jump down to those Time-Life Critical cards. There are tabs for CPR, AED, childbirth, and airway control instructions, and they're the only cards where all I do is read them word for word. The other cards I can skip around a little, depending on the nature of the call. 

Today's call would have included CPR, although we never got to the point of giving compressions. By the time the PD had arrived, my caller was trying to get the patient flat on his back on the floor. From what it sounded like, he was struggling to get him out from behind something he was slumped against, possibly a dresser or cabinet. 

So, while it was a time-life critical situation, I didn't really do anything helpful except try to keep the caller occupied while we waited for responders. He was, of course, panicked, as a loved one was lying dead in the room next to him and he couldn't even get him out from behind a piece of furniture. The best I could do was keep him too busy thinking about how to help to have time to panic. 

From what I heard, I don't think the patient survived. Later, I texted my family group chat to tell them about my first (sort of) CPR call. My brother asked me if I was doing okay, and at first I thought he meant, had I performed well enough? Would my DOR (training evaluation) reflect a competent dispatcher, or would stay on remedial training until I eventually was terminated? 

Once I realized that he'd meant, "Are you okay?" as in "That's heavy; are you handling it emotionally?", my reaction was, "Hell yeah. I feel great." I was a bit worried I would freeze up or panic the first time I handled time-life critical. But I performed better than I expected to. The call went into the system quickly and accurately, help arrived in a timely fashion. I did my job well. 

"But," I amended, "Ask me again after my shift ends. I might feel differently once I’ve taken off the professional blinders and processed the human emotion side of things."

After work, I went home and really thought through the situation. I really was fine. Did that make me a bad person? Did it say something about my capacity for empathy that I was more focused on my performance than on the reality of the fact that somebody probably died today, and I had just spoken to likely the last person to see him alive? I've always thought of myself as a deeply compassionate person. So what did it mean that I was able to separate myself wholly from the gravity of a situation like that, and view it as nothing more than a day in the office for me?

That's when I realized that I wasn't cold, or unfeeling. The whole reason I wanted this job so badly was that all I wanted to be involved in the process of saving lives. I wanted to take pride in my work, and being the first step in the emergency response process was the way I could do that. It was the place my skills and aptitudes would best serve those in need.

The fact that I could be so distant was a professional skill I've developed rapidly over the last few months. The key to not being "thrown" by calls like this is to break convention: make the situation about yourself. 

We as people try to avoid taking another person’s problem and making it about ourselves, because that’s considered selfish and unkind. If your friend confides in you she's been struggling with something, you don't say "hey me too, let me tell you about it!" You can offer your experience to her if doing so will establish a bond between you, but this conversation is about her, and you do your best to keep it that way.

But in this line of work, you have to make it about you. Thoughts like: that guy was in such a hard situation, and man, a human life might’ve been lost tonight, will weigh you down, and the job will swallow you whole. 

Instead, you think: how does this affect me? Did I do my job well? What do I stand to gain (experience, perspective, professional acumen)? It goes against social convention, but it keeps you from internalizing the stuff you see (or rather, hear) every day. It’s not about them; it’s about me, and my job, my performance and my success at the situation. Thus, I am no longer emotionally involved in the situation.

It's difficult to override your instincts like that, to subdue for even just short stretches of time the parts of you that feel. But each day I get a little bit better at this job, and though at times I may worry about what that means for my soul, in the end I truly believe the payoff of saving lives will be well worth it.

#911 dispatcher #dizzydispatch #dizzydispatch911 #dispatchdiaries #time-life critical #CPR #911 #911 dispatchers #first responders #ems #emd #emergency medical dispatch #emergency dispatch #public safety #public safety telecommunicator #coping

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[lifelineems]

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#Emergency Dispatch #Emergency Medical Service #Patient Care

[nurse-sainz]

Let me set the scene:

It's the Vegas Grand Prix, 2023. Lando has his crash, is high as a bloody kite in the hospital. Lando sees his nurse and I'd convinced he's dead bc 'why else would there be a legit angel?'

This is super short and silly but I absolutely adore this request! Thank you <3

P.S. I also love this and it is possibly one of my favourite photos of him! Boy is high as balls.

The red emergency phone rang, signaling an incoming ambulance, and you answered it with a sigh. "Mercy General Emergency Department," you answered as you clicked your pen and got the handover sheet ready to write down the patient information.

"Male…24…high-speed crash into a wall," you repeated back to dispatch that alerted you to the incoming patient, hating that you’d be spending what was left of your shift dealing with someone’s drunken antics or stupidity that had crashed them into a wall.

"How fast was he going?" you asked, not expecting the answer.

"180."

"Come again? 180mph and he’s still alive?" you repeated, not being able to hide the shock. "Do we need blood? X-Ray? Trauma surgeons and blood on standby? No one has called ahead." You suddenly woke up from the usual lull you felt around this time during your shift, your mind suddenly in full trauma mode.

"No, just precautionary checks. Patient is a Formula One driver and has been cleared by track medics, but they want a second opinion at the hospital and some scans in case."

Then it hit you…you followed F1 and had done for a few years. You’d been following the race on your phone during your breaks and knew Lando had crashed out during turn 14.

"Okay. Thank you, have you got an ETA?"

Dispatch relayed the time of arrival that gave you enough time to announce it over the tannoy and for your team to gather in one of the trauma rooms. You also called in security because you knew the press would be vultures all over this.

With the trauma room ready, you all waited for the arrival of your VIP patient. If you were being truthful, you were a little nervous at meeting one of your celebrity crushes but also knew you needed to keep it professional. What you didn’t expect was the goofy look on Lando’s face as he was wheeled on a stretcher into the room.

As soon as the paramedic crew had handed over and you’d transferred him over to the bed, you began attaching him to monitors and got your list of investigations and tests you’d need to perform from the doctor in charge.

The paramedics had clearly dosed him up with the good meds as he stirred in and out of consciousness, his eyes glassy and the goofy smile still plastered on his face every time his eyes met yours.

You woke him up once again, ready to check his pupils and GCS once more when he was a little more alert than he’d been since he arrived.

"Woah…am I dead?" his voice came out slightly slurred.

"The heart monitor beeping next to you would say otherwise," you laughed in reply.

"Are you sure, because why else would an actual angel be standing in front of me right now?"

You couldn’t help another laugh that escaped your lips as you watched him try to focus on you.

"And that would be the morphine," you fiddled with his IV and checked the fluids running before you input a few more things on his chart.

“I don’t think it is…” he slurred once more, “I know an angel when I see one.”

You were about to reply when you looked up from his chart and saw he’d fallen asleep, his head against his chest. You got up from your seat and adjusted his pillows so his neck wouldn’t be even more painful in the morning.

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #lando norris #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fluff #lando norris fanfiction #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fic #my writing #beth writes #vivwritesfics

[hookhausenschips]

Uniform {LN4}

500 Follower Special!!!

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Summary: Lando's accident in Vegas looked worse than it actually was, that however doesn't stop his girlfriend from worrying even when he is flirting with her while she's doing her job.

Taglist

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Y/N's POV

As I sat in the fire station, the steady hum of activity filled the air. The distant sound of engines revving on the track served as a constant reminder of the high-stakes race unfolding just beyond our walls. But amidst the anticipation and excitement, there was a sense of calm in the fire station, a brief respite before the inevitable chaos of the day.

Suddenly, the shrill sound of the alarm shattered the tranquility, sending a jolt of adrenaline coursing through my veins. My heart leaped into my throat as I listened to the urgent voice crackling over the intercom, dispatch calling out for our ambulance.

"Attention all units, we have a medical emergency code 10-50 at the FORMULA 1 HEINEKEN SILVER LAS VEGAS GRAND PRIX," the dispatcher's voice echoed through the building, urgency dripping from every word. "Unit 26 needed immediately. Repeat, Unit 26 needed immediately. Time out 0056."

The familiar rush of adrenaline surged through me as I sprang into action, my training kicking in as I grabbed my gear and raced toward the waiting ambulance. There was no time to waste as I prepared myself for whatever lay ahead, the weight of responsibility heavy on my shoulders.

With each step, the urgency of the situation became more apparent, the urgency of the situation becoming more apparent. My mind raced with possibilities, each more dire than the last, but I pushed the fear aside, focusing instead on the task at hand.

As I climbed into the ambulance and the engine roared to life, the gravity of the situation settled over me like a heavy blanket. There was no room for hesitation or doubt, only the unwavering determination to do whatever it took to help those in need.

With a final glance at my surroundings, I braced myself for the unknown, knowing that whatever lay ahead, I was ready to face it head-on.

Arriving at the paddock, I saw the aftermath of what had happened. Lando had lost control of his McLaren, spinning on the straight and slamming into the wall approaching Turn 12. My stomach churned as I took in the scene, but I pushed my emotions aside, focusing instead on the task at hand.

As I rushed into the medical center in the paddock, my heart pounded in my chest. The sight of Lando lying on the bed, surrounded by medical personnel, sent a pang of worry through me. But as I approached, I was relieved to see that he was conscious, albeit a bit out of it from the pain medication.

"Hey, there," he slurred, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he caught sight of me. "I love a woman in uniform."

I couldn't help but chuckle at his playful remark, despite the seriousness of the situation. His ability to flirt even in his dazed state never failed to amuse me.

"Looks like you're feeling the effects of those painkillers," I teased gently, taking his hand in mine.

Lando's grin widened as he squeezed my hand, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Can't help it," he replied with a shrug. "You always look so good in that uniform."

I shook my head, unable to suppress a smile at his antics. Even in moments of pain and uncertainty, he had a way of lightening the mood with his playful banter.

As the medical staff continued their assessments, Lando's attention remained fixed on me, his flirtatious remarks interspersed with moments of genuine concern.

“He’s going to be okay, right?” I asked one of the doctors, my voice tinged with concern.

The doctor reassured me that Lando’s injuries weren’t life-threatening, but they wanted to take him to the University Medical Center for further precautionary investigations.

I nodded, grateful for the thoroughness of the medical team. As Lando was loaded into the ambulance, I climbed in beside him, my heart heavy with worry. Despite his playful banter, I could see the pain lurking behind his eyes, masked only by the haze of medication.

The journey to the University Medical Center was tense, the silence broken only by the hum of the engine and the occasional beep of the monitors. Lando drifted in and out of consciousness, his hand finding mine in moments of lucidity.

“You’re going to be okay,” I whispered, squeezing his hand tightly. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

He managed a weak smile, his eyes fluttering shut once more as the medication pulled him back into oblivion. My heart ached as I watched him, wishing there was more I could do to ease his pain.

At the hospital, we were greeted by a team of doctors and nurses, all of them focused on ensuring Lando received the best possible care. I stood back, watching as they whisked him away for further tests and examinations, feeling a wave of relief wash over me.

As the hours passed, I paced the waiting room, my mind awash with worry. Every minute felt like an eternity as I waited for news of Lando’s condition. Finally, a doctor emerged from the hallway, his expression grave but hopeful.

“He’s going to be okay,” he said, his voice tinged with relief. “The concussion isn’t as severe as we initially thought, and there don’t appear to be any other serious injuries.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. Relief flooded through me, washing away the fear and uncertainty that had plagued me since the accident.

“He’s asking for you,” the doctor continued, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Rushing to Lando’s side, I found him propped up in bed, a tired but genuine smile on his face. Despite the lingering effects of the medication, his eyes were clear and focused as he reached out to take my hand.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice soft with emotion. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

I shook my head, tears streaming down my cheeks as I leaned in to kiss him gently.

“It’s not your fault,” I whispered, my voice choking with emotion. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

We stayed like that for a long time, lost in each other’s embrace as the chaos of the night faded into the background. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the two of us, together and safe.

As Lando was discharged from the hospital, I watched him closely, my concern still lingering despite the doctor's reassurances. But to my surprise, Lando seemed eager to get back to the paddock, his determination unwavering despite the ordeal he had just endured.

"You sure you're up for this?" I asked, my voice tinged with concern as I watched him gather his things.

Lando flashed me a reassuring smile, his eyes bright with determination. "I'll be fine," he replied confidently. "I can't just sit around and do nothing while the race is still going on."

My worry deepened at his response. "But Lando, you just got out of the hospital," I protested gently. "You need to rest and recover."

He reached out to take my hand, his touch warm and comforting. "I know, but I can't let my team down," he insisted. "They need me."

I sighed, torn between my desire to keep him safe and my understanding of his passion for racing. "Just promise me you'll take it easy," I said finally, unable to hide the concern in my voice.

Lando nodded, his expression earnest. "I promise," he replied solemnly. "I'll be careful."

As we made our way back to the paddock, I couldn't shake the lingering worry that tugged at my heart. But seeing the determination in Lando's eyes, I knew that he wasn’t going to let this setback ruin his season.

As Lando prepared to return to the paddock, a mix of determination and apprehension written across his face, he turned to face me. Our eyes met, and in that moment, the unspoken bond between us spoke volumes.

"Promise me you'll be careful," I whispered once again, terrified to let him go, my voice barely above a breath, as I reached out to touch his arm.

Lando nodded, his gaze unwavering. "I will," he assured me, his voice soft but resolute.

With a heavy heart, I stepped closer, closing the distance between us. There was a brief pause, a silent exchange of emotions passing between us, before Lando leaned in and pressed his lips gently against mine.

The kiss was tender yet filled with an underlying sense of urgency, a silent acknowledgment of the risks he was about to take. In that fleeting moment, all of our fears and worries were eclipsed by the warmth of our shared love.

As we pulled away, a bittersweet smile tugged at the corners of my lips. "Good luck," I whispered, my voice barely a whisper, as he turned and disappeared into the bustling crowd of the paddock.

Watching him go, a sense of unease settled over me, but it was tempered by the quiet confidence that together, we could weather any storm. And as Lando disappeared from view, I clung to that hope, knowing that no matter what challenges lay ahead, our love would always be our guiding light.

As the days passed and Lando recovered from his injuries, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for the reminder of just how precious life could be. In a world filled with uncertainty and danger, having someone to hold onto made all the difference.

And as we watched the next race together, our hands entwined and our hearts full, I knew that no matter what the future held, we would face it together, one lap at a time.

====================================

LN4 Taglist: @esserenorris, @tallrock35, @yourbane, @lightdragonrayne, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @dhanihamidi

F1 Taglist: @hiireadstuff, @really-fucking-tired, @donteventry-itdude, @spookystitchery

#ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 fluff #ln4 fic #mclaren f1 #mclaren #mclaren formula 1 #formula 1 #ln4 one shot #lando norris #lando nowins #lando norizz #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando imagine #lando #lando x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x you #lando norris x oc #lando norris x black!reader #x black fem reader #x black!fem!reader #x reader #x black!reader #x black reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic

[muchosbesitos]

I need a fic about Miguel lusting after nurse fem!reader! I imagine he got hurt around her apartment and being that he is Spider-Man and she is a nurse she decides to take him into her apartment and fix him up. She is so caring and kind to he and this starts to become a thing where spider-man gets her to heal him.

So Miguel never reveals his identity to her but he’s like falling hard for her. Like thinking about her all the time (especially when he is in the shower lol). Let’s say one day he’s feeling like a little under the weather so he decides to go to where she works to get a check up and medicine (and hopefully to see her outside of his costume for once) so when he finally sees her he’s trying to charm her flirt a bit like he does when he’s behind the mask, but she is not having it. She acts cold and disinterested because one, guys flirt with nurses all the time and two, she has feelings for spider-man. Then you can do what you want with the ending but I would like if they get together in the end maybe you can squeeze some NSFW in there. Honestly this might make a pretty cute series!

little nurse

pairing: miguel o’hara x nurse fem reader

contents: mentions of blood/injuries and masturbation (m)

author’s note: decided to split this up into two parts, i hope you don’t mind :) very limited medical knowledge btw (one szn of grey’s anatomy and dr mike accounting for that 😖)

word count: 4.1K

Miguel O'Hara appeared in your life out of thin air. Literally.

You were trudging home from work around eleven at night, your scrubs smelling like disinfectant and dark circles adorning your under eyes. You'd been looking forward to taking a shower and getting as much sleep as you could before your next shift, your plans completely shifting when someone dropped in front of you. A masked man landed in front of you, clad in a Spider-Man costume. The sleep that you were longing for quickly faded away, replaced by a feeling of concern as you kneeled over to see if he had fractured his spine or his head with the fall. "How many fingers am I holding up?" You asked, holding up three as you waited for some kind of assurance that he was awake.

After receiving no response from the man, you dragged him into your apartment to work on him inside. You were grateful to whatever entity there was above that you lived in a downstairs apartment, the task of taking the man inside proving more difficult than you'd originally thought. You let out a small huff as you dragged him onto the rug in the center of your living room, shutting the door afterwards. You looked down at the man, almost tempted to take off the mask and reveal who was underneath the Spider-Man mask. After more careful consideration, you decided that it probably wasn't the best idea while he was in such a vulnerable position and grabbed your phone from your purse.

You'd gotten some old blouses that you were planning on throwing away, using them as a tourniquet around his stomach to stop the bleeding. You pressed two fingers to his neck to try to feel for a pulse, a bit slow but at a steady rhythm. After making sure his heartbeat was stable, you pressed your head down to your chest to listen for his breathing, the sound coming out ragged. "Stay with me, please," you silently whispered as your bloody fingers typed away at your phone screen, opening up the phone app. You'd finished up typing up the final one of the emergency number, a large gloved hand stopping you from answering the dispatcher on the other line.

"No, no. Please don't do that," the masked man underneath you pleaded as he slowly started to regain consciousness. You were made aware that not only would he run the risk of getting his identity exposed, but he'd also run the risk of having the nypd arrest him for the crimes he's committed as a vigilante. "Now do you understand why I can't go to the hospital?" He asked, almost like he wanted to make sure what stood at stake for him. "Okay, I'll trust you for now. But if you start bleeding out in my living room, then I'll take you to the hospital. Does that sound good?" You answered reluctantly, watching as he nodded.

You grabbed some gloves from one of your kitchen drawers, kneeling down next to him as you reached for the zipper on the back. "Do you mind if I take this off?" You asked, wanting to get his approval before you got started on anything. "Whatever you need to do to me, doc," he answered, sitting a bit up so you could reach the zipper better. You zipped down his suit, pulling it off his arms and sliding it down to his stomach. "How's your head? You hit it pretty hard when you fell," you asked him, wanting to get a better assessment of how his health was. You felt around his stomach, trying to find if there was any internal bleeding but you knew that the results would be more accurate with a CT scan.

"My head's fine, just a bit of blindness in my right eye," he deadpanned, your eyebrows practically shooting up to your hairline as you turned to look at him. "I'm joking, doc. I'm all good," he added, a small chuckle following after. "I'd smack you if your ribs weren't probably broken right now," you muttered, getting up from the floor to grab a suture kit from your bedroom. Only the sounds of his breathing could be heard as you worked on the large gashes covering most of his abdominal region, steady fingers working the needle through the thread to stop any further bleeding. You wiped away at some of the dried blood, cleaning him up to the best of your ability before pressing your hands down on his stomach to see if he had any further pain.

"I don't have any strong meds at my house, I only have Tylenol so I hope that works for you," you announced as you looked over at your medicine cabinet, surprisingly empty for the line of work that you'd chosen. "Give me the prognosis, doc. How long do I have to live?" he asked as you handed him the bottle of pills with a glass of a water. "I'm not a doctor, just a nurse. And I'd say a couple more minutes, if you're lucky. Might last longer if you don't annoy me as much," you teased him back, grabbing a couple bandages to finish up with the job. You wrapped them around the places where you placed the stitches, making him a little first aid kit just in case he'd need it. "If your stitches pop out or anything, just come back here. You know where I live."

He pulled the zipper back on, grabbing the first aid kit from you before he headed towards the door. "I'll see you next time I get hurt, little nurse," he told you, making it seem more like a promise than a goodbye. "Try not to make this a daily thing, please," you responded before he had the chance to leave, the eyes of his mask slightly raising. "I can't make any promises, lindura," he swung away after he finished speaking, sticking to the building in front of your apartment complex. You couldn't help but look out at him as he left, watching the way that he maneuvered the webs to the best of his ability despite the injuries that he'd sustained.

Miguel continued to seek you out as his nurse every time that he got hurt after that, enjoying the small banter and jokes between the two of you. Getting to be around you once more felt like the highlight of every fight that he got into, the assurance that you would be there to patch him up giving him the motivation that he needed to get up and fight crime. Despite the small jabs that you took at him, you proved to care about him time and time again with each wound that you treated. You never asked him any questions about his identity, never made him out to be anything bigger than what he had to be. Despite the fact that he wore the mask around you, he'd never felt more exposed around a human being in his life before.

Miguel found himself to be distracted by the thought of just seeing you again, constantly. He found himself wanting to get hurt just so he'd have an excuse to need your assistance, to have your soft hands running across his flesh as you stitched him up. His attention wasn't diverted only when he was dressed up as Spider-Man, the affection that he held towards you following him all the way to the lab he worked at. He'd mixed up two chemicals that he shouldn't have, causing a negative reaction in one of the rats that he was testing on and having to discard his experiment completely. "Focus, O'Hara. We're not here to pick up after your messes," his co-worker and superior, Aaron Delgato, told him during lunchtime with that same stupid smug expression he always carried on his face.

Normally, Miguel would've had something to respond back with but he couldn't find it in him to care that much at the moment. "Yeah, yeah," he ended up muttering back, pushing away his concerns as he sipped at the bitter coffee from the cafeteria. Normally the bitter taste of the coffee would've made him spit out the substance, the taste becoming slightly better when you were at the forefront of his mind. Instead of throwing it away after the first sip, he ended up taking a couple more sips before throwing it away in the sink. He spent the day at work focusing on his reports, having to stay a bit later to make up for the work that he'd messed up earlier just so he wouldn't have to deal with Aaron's condescending comments and stupid smirk as he questioned Miguel's ability to work the job he did.

He got home at around 6:30, two hours after his shift ended. The sound of door closing echoed throughout the empty halls of his home, the environment completely devoid of anything homely apart from a couple pictures and a bookshelf full of scientific journals that he'd enjoyed. He stripped away from his clothes once he got into his bedroom, wanting to remove himself from the lab as much as possible. He got into the shower before he had to head out for his vigilante duties, knowing that he knew would be too tired to do so when he got back home. The cold stream of water hit his muscles as he stood underneath, putting his forehead against the cold tiles of the wall. He felt depraved as he thought about you while he stood here, feeling himself grow more and more ashamed as he resisted the urge to wrap his hand around his cock.

Eventually, he ended up giving into his desires and wrapped his fingers tightly around his cock. He closed his eyes to help him envision a scenario with you, his mind running through with images of you underneath him. His grip on his cock tightened, wanting to replicate the feeling of what your cunt would feel like. He smeared some of the precum leaking out of his tip all around his shaft with his thumb, letting out a small hiss as he felt himself growing more aroused with every second that passed. He started off slow, wanting to prolong this orgasm as much as possible.

He pictured you starting off by sticking your tongue out for him as you sat on your knees underneath him, doe eyes looking at him expectantly as your hand wrapped around the base of his cock. Your mouth would engulf around the tip of his cock, swirling your tongue around it to capture every drop of precum that leaked out. His thumb ran around his tip to simulate every aspect of his scenario, precum sticking to his fingers as he did. He couldn't help but think about how beautiful you would look as you struggled to adjust to the feeling of his cock around your mouth, tears threatening to leak through as you fought off the urge to gag. "Oh shock, keep going," he moaned out, almost feeling like you were in the room with him.

His hand moved faster around his cock, fingers wrapped tightly around his shaft as he tried to get himself off. His eyes remained closed as the cold water ran through his body, his mind still continuing with the scenario from earlier. He felt his cock twitch in his hand, picturing how you would look with ropes of cum splattered onto your face. His release was more uneventful than he'd expected it to be, hit with the clarity of the situation immediately as the water washed the sticky substance from his hands. His forehead remained pressed against the shower wall, wanting to eliminate every negative thought that he'd been presented with. He felt perverted for taking advantage of you in this way, of taking advantage of the way that you were just so ready to help him out, but he couldn't help but feel his desire for you grow even more with every smile that you gave him.

He got out of the shower a couple minutes later, taking a few moments to reflect on what he'd done before finishing up with the rest of his shower routine. "Did you finish making the final adjustments to my suit?" He asked as his hologram assistant appeared next to him, a towel wrapped around his waist as he walked to the closet. "I did. You should find the material to be a bit more durable than the one that you previously used. Though the news reports show that it's going to be close to freezing so I would recommend for you to stay home," LYLA responded, before giving him the detailed report of what she'd done to his suit. "Crime doesn't stop just because it's a little cold. I'm sure I'll be fine," he muttered, grabbing the suit hanging up on the back of his closet.

Miguel shivered as he sat on top of a rooftop, overlooking the city as he waited for something to happen. He would have to make a mental note to add some insulation to the redesign of his suit, finding every minute outside to be excruciating. He removed the bottom part of his mask, blowing onto his bare hands as he rubbed them together. His feet swung on the edge of the building, ears perked up as he tried to listen in on conversations to discern whether anybody actually needed his help tonight. He was about to leave for the night around 30 minutes later, his plans getting stopped when he heard a lady scream across the street.

Miguel handed the purse back to the lady who was getting robbed, fighting the thugs that had tried to rob her proving to be the most exciting thing that happened all night. "Thank you Spider-Man!" The woman called out as he swung away, receiving a curt nod in response before he swung away. He ended up having to fight a couple low-grade robbers and car-jackers, nothing too big for the night. He got back home after finishing up the mundane tasks, feeling himself shivering even as he was welcomed by the warmth of the fireplace in his living room. LYLA had already started with her remarks about how he probably ended doing himself more harm than good, getting shut off two minutes into her monologue. He stripped off his clothing, sitting down on his couch with his legs spread out as he tried to warm up.

Miguel let out a groggy moan as he got up to the sound of his alarm, rubbing his hand across his temples as he laid on the couch. He could hardly get up to go to the bathroom, finding himself unable to head into work today. "I need to call in sick today," Miguel mumbled into the phone, knowing that Aaron was probably rejoicing at his weakened state. "You already messed up the experiment and now you want to take the day off? You're really slacking here, O’Hara," aaron remarked with a small 'tsk', speaking just loud enough for anyone to be able to overhear their conversation. "I don’t see why I have to explain myself to you but I'm sick. The experiment's gonna end even more messed up if I do end up showing up," Miguel answered, a small cough coming out of his end almost on cue.

After getting the reluctant approval of Aaron to stay home, miguel made his way to his bedroom and snuggled underneath his blanket. "LYLA, set up an appointment for me tomorrow at the medical center downtown please," he asked his ai assistant, his words coming out raspy and hoarse. "Why would you want me to do that? I can give you a full health assessment and recommend the right types of medicine that you need, Way better than a doctor ever could," she responded, appearing next to him with a face mask and little nurse hat on. "If I wanted you to do that, I would've asked. Just set me the appointment please," he mumbled, reaching over on his bed stand to get a tissue. LYLA was about to protest once more, but decided to go ahead and do the task when she heard Miguel coughing once more.

Miguel spent most of the day in bed, sweating underneath his tiger blanket despite the fact that he felt himself shivering. He found out the hard way that Vaporub did not in fact cure every one of his aches, though his nose wasn't too stuffed up after using it. He got up around 6 pm when he felt his stomach grumble, walking over to the kitchen to make himself something to eat. He turned on the afternoon news, wanting to make sure there wasn't anything too bad threatening the city. He saw that there had been a couple reports of robberies around the city, leaving it up to the police since he wasn't sure how useful he would be with his nose running every minute. He turned off the tv and poured the chicken soup that had been brewing on the oven into plate, sitting down at the dinner table to have something to eat. All he could do for now was simply wait for what the doctor would prescribe him, a part of him hoping that he would be able to see you.

"Miguel O'Hara?" You called out, looking around the sickly people in the waiting room before a tall man stood up. "That's me," he responded, his sinuses clearly stuffed up as he spoke. You led him back into the rooms, walking to the treatment rooms as you looked through the clipboard. "It's been a while since you've been here so i'm gonna go ahead and update your medical file," you informed him, looking back at him as he nodded. You led him to a wall with a measure taped on it, grabbing a pen from one of the pockets of your scrubs. You were about to take his height, noticing that his figure loomed over the measure. Your eyes widened slightly, your mind rubbing through what you could possibly do.

You grabbed an extra measure from a drawer, grabbing a chair nearby before getting up on it to tape it up on the wall. "You could've asked me to do that, y'know? I wouldn't have minded doing a favor for such a pretty nurse," he mused as he looked up at you, his lips immediately pursing together at the dirty look that you shot him. You got off from the chair, looking up at the two measures taped together before counting the extra inches. "Alright, 6'9," you muttered to yourself, writing it down on the clipboard before motioning for him to step on the electronic scale next to the side. You took his weight after the machine stopped counting, writing down the results before leading him to his assigned treatment room.

You washed your hands at the sink, putting on a bit of hand sanitizer before putting on a pair of gloves. "What seems to be the problem?" You asked, wanting to get a synopsis of what he thought was wrong before you made any guesses. "The problem is that you haven't accepted a dinner invitation with me. I'm sure my cold would heal a lot faster if you did, just saying. Trust me, I'm also a doctor," he mused, relishing as you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. While you'd had your fair share of patients flirt with you, having to deal with their advances tested your patience bit by bit. The man in front of you wasn't exactly unattractive, but he didn't make you feel the same excitement that you felt every time that you saw Spider-Man. You folded your arms and looked at him, staying silent until he decided to divulge what had been bothering him.

"My nose's stuffed up, my chest feels like it's full of phloem, and I can't stop coughing up a lung," he responded, allowing you to get a glimpse of what was really bothering him. "It sounds like you just have a cold but I'll get your blood work done just to make sure that I get an accurate result," you told him, grabbing a small needle to prick him. Before he got the chance to tell you that the blood work wouldn't reveal much, you'd already collected the blood in a small tube. "The doctor will be right with you, Mr. O’Hara," he'd heard you say before the door closed, leaving him alone with the knowledge that you didn't feel the same way about him while he was unmasked.

The doctor came in and did what they were supposed to, taking his heartbeat and his temperature. "It seems like you just have a cold, Mr. O’Hara. Take some time to rest at home and don't overexert your body," the doctor had warned him, handing him a small paper with a prescription for what seemed to be cough syrup on it. He took the paper from the doctor, looking over at you with a small smile as you stepped into the room. The doctor handed the chart over to you, giving you a shortened explanation of what the diagnosis had been. You read over his chart, reaffirming what the doctor had already said before you dismissed him.

"I forgot to mention, your blood test came back inconclusive. I'm sure it was just the machine since it said it couldn't really identify you as fully human," you told him before he had the chance to leave, his figure looming over yours as he waited for you to finish speaking. "I hope you get your machine fixed soon. I'm sorry if i did something to damage it. By the way, are you certain that you don't want to say yes to that dinner I mentioned earlier?" He insisted with his previous offer, his hand lingering on the doorknob as he waited for your response. "I'm sure, thank you for the very kind offer," you reaffirmed, stepping out of the room once he'd walked out.

You headed to the back to talk with your friends, seeing Miguel at the hospital's pharmacy to get the cough syrup prescription filled. "I heard you rejected your patient's advances when he asked you out to dinner. This one's pretty cute and rich, so what happened?" Nurse Maya asked you, pretending to sift through some files just in case a doctor passed by. "Girl, you know she's obsessed over that Spider-Man guy. How's it been going treating him for free, anyways?" Your other friend, Nurse Valeria asked, looking up from her computer just to take note of your expression. You hated how easy the news travelled in the hospital, avoiding Miguel’s gaze as you turned to look at your two friends.

"It's been going decent, thank you. And there's nothing new to tell, Spider-Man hasn't been showing up to my house lately. I kinda have missing being his little nurse," you responded, watching as they both rolled your eyes. "Of course you had to go and fall in love with the masked psycho," Maya muttered before the three of you talked about something else. You couldn't help but laugh as Maya went through her recent dating dilemma, blissfully unaware to the fact that someone had been listening to your conversation while they were waiting for their prescription to be filled.

Miguel couldn't help the small smile that crossed his lips as he heard you speak about Spider-Man in the way that you did, speaking about his alter ego like a high school girl with a crush. "Mr. O'Hara?" The pharmacist behind the counter called out for what seemed to be the hundredth time, finally diverging his attention long enough from you to be able to do their job properly. "Thank you," Miguel mumbled awkwardly, the smile on his face quickly fading away as he paid for the cough syrup. He took a small spoonful of it in his car while he waited for the blue light to turn off, silently hoping that it would work and he could get back to fighting crime once more.

Though he felt a little discouraged at the way you'd shut him off with every flirting attempt that he made, he knew that at some level you had to feel some kind of attraction for him. His mind began coursing with different ideas of how to approach this situation, almost jealous of the way that you viewed his alternate ego. He started to wonder what it would be like if he was able to flirt with you the same way that he was able to as Spider-Man, what it would be like to have that confidence without the use of the mask. The way you spoke about him was almost endearing, the way that you described what it felt like to have Spider-Man come for your services and the way that you felt while you stitched him up. All that he knew is that he needed to come up with a solution about how to approach this crush for you and fast.

#muchosbesitos #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara across the spider verse #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #smut #atsv miguel #spiderman across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #miguel across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #miguel x y/n #miguel x you #spiderman atsv #spiderman #spiderman smut #atsv smut #miguel fanfic #miguel smut #miguel atsv #spiderman 2099 smut

[steddieas-shegoes]

Requests: Steve adopting an abandoned child post earthquake in Hawkins after the spring break from hell. And him realizing all the ways he was hurt as a child due to his parents neglect. And how he overcomes it and raises his baby-child with gentleness, warmth, patience and love

OKAY GENUINELY I GOT SO CARRIED AWAY WITH THIS PROMPT AND IT STILL WASN'T AS MUCH AS I WANTED TO DO. FAIR WARNING: this is an emotional roller coaster. It ends HAPPY. But there are a lot of sad and bittersweet moments and feelings leading up to that moment. There is the mention of child neglect, and that can be difficult for some people to read, even with a happy ending, so please keep that in mind before starting this. Also, this is not how the law or CPS works at all, and it wasn't in the 80s either, but this is fiction and I do what I want. I hope someone can continue this idea somewhere because it is so special to me now. This is 6200 words of me not knowing how to wrap it up with a bow. I hope you love this my darling, thank you for this one. - Mickala ❤️

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

Steve spent the last 12 hours pacing the waiting room floor at the hospital. He’d promised the kids he would stay until there was an update on Eddie and Max, and their parents had insisted they go home after they’d been quickly attended to for their minor injuries.

Max was stable, but not awake. They weren’t sure if she ever would be again. Steve passed that on to Nancy so she could call everyone.

Eddie finally made it out of surgery, alive, but barely.

He’d lost a lot of blood and they weren’t able to give him a transfusion until Wayne got there to donate.

It was touch and go for another few hours in recovery.

But things calmed down a bit, his heart rate settling at a normal rate, his oxygen maintaining where it should be with the mask on, the bleeding stopped and his blood regenerating on its own.

He wasn’t awake, but he was alive.

That was enough for Wayne and Hopper to kick him out of the hospital and make him go home.

“Shower. Eat. Sleep. In that order, Harrington,” Hopper said, the gruffness in his voice overruled by the concern.

He was up to speed on everything he missed, and he wasn’t thrilled about how much Steve had put on the line for everyone.

So Steve left, even though he wanted to stay, needed to have eyes on Eddie, on Max.

He had to trust that they were being taken care of.

He made it home, did two of the three things Hopper told him to. His shower was long and hot, finally able to wash away the blood and dirt and Upside Down particles that clung to his skin for the last couple of days. His dinner was quick and unfulfilling, but frozen meals usually are.

And then he did try to sleep. He tried on the couch first, his usual go-to spot after crises. Then he tried to go to his bed, hoping the weight of his comforter would help lull him to sleep.

But two hours later, he was still wide awake.

So he got up, put on jeans and a sweater, and made his way to the school, where emergency services had been set up.

It was chaotic, still very little organization amongst groups. The firefighters had been dispatched all over town, and most medical professionals had been called into the hospital or to help EMTs on calls. A handful of teachers had been put in charge of the check-in process here, making sure anyone who came through was on a list of survivors first, then sent to help where they were needed if they were able.

Steve was able, so he put his name on the list and was told to stand with a group at the far corner of the gym. Everyone in this group was waiting for a dispatch crew of firefighters to come get them to help locate survivors.

They were given vests, gloves, and helmets to wear, and given quick safety briefings. They were told not to move any rubble, that if they suspected someone was under some, to call for the professionals. They were just extra eyes and ears because everyone was stretched too thin for a disaster of this magnitude and help from local towns was slow to arrive.

Steve figured this would help him, if he stayed busy and managed to help people, he wouldn’t think about how helpless he was when it came to Max and Eddie.

The first location they were dropped at was a small neighborhood on the outskirts of town. Most of the homes had been completely demolished, cracks in the ground swallowing pieces of them. If there were any survivors here, they would be in desperate need of medical attention.

But after nearly four hours of searching, only one person was found, their leg trapped under a large wooden beam. The leg was broken, but they were fine other than that.

Steve felt relief that nothing more serious had happened there.

But the second area was worse.

It wasn’t a neighborhood, just a small wooded area surrounding two homes a good distance apart. Surprisingly, the homes were still standing, but everything around them was destroyed. Fires had been only recently extinguished, downed trees and power lines blocking most of the driveway and road in front of them.

“This should be relatively quick, both homes are empty and cars are gone, so we think everyone managed to get out safely, but we do need to be sure,” the firefighter in charge of this group said before leading them forward.

The smaller of the two houses was empty, though a mess, like the occupants had rushed to pack necessities and threw anything else on the ground as they rushed to get out.

The other home, though, was surprisingly clean. Kept up in a way Steve wouldn’t have expected for the panic most people showed while escaping town.

Everyone assumed maybe the occupants hadn’t even been home when the quake hit.

But Steve decided to go upstairs anyway.

Something was telling him this wasn’t normal.

It felt familiar in a way he didn’t want to acknowledge yet.

No one else followed him, all of the volunteers congregating in the living room area to discuss their next location before heading back to the school for a break.

Steve followed his gut, and his gut told him to check the bedroom at the end of the hall.

He opened the door, not surprised to see that nothing seemed strange at first glance.

Then he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, under the bed.

He would’ve checked there anyway, that’s where he would have hidden in this kind of situation, too.

“I guess this place is all clear,” Steve said, quiet enough not to be heard by anyone downstairs yet, but loud enough to be heard by the person under the bed.

“Wait!”

It was a kid, Steve figured as much based on the items on the desk in the corner and the poster on the wall.

The small boy crawled out from under the bed, panic on his face.

“Are you gonna take me to my parents?” The boy asked, lips wobbling.

“I’m gonna try. I’m Steve, what’s your name?”

“Elliott.”

“Nice to meet you, Elliott. How old are you?”

“Nine.”

Jesus Christ. Where had his parents even been? Why weren’t they looking for him?

He hoped they were on their way back and just stuck trying to get into town.

But a part of him had already known that wasn’t true. A part of him knew the moment they pulled into the area that he’d find someone left here, someone who shouldn’t have ever been alone.

“Alright, Elliott, let’s get you back to the school. We can put your name on the list so your parents can find you easier, okay? I can stay with you until they get here.”

“I don’t know if they will.”

Steve’s heart stopped for a moment.

Sure, his parents never came back after the Upside Down bullshit, but he’d been a teenager and adult. They probably assumed he wasn’t involved in any of it and was fine.

But Elliott was nine. Even his parents would have come back for him at that age.

They never should have left him alone to begin with, but even they knew the trouble they’d be in for leaving him at that age after a fucking earthquake.

“Of course they will, buddy. It’s just hard getting into Hawkins right now, you’ll see on our way back.”

He placed his hand on Elliott’s shoulder, not surprised when he tensed up under him for a moment before he relaxed.

Steve hadn’t been used to casual touch until he met Nancy.

But Elliott deserved to feel cared for right now, so he kept his hand there, let him get used to it for a moment, and then guided him out the door and down the stairs.

Most of the group had moved back outside, but a few people remained.

One of the few women in the group looked over at his entrance, her jaw dropping when she saw he had a child with him.

“Oh my God!”

Steve held his hand up, knowing Elliott probably didn’t want to draw a lot of attention to himself.

“He’s okay. He managed to find a safe place to hide. His parents might be looking for him though so we should get him back,” Steve said calmly.

No one crowded him, but the firefighter waiting by the van that was transporting everyone checked his heart and lungs, made sure he didn’t have any visible wounds or injuries.

Elliott didn’t let go of Steve the entire time, his hand gripping his forearm like he was terrified to lose him among the group.

Steve didn’t try to pull away, not once.

He knew Elliott needed someone. He could be that someone for him.

—-------------

When they arrived back at the school, they put his name on the list, and since he was a minor, they had him go to one of the classrooms that was being watched over by security while they tried to contact his parents.

He told them they left for a business trip over a week ago, he didn’t know when they would be back, and his aunt checked on him every morning, but he hadn’t seen her since the quake.

Steve stood by as he spoke to the responsible adults, not letting Elliott out of his sight.

Elliott begged for Steve to come with him to wait while they tried to locate his parents, so he did.

He realized pretty quickly that Elliott must not have slept last night; He curled against Steve’s side on the floor almost immediately and fell asleep, light snores making Steve smile to himself.

The floor was hard, the wall behind him was somehow harder, but he wouldn’t move short of another emergency.

They stayed like that for hours, kids coming and going as more were found and reunited with their families.

Elliott was the youngest one left in the room, all the other kids high school age.

When one of the men from the group he was in earlier came in the room to get another kid, he asked if there was any update on Elliott.

“Nah, they’re still trying to find them. The aunt um…” The guy looked nervously down at the sleeping Elliott. “She didn’t make it. Was on her way to try to get him when another crack hit the road she was driving on, car crashed. They contacted the dad’s business and were told he’s out of the country and won’t be returning calls until next week.”

“How long are they gonna make him stay here while they figure it out?”

“No clue, man. I’ll ask someone.”

But he didn’t come back and Elliott deserved something better than the floor to sleep on.

“Hey, buddy,” Steve said, gently nudging his shoulder to wake him up. “Sorry, just gotta run and ask someone something real quick.”

Elliott grabbed his shirt, holding it in his fist tightly.

“Don’t go! Please,” he begged, tears welling in his eyes.

Steve’s heart broke.

He’d been this kid for so much of his childhood, practically begging people to stick around so he didn’t have to be drenched in loneliness again.

He knew he would be right back, but to Elliott, especially after the quake, he probably felt like anyone who left would be gone forever.

“Come with me. We’ll find you some dinner while I find out how things are going.”

He stood up, his legs numb from sitting on the floor so long, and helped Elliott find his balance after waking up so abruptly.

They left the room, the security nodding them on when he saw Steve was with him, and walked down the hall to the cafeteria area.

They were serving ham and cheese sandwiches, bags of chips, and water for everyone. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for now.

If he could find a phone, maybe he could get Robin to bring him and Elliott more food.

Elliott shyly thanked the person handing out the meals, and Steve slowly guided him to an empty table while his eyes searched for anyone he recognized.

He almost did a happy dance when he saw Dustin and Claudia across the room.

“Hey, that’s actually my friend and his mom. Can you wait here while I grab them?”

Elliott nodded nervously, clearly only letting him walk away because he would be within his sight the entire time.

Steve ran over to them, wincing slightly when the bite on his stomach started pulsing. Probably should take it easier while that healed.

“Dustin!” Steve exclaimed as he got closer.

Dustin’s head shot around, smile lighting up his face as he realized it was Steve.

“Dude! Everyone’s been trying to find you for hours. Have you been here all day?”

“Kinda. I came to help with searching and I found a kid earlier. They’re trying to find his parents, but he’s been kind of attached to me.”

“Damn, I hope they find them soon. Phone lines keep going down. You seen Hopper come by yet?”

“No, has he gotten any sleep yet?”

“Doubt it. Ma, do you have any cookies left for Steve?”

Claudia came bustling over, digging through her purse as she walked.

“Oh, I’m sure I do! Hi, Steve, dear. Hope you’re doing okay in all this madness.”

“I’m doing alright,” Steve gave her a small smile as she managed to find the cookies and hand them over. “Hey, do you know the parents of Elliott Devers?”

“Oh, I know of them, sure. Only met them once, they never seem to be in town. He’s a sweet boy, his aunt seems to take care of him most of the time.”

Steve filled her in on what he knew so far, that Elliott’s aunt had died, that no one could reach his parents, that he’d been alone in the house for at least a full day before Steve found him.

That Elliott didn’t seem to want to be separated from Steve.

Dustin was watching him talk, eyebrows furrowing like he was trying to think of something.

“Wait, his dad’s the guy who was under investigation for tax evasion, fraud, and identity theft, isn’t he?”

Steve’s stomach dropped.

His brain made connections that only children of rich parents can in a matter of seconds.

His parents ran to another country on “business” because that was the only way they were allowed to leave while he was under investigation. No one could reach them because they gave fake information so they could go into hiding. Because he was guilty of all of the things he was under investigation for and didn’t want to lose everything and end up in prison.

Fuck.

Claudia must have realized the same thing, a deep frown settling on her face.

“Elliott is the boy sitting at that table?” She asked as she pointed towards him.

He was watching them as he ate, eyes wide as he kept glancing around the room.

Steve nodded.

“If they ran, and they aren’t coming back, where will he go?” Steve asked.

“I’m sure he’ll be placed with a family who can take him until they can figure out a more permanent place, but that may be hard right now with so many people leaving Hawkins. He may have to leave town,” Claudia said, though Steve could tell she was trying to figure out how to take him in, even if only for a few days.

“What would I have to do to keep him while they keep looking?”

“Oh, that’s a question for Hopper, sweetie. I’m not sure you’d fit the requirements, even though I think he’d be very lucky to get to stay with you,” Claudia touched his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze in comfort.

“Is he coming by?”

“Hopper? Yes, he just got done at the hospital handling some things for Edward,” Claudia said.

“Eddie, Ma, how many times do I have to tell you?”

“The tone! Watch it!” Steve said before Claudia could respond.

She smirked at Steve, then gave Dustin a look that said she wasn’t going to listen to him and walked away.

“I gotta go with her, she’s bringing dinner to Wayne at the hospital.”

“Is Eddie awake?”

“Not yet, but they think it could be anytime. They said the drugs in his system are heavy enough to keep him out for a while.”

“But he seems okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Max?”

He almost didn’t want to ask, but he had to.

“No news.”

Steve nodded once, acknowledging that Dustin didn’t want to talk about it right now, that it was tough to even think about how she was probably not gonna wake up anytime soon if ever.

“Hey, come by my house tomorrow, okay? We can watch a movie or somethin’.”

“Sure.”

Steve gave Dustin a quick hug before making his way back to Elliott, who looked like he might start crying any moment.

“Hey, buddy. Sorry that took longer than I thought, but…” Steve pulled the bag of cookies from behind his back with a smile. “I got cookies! Claudia makes the best chocolate chip oatmeal cookies. You’ll love them.”

Elliott relaxed a little, smiling up at Steve as he reached for the bag of cookies.

“Is she nice? She looks nice.”

“She’s awesome. She always brings me soup if I’m sick.”

“Is that what moms do? My aunt sometimes does, but she doesn’t know how to make the kind I like.”

Steve bit his lip.

“What kind do you like?”

“My favorite is tomato and noodles. She can only make chicken noodle. It’s okay, but sometimes it has a funny taste.”

Steve smiled at him, glad he was at least talking, even if what he was saying was heartbreaking.

“I’m sure Claudia can make you some tomato and noodles. I’ll call and ask.”

“But not now, right?”

Elliott’s voice filled with panic, his eyes widening.

“No, I’m staying with you right now. The chief should be here soon and we can figure out what’s going on, okay?”

“Like, the chief of police? You know him?”

“Yeah, Hopper’s nice. Don’t let his mean face scare you. He’s kind of a teddy bear.”

“Excuse you, I’m not a teddy bear. I’m a grizzly bear,” Hopper said behind Steve.

Elliott laughed, and Hopper tried to hide a small smile. Teddy bear.

“Are you Elliott?” Elliott nodded. “Can we go talk for a few minutes just us? I promise Steve can wait right outside the door.”

Hopper gave Steve a look that said he was about to ruin this kid’s day as if it didn’t already suck enough.

“Um, can Steve come in the room too?”

“If you want him to, sure.”

“I want him to.”

“Okay then, let’s go.”

Steve grabbed everything off the tables, throwing the trash away on the walk towards the teacher’s lounge area that had been set up for the cops to conduct phone calls and interviews as needed.

It was empty now, probably thanks to Hopper taking control quickly.

They sat down around a table, Elliott’s hand finding Steve’s quickly.

“Alright, Elliott, so I have a few questions and then I have some news,” Hopper started, his voice maintaining no emotion the way he’d been taught.

“Okay.”

“How long have your parents been gone this time?”

“I dunno. A week, maybe a little longer.”

“And you were alone that whole time?”

Elliott looked to Steve, like he needed help to answer, but Steve just smiled at him and mouthed ‘just be honest, you’re not in trouble.’

“Most of the time. My aunt came to check on me in the mornings and bring me food for the day.”

“Aunt Janice?”

“Yeah.”

“Bud, I’m sorry to tell ya this, but your Aunt Janice was in a really bad accident and didn’t make it,” Hopper’s voice started to show some emotion, but Steve squeezed Elliott’s hand so he wouldn’t focus on that.

“She died?”

“Yeah, bud. I’m sorry.”

“But who will bring me food in the morning?”

Steve couldn’t do this. Holy shit, he could not do this. How was Hopper able to do this?

“Well, we still haven’t been able to call your parents. Do you know exactly where they might be?”

“I don’t know. They don’t tell me where they go.”

Steve and Hopper looked at each other.

Hopper knew Steve had been in a similar position when he was younger, but no one checked on him. Hopper had often been the one to show up at his door during his early teens to make sure he had food and wasn’t hurt.

“What if he stayed with me until you find them?” Steve asked Hopper.

Elliott turned to him.

“I can stay with you?” He asked excitedly.

“Oh, I’m not sure about that. There’s a process for this kinda thing,” Hopper began.

“Then start the process. He’s staying with me,” Steve said firmly, not caring if he sounded rude, not caring if Hopper hated him for it, just wanting Elliott safe and in a house instead of a school converted to a disaster relief zone.

Hopper eyed him up and down, and the way Elliott was holding his hand and bouncing excitedly in his chair.

“Alright, fine. But it’s a week by week basis until we can get ahold of his parents,” Hopper said directly to Steve.

“Steve, do you have a microwave? I make popcorn so good, like so good. I can make it tonight even!”

Steve smiled at him, and then at Hopper, who was watching with a fond smile.

“I’m sure I have what you need to make some popcorn, buddy.”

“You wait here, I have to get the release from CPS. They’re in the front office.”

Elliott went on and on about all the things they could do while he stayed with him, and when he found out Steve had a pool, he didn’t even stop for breath as he explained that he was the best swimmer when they took a field trip last year to the pool and that he could probably even beat Steve in a race.

Steve just smiled and agreed.

—-----------------------

A week with Elliott went by, and it was easy.

Steve was terrified how quickly he just fit in.

He fit in at his house, making it feel like a home, with his rambunctious energy and nightly popcorn making.

He fit in with the kids, showing interest in D&D even though he’d never heard of it before.

He even fit with Robin, who kind of hated kids, but thought Elliott was probably the cutest kid she’d ever met.

One night, while Dustin and Mike were showing Elliott how to build a character, Robin asked him the question he’d been dreading.

“What happens if he can’t stay?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m assuming they’ll find his parents soon, and when they do, he’ll have to go live with them again. Or at least his mom since his dad will be in prison for life at this rate. How are you gonna handle that?”

He had no clue. He wanted Elliott to have parents who stuck around, and who loved him, and let him pop popcorn every night.

But realistically, even if they did come back, that wasn’t what his life would look like.

His life would be a lot like Steve’s was, sad and lonely, and he didn’t deserve that.

“I’m gonna fight for him. I don’t know what that means yet, but I know that whatever is best for him is what I’m gonna make sure happens.”

Robin wrapped him up in a hug, her arms squeezing him to her.

“You’re gonna be a great dad someday.”

No one had ever said that to him before.

But maybe he could believe it.

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

Steve was the first person to come to the hospital when Eddie woke up, Elliott excitedly chattering from the backseat of his car the whole way.

It was helping Steve’s nerves, but he knew he wasn’t giving Elliott the attention he needed.

“Sorry, buddy. What was that?”

Elliott was quiet for a moment.

“Are you worried?”

Steve smiled at him in the rearview mirror, his hands gripping the wheel tight.

“A little. You remember how everyone told you about Eddie? How he saved us all and almost died?”

“Yeah, he’s a hero!”

“He is. But he’s still healing and I’m just worried about how hurt he is.”

“Oh. So we can’t hug him or hold his hand to help him feel better?” Elliott groaned. “Oh man, I was gonna bring him popcorn!”

Steve laughed quietly to himself.

“I think he’s on a pretty strict diet right now, buddy. Maybe when he’s out of the hospital we can have him over for a movie and you can make him some.”

“When will he be out?”

“I dunno yet. I think it might still be a little while.”

“Will I still live with you then?”

Steve gulped.

“I hope so.”

“Me too,” Elliott said quietly, staring out the window as they pulled into the hospital parking lot.

His mood was a bit somber as they walked through the halls of the bustling hospital, going to the fifth floor in the elevator where Eddie’s room was.

When he got to the right room, he knocked on the door even though it was open, smiling in at Wayne.

“Hey, come in, Steve. Eddie, Steve’s here,” Wayne said as he turned to Eddie, who was awake, but mostly horizontal still in bed.

“Steve?” Eddie’s rough voice asked.

“Hey, Eds. Hope it’s okay I brought my buddy, Elliott, to say hi. He’s heard a lot about you and Dustin and Mike and Will have been teaching him D&D for when you get out of here.”

Steve walked close to the bed, holding Elliott’s hand. He seemed shy suddenly, which wasn’t like him, not since he was living with Steve.

“Hey, Elliott. You keepin’ Steve company?”

“Yes, sir.”

Wayne snorted.

“Oh, son, you don’t have to be formal with Eddie. He’s barely older than you in his head.”

Eddie glared at Wayne, but smiled at Elliott.

“Seriously, bud, just Eddie is fine. So you ready for a campaign?”

“I dunno. Dustin said maybe I can play with you guys?”

“‘Course you can. I have so many ideas when I get outta here.”

Eddie turned to Steve and gave him a smirk.

“As long as we can host at your place?”

Steve blushed, remembering the last time he had Eddie’s full attention on him, back when his words “make him pay” sounded a lot like “I love you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we can do that. When do you get out of here?”

Elliott was loosening his anxious grip on Steve’s hand as the nerves wore off.

“They said not for a couple weeks, but I’m gonna walk right out of here the moment I can feel my legs again.”

Elliott let out a giggle and Eddie smiled.

“You can help me, right? I may need some support to run for it.”

“No! You have to stay until you’re all better, goofball.”

“That’s exactly what I told him, Elliott. You’re much wiser than he is,” Wayne said with a roll of his eyes.

Elliott moved closer to the side of the bed, his hands folded in front of him.

“Um. Could I hold your hand? So you feel better?”

Steve was going to cry.

Eddie kind of looked like he might, too.

“Yeah, I could use a hand to hold, bud. Thanks for offering. Wayne’s hand gets sweaty, but don’t tell him I said that,” he whispered the last part to Elliott, but loud enough so everyone could still hear.

Elliott held his hand, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed.

He told Eddie all about the character Dustin and Mike helped him build, about how they might run a practice campaign with him soon. He told him about the popcorn he would make for the first time he came over.

Steve watched fondly, realizing quickly that this wasn’t something he could lose.

Not Elliott, and not Eddie either.

—-----------------------------

Elliott’s parents were still missing.

It’s been almost a month, Eddie was released from the hospital a day ago, and Elliott was still living with Steve.

The longer he stayed, the more it would hurt if he left.

They got into a routine.

School had been canceled for the rest of the year, so they mostly just made breakfast together, went in the pool, hung out with the kids, visited Eddie, played basketball, and had popcorn every night.

Steve knew Elliott was happy, he knew he was happy.

He was terrified it would end.

They were hosting Eddie for a movie night, and Elliott was more excited than ever.

Steve was a nervous wreck.

He was in charge of making sure Eddie didn’t overdo it, making sure he took his nighttime medications, and getting him to bed at a reasonable hour. According to Wayne, his pills made him tired and he would fight sleep if you didn’t force him into a bed.

Steve spent the day cleaning, baking, and preparing.

By dinner time, when Eddie would be arriving, Elliott was starting to question it.

“What’s wrong? Do you not want Eddie to come over?”

“No! Of course I want him to come over.”

“So…why are you being like this?”

“I’m…”

“Is it because you love Eddie?”

Steve choked on air.

“What?”

“Or do you think Eddie doesn’t love you?”

“Elliott, gonna say a big kid word right now. What the hell do you mean?”

Elliott rolled his eyes.

“You want to make Eddie feel happy and safe here, and you always get this stupid look on your face when we visit him, and then when I asked Wayne if you two were boyfriends he laughed and said ‘probably soon.’ So you love him, right?”

Steve’s mouth was working open and shut, open and shut, no noise coming out.

“Two boys can be together, you know. Robin told me.”

“She what? When?”

“When she told me two girls can be together.”

Steve put his face in his hands and couldn’t help the laugh of disbelief he let out as Elliott touched his back to comfort him.

“Did you not know you loved Eddie?”

“Uh. I guess I didn’t know that other people thought I loved Eddie.���

“Oh. So are you gonna be boyfriends?”

“I…I don’t know, buddy. Maybe.”

“I think you should be. Then it might be like I have two dads.”

What?

What.

“What?”

Elliott pulled his hand away and suddenly seemed nervous.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

Steve couldn’t handle the look on Elliott’s face.

“Elliott, look at me, buddy.” He waited for Elliott to look at him. “Is that what you think of me as? Like your dad?”

Elliott nodded.

“Come here,” Steve said, pulling Elliott into a hug. “You’re the best kid, you know that?”

Elliott nodded, and Steve let out a wet laugh.

“Uh, everything okay in here?” Eddie said from the doorway.

“Eddie!” Elliott let out, and despite the mood of the previous conversation, he was smiling from ear to ear.

Eddie smiled at him and pulled him into the least hurt side of him for a hug.

He looked at Steve with a questioning look. Steve just shook his head quickly, wiping the tears from his eyes quickly.

“Can I make popcorn now, pleeeeease?” Elliott asked, bouncing on his heels.

“Yes, fine. But only one bowl right now. You can make more after dinner.”

“Okay, dad!” he yelled as he ran to the popcorn maker.

Eddie’s brows raised to his forehead as he looked at Steve, who was crying buckets at this point.

“What’s that about, Stevie?” Eddie whispered as he came up to him.

“I um, I guess he just feels like I’m his dad,” Steve shrugged.

“Are you okay with that?”

“I just don’t want him to go.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Eddie said, pulling Steve into a crushing hug that had to hurt him. Steve sniffled against his shoulder, letting himself cry for a minute. “Did Hopper say he may have to go soon?”

“No, but I mean, if they find his parents or if CPS decides he has to go to a real family, then he’ll have to.”

“Stevie, they wouldn’t just take him. Not when he’s safe here and wants to be here. I promise.”

“But what if he goes somewhere far away or to people who won’t let me see him?”

Eddie held the back of his head against his shoulder, placing a kiss to the top of his head.

“He won’t. We’ll fight for him to stay here, okay? He’s got a family here, with us. Right?”

“Us?” Steve asked as he pulled away.

“Yeah. Us. Sound okay to you?”

Steve could only nod as he wiped his running nose.

How attractive.

“Hopper still doesn’t have any idea where they are, right?”

“Nope.”

“They’ll give up eventually. I hate to say it, but they won’t put more effort into a kid who has a safe place to go when they have bigger problems. Like how half the town is still homeless because of a fucking earthquake.”

“That’s a big kid word!” Elliott yelled from his spot at the counter.

“I’m a big kid!” Eddie yelled back, smirking at Steve.

“But I’m not!” Elliott yelled as they heard the popcorn machine starting up.

“Fine!”

Eddie placed a kiss on Steve’s forehead, then one against his lips.

It was soft, chaste, barely a kiss at all.

But it was a perfect first kiss for them.

—----------------------------

Another month passed with no news.

Eddie was at Steve’s house almost every day, spending time with Elliott, spending time with the party, with Steve.

Steve had converted the main guest room into Elliott’s permanent bedroom, but was scared to think of it that way still.

Eddie tried to reassure him, but even he was nervous that no final decisions had been made and the case remained open.

Until Hopper came by one night, well after Elliott went to bed. Eddie was doing the dishes while Steve was prepping some fruit for Elliott’s breakfast before his first day of summer camp the next day.

“Hop.”

Steve felt his stomach sink.

They were going to take Elliott.

“Steve. Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

Steve let him in, his face forced into casual calm, but on the inside he was already screaming and crying about what was about to happen.

Hopper sat down on the chair, gesturing for Steve and Eddie to sit on the couch.

“So.”

“You’re taking him aren’t you? He can’t stay.”

“What? No.” Hopper frowned. “No, Steve. The opposite actually. We’re closing the case. CPS said after interviews with him, even if his parents did get found or come back on their own, he wouldn’t be put back in their care.”

“But what about putting him with another family?”

Hopper sighed. He watched Eddie place a hand on Steve’s knee to calm him down.

“They’ve spoken in detail with him about his current situation. They believe that you’re the person he wants to live with and they aren’t going to disrupt his life any more than it already has been. If that’s alright with you, of course.”

Steve felt like he could breathe for the first time in his life.

“He can stay? With me?”

“He can stay with you.”

Steve let out a sob and fell against Eddie’s side. Eddie was crying too, but trying to keep more control so he could comfort Steve.

“CPS has to do a home visit to finalize everything, but if you’re good with it, you can officially adopt him. He’s been considered abandoned by his parents, and since it’s been 60 days, they relinquish all rights automatically.”

“How quickly can we do that?”

“We? Both of you?”

“I mean, can we both even do that?”

Hopper shrugged.

“Don’t know. But they’re probably expecting just Steve for now. They’ll call tomorrow to schedule everything and give you a chance to talk to Elliott.”

Steve and Eddie both nodded.

“I’m gonna leave you two to it, but call me if you need me. Congrats, Steve. I know you wanted this. I know he wanted this.”

“Thanks.”

Hopper saw himself out, closing the door quietly so it wouldn’t wake Elliott up.

“Eddie, did that really happen? Am I dreaming?”

“No, sweetheart, you aren’t dreaming.”

“I get to be his dad.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you want to be his other dad?”

“I would love to, baby. Let’s ask him tomorrow, though. It’s up to him.”

Steve nodded.

It was up to Elliott, but he knew what Elliott wanted.

He knew what he wanted.

They were gonna be a family. A real family. No more worrying about someone deciding to take Elliott away from him.

He could finally use this house that had been left to him by his parents for something other than being miserable. He could keep it filled with love and laughter and happiness and maybe the occasional stupid argument.

Maybe Elliott would make friends at school in the fall and want to have hangouts here. Maybe they could both save up some money and take him on a vacation somewhere. Maybe someday they could get married and Elliott could be the best man.

Anything could happen.

Steve couldn’t wait.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #requests #ficlet #wayne munson #jim hopper #the party #steve finds and bonds and adopts a whole child #and eddie comes in like hello im dad number 2 #it's giving so many emotions #good luck #hurt/comfort

[mauswrites]

Fear (Simon Riley x AFAB!GN!Reader)

A/N: I was recently reminded of my worst fear, that being cryptic pregnancy (No weight gain, no symptoms, no nothing. You don't know about the baby until it's on its way out) and can't stop thinking about it, so I decided to write a fic to get it out of my system. (sorry if this sucks, this is the first fic I've published in like almost a decade)

Genre: hurt/comfort

TW: Blood, mentions of childbirth, medical inaccuracies, possibly OOC Ghost, reader genuinely thinks they're dying

You couldn't sleep.

Not because of the thoughts racing in your mind but of the unbearable pain in your abdomen.

Occam's razor would tell you that it was just your period, but you've never experienced cramps like this before, like being torn in half.

With a huff, you shove the blanket off your body and get up, but as soon as your feet hit the floor, pain shoots up your spine, causing you to crumple to the floor, wailing out in agony. You clutch your stomach, forcing air in and out of your lungs.

Why am I wet? you thought.

The pain had distracted you until now, but you managed to reach for your bedside lamp to see blood running down your legs.

A lot of it, too.

As the fear settled in your bones, you hurry to get your phone and call for an ambulance.

"999, what's your emergency?"

"I don't know what's wrong, I'm in a lot of pain, I can't stop bleeding... I-I can't walk."

"Where are you now?"

You give the address to your flat and hang up when the dispatcher assures you that the ambulance isn't far.

Walking may seem impossible, but you manage to crawl to the front door to unlock it, sitting down in the hall, waiting.

Desperation clings to your heart, and you make one more call, this time to your ex-boyfriend, but it went straight to voicemail.

"Simon? Hey, it's me... I just wanted to say I'm sorry. For my attitude, the arguments, all of it."

The blood loss is getting to you, but you take a ragged breath and press on.

"I think I'm dying, an ambulance is on their way, but–"

The pain spikes suddenly, causing you to scream.

"In case I do, just know that I love you."

Hearing sirens from outside, you hang up and wait, dreading the black spots in your vision.

The ambulance ride is a blur, the EMT asking questions that your brain isn't processing, and you barely remember being put under at the hospital.

As your eyes flutter open hours later, sunlight leaks into the room through the blinds, and your stomach is sore, but you otherwise feel better.

A nurse is still in the room, typing away on the computer in your room.

"What happened?"

She seemed startled yet relieved at your voice, still groggy from sleep.

"This may come as a shock to you,"

Uh oh.

"But you experienced what's called a cryptic pregnancy and needed to undergo an emergency C-section. The bleeding was caused by a tear in your uterine lining, but you'll recover just fine."

Her diagnosis hit you like a brick to the face.

"So... I had a baby?"

"Yes, a little girl; a bit premature, but otherwise healthy."

You merely hum in acknowledgement as you look around the room, your eyes landing on the bassinet.

"Would you like to hold her?" the nurse asked.

"I... yes."

She smiles as she walks around the bed, picking up your daughter and passing her to you.

A lump forms in your throat as you lock eyes with the infant in your arms, hers a deep brown.

"Um... hello," you say, "it's nice to meet you."

As you fall silent, the nurse pipes up once again.

"I'll leave you two be for now. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call for someone."

You quickly thank her before she leaves, closing the door behind her, and you quickly turn your attention back to your daughter.

Your heart and mind were both racing as you admired her, even softly speaking to her every so often. For seconds or hours, you're not quite sure, but you only snapped out of your trance when the door opened.

You watch as Simon comes in and pulls up a chair next to your hospital bed, on the same side as the bassinet, all without a word.

"I'm guessing they wouldn't let you in looking like the Grim Reaper," you joked, taking note of the black surgical mask on his face, "How've you been?"

"I should be asking you," he said, "that voicemail scared the shit outta me."

"I've been..."

What do you even say?

"Honestly, not great; missed you like hell," you admit, casting your eyes back down to your baby and letting her tiny hand grip onto one of your fingers, "but I think I'll be okay."

"Cute little thing," he said, referring to your little girl.

"Thanks, I made it myself."

"Got a name yet?"

"Haven't exactly had much time to think of one," you reply, "got any ideas?"

"You told me you always liked the name Emilia."

"That's true. Seems it's settled then," you do your best to straighten up, "Simon, meet Emilia... Riley?"

"Riley," he confirmed, making you smile for the first time in a while.

"Do you want to hold her?"

He nodded, and you placed a kiss on her forehead before passing her over to him.

She already looked tiny in your arms, but compared to Simon's much bigger frame, she was damn near microscopic. He was practically holding her with just his hands, handling her delicately, like one wrong move would cause her to fall apart.

"What d'you say you come back home," he said, "We try again, be a family."

"Is that actually what you want? I don't want to be the parents that are only together for our child's sake."

"I mean it."

"That's good," you pause, fighting back tears, "Promise I won't be such a bitch this time 'round."

"You say that like I was a saint."

"Then we'll both be better, for each other and for her."

"Deal."

You silently admire the scene before you for a few minutes until the nurse from earlier returns.

She asked some questions about you and the baby, filled in some blanks on the birth certificate, and stepped out to bring you some ice water, leaving you to think about the past twelve hours.

"I'm honestly dreading going back to my flat." you thought aloud.

"Why?" Simon asked. He carefully placed Emilia back in the bassinet, giving you his full attention.

"There's blood everywhere."

"I'll take care of it; you just rest up and heal," he stood as he spoke, taking off his mask to kiss your temple, but before he had a chance to walk away, you placed a hand on his shoulder, urging him to stay.

"Promise you'll come back?"

"Promise."

As he left, the weight of the situation settled deep in your bones, but you found solace in knowing that you wouldn't have to face it alone, and that things would hopefully turn out better this time around.

#simon riley x reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #tw blood #fanfiction #x reader #fluff #hurt/comfort

[frangipani-wanderlust]

How To Call 911

So most of my followers know now that I started working last May as a 911 dispatcher. Super proud of myself. And now that I am starting (very much still starting) to settle in a bit, I want to offer some tips on how to call 911. So, hold on to your hats.

(no-color version if the yellow text isn't rendering on your screen correctly)

When in doubt, call 911. Don't take this as me encouraging you to jump at shadows. Your neighbors' loud party is not an emergency, google the local non-emergency line and call that. Neither is the dry cleaning not giving you your clothes (I actually got this call on our 911 line). Nor is the fact that you saw a fox inside city limits (also something a real human called 911 about). But if you see a situation unfolding and you think "this seems dangerous, maybe this is 911-worthy" then it's 911-worthy. Don't hesitate. Call.

If you call 911 and you are freaking out, that's okay. If you're in a crisis, you may not remember a single tip I'm about to give you. We are trained for that, we can handle it, just do the best you can. It's not the end of the world to have a hysterical or frightened caller, and these are tips, not rules.

Location, location, location. We can't send you help if we have nowhere to send it to. Ideally, know the address. Failing that, know the name of a business or a church or an intersection. It is not cheating if you read this off a sign. There isn't a set of invisible rules that says you have to have your exact GPS coordinates memorized. Be prepared to describe the location somehow. That way, if our connection drops and that's all you can tell me, I can still send some police out to come find out what's going on and they can ask for medics or firefighters or whatever if needed. But we absolutely must know where to send assistance, it is the first thing we're going to ask.

Location again, but with a twist. The first thing our office says for emergencies is, "911, what is the address of the emergency?" If a building is on fire, tell us where the fire is. If your neighbors are being robbed at gunpoint across the street, give us their address. If you witnessed a car accident, tell us where the accident happened. The location of the emergency isn't necessarily the location where you are. Don't send police and fire to your office building if the wreck is on the freeway.

Answer the questions that you are asked. If the calltaker asks "Is the patient breathing?" don't start in about the seizure they just had (if they aren't breathing, the seizure they just had is not the biggest problem). If the calltaker asks, "Which way did the man you saw go when they ran?" don't tell them about how they broke down your door (if they are running away, knowing they broke your door down does not help the police know which direction to start looking). The particular question you are asked is being asked for a reason, and that reason is not frivolous but in an emergency, we aren't going to stop and explain everything.

Do not launch into a speech. If you're asked a yes/no question, yes or no is all the answer you should give. Your impulse will be to explain the yes or the no because more information is better than not enough, but overexplaining is its own problem. Now, we are hired for good typist skills, and are encouraged to get better and faster, but infodumping means things can get missed. The calltaker is going to have some information they're going to ask for by protocol and probably the option to drill down on some of it if clarification is needed. If you spend five paragraphs explaining your last answer, it delays getting other pertinent information.

Do not launch into a speech, part the second. You don't call 911 for things that happened last week, or even yesterday. Tell me the emergency that is happening right now. Ideally in one sentence. If someone is having a medical issue, and you call 911 about it, when the calltaker asks exactly what happened, do not tell them about how the patient had a surgery 5-and-a-half weeks ago. You called 911. What is the emergency that is happening right now. Don't be telling me about their surgery when the problem you called about is a broken leg. Yes, the surgery may have led to generalized loss of balance that has yet to return which caused the patient to fall which caused them to break their leg. Understood. But you didn't call because of all of that. You called because of the broken leg. Apply this principle to all emergencies.

Don't launch into a speech, part the third. When asked a specific and direct question, do not give an explanation instead of an answer. If the calltaker asks you "Is the weird person on the side of the road actually in the lanes of traffic?" do not explain to them how it's a very narrow roadway (see parenthesis for the story here). Aside from the fact that we're not asking these questions to be funny (see part the second), there's also the fact that now you are coming over as suspicious as hell. If I asked "how did that person on Facebook know what this supposedly missing kid is wearing and where he's going to be at 3:00 today?" and you say "well Facebook is a good way to spread information" I am now extremely suspicious of you.

(Also an actual call I have taken. The man was a totally ordinary guy out for a walk to the store, but this blue collar man walked through a Rich Person Neighborhood™ and according to Lady Catherine De Bourgh on the phone with me, that merited a call to the police. When I asked her if he was actually in the lanes of traffic [traffic hazard call type] versus not [suspicious person call type, on a technicality but technically...], she tried explaining three times that the road was narrow before she finally got the message that I was not going to stop asking until she told me the actual answer and answered "Well, I suppose so, yes." At this point, because she'd been so reluctant to answer me, I no longer believed the man actually was in the lanes of traffic and to this day believe that she lied to try and manipulate the police into a stronger-level response than was actually warranted. Because determining whether she was lying for sure is beyond the scope of my job, I put down what she said, but I didn't believe then and still don't believe now, that she told the truth. The totally ordinary and probably very nice guy was not arrested or hassled at all and was instead given a courtesy ride to the store.)

Be prepared to describe relevant people, maybe including yourself, and that includes race. If you have an asthma attack at a football game, the medics need to know how to find you in a crowd. If you are a black woman, that's gonna rule out everyone who isn't that. If you are a black woman wearing a yellow shirt, blue jeans, and a blue bandana over your hair, that excludes nearly everybody and when the medics arrive, they'll know exactly who to look for. Most of the time, someone's race isn't relevant information. When describing someone to emergency services, it absolutely is and it is not racist to accurately describe the relevant person or people.

There are more tips in the world, and I may come back to this post and add them as they occur to me. In the meantime, please enjoy this short treatise on how to call 911.

#actual 911 #emergency services #tricks and tips #resources #how to call 911 #yellow color chosen because dispatchers are gold #no seriously #emergency services have star trek style color coding #and dispatchers are gold #lol

[dizzydispatch]

The Lessons of James Iglesias

Content warning: car crash, trauma, death, PTSD, blood

When I was interviewing with my current employer, one of the questions they asked me was this:

“Sometimes, we make mistakes on the job. Sometimes we can’t help a situation, and we have to live with that for the rest of our lives. Is that something you can handle?”

I have been in situations before that call for life-or-death decisions, even before I became a dispatcher. In fact, there is no sight that I will carry on my conscience like the one of that fateful night, the eighth chilly spring night of April, 2017. It was a harrowing experience, seared forever in my mind like the blistering scar left by a branding iron on a bull's back.

He was young. Too young to die. At the scene of the accident I placed him in his late twenties; later I would learn from the internet articles that he was thirty-eight. 

He had a daughter-- Sadie, only a child-- and a beautiful wife named Ana. He was one year older than my father, and the chilling notion that it could have been our family torn apart by such a tragedy was like a cold glass of water being poured on my face. 

He was handsome, with brown eyes and dark skin, hair twisted back into tight cornrows. 

He was handsome. Now he is dead.

My family had been on our way home from the city. My parents, two younger brothers, and I had all loaded up into my dad's car and were headed back from a family event, engaging in a lively familiar chatter when we saw the accident. 

Horror flooded into me like a tidal wave. I experienced a sensation that has since become a daily part of my life: the swift and thorough invigoration of adrenaline that clears the mind and widens the senses. 

My father swerved to pull over, blocking the nearest lane from traffic. For a single suspended moment, a moment simultaneously instantaneous and frozen in time, I felt as though I were being lifted off my seat and held midair by some unseen force. Perhaps it was the night itself that raised me up like a doll, or a statue, locked in place. The thought crossed my mind that this angle was risky. For just the duration of a single inhale, I could feel the phantom headlights closing in on us. My skin tingled with dreadful anticipation, and I was sure that we were soon to join the calamity as a secondary crash.

There was no secondary crash. Just as quickly as it had come, the moment of panic slipped away as my dad clamored out of the driver’s seat and disappeared into the fray. As soon as the breath returned to my lungs, I followed his lead, joining the small but growing crowd rushing to the scene. A man who swiftly identified himself as an off-duty EMT. A woman who began to scream and scream, her voice joining the cacophony that became the soundtrack of that night.

We found the place where the crushed-in drivers' side door held captive a man struggling to survive. My father and the EMT deliberated on whether to pull the dying man out or leave moving him for the professionals, but the smell of leaking gas, smoke, and danger in the air convinced them that they had to get him out. 

“I need to--” he was gasping. “I have to…”

I think he was telling us he needed to get out of the car. He needed air. 

Over the course of about fifteen minutes, my father and the EMT managed to wedge the door off of the car enough to work a very battered crash victim from the smoking hunk of metal. 

And so there, for the first and last time, I met James Iglesias. Meeting him under different circumstances, I might have asked his name. Might have made polite small-talk about the weather, or asked what he did for a living. Instead I witnessed him take his last breaths.

Somehow, amidst the chaos, I noticed the blood trickling down the spaces between his braids, much as how something unseen filled the vacant spaces between particles of reality. Savage red gleamed with reflections of the headlights, and I saw in my mind not tightly-woven hair, but rows of crops: ancient Egyptian barley, planted so they could draw life from the silt of the Nile. As the first plague spread, turning crystal waters into thick, pungent blood, row by row the stalks fell dead to the earth, poisoned by the wrath of the Old Testament God.

At some point, the animal cries of the screaming woman untangled themselves from the sounds of the night, and I became aware of a growing rasp straining the intermittent breaths. There were enough people tending to the dying man, and I couldn’t stand there, staring uselessly at his scalp, any longer. Not when I might be of use elsewhere. 

It only took me a moment to find the source. She was middle-aged. I don’t know if she really did look like my mother, or if I just remember her like that since what she actually looked like was not an important enough detail to stick in my mind. 

It’s strange to think that I have no idea what color her hair was, considering I spent the next few minutes with my hands on her shoulders, talking her down from the ledge of hysteria. 

“Do you pray?” I asked her. I myself am not the praying type, or at least I wasn’t anymore by that point in my life. She, however, was, and so I instructed her to close her eyes and join me in prayer.

“Father God, we come to You in this moment feeling frightened and helpless. We are so small, Lord, and this… this is big. This moment right now is too big for us to handle alone, God, so we come before You and ask for Your strength…”

Whether or not I believe in God in my everyday life, and whether or not she did or does to this day, I know that it was God-- be him a power of the supernatural or simply a soothing psychological mechanism to which we adhere when we are scared-- that drew her down from her hysteria. When I heard my finale of “Amen” echoed from her trembling lips, I knew she would remain grounded now, whatever happened.  

As I worked on calming the panicked woman, the dying man was running out of time. I would later learn that a rib had punctured his lung, and he was suffocating on his own blood. 

Beside the wreckage of the vehicle were dozens of scattered papers: the documents once tucked safely in the glove box, identifying it as the one registered to Joseph Iglesias. That must have been where my dad got the name Joe, which I could hear him using as I returned to the center of things, re-centered now by the respite offered by the brief intermission.

Somebody-- the EMT, perhaps, or even my father, comfortable as always with taking initiative-- started compressions when the man went unconscious. The feverish counting sparked a memory, the famous CPR training advice: the rate of compressions should roughly match the beat of the disco classic “Stayin' Alive.”

How cruelly ironic it was. Ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin’ alive. Stayin’ alive. He surely wasn’t stayin’ alive. If he was, we wouldn’t be here, desperately pumping his chest while my brother went car to car looking for an AED.

Desperately, my father tried to keep “Joe” alert, even as he took turns giving compressions. Tried to draw conversation from the man’s bleeding lips by asking, “Did you see the game last night, Joe? Tell me about it, Joe.” He tried to invoke his emotional response with, “Do you have kids, Joe? Stay with me for your kids, Joe.” 

When nothing else worked, he returned to simply, “Hey! Stay with me, Joe!”

Like a mantra he repeated it until the ambulance arrived, strapping the corpse of a man who was just moments ago alive, racing down the highway. He’d probably been driving as fast as he had been in order to feel just that: alive. It was probably the rush of pavement disappearing beneath his tires, of traffic blurring into meaningless stripes of red and white light that made him feel the most alive. It had also been the thing to kill him.

The last thing I saw of “Joe”-- of James Iglesias-- was his body being loaded into the back of the ambulance, his chest seeming to turn to rubber beneath the vigorous pumping of a machine: a steel piston fixed to what looked almost like a boxing glove that pounded into his chest to the beat of Stayin’ Alive. I had never seen such a machine before. 

As we left the scene, my mother held me to her own chest. I felt her heartbeat: regular, if a bit elevated. “Do you think he has a chance?” I asked her. The adrenaline was gone, and I felt limp in her arms.

Sadly she shook her head. “He’s already gone. There’s likely nothing they can do.”

She supported me as we walked together towards the car, my boots crunching through glass. The hard plastic soles, not yet broken in, would never soften or mold to my feet, as I disposed of the entire outfit later that night. It was brand new: a flowy bohemian-style skirt, soft turtleneck blouse, low brown lace-up boots all purchased for the very event that had placed us on the road that night, fated to be worn only once. Even if I had been able to purge from the fabric that stench of gasoline, I wouldn't have wanted the reminder of that night. I already had enough reminders, burned permanently into my memory. Blood running down the spaces between his braids. Gasoline fumes overpowering the smell of liquor from his breath. BMWs. Crunching metal and shattering glass, the screams that grew hoarser and more desperate with each reprise. Sensations that will forever haunt me and remind me of him. 

A week later, I took the road test to obtain my driver's license. The test instructor gave me his spiel before the test, the one where he makes us all raise our right hand and vow to obey the rules of the road, show respect to the law, and refrain from operating a vehicle under the influence of drugs or alcohol. I felt no hesitation in repeating the oath. The lesson of James Iglesias lived on.

I’ve never been good at letting things go. I tend to overthink the things that bother me, often becoming obsessed. I run through things in my head again and again, pressing on the painful ones like a bruise I can’t seem to just leave to heal. James Iglesias was no exception. 

Three years after the accident, I lapsed into obsession once again, letting myself pore over old newspaper articles and even a blog post slamming Iglesias himself for causing the accident that ended his life.

“I have not an ounce of sympathy for this guy,” the author of one slam article chides. “I know it’s not kind to speak ill of the dead, but, he could have taken an innocent little boy with his whole life ahead of him, all to prove he had a bigger dick than the other guy on the road that night.”

I don’t remember exactly when I decided I wanted to speak with James' widow, but at some point in 2020, the thought occurred to me and wouldn’t leave me be. So I started to dig. Through a combination of social media and public records, I eventually tracked her down. 

“Hi Ana, You don’t know me, but my name is Dizzy, and I was there the day that your husband died. If you don’t want to speak with me I will respect that. I have no interest in harassing you or dredging up the past so if you choose not to reply to this message I will not push the matter or contact you again. But I wanted to reach out and at least offer you some closure, if I can, by talking about what I witnessed that night. You can call me at this number if you are interested.”

I got the call later that night. I told her that I had been one of the vehicles that pulled over after witnessing the crash, and that my father and I were among the strangers who stayed on scene to try to help save James' life. 

“I was told he had died on impact,” she said. 

My heart sank. Did I have the right to be doing what I was doing? Would it really do Ana any good to reveal to her that he had actually been conscious for several long, painful minutes before succumbing to his injuries? 

I decided that she deserved the truth. I couldn’t promise her he hadn’t suffered for those last few moments, but there was one thing I could give her that might bring her comfort. 

“I just wanted you to know that… he didn’t die alone, and that we never, not for one moment, gave up on him.” 

She was silent, and I wondered again if I had only made things worse by reaching out.

“You have a daughter, right?” 

“That’s right. Sadie.” 

“How old is she now? If I may ask.”

“She’s…” Ana swallowed so hard, I could hear the click in her throat from the other end of the line. “She’s starting high school this year.”

I ached all over at the thought of the little girl in my imagination, now just a few years off from learning to drive herself.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said weakly. “I know that nothing I say can ever bring him back, or heal the pain his death must have left.”

Ana wanted to know what happened in those moments after the crash, before the ambulance arrived. I talked her through it, leaving out the more gory details. 

“We thought his name was Joe,” I said. “I think it was on the registration papers.” 

A sound, something halfway between a laugh and a sob, slipped out of her. “His brother,” she told me. “Sadie's uncle. He really stepped up for her after James passed.”

In the end, there wasn’t much I could tell her as far as why he died. All I was able to do was paint a picture for her, and promise her that we had done everything we could.

“I just thought you deserved to know that he wasn’t alone, and even now he isn’t forgotten,” I said at last. “I think about that night often, and I think about him, and about his family. About how many people pulled over to stay with him and try to help. Even if there was nothing we could do, at least he didn’t die alone.”

Ana thanked me and we hung up. We never spoke again, because after all, what was I to her? Who was I to her, or Sadie, or even James? Just a stranger, passing in the night. A witness only by pure happenstance.

Kenneth took a call like that today. A rollover with multiple ejections, several injuries-- one requiring air evac-- and at least one death. 

I was at breakfast with Kara when it happened, and the notification gave us the opportunity to talk about it. It was, after all, one of the formative experiences that led me to the decision to pursue a career in emergency services. It was here that I told her the same thing I told them at my interview.

“In the end, I’ll never know if we made the right calls that night,” I admitted. “They always tell you not to move someone who was in a collision, in case there was spinal damage. But we made the executive decision to pull him out because he couldn’t breathe. And when he went unresponsive, we started CPR. I think he died of a punctured lung, possibly caused by a broken rib. I’ll never know if the compressions prolonged his life, or sped along his demise. But in the end, we made the call that we thought was right. We did what we believed would give him the best chance of survival.”

At the end of the interview, Kenneth told me, “You made the right call, by the way. If the choice is between their life and the risk of paralysis--”

“You heed the rules of triage,” I finished. “The greatest threat takes first priority.” 

He nodded. “Exactly. They won’t be walking anyway if they’re dead. You did the right thing.”

I knew that, but it was nice to hear anyway.

#911 dispatch #911 dispatcher #ems #emergency medical services #tw: death #tw: blood #tw: trauma #dispatch diaries #dizzydispatch #dizzydispatch911 #tw: car accident #emergency medical dispatch

[whiskygoldwings]

Anecdotes of a Guard Life - Operation Snooze

This one I blame on @icnamiro! Hope you enjoy!

CW - Absolutely none. Unless you don't like Corrie fluff!

It’s a rare day that Fox manages to sneak a nap without some emergency or another cutting it abruptly short. An even rarer day that he gets to sleep more than a couple of hours. In fact, CMO Bones has started threatening forced sedation, and that’s how Thorn knows it’s really become a problem.

Bones is vocal about the need for proper, natural sleep, instead of that aided by medication. He’s sung that song loud and clear frequently, thanks to the repeated enquiries of various vode. Including Thorn, to be fair. After Fox’s first 48 hour shift, they’d thought it prudent to at least check if drugging the Marshal Commander was possible. The glare Thorn had received from Bones had made it very, very clear exactly what the medic thought of that.

So when Bones started muttering about restraints and sedative amounts, Thorn had decided it was time to take drastic measures.

Only, perhaps not Bones level drastic measures. Prime knew if Fox would even survive that.

So. Thorn has implemented Operation Snooze. The OpSec has been robust, and every single Guard (except, of course, for Fox himself) is aware of the requirements and duties of this operation.

Today, all the planning and work Thorn, along with their compatriots (there’s no way they’re going down alone for this) Stone, Thire and Hound, have slaved away on has come to fruition.

Yarn’s the one who finds him. Unsurprisingly really. The Shiny has a knack for finding the cozy, warm spots hidden away from other’s eyes. So when he excitedly, but very quietly comms Thorn to explain he’s found Fox curled up in Rec room 3, the one that smells vaguely of musty socks and damp underwear, driving most Vode away, Thorn isn’t quite as surprised as they should be.

The 1010 alert goes out immediately. Stone and Thire acknowledge within seconds, while Hound comms Thorn shortly afterwards.

“I have twenty-seven troops ready to deploy,” Hound’s voice is professional and curt.

“Dispatch to the location I’m sending you now. I’ll meet you there.” Thorn’s just as terse, and they both sign off without any further word, already moving swiftly towards the rendezvous point.

When Thorn arrives, Hound’s not there, but Yarn is dedicatedly keeping watch as instructed. He’s practically vibrating as he salutes at Thorn, and Thorn struggles not to grab the kid and bundle him into a hug.

“Subject still in situ, sir!” Yarn whispers, voice breaking slightly with excitement. Thorn’s still furious General Ti sent them an eight year-old, but she’ll have to pry Yarn from their cold, dead hands before they’ll give him back.

“Good work trooper,” Thorn praises, and Yarn’s spine goes impossibly straighter with pride. “We’re waiting on Hound and his platoon and then we’ll begin the next phase.”

It doesn’t take long. Yarn’s back doesn’t ease from it’s rigid posture at any point, and if Thorn wasn’t already ready to take on the entire Senate for him, the commitment to this task would have been the tipping point. Thorn’s a sucker for anyone who looks after Fox.

Thire and Stone check in to confirm they've placed themselves to pick up any datawork or queries that land in the Marshal Commander's office. Thorn sends them back a brief "acknowledged", and tries not to feel too smug as the plan falls into place.

When Hound arrives a few minutes later, Thorn’s very pleased to see Riser and Alice leading the platoons behind him. Both solid, well-worn Guard veterans who’d give their all for Fox. Also, very likely in need of sleep themselves. Two clankers, one blaster and all that.

Thorn flashes a signal for silence, quickly acknowledged by Hound and the two captains, before moving around Yarn and poking their head into the room. Their nose wrinkles as the musty smell hits them, but it’s quickly forgotten at the dark shape lodged into the corner of one of the cushion piles on the opposite side of the room.

Fox is tucked against one of the large body-pillows Rhys had scrounged out of a skip, head down and arms folded across his chest, still defending himself even in sleep. His face is soft, the constant furrow in his brow smoothed out, and lips slightly parted as he breathes. He’s clearly absolutely exhausted; dark bags under his eyes and not even twitching as Thorn paces quietly into the room and starts directing troops into place.

It takes a few minutes, but everyone gets settled into place without a hitch, and Thorn smugly snuggles against Hound’s back, pulling Alice’s arm around them and tangling their legs with Riser’s.

----

Fox is warm, and strangely content when he wakes up. It’s strangely hard to clamber out of the clutches of sleep. He feels enclosed and protected and safe.

Abruptly, he realises why, and he snaps awake with a jerk.

Hound’s plastered across his chest, arm flung over his side and nose pressed into the bottom of his neck. There’s someone tucked into Fox’s other side, head laying on his stomach, and an arm tight around his hips. He’s pretty sure there’s at least two people curled against his legs, and Thorn’s behind Hound, one hand flopped over his back and trailing over Fox’s shoulder.

Fox is… Confused. Yes. That’s a very good word for it. He’s completely certain he fell asleep alone, alarm set for one hour and the other Commanders safely far away with their own duties. Rec room 3 had proven an excellent place to hide himself away when the exhaustion had gotten a little too much and he found himself unable to focus on the datapads for a moment longer. He’d found himself stumbling there today after what his comm informed him was 62 hours awake with only a few ration bars and several metric tonnes of caff to keep him functional.

Clearly, his secret sleeping spot wasn’t quite so secret anymore.

Fox manages to lift his head just enough to catch the sight of several other Vode bodies piled in various arrangements across the room, effectively blocking any escape he might try to make. Not that he had much hope of that, with Hound so thoroughly wound around him, blithely snoring away without a care in the world.

His movement does alert someone else that he’s awake. Thorn twitches, and the hand against his shoulder rises up to form a hand signal.

“Safe”.

Fox twists his neck slightly to look over at Thorn, who’s blearily blinking back with an ever-so-slightly smug grin. Thorn brings their hand down enough to be back in Fox’s line of sight, and forms the gesture for safe again.

Fox glares, and Thorn rolls their eyes, before closing them and snuggling further into Hound’s back.

“Thorn!” Fox hisses.

No response.

“Thorn!” Fox hisses louder, and suddenly, another head pops up further across the room.

The new vod has wide, pleading, tired eyes, and a pout Fox swears must be bio-engineered. He can already feel his resolve crumbling, as the Shiny lifts their own hand to signal “orders” at him.

Fox should tell them to help him out, to assist him in removing himself from the pile of sleeping Vode around him.

But the Shiny, and Fox is fairly certain their name’s Yarn, from the distinctive tattoo on their neck, widens their eyes further, somehow making them look damp and tearful. And Fox is abruptly, completely certain that the cadet’s never met a single vod who could say no to them.

With a great, heaving sigh, Fox sinks back, closing his eyes and moving one hand to curl around Hound’s back. The man snuffles softly, before going back to snoring lightly against Fox’s neck, and Fox will never admit to the way it makes the tightness in his chest ease.

Fine. He’s absolutely, completely certain this is all Thorn’s fault. But just this once, he’ll go along with it.

… Not that he’s got much choice in the matter.

#commander fox #Marshal commander Fox #Corries #Coruscant Guard #Coruscant guard as family #Vode piles #Snuggle piles #Fox gets hugs #And a nap #Fluff galore #Commander Thorn #Sergeant Hound #My fanfiction

[nemtclouddispatchsoftware]

Reasons Why Your NEMT Business Benefits from Route Optimization and Planning Software

Reason You Should Order Route Optimization Software For your NEMT Business:

Schedule Route in a Half-Minute

Prevent Awkward Turns

Make Sure Drop-offs at the Exact Spots

Improve Fleet Efficiency

Read More: https://nemtclouddispatch.com/blog/reasons-why-your-nemt-business-benefits-from-route-optimization-and-planning-software

#nemt #nemt software #nemt billing software #non-emergency medical transportation #billing #dispatch software #nonemergencymedicaltransportation #scheduling software #nemt dispatch software #nemt business

[lifelineems]

Emergency Medical Services (EMS) have a crucial function in communities, providing vital life-saving care during emergencies. Understanding the process and components of an EMS transfer, like a nursing home transfer, will offer insight into how these essential services operate.

#Emergency Dispatch #Medical Care #Patient Safety

[chaisshitposts]

𝐔𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐨����𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

What are code words?

According to Oxford Languages, code words are, "a word used for secrecy or convenience instead of the usual name for something." And the example sentence used beneath the definition is, "secret projects were identified by special code words." I briefly mentioned code words (also can be referred to as switch words) in a recent post where I discuss the importance of a manifestation foundation and how to create one.

How do code words work?

Code words are cues that mean something without explicitly giving details. One would automatically connect the code word to whatever definition that's been assigned to it. A code word can also be a phrase, or a trigger for those who know what the code word means. Sometimes hypnotherapists even use code words while hypnotizing their clients.

What are some examples of code words?

Look in the world around you, hospitals and law enforcement use code words. For example, in most hospitals they have code words like 'code blue' which could widely mean a patient requiring resuscitation or otherwise in need of immediate medical attention, most often as the result of a respiratory or cardiac arrest. On the flip side, law enforcement and even emergency dispatchers have codes as well, usually used in the form of a series of numbers that describe particular situations without needing to say anything but those specific order of numbers. Such as, in most American police code, a 10-00 code means that an officer is down or needs assistance. Do you notice how both codes are simple, short, but mean very specific things? The people that use these codes automatically know what these codes mean, subconsciously, without needing the wordy explanation on what they mean after they've studied, and associated those situations with this code. Codes make it easier to remember specific scenarios, the subconscious already knows what these codes mean. And in these professions, they are way more codes out there that we aren't even aware of, but they are.

How can I use code words to manifest?

Most people may already be using affirmations, askformations/afformations, mantras, and other manifestation techniques to manifest. However, there may be a possibility that someone wants to manifest a very specific, detailed scenario and do not wish to constantly have to remember and repeat those details over and over. So, why not use the examples of thoss mentioned above and create your own code words to manifest those very specific, detail-oriented scenarios?

Are code words more powerful than affirmations?

Code words are just as powerful as affirmations because they are all working to do the same thing! However, there is a belief that because code words are so short and can have many different ideas connected to that singular word or phrase, it can quickly bypass the resistance one may have about a certain topic or situation. Also, code words make it extremely easy to repeat a set of affirmations in a short amount of time. They are extremely powerful in their own way, but never sell affirmations short on how powerful they are as well. Both work amazingly!

Can you give an example on how to create code words and how I can use them in my manifestation journey?

I'll use myself as an example. Let's say that I want to manifest completely flawless, clear skin. Simple enough, yeah, but let's say that I want to get detailed on how I would like my skin to be. I could easily say an affirmation like 'I have my dream skin,' or something along those lines, but, I also want to get extremely detailed in what my dream skin would look like simply to appease myself. For example—

My skin is perfect. My skin is always flawless. I have no hyperpigmentation. My body is blemishfree. I have an even skintone all around. Every product I use on my skin makes it 1000x more vibrant and glowy.

That's a lot of affirmations to remember, right? Fortunately, we know about code words! So... How would I choose a code word? Simple, I've decided that I will use SKIN for my code word, and I will read my list of affirmations a few times, and my subconscious mind will automatically connect my affirmations to this single code word. Think of it like this— my code word is like a bucket and my affirmations/thoughts that I want to be true about this particular topic, will be what fills the bucket. When most people look at a bucket, they automatically think that it is to hold something within it. That's exactly what the subconscious will do when you give it that code word.

Can my code word be more than one word?

Absolutely! You can even make a phrase! Think of it as your own little secret.

Could I use code words for anything, and by anything I mean anything?

Uh, hell yeah. You can use code words for anything you could possibly ever think of, even for the void if that's what you're secretly wondering.

How would I use code words to manifest entering the void // waking up in the void, etc?

Easy. Write down some affirmations/ statements you wish to be true about the void, doesn't matter what it is, and then choose a code word to use. VOID is a good code word to start. Once you've gotten your preferred code word, all you'll need to do is repeat your code word whenever you think about anything involving the void. Or whenever you need to correct doubtful thoughts. You may also robotically affirm VOID if you so choose to. You can also use the code word for easy 10k repetition. There are many ways to use code words, feel free to experiment!

Can I use code words with psych-k?

I don't see why you wouldn't be able to, so, feel free to experiment!

Wait... this sounds a lot like the list method, are code words and the list method the same?

No, but they are definitely similar in their own way, and can even be combined if you wished to do so! Code words and list defer because lists would involve different things of different topics, whereas code words would involve affirmations dealing with a very specific topic of your choice.

How could I combine the list method with code words?

Create your code words, and then make a list of those code words, then you could affirm that every single one of your code words are true and always will be true. Think of it as drawing out a web of thoughts.

NOTES -> and there we have it folks, code words. I hope that ya can use this tool to your advantage, if you've got any questions, I recommend to always do research or if you'd like, feel free to send me questions! good luck, and have fun!

#manifest #manifestation #manifestation method #loa #loa assumptions #loa affirmations #loa advice #loassumption #loa blog #shiftblr #law of assumption #void method

[silent-sanctum]

I hope you're doing fine mijin🤩💗....

Can I request a fic where the stone ocean group survives and jotaro meets his wife(the reader) or ex wife that's upto you

Aha! A 2-for-1 special! Also, hiya @jotarosimpforever and to you too anon 👋 I'm doing fine thank you! Sorry it took this long to answer your requests, I'm currently on vacation so I was busy doing stuff 🫡 But here it is! A post-Stone Ocean fic featuring domestic times with our favorite DILF 6taro 😘 Hope you enjoy ♡

Way Home - Part 6! Jotaro x Reader

word count: 3.3k

“Breaking news: The recent events people termed as the “Shifting Skies Phenomenon” comes to an abrupt halt, resulting in mass casualty midst the confusion of countless civilians worldwide”

The scene was in complete chaos just the way it was for the past few hours. Where it was due to destruction as the heavens changed hues, from burning autumn to midnight void and back in a blink of the eye, now everything and everyone were in complete loss of control, emergency respondents dispatched to numerous vehicular accidents and spontaneous locations with crowds sporting spontaneous injuries.

Where others wouldn’t know what else to brand this phenomenon but “otherworldly”, you knew it as a catastrophic Stand attack.

And you’d come to know these information because of none other than your own husband- A solitary individual who opted to keep his responsibilities a secret from the people he loved, to sacrifice his happiness and suffer a life of “kill-or-be-killed” if it meant giving his family the normal life he could never have.

If it weren’t for circumstances that got yourself involved in one of these Stand encounters, you wouldn’t find yourself falling into the rabbit hole that was learning the nature of Stands, and eventually taking up a managerial role in an exclusive private organization as one of their agents. If it weren’t for that eventful day, you wouldn’t be able to meet Jotaro.

That stoic, abrasive, yet loving man…

Images of him smiling at you with fondness glazing his sharp blue eyes flashed in your mind as you imagined the same man charging head first into the battlefield to save and protect his and your only daughter from this grand scale threat.

And with the sky and the Earth’s gravity returning back to its usual state, you should be relieved knowing the enemy was defeated.

But without being there to witness how it ended, you gave into overthinking, imagining the repercussions that were dealt to achieve the cost of such victory.

As if snapping back to reality, you found yourself running through a plethora of bustling Speedwagon Foundation employees, almost crazed and frantic. The organization was just as rushed and busy as the rest of the world was with one half of the Foundation attempting to get shit under control by getting in-contact with non-government networks for aid and support, and the other half accommodating injured civilians to help reduce the local hospitals from overcrowding.

And just as what’s written in paper, you’ve received information that a chopper had just arrived with 2 members of the Joestar family onboard, injured from a fatal fight. You wasted not even a split second to bolt from the safety of your room and here in the private foundation’s building.

You rounded a corner, pushing past a couple more of people until you were met with a signage that read “Medical Wing”. You’ve studied the place’s layout enough times since Jotaro first brought you here during your orientation. While the place crowded with panicked and wounded civilians, you knew that the Foundation had exclusive areas and services reserved for the convenience of the Joestar bloodline.

Frustrated, you were desperate enough to seek the first nurse you could see and ask where her family was, but you’d find out that wouldn’t happen. Your hurried steps led you to the emergency room and instead of a random nurse, your attention landed on a teenage girl with messy space buns and torn clothing sitting on one of the benches lining the hallway leading to the operating room.

With one arm in a cast and her waist bandaged, the young girl had her free hand curled into a fist, head bowed as she struggled to hold back her sobs.

At the sight of her, your eyes welled up with tears. “Jolyne…”

In an instant, she jerked her head upright at the sound of her name. It took her a couple of seconds before she saw you standing a few feet away from her. Like mother and daughter, Jolyne’s face crumpled into one of sadness, the tears that she held back now rolling down her cheeks. “Eomma-”

You crossed whatever distance was between you and your child and brought her into a tight hug. “I’m sorry,” she started. “I’m really sorry mom.”

With ease, you withdrew enough for you to do another quick scan over her body. “Are you hurt bad?” You grasped her shoulders with a hand, the other reaching up to cup her wet cheeks. “Does it hurt anywhere?”

Your questions only sent Jolyne into another sob, breaking into tears the second you showed your extreme concerns. “I-I’m fine, but appa-”

You paused. “What… What happened to him?”

“He protected me, my friends, b-but…” She furiously swiped at her eyes despite her sobs. “He’s injured the most. He was bleeding everywhere and now-”

You kept yourself as calm as possible, even if you were on the brink of collapsing yourself. “Where is he?” Jolyne pointed to the double doors leading to the operating room.

Your heart caved in at the thought of your husband laying unconscious being worked on by surgeons and nurses to preserve his life. With a heavy and shaky sigh, you nodded as you willed yourself to not cry in front of your daughter.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do better,” Jolyne cried. “I’m sorry for letting that stupid accident with that asshole happen that led to dad going through all this bullshit for me-”

You quieted her as you pulled her into another hug, softly caressing her head. “It’s not your fault, pearl,” you said with a whisper. She continued to sob as she buried her face on your shoulder. “Your father knows that too.”

Gently, you led your daughter to one of the benches and sat her down with you beside her. Considering you’d thought the worst before arriving at the Foundation, you looked at the closed double doors with a newfound sense of reassurance. Another sigh.

“Let’s just wait and hope for the best.”

---

The consistent beeping of his vitals echoed throughout the dimmed room and you were left alone with Jotaro, still unconscious with half of his face heavily bandaged together with his throat, an oxygen mask fit on his nose and mouth.

Jolyne visited minutes earlier and told you that she’d be checking with how her other friends were doing.

An hour ago, you and Jolyne stood up immediately as soon as the surgeon stepped through the swinging doors. To everyone’s relief, they managed to stabilize him from his critical state.

According to him, your husband had a pre-existing heart condition that caused his pulse rate to beat at irregular, rapid intervals. Combined with the knowledge of him having to exert excessive strength despite waking up from a comatose state and the heavy amount of stress piling up the past few months, his body had chosen to shut down the second his adrenaline depleted.

Thinking about that again made you scoff through your tears. “You were always an impulsive idiot…” Saying those words caused your eyes to swell again and sniffle.

But what’s done was done. The doctors did what they could and all you can do was to sit beside him, holding his hand with both of yours, praying that he’d recover faster, enough for him to wake up and calm your worrying heart.

Without realizing, you ended up falling asleep still sat on your chair by his bed. You didn’t know how long time has passed in your slumber and you couldn’t be bothered to find out. All that mattered right now was staying by your husband’s side, letting him know, in spirit perhaps, that he wasn’t alone and that you were with him now.

In a way you couldn’t perceive, you somehow felt like he was comforting you as well. A comforting chill would brush against your cheeks, hair, shoulders, or hands and you welcomed the sensation like an old friend.

Eventually, time would pass from mere hours to days and throughout it all, you continued to stay where you were- always making sure to watch over him with persisting hope.

Today marked the 15th day since his admission in the Foundation’s infirmary ward. His fresh bandages still wrapped around the half of his face and throat. His assistive oxygenation was removed the week prior once his vitals stabilized within normal range.

By now, you stayed so much in the medical room that your responsibilities started to catch up as evident with the numerous phone calls and text messages alerting you from your pocket. You figured you’d answer a few and explain the circumstances surrounding you and your family.

That time, you stood by the window hoping to receive better signal. You were in the middle of arguing with a non-compliant employee that worked under your supervision, and through their whining in the speaker, you picked up the sheets shifting behind you.

On that cue, you turned around with supposed foolish hope but in clear daylight, there he was- stirring into consciousness, brows furrowing and scrunching as his eye slowly opened.

You never hung up on someone this fast before but you dropped whatever conversation you had and rushed over to Jotaro’s side, immediately reaching to grasp his hand. It took him a bit to adjust to the natural light, but he lolled his head to you and locked eye contact with you.

You exhaled a shaky breath. “Jotaro-ssi?” With a weak baritone voice, he croaked back your name with instant familiarity. Your eyes welled with new tears. Right then and there, he grunted as he struggled to prop himself upright. “W-What are you doing? You just woke up. You’re supposed to rest!”

At this point, you didn’t realize you started crying when you light-heartedly scolded him. You gripped his hand tight with frustration and relief, teardrops spilling onto your skin. He’s awake. Thank god he’s awake. “Do you know how much of an idiot you are?! I told you you shouldn’t jump into dangerous situations so recklessly! And now look at you! You should be taking your time and recover lying down and here you are forcing yourself to sit! You really are an idiot-”

“I missed you.”

Your heart skipped a beat and whatever ramble you had left trailed off into the thin air. Jotaro sat there patiently, watching you wistfully with hooded eyes. In your hand, he turned his palm upwards and interlocked his fingers with yours. He had that usual air of stoicism in his expression, but there was no mistaking the wet sheen glossing over his aquamarine eyes.

That was all it took for you to break into a sob as you gently wrapped your arms around him in a soft embrace. You felt him tuck his face against the crook of your neck, his tears pooling on your skin in silence. “Next time, tell me at least. Alright?”

“Mm…”

“Don’t scare me like that again, you hear?”

“I’m sorry…”

“You ass.”

---

It’s been 6 months since then and after the chaos had settled across the nation, the Kujos returned to their seaside villa, settling in for the time being to adjust to the new life after the time phenomenon.

Slowly but surely, every member of the family began to live their lives the way they wanted to- Jolyne would often leave the house to hang out with her best friend Ermes and potential boyfriend Anasui, one day bringing home a kid in baseball uniform named Emporio waiting to be adopted into the family, you returned to work to help the other agents in the Foundation, and Jotaro begun to resume teaching in university, choosing to take a break from field research to give him time to rest.

And considering the stress of the whole Stand ordeal they had dealt with since they were 17, you could get used to a mundane life like this.

The early morning sun beamed a warm orange, filtered through the curtains before it could touch both you and your husband. You opened your eyes to find yourself side-lying on his arm to face a still-sleeping Jotaro, tucked bare-chested underneath the sheets with his face mushed against the pillows

You huffed and snuggled closer, nuzzling to bury your nose on the crook of his neck. With a feather-light touch, you raised an index finger to gingerly trace the faded scar across his throat, the shallow dents across his collarbone, the scar on his left shoulder, and the one on his abdomen. One-by-one, you took the time to feel the skin of each in contrast to the rest. “You’ve been through so much…”

He stirred possibly from your tiny motions and soon enough, the arm you lied on curled in to pull you into his hold.

You couldn’t help but giggle as you looked up to see your husband glance at you with sleep-ridden eyes. You propped yourself on his chest and with your chin planted on your overlapped hands flat on his pecs, you whispered out a simple, intentionally-cute “Good morning~”

Jotaro smiled back. “Morning.”

“Break day?”

He nodded.

Life never felt so ordinary after what had happened but you could get used to this. Where every moment in this new era, they could live out the rest of their lives as a normal couple with a normal family.

And what’s a better way to start their new lives but with the domesticity of a newlywed pair.

Both you and Jotaro started the day accomplishing your morning routines- you in the bathroom washing up, he on the balcony to simply soak in the early morning sun. You made your way to the dining area where he stood by waiting for you with two steaming mugs of coffee in his hands. You took one, returned the favor with a chaste peck on his cheek, and went over to cook breakfast for the family.

On cue with the smell of bacon and eggs permeating throughout the house, two pairs of footsteps bounded down the stairs and barged into the area.

“Well good morning to you too Jolyne,” you glanced at her companion with a smile. “Emporio.”

“Going out again?” Jotaro said, glancing at the duo. “This early?”

“Ermes is gonna go shopping for the new line of clothes that got released yesterday. She invited me and Emporio over saying it’s going to be ‘her treat’, but I know she’s lying,” Jolyne said, picking up a toast from her plate and another to offer her adopted brother.

“Is that pink-haired guy going?”

“His name’s Anasui dad and no, he’s not going,” she puffed her chest. “It’s girl’s day out today.” You and Jotaro looked at the blond boy beside her. “He’s not tagging along. I’m just dropping off Emporio at the nearby bookstore on the way out.”

“And I can find my way back no problem,” Emporio said as the teenager slowly pulled him with her to the door. “I won’t take too long.”

Jotaro still had his doubts from where he was on his seat, but knowing your little girl was able to survive a life of imprisonment and was able to get around the harsh facility, you smiled at her. “Alright. Be back by 9!”

“I will!”

Once the duo were out of sight, you and Jotaro were left alone to themselves. “Nothing like seeing your kids all grown up, huh?” You said as you took a bite of your eggs. He hummed a sound of acknowledgment. “But that just means we have the day to ourselves.”

At that, your husband couldn’t help but smile.

And just as you said, the rest of today consisted of simply staying indoors and “hanging-out” with each other in a life of old-couple domesticity. You cooked the meals and he washed the dishes. You did the laundry and he helped in folding them. You dusted the shelves and he vacuumed the floors. You picked today’s playlist to listen while doing chores and he chose what movie to watch.

Then there were instances in-between chores where either of you can’t help but hover close to one another, seeking each other’s touch and affections. May it be when you’re cooking and Jotaro passes by stealing a piece of sliced vegetable, you sneaking behind to pat his ass when he’s drying the plates, him momentarily resting his chin on your head as you wait for the washing machine to finish, him offering you a glass of water in the middle of dusting, or ending up in a never-ending banter over genres of media.

By the time they finished everything, including the short time freshening up, the afternoon began its transition to night as the skies changed its hue from blue to orange.

You shared one look with your husband and with one wistful stare, he rose a hand to you and you held it. With no worries plaguing your mind, you and Jotaro slowly walked down the stairs to the coast, hand-in-hand. A gentle breeze blew a strand of hair across your face and before you could, he tucked it behind your ear.

Both of you walked across the sand until you stopped a few meters away from the gentle waves.

Jotaro took the initiative to break apart from you, only to step behind and engulf your body with his long coat with his hands still in its pockets. You smiled and leaned back against his chest, closing your eyes as you do so.

For a few minutes, the couple simply stood by, basking in the ambiance- the refreshing sea breeze against your skin, the soothing crash of waves, the birds chirping above. The sea was your comfort place after all, and it was his too. Despite it being months later, you cherished every calm walk such as this as if it was the last.

You’ve never felt at peace this much. It was so nice.

“23 years…” You glanced up at Jotaro when he spoke. “For 23 years of us knowing each other, finally… Finally we can just live like this.”

You chuckled. “Makes it seem like we’ve just been married and this is our honeymoon even though it’s been years.”

“We’ve been fighting the world for most of our lives. Is it strange that until now, I’m still not used to this kind of ‘quiet’? As if I’m cautious that someone could appear at any moment?”

You shook your head, your gaze drifting to the horizon as you thought of your next words. “It’s not. It’ll take some time for us to adjust to this new normal. For all our habitual anxiety to disappear. Hell, it might not go away entirely.”

“But I can assure you this-”

You stepped out of his coat and turned to face him. From this angle, you looked at Jotaro with a smile bearing all the gooey fondness you had in your heart. Gingerly, you rose a hand to his face and with tender care, traced the vertical scar lining the right side of his face. From the top of his brow, down to his blind eye, until your fingers stopped at the bold line of his jaw.

Only then, your hand returned to cup his cheek with your thumb stroking the smooth line of his scar. “Whatever may happens next, I’ll be there with you. Work, people, lingering Stand users… I’ll stay by your side, hm?”

With hooded eyes, Jotaro leaned against your palm and laid his hand over yours. “I can’t say much to change your mind anyways.” He huffed. “You were always so stubborn.”

You chuckled. “You’re not wrong.”

Getting on to your tiptoes, you planted a soft kiss over his cheek, nose, and his lips last, to which you lingered on for a second longer. Pulling away, you wrapped your arms around him and buried your face on his chest.

“Our lives are finally ours, starlight.”

You closed your eyes as you felt him tuck his chin on top of you, an arm wrapping around your waist, and a hand caressing the back of your head.

“Then let’s live them together, sunshine.”

#jotaro x reader #jojos bizarre adventure #jjba #jotaro kujo #god i love writing domestic couple life like yes #give me that wholesome stuff me

[sea-salted-wolverine]

i just found out something insane.

Interior, northern, and most of western Alaska has no medevac capabilities. as in if you get fucked and need a helicopter ride to the hospital you are stuck hoping for some bullshit.

so in the civilized world, medevac companies can be dispatched out to remote or difficult-to-reach injuries and emergencies and it functions like a flying ambulance. the medics arrive on scene in the helicopter and that's the transport to the hospital. this is the case in anchorage and the outlying communities as well as the southwest.

if you are north of Talkeetna and you get hurt badly here are your options. First, you hope that first responders can reach you by land because they won't be coming by air. They won't even be coming by water because while there is a robust Coast Guard presence in this state the ocean freezes for half the year and AFAIK once the water is solid there's not much they can do.

so once the medic gets to you and decrees that yep you definitely need hospital now as in helicopter-now these are your options.

you can 1.) hope that the State Troopers are bored. Emergency transport is not the trooper's job and the helicopters are not set up for it but if they're not doing anything else you can get a pilot out to the middle of nowhere to come help you.

or 2.) and I am not making this up, you hope that it is summertime and that something near you is on fire but not so on fire that the wildland fire crews can't spare the resources to get you to town.

And then that gets you to Fairbanks Memorial which is ... like trying to go grocery shopping at a gas station. If it is anything more complex than a broken bone, you're moving on. probably to Seattle. not to mention the medics who kept you alive on the flight there now need to figure out how to get back to wherever they came from.

for reference, courtesy of NPS

Eastern Kansas, Missouri, the Panhandle and the Aleutians get to live in the 21st century. kinda.

but the part that really gets me is that THERE IS NO ALTERNATIVE. there are no roads to these places. to get to the hospital in a non-emergency requires a plane anyway. or a couple weeks on a barge.

see the red? those are roads. see all the dots with no roads going to them? think that there are some roads this map managed to leave out and that this is an exaggeration of how poorly connected this place is? nope. sure there are some smaller roads that didn't make it on the map, but the cartographer didn't miss a road the length of Nebraska.

This is also why buying an Arizona green tea costs seven dollars in Galena.

#wolverine warbles