#medical trauma tw

[kiyoobi]

we all are small particles holding very tightly together in a very large universe // k.bakugou  III

Rating: MA

Pairing(s): Tamaki Amajiki x fem!reader, Bakugou Katsuki x fem!reader

Warnings: hurt/comfort, heavy angst, emotional cheating, major character death, smut, body horror/graphic injuries, trauma, ptsd, sinkhole accident, medical trauma, hospital scenes 

wc: 9.7k

Summary: ahaha

a/n: hello this is my third part, ive finally hit my 20k min requirement for @mybigbangacademia yay!!!!!!!!!! enjoy, like, reblog, comment, gimme a lil kudos on ao3 (link in title) and as always...

minors dni

For authorized eyes only, Level Eight Clearance and Above required.

Mission Report: Musutafu Sinkhole Incident, 02/03/2xxx

On March 2nd, 2xxx a sinkhole in the Musutafu district occurred at 17:52. There were fourteen casualties, including Pro-Hero Suneater. Forty-eight other civilians and heroes were rushed to nearby hospitals for injuries ranging from severe to devastating. Twelve had minimal injuries. Twenty-two are still missing. Numbers of victims are rising every day. Rescue efforts are still ongoing, the city blocks have been shut down and quarantined as fire and rescue fight the elements. 

The sinkhole originally had been three blocks wide and three hundred twenty-seven feet deep. The original cause is still unknown, this investigation is ongoing but suspicions are that unstable water and sewages systems and years of poor foundation may be the cause. As soon as this emergency was dispatched, teams of heroes and sidekicks alongside fire and rescue had surrounded the area and began their rescued efforts. Surrounding the sinkhole, medics awaited for any survivors. The main concern was finding pedestrians and securing any unstable sections. Rescue heroes had been struggling with the amount of debris and noise made, making rescue efforts difficult. This raised the emergency level to a code black. Broken electricity lines quickly became a concern once the burst water and sewage pipes made contact. Many injuries that flooded the medic tents ranged from crush injuries, mild concussions, DOA (dead on arrival), or electrocution. Medic tents were busy and over filled for the next few days after the disaster, hospital emergency rooms flooded with drastic injuries.  

Section five of the sinkhole had collapsed at 21:04, engulfing an ambulance truck, a petrol station, several civilian cars, a news station car, and two heroes: Shadow Step and Suneater. The collapsed section had sunken down an estimated one hundred more feet. Flooding, debris, collapsed vehicules and a small building had made rescue efforts all the more difficult. Investigations are ongoing to find the cause of this particular section caving in, however due to instability of the sinkhole, causes are still unknown. 

Pro-hero Suneater and his sidekick Shadow Step had fallen into the collapsed section, with Tamaki Amajiki breaking his sidekick’s fall. Initial findings found that an ambulance had fallen too with them, threatening their safety as it was caught on metal piping. Reports found that the ambulance had slipped from the broken pipes due to the insecure structuring and water flooding, and the heroes were trapped underneath an ambulance for approximately sixty-seven hours. Suneater had heroically saved himself and Shadow Step under an oyster shell he had manifested. However due to his extensive injuries, his protection against the ambulance truck was fragile and weakening. 

Unbeknownst to them, Suneater’s wireless earpiece had not been shattered from their initial fall and impact as he had believed. His last moments alive were recorded, lasting for an approximate four thousand five hundred and sixty minutes. 

A team looking for the hero pair had been listening from a nearby zone in hopes of finding their location and saving them. Overhearing the grave condition Suneater was in, they knew they had a limited time before his quirk would cease working and both heroes would be crushed by the ambulance truck. 

Said team of those heroes, all who are now currently in ongoing trauma therapy for the disaster and loss of their fellow number six hero are:

Number one hero Lemillion

Number two hero Deku

Number three hero Shouto

Number four hero Dynamite

Number five hero Hawks

Number sixteen hero Earphone Jack

The following is an excerpt of Suneater’s autopsy report:

Japanese Male, Twenty-seven years old, 179 centimeters, weighing approximately 87.9 kilograms. Pronounced dead on scene. 

Traumatic cervical spine injuries had led to the extreme possibility of paralysis from these severe injuries. 

Higher falls were associated with hemorrhage as well as rib fractures and various organ injuries. Organ injury patterns did not differ based on work status. The presence of equipment misuse or malfunction were not associated with more deaths upon impact. Suneater was not killed on impact. 

He suffered extensive injuries, a broken arm, a broken leg and fractures of a number of ribs. Evidence of a pneumothorax was found due to a broken rib. A gash in his left thigh confirmed witness reports that a metal drainage pipe had stabbed through the upper rectus femoris muscle and shattered parts of the left femur. 

Cause of death was blunt force trauma from the falling vehicle, with signs of tracheal collapse and the C2 vertebrae crushed.

End excerpt.

Due to Suneater’s broadcast from his receiver, evidence corroborated the accident reports. Shadow Step was to activate their quirk to switch positions with the ambulance that had been threatening to crush them both. After much debate Shadow Step finally agrees to Suneater’s plan, resulting in his death and their recovery. 

Unfortunately, Shadow Step was not found immediately. The depression had been filling with sewage and rushing water from the broken water mains quickly flooding the area. Section Three had concaved and fallen to what experts estimate at least one hundred feet. Mud, collapsed cars, debris, had all made rescue efforts more difficult. Shadow Step was stranded at the bottom of the sinkhole for two more days without food or clean water. Dynamite, part of this rescue team, had been the one to find Shadow Step. 

They were found at the scene emaciated with open cuts and wounds, a concussion, extreme exhaustion, infection in trauma fractures found in the left humerus, dislocated shoulder, broken collarbone, broken arm, broken ribs from impact, and a metal pipe in their upper left leg. Since Suneater’s transmission was the only record found, events that went underway with Shadow Step are unclear, although given the traumatic rescue, assumptions can be made about how critical and dire their situation was. Medical analysis showed they consumed gasoline, presumably from the petrol station that caved in with Section Three, and presumably because they confused it with water in all of the hysterics. Currently they are in an induced medical coma as they recover from surgery. They are not expected to return to work within the next few months. Attempts to find their soulmate are still under way. 

The origins of the sinkhole are still under investigation. Villains are found to not be involved. 

-(-)-

A sea of nothing. Everywhere it is dark. 

You can feel the warm water underneath your back, gently rocking you back to sleep. Everything is quiet. You quite like the quiet. You float aimlessly. To be honest, you think you can live like this for the rest of your life. Are you even alive? Perhaps it’s purgatory. It’s certainly not heaven. Or maybe it is, you wonder. You really don’t care. 

-(-)-

Maybe you do care. Where are you going anyway? Is this really heaven? Are you dead? You feel salt in your throat, burning your trachea and esophagus. There really isn’t anything to do here. What even is here?

You’re sick, but wasn’t there a proverb you read once that said the sick wouldn’t be sick anymore? Whatever, you supposed. You wiggle your toes in the warm water, floating aimlessly still. 

-(-)-

Your mind is empty. Or maybe it’s anesthetized, so you wouldn’t feel the gaping wound it’s become. One day I’ll cry, you tell yourself with a faint smile. One day, I might care that I am dying. 

-(-)-

Am I real?

-(-)-

Everything hurts. Nothing hurts at all. 

You want to look, look and see where you’re going, where you are, but your eyes sting every time you even try to open your swollen lids. Instead, you settle for touch, using your fingertips to feel warm waves lapping around your floating body. You realize one of your arms is bandaged to your chest, the other in a sling. Slowly it comes back to you in flashes:

Falling. 

Screaming

The force of the ground beneath you and Tamaki. 

Tamaki…

You want to cry out but there’s a tube in your throat, choking you. 

You want to move but your muscles won’t listen. 

Bambi. 

The waves under you feel softer, drier. Linen. 

Bambi. 

Your eyes open. 

“She’s fighting the intubation,” a voice says next to you. 

“Welcome back,” another says. “Relax for just a moment, babe, we are going to remove your breathing tube.” You gag as they remove the foreign object, coughing violently as soon as you’re free. 

Bambi. 

You struggle to speak, your voice is gone and every word feels like your vocal chords are grating against each other. 

“Oh honey, shhhh.” The ICU nurse dabs your eyes, you’re crying. Why are you crying?   “It’s okay, it’s okay. You’ve been under for a while, you shouldn’t push yourself to talking just yet. Your doctors will be in soon.” You look at them wildly, not understanding where you are and what’s going on. The lights are too bright, the machines next to you, too loud. You try to flail your arms but one is tied to your chest, the other manages to smack an orderly right on the cheek. 

“Sedate her.” The orderly is quick to strap down your free arm while a team of medical staff moves swiftly around you. “Three milligrams of midazolam-,” Your muscles loosen and it’s harder to keep your eyes open. 

Bambi. 

For the next week you’re in and out of consciousness. No one tells you anything suffice for the TV in your hospital room playing the news, over and over they tell the public the horrid news. You watch Tamaki’s memorial from your bed, veins pumping with sedatives to keep you from breaking down again. You watch his parents cry, unable to yourself. Lemillion gives a beautiful speech, so do others who know your fiancé. Knew. You correct this mentally over and over, but you never seem to get it right. After the news broadcasts, you watch trashy talk show hosts gossip about you. The police told you nothing was released, and yet here they are skepulating on who your mystery soulmate is. They tell all of Japan how you’re such a monster for letting Tamaki die, and your eyes flit to the hordes of cards and flowers sent to your bedroom, the fruit baskets that you cannot stomach to eat. 

You don’t cry. You can’t. You really want a cigarette. You press that little grey button for more morphine instead. 

Nurses and doctors filter in and out, updating you on your recovery. A few more weeks and your collarbone will be all set to go! Your O2 sats are rising! You might be weaned off this drip in a few more days! 

“Why can’t you guys use the doctors with the healing quirks?” Your voice is hoarse, barely used, words slurring. You watch your med team stiffen, not used to hearing you speak. You suppose that’s what happens when you wake up screaming every morning, only shutting up when you’re pumped full of drugs. 

“What?” You snap, “What aren’t you telling me??”

“The infection in your bone is spreading, even with the antibiotics and the surgeries planned for this week… we don’t believe it’ll be the same after. You wouldn’t be able to walk or run on that leg like you did before.”

Before . Before you and your fiancé were trapped. Before he died. Before when you didn’t even have a soulmate. 

“What’re you saying?” You look down to your hand and play with the blanket covering your bottom half.

“With the progression of this infection, and with your career, we believe it’s best to proceed with an above knee amputation.” Your face grows hot and your tongue is numb.

“No, I don’t give you permission.” Your jaw locks. 

The surgeon hesitates, “I’m afraid that isn’t up to you. The law requires that in the current state you’re in, medical decisions aren’t up only up to you; your soulmate must also be involved in the decision.” Soulmate. 

“I don’t-,” You pause, almost delivering the same four words you’ve been telling everyone for years. I don’t have a soulmate. “I don’t understand. That isn’t fair.”

“It’s the law, honey” another doctor says sympathetically. “Your soulmate has to be onboard with this decision and even then, we highly recommend amputation. This infection can spread and all of your major organs could start to fail-.”

She talks and talks. All of it just angers you. 

You feel like screaming. And so you do. 

You scream until your throat burns, until your lungs scream for you to stop. You throw with your one good arm what you can at the idiots, cursing them and letting out the years of anger and frustration that’s been bubbling forth underneath your skin. You hate them. You hate them so much, you hate everything. You activate your quirk, not having done that since Tamaki, throwing chairs and medical equipment at them. Satisfaction is quickly lost when they start to restrain you, giving you a dosage to knock your quirk and yourself out. 

-(-)-

For the first time in a while, you see him. Blonde tufts of hair swaying with the gentle breeze, a pink sky and a calm ocean in front of you both. His hair looks soft, like it’s only gotten the saltwater and ocean air to style it today instead of the expensive ass pomade he probably uses every day. You’ve always wondered how it felt, or maybe you didn’t. You can’t really remember how things were before. Before you had a soulmate. Were you always destined for Katsuki? What changed?  In any case, you wonder how long it usually takes the hero to style himself for his shifts. It used to take you an hour, on good days? Thirty minutes. You’re not gonna have that opportunity for a while now, you suppose. 

When you walk, both of your legs work. You can feel the sand between your toes, sinking under your weight until it finds its way to finally support you. Fuck, you should’ve taken more vacations.  You should’ve taken that time off and felt the salt for real, feel the way the sun baked it all day just for you to dip your feet in the cool seawater. The sound of the waves draws your attention out toward the sea, a warm breeze hugs your arms and wraps around your legs. 

You don’t look at him, the nerves in your belly tightening conflict with the warm excitement in your chest to see him after so long. It’s been so long. You didn’t realize how long you’ve been keeping track. Instead you look down at his hands resting at his sides, relaxed. They look soft… warm. You wonder if they’d feel like the sand beneath your feet. It doesn’t take long before you’re right next to him. Butterflies. They’re squeezing around your gut. You make the mistake of glancing at him, heart skipping to see his eyes have already found you. 

You don’t really know what to say to him.

“What do you put in your hair when you’re on call?” Inwardly you roll your eyes at yourself, it’s a stupid question. But it’s the first time you talk to him in your dreams. Really talk to him. It’s the first time you acknowledge him as your soulmate in a dream. Those nightmares you both had, both of you never acknowledging what they could possibly ever mean, they don’t count. You still can’t decipher the meaning of those monsters, and you’re afraid to know. You’ve never gotten a chance to thank him properly. And he, you. 

Bakugou doesn’t hide his surprise well, his lips part softly in confusion and he furrows his brow. “It’s a hair pomade-” Your sudden burst of laughter cuts him off and he scowls, “ What?!” You continue to belly laugh, shaking your head, unable to stop yourself. He watches you laugh so hard that your belly aches and your smile hurts. He watches when your laughter turns to tears streaming down your cheeks, his soft smile curling downwards with concern. 

Katsuki stands, towering over you. His hands grab your hips and he pulls you in as you cry, sobbing into his chest all the while. You can feel him soothing you, rubbing his hand up and down your back, his nose at the crown of your hair taking in the scent of your conditioner. Your skin smells like the hospital Irish Springs soap. He sways you both, right in his arms. His heart beats right against your ear, a reminder of his love for you. You try not to think of him, but all you can think of is how it was to lay on Tamaki’s chest and feel and hear his heart slowly fading beneath his uniform. 

Tears swell in your eyes. “You haven’t come to see me,” you sob. Your fists ball by his sides and as much as you want to pull away, you lean all your weight into him. He smells like vanilla and cinnamon sugar, like the warm sugary pastry treats you ate in the States during the summer. “Why?”

Katsuki  holds you, swaying and rocking you both gently. The waves lap at your toes, you wonder when the last time you stepped on a real beach was. You think about how it’s too late. 

“I have,” he admits in a low voice. “I’ve been there.”

Out of surprise, you jerk back to look at him. “What? What do you mean?”

“I usually leave when the docs show up; didn’t really think you’d want me there to be honest, Bambi.” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” You pull more away from him, anger flashing now. “Why do you think I would rather be alone in a godforsaken hospital room?”

His jaw tenses and he steps forward into the space you created, his hands surprisingly gentle as they squeeze your hips. “Bambi-”

“Shut up.” Your eyes narrows, “Don’t call me that. You know they’re going to take my leg?” Bakugou’s eyes glances down as you speak. “They won’t even listen to me! They refuse to, all because the fucking law says that my fucking soulmate has to give their permission too. I never have a choice. Everything is decided for me.”

“What’s so wrong about losing your leg, huh?” Katsuki snaps, “There’s nothing wrong with having one less limb. This is about your life, you idiot!” 

“It’s my leg ! I cannot and will not go through with this amputation. You need to tell them that you agree with me!” With each step you move backwards, Katsuki refuses to let you get far. 

“So fucking what!? Who gives a fuck if you lose your leg?”

“You’re kidding me right?” You glare at him, “You think no one would give a fuck? Tell me, Dynamite, would you still love me so fucking much if I weren’t the spectacular Shadow Step? If I weren’t able to train as much and-.” 

“Oh shut the fuck up,” Bakugou groans and rolls his eyes at you. “Shut the fuck up. You think I give a shit?”

“All your life you gave a shit! You always sneered down at people who are weaker than you! Fucking bully, I don’t know why you of all people are my soulmate.” You laugh bitterly, spewing out hateful words you don’t even mean. 

Bakugou doesn’t even flinch, instead he keeps stepping in that space you keep leaving between you both. “Yeah? You know me then, huh?”

“Yes,” you spit out. “Tamaki should not have been the one to have died.” Shut up, shut up, shut up.

Katsuki nods, his jaw clenched tightly as your fists pound against his chest. “And it shouldn’t have been me either. You were the one who convinced me to go back. It should have been you down there.” 

“You don’t,” Katsuki catches your eyes and shakes his head gently. “You don’t know me.” Angry tears, fat and hot tears burn your cheeks now. Every step you pull back from him, you can feel the magnetism of the universe forcing you back in. 

“I don’t want to get to know you,” you spew out. “I don’t want you. I wasn’t supposed to have a soulmate. You ruined that for me!” 

“You can deny me all you want, sweetheart. But we are made from the same stardust, and you can’t get rid of that.” 

“Oh sure, it’s meant to be.” You roll your eyes sarcastically and shove yourself away from him, “But it’s not meant to last.” 

“Fuck you, you can’t tell me what this is. My love is there. It’s there and you can’t take that away from me,” Katsuki points his finger at you, accusatory. “It might not change anything and it’s definitely not gonna save anything, but it’s there.”

“Ignore it!” You swat his hands away when you slip in the sand, “If I can ignore this, so can you.” 

“Bullshit,” he challenges. “You can barely ignore this, how can you ignore the stupid fucking magnetic pull between us??” Katsuki stops chasing after you for a moment, and rubs his face tiredly. 

“I love you,” He says. 

“It’ll pass.”

“Bullshit,” Katsuki glares back at you. “That’s how I know you don’t even know half of how any of this works. Do you know how hard it is, watching for most of my life seeing you with others? Watching you say over and over how you’re not tied to me? Denying me at every chance? Do you know what that’s like?” 

You can’t reply, tears block your airway and your words and you look away towards the ocean instead.

“Ya feel alone? Imagine how I felt for the past twenty something fucking years, then you can tell me how lonely you feel right now. I am next to you, and I still feel lonely. I am next to my soulmate who finally, after seeing me in their dreams for months, is talking back to me. I’m homesick, all the time.” This time his voice cracks, and you feel your own heart doing the same. “I can go anywhere I want, except home.”

Longing for a home that doesn’t exist.

“And you’re still denying me .”

“I wouldn’t be,” you tear your eyes away from the waves and look up at his. “If you haven’t kept leaving the goddamn hospital room.” It’s a weak ass excuse, and you know it. You know the sting of your words is still hurting him, you can’t take them back. 

“Well, you’ve been rejecting me your entire life. Why would you suddenly wanna see me, dummy?” His left hand caresses your cheek and thumbs away at stray tears. It’s too intimate, you don’t deserve it and all you can think about is Tamaki being crushed under that ambulance. You step back. 

“I can’t, I can’t just move on. I still love him,” your voice cracks and more tears begin to spill from your eyes. God, please stop crying. I’m so sick of crying. 

“I know,” he holds onto you tightly. “I’m not asking for you to stop loving him.” I just want to be the reason you choose to keep living each day. 

“But you love me,” you cry into his chest. “I need you to stop loving me.” You know this isn’t how it works, you know because for the first in forever you feel whole as he caresses you tightly. 

“You know I can’t, Bambi. I haven’t been in love with anybody, and never shall ,” he whispers. “ Unless it should be with you.”

“Please,” you start to push your palms against his chest and pull away. “I need time, I can’t just… I don’t know you well, Katsuki. It’s too much, my leg, the accident, you…” 

“I know, I know you need time. I don’t want to push you, Bambi. But I can’t just leave you alone,” His hands caress your tear-stained cheeks, his eyes are soft as his love for you. “Let me take on your pain too, you shouldn’t have to carry it all on your own.”

You don’t wanna talk anymore about your feelings. Not with anyone and certainly not Bakugou right now, it’s too confusing. “You don’t have the compression sleeve.” You take his hand away from your cheek, and childishly you squeeze his fingers as you observe them. There aren’t any calluses on his fingers. His skin is perfectly smooth. No imperfections. 

He doesn’t answer and you look up at him, he knows you’re evading. You know you’re evading. You both were just arguing, but you’re exhausted and you really just wanna stop fighting. 

“Do you not know?” Katsuki asks, stepping back and searching for your expression, his left hand drums their fingers against your arm. Confusion rocks through you. 

“Know what?” Your skin bristles and you feel yourself being pulled now as your consciousness starts to awaken. “Katsuki!” Panic sets in and then fear, you feel it all over again. It’s hot and makes you restless, like any second you might split. “I’m waking up, please don’t- please don’t leave me.”

You both step forward, holding tightly onto each other as you start to wake up. “You sure?” His voice is gruff in your ear. 

No, you’re not. 

“Yes.” 

-(-)-

Your head is pounding and your mouth is dry. It’s probably been a day or two since you flipped your shit out on the medical staff. Mentally you take note to send them a fruit basket as an apology. 

Everything is dim with exception for the machinery lights keeping you steady; your hand squeezes involuntarily and you feel something else. Katsuki . His hand is warm, gruff, weathered by his years in service. He’s still sound asleep, and you stare in awe with the fact the soulmates don’t wake up at the same time. Still tucked in, you don’t have to make much movement to know that the nurses have changed the bandaging on your leg again. Bakugou doesn’t stir when you adjust your hospital bed, and certainly doesn’t make it known if he’s awake when you can’t help but let out soft groans as you sit up for the first time in weeks. 

Healing bruises and cuts score your arms and your ribs still ache. Instead of pressing for more morphine, your other hand tightens its grip on Katsuki’s, and in his sleep he squeezes back. A small smile starts to grow but quickly it fades away. 

Grief still racks deep in your chest. A low moan slips out from deep in your lungs when you think too much about the accident and Tamaki, so you don’t think about it at all. You have to. 

So you think about food instead. Fried dough, grilled meat, roasted vegetables doused in olive oil and salt, sweets that forces you to down a glass of water or milk. Your stomach growls. 

You press your call button and it is a few moments before an older nurse walks in. He’s tall, with dark skin, cropped hair and kind eyes. You silently hold a finger to your lips and pointedly look at the sleeping man by your side. He nods in understanding. 

“Have I missed breakfast?” You whisper. 

“You missed dinner,” He whispers back with a quiet laugh. “I can sneak you some snacks. How are you feeling? An appetite is a good thing. We can remove the feeding tube then in a couple of weeks.” 

“Feeding tube?”

“It’s been placed surgically in your belly. You’ve been out for a while, sweetie. Doctors asked to be reassigned after your last episode,” he smiles again. He’s just joking, you’re sure of it. He has a kind smile. “It’ll also make it harder for you to hit me.”

You don’t understand what he means, but looking at his face in the dim hospital room and you start to see the healing bruise on his jaw. It dawns on you that you did punch him, right around the first time you woke up. “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry!” 

“No need,” he laughs and starts to check your vitals, the scratch of his pen soothing to your ears. “You give a mean left hook, good to know you’re one of Japan’s finest.” Not really , you think. You were a B level hero before that stepped down to be a sidekick to a high ranking hero. 

Who is now, currently, dead. 

“You’re lucky you’re not in psych,” he fiddles with some tubes near your belly button. “Some of the higher ranking surgeons fought for you, asking for some sympathy. Although, you are still on quirk restraints. Can’t win them all.” 

You don’t respond, feeling a low weight of guilt building at your belly. “Can you get him a blanket, please?” you whisper. 

“Sure thing,” the orderly nods as he checks the morphine drip. “We can try to give you some solid foods, but there’s soup and rice left, I can sneak in some orange slices if you’d like.”

“‘T’s fine,” you hear a low voice grumble beside you. “I’ll get ‘er something from the convenience store across the street.” Katsuki stretches, letting out a soft whine that you almost have to strain your ears to hear. 

Your hand squeezes his tightly, and tears spring in your eyes when he squeezes back. “Hi.”

“Hi yourself,” he subtly brings you knuckles to his lips and you feel how soft they are. “I’ll be back, what do you wanna eat?”

“It’s fine you don’t have to leave-” He starts to get up again and you panic. You don’t want to be alone. Please don’t leave me alone. 

“No, it’ll be better than this cold ass hospital shit.” Bakugou pointedly looks at the nurse and scowls. 

Instead of being offended, he laughs. “High cholesterol and artificial sweeteners isn’t all that great either for her.”

Touché. 

“Please,” you whisper to him. “Don’t go.”

You pleasingly stare into his eyes, already feeling yourself pitifully shaking at the mere thought of being alone again. 

In the abyss, it was dark. Hot. No water. No food. No one. No one except for your dead fiancé underneath you and that fucking ambulance. In the abyss, you could barely walk to find help. You couldn’t even see, not even your own hand centimeters from your face. In the dark, you truly believed you might die too. And that Tamaki’s plan was all for nought. All for nothing. You’ve never been so afraid of being alone before. 

He squeezes your hand three times, a promise. 

-(-)-

Bakugou doesn’t allow you to eat the hospital food during your recovery, despite the glowing reviews from other patients who swing by on their walkers and wheelchairs. He cooks big batches of soup, plain and bland at first when you threw up that night you woke up. Katsuki rolls his eyes at you when you critique his skill, boldly telling you that you wouldn’t even be able to handle his best. Bakugou helps clean the vomit out of your hair as the nurses helped you clean up, though. 

After a few days, your palate comes back and your stomach strengthens. You learn he’s an excellent cook, it’s a hobby of his when he’s not out on the streets fighting crime. You think about the frozen dinners and convenience store bento boxes you ate before, only cooking for Tamaki so he can be prepared for the day. You don’t remember the last time someone cooked for you. 

Doctors, every day, tell you they need to operate. You’re stubborn, pretending you don’t feel the infection making you weaker and pretending that the morphine is enough to mask the white hot pain in your leg. You want them to make a plan, a better plan. You want them to do their fucking jobs. 

Every time they leave, you’re angry. Angry they refuse to find the medical technology to save your leg. Angry that you are faced with this choice in the first place. Angry that Tamaki is dead and you have to be burdened with living. Angry. Angry. Angry. 

“You keep scowling like that, your face is gonna get uglier.” Bakugou aggressively rubs the crease out from between your eyebrows with his thumb. 

“Shut up,” you snap your head away from his touch, without any true malice towards him.

He knows this too, and laughs. “My ma used to tell me that all the time.”

“Yeah and you should’ve listened, it’s irreversible now.” 

You’re not used to this side of Katsuki. The lighter part of him. You remember reading a book last summer where the main character said her best friend had two personas, the persona he showed everyone and his naked persona, the one only she saw. You suppose that calling this side of Katsuki the Naked Katsuki is awkward and too suggestive, but it’s true. He makes you smile right after bawling your eyes out. He makes you smile when you really don’t want to, teasing you when the corners of your scowl start to upturn. 

You wonder where Naked Katsuki was during high school and why he had a stick up his ass for so long back then. 

On the fourth day, you feel the weakest. You’re eating, you’ve even begun to drink coffee again. But the pain has gotten worse and you hear the charting nurses start to talk about your blood toxicity levels. 

The doctors leave again, glancing at an unusually quiet Bakugou while you silently fume. Katsuki stays quiet, knowing better than to interrupt your oncoming rant. 

“Why do you do that?” You look towards the man, scowling as he just sits there in that stupid fucking chair. 

“What?” He asks, as if he doesn’t fucking know. Maybe he doesn’t, you really don’t give a shit though. You’re fucking pissed and you’re gonna let him know it. 

“Not say anything,” you roll your eyes. “You know that they need my soulmate’s agreement, I’m the only one fighting for my leg! If you’re not on my side, you’re against me!” Your hands pound at the sides of your thighs and you muster up the energy to glare at him. 

He takes in a deep sigh, “They’re right though. You’re not gonna make it through the night.” Katsuki looks at you plainly, and it’s written all over his face that he thinks you’re being ridiculous. 

This only infuriates you more and you jerk your shoulder out from under his hand. “Don’t touch me, you’re wrong! They can heal me, they don’t want to-”

“And why do you think so, sweetheart? Because after they cut through all the necrotic bone and tissue to save that stupid leg, you think you’ll be able to stand on it? Let alone sleep with that kind of pain every night?”

“The fuck do you know?? I can take it, my leg can recover!”

“When did you get so insufferably egotistical to think that you know more than the medical professionals?” Bakugou replies sarcastically with a dry laugh. “You need to say yes. They’re just going to wait until you slip back into another fucking coma so they can cut the damned thing off anyway.”

“Not if you-”

“Not if I, what? Why do you think I should agree with you? Because you’re my soulmate? Bullshit, you’re being stupid.” Ouch. 

“Me?? Stupid??”

“Yes!” He groans and gets out of the hospital chair he sleeps on at times, “What’s so goddamn awful about not having a leg? Hah?? What makes you think you’re too weak to recover from that?? What makes you think anyone is weaker for choosing amputation than living miserably for the rest of his life?!”

Silence falls between you both and you muster the courage to look at his arm again, the same compression sleeve that’s always there when he’s off duty. Every time you saw it, you felt something was off. It dawns on you slowly. 

“I don’t think anyone is weak for choosing amputation,” you reply quietly. 

He responds with a scoff, “Right.” 

“When?” You ask softly, tears sprout again in your eyes. 

“Can’t fucking believe you never noticed,” he scoffs. “It was after the War. During it actually. Near the final stretch, Shigaraki got me. That’s when I lost my arm.” No emotion in his voice, he’s moved on from this tragedy. It’s just a part of Katsuki now. 

“But… your quirk…”

He sits on the edge of your bed, carefully not to pull on any of your tubes, “Right before it happened, I was able to make all of my sweat turn to nitroglycerin, not just from the palms of my hands. Fucking bad miracle, I guess.” He looks down at his hands now, thinking deeply about what had happened and where he is now. “I have a special team who made my prosthesis so I can keep working. Only a handful people know about this, Deku, old Aizawa, the idiots who make my suits, some other shitty people and now… you.” 

“You hide it?” 

“Management.” It’s enough of an explanation. You’ve seen how dirty and unfair the hero industry is. It breaks your heart to think of the seventeen year old kid who lost his arm and nearly had his career along with life ended. You remember hearing about his death proclamation when you were on the other side of the battlefield, and you remember the sweet relief you felt when you heard you hadn’t lost your shitty classmate after all. It’s a lot on a young man’s shoulder to have his entire world changed, for a society that tells him to not brandish his war wounds with pride. 

You have more questions. More to ask him, more to know. But all of your words fall flat, they die on your tongue and you stay quiet. Shame is all you feel. 

“Your… hero suit is pretty revealing though,” you finally muster up, grimacing at yourself when you hear the heart monitor beeping slightly faster. “How does no one notice?”

He smirks at you, “No more revealing than Shitty Hair. Or Goody Two Shoes, Yaoyorozu.” Bakugou slips off the compression sleeve and scooches in closer to show off his prosthetic. It’s life-like, down to the minute details that no one would bother to notice. 

“So why the sleeve?” You ask, catching yourself still tracing the prosthetic before pulling yourself away. Thoughts of what your own might look if you go through with this surgery race through your mind, and only heightens your anxiety. 

Bakugou is quiet, mulling over his answer. “The short answer is that it helps with the pain.”

“And the long answer?”

“The doctors fucked up my arm trying to give me a second chance, they were worried that my career might end and there was still a war to fight.”

“We were just kids though,” you whisper. You weren’t on the frontlines of the war, you were in with the third wave of heroes and students. You didn’t see what happened firsthand, but you saw the horrific aftermath. They did a good job keeping this intel a secret, you can only imagine what other horrifying injuries they kept hidden from you and the public. 

“Yeah well, they nearly ended me while trying to save me. One of my surgeons finally kicked their asses and got them in line, saved what they could of my shoulder and my stump.” Before you can ask, he steps in closer and helps raise your hospital bed up so you can sit up straight. “I think his protégé is on your team now. Yours won’t look at fucked up as mine, but…”

Katuski removes the prosthetic with a click of a button you can’t see, which must be part of the seamless design from his support team. “The docs can tell you better, and more, but this is called the residual limb. Others call it a stump.” His fingers delicately show off what’s left of his arm as he opens up this new part of him to you. The scarring is an angry red, stained purple closed to the incision points. It looks painful. You tell him so. 

“It ain’t always,” he admits. “It’s worse at night.”

“But the sleeve helps?” You ask. He gently takes hold of your wrist with his other hand, it’s heavy and dwarfing your own, and he holds you against him. His skin is warm, soft. You can almost feel his pain in your own arm. 

“Sometimes. I don’t completely understand the tech. It’s all experimental.” He must be in pain all of the time.

“I’ll be in pain all the time then,” you say this quietly, but it sounds almost like a question. You can feel the aches he does, the sheer amount of pain that burns through muscles and skin he no longer has. 

“I’ve felt your pain all my life,” he steps in closer and embraces you with his one arm. “Every night, I’ve felt it and I need you to know that as your friend, I will always help you with it. Tomorrow will be better.” As your friend. That’s enough to give you peace of mind. It’s enough to release that tension in your chest. 

“And what if it isn’t?” You start to cry, wanting to wiggle your toes in a leg that won’t let you. 

“Then tomorrow,” he kisses your temple. “We will say it again. And again. Until it is. Okay?”

“Okay,” you nod as the tears stream down your face. You hold onto each other tightly, silently bonding your promise as friends. You're going to lose your leg tonight. 

-(-)-

The next two weeks, all you do is sleep. Sometimes Katsuki appears in your dreams, talking about his day and work. Mostly about work. You both find it hard to talk about anything else. When you’re not asleep, you stare out the window. 

Not many people visit. Friends were really friends of Tamaki, and you are just a reminder that he is no longer here. Family doesn’t exist for you anymore, they haven’t for years. Tamaki was your family. 

Workmates didn’t see you either, why should they? Your career in the past five years declined, if they associated with you so would their careers. All you had was Tamaki. So no, you didn’t see much except for your team of surgeons and your hospital assigned therapist that you really can’t stand because you apparently need to cry about shit now. 

When you’re discharged, you weren’t expecting anyone, and yet when you saw that familiar shade of blonde awaiting you, the floodgates opened. 

He takes you back to your apartment, dusty and cold from being empty for so long. You cried and cried. Katsuki, to your surprise, cried with you. It’s truly then, you understand the bond of a soulmate. Your pain is his, his pain is yours. Tears are shared, never are you truly alone. He stays with you that first night, sleeping on the floor of your living room while you sleep on the couch, refusing to be in the bed that you once shared with Tamaki. 

It isn’t until you start to wake up screaming, dreaming about the ambulance crushing you, dreaming about Tamaki’s corpse laying cold underneath you, that you and Katsuki decide to sleep somewhere else. 

He sets you up at Izuku Midoriya’s home, a lovely townhome smack dab in the middle of downtown. Midoriya is more than happy to help, insisting you take his bed. You think about how often he used to blush in high school, and how he didn’t even bat an eye when you mentioned you needed to be close to the bathroom at night or else you’ll piss his bed. 

“All the more reason for you to take my room,” he kindly smiles at you. “The bathroom is right there.”

“Don’t argue, Bambi. It’s useless.” There’s bags under Katsuki’s eyes. He hasn’t slept much lately. Guilt settles in pretty quickly. 

So you take the bed. Each night, you carefully balance your crutches against the mattress and take your opioids. The pain is all you can think about right now. And you hate that you’re so annoyed by this, but Bakugou insists on sleeping on an air mattress right at the foot of your bed. You hate how much you rely on others, you hate how much you need this, you hate that you’re angry. Angry. Angry. Angry. 

He’s patient though. The man you see now, isn’t who you thought he was. Back in your school days, Katsuki was a firecracker who was set off at any small inconvenience. Now, all he does is roll his eyes if you snap at him. Sometimes he doesn’t even react, just patiently checks your bandaging and helps you stretch even when you really want to fucking sleep. He follows your surgeons’ instructions to a tee, memorizing the numbers to call if you have any concerns and memorizing your medicines and dosages when you need a prescription refill. The times that you do elicit a reaction from him are usually because he’s had a long day at work and taking care of a stubborn and bitter soulmate is just a little much for him that day. Which usually means you end up feeling guilty for being such a shitty person. 

You learn a lot about Bakugou in the first six weeks after your amputation. You learn how he dealt with his phantom pain, how he learned how to ask for help, how he had to adjust to being a hero again. Another surprise was how often he called his ma and pa (and that he calls them that to their faces instead of “old man” and “ugly hag”), nearly every night if not every other night, the softness behind his gruff voice as he fights with parents over when he’s going to bring his soulmate over. You learn that he cooks a lot, and really well too, despite the bland soup he gave you initially. Deku, the up and coming number one hero, can barely handle boiling water without burning it, while Katsuki easily flies through the kitchen. 

“You’re a natural,” you muse. He convinced you to eat downstairs, getting you used to moving around again. 

If it were up to you, you’d probably wallow all day in Midoriya’s room and sleep. Or chain smoke shittt cigarettes in his bathroom, exhaling all of the smoke outside his small window. You’ve been caught doing that already when you nearly fell and caused a commotion. Izuku was madly apologizing with a deep blush at seeing you in a towel, even though it was clearly your fault. Katuski was not amused. You haven’t seen that damn pack of cigarettes since. 

Concern furrows your brows and you bite the inside of your cheek. “How did… losing your arm affect your cooking?”

“I was shit at cutting vegetables,” he answers bluntly, smiling softly when you snort. “It took me a while to get back into it. A chef in my support group helped me out, giving me advice and all.” 

“Support group? You actually did that?”

“I still do,” he feeds you another serving. The steam from the food warms your cheeks and makes your mouth water. No one, aside from your parents, has ever cooked for you. 

“Why??”

He raises an eyebrow at you, “Really. You’re asking me why I, after a traumatic event in my life, attended a therapy group with individuals who went through something similar?”

Bakugou laughs when you tell him to shut the fuck up. 

-(-)-

“Why did it take you guys so long to find us?” You ask on the day you get your first prosthetic leg.

Bakugou’s jaw tenses and you watch his hands squeeze his steering wheel. “There was a lot of noise, too much for Earjack. With all of the falling debris, unstable grounding, it was just… a perfect accident.” A bad miracle. “Once we lost Amajiki’s earpiece, there wasn’t any indication of your whereabouts.” You noticed this about Bakugou, the way his voice changes into something serious when work is brought up. A soldier. 

You don’t remember them finding you. In your psych rotations for your final year of school, you heard about how the brain shuts down from trauma and can try to help the person heal by simply forgetting events occurred. This was corroborated by your therapist too, although you need to find a better once because she fucking sucks ass and agrees with Bakugou that you need to quit smoking. 

You weren’t allowed to read the reports though, following the accident. It was a thick file, that’s all that Bakugou tells you. He doesn’t talk about that night he found you. One night you find Deku vulnerable and alone after a shift at work, sifting through paperwork that needed to be filed and faxed over the next morning. He was clearly uncomfortable with speaking on the matter too. Midoriya answers your questions though, telling you how hard it was on Bakugou. He never slept, he worked straight through. The only thing that gave him hope of your survival was that he didn’t feel your soul leaving. 

“You can feel that?” You whispered. Izuku nods, not speaking more on that topic either. 

“Kacchan… he never gave up. He was going to die finding you.” You’re glad he didn’t. But a significant part of you died down there. And you don’t know if you would ever get that back. 

-(-)-

Bakugou takes a leave of absence after he files the soulmate forms, declaring officially and legally that you both are bonded. Of course this really isn’t true. Bonded soulmates requires sexual intercourse. And well… you both are just friends. 

However to legally have you under his medical insurance, he lies for you. Your ID comes in the next week, a holographic heart next to the heart that says you’re an organ donor. Under another shadow, but instead of leaving you cold, you feel relief. Relief from the hot pain of being alone and defenseless. Relief that you can finally breathe. 

He doesn’t say anything about the holographic heart next to his red one either, he doesn’t even talk to you directly when the mail comes in with your new IDs. You’re not sure if it’s embarrassment, pride, sadness, or just plain bitterness. You’re not really sure if you want to know. What you do know is that you’re grateful that he doesn’t make a big deal out of it, and cooks you a hearty pasta meal that night to celebrate your new insurance. 

Six months after the amputation, you’ve been fitted with a prosthetic and you’re walking again. It used to be “walking”, managing only a few feet at a time without wobbling or needing your wheelchair again. But now you can walk. You can walk. 

Some days are good. Some days are really good. Some days aren’t. 

Your first fall, Bakugou stares while you laugh loudly at yourself. You forgot you didn’t have a leg, and put all your weight onto your left side as you turned the corner of the grocery aisle. It’s the first time you see him blush, and for a moment you think he’s embarrassed by the scene you’re making in the middle of this grocery store, until you realize it’s the first time you’ve laughed this loudly in months. He helps you back up again. 

On your worst days, Bakugou lies with you in bed while you grieve. Grieve for your leg, grieve for your dead fiancé, grieve for your losses. 

You become closer, it’s natural when he’s the one who takes you to your appointments with your prosthetist and talks about your scar tissue. It’s natural when he’s the one who coaxes you to sleep, rubbing your back with his lips pressed against your temple. You two become friends. It’s friends who bring you comfort when you feel sick, when you feel like the weight of the world is too much and you and they both know the best thing to do is just lay in bed and watch shitty movies all day. You become friends. You’re friends. Good ones at that. 

When Bakugou finally goes back to work, leaving you alone, you realize how much you both talk. You text all day, updating him of the meaningless things you do. Shitty reality TV shows become a hobby of yours while you practice your core exercises, and despite Bakugou’s claims he doesn’t give a shit, he always listens to you when you talk about them. He comes for lunch every day, even when he’s across the city. Katsuki pretends to not watch your silly little shows while you eat his food.

He tells you that you need to listen to your therapist and get a real fucking hobby (his words not hers), and encourages you by sending you coffee shops and boba tea places to try. Bakugou starts with places nearby, a small ten minute walk for you at most. But as you gain more and more endurance, and the more you get used to walking on your prosthetic, the farther the recommendations go. Soon you find yourself going to the train stations again, sometimes you take a second to enjoy the parks you walk by. You can’t stand that he was right, and now you’re not napping as much anymore. 

You find yourself at the tea shop where Bakugou took you from what seems like a million years ago, resting and trying to massage your leg from the walk there. Bakugou texted you cancelling to meet you there, there was an emergent situation at work and he was called to arrive on scene. This used to bother you, but now it just drives you to get back into work again. You miss it. You miss being useful. It’s here at the tea shop, reading the newspaper, that you see it. The apartment listing. 

The very apartment you had shared and lived in with Tamaki, is back on the market now. It startles you to see it again, in the fucking newspaper too of all places, like it’s still the twentieth fucking century. You wonder if you keep staring at it, if you’ll cry or feel something . Instead you feel empty. 

You’re not really sure what that means. 

At your support groups and in therapy, you admit to thinking about Tamaki every day. All throughout the months, you talk about the nightmares you have surrounding his death. It haunts you, his ghost. You still smell his body wash sometimes, always in passing, always enough to leave you longing and never enough for you to fully remember his scent. Sometimes you swear he’s right next to you as you wake, softly snoring after a long shift. It makes you sad. That’s what you tell your therapist and your support group. In reality, you feel guilt. Guilt that you’re alive and he isn’t. 

Guilty that you’re with your soulmate, like he wanted you to, but in a weird fucking platonic dance as you both struggle to maintain the facade of friendship. 

“Have you been to see him?” Your therapist asks, watching you play with a squeeze toy. 

“What do you mean?” His ashes are with his parents, you really don’t want to make that drive. They haven’t reached out to you since the accident. And to be honest, they really didn’t like you despite what Tamaki said. You really wish you could tell his ass that right now, you’d be so smug about it too and everything. 

“Have you visited his grave?” She clarifies. 

No, you haven’t. And you didn’t want to. Bakugou and you fought that night, not a serious fight but enough to make you mad and not talk to him for the rest of the night. He thinks you should go. You think you need to just move on. 

It’s been almost a year anyway. 

You can walk with a barely noticeable limp. He’s even helped you to train now to get back into hero work. Hero , you don’t want to be a fucking sidekick again. You’ve been working with a new support tech team and a specialist prosthetist for a leg to help you move with your quirk. The fact that you have now leveled up to having more than one prosthetic makes you proud. You’re done walking, now you can run. You don’t cry as much anymore, you don’t cringe walking down the streets of Musutafu anymore. You’ve even stopped reading the articles surrounding the sinkhole accident, knowing that obsessing over “what if’s” will not bring back Tamaki or your leg (at least, you stopped doing this in the middle of the night now. Sometimes you forget your silly little therapy tactics and dive back into the news reports and tabloids to read with your morning coffee). 

You can feel yourself growing stronger. 

You don’t need to do this. 

It’s not gonna solve anything. He will still be dead… 

“Why do you even care?” You ask him the next morning, annoyed that he’s ignoring you and didn’t make you breakfast like usual. You’ve been forced to eat a bowl of cereal like some common roommate. 

“He was your fiancé,” Bakugou scoffs. “You couldn’t attend his funeral, you haven’t seen him since-”

“Since I killed him?” You angrily drop your spoon in your bowl and get up, not feeling that hungry anymore. 

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I was going to say.” Katsuki rolls his eyes at you, knowing better than to follow you to your room to wallow. 

You can’t visit his grave. And this makes you angry. You can’t, because it means having to be faced with the fact that you’re starting to feel something towards Katsuki. Living together has been doing that to you. It’s hard, hard to ignore the magnetic pull between you both and hard to pretend it doesn’t hurt you when he goes on dates like his friends suggest sometimes. On top of that, it’s watching him leave each morning and being so fucking scared that he might not come back. You don’t know how you can manage that. You don’t know if what you feel for Katsuki is love or something far deeper. Whatever it is or isn’t, if this is how you feel now , you cannot imagine the pain of losing him later. Shinju comes to mind, the little girl destined to be with Tamaki forever only to be ripped away from him. You’ve had dreams of losing your family and friends in horrible deaths, and you’ve woken up with absolute dread in your heart. But a soulmate’s death, you never quite understood the depth of. Not until now. And that thought scares the shit out of you. 

The fight is never resolved, and you don’t visit Tamaki’s grave. Instead, you decide to find a new place to live on your own. 

-(-)-

#mybigbangacademia #bakugou x you #bakugou angst #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou x reader #ao3 bakugou #tamaki x reader #tamaki amajiki x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha x reader #bnha x fem!reader #bnha x you #mha x you #mha x reader #hurt/comfort #medical trauma tw #major character death #major character injury #hospital tw #bakugou smut #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1263

Submitted by Anon - thanks!

TW: Hospital settings | Medical abuse/malpractice | Loss of a loved one

Imagine three different characters who all happen to be apprehensive in hospitals/ around doctors. One has an inexplicable phobia of medical environments due to the urgency and secrecy of it all and the visuals of the medical equipment; the second has been a victim of medical abuse in the past and the third has had someone close to them die in a hospital (whether the death was a result of injuries, illness or medical neglect/malpractice is up to you) so attending a medical facility of any kind really impacts their mood and critical thinking.

Now.

Imagine that all three need to get poor Whumpee to a hospital ASAP 😊 (nobody has a phone so they can’t call an ambulance for plot reasons either)

#OHOHOHO #YEs #whump #writing #prompts #hospitals #medical phobia #medical abuse tw #medical trauma tw #hospital tw #medical malpractice tw

[friezaglasiencold]

How the hell did you survive the explosion of planet Namek? I know you're tough but you were missing half your head, what happened to your brain?

This answer is a bit bloody, so I’ll put it under a cut for those of weak constitution. Short version: I didn’t.

It took twenty-six hours of surgery and several medical breakthroughs to get me conscious again; evidently my heart stopped three times, and by the third I was officially declared dead. Daddy Dearest persuaded the medical team into breaking resuscitation policy. In total I lost half my fluid volume, three limbs, a kidney, most of my digestive system, and a hefty chunk of brains (all of which were thankfully returned to me upon my resurrection, so don’t go making any jokes about brain damage). I’d been in shock for days when they found me. Total shutdown.

That’s not a fun answer, but you have only yourself to blame. You did ask, after all.

Actually, they kept the tapes from the procedure. I’ve watched them a few times—when I’m able to swallow my revulsion, they’re fascinating to pick apart.

#medical trauma tw #body horror tw #text response #((I think a lot about him floating in space slowly dying)) #((like. He was conscious for at least part of it. That’s horrible)) #((boy has ptsd for sure)) #((He gave it to himself but. Still)) #((Apparently bisection IS survivable if you still have at least one kidney. Which is insane to me)) #((bodies are crazy))

[phoenixyfriend]

[rotates a fic concept based on a Frozen fic I read years ago]

(I'll link the fic and explain the premise a the bottom of the post. If you've read Ghost on the Wire, that's my inspo. If you haven't, check the bottom for the summary.) Easy option for the AU in question is Domino twins because [gestures at Echo], buuuuuuuuuuuut I think it would be interesting with Anakin as the kidnapped experiment sibling and Obi-Wan finding him years later.

Consider:

Ahsoka, age 12, is the padawan to Obi-Wan Kenobi, who lost his first padawan seven years ago and has been in mourning and self-doubt since; everyone thinks it's a miracle that he took her on, and she tries not to rock the boat because what if he decides he's not ready for another kid after all?

She's got a weird friend online that… well, if she complains about a senator or a mission, this person hunts down files pointing to questionable behavior by said senators and then dumps them in the Jedi's evidence box.

Since they're anonymously provided, the Jedi can legally use them to gain warrants, etc, because even if the law was broken to achieve it, they didn't do anything illegal, pay anyone to do anything illegal, or encourage anyone to do the illegal thing.

Obi-Wan takes a bit longer than he should to catch on to Ahsoka having a definitely criminal online friend, but decides to allow it so long as she lets him monitor interactions with this one specific person. He realizes that Ahsoka's random mentions of details coincide with certain infodumps, which Ahsoka wouldn't know because she's not privy to the fact that said data dumps happened at all.

War breaks out. Obi-Wan is frequently in a panic, because he already had one underage padawan die under his watch, and he's terrified of it happening again.

Various shenanigans, Ahsoka keeps up correspondence with her friend but it's much more heavily monitored now, in case of security violations. The friend still gives her heads up about suspected Separatist activity based on algorithmic analysis of shipping patterns and the like.

The friend tells Ahsoka he's in trouble. He needs help. Given the amount of information he's been giving the Jedi, they can consider him a confidential criminal informant that needs extraction and could continue being useful (important so they can justify using military resources when the Senate asks about budget expenditures).

They find Anakin, in a very similar setup to S7 Echo

Obi-Wan is. Not okay.

Ahsoka is freaked out by Anakin's physical state but fuck it! Friend! He needs medical help and he's really not exactly cognizant of the world around him.

Get him back to the ship. Get back to the Temple. Get him some medical help.

Figure out what the fuck is going on.

Turns out Anakin was captured on Sidious's orders when he was like... IDK ten. And then underwent experiments under the supervision of the Sith Lord. He still doesn't know who the Sith is, because Sidious saw his chatting with Ahsoka and only allowed it for as long as it wasn't anything too damaging, which means it was all either something that benefited Sidious, or something Anakin only barely managed to hide inside larger data packets (including his final request for help; he's gotten much better at cyber security on his own brain over the years).

But Sidious never did let Anakin know what his real identity is.

IDK where this goes but I do know Anakin is incredibly insistent on helping Ahsoka and the Jedi, and also that Obi-Wan cries on Anakin a lot.

He definitely would NOT be allowed out in the field, into battle, because the amount of physical therapy he needs. Immense. But he's probably with the 501st and 212th as their main data analyst/strategic dude? In this situation, the 501st doesn't technically have a Jedi, they're just a legion under the larger command of Obi-Wan and Cody, with their direct CO being Yularen, but Ahsoka's paired up with them regularly and she is honorary Jedi for the legion and everyone expects to get her officially once she's knighted, if the war lasts that long.

I do know that he chose Ahsoka to befriend because he had a vision of her becoming Obi-Wan's padawan a few years before it happened and went OH. BABY SISTER.

Any fic on this topic would have a heavy focus on Anakin's experiences with disability and recovery.

I feel like, while he can recover from a lot of the muscle atrophy etc, he probably has permanent damage to his bones and general health. He needs mobility aids, maybe a service animal to keep an eye on his physical state. Possibly epilepsy, since there was so much done to him neurologically. He definitely sleeps more than most people, has a very specific dietary plan, and relies a lot on the Force for things like getting things off of shelves.

A lot of this fic would by necessity happen with Anakin in a medical pod, communicating either in chat format or with a speaker. Possibly projected as a hologram approximation of himself despite the real body being in the pod.

Especially early on, he really is just text chat, before the war starts.

I think for the first few months of the war, when Anakin is still just a criminal internet friend Ahsoka happens to have, there are a lot of instances of him slicing into her comm during a mission and offering directions or information while she's like. Three quarters of a mile into a sewage system infil.

He's been on mute this entire time, but someone asks if the others remember which way to go, and he just pops up with "turn left."

It's the first time Ahsoka's ever heard his voice (or rather, an approximation of what he thinks he'd sound like at this age using some synthesizers normally used for waiter droids,) and it scares the crap out of her.

He wants to tease his baby sister! Sure she doesn't know she's his baby sister yet. But it's his obligation as a big brother.

They spend most of those months thinking he's some super cool slicer in a basement lair with eight screens and a bottle of orange soda and, basically, they're imagining Hardison from Leverage.

It's uhhhhh not quite that.

I think Ahsoka's a little betrayed at first that Anakin didn't tell her who he was, but she gets over it in favor of THIS IS MY FAVORITE PERSON LOOK HOW COOL HE IS pretty quickly

"It's my older brother's birthday and if everybody doesn't clap for him I'm going to blow up this entire ship."

Ahsoka: I'm gonna rob a BANK and Skyguy's gonna help! Obi-Wan: Ahsoka please he's still reco-- Anakin: DAMN RIGHT I AM where are we going

A whole lot of the emotional core would be the development for Anakin and Obi-Wan in a context where one's been mourning the other for so many years, and feels guilt for accepting his death instead of searching for him, even though he had evidence of Anakin's death (like "Sidious used Anakin's DNA to feign an accurate corpse burnt to a crisp" levels of evidence).

Obviously, there needs to be a heavy plot regarding figuring who took Anakin, why they did what they did, and whether there's any way to find them again.

I think the Domino twins steal Anakin for shenanigans of their own regularly, in part because they were usually the two with Ahsoka when Anakin popped up and started offering advice unasked.

IDK how I want to do the Rex&Anakin dynamic. That part's still percolating.

I do think Obi-Wan is very… delicate with him? He fusses. Anakin appreciates the part where Obi-Wan regularly tells him he's proud and loves him, but he's quickly very irritated by Obi-Wan treating him like he's made of glass.

Obi-Wan, however, is much more emotionally delicate than in canon, because he lost his master and his padawan within two or so years of each other, and blames himself for both. Part of him is convinced that Anakin also blames him.

(And part of Anakin… does.)

(For giving up on him, instead of searching for him even after evidence of his death came up.)

(Even though he knows, from conversations with Ahsoka before he revealed his identity, that Obi-Wan mourned him for years upon years before he took another student)

There's probably a specific medic whose job is at least 25% "Skywalker stuff."

I feel like it's easy to assign Kix to be Anakin's primary medic (there's a Jedi back at the Temple that's in constant contact) BUT I think it would make sense for there to be someone on hand as an assistant for the day to day, since he's on a military vessel and most of it isn't built in a way that's easy for him to navigate, especially with the Force, so I think it would be interesting to have Dogma assigned as Anakin's temporary care aide.

He's definitely someone who'd thrive on having a detailed list of Things That Need Doing, for a Jedi that has trouble remembering to take the medication that Kix said he needed, or to eat, or what have you.

And Anakin would. Probably have Dogma help him break many laws and regulations. Could be good for him.

Anakin: I want some hot chocolate. Dogma: That's not on the list Kix gave me. Anakin: But I want it. Dogma: ... Anakin: [starts levitating ingredients] Dogma, vibrating and maybe tearing up a bit: SIR PLEASE--

(Obi-Wan can be convinced to give him the hot chocolate. His brain is just going Baby Boy. Baby.)

Dogma makes so many calls to Kix for help keeping Skywalker alive.

Someone suggested he get an exoskeleton-style aid (think Rhodey post-CACW), but I think he does prefer more mundane mobility aids. Like, he's been forcibly teched up for… eight years? It's nice to have something that's just. Not that.

It's a chair with a motor. It's crutches with special padding. It's the Force, sometimes. Yeah he could take a shot at complex external support, but... he'd rather stick with the basics.

It's also like. A separation thing? He still uses his neurological hookup to do data analysis and slicing for the GAR and the Jedi (even though he was told MANY times that he doesn't have to and everyone would like it very much if he just stayed home at the Temple and focused on recovering), but he'd like to be able to ditch the complex tech stuff by choice when he's not at work.

I think Anakin puts a lot of stock in his ability to be useful. He'd want to 'detox' from it, so to speak, for a few months at a time very year or so. Just get out somewhere rural with lots of nature and a manageable number of people, and minimal tech. Regular missions with AgriCorps, maybe.

But he'd still think that, now that he has these skills and connections, it's irresponsible to not use them to help people.

I do not have the energy to write this out as an entire epic, which it probably deserves, but. Concept.

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

The Frozen fic was ghost on the wire.

Cyberpunk AU. Major element is that some people get neurological hook-ups to the internet and slowly get addicted to it to the point where they lose themselves to it (think the dream addicts in Inception, I guess?) The parents had died early on, and the sisters had been split up Anna made friends with a weirdo online, used this friendship to investigate the suspicious deaths of the parents. Weirdo is an insanely good hacker. Goes on a Recovery mission for the weirdo. Turns out the weirdo is actually Elsa, who was forcibly hooked up to the internet as a weapon? Ish? IDK she's a mega-useful hacker but she's been trapped in a medical pod thing for the past however many years and can't walk. Can barely talk, and regularly gets back inside a medical pod due to the lack of motor function and medical instability, and she needs to speak clearly to plan Cool Heists for the conspiracy investigation.

#star wars #the clone wars #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #Obi Wan Kenobi #Dogma #Clone Trooper Dogma #Echo #ARC Trooper Echo #Fives #ARC Trooper Fives #Kix #Clone Medic Kix #Padme Amidala #Shmi Skywalker #Sheev Palpatine #Phoenix Posts #child death mention #child abuse mention #medical trauma tw #medical experimentation tw #human experimentation tw

[sigynpenniman]

I think if you’d asked I would have said it was unfortunate overall but I don’t think it was until my doctor looked at me and offhandedly referred to A1C as “the cheater test” (to catch people who have been so judged and shamed they feel the need to be dishonest about their own blood sugar so they aren’t berated for it. you know. dirty cheaters.) that it fully sunk in how monumentally fucked up the entire language around diabetes and related conditions actually is even among clinicians

#medical trauma tw #diabetes #food issues tw #still haven’t gotten it done btw because of that specific comment #I’m bad #I’m doing bad

[strawberry-whump]

Post-captivity whumpees with medical trauma — not from anything Whumper did, but because of the non-consensual medical procedures they went through after being rescued

#im just saying like lonan- #whump prompt #strawberry speaks #captivity whump #recovery whump #medical whump #medical trauma #medical trauma cw #medical trauma tw

[normal-with-adhd-is-a-joke]

it's fucked up that whenever I warn medical professionals I'm going to see for procedures involving needles about my needle phobia I also have to beg them to not use physical restraints on me without my consent. Doctors are way too comfortable responding to "I might not be able to do this procedure because of my mental health issues" with "well we'll just force you to then, no issue :)". Physical restraints almost always cause trauma, likely PTSD, and come with a significant risk of bodily harm or death even when used completely correctly (which they often aren't). I legitimately still have panic attacks every time a doctor uses terms like "we might need" or "we might have to" surrounding needles because of being physically restrained in a hospital well over 5 years ago. Doctors love to use their position to exert force and control over patients who deny them for any reason, regardless of how legitimate the reason is. They get away with it because they're assumed by the public to have the patient's best interest at heart. I know a lot of people don't really understand what we go through but severely phobic people deal with all the dismissal of something like anxiety. Conversely, as soon as people realize how serious it is and how irrational we are we get treated with the level of fear, ignorance, and dehumanization of something like delusions. There's no middle ground, I've never had a doctor or non-doctor immediately approach my condition with understanding or compassion. It's either dismissal or being treated like a rabid animal, and neither of those result in getting your needs met in a way that doesn't traumatize you.

#madpunk #actually disabled #actually phobic #medical trauma tw #restraint tw #bad doctors tw #physical restraint tw #show me a person with a medical phobia who isn't traumatized I'll wait

[gay-jewish-bucky]

in conversations about sedation for medical procedures doctors NEED to understand that they should never be the final arbiter of "the risks outweigh the benefits" especially when those benefits include preventing causing or exacerbating significant mental trauma or distress for the patient

the mental health of the patient NEEDS to be taken seriously and NEEDS to be a priority

if a patient has the capacity to consent to a medical procedure, they have the capacity to choose for themselves if sedation is the best option

edit: sedative is used to mean general anaesthesia

#medicine #medical trauma #tw medical trauma #medical trauma tw #i've had to fight so many times and im so fucking tired #personcole

[syscourse-confessions]

I really don't know how else to say this so: you can't have DID without trauma, and more importantly, trauma isn't the ONLY factor in the development of DID.

there is trauma, but there is also the age at which trauma first occurred (which is to say, that if you're traumatised later in life, you already have a stable enough identity that it likely won't shatter and cause DID), there is dissociation as the primary coping mechanism (as well as lack of non dissociative coping mechanisms), and there is also the lack of a place of safety. for example, lack of attachment to a caregiver, lack of a safe place to process emotions and thoughts, neglect, any of these play a huge role.

IT IS NOT ABOUT HOW "BAD" YOUR TRAUMA IS. someone who was traumatised by an invasive medical procedure as a child, was emotionally neglected, and therefore developed dissociation to cope, can develop DID just as another who is a survivor of child sexual abuse and was heavily neglected through starvation. if you developed DID, there is a reason why, even if it doesn't seem like it at first, and even if you had a good life outside of the trauma.

endogenic systems cannot have DID. they can however have symptoms or disorders that mimic DID, such as personality disorders (that can make one dissociate under stress), DP/DR, autism or ADHD.

also... DID isn't about switching. overtly switching is the outlier, not the norm, DID is a covert disorder and the most common form of switching is non possessive. it can take the form of a voice or a stream of consciousness that one can't control or somatic symptoms, for example. if you think that you can't have DID because your trauma wasn't bad enough, or because you don't switch, well I have some news for you.

like... don't claim to have a disorder if you don't meet the most basic requirements. clinical symptoms aren't the end all of a disorder, there is a background to take into consideration

.

#syscourse #syscourse confessions #csa tw #abuse tw #starvation tw #medical trauma tw

[kellyerosen]

“I’ll be fine, in the end. Hopefully.”

The 13th Doctor drawing that took me almost 3 years to finish.

I originally started it in 2019, one day before the year anniversary of 13’s first episode. I could write a novel about all the time that’s passed since then, but I’ll spare you. The spark notes version is that my mom almost died while I was drawing this. And then she did die. And then the pandemic started. And then a bunch of other horrible stuff happened back to back to back to back.

I’ve known for a long time that I wanted to finish this drawing to commemorate the end of Jodie’s era. Since her regeneration will likely be airing right before my mom’s death date, I figured it’d be better to do this early. I have a lot of complicated feeling about these two things happening so close together. I honestly have a hard time thinking about it without crying. October is just filled with so much bad. The thought of saying goodbye to one of the few good things aches in a way I can’t explain.

I’ve spent so much time grieving the person I used to be before watching my mom die. These past few years have turned me into a different person with different needs. 13’s arc allowed me to see and understand this new version of myself. She helped me feel less alone when I felt angry and scared and sad and broken and very, very lost.

This drawing was originally meant to honor 13, but I think it also honors me now. The person I’ve grown into during her time and all the painful becoming that had to happen before I could finish this.

I don’t think bad things happen for a reason, but I think we can find reason in what does. There are some parts of me I’m glad didn’t survive the past few years. I’m learning to be proud of the me that I’ve built from the pieces of who I was. Looking at this drawing makes me feel grateful for who I am right now and reluctantly hopeful for the person I can become. And sometimes, a little bit of reluctant hope is all you need.

Thank you, 13, for reminding me of that.

Thank you, Jodie, for being my Doctor.

#doctor who #thirteenth doctor #13th doctor #jodie whittaker #dw #doctor who fanart #dw fanart #the woman who fell to earth #twwfte #character art #digital drawing #death tw #grief tw #medical trauma tw

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Unintentional 22

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As always, beta-read by @alittlewhump <3

CW: BBU, institutionalized slavery, dehumanization. Explicit language. Surgical/medical whump and subsequent side effects and trauma. Victim self-blaming. Blood, IV mention, vomiting/emeto. Hospital setting.

He came to with a cry that tore all the air from his lungs and had him sucking in the next breath like he was coming up from diving all the way to the bottom of the pool. 

Or maybe he’d been dreaming of it.  

Sinking down, down, down, into the deep end. 

Water enveloping him. 

Pressure grounding him in his own skin. 

Until it felt possible that before, above the surface, he’d been at risk of slipping or falling free and hadn’t even realized it. As if, in the air, the anatomy was simply too subtle, too delicate. 

Down here there was no question of what was him. 

No separation, no feeling of extra space between the layers of tissue. No doubt that this was his place to belong, his span, reach, home, fingers and toes. 

How had he ever managed to stay in one piece before without being held together so tightly?

The next lungful of air came out in sobs.

Now he’d done it. 

Stupid head and memories and mind of no bounds or control.

He should keep calm and quiet.

Harrison wasn’t there. 

Yet. 

Leo could only be so patient. 

Leo. He was sitting in a chair beside the bed, watching. Hands resting on the arms of his chair. 

Aiden held his breath, searching Leo’s face. 

Had he been wrong before? Had he been dreaming before? 

“Buddy—” Leo leaned forward and even though it was slow as anything, Aiden still flinched because he knew Leo was about to stand up. 

Stand up to come and get him. 

But some part of him wanted that. It was just Leo, wasn’t it? He couldn’t remember Leo putting him back in the bed, maybe he’d dreamed all of it, everything…

He wrapped his arms around himself and curled forward.

Be still and obedient. He needed to control his breathing, rasping in and out of his chest. He must have been crying but he couldn’t feel any tears. 

He would lie on the table. He would accept the restraints. 

There weren’t any now, just the gauze and bandages and whatever else underneath them that tugged on his skin. It hurt when he tried to hold himself tighter.

He’d acted so badly before. 

And he couldn’t stop.

Behaviors, punishments. Actions, consequences. 

Awareness made it worse. 

Made him feel even less like he had any choice or control because maybe he really did.

Maybe always had. 

And all along he’d only ever been asking for it. 

Hadn’t he? 

His whole life he’d been the type to just bite the bullet.

It’d been the same at home, the same at practice, the same during training.

He’d rather take one good hit and go down hard than take a whole beating because he’d tried to fight back. Headache over broken ribs. Do the painful drills to avoid running laps until he puked. 

Except when one hit sent him tumbling down the stairs. 

Except when one choice had ended his life. 

Except when he had wanted it to end, of course. 

Please let Harrison kill him right away this time or at least the—

“Aiden? Aiden.” Leo hadn’t moved but his voice sounded closer. “You’re right here with us. Look, hon. It’s me, Leo. You remember my sister, Delia. It’s just us.” He was taking pains to stay completely still as he spoke. Easy, gentle. Soft. 

But hurting. 

Maybe if Leo held him again, he’d be able to tell if he’d only imagined everything from before. He didn’t know how to ask. 

He couldn’t ask. 

Aiden bit his lips together. His back felt itchy, the rough fabric of the gown sticking in places like he’d been sweating, except that he felt a clammy chill instead. Even worse. 

Leo was still wearing a blue paper smock over his clothes. And he had on that expression where he’d just watch Aiden, wait for Aiden. 

But for what? 

Aiden wanted to writhe under that gaze. Scream under that gaze. He hated the feeling that he was being tested and had no idea what it was on. 

Didn’t he realize that Aiden would just do anything he asked? That all he wanted was for Leo to tell him. 

Tell him with words. 

Tell him with actions, consequences, punishment, pain. 

Anything. 

Please just fucking tell him. 

Neither Leo nor the doctor moved or said a word while he sat there crying. 

No control, no discipline. No idea what to do. 

They just kept testing him and he didn’t fucking know the answer. 

He reached up and tugged at the central line under his collarbone. 

It took more effort than he’d imagined and his grip was useless but he somehow managed to pull it free fast enough. Blood trickled down his chest under the starched fabric. 

“Aiden!” They both jumped to their feet at the same time. 

And then Leo stumbled back, knocking the chair against the wall before he collapsed into it.

Aiden froze, dripping tubes dangling from his fist. He hadn’t meant—he didn’t—He wanted to take it back. He should have been cooperative and good and well behaved and—

The doctor spun to catch Leo’s shoulders before he could tip forward out of the chair. “Christ, Leo!” With a grunt, she helped him to sit upright so his back was against the wall. 

He dropped a hand on her shoulder and brought the other to his forehead. “M’fine.” 

The doctor pulled a penlight out of her pocket and checked his eyes. “Bullshit. You haven’t slept and you wouldn’t take so much as a sip of water let alone anything else. With all that blood loss? Bullshit, Leo.” 

Blood loss? Had he hurt Leo? 

That hadn’t been part of the plan. He hadn’t meant to.

Why couldn’t he do anything right? 

He needed to see Leo’s face but the doctor was in his way and he was afraid of this finally being the time that Leo really was angry. 

Or maybe he’d see something else. Something worse? 

What had Aiden just done to fuck it all up?

He pulled his knees up to his chest. He wanted to hide. He should just stay still.

“Yeah, okay, okay. I’ll drink your fuckin’ orange juice,” Leo grumbled. 

She clicked her tongue. “Oh, you bet your ass you will but we’re way past just that. You’re getting an IV now.” 

A sound escaped Aiden’s throat. Something between a whimper and a gasp. He looked above his shoulder to the bag of yellow liquid hanging there. The one that had been seeping into his veins moments before. He didn’t know what that color did. 

“Aiden, sweetheart—” Leo leaned to look around her but just as soon as Aiden was able to see his eyes, he leaned back to the wall with a moan, squeezing his eyes shut. 

His chest tightened. This was his fault.  

The doctor turned, looking him up and down. “I know you’re scared. I know this is a lot.”

He wished he could disappear completely. He couldn’t even pull his legs tight enough to his chest because of his arms. 

“You’re not in any trouble. You’re doing very well.” She watched him for a beat before adding, “Leo’s going to be just fine, I promise. How about you both have some juice now? That will help you feel better.”

Somewhere inside him, he recognized the fluttering response to the reassurance, the praise, but it felt far away compared to the fear, the certainty that this would all come crashing down at any moment. 

He still didn’t fucking know how he was supposed to be.

It was confusing. She was confusing. 

He only watched her for a moment as she crossed to a table with a few bags on it and started rustling. He didn’t want to hear the sounds he recognized.

After the crinkle of sterile packaging always came the clang of surgical steel. 

Of that, he was certain at least. 

Leo still had his eyes closed, hands gripping the arms of his chair.  

Aiden bit his cheek. He wanted to apologize but he knew that would only make things worse. 

But hadn’t he wanted to make things worse? 

He was so terrible. 

Harrison should come skin him alive. 

He could taste blood in his saliva. 

“Aiden, buddy?” Leo had managed to focus on him. “It’s okay. I’m okay. Just a little dizzy is all.” 

It looked worse than that. What had Aiden done to him?

“Mmm…mmm’sorry,” he said. He had to say something right?  His voice trembled and it was all wrong and didn’t sound remotely sincere or deserving or—

“I’ll be good as new in no time.” And Leo gave him the smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. 

Aiden tried to let it wash over him. To let that conditioned void be filled even though he knew how much more it would ache and gnaw when it was empty again.

It didn’t work. 

He didn’t deserve it anyway. 

The doctor was standing between them again and Aiden flinched when she moved toward him. He tore his eyes away from watching her gloved hands to check Leo’s reaction but he had his eyes closed like he was trying not to pass out again.

She held up a plastic bottle of orange juice with a bendy straw sticking out of it. “This one is for you…” She waited for him to take it with both shaky hands before turning. “And this one is for Leo.” 

“Cheers, kiddo,” Leo said with a weak chuckle. He lifted his juice and put the straw between his lips but then paused. 

Aiden hesitated for too long. 

Almost like he was ungrateful and wanted them to take it away. But he’d been doing that for weeks at Leo’s house and Leo never did. He only ever looked disappointed. Aiden didn’t think he could face that now. Not with how guilty he felt for everything he’d done, for being such a complete failure, for whatever was wrong with Leo that was most certainly his fault indirectly (but probably directly).

He caught the straw and took huge sips, draining the juice in just a few gulps. That earned him a smile from Leo, who started drinking his own, and raised eyebrows from the doctor.

Aiden tried to relax a little but his arms were starting to hurt even more which made him wonder if for some reason they had been giving him painkillers. He didn’t want to think about the IV again. 

“You look better already,” the doctor said to Leo. “See? There’s a reason they give blood donors snacks. And that’s when it’s not done in a moving vehicle.”

The orange juice turned sour in his stomach. 

Blood donors? 

The heart monitor hammered insistently against his thoughts. 

Faster, faster, faster. 

His mind couldn’t be trusted. 

There was no way he was understanding any of this correctly. 

He was just wrong. 

He was all wrong. 

Whatever the doctor said next, he didn’t catch.

Leo stood to pull his arms out of the gown and shrug off his sweatshirt before sitting back down. 

And there it was. 

A square of gauze taped to the inside of his elbow.

Leo noticed his face and followed his gaze to the site in question. Where the blood had flowed out of his artery and into Aiden’s veins. “Aiden—”

He didn’t get to hear what Leo said next because the orange juice was coming back up. 

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@octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @mazeish @whumpy-writings @cracked-porcelain-princess @meetmeinhellcroutons @briars7 @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @neuro-whump @painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @skyhawkwolf @haro-whumps @onlybadendings @peachy-panic @fillthedarkvoid @rabass @crystalquartzwhump @dont-touch-my-soup @jadeocean46910 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @guachipongo @creetchure @leyswhumpdump @aseasonwithclaraold @catawhumpus @magziemakeswhatever

#bbu #bbu whump #box boy rescue #box boy universe #box boy whump #whumpee thinks caretaker is new master #whump #clueless caretaker #defiant whumpee #medical whump #hospital whump #clinical whump #institutionalized slavery tw #dehumanization tw #conditioning tw #blood mention tw #medical trauma tw #vomiting tw #emeto tw #victim self-blaming tw #direct transfusions aren't so obsolete anymore are they Google

[championofravens]

Getting an iud was one of the worst pains of my entire life but I at least shared the trauma with my husband, who is half paladin/half german shepherd, and had to sit outside while he heard me audibly screaming and begging from behind a door he was sitting two feet from

#text #medical trauma tw

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

Having other chronic conditions while having a period is wild because I've been bleeding moderately for like 48 hours and the POTS is practically vibrating me into the fucking sun.

I need blood transfusions on tap to feel moderately okay, but if I went to a hospital and asked for one, they would look at me like I was insane and diagnose me with Level 7 Woman and send me home with 0 treatment.

#I FEEL LIKE SHIT #medical trauma tw #sundrop speaks #personal

[sigynpenniman]

“What does it mean to process a trauma. like really, what does that ACTUALLY mean? When people say you need to process your trauma what do they actually mean by that” (autistic, needs things clearly explained) I wonder, and then I find out when I start sobbing in my bathtub because I, all of the sudden, finally got the correct amount of angry about the medical experiences I had as a toddler

event number #i have lost count from the past several years of my life of me having emotionally overwhelming breakthrough moments about various aspects of my life and self

onwards and upwards. ONWARDS AND UPWARDS.

#like an exorcism. an exorcism in a bathtub. #I’m good don’t worry #I’m great actually #that was. very needed #I feel changed #this has been a very bizzare series of years in my life #even the past couple of months have changed me #I am evolving. I’m 25 and I’m evolving #who knew there were so many depths to plumb #medical trauma tw #trauma tw

[normal-with-adhd-is-a-joke]

It bothers me that "just hold them down" is seen as an appropriate response to people, even and especially children, resisting treatment. It's pretty much universally agreed on that physical restraints are dangerous even when used correctly. From a study published by the National Institute of Health "any use—let alone sustained use—can result in full skin thickness damage, physical injury or death". Suggesting physical restraints be used on patients who are resisting treatment is suggesting that doctors should have the power to risk a patient's life at will and without patient consent. A lot of times restraints are justified with "the patient was violent" but fail to disclose the circumstances in which the violence occurred. Many times violence occurs because a patient is scared and or has a valid reason why they don't want to move forward with a procedure. If doctors were to simply pull back and allow the patient to calm down a lot of violence from patients in medicine could be avoided. Physical restraints, either from restraint devices or through body weight or grip being applied to the patient, are often used to bypass the consent of a panicked or resistant patient instead of actually doing the work to calm them down and/or help them understand why a procedure is necessary.

#ableism tw #medical abuse tw #medical trauma tw #madpunk #cripplepunk