Discover Top Posts Tagged with #blurb.

tl;dr a blurb about dr. grey having to put his wife out of her misery.

The monitors beside her bed gave off a slow, uneven rhythm that barely resembled a heartbeat anymore. The laboratory was quiet except for the mechanical hiss of failing equipment and the faint scrape of Leon Grey pulling a chair closer to her bedside for what had become the hundredth night in a row. Daisy no longer looked entirely human beneath the fluorescent lights. The government's experiments, and later Leon's desperate attempts to undo them, had transformed Daisy's body into something unstable and unnatural. Veins darkened beneath pale skin like spreading fractures. Surgical scars crossed her body in layers, old incisions stitched over newer ones. Machines kept portions of her nervous system functioning while experimental compounds pulsed through IV lines attached directly to her arms.

It was her eyes that destroyed him. There were moments, fleeting and agonizing, where he could still see her inside them, and then they would disappear again. Daisy would forget who he was and panic violently at her own reflection. She spoke in broken memories that belonged to different days and different years. Sometimes Daisy screamed until blood vessels burst in her throat. Other nights, she stared blankly at the ceiling for hours without blinking, as though whatever remained of her mind had wandered somewhere unreachable.

Leon tried everything: new procedures, new chemicals, neural reconstruction, memory stabilization. Every surgery only prolonged the suffering. The realization came slowly, then all at once: he had not saved his wife. He had trapped her.

That night, she was lucid for the first time in weeks. Weak fingers curled around the sleeve of his coat as he adjusted one of the IV lines. Her breathing trembled, and when she spoke, her voice sounded fragile and horribly human again. “Leon,” Daisy whispered. Just hearing his name in her real voice nearly broke him. His hands froze instantly. Daisy's eyes met his, clear for the first time in months, and he understood immediately that she knew what she had become. No confusion, violence, or distortion. Just exhaustion. “You have to let me go.”

Leon refused before she even finished speaking. His answer came automatically, desperate and sharp. Leon Grey had spent his entire life refusing death. Refusing loss. Refusing helplessness. Every scar on his hands existed because he simply could not accept the idea of failing someone he loved. Her grip tightened weakly around his wrist, and for the first time since he had brought her back, she looked afraid. Not afraid of dying, but of continuing to live.

Leon stayed beside her for nearly an hour afterward, unable to move, staring at the woman he had destroyed trying to save. The monitors continued their uneven rhythm. Somewhere deeper in the facility, machinery hummed behind reinforced walls. When he finally stood, his movemements where mechanical — like he was already becoming someone else. He kissed her forehead with trembling hands, rested the barrel of the pistol gently against the side of her head, and closed his eyes before pulling the trigger. The sound echoed through the laboratory for only a second.

The silence afterward lasted a lifetime.

Something inside Dr. Leon Grey died beside her that night. Not love. Not grief. Those remained. It was his ability to see humanity as something sacred. After that, people became fragile systems. Biology became machinery. Pain became data. Death became a technical failure waiting to be solved.

The laboratory smelled overwhelmingly of antiseptic and burnt circuitry. Dr. Leon Grey stood motionless beside the operating table long after the gunshot had faded into silence, one gloved hand still hanging loosely at his side with the pistol pointed towards the floor. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered faintly, washing the room in cold white pulses that made everything feel unreal: the blood creeping slowly along the grout between the tiles, the tangled IV lines, the stillness of her body beneath the surgical drapes. For several seconds, maybe several minutes, he simply stared. It took a moment before the medic in him took over. Not the husband. Never the husband.

Leon placed the pistol carefully onto a metal tray beside the operating table before reaching for gauze with mechanical precision. His movements were automatic, detached from thought, the same movements he had performed after battlefield amputations and failed resuscitations overseas. Pressure first. Contain contamination. Clear the scene. Stabilize the environment. Even now, some ruined instinct inside him demanded procedure. The cloth in his hand darkened immediately. He paused; a memory had surfaced without his permission.

Daisy standing barefoot in the kitchen of their apartment years earlier, laughing quietly while trying to patch a cut across his knuckles after he'd come home from deployment. He remembered the way she'd scolded him for pretending his injuries were minor. “You treat your own body like it's disposable,” she had muttered, wrapping gauze around his hand. Lean had laughed then, an actual laugh, rough and exhausted but still real. “I'm a medic. Occupational hazard,” he'd responded, a typical quip back. “You're impossible,” she told him.

The memory hit him with enough force to make his chest tighten painfully. Leon stared at the blood soaking through the gauze in his hand before forcing himself back to the present. The body on the table no longer resembled the woman from that memory. Still, he adjusted the blanket around her shoulders with unbearable gentleness. The room hummed quietly while Leon disconnected the remaining monitors one by one. Each flatline tone cut off into silence as he removed the leads from her skin. Beneath the harsh surgical lighting, the scars crossing her body looked almost too neat — all just being evidence of hundreds of procedures performed by desperate hands that once believed enough effort could reverse the irreversible. His hands. Every incision. Every stitch. Every failed attempt.

Leon removed his gloves slowly, staring at the blood smeared across his fingers. For the first time in years, his hands were trembling. Another memory surfaced. Rain tapping softly against apartment windows with Daisy asleep on his chest on the couch while some terrible late-night movie played in the background. The warmth of her fingers lazily tracing circles against his arm while he drifted half-conscious after seventy-two hours awake at the military hospital. “You know,” she had murmured sleepily, “one day you're going to have to accept there are things you cannot fix.” At the time, he had kissed the top of her head and answered automatically: "I'll figure it out.

God, he had believed that.

Leon inhaled shakily and leaned both hands against the operating table, lowering his head for several silent seconds. The exhaustion pressing into him felt geological, ancient and crushing and inescapable. Then his expression hardened again, slow and deliberate, like a door sealing shut. By the time he began wiping away the remaining blood from the floor, there was already something colder settling into the space that grief had hollowed out inside of him. Neither rage nor sorrow, solely apathy. The daunting realization that, after all the horror, all the surgeries, all of the suffering — humanity was nothing more than fragile tissue pretending to be immortal. If the world could reduce the woman he loved into a thing begging for death on an operating table, then perhaps there was nothing sacred left in people after all.

Leon folded the bloodstained cloth carefully and set it beside the tray. Only then did he finally look at her again. “I'm so sorry,” he whispered, though by then he no longer knew whether he was speaking to his wife – or to the man he had been before she died.

#HC.#BLURB.

guys. toji, still in his clan's grasp at the ripe young age of fifteen, forced to enroll in jujutsu high for some reason, much to everyone's displeasure. him meeting you, a somewhat powerful student in his class, born to a family of non-sorcerers, unaware of just how bad the world is.

#toji fushiguro #obticeo writes #fushiguro toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen #blurb.