#Baseball Elbow Injuries

[infoblogify]

Swing for the Fences, Not the Operating Table Freehold Guide to Preventing Baseball Elbow Injuries

Baseball, often hailed as America's pastime, is a sport that combines skill, strategy, and athleticism. For players in Freehold, the thrill of stepping up to the plate, making that perfect swing, and rounding the bases is unmatched. However, amid the excitement, one aspect that demands attention is the risk of baseball elbow injuries. In this guide, we explore essential tips and strategies to help Freehold's baseball enthusiasts swing for the fences without landing on the operating table.

Understanding Baseball Elbow Injuries:

Before diving into prevention strategies, it's crucial to understand the common types of elbow injuries that baseball players may encounter. Among the most prevalent are medial epicondylitis, commonly known as golfer's elbow, and lateral epicondylitis, often referred to as tennis elbow. These injuries can result from overuse, poor mechanics, or inadequate conditioning.

Proper Warm-up and Stretching:

Prevention starts with a proper warm-up routine. Freehold baseball players should incorporate dynamic stretches and exercises that target the muscles used during the game. Warming up gradually increases blood flow, flexibility, and prepares the body for the physical demands of playing baseball.

Strength and Conditioning:

Building strength in the relevant muscle groups is vital for preventing baseball elbow injuries freehold. Focusing on forearm strength, wrist stability, and overall upper body conditioning can contribute to improved performance and reduced strain on the elbow joints. Consult with a fitness professional to create a personalized strength training program that aligns with baseball-specific needs.

Perfecting Pitching and Hitting Mechanics:

Faulty pitching and hitting mechanics can significantly contribute to elbow injuries. Freehold players should work closely with coaches or seek professional guidance to ensure proper techniques. Proper form not only enhances performance but also minimizes stress on the elbows, reducing the risk of injuries over time.

Mindful Pitch Count and Rest:

Youth players, in particular, need to be mindful of pitch counts. Overuse of the arm, especially in young and developing players, is a leading cause of elbow injuries. Adhering to pitch count guidelines and allowing adequate rest between games and practices is essential for preventing strain on the elbow ligaments and tendons.

Utilizing Quality Equipment:

Investing in high-quality baseball equipment is a crucial aspect of injury prevention. Ensure that bats, gloves, and other gear are the right size and fit for the player. Ill-fitting equipment can lead to compensatory movements, increasing the risk of injury.

Emphasizing Recovery and Rehabilitation:

In the event of minor discomfort or early signs of injury, it's essential to address the issue promptly. Rest, ice, compression, and elevation (R.I.C.E.) can be effective in the early stages. Seeking professional medical advice and undergoing rehabilitation exercises can aid in a safe and speedy recovery.

Nutrition and Hydration:

Proper nutrition and hydration play a vital role in preventing injuries. Ensuring that players are well-nourished and adequately hydrated supports overall muscle health and aids in recovery. Hydration is particularly crucial for maintaining joint lubrication and reducing the risk of muscle cramps.

Regular Check-ups with Healthcare Professionals:

Regular check-ups with healthcare professionals, such as orthopedic specialists or sports medicine doctors, can provide valuable insights into an athlete's physical condition. Periodic assessments can identify potential issues early on and allow for preventive measures to be implemented.

Encouraging Open Communication:

Creating an environment where players feel comfortable communicating any discomfort or pain is crucial. Coaches, parents, and players should work collaboratively to address concerns and take proactive steps to prevent injuries.

In conclusion, Freehold's baseball enthusiasts can enjoy the game they love by incorporating preventive measures into their training and playing routines. By focusing on proper warm-up, strength and conditioning, mechanics, rest, quality equipment, recovery, nutrition, and regular check-ups, players can swing for the fences with confidence, knowing they are taking steps to prevent baseball elbow injuries and ensure a long and fulfilling baseball journey.

[dinosaurwithablog]

I hope that Jazz Chisholm Jr. is okay 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

We can't lose to the White Sox and lose Jazz, too. Please be okay.

Let's go Yankees!!!!!

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

I love how you characterize Aaron Hotchner! Would you please write something for him along with the quote ‘keep your eyes open, sweetheart’? Completely up to you, but was definitely thinking about some heavy angst 🙃🙃

"look at me" - hotch x gn!bau!reader - 985 words

cw: injuries and depictions of violence, general angst, anxiety, hotch literally just being a hero as per freakin usual

why hello my love! thank you sm for this request <3

i don't write a lot of angst, it's certainly something i need practice with! but i really enjoyed writing this and i smooch ur lil forehead

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People always say that in a near-death experience, your whole life flashes before your eyes. 

Not yours. 

You didn’t see your whole life, no. You saw bits and pieces - learning to ride a bike, walking at your high school graduation, pinning your FBI badge to your blazer. And then you just saw Aaron. 

The first time you met, shaking hands as a brazen formality in the middle of a case, feeling his deep, brown eyes scrutinize your every move, watching him watch you. He was testing you back then, seeing if you’d be a good fit for the team.

The first real conversation you shared with him - The Beatles, which song was his favorite? Laughing at him when he said Yellow Submarine. 

When he held your hand for the first and only time on a particularly rough case, about four months ago, and promised you that things would get better. 

When you comforted him for the first time, about three months ago, after Haley left him. You promised him that everything happens for a reason. 

Five minutes ago, when you told him you felt certain the unsubs were going to strike again. You felt it in the pits of your stomach, you told Aaron. And he just nodded and said he trusted your intuition. Then he held the door open for you, and led you out of the police station, into the dead-quiet night of the street.  

He clicked the key fob in his hand, and the SUV burst into red-hot flames and sent you both flying. You were immediately knocked unconscious, your body thrust out into the street flippantly, like someone had simply thrown a baseball. 

You come to on the concrete, your head pounding. All sound is muffled, but you see Aaron on his knees, hovering over you. His face is covered in dirt and soot and blood, and he keeps cupping his hand over his ear. 

“ - hear me?” Sound is restored in the middle of Aaron’s question. It’s abrupt, like someone changing the channel on the TV, but you can hear again. You feel dizzy and disoriented as you prop yourself up on your elbows. 

“Stay down,” Aaron instructs, guiding you gently to lay flat on your back once again. Your entire body is throbbing. 

“Aaron,” you feel a panicked, whispered sob escape you. He grabs your hand and you feel him squeeze it. Your eyes roll into the back of your head. You feel dizzy, like you might pass out again and Aaron’s grip tightens around your hand. “It hurts.” 

“Keep your eyes open for me, sweetheart. Please?” The endearment rolls off of Aaron’s tongue like he’s said it a million times before. He hasn’t. Your relationship with him has been professional-ish up until this point. You’re not sure how he feels about you, exactly, but at this moment, it doesn’t matter. 

 He doesn’t even acknowledge that he said it. “What hurts?” Aaron’s speaking loudly, like someone who has headphones in. His hand is still pressed against his ear. 

“All of it,” you murmur. “Everything.” 

You feel tears in your eyes. Your stomach is in knots and you feel like someone is sitting on your chest. You blink a few times, feeling the tears drip down your face and onto your lips, salty and full of dread. 

Aaron’s checking you over, you realize, lifting your head gently and quickly to make sure you’re not bleeding. He’s talking to you, telling you what he’s doing so you don’t panic even more. He uses feather-light touches to lift your arm, and pain shocks you, coursing through your wrist. “Shh, hey, I’m sorry,” he says, laying your arm by your side. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Your wrist is broken.” 

You blink a few tears away. 

“I’m going to pick you up, Y/N,” he tells you. He never calls you by your first name, but you’re in so much pain that you can’t even be jarred by it. “Can you move your other arm?” 

It feels laden, but you can. You nod and whimper in confirmation. 

“Can you hook it around my neck?” He asks as he slides his hands under you. The crooks of your knees and your back are cradled by Aaron’s arms and you wrap your arm around his neck. Once he determines you’re stable in his arms, he lifts you up. You hear sirens blaring as they get closer, and you see Aaron grimace. You feel his body tense up, his fingers curl around the fabric of your shirt. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask him in an unfiltered mumble, sniffling as he carries you towards the nearest ambulance. 

“It’s just my ear. I’m fine, Y/N. I’ll be fine,” he promises, but you feel how labored his gait is. It’s taking everything in him to carry you to the ambulance. You want to tell him to stop, to remind him that the paramedics can bring the gurney to you. But you’re so tired, so dizzy. You think maybe if you just rest your eyes a little bit, you might feel better. Your head tilts to rest in the crook of Aaron’s neck. Your eyes flutter shut. 

“Y/N, you might have a concussion. You have to stay awake, okay?” Aaron’s voice draws you back. Your eyes are shaky when they open, and you see him looking at you with weighted concern as he sets you onto the gurney. 

The paramedics load you shakily up into the ambulance, and you reach your uninjured arm out. “You’re going to the hospital with me, right?” You ask. 

Aaron nods, climbing in after the paramedics and sitting beside you. His eyes are piercing and full of consternation as he takes your uninjured hand in both of his. He runs his fingertips over your knuckles, nodding assuredly, though you are certain he is feeling exactly the opposite.  “Yeah. Of course. I’m not going to leave you.”

[adverbally]

I’ll Be Seeing You

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “The sunset looks lovely, don’t you think?” | wc: 929 | rated: T | cw: traumatic brain injury, dementia, memory loss, degenerative illness | tags: grief for a person who’s still alive, caregiving, title from the song by Billie Holiday

———

When Eddie comes home, Steve and his nurse are sitting in the backyard. It’s where they are at this time every weekday, when Laura is there to help Steve. The yard may be small, but there is enough space for a table and chairs on the patio and Steve’s beautiful garden.

It had taken months for Steve to meticulously plan and set up— what to grow, when to plant and water, how to maintain everything— but the end result was worth it. Eddie still looks upon it with awe. He wishes it wasn’t left to his clumsy care now but he doesn’t dare neglect it, not when it still brings Steve so much joy.

Laura is telling Steve, “The sunset looks lovely, don’t you think?” as Eddie sits in the patio chair next to Steve.

“Eddie!” Steve beams at him once he notices his presence. “Check it out, the rosemary is doing really well.”

Oh. Steve isn’t usually so lucid, and a lump forms in Eddie’s throat.

He glances at Laura, who seesaws her hand side to side in a silent report of how Steve’s day had been. It’s often like that, a roller coaster of confusion and happiness and defiance that nobody can predict.

It won’t get better, the doctors had explained. Steve’s history of traumatic brain injuries had done lasting damage that couldn’t be fixed. He would continue to lose his keys and forget his appointments and get lost driving around their own neighborhood. That was fine, Eddie would be there to help Steve look and remind him to put the laundry in the dryer and drive him.

It won’t get better, it will just get worse. This is what Eddie still can’t wrap his head around, five years after they got the diagnosis. Steve will continue to deteriorate, losing more of himself every day. His memory, speech, coordination, even his ability to eat and piss by himself, will be gone.

Eddie will watch the love of his life forget who he is and fade away until he dies. He’ll be a widower by the time he’s forty, most likely.

His watery smile feels more like gritted teeth when he says, “That’s great, honey. The bees will love it,” but Steve doesn’t seem to notice as he talks about his day.

“Robin came over for lunch. She brought her lemon bars and a new puzzle for us to try. Then Wayne called this afternoon.”

Eddie leans an elbow on the table so he can subtly cover his mouth while resting his chin in his hand. It’s not Steve’s fault that he doesn’t remember that Wayne died last fall. The two of them were close in the end, it makes sense that those happy moments might drift to the surface occasionally. Every time, it’s a double gut punch of missing Wayne and seeing the extent of Steve’s memory loss.

He imagines it’s like being stabbed. Knowing it’s coming doesn’t make it hurt less.

Fighting the tears back down, Eddie says, “I’m glad you two had the chance to catch up. Did you talk about last night’s game?”

“Yeah, especially that bullshit call in the seventh,” Steve snorts.

Eddie feels bad about tuning out the little baseball tangent that follows, but he is trying to soak this in. Since they got the diagnosis, there have been an increasing number of days where Steve doesn’t recognize Eddie or remember his name, where Steve is agitated and insistent that he has somewhere else to be, where Steve is quiet and listless and a husk of himself.

Today is a good day, though. Steve is smiling and animated, his memory blips don’t frustrate him, and he holds Eddie’s hand under the patio table. The sunset looks lovely and so does Steve, beaming as Eddie leans in to kiss his cheek, catching Eddie’s shoulder with a shaky grip to hold him close for a real kiss.

Tomorrow won’t be so kind, Eddie is sure. He will listen to Steve gush about his husband and the date they have planned for that night. He’ll ask polite questions about himself in the third person, like he’s a stranger. He’ll lock himself in the soundproofed studio basement and cry himself hoarse. He’ll go to sleep in the guest room because it can be upsetting for Steve to wake up next to a man he doesn’t know. He’ll welcome Laura when she gets there and leave for work as fast as he can so he doesn’t have to face the utter hopelessness of the situation for a few hours.

He’ll do it all again the following day. He’ll keep doing it for the rest of Steve’s life.

Their marriage isn’t legally recognized, but they had stood in front of their friends and family and made those vows to each other. In sickness and in health. ‘Til death do us part. They hadn’t expected those words to become relevant so soon, but Eddie will be damned if he isn’t at Steve’s side right up until the very end.

So Eddie stays with Steve on the patio, the dying sun drying the tears from his cheeks, and listens to Steve’s beautiful voice while he can. He squeezes his hand, trying not to think about how he’ll be doing the same thing when Steve takes his last breath in the not-so-distant future. He says, “I love you,” while Steve still has the capacity to say it back.

It is a lovely sunset. Eddie tries to enjoy it while he can, knowing he’ll never see another one without thinking of Steve.

[birdkatze]

"But werewolves aren't real?" || werewolf! 141 x werewolf! reader Part 2

Future pairings = poly 141 x reader

Chapter pairings = You meet the boys this chapter!

Words = 2.2k

[Chapter 1] --- [Chapter 3]

Summery: After moving out of the big city and into the forest, you meet some men that might have some awners about whats been causing your pain.

Talks of injury and EXPLICIT under the cut

Behind the door was a very handsome man. He was wearing a boonie-hat and a partially unbuttoned red and black flannel shirt. You stood there blue-screening for a moment just staring.

“You alright there love?” The man asked, looking incredibly concerned. He ran a hand over his beard “I heard you fall..”

You snap out of your staring “Yeah I did..” you lift up your wrist, it was already bruising and swelling, “Sorry, I didn’t get any sleep last night…I had a chronic pain flare up…” You say dizzily.

The man stepped into your house, carefully looking at your wrist “I can go run back home and grab a brace…?” He looked at you earnestly.

You nod, “I don’t think I could even drive right now..” blinking back tears as another wave of pain crashes over you, you let out a stuttered gasp and your knees buckle. 

The man looks even more concerned “Let’s get you somewhere comfortable, I’ll call one of my boy’s to bring it down..”

Carefully the man picked you up and brought you over to the couch, laying you down with such gentleness it surprised you. He had held you with a shocking amount of care, he was so warm too, like a heated blanket but better. He stepped back quickly typing something on his phone before looking back at you.

“Is there anything I can get you, love?” he crouched down next to your head, moving strands of hair out of your face.

“On my bed there is a heated blanket…” You explain breathlessly, wincing as the pain got worse.

The man nodded and walked upstairs to grab the blanket. He quickly brought it down and plugged it in “What setting?” he asked, holding the controller.

“Four please” You whimper and start crying feeling embarrassed.

The man sets it on level four and sits down next to your head, “Do you have any medication?”

You shake your head “no..not really, I only have muscle relaxers but it’s not gunna help”

The man nodded “I forgot to mention I’m John Price, I was in charge of taking care of the cottage while it was up for sale, I saw you moved in and wanted to give you the key back..” he anxiously checked his phone “The boy’s should be down soon love, can I get you anything else?”

“No thanks” You start crying again as your body feels like it is trying to come apart, “I’m sorry” you gasp out and curl up into a ball on the couch “It’s not usually this bad..”

“You’re okay, Love,” He reassured you, smiling.

You hear a knock on the door before the door creaks open and two men step inside. One had a mohawk and another had a baseball cap on, that's all you could see through your glassy tear filled eyes.

The men speak in hushed tones before Price sits back down next to you and gently grabs your upper forearm, close to your elbow “Gunna fit the brace on alright love..?”

You just groan softly “Okay” and watch hazily. 

Price rotates your arm and freezes as he sees the bite scar on your wrist “What happened here?” he asks softly. His touch easing some of the pain.

“Got attacked by a dog, it broke my wrist, the doctor p-put something in there to help with the infection and to set it and so it’s really tender..” you quietly explain. 

Price set your arm down “Love, what did the dog look like?” making you whine in pain, Price instantly picked your arm back up and the pain leveled out. Sighing in relief you manage to cobble together some understandable thoughts. 

“Uhm, it was oddly really dark out since it was a full moon…it was massive though, the nurses joked it was a werewolf, the doctor got oddly mad at them..it was kinda funny” slurring your words as you feel another wave of pain. 

Price looked at your wrist and then at you, “Well I think your body is rejecting it, I can see it starting to come out, can we take it out? Gaz here was a field medic and can take it out, he has his med kit..?” pointing at a small lump on your wrist that had been getting bigger over the years. 

“Sure..” you slur out feeling delirious from pain.

The guy with the baseball ca-Gaz slowly gives you some pain pills, making sure you swallow them before he puts on some gloves. You fell asleep before he even started.

When you woke up you felt eons better, nothing felt as sore. Looking at your wrist you realize it wasn’t even bruised or sprained. Groaning softly, you sit up and look around. Rubbing your eyes blearily.

“Good to see you up” Gaz sat on the other side of the couch smiling “You feeling better?”

You nod sleepily “What did you even do? It’s not even bruised anymore?” you ask confused, looking at your wrist surprised.

“That was all you Duck..” Gaz smiled kindly, “Why don’t we get some food in you and talk, yeah?” Gaz gently helps you up, leading you into the kitchen.

Mohawk was heating up soup on your stove top, he was humming softly. Price was sitting at the table looking at his phone with the implant sitting on a paper towel. He looked up, smiling at you.

“Glad to see you up, love!” He looks at you and then the implant “Soap brought down some soup, which is..?”

“Done!” Soap places five bowls on the table “Ghost is on his way down..”

“What kind of name is Soap?” you ask curiously “Did your parents want you to have a unique name?”

“Ach noo, it’s a nickname, my name is John and so is Price’s and apparently everyone else here is named John so it helps us keep everyone apart..” leaning against the counter Soap explains with a smile.

“Ohh..” nodding as you think about it “Most of the men I used to work with were named John and it was a nightmare to distinguish which was which because none of them wanted to go by their last names”

Sitting down you look at the implant curiously, it looked like a small silver ball.

“Makes sense that was messing me up, I’m allergic to silver!” You explain looking a bit surprised “I’m surprised I didn’t keel over and die..”

Suddenly all eyes are on you.

“Did I say something wrong” you ask confused looking between all three men.

“Duck, let’s get some food in you before we go any further…” Gaz spoke softly 

You nod nervously “Alright..” 

Someone knocked on the door right as you started sitting down. The door opened to reveal a tall, strong but not muscular, blonde. Your mouth dried up instantly, he was just as hot as the other three.

Then it hit you, you had four unknown men who were all extremely attractive were in your house. You had let them perform a procedure while you had been knocked out from pain medication. However, no alarm bells rang out in your mind, if anything you've never felt so safe and content. 

“Don’t think too hard, pup” the blonde one who upclose appeared to have eyeliner on. Smirking at you as you realized you were probably staring. 

“Sorry..” you flush, feeling a bit embarrassed looking at the table.

 “You’re okay Duck, let’s get some food in you..I have a feeling you missed breakfast.”  Gaz’s soothing voice pulled you from your embarrassment as he softly brushed his hand over your back. 

You nod and watch as Soap serves everyone soup. You anxiously waited for someone to eat first, an odd anxiety created as a child from praying before eating or else you’d be punished.

Price took the first bite and you immediately started eating, you felt famished and half-starved.The soup was potato-bacon soup, it was hearty and delicious. You almost moaned from how good it was. 

“Soooo..” Soap started “Where are ya from?” He was looking at you with curious eyes.

“I moved here from the city but uh I grew up in a smaller town north here.” You smile while finishing up your soup. “Some of our property went into the woods and so me and my friends would camp out there, then I got attacked by some dog and we moved almost right after….”

“I assume you guys are from here?” You return the question with a small smile.

“We've been around here for a long time, pup” Scraping his bowl, Ghost responded.

“We live a few miles south of you, love” Price continued for Ghost, also finishing up his soup.

Gaz looked at you quizzically “Did you not go to college? Not to be judgemental but I’m surprised you could afford to move out here so young, Duck..”

Laughing you shake your head “You’re fine, I get this a lot.” setting your bowl to the side you reply “I’m actually 60! Everyone always thinks I’m still in my late teens, I have no clue why I look like how I did as a teenager.. I went to college and now I do freelance accounting work!”

Gaz dropped his spoon in his bowl, his eyes wide staring at you before they darted over to Price. Soap slapped his hand over his mouth with an expression similar to Gaz’s. Price didn’t look super surprised and neither did Ghost. 

Sighing Price looks at you sincerely “Love, you're going to think we are crazy but you’re a werewolf.”

You just stare at them blankly.

“What?” You ask incredulously, looking at each of the men. They all had genuine looks on their faces, you could tell none of them were lying. “But werewolves aren’t real..?”

“Let’s head outside and we'll show ya, pup.” Ghost stood up and opened up the sliding glass door, Gaz and Soap quickly walked outside looking excited. You followed hesitantly with Price gently leading you outside.

Gaz and Soap are stripping out of their clothes, it didn’t surprise you that Soap was commando. It was a pleasant surprise to see Gaz wearing lace panties. Your face heated up as you turned away and pinch yourself unsure if this was real. “Um, what are you guys doin?” You ask, blushing. 

“Don’t wanna rip the clothes pup” Ghost huffs, while also undressing. 

“Oh!” nodding you glance up only to find them all naked, you avert your eyes to the ground immediately. 

Soap walked up to you, looking confused “Why aren’t ya..”

“Soap..” Price grabbed Soap’s shoulder “Go over with Gaz.”

Gently lifting your chin up, Price held your face so you were looking at Gaz and Soap. Price chuffed at the boys and motioned for them to get on with it.

Soap grinned at you as you watched as his body transformed into an actual wolf. Gaz did the same, it was an odd mix of animorph-type transformation and something out of a horror flick. 

Gaz and Soap trotted up to you licking your hands and brushing against your legs. Lifting your hand you hesitantly brush your hand over Soap’s head, much like you would a dog, it seemed like he had a ‘mohawk’ even in wolf form. Gaz just sat next to you leaning against you. 

“Love,” Price grabbed your attention as he spoke. “Now they can just do a regular wolf form, however, there is another form which I’ll show you now…” 

Price stepped a few steps back before he shifted, it was an interesting mix of human and wolf, it vaguely reminded you of a furry but more wolf-like. He could stand on his back legs but also could easily run on all fours, then he shifted all the way to a wolf form.

Clasping your hand over your mouth you look at them in awe. You pinched yourself to make sure this wasn’t some insane dream. Maybe they were right?

Ghost clasped a hand over your shoulder, startling you from your awe. “Wanna try? It’ll feel good, ease that ache?”

You look at Ghost a bit confused on how he knew about the ache…

“I um, don’t know how to...” you look at Ghost curiously. 

“I’ll help ya’ pup” sighing Ghost tightened his grip on you.

It was an odd feeling shifting, it was quite painful but it was over fast. You have a shocked look on your face looking between everyone. You huff once you realize that you're smaller than Soap, Ghost, and Price. You and Gaz are roughly the same size which eases the frustration quite a bit. 

You walk around a bit getting used to walking on all fours. It felt odd and wrong- but also right? Feeling conflicted you look up at everyone else, Soap and Gaz are play wrestling, Ghost and Price are sunning themselves pressed up against each other.

It was clear the pack(?) was very close with one another. It made you feel oddly left out…sitting off to the side you watch the men-wolves? It was a really nice day out and for once in the past few decades you felt no pain. It was relaxing and so incredibly soothing. Resting your head on your paws you doze off, still quite exhausted from the past few days.

[hurriane23456]

Under the Wolf's Skin

Inside Zach Harper’s trailer, the small space buzzed with the sound of the movie set just beyond the walls. The stuntman sat on the edge of the narrow couch, fully suited in his werewolf costume. He rolled his ankle gingerly, testing the range of motion. The costume’s padded claws made it look like a menacing creature was flexing its paw, but behind the mask, Zach’s face was tense with discomfort.

Ethan stood by the door, watching his boss in silence. The costume was elaborate—dark grey fur streaked with black, muscles exaggerated by layers of foam padding, sharp claws extending from the gloves. The werewolf mask, with its snarling expression and glowing yellow eyes, completed the terrifying look. But Zach’s injury wasn’tsomething they’d planned for.

"I’m not gonna be able to do this, man," Zach finally said, breaking the silence. "I twisted my ankle coming out of the trailer. Not enough to sideline me, but enough that the flip off the building isn’t happening."

Ethan blinked, taking in the situation. "Wait, you mean…"

"You’re gonna have to wear it." Zach stood up, favoring his good ankle. "No one can know I’m hurt. We’ve got too much riding on this shot, and the crew’s already set. I need you to take my place. Now."

Ethan’s heart dropped. He had seen Zach putting on the gear earlier that day, piece by piece, transforming into the fierce werewolf. A part of Ethan had wondered then what it would feel like—what it would be like to step into that monstrous costume..

Zach looked at him steadily. "You’ve seen me do it enough times. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you could. But we’ve got to move fast. We’ll switch here, in the trailer."

Ethan exhaled deeply and nodded. There was no way out. He’d have to suit up. Ethan realized what this meant—he was about to slide into gear that Zach had been sweating in all day.

First, though, Ethan had to get out of his own clothes. As nonchalantly as possible, he pulled off his baseball cap, tossing it onto the counter. Then came his work polo, neatly tucked into his dress pants. Each item of clothing landed in a pile until he stood there in just his undershirt and boxers.

“Your turn,” Ethan said, his voice even.

Zach sighed as he removed the werewolf mask. The wet, sticky sound as it came off made Ethan cringe outwardly, but inside, he was wondering what it would feel like to wear. As Zach peeled off the costume next, Ethan's eyes flickered to the bodysuit—heavy with the day’s heat and effort. It was big, imposing, and everything about it screamed the physicality of the job.

Zach finally handed Ethan the first piece of gear, starting with the padded vest. It was still warm, slightly damp from Zach’s sweat, and though Ethan made a face as he pulled it over his shoulders, inside, he felt an odd thrill. The vest fit snugly, and with every strap he fastened, the reality of stepping into Zach’s shoes hit him—literally. The elbow and knee pads came next, and each one snapped into place with a satisfying click. Every layer made him feel more like the werewolf he was about to become, but he had to hide his excitement behind a mask of professionalism.

“How’s it feel?” Zach asked, watching Ethan as he fastened the gear.

“Warm,” Ethan muttered, keeping his tone light. “Definitely feels like a workout.”

In truth, he was buzzing with anticipation. The weight of the gear, the way it pressed into his body, made him feel more connected to the character than he expected. Finally, the costume itself came into play. Zach handed him the fur-covered suit, still slightly damp, and Ethan hesitated, trying to keep his enthusiasm in check.

Sliding into the werewolf costume, Ethan felt the weight settle on his shoulders, and it felt even better than he imagined. The bulk of it made him feel powerful, like a different person entirely. He zipped it up, hiding his expression behind the matted fur as he adjusted to the feel of it against his skin. The padding, the warmth, the heaviness—it all felt strangely satisfying.

Finally, Zach handed him the mask. It was drenched from earlier, but Ethan barely cared. He played it off with a groan, “Oh man, this thing’s soaked.”

But inside, he was buzzing. He slid it over his head, the foam padding clinging to his skin. The transformation was complete. Ethan flexed his fingers inside the massive clawed gloves and stood up straight, fully immersed in the role, even though he acted like he was doing a favor.

Meanwhile, Zach, left in just his boxers, sighed and glanced at Ethan’s clothes. “Guess I’m stuck with these.” He grabbed the polo and pants, grumbling as he put them on, though secretly, there was something amusing about it. The polo was snug, and the dress pants were a little too neat for his usual style, but as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he didn’t mind as much as he pretended.

“Man, I look like such a dork,” Zach said, tugging at the collar. He couldn’t help but smirk slightly, secretly enjoying how the clothes felt. “I’m blaming you if I trip in these shoes.”

Ethan, now fully suited in the werewolf costume, just chuckled, trying to keep his cool. “You’ll survive.”

But inside, he was thrilled. He had always wondered what it would feel like to step into Zach’s world, and now, fully suited and padded up, he couldn’t wait to hit the set and live out his secret excitement.

With a final nod, Ethan followed Zach’s lead and stepped out of the trailer. The bustling set was just ahead, and no one gave a second glance to the werewolf figure walking toward the rooftop. In the eyes of the crew, it was just another day for Zach, ready to execute another flawless stunt.

But under the layers of fur and padding, Ethan could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him—literally and figuratively. The heat inside the suit was overwhelming, and the gear still radiated with Zach’s warmth. His breath echoed inside the mask as he approached the set, nerves jangling beneath the werewolf exterior.

The director shouted for action. Ethan took his place at the edge of the rooftop, the wire attached to his harness. His hands, hidden inside the massive clawed gloves, flexed involuntarily. He could feel the ground shift beneath him as he got into position, his body tensing for the leap.

"Action!" came the call.

Ethan ran forward, the heavy paws of the costume thudding against the roof. With each step, the protective padding reminded him he was safe. He reached the edge, flung his arms wide in a terrifying lunge, and leaped. For a moment, he was airborne, the wire pulling taut as it guided his body into a perfect backflip.

Time slowed as he twisted in mid-air, the weight of the suit helping him complete the flip. He tucked his knees in just as Zach had taught him, then unfurled his arms and legs, bracing for the landing. The thick, padded feet of the werewolf costume hit the ground solidly, absorbing the shock of the impact.

He staggered slightly, but recovered in time to let out a fierce growl, throwing his arms wide as the werewolf. The crew applauded, none the wiser that it wasn’t Zach beneath the mask.

As Ethan stepped off the set, his heart still racing, Zach was waiting nearby, a proud smile on his face. "You pulled it off," Zach said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Not a single person knew."

Ethan pulled off the mask, gulping fresh air as sweat dripped down his face. "Yeah, but next time, I’m getting my own gear."

[srirax619]

Can't stop thinking about during Weirdmageddon:

Stan with his brass knuckles and a barbed wire covered baseball bat looking around for survivors and seeing a scared and crying Pacifica. She's panicked and covered in dirt and possibly blood, trying to shelter in some debris.

He stands tall and walks as if it's a normal day, knowing the weird things should be more afraid of him than he is of them. He hears her gasping pants in her panic, walks over and calls out. "Hey, somebody there?" She claps a hand over her mouth and tries to be even smaller. The only thing he can see is a tiny amount of blonde hair. "If you need help, I can," he offers.

He approaches slowly and she sees his fez. She immediately yelps and jumps out, trying to get to her feet, disregarding grace. He sees who it is, "You're the Northwest kid, right?" She runs over to him and stops short of hugging him. She doesn't really know him, but she knows that Dipper and Mabel trusted him. She decides she will too. "Yea, that's me." She isn't sure what else to say. He gives her a small smile. "Where's your folks?" Her eyes dart around and then she stares at the ground. She knows. She doesn't want to say. He reaches out a hand for her to hold, his other hand leaning the bat against that shoulder. "c'mon, kiddo. Let's get you to the Shack."

She takes his hand and walks with him. At some point she asks "Are Mabel and Dipper there?" Stan gets stiff and his jaw sets. He doesn't say anything for a few beats. "Not yet. Not... Sure where they were when everything went..." She gets it. She is thinking of her father's face, when Bill rearranged it. She's thinking of their surroundings. She's thinking about how much worse it's gonna get. She's hoping the young twins have a plan. If anyone is gonna have a plan, it must be them, right?

"Did you get hurt? Have any injuries?" he asks. She just shakes her head. A scraped knee and elbow is nothing compared to what others have. They finally get to the Shack and there are others, the old crazy man, one of the Sheriff's, some of the other townsfolk, a few mythical creatures. Stan announces her arrival and offers her some food and water. Others look like they are nursing injuries and are equally miserable. Everyone here has lost people. The old crazy man eventually sits next to her and puts a hand on her shoulder. For the first time in a long time Pacifica knows she doesn't have to put on any fake air.

Stan turns away so no one can see his tears. He can't find his kids. He doesn't know how to. He picks his bat back up and heads to the door. He will find every kid he possibly can. He has to.

[oh-stars]

Doodles

Hurt

a Stobin Month 2024 prompt | 539 words | CW: off-screen injury | Rating: G

--

“Does this make me old now?”

Robin rolls her eyes as she sits down beside Steve. She sets her markers down in the crease of her thigh as she twists to face him on the couch. “You’re not old.” 

“Me five years ago would never fumble this hard,” Steve huffs. He goes to cross his arms, but the big, bulky cast on his left hand stops him. He glares hard at it before offering it back to Robin. 

She hums a thankful noise and uncaps the first marker. 

“Just no dicks, please,” Steve sighs, leaning his head back. “I cannot go to work with dicks on my arm.” 

“Who do you think I am? Eddie?” Robin rolls her eyes again . “I would never draw a dick on your arm.” Boobies, however, are a different story. She makes them small and at the top part of his cast where it’s most likely going to be obscured by his shirts and jackets. 

Steve pouts. “I just cannot believe I fell so hard I broke my arm during a game with a bunch of old men.” 

“Aren’t they all under forty?” 

“Yeah, but this,” he gestures to the cast, “proves that I, the youngest of the group, is old and therefore, so are they.” 

“Come back to me when you get your first gray hair, then we can talk.”

“Why would you put that on me? Do you want me to die young? Jesus Christ, Robs,” Steve practically screeches, running his free hand through his hair. 

She just smiles and starts drawing little flowers randomly on the plaster, trading out colors every now and then. He got a bright neon green, so the darker colors are really popping against the plaster. 

For about thirty minutes, Steve just watches the ceiling fan as she doodles on his arm. She’s not leaving room for anyone else to sign, and maybe that’s selfish but Steve’s hers so she’ll do as she pleases, thank you.

Robin looks down at the mostly covered work and sighs. She decides to leave two openings for Dustin and Eddie to sign – the only two of the party who live in Chicago with them right now – but covers the rest. If she left any more openings, Eddie would doodle dicks and nerd shit while Dustin would use Steve’s arm to write equations or something. At least she’s drawing stuff he actually likes. 

There’s baseballs and basketballs (which she realizes may be a sore subject right now, so she put those where they were least visible) among the flowers and little music notes sprinkled in. She even drew a bottle of hairspray in the crease of his elbow. There’s a symbol for every job they’ve worked together: an icecream cone for Scoops Ahoy, a VHS tape for Family Video, a book for that bookstore they love, coffee mug from the brief time they tried to be baristas, a donut from the bakery that Steve still works at full-time and Robin helps out on the weekends, a pawprint for the pet store Robin convinced him to try, and a bone for the museum where Robin was a tour guide (and now does research at full-time) and Steve worked in the gift shop. 

And in big letters, going down his arm, she’s signed, “I love you dingus ❤ Robin.” 

“How’s that look?” 

Steve looks over it with a fond smile, the first since he reluctantly called her from the gym this morning. “It’s perfect.” 

--

Thank you @lady-lostmind for beta reading!

Ao3 Link

[kurtie4life96]

After Dark

S.H. x F Reader

Summary: After a death scare, Steve is terrified to lose you, and is determined to take care of you.

CW: MDNI 18+, angst, fluff, injuries on arms, softer smut

The frigid breeze of a cold, autumn night nipped at your skin, the usually cozy sweater you were wearing not helping one bit.

Kid after kid, with bruised knees and scraped elbows gathered into a van to be taken home after another traumatic, yet all too familiar event in the Upside Down.

Eddie had graciously offered to take them home, his van having plenty of space in the back for everyone to huddle up, tired heads resting on shoulders and nodding off from exhaustion.

You stood by Steve's car, goosebumps on your skin and a split lip quivering from the unwelcoming chill of the night, and watched him as he exchanged a few words with Eddie, thanking him before he drove off.

Your arms didn't hurt anymore at least, and you didn't know if they were numb from the cold, or if you were still in shock.

You'd been caught off guard by a demodog just an hour ago– it came running after you in the dark, and lept on top of you, toppling you onto the hard dirt.

It'd slashed both of your upper arms in the process, tearing through your sweater, and there was a fleeting moment where you were going to scream, cry for help, but you opted not to. You knew that after countless times of battling Russians and bloodthirsty creatures, you were bound to eventually die at some point.

You'd accepted your fate and squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to look into its mouth before you became its latest meal, when you heard a loud smack, the weight and pressure of its hold on you suddenly gone.

You forced your eyes open to see Steve, holding his infamous baseball bat, and smacking it against the creature's head over and over again while he screamed and shouted, willing it to die, until its movements finally stilled.

He dropped his bat then with a thud, running up to you with frightened, wide eyes, a blood splattered face, and he knelt down next to you and slid his arms underneath you in one swift movement, holding you close to him as he took in sharp breaths, asking you if you were okay, asking you where it hurt, begging you to respond to him.

You hadn't responded, only staring at him with confused eyes, chest heaving, unable to find the words to tell him you were okay. One moment you'd accepted your fate, and the next, Steve was holding you close to him, a hand roaming over the sleeves of your sweater where it had been torn, heavily sighing with relief when he'd realized that your slashes in your arms were your only injuries.

A silver tear glistened in the corner of his eye and ran down his cheek as he apologized over and over again for not getting to you sooner, and choked back a sob, telling you he thought you were a goner.

Once you'd returned when the battle was over (for the time being), Steve made it abundantly clear that you were not going home, that you were staying with him so he could take care of you, not wanting you to go back to an empty house to lick your wounds alone.

You'd told him that you were okay, that it wasn't life threatening, that you could take care of yourself, but eventually accepted his request when he ran a frustrated hand through his hair, his soul wavering and shaking life a leaf, and grabbed your face, pressing his forehead against yours, and kindly but sternly whispering, "No."

Steve was making his way back to you now from Eddie's van, the chilly air breezing through his long waves, and hastily took to taking off his jacket when he saw you shivering, thoughtfully draping it over your shoulders as to not hurt you any further.

He looked at you up and down, studying your body language and crossing his arms before he met your gaze.

"You sure you're okay?" He asked for the tenth time, distress still in his voice.

"Yeah," you nodded, softly smiling, "I'm okay. Just cold."

"Oh shit, yeah," he sighed, "come on, then."

He rested a hand on the small of your back, gently guiding you to the passenger side door before opening it for you, helping you to get in and make sure you were comfortable, and carefully shut it closed, stepping over to the driver's side and sitting down in a hurry, starting his BMW and cranking the heat before driving off.

You stared out the window, burning, hooded eyes closing in relief as the heat kicked in, almost forgetting the thick tension in the air, like a drawn bow waiting to be released, before Steve broke the heavy silence.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his eyes focused on the road ahead of him.

Your eyebrows furrowed, confused by his apology as you looked over to him.

"Why are you sorry?"

"I don't know," he huffed, "it's just that... if we never became friends, you would've never had to deal with this shit, get hurt, ya know?"

"Oh my god," you scoffed playfully, "how were you supposed to know that King Steve asking a girl out in 8th grade would lead to this?"

"I'm not King Steve anymore," he frowned.

"I know you're not, but I'm just saying, it's not your fault. Okay?"

Steve wiped his nose with his sleeve, and cleared his throat, not replying.

"I'm okay, and it's not your fault," you reassured him.

"When I saw you under that– that thing," he responded, his voice barely above a whisper, "I really thought you were... dead."

He spoke the last word as if it was something forbidden to say, and honestly, it felt like it was.

You inhaled, exhaled a short breath, and your mind played the flashbacks like a bad horror movie, making your stomach do back flips, then fill with dread as you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, not knowing what to do with your hands.

"Me too."

Steve glanced at you then, his brown eyes drowned in sorrow, remorse, and even grief of what could have been.

He averted his eyes back to the road, a shiver going down his spine, and reached his hand out to you, his palm facing up.

"C'mere."

You looked over to see his hand open and waiting for you, and you pursed your lips, before accepting and resting your hand on his.

That wasn't enough for him, and he quickly intertwined his fingers with yours and squeezed it with tightly, holding onto you for dear life, his other gripping the wheel with white knuckles.

You both sat in a much more comfortable silence for the rest of the drive, not letting go of the other's hand as Steve kept his eyes on the dark road in front of him, some streetlights flickering, some broken entirely, and you stared out the window, eyes heavy and tired, trying not to fall asleep.

He pulled up to his driveway and let go of your hand to put it in park, turning the car off and focusing on you for a moment, his eyes just as tired as yours.

"Don't move," he instructed softly, before opening his door and getting out.

He quickly moved to the passenger side door, opening it for you and taking your hand in his, pulling you up gently and then placed his hand on your back again, leading you to the steps of his front door before unlocking it and insisting you go in first.

Steve shut the door behind him and switched the lights on before turning to you as you took off his jacket and kicked off your shoes, and he cursed and ran a nervous hand through his hair at the reminder of your bloodied, torn sleeves, slashes on the skin underneath it.

He took a slow step towards you as you gazed up at him, his eyes burning into yours, and he gently smoothed your hair out of your face, making your heart skip a beat.

"C'mon, sweetheart, let's get you cleaned up, yeah?"

You nodded and smiled briefly, and he grabbed your hand again, motioning his head to walk up the stairs, and guided you delicately up to his room, as if you were fragile glass that could shatter any moment. You knew it wasn't necessary, but decided it was better to not say anything.

He let go of you as the two of you walked into his bedroom, soft plush carpet under your feet, and you smiled as your heart bloomed with nostalgia at Steve's all too familiar bedroom.

He was quick to advance to his dresser, pulling out the drawers and fumbling through them to find clean clothes he thought would be comfortable enough for you.

You waited patiently, admiring the details of his bedroom, before he approached you, holding up a black t-shirt, basketball shorts and a pair of his boxer briefs.

"Are these, uh, okay?" Steve asked sheepishly.

"Yeah, perfect, thank you," you smiled as he placed them in your hands.

"Okay, cool," he stammered, his face flushing a shade of pink and his hands on his hips, "are you on your, you know, period or anything? Cause if you are, I can try to find something in my mom's bathroom–"

"No," you chuckled, "I'm not, thank you though."

He nodded awkwardly, seemingly regretting asking you such a question, though you didn't mind, you thought it was quite thoughtful of him to mention.

"Here, come shower in my bathroom, and I'll take the guest bathroom."

You followed Steve into the bathroom adjacent from his room, and he looked into the shower, making sure there was enough shampoo, conditioner and soap, before turning it on for you, his hand feeling the water to make sure the temperature was to his liking for you.

"Okay, um," he paused for a moment, thinking, "oh yeah, shit, a towel–"

He opened the cabinet and handed you a neatly folded, fluffy towel and an extra toothbrush, and you were reminded how wealthy his parents were when you felt the overly soft fabric.

"Alright, I'm gonna go shower in the other bathroom now," he motioned his hand somewhere behind him, "if you need anything else, let me know, I'll be quick and I'll be in my room waiting for you."

"Okay," you replied with a small voice, and he nodded, staring at you for a moment before walking out the door.

Suddenly, your chest felt tight, and your heart was heavy as you watched him walk away, like you didn't want him to leave, like he needed to stay with you and never be far away from you ever again, like not being right next to him felt scary all over again.

Suddenly, he felt like a lifeline.

"Steve," you blurted a little loudly, not meaning to.

The way you said his name made him halt, and he turned around to look at you again with wide eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Uh... thank you. For everything. I appreciate it a lot."

It was all you could manage to say.

He flashed you a small, but loving grin, and gave you a slight nod, before turning back around and closing the door.

You sighed heavily as you set his clothes on the counter, and looked into the slightly fogged mirror, your reflection showing your blood stained shirt and your dirtied face, and you grimaced at the sight.

You peeled off your clothes carefully, as to not hurt your already sliced up arms, but you realized it didn't matter when you stepped into the shower and the warm water hit your wounds, making you hiss in pain.

You watched as hints of blood mixed with water went down the drain, washing your hair with great care, not wanting to tangle it further, brushing your teeth and wincing a bit as you lathered yourself in Steve's body wash, the soap stinging your arms.

You rinsed yourself off and stepped out of the shower, dried yourself off with the towel and slipped into Steve's clothes, smiling to yourself as they smelled just like him, breathing in his scent, and took it upon yourself to use his hairbrush and comb out your knots, knowing that he wouldn't mind.

You opened the door to walk back into his bedroom, and just like he said, he was sat on his bed waiting for you with his hands clasped, his hair damp and tousled, his face cleaned up, and he smiled softly at you.

Suddenly, for some unknown reason, he'd never looked more handsome than right there, showered and sitting on his bed, patiently waiting for you, and you smiled back.

"You feel better?"

"Yeah," you responded, voice hushed, "I do."

"Good," he patted the comforter, motioning for you to sit with him, "come here. It's time to fix up those scratches."

You noticed the bottle of rubbing alcohol, cotton rounds and bandages next to him, and you groaned, begrudgingly stepping towards him and sitting down on the bed next to him, facing him cross-legged.

"I know, I know," he cooed, "it sucks, but we have to do it. Let me see."

You hesitantly rolled up the sleeves of your shirt and sighed as Steve inspected your wounds, his fingers tracing around them giving you goosebumps.

"These probably needed some stitches," he mumbled, "but all I have are butterfly bandages."

"That's fine," you assured.

"Well, alright," he said cautiously, grabbing the rubbing alcohol and dowsing the cotton pads with it, "this is gonna hurt, okay?"

"I know," you breathed, "it's okay."

He began dabbing at the slashes with the cotton, and you winced and cursed at the sting, him muttering 'shit, shit, sorry, shit, I'm sorry', in between.

"There," he leaned his face towards your arm, "I think that's all disinfected now."

Your heart fluttered when his gaze met yours, Steve only now realizing the close distance of your faces.

His big, brown eyes darted from your eyes to your mouth, lips parted as he lingered there for a moment longer, before leaning back and clearing his throat.

"Sorry, let me get these bandaids," he stuttered, his face blushing.

"Don't be sorry," you insisted softly, "I like when you're... near me, ya know?"

He tried to hold back a shy smile at that, and grabbed the box of bandages.

"Me too."

Your chest grew warm at his words, feeling bashful, and you watched as he gingerly began placing the bandages on your skin, doing his best to close the wounds tight.

"You know," he said quietly, tapping your other arm to continue, "I just wanna tell you... I'm really sorry for how I acted towards you in middle school."

"Steve," you scoffed, rolling your eyes, "it's okay, it was years ago–"

"Yeah," he interrupted, "but I was a real douche then. So, I'm sorry."

"Well... you're not a douche anymore, so I forgive you, if forgiveness is what you're looking for."

His lips curled into a smile of gratitude, and he turned to grab a roll of compression bandages, wrapping both of your arms with them to ensure the ones underneath stayed put.

"There," he exhaled, "all done. I know it's probably not great, but I'm not a doctor, unfortunately."

"Considering that most doctors don't even take women seriously," you smirked, "I think it's perfect."

Steve chuckled, and ran a hand through his hair, sucking in his bottom lip.

The room went quiet as he sat a minute longer, timidly taking your hand in his and rubbing soothing circles on it, and there was a pull in the air, a pull that felt like a rubber band waiting to snap.

You gazed at him with half lidded, brand new eyes, studying his face, and you decided Steve was perfect– his lips, his eyelashes, his freckles, his hair– and his touch set your skin aflame.

There was some kind of mutual understanding buzzing between the two of you, that words didn't need to be spoken to know exactly what was going on in that moment, but neither of you had the bravery to say something about it.

You might have seen this coming had you paid attention, but you'd been too busy spending time with him and your friends in the Upside Down to even notice a change. He soon became your closest friend, someone that you missed anytime he wasn't around, someone who could change your stormy days to sunny ones with his smile and presence, someone who put himself in danger on a regular basis to protect you.

"Alright, well," he smacked his hands on his knees, standing up a bit awkwardly, "I better go. You sleep in my bed, it's more comfy than the other one."

You watched as he walked warily to the door, as if there was something inside of him telling him not to leave your side either, and your heart was heavy again like stone, yearning and aching for him to stay.

"Steve," you called his name, and stood up abruptly, taking a step towards him.

His steps came to a halt at the sound of your voice as he approached the doorframe, turning around to avert hopeful eyes back to you.

"Yeah?"

"Don't leave," you said faintly, voice cracking.

He sucked in a sharp breath of air, his heart beating fast, and lingered by the doorway as he stared at you, looking for any signs that maybe you'd misspoke, then realized you were serious by your gaze, and gently shut the door closed, switching off the light.

You both took slow, careful steps to each other, heat rising to your cheeks, until your faces were mere inches apart, your breath shuddering as you peered into each other's eyes, the moon being your only light and witness in the room as the pull in the air finally snapped.

Steve lifted a thoughtful hand to brush through a piece of hair, tucking it behind your ear, eyes glancing from your eyes to your lips, and butterflies danced in your stomach.

"So pretty," he whispered, cradling the side of your face, his thumb brushing along your lips.

"You are."

He leaned forward then, your name escaping him, hands splayed messy along your cheek, and captured your lips easily in the dark, kissing you gingerly, his mouth warm and soft against your own.

You kissed him back just as quickly, a wave of relief washing over you, hands resting on his chest, and he suddenly broke the drawn out kiss, eyes closed, leaning his forehead against yours as he inhaled shallow breaths.

"You have no idea..."

"Steve–"

He kissed you again, his lips gentle and probing, each one faster and more needy than the last, like he'd never had the chance to do it again because of the hellish world that lie underneath, and you snaked your arms under his, slipping them under his shirt and feeling the soft skin of his back.

His thumb pulled at your bottom lip, a silent way of asking for more, and you obliged, giving him permission to deepen the kiss, tongues gliding over one another in harmonious sync, and you both sighed into the kiss, chests heaving, and a sense of desperation washed over you as you tried to pull him in impossibly closer.

You gasped when you felt Steve's length brush against your thigh, and he embraced you deeply again, swallowing the sound as he roamed his hands under your shirt, humming at the discovery of skin he'd never touched before, warm palms smoothing down your ribs and resting on your ass, squeezing it.

The kiss slowed and your lips stuttered, breath hitching as his touch, and you stopped to press your lips to his cheek, before whispering to him.

"Take it off."

Steve's eyes went wide for a second, mesmerized by your request, and he muttered a quiet 'okay', and grabbed the hem of your shirt, helping you to slip it over your head, tossing it somewhere unknown.

He swore at the sight of your bare chest, glossy lips parted as he sighed deeply, his eyes dark and hooded as he traced his hands up your abdomen, stopping when he got to the swell of your breasts, and his thumbs smoothed over your hardened nipples, making you quiver under his touch.

"Steve," you whined, "need you."

He immediately got the hint and was quick to pull his own shirt over his head, tossing it aside and crashing his lips on yours again, pressing his bare chest against yours, and you felt lightheaded, dizzy at the feeling.

He cradled the sides of your face, licking into your mouth, before taking your bottom lip into his, sucking on it feverishly, and letting it go with a pop.

The action made you huff, and the sound made Steve abruptly grind his hips against yours, and before you could react, he captured your lips and guided you to his bed easily in between eager kisses, gently holding the back of your head as he laid you down on his mattress, anticipation and overwhelming excitement coursing through your veins.

He hovered over you, giving you one last long embrace, his hand pressed into the pillow beside you for leverage, as he made his way to your jaw, pressing sloppy kisses along it, then moving to your neck, his lips ghosting the delicate skin there, and you keened softly, your hands raking through his waves, giving it a gentle tug.

He hissed then, and he licked and kissed along your neck, finding the sweet spot under your ear, and your knees fell apart for him, Steve fervently sucking a pretty bruise there as a reward.

You sighed his name– a prayer, a plea, a beg– and you arched your hips against his, your inner thighs aching for him, making him groan at the sudden movement, murmuring to himself.

"Need you so bad," you whispered against his lips, reaching a hand in between you and lightly stroking his length, finding him hard and heavy for you, and Steve's breath stuttered.

"I got you baby," he pressed a lazy kiss to your lips, his voice husky, before leaning back, "it's okay."

He grasped your shorts and boxers, tugging at them as you lifted your back, helping him slide them down your legs, and he placed them on the side of the bed.

"Fuck," he rasped, gazing at the sight of your heat, face flushed, hair messy, "you're gonna kill me, sweetheart."

You whimpered, rubbing your thighs together for friction, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes, 'cause you needed to feel his touch more than anything else.

Steve got the hint and traced his fingers down your thigh teasingly slow, his other hand on your knee, and swiped them through your soaked folds, praising you when he found how wet you were for him.

The touch sent an electrical shock through your body, and he easily dipped a finger in, curling it, his wanton eyes locked on your heat, and you gasped, arching into his touch.

He slipped in a second finger, curling both of them now, and set a languid, yet senual pace, your slick taking them in easily as he brushed against the spot you desperately needed, and you became a mess of quiet moans and expletives.

Steve used his free hand to further spread your knee, then squeezed the soft plush of your inner thigh as he bit the side of his lip, and he couldn't help but lean his face down, licking a broad stripe over your clit as he continued to thrust his fingers in and out of you, and you softly cried, his tongue feeling like velvet as you pulled at his hair again.

He pushed his fingers in and out of you faster then, circling your clit long and slow with his tongue as you held onto his hair for dear life, arching into his mouth and he groaned against your heat, the vibration alone making you huff, heat beginning to pool in your lower back.

"Steve," you warned, "I'm gonna cum–"

He squeezed your thigh harder, and you were sent over the edge, your legs shaking, your gut tightening as your orgasm bloomed within you, panting as he continued devouring you through your high until you twitched.

Your body relaxed, limbs liquid as Steve pulled his fingers out, sucking your juices off of them before sitting up, and his mouth was wet with your slick as his chest heaved, face flushed, gazing at you through half lidded eyes, and you reached your arms out for him, begging for more.

He yanked off his pants and boxers hastily and crowded into you then, hand cradling the side of your face, and kissed you passionately, slipping his tongue through your parted lips, and you hummed at the taste of yourself.

"Wanna feel you," he rasped against your mouth, body trembling above you, "can I..."

"Please," was all you managed to mutter.

He reached a hand in between you then, lining himself up with your entrance, and glanced at you for any signs of regret, not finding any, and he pushed himself inside you, your walls taking him in with ease.

You both keened loudly in unison at the feeling as he bottomed out, jaw slack, and you wrapped your legs around him, caging him in as he began a slow, but deep pace, pressing all the way into you, 'cause he just couldn't help himself when you looked like that, felt so good.

You brushed your fingers through his hair, yanking at the nape of his neck, the moan leaving his lips so soft, you decided it was the prettiest sound you'd ever heard, and you pulled his face to yours, kissing him and swallowing the sound as he rocked into you, stretching out your walls in a way you didn't know you needed.

You tightened around him, and he groaned, suddenly snapping his hips into yours, and your wounded shoulders brushed against the pillows roughly, your arms stinging at the feeling, and you winced at the twinge of pain, making Steve halt his movements quickly.

"Shit, shit, shit, I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he cradled your face, pressing apologetic kisses to your cheeks, "are you okay?"

"Yeah," you breathed, "I'm fine, don't stop."

He held your face, gazing through you with worried, remorseful eyes.

"We should stop, I don't wanna hurt you–"

"No, please," you pleaded, a single tear rolling down your face, wetting your hair, "keep going, I need you."

He chewed on his lip, the pad of his thumbs swiping away the tears under your lashline, and stared at you, seemingly deep in thought.

"Okay," he sighed, "here, sit up."

You looked at him through glossy, curious eyes and Steve leaned back, grabbing your hands to help you sit up, guiding you over to where he was sitting, then relaxed his head and upper back against his headboard and pillows, his knees slightly parted.

"C'mere baby."

He motioned for you to sit on his lap, and you eagerly obliged, crawling over him, your shaky legs spread over his, and he held a hand on your hip, the other one on the back of your head to pull you into his face, kissing you roughly, tongue gliding along your lips, and you sighed contently.

"S' okay, I'm gonna help you," he whispered against your lips.

You didn't respond, only humming in agreement, and Steve grasped your hips as you rested your hands on his chest, and he gazed at you with loving, lust filled eyes as he guided your hips down, sinking your aching heat onto his hard length.

You both gasped, and breathy, loud moans escaped your mouths simultaneously at the feeling as you sank down on him fully, reeling in pleasure at the new angle.

You gripped his shoulders, lips parted, eyebrows furrowed as you grinded into each other in perfect sync, Steve holding your sides tightly for leverage as he rolled his hips into yours, setting a sensual, deep pace as he watched himself disappear inside you.

"Just like that, baby– fuck," he rasped, "you feel so fucking perfect."

You only whimpered in response, his thick cock stretching out your walls and hitting your spongy spot with every roll of his hips, and he grabbed your face, pulling it towards him to kiss you as he continued to thrust up into you, his eyes half lidded and blissed out, and embraced you eagerly; sloppy, open mouthed kisses brushing against each other's lips lazily.

"You look– so pretty," he panted, "look so pretty like this."

"Fuck, Steve," you breathed, "feels so– good."

He gripped your hips then, rutting into you quick and harsh, and your movements stuttered, the both of you gasping and throwing your heads back in ecstacy, Steve hitting his against the headboard.

"Don't stop," you cried, "harder."

He enthusiastically accepted your request, gripping your hips so tight, they would surely bruise as he couldn't contain himself, and rutted into you again, starting a faster, even deeper tempo, hitting your cervix every time, and you began to lose composure.

You grinded into each other with desperation, bodies slick with sweat gliding over one another, and you grabbed his face, kissing him passionately as you moaned into each other's mouths.

"I love you," he murmured against your lips, hooded eyes burning into yours, still thrusting into you, "love you so much."

His words sent an electrical current through you, and your heart bloomed with overwhelming warmth and adoration as you rolled your hips against each other with unrelenting need, and you gazed into his eyes, tears brimming at your lashline.

"I love you too, Steve," you breathed, "fuck, I'm not gonna last much longer–"

"Me neither," he panted, "cum for me, baby girl, please–"

Your walls clenched around him and your hips stuttered as you dug your nails into his back, the coiling tension inside you snapping, becoming a blubbering mess of gasps and his name, and Steve wasn't far behind, licking and biting at your lips through your high until he couldn't anymore, kissing on your neck to hold back loud moans as his vision blurred, spilling himself deep inside of you as his movements stilled.

You both slumped into each other, chests heaving as you rested your face on his shoulder, and he brushed a soothing hand through your hair, pressing gentle kisses on your cheek.

"Hey, look at me."

You lifted your head up lazily, and he cradled your face, kissing you long and slow, like his life depended on it, and you smiled, smoothing away the hair plastered to his forehead and kissing it gingerly.

Steve smiled back, resting wide hands on your sides to lay you back down on the bed next to him, sliding himself out of you, and you shivered at the loss.

He laid down next to you, pulling the comforter over your quivering body, and pulled you in close to him, liquid limbs entangled, the both of you blissed out, and he held your face, rubbing soothing circles into your cheek as you gazed at each other, his body warmth comforting.

"I don't wanna lose you," he whispered, a look of concern on his blushed face, "ever."

You reached a hand out, brushing your hands through his hair, and grinned lovingly.

"I can't promise that," your voice hushed, "but I'll try my hardest."

[abarbaricyalp]

For the Sambucky romance asks, I'd love to see your take on, "🚪 Roommates"!

Roommates is one of my favorite tropes for them! 😌 Keep an eye out for extra scenes attached to this on AO3 soon 👀

Bucky had to assume Sam was always wondering what he'd done to get stuck with a shitty roommate situation. He knew Sam had other friends on the team and that no one wanted to share a hotel room with the major leaguer who'd been sent back down to the organization’s minor league team for injury recovery. Baseball players were superstitious. Bucky's impending firing was as good as contagious to them. With such a road-game heavy line-up, he and Sam had spent more than enough time for Sam to catch whatever was tailing Bucky.

Still, he liked to think he'd made it up to Sam a few dozen times over by now, two months into the season. 

He let Sam take his left arm from his chest, tucking his right under his head as he turned a little and watched Sam trace the scars from his latest rounds of surgery. One long, thin one up his forearm, the deeper circular one around his elbow, the thin one up his bicep, and then the circle around his shoulder. Like an artist had sketched out the bare-bones beginning of a human body on his. Then a cruel woodworker had gone in and twisted all of his inner workings until he was almost a puppet back on its strings again.

But with Sam's warm hands on him, he didn't much care about the surgeries or their impossible recoveries. "You thinkin' 'bout anything specific?" he asked.

"I can feel my heartbeat in the hickey you put on my throat," Sam answered, then frowned and ticked his head to the side a little. "That's not what I meant to say. That's just what I was actually thinking in the moment."

Bucky laughed, freed his hand, and touched one of the barely there bruises. Mostly just irritation marks on Sam's skin. "So what were you really thinkin’ about?"

Sam shrugged. "The game mostly. The guys out at dinner right now. Sitting here doing this while we waited for appetizers." His fingers kept tracing up and down the scar on Bucky's forearm.

During games, Bucky wore a compression sleeve. It was about impossible to hide from everyone else in the locker room, but he usually kept the evidence of his surgeries out of everyone's eyesight otherwise. His compression sleeve during the games, a jacket at all other times. He couldn’t bear people staring, or the non-stop game coverage about his injury. The less they saw, they less they reacted.

Sam had been the first one to really see all of the scars, on virtue of them practically living together now. Sam was something of a hot-shot, as far as Bucky was concerned. Young and ready to prove himself without a lot of high level gameplay behind him. He'd played one year of college ball, then tried for a walk-on tryout with their major league affiliation. By some miracle, someone took notice of him and stuck him on the minor league team to grow a little. He'd only been around for a season and a half--and Bucky hadn't been around for a bit of it thanks to his surgery--but he was still hungry and eager.

Bucky had expected some kind of revulsion from the kid. Bucky would've been freaked out at his age. Marks like these usually spelled the end of the road for pitchers like Bucky. Superstitions. But Sam had just scoffed a little and told Bucky to use Vitamin E oil instead of just letting them get dried out. Then again, Sam wasn't a pitcher, so there was that at least.

Bucky liked laying in bed with Sam. He was warm and real and he always smelled good, even after a game when Bucky hadn't let him back into the shower yet. He leaned over to press his nose against Sam's temple and heard Sam snicker and then sigh below him.

"You're so weird, Barnes," he said softly. He finished trailing his fingers up Bucky's arm, across his shoulder, and into his hair. He guided Bucky back against the bed and turned over him, settling his weight against Bucky's body as he buried his face in Bucky's neck. "Why do I even put up with you?"

"I dunno," Bucky said. "'Cause you think sleepin' with me'll get you a fast track to the majors?" he suggested sarcastically.

Sam hummed an 'mhm' against the soft skin of the bottom of his jaw.

"'Cause you got the shit travel buddy assignment and can't argue about it?" Bucky added as Sam started to work a bruise to the surface of Bucky's skin.

Sam nodded and pressed his tongue against the non-mark before moving back to his neck so he could trace a dried line of sweat as it snaked from the back of Bucky's ear to his shoulder.

"'Cause I'm super hot and a really good lay?" he finished.

Sam groaned exaggeratedly and hugged his arms around Bucky's waist, going boneless and drawing a breathless groan from Bucky at the sudden extra weight. "That's probably a lot of it," he admitted. "Everything else started it, but that one keeps you around," he admitted. Bucky could feel Sam's grin against his skin and it was the best feeling in the world.

Bucky gently brushed his fingers over the short crop of Sam's hair idly and let Sam trace nonsense patterns over his ribs. "You think about holding my hand at dinner?" he eventually couldn't help but tease.

"Nope," Sam lied against his shoulder. "The moment passed."

Bucky laughed quietly and pulled Sam's hand away from his chest when he got too close to his nipples and could really get to be a tease. He twined their fingers together and examined their hands quite seriously in the dim light of the hotel lamps. The first serendipitous thing about this roommate assignment was that they both preferred the soft light of lamps to the overhead light. Should've known it was fate, Bucky figured. Superstitions and all that.

Sam shifted around so he was laying beside Bucky again, looking up at their hands too. "We should really head out to dinner," he said as he brushed his thumb over the back of Bucky's hand.

"Yeah," Bucky agreed. "I'm s'posed to be makin' friends."

"Ha," Sam huffed. Turned his face against Bucky's so now it was his nose pressed to Bucky's cheek. "What happened to 'I'm only gonna be here long enough to recover. I don't needa know anyone's names,'" he teased in a rough approximation of Bucky's surly pout.

"Yeah, well, it's not so bad down here," he admitted, turning so their noses were pressed together now. "Just takes one good roommate to change my mind, I guess."

Sam rolled his eyes. It was a move that Bucky largely missed being so close to each other like this, features already a blur. "We should shower before we go to dinner."

"We should absolutely shower," Bucky agreed. He brought his hand up to cup Sam's face, kissed him deeply until Sam opened up beneath him and went pliant.

Dinner was the last thing on his mind.

[infoblogify]

Preventing and Treating Baseball Elbow Injuries in Freehold

The crack of the bat, the rush of adrenaline, and the thrill of the game – baseball holds a special place in the hearts of many. But along with the excitement comes the risk of injuries, and one of the most common among baseball players is the dreaded "Baseball Elbow." As the name suggests, this injury can strike both pitchers and fielders, potentially sidelining them for weeks or even months. Fortunately, Freehold athletes have a trusted ally in their journey to recovery: HF Rehab NJ. With a dedicated focus on preventing and treating baseball elbow injuries Freehold, HF Rehab NJ is poised to keep players in the game and thriving.

Understanding Baseball Elbow: A Common Woe

Baseball elbow, scientifically known as medial epicondylitis or "golfer's elbow," is an overuse injury that primarily affects the inner side of the elbow. While it's commonly associated with golfers due to the swinging motion, baseball players – particularly pitchers and those who repeatedly throw or grip the ball – are also at risk.

This injury occurs when the tendons that attach to the bony bump on the inside of the elbow become inflamed and irritated. Over time, the repetitive stress of throwing or swinging can lead to microtears in the tendons, causing pain, stiffness, and reduced mobility.

Preventing Baseball Elbow: A Proactive Approach

Prevention is often the best strategy when it comes to injuries, and HF Rehab NJ understands the importance of a proactive approach. Here are some key measures to help prevent baseball elbow:

Proper Warm-up: Before hitting the field, players should engage in a thorough warm-up routine that includes stretching and light exercises. This helps increase blood flow to the muscles and prepares the body for the demands of the game.

Strength and Conditioning: Building strength in the muscles that support the elbow joint can help reduce the strain on the tendons. HF Rehab NJ offers personalized strength and conditioning programs tailored to each player's needs.

Proper Technique: Coaches and trainers play a vital role in teaching players proper throwing and swinging techniques. Maintaining good form can significantly reduce the risk of injury.

Rest and Recovery: Overuse is a leading cause of baseball elbow. Players should prioritize rest days and avoid excessive throwing or swinging to allow the muscles and tendons to recover.

Regular Check-ins: Regular assessments and screenings at HF Rehab NJ can identify early warning signs of potential issues. Catching problems early allows for timely interventions to prevent injuries from worsening.

Treating Baseball Elbow: The Road to Recovery

For those already grappling with baseball elbow, HF Rehab NJ offers a comprehensive approach to treatment and recovery:

Physical Therapy: HF Rehab NJ's skilled physical therapists design personalized rehabilitation programs to address the specific needs of each player. These programs focus on strengthening the affected muscles, improving mobility, and reducing pain.

Modalities and Techniques: From manual therapy and joint mobilization to therapeutic exercises and electrical stimulation, HF Rehab NJ employs a range of cutting-edge techniques to accelerate healing and restore function.

Pain Management: Effective pain management is crucial during the recovery process. HF Rehab NJ utilizes a combination of techniques to alleviate pain and inflammation, allowing players to focus on their rehabilitation.

Gradual Return to Play: Returning to the field after an injury requires careful planning. HF Rehab NJ guides players through a structured return-to-play program, ensuring they're ready to perform at their best while minimizing the risk of re-injury.

Education and Lifestyle Modification: Empowering players with knowledge about injury prevention and proper self-care techniques is a cornerstone of HF Rehab NJ's approach. Lifestyle modifications and ergonomic adjustments can make a significant difference in preventing future injuries.

A Stronger, Healthier Future on the Diamond

In Freehold, baseball isn't just a sport; it's a way of life. HF Rehab NJ recognizes the passion and dedication that players bring to the game, and they're committed to being a supportive partner in their journey to recovery and success. With a focus on prevention, treatment, and education, HF Rehab NJ is rewriting the playbook on baseball elbow injuries Freehold. By ensuring that athletes have the tools they need to stay in peak condition, HF Rehab NJ is shaping a stronger, healthier future on the diamond for players in Freehold and beyond.

[steddieunderdogfics]

rounding third, sliding home. by througheden

@thefreakandthehair

Rating: Explicit

68,869 words, 12/12 chapters

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Alternate Universe - Baseball, Baseball Player Steve Harrington, Massage Therapist Eddie Munson, POV Alternating, Sports-Typical Injuries, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Bisexual Eddie Munson, Lesbian Robin Buckley, Lesbian Chrissy Cunningham, mall fire, (steve has a lot of scars from the aforementioned mall fire), Getting Together, sort of a slow burn but not really?, Mutual Pining, Casual Recreational Marijuana and Alcohol Use, Idiots in Love, SMUT TAGS:, Blowjobs, Face-Fucking, (it's light), Dry Humping, Sex on a Roof, holding hands during sex, Anal Sex, (more to be added as needed), Steddie Big Bang 2023 (Stranger Things), Podfic Welcome, art included, Demisexual Steve Harrington, (if you squint), Happy ending guaranteed!, Good Friend Tommy Hagan

Summary:

“Well, they can still win, right? There’s a lot of time left. I think?” “That’s rule number one, Ed,” Steve nods and stares at the screen, focused and distant— the kind of stare that tells Eddie he’s not talking about just the game. “Always assume the game you’re planning can be won. If you go into it thinking that losing is a possibility, then you’re gonna lose. Even if you’ve gotta rewrite the rules of the game yourself, you gotta convince yourself you can win.” The commentator seems to respond to Steve directly. “And that’s three strikes for Tommy Hagan for the fourth at-bat in a row. If this Dodgers team has a prayer of making the playoffs, it rests solely on Steve Harrington making it back in time.” Eddie feels Steve squeeze his hand tighter. Or, Professional Baseball Shortstop Steve Harrington injures his UCL and returns home to Indiana for treatment. Cue massage therapist Eddie Munson whose tender, practiced touch heals much more than Steve's elbow.

Thanks for the rec! This recommendation is apart of our Writer's Wednesday! All of the recs today are written by @thefreakandthehair. Want to nominate an author? Fill out this form!

You can submit fic recs to our asks or the submission box!

[multifacetic]

afternoon, everyone! or morning, evening, depending on wherever you are on beyonce’s green earth. please call me anwar (not hadid, s/th, est), and i bring to you ansong’s favorite yuppie, nagano shunsuke, who is also not beating the unc allegations. under the cut is a surplus of biographical information and as always, feel free to like and i’ll contact you! 🤞

alrighttttyyy so some bg information: nagano shunsuke’s a fourth gen zainichi born korean from japan’s kansai region! meaning that the catalyst to rightfully blame was jp’s colonial occupation of the korean peninsula which drove his familial predecessors to migrate forcefully as laborers. i’d say that shun’s great grandparents on his father’s side were 1st gen migrants but they didn’t live long enough for him to know them growing up so…… in seo yeongju we trust (dearest halmeoni)

as a result of worker’s + economic exploitation and various social matters concerning the zainichi korean community in japan, shun basically grew up poor. lower class to lower middle (on a good year). it was very difficult to move up in one’s career due to ethnic discrimination and the work environment was often shitty and hazardous. so that paired with his father’s alcoholism (likely a physically + emotionally abusive father who cheated on his wife Btw) which stemmed from the fragility/stress/turmoil of his maintenance mechanic job including rearing a family with a woman he no longer loves because she’s not attractive to him after bearing his children is… uh.. Something.

and of course to make matters worse, after ww2, the japanese gov snatched jp citizenships from the zainichi community and made them foreigners/aliens to the country and later as stateless individuals (so anywhere from 1947-52) :-) imagine the stress shun’s fam had and Now they’ve been declared as 100000% displaced peoples. the naganos were outed after years of quietly assimilating with the japanese gov outing them alien registration statuses which made life even harder. so it’s safe to say that shun’s developmental growth lacked as he was often singled out, left behind, or neglected as a minority child growing up and slowly began to resent his own identity

seo yeongju, shun’s grandma dies and that shit hurt him so much ‘cause she was basically his mother and performed most of the emotional support if not childrearing because his actual mother is too occupied with trying to save her loveless marriage. yeongju is p important to him in that maternal aspect, but also she migrated from seosan, korean peninsula to shikoku as a young girl so again, more nagano family ancestral lore

but ofc things end up looking somewhat positive when shun gets into baseball mostly to avoid his abusive father at home lol being in the same room with that man sent him into a deep ballistic rage that no kid should be subjected but Anyways. pops saw potential with son so he began training with shun and their bond.. sort of.. got better and closer between father and son. wallahi not that playing fucking baseball is gonna answer the question of abuse but there’s that

shun ends up enrolling to osaka university on an athlete’s scholarship because otherwise his ass has no money to go to school, neither does his family and even now higher education for most zainichi koreans is basically almost unthought of???? so YEAHH shunsuke goes to school majoring in finance and economics but who gives a damn bc he’s trying to make it in the major league with drafts coming up. unfortunately tho bro gets a Really Bad elbow injury that he got 2 surgical operations for so… he’s cooked. he’s done for. just put the fries in the bag lil bro

haha jus’ kidding but yeah his dream is fucking cooked but it’s fine (not really) / shun ends up becoming his family’s 1st gen university graduate which is a big fucking deal because zainichi koreans were typically denied access to education. but even after graduation, shun had a hard time getting a job due to stigmatized discrimination, competitive job markets/outlets, etc.. and his official transcripts (lmao in case of hiring managers of companies decided to request them but they wouldn’t ask japanese applicants now would they?) were ass because he was greatly depressed working thru 3rd-4th yr of uni after the shitty injury. it seems that he just can’t win: works 7488548 crappy jobs and kept the restaurant dishwashing + hotel receptionist gig for a minute until…….. mizuho trust & bank gives him a call back for an interview!! and he gets an entry level investment banker job!! WE ALL CHEERED

life is looking a lot more positively: got a great paying job, the economy was flourishing in 80s japan, his (then) girlfriend and him are looking to move in together—it seems like nagano shunsuke is on top of the world fr. but allah’s timing is always strange and unrelenting as shunsuke unfortunately dies in a plane crash in fall of ‘88 with his gf on the way to yeosu for the week of chuseok. it was the first time traveling outside the country, let alone the first time visiting the homeland

so what’s next?

well 4 starters: he remembers absolutely nothing in regards to his past life. he’s your friendly bilingual financial advisor that lives on floor 8/unit 6. he lives a comfortable life of routine and prioritizes balance in his life. he’d look at you crazy if you told him his entire life story which is ^ above when he was alive. but surely…. something has got to be explained here. as in what’s going on and is he fr dead or like. not. u know

personality

i did mention that shun’s rather friendly! is always looking giving people and things a benefit of a doubt but once he’s been proven otherwise then yeah, there’s no going back. a bit of a yapper from time to time but it needs to be with the right person, otherwise why would he be yapping to someone who’s just gonna give him the lead paint stare….. also a lot more sensitive than he lets on (read: pisces moon) and is awfully in tune to his emotions + sensitivity but that’s none of your business. quick to get pissed off if something rubs him the wrong way too??? as in don’t underestimate his kindness and generosity among other things that’ll piss him off for reasons idk yet?? all crass and smart ass behavior, loves inoffensive banter, sometimes is too quick to say what’s on his mind before giving it a Good Thought (read: gemini sun, gemini mercury), u know the vibessss

connections

ok my bad for not thinking of relationship plots but i do have this wanted connection here in case if somebody’s looking to take up a 2nd/3rd chara. otherwise i love brainstorming!

[ardent-heretic]

So I was at the Mall for mall type shit.

There was a demonstration so I had to stop. A Traveling Martial Arts team was there in the hopes of wooing people to join them. I have never seen this in person before.

There were teens breaking multiple boards with strikes. Instructors had stacked numerous things around the area to break. Boards, paver stones were exploding everywhere. The entire group went one at a time running, jumped and kicked off a wall, spun, and split a board. There were choreographed routines using weapons and a fan. At one point 6 children jumped and curb stomped 6 boards to break them. This whole show was very entertaining.

Then they brought out the big guy. This guy was 6’6-6’10. Burly motherfucker. There were paver stones stacked. I don’t know the terminology so forgive me. He did a Karate chop strike that broke multiple pavers. Then he walked over and used his shin to strike and break a baseball bat. I was right there, it was not precut to make it easier. Then another instructor held a bat at a 45 degree angle. One end against his thigh. The other end pointing away. Gigantor kicked it and broke it. Hella impressive since person holding it wasn’t motionless so some force was lost.

Then came his final strike. Stack of paver stones as high as my collarbones. A shit ton of pieces. He psyched himself up and BAM. Elbow strike downward broke all but the last two. He was disappointed he didn’t break them all. With his bare foot he kicked the debris clear to the final two. Then he stomped them like balsa wood. I didn’t count how many pavers he broke with the elbow strike. But it was over 10. Each one like 4 inches thick with spacers leaving about a centimeter between each stone.

I don’t know how much force that was. But I do know if I tried I would have a cast and most of them would be intact. It was a crushing blow.

Now I know they travel through the state, and they practice these specific moves consistently. But this was still impressive as hell.

None of it was fake. I stuck around after and noticed 4 were nursing injuries. Two bleeding, one hurt forearm, and one had a foot injury.

It was a fantastic display. If I wasn’t an old fucker,that was dying I might look into doing this. Their home is about 20 minutes from my house. Their YouTube channel has posts back until 2009. There were none of Gigantor. If they post him I will share the video.

I might eyeball their social media and if they do another show, bring Spawn and Spawnette and see if they are interested.

[steddie-fanfic-recs]

rounding third, sliding home.

by througheden

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, Chrissy Cunningham, Corroded Coffin (Stranger Things), Jim "Chief" Hopper, Tommy Hagan Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Alternate Universe - Baseball, Baseball Player Steve Harrington, Massage Therapist Eddie Munson, POV Alternating, Sports-Typical Injuries, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Bisexual Eddie Munson, Lesbian Robin Buckley, Lesbian Chrissy Cunningham, mall fire, (steve has a lot of scars from the aforementioned mall fire), Getting Together, sort of a slow burn but not really?, Mutual Pining, Casual Recreational Marijuana and Alcohol Use, Idiots in Love, SMUT TAGS:, Blowjobs, Face-Fucking, (it's light), Dry Humping, Sex on a Roof, holding hands during sex, Anal Sex, (more to be added as needed), Steddie Big Bang 2023 (Stranger Things), Podfic Welcome, art included, Demisexual Steve Harrington, (if you squint), Happy ending guaranteed!, Good Friend Tommy Hagan Words: 68,869 Chapters: 12/12

Summary

“Well, they can still win, right? There’s a lot of time left. I think?” “That’s rule number one, Ed,” Steve nods and stares at the screen, focused and distant— the kind of stare that tells Eddie he’s not talking about just the game. “Always assume the game you’re planning can be won. If you go into it thinking that losing is a possibility, then you’re gonna lose. Even if you’ve gotta rewrite the rules of the game yourself, you gotta convince yourself you can win.” The commentator seems to respond to Steve directly. “And that’s three strikes for Tommy Hagan for the fourth at-bat in a row. If this Dodgers team has a prayer of making the playoffs, it rests solely on Steve Harrington making it back in time.” Eddie feels Steve squeeze his hand tighter. Or, Professional Baseball Shortstop Steve Harrington injures his UCL and returns home to Indiana for treatment. Cue massage therapist Eddie Munson whose tender, practiced touch heals much more than Steve's elbow.

[goose-duck]

♡Our World♡ (Pt. 5)

Killer x Reader

~~~~~~

Killer from One Piece x reader

Killer is in our world and meets you!! :D

Pt 4 Pt 6

~~~~~~

Y/N expirencing health problems and Killer helps

~~~~~~

•Physical/mental health problems

•Self harm/Suicide talked about

•Slight NSFW but not too explicit

•Comfort!!

He'd been living with me for a few days now and it was starting to feel normal, like he was always meant to be in my life. Thinking about it makes my anxieties spike..I have no idea how long he'll he here or if there will even be a warning before he leaves. I sigh to myself, trying to find something else to think about. Killer looks over hearing my sigh and gives me a worried and confused look. I look over at him and make a small gesture indicating that I'm okay. He nods at me and returns to watching the TV. We're both in the den, he's got his elbow rested on the arm of the couch and I'm leaning against his shoulder. We're watching a cooking show, he seems to like it a lot. I'm happy he's enjoying himself here.

While watching the TV I notice my vision blurring a bit. I squint my eyes a bit then try blinking quickly, trying to make my vision come back but my eyes start watering. Lucky everything is subtle enough Killer hasn't noticed. He's seen me struggle with my health already but I try to avoid making it something he needs to worry about. I start to feel dizzy and I can't take it anymore, groaning and covering my eyes with my hands as the headache sets in. Killer looks over at me, “what's wrong?” He asks sternly, making sure he has my attention and I can lie my way out of this. “It's fine…just a headache” I whine out through my pain knowing it's not just a headache. “It's obviously not okay. What's going on? Is there anything I can do?” He asks softly, putting a hand on my thigh. “Turn the TV off.” I say while groaning, it sounds a lot more aggressive than I'd intended but it gets the point across.

Killer quickly turns the TV off, flicking the lights off too and closing the curtains quickly figuring out I'm having a migraine or something along those lines. My body relaxes a little as the room gets darker and quieter, however I still keep my hands Iver my eyes, putting pressure on the point of pain just above my left eyebrow. I'd been hit with a baseball a few years ago and my doctor refuses to take it seriously so the problem only got worse until I got a new doctor who informed me my brain was damaged and my skull had been cracked and has since healed wrong. It's miserable, the pain I get sometimes. I haven't told many people, I feel dramatic when this happens and all I can do is whine and cry and wait for it to end. I feel so pathetic.

Killer kneels in front of me putting his hands on my thighs and rubbing them a little, he whispers, “please tell me what's wrong. Is it a migraine..?” He sounds more distressed than I'd expected. I've had many people be a little concerned but ultimately move on when I brush it off but he's persistent. I let out a strained sigh, “I don't know…it's…nerve damage around there…” I weakly point just above my left eyebrow where the pain is centered at. Killer takes my shaky hands in his own to move them out of the way so he can get a better look at my forehead. He doesn't see anything, it's not a visible injury, not anymore. This seems to worry him more, it's not something he can fix easily if it's internal. He lets out an irritated sigh as he realizes there's not much he can do. “What can I do help?” He concedes, not knowing how to help me. I'll be the first to admit I'd never learned how to properly deal with this, usually opting to just suffer in silence until it goes away. I whine at him, in to much pain to really use my words anymore, pulling my hands away from his and putting pressure back on my forehead.

Killer quickly goes to stop me, understanding why I'm doing this but knowing it's not really fixing anything. He gently grabs my hands again, trying to be gentle as he pulls them away from my forehead but I put up a fight. He continues trying to be gentle but is getting annoyed with me and end up just roughly pulling my hands away from head causing me to let out a gasp. He panics a little and rubs my hands, “Are you okay? I didn't hurt you did I? Did I hurt you? Y/N?” I groan at him in slight annoyance but nod to tell him I'm fine, I just wasnt expecting him to do that. He lets out a shaky breath, relived he didn't make things worse. I sit there shaking in pain and squirming as he holds my hands on my lap. He whispers comforting words to me, occasionally kissing my hands.

Soon it's over and I calm down, breathing a bit heavily from the intense pain i was in. I feel the wetness around my eyes, I must have started crying at some point. Killer looks up at my exhausted form once I sto writhing around. He gently sets a hand on my cheek and wipes some of my tears, giving me a soft look, “you okay..?” He asks softly, still caressing my cheek. I lean into his touch and nod. He smiles at me a bit before looking down at my still shaky hands in my lap. He rubs the hand he's still holding, “Do you know what that was..?” “Some sort of nerve damage…untreated head injury…” he nods silently. 

He moves his hand up my forearm a bit, holding it gently and pressing a kiss to the inner side. I'm a little shocked and confused, “what was that for?” I question the blonde. He just kisses my forearm a few more times not saying anything. I get progressively more confused before it hits me and I freeze up a bit. “Is…is it my scars..?” I ask hesitantly. He nods, still gently pressing kisses to my arm. I awkwardly hid my face in his hand still on my cheek, my face heating up as I'm embarrassed of my past actions towards myself. I kiss the palm of his hand before using my free hand to move his hand away from my face, rubbing it softly. “I don't do it anymore…so…don't worry about it…okay..?” I whisper to him as if someone else would hear me. He stops kissing my scars for a second and gives me a look. I quickly return the look, squinting at him quizzically, “don't belive me?” I ask with a snarky tone. He rolls his eyes at me, “Y/N…I did see your thighs in the tub earlier.” He says in an obvious tone. I shut my mouth immediately rembering he'd cleaned me earlier. “Ohhh…haha….right…..” I trail off, avoiding eye contact.

He glares at me like a disappointed mother before sighing and dropping his head, “Y/N…please…” he sounds so done with me and my playing off everything as normal. I make a strange face as I realize I've been caught with my problems, “uhhhhh…I probably won't stop, I'm not gonna lie to you.” He looks up, glaring at me again before relaxing his face again, “fine, I can't force you I guess…just…don't take it too far…” he asks me nervously, giving me a desperate look. I put a hand on his head and rub it a bit, much like what he does to comfort me sometimes. “I tried it once…it was such an embarrassing failure I don't think I could dare try again..” I admit softly to him, knowing it probably won't help much but it's the truth. He looks very concerned at the idea I've tried to end my life before but he trusts that I'm not lying about being too embarrassed to ever try again. 

“Can you…uh..” he starts to ask me something before giving up, deciding it might not be worth asking. I already know what he wanted to ask, “you wanna see it…the scar from when I…uh…there's a scar…um…other arm…” I mumble out, I want him to see, I don't want to try to hide myself from him, that doesn't make this any less of a tough subject though. He turns his head to look at my other arm, holding it gently in his hand and brushing his fingers over the large scar. He does something I really should have been expecting from him by now but was still shocked by, he kisses the scar…the scar from when I'd tried to end myself…he kissed it like any other scar…like any other part of me. I feel myself tearing up again but manage to hold back from crying again. “why'd you do it..? If you're okay with telling me…” he mumbles against my scar. 

I tell him why I did it, what pushed me to the point of finding now value in life, what was the final step to me wanting to fall off the earth. He pays close attention, nodding when I'm done, “I'm happy you failed…even if it's something you're embarrassed by…if you weren't here…I suppose I wouldn't know…but…I feel like I'd know something's wrong anyway.” his words are soft and kind, I think it's a bit odd to think he'd know I'm gone even without prior knowledge of my existence but I accept the sweet words anyway, happy I'm here to be with him now. “have you ever…” I whisper, not having it in me to finish my question. Killer shakes his head, “I haven't…but…I understand kinda…I have a friend who…um..he..” Killer’s breath gets shaky as he stops talking and pushes his face into my hand. I know from my own behaviour he's holding back tears. I pet his head, running my fingers through his soft hair, “it's okay if you wanna cry…if you don't though…I understand…I'll be here either way.” I quietly say to him. He nods into my hand, letting a few tears fall before they stop soon after.

Killer sits upright, his eyes red like mine from crying. He looks at me, his eyes looking sad. It my turn to comfort him now, giving him a soft smile. “I'll be here whenever you want me, okay..? I'm here for you…just ask…” I whisper to him. He looks down, seeming thoughtful, “you always say ‘want’ never ‘need’, is there a reason for that?” he asks me, curios to my specific wording. I answer him to the best of my ability, “if I'm wanted it's a choice to have me around, to have me help you…of I'm needed it doesn't exactly mean its a choice, it means I'm the best option and when I'm no longer usefull you'll leave me…” he nods in understanding, “well then…I want you in my life…things have been better since meeting you but I would have been fine without you…so, just know, I want you here, okay?” “I know you want me with you…you'd have left if you didn't…I want you in my life too.” he smiles at my reciprocation of his feelings. I smile back at him and hug him in teh slightly awkward position we're in for a hug. He hugs me back.

As Killer pulls away he holds my face in his hands, squishing my cheeks a bit and giving me a bright smile, it may not visibly be different from the one he can't remove from his face but it feels different, it's all in his beautiful blue eyes. It's love, that look, it's something I've never seen before, but I know what it's meant to be. In that moment I'm so tempted to lean in and kiss him but I hold myself back, afraid I'm wrong. He must see it on my face, this desperation to express my feelings, yet the hesitation, the fear of getting hurt. He doesn't move to kiss me either, he knows I need to do it myself or it'll never feel right to me. 

He pulls his hands away from my face and stand up, patting me on the head and messing up my hair a little. He takes his earlier spot on yhe couch beside me and puts me in his lap. I let out a small shocked noise but relax against him. He holds me gently, a hand around my mid section and a hand on my thigh. I rest my hands on his, both on the hand on my stomach. I feel him kiss the back of my head before resting his chin on top of my head. I look up at him and stick my tongue out. He hesitates for a second before doing the same. My eyes widen as I notice a tongue piercing. He gives me a confused look before realizing what my shocked look is for. He chuckles, “like it?” my face turns red, I nod at him, “love it.” he smiles at me, squeezing my thigh and putting his head on my shoulding rather than my head. I look at him out of the corner of my eye and smile. He smiles back.

I turn the TV back on and we both sit like this for a while before I feel something on my neck. It's wet, squishy and has a metal bit…this this man licking me!? I feel my whole body heat up as I get flustered. He seems to notice I've noticed what he's doing and he chuckles against my neck making this feeling worse. I turn my head away from him knowing he'll know immediately from that stupid look on my face that I'm embarrassed. He nibbles my neck a little and I squeal. He laughs again, “look at me…” he teases. I look at him, my face giving away everything. He smirks at me, kissing my jaw before going back to watching the TV, playing innocent. I huff and poke his nose, “don't stop now, asshole..” I encourage him to continue, it felt nice, but strange, I'd never experienced this before…not in this way at least…it's nice when it's with someone you love. Love? Do I love him? Noooo…huh uh…this is..uh…fuck. I feel like I'm about to overheat as I realize my feelings fully. I'd known the feelings were there but I refused to acknowledge them…now I can't deny it…I'd just asked this man to continue is sweet assault on my neck.

He continues as I'd requested. He seems to know what he's doing, trying to find what'll make me happy. I do a lot of giggling, it's how I always react to these kinds of things, I'm not sure how else to express myself. He seems happy with the laughter coming from me as I enjoy myself. I know it's probably not the typical reaction to this, but it's how I show I'm enjoying myself. “you know, it's cute you laugh when feeling this sensation…it's so different, but it's so you..” he smiles against my neck, sticking his tongue out and running the ball of his tongue piercing against it gently. I find myself snickering at this, “I'm glad you like it haha!” I tear up a bit at the funny and pleasant feeling. 

He holds my head gently, leaning it away from him so he can get at my neck a bit better. I let him do this, giggling more. I feel him bite me a few times and suck on my neck a bit, he'll definitely leave marks but at this point I don't mind. It's him, he could leave any mark on me and I'd be okay with it. He rubs the side of my head a little with his thumb and he holds my head away from him, it's sweet. He pulls away for a second, “tell me if I'm hurting you, okay?” I nod at him, he glares, “verbal answer.” he demands. “I'll tell you if I'm not okay with something.” I answer quickly, wanting him to continue. “Good.” he then goes back to my neck and I lean into his hand holding my head.

He starts to move down to my collar bones and as he nears my chest I tap his shoulder. He stops and looks up at me. I shake my head at him, signaling not to go any further down. He nods at me, “thanks for being gentle, but you don't have to be gentle, if I'm doing something you don't like you can yell at me to stop.” I give him a small nod and he pulls my hair I bit. I yelp, “what was that for!?” I yell at him. He does it again and I tear up, “Stop!!” I yell at him again, hitting his shoulder. He stops immediately, “good. I want you to do that if I do something you don't like. Understand?” I give him a shaky nod, “I understand…” 

He sees the tears in my eyes and gently rubs my head, “sorry for that…I was just worried you might not do it… can I make it up to you?” I'm a bit shocked by the apology, not because it's him, but because people have done much worse without apology. “oh..uh…hm…” I think about how he can make it up to me that he pulled my hair like that. While I think he brushes some tears from my eyes, giving me a patient look. I put my hands on his cheeks and give him a determined look, “can I kiss you?” I ask with confidence that surprises myself. “is that how you'd like your apology?” he jokes with me. I snicker, “I'd want this anyway, but we can call it your apology.” he leans into my hold on his face a little, “I'll do something else for you after, I want this kiss as much as you.”

I get a little nervous shaking a bit…I close my eyes and sigh then open them with a more sure look on my face. I lean into him and just before I kiss him I stop. Looking him in the yes for any hint of doubt but I see none. He puts a hand on my cheek, signaling me to do what I desire. I nod and kiss him, my lips pressing against his. He kisses me back, softly. I quickly pull away, not really knowing what to do with everything i was feeling. He seems a little shocked I was so quick but let's out a small giggle and smiles at me, finding it cute, “good job.” he praises my terrible kiss. I give him a joking glare before letting go of his face and pushing my head into his chest embarrassed, “it was not!! You did great but I felt like I sucked!” he rubs my back a little, “was that your first kiss?” I shake my head, embarrassed I've done this before yet I kissed him like some kid who's just had their first kiss. He smiles at me realizing I probably kissed him like that because of the emotions behind it, like a kid having their first crush I was embarrassed and excited and overwhelmed with unfamiliar emotions. My kiss reflected every thought and feeling. Though Killer wishes the kiss could have been longer he's happy he got to kiss me how I felt was right in the moment.

I look at him with a dumb lovestruck look. He looks back at me, a loving look in his eyes, “you did great…that was perfect..” he whispers. “really..?” I mumble back, unsure if he's just being nice or if he really thinks I did well. He nods, “yeah, it was you.” My eyes widen at that, he liked it because it was me..? He follows up, “it was your emotions, that kiss, it was everything you felt in that moment.” I smile at him, “you're not disappointed?” he shakes his head, “if your kisses are always like that I'm okay with it. If your kisses change I'm okay with that too…I just want them to always be honest.” he kisses my forehead as he finishes off his sentence. I hide my face again, this time in the crook of his neck. He giggles at this action, finding it sweet that I get so flustered at his sweet words.

I see a great opertunity with this and decide to try to do what he'd done earlier. I awkwardly pick his neck which prompts him to giggle. I get even more embarrassed, “was it bad? I'm sorry-” he cuts me off, outright laughing a bit and reasuring me, “it's perfect, I just didn't expect you to do it.” he plays with my hair a bit, calming his laughing, “continue, it was great.” I feel him kiss the top of my head as I continue. Unlike my earlier laughter he’s doing his best to stifle some less family friendly sounds. I get embarrassed after a while and stop by kissing his collar bone and pulling away. I look up at his bright red face and giggle a bit, “looking good, Kill.” his face turns more red and he hides behind his hand. I laugh a bit more, “don't hide, it's cute!” I try to encourage him to look at me but he hides his ever reddening face more. I feel the heat on my face too, knowing I got him like this is a feeling I can't express. 

I lay my head on his chest and relax against him. He looks down at me and wraps his arms around me, holding me close. He seems to calm down a little as he rests his head on top of mine once again. We stay like this, cuddling on the couch, the TV playing quietly in the background. It feels nice, like this is where I'm supposed to be. Maybe that's why I screwed up so long ago…so I could be here for this…so I could learn to be alive. So I could feel love. So we could meet. I'm so happy. Killer…I want to be live…I want to be alive…please be alive with me. I smile to myself, face buried in his chest, I'm safe and I'm alive..he's alive…we're safe. This is what it's like to be loved. I'm happy he's here. I'm happy I'm here.

“Killer?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“Does it matter?”

“If you don't wanna tell me that's okay.”

“Thanks.”

“You're welcome.”

“I'll stop…”

“Huh? Oh..good.”

“Mhm…”

“I'm happy you decided to…I'll be here if you want help.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“I'm here for you too.”

“huh?”

“If you want my help..with..anything.”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome, Kill.”

“Love you…Y/N.”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

“I-...I love you too, Killer.”