#does it LOOK like we know what neurosurgery is?

[nuka-rockit]

something that is so funny to me is the solution to the "why does Durge have amnesia" subplot

no mystical curse, no magic potion, not a spell, no elaborate divine retribution for your failures.

no, Orin just got a really sharp stick, poked a hole in your skull and and got you an improv lobotomy . and put a worm in there

and every character who gets a chance to examine you basically goes WHOA there chief your brain is fucked up. like. thats just straight up brain damage. i cant fix that

#durge #the dark urge #bg3 spoilers #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 spoilers #baldurs gate 3 #theres just something so funny about the answer being so mundane #yeah i mean we could fix a curse but this is faerun #does it LOOK like we know what neurosurgery is? #my stuff #ok to rb

[lostfracturess]

symptoms and causes | ch. 11

x pairing professor!gojo x med student f!reader (medical au)

x summary he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart—and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

x wc 13.5 k (enjoy your meal lol)

x warnings [18+] this story contains substance abuse/addiction, overdosing, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive and abusive behavior, manipulation, (heavy) angst, mentions of death / illness / blood, graphic medical procedures. reader discretion is advised.

x author's note hey loves!! thank you so much for your patience, i know it's been a while. buckle up, because we're taking another trip inside satoru's mind, so yeahhh. it's gonna be wild, oh and we're continuing right were we left off in the last chapter. this chapter is again in satoru's pov!! i've also updated the trigger warnings, so please take a look before reading (might be spoiling tho). and lastly, credit to the fanart in the cover, if you know the artist, pls let me know!! can't wait to hear what you all think & thanks for sticking with me!! ♡

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

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They say before you can love someone else, you have to love yourself first.

And there lies the damn problem. 

I don't know how. 

Never have.

Why am I thinking this now? 

I knew this was right. 

Right for her. 

But then why does my heart feel like it's being ripped out by the fucking roots?

Suguru will take care of her. He always does. That's the only thing that keeps me from screaming, keeps me from chasing after her.

I trust him, damn it, but it shouldn't be him.

It should be me holding her. Me, who knows how she likes to be held when the panic claws its way up. Me, holding her until the world feels less sharp, less cruel.  

Me, who knows that she doesn't want to talk about it. Me, who knows to give her space. She needs space. My strong girl needs space first. 

I hope he gives her space.

But he wouldn't know any of this. He couldn't comfort her in the ways I instinctively knew how. 

Me, who knows how to soothe the invisible wounds, the ones even she denies exist. Me, who knows the soft words she needs to hear after it passes.

It shouldn't be him. 

Sorry. 

It shouldn't have been him.

Past tense. 

It all might be past tense now.

And the thought is more than I could bear.

Shattered. 

Was that the word?

Was there even a word for what I felt in that moment?

How could I ever convey this suffocating agony that's tearing me apart with mere words?

Words are meaningless in the end.

Meaningless when they couldn't be spoken to her, couldn't reach her, couldn't make her understand, couldn't heal the wound I'd carved into her heart.

So, yeah, maybe shattered is the right word. 

The wrong word.

The sterile air was acid in my lungs. Each ragged breath felt like sandpaper against my throat. I held my breath, a desperate plea for the world to stop spinning, for the clock to rewind, for a chance to undo everything.

But time doesn't care. 

It marched on, relentless, while I stayed trapped in this hell, drowning in the mess I made. 

My lungs burned. My vision blurred. I waited until she disappeared. The world seemed to tilt sideways, losing all color and shape, leaving only the sharp, agonizing realization that I'd made her walk away.

I didn't want to breathe anymore.

Not in a world where every breath ached without her.

"Dr. Gojo?" A voice, distant, muffled. 

Irrelevant.

My gaze flickered to Sukuna. He watched, a predator savoring the kill. 

His twisted smile fueled rage within me. But there would be no fighting this. No grand defense. Not when her life was the bargaining chip.

So, I lied. 

Each word a nail in the coffin of the connection I craved more than life itself.

Each word a drop of poison forced down my throat. A self-inflicted wound, a desperate mutilation of the only thing that had ever felt real.

Her eyes, those beautiful eyes I loved so fiercely, wide with confusion and horror. The strangled gasp, the way her body went limp in Geto's arms — a haunting image that would forever be etched on my heart.

Muscles screamed, a silent protest against my own pathetic stillness. But I remained frozen. 

This was my punishment. 

I had to watch her leave, had to sear the pain into my very being, an endless penance for the choices I'd made.

The door clicked shut behind them.

That simple sound, final, absolute.

My lungs filled with air, a betrayal. Oxygen I didn't deserve, didn't want. 

My own body, this treacherous thing kept going, kept me alive against my will, kept me tethered to this cruel reality.

The room swam back into focus, the judges' accusing faces nothing but a blurry backdrop. The sounds of their inquest washed over me like meaningless noise.

"Dr. Gojo? Can we continue?"

I nodded.

They pressed on. More questions about the research, her involvement, their accusations of favoritism.

How stupid.

Of course, I favored her. 

How could I not? 

She is everything.

Oh, sorry. Forgot. Past tense.

She was everything.

Did I regret it? 

Did I wish I could go back and treat her with the same damn indifference I afforded everyone else?

Yeah, maybe.

A familiar craving stirred my senses, the desperate need for the numbing escape that would mean failing her even more. My fingers clawed at my forearm, trying to replace the hollowness with physical pain. It wasn't enough.

My responses were rote, mechanical.

Yeah, I favored her. 

Yeah, I let her into the OR because of it.

Yeah, and she outshone every damn surgeon twice her age. 

No, she didn't know I'd set it up. 

No, she never asked for special treatment. She just worked until her eyes were bloodshot, pushing harder than anyone else.

And hell no, she didn't do a single thing wrong.

Except maybe — maybe loving me. 

After what felt like an eternity, the judges seemed satisfied, or perhaps just exhausted by my robotic replies. 

They painted me the arrogant professor with a weakness for a young student, who abused his power, who played favorites.

Whatever they wanted to believe, fine.

Didn't even have the energy to care anymore.

Let them drag my name through the mud, tarnish the reputation I'd worked so hard to build. 

Because the title, the position, the facade of success meant nothing when all I wanted was to rewind time, to undo the damage I'd done to the one person who truly mattered.

I didn't feel anymore.

I was done.

─── ·✧· ───

I burst out of the courtroom.

I needed escape, not just from this sterile prison of a room, but from my own traitorous flesh.

That itch.

It was a wildfire beneath my skin, a thousand insects gnawing their way to the surface. My fingers twitched, claws desperate to tear, to bleed out the poison of this relentless craving.

My legs moved without conscious thought, pushing me towards my office. Somewhere. Anywhere I would be able to breathe again. The guilt was a serrated blade twisting in my gut, each movement slicing me open anew.

Her terror-stricken eyes seared into my very soul.

The walls of my office closed in, the familiar space suddenly too small, too suffocating. 

My fist slammed into the desk. Papers scattered to the floor, a meaningless sea of white against the dark wood.

They didn't matter. None of it mattered.

A half-finished coffee mug followed. Porcelain shattered. Dark liquid splashed against the wall. 

My blood roared in my ears. 

Across the room, my framed diploma. I ripped it off the wall. Glass smashed. Sharp edges bit into my palm, drawing blood. But it wasn't enough. I hurled the frame against the wall.

Blood, hot and slick, coated my hands, the pain nothing.

In the shattered frame, I caught a glimpse of myself — wild eyes in a sweat-slicked face, a man on the verge of collapse.

It was a stranger.

I was across the room before I even registered the decision.

The drawer.

My fingers ripped it open. 

There, like a coiled viper, the amber vial gleamed, a venomous promise of oblivion.

Don't —

Don't come at me now. 

Did you really think I wouldn't keep a backup?

My hand reached, then hesitated.

The world lurched to a sharp halt as a knock pierced the chaos. My breath hitched, the vial a burning brand in my bloodied hand.

The door creaked open.

And there he was. Sukuna. 

He leaned against the doorframe, that sickening smirk plastered on his face. It was like a lit fuse to a powder keg. The rage that had been gnawing at my insides, tearing me apart, finally found its target.

Before a single rational thought could form, I was on him. Fist to jaw, heard the crack, felt it in my knuckles. He stumbled back, the smirk finally wiping off his face.

I pinned him against the door. Forearm across his throat, crushing his windpipe. His eyes widened, but even then, there was that damn flicker of amusement.

"Well, well," he choked out, "this is a nice welcome back."

"Funny to you?"

He coughed, a harsh laugh scraping out of him. "C'mon, Satoru, relax. I did you a favor," he sputtered. "Your precious little student, she's better off now. You know I'm right."

Every muscle in my body tensed.

He was right. 

In his twisted way, he was. 

And that's what made it all so much worse.

My grip on his throat tightened. But there was nothing, no satisfactio, no release in the violence.

Sukuna saw it, the hesitation. His mouth twisted into a smirk again. "See, you get it. Sweet thing doesn't belong in this mess, does she? It's not for her, Satoru. It's for us."

His words scraped like nails on a chalkboard. 

Yes, she was safer now, untouched by the rot that festered within me. Some desperate, logical part of me clung to that. But how could I hold on to that when my heart was screaming for her closeness?

"Or maybe," Sukuna drawled, pushing the knife deeper, "maybe you wanted to see where this goes. Stain her a bit, make her just a little bit more like you."

My breath hitched. For a split second, the floor vanished beneath me.

"Hit a nerve, did I?"

"Shut the hell up!" I couldn't face it, couldn't face the ugly truth as it would tear me apart. "You twist everything. Play with lives just for your own sick amusement."

This was his game.

Sukuna thrived on chaos, on exploiting pain. 

He knew my guilt, my fear for her, and wielded it like a scalpel, laying bare the raw nerve of my fragile sanity.

"Perhaps. But ain't I right?  You needed to end it, but you lack the guts for it. Waited a bit longer, it'd be a total disaster."

I hesitated, then my grip on him slackened. I stepped back.

"You know I'm right," Sukuna continued. "You know how this would have ended. Suspension. Scandal. She'll be doomed forever for getting involved with her professor for favors. You wouldn't destroy her like that, would you? You're not that cruel."

"I'm not so sure." I ran a hand through my hair.  It had taken everything in me to push her away. 

But I can't deny that an ugly part of me wanted to keep her close. Drag her down with me. 

See her drown.

"Damn, you hit hard," he said, rubbing his jaw. "Go beat up some students again, not me."

"Stop giving me reasons to punch you."  Exhausted, I slumped into my desk chair, burying my face in my hands. My head pounded, the infuriating itch worsening with each damn moment. "Was this your plan all along?"

"What?" he scoffed.

I lifted a single eyebrow at him.

"You think that low of me? Honestly, Toru, a bit of credit, please. It was your pathetic indecision that made this entertaining. You basically gift-wrapped this mess and handed it to me."

"Besides," he continued, "let's be honest, you were holding her back. Now maybe she'll have a chance to become someone who might surpass you one day. You wouldn't deny her that, would you? No thanks needed."

He was right, and I hated that more than anything.

Sukuna sank into the chair across from me, a picture of smug satisfaction despite the visible bruise. "Damn, that punch still stings."

I opened my desk drawer and wordlessly tossed him the bottle of opioids. His eyes widened in surprise, before he gave the bottle a knowing shake. "Still on the hydromorphone?"

I didn't answer. The sound alone threatened to shatter what fragile control I had left. The itch was unbearable, each nerve ending screaming for relief.

Sukuna observed me, a predator watching its prey struggle. "Withdrawal never suited you," he said, popping a pill. "You always get so—" he paused, savoring the word, "—tense."

"Yeah, real supportive of you."

"Actually, I'm being incredibly supportive. I'm leaving for a little research trip overseas—four months. Ethics committee can't meet without me, so—" He leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. "Gives you time to get your shit together. Isn't that nice of me?"

"Shut the hell up."

"C'mon, I put in a good word for you too. No suspension for now. You can keep teaching, just no surgeries. Yaga really hates my guts, doesn't he? But hey, at least you're not totally screwed."

"You expect a thank you?"

"Relax, Toru, the show's over," he said. "Trust me, they don't want a scandal, let alone lose their star surgeon. When I get back, a slap on the wrist, maybe a semester's suspension, then you're back to the boring old grind."

A bitter laugh escaped me. "Last I checked, you were the one pushing for a scandal."

He rolled his eyes. "Someone had to do it. Knew you'd drag this out forever, playing the tragic hero. Needed a villain to get things moving." He gave a mocking bow. "At your service, my friend."

"Also," he continued, leaning forward in his chair, "the focus is off you now. The committee's sniffing around those implant engineers. Funny, isn't it?" 

Sukuna paused, savoring the moment. "Honestly, never thought there was anything wrong with your surgeries. You wouldn't make that kind of mistake. Tech malfunction more likely."

Of course. 

The bastard never doubted the damn research. It had all been a game to him — my career, my sanity, her — just pieces on his chessboard.

It should've made me furious, lash out, pound his face in again — but all I felt was a bone-deep exhaustion, a weariness that seeped into my very soul. I was too tired, too hollowed-out to do anything but swallow the bitter truth.

"That supposed to make me feel better?" 

"A little," he said, tossing the opioid bottle back. "This, though? That'll do the trick even better."

I caught it, my fingers clenching around the plastic.

He rose, stretching with a theatrical sigh. "Well, time to go. Remember, you owe me big time. You should take one," he gestured towards the pills, "you look like shit."

My grip on the bottle tightened. I looked up at him. "When all of this is done, I never want to see your damn face again."

He laughed. "We both know that's a lie. You and me? We need each other."

"The only thing you need is some damn therapy."

"Ah, Toru," he dismissed me with a smirk, "you'll come crawling back soon enough. We both know how this works."

With that, he was gone. I was left alone in the echoing silence, the pill bottle a burning weight in my hand. The world seemed to sway around me, my eyelids growing heavy.

The will to fight simply wasn't there anymore.

─── ·✧· ───

Cruel. 

Cruel how one little pill can undo everything. 

Cruel how one little pill can silence everything. 

Cruel how one damn pill can soften the world, make it — bearable, almost.

Unfair. 

It's truly unfair.

The screaming under my skin, that relentless itch — it's still there, but it had dulled to a faint hum, pushed back by the familiar numbness.

Finally.

Oh, finally some fucking silence.

I let out a shaky breath. It wasn't peace, not really. I knew that all too well. Borrowed time, each second ticking closer to the inevitable crash, the return of that relentless screaming in my head.

But for now, it'll have to be enough.

I collapsed on the couch, smoke curling lazily before my eyes.

I knew I shouldn't mix opioids with cannabis. That's something they teach you within the first year of university. What I used to teach students within the first year of university.

What a hypocrite I am really.

Another drag — harsh, burning down my throat. 

The urge to close my eyes, to sink into oblivion, was almost overwhelming. But sleep wouldn't bring respite. Only nightmares. I knew that only too well.

So, I lay there, staring up at the ceiling.

It really came down to me failing again, huh?

What was it now?

Attempt number five? 

Six?

I started losing count.

Maybe this was my fate.

A broken record, stuck on the same damn track.

Deep down, under the chemical haze, guilt gnawed at me. It was a dull ache now, no longer the searing pain of earlier, but a constant, insidious reminder. 

She were out there, her life forever marked by my choices, while I was — here. Hiding in a haze of pills and smoke.

God, I hoped Suguru was looking after her. Making sure she ate, making sure she was safe — that she didn't hate me too much.

I brought the joint to my lips again, the smoke curling up towards the ceiling. It left an acrid taste in my mouth.

I watched my hand for a second.

Bloodied earlier, the wounds had scabbed over, the blood dried. It was perfectly still now, the trembling smoothed out by the chemicals in my blood. 

I clenched it into a fist, then unclenched, watching the movement like it belonged to someone else.

Traitor.

This body was a traitor — betrayed myself, betrayed her, betrayed everything I held dear.

Weak. 

Broken.

A pathetic mess.

Was that it?

Living as a slave to these chemicals to patch up my crumbling sanity one day at a time? 

Chained to pills, each dawn a ticking clock until the next dose, until I could silence the screaming for a few damn hours?

My eyes locked onto the half-empty vial on the table. 

Took too many, didn't I?

I knew that, even through the haze. But a cold certainty twisted in my gut. There'd be more. Always more. Until there was nothing left.

Before I could think, I threw another down my throat. Bad idea, probably, after a few clean days.

Suddenly, the haze warped, twisting into nausea. Bile rose in my throat.

I lurched to my feet, the world tilting precariously with each step. Surfaces rippled, the bathroom light stabbing into my skull.

I barely made it. My stomach heaved. Each retch wracked my body, leaving me gasping, weak.

Too many. 

Way too many.

How the hell did I forget? Forget my body's limits? Somehow, I felt like some reckless student again, stumbling through experiments, blind to the consequences.

Stupid. So damn stupid.

Darkness swam at the edges of my vision.  Another wave of nausea, and I was back, hunched over the toilet. 

I hauled myself up, hands shaking, clinging to the sink. In the mirror, a stranger stared back. Eyes bloodshot, a sheen of sweat coating his skin.

This wasn't me anymore.

I splashed cold water on my face, trying to wash away the acid burn. Didn't help. Drops of water ran down my face, felt like they were melting the damn skin off.

My knees buckled. I slid down the wall, my head heavy against the tile wall. 

The bathroom light, needles in my brain moments ago, seemed impossibly distant now. Each breath was a ragged gasp, each pulse a dull throb in my temples.

I waited for it to pass, the nausea, the haze. But as minutes crawled by, a new, searing pain gnawed at me.

My fingers trembled against my abdomen, pressing into the tender spot. Liver, of course. 

Wrecked it, just like the rest of me. I'd known the risks, had ignored the warnings, and now my body was demanding payment.

How pathetic.

Darkness gnawed at the edges of my vision, pushing back against the stubborn spots of light. My head felt heavy, detached from my body. Arms and legs useless.

Each breath a battle I wasn't sure I'd win.

Time warped. Stretching, then snapping, leaving me floating in nausea and pain. Then I heard something — muffled, distant. Footsteps, getting closer.

My eyes struggled to make sense of the shifting shadows.

Then, a voice. Soft, achingly familiar. I couldn't make out the words, but the warmth of it—

I knew that voice — would always recognize it.

Cold water hit my skin. Hands, gentle, but firm, on my face. I strained to focus, to see her, to soak in the sight I needed, yet feared more than anything.

Oh, how desperately I needed to see her. Needed her to be real.

But my eyes betrayed me.

She must be so beautiful. She always was.

Then, a touch on my outstretched leg, a flash of metal — was that a scalpel?

Agony ripped through me, shattering the haze. I jerked back, my scream ragged against the tiles. My head slammed back with sickening force.

Before I knew it, a needle pierced my skin.

The room spun as whatever she'd injected battled the comfortable blur of the pills. Nausea churned in my stomach, the numbness receding with terrifying speed.

Groaning, I shifted on the floor.

My vision sharpened, my senses returning with brutal clarity. 

The first thing I noticed was the metallic glint of the discarded syringe beside my leg. 

Then the cut, a ragged gash through the fabric of my dress pants where she'd stabbed the needle in — the unnecessarily deep and brutal cut — but in the chaos, I let it slide. Didn't even register the pain as I watched the blood drain from the cut. 

I reached for the syringe and read the label. 

Adrenaline. 

Smart girl. 

But as I turned it over, a frown creased my brow. Two fucking milliliters? Was she trying to give me a damn heart attack?

I lifted my head, the question burning on my tongue. But the words died unspoken as my gaze locked on hers. 

She stood there, just a few feet away, her breath ragged, her eyes — those pretty eyes.

Terror. 

There was raw, unadulterated terror etched in her eyes. But I was right. She looked as beautiful as ever. Even with those terror-stricken eyes she was breathtaking.

She stumbled back, slumping against the wall opposite of me with a choked gasp, pulling her knees up. I didn't move, couldn't move, my gaze locked with hers.

The terror faded slowly, replaced by a weariness that was far worse. 

For a fleeting moment, I saw a flicker of that familiar defiance, the spark I both loved and feared. But even that felt strangely muted now, as if even the energy to fight had been drained out of her.

She simply watched me. In silence, in that devastating silence.

How I hated her silence.

Because her silence was far worse than anything she could have screamed, any insult she could have hurled my way. Her stillness, her silence, was the most terrifying weapon she'd ever wielded against me.

And for the first time in a very long time, I was truly afraid.

Time stretched, then I choked out, "You're angry."

Her answer was blunt, devoid of emotion. "Oh really? What makes you think that?"

I glanced down. Blood still seeped from the gash in my leg. With a trembling hand, I fumbled for a towel and pressed it against the wound. "Your cut is kinda deep. Was that on purpose?"

She didn't say anything.

It probably was on purpose.

My gaze fell on the syringe. "Where'd you get that?"

"What happened to your hand?"

"I asked first."

"Don't try to play games now, Satoru. You're walking on thin fucking ice," she snapped.

"Shattered some glass," I said after a pause ", and punched Sukuna."

"Stole it from the hospital."

"What?"

"You think I'd date an addict and not have adrenaline on hand?"

My lips twitched into a weary smile. Oh my beautiful, brilliant girl, always prepared.

"But you know, two milliliters is a bit much." I moved my leg slightly to check if she had cut any tendons, which would complicate the healing a bit. "Or are you trying to kill me?"

Her gaze pierced me, colder than any scalpel. "Looks like you're doing a fine job of that yourself."

My smile faded.

Silence.

Oh, that cruel silence again.

She didn't say anything. Maybe I should be thankful for that, because if she said anything now, I'd probably crumble completely — if I haven't already.

Ironic, wasn't it? 

How much power this woman had over me. 

Yet it was me who destroyed her.

She dropped her head, ran a shaking hand through her hair, then looked at me again. "How much did you take?"

Huh?

Why would she ask that?

Didn't she see that it's over?

That I'm too far gone?

It was unbearable.

It was unbearable, how she could still look at me and see someone worth saving. It was unbearable, knowing she believed in me even when I didn't. 

Almost pissed me off, how stubbornly she clung to that stupid hope. Because seeing that hope in her eyes — it made me hate myself even more.

I wouldn't change, couldn't. Not for her, not for anyone.

"Doesn't matter. It's over."

"Satoru, please," she choked out, pain raw in her voice, the pain I caused, "cut the crap and tell me. Now."

"It doesn't matter," I repeated, my voice cold. I couldn't bear the flicker of hope, couldn't bear to fail her yet again.

Then, the first tear rolled down her cheek and my heart shattered, the fragments piercing me from within. 

I'd never wanted to be the reason those beautiful eyes filled with pain, the reason her sweet lips trembled. Every fiber of my being wanted to pull her close, erase the hurt I'd caused.

I would have given anything, sacrificed anything, if only I could make it stop.

But I couldn't.

Because I was the problem. I was the poison.

She buried her face in her hands. "I'm tired, Satoru."

"I know."

"I'm so fucking tired," she whispered through tears.

"I know, love."

My eyes burned as I watched her fragile body shudder. Each sob of her driving a stake deeper into my already bleeding heart. I bit my lip until I tasted blood. 

I hated myself, hated myself, hated myself, hated myself, hated myself because — because I was the reason for all of this. 

She'd never wanted this, never wanted to fall in love with me to begin with, but I dragged her into it anyway.

Because I was selfish. 

Knew how it would end.

And now, I could only watch — only watch in this unbearable silence as the woman I loved wept over the man I hated. 

"It's for the best, believe me—"

"No," she cut me off.  "You're sacrificing me for this—this reputation of mine you think matters. It doesn't. I don't want any of it without you. I don't want a future where you're not in it."

She looked up then, eyes red and filled with unshed tears. "Because I love you, Satoru."

What?

The words turned my blood to ice.

After everything — the lies, the ways I'd hurt her, the desperate attempts to push her away — there it was, the confession I'd craved and feared in equal measure.

My heart was being ripped apart and stitched back together again in that very moment — vulnerable and yet so unbearably full. 

She loved me, she said it.

She loves me.

She loves me.

And I love her.

God, how I loved her. More than I thought possible.

I've never once loved in my entire life. 

Not until her. 

Not until she changed me completely. 

What is that, anyway? Love?

How can I possible describe the type of feeling I feel when I'm with her? How can I ever convey the words when they are not even clear to me? 

How cruel it is. How utterly cruel the type of feeling is, that she makes me feel.

Because how could I ever live without it.

Not when she showed me how to breathe.

How to live.

How could I ever go back to what I was before her — was there even something before her?

Not when she showed me how to breathe.

With her.

For her. 

Because she is the air that fills my lungs.

The pulse that keeps me alive.

And nothing can ever change that. So how could I ever go back to what I was before? 

Oh, how she tortures me, tortures me with feelings I rather not feel, tortures me with her love that I deserve so little. 

Nothing. 

I deserve nothing and yet she gives me everything.

Why can't I give it back? What chains me, binds this rotten heart? Why does it fail me so cruelly to love her the way she deserves? 

Because she does. 

She deserves everything. 

She is everything. 

Yet there is only my own failure in loving her. I'm failing her again and again. I hurt her again and again. I hate myself, hate myself for the pain I cause her.

Still—

How can I let her go, when she's the only good thing in my life? 

It is selfish, selfish to say the least, to want to keep her close when all I do is fail her.

Her tears were molten iron searing my insides. But I clench my jaw, refusing to let them break me. If she saw weakness, she might hesitate. Might stay and continue to be broken by me. 

Every fiber of my being wanted nothing more than to reach out, to comfort her, to tell her it would all be okay.

More lies for a heart that deserved nothing but the truth. So I swallowed down the love threatening to spill from my lips. 

I would give her anything, my life, the last shreds of my sanity — except the one thing she asked for, the only thing she ever ask for. 

Because loving her, truly loving her, meant letting her go. Even if it destroys me.

"I spare you," I rasped.

"No." She slowly shook her head. "You're killing me. Can't you see?" There was a cold edge in her voice now. "You're killing me."

"I can't change. Love isn't enough. I can't stop."

"You're the only one who thinks that." Her reply held a flicker of her old, beautiful defiance, a defiance I loved so dearly. "I'd follow you anywhere, Satoru. Even if you can't get clean, then so be it. I don't care. I won't leave you."

The sincerity in her voice was a blow, a beautiful, terrible blow. Complete, unwavering acceptance of who I was, in all my brokenness.

And in that moment, I finally realized. 

It wasn't about saving her. It was about saving myself from the terrifying vulnerability her love demanded. From the weakness that threatened to drown me if I let her in.

Perhaps I'm just a coward after all.

My heart was too damn small, too messed up. Of course I had to push her out, deny her the love she offered so freely — because it terrified me.

Her love terrified me.

"I can't do this to you," I choked out, the words scraping my throat raw. "You deserve—" I swallowed, the words catching in my throat. "You deserve better." 

"Better?" She leaned forward slightly. "You are my better."

Oh, love, that's not true.

You are my better. I'm your worst.

I wanted to say that, should've said that.

But I remained silent, unable to say anything. 

"Say something, Satoru." 

I couldn't, simply couldn't. Because mere words were too hollow, too insignificant against the depth of her pain.

"Say something, damn it!" 

"It will get easier someday," I chocked out. Each word felt like a stone I was forcing down my own throat. Each word empty — we both knew it.

"Is that what you hope for?"

"I have to."

She closed her mouth. Her silence more devastating than any scream. She didn't explode, as I half-expected. Instead, she straightened, her movements slow, weary.

I watched her, unable to move, unable to look away, as a horrifying realization bloomed across her face. It wasn't anger, wasn't sadness — it was a terrible understanding.

She knew. She always knew.

Perhaps that's what I hated about her the most.

"That's it?" she asked.

"That's it."

She watched me.  Not in anger, but with chilling detachment. Her eyes, usually so filled with warmth, were now as distant as those of a stranger. 

Still, I burned the image into my soul, knowing it might be the last time.

Then, without another word, she turned. And walked away.

When she finally disappeared from sight, a wave of crushing despair washed over me. It wasn't just the loneliness. It was the terrifying certainty that there was no going back from this. 

I had destroyed the best thing in my life — a sacrifice she didn't even ask for.

But then again, my sacrifice is really only an illusion after all, masking a desperate, terrified selfishness.

Because I'm selfish.

I do love her.  Gods, how I love her. 

But my fear was stronger.

And I was too damn weak to fight it.

─── ·✧· ───

Four weeks.

Was it four weeks?

I can't remember.

Time — it didn't tick or flow anymore. 

It was a shapeless thing. Punctuated only by the empty thump of my heart in this wrecked chest.

Those first days — or weeks, who knows? — they melted together in a haze. After she left, I was — raw. One giant exposed nerve.  

Each damn breath without the pills felt like scraping sandpaper across it, a reminder  of what I'd lost — no, what I'd destroyed.

So I was barely sober.

My body didn't even protest. At first, it was almost — nice? The rush, the way it wiped out not just the pain but any thought at all.

But the crash was always brutal. Mornings, if you could even call it that, I'd wake up shaking, sick to my stomach, and terrified of — what was I even terrified of? Somehow of everything and nothing at all. But I knew the fix for that. 

It was a sick, relentless cycle.

The phone rang, vibrated with messages. Suguru mostly. His messages growing more urgent with each unanswered text. Liver issues. Treatment. Something about irreversible damage.   

It was all white noise compared to the screaming in my head.

Her name, though, cut through the haze.

There were nights — or was it days? — when a desperate, clawing need to hear her voice, to see her face, would rise up in me. I'd reach for the phone, fingers hovering above her name. Then the fear would crush that impulse. 

I knew that reaching out to her would be the final act of cruelty.

So I stumbled on, each day collapsing into the next. 

Until the next semester started and I remembered I had an actual job.

─── ·✧· ───

I stood in the corridor outside the auditorium.

My fingers fumbled with the familiar pill bottle. Just enough to numb the edge, get me through the lecture. With a bitter swallow, I tilted the pill into my palm, chasing it down dry.

Four weeks. Four weeks of barely holding it together, four weeks since I almost OD'd, four weeks since she left, and the weight of it all threatened to crush me at any moment. 

Yet, muscle memory took over.

I limped slightly as I walked into the auditorium. My leg still hurt after she basically cut my muscle in half. 

She definitely did that on purpose. She was too smart not to not know what she was doing.

The usual chatter died down when I walked in.  Old routine. Time for the performance. Pretend I'm the professor, pretend like this whole thing isn't ripping me apart, piece by piece. It should have been comforting. 

Once, perhaps, it was.

Wordlessly, I grabbed a marker, scrawled my name on the board. Like they didn't already know who I was, right? 

Everyone on campus knows, especially after this summer's mess.

With a sigh, I turned towards the class.

And there she was. 

My breath hitched, the marker clattering to the floor. My lips parted, but no words came.

Of course.

Of fucking course. 

Second-year lecture. 

How the hell could I forget that?

She was here, after everything, right in front of me. The pain of the past weeks, that suffocating emptiness — it all melted away, replaced by a pounding headache in that one instant.

My eyes clung to her, unable to look away, drinking in the sight of her. That stubborn tilt of her head, the pain in those beautiful eyes — God, how I'd missed her. 

Yet with every beat of my yearning heart came a fresh wave of guilt. I longed to reach out, to apologize, to tell her how much I'd missed her. 

But I knew it was wrong. 

Then, it hit me. Every eye in the room was on her, following my gaze like a spotlight burning into her. Damn it.

Still, she didn't flinch.

Endured it like she has always endured everything.

Clearing my throat, I managed to speak as I adverted my gaze. "So, uh, let's start the lecture."

My voice echoed in the now tense auditorium, words tumbling out in a forced attempt at normalcy. The lecture blurred. My own words were just noise in my head. I pushed through the lecture. Don't even remember what I lectured about.

It was routine, should have been easy, but — not with her there. Never with her. 

Every damn minute, my eyes flicked towards her, drawn like a magnet. I couldn't help it. Because all I could see was her. But she avoided my gaze.

Should've expected that.

Shouldn't make me angry, right?

Still did.

Finally, thank god, the bell rang. 

I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding.

I remained behind my desk and gathered my notes. Students surged towards the exit, a faceless blur of motion. My traitorous gaze remained locked on her as the auditorium slowly emptied.

She and her friends passed by me. Before I could even think, the words tumbled out, "Wait, not—not you, first-year."

Silence. 

Her friend's chatter halted abruptly. I hadn't meant to say it, hadn't thought before the desperate need to speak to her had short-circuited my brain.

Now, it was done.

Her eyes, those beautiful eyes, met mine. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. 

Her friends exchanged glances. I could feel Zenin glaring daggers at me, didn't even need to look. She'd always been fiercely protective.

"I'll catch up later," she said then to her friends, a strained smile plastered on her face. 

They left, leaving us alone in the vast, suddenly suffocating auditorium.

Silence again.

My heart hammered against my ribs, so loud I feared she could hear it.

Finally, she spoke. "You know I'm not a first-year anymore."

I rounded the desk, the wood rough against my fingertips. "Yeah, right. Sorry." Leaning against it, I crossed my arms.

"Didn't you get suspended?"

"They postponed it."

She watched me for a moment, those beautiful eyes drilling into me. Her eyes held a coldness I've never seen before. For a sickening moment, I thought I might throw up.

"How are you?"

"Don't," she snapped. "Don't ask me that. Don't you dare pretend to care after—" 

She stopped herself, the silence louder than any accusation. After everything you did. After you pushed me away. After you nearly killed yourself.

She didn't need to voice it.

My hands clenched into fists against the edge of my desk, nails digging into my palms in a futile attempt to ground myself. Needed to maintain this thin illusion of control.

I do care. Dammit, I care more than you'll ever know. 

I wanted to scream it, to tear open my chest and show her the bleeding wound she'd left behind. But the words stuck in my throat. 

Pointless now, anyway.

Knuckles turned white, nails digging deeper.

She stepped closer. Her hand darted into her bag, then shot out, palm open. Keys glinted in the harsh light — the keys to my apartment. 

I watched them for a second. Should've expected that. Shouldn't hurt me. Still did.

"You don't have to return them. I want you to keep them."

"Why? I won't need them anymore, will I? Or are you planning on overdosing again?"

Each word was acid on an open wound.

I deserved this, the anger, the contempt, it was all on me. But why the hell did it make me so fucking angry?

"Have you ever thought about how I felt when I found you?" she snapped, her voice rising. "How terrified I was when you wouldn't respond? When you couldn't even recognize me? When I thought you'd die on me?" She took a shaky breath. "Fuck Satoru, I held your face in my hands while you were barely breathing!"

I tried to speak, but she cut me off.  "Don't. You. Dare."

"Four weeks," she went on, her voice sharp, laced with a fury that cut to the bone. "Four weeks of silence. Ever think I might be drowning, haunted by what I saw? Or were you too busy numbing yourself with pills? Hell, I didn't even know if you'd overdosed for good this time!"

Her words hit me cold, but they weren't the storm tearing me apart. It was the image of her, terrified, holding my barely-alive body, that ripped my insides out. 

Those eyes — her eyes filled with a terror that was all because of me. The guilt choked me. Seeing my near-death through her haunted eyes is twisted a knife in my gut.

It was the look of someone who'd had a piece of her soul ripped out. 

It was the look of someone who loved me.

"But then again, you never cared about me, did you?" she added, the raw hurt bleeding beneath the anger.

My stomach twisted. "Don't you dare say that," I rasped, the words ripping from my throat. "I care so much it damn near killed me. You were the only thing keeping me alive, the only reason I fought at all! Don't you dare say I don't—" I choked, the pain unbearable.

The room seemed to tilt, my anger threatening to consume me. 

I took a step towards her, closing the distance in one move. We were so close, I could smell her damn shampoo. "Every damn thing I did, every stupid decision—it was all because I care about you too much."

Her eyes widened. But only for a second. Then, that cold defiance was back, and it cut deep. 

"You're really pathetic, you know that?" she spat. "You talk about caring, but in the end you threw everything away. Because you are too terrified to let yourself love me. Because apparently your own damn peace is worth more than me."

Her words were knives, finding their mark with cruel efficiency. 

"Shut up," I whispered. "You know nothing."

"Oh really?" She glared at me, "then let me paint the picture for you—the minute things got difficult, the second you had to face actual consequences for your actions, you used it as an excuse to back away. Shut yourself down."

She moved closer still. "Convenient, wasn't it? Pushing me away, destroying us—it absolved you from having to confront anything real."

Her accusations hit uncomfortably close to home.

And I didn't want to hear it from her lips.

Not from hers.

"Shut up," I growled.

"Don't you dare tell me to shut up," she snapped back, her voice rising. "You don't get to play the victim here. You did this. You ruined everything."

Fury ignited, not at her, but at myself. 

Blindly, I reached out, my fingers gripping her jaw so tight it bordered on violence. I forced her to look at me, my eyes burning into hers. "Shut up, or I swear to god, I'll make you."

Her chin lifted, eyes narrowing. "I dare you."

The words set me on fire. Every rational thought, every vestige of self-preservation was devoured by a sudden, desperate need. My gaze fell to her lips, slightly parted, a vulnerable target I craved to claim.

Without even thinking, my hand went to her waist, fingers digging in as I pulled her impossibly close. My other hand tangled in her hair, forcing her head back. Our eyes locked, some kind of messed-up challenge.

I could feel her rapid breaths on my skin, smell that damn perfume of hers that I'd always loved, but now was driving me to the edge of control. Her heart pounding against mine.

Everything in me screamed to close the distance, claim those lips that had haunted me, haunted me for weeks. 

I wanted to claim her, to silence her, to lose myself in her, but my last shred of sanity held me back.

Because pushing her further into my nightmare was the ultimate act of cruelty. 

"Uncomfortable, isn't it? Getting confronted with the ugly truth?" she whispered against my lips.

My grip on her tightened. She really didn't know when to stop, or maybe she simply wanted to watch me burn. Perhaps both.

"Don't push me."

"Why? Scared of what you'll find if you let yourself be honest for once?" Her head tilted. Her gaze was fire, and I was already ash. "You run, Satoru. From everything, but most of all, from yourself."

"And that," she leaned closer, almost brushing my lips, "is what makes you the most pathetic person I know."

Oh, she could be so viciously cruel when she wanted to. So disgustingly cruel. It was one of the things I'd fallen hopelessly in love with. Even now, as it tore me apart, I still loved it. 

But I also wanted nothing more than to fuck that attitude out of her right then and there.

"You're right. You're always right. Maybe that's what's terrifies me about you so much."

"You're not terrified of me," she whispered. "You're terrified of yourself."

The air between us crackled. Every rational thought in my brain begged me to stop. Still, I couldn't resist. I inched closer, helpless against the force that binds and burns us both.

My hands tightened their hold as I took a sharp inhale. Her eyes fluttered shut, lashes trembling. 

Our lips hovered, almost touching, two aching souls suspended in that impossible space. So much unspoken words, so much hurt, and the destructive pull between us that had always tethered us together.

Then, the auditorium door creaked open. 

Her head snapped towards the sound. But I couldn't look away, wouldn't miss a second of her. Because this, right here, was all I had left.

Had to be Suguru anyway — anyone else would be screaming their heads off by now.

After a pause, she turned back at me. "You know, I'm still waiting."

"For what, love?"

"For it to get easier."

I looked at her, the woman I loved, and guilt clawed at my insides. That hurt, that anger on her face — I deserved it all. Because it was the consequence of the pain I'd caused.

"You said it would get easier," she added.

It was a lie. Nothing about this was easy. Nothing ever would be again. Suddenly, the room felt too small, the air thick and unbreathable.

"I don't know if it ever will."

Perhaps I was only meant to love her in silence.

In distance.

Because at least then I couldn't hurt her anymore.

Suguru cleared his throat. He stepped into the room, breaking the moment.

Reluctantly, I let go of her. She stepped back, eyes holding mine for a second, something flickering there that I didn't dare try to read. Then, without another word, she turned and walked away.

I watched her go.

Suguru approached me, stopping close by. He didn't say anything.

I leaned against the desk, running a hand through my hair. The adrenaline from that almost-kiss crashed, leaving behind a hollow ache.

The sound of the door slamming behind her echoed in the empty auditorium, way too loud.

Suguru's hand landed on my shoulder. 

"You really have a thing for bad timing," I muttered.

"Bad timing," he echoed, "or good timing to stop you from doing something stupid?"

I didn't answer. The memory of her, so close, choked every thought out of my mind.

"You know it was the right thing to do. With everything going on, letting her go was the right decision."

"I know," I said, pushing off the desk and rounding it to gather my things. I couldn't meet his gaze. "I'm trying to remember that."

Suguru then started placing pill bottles on the desk with a serious expression. The first clink of plastic on wood cut through the silence. 

"Prednisone for the liver inflammation." Another bottle. "Lactulose for the hepatic encephalopathy." Then another. "Vitamin B and K for the nutritional deficiencies."

"But you know the first step would be to—" he paused for a second then placed another two bottles in from of me. "Methadone, to manage the withdrawal and craving. And Naltrexone, to block the euphoric effects of your opioids."

Hesitantly, another bottle appeared. "Clonidine, in case you feel like you're dying."

"Suguru—" I began, but he cut me off.

"Satoru, you have to get clean. The pills won't do a damn thing if you keep wrecking your liver."

"Yeah, it's a little late for that, don't you think? It's the only thing keeping me sane right now."

He sighed.  "You're the absolute worst patient ever."

"Aw, come on, I thought you liked a bit of challenge. You're the best doctor, you'll figure something out."  I rummaged through my bag, pulling out a folder.

"Even the best doctor on earth can't help if you don't—"

I shoved the folder across the desk, cutting him off. "What's this?"

"It's a patient. An anyeurism. I'm still not allowed to do surgery, not until this thing with the ethics committee is over."

Suguru opened the folder, flipping through the pages.  "You want me to do it?  Is there something special about this patient?"

"I want you to take her with you," I said quietly. "She likes aneurysm clippings."

Suguru looked up, that familiar crease between his brows.  "She'll figure it out. Sooner or later. Latest when you're in the hospital waiting for a liver transplant, not lecturing anymore."

Silence stretched. My eyes fell on the pill bottles lined up on the desk. 

I sighed, then gathered them and crammed them into my bag.  "Let's go. I need fresh fair," I said as I brushed past him, putting the withdrawal meds back into his hands.

Without another word, I left the auditorium.

─── ·✧· ───

My eyes snapped open.

I sat upright, a strangled gasp tearing from my throat. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat threatening to burst right out of my chest. 

For a disorienting second, the world was a blur. Sweat drenched my skin. My lungs screamed for air.

Damn nightmares. 

Another night of that shit. 

I clutched at my chest, trying to quell the frantic pounding. Cold sweat made my shirt cling to my skin. The room spun. My pulse thundered in my ears.

I fumbled for the lamp, the sudden brightness stinging my eyes. But it didn't chase away the image seared into my brain. Her face, cruel, beautiful, cruelly beautiful, twisted in absolute terror. My stomach twisted.

My fault. 

Always my fault.

I couldn't breathe right.

Sleep was a lost cause now. First decent rest in a week, and my brain decided to torment me again. Exhaustion was its own kind of hell, but it was nothing compared to this. That, more than anything, was the real torture.

I slumped forward, scrubbing a hand over my face.

I'd hurt her. 

I'd hurt her, the one person who meant something.

Every day, it felt more like I'd made the biggest mistake of my life. Letting her go, pushing her away, I—

I hated myself. 

Hated the way I ruined everything.

Hated the way I ruined every chance at something good. 

It was like a damn curse.

Nothing good ever lasted for me. I should've known that by now.

Damn it, I knew it was wrong. But how the hell could it be wrong when it'd felt so damn right? When she was the only thing, the only person, that cut through the crap, made this whole mess seem like it might have some sort of meaning?

How could that possibly be wrong?

Guilt ate at my insides. Had I been a damn coward? Too scared to fight for something that made me feel, really feel?

Perhaps.

Easier to push her away, sabotage the whole damn thing, than risk actually letting her in. Letting anyone in. Losing control. But it didn't matter now, did it? 

It was over. 

I needed out. Out of my head, out of this apartment, out of my own damn skin. 

The silence was unbearable.

I pushed off the bed, muscles screaming in protest. I slipped into running clothes, the routine automatic. As I laced up my shoes, a sharp sting shot through my leg from the still-healing cut on my leg.

That bitch. 

The more I thought about it, the more sure I was she'd done it on purpose.

Good thing I was addicted to painkillers, huh?

I drowned a pill — no two, for good measure — before stepping outside into the pre-dawn chill. 

Cold autumn air bit at my skin. Each step echoed on the empty street. The pills kicked in, dulling the sharp pain in my leg. Good. Long as the cut didn't split open, I didn't damn care.

I pushed myself, needing the burn in my muscles, the ache in my lungs, to drown out the constant echo of her voice, her name, in my head.

The world blurred. Streetlights, shadows, it all melded together. The only reality was the ache in my body, the cold air forcing its way into my lungs. My mind, for once, was mercifully blank. 

No nightmares, no guilt, no memories of her haunted eyes — just the simple focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

I didn't set a goal, didn't choose a destination. 

Just moving, pushing, escaping.

Sweat dripped, but I barely registered. With each mile, the crushing weight eased. Not gone, hell, not even close to forgotten, but  — manageable. 

I ran until the city was a smear of lights, until my legs burned and my lungs screamed. 

Finally, gasping for breath, legs threatening to give out, I stumbled to a halt. The neon lights of a Seven Eleven cut through the pre-dawn darkness. My throat was sandpaper. I pushed through the door.

Inside, the harsh lights stung my eyes. I grabbed a water, my body on autopilot as I shuffled toward the register. The bored-looking teenager behind the counter gave me a sidelong look as I fumbled for my wallet.

"Rough night?"

"Something like that." I glanced down at my leg, the still-healing cut a visible red line. Wincing, I shifted my weight, favoring the uninjured side. 

I pulled out my card to pay, but then a flash of color caught my eye. Beside the cashier's register, stacked in a gaudy pyramid, was a display of energy drinks. I starred at them for a second, the name oddly familiar.

I knew why the name was so familiar.

I reached for a can and placed it on the counter. "And this."

Outside, I downed the water in a matter of seconds. Then, I cracked open the energy drink. The first sip hit my tongue. Surprisingly, it didn't taste half-bad without a shot of stale coffee to ruin it. 

But the taste wasn't the problem, wasn't it? 

Memories flooded back. Her, hunched over a massive anatomy textbook in the dim library, those beautiful eyes ringed with exhaustion. Beside her, half-empty, a mug of coffee — spiked with the sickeningly sweet energy drink I currently held.

Just the thought of that awful mixture made my stomach turn.

Still, a smile tugged at my lips.

Dammit, I didn't want to think about her. But to be fair, thinking, not thinking — it was all the same. The dull, constant ache of her absence throbbed beneath it all.

I chugged the rest of the energy drink, crushing the can in my hand.

Ah, fuck it.

Before my sanity could interfere, my legs were in motion.

I knew this was wrong. Knew every step took me closer to more pain. Knew all along this was stupid, reckless — inevitable. 

I couldn't stop.

The pull towards her was too damn strong. I needed to see her, to confirm her existence, to know she was real, to fix — what? What the hell could I fix? What the hell did I even think I was doing?

Finally, gasping for breath, I stumbled to a halt outside her apartment building.

A glance at my watch confirmed the hour — well past 3 am. Insane. I hadn't expected her to be awake. Just needed the pathetic reassurance of her presence. But as I looked up, my breath hitched. 

In a second-floor window, a flicker of warm light spilled into the darkness. And there, etched against that warmth — her silhouette. Unmistakable.

A heavy exhale escaped my lips. 

She was there.

Here.

On this same cursed world with me.

My heart pounded against my ribs. I knew, I had no right to be here. But god, I needed this, needed to see her.

She sat on the windowsill, book in hand. My future wife. Even in the dead of night, she was studying. How I loved her.

My gaze traced the familiar curve of her shoulders, the way the soft lamplight painted her skin with warmth, highlighting the strands of hair escaping her messy bun. 

In that stolen moment, I could almost convince myself that things were different, that my actions hadn't irrevocably shattered something precious.

But then, she moved. Rising from her seat, she stretched, drawing the fabric of her shirt upwards. Before my mind could catch up, she was at the window, pushing it open. I froze.

She was staring down — right at me. 

Shit.

I held my breath. For what felt like an eternity, we simply stared at each other. A muscle in her jaw twitched. Then her gaze dropped, breaking eye contact.

"You're bleeding."

I glanced down. The edge of my shorts was soaked through, a fresh stain of crimson spreading. Damn it. The cut had reopened.

"Yeah," I said, looking back up at her, "I'm a mess."

I braced myself for whatever was coming. The anger, the disgust, the righteous fury — it would all be justified. I deserved it. But she simply watched me. Her gaze was steady, devoid of emotion. 

"You know where the entrance is," she said finally, then leaned back into the soft glow of her room and closed the window shut.

Before my brain could catch up with how wrong this was, I walked toward the apartment building.

─── ·✧· ───

I sat on the edge of her bed, she on a chair in front of me, her hands already on my leg as she pushed the fabric of my shorts up. "How could you not notice that?"

I opened my mouth, but she cut me off, "Wait, forget it." 

Yeah. Now she remembered.

With practiced efficiency, she began cleaning the wound. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, considering how pissed she must be. 

The silence was heavy, broken only by the rustle of bandages and my occasional  sharp intake of breath when the antiseptic hit a raw spot.

My eyes wandered. Her space, even small and half-finished, felt warm, lived in. Smelled like her. Books spilling everywhere, papers scattered on a desk, a yoga mat forgotten in the corner — the organized chaos was so perfectly her.

Then my gaze landed on the half-unpacked boxes stacked against the wall. She really still didn't fully move in. Occupied with my mess, huh? 

Guilt flooded me. I didn't deserve this, didn't deserve her gentle hands on me, not after everything. 

Yet, a selfish part of me wanted nothing more than to stay exactly like this, wanted nothing more than to keep her hands on me.

With a sigh, I sank back against her pillows. Exhaustion seeped into my bones. Pain returned as the effects of the pills wore off.

Her fingers brushed the reopened cut. I winced, throwing an arm over my eyes. The relentless pounding in my head threatened to split me open, spilling all the ugly thoughts onto her pristine sheets.

"You've had nightmares again, haven't you?"

Huh? 

I lifted my head a fraction, struggling to meet her eyes. She glanced up briefly, her eyes guarded, then focused back on my leg.

"Yeah, something like that." My head thumped back onto the pillow. "Hard to sleep when your head won't shut up."

"What dose?"

"You really don't want to know."

"I asked because I do," she countered. The sharp tug as she tightened the bandage around my leg was enough to make me speak.

"Ten milligrams," I admitted, wincing. "The usual."

She scoffed, then another, even sharper, tug had me gritting my teeth. "Ngh—fuck," I moaned. 

I really needed a pill now.

She stood, gathering the first-aid supplies. "Heals slowly, doesn't it?"

I knew it.

I popped myself up on one elbow, raising an eyebrow at her. 

"Don't give me that look. You know damn well you deserved it."

I let out a dry laugh. "You really are a bitch sometimes." I dropped back onto the bed, my hand reaching for my throbbing head. 

I needed two pills now.

"You've got some damn nerve. You show up here in the middle of the night, injured, high—"

"I'm not high—"

"Save it," she spat. "You know what your fucking problem is? You can't stand being alone. Alone with your thoughts, with yourself. So you run. You run to pills, to whatever distraction you can find, anything to fill the void."

Yeah, how the hell am I supposed to want to be alone after feeling what it's like to be with you, stupid.

"You're too damn scared to face your fears," she continued, her voice laced with a bitter edge, "and when someone threatens your artificial peace, someone who might actually force you to look in the damn mirror, you panic. You sabotage it, push them away before it all gets too real, too close."

She stepped closer. "Because it's easier, isn't it? Safer to stick with the misery you know than risk having to face that void."

Every word stung, but I couldn't deny it, couldn't lie anymore.

"You're right. And I'm sorry—"

"Don't." She rose a hand at me. "Don't pretend you care, Satoru. You've made it clear how little I matter."

How little you matter? 

Oh, love, you couldn't be more wrong.

A harsh laugh escaped me. 

"You find this funny?"

"No, love," I said, pushing myself up. My leg throbbed in protest, but I ignored it. Everything narrowed down to her. I moved closer, a strange recklessness fueling me. "Quite the opposite."

Something flickered in her eyes — surprise? wariness? — but the anger remained.

"Keep going," I insisted, moving closer. "Let it out. Yell at me, tell me how pathetic I am. Make me feel something, anything other than this damn emptiness."

She hesitated. Her eyes searched mine, and for a breathless moment, I hoped that her fury, her anger, would burn away the numbness, making me feel something, anything.

Because even her anger was better than her indifference.

I couldn't stand being indifferent to her.

Might as well make her hate me.

"You want me to yell at you?" Her voice rose, the first hint of the storm I craved. "Fine! You wanna be a pathetic mess? Go ahead! Piss away your career, your life, whatever the hell you care about, I don't give a damn anymore!"

Each word hit me, but there was a desperate relief in it. Finally, she wasn't looking at me with that chilling indifference, that cold pity that twisted a knife in my gut. 

Her rage, it was fire — scorching and brutal, but alive. And I loved it.

Because it was prove she still cared, even if it was just to hate me with every fiber of her being. It was better than the void, that terrible chasm that had opened up between us after I'd pushed her away.

I closed the distance, enjoying the anger in her eyes. She flinched, but didn't back down.

"More." I grabbed her waist, lifting her with ease, and hauled her towards the bed.

"You're weak!" she spat, pushing against my chest, her voice rising with each word.

Yeah, so damn weak for you, love.

"You're selfish! So consumed by your own self-pity you can't see how you hurt everyone around you!"

Her words should have hurt. They probably would have, under different circumstances. But right now, I couldn't care less.

"Keep going," I rasped, my pulse pounding in my ears. I forced her onto the bed and hovered over her, my body trapping her between the mattress and my own. "C'mon, love, let it all out."

"You don't deserve me," she continued. "You don't deserve anyone who gives a damn, because you only know how to destroy things."

Each word was a knife. Yet, with each insult, the suffocating hollowness inside me eased a fraction. I wanted her anger, the full force of it, wanted the burn only she could inflict on me.

"More."

Her breath hitched, eyes narrowing. "You keep breaking my heart over and over, then come crawling back when it suits you, like it doesn't matter!"

"You're right." I leaned in, my thumb brushing over her bottom lip. The thin fabric of her shirt did little to hide her shivers. "C'mon, love, give it to me. I know you can do better."

In one swift move, I ripped my shirt over my head, tossing it to the floor. I leaned down again, my breath ghosting over her lips. "Hate me." My hands went for the flimsy waistband of her shorts. "Tell me how much you despise me."

Her breaths came fast, quick gasps against my skin.  I could see it all over her face — the rage, the fear, and maybe — yeah, maybe that darker edge, the same desperation burning in me.

"I fucking hate you, Satoru. Hate that you made me care, made me fall for you, then crushed it."

"Don't stop," I said, my voice a hoarse rasp. "Say it again." Before she could react, her shorts were down, exposing her to the night air. My own pants followed hasty, desperate. "Say you hate me."

"I fucking hate that you treat me like I'm just another damn plaything to fill whatever void your messed-up mom or whatever left you with!"

Okay, now it gets personal.

"I fucking hate that you act like you can control me," she hissed, but her body betrayed her, shivered running down her skin as my hands gazed her collarbone. "Hate that you make my choices for me, decide what's good for me, like you got to have control over something when you obviously can't control yourself!"

Damn, Freud himself is on to something tonight, huh? She really doesn't know when to stop.

"You're a fucking hypocrite, you know that?" I leaned closer, my mouth close to her ear. "You hate who I am, but you crave this, don't you? Giving up control, being at my mercy. Admit it."

Her eyes widened, then narrowed. She lifted a hand, as if to slap me, but I was faster. I caught her wrists and pinned them above her head, pressing them hard into the mattress.

"You know it's true," I pressed, relishing the way she struggled against my hold. "It's hard always being the composed one, isn't it? The responsible one. It's draining. Maybe that's why you're drawn to me. You love the thrill as much as I do, don't you?"

She stared at me, silent, her lips a tight line. 

"Prove me wrong, sweetheart. Call me a liar, and I'll show you just how wrong you are," I leaned in closer, my voice a harsh whisper against her lips. "We're the same, you and me. We feed off each other. Even if you hate to admit it, I fill that emptiness inside you same as you do for me."

"You arrogant piece of shit!" she spat, twisting and bucking against my grip. "You think you know everything, control everything!"

"Don't I?" My grip tightened, feeling her pulse throb against my fingers. "Seems I've got you pinned pretty damn well, wouldn't you say?"

"You know it's true. You love this. Makes you feel something your books, your fancy grades never could."

"Screw you, Satoru," she hissed, venom in her voice. "We're nothing alike."

"You really are a fool, for wanting to fix something so broken it'll cut you to shreds the moment you get close and then you cry afterwards—"

Her spit hit my face. I closed my eyes for a second, then a smile twisted across my lips. 

My future wife just spit in my face — what a good anecdote on our wedding day.

"That's my girl," I rasped, shoving her legs wider. "Tell me how much you hate me. Scream it."

"I fucking hate you Satoru, I hate you—"

Her words died on her tongue as I thrust forward, filling her completely. I closed my eyes, letting my head hang heavy for a second. 

My god, the things this woman's body could do to me. I could feel her body trembling beneath me, her heart racing as she arched her back.

How treacherous a body can be, huh?

"Hate you, Satoru," she managed to say before she closed her eyes, biting down her lip as I thrust deeper still. Her thighs spread further apart, inviting me closer, urging me onward. 

She's so damn beautiful.

I grinned, my hands still holding her wrists in place over her head. "I know you do, love. But you know what?" My lips were only a breath away from hers. "I hate you, too. I hate how you make me feel, how you expose every broken piece of me, how I crave you like I crave another fix."

Hell, I might just be addicted to this woman.

I pulled out fully, before thrusting back into her. Her head fell back, pressing into the mattress as a strangled moan escaping her lips.

She felt incredible.

Pulling back slowly, I watched her body react to the absence, her eyes flickering open to meet mine. Those pupils dilated with need, mirroring my own hunger for her. 

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not our fight. Not our problems. Not our insults that had left our lips moments before. Just us — two halves coming together in a perfect whole. 

I pushed back into her, deeper, harder.

With each thrust, I felt myself sinking deeper into her, losing myself in her. Fuck, if there was anything better than this — well, I hadn't found it yet.

This woman owned me — plain and simple.

It was madness, this pull towards her. 

Insane, perhaps.

But it was also undeniably real. So real that even though dawn threatened to break soon, stealing away whatever remnants of darkness remained, I couldn't help but chase after that high only she could provide.

Even knowing full well that when morning arrived, reality would crash down upon us, forcing us back onto opposite sides of the divide.

"Look what you've done to me, love. You're making a fool of me." I whispered against her lips without touching them.

Weren't together anymore after all.

Kissing would be too much.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly beneath me. Her nails dug into my skin where my hands gripped her wrists. With each deep thrust, I watched her face contort with pleasure and pain, her features illuminated by fleeting streaks of moonlight seeping through the curtains.

I loved that look on her face.

I wondered if I could make that look even more pathetic.

I pulled out, dragging the tip of my length across her clit before pushing back in. She squirmed underneath me, arching her back. But I denied her, keeping my unhurried pace. I wanted to draw out this sweet torture for as long as possible.

Hours passed — or perhaps mere minutes. I couldn't tell anymore. All that mattered was this woman writhing beneath me.

Groaning in frustration, she attempted to break free from my grip. "Dammit, Satoru. If you won't finish what you started, then get off me!"

I smirked. "Why so eager, love. Can't handle the wait?" I leaned in to kiss down the side of her neck. She shivered beneath me, her breath hitching as my teeth grazed her skin. 

With my free hand I reached down, running my fingers down her quivering stomach, relishing in the shivers that coursed through her body. 

She glared up at me, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Stop calling me 'love'. I don't belong to you, not anymore—" 

She gasped into my mouth when I found her clit. Slowly, deliberately, I began to circle it with my thumb, feeling her surrender to me. I plunged deeper, thrusting into her mercilessly.

Let her hate me all she wants. She can't deny the chemistry between us — a spark that refuses to fade, no matter how hard either of us tries.

She must have hated this — hated how she surrendered to me, even with all that anger. Made me wondered if I could rail her up even more.

"You think you're so much better than me?" I rasped. "So strong, so selfless, always putting others first? It's a lie, and you know it. You're just bored."

"You fucker!" Before I knew what was happening, she broke free of my grasp and had flipped us over so that she was now straddling my hips. 

Without warning, she reached forward, gripping my throat with surprising strength as she leaned down, her hair falling like a curtain around our faces. I couldn't help but smile.

"Don't project your bullshit on me," she seethed, her face inches from mine. 

Her words sent a chill down my spine, stirring up a fresh wave of desire within me. Damn, this woman was infuriating — and captivating in the worst way possible.

We glared at each other like enemies preparing for battle. 

"Aren't you a little tired? Pulling up that act all the time?" I choked out, feeling her fingers dig in further. "Deep down, you're just as bored as me, you're just too righteous to admit it."

"Shut up," she hissed, pressing harder, choking the words out of me.

This was madness. Destructive madness. But for this one desperate moment, I didn't care. It was exhilarating, addictive. Because love, our twisted, broken love, wasn't supposed to be pretty.

It was messy, chaotic, and borderline abusive. But sometimes all you need is a firm grip around the throat to remind you that you're alive.

"Harder, love," I gasped, a laugh bubbling up in my constricted throat. "Come on, make me feel your rage."

Slowly, deliberately, she began grinding her hips against mine, setting a maddening pace that left me reeling. Fuck, I think I love it even more when she hates me.

"Ahh, shit," I gasped, clutching at her thighs as she rode me mercilessly. "That's it."

Eyes squeezed shut, my head rolled back. Chills prickled my skin, possibly due to the cool breeze drifting in from the window. Or perhaps it was merely her.

She rode me with increased speed, and I could barely contain the overwhelming sensations coursing through my body. Every fiber of my being screamed for release. 

My knuckles on her thighs turned white from the force. "Oh, shit, you're going to kill me," I moaned between choked sounds that escaped my lips. 

My lips twisted into a smile again. "Admit it. You love the chaos as much as I do. The thrill, the way it makes you feel alive."

"You're wrong," she said, increasing her pace making my cock twitch inside her. "We're nothing alike."

"Keep telling yourself that," I replied, struggling to catch my breath, as she made me lose my mind. "But I know the truth—we're two sides of the same coin."

"You really believe that, don't you?"

"Why else would you be here, like this, with me?" I countered. "Face it, we're addicted to each other—the highs, the lows, the constant push and pull. It's exhilarating, isn't it?"

"You're the only addict here."

"Liar," I rasped.

Her muscles clenched around me, drawing me deeper inside her. She was close. Each contraction of her pushing me further towards a peak that I knew would soon shatter me.

But I wasn't ready yet. Not quite.

I shifted our positions, sitting upright before spinning us around so she was now beneath me on the mattress. I positioned myself behind her, forcing her down onto the mattress.

I slowly slid my hand along her spine as I pushed her further down, feeling her tremble beneath my touch, the softness of her skin beneath my fingertips. 

It was intoxicating to watch her submit to me.

"Fuck, you'll be the death of me."

Leaning down, I pressed my lips against the small of her back, feeling her shiver once more. My hand continued its descent, stopping just short of where she needed me.

"Satoru," my name fell from her lips.

Oh, how I loved it when she breathed my name like that. I couldn't resist her — could never resist her. I was at her mercy. Even now.

She arched her back, silently pleading for me to continue. I slid my hand between her legs. "God, you're so fucking wet," I murmured, slipped a finger inside her, then another. She was so tight, so warm. 

I couldn't wait to be inside her again.

She gasped, pushing back against me. "Don't stop."

Curving my fingers, I searched for that spot that I knew would drive her mad. When I found it, she cried out, her hips bucking against my hand. Her hands scrabbled at the sheets, grasping for purchase as I started to move inside her.

"Yes, fuck," she moaned, spreading her legs wider. "Right there."

Oh, love. I know you like that.

I smiled, relishing the fact that I knew her body better than herself. I knew every inch of her, every freckle, every scar, every sensitive spot that made her squirm. 

"More," she begged.

I happily obliged, adding a third finger and thrusting deeper. She was soaking wet, her juices coating my fingers as I fucked her with my hand. Her moans grew louder, more urgent. She was close, so close.

I increased the pace of my fingers, pumping them in and out of her as I used my thumb to apply pressure to her clit. 

However, as her moans reached a fever pitch, I withdrew my fingers, denying her release.

She gasped, glanced over her shoulder at me, her mouth open, but said nothing — probably out of breath. 

I brought my fingers to my mouth, savoring the taste of her. It was so uniquely her. I couldn't get enough.

Leaning in, I pressed my body against hers from behind, my hard length probed at her entrance. 

I leaned down over her, my hand snaking into her hair. I grabbed it tightly, forcing her head up to meet mine. "I love you, first-year," I murmured against her ear.

She trembled, but her defiance remained strong. "I hate you."

I sighed — always so fierce, makes me wonder what it takes to fuck that stubborn attitude out of her. 

"It's alright, I love you enough for both of us."

With that, I pushed her head down into the mattress. Her cry muffled by the sheets beneath her as I thrust into her once more, bottoming out inside her with a groan.

I began to move in and out of her. Faster now, harder until the headboard slammed against the wall. Her muscles clenched around me, drawing me deeper inside her. She clawed at the sheets beneath her, her moans muffled by the fabric.

As her cries grew louder, I quickly pushed her face further into the mattress. "Quiet, first year," I murmured as I angled myself to rub against her G-spot, making it harder for her to keep quiet. "Wouldn't want to disturb anyone in the middle of the night, would we?"

Neither of us spoke a word — not that she could but — perhaps because there was nothing left to say. Instead, we communicated solely through our actions, saying everything that needed to be said without opening our mouths.

I increased both the pace and pressure. Nearly causing her to fall forward hadn't I held her in place with one hand on her waist and one sill in her hair. Her breath hitched, her entire body tensed as she approached her breaking point.

Oh, how I loved feeling her tighten around me.

Bringing her closer to the edge was a thrill like no other. Watching her lose control, hearing her cries and moans, feeling her body tremble beneath me — it was intoxicating.

I could feel myself getting closer to the edge, my balls tightening as I approached my own release. 

Her cries grew louder, more urgent, until finally, she shattered around me, her orgasm triggering my own.

With a final thrust, I emptied myself inside her, filling her completely. Her contractions milked every last drop from me, her body still quivering around me. 

I stayed inside her, savoring the feeling. It might be the last time.

I was panting, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I tried to catch my breath. My cock was still twitching inside her. Reluctantly, I pulled out with a low moan.

I stayed behind her for a moment longer, admiring the curve of her waist, the sheen of sweat on her skin in the sliver of moonlight. 

Don't know when or if I'll ever see that again.

Time seemed to stand still, suspended indefinitely as we tried to find our breath again.

Then she turned her head. "You're a fucking idiot," she finally said.

"Tell me something I don't know."

She shifted to face me, her expression serious.  "Promise me something."

"Anything you want, love."

"Promise me, you won't kill yourself with your pills."

I swallowed hard. That's not what'll get me, I thought, as I felt a sharp pain lancing through my right side.

I moved closer, cupping her face with my hands that trembled slightly. For an insane moment, I wanted to kiss her, but I knew I couldn't — couldn't ever again. "I promise," I rasped.

The words heavy with a lie we both knew.

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note: wooooaaa, another insane!gojo chapter lol. this chapter really killed me, was crying, screaming, throwing up while writing.

i'm equally scared and excited to hear what you think about todays chapter, ngl. originally i didn't plan a smut scene in this chapter, but you know, somewhere down that line gojo just happened and here we are. 

also like, i think now both their's darkest secrets are now out — in the worst way possible. also because i keep getting messages regarding how much chapters are left of the story, idk i write form chapter to chapter. we're down somewhere the 60—70 % line with the story i guess, but we'll see. still more to uncover of gojo's past and all that.

also sorry for the people asking of for more fluff and happy moments, ehhh, there will be some in the future?? also i'm still sticking to the plan of a happy ending, so don't worry!! gojo fucked up big time and the next chapters will center about him trying to fight his fears and get shit together — let's see if he can do that. curious myself.

so thank you so so much for sicking by with the story. sending kisses to all of you lovely people seeing me messages, leaving likes, comments and reblog stuff. it really makes my heart happy everything i see a notification. love you all sm!! ♡

okay my last note, just so you know, i'm going on vocation soon, so the next chapter will be a bit delayed again, sorraaaayyy!! wishing you a great day or night and an awesome weekend ahead! ♡

🏷️ @sad-darksoul @aerithsthingss @mylovelessnightmare @bbyxxm @musababy @neuviloved @ykehqqy @hexrts-anatomy @fvsm4x @tw0fvced @heijihattorisgf @sadmonke @thatsopanu @sirencholia @sugurusdiscordmoderator @erwinslut @shervinss @certainlysyko @mechalily @purplehallow11 @kendall0111 @bloopsstuff @therealestpussyeater @louoi7 @whereflowerswenttodie @billiondollarworth @deluluforcarlos55 @starrynight-777 @vina21 @michelleeveline @boba-is-a-soup @cre8inghavoc @love-jelly @daimiyu @d0nk3y-k0ng @mo0nforme @smolbeanzzz @oneiricals @ynishalee @gojolvrr34 @nanasukii28 @ariiiii0938 @kelppsstuff @tojisdollx @drakenswifeyy @bakarinnie @vina21 @phoenix-eclipses @nanamis-baker @neptnszn (pls comment on the series masterlist to get tagged in the future!)

#symptoms and causes #gojo saturo #jujutsu kaisen #saturo gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x female reader #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo angst #gojo angst #jjk smut #gojo satoru #jjk x you #jjk fanfic

[the-witchhunter]

I’ve had an interesting thought swimming around my head that I swear I’ve been meaning to write

You know what would be an interesting combination of characters?

Jazz and Harvey Dent/TwoFace

Specifically a Dent just getting back on his feet, released from Arkham and trying to learn how to exist in the world with his condition

I’m thinking a reveal gone wrong, Danny has disappeared to ancients know where, so Jazz cuts ties and Stays with her Uncle Dent, or maybe her bio dad if that’s more your game. Just an soaking wet and miserable Jazz showing up at his crappy apartment saying she’s his daughter or niece and him resisting the urge to flip a coin because he has enough on his plate as is, only to let her in telling her they’ll talk about it in the morning and point her to the shower so she can clean up and dry off

Why do I think this would be an interesting combo?

Jazz’s interest in psychology. A lot of times, as a fandom we depict her as an expert, and in a future timeline where she went to school and has been practicing psychology maybe, but default Jazz? She’s not an expert

Jazz wants to be a brain surgeon, psychology is an interest of hers but her understanding is very limited. She quotes Freud and Jung and has some amount of academic knowledge of the field, but she clearly doesn’t understand that psychoanalyzing friends and family and offering unwanted psychiatric advice is actually rude and something she shouldn’t do. She lacks understanding of actual therapy and is clumsy in applying her knowledge to people she knows

And I find putting her in proximity of someone with DID and probably PTSD would really be an eye opening experience for her

Because Dent might humor her, TwoFace will call her out. They both have hung around Harley to know enough to tell her, “maybe don’t take Freud so seriously” because man does everything go back to sex with Freud, and maybe quoting a guy that says she wants to boink her dad is not as strong of a point as she thinks it is

And the thing is, Harvey would likely still be receiving therapy as an outpatient, potentially taking meds to help deal with his conditions, likely a mood stabilizer or anxiety med to manage PTSD symptoms, so she’s front seat of him learning to live as a regular person in Gotham with his condition. She’s gonna see his good days, his bad days, the side effects of his medication, and it’s going to change her idea of what psychology is. It’s not just quoting things at people, it’s not just saying “this is good for people” but she’d see what it being put into practice would look like

Maybe that’ll push her away from the subject. Maybe it’ll make her more inclined to study, to learn not just about it as an abstract but how to actually apply it to help people. Learning about actual therapy practices. Maybe living first hand with mental illness would be the push to switch from neurosurgery to clinical psychology in her future plans

Also I just think that Dent would be empathetic and do what he could to help her, meanwhile TwoFace would help her cut loose a little, get a little chaotic and have some fun

You can’t tell me there’s not something fun about her and “Uncle Two-y” having a night on the town that only results in a little property damage. Relax Harv, they didn’t do anything too illegal, because they didn’t get caught or nothing

#danny phantom #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc #writing #writing prompt #jazz fenton #two face #harvey dent #I spend a lot of time thinking about Harvey dent and two face #and how his DID affects his character #because it’s beyond there being a good side and a bad side #two face is a lot of Harvey’s anger and ‘base impulses’ #Freud would call him the Id while Harvey is the ego #base impulses and the arbitrator between impulses and the rules society creates #the judge would likely be the superego if this version has him #all rules

[carsonian]

Steve/Tony fic recs | theme: "SOFT"

I've read a decent number of SteveTony fics and I wanted to give an indecent amount of love back to the writers who put out such gawrjus pieces. The theme for this list is "SOFT" in capital letters because it's not your average erectile-dysfunction soft but some real silk-scarf soft shit. You know, the classics: the diabetic stuff, the ooey-gooey stuff, the puddle of feelings stuff...

Now I don't want NOBODY saying, girl, I've read that, are you being for real? Because guess what? I am always being for real and these fics are real, and you can always re-read them. So spread the love. Respect!

"There's an App for That" by Annie D (scaramouche) (@no-gorms) - I know you're looking at me and saying, aight look Carsonian, whatchu takin me for? You think I'm some greenhorn mark to put down a flag for SteveTony witout cracking Annie D's stash three times whole? Well, to that I raise: my glass. Cuz samesies. But truuuuust me, this fic is worth the re-read. It is a stroke of genuine AU brilliance that doesn't get the hype it deserves (a billion kudos of hype pls!). Super solid set-up, refreshingly quick lines, the kind of easygoing falling together that is just jazzy to relish. This fic is like a date with an almond huddled inside. Sweet and mushy but with a surprisingly solid bite at its core. Summary goes:

Thanks to the modern gig economy, Steve is the successful owner of a break-up service, i.e. people pay him to break up with their partners for them. One day, he gets the first break-up request for Tony Stark.

😏 Uh-huh. Oh okay. Meet-awkwuuurd time. J.A.R.V.I.S., cue up "Start of Something New" by HSM. 😏

"The First Time I Went Dancing Sober" by schemingreader - This fic is like good wine; it ages like a beauty. This month will make it ten (10!!!) years since it was published but by God does it hold up. It holds me up. Like a firm but comfortable back brace. Summary goes:

Steve Rogers is a great physical therapist who works with sick kids. Tony Stark is a damaged biotech engineering genius who really wants to be one of the good guys.

You.... you know the vibes, don't you? You--uh, you catch the flow? Yeah, you do. C'mon, read this fic and give me a hug, brother. I'll clasp you close and whisper homoerotic sweet-nothings into your ear while we hug, partner. It'll be silly romantic, bro.

"we pick ourselves undone" by laramara (@commandersteverogers) - Another old-but-gold fic. Hang on, read the summary first:

It might appear that award-winning surgeon Tony Stark, the head of neurosurgery at Shield Hospital, well and truly has his life together. Now if he could only figure out how to tell people that his father, world class neurosurgeon Howard Stark, is locked away in a nursing home with Alzheimer’s, devise a way to get Chief Fury off his back for good, and work out what the hell he’s going to do about the weird on-again-off-again thing he has going with the head of cardio, he’d finally have everything sorted.

Now that's what I'm motherfucking talking about. This fic is also ten years old et voilà: a certified historical moment. When I first read this, I thought about quitting fic writing; it's that good. And then I re-read it and life was okay again. Tee El Dee Arr: I want to give this fic a smooch on the mouth and a sincere insurance plan.

"for better or for worse" by earliebirb (@earliebirb) - This is the fic you re-read when you want to remember why you're into Steve/Tony. It's iddy, it's tender, it's achey but beyond all a that, it's SOFT. Soft like whipped cream. Soft like a vanilla ice cream milkshake. Soft like Tony's tush and Steve's tits. R-E-S-P-E-C-T! Summary goes:

Sitting quietly like this, Tony can almost pretend that nothing has happened, that this is just another normal day of Steve waking up in bed next to him. Married and in love with no threat of divorce looming on the horizon. Of course, that is before he catches sight of Steve’s bereft ring finger. He wonders how long it has been since Steve’s ring finger is empty. He wonders if he should start taking off his own, too. He wonders if Steve wants him to take it off.

I know, I know, you're going: Carsonian, wyot the hell, this sounds like angsty stuff. Shhh. Shhhhh. Shhh. I'll get my hand off your mouth just as soon as you start listening. Sport, this is the ooey-gooey stuff. All of the angst is the hot chocolate fudge. It's what makes the milkshake so bloody damn good. Now get da fuck outta here and read this fic!!! Or re-read this fic!!! It's worth it! (Just like Steve & Tony's relationship in the fic, shhh no spoilers.)

Warmest and Brightest by ishipallthings (@ishipallthings) - Naww shuddup I don't want to hear any accusations of favouritism. Yeah I think Jen is aces, but I'm not speaking from a place of bias when I say her fics are aces too. It has been scientifically proven. By Tony. And me. Here's the source. Also, I read this WAYYYY back when, and put it down in my list as "sitcom/hallmark set up with stevetony charm". So if you're into that, you know what to do. And if you're not into that, get da fuck outta here!!! You can not NOT be into that. Okay but if you're seriously not into that, no judgement. Okay, a little judgement. With 100% love. Summary goes:

It’s Christmas Eve, and Tony’s supposed to be getting decorations ready for his and Rhodey’s Christmas bash in their new apartment. Instead, he’s stuck in an elevator with the hot guy from 12A Steve, who doesn’t seem to be in much of a festive mood. It turns out to be a bit of a holiday miracle.

Y'know what else is a miracle? How I got through this fic without kicking my feet up like a gleeful teen in a 2000s romcom. Y'know what else? I totally didn't get through this fic without doing that. Maybe the miracle is in the friends we made along the way 🧑‍🤝‍🧑(that's me n u, babey, holding hands as we watch Steve and Tony debate superior rom-coms into a relationship).

"One Last Christmas" by Captain_Panda - Speakin' of Xmas miracles, here's another fic that is super soft and set during the Christmas holiday period. And YEAH I'll admit it FINE FINE. I'm deffo playing favourites here....but as we all know, I am a Captain_Panda fan first 😤❗, a SteveTony fic enthusiast second. Respect!!! Summary goes:

You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch. The year is 2012. Cuddly-as-a-cactus Tony Stark is throwing a Christmas party for his fellow Avengers. It's all going really well--except for Tony, who is quietly succumbing to his own demons.

You see how the summary says "cuddly-as-a-cactus"? Well, it don't matter because the fic will cuddle you anyway. Tony gets cuddles, we get cuddles, the world gets a cuddle. It's all cuddles in here and you best believe I'm weeping at the slumber party. In this fic, the world is soft and rough-edged and love is worth losing for. It's beautiful. Gawly I'm weeping again. Last time I read this fic, I wrote this in my comment and it still holds true.

And that's all she w"rec"ked!

Go forth: SteveTony lovers, fuckers, ambassadors, champions, perverts, freaks, losers, dreamers, legends! Read, re-read, kudo, comment, spread legs and spread love.

#fic recs #stevetony #if any of the fic writers want me to untag them give me a shout #anyway i know a lot of these are *known* fics but HEY this is a fic REC post #not a hidden gems post #that's a different draft altogether....

[holocene-sims]

What is an alternative life path your OC might have gone down? How different would their life be if they'd made those decisions?

What is your favorite thing about your OC?

For Grant Please!

thank you so much!! 🤍💖

1. what is an alternative life path your OC might have gone down? how different would their life be if they'd made those decisions?

honestly, grant has so many "butterfly effect" moments. i'll try to list a few of the more interesting ones (starting the most obvious one but impossible one, which would be "grant's parents were actually nice and his sister didn't die, so he's a well-adjusted human being with no trauma.")

two alternate paths depend on his career! obviously, we know in canon that he was first an aerospace engineer and secondly a pilot (though currently a bartender - we'll see what happens with his dream job soon!). however, his parents wanted him to be a doctor, and he grew up playing hockey, including in college.

if he hadn't lied to his parents about his college majors and had instead done biochem for them, he'd be MEGA unhappy. he'd be good at his job because he is very smart and willing to learn and he does like looking after people, but again, unhappy here. i'd say he'd be in a specialty that would let him work at a hospital because i think he'd get bored if there weren't a change of scenery/some excitement. specifically, i could see neurosurgery. one, some excitement, and two, i think if he were a doctor, he'd also be insufferably stuck by coincidence in a specialty that his parents would be TOO proud of.

if he stuck with hockey, he'd also be unhappy. he never wanted to do it professionally anyway but let's say he did. it'd be terrible. he'd still have the problem that is his incurable autoimmune disease, so he'd either (1) continue having his previous painkiller addiction fueled by doctors who don't give a fuck about you and only want you to play, or (2) still figure out his own shit and choose to step back from the sport, which would just put him back at square one.

another alternate option for his life would be that he didn't leave los angeles when he required surgery for his condition. then he'd be basically all alone when you know who *cough cough, his ex* cheated on him and that would have been ugly. he also would have been very unhappy here, too, because california was never a place he enjoyed living. he's fine with living outside of his home state but only if he chooses the location (and los angeles was not chosen by him). after the päivi incident, it'd be worse.

last one: what if he didn't break up with päivi? if he stayed with her, he could make it work, but it would NEVER be the same. he'd always be very uncomfortable and fearful around her, and they'd continue to be in conflict. plus, he'd have to consider the reason behind the cheating, which was because she was homesick. 100% he'd be too nervous to assert that he does not want to leave the country to live in finland, a place that he's not super in love with because of his dad, and he'd be stuck probably moving away with her. he's not going to reject her on that if he doesn't break up with her.

SORRY THAT WAS A LOT

but you know, ironically, grant is on the best path tbh, given that his early life is an unchangeable horror that he couldn't control. had he chosen any other path i mentioned, he'd be MUCH worse off. and i didn't even delve into all the times grant attempted to kill himself. had he been successful...well, he'd be dead, but the repercussions on his family and friends would be heartbreaking.

2. what is your favorite thing about your OC?

this is going to sound VERY basic but honestly, i like that grant is just a nice guy despite it all. shannon conveyed to him in a story post that it's amazing he manages to remain so kind and that's true, i think. he COULD be a hateful and bitter person, but somehow, he still tries to see the best in people and would give up everything in him to take care of or be kind to someone.

it's tragic in a way, you know, but still impressive.

i also like that he's learning to know when to put his foot down. he is figuring out that some people actually don't deserve that goodness in him. like i said above about the alternate lives thing, grant is smart and willing to learn, and even though healing is painful and leads him to make some of the most embarrassing "mistakes", he is still learning. he can admit he doesn't know everything (and he certainly doesn't know everything about life.)

#tw suicide mention #hlcn: story extras #hlcn: oc info #hlcn: grant #honestly the AU/alternate life choice questions give me SO many ideas #i tried to answer it shortly but i could do a whole debrief about him had he chosen those other paths

[mknbrd]

Five times + cameras (CCTV. Polaroids. Phone etc)

one.

the ct machine they'd rigged up is loud. bobbi doesn't mind it — it drowns out her thoughts, the guilt, the wave of nausea rolling over her every time she looks at him for too long. she'd insisted upon it, because sure, she had the maps, the scans, the surgery plans, all of it, but she refuses to trust it any more than she has to.

she doesn't watch his face over the monitor. she really can't bring herself to do it. she'd helped put him here, and, at best, there's a not-insubstantial chance that she'll kill him on the table, too — fifteen point five percent chance of mortality in cases of emergency neurosurgery, she'd told natasha, and that had been in cases where the people performing surgeries had trained for that kind of thing. bobbi had taught herself over the course of weeks on cadavers, and youtube videos, and anything else she'd been able to get her hands on.

the computer beeps at her when the scans start to pull up on her screen, and yeah, if they pull this off, bobbi'll consider putting in for the lottery. she blinks at the scans over her coffee, once, twice, and then turns her head to watch the bed slide out. he's too still. she keeps waiting for him to roll off the bed and ask her to wear adult shoes to work, or ask to see her tits, or whatever. not this. this isn't right.

but then, the ct machine isn't making noise anymore, and the wave of guilt-related nausea comes back, and bobbi turns her whole body away from the setup to puke into a trash can.

two.

natasha is driving, and bobbi's grin is a little sex-drunken when she picks up the phone to dial. " hi phillip, i need you to pull the cctv footage from the saks fifth in midtown, discreetly — . . . because i asked nicely . . . when the video footage of your wife getting fingered in a luxury stores goes live on the nightly news, you'll really only have yourself to blame that you didn't grab it and take it home for yourself . . . that's what i thought. goodbye, phillip. "

three.

he tells her that she went too early over comms — agent nineteen, what the fuck was that ? — and bobbi rolls her eyes back into her skull as she wipes up her bloody nose and steps over a body. " don't tell me i was the only one to catch the height on that bag swinging, boss, " bobbi says, bending down on her heels to reach for the duffel in question. " we got bad intel. whole deal was a setup. " she doesn't need to open it to know it's empty, but she does it anyways, just for the satisfaction of being able to show the camera hidden in her eye glasses that it is. sure, she's a bit of a cowboy, bit of a wild card. a blunt force object, as she's been termed. but reckless — stupid ? hardly.

" am i done here ? " bobbi asks when she gets to her feet, hands scrubbed down the tops of her aching thighs. " these heels are killing me, and i'm fucking starving. "

there's a long sigh down her earpiece — yeah. we'll figure this out tomorrow — and by the time she gets back to her hotel room, there's room service and a bottle of tylenol waiting for her inside.

four.

you're late, he says, like she's not well aware of the time. bobbi rolls her eyes, mutters something along the lines of is there nothing you can do on your own ? and drops into the nearest chair like either one of them is really going to pay more attention than necessary in a meeting full of department heads and secretaries that hate them.

" what, you want a doctor's note ? " bobbi asks sarcastically, to which the corner of phil's mouth twitches. she can't help appointments running long, nor is she going to apologize for the twenty minute puke fest she'd had between the ob's office and the capitol. instead, she reaches into her pocket, pulls out a pair of sonogram scans and passes them both over the corner of the table. " before i forget, your wife said you have to put one on the fridge and make sure one gets into her office. "

five.

he's stopped pouting as much when she puts him through the ct machine. maybe it's because he's resigned himself to the fact that it's happening whether he likes it or not — she'd shouted at him once, i'm not a fucking neurosurgeon phil, excuse me for being careful, and that had put an end to that argument — maybe it's because he likes her better after several months of back-and-forth awkward bonding. whatever it is, she's fine with it, just waits until he lays himself down — she's proud, even though she won't say it — and calmly runs the machine.

and the x-rays come up as usual, and the guilt's subsided a bit. bobbi hits the button that rolls the bed out from the machine and waits for the scans to show up. they do, like clockwork, and they look better than what she'd have otherwise expected. still, bobbi leans over the microphone, and tells him bad news — his broca's area has shrunk to make room for his massive fucking ego — and he flips her off from the side of the bed, and they both grin at each other.

#i gave up writing today. these are neither in chronological order nor entirely thought out but i love u so here #tahitiwoke

[mckiwi]

“Nobody asked me about my writing” meme

I was tagged by @aelaer (thank you btw)

1. What are you currently working on?

I’ve kinda been flipping between “Oblivescence” and “Heat of the Moment”. When I get tired of one I’ll switch to the other.

2. Summarize your current project.

Currently at about 3k words for “Heat of the Moment,” it’s just a simple oneshot I’m nearly finished with. Basically Loki seeks out Stephen and Thor for assistance because there’s mysterious murders happening in Jotunheim. Unfortunately they can’t use magic and daggers for all their problems. “Oblivescence” on the other hand is at about 7.3k words. A multi chapter fic that’s being a pain in the butt cause I’ve run into a plotting problem. Essentially Stephen in the fic is struggling to deal with all the memories from Dormammu and the time loops, so he starts to use a spell to get rid of his memories. You can imagine how well that turned out.

3. Summarize your current project poorly.

In one project Stephen is solving other peoples problems, in the other he’s creating his own.

4. Describe your favorite character or characters.

Stephen Strange, a boy born in Nebraska (a fact that gets featured in “Oblivescence”) and rose to fame in New York. He’s a family man at heart despite no longer having blood relatives to turn to anymore. For this reason, particularly the death of his younger sister, he made a career for himself in neurosurgery. He enjoys trivia, music, music trivia, reading, studying, pop-culture, helping people, and annoying his friends. He feels most comfortable in situations where there’s a high success rate and/or he’s in control. He’s a broken man but he always pieces himself together again. Loss and pain are two things he knows well. The loss of his family, the loss of Christine, the loss of his hands, and the loss of his inner peace are all things that have made him who he is today. He’s an incredibly deep character but there’s a summary.

5. Post a line from your current project without any context.

From “Oblivescence”: He didn't like sleeping in the dark, never had. Part of him wanted to put some of those plastic glowing stars on the ceiling like he had in his childhood bedroom.

From “Heat of the Moment”: Stephen looks up from where he had been absent-mindedly stepping in Thor's larger footsteps in the snow, only to face the opening of a cave.

6. How do you get through writers block?

I start reading the fic I’m working on, cause I’ll eventually either get in the momentum of the fic and start writing for it, or I answer some asks on @askthesorcerersupreme so I can get in the “writing for magic” mindset without having to stick to a plot.

7. Would you want to live in the world of your current work?

Imma have to pass on that. The world we live in is crazy enough, no need to add alien invasions to that.

8. Briefly discuss your outlining process, if you outline.

Almost all of my fic ideas start out as just a basic idea, then I have to develop an actual fic out of it. “The Raven” started out as just Oh wouldn’t it be cool if Stephen collected the infinity stones in Infinity War? But then I had to break it up in sections. How does he get each stone? Why does he want the stones? What gets in the way of him achieving his goal? And eventually all those points are lined together into an outline I can write something about. So I suppose I use a sort of “divide and conquer” technique to make an outline.

9. What is the aesthetic of your current project?

“Oblivescence” gives of AU vibes but also Fix-It cause apparently the mcu refuses to even acknowledge Stephen’s trauma and backstory. Overall… oddly I’d say a vintage aesthetic idk it just fits. “Heat of the Moment” gives modern. A fun little fic with cool tones.

10. What song sums up your current work the best?

“Heat of the Moment” is literally named after “Heat of the Moment” by Asia. “Oblivescence” was actually a bit inspired by the song “Won’t Remember” by Tors. You look so much like him / The man that you were and It hurts just to miss you / When I’m there by your side are the two verses that inspired the way Stephen still has his same personality, just without knowing why he is the way he is. He has problems trusting people. Does he know why? Nope. But he knows that he does.

I’m tagging: @atypical-snowman @hithertoundreamtof23 @harpywritesfic @doctorwhitefox @webtrinsic1122 @rosewrites (and anyone else who wants to join)

#doctor strange #stephen strange #marvel #writer memes

[oboevallis]

transplant

“So you switch out peoples organs?” Zola asked her mothers new partner.

“I do, when someone can’t use theirs anymore we do a transplant for someone who can utilize those organs.”

“Hmm, interesting.”

“You know, transplant surgery is the best speciality.”

“Nope.” Zola popped the ‘p’ “Neurosurgery is.”

“Whatever you say Zola.” Nick raised his hands in defense and smirked at the young girl.

“As much as I love to talk about surgery, I want to hear about everyone’s day.” Meredith conjectured at the end of the pairs conversation.

“I scored two goals at soccer!” Bailey excitedly said, leading the other children to add in about their day. The night continued with the children’s banter until it was time for Meredith to start the children’s bedtime routines. Nick situated himself of the couch and pulled out his iPad. He had been in an ethical debacle, did he procure organs from an anacephalic baby? A pregnant woman had come into Grey Sloans ER, and Jo had read a case where they procured organs from an anacephalic baby, so she reached out to Nick to see if he’d lead it.

“Whatcha up to?” Meredith jumped onto the couch beside him.

“Ethical debacle.”

“What is it?”

“Anacephalic baby. Do I procure the organs? It’s been up for debate in the medical community for years. You can’t declare them brain dead because they have a working brain stem, but they have no brain so they’re basically just a body.”

“In my experience you sometimes have to do the quote on quote ‘wrong thing’ to get to the right thing.”

“I’ll bring it up to your Chief tomorrow hopefully she’ll approve.”

“With a move like this, your probably gonna need board approval as well.” Nick rolled his eyes to this.

“It can never just be simple at your hospital.”

“Nope!” Meredith giggled.

__________________________________

“38 week mother pregnant with an anacephalic baby.” Nick presented as he talked to the board and attendings who would later vote on the final decision. “She has decided to donate the baby’s organs. So this meeting is to get the approval of the board. It’s not officially passed by UNOS but is authorized when a panel votes on it.”

“How do you declare the baby brain dead when they have a working brain stem?” Maggie asked as she leaned into her chair.

“They have no other functionality, all their brain stem does is keep their body functioning for a couple of hours.”

“How many times has this been done?” Teddy asked as she fidgeted with a pen cap.

“A handful of times in the US.” Nick confirmed.

“Is it ethical?.” Winston asked.

“It’s been up for debate for years, but with a panels approval the medical board will sign off.” Nick then directed his attention to the OB in the room. “Dr Deluca are you certified for organ procurement on a baby?”

“I’m sorry I’m not, I can refer you to people who are though.” Carina responded.

“Dr Addison Montgomery. She’ll do it.” Amelia spoke up, looking at the place where she was picking at her nail.

“Okay perfect,I’ll contact her.” Nick jotted down the name on a sticky note so he’d remember for later. “Chief Bailey do I have your approval?”

“You do, and you have access to a transplant team here.” The meeting adjourned and Amelia left as quickly as possible.

___________________________________

“You doing okay?” Addison carefully walked in the chapel, expecting to find her little sister there. She had gotten a call from Dr Marsh and was on the first plane out to Seattle.

“Yeah.” Amelia whispered, making room on the bench for the latter. Instinctively, Addison wrapped her arm around the now grown up woman.

“A lot of other babies are gonna be saved.” Amelia whispered, it was the mantra that got her through the day of her own son’s organ procurement.

“Your right.”

___________________________________

“Full house tonight.” Addison whispered to Amelia as they stood in the corner of the Grey home. “You okay? I know it’s not been an easy day.”

“Yeah, just thinking.”

“Im surprised no one has asked your opinion in this topic.” Amelia simply just shrugged. “No one knows, do they?”

“No, no one here knows other than Link and Owen.”

“Amelia.” Addison lightly scolded, she knew it was a difficult topic, but Amelia processed her emotions out loud with other people. For her to not tell her sisters about her first son was unhealthy for her.

“I can’t be here.” Amelia set down her glass of water on a small coffee table in the corner. “Will you come upstairs with me?”

“Of course.” Addison followed Amelia up the old stairs, the pair going unnoticed by the mini dinner party downstairs. Safely upstairs, Amelia dug through her closet looking for a box.

“I haven’t opened this since I left L.A” Amelia sighed as she joined the redhead on her bed. The pair leaned against the headboard, and Amelia put her head on her sisters shoulder. It felt safe, familiar, almost like she was back in high school crying on Addison’s shoulder. Except these tears weren’t over a boy who didn’t like her back or a bad test grade. It was over her firstborn, the one who saved a whole lot of other babies.

“Do you want to open it?” The younger sister nodded her head in approval. Addison carefully lifted the lid to reveal a light blue hat, a baby blanket, sonograms, and a watch.

“He was so tiny.” Amelia smiled as she stroked the blue cap. “A lot tinier then Scout.”

“He did a lot of good Amelia, his life meant something.”

“I know I just feel guilty, I get to love Scout and teach him how to be a good human and just experience him. I didn’t get that with Christopher, he deserved that.” The younger one’s voice broke.

“I’m so sorry.” Addison wrapped her arms around her sister, not minding the tears that were falling on her blouse. What had happened was unimaginable, she never had words of comfort for the neurosurgeon.

___________________________________

Amelia settled into the gallery situating her son in her lap. She broke him out of daycare, maybe it was twisted to show her almost two year old an organ procurement of a baby with no brain. But some part felt right, she wanted to show him what his big brother did.

“So Aunt Addie is taking her organs.” Amelia whispered to her little boy. “And they’re gonna give her organs to babies who need them.” Obviously the boy was oblivious to what was going on, but he seemed to understand this was something that was important. He was being well behaved and solemn, not his usual rambunctious self (which he gets from his mother).

“She’s gonna save a whole lot of other babies. She’s magical like a unicorn.” Scout absentmindedly played with his mothers fingers as she spoke to him. “Your big brother did this.”

“He didn’t have a brain, so he couldn’t live.”

“But he donated his organs, and saved a lot of babies. Just like this little girl is going to do.”

“I called him my unicorn baby, he did magical things.” Amelia listened as they listed off where the organs were going to and for whom. “I wish you could’ve met him. I just know he would’ve been the best big brother.” She kissed the side of his head, and left as they were procuring the heart for Huston, she couldn’t bear to listen to the flatline.

#amelia shepherd #greys anatomy #greysabc #greys fanfic #scout lincoln #scout derek shepherd lincoln #nick marsh #meredith grey #zola shepherd #unicorn baby #christopher shepherd

[tomtenadia]

Remember Us - part 2

Double feature this week. Here we go with part 2. Rowan takes another step on the path of recovering his life.

Also, we get to meet the kids <3

------

When Aelin got home that night after her shift at the hospital, she was tired and not just from the long hours spent in OR. She was tired in her soul. Aelin had managed to keep her thoughts at bay while operating, but as soon as she was out they came back. It had been hard to fight the urge to go and see him again. He wanted space. That was clear so she just went home instead.

Once she crossed the threshold, laughter welcomed her. Her kids sounded happy.

She shed her coat and removed her shoes and followed the happy sounds.

Walking into the kitchen she found her mother cooking and Thomas helping her setting the table and little Freyja banging her plastic cutlery on her high chair. She was a shy girl but would become alive and loud when she was hungry. Just like her mum.

“Mama!” Shouted her daughter as she spotted her.

“Mum,” Thomas echoed his sister and ran to her, hugging Aelin at her knees “hi my darling, how are you?” She kneeled at his height and ruffled his blonde hair.

“Helping grandma cook.”

“Food.” Shouted Freyja who got agitated trying to get the attention of her mother. Aelin went to her daughter and lifted the wee girl in her arms “hi my love,”  and she snuggled her head against her mother’s chest.

“Hi mum,” said Aelin to Evalin. The woman stirred something in the pan and turned to her daughter “welcome back, darling.” She said and her gaze turned worried at her daughter’s tired expression.

Aelin shook her head, knowing what her mother was about to say “later,” she added. She did not want to talk about Rowan in front of the kids.

“Come on Tom, sit at the table. Dinner is ready.” On his grandma’s orders the boy climbed on his chair and started eating his meal.

Aelin joined them a moment later, all changed in house clothes and sat at her daughter’s side.

Thomas was three and had just started learning how to use a fork properly. They would cut the food for him and he would try to use the utensil. Rowan had been teaching him. A pang of sadness hit her and pushed back the tears, now it was not the time. She would feed Freyja who was only eighteen months old.

“Did you help grandma cook?”

The boy nodded while taking a bite from his fork and gave her a big smile. His green eyes lighting up with joy. Eyes just like his father’s.

“Aelin, let me feed Freyja. You have your dinner. You haven’t touched it yet.”

Aelin shook her head “I am fine. It can wait.”

Truth was… she felt nauseous and that feeling had nothing to do with being pregnant. It was fear. Terror of losing Rowan. Terror that he would never recover his memories and her kids would be left without a father and her without her soulmate. She almost lost him once. She would never forget the day she got the call from the hospital. Those horrible moments were forever etched in her memory.

Later on that night, once the kids were in bed Evalin joined her daughter on the sofa and brought her a chamomile tea.

“The kids are asleep. What’s troubling you?”

Aelin sighed and her hand went to her stomach “Rowan woke up.”

“Today?”

She nodded in confirmation and leaned her head on her mother’s shoulder “I had just left the OR when I got a page from his doctor. I went to his room and he was awake,” a loud sob broke from her lips “he does not remember me or the kids.”

Evalin pulled her daughter closer and hugged her knowing the pain she had been feeling for the past month “Yrene had told you it might happen.”

Aelin nodded slightly “I didn’t think it could hurt that much. He had no idea who I was. He doesn’t remember our kids.” Her sobs turned into proper crying “I am so scared, mum. So, so scared.”

“I know, darling.” Evalin kissed her daughter’s head “you will have to be strong a bit longer. Does the doctor think he will regain his memory?”

Aelin gave her a small nod “but it might take time and what if he realises that he doesn’t want us in his life anymore?”

“Rowan loves you and the kids madly. The road ahead might be bumpy but he will come back.” A ragged breath escaped from Aelin. She hoped her mother was right, because if she was not she doubted she would survive loosing him a second time.

*

Rowan woke up the next morning with an horrendous headache. He had a fitful sleep and his thoughts had been stuck all night on her. Aelin. His wife. At her side two small shadows representing their kids. In his mind he had this picture of him holding someone, the smell of lemon and verbena strong around him. But he was sure it was more a feeling than an actual memory. He had woken up all of a sudden and hadn’t been able to fall asleep properly since. His body recognised the other one. 

A nurse brought breakfast and of one thing he was sure. He hated hospital food. Which led to another series of questions. What did he eat for breakfast? Was he a good cook? What was his favourite food?

Reluctantly he finished the food on his tray and decided to kill the boredom by watching tv. According to the news it was January and the meteorologist were warning all the citizens of Terrasen of a snowstorm warning.

He was so bored watching the news that he felt glad when Aelin knocked on the doorframe “Mind if I come in?”

He shook his head “is tv always this boring?”

Aelin chuckled and for a second she saw a glimpse of him. He always hated tv. The only reason they had one in the house was because she had pestered him about it “yeah. You find reading more interesting.”

He switched off the television and faced her “I am…”  he sighed “yesterday… I was overwhelmed. It was… it still is too much.”

“I know,”said Aelin trying to suppress the instinct to touch him. Not until he was okay with it.

“Tell me something about me, about my life. Us… anything.” He started, eager to know more. He needed it “do I like breakfast?”

Aelin laughed “you do, and you are a great cook. On Saturdays you always make us pancakes and let Thomas help you flip them.” She smiled at the image. Thomas on his knees on a chair beside his dad.

“You are a healthy eater so you tend to scoff enormous quantities of fruit and veggies while complaining about my crazy dietary habits.”

She was dying to show him pictures of the kids but decided against it. One step at a time. Let him become familiar with the idea of being married first.

“You are a lawyer. A kickass one at that.” His green eyes were trained on her “you and Lorcan opened your own practice. After graduation you two got a job in a fancy company but eventually got tired of dealing with rich bastards and opened a firm that deals mostly with family law but also offers legal support to us common human beings.” She had been so proud of him. The big job had left him miserable and with very little time to live. He had been stressed and after two years he had realised that the huge salary was not worth it. Lorcan had followed him and together they had started their new adventure. They had started small snd simple, but slowly as they took in more cases they had to start hiring more people and the firm had gotten bigger and successful.

“You love hiking, nature in general and winter. We are both in love with theatre and on our first date you took me to a play.”

Rowan looked at her and that tug in his chest came back for a visit.

“We have been married for seven years and you proposed at my best friend’s wedding. We were dancing and you asked me what if we were the next ones to do that? Then you went on one knee and asked me to marry you.”

He kept listening, adding some more pieces of info to what he had gathered so far. And the more Aelin spoke the more that connection he had felt the day before grew stronger.

“What type of doctor are you?”

“I am the chief of paediatric neurosurgery and I work two floors above this.”

Rowan took a deep breath and asked a question that had been burning in him since she has appeared “do you have any photos of us, of the kids?”

Aelin felt like crying and extracted her mobile phone and scrolled through her huge quantity of photos “This is Thomas. He is three.”

Rowan looked at the boy and saw a blond mop of hair just as golden as his mother’s and two striking green eyes just like his. In the photo the boy was laughing while he held him in his arms.

Aelin swiped and the image of a little girl appeared and he gasped. There was no doubt that she was his daughter. Her hair was silver as his and even her eyes were the exact copy.

“She is so much like you.” He noticed the smile appearing on Aelin’s face. While she talked about their life her face had lit up and in front of him he had the most stunning woman he had ever seen. Probably. He wasn’t sure but Aelin took his breath away.

“Are we happy? As a family?”

Aelin nodded without even thinking about it. They were, she had no doubts about it “Yes. We wanted a family, kids. It was our choice.”

Rowan nodded and wanted to believe her, needed to believe the passion and the love in her voice.

“I need time.” He said quietly, averting his gaze from hers for just a brief moment “This is a lot that I need to process. I will need time but I want to hear more.”

Aelin sobbed and grabbed her backpack and extracted another mobile phone “this is yours. It survived the crash because you used a military grade protecting cover. I just charged it. The password is 0305.” She gave him the mobile “it has photos, texts. Everything is still there, maybe it will help.”

Aelin looked at her watch and stood “I have to go, I have a surgery in two hours.”

Rowan nodded.

“You can text me if you want. My contact is under Fireheart.”

He looked at the phone and then at her “will you come back?”

Aelin took a step toward him and kissed his silver hair as she did the previous day and then nodded.

She waved at him and disappeared through the door.

He moved his attention to the phone and tried to figure out how to switch it on. Once he did it asked him a pin code and he entered the digits she had told him.

Once the phone was unlocked he was welcomed by a picture of him, Aelin and the kids on a beach. He had Freyja on his shoulders and was laughing as she patted his head. Aelin was holding Thomas potato sack style and the boy was grinning. With his fingers he traced her face and then went looking for the photo album. Before opening he hesitated. His life, his memories were there and he was scared.

There were picture of his wife. Plenty of them and she always had an amazing smile. Of one thing he was sure:Aelin took his breath away. Photos of their kids and he spotted one of what he suspected was a newborn Freyja. He held the little bundle in his arms while Thomas was at his side staring at his sister. He saw happiness, he saw joy, but most of all he saw love. Deep love that bound the four of them. Aelin had not lied. They seemed happy. He found photos of what he assumed were friends but he could not tell who they were, he hadn’t covered that part yet. Accepting the idea of a wife and kids was hard enough. He was not ready yet to add more people. The mere idea made him feel dizzy.

He was getting tired again even if it was only morning, but he pushed through and found the app with the text messages and went to look at the ones from Aelin and he read the last one she sent him go and win your case and then tonight I will show you how proud I am of my sexy lawyer.

He scrolled back through the thread and read random texts between them until he went back a few months and saw a text with a picture attached.

You are away for work and I miss you. I went for my first proper check-up and I am proud to share with you the picture of the new member of our family. The image was greyish and grainy but the message was clear: Aelin was pregnant again.

He placed the phone on his lap and closed his eyes calming the sense of panic overwhelm him.

And with his eyes closed he tried to remember.

#rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #aelin galathynius #rowaelinkids #angst

[seoafin]

now all i can think abt is gojo ruining one of the readers dates by showing up and saying he’s their bf- and it’s hard not to believe it bc of their dynamic lol

anon he absolutely would

this ask for context

The first time gojo does it is when you’re on a date with some hotshot doctor that shoko set you up with— don’t worry, she had reassured you, her hand on your shoulder. He’s an acquaintance of an acquaintance from her short lived stint at med school, and unlike her he didn’t cheat to get his doctor's license.

You’re about to turn her down, but she tilts her head and smiles, hair curled around her finger, and you sweat. Don’t think about it too much. Just have fun, okay? You obviously can’t deny her now. You’re a slave to the whims of one Ieiri Shoko, and she knows it. Bowing your head in defeat, you mumble a when and where. 

The doctor—Hayama-san— is talking about some complex neurosurgery procedure that has a 20% chance of survival, and although the food is admittedly pretty good at this fancy restaurant you’re bored out of your mind. He’s good looking though, so you think if you just focus on his face you can ride the rest of the evening out and finally let him down easy at the end. But then your date abruptly breaks off, and stares above you.

A chair plants itself right next to you, and a familiar face enters your peripheral as Gojo makes himself at home.

He’s grinning as he asks: “So—who are you again?” Yes, gojo has nothing but the audacity to pull up in the middle of your date and then ask him who he is.

The doctor stutters out his name, flustered as he looks from you to gojo. You hide your face in your hands, and wonder if you can get something stronger than wine. People are staring, but surprisingly enough the staff don’t do anything. 

“He’s my—”

“Boyfriend!” Then he turns to you, and pretends to be offended. “Y’know, when we talked about a third party, you never said anything about it being a man!”

Hayama-san makes a choked noise. And you stare at gojo blankly, too used to him to be surprised. You should’ve known he’d pull something like this. What else more was fun than trying to get you riled up? There’s a distinctly satisfied look on his face as Hayama demands answers. You might as well make the best of your situation and tell him that it’s true, and Gojo watches you try to apologize, his smile widening when you don’t deny anything.

Eventually Hayama storms out while the entire restaurant watches. You sigh and tell him that he’s a terrible person all while he snickers. Then you catch Ijichi in the corner, looking deathly embarrassed and sigh even more. That poor, poor man. You should try to put in a good word for a raise, because nobody deserves to be saddled with Gojo’s annoying ass.

You should’ve known it wouldn’t be the last when Gojo shows up once again and throws an arm around your shoulder calling you sweetheart in front of his latest victim. This time, however, you play along (because this date is a misogynistic prick and you’re feeling a little mean). You press a kiss to gojo’s cheek and nuzzle into his neck, feigning surprise. We’re in an open relationship. What? You weren’t told? You don’t notice gojo’s eyes going wide, or his fingers stilling, and the man leaves, face red and indignant.

It continues with gojo ruining dates left and right with ridiculous excuses for what you think is for his own entertainment. You ask him if he has nothing better to do and he gasps and tells you that he’s “saving you the burden of having to break their hearts!” 

Then you become convinced that shoko is only setting you up on dates for her own amusement (she thinks it’s funny seeing gojo panic, not that he’d ever admit it) but at the same time you humor her even though you would rather be hanging out with the girls aka shoko and utahime over any man and yes that includes gojo

#stop omg why did i write so much #ok y'all are just too galaxy brained for me #for the thousandth time you wonder why you put up with this man #ripverse #m.jjk

[kaimelia]

could you write amelia and link finding out about schmico??

gossip

a/n: this is kinda? random? but basically takes place in s15 (before new york) and I know that technically link knew about schmico but shhhh pretend he didn’t! thanks for the prompt!

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

"Tell your surgical fellow to leave Schmitt alone; he's on my service, and Nico keeps distracting him," Amelia muttered, flopping down onto the couch in Link's office, a bag of chips in hand. He raised his eyebrows and closed the screen of his computer; a grin spread across the face at the sight of her entering his office so casually.

"What?"

"Tell Nico to keep it in his pants."

"What do you mean?" She sat up suddenly, furrowing her eyebrows at him.

"Schmitt and Nico? Come on, they've been a thing for months now; there's no way you didn't know." Link shook his head and shrugged. "Are you serious? Do you not listen to anything anyone says?"

"If I listened to all of the gossip around here, I think my head would explode, Amelia." She groaned dramatically, falling back into the throw pillow behind her.

"You're so boring; I was looking for details. Are they just sleeping together, or are they dating? I like Schmitt."

"Why are you asking me? I'm not one to be wrapped up in other people's business," he muttered, opening his computer again and typing into the chart.

"Nico's your fellow, and your friend, I'd figure you would know this," she rolled her eyes, huffing out a sigh. "I'm bored."

"And how does that involve me? Because I'm kind of working here."

"I'm trying to spend time with you here; you could make an effort to seem interested." Link laughed softly, shaking his head in amusement.

"I thought we were just sleeping together. No strings, no relationship, nothing."

"I mean, yeah, but we're still friends. You've seen me naked enough for me to talk to you like a normal person, Link. We don't have to be dating for me to enjoy your company."

"So what, you wanna go on a double date with Nico and Levi?" She scrunched her nose and shook her head.

"No, we don't go on dates, remember? I just wanna know what's going on between them," Amelia shoved a chip in her mouth as she finished speaking, watching as Link opened his mouth to speak but pausing. "What?" She muttered, her mouth full.

"I don't understand the appeal of knowing about their relationship. Just, why?"

"Because I'm nosy, do you need more of an answer?"

"I guess not," his voice trailed off as the door to his office opened, Nico standing in the doorway. "Hey, Nico, are you and Schmitt a thing?"

"And like, are you dating or just sleeping together?" Amelia added from the couch, sitting up as the other man walked in the room.

"Dating, why?" He handed a tablet over to Link. "Test results are back. Should I schedule surgery?" Link nodded at him.

"Ooh, what is it?" Amelia walked over to them, taking the tablet from Link's hands. "You're putting screws in her spine? Can I scrub in?"

"Oh, I don't think we need a neurosurgeon, Dr. Shepherd," Nico crossed his arms over his chest.

"She's bored and wants something to do." Link reached over, grabbing a chip from the bag in Amelia's hand. The fellow raised his eyebrows as he watched them interact. "You can scrub in if you want, Amelia." She grinned, handing the tablet back over to Nico, whose face was covered in confusion.

"What? I want a surgery. You're operating on a spine; I'm the chief of neurosurgery; I'll scrub in if I want to scrub in." She took another chip out before leaving the bag on Link's desk, returning to her previous spot on the couch. "And no, Schmitt won't be there. He's covering my post-ops."

"Alright, well, I'll go schedule the surgery for tonight," Nico murmured, closing the door on his way out.

"Do guys really not talk about who they're dating or sleeping with? Because that was super awkward," she muttered while kicking her shoes off.

"No, we don't. Hence why I didn't know about him and Schmitt." He closed his computer again, taking off his lab coat and bringing his feet up to the desk. "Wait, do people talk about us?"

"Nope. I've only told Meredith and Maggie that we're sleeping together. I wasn't planning on telling them, but Maggie found out, and I felt like I had to check in with Meredith because of some sort of sister code."

"Sister code?"

"You know since you two almost dated. I knew she would be okay with it, but I just had to check to be a good sister." Their phones buzzed simultaneously with an update from Nico. "Ugh, I have to wait two more hours for surgery? I'm bored now." She looked over at him, laying back in his office chair with his legs kicked up on the table. "Wait, are you done with your charts?"

"Yeah, why?" Amelia grinned at him, pulling her scrub top over her head.

"You can entertain me."

#amelia shepherd #amelink #amelia x link #amelink fanfiction #atticus lincoln #grey's anatomy #amelink fanfic #greys abc #greys fanfic #nico kim #schmico #my fics

[thebookreader12345]

Identity Loss - Chapter Two

Chapter One     Chapter Three

“Sam, is she gonna be okay?” William asked the older doctor who was examining me. I had no idea what was going on, but I went with it. What I did know though was that Sam, or Dr. Abrams, was the head of Neurosurgery. And because he was checking my head, that must have meant I had gotten a head injury, only I couldn’t remember how.

“She seems fine. Nothing looks to be wrong. I’m guessing the amnesia is from the head trauma. Either that, or it’s from the lack of oxygen she received when Mr. Wilson tried to choke her,” Dr. Abrams responded. Who was Mr. Wilson? And why was he trying to choke me? 

“Is it permanent?” William questioned.

Dr. Abrams shrugged. “All cases are different. Sometimes memory loss is only temporary. But there are cases where the amnesia was permanent. What I’m saying is that I don’t know, which, by the way, sounds so weird coming out of my mouth.”

William sighed. “Okay. Thanks, Sam.” And with that, Dr. Abrams left the room leaving me alone with William.

“So, William,” I start, only to be cut off.

“It’s Will,” William interrupted. “You always call me Will. Everyone does.”

“But the coat says William,” I point out.

“Y/N, can you stop arguing with me? Please? I’m having a rough day,” William stated.

“You’re having a rough day? I can’t remember a damn thing about my life except for my name,” I argue.

William ran a hand through his curly ginger hair and took a seat next to my bed. “I know. And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that.”

“It’s okay,” I admit. “If I were in your place, and you couldn’t remember me, I’d be a little pissed too. So, Will, mind telling me about my life?”

“It’s a lot,” Will reminded me. “You sure you’re ready?”

I nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be. And I’ve got nothing else to do, so why the hell not.” Will laughed softly, and seeing him smile brought a small sense of joy to me. It was weird though because I didn’t know him at all. Well, amnesia me didn’t know him, but the real me, whoever she was, did.

“Okay. I guess we’ll start at where we are. This is Chicago Med. It’s where you work as an ED doctor,” Will told me.

“Doctor, huh? I must’ve been smart,” I exclaim.

“Smarter than me, yeah, which is really hard to admit, but it’s true,” Will claimed. “So there’s that. And then there’s uh, there’s your relationships.” Will then stopped for a moment to gather his thoughts, and I was on the edge of my seat. Was I popular? Did I have lots of friends? Was there a boyfriend in the picture? A husband? Kids? My thoughts were all over the place, yet somehow I managed to calm myself down. “Your best friend’s name is Maggie Lockwood. She’s the charge nurse down in the ED. There’s also Natalie, another ED doctor who you’re really close with.”

“And?” I question, urging him to continue.

“And then there’s me,” Will added.

“So we were friends then?” I ask. Will hesitated, which seemed pretty weird to me, but then again, I couldn’t remember anything, so maybe he acted like this all of the time. Finally though, he spoke up.

“No, we weren’t friends. We were uh, we were engaged,” Will murmured and nodded to my left hand. I looked down at the arm encased in a sling, and that’s when I saw the engagement ring that sat on my finger. It looked beautiful, even in the terrible hospital lighting, and I especially loved how the jewel glittered in the light.

“You don’t really seem like my type,” I joke, which broke the silence. “But then again, I don’t know anything about myself, so maybe you are.”

Will cracked a small smile. “You’ve still got your humor. That’s good. Look, I’ve got to get back to work, and even though I really want to stay, Ms. Goodwin will have my job if I do something wrong again. But, if you need anything, anything at all, you tell one of the nurses to call me and I’ll come right up.”

“Okay,” I say and watch as Will stood up and made his way to the door. “Oh, and thank you, Will, for everything.” Will gave me another smile, and with that, he left my room. Throughout the day, Will stopped by every so often to check in on me, and it was nice seeing a familiar face. Well, I probably knew all of the nurses and other staff milling around in and outside of my room, but I didn’t know their names, so they were basically foreign. And then, that night, Will came back into my room. He didn’t have maroon scrubs on this time, and he had a satchel slung over his shoulder. “What’s that?” I ask and point to the satchel.

“Your things,” Will replied and set the bag down on the edge of my bed. “Now, get dressed. I’m taking you home.” Will waited outside of my room while I replaced my hospital gown with the clothes in the bag. It was just a pair of jeans, a plain white t-shirt, and some boots. Maybe this is what I was wearing the day of my accident. As I put on my new clothes, my mind drifted to the fact that I was going home. I had no idea where “home” was, and the dozens of possibilities flew around my head. Did I live in a house or apartment? Was it more modern or contemporary? Were there any pets? Once I was dressed, I met Will outside of the hospital room.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” I declare.

“All right then. Lets go,” Will spoke and led me out of the hospital. The drive home only took a few minutes, and I enjoyed the ride. I loved looking out the window, admiring all of the buildings that we passed. The old me probably knew this route by heart, but the new me was excited to see everything. Soon, we pulled into the parking lot of an apartment complex, and I climbed out of the car. Inside of the building, Will and I ascended the stairs to get to the second floor, and we walked down a hallway, stopping at the door at the very end. Will fished his keys from his jacket pocket, and then he unlocked the door, pushing it in. I stepped inside first, dropping my bag and shoes off by the door before taking it all in. It was so weird seeing the place where I lived, but not remembering anything that happened here. The good news was, the place looked homey, and from where I was standing, I could see that there was a bedroom and a bathroom down past the kitchen on the right, and another bedroom at the end on the left. I started in the living room first since it was right in front of me, and ran my hand along the back of the couch as I looked around. As I was taking everything in, something on the end table caught my eye. I walked over, and upon seeing that it was a picture frame, I picked it up to examine the photo inside. To my surprise, it was an engagement photo. In the picture, Will and I were kissing in front of Lake Michigan with the Chicago skyline in the background. I stared at the picture, desperately trying to remember that afternoon, and when I couldn’t remember a single detail, I sighed and set the frame back down on the table. “You want to order some pizza?”

“Uh, sure,” I respond. “What do we usually get?”

“Your favorite is sausage and green peppers,” Will reminded me as he put his stuff away. “Make yourself at home while I call in the order.” I nodded and took a seat on the couch, but it was hard, knowing that I had a life before this, a great life, and I couldn’t remember a thing about it. After about half an hour, the pizza arrived, and we ate dinner in complete silence. It felt like we should have been talking about something, maybe work, but because I had amnesia, there was nothing to talk about. “You can have the master,” Will told me once it was time for bed. “I’ll take the guest bed.”

“That’s okay,” I protest. “You should have the better bed.”

“I insist,” Will pushed. “Seriously. After everything you’ve been through, you could use the rest. I’ll see you in the morning.” And with that, Will retreated into the smaller bedroom. In the master bedroom, I dug through the dresser to find some pajamas, settling on some flannel pants and a tank top, and once I had changed, I climbed into bed. It was weird though, having this big bed all to myself, and all I could think about was wanting Will to be snoring softly next to me. So, I got out of bed and walked to the other bedroom. Peaking my head inside the doorway, I saw that Will was in bed staring down at his phone, and he glanced up when I entered.

“Hey. What’s up?” Will asked.

“It was uh, it was kind of weird being in there alone, so I wanted to come ask if you’d sleep in there with me. I know it’s probably awkward for you because I can’t remember anything, so if you don’t want to, I understand,” I admit.

“No. It’s cool. I’ll stay in there with you,” Will stated. Will and I then made our way back into the bigger bedroom and got situated. Now that Will was here, I felt more at ease.

“Thanks for doing this,” I murmur and turn to face Will.

“No problem. Goodnight, Y/N,” Will muttered and turned away from me.

“Night,” I mumble softly. I tried to fall asleep, but my mind was wide awake, and all I could do was think about Will. I had my doubts about him at first, but now I could see why the old me fell in love with him, and it was because I was slowly falling for Will all over again.

______________________

Tag List:

@prettypyschoinpink @securityfriendly-jay @scarletsoldierrr @lorenakaspersen @virtualreader @carnationworld @caitsymichelle13 @king-crockett​ @winterberryfox @anotherfan07 @i-like-sparkly-things

#one chicago #one chicago x reader #one chicago imagine #one chicago imagines #chicago med #chicago med x reader #chicago med imagines #chicago med imagine #will halstead #will halstead x reader #will halstead imagines #will halstead imagine #x reader #imagine #imagines #multi chapter #multi chapter fic #romance

[pathological-peoplepleaser-alert]

Hospital Playlist : Season 1

So, I recently re-watched season 1 of Hospital Playlist in preparation of season 2 that’s going to be released on the 17th of June, and I have a couple of thoughts that I want to share. Warning: It’s going to be filled with spoilers, so for those looking to avoid that, please don’t read more. Also, this is a looooonnnnggg one :)

“Hospital Playlist” is a Korean Drama that follows five doctors in their 40s who have been best friends since adolescence as they form a band together. While the log-line appears simple, the depth in the script and acting will enchant any audience. The narrative is free-spirited and quirky, reverberating friendships forged by love and time in a heart-warming style.

This slice of life drama realistically tackles what occurs within the white walls of the hospital. From ungrateful patients to the long wait for donors, it has it all. This drama covered plenty of cases, each of them as sad as the next. I recall when Yang Seok Hyeong, an assistant professor of obstetrics and gynaecology, had a patient who delivered a baby with anencephaly. He was considerate enough to not allow the mother to hear the baby’s cries by playing loud music in the delivery room and quickly escorting the baby away from the mother. I teared up during that scene, and I still tear up just thinking about that. I watched it as a case in a K-Drama, but it is many people’s gruesome reality, and all I can offer are my sympathies.

Despite zoning out during the technical aspects and elucidation of medical terminologies, I could feel the gravity of an operation and the burden of Atlas resting on the doctors when they held the scalpel. I liked the fact that there wasn’t any hospital politics. Rather, the show focused on the doctors, as they tried their best to save their patients. I mourned during the losses of life and celebrated with the characters after a successful surgery.

The ensemble cast for “Hospital Playlist” was flawless. The sincerity of the actors and the efforts they had put into studying and understanding their roles were clear as day. The chemistry between them was organic and the banters, natural. While they didn’t verbalise every emotion, the viewers could feel their familiarity, like they were real-life friends on screen. I was on an emotional rollercoaster as I watched this, rooting for them through hardships and cheering whenever they laughed.

“I wondered why my life was getting so difficult. It was really tough. But all of a sudden, one day, I realised how much time I was wasting. Wasting my life away like this because of what she did to me was doing a disservice to myself.”

Jo Jung-Suk did a flawless job portraying Lee Ik-Jun. This was my second time witnessing a drama with Jo Jung Suk, and while I wouldn’t applaud his performance in “Oh, My Ghostess!” (But in his defence, I found that script to be problematic) I absolutely loved him in “Hospital Playlist”. Lee Ik-Jun is an assistant professor of general surgery. He’s funny, sociable, laid-back, charming, and a dotting, single father to his son, Woo Joo.

The first time I, as the viewer, was introduced to him was gold. Naughty little Woo Joo had managed to put a blotch of super glue to a Darth Vader helmet, which was later worn by his father. During an emergency at the hospital, Ik Jun showed up decked in Darth Vader gear and bravely holding a light saber, demanding that the helmet was unglued from his head. He got his wish, but only after performing surgery while wearing the helmet.

Watching Ik-Jun and his son together is heartwarming, to say the least. You can tell how much he loves his son, as seen by the way he prepared meatballs from scratch, including the ketchup, excitedly for his son, only for the latter to claim he wanted meatballs, causing the former to trip on his way to the kitchen. I also adore how most of the bonding scenes we see between them happens over sandwiches. I find that very precious.

Ik Jun is also very friendly to everyone. He warmly welcomes the medical students, greets his colleagues with a smile, and most notably, plays as a matchmaker between Jeong-won and Jang Gyeo-wool, even if it is so the latter could assist him on more surgeries. His relationship with his sister is also beautiful. I love how authentic they are, from their bickering and the hidden ways they care for each other.

Ik Jun provides comic relief plenty of times— I nearly fell off my chair laughing when he mimicked a train, and also upon seeing how adamant he was to eavesdrop on a private phone conversation of Kim Jun-wan.

“I don’t deserve to be a doctor. I can’t control my emotions. I empathise too easily.”

I must admit, Ahn Jeong Won has a soft spot in my heart and is my favourite from the group of friends. An assistant professor of pediatric surgery, Jeong Won gets overly attached to patients and takes every loss personally. Due to his sensitive nature, he’s detailed in everything he does, earning the teasing nickname of “Buddha” from his colleagues.

Hardworking but overemotional, there have been many instances when Jeong Won swears to quit being a doctor after a patient has unfortunately succumbed, and it’s only through the insistence of his oldest brother does he continue his job. He’s immensely religious and has a close relationship with God, and considered being a priest until the season finale.

His interactions with his young patients tug on all my heartstrings. From the gentle way he gets the permission of small children to check their vitals, to the dedication with which he treats his patients and dissolves their fears.

One of my favourite quotes of this drama was said by him, “Do you know why doctors only give vague answers such as ‘We can’t be sure yet,’ ‘We don’t know yet,’ and ‘We need to observe a bit more?’ Doctors must take responsibility for their words, so we must be careful. There’s only one thing we, as doctors, can tell our patients with certainty. ‘We will do our best.’”

Despite being born from a wealthy family, Jeong Won is nearly broke, spending all his fortune anonymously covering the hospital fees of poor patients.

Chae Song Hwa summarised Jeong Won’s personality neatly in episode 12 when she said, “Lastly, there’s you (Jeong Won). Seeing others enjoy good food makes you happier than when you are eating it yourself.”

“If the doctor gives up on the patient, he isn’t a doctor anymore.”

At first glance, Kim Jun Wan appears cold and scary, but there are so many dimensions to his character. He’s blunt, assertive and has a reputation for telling his patients what they need to hear, not that they want to hear.

However, he’s possibly the most caring person, having allowed Jeong Won to, in his own words, “mooch” of him for years now. He was also always nagging and hovering over his friends, keeping a stash of chocolates for them. He stepped up as the Chief of the cardiothoracic surgery department multiple times, whether it was to act as a shield to his mentee or to reprimand his juniors about the importance of (a patient’s) life and how every single decision taken by a doctor has to be thoughtful and absolute because there’s no way to reverse such things.

A great example of his outer versus inner personality is when he’s questioned by a medical student on why he chose to be a cardiothoracic surgeon. While he claimed that he became a surgeon after asking his professor which job would allow him to get the most money, with a glimpse of a flashback scene, it was revealed that when back as a student, Jun Wan was given the opportunity to witness a surgery and then, to touch a beating human heart, and felt life, that solidified his decision to choose cardiology as his field. Recalling that scene gives me goosebumps even now. That was magical.

Jun Wan is also a huge foodie, his only competition being Song-Hwa.

“What have you done for yourself lately?”

Chae Song Hwa is an associate professor of neurosurgery. Discerning without being too critical, she is intelligent and is often the mother hen of the group. Respected by her juniors, she has also been fondly dubbed the ‘ghost’ due to her busy schedule that has left several of her colleagues wondering whether she has time to eat or sleep. She was everywhere and knew everything, which allowed her to quietly look after the residents of the hospital and the patients.

Despite being buried under piles of work, she still made the time to grade her juniors papers, and I’m reminded of one of the first instances the viewers were given of her, which was when she comforted a patient in the elevators of a hospital. The only female professor in neurosurgery, she is kind to her patients.

I adore how decisive she is, being extremely clear about what she wants, drawing boundaries while still being friendly and radiating professionalism to those around her, despite the hardships she might be going through. She routinely goes camping during the weekend and is the embodiment of positive self-love.

Some of my favourite moments in this drama was literally just Song Hwa and Jun Wan aggressively eating like they’ve been hungry since the dawn of time. Song Hwa might have claimed that the reason she ate so rapidly, so full of zeal was because of growing up with older brothers, but Ik Jun was quick to shoot her down and note that they all looked boney.

“My time is too precious for that. I want to live doing the things I like. And the things I want to do right now.”

Probably the most under-appreciated character, Yang Seok Hyeong is a treasure. My first opinion of him was ‘mama’s boy’ and while I was correct, wow, I had not expected the reason why. In his youth, Seok Hyeong was not close to his mother at all, and we could even see him ignoring her phone calls. But after everything that happened with his dad, he grew closer to his mother, developed a new sense of protectiveness and appreciation for her, and I adore that.

He was also the reason the band reunited in the first place, making that his condition for working at the Yulje Medical Center. Despite seeming aloof, he was an open book to his friends. He didn’t like to bother or intrude on people and usually kept to himself, gaining a reputation for being a loner whenever he was not around his four friends.

Throughout the season, he was trapped in a whirlwind of turmoil, from the news of his unexpected brother to his father’s death and his surprise succession to the company he wants no ties with. He maintains a calm exterior and braces through the troubles.

Seok Hyeong lives up to the sensitivity his job demands from him, softly informing expecting mothers about the risks of their pregnancies while encouraging and empathising with them when things get hard.

He prefers to stay in the shadows and allow people the opportunity to sort their messes out themselves, after reminding them that he’s only a call away if they need him. He’s an excellent confident booster and appreciates those who are responsible.

These characters stayed not only in my mind but also in my heart. Each of them has such vivid personalities I can’t entirely capture in words. Their insecurities, struggles, and feelings were so real and incredibly relatable and easy to empathise with.

As conveyed by the title, music plays an important part in this T.V. serial, by allowing the characters to reminisce their college days and also allowing them a breather from their stressful life. There are thousands of words in the English language, and yet, I can’t string together enough of them to express how I felt when Jo Jung Seok sang Aloha.

The doctors use music not only as an outlet to release their frustrations, but also to express their thoughts and feelings. To heal. Listening to the songs and the covers made by the band lightened my heart. The labour they put into practising the songs made the moments more precious.

Through the music sessions in this T.V. serial, I found my affection for each character increasing. I found myself surprised to recognise some of the songs considering they are quite old, but I hummed along and felt the air around me thrum with glee as they sang.

I also found it rather ironic that Chae Song Hwa is considered to be a bad singer (her pre-routine of gulping down raw eggs fascinated me on an odd level) although the actress who plays her, Jeon Mi Do is a talented singer.

Therapeutic and well-written, I marvel at the writer’s ability to weave together arrays of mundane subplots into endearing bliss, leaving lingering positivity after every episode along with a yearning to watch more.

I’m a huge fan of writer Lee Woo-Jung’s Reply series and was hesitant to start this drama, afraid that it would fall short of expectations. But having watched it, I can safely say that those concerns were unnecessary, and whatever expectations I had were only exceeded. I couldn’t recognise any leading plotline of this drama. To me, it simply showcased the daily life of five doctors.

As it is character-driven, there is a slow progression of the drama, which needs some time getting adapted to. It was also a little hard trying to keep track of the multiple characters initially introduced, but within three episodes, I was able to get a hang of things. The dialogues were witty, impactful and sharp, capturing my attention from the beginning to the end. However, despite containing a plethora of humorous moments throughout this serial, there was a subdued layer that focused more on the community than the plot.

I must admit, however, that I found the first episode to be subtly chaotic and slow-paced. I couldn’t grasp the concepts or connect with the characters until the second episode, after which I had no qualms.

I loved the character arcs in this story. It was a pleasure to observe their journeys and diligence as various storylines diverged or amalgamated, how they grew as individuals while maintaining their core values. The flashback scenes were fascinating to watch and compare how they are now to how they used to be.

The cinematography was stunning. I was in awe at how different shades and tones of light could impact not only the setting of the scene but also the mood of the viewers.

I recommend “Hospital Playlist” to anyone who likes to watch T.V. serials possessing the perfect amount of drama, laughter, angst, warmth and love. This serial is a truly rare gem in a basket of rocks where the storylines are solid without being too predictable.

#hospital playlist #season 1 #kdrama #spoilers

[skullsandwineglasses]

You Are My Hero (2021) Review

Overall impression: The drama started off really cute and promising in the first half, but was weak and underwhelming in the second half. In-depth review below (with spoilers).

A cute and fluffy romance premise

Right off the bat, the love story between the leads is tropey as hell, but manages to not be tacky and is actually really endearing. The ML, a SWAT officer, rescues the FL, an aspiring neurosurgery medical resident, from a bank robbery 2 years ago. They leave a lasting impression on each other, but don't keep in touch afterwards. The FL never sees his face because he's wearing a mask, but the ML remembers her name. 

Fate brings them together again 2 years later when the FL enrolls in an emergency rescue training camp that’s supervised by the ML. He recognizes her and falls for her immediately, but she doesn’t know he’s the one who rescued her years ago. 

Their relationship starts off rocky, similar to how a CEO romance would start: the ML first appears cold and distanced, strict and brooding, but actually has a huge soft spot for the FL. The FL is put off by his coldness, but is sometimes surprised as random moments of tenderness. When the training camp is complete, the ML becomes a cute and awkward lovesick puppy who tries to figure out how to woo the FL because this is his first time (and hers) falling in love. It’s fun seeing him become so flustered around her when he’s usually so calm, collected, and in control as the leader of a SWAT team. 

On other hand, the FL slow falls for the ML when he reveals a more real and vulnerable side of himself. They banter a lot, but she slowly warms up to him. 

And as a no-nonsense drama, the two leads acknowledge their feelings for each other quickly (although they haven't directly admitted it to each other yet). They're in the awkward phase of attraction and going on semi-dates, but they haven't defined the relationship yet. *Sigh* First love. 

Things I enjoyed

I appreciate that although the FL is a Mary Sue, she does make mistakes. She's smart, but she isn't the top of her class. She’s kind and selfless, but she also isn’t overly tolerant of people. When people overstep their boundaries and are unjust to her, she’ll confront them. Ma Sichun is such a natural actress. She can do cute and flirty, she can be clueless and lost, she can be confident and in control, she can be angry and indignant. I especially loved her character’s adorable interactions with her best friend Xiao Xia. 

The acting in this drama was all around great. It’s probably the best part of the drama. It was so comfortable and fun to watch. I think AvenueX described it best: the acting in the drama was so natural that sometimes it felt like the actors broke character but the director kept the take. Some of the laughing, giggling, and gestures felt so genuine that you wonder if it was improvised, scripted, or a blooper scene that became canon.

I like how the FL and ML are each experts in their respective fields. They have very separate careers that occasionally intersect. I'm tired of CEO dramas where the FL is working for the ML, or there are class differences between them. Instead in this drama, the FL faces problems everyday at work that the ML doesn't know about. Her problems do not relate to him at all. She has problems that he can't understand or help with. Likewise, he also goes on missions that she isn't aware of. They work in completely different fields with different skill sets. They even talk about how their philosophies differ. Her job is to save lives but not make moral judgments of character, while his job is to enforce the law, which is all about assessing character. Where their careers do intersect, is the goal of saving others and putting others first before themselves. 

Another dynamic of the relationship that I really like is that the FL and ML are always occupied and on the move because of their professions, and yet, their loyalty and devotion to each other never change. They are each other's rock. Despite encountering so many different situations and people, despite all of the chaos and noise from their careers, nothing can really outweigh how important they are to each other. Despite being out in the field, far away from home, their hearts are anchored to each other. I just like this trope a lot, i.e., the trope of being away from home, but remaining true and loyal and unwavering. Despite having bigger and more important things in the world to deal with, their ultimate dream is wanting to just spend some time together. It's analogous to how in ancient period dramas, there are generals who command armies and and maintain a strictly professional demeanor and don't mention a word about their family to their soldiers, but when the general retires to his tent at night, he's writing a long and thoughtful letter home, because his loved one was on his mind all day. 

The supporting characters are great, but I do like the older and mature supporting couple (Xing Ke Yao and Shao Yu Han) more than the younger supporting couple (Xiao Xia and Shu When Bo), despite the actors playing the younger couple being literally my age. I also appreciate how the FL has multiple close friends who are quite separate from each other, instead of just the single token sidekick best friend (although the second half of the drama does just focus on one of her main friends). It's relatable because we all have different groups of friends. We have friends from high school, we have friends from college, and we have friends from work. Most of these friends are kept separate, and sometimes they interact. But I like how this drama shows that the FL has a small network of friends from different walks of life. 

Things I didn’t enjoy as much

The plot derailed and lost its charm after episode 30. There were fewer hospital cases, and the ML had to complete a mission that I had no interest in following. There was no other point to the superfluous mission besides to show that the ML has a busy and demanding job that prevents him from being at the FL’s side when she needs him the most. 

I also really, really disliked the introduction of the random love rival in episode 31 just to try to stir some angst. The plot device was pointless because in the end, there was no angst because the leads have a strong and healthy relationship, and so the love rival’s attempt at sabotaging the relationship was just laughable and completely random. It just disrupted the mood and pacing of the drama because that plotline just came out of the blue. It was just so annoying seeing the love rival and her sister cause trouble and wreak havoc in the FL’s workplace. 

The drama did a good job at showing how the leads put their careers first, which caused strain and tension in their relationship that they tend to ignore. But, the drama never explores this further, even though it’s a very real problem that many career-driven and ambitious couples face. The drama presents a very idealized vision of a relationship between a police officer and a doctor. Like when the FL leaves for a special research and training program in the States, the drama shows that the leads breezed through the two-year long distance relationship in a quick montage. They had no issue in communication. Yes, they miss each other, but they’re blissful. But what kind of long distance relationship has no bumps in it? The drama also implies that they never saw each other in person during two years (in the final episode, Xing Ke Lei squeezed her arms and said that since they haven’t seen each other in 2 years, he had to check if she was missing anything), which is highly unrealistic. Was she never able to go back home for the holidays? Did Xing Ke Lei, whose parents live and work overseas, never bother to visit his girlfriend? Overall, it seemed a little off to me that despite the budding tension and issues they’ve been having between them, they were able to overcome a long distance relationship so easily. You could argue that they’re used to long separations because of their work, and the drama has shown that they’re used to communicating over video calls, but I was just a little disappointed that they rushed this final plotline when so much more could have been done with it. 

Speaking of parents, we never actually got to see their parents. I understand that the parents are not relevant to the focus of the story, but the parents are rarely even mentioned, which further makes the romance in the story seem too idealistic. Whether it’s a near-death situation, getting engaged, or studying abroad for 2 years, the FL never mentions talking to her parents about these decisions and life changes. The drama handwaves the parents’ absence and lack of influence by having the FL mention early in the drama that her parents are busy with their business back home, so they don’t have time to worry about her. She also no longer bothers to update them about her work because she’s afraid they’ll be worried about her. And then from there, we never hear the FL mention her parents again. It’s just so weird to see that the most important person in her life is the ML and she only ever talks about major life choices with her friends. I mean, if the plot had said that she didn’t have a family, it wouldn’t have mattered. But the fact that she does mention her parents, but they’re completely absent and non-existent just felt a little off, like something was missing. But in the grand scheme of things, this is not really an issue. I’m just nit-picking. 

Lastly, I just want to comment on Bai Jingting as Xing Ke Lei. I admit that he sells the part well. At first I was skeptical about Bai Jingting as a SWAT officer because of how skinny and baby-faced he is, but he actually pulls it off surprisingly well and has some unexpectedly good chemistry with Ma Sichun too. Although during moments when he isn't talking and we're just left with his resting face, I'm suddenly hit by how young he looks, but then he speaks or is back in uniform and again, the gestalt shift goes back to Xing Ke Lei, the handsome SWAT officer. They made a point of showing how muscled his arms are, which was a little jarring to see in comparison to his youthful face, not gonna lie. So, while I liked him as Xing Ke Lei, it was a little distracting switching back and forth between seeing him as a really young, adolescent-looking actor, and him as the broad-chested character. 

Should you watch?

All in all, a really cute and easy-to-watch drama with some thoughtful and sentimental moments. Very fluffy. Minimal to no misunderstandings. Charming characters. There are the storylines of three couples with medical/police subplots interweaved between the romance. On bilibili, some people even edited clips of the drama with theme songs from TVB medical and police dramas like The Hippocractic Crush and Tiger Cubs. So, as someone who grew up with TVB dramas, it was nostalgic to see those thematic parallels. 

But, the drama does lose steam in the last 10 or so episodes, and has a lot of filler to stretch it out to 40 episodes. That’s the issue I have with modern dramas. The plot in modern dramas is usually quite basic, and I would argue that the modern romance is easier and less angsty. You either love each other or you don’t. You either are willing to commit or you’re not. There aren’t many external excuses for angst or misunderstandings. (Of course, I’m trivializing things; real life isn’t as easy). 

Still, I would recommend this drama for anyone who’s between dramas. I watched this drama to help me get over the rut I was in because I was going through withdrawal after finishing The Rebel Princess, so I needed a light-hearted drama whose genre was completely different from TRP. And this drama was perfect for breaking that rut. 

Rating: 8/10. Simple, fluffy, and not too much to complain about. I also forgot to talk about the great humour in the drama, but there were many moments when I laughed out loud or couldn’t stop grinning. This is also a drama you can take your time with because there aren’t constant cliff hangers to peg you on. It doesn’t consume your life, and you can pause (although, the first 18 or so episodes are definitely binge-worthy because the development of the leads’ relationship is just too cute, and so they suck you right in). However, while it is one of the better modern romance dramas I’ve watched (and the characters are very consistent), it’s not a very memorable drama. It doesn’t make me linger. I guess it’s because I’m more of a historical and xianxia drama kind of person. So take from that what you will. 

#you are my hero #你是我的城池营垒 #cdrama #bai jingting #白敬亭 #ma sichun #sandra ma #马思纯 #cdrama review #cdramanet

[drivingsideways]

hi, I've been going through your jtbc life tag, and seeing your commentary on how the writer lacked in some parts, how differently would you have written it had you helmed it?

How delightful. This no-name fic writer unencumbered by entertainment industry realpolitik would:

1. Write the elder Ye sibling as a woman. Why not? Are women not allowed grief and misdirected rage? Are they not allowed to shake the world? I submit that they are. I don't think there needs to be too much change to Ye Jin-woo's role/ characterization for this to work. The love story between the siblings remains absolutely the same. 

2. HOWEVER. I would not go into a pointless red herring plot about possible murder. Ye Seon-woo and Ye Seol-hee find out about the funds misappropriation; unfortunately Director Lee passes away before he can take any action. With Deputy Director Kim in line for the job, and also their PRIME SUSPECT, ER star doctor Ye Seol-hee gets into battle mode.

3. Meanwhile! Sungkook stalwarts ( and People Who Have Had An Unspoken Thing Between Them for twenty odd years , two marriages, two divorces, and two kids betwixt them) Chiefs Joo and Oh are in the process of figuring out What To Do About the Problem of CEO Gu Seung-hyo. Chief Joo and CEO Gu clash very publicly, and Chief Joo's MORAL COMPASS and (unfortunate!) popularity with the staff make him a front runner for director's post because the Kim Tae-Sang subplot gets resolved a little faster. But! CEO Gu knows Chief Joo would be a total disaster and he thinks Chief Oh would be an acceptable compromise? So he's trying to figure out how to get an in with her, because they seem to be A Team, and she speaks her mind but doesn't do any real politicking; ffs, she hasn't even put her name on the list. How now?

4. Hello, junior NEUROSURGEON Lee No-eul of the sunny smiles and unfortunate taste in friends, but BETTER taste in mentors i.e Chief Oh's special fave. Lee No-eul is his in! She seems a sensible sort- they end up sitting having a  meal together at the cafeteria when she walks up and introduces herself and they actually have a particularly good conversation about the govt’s latest regulations re: health insurance- and she adores her sunbae.

5. But how to? Enter Kang Kyung-ah, who LUCKILY has befriended Lee No-eul, VIA Ye Seon-woo, whose love for Lee No-eul could be seen from SPACE, Gu Seung-hyo thinks, but to which No-eul remains charmingly oblivious. But that's not *his * problem, he just needs No-eul to latch onto the idea that Chief Oh should be the next director.

Isn't it time this hospital put women in leadership roles, Kang Kyung-ah asks No-eul over coffee and chatter about kittens. CEO nim was honestly surprised not to see any names in senior management. Of course, the field at the moment was narrow, this was probably something they needed to work on, but Chief Oh has the chops, doesn't Dr.Lee think so? Dr. Lee does think so. Perhaps Dr. Lee should tell her sunbae that then, and y'know, drop the hint that CEO nim would be very happy to see her name on the list. (It would be great drama if this becomes a point of contention between Ye Seol-hee and Lee No-eul rather than you know Romantic Problems Caused By Best Friend Falling For Known Enemy)

5. Chief Oh knows she has the chops. But- there's Chief Joo to consider. She loves him, but god, the man needs to learn to work around things to move them forward, instead of being the tree that won't move. Plus it's a LOT OF WORK, and it's not like she's not already STRESSEDT. Alright, whatever, she's gonna do it.

6. Well, Chief Joo thinks it's a brilliant idea, and really wants her to win, but wait, WHAT, you don't think Gu Seung-hyo needs to be taken down entirely, he just needs to be kept in line? HE HAS SEDUCED YOU WITH HIS CHARM AND HIS PROMISE OF BETTER EQUIPMENT FOR NEUROSURGERY. ARE YOU GOING TO BE SELLING VITAMIN SUPPLEMENTS NOW, IS THAT WHERE THIS IS GOING? (How could you betray everything we've stood for all these years?? How can you betray everything we’ve been to each other all these years?)

7. I feel this would be a great time to bring things to boiling point with a nursing staff strike? Kim Eun-ha was a fave minor character that I would have liked to see more of, and I think her whole cause of better pay/ working conditions for nursing staff would be a great crisis point to really go all out with Our Golden Trio, as Seung-hyo, Chief Joo and Chief Oh take different positions on this, while the directorship remains in the air. 

7. So, well, it's VERY difficult and there's PINING like crazy, but like, when push comes to shove, THEY ARE THERE FOR EACH OTHER OK? He votes for her of course (though he doesn't tell her that), and she brokers a decent compromise for the nursing staff AND gets him a budget for those rural clinics he’s been dreaming of, but oh no, can she ever forgive him for Things That Happened and Oh No Can He Ever Forgive Me For Crossing Sides etc. The Pining (TM) reaches such stratospheric levels that even Ye Seol-hee takes time off from fucking things up to notice. [”How Sungkook’s Hospital betrayed it’s staff by breaking the first ever strike” reads the top online story for a week ]

(What's going on with them, she asks her bestest friend Lee No-eul, who shrugs, philosophically, pats her hand and says, not something you'll understand, you have to know what Real Romance is for that. Hmmph, says Ye Seol-hee, and grumps for a week, but No-eul also notices that these days Seol-hee keeps running off to take calls in secret and it turns out that secret is firebrand reporter and giraffe Choi Seo-hyun? Oh! thinks Lee No-eul, that's adorable, and she tells Seon-woo , and they both look at each other and burst out laughing, and Seol-hee finds her life even more UNBEARABLE thanks for nothing)

7. The point is, Gu Seung-hyo thinks, the point is, Chief Joo and Director Oh are there for each other, their bond wasn't something that even his interference (for admittedly selfish reasons) had broken, and y'know what, he's not a kid, he's emotionally aware enough to admit that he'd really like something like that for himself. What would that even be like, he thinks, as he cuddles Nighty, to know that you weren't alone, and that someone would love you despite your fuck ups or for them, even? And FINE, he wasn't immune to the attraction of deeply moral men who worked 48 hrs straight and fell asleep in supply closets, and NEITHER was he unaware of the way he maybe sometimes found himself taking a little extra care of his appearance on the days he had a meeting with Director Oh, but none of this could be allowed to matter, the point is that they'd never see him as anything but an outsider, and anyway, the way things were going, he'd probably have no cause to see them every single day--

8. "Gosh, listen to this man making us reveal our age," Director Oh says at the farewell dinner they organize for him. It surprises him that it's dinner, that the restaurant is cosy, warm, instead of business-like. It doesn't surprise him in the least that the low, warm lighting accentuates the twinkle Chief Joo's dark eyes as he replies, or that it makes the red of Director Oh’s lipstick headier than the wine they’re drinking. It’s their favourite restaurant he finds out, a small joint that serves Ethiopian food, they’ve been coming here for twenty years, and everyone knows them and they know everyone, and oh, y’know, when he’s in town and not so busy, would he like to join them for their weekly dinners here? 

9. But WHAT ABOUT THE ROMANCE you ask, every kdrama needs a romance, not just subtextual OT3! You’re absolutely right! Not to worry, Kang Kyung-ah is totally on the job! “How adorable is Ye Seon-woo!” she tells Lee No-eul on one of their many dates where they don’t discuss Gu Seung-hyo at ALL, “If I were ten years younger I’d totally hit that!” No-eul laughs, but is also a little embarassed, that’s like her best friend ok, and then Kyung-ah adds, “Not that he’s got eyes for anyone but you!” and No-eul goes, what? and Kyung-ah goes “what?” and then No-eul has a whole ten days (while the Ye siblings are on their seaside vacation) where she’s trying to figure out if a) it’s true and b) what she feels about it and c) then that gets VERY clarified when she finds out that Seon-woo MIGHT DIE and when they are back she’s like, listen up Seon-woo, if you have plans of dying without surgery, just gonna tell you that’s not on the cards, and Seon-woo is like, do you have an alternate plan? and Lee No-eul, neurosurgeon extraordinaire and a woman who knows what she wants, is like, you betcha, we gonna get married and have five kids, and Seon-woo is like *swallows *, “If you say so”, and she’s like “I do.”

FINI. 

#jtbc life #anon you can see that nobody would ever pay me #why yes i do think jang yeo bin would be perfect for Ye Seol-hee

[doctorlaelia-ffxiv]

never let you go - part 2.

[[ read part one >here!< @benes-diction for mentions of the Beanies! ]]

I allowed Cato Lucretius to start officially courting me come spring in Garlemald... which doesn’t mean much, and does little to make dents in the snow, but it still felt warmer, somehow. His presence was warm. At times, he was like the soft glow of a candle in a dark room, providing a sense of safety and comfort. Other times, he glowed so brightly that I thought that he might be a supernova, too big for this world altogether. 

To say that I was in love with him would be a difficult thing. I was very fond of him, for a while. We got along tremendously well, and he was good at making me laugh. Our honeymoon period was sweet, and friends sighed over what a lovely pair we were, and I agreed with them. Cato Lucretius was a perfectly amiable, enjoyable sort of man to be around, who gave excellent kisses and was an attentive sort of lover, who could provide conversation that stimulated the mind and be a quiet place to rest, too. 

At least, at first. All that glitters is not gold. Sometimes it’s just a very pretty plating put over something rusty. 

In the summer, Cato Lucretius invited me to move into his apartment on the outskirts of the university we both attended. He was a literature major with a schedule that was far less packed than mine, considering I was still taking classes while conducting my residency at the hospital to enter into neurosurgery . But it worked, I suppose. He was something of a “house boyfriend,” you could call it. He made meals and kept our shared space clean, ran hot baths when I had a long day at work, would call me on the nights I couldn’t return. And he made a point of bringing me on dates, where we were able to make time for it, to expensive restaurants and pretty museums and lush greenhouses and towering libraries. 

Being old money from Garlemald came with a bit of status that Cato Lucretius frequently enjoyed. He liked the balls and the parties, and he enjoyed the luxuries of the finest foods and wines, and he liked to talk, very much, about the plights of our countrymen in a senseless war for a government that only wanted dominion rather than peace... and his words were pretty. They were nice to listen to. He could be fantastically passionate about things, he could grab a whole room’s attention with his vivacity and silver tongue, and I enjoyed listening to him on those summer evenings where the world felt like it belonged to us. 

For the first time in a long time, I was happy. I was twenty and finishing the last leg of my residency - the youngest in generations in Garlemald to achieve such a high position so quickly. It was an honor. It was a feat, of countless sleepless nights and many frustrated tears and many, many joyous victories. And Cato Lucretius would stay up with me, during the time we were together, to celebrate or to mourn, respectively. And then things just... started to feel like they were shifting. I remember it starting to feel different in the autumn.

The warmth was starting to fade, like it was chasing the seasons. 

“You’re brilliant,” Cato Lucretius would tell me as he smiled, as he brushed my hair from my forehead as I nursed a glass of something strong on a rare day off. “You’re the smartest person on this star, Laelia.” 

He said it so frequently. At first, I thought it was sweet. I liked being acknowledged for my accomplishments more than my looks. It didn’t feel like he looked at me like a piece of meat. To him, I was his equal - more than his equal. And that, maybe, was the problem. Cato Lucretius was putting me on a pedestal I didn’t try to get onto, and slowly... Slowly, but surely, it started to tarnish the way that he looked at me. 

“You never have time for me.”

That was how it started. It caught me off guard, as we stood in the kitchen and made dinner together. He was leaning against the counter and staring at the floor as he sipped from his whiskey glass, one hand braced behind him with the sleeves of his red sweater pushed up. 

“I always try to make time for you,” I had told him, and I had frowned, because I was confused. I was... I am a person that grew up quickly. There were intricacies in people’s words and meanings that I wasn’t able to pick up on at the age of twenty, when my whole life had been dedicated to how brain functions but not, exactly, the emotions that run through them, too. 

“But it never works out, does it?” Cato Lucretius shot back, looking at me with pained and angry eyes. “When’s the last time we got to go out? You said you would come with me to my colleague’s party the other night. And you forgot, didn’t you?” 

Accusation after accusation as I stood there with a ladle in my hand and my lips parted, because yes. Yes, I had forgotten. But I hadn’t meant to. The day he was referencing was nonstop. I hadn’t even been able to come back to the apartment between surgeries. Older, wiser me would have been able to do something, to put this man in his place. Twenty year old Laelia just wasn’t sure what was happening or what she had done to make him so angry.

“Yes,” she had said, and that’s what it feels like, as I think about this turning point of a night now - like I’m watching in third person. “Yes, I forgot, but... but I told you that I wasn’t able to leave, Cato. I’m very sorry, I didn’t realize that it was so important to you, but--”

“I’m making a big deal out of it, aren’t I?” And just as quickly as he had been angry, he was smiling at me, and I felt... unsettled, in a word. “I’m sorry, Laelia. Forgive me. I suppose I must have had a bad day today.”

Whiplash. That was the day it started - or, at least, the day I began to notice it starting. Cato Lucretius was changing in how he spoke to me, in how he looked at me, and so was the regard he held me in. What was once my ‘brilliance’ was my ‘cockiness,’ and what was my dedication to my work was a force driving us apart, no matter how hard I tried to yield to his requests. 

And all the while, this man was starting to fail his classes. Professors were sending back essays with bundles of criticism. He was slipping up, and the golden boy with the flawless smile that I met at the ball in the winter was now beginning to lose his gentleness and his geniality, unless he was drinking. And when he drank, all the venom he felt for me would come spewing out.

“You think you’re so smart,” he would sneer as he slouched in his chair by the fire. “You made a big splash, and now you think you’re too good for anyone, don’t you? What’s going on that has you out at all hours? Are you having an affair?” 

“That’s enough,” I had snapped, slamming my glass down on the counter. He raised his voice at me, and I raised mine. Our fights became infamous in the apartment building. I had never been the type to shout. That wasn’t the way to get a point across, but no one infuriated - and hurt me - like Cato Lucretius did. He made my ice turn to fire, my quiet and composed way of dealing with things seem unhinged and furious. 

And it was becoming clearer and clearer that any support he had for the Populares was... surface level. Certainly, he was prepared to speak out against the oppressive government, but... I have to wonder if that’s because it was the popular opinion amongst our circle. He clung to his status and the wealth of his parents in a desperate sort of way. I often wonder how much of anything he spoke passionately about that he really meant, and how much of it was manipulation to make him look good. I fear that the answer would be troubling and disheartening both. 

A warm, sunlit garden that we had planted in the spring was starting to die come the fall. Our honeymoon period was over, and I didn’t know what to do.

Many times, Cato Lucretius would coerce me into bed, to have sex that was angry and rough, that screamed that we hated each other in those moments. I never really said ‘yes.’ I just gave in to his nagging, to make him be quiet, to stop accusing me of affairs that didn’t exist.

“If you loved me...”

He loved that one. ‘If you loved me, you’ll sleep with me. If you loved me, you’d make more time. If you loved me, you would stop asking me where I go late at night.’ ‘If I have to trust you, don’t you have to trust me?’

The difference is that I never came home smelling of someone else’s perfume or cologne like he did, or with a wine that he didn’t drink still clinging to my lips. 

Giving up Cato Lucretius was difficult. He was nowhere near as creatively gifted as he wanted to be, and if I’m being honest with myself, I have to wonder if the vague similarities he shared with my Cato are what made me stay. They wrote, and they were both like light - even if Cato Lucretius’ light was rapidly fading - and they both, at one time, made me feel safe. 

I remember curling up on the bathroom floor and simply sobbing into my arms, overcome with a grief that was too unbearable to speak aloud. More often than not, I would say Cato Lucretius’ name and think of Cato Benes - of the soldier boy who had paid the ultimate price, of the one in all of my dreams, who dried my tears when I slept and told me everything would be alright. 

Often, as things got more difficult in my relationship, I dreamt of that farewell ball for Cato rem Benes. I dreamt it over and over again - arriving late and anonymous in a beautiful gown, and making him laugh, all with the knowledge of what was to come that I was forbidden to speak. And the dreams ended the same - me, forcing myself to leave Cato rem Benes alone on a balcony before collapsing in the gardens and being overcome with grief.

Those are the dreams I would wake from in tears, sometimes screaming my anguish, begging to please just bring me back to that night, so that I could tell him not to go, to plead and block him from his departure if I had to--

And it was easy to lie to Cato Lucretius about when I screamed the name ‘Cato,’ because I could tell him I was having nightmares of something terrible happening to him. But maybe part of him knew. Maybe a part of him had always known that my heart was never fully with him. 

I still don’t think, though, that I deserved his cruelty for it. I was young, and inexperienced in so many things, and mourning the loss of someone who had so deeply impacted me as a young girl. Even seeing Cato rem Benes’ parents were difficult. Seeing Lucius in a hospital, or sitting and listening to one of Theodosia’s performances... I always kept up with them - quietly, and in the shadows, but I tried to. My heart broke to hear the stories of what Caius was becoming. I wept bitterly when Solina left, knowing how deeply the family hurt when their children hurt, knowing just how the loss of Cato rem Benes had affected him. 

And there was a part of me that felt like it knew more, too, like... I could sense something in the future. Of course, I was a woman of science. Looking back, yes - in a strange way, and thanks to kami meddling, I did know. I knew the painful endings and the happy endings both, but to not be able to explain those feelings was often agonizing. And the more my relationship with Cato Lucretius began to fraction, the more I felt it. 

The more I felt that something just hadn’t ended right, that a book that was meant to be closed had simply been paused. 

The day I found his love letters from another woman beneath our bed and his collar stained with a coral lipstick that I wouldn’t wear came almost as a relief. Of course, it broke my heart. Spring had come around again, with a surprising melt in the snow. We had spent a year around each other, committed to each other - or, at least, one of us had been committed to the other. When I asked how long, just how long had he been betraying my trust, he was vague. When I asked how many times, he had simply shrugged, staring into the fire. 

“How many hours were you too busy being brilliant to give me?”

“You’re casting yourself as dependent and lonely to get out of being accountable for being a dickhead,” I had told him, tossing the letters that he’d so obviously read over and over directly into the fire. “For being the worst of men.” 

“We could try to fix this, Laelia,” he had said, running his hands over his face before standing up to face me, to try to reach out to me. “I messed up, darling. I messed up so badly, but if you give me another chance--”

“Haven’t you heard, Lucretius?” I asked him, smiling. “Goodness, I thought you would have, but... I simply just don’t have the time to give you that. I have very brilliant and much more important things to be doing than wasting my godsdamned time on this - you manipulative, lying, tiny pricked bastard.” 

When I slammed that apartment door with a box of my things in my arms with that man crying like an infant, it was liberating. I was free of his cruelty and his coercion. I suppose I could thank him, though, for the beginnings of the spine that I became so famous for.

For the spine that Cato rem Benes will always love me for having. And Cato rem Benes is, was, and always will truly be spring - the true herald of new beginnings, of promises that the long winters would end into a blossoming, glowing new world. 

#ffxiv rp #ff14 rp #writing #tw relationship abuse #sort of #?