#because it hurt SO BAD after surgery

[awheckery]

it's time for the 72-hour after action report!

this was a deeply Weird experience. unlike other times wherein I've gotten vaccines and/or boosters, the only thing that happened in the first twelve hours was that my arms hurt and I was very tired. they hurt a LOT, but by the twelve hour mark and my second bedtime, I genuinely thought I'd gotten off basically scott-free from a vaccine reaction.

and then I hit 1 am, and the 15 hour mark.

I woke up freezing, feverish, desperately thirsty and too weak to reach for the water bottle on my bedside table. my entire body felt bruised, and I was wracked with chills. I didn't have the strength to reach for my water or my phone for four excruciating hours. I couldn't get out of bed for three hours after that.

I have no idea why it took so long for my immune system to notice what I'd done to it. I'm blaming my immunosuppressant.

I ate ibuprofen like skittles on saturday, but any time it started to wear off the fever and the body aches revved up again.

yesterday, I was able to go to the store to buy juice, but it flattened me.

it's monday now. I'm still running an intermittent low-grade fever, I'm still tired and my bones still hurt, but that's just business as usual with an autoimmune disease. unless I have a dramatic relapse, I'll be going back to work tonight.

now. would I recommend anyone else do this?

no. absolutely not. maybe it'd be less unpleasant for someone without immune system issues (or a puppy, I can't pretend Nola's insistence on stepping on all my tender spots wasn't a contributing factor), but this experience genuinely sucked.

did I learn anything from this experience?

NOPE.

I have a bad time with vaccines, no matter how many I get at a time, and even tho my brain and memory got cooked by the aforementioned autoimmune disease, this is nowhere near the most painful thing I remember doing to myself.

I will probably end up doing this to myself again.

never let it said I'm not an overachiever

[moeblob]

You know, when I kept getting asked "so you didn't ever have severe pains before now?" in the hospital and I kept replying "I have a high pain tolerance" I meant it. However, there is only so much pain my tiny 4'9" body can hold... (aka I am sweating and in agony bc I'm getting told to use LESS severe pain meds so I don't rely on them too much and it is AWFUL)

[heartual]

had such a good experience with surgery today i can’t even fully explain

[themanwhowouldbefruit]

my doctor was sooooo fucking worthless and unhelpful im going to masturbate and i hope it fucking kills me

[blackwaxidol]

Feels like my legs were twisted out of place, back to my roadkill era.

[yourcalamity]

i feel worse tonight than i have in a while

[mxdotpng]

grits teeth. i can be normal about kekkai sensen. see? im not even writing any meta in this post. im going to do normal non kekkai sensen things even

[curly-my-beloved]

So like… imagine if reader was the one who got hurt in the crash instead of Curly… how would pre crash and post react to reader? How would he treat them? This can be smut or just fluff, whatever you see fit fr fr

Can be GN reader too, we are inclusive her fr

-🥩 anon

one of the few asks that survived because they were in the drafts :')

Curly if his partner was the one burned instead of him

This man would not forgive himself.

Why were you even in the cockpit? You didn't even have a pilot's license.

Jimmy claimed he tried to stop you from crashing the damn ship. He claimed you were in hysterics. As unusual as that was for you.

He found it hard to believe, but alas, it was not like you could tell him the truth about how you tried to fix things after what Jimmy did. And how you got so terribly injured.

He firmly believed something terrible must've happened. He doesn't blame you, he blames himself. He was your partner, he should've seen something coming.

He visits you in the medbay often, carefully sitting on the edge of the bed and telling you about his day, his eyes still holding that soft, loving look they always did, even with all the pain and confusion he felt.

He would offer Anya breaks regularly and would be on your painkiller duty.

He's always apologize to you so much, assuring you that you're so brave and that you're doing great for him... He promises you that you'll get home and he'll get you surgery so you feel better. He promises to him that you're just as gorgeous now as you were before.

On the rare occasions where your pain is more bearable than usual, he'll carefully lay down next to you and hold you in his arms, maybe even lay you on his chest. He doesn't hold you too tightly, but you still feel the security that came from his body being against yours.

If your pain is too bad to hold you or even sit on the bed without disturbing you, even after the painkillers, he will take a chair and just sit next to you, trying to distract you with silly stories to the best of his ability.

He might tear up if he sees the painkillers taking too long to work. He hates seeing you in pain, it breaks his heart completely, but he never leaves until you're at least somewhat soothed.

Sometimes, he'll even end up sleeping on the floor next to your bed, just so he can be close to you. It is not particularly comfortable.

[laiiaaa]

Your writing is stunning! Can I request injured!reader and Carmy rushing to be by her side? god the idea of that man dropping everything to be with you....

this has been in my drafts for probably a year now. i forget why i was hesitant to post it. so here’s something for you all :)

“Hey, Cousin—”

“I’m in the middle ‘f something, not now, Richie—”

“Hey.” He raises his brows, gives that serious look that has Carmen’s head peeking over his shoulder because it’s so sharp he can feel it. “It’s your girl. You wanna take this.”

He gets nervous, then, heart beginning to race. Where’s his fuckin’ phone?

“Give it here,” he says, arm extended. Richie hands it over and slips out the door, shutting it to leave Carmen by himself in the office; it only makes hurt stomach lurch harder.

He lifts the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“. . . Carm?” Your voice is broken and wobbly, wrought with tears.

“Baby?” He doesn’t even think before he’s jumping out of his chair, tucking the phone between his jaw and shoulder while he scrambles to find his keys. “Baby, you there? Where are you?”

“I-I’m at the hospital, I tried calling you—”

“The hospital—?” His mind goes back to New York, back to that morning. “What—” He takes a deep breath. His jacket. Where the fuck is it? “Okay, you’re okay, I’m comin’ now, alright?” He storms out of the office toward the lockers, finds everything right where he put it, including his phone. Dead. Fuck. “I gotta hang up, okay? I’m sorry, I know, I can’t take the phone with me. I’ll be there soon, I promise.”

“O-Okay.” A shuddered breath rings through the line, and it kills him. “I’m okay, Carmy—”

“I know,” he says, shimmying into his jacket and feeling for his keys. “I know, baby, but I’m comin’ anyway, you hear me? Gonna be there in ten.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. I love you.”

He doesn’t put the phone back properly, just slides it across the counter and hopes it doesn’t break again, shouting out orders over his shoulder on his way out the door.

The ride there is the longest ten minutes of his life. He doesn’t know what to expect. He doesn’t know anything at all, really. Are you hurt? How bad is it? What happened? Is it a burn, a broken bone, just a flu that got out of hand? Will you need surgery? Did you get in an accident? Did someone try to hurt you? He doesn’t want you to be alone right now. He needs to be there with you. You were fine this morning. You were fine this morning, all beautiful and groggy when he kissed you awake, still cozied up in bed when he left early as the sky turned blue after sunrise. You were fine. You were fine, and then he left, and suddenly you weren’t.

The fluorescent lights make him nauseous. They’re too bright, and a disgusting color, and too different from all the gentle lighting you insisted upon at home. Made the place homey, you said, and he agreed. The nurses at the station must think he’s out of his mind, all wide-eyed and asking for you.

“What’s your name?” the one asks him.

“Carmen, I’m her fiancé, I was—I was just on the phone with her—”

“Okay,” she nods, softening. “She’s doin’ alright now, she was askin’ for you, though. Still gotta get her wrapped up, but you’ll be outta here soon.”

He’s too busy wondering What the fuck does that mean? to properly answer.

When he’s finally brought to your room, his nerves subside—only a little. There’s no blood, no bland hospital gown to say you’re headed off to the operating room. Just a pillow over your tummy, with your arm—your swollen, bruised arm—resting on top of it.

“Hey, hon,” he says, coming to your bedside and smoothing a hand over your forehead to press his lips to your temple. “You alright? What happened?”

“They—” you sniffle when you look up at him, lip quivering— “They had to take my ring off, Carmy—” he nods along to your rambling with a concerned brow— “I-I told them not to, but they said my hand was too swollen—that-that it was gonna mess up my finger—. . .”

“What’s that, baby?” He smiles into your hair and exhales through his nose. So typical of you to get upset about something cute like that, he knows you’ll be okay. “Your arm’s all black ‘n blue, and you’re worried about your ring—?”

“But it’s special—”

“Shhhhh . . . I know, I know . . . ‘m just askin’ you to ease up.” Another kiss lands on your forehead before he asks, “Where’s it at, baby? I’ll fix it for you.”

You pout and look somewhere behind him. “On the table, but you’re not gonna be able to—”

“Just take a breath ‘n relax f’me, yeah? I got it.”

He stands upright again, turning to check that the ring is there—that beautiful, beautiful big diamond for his precious girl, before reaching toward the nape of his neck to unclasp his chain. Carefully, he threads it through the ring, silently urges you to sit up so he can hook it around your neck, icy-cool on your smooth skin, admiring the way it sparkles like your eyes.

You’re still pouting when he’s done, and he kisses your soft lips anyway while he wipes away stray tears. “Better?”

“. . . yeah,” you admit through a murmur.

“Good,” he huffs, pulling the visitor’s chair right next to your bed. With your good arm, you reach for him, just any part of him, and he holds your hand as he kisses your dry knuckles. “You gonna tell me what happened now? What’s got you all banged up?”

And you groan and roll your eyes, insisting that it’s too embarrassing to tell, and he lets you drag it out just because he thinks it’s cute when you’re stubborn. The doctor comes in with the x-rays to confirm that, yes, indeed, you’ve got yourself a broken arm, and after you’re splinted and discharged and given a sling and the next day’s protocol, Carmen holds your good hand on the way out the door.

“Oh,” you start, pausing before he opens the car door for you, “I forgot to tell you.”

“Hm?”

“I drove here.”

“You what?”

“I told you, I was embarrassed, Carm—”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, baby,” he grunts, laughing and shaking his head with fingers running through his hair as he helps you into the passenger’s seat. “You’re killin’ me today, y’know that?”

And it’s not the last time. When he unlocks the front door and sees the laundry spilled all the way down the stairs, with a basket flipped upside down at the bottom, he can put the pieces together. He kisses you softly, doesn’t say a word about it, takes you to the bedroom, and tucks you into bed to let you rest now that your adrenaline is wearing off and the pain meds are making you sleepy.

He fixes up the mess without a second thought, and once he’s done he slips right under the covers next to you, thanking whatever God there is that you’re okay, and that he’s got you back in his arms.

(And tomorrow, when he takes you into the doctor’s office for a proper cast, he has Natalie and Pete pick up your car. He still hounds on you about it weeks later, how you drove yourself to the hospital with a broken arm. You insist it makes for a good story, and to that he can’t deny.)

[woso-dreamzzz]

Head in the Clouds IV

Barcelona Femení x Teen!Reader

Summary: Your first few months in Barcelona

On the second to last match of the season at Chelsea, you get hurt.

You go to ground instantly and clutch at your leg, shrieking and rolling around on the floor. Your girlfriend is at your side instantly, holding your hand and whispering in your ear.

You tear your hamstring on the second to last match.

Alexia, Marta and Patri watch the replay of it happening a week later after they're told that Barcelona are signing you.

"Is it going to be healed in time?" Patri asks," It looked bad."

"She didn't need surgery and the doctors have given her around ten weeks. She'll be ready in time for the first match of the season."

"She's kind of young," Marta voices her thoughts next.

"So are a lot of our players."

"But they're from La Masia. They've been playing our style of football since they were kids. How do you know she'll do well?"

"We know," The staff respond," She's a great player and Lyon wanted her too. Be happy we snapped her up first."

Alexia sighs. "And what about schoolwork? She's English, right? Is she sticking with an English school or one of ours?"

"Her dad's Spanish," The staff member says," She speaks Spanish too."

Alexia, Marta and Patri frown as Paños walks in nearly ten minutes late.

"What did I miss?"

You don't feature much in their minds until your arrival in Barcelona months later.

A lot of the team are still riding the high of being World Cup winners so you largely go unnoticed for the first few days.

Alexia watches you from a distance though.

The staff said your father was Spanish yet she doesn't recognise you in the slightest. Clearly, you haven't been called up for the Spain youth teams yet so maybe you aren't quite as talented as the club seems to think you are.

You're on the tail end of your rehab so you're not in full training yet and no one's quite seen your skills.

You're not the only new member of the team and with everyone else in training, you fade into the background a bit.

"She looks familiar," Irene notes one day as she watches you pass slowly with one of the trainers.

"Does she? I don't recognise her," Alexia replies.

"No. I'm sure that I know her from somewhere."

It's not until weeks later that Irene knows how she recognises you.

She knows your father is Spanish, most of the team know by now but, like everyone else, she'd assumed that he was Catalan.

So, when Aitana addresses you in Catalan one day and you don't respond, it piques interest.

"You don't speak Catalan?"

"Why would I speak Catalan?"

"Because of your dad?"

"Oh! Papa is Basque so we speak that!"

"L/n?" Irene repeats your last name and you turn to look at her. "Your father doesn't happen to be one of the L/n's from Legazpi?"

"He is! How did you know that?"

A little bubble of laughter escapes Irene. "They used to live next door to me when I was a kid."

"Wow! That's so cool!"

It's another week or so before you join everyone else in training and that's when you make your mark.

You're a natural on the ball, easily cutting through everyone to bury it in the net. You receive passes expertly, bringing the ball down and turning to shoot in the next moment.

Most of all, you look like you're having fun. You look like the kids on the schoolyard do. You look like Alexia felt the first time she watched the men play at Camp Nou with her father.

You have talent, that much is certain.

But talent in training is different to talent in a match.

Since the revelation that you're Basque like her, Irene sticks close to you.

You enjoy her company. With your grandparents across the country, it's nice to speak Basque with someone and Irene's wife and son are so nice and sweet and you find yourself over at her place all the time.

It's at the same time, that Lucy and Keira seem to remember that you're English. It's fun to speak to people in English that understand your slang and Lucy in particular seems to light up when you mention that you've played for the England youth team a few times.

With you fully healed from your injury and the first match of the season coming up, you find yourself subbed on at the same time as Alexia.

She doesn't have high hopes with this being the first match of the season and the team getting back into the rhythm but she can't help but watch as you receive the ball in the midfield.

She expects you to be shut down quickly and pass it off but you avoid everyone that tries to take you down, even neatly leaping over a slide tackle.

You go one on one with the goalkeeper before chipping it over.

Alexia has never quite seen something like that before, especially from one so young.

You get another goal a moment later, nutmegging the keeper on your way and then complete your hattrick with ease with a worldie from outside the box.

A game that would have ordinarily ended 2-1 to Barcelona ends 5-1 because of three perfect goals from you.

You're a talent, Alexia thinks as you rock happily back and forth on your feet as you wait for your Nana and Granddad to come down from the stands.

You're better than a talent and Alexia can see you easily skipping the rest of the youth teams to make it into the senior teams.

She can imagine how easy it would be to link up with you for Spain, delivering pass after pass so you can kick it in easily.

She makes eye contact with Lucy across the pitch and the smirk tells Alexia everything she needs to know.

Lucy wants you for England.

"This is my granddad!" You tell Alexia, holding the hands of an older man with a receding hairline but a face marked with a life well lived and an older woman with a stern look and a walking stick," And my Nana!"

Your Nana says something but it's not the English that Alexia expects.

Her stomach sinks.

"Was that Swedish I heard?" Frido asks, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

"Yes!" You say, gesturing to your Nana," She's from Sweden! We speak it at home together."

A thoughtful look appears on Frido's face and Alexia's eyes narrow.

No.

This can't be happening.

The most promising youngster Alexia has seen in years, can't be eligible to play for three different countries.

It's just not possible yet it's the position Alexia finds herself in now.

It's hours later that Olga wakes up to the sound of drilling in the middle of the night. She's got an early morning train to Madrid for work and groans as she's woken up, dragging herself out of bed and wandering down to the basement where the sound is coming from.

Alexia looks manic and Olga's mouth hangs open.

A conspiracy theory style board is screwed into the wall with pieces of string connecting pictures to you in the very centre.

"Ale?" She asks, not willing to believe her eyes," What is this?"

"A family tree!" Alexia replies almost too happily to not be tinged with the edge of sleep deprivation.

"Okay. Why do you have it?"

"I told you about that kid, right? Y/n L/N? Well turns out if she doesn't want to play for Spain then she's got two more countries she can play for! I'm just checking that she's not eligible for anyone else!"

"Alexia...What the hell?! Go to bed!"

"In a minute," Alexia says dismissively," I'm just working out whether any of her parents were adopted or not."

[inkskinned]

you have to go to work so you can pay for your doctor, who is not taking your insurance right now, and if you say i can't afford the doctor's you are told - get a better job. it is very sad that you are unwell, yes, but maybe you should have thought about that before not having a better job.

(where is the better job? who is giving out these better jobs? you are sick, you are hurting - how the hell are you supposed to be well enough for this better job?)

but you go to the doctor because you had the nerve to be hurt or sick or whatever else. and they tell you that it is because you have anxiety. you try your best. you are a self-advocate. you've done the reading (which sometimes pisses them off worse, honestly). you say it is actually adding to my anxiety, it is effecting my quality of life. so they say that you are fat. they say that all young people have this happen to them, isn't it a medical marvel! they say that you should eat more vegetables. they say that you probably just need to lose a little more weight, and that you are faking it for attention.

(what attention could this doctor possibly give? what validation? that's their fucking job, isn't it?)

there is always a hypochondriac, right. someone always tells you about a hypochondriac. or someone who is unnecessarily aggressive during the worst days of their life. or someone looking "for a quick fix". or some idiot who wasn't educated about how to properly care for themselves who just abandons their treatment. and again, the hypochondriac, the overly-cautious hysteric. these people don't deserve to be treated like humans (right), and since you might be one of these people, you also don't get treated like a human. because those people can really fuck with the system, you now have to pay for it. and besides. you're actually probably faking it.

(more often than not, you find a 2:1 ratio of these stories. for every "hypochondriac", there are 2 people who knew something was wrong, and yet nobody could fucking find it. the story often ends with pointless suffering. the story often ends with and now it's too late, and it's going to kill me.)

you are actually just making excuses. someone else got that procedure or that diagnosis and he's fine, you should be fine too. someone else said they watched a documentary about other inspirational people with your exact same condition, maybe you should be inspirational, too. you're just too morbid. your pain and your experience is probably just not statistically concerning. it is all self-reported anyway, and you're just being a baby.

(once, while sitting down in the middle of making coffee, you had the sudden, horrible thought - i could kill myself to make the pain stop. you had to call your best friend after that. had to pet your dog. had to cry about it in the shower. you won't, but that moment - god, fuck. the pain just goes on and on.)

you know someone who went in for routine surgery and said i still feel everything. they told her to just relax. it took her kicking and screaming before they figured out she wasn't lying - the anesthetic drip hadn't been working. you know someone who went in for severe migraines who was told drink water and lose weight. you know someone who was actively bleeding out and throwing up in the ER and was told you're just having a bad period.

in the ER there are always these little posters saying things like "don't wait! get checked today!" and you think about how often you do wait. how often the days spool out. you once waited a full week before seeing the doctor for what you thought was a sprained wrist. it had actually been broken - they had to rebreak it to set it.

but you go into the doctor. the problem you're having is immediate. the person behind the counter frowns and says we're not taking your insurance. you will be paying for this out-of-pocket.

they send you home with tylenol and a little health packet about weight loss or anxiety or attention deficit. on the front it has your birthday and diagnosis. you think about crying, and the words swim. it might as well say go fuck yourself. it might as well say you're a fucking idiot. it might as well say light your money on fire and lie down in it. and the entire fucking time - the problem persists.

it's okay. it's okay, it's just another thing, you think. it's just another thing i have to learn to live with.

[al1fers-haven]

"Bring your kid to work day."

Alastor fluff - a continuation of 'Almost Instictual' and 'Instinct.'

"Alastor, love." The radio demon turned around, looking at your disheveled frame before eying the baby in your arms. A gentle smile overtook your features as you attempted to not just fall over and go to sleep right there. "Y/n. Dear, you're not supposed to be up and about yet! Go back and rest-" You shook your head, putting a finger up as you shushed him and continued to rock the two-month-old in your arms. Taking a deep breath before speaking once again.

" I need you to take Maria out today, or just away from me for a little bit- I need to sleep and my stomach has been hurting so much. Please-" Alastor watched as you walked up to him and gently gave him the sleeping girl. He stiffened at the contact. "Y/n- I have a meeting today-" You waved your hand, dismissing his statement and laying back down in bed. You looked horrible. Still recovering from the C-section they had put you through after you went into labor. "I need sleep, I need time away so I don't strangle her. Please just take her for the day, or get a babysitter- I don't care."

Alastor wasn't someone who had much shame or could be embarrassed easily. It wasn't a secret that he would do things without thinking, and this moment was an example of just how bad that was.

"Is thou your offspring, Alastor?" Zestial poked a little black claw into the baby's face, a small chuckle leaving his form as the baby grabbed onto it. A babble left Maria's mouth before Alastor realized that he was being spoken to. "Biologically? No....But I have relations with her mother. Who is recovering from getting surgery and was asked to have the little thing accompany me today while she sleeps." The green man nodded. "Thou was domesticated my eyes see." Alastor laughed a bit himself, gently pushing zestials finger away from the child face before exiting the elevator. Had he truly been that tamed by you?

"Alastor, zestial-" Carmilla pinched the bridge of her nose, staring at the board at the end of the room with her back turned on them. Ready to yell at the two men before she turned around and just stood there. Staring at Alastor.

"Is that a fucking child?"

Alastor gently glared at the woman and covered Maria's ears. "Whoops." Rosie jumped up from her seat and ran towards the two. Smile as bright as ever as Alastor let her take the baby. "Oh, there's my goddaughter! Hi Maria! It's anti-Rosie!" Maria giggled a little bit and grabbed Rosie's hat. Alastor stretched a bit at the loss of weight in his arms. "Alastor where did you..get this child." Alastor deadpanned, gently taking Maria back from Rosie and ignoring the woman pleads to keep holding her. "She's mine, technically. Now- Maria here will be attending today's meeting." Rosie snickered, returning to her seat with Alastor. "Okay then..." The room shifted their gazes over to the doors, three voices laughing about how stupid the meetings were booming throughout the room now as the vees entered the little room.

"You five are late. I expected better than you. Including you, zestial." the old man just chuckled and nodded. The vees seated themselves without a care in the world.

Carmilla pinched the bridge of her nose. "Now, we are all here because-" Valentino raised his hand like a child, his eyes on Alastor who had a baby in his grasp. Carmilla groaned loudly. "What, Valentino?" "Why does Alastor have a child?" Vox glitched a bit, looking at the red demon who seemed completely unphased as the baby girl started to play with his ears. "Okay let's get the elephant out of the room already!" Carmilla stood up, pointing to Alastor and Maria. "The radio demon we all have known to be an asshole now has a baby. Alastor is now 'dating' a woman who has a child and she is not well so he brought her here. Any objections?" "Should we trust that fossil with a baby?" Velvette giggled a bit, raising her hand as well as rosie and alastor glared at her. "I ask you don't swear in her presence. Her mother would kill me" Alastor quickly added on. Vox gawking at the display. "So- you got someone to sleep with you?" Alastor shook his head no. "No! Of course not, i do not with for such....nasty activities. Just dating her mother. Isn't that right maria." "Carmilla, would you mind holding her?" She nodded as alastor handed the baby to her, a small sigh leaving his mouth as he fixed his suit. Looking over to see the baby being passed around. His static screeched to a halt. As soon as the baby got to vox, who was holding her normally. She started to cry. Everyone silent in the room as the baby was passed on to velvette. Who was surprisingly good with calming her down. As soon as she got to valentino tho he didn't know what to do, grimacing as he held the child up like simba. Alastor quickly took the baby and glared at valentino, holding her tight. "Now may we start the meeting? Thank you.”

[lethalchiralium]

hii your bio says that requests are open, so, if you don't mind, can i request a simon x reader where reader is also part of the 141 and got severely hurt, and turns out she's pregnant with simon's baby (they are together) but because of her injuries she lost the child? maybe they didn't know that she's pregnant. thank you love💞

hi!! i LOVE this prompt, so sorry it took so long lol

bring heaven down just for you | simon riley x wife!reader

cw: mentions of injury, blood, miscarriages

The car accident was extreme, even for the 141. They weren’t expecting to get T-boned in a city street, trying to make their escape, but it was short lived. You didn’t remember much, being in the backseat with your seatbelt off, on “follower” duty - pistol in hand, watching if anyone was tailing the escape. Price in the driver’s seat, Gaz in passenger, and Soap and Ghost were already at the safe house.

You remembered the car rolling, throwing you around like a ragdoll. Your head slammed against the roof of the car and then darkness took over, at least until you remembered hearing Price’s yelling. The way the straps on your vest were tugged and the blood curdling scream that left you, the explosion of pain in your leg, your shoulder, your abdomen - it woke you up instantly, and adrenaline seemed to kick in ten fold. Barely a glance down and you could see why pulling you wouldn’t be a good idea - so many glass shards in your body, deep red blood bubbled up and trickled out, you felt your body internally gag. You looked to the sound of gunshots, seeing Gaz firing off round after round, and soon silence followed. A slow blink, you found yourself crying out in pain in the street, Price knelt beside you, administering aid as you heard faint sirens. Soon, your eyes closed then opened again, finding yourself being loaded into an ambulance - Gaz and Price covered in blood. Panic surged through you, but so did the pain. A low rumble of pain escaped your chest, Gaz reached forwards and took your right hand - where did you gun go? - and held it gently, saying something you couldn’t quite hear.

A hand settled on your good shoulder, the one opposite to Gaz, you looked to your captain, now able to hear the siren wailing as he spoke, “Who do we need to call for you?”

A breath filled your lungs, only for you to cough and squeal out in pain. A moment more and you were able to grit out, “My husband.”

“What’s his name-“

The ambulance screeched to a halt, the back doors flung open, and your gurney was taken out. The IV in your elbow that was placed while you had passed out now seemed to prickle with pain, one nurse who walked beside your moving gurney drew a vile of blood before taking off, the rest of the medical crew pushed you into what you assumed was a trauma bay. You wouldn’t know, you’re not a medic. You’re just a sergeant, an infiltration specialist.

A doctor came in, placing a plastic bracelet on your wrist as you looked around with a heavy head. Price was with you, Gaz wasn’t… Where’s Soap and Ghost? Will they be here soon?

It felt like only two second passed when the nurse came back to your gurney, she was the one who took your blood. The other nurses still fluttered about, getting you ready for surgery as your captain stayed by your side. She had a somber look in her eye. There was a gentle hand on your shoulder, the good one, you paid no mind to Price - moving it to get his touch off of you. You didn’t want him there, you wanted-

“I have your test results, Miss.” You heard Price take a step back, the pain in your body began to feel fuzzy as the sedatives kicked in from your IV. The nurse stood beside you, holding onto the bed rail and you felt unease bubble into your lungs. In your adrenaline delirious state, you could still make out the look of the nurse’s face - the bearer of bad news. “Are you aware that you are pregnant?”

“I’m not pregnant.” It escaped like a whine, grabbing the nurse’s wrist with what little strength you had, your stomach twitched. “My husband and I have been- been trying for years. I- I can’t be.”

“You are, test confirms it. But we have to take you into surgery now, and I’m unsure if it will be viable after this.”

A growl emitted from your throat, “Save it. Save it. Save my baby. Please.”

There was a grim look on her face, and the doctor beside her. She stepped in, a calm look in her own eye as she spoke, “We’ll do the best we can, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

A hiccup escaped you, pain leaving you and your consciousness slipping away too, “Please. Save my baby.”

The doctor only nodded before she left, and the nurse gave you a somber look before leaving too. You couldn’t even look at your captain, the man you would have always looked to your guidance. But this… This was something you had to navigate alone and with your husband.

You were only awake for a few more moments, the anesthesiologist saying something about needing Price to leave, that you would be out soon. Your eyes grew heavy, you refused to fight it. Giving in meant not having to worry about losing the chance you’ve wanted.

When you woke up, pain encompassed you. A groan escaped you, your eyes opened and scanned the left side of the room, the light above your bed not being able to flood your room with light. It was dark outside, the stars still perched in the sky, your eyes moved right and you could see the dark mass of someone just entering through the door.

“Simon,” You whined his name, tears escaping your eyes in fat globs, your one good hand reaching for him. He was instantly by your side, hand gently moving from strands from your face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Whatever for?” He murmured as he pressed his lips to your temple. “You survived. Why would you be-“

Your jaw set, the words spoken like kerosene, meant to burn yourself alive. “I was pregnant.” The raw sob that escaped you made you push your head back, looking your husband in the eye as you sobbed from your injuries and the loss of what could’ve been. “I didn’t- I didn’t know and- and it’s gone.”

Your husband froze, you watched every muscle inside of him contract as he gazed at you. You watched, in such agony, as you husband’s forehead fell to your bandaged one, his warm hands holding your face and his own tears sprung from his face to mix with yours. And all you could hear was what sounded like howling - loud and heavy sobs, ones that would make your body tremble. It was just hard to realize that they were coming from you, you only realized it when Simon’s hand went around to your lower back, trying to move you towards him, trying to hold you in a way that could truly comfort you. It was useless. Useless.

“It’s gonna be okay.” A meaningless saying now. It hasn’t meant a fucking thing since your third miscarriage in your second year of marriage. It hasn’t meant anything since you had to stop counting your losses and began to pretend that your husband wasn’t fucking destroyed that you couldn’t give him the one thing you want to. A family.

How could it be okay when you couldn’t do this one fucking thing that your body was made to do?

“We’ll be okay.” He murmured against your skin, your good hand holding onto his jacket sleeve, your head pounded as the sobs grew louder, turning into wails. As much as it hurt your throat, it hurt more now that after three years since your last one, you had a chance. And it was ripped from you, ripped from your hands before you even had a chance to understand why it had been given to you. A chance to show your husband that you could be good too, that you weren’t like your past either.

“It- It hurt- hurts-“ Was all you could manage, and you felt Simon’s sob shake you, burn you, crucify you. God, this must be Hell for him, because it’s more than Hell for you to think about the pain he’s in.

“I know, my girl, I know it must hurt.”

A zap of pain in your belly and you were crying more, the wails quieting to you begging him for medicine. Tears watered your vision of your Simon as he pressed the call button, brushing your hair back before looking you in the eye again. Even if you couldn’t see too well from the tears and the pain, you could imagine his velvet brown eyes - you could feel his tears as he brushed your hair back over and over, his words rumbled through you like a prayer.

“Our time’ll come soon, baby. And I’m so sorry that it wasn’t now, n’I know that’s gotta hurt so bad.” A kiss and then his cheek was pressed to your hair, you could hear the nurse come in, and more voices enter your room. There was no reason to fight your urge to close your eyes, let the tears fall, and listen to him. “But I’ll be here. I’ll always be here, jus’ like every time before, and any time after. I’ll be here, even if I have to kill a thousand men to get here. I will be here.”

[the-dormant-ocean]

Dean gets hexed causing him to have no inhibitions. It brings to light his obsession with Sam and it gets weird really fast.

Sam wakes up in the middle of the night and almost dies of a heart attack. Dean is in his room, sitting on his bed and lovingly watching him sleep. "It’s just me, Sammy. Go back to sleep. " "No! What is wrong with you???"

Sam is back from his run and tells Dean he's going to take a shower. "I'm coming with." "Coming with me where???" "To the shower." "You're also going to take a shower?" "Yeah, with you. Are you alright?" "With me???? You want to shower together???" "Yeah, why?" "WHY???"

They are reminiscing about the past, and suddenly, Dean brings up a surgery Sam had to get after he got hurt during a hunt. "Some stranger had his hands inside you and fastened your bones in place with metal rods! I never got to do that! I've reset bones at best and it still drives me insane to this day! It's just not fair!" Sam just stares at him, weirded the fuck out, because how the fuck are you jealous of a surgeon who was just doing his job???

Dean is just drinking beer, and suddenly, he just starts saying the wildest shit like it's absolutely normal. "You know I've always wanted you to mouth-to-mouth feed me bee-" "STOP! PLEASE I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT!" " Here, come in this jar so I can use your load as creamer in my coffee as a substi-" "DEAN WHAT THE FUCK?!"

Sam's voicemails to Rowena are escalating in urgency because shit he knew that Dean was way more codependent than him but he did not know it was this bad. After the hex is lifted, Dean barely leaves his room for a week because he's dying of embarrassment. How is Dean supposed to explain away the things he said to his brother?

[snowballseal]

Doctor's Orders

Summary: There's no messing around with your health, and Zayne makes sure you know that. Just a little spoof ^w^

Word Count: 680

Warnings: like, light (not really) dom/sub themes - listen listen listen

---

“As your doctor, I recommend that you do not participate in any active missions for a week, until this heals,” Zayne says, voice level and professional as he finishes bandaging your shoulder.

While in the midst of a battle, you had lost track of a smaller wanderer. It had taken advantage of your focus on the larger targets to latch onto your shoulder. Just your luck, the little sucker had claws, leaving you with pretty deep gashes down your upper back.

Safe to say, Zayne was less than happy to come back from a surgery and find you perched on his desk, sporting a guilty smile and blood-speckled bandages.

“It’s really not that bad, Zayne,” you try your best to reassure him, carefully flexing your arm. “It barely even hurts!”

“That’s because I administered a local anesthetic before stitching them closed,” he explains tersely, removing his medical gloves and throwing them away. “In a few hours, you will likely be in more pain. I’ll prescribe you a mild pain reliever as well as an antibiotic, you can pick them up at the pharmacy on your way home.”

Unwisely, you flex your arm again and hum, “Hmm, I should probably head back to the office, actually. I feel bad leaving Xavier with all those reports to fill out.”

Zayne pauses, those green eyes narrowing on you. You almost flinch under their intensity, unable to ignore the way your heart leaps to your throat. It’s a look you recognize all too well.

“I’ll go home right after, I promise,” you try to convince him with another big smile.

“And then you will take it easy for a week?”

You hesitate. A small frown pulls at the corners of his lips, his gaze turning impossibly sharper.

“Will you not?”

That should have been enough to let you know you’re poking the tiger, but you try to get up anyways, eyes looking anywhere but him, “Well…You know, things have just been really crazy recently, what with the increase in wanderer attacks, and it would be really irresponsible-”

You’re cut by a firm grip on your chin. Zayne is suddenly standing too, so close, his cool breath brushing your lips as he forces you to look up at him. You freeze, eyes going wide, heat creeping up your neck. You’re standing so close that you can feel his warmth, and you can see the specks of hazel in his eyes. They glint down at you darkly, pinning you in place.

“Let me be clear, darling. As your doctor, I recommend you take it easy for at least a week. As your partner-” He steps closer, forcing you to fall back on the couch again. He follows, arm bracing beside your head, knees pressing down on either side of you, until you're effectively trapped under his larger frame. Your breath sticks in your throat. “-I will let you know that if you consider putting yourself at risk this week, you will face punishment. Am I understood?”

Oh. You let out a shaky breath, nodding meekly against his fingers. Zayne’s eyes narrow even further. A squeak escapes you when he pinches your side.

“Use your words, darling.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” you rush out, squirming away from any more pinches. “I understand. No wanderers. No fighting. I’ll take it easy.”

That finally gets Zayne to ease up a little. His grip on your chin moves to your cheek, his thumb tracing over your flushed skin. Pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead, he murmurs a low, “Good girl. Now go get your prescriptions and finish your work. I expect to see you home, on time, for dinner.”

It seems the thought of food is enough to make you perk up again, switching gears completely, as if nothing had happened, “Ooh, could you make fancy ramen, again? Please?”

Your unbridled excitement makes the doctor’s expression soften. A low chuckle passing his lips, he leans down to brush your noses together in a gentle eskimo kiss, “Anything you want, my dear. I will take care of you tonight.”

“Yes!”

---

This would probably be the only way I ever consider my health, low key

[schmergo]

If I could give one piece of life advice to my fellow humans, it would be this highly specific little chestnut: "If you ever sprain your ankle, get medical care."

One of the most common things I've heard from older people than myself is, "Oh yeah, I twisted my ankle in (insert grade of school here) and it's never been the same." Or, "I have a bad ankle. I can't tell you how many times I've sprained it." And one of the most common things I've heard from younger people is some variation on, "Yeah, I think I just twisted my ankle. I think I have some old crutches from high school at my parents' house. I'll just use those for a few days."

I didn't learn this until after I sprained my ankle last year, but 20% of ankle sprains lead to chronic ankle instability, which was grimly defined by my doctor as, "an unending cycle of ankle sprains."

Another thing I didn't fully understand is that "sprain" is an umbrella term for any of those ligament injuries. Yeah, you could simply stretch the ligament-- twist it. Or you could tear it. Or you could completely sever it, and those are all sprains. If you're not a doctor, it's likely hard to tell what degree of sprain you have. The worse the sprain, the higher the chance of it healing weird and becoming unstable. If you are having trouble putting weight on your ankle and it's not feeling better the next day, please get it checked out!

I know medical care is expensive and many of us don't have health insurance, but it might cost you more in the long run if you don't get care for a hurt ankle. Otherwise you might spend a lifetime of having to get MORE ankle injuries checked out, missing work or social opportunities due to ankle injury, having to limit exercise, surgeries later in life, and more.

When I hurt my ankle and foot last year, I assumed the broken foot bone would be the bigger concern, but my treatment plan was almost entirely centered around the ankle ligament tear. My doctor said that was the more serious injury and the more finicky bit to heal. I worry when I hear a friend mention they sprained their ankle and were just treating it at home, 'trying to stay off it as much as I can.' That usually means a few days, but I had to stay completely off mine for 4 weeks, followed by a walking boot, a brace, and months of physical therapy. It was intense!

Ankles are annoying because they support your entire darn body and you don't realize how much you need them until you hurt one. So that is the one nugget of wisdom I hope to leave all of you with!