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cherrsnut · 3 months

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Hostage - Chapter 1

Finnick Odair x Healer!Reader

Summary: Up until now, your life has been a solitary one. Being the sole owner of an herbal shop, and apothecary to many fishermen who have been injured. Just when your life seemed to follow the routine you were so used to, your life turns a 360 when you’re suddenly taken away for the 67th Annual Hunger Games. This turn of events forces you to accept the idea the Grim Reaper is stalking close behind you, faster than you had hoped for.

Tags: Extremely Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Typical THG Violence, Forced Prostitution, Forced Lab Rat, Injury, Mental Health Deterioration, Psychological/Physical Torture, Death, Alcohol/Drug Consumption, Medical Malpractice, Fluff (bc they deserve it).

Word Count: 3.8k

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Chapter 1

Silence echoed throughout the walls of the streets, and for once it looked like the town had been abandoned, just like everybody had agreed to up and leave it in search of a better fate than what lay ahead of them, or perhaps all the citizens just simply vanished from sight. The breeze of the sea, just as icy as the ocean, seemed to catch on with the mournful mood of the alleyways. The tense atmosphere signaled the hidden mice to not even voice a squeak out of respect.

Even at the plaza, everyone was quiet, and their usually lively ambiance ceased to exist. Just by the sight of the ocean, you noticed just how the wind didn’t spare any mercy for all the attendees of the Reaping. Making this already melancholic ambiance much harder to ignore.

You looked around and followed behind the big agglomeration of people queuing up, making another step further into Panem’s hell. You pursed your lips together and gulped down nervously, patiently awaiting your death sentence.

There were people everywhere, too many people for it to be so quiet to your liking. Although the great majority were adolescents of the oceanic village, you had previously realized the older folks stood far behind you, their suppressed anxiety over their children’s safety due to the men in white, the Peacekeepers, stance in front of them. Their threatening military pattern removed any type of confidence of any caregiver to sneak in and take their child away without facing heavy repercussions. Stationed there to install and make the proceedings of the Hunger Games go as smoothly as possible from outside the Capitol.

The sea of heads that appeared in front of you made the stage barely visible, but you came across what looked like a Peacekeeper setting up a camera, of course, the Reaping was to be live-streamed. Just on top of a platform and above the stage, you were sure the crystal lenses would take up the view of all the adolescents present.

“Everything will be alright” You turned to look beside you, surprised to find a voice breaking the quietness you were starting to getting used to and assume it would prevail for the rest of the annual event. At least before the cries of children as they break their realization of being chosen, or the burning point of a mother’s distress breaks out in a horrible scream.

You assumed it was a pair of siblings, taking notice of the facial traits to be almost identical. Very blonde locks, both wearing the same warm coffee color eyes with freckles of the same hue spotted all other cheeks. And while they represented themselves in the body of the other gender, you found the boy to look somewhere about your age, his sister was a head smaller than him, and you thought it was plausible she just came of age for the nauseating event.

“I promise” he made an oath to his sister, interlocking his finger with hers. She breathed heavily, the limit of her sanity crossing over a soon-to-be panic attack. She tried to fixate her eyes on him, fighting off a barrier to gain herself back together, a battle she looked like she was going to lose. Her brother, which you finally recalled his name to be Philip, crouched down and enveloped her in his arms. An arm protectively around her back, while the other moved around her head in an attempt to massage it to calm her down.

Even in his arms, the little girl was visibly trembling, probably both from the fear and anxiety, that were purging an acidic bile up to her taste glands. The little girl’s forehead pressed on her brother's chest, finding comfort in his protective body.

“Just breathe deeply, ‘kay?” he reassured. His hard fingers were full of little lines of scars, some of which you could recall treating at the herbal shop, and crept up to hold her face. Philip always found himself surrounded by District’s 4 aquaculture, and it was bound to happen after long shifts handling the wires of the nets to eventually cause multiple physical damages.

Philip removed himself from the little girl and looked at her features. She struggled to do so, every time she tried she’d be under attack from another uncontrollable shaking. She could only grab onto his shirt, the shaking becoming increasingly harder with each passing second. The hand that was used to the hard labor of the sea, wrapped itself on top of his sister’s hand, much bigger in comparison. The warmth of their bond calmed her down just slightly, and he went to kiss her forehead affectionately.

“I’m here” his whisper was carried by the breeze that brushed her ear, which tickled her slightly. Upon noticing your heavy stare on them, Philip looked over to you. Both of your eyes interlock with each other. You tried to give him an encouraging smile, but the heavy situation still weighed you down, and your smile came across as a sad one. One that showed pity and understanding toward his sister.

He gave you a knowing look, before his eyes went to his sister, and suffocated further in his embrace to help her to get back to the queue. “I’m here” he repeated.

The stern voice of a woman, announcing a “next” brought you back to reality. You’d forgotten just how the line always moved rather fast, especially so when you had a tendency to drown yourself in self-pity. You were always alone while queuing up to sign in, and never had people you called friends. But you were content with the short company clients or injured patients gave you, just like Edna’s until she died. But you did wonder how it would feel in this moment to be in the company of another person, would you cry together? Maybe hug each other? Or maybe just stay silent unable to utter anything that wasn’t bitter. But this year you felt differently, you wished for the little girl’s safety just like your own.

You gave your hand to the Peacekeeper just as you told her your name, and she took it with the rubber texture of the black-gloved hand of hers. The way she held it was rather rough, but you understood it as wanting to keep you completely still for the pinch in your finger and not mess it up. The end of the buzzing sound coming from the long mechanism suggested the dna withdrawal was finished, accompanied by the slight pain of the tiny nick, so small you’d never consider it an injury.

The Peacemaker guided your finger, a blood drop visible forming, and pressed it on top of the inky empty box drawn on a piece of paper. Your name was attached next to it, with your general information written in smaller letters below it. You assumed the pieces of paper that were attached just like a book, were the enlistment of the possible Tributes of your District. But then again, you didn’t care enough and let that thought drift away just as fast as it came.

Another mechanism, this one much larger and formed just like a box had been stepped and decided to stay in that flat shape. A laser came from the bottom, scanning the blood accompanied by the noisy sounds of mechanical beepings. When it was all set, the Peacemaker simply bid you farewell and called for the child behind you.

You left defeated, another step closer to the selection process. The idea of you being chosen terrified you, and you could feel the anxiety taking hold of your bones. You prayed again in self-pity. Edna always mentioned the idea of sirens existing, and while you never truly believed in it, you prayed for them to listen to you. Every time, at the Reaping, for the past four years you prayed for them.

With an exasperated sigh flying out, you walked around the plaza trying to find a place to stand by and wait for your trial. That was until a hand tapped your shoulder and a raspy voice called out your name. You turned, even more surprised to find Philip along with his sister, both holding hands.

You looked at the boy standing in front of you, expectant as to why he had called you. He gave a quick glance to the little blonde beside him before he spoke.

“Hey, umm, you mind taking Emi with you?” your eyes trailed off to the girl, finally being able to give her face a name. Emi looked at the floor, a mortifying expression coming across her face.

“It’s just-” he tried to continue his explanation.

“Sure” you smiled at the girl gripping onto dear life to her brother. You took out your hand for her, and with unsettlement pumping over her brain, she brushed her finger across yours.

“So, Emi is your name” The statement oddly sounded like a question, but you wanted to make her feel more comfortable even in this terrible situation. To communicate with her, and make her see you as someone she could trust momentarily before she would hopefully turn back with her brother.

Her crystal eyes moved up to you and murmured an mhm before walking indecisively toward you. She looked at the ground when you told her your name, but you couldn’t feel any type of annoyance by it, not when her hands were trembling exaggeratedly. So you squeezed hers lightly in an attempt to make her feel more at ease in your presence.

Philp sighed and you noticed the heavy burden that lifted off of him. He gave you a small smile, the one he hadn’t reciprocated before.

“Thank you” his eyes shone, which only suggested to you the tears he wanted to pour out in that moment. You empathized with him, he probably didn’t have much time to take in the Reaping for himself, and rather give away his attention to his sister who needed him to be strong in her stead. A thought appeared one which you respected and showed sympathy for the mental work they put in for the sake of the younger family members.

“Don’t mention it” you smiled with him. You rolled your eyes at the girl holding your hand, and with the same smile, you muttered. “Let’s go Cupcake”

“Hello Cuties” Sing sang the woman on stage. Her peculiar fashion style nationally known for the Capital’s trends flied around with her sparkling personality. With the color theme of purple pink and pale yellow, shades lighter of the sunflower petals, she wore a design that resembled a kimono. The notable way how the coat of the fabric was placed on top of the other to keep it in a steady place, and with the addition of the belt, covering the whole of the waist until just below her chest, as a means to keep the clothing stuck and not untie itself. The completely yellow obi, name of the kimono belts, was adorned with some sort of lacing at the top and bottom of purplish-dyed sheep wool, with the addition of a pink bow wrapped around the obi.

The star of the fashion design was the sleeves. With a hole showing the shoulders and a few inches down the arm, the rest was covered in the beautiful colors of the spring. With many odd shapes and colors on the fabric. Which later opened up its sleeves up to three feet long. It gave off the impression of wings when the arms were pulled up. The rest seemed to just be decorations around her figure, from a fabric choker of purple as well as the striking head ornaments of the same color scheme presented.

Her voice was too optimistic for your liking, and the singing tunes brought up were as distasteful as her color choice.

“Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be in your favor” The District 4 escort celebrated baring her teeth out with that pink tint across her lips, the same tint that decorates her eye shadow.

“But before we begin, The Capitol has brought us a special film for us” she again songed, and you were already starting to be filled with the irritation of her voice.

Emi was still holding your hand. She had kept a close distance from you, practically stuck to your form from the moment we were placed here. She tugged onto your long skirt, and you looked down to find her somber eyes looking up at you. Although you agreed to stay by her side, her added melancholy was starting to affect your already distressed mood, and even though you tried to calm her down she seemed focused on her overwhelmed state.

You smiled at her, with the film starting in ahead of you.

“War. Terrible war” You rolled your eyes up while making a hand movement in a sign to poke fun at President Snow’s repeated speech. Your mock seemed to finally crack a little smile on the little girl, and you were pleased to see her relax a tiny bit.

The film carried on, and your attention span had been but all gone. The Hunger Games were a devastating reality, that had already taken hundreds of children away. You couldn’t see the point of this little speech anymore, and right before the selection process at that. And it seemed Snow was trying to ridicule the Distrct’s anxiety. It exhausted you to no end to have to listen to the same words and the same images, and it got you wondering just why it had to be the same recycled film every single year.

You thought of Emi again. The very same thought appeared every single year, just why were we taking the consequences of a revolution none of us partook in? The only person that you knew who was alive from when the Revolution was still afloat was Edna, and she still lamented that she was just a child when it ended, and luckily enough she never got chosen as Tribute. And that thought only led to helplessness because even though it wasn’t in the least bit fair, there was nothing you nor anyone who would be able to do anything about it.

“The lone victor, bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness” It was the voice of a pragmatic leader giving a speech, sprinkled with sentimental music that made your stomach stir uncomfortably. The crease in your eyebrow knitting as you tried to forget the nauseating feeling from inside you, represented exactly in your self turmoil, you were disgusted.

You gulped down hard as the film finally ended. You gave Emi a quick squeeze to comfort yourself. She only gave you a pointed glance before directing her attention to the colorful escort on the stage.

“Alrighty. Now the time has come for us to select one courageous young man and woman” she informed, as you bit back your tongue to correct her misuse of words of man and woman for children.

“For the honor of representing District 4 in the 67th Annual Hunger Games” she continued. She then started walking over the large crystal sphere. Inside laid the names of all the girls that had been forced to sign in, inside a folded piece of paper. “Ladies first” she giggled further.

Her hand moved around the pieces of paper messily scattered around the sphere before choosing one. She quickly picked it up to her eye level, a sneaky smile appearing on her face.

You let out a breath, you had done your best to try and calm your nerves. The anxiety was way past the boiling point, and you swore your legs felt drunk.

The escort walks back to the microphone, and the only thing missing for her to further mock your emotions was to make a little dance around the platform, kick up some moves, or simply jump in excitement.

She opened the piece of paper. Your heart beating fast in the back of your throat, as another wave of anxiety filled every single pore in your skin. Her long nails made it difficult for her to open it, and as time passed on, you could feel yourself growing insane. You internally cursed at the escort, every cell in your body screaming at her to just finally read it. And before you knew it she called out a name, your name.

Everything just stopped in you, and if it weren’t because you’d be a dead corpse from organ malfunction, you could’ve sworn your heart just stopped. Your eyes were locked on the colorful woman, but you weren’t looking at her. You were staring into space, you were trying to assimilate the situation you just got yourself involved. But you couldn’t, there was something in you, and that something didn’t connect the wires that you were going to die sooner than you hoped for. The idea of being picked for the annual event was always at the back of your mind, what would be your reaction? You thought that rationally, you’d be upset, maybe crying as well, or perhaps straight screaming and begging to do a re-drawl.

But you weren’t, you were simply still. The look of every girl that had known you looking at you, and it wasn’t melancholy that invaded their intense gaze, but rather they were grateful they weren’t the ones chosen. As hypocritical as it made you, you were mad at them. Your internal anger was justified in your eyes, maybe because you needed someone or something to be mad at. But no matter how irritated you were, you’d done the same in their stead the previous three years you had attended the Reaping.

With another exhale, you came to yourself. You needed to get on the stage. You walked out to the corridor, but barely made a step when Emi tugged back on your fingers. Her eyes were scanning your facial expression. And the way she spoke your name suggested to you, she was beyond her shocked stage.

You gulped another chunk of saliva and got to your knees. You smiled at her, as brightly as you could force it out. And it occurred to you to close your eyes, because you knew you couldn’t force a reassuring look without the fear lurking behind it.

The military steps of the Peacekeepers echoed within every corner of your body so quickly and in a rushed matter. You kissed her forehead, as gentle as a flying feather, to put her at ease.

“I’ll be fine, Cupcake,” you told her as confident as possible, trying not to let the fear accumulated in you spill over the beautiful young girl. And so you stood up, another quick smile flashing over your face before walking the hall that would send you straight to a living Hell. You kept muttering those words “I’ll be fine” as if you wanted to console yourself unknowingly. For now, if lying to yourself is what kept you sane enough to act normally, even suspiciously so, you’d go for it. And once the situation avalanched over your entity, you could collapse and lament for yourself on your own.

You held your head high while walking, your form an empty shell void of any emotions. The very pink hue colored on the escort’s face became clearer with each step, she smiled brightly at you. The wrinkles shown at the corner of her eyes signal of her enjoyment.

“Wonderful! We have our female Tribute for District 4!” playfully expressed the escort, looking straight at your eyes. You walked up the stairs, with Peacekeepers in tow behind you.

The escort held up a hand to you, helping you get up faster, so she could back to her selecting process, although this time it would be a boy. All in her chillingly joyful manner.

Without hesitation, she placed the mic in front of you.

“So, dear, tell me, was that your sister?” she asked you, although it seemed she was asking on behalf of the whole Capitol.

“No…” your voice was weak, the intimidating audience just looked up at you which worsened your nauseating bitter taste. The escort eyed you, waiting for any further explanation.

“She’s my… friend” Her impatience only made your voice quieter, which she must have been content that your husky and throaty tone was speaking through the loud microphone.

The sudden realization came crashing now. Seeing the look of pitied people just below you, wishing you luck before you left for the Capitol, filled the shining of water in your sclera and, you hand was lightly shaking beside your thigh.

“Everyone, please! A round of applause for our lovely Tribute!” she called your name again. Her clapping was soon stopped at the awkwardness that she was the only one celebrating this. You breathed in and out heavy air.

“And now, for the gentlemen” announced the woman standing beside you. Of course, she was trying to salvage the situation. You looked at everyone, and they were all looking back at you. You were lucky enough to connect eyes with Philip, and while you never considered him to be a friend, you were happy to see a familiar face. He was the only one to provide you with that comfort. He looked like he wanted to say something through his eyes, and you responded with a tear swimming down your cheek, and following its path further down your neck.

“Vito Rosechaser” was called. The look of another adolescent, about your age or older roamed around his fellow friends, that gave him a sad look. He opened his mouth, surprised, and as the situation sunk deep into him, he walked down the hall, again with the Peacekeepers around him like frustrating flies.

Just then you’d taken in his appearance, from afar his eyes seemed dark just like his hair. Big build and muscles that suggested he’d worked hard in his life, and you lamented that he propably didn’t deserve this.

You looked at Vito at the end of the stairs, and his eyes briefly grazed yours before he stopped to look at the public. The mic was stolen from you.

“And finally” the hyper tone echoed throughout the plaza, loud enough to quiet down the crashing waves of the beach nearby. The breeze cold as snow felt like it had punctured your veins, and that icy hurt traveled through your body.

“Our Tributes from District 4” her white teeth never failed to show at the camera.

“Come on you two, shake hands” The oddly dressed woman grabbed onto the hems of your and Vito’s shirts, encouraging you two to do the action and let it be over. She stepped back, and the both of you looked at each other before gripping both of your hands.

“Happy Hunger Games!” she sang happily. It echoed in every single rib, deep inside your abdomen. A voice you’d never forget, you were sure of that. Even long after the Games, if you’d even be able to survive, you’d be waking up with this chilling lullaby she was singing.

“And remember, may the odds be ever in your favor”

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#finnick #thg finnick #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick x you #the hunger games #thg #thg x you #thg fanfiction #thg x reader

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fallingtowers · 7 days

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that wild son of a gun house was always bursting into operation rooms while his patients were lying on the table with their internal organs fully external. he never bothered to wash his hands or wear a mask or anything he would just stand over them like scratching his beard dandruff into their open abdominal cavities and everybody just went with it. sometimes someone would muster up a House You Can't Be In Here This Is A Sterile Environment but it always felt a little flaccid under the circumstances. like personally after the 19th or so time this happened to me i would have started considering more extreme measures. but then that would cause new problems like if you padlocked the operation room doors house would respond by forming a habit of passive-aggressively carrying around a pair of bolt cutters everywhere and then you'd have to deal with that, and so on and so forth, and i think if you're gonna get into a comedically escalating spy vs spy style rivalry with a coworker you have GOT to make sure you 1) don't work in an actual hospital with actual sick people and 2) don't have gregory fucking house as your rival. so now he's in your o.r. and he's eating the extra large mcdonalds fries he brought and you're thinking about that swimming pool you were gonna buy before this week's House Incident doubled your malpractice insurance premiums. and the patient is going into cardiac arrest at the dramatically perfect moment and house is putting fries into their mouth and it FIXES THEM because he has deduced that the root cause of their mystery disease that made their teeth explode was a simple sodium deficiency. and you already promised your kids. you promised them and they're so excited for all the pool parties they're planning to throw this summer. and you're hoping and praying that this will be the time house faces actual consequences but he never does because the hospital administrator is shielding him. because he is her kismesis. jesus christ

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ma1dmer · 6 months

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Elden Ring - White-Faced Varre NSFW

I am no longer ashamed of my medical malpractice kink

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex): he is very soft and nothing but diligent with his aftercare, he'll run you a warm bath, wash you gently and whisper praises in your ear as you relax.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): //fingers ,yes i am a comedian sometimes

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person): absolutely adores the mess ,the filthier the better, he'll have you lick his fingers clean right after you or he cums on his hand.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): i think he’d be into some sort of dark roleplay, some cnc scenario where he acts as your corruptor and you give yourself freely to him, or maybe even put up a bit of a verbal fight.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?): i think he has experience, knows exactly what makes things enjoyable and adjusts that knowledge to each person, its like a game trying to see which things click for each person. //I also believe it has to do with the fact he was a surgeon ,helping him know your body better than you know it as an ex doctor

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual): he likes the basics when it comes to the actual deed, he especially likes doggy where he can shove your face to the ground and tease you about how willing you are to get down on your knees and get filthy for him

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc): he makes you laugh just so he can hear your voice crack into a moan or a gasp of pain/pleasure when he has you.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.): He keeps everything nicely trimmed.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…): he’ll woo you before bedding you, brush your hair out of your face with gentle gloved fingers, compliment you, lay down roses for you, foreplay matters a lot and its even sweeter when he can debauch you right after making your heart flutter, the way your eyes shine with adoration even when he might be dragging a blade down your body, its addicting.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon): why should he do so when he can have you instead.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks): dacryphilia, knife play, blood play, humiliation, sadomasochism etc

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do): everywhere ,he truly is shameless in this regard, its both as a way to claim you, and because he loves the idea of you wanting this so much you are willing to do it everywhere, he'll tease you about being so naughty even if he himself made sure you are so into it

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going): submission, having you fully put your trust in him , letting him guide you or indulging in his more “unsavory” interests.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): there is probably not a lot that he wouldn’t do or have you do.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc): he likes giving as much as receiving ,but does have a preference for having you beg for him while he torments you with his tongue.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.): torturously slow but not necessarily gentle.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.): he mostly does quickies as a way to punish you in a way, have you fast and hard ,finishing before you and leaving so you have to think of him and seek him out, plead with him to help you out, and if he is feeling kind that day who knows, he might help you after all he can't deny your sweet pleas

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.): very into experimenting and especially good at convincing you to try out things, loves pushing you out of your comfort zone and always makes sure you are thoroughly rewarded for it

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…): he paces himself very well, almost always enjoys the heavy petting sessions as much as being inside you so its always a very long round, just one though , and always spaced out, so you have to seek him out

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?): he does, a large variety that has him always so indecisive ,what should he use next, how should he torment his sweet little lambkin, so many possibilities so many paths to take

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): he is horrible, he loves teasing you, he'll push you to tell him everything you want him to do to you while being entirely still inside you until you finally talk, and spill every embarrassing desire and fantasy you have

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make): very very quiet, besides some gasps when he finishes and the things be tells you throughout to tease you, he is very quiet, unnervingly so

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice): i totally think he’d be into hate sex, having you angry and shouting at him, claiming to hate him while your body betrays your needs and wants

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words): he is on the longer side with a slight curve that always hits your best spots, very cocky about it too

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?): he yearns a lot, but likes to keep himself in control of his needs, wants you to come to him rather than him having to chase you

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): he likes watching you, at your more relaxed when you are this comfortable next to him, it's truly a testament to your trust and he is honored, he spends hours simply watching yo and, running his fingers through your hair

#white faced varre #white faced Varre smut #white faced Varre x reader #elden ring x reader #elden ring smut #elden ring #white faced Varre elden ring #Varre smut #white mask varre #varre #Varre x reader #.writing

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thenamesblurrito · 9 months

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so it's uh been awhile. you might wanna click for clarity, especially for the kitty cat on the right. everyone here except Chromedome is a size null!

Grandus has been a champion of various martial arts since long before the Stratocracy was ever founded, with grace belied by his size null bulk. his particular specialty is a type of wrestling originating from his home planet Caminus, but he's lived on Cybertron a long time, working with Yoketron to teach and record martial arts as much as he can. under the current regime that looks down on such "violence", preserving this information is pretty important. when Yoketron decided to chip in as a benefactor for the JAAT, Grandus himself actually took a teaching position in physical education. the self-knowledge and body confidence he passes on to his students is unexpectedly engaging, almost enough to get some of them to stop gossiping about whatever relationship he may or may not have with pop star Rosanna.

whether or not his students were sports fans before, Eject is going to make sure they leave his class with a new appreciation for the glorious art of physical competition. an unmatched master of sports history and science, he can tell you the play-by-play of every Cube match in the past fifty million years without looking anything up, just as much of a terrifying information sponge as his twin, and equally terrifying on the field despite his extremely small datacube frame. given the cultural importance and how there's a sport for every function, he's actually got quite a bit of teaching material to cover even for the less active students. while he does have a Conjunx, he's not exactly in love with Chromedome like Rewind is, only married to him because of the way twin sparks work. they get along well enough, but he and Rewind have agreed that should they ever pick up an Amica, it'll be somebody Eject adores himself.

Chromedome is honestly a little confused as to how he wound up here in the first place. before, he was a psychiatric recordkeeper and ethical inspector. then his Conjunx Rewind got it into his head that he'd be just the perfect candidate to help out that new school Jhiaxus was trying to open, and Chromedome abruptly found himself a teacher of psychiatry. it's quite the change of pace, and honestly much less depressing to talk with a bunch of bright younglings than pore over yet another case file of horrific medical malpractice. he's an average size 2 car, but that's more than tall enough to pick up both his Conjunces with ease, if the two of them ever stood still long enough to nab.

he may not be JAAT faculty, but Rewind is ever-present anyway. both to check in on his twin and Conjunx or friends like Blaster, and also to get the freshest scoop on all the juicy stories this school spawns constantly! he may be tiny, but he is The star reporter of Iacon--no, Cybertron! nothing can stand in the way of getting that snippet, that quote, that blurry video, that first hand experience broadcasted to the world, even when his support staff Raindance and Grand Slam lag behind! information, he wants information! it all goes into his own alt mode storage as a datacube, making him quite the encyclopedia. the Stratocracy has tried and utterly failed to censor him, so instead they've relegated him to the function he has always excelled at, although with the way he is "accidentally" platforming the heroes and their dangerous ideals, they may be regretting letting Rewind run wild...

Roadmaster is a familiar face to many at the JAAT already, both to old friends like Thunderclash and folks she's never met. she's the host of popular nature show Quintessential Creatures, teaching viewers all about weird and wonderful wildlife. she was forged on Caminus long enough ago that her original records have been lost, but she's traveled everywhere since then, and her animal-wrangling bravery often makes people think she must be from Carcer instead. by all appearances she's slowing down now, letting her assistant Servo take on more responsibility, and this teaching position at the Academy is just perfect. she gets to affectionately nag a gaggle of fellow teachers many millions of years her junior while surreptitiously instilling revolutionary ideals and a love of nature in dozens of impressionable young minds. her walker transforms to become the cage on her enormous transport truck alt mode, most often used to haul rehabilitated mechanimals back to their natural habitats.

Meowgatron is a rusty tabkey who came up and sat on Roadmaster's clipboard one day and has been her darling pet ever since. he is, in a word, an idiot, and yet surprisingly good at finding his new favorite person Starscream to sit on and purr, no matter where he's hiding. rusty tabkeys like himself have lava lamp radiator alt modes, and many stressed students find petting his warm, blobby body very soothing. it almost makes up for his daily yowling sessions when he gets himself stuck inside a desk somehow.

#faculty #grandus #eject #rewind #chromedome #cdrw #roadmaster #meowgatron #transformers #transformers redesign #macaddam #cyberfauna #TF:SNAP #tf original continuity

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adamsvanrhijn · 4 months

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the thing about house md is it is egregiously unrealistic at best and generally moreso Inaccurate, for everything from hospital administration to actual medical happenings. but also it's funny because it is Constantly lampshaded that this is the case. like. one of the fellows tries to work at another hospital but is fired and cannot get a job outside of princeton plainsboro teaching hospital because even when he is trying to be more conservative he is completely out of line for medical practice literally everywhere else. as soon as there is an outsider who tries to run things it is called out that at minimum house's bizarre choices are not required for him to do his job and at worst are actively detrimental to it. (despite this character being an asshole who is promptly written off he is in fact Not the one portrayed as unreasonable in many of those interactions.) the majority of the hospital's legal fees are spent on defending house from lawsuits. they have the maximum possible medical malpractice insurance coverage because house is employed there. patients and hospital staff are constantly calling out the team's behavior as unreasonable and unfair to other patients (who have normal conditions they are also dying from). it is made clear the team is only tolerated because of their consistent diagnostic success. local organ donation board members hate him

#house md tag

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alfiely-art · 3 months

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I'm voting Kotoko Guilty this round for quite a few reasons. First off, the only other two characters who have been voted guilty are Haruka and Muu. Yk. Minors. Who are already in a shitty mindset, who's verdict will most likely make that worse? Yeah. I would rather not have them beat up by Kotoko. And she WOULD beat them up- she would have beat up Amane if she hadn't been stopped, and Amane is much younger than Haruka and Muu.

I don't even mind her fighting injustice to feel good about herself. I mean, she's still fighting injustice. Regardless of her personal feelings about it, she's still doing good things. It's the way she goes about it that worries me. The article she was reading on her phone states that "more violence than necessary was used". Of course, the article could always be biased, but Kotoko has shown herself to be a violent person. Her call to us to vote everyone else in Milgram as Guilty, regardless of their crime, is a request for us to give her permission to make them her enemy and crush them. She would apply the same amount of force to, say, Yuno- someone who simply had an abortion because she didn't want the baby- as a person who kidnapped a child.

Kotoko sees everything in black and white. Yuno's "crime" of an abortion is just as evil as Haruka's crime of murder. Here's a reminder of the character's crimes (from my understanding):

Haruka: killed out of desperation to be seen, to have his mother finally acknowledge him after he wasn't good enough (ie, neurotypical) to keep up with the other kids.

Yuno: Had an abortion because she didn't want the baby. She didn't have some tragic reason why, she had a normal life. She was simply doing as she pleased.

Fuuta: Took part in cancel culture, which ended up doxxing a minor and she took her own life. He didn't want to accept responsibility for this, but it was clearly weighing on his mind.

Muu: She bullied others with her friends, and then her friends turned on her. She reached out to a classmate for help, but didn't receive any. Muu stabbed her in a panic, after alluding to either her or the classmate dying at the end of all of this.

Shido: Medical malpractice ? I think ? It's still not clear to me idk

Mahiru: Abused her boyfriend until he offed himself due to her sheltered life and toxic positivity. She feels as though she can't change, and she wants someone to love even if it hurts both of them.

Kazui: Lied about romantically loving his wife so that he could fit in to society at large. When he finally opened up about his feelings, the shock of it all caused his wife to end her life. He cared for her, but can't continue lying like this.

Amane: Killed her abuser, and is clinging to religion to both justify it to herself and comfort herself.

Mikoto: Still unclear whether he or John did the murder, how many murders there were, who was murdered, etc. The focus isn't exactly on the murder, moreso how mentally ill people are pushed to their limit with no support or help from others and the unhealthy coping mechanisms that can arise from that.

She tells us to throw away our sympathy. But understanding and kindness and sympathy are so so so important- not just in Milgram, but everywhere else, too. Yes, these are just characters, but a popular theory is that they represent societal issues. And I do believe that's true. They may not be real, but they represent real problems real people face. By ignoring the nuance, we blindly swing at whatever we're told is "guilty". Kotoko only attacked the prisoners we announced as Guilty. She won't act on her own moral code, merely the law. We are the law in Milgram, so she follows us.

I adore Kotoko, but her mindset is genuinely dangerous. While this is unlikely (cough, Amane) I hope her Guilty vote will help her. But it probably won't- Guilty votes destroy a person. But I can't vote her Innocent, either. I don't forgive her for her black and white thinking. Thus, she is Guilty to me. I'm very curious how she'll develop after this. I'm a little scared, too, but oh well.

#milgram #textpost #milgram kotoko #kotoko yuzuriha #opinions #milgram voting #if you disagree id love to hear your perspective #about kotoko i mean. shes the focus #i adore her but she scares me also

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magz · 5 months

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Is kind of frustrating how whenever any injustice happen, people will tell you need sue.

Even if not have resource for do that or not practical.

Even if in country where common public suing, not a thing.

Medical malpractice n medical abuse, but is only medical option that have? Sue.

Get plagiarized? Sue.

Your house burn down? Sue.

Running for your life? Sue.

Systemic job discrimination everywhere? Sue.

Nevermind that maybe person have heard that advice before many times, or have already try or are just try survive or problem bigger than that.

"Am know better, here unsolicited advice: just sue".

#am see this happen to us n to other people.#text post #o post #sij

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random-imagines-blog · 9 months

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Bullet with Vampire Wings {Sherlock x GN!Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3904 Summary: You end up killing someone that attempts to murder Sherlock Holmes. But the reason behind it is not what everyone thought it would be. Notes: Describes murder, blood, deception.

Your hands were covered in another person’s blood. It was warm, sticky, and it really did get everywhere. It was worse than hair dye in that regard. It was on your shirt, though you couldn’t remember if you had touched it or not. More than likely, it was upon your face too. There was no mirror to look in, at least, not yet. You could clean yourself up in the prison, the arresting officer said, pushing your arms behind you to put the handcuffs on. It might not be ideal, or welcoming, but there was a shower there. The flashing lights on top of the police cars were disorienting you, and you could faintly hear Sherlock shouting. It was defense, you idiots, it was all defense. Y/N had saved my life, why are you arresting them? Oh, the poor dear. He really considered himself to be brilliant but you never caught onto one simple fact. You were never on his side. Not even once.

It had started five years ago. Sherlock’s name had started popping up in the papers. A picture or two, once he had solved a case. There was something about his face that you just didn’t like. A smugness to it. This man truly thought that he was the most intelligent man in the world, and yet he was lowering himself to solving petty crimes? What a waste of a mind, and what a waste of talent. He was smart, you could give him that, but was he actually clever? You, only twenty at the time, had sipped at your tea while reading over his latest case and thinking - perhaps you could pose a sort of challenge. See how far he could actually take his intellect. And why not add something on top of it? Why not do it all while right under his nose?

It was easier to orchestrate a crime in this grand city than it should have been. You went missing. You created a trail of very subtle clues and sat yourself down in a loft in the city owned by an executive of a company you didn’t like very much and spent your days following the case on the news. Sherlock Holmes was brought in to consult. On the television, you saw him standing outside of your brownstone, Lestrade with him, waving away the press. To every question asked, they said no comment. That told you a lot.

It took them two total days to find you. You weren’t impressed at all. You thought that Sherlock was supposed to be brilliant, but alas. That’s the problem with trying to meet people these days. Most of them were a disappointment, especially in the intelligence sector. But Sherlock was the closest thing to a match that you had in this city, even if he was still a level below you. As your father said, sometimes you just had to play nice with the unfortunates. It’s not their fault that they’re so ... stupid.

You had more than enough time to anticipate his entrance, and to play it up. You were just a poor victim. You had been taken from your home, tasered, blindfolded. You had the burn marks on your side to prove it. The lengths that you would go to for this plan, the scars were just the beginning. Who took you, Lestrade asked, while Sherlock looked carefully at everything. You had no worries about him finding any evidence that you were just here at your leisure. That a simple hour ago, you had been sitting on the couch, reading a worn out copy of The Iliad, snacking on some goldfish crackers. No crumbs, the book slipped back into the bookshelf, yourself being bound once more and a look of desperation on your tear lined face. They bought it. They absolutely bought it.

You were treated in A&E for the burns, and you watched on the TV that the executive was arrested. Not only for kidnapping, but for all sorts of business malpractices. Money laundering, illegal displacements of funds, all of that very fun stuff that was going to have him tied up in the courts for at least a decade. He pleaded his innocence to everything that he was being charged with, but the evidence spoke for itself, and if he was lying about one thing, who is to say that he isn’t lying about everything? It was the simplest thing in the world. And his reason for kidnapping you? A complete accident, of course, the address of your brownstone was on an Avenue, while the address of one of the accountants was the same number, the same street name, but on a Grove. Easy mistake. They were keeping you around while trying to figure out what to do with you, since you were innocent.

Really, it was all too easy to set all of this up. You just had to act all traumatized, answer the questions, and work your way into Sherlock’s life. How did he find you, you asked. And he was only too happy to explain how ‘easy’ it was, with the eight steps that he took. You attempted to look impressed, you really did. But you couldn’t stop yourself from interrupting during the fourth, “-and those emails didn’t make it clear to you?” You asked,making him pause. That was all that you would have needed, if you wanted to spend your time looking for missing people. “Sorry, sorry,” You muttered. “I’m grateful, I am, I just would have thought - no, never mind.”

“No, go on,” Sherlock insisted. And you explained yourself, how what the email said - written by you through the executive’s account, easy peasy, should have pointed him to look into his other properties. Then they might have been at the door as soon as yesterday. Sherlock seemed to give that some thought. He looked pensive, an amusing expression because it meant that he knew you had a point, a ‘simpleton’ like you. He was gazing at you differently than before now, and you settled into the hospital bed, pretending to have gotten a sort of pain.

And as expected, he kept in touch. You had planted the seeds of interest inside of him. He was intrigued by you, and you - well, you appeared to be eager to learn. He took you under his wing, so to speak. Minute by minute, the amount of rage that he caused inside of you grew larger. He was so sanctimonious. So smug. So fucking holier-than-thou. And then you met his brother Mycroft and saw how much that ran in the family. His parents must be entirely insufferable. And then there was John. Poor little John Watson, always bring dragged into these dangerous situations, and puffing out his chest like a hero as he wrote them out on his blog, as if he had been the one to save the day. As if. It was usually some off-hand comment by you, or some comment made innocently that had put Sherlock on the right path. You weren’t made for the role of a hero. It was infuriating.

Your plotting began the first moment that he invited you to help him with a case. It was hard for you to admit, but you became obsessed with the idea of taking Sherlock down. Of wiping that stupid expression off of his face for good. Villains were always monologuing before a kill, which meant that the hero had time to escape and save the day, hurrah hurrah, so you wouldn’t be able to give him the full experience of pointing out all of his wrongs, unfortunately. It was so temping though. He really just assumed that he was always the smartest person in the room. You were giving yourself an ulcer putting up with it.

You were always one step ahead. You might have a bit of an ego but you couldn’t put it at more than that. He was close to being your match. And you hated him for it. You loathed every second that you were around him. You hated how slow he could be, how it took him an additional day, an additional hour to catch onto something in a case that you had noticed right away. There were times when you had to innocently bring up a fact just so that he would have a chance to catch up. Just so that there wouldn’t be an innocent death on your hands, or an additional murder out there. You might not have much of a conscience but you did have a care for those that couldn’t always help themselves.

God, how you hated him. And how you couldn’t express it around him. He probably thought you worshiped him, the narcissistic pig-face. You couldn’t murder him too quickly, no, you had to play it cool, learn every facet of his life to use it all against him. He had his walls built up castle size, however. It was hard to get even the slightest bit out of him without him catching onto you. That’s why it had been taking so long. Years. Years of your life wasted but the fall was going to be the most beautiful thing in the world. You already started to make your moves - Moriarty was becoming more well known now, and you pushed forward an actor who knew nothing about you save for the instructions you sent him from afar, just to throw off more blame from you.

Five years. Orchestrating from behind the scenes. There was no satisfaction that you had ever felt more strongly than that when Sherlock was stressing out over what Moriarty’s next move was going to be. You learned how to keep control of your facial features to the point where you deserved every award out there. Give you an Emmy, give you an Oscar, the Academy should be worshiping your feet.

But there was one thing that you did not foresee. Someone else wanting to get to Sherlock as much as you do. But they took the quick and easy route, rather than the concentrated long-game that you did. It wasn’t even some mastermind that did it either. It wasn’t Magnussen. It wasn’t even Culverton Smith. It was just some run of the mill murderer. Some guy with a gun who was trying to get away from Sherlock and Lestrade. The stupid Holmes, he wasn’t even supposed to be a part of physically catching the murderer. He was just supposed to stay inside of Baker Street, come up with the killer, phone it in and wait. His stubbornness was going to get himself killed before your plans came to fruition.

The man had a gun, a pocket pistol of sorts. And he was turning around to shoot Sherlock, his coat flinging away from his torso as you watched in slow-motion. He whipped it out like he thought he was some sort of action star. Lestrade was running too hard, too fast, to start to take out his gun properly. He was fumbling while trying to get it out of his belt. Sherlock was trying to stop, but his momentum was too fast. He was thrust forward, nearly falling to the ground. And John, poor limping John, had nearly crashed into a postbox. It was up to you at this point. You were closest, having been told to try to cut him off from the side street. A mere two meters. You could let him shoot Sherlock. It was an easy shot. He wouldn’t get away with it. You could claim that you were too far away to stop him.

But no. That was letting him get off way too easily.

Your knife was easier to get out of your pocket than any weighty gun was. Just the push of a button on the handle and the blade came out, sharpened just that week. It glinted in the streetlight, right into the eyes of the murderer. It distracted him but only for the narrowest second. He tried to blink the glare out of the corner of his eye and by that time, it was too late for him. You reached him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and thrusting the blade right into his gut. And with a sweeping motion, you slid it through the flesh, through the shirt, and tore it out of his side, blood rising to the surface. In his pain and his panic, he fired off a shot. It hit a no parking sign, and ricochet, going through the windshield of a car that was breaking that rule. Then the murderer started to fall towards the ground, slowly, slowly, everything still in slow motion for you as your brain worked quickly.

Stabbing someone is not as easy as one would make it seem. You had to push it through layers of skin, all pushed together. Organs as well. It wasn’t a thin little pork chop. It took strength. It took determination. And it took a real sharp knife. Even wrenching it out, covered in blood, was rough. Your biceps were sore just from the motion, but your adrenaline was rushing, making it hard to notice or focus on.

There was so much blood. You didn’t typically get your hands dirty like this. It was so sticky and so messy. It was like glue from elementary school. When you pulled out the knife, and let go of the man as he started to fall, you realized that it had spilled over the handle as well. It had gotten onto your coat. It even got onto the trousers that you had just picked up from the dry-cleaner the night before. And it looked like he wasn’t even going to be around to foot the bill to get them re-cleaned. You looked down at his body, while still holding the knife over him, and noticed how it was more than just blood that was coming out of the large gash that you had made in him. An intestine was spilling out, looking like a limp snake.

You knew exactly what you were doing. There wasn’t any shock to it, there wasn’t any trepidation or regret afterwards. It was a simple annoyance. As was everything that was going to come afterwards.

Back-up finally started to approach, sirens coming from the top of the police cars. Sherlock and Lestrade finally caught up to you, the policeman looking at the body and Sherlock looking at you. “Are you hurt?” The lank man asked - as if he had thoughts of anyone outside of himself.

“I don’t think so,” You said, knowing perfectly well that you were fine. Not even a nick. Not even a bruise. Just the work out from going through those layers and layers of epidermis. “He was going to kill you.”

“Yeah, he was,” Lestrade said, kicking the pistol out of the way, and then dropped down to the ground. Two fingers against his neck to test his pulse. He shook his head. “Dead.”

Too quick. That was annoying. You could have spit. Anger was making you start to shake, but Sherlock took it as you being in shock. He put a hand on your upper arm and you flinched away - the audacity of this skinny bitch. He muttered to the back up police that you were in shock. You braced yourself. You knew what was coming. There was no way that you were going to kill someone in public like this without getting cuffed.

And that’s where you were now. Sherlock was yelling in your defense. John was trying to explain to an officer what had happened. Lestrade was promising you that he’d meet you at the station and everything would be cleared up. Surprisingly, you felt alright. You had a calm and level head now that the threat had been eradicated. The only thing that was possibly upsetting was the fact that the victim wasn’t the correct person. You didn’t offer any trouble to the officers, to your credit. You could have broken out of these cuffs easily. They all had a weak spot, but you didn’t. You allowed yourself to be taken to the station. You allowed yourself to be fingerprinted. To be put into an interrogation room.

Just because your plan was being forced to change didn’t mean that it was off. You just had to take a different approach now. It was the perfect time to break Sherlock’s little heart. To let him know that all of the trust he had put into you over the last couple of years was misguided. That he was not smart enough to see this coming.

You were waiting in interrogation for an hour before Lestrade, Sherlock and another officer came in. “This is just a formality,” Lestrade explained, looking annoyed at the other officer. “We just need your statement and then we can process your release. It was clearly in self defense. We’ll have this sorted in no time,” Greg assured you. “Can we at least remove the cuffs?”

The officer acquiesced, coming around to your side of the table and undid the cuffs around your neck. You rubbed at where they had irritated your skin. Such barbaric little things, these handcuffs. A rope with a good knot was much more effective, but you know how men are. They love the look of metal. You smiled at Greg thankfully, since you honestly had nothing against the detective. He was a good man. Not smug. A little confused sometimes, but it was adorable in it’s own way. “Can you tell us what happened?” He asked.

And so you went through the story. You told him about the case. How you had come to hear about this killer. How he had the gun out and how you pieced together his intent to kill Sherlock Holmes.

“And you stabbed him in defense of Mr. Holmes?” The officer, who had conducted the interview asked you.

“Of course,” You said, leaning back casually against the chair. “I couldn’t let him do such a thing. Not after everything that I had planned. I’ve had to modify it now because of the current circumstances, but what can you do? Even simpletons can disrupt the best laid plans. I know now to try to accommodate discrepancies.”

“Beg your pardon?” Lestrade said, leaning forward, his face confused. But what you were looking at was Sherlock. He looked utterly bewildered for just a couple of seconds before he regained control. He hated to be caught unaware. It was satisfying to see.

“What I’m saying, Greg,” You reiterated. “-is that the real reason I killed this man, whatever his name is, I can hardly remember now, is because I wasn’t going to let him take the kill away from me. Since I had met Mr. Sherlock Holmes here, I’ve had this craving to be the one that wipes his smugness away from the world. I satisfied myself for a time on the fact that he really isn’t as smart as everyone, including himself, thinks that he is. Why, he never even caught on that meeting one another was a farce. I wasn’t kidnapped by anyone. I set it all up myself as a test to him, to compare intellect. He did pass it, but I thought he would catch on a lot faster. Seemed he never had,” You smirked over in Sherlock’s direction. He was starting to get flustered. An angry kind of flustered. “These last couple of years, Sherlock, I’ve helped you so many times. It was so ... so infuriating watching you take the credit when I handed you the answers. Did all of you really think that he solved all of those cases by himself? Not a chance. See, we’re very different, you and I. While you thought you were grooming me, I was playing you the entire time. I had this ... this beautiful, extravagant plan made up that would destroy your life before I took it, but it seems I’m going to have to go another way because of this. I’ll make sure that the detour is worth it. I will take your life with my own hands, and I will enjoy every second of it. That is my statement. I won’t fight against the cuffs officer, so if you please, you can take me to prison now. I admit full conspiracy to murder, and second degree murder for that poor killer. I look forward to making some new friends.”

Lestrade was in shock, because he had considered you a friend. He had considered you to be an asset to Scotland Yard. The other officer was more unbiased, and hurried to put the handcuffs back on you, to hoist you up. He was acting rather roughly with you, showing anger and disgust, which was ever more amusing because this man, this random officer, was never going to be on your level. Before you left though, you couldn’t help but say some last minute words to the tall man who was starting to stand, hands slightly trembling.

“Oh, and Sherlock” You said, making sure his eyes were on yours. You had one more blow to deliver. “If it’s any consolation to you, your brother didn’t figure out that I am Moriarty, either. And he’s of far better intellect than you are.”

If anything was going to leave him more angry than your betrayal, it was that blow to the ego. You saw those words hit home, gave a little wave with your fingers, and allowed yourself to be lead out past a bewildered John Watson, Lestrade and Sherlock following and talking amongst themselves until you were out the door.

Two weeks. That’s all that it took. Two weeks and you were out and about in London once more, and not in the prison cell that you should have been in. You even beat the timing in the show Prison Break. In another life, you might have been able to make a fortune in pointing out the weaknesses in the prison structure, in the timing of the changing of the guard, of blind spots from the cameras that even the guards didn’t know about.

And now, you were casually scrolling through a phone that you had stolen from some teenager in the park, while watching Sherlock being put into a black cab by Lestrade to be taken to a safe house. News had emerged of your grand escape. Of the riots that had happened in your name back at the prison. You hadn’t escaped alone, of course not. You brought some people out with you, the ones who had taken the fall for the Moriarty name.

You stepped out onto the sidewalk, and started walking to a car that was idling in wait for you. You got into the passenger seat, eyes still towards 221B. Mrs Hudson was standing in the doorway, looking worryingly out after the car Sherlock was taking off in, the one that you and your actor would be tailing at a distance. Poor dear. You always did like that woman. She knew her place. And that place was making the best cuppa that you ever had.

The dark haired actor maneuvered the car onto the small street, and started the drive. You chose the music, putting on something fun, kind of poppy. A ‘grooving on a Sunday afternoon’ sort of song, singing along as you made your way to enact your final plans.

#Sherlock #Sherlock x reader #Sherlock oneshots #Sherlock BBC #Sherlock BBC oneshot #oneshot #x reader #request #sherlocks #Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock Holmes x reader #Sherlock Holmes oneshot

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mercurydarlin · 1 year

Note

Sleepy drunk doctor malpractice

Late Nights

warnings: alcohol

this to request

It was pretty late, 2:00 am? You both should've been asleep. But no, You heard knocking on your door from a (you didn't know this, shut up) a intoxicated, tired, Wilbur.

"Y/nn...I'm coming in..." The door slowly opens as he smiled at you. "You're still awake-- love?..." He asked, grinning at you. You simply nodded, ducking back under the covers of your bed. "awh, did you leave space for me?" Wilbur planted himself on your bed, and yanked the covers off you. you yelped in response. "You're cute when you do that" He teased, unknowing though. Holding you tightly in his arms, Wilbur left kisses almost everywhere on you face. The smell of alcohol was far too familiar by now, You protested, pulling him away with each kiss. "Oh I love you dear, I wish I could just hold you like this every second..." Wilbur seemed to be getting carried away, as he continued to plant kisses all over your red face.

"stopp..." You groaned as wilbur planted a final kiss on your lips. "I love youu..." He closed his eyes, both of you slowly drifted to sleep. the warmth brought of his hand around your waist brought you comfort...

#wilbur mcyt #wilbur x y/n #mcyt x reader #mcyt x y/n #mcyt x you #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot #mcyt fanfiction #fanfic #mcyt imagine

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trashmammal-7 · 4 months

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My leg pain has gotten worse recently which has caused me to limp basically everywhere. I've also been watching House lately. My brain keeps telling me I'm faking the limp from too much exposure to doctor Greggory "medical malpractice" House.

#I hate it here #house md

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yanderedollhouse · 3 days

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Part 1

The Failure; The Meeting

Demon!Yandere OC x Suicidal!Reader

Summary: Following a failed attempt at suicide, you wake up in the temporary psych ward at your local hospital, but something just isn’t right about your nurse. Will you be able to escape this place? And more importantly, can you escape him?

Warnings: Yandere, Suicide mentions (ideation, failed attempt, urges), Obsessive behavior, needles, religious concepts (angels, demons, heaven, hell), delusions, fantasy horror/ gore, harm and recovery, hospitals, psychiatric ward, manipulation, medical malpractice, murder, harassment, medication malcompliance, noncon, kidnapping

Resources: Connect with a trained crisis counselor. The 988 Suicide and Crisis Line is confidential, free, and available 24/7/365.

Word Count: 1k

“It’s feeling empty in the middle of an amazing moment. It’s cuddling your dog and thinking she would be better off without you, then realizing how silly that was to think.” — Acacia A.

“It’s like drowning, except you know how to swim. The current is just too strong to stay afloat anymore. That current is your emotions. What strength you have left is your ability to swim.” — Miranda W.

“Think of the way other people long for the beach, or they long for a rainy day and a good book. They yearn for things that bring them comfort, time away from stress, even when they can’t necessarily set everything aside to make it happen immediately. It’s the same way, for me, with suicide. I went under for surgery a few times, and described the nowhere and nothingness I experienced, and how I imagine at times this is what death is like. And so, like most people would yearn for some innocuous escape from everyday life, I sometimes yearn for an escape not-so-harmless: the nowhere nothingness.” — Kristy H.

“Going to be okay. . it’s going to be okay.”

You push through the thick fog weighing you down. Towards the voice that drips of sticky-sweet honey and lies. You want it to be okay. You feel like you’re floating towards something, but when you reach out to grab at the warm glow above you, to embrace the heat, cold chains around your ankles clink and groan in protest and snap you back down, down to the frigid ground. Your head hits the surface and everything but you dissolves into the dark nothingness from which you came.

When you first wake up, all you can see are harsh, white lights everywhere. There are so many sounds, so many voices that you can’t distinguish one from another and it hits you as a solitary wall of panic. You start to move. Your fingers barely respond at first, then they jump to life. Grabbing and clawing as if you are still heading for the voice from before. You jolt as hands grab at you from both sides to still your arms. There’s a sharp prick in your side, then everything is heavy and dark.

The darkness is so binding this time that you aren’t sure if you really are awake this time. You try to move and are rewarded by a stiff and painful aching across your body. Before you can think to stop moving, you hear the click of a door opening and in an instant, light floods the room. You wince and try your best to look asleep again. You can get out of here once you’re alone again. You can hear footsteps approaching and the beep of a few buttons.

“You look much more peaceful when you’re actually asleep.” A soft voice cuts through the silence, “Are you in pain?”

Busted. You let your curiosity get the better of you and your eyelids flutter open. Before you stands what you immediately assume to be an actual angel. With a shock of white hair and a confusingly youthful face, you can’t exactly determine the age of the man standing over you, but you can tell that he is absolutely gorgeous. You start to panic, realizing how disgusting you must appear to him. Bright eyes, full of concern, flicker behind a pair of thin, dark glasses.

“Here.” He turns his back to you briefly and grabs something, then crouches next to you and holds up an unopened bottle of water in front of you. He twists off the lid and holds the small bottle to your lips, smiling as you down the entire thing in several messy gulps.

“Hurts,” You manage to tell him then.

“I’m sure it does,” He empathizes, “Where all does it hurt?”

"Everywhere.”

“Okay,” He gives you a concerned look up and down, “The pain should go away soon, but I’ll still get you a low-dose painkiller to start out with. And you should feel better after you eat something. Can I bring you some food?”

“Yes please,” You start to get an idea, and it would be best if he left for this.

He gives you an encouraging smile and leaves, shutting the door gently behind him.

You count to 130, testing your body’s movement along the way. With a little effort and a hup, you’re finally standing. The spots of darkness haven’t even left your eyes when you take off, running directionlessly through the halls and thanking God that you’re still wearing your clothes. It doesn't occur to you that the door should have been locked.

It seems to be late evening and the halls are almost completely empty. Almost. Just when you finally find the staircase, you hit someone . Hard. You and a small blonde woman go flying to the ground. You look up long enough to meet her eyes and see the word ‘wait’ form on her lips before you’re back up and running clumsily down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

She must have alerted security, because you hear the overhead speakers announce a variety of codes as you run.

‘Shit shit shit!’ You think, losing hope you didn’t even know you had.

And there it is. The exit. You can see a crimson sky through the small window of the door at the bottom of the staircase. You hesitate, and then your hands are gripping the cold handle of the door and pushing open. Into the unknown. Into freedom.

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