female is a word that is used on the papers you sign at the doctors

I Will Personally Put You In This Morgue! (Sherlock)

Request: Sherlock x reader. The reader has a prosthetic leg. Anderson calls her a freak 

Warning(s): prosthetic leg (obviously, if that even is a warning), slight language, insults 

Word Count: 1,589 (geez) 

Reader Gender: Female (if this was supposed to be male/nonbinary PLEASE TELL ME AND I WILL FIX IT) 

Authors Note: SO SO SO SORRY ON HOW LATE THIS IS! I’ve had a lot of schoolwork and I’ve been out, but here it is. It was also a little challenging to write so I hope I did it correctly. I hope you like this, anon. :) Personally I can’t stand Anderson so I love this. 

Another Authors Note: This takes place in “The Great Game” (s1e3) for reference. I tried to get it as close as possible, but I did have to change it up some for the request. :) 

“He’s not gay! Why do you have to spoil-he’s not!”

That’s what I hear as I step into the room. I see Molly standing at the end of a table. Sherlock is at the other end looking into a microscope, with John behind him. I had been outside of the building talking to Lestrade about the case, when John texted me, telling me to come in. Apparently, he had done that so that he would not be alone when this argument went down. Really, I had to walk all the way down here for this? 

“With that level of personal grooming?” Sherlock says, snorting. It comes off as a question, but I know he doesn’t mean it that way. He looks up from the microscope, and glances at me. His hand moves to gesture toward an empty chair, and I accept gratefully. I hope I’m not blushing too much at him helping me. 

“Because he puts a bit of product in his hair?” John asks, “I put product in my hair.” I giggle at how offended he looks. 

“You wash your hair,” Sherlock responds, “there’s a difference.” He turns to Molly. “No,no - tinted eyelashes; clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines; those tired clubber’s eyes. Then there’s his underwear.” 

“His underwear?” Molly looks dumbfounded, raising her eyebrows as she speaks. I look at him too, wondering where he’s going with this. 

”Visible above the waistline – very visible; very particular brand,” He says, leaning toward the Petri dishes. He pulls out a slip of paper, then says: 

“That, plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish her…and I’d say you’d better break it off now and save yourself the pain.” Damn. At least he’s thorough. Molly runs out of the room, and I turn to Sherlock. 

“Charming,” I say, rolling my eyes. Even though they’re blunt, I think it’s amazing how he is able to make his deductions. But, people get hurt sometimes. He looks over his shoulder at me. 

“Isn’t it kinder to save her the time?” He asks, and I shake my head. He shrugs and looks over to John. He points to the shoes, the actual case itself. 

“Off you go,” he says to John. The man looks surprised, but picks up the shoes to attempt to get as much information as possible. Sherlock gets up, walks over, and sits down next to me. 

“I still don’t quite understand how you manage to walk so well on that leg,” he says. His voice is slow, as if he’s trying not to offend me. Strange, I think, with others he wouldn’t care. I look over at him and shrug. 

“I’ve gotten used to it,” I say as I place my hand on the prosthetic. As I do, my mind goes back to the accident. Riding in the taxi, when another car runs into the side. My leg pinned, people trying to get me out, but I couldn’t. The pain, the excruciating pain all in my leg. When people finally got me out and got me to the hospital, only to be told I’d have to lose my leg. The grief that followed. 

A hand on my shoulder brings me back to reality. I look to see Sherlock looking at me. Maybe I’m imagining it, but I swear I saw concern all over his face. As I start to say something, the door opens. In walks Lestrade and the rest of the team, including the irritating Anderson. 

“Find anything?” Lestrade asks. He looks at John, but we all know the question is for any of us. Sherlock jumps up and walks to John. 

“Tell me what you’ve found, doctor,” Sherlock says. John starts rattling off different things to do with the shoes. I get up to go look at the Petri dish still under the microscope’s eye. As I walk over, I can feel eyes on me. People always look at me strangely, due to the way I walk, so it doesn’t faze me much. I sit down at the microscope and look into it, only for someone pull on my wrist. I look over, annoyed at being drawn away from the case, and see Anderson.

Stupid prick. I roll my eyes and pull my arm out of his grasp. When I head for the microscope, he pulls it away from me. Reaching to grab it, I step off of the stool. Thanks to my prosthetic, however, I lose my balance and have to grab onto the counter to stay upright. He smirks at me, then gets up in my face.

 “You’re pathetic, Y/N,” he sneers, “and a freak. You can’t do anything on your own. You think you’re smart but you’re as smart as a rock. Why don’t you do us a favor and hobble out of here, and let the professionals handle this?” I sit there, shocked into silence. The words cut through me like razors, and I fight back tears. 

Then, I hear a calm, but deadly voice. 

“John, take Y/N out please,” Sherlock says. “Everyone else out, except for Anderson.” I see Lestrade start to protest, but after seeing the look in his eyes, stays quiet. John walks over to me, and offers his arm. I accept, and he doesn’t complain when I put a lot of weight on him. He knows what Anderson said, and he understands that it hurt. Once we get out, I head to a bench. I sit down and put my face in my hands. Don’t cry, don’t cry. Then, I jump as I feel an arm around me. 

“Sorry,” John moves his arm. I shake my head. 

“It’s okay, just wasn’t expecting it,” I respond, “some comfort would be nice at the moment, actually.” He puts his arm back around me, and I lean in. Then, the yelling starts. 

“ANDERSON, YOU INCOMPETENT, UNINTELLIGENT, IMBECILE! YOU CALL HER PATHETIC, YET YOU PAY WOMEN TO SPEND TIME WITH YOU! ALSO, DON’T YOU DARE SAY SHE CAN’T DO ANYTHING ON HER OWN!” There’s a pause, and I hear a fist connect with a stomach repeatedly. “YOU CANNOT EVEN MAKE A SANDWICH WITHOUT HELP! AND YOU WANT TO QUESTION HER INTELLIGENCE? SHE HAS MORE INTELLIGENCE IN HALF A BRAIN CELL THAN YOU WILL EVER HAVE!” Another pause. Someone is probably getting punched again. “ANDERSON, YOU ARE THE MOST WORTHLESS SCUM ON THE PLANET, CALLING THIS ASTOUNDING GIRL A FREAK! IF YOU EVER TRY TO TEAR HER DOWN AGAIN, I WILL PERSONALLY PUT YOU IN THIS MORGUE!”

I stare in disbelief at John. His eyes are wide, and he stands up. I realize then that my face has gotten hot. I stand up, being careful this time as to not lose my footing. Lestrade comes over to me, and places a hand on my back to guide me to the door of the room. He leans down towards my ear. 

“Just so you know, this means Sherlock likes you,” he whispers. I look at him, not knowing what to say. He sighs, then whispers: “That means you should ask him to dinner, then.” 

I open my mouth but once again say nothing, being met with a smirk by John. He knew this entire time, I think. We walk back into the morgue to see Anderson on the floor, unconscious. There’s blood on his face, from being hit by Sherlock. I look over at where he is sitting. I see something different in his eyes, something I’ve never seen before. John goes to him and whispers something to Sherlock. After, he motions for everyone to leave. As I start to walk out, John puts his hand on my shoulder. 

“Not you,” he says, smiling softly. He leaves, and I turn back to Sherlock. He looks back at me, then at his hands. They’re covered in blood. I walk to a sink in the corner of the morgue, and wet a cloth. Sitting down next to him, I put the cloth over his knuckles and hold it. He looks at me. 

“Thank you, Y/N,” he says quietly. I smile a little. 

“No, thank you, Sherlock,” I reply, “for defending me. You didn’t have to.” 

“That pig deserved every bit of it,” he responds quickly. “Besides, you should never have to hear all of those lies.” I feel my face heat up again. 

“Lestrade said I should buy you dinner to thank you,” I proceed cautiously.

“That would be lovely,” he says. I look at him to say something else, then notice that I’m only a few inches away from his face. Sherlock sees it the same time I do, and I know he can tell what I’m thinking. Yet, I’m still surprised when he leans in. I close my eyes, and our lips meet. The kiss is light, as if he’s afraid he will scare me off. Yet, there’s so much there, the sense that he deeply cares for me, but in a different form than how he cares for John. 

When we pull away, we sit there for a moment. Then, Sherlock starts to smile, and I start to laugh a little. He takes the cloth and throws it across the room. Instead of an arm, he offers his hand to me. I take it, and we walk over Anderson and out of the room. As we step out of the building, all I can think is, I can’t believe I just kissed Sherlock in a morgue, and my leg didn’t get in the way.

Sneaking Around. Andre Burakovsky Imagine.

Pairings: Andre x Female Reader (Tom Wilson Little Sister! Reader)

Warnings: Ever so slightly suggestive but not really. Also, three? curses. 

Notes: Feedback is always welcome, also, proof read at stupid o’clock in the morning so probably going to have a few mistakes.

Summary: Andre spills the secret about him and Y/N to her older brother.


You had been living with your brother Tom and his teammate André for four months now.

You and Tom had been inseparable since you were born a few years after him. Well, that was until he moved to Washington. You were both upset, but happy that he was going to go and do what he loved. You promised to stay in touch and managed pretty well.

That’s why he was the first one you called when it happened.

Your parents had always been a little forceful with you. They were lovely, but they already had your future planned out for you. Marry a doctor/lawyer/athlete, and have a good stable job, in a office.

So when you told them you wanted to work in film, and didn’t want to date your mum’s coworker’s son. They were taken aback, which led to an argument, where they spewed that ‘we want what’s best for you’ crap.

They kicked you out. You had a few of you’re possessions, and they said they’d ship the rest of it out to you when you found your own place. You spent that night at a hotel, crying down the phone to Tom.

He insisted that you come to Washington and live with him and André, who was a little excited about a new roommate, claiming Tom was getting ‘boring’.

And that’s how you ended up here. You’re parents had done as promised and shipped your books, films, posters and stuff all to you, and you had made the spare room your own.

You were just getting your life back on track, when a little devil called 'feelings’ came into the mix.

You and André had been sneaking around for little over 3 months now. You both knew there was an immediate attraction when you met, and a month into living there, André kissed you, like full on, made out with you whilst Tom was out shopping.

You were both happy in your relationship, and loved and cared for each other dearly, but figured, maybe it’s because no one knows, and agreed not to tell Tom yet.

You’d come up with ideas like, telling Tom you were going on dates with entirely separate, made up, people, and meeting up with each other at a different location.

Late night/early morning, you would both sneak into each others rooms, curling up in each other’s arms for a few hours before going back to your own rooms before Tom woke up.

Recently you’d been making it a little more obvious. André would pester you as you read a book on the sofa, eventually giving in and resting his head in your lap. Tom would look at you both weirdly, but would take it as a sign you were getting along, not dating. You loved Tom, but Jesus H. Christ he was oblivious.

“Morning,” Tom mumbled as he padded into the kitchen, fully dressed and ready to leave.

You were working on a treatment for a short film, munching on an apple as he pecked your cheek, ruffling your already unruly hair.

“Do you ever turn off that laptop?” He asked, pouring himself a coffee.

“Only when I’m using pen and paper instead,” you replied. He chuckled. “Early skate?” You asked.

“Yeah,” he yawned. “I’ll be back around noon.” You nodded and got back to typing.

“André not going?” You asked.

“No, it’s optional today, he said he was feeling under the weather, so he wanted to sleep it off.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. He seemed perfectly fine last night when he came and laid down with you.

“Okay, see you later.” You rushed out your words to compensate for your pause.

“See ya sis.”

——

You had showered and gotten changed into some clean clothes, a Star Wars crop top, and a pair of grey sweatpants.

You were cooking some beans in the pot, humming along to your music, engrossed in your activities, when a pair of hands landed on your hips.

You jumped in surprise, but calmed when a familiar chuckle sounded.

“You asshole!” You spun around to face him, a smile on your face.

“I scared you,” he grinned.

“No you didn’t,” you retorted quickly.

“Morning babe,” he mumbled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips.

“Hmm morning,” you mumbled back with a smile. You placed your hands on his chest pushing him away lightly. You turned to carry on making breakfast.

André wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face into your neck, pressing soft kisses to your skin. You sighed, tilting your head to the side to allow him more access. He reached forward and turned the heat off.

“André what are you-” André cut you off, spinning you around and lifting you over his shoulder.

“André! Put me down!” You thrashed about, but to no avail. He wrapped his other arm around your legs to stop you kicking, your tiny fists against his back having no effect.

You let out a giggle as André dropped you to the sofa, crawling over you to straddle your hips, his forearms propping him up above you. He grinned as he gave you an Eskimo kiss before pressing his lips to yours again, his tongue sliding over your bottom lip. You ran your fingers through his hair, lightly tugging on the tuft at the top of his neck.

“I want you.” André pulled away to look into your eyes. You simple nodded, and within seconds, André was pulling you towards his bedroom.


“It’s half 11.” you looked over at André’s alarm, the words tumbling out lazily from your mouth. André, out of breath, rolled over to pull you into a cuddle.

“Tom’ll be home soon.” You wriggled to get loose.

“So?” André asked sleepily.

“So, I’d rather he not find out about us by catching us naked in your bed,” you replied with sass.

“But I’m cozy,” André mumbled against your shoulder, his arm coiling around your torso.

“If I shower with you will you get up?” You offered. Without uttering a word, André threw the covers off of your bodies, stood up, and carried you bridal style into his bathroom, both of you giggling all the way there.


It was movie night. It’d been a few days after that afternoon, and since, you and André struggled to keep your hands to yourselves.

That’s why you were both cuddled up on the couch together. André had laid a blanket over the both of you, to hide his hand on your thigh, a large bowl of popcorn on his lap, whilst you held your drinks.

Tom was sat on the opposite sofa.

“Y/N, you always cuddle with me on movie nights?” He whined.

“Exactly, I’m cuddling André to make it even,” you grinned. André stuck his tongue out at Tom, who simply mumbled and curled up under his baby blue blanket.

“What film are we watching?” André asked.

“Tom’s choice,” you shrugged. You audibly groaned when you heard the score from Pirates of the Caribbean.

“Tom why?” You groaned.

“Not a fan of jack sparrow?” André looked down at you.

“No I am not,” you mumbled.

“Why not?” Tom asked.

“Well, apart from that fact that they are awful movies, I might be the only girl in the world that finds Johnny Depp irritating, instead of attractive,” you ranted. André chuckled, the vibrations from his chest rumbling through you.

“Well, maybe next time, you’ll cuddle me!” Tom argued jokingly.

“I hate you,” you mumbled, shoving some popcorn into your mouth.

—-

André’s POV:

It was killing me how oblivious Tom was. I looked down at Y/N who had fallen asleep on my shoulder. I smiled lightly at her, quiet snores falling from her parted lips.

“Hey, André, I should tell you before I forget, I found this girl you might like, I set up a date for you both-”

“Erm, thanks Tom, but no thanks,” I rushed out.

“What? Why?” Tom asked, confused.

“I’m not looking to date anyone right now,” I lied.

“So get laid,” Tom shrugged.

“No Tom, I don’t want to do that,” I grumbled out.

“Mate, what’s been up with you lately, you’ve stopped going out with the guys, stopped picking up girls, what’s wrong?” Tom asked.

“Nothing-”

“Nuh-uh, you used to tell me everything, but for the past month, you’ve gotten distant,” Tom pushed.

“You’re not my girlfriend Tom,” I joked.

“No, I’m your best friend, why won’t you go on a date with this girl?” He asked.

“I don’t want to-”

“Why?”

“I just don’t-”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Just drop it Tom.”

“No, tell me why.”

“Because I’m dating your sister!” I yelled out. Y/N snapped awake next to me, and I physically cringed. Fuck.

“What?” Tom gritted his teeth. Y/N looked over at him as he stood up.

“What’s going on?” She asked sleepily. I opened my mouth to talk, but Tom cut me off.

“Is it true?” He asked.

“Is what true?” Y/N asked.

“Are you and André dating?” He asked.

“What? How did-”

“He told me,” Tom pointed at me. I didn’t want to look at Y/N, I knew she was mad at me.

“Yeah, it’s true, we started dating a month after I moved out here,” Y/N told him, reaching over to squeeze my hand. She wasn’t mad.

“That was 3 months ago!” Tom was though.

“I know,” Y/N stood up. “And I’m sorry, sorry we didn’t tell you sooner, we just figured, it’s been working out, and maybe that’s because no one knew, we were going to tell you, we were just waiting for the right moment.” She reached out for Tom’s hand.

“At least I was,” she turned to look at me.

“Sorry,” I shrugged.

“Do you love each other?” Tom asked.

“Yes.” We said in unison.

“Then there’s nothing I can do, come here sis,” he pulled Y/N into a hug. “I wish you’d told me sooner, it’s weird, but I’ll get used to it, I love you.”

“Love you too big bro,” she giggled as she pulled away.

“I’m going to bed,” Tom waved meekly before leaving the room. Y/N turned to face me. She held out a hand for me. I turned the TV off and grabbed her hand, standing up.

“Mad?” I asked.

“No, relieved,” she smiled. I sighed. She placed her hands on the back of my neck, pulling me down into a kiss.

“Can we go to bed now?” I asked, pulling away to press my forehead to hers.

“Yeah, come on tattletale,” she grinned, pulling me towards her room.

“Hey!”

Originally posted by fuckhawkey

Where Is My Mind? | Bo Ra ft. Rosé

Where Is My Mind? | Bo Ra (Sistar) ft. Rosé (BLACKPINK)

word count: 2.9k
warnings: a lot of angst, like excessive amounts of angst, mentions of depression (not directly)
A/N: this took me so long to write. I’m sorry, anon! there’s also not as much Rosé as originally planned.






Keep reading

Royally Fucked (5/?)

Pairing: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warning: Swearing, sexual indication
(Wrap it before you tap it kiddos)

Summary: When you and Steve agree to end your relationship you didn’t expect to take it so hard, or seek comfort in his best friend. After one night of drinking and mistakes, now you feel like you’re struggling to keep your lies straight, but what happens when you’re seeing plus signs and Steve’s hovering, someone’s going to end up hurt if you can’t keep your lies straight.

A/N: Angsty, drama, secrets, and twists. Shit is going to hit the fan…

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

@rileyloves5  @jaleeni  @sebbaevans  @marvelousmarveltrash  @callie-swagg1  @iwillbeinmynest  @buckyappreciationsociety  @teamcaptianbucky @shamvictoria11  @winterboobaer  @alphasoldier  @bellejeunefillesansmerci  @holahellohialoha  @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked  @irepeldirt  @chrisevansthedoritobastard  @imamotherfuckingstar-lord  @yourtropegirl   @buckyb-avengers  @alphasoldier  @chipilerendi   @voguettey  @pietrosputa


Originally posted by marvelheroes

Your legs in the stirrups, the paper blanket over your waist and legs, you adjust the lovely hospital gown they had given you to wear, lying flat on your back on the cushioned table. Nat was flipping through baby magazines in the chair next to your head, legs crossed, foot shaking as she waits with you.

“This is an awkward position to leave someone waiting in.” You sigh, flattening out the paper blanket.

Keep reading

Originally posted by plutoandpersephone

Let’s not go digging too deep medically into this scenario because frankly, it’s entirely ridiculous in the best possible way. 

Masterlist 

Imagine Dr. Chilton using you to study the female orgasm and of course, he makes you call him, “Doctor”


Why the fuck did you ever sign up for this? Taking a deep breath, you opened the door to your appointment. Sure, this was going to be awkward, and possibly humiliating, but it paid good money. And you were the poor, broke idiot who thought grad school at Johns Hopkins was a good idea.

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Doctor!5SOSx Gang!5SOS

A/N: I was lying in bed at trying to get some sleep, but I’m sick and can’t sleep at all. So I started to think up new ideas for writing and came up with Doctor5SOS x Gang5SOS. There are all these gang member writing going on but no doctors coming in. I’m thinking about making this a series maybe?

Rating:PG

Warnings: cursing, threats, blood,

Word count: 3K


“Make sure that Mrs.Robertson doesn’t get anything else to eat after midnight. Her surgery is at 7am.” I advised the nurse, handing her the clipboard after signing the bottom of the paper.

“I will make sure of that Doctor Hood, and Miss. Xavier thinks she is well and good to be released.”

Letting out a sigh of annoyance, while taking  Miss. Xavier clipboard walking to room 345C. Reading her chart, as I opened the door with my back I walk in on Miss. Xavier getting dressed again for the 30th time this week. “Ahh Doctor Hood, I think I’m feeling better.” She told me tugging on her sock, struggling though when her hand started to shake some more. Rachel Xavier was has been a patient here at Sydney Hospital for a little over 3 weeks, she has Breast Cancer. She was diagnosed with it just a couple months ago, and it was taking it’s toll on her. She was at the moment in denial about having it, but she has started to slowly lose her long brown locks.

“Miss. X-” She interrupted me this time around, “No..Call me Rachel.. Don’t call me by my last name. Don’t tell me that I need to rest, too..too lie down. I don’t want to lie down, I want to leave this place. I don’t want the treatments give it to someone that DOES need it and want it. I’m not going to do this all over again for the third time around.” Rachel babbled her hands flying every which way as she spoke more about how she wanted to go travel. That she has never in her 35 years of living been to California or on a plane. Holding up my finger, she feel silent again walking out of the room again for the 30th time.

“I need discharge papers for Miss…Rachel.” Informed the nurse, her face held confusion opening her mouth, quickly closing it when I shot her a look to keep her mouth shut. “Make sure to give it to her. And tell her to have a fun time in California.” Nodding her head as she got the papers ready for Rachel. My beeper beeped three times, telling me that I was needed in the emergency room.

“God I hate the graveyard shift sometimes.” Muttered underneath my voice, the nurse nodded her head in agreement before standing up delivering the papers to Rachel. Speed walking to the elevators since the beeper wouldn’t be quiet; pressing 1 at least three times thinking that if I kept doing so it would make the elevator go faster. The doors opened to full blown mayhem; nurses were running around with IVs in hand.

A girl no more than 18 was in a gurney blood on her face and on her left side of the body, another girl with gunshots wounds visible on her chest lay on a gurney, no one bother with her. Walking over to the maybe 20 year old girl putting two fingers on her wrist, counting to 30 though not feeling single heartbeat. “What happened?” I questioned one of the doctors who was being wheeled in from outside. He was on top of a patient performing CPR on a tall blonde guy, “A gang war again the Hemmings against the Irwins.” He hollered over the sirens of another ambulance speeding in. Running out of the hospital to meet the ambulance at the back doors, the EMT jumped out while telling us what was wrong with the patient.

“Female, no more than 20 years of age, multiply stab and gunshot wounds. She is still coherent,” EMT helped us wheel her in before return back to the ambulance, “How many are there left?” I asked the EMT before she left. “She was are last one.. I think. We delivered at least fifty people. At least twelve are dead.”

Wheeling the patient into the huge ER, the nursing holding gauze over the open major stab and gunshot wounds. “Miss? Can you tell me your name?” I questioned her, opening her eye slowly quickly closing them when the bright overhead light turned on. “I-It’s none of your business.” She hissed out before going into a seizure, “SHE IS HAVING A SEIZURE!” I addressed out loud to everyone, rolling her gentle to her side trying to have all the fluids sweep out of her mouth. After the seizure was over I checked her pupils, the nurses had tried there best to dress her wounds. “She needs to go into surgery for the bullet wounds. I will be the one to perform the surgery.” I ordered walking out of the room that the patient was in. Running over trying to help restrain another patient as he was trying to get out of the stretcher, his side of his face burned from what I was guessing acid. “IT BURNS! MAKE IT STOP!”

“Give him 15 mL of analgesic.” The nurse ran out the side double doors only to return with a needle. Almost stabbing him in the arm, though from the amount of scars that I saw on himself wouldn’t have hurt him one bit.

“Good though next time don’t stab him with it.” Advised has the patient began to kind of settle down, “Make sure to call the plastic surgeon to come down here and look at every one face that has burns.. Or just tell him to get his ass down here!” I grumbled out orders, my fingers itching to have a cigarette between them.  Walking to the next patient, than the next and the next till it the nurses and some other doctors who were called in could take care of it.

“Doctor Hood, how has your night been?” Doctor Clifford questioned blood smeared on his white coat and his shirt, blood stained hands after some washing. “What do you think Michael? From what I can already hear is that the rival gangs Irwin and Hemmings got into it yet again the tenth time this month. Though this time around it was bloody; Fifty people came in only ten  have minor  injures and ten more in surgery as we speak. We lost twelve people too this on either side, some of these victims are no more than 15 years old.” I ranted on signing death certificate one after the other, Michael nodded his head after my rant. “What I heard is that Luke Hemmings the youngest brother of the Hemmings was brought in and has been cursing up a storm for himself to be released.” Michael told me, disgust in his voice has he looked up at the clock.

“And it’s only 5am, god it went on for fours hours?” I asked baffled, it felt like eight hours it lasted this mayhem. Finally after the finally death certificate, took a look around the ER. There was puddles of blood on the white floor, hand-prints on the walls, a bullet hole in the far side of the wall. One of the guys from one of the gangs came running in holding his bloody side aiming at what I could was a brunette guy a little older than myself. Lucky for us all the security was right behind him tackling him to the ground, startling him into pulling the trigger.

“Come on you have a surgery to perform on that feisty patient of yours.” Michael commented as he stepped into a puddle of someone blood, “These are white shoes.. Hey when is someone going to clean this place up?!” He shouted throwing his hands in the air out of annoyance, chuckling while shaking my head. Making my way to the surgery room, putting on the scrubs and then washing my hands. The nursing helping put on all the gloves, walking over to the patient who was still wide awake on the table. “Okay everyone, this patient..will you tell me your name?” I leaned over her, raising one of my eyebrows up at her; her deep brown eyes narrowing as they looked at me. “Fuck you asshole..” she grunted out as a needle was pushed into her forearm, “Look either you tell me your name or I have someone take your fingerprint run it through the database and then I can see all your felonies and jail time along with your name.” I threatened my own brown eyes challenging her brown eyes.

“Its Y/N Y/L/N,” Y/N grumbled out before going under the medicine, a smirk formed on my face as I finally got her name. “Okay everybody we will be having a fun time doing this! Can you press play Veronica?” I asked nicely as she pressed play on the Radio/CD player, Green Day started to play in the background as I made the first incision in her adamion, noticing that the three bullets in her hadn’t hit anything that could not be stitched up. “Clamps?” I ordered holding out my right hand, feeling them being set in my hand I clamped down on the intestine pulling out the bullet and shortly after stitching it up.

It all took just under two hours and thirty minutes, though there was a few hick-ups when we all noticed there had been older bullets still in her and one had moved to her heart. Stabbing it, with the constant bleeding we had to call in a heart surgeon and have him step him for the heart, as I stitched up more of the wounds in her.

“How many bullets?” Michael spoke through a mouth full of lettuce, his pierced eyebrow raised. It still confused me how he was able to get away with having it pierced though when I brought it to the Chief of Staff he told me not to worry about it and how it wasn’t any of my business.

“Eight bullets total. Two were in her large and small intestine, two more behind the kidney, on by her heart, another was lodged in her rip bone.. Literally in it. The other three were just scattered everywhere, I have no idea how we got it all done in just two hours.” Yawned out stretching out my arms over my head, “Gentlemen, you are needed in room 12B.” Doctor LaHood advised us walking away with his nose held high, “God he gets on my nerves.” Michael looked in the direction LaHood had walked away, “Cut him some slack. He got bullied like a mother fucker in High School from what I heard.” Started are long walk to the room, “Who is even in this room?” Michael shrugged his shoulders too my question, opening the door to cops in uniform more doctors and two patient in the room.

“Clifford and Hood were two of the higher up doctors in the ER when all the patients started to roll in.” Chief of Staff told one of the cops as he started to write down his statement.

“You need to let us out of here!” A tall blonde guy roared out, his blue eyes holding a glint of mischief. His built was something that would intimidate anyone, even someone like me. I was 6’3 at the best, well built I started going to the gym more often building up my muscle. He had a broader frame compared to my own, wide set shoulders. “You better listen to him, he is the BABY brother of the Hemmings. He needs his brothers to always watch his ass.” The other patient commented, he was older than I as well. He had brown-blonde curly hair with hazel eyes, he was shorter than I and even the Blonde. Even if he was he did have a muscular built, maybe even better than I and Blondie.

“Shut the fuck up Ashton!” Blondie barked out, rising up from his bed but the hand-cuffs stopped him short.

“Aw, trying to be all big and bad Lukey? How cute,” Ashton taunted Luke, laying back even deeper into the bedding of the bed. “Can you two stop it? I’m gett-”

That’s when you heard the gunshots and shouting ring out through the halls, the high-pitched screams of the staff and patients. Perking up trying my best to mute out everyone else just to hear outside what was happening. “Where are they?!” A deep voice screeched out, “There they are.” Luke chuckled darkly, snapping off the cuffs in one fluid movement. The bobby-pin in hand as he dropped it on the ground, “JACK!” He screamed out as the cops all jumped towards him, for someone of his height he dodged all the punches and attacks with grace. Ashton let out a sigh and then stood up from his bed, patting Michael on the shoulder has he passed him a twenty.

“Make sure to come on by tomorrow bro.” Michael advised him, a smirk forming on his face as he pulled out a scalpel from his coat stabbing one of the cops in the throat. “M-Michael..What the Fuck?”

“Aw come on Calum you really thought I was a doctor? God I only was doing this to get some strong drugs for my boss.” He told me stabbing another person, Ashton swung open the door it slamming into the wall. “Look I’ll give you some time to get a head start.. Oh and get that pretty redhead from the recovery room. Might want to protect her before any of the gangs get too her.” Michael rushed out the door followed by Luke who gave me a once over before scuffing, “ Nice tattoo’s dude.” He whispered out then ran right into the chaos of the hospital, walking out into the hall. I was greeted with dead bodies on the ground, others injured even a couple faking being dead. Taking Michael advise to heart I ran to the room Y/N was in, what ever she got herself into I was going to try my best to protect her. As long as none of the guys kill me before I get too her.

“Hey! Calum. You may need this, you-” Michael got his answer when I clicked the safety off and clocked it back.

“Sweet. Be careful, get a hold of me when your somewhere safe.”

Shock Pt. 1

I wrote something similar to this when I first started tumblr, but an anon sent an ask a couple weeks ago and I couldn’t resist revisiting the idea, with better writing skills and ideologies. Enjoy.

“I told you already I’ve been here before,” the man grumbled to Owen as he sat on one of the ER beds. His brother stood next to him, just as pissed looking as he.

“I know, but I can’t find your name in our system,” Owen answered, furiously looking through the ER cases on his tablet. “Can you give me the name of the doctor you saw when you were last here?”

The man pondered for a moment. “I…I can’t remember.” Owen looked to his brother for help but the man shrugged and claimed he hadn’t met the doctor.

“Male or female?” Owen asked.

“Female,” the guy answered, “I call her Dr-”

“Nick?” the person of interest called as she came over to the bed, “What are you doing here?”

“Dr. Cyan!” Nick called out with a peachy grin.

“I told you to stop calling me that,” she chuckled, “My name is Dr. Shepherd.”

“Doesn’t flow as well,” he shrugged, a lopsided smile on his face.

“Uh…?” Owen finally spoke up.

“Oh, Nick is one of my patients,” Amelia said simply, “He has a pituitary tumour that was accidentally diagnosed as bipolar disorder, because of his brother’s history with it, and I was going to take it out next week.”

Owen blinked twice, trying to soak in all the information she’d just told him in under ten seconds. “Okay…”

“Dr. Pretty Eyes was the first doctor who actually listened to me when I said I wasn’t bipolar,” Nick informed him, with a dreamy gaze on Amelia.

“Dr. Shepherd,” she corrected. Owen watched with jealousy as Amelia’s cheeks blushed red while she smiled. “So what did you do to get yourself in here?”

“He went to fix something on top our roof and he passed out and fell,” his brother recalled.

In full doctor mode now, Amelia held Nick’s chin and raised her finger in his line of vision. “Follow my finger.” She then slipped her fingers in his palm and asked him to squeeze. “I’m sending you for a CT and an MRI and you’re checking in.”

“What?” Nick groaned, pouting, “But his week is supposed to be my last week of freedom and fun before you chop up my brain.”

“Fainting and falling off a roof is serious,” she said, smiling sympathetically, “And I’m not going to chop up your brain, I’m going to fix you.”

“You better,” he sighed sadly, glancing at his brother. The two smiled before looking back at Amelia and Owen.

A little over an hour later, Owen met Amelia in the CT scan room and took the seat next to her.

“What was all that earlier?” he queried as she waited for the scans to appear on the screen.

“What was all what?” she asked mindlessly, not paying much attention to him. She appeared to be more concerned about her patient than her better half.

“Dr. Cyan and Dr. Pretty Eyes,” he recited in a dreamy voice, “All that.”

“He was just teasing,” she dismissed, “Are you jealous?”

“Should I be?” Owen asked with raised eyebrows.

Amelia furrowed her eyebrows. “Owen, we are nothing right now. You’re the guy I’m kind of in a relationship with, but not really because neither of us knows what we want. You’re not really in a position to be jealous.”

“Well-”

“Shit,” Amelia cursed under her breath as the scans appeared, showing that his tumour had worsened like she assumed.

“What?” Owen asked, momentarily distracted.

“The tumour is spreading to his sinus cavity,” she grimly announced.

Nick watched Amelia with weary eyes as he glazed over the consent forms in front of him. “This really has to be done today?”

Amelia nodded, her lips tight from worry. “If we wait any longer…”

“I don’t know why I’m so scared,” he chuckled, signing the papers, “I mean, this was going to happen next week…But I guess the suddenness of it happening right now…” The second he finished signing the papers, a barrage of nurses entered the room, removing and adding things, getting him ready to be transported to the OR.

“Stop,” Nick said a bit too harshly as the rush of the situation unnerved him. The nurses stopped what they were doing. “Can I, Can Dr. Shepherd and I have a private word before you take me up?” he begged. Amelia looked to the staff, and Nick’s brother, and nodded, asking them to close the blinds and door. Once alone, Nick broke down in tears, the reality of what was about to happen finally hitting him.

“I’m not afraid of dying, Dr. Shepherd,” he sniffled.

“Don’t call me that,” she teased, “It sounds weird.”

“I’m not afraid of dying, Dr. Pretty Eyes,” he corrected, a soft smile on his face, “But that doesn’t mean I want to die…Please don’t kill me…”

Amelia’s heart raced in her chest, but she remained cool and calm on the outside. “Anything other requests?” she joked, trying to keep things light for his sake and for hers.

“Just one. A kiss.” He winked.

“I don’t think-“

“I’ve never kissed a doctor before,” he mused, “Far less a girl with pretty, blue eyes.”

“This is incredibly inappropriate,” Amelia laughed, blushing a little.

“Come on,” he begged, “Unless you want me to call you by your real name again. A sick man’s dying wish.” She would’ve been lying if she said she didn’t seriously consider kissing him; he was a decent looking guy, even her type.

Looking over her shoulder first, to ensure no one was eavesdropping, Amelia bent down, nearing his face. Just when he thought she was about to kiss him, however, she moved to plant a kiss on his cheek instead. “You’ll get the real kiss in post –op,” she bargained. Her choice of words emphasised to him that he would not be dying from this procedure,  and he was thankful for that positive reinforcement.

“You’re a tease, Dr. Shep,” Nick called after her as she left the room. Once outside, Amelia took a deep breath. Pressured would’ve been a mild word to use to describe how she felt right now.

Stop worrying, she told herself as she headed towards the elevator, you’re going to kill yourself with anxiety.

1 week later

Amelia lay on the floor, feeling the life in her draining out. She didn’t know how much blood she’d loss, but she could feel her scrub top sticking to her skin and her hands were wet, so it had to be a lot. Breathing in short, rapid breaths, she tried to calm herself and not go into shock, but the effort was proving futile. Her hands were getting cold and she was already sweating. She could hear Owen calling after her, basically screaming her name, begging her to stay with him, but she didn’t register his voice; she couldn’t move. It was getting harder and harder to keep her eyes open and, soon enough, she found herself surrendering to the deep sleep they tell you to resist when you’ve been fatally shot.

Orphans - Part 1

Summary: Your parents died on a tragic car accident. Though you were lucky and survived. Depending on how one would describe lucky since you were now an orphan and had to live in an orphanage where you didn’t know anybody. But that quite blue-eyed boy, seemed to become a closer friend than you first expected.

Words: 1263

Pairing: eventual Castiel x Reader

Originally posted by jupiter2

Warnings: car accident, character death(minor), angsty?

A/N: So here we go with another series… This kind of sucks, but I promise it will get better also I cannot promise for this to be long or something, but I will try my best. Feedback is appreciated!

Orphans - Masterpost


“Mommy, Daddy, can we stop? I have to pee!” you whined a little as you shifted in your seat.

You have been in the car for nearly five hours now and not once did your parents stop. They said they just wanted to reach the holiday place so they could finally relax. You didn’t understand why they couldn’t stop at least for a few minutes so you could go pee.

Keep reading

To Infinity And Beyond - Ashton Imagine (Part One)

TattooArtist!Ashton (Y/F/L/N/ = the first letter of your last name)

Part Two // Part Three

When someone you love dies, you’d always want to remember them.

Originally posted by drflukesbanana

Name: Laura Y/L/N. Time of death: 11:58 am, March 7th.”


Those words rang in your mind for days to come, remembering the last words your mother had said before this. “Remember, I’ll love you forever. To infinity, and…” She was unable to even finish her sentence, making your tear drop onto her hand which you were holding. “And, beyond.” You were rushed out of the room, nurses and doctors rushing in, trying to save her despite the fact that her heart had stopped. You knew she was gone forever, your whole world had turned black and white. It wasn’t uncommon, you’d grown up learning about this. As people you loved left or died, your vision will become more bland with each one that goes. Finally, when the last one leaves, it turns completely black and white. Unless you find your true love, you’ll stay like this forever. “I’m sorry for your loss.” The friendly doctor whom you’ve spent eight months in the hospital with patted you on the shoulder, making you sob even harder. You shook your head, getting up slowly and exiting the hospital. The sky was grey, rain dropping down from the sky. You were crying loudly, people throwing glances your way, separating like the red sea around you. Your surroundings were unfamiliar to you, as if the colorless neighborhood was somewhere completely new. You made your way back to the empty house, covered in a mix of tears and rainwater, completely drenched from head to toe. You walked up the stairs, looking at the photo frames on the wall. Your finger traced the familiar figures in the photo, making you smile slightly. Your older brother, who’d passed away five years ago in a car crash with your father, causing your mother to fall into depression, and later found out she had developed breast cancer. She had developed metastatic breast cancer, causing it to spread to organs like her livers and her lungs. You looked back at the photo, trying to recall the events of the day, however it was hard. The details were there, but somehow the colors were already slipping away, tears falling down your face and onto the floor. 


Ring! Ring! The bell into the shop rang as you pushed the glass door open. A boy was sat there in front of a table, looking up as the bell rang. You could see that his hair was probably colored, but you didn’t know what color.“Hey, I’d like to get a tattoo.” He nodded, gesturing towards the sofa next to the table. “Can I ask you a question?” He nodded. “What color is your hair?” “Why?” “I can’t see color.” The boy’s face was confused, but then he realized. “Oh, it’s blue.” You nodded, he walked out from behind his desk, walking next to you. “So, where do you want to get the tattoo?” You thought for a minute, having not thought about it yet. “Um, right here.” You gestured under your left breast, on your ribcage. “Okay, I’ll check the schedule real quick, let me see who’s available right now.” The blue-haired boy walked back behind the desk, leaning over the computer. “Um, none of our female tattoo artists are available right now, would you like to come back later or do you mind getting tattooed by one of our male artists?” “A male artist is fine.” He nodded, typing something into his computer. “What’s your name?” “My name’s Y/N Y/L/N.” “Nice to meet you, I’m Michael Clifford.” You nodded, flashing him a small, fake smile. “Alright, so your artist is Ashton, you can find him inside room five. It’s the third door on your right.” You nodded at him, thanking him and getting up off the couch, walking into the room. You walked into the dimly lit hallway, admiring the graffiti on the walls and doors. Screams and moans rang out of the rooms, but not all of them out of pain, certain ones out of pleasure, making you raise an eyebrow towards the doors. 

You knocked on the doors, hearing a faint ‘Come in!’ come through the door, making you turn the doorknob. You were greeted by the sight of a shirtless tattooed mail, his back facing you, making you stare at his every detail. His back muscles were obvious and well sculpted, his biceps flexing with every movement as he organized his tools and ink. “Mike? Are you just standing there?” You were woken from your trance, shaking your head. “Sorry, I’m getting a tattoo? Michael told me to come in here.” The curly hair boy turned around, seeing you stand there next to the door. “Oh sorry, Mike must have forgotten to tell me about you. Sit down, I’ll be right back.” You sat on the leather seat, the boy who’s name you’ve forgotten exiting the room. You looked around, seeing the photos of the numerous celebrities who he’s tattooed. Harry Styles, Ed Sheeran, Zayn Malik, and so on. The boy came back moments later, holding some paper and a pen. “So, do you have a photo or a drawing that you want to use?” You shook your head, gesturing towards the pen which he passed to you. You took a piece of paper, writing on the paper. “I want an infinity sign with the words ‘To infinity and beyond’ written above it, and also Laura Y/F/L/N written under it, with the date 7.3.16 under it.” He nodded, taking the pen from your hand and drawing on it. “Something like this?” He showed you the drawing, making you nod. “Where exactly do you want the tattoo?” You gestured to the same spot you told Michael just now, going over everything in your mind. “Oh, another request, could it be in red?” Ashton nodded, but then sheepishly scratched his hair, gesturing towards the bottles of ink. “Um, could you tell me which one is red?”


Request here. Masterlist here.