#i know the splint is vital

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #30

part 1 || part 2

xxx hospital bed

"Is he breathing? Oh, fuck, Louisa, is he--"

"Just shut up for a second! Let me...Oh, thank Christ. He's got a pulse, he's alive! Where the fuck is the ambulance?"

"They're coming. Now that they know the scene is clear and they aren't going to get blown up, they should be here any minute. You're sure he's alive? He looks--"

"He's alive, Shirley! Come help me untie him! Oh, god, River."

"Jesus, that's a lot of blood...I really don't think he's breathing."

"Shit. Help me get him out of this chair, we need to lay him down!"

"You know CPR?"

"Yes. Find out where that ambulance is, will you? ...Come on, don't do this to me, River. You do not get to do this. Come on."

xxx

Louisa jerks awake, heart hammering wildly for a second as she gets her bearings. And then she takes a deep breath, slumping down in her chair. Visitors aren't usually allowed in ICU for long periods like this, but Lamb had pulled strings. Officially, Louisa is there to provide security for River. The man who had landed him here won't actually be causing him any more trouble—Louisa had seen to that—but she still can't bear the thought of leaving River on his own. She remembers the feeling and the sound, the awful snap, of his ribs cracking beneath her hands and shudders.

He looks better now than he had when they found him, which is really saying something considering he looks like shit. There are dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks, scruffy and unshaven, look sunken in. But he's not so pale as he had been, and his lips aren't blue. That's something, at least.

A nurse comes in after a few minutes to check River's vitals and surgical incisions. She looks over at Louisa with a big smile when she gets done, and Louisa has to fight the urge to roll her eyes at the cheeriness that so obviously doesn't belong here.

"Everything looks great. I imagine it won't be too long now before Mr. Cartwright's moved out of ICU," she says, her voice just above a whisper. "Do you need anything?"

A year long vacation? New job? Friends that don't nearly get themselves killed every few months?

"No," Louisa says. "I'm fine."

"How's your hand feeling?"

Louisa looks down at the bulky splint on her right hand, then glances at River's leg before looking up at the nurse.

"Better than his leg is going to feel."

The nurse winces in sympathy. "He's got a long recovery ahead of him, that's for sure. But he's got good friends to help him along the way, so I'm sure he'll turn out alright."

"I'm his security," Louisa says, and the nurse nods, an exaggeratedly serious expression on her face.

"Of course, of course," she says, and winks before going to check on the next patient.

This time, Louisa does roll her eyes.

xxx

River hurts. That's the first thing he's aware of. There's a sharp pain in his gut, and a deeper, more intense ache in his leg. He groans. Everything else sort of filters in slowly – the sensation of oxygen tickling at his nose, the stingy itch of IV needles, the antiseptic smell of hospital, and a familiar voice saying his name.

"River, you awake?"

River grimaces and forces his eyes open. Louisa is leaning forward in a chair next to him, her left hand gripping his right one.

"My fucking leg," River rasps, his whole body tensing at the intensity of the pain. "Ow."

"Here," Louisa says, placing a small plastic remote into River's hand. "The doctor says you can press this when the pain gets bad. It's all calibrated so you can't get too high a dose."

River presses the button, face screwed up in pain. "I don't think it's--" And then, relief as the pain recedes to a dull background noise. He sinks back into the pillows with a small sigh. "Oh, that's better. Thank you."

He looks over at Louisa again and frowns. There's a bluey-purple bruise over her left eye and another at her jaw. "You okay?"

Louisa rolls her eyes and almost smiles. "You should see the other guy."

"I mean it."

"Yeah, well, so do I." Louisa lifts her right hand. Her pinkie and ring finger are splinted together in a clunky brace of some sort. There's a hint of pride when she says, "Boxer's fracture. Anyway, I should be asking you that question. Are you okay?"

"Better now that you showed me this." He waves the remote at her and this time she does smile, shaking her head.

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it. It's just to tide you over until they can do surgery on that leg."

River hums in response. He's feeling a little strange, like things are a bit hazy at the edges. Soft. Probably it's whatever meds the magical button has pushed into his bloodstream. Even with the drugs, though, memories start to piece together – being hit in the crosswalk. Being tied to that chair. Being stabbed.

Just in case, I'm gonna stay awake as long as I can.

"You guys came," he says. The words feel...mushy, somehow, as he says them. He doesn't let that stop him. "You saved me. I don't remember...Was I awake?"

Louisa's smile falters, the corners of her mouth twitching, and she blinks rapidly, looking away from him. "Uh, no, River. You weren't."

"What happened?"

Louisa sighs, still not looking at him. "You almost died. It was a trap – which we knew, by the way, before you told us. There were explosives at the entrances of the building where they took you. If we'd opened either door, the whole place would've gone up. We had to call in a bomb disposal unit, while I knew that you were inside bleeding to de--" She cuts herself off and takes a deep breath, finally turning to face him. "But we got to you in time."

River has the vague impression that there's something else, something she's keeping back, but he doesn't press it.

"Well thanks...Whose face did you break your hand on?"

"Oh, this," Louisa says, lifting said hand at him. "His name was Gabriel Rakes. He's the one who stabbed you. It was Coe that figured out where he and the others were. He knew they'd want to see their plan unfold in person. Something about the theatricality of it, I think. Anyway, you don't have to worry about any of them. Assuming he wakes up, Rakes will be joining the others deep in the basement of Regent's Park."

River smiles at the idea of the people who'd done this being stuck in tiny cells for the rest of their lives.

"Good."

Sleep is starting to tug at his consciousness and he blinks heavily.

"You can go to sleep," Louisa says.

"I don't need to," River responds. When he blinks again, though, it turns out to be much easier to just keep his eyes closed and he drifts off anyway.

xxx to be continued...

[k3igol0ve]

"YOU'RE A WEAPON, AND WEAPONS DON'T WEEP." ᥫ᭡. KID!HAWKS ⁀➴GENRE: Hurt, no comfort. Warnings: Abuse, threats, child soldier, trauma, negligence.

"Weapons don't weep." , they are to be incapable of showing emotions. They are trained to be perfect; a cut above the rest, gazed upon with saccharine smiles no matter the circumstances. Human emotions are a vital flaw.

Keigo Takami does not remember the last time he weeped, let alone allow an ounce of emotion slip. He doesn't remember how long its been since he had inhaled fresh air, his senses clouded with the burnt smell of smoke from cigarettes littered on the floor, the strong smell of cheap alcohol wafted through the already pungent air. He was nothing less than a caged bird, how ironic. Tomie Takami. Mindless murmurs, unrecognisable and almost incoherent; spilled from his mother as she blankly stared into the luminescent TV, her mind was nothing but radio static. Almost as if she was a shell, a husk and a memory of a human. 'Takami.' His own mother had murmured, her tone dull and almost lifeless. To Keigo, it was a silent warning; he knew it all too well. The stench of alcohol overwhelmed the worn down 'shack'. Takami was paranoid, hysteria driven. Eyes blown out with hatred and anxiety, he stared at his loathed son. That horrifying look etching itself into Keigo's mind. "WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME FOR?" His voice shifted into a harsh growl, almost a gurgle as he looked at his son with frenzied eyes. Keigo was unable to find the voice in him to respond, eyes shifting around the confined area. His father was fuelled with anger directed towards his undeserving son, violence was a relief to his paranoia. Before Keigo was able to register, Takami's leg connected to his side; harshly kicking him away as Keigo hits the wall with a thud, his face barely getting scraped by the splints of the disintegrating rotting wood, yet he held his Endeavor plush tightly as if protecting him from the impact. "USELESS." His father spat at him. Barely a whisper, he muttered a broken apology under his breath, eyes casted downwards as his father stomped away, cursing crudely as he stomped away.

Truly, it was a blessing to Keigo when his dreams became reality. He'd escape his confines of his rusted cage. He flew right out of a rusted cage, into a glided one. A cage nonetheless. An offer that all his dreams would come true, they'd make him a hero.

"I just wanna see you flourish and I know you'll make it far." He was too young to know what he wanted. [Lyn Lapid- Producer Man] Keigo didn't exist, only Hawks did. The Hero Public Safety Commission worked in a unique way. They took advantage of his emotional wellbeing. It couldn't generally classify as abuse because he had done everything on his own accord. They played his emotions like a puppet on strings, until he himself was incapable of determining his own wellbeing. Selfless.

" You'd make your mother proud. " or " You'll be as strong as Endeavor! " Praise; was something foreign to him, especially when the words his mother had uttered bore itself into his mind; " What are your wings even good for? " He strived towards praise, pushing himself forward for false praises. He craved validation. They had played with his dreams until they had dimmed, then later diminished. Manipulation eased itself into his system. After all, he did believe he owed them his life. You can't release a domesticated bird into the wild after raising them since young. They'd be lost; he'd be lost without them. The commission had fully taken advantage of this, his complaints went without notice once he was secured into their system. It didn't matter, he was trapped with them. He had nowhere to go. Like birds, they gave him the essential to survive, a false sense of security while they trained him to do tricks, their dirty work. ' Everything was okay, he would become a hero. If anything he should be grateful. '

What they were doing were unorthodox. They were robbing his childhood in broad daylight, yet he didn't exactly view himself as the victim. Naively, he takes their best interest at heart. The only emotion he was capable of feeling was guilt, mind eating paralysing guilt. The less he trained, the chances of someone dying increased. The soreness, ache, or burning pain didn't matter if it meant someone could perish just because he wasn't good enough or fast enough. Was he enough? Guilt wasn't an emotion, it was motivation. His role in society came first, the greater good came first. His own behaviour was nothing less than self destructing. The HSPC does everything without ever lifting a finger. His own desires were selfish thoughts. The commission has clipped his wings and he hadn't even realised it.

Emotions are such fickle things.

[hillbillyoracle]

I would LOVE a post on putting together first aid kits, I always read about it and get overwhelmed and short out so maybe if someone whose writing I already know i can parse explains it I'll actually finish putting mine together :|

I might go one to write something more involved later but I thought I'd jot down my initial thoughts here.

--

Let me preface all of this by saying I don't have extensive medical training. I got my CNA license like a decade ago and used to be certified for basic search and rescue. So take all of this with a grain of salt and cross reference with other sources.

First Aid Kit supplies tend to fall into a few categories:

Supplies that help you get someone to emergency care

Supplies that help you get someone to primary care

Supplies that help you self treat without seeking care

All of these categories can go pretty deep and it's easy to get overwhelmed. Don't let perfect be the enemy of the good.

Supplies in each category can be helpful in other categories. I've just grouped them according to their primary use case in my personal kits.

Getting Someone to Emergency Care

The most important aspect of responding to an emergency is knowledge so keeping an updated First Aid/CPR certification is ideal even if you don't need it for work or another position.

If you can't make it to a class, the Red Cross has a first aid app that you can download and review. While 911 can guide you how to respond to some emergencies over the phone, it's always helps to be familiar with best practices beforehand.

Aside from that a lot of supplies can be on the more expensive side.

Some supplies I included in some of my kits:

Tourniquet

SAM splints + medical tape

Quick Clot (cloth, not powder)

Trauma Sheers

Steri-strips

Aspirin

If you don't have the money for these supplies, don't fret. Cheaper things that would be helpful in similar situations would be

ace bandages (improvised tourniquet)

safety pins (improvised sling)

washcloths and hand towels (to aid compression)

Getting Someone to Primary Care

Though depending on where you live and how the health care system works these could overlap with getting someone to urgent care (step below emergency care).

The import part of this category is twofold - you need information to give a primary care/urgent care physician to help diagnose and treat and you need to keep someone comfortable/from getting worse.

Keep a Record

If you take nothing else from this post, it's this - take notes. The format is simple - date, time, observation. Don't worry if you observation is "dumb" or you don't know the right words; any changes you think could be noteworthy, write down.

Take it with you when you or the person you're caring for goes in to be seen. Jot down a brief summary of the visit (name of facility, name of provider, symptoms discussed, diagnosis, differential diagnosis, plan of care/follow up) in case you need to seek care with a different physician (specialist, ER, etc).

Taking Vitals

Ideally, you'll want to be able to check a person's vitals. So these pieces of equipment can help:

Thermometer*

Pulse Oximeter

Automatic blood pressure cuff

While I recommend all of this, if you can only get one of these, I'd pick an oral thermometer personally since it's very difficult to tell the difference between different stages of a fever with your hand alone and can be found for pretty cheap. Be sure to wash it off after each use so as not to spread gems.

If you can't purchase the others, make sure you know how to take a pulse accurately, count respirations, and know the signs of low oxygen and blood pressure issues.

Keeping Someone Comfortable

This greatly depends on what a person is experiencing, but in general you'll want to fill what you can of these:

Painkiller

Fever reducer

Anti-histamine

Cough suppressant

Rash cream

Sleep support

I cannot recommend specific ones for each category since everyone has such specific needs. If you're concerned about picking the right ones for you, your doctor can make recommendations.

Fluids and rest are generally helpful in keeping someone comfortable and stable.

Treating Someone at Home

This is where the band-aids live. Most of what people think of when they think first-aid tend to be things in this category.

This is also one of the most difficult ones to give specifics on because people vary in their needs so widely. What might be a fairly common occurrence for me might be rare for you and vice versa.

So instead of theorizing what you might need, I'll talk about what I have in mine. Hopefully seeing my thought process helps you.

Bandages

When bandaging a wound, you need to clean it and then put on an absorbent layer and a cover to keep out debris.

I use alcohol pads to clean wounds and band-aids (since they are absorbent layer and cover in one) for small wounds. Most cuts and scraps only need this.

For larger wounds I keep some gauze pads and cohesive wrap to cut to size.

Ointments

Some wounds need further treatment. Some things need treatment to prevent them becoming wounds.

I keep triple antibiotic to put on wounds that are at a higher risk for becoming or have become infected.

I keep sting relief pads for insect stings and bites to prevent me scratching at them into wounds.

I keep burn gel for burns (including sunburns).

I keep hydrocortisone and calamine lotion for rashes.

I keep lavender balm for sleep/muscle tension and muscle balm for muscle strains.

For Blisters

This gets it own little section in each of my kits since I get blisters pretty often. Remember folks, the sooner you catch a hotspot or blister, the easier it is to treat.

I keep hydrocolloid bandages for blisters and athletic tape for hot spots. A lot of them.

If they open, then they're effectively a wound and I treat them similarly. But generally I try to prevent that.

Miscellaneous

I keep a tick remover (card style) because I find it easier than tweezers (though I have those too).

I keep instant cold compress packs - especially in our "sport" kit that's in the car my partner takes to her full contact sport. Her most common injuries have been jammed fingers and nail bent back - cold packs are great for both. They're also great for treating heat exhaustion, especially when you're away from a building with good AC.

In a similar vein, I specifically have several finger SAM splints coming in for that kit.

Gloves. Seriously they're so useful, I use them all the time. Dying my hair, chopping up spicy peppers, using cleaning products that might make me break out, keeping my hand clean for treating a wound, sexy times - they're good for all sorts of things.

12cc syringe in our sport kit for filling with water and flushing out bigger wounds (like scrapes from falls) away from home.

I'm probably forgetting some other things but I think this covers most of it.

Conclusion

I know this is a lot. There's no need to go out and get things all at once.

I started collecting supplies slowly when I was in college. I just established a box as my first aid kit and decided it would always live under my bathroom sink. When stuff came up, I grabbed supplies for it and then kept the extras (throwing out the medications as they expired).

If you make a list for yourself, you can grab things proactively when you have a little left over in your budget or they're on sale. Prioritize things based on what you think you're most likely to use.

Need to start small? A box of bandages, oral thermometer, painkiller/fever reducer, and an antihistamine are better than nothing and a great start to build on once you have more resources.

I hope this helps someone out!

[jinxquickfoot]

@badthingshappenbingo prompt: Rescue Mission

Find the fic on Ao3

“And you’re sure Romanoff won’t break?”

Clint watches Fury straighten up to his full height, his one eye staring down Senator Stern with the force of a bulldozer. “She’s a former Russian super spy and presently one of the most skilled agents in this organization. What do you think, Senator?”

Stern sinks back into his chair, looking around at the gathered mix of SHIELD and CIA in the meeting room. “Then I think we have our answer. This information exists in two places. Here,” he places the hard drive on the table in front of him, “and in Romanoff’s head. And if Romanoff doesn’t talk, we can decree the information safe.”

Clint lets the arrow tip he’s fiddling with sink into his palm, letting the sharp pain distract him from the urge to punch Stern and every other suit in the room who is haggling over whether Natasha’s life was worth the expense of a rescue mission.

“Need I remind you,” Fury says, and something settles in Clint when he hears the barely disguised outrage behind the words. “That Agent Romanoff is valued for more than whatever government secrets she has obtained. That she risked her life to send you that information.”

Stern isn’t cowed. “She is deep behind enemy lines, on a mission she chose to undertake despite knowing the risks. If we attempt to rescue her, not only do we risk losing more men and more resources, but we prove to the enemy just how vital this information is.” He pats the hard drive again. “The intelligence is safe and in our hands. The matter is closed.”

As quietly as he can, Clint slides his chair away from the table. No one so much as glances at him as he slips towards the kitchenette at the rear of the room.

Fury isn’t ready to let it rest. “I already told you—there are plenty of agents at SHIELD who would be more than willing to volunteer for this mission.”

Stern snorts, unimpressed. “Please don’t tell me you mean the Avengers. If you send your team of super-freaks over there, we risk war, Fury.”

Clint pours himself a cup of coffee, taking a sip. Today’s batch isn’t actually terrible. Shame.

“I can offer a rescue team far more subtle than an alien god, a rage monster, and Tony Stark,” Fury replies dryly, his next words disdainful. “At no extra cost to you, Senator.”

Clint turns around just in time to see Stern shake his head. “You’re out of your jurisdiction. It’s too much to risk for one asset who went and got herself captured. Romanoff is a professional, she knows that. She sacrificed herself for the good of the country, and she has our gratitude. But we have the information here now, where it’s safe. We can’t risk changing that.”

“Because the only other copy is in Romanoff’s head,” Fury fires back. If he’s noticed Clint sneaking around the meeting table towards the senator, he doesn’t say a word about it. “And it will die with her.”

“Unfortunate,” Stern offers, sounding completely unbothered. “But necessary in the grand scheme of—”

He’s so absorbed in making his statement that he doesn’t even notice Clint has crept up behind him until Clint empties the entire cup of coffee over the hard drive.

Stern leaps to his feet with an undignified yelp lunging forward to grab the now-sopping hard drive. “What did you just do?”

Clint shrugs, his lips twitching as he sees Fury stifle a laugh. “Now there’s only one copy of the information,” he states, twirling the empty mug in his fingers. “Guess you’re going to have to make the effort to rescue Romanoff after all.”

“I assume you know the sensitive nature of what you have learned, Agent Romanoff.”

Every part of her still hurts, but Natasha is determined not to show that. She didn’t in front of her captors, and she certainly won’t reveal any weaknesses here. “I’m aware, Senator.”

“Then I can trust this will not be passed onto anyone else?”

As answer, Natasha raises her bandaged hand, splinted and stitched back together after its encounter with a hammer. “I think you can trust me not to talk.”

“Are we done here?” Fury says. He’s sitting to her right, having chosen to take that seat as opposed to leering over the other side of the table with Stern. On her side, as always. “You have what you wanted, Stern.”

“Indeed. Onto the next mission. Speaking of.” He leans forward, and Natasha does not trust the glint in his eyes. “I require some reconnaissance done in Alaska. Shouldn’t take longer than six weeks.”

Natasha’s heart sinks. She knew there would be some kind of punishment, some kind of power play following the events in Russia. She doubts the mission is one that will get her hurt, but pure reconnaissance missions are their own kind of torture. Nothing but time, and nothing to do but think. Still, if it’ll get Stern off SHIELD’s back, she’ll pay the penance. “When do I leave?”

That glint in Stern’s eye ignites. “I think there’s some confusion, Agent Romanoff. Who said anything about sending you?”

“Are you lost, Romanoff?”

“What, am I not allowed to visit my friend?”

Tony narrows his eyes at her, up to his elbows in mechanical parts. “This is highly suspicious behavior.”

Natasha nudges aside a stack of equipment so she can perch on a nearby bench. “It’s a social visit, Stark. You know what those are, right?”

“So you’re missing your shadow, then.” He softens. “I’m sure Barton’s fine. They have coffee and pizza in Alaska.”

“Yes, and he was sent there by a very powerful person who knows I have extremely dangerous information in my head. A very powerful person who went out of his way to prove he knows exactly how to hurt me.”

Tony pauses in his work. “You know,” he says lightly. “JARVIS can theoretically get into some pretty secure places. Bank accounts. Private photos. Browser history on less than savory websites.”

“Sounds illegal.”

“Which is why I said theoretically.” Tony considers, drumming a screwdriver against the bench. “Otherwise I could scrounge up an SI emergency that just so happens to require freaky good eyesight and circus skills.”

Natasha reaches across the workbench to take his hand. “Thank you,” she says, meaning it. “But I already talked to Fury. He says best to let Stern restore his ego, or it’s going to bite us in the ass later.”

Tony exhales, looking as though he’s about to argue before dropping it. “If you’re going to hang out in here, don’t touch anything.”

Natasha manages a smile. “We’ll see.”

“So. How boring was it?”

A stack of plans is dumped on the workbench, and Clint has the satisfaction of watching Tony Stark be impressed as he leafs through the various trick arrow designs Clint’s spent the past six weeks doodling.

“That boring, then.” Tony plucks one from the pile, raising an eyebrow. “You’re a lunatic, Barton. I’ll have it done by the weekend.”

After six weeks of waiting, Clint has to wait another few hours before Natasha is back from her own mission. He camps out in her rooms at the Tower, delighting in the luxuries of a decent shower and a bed that isn’t of the shitty motel variety as he waits for her to come back.

The first words out of her mouth when she walks in the door are, “You’re such an idiot.”

“Missed you too, Nat.” He sits up on her bed, taking her in. Most of the injuries from Russia seemed to have healed, at least. “I’d do it again. Even if the consequences were worse.”

Natasha closes and locks the door behind her. “Then you’re definitely an idiot.”

Clint’s voice goes sour. “You should have heard the way they were talking about you. It was gross.”

She crosses the room so she can sit beside him on the bed. “I knew the risks.”

“I don’t care.” Clint reaches down to take her hand. “One day I’m going to punch Stern in the face.”

Natasha offers him a smile. “Not if I beat you to it.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do this.”

Rounding up HYDRA has been exhausting. SHIELD is gone, and the Avengers are doing what they can on their own, but HYDRA has sunk its claws into the furthest reaches of the Earth. It’s proving very difficult to pry them up.

The entire team is run ragged but, when they had located the hiding out place of a certain senator, Clint had enthusiastically volunteered.

He could have incapacitated him straight away, but Clint let him run. Just a little. Just enough to see the hope drop from his face when he realized who was standing in front of him. “Barton—”

Clint’s fist catches him across the lip, knocking him to his knees. “Sorry, Senator, but I’m sure you understand,” Clint remarks as Stern spits blood. “It’s necessary in the grand scheme of things.”

He grabs Stern by the shoulders, hauling him back to Avengers HQ. He doesn’t take a second hit, though.

He’ll save that for Natasha.

[pandorafallz]

Lest We Rest Upon Our Graves | C5

Alma was cleared from Nalin’s medical care with a few conditions; her left wrist sporting a new modified medical watch to keep track of her vitals which would mostly keep track of her oxygen saturation and pulse. She kept a small monitor hidden that kept her brain monitored for now; activity checking and making sure the aneurysm didn’t rupture.

Nalin wanted a larger one fit which would be better but Alma didn’t want the questions. The large set would warp around her head and be visible to everyone so the smaller one that she could hide under her hair did the trick. The main power source and data monitored were practically suckered to the back of her neck (she was convinced the doc used duct tape) and three probes were practically glued to her scalp. Alma was glad her hair was naturally very curly so it took little to hide them. Her scarf kept the monitor wires hidden from behind as an extra level of coverage.

If she suffered from a rupture or a seizure or if her blood pressure got too high, then Nalin’s datapad would get a notification or an alarm, depending on what it was.

Her injured arm was put into a sling for when she was able to go and had to promise to report or log any more nosebleeds; times and lengths to help the monitor to see if it was her brain problem that was causing it or her body in general.

It didn’t escape her how… more distanced people were looking at her now; even new dark looks and whispers but she felt too tired to care as the weight of her little ones felt encumbering as she carried the tray and a trowel with her to the airlock under her left arm. It was time to bury them; she saw little reason to hold it off any longer now she had been cleared.

She fixed on her mask with some difficulties with her splinted arm, hissing a little in the strain but let her arm relax back into the sling as soon as she could. She airily passed a few people on her way but didn’t pay them much attention on her trip before she came to the...horribly familiar sight of her Avatar’s grave.

The tightness in her chest returned as she shakily knelt down beside it. The trowel was dropped and the tray set down before she let her hand touch across the topsoil. It gave her pause as she wondered that if this killed her… would they bury her here beside her other half? An avatar and its driver; curled up side by side. Poetically, it would suit and… she could certainly see them doing that. She never got to choose this site for her burial; very…drab. No trees around for her avatar to provide for or plants around to live well.

She should plant something as well. Maybe a tree could be her grave marker? That would be nice, right? Alma wondered a little as she gently began to dig beside the disturbed soil three little holes; not as deep as her grown given how small the little ones were but she wanted three separate graves for each little one instead of stacking the babies on top of each other. The notion of having four separate graves for one person was almost funny to think about. Almost.  Alma didn’t know her fate to chuckle about it lest risk jinxing it.

Each hole, she dug to be at least a foot deep and set the trowel off to her side and reached for the cold medical tray. Her stomach turned as she lifted the tissue to see the little forms. To her… surprised the little ones were curled up, their form bound with gently woven strings as if it were a traditional Na’vi burial despite being so small. Arms wrapped in, legs crossed and head bowed forwards. The string was massive for the little ones so…it had to have been tedious work to do this.

She’d have to ask who did that for her. Ri’nela had stripped and bound her avatar for burial similarly following So’lek’s instruction but she hadn’t been there for that; her first migraine had set in full swing so she hadn’t left her bed. Ri’nela certainly wouldn’t have done this for her. Not anymore.

It was easier, despite feeling clumsy as she scooped the first up and set it down into the pit, taking a moment to see it rest in the soil before she scooped the earth over the top of it with a heavy heart. The second was just as hard to do, a little more developed so she was extra delicate in making sure the little queue wasn’t stuck to the tissue as she lifted it off and set it into its own resting place and covered it as well.

The third… Alma reached for the tissue again but instead…the tissue came off the tray entirely and made her heart lurch for a moment as she checked the tray but… there was no third.

Alma blinked for a moment, confused. There had been four made in total. She knew that by fact; she had seen the tubes; even her one chosen to be grown to maturity. If… two were dead, then where was the last one?  She craned her head towards the mountain side but it was a lot of effort to go back in to check Nalin wasn’t the type to leave a foetus just…lying around. Especially a dead one. So she had to assume… did the third one survive?

Her memory was…a little hazy. Nalin had been holding one but…she herself had taken the second one out; the one that Kìoetey had snatched from her hands and thrown down. The third had died in the case; the blunt force had damaged the tubing.

Nalin had still been holding a tube, Alma realised. She must have hidden it away to preserve it.

Alma let out a shaky breath, if only slightly relieved but she knew without the security case; it would die. The case was a consistent cooler and monitored the tube well and kept it powered. It was designed as its life support. The tube had its own system in the ends but that was often for when prepping it for full growth. It had to be at a warmer temperature than what the container’s temperature was. Once it warmed up too much, or inconsistently or… hell, without the container to keep the battery charged, the tube would stop working.

She’d still have to check to be fully settled but she found herself relaxing a lot more beside the graves. Even if for a little while; she had that. Something. Not everything was going to be stolen from her hands.

A small spark of hope in the vast void of cold sadness. Alma began to start filling in the redundant grave, but she felt the lumps in her pocket as she shifted.

The beads.

Alma carefully pulled each of the beads out. She had forgotten she had removed these from her hair after her decom shower. They had been meant for her avatar’s hair but…Nalin had locked her out of her link bed shortly after these had been gifted so she had put them into her human hair (replacing the basic one she had put in over a decade before when she was at TAP for decoration sakes) to feel close to the Na’vi, even in her undesired body; to make it feel…closer to feeling Na’vi.

Which was why she took them out.

‘You wore that skin for so long, you forgot your true self underneath. That does not make you Na’vi.’

Alma eyed the beads in her palm but let them roll one by one into the dirt hole.

She felt undeserving of such gifts. She no longer had a Dreamwalker and… everyone told her as much anyway; she was never going to be one of them (even if the avatar lived). Why keep them and look like she was appropriating the culture? Her chances with the Sarentu were gone now.

‘Your promises are worthless. Ashes in your mouth.’

Ri’nela’s words had been a cold splash of water that day. She hadn’t spoken to her directly since then and…it was for the best. Ever the reminder of their losses. Ri'nela was the least violent but... she couldn't put it past her if something came up; just like it had with Kioetey. 

With a sharp movement of the trowel, the rest of the dirt buried the fragments of herself away to rot.

 -

Alma stayed a while at the grave site to mourn those losses a bit before the rain started; which wound up forcing her back in before she was soaked and made her way back through the hideout towards her bunk. She could feel the looks down the back of her neck, or burning into the side of her face as she folded up her blanket and night clothes and shoved them into her duffle and other belongings.

Someone had really turned up the heat, didn’t they?

“Cortez, time to go.” Anqa’s voice echoed, the pilot popping her head around the open doorway of the sleeping area.

“Okay, let me just get my datapad.” She had left that by the computers before the nosebleed had forced her away…never got back to it before the…avatar mess happened. She shouldn’t have left that about.

“Got it right here.” Anqa held it out to her.

Alma blinked in surprise but happily took it. “Thank you?”

Anqa nodded but was very abrupt in taking the lead out to the flight bay. She seemed grumpier than before, Alma noticed as she followed. Did something happen? What else was she to be blamed for now to get this reaction?

Nalin was waiting at the Samson by the time they had got there. Alma allowed the doc to pull down the back of her collar to assess the monitors and connect something to it before her collar was released and her monitor felt a little heavier against her skin by a fraction. Only more noticeable when she turned her head.

“What’s that?” Alma asked, leaning forward as Nalin’s fingers checked the probes under her hair which thankfully hadn’t been dislodged by her mask straps.

“Just a signal booster. When you get to the field lab, this sends the data to the monitor and that’ll relay the data to me. Much more efficient for distance.” Nalin said, satisfied with her work to not need more adjustment. “Dr Reeves is at the Field lab ready. When you wash, make sure to either cover or to have Reeves put these back on. She knows how these work.”

“Alright.”

“I’ll swing down when I’ve got…news. Okay?” Nalin informed, her eyes flickering to Anqa a little in passing as the pilot began to start up the engines.

“Okay.”

“Also, don’t leave your personal datapad around again, Cortez.” Nalin said, more cautiously, “People don’t like what they’ve found on it.”

Her stomach turned a little colder but Alma knew what the doctor was saying before she headed back towards the airlock. Her eyes followed the doc’s form but she felt the looks and…the attitude made more sense; they knew what she had put down when in TAP. The files she had removed from the data drives. Someone had found them, seen them…if everyone knew about it then it was likely they had saved a copy.

Everyone knew what she had tried to hide still.

Fuck.

Uneasily, Alma boarded the Samson, hoping that Anqa wasn’t too pissed at her again, finding herself unable to meet the pilot’s eye as she strapped in.

“W-Where are we going?”

“Horseshoe Mountain Station. Ten-minute flight.” Anqa said, her shoulders relaxing after a moment. “Don’t worry, I don’t strand you anywhere regardless of new…shit you still hid.” She added, noting her apprehensive look and tight grip on her datapad.

Alma didn’t feel all the confident about such a statement but quickly turned her attention outside instead.

 -

Nalin was glad to see Cortez go. A relief to everyone really for that space and she was glad the woman had just been eager to leave to avoid the heat of gossip that had spread from one nosey guy who had spread about Cortez’s TAP reports about the Sarentu…which had pissed off most people who already hated her for being part of the genocide.

It was…in part about what was hidden; they knew her part in TAP now was more clear that she was the teacher and spent most time with the kids. She knew them well better than Mercer or Harding so it made the notes, more tragic but the input of Additional notes was what angered a few of the scientists a lot more. Some things couldn’t be edited; only added to after a certain amount of time. Cortez had said stuff in clear Pro-TAP in her main notes but added kinder and caring words to her additional notes. Meaning she had doctored her original work sometime after the fact to present herself as more anti-TAP. Which had meant she knew enough of what she was doing; enabling the abuse and covering her own ass, even if she didn’t see or intend for it to be like that. It still wound up hurting the Sarentu kids for years.

Nalin herself wasn’t a fan herself but as a doctor, she had a duty of care regardless. Professional to keep her feelings away otherwise she couldn’t do her job effectively. She was the head medic now and she couldn’t afford doubt on her abilities, so personal feelings had to be put to the backburner.

Even with Cortez. The woman had a lot of blood on her hands, remorse too and she knew that the former avatar driver wanted to earn back forgiveness and trust but it would still take time and she needed to get her better as well for it as well. Cortez was too weak and Nalin was worried if her physical health wasn’t good enough, she wouldn’t have that time to start fixing her problems. No getting off easy.

Not even Cortez wanted that so she had to get her fixed, so when she saw So’lek talking to one of the scientists close to his weapon’s station she did make a beeline for him. He never wandered too far.

“So’lek?”

The Na’vi’s head turned down as his name was called, his yellow eyes finding her with ease with a careful edge but she could sense he was…not in the best of moods. He must have heard the news then. Not idea.

“Sorry if you’re busy but…I was wondering if you’d be able to contact Anufi for me. I need…some medical assistance and her insight would be gratefully appreciated.” She said, more directly than sugarcoating her words or going the long conversation route to get to the point.

“Anufi is aiding the funeral rites of the Sarentu children who died at TAP. It will be many days before she is able to make any sort of trip.” So’lek answered.

“But…you would still ask her?” Nalin pressed, shooing the doctor away from listening in. 

So’lek spared a glance at the retreating scientist. “What is it that requires her attention that you cannot fix yourself? There are no mass injuries or Dreamwalkers to tend to.”

“I…” Nalin spared a look around, “There’s a human here who had a bleed to the brain and a brain aneurysm threatening to rupture. I can’t treat them; I have none of our tools because they got destroyed at HQ. If it ruptures, the haemorrhage will kill them. If Anufi has means of aid, then they actually have a chance to survive.”

“Aneurysm?”

“It’s….where one of the arteries in the brain bulges out in one spot. When pressure builds and the bulge grows. Too much pressure, it ruptures and the blood leaks into the brain. That increases the pressure inside the skull because there’s no other space and blood will then press into the brain itself which can lead to seizures, stroke and death if left untreated or uncontrolled.” Nalin explained. “Usually it’s treated by putting metal clips and tying it off to let it die off more naturally or filling the aneurysm so no blood can enter and expand. I’m also not trained in brain surgery. I’m sure you can see why I’m struggling.”

So’lek stared at her for a moment. “You are certain it will kill them?”

“Yes. The aneurysm is surprisingly close to the brain stem which controls all vital functions like breath, heartbeat and metabolism.” She listed off a few. “The blood will fill the gaps and push the brainstem down towards the spinal cord hole and effectively crush the brain stem against their lower skull. Death is certain if that occurs.”

She didn’t use the fancy doctor words for her descriptions of the injury for a guy who didn’t know English to that degree. So’lek knew enough but medical terms were tricky enough for the average human so she doubted he knew what a ‘cranial fossa’ was without explanation. No need to waste more time explaining what it was and why it was said like that when he’d never use it in that context.

“Will it kill them soon?”

“Right now, they’re under observation and their brain is being constantly monitored as well as their vitals. If they’re at any risk then my datapad will alert me.” Nalin said, patting her datapad. “I’ll get them into a nutritious diet and in a stress-free environment to minimise any risk of high blood pressure. They can’t overtax themselves through physical activity like exercise or sex but I don’t think either of those are a real concern.” She couldn’t trust Alma with anything heavier than a pot of water right now and no one was planning on fucking her anyway. “That’s all I can do.”

So’lek’ stare was constant but…after a moment he nodded. “I will make efforts to see her tomorrow if this person’s health is at a close concern. No sooner, unless death it close.”

Nalin let out a heavy breath of relief. “Thank you.”

[smalife1234]

Hey everyone! It's September 1st! Meaning it's SCI (spinal cord injury) awareness month! It is also my 3rd SCI anniversary and Luz's 1st SCI anniversary! It has been a hell of a ride and we cannot wait to start something that I've been looking forward to! Since it is spinal cord injury awareness month and it is such an amazing month for those with spinal cord injuries, I decided every week of September, I will post an educational fact about spinal cord injuries!

You may have thought why doc? Well, since spinal cord injuries are life-altering and need lots of awareness, I decided why not spread information! On the topic!

To start I will talk about what is a spinal cord injury and what is the worst spinal cord injury to get!

What is a spinal cord injury?

To answer that a spinal cord injury is when your spinal cord gets injured from a severe incident or a fall or diving (many reasons really) but what most people do not know is that spinal cord injuries not only take the person's ability to walk (which is typically shown in most shows) but it can take arm function and leg function and cause a whole host of problems! But those will be mentioned later! Spinal cord injuries and the function you regain are all based on the severity of the injury. Now that gets us to the next question! What's the worst spinal cord injury to get? Well, by standard definition, a C1 - C2 spinal cord injury is the worst one to get since it controls a lot of vital functions, but the cervical region of the neck is usually the worst area to get a spinal cord injury in! Because any cervical injury leaves you a Quadriplegic! A Quadriplegic is someone who has no to little use/paralysis of their 4 limbs. Now, when most people hear the word Quadriplegic, they automatically go to Christopher Reeves (who was a fellow Quadriplegic), but not all Quadriplegics get to that level! (It is still possible) But many have arm functions, and they can use some of their functions to live somewhat independently! All Quadriplegics don't have core function (as far as I know), but some end up walking! So everyone's spinal cord injury is different! For me, I am a C3 - C4 - C5 - T1 complete Quadriplegic, so it has taken a lot of function for me. I use a tracheostomy to breathe and only have 10% breathing ability! I have top-hand sensation and half-thumb sensation & movement!! That took many months/ a year to regain! I have complete sensation from my tracheostomy hole up! So that's fun, so, like again, every injury is very different! Luz, however, is a T10 - T11 - T12 complete paraplegic who struggles with standing. She still has not walked yet but she is trying hours of therapy and rehab to hopefully even gain sensation in her legs! She deals with severe back pain and has to take injections to help her back pain. Her back pain can happen from anything to needing a weight shift or doing too much work on her back, and she has no sensation from her belly button down. It has taken many years to get where we are today! But that's it for the first out of 4 SCI awareness! Post! Please stick around! Thanks for reading!

Img desc #1: doc is seen in the pool with a big yellow float around her neck she is giving the camera a big smile as her Atrophied arms are floating about in the pool!

Img desc #2: doc is seen in a doctor's office while her wrist is stretched out on a white splint she is smiling slightly. These splints are put in place because of her wrist atrophying.

Img desc #3: shows Doc in her house with a mirror behind her. She is giving a wide smile, and she is sitting in her electric wheelchair with large wrist splints on and a bottle of wine in between her arms. She is wearing a grey short-sleeved shirt and beige-colored shorts.

Img desc #4: doc is seen on a bus smiling wide-eyed at the camera. She is seen wearing a blue hat and a pink short-sleeved shirt. She is seen looking very sweaty! (From a spray bottle since she can't sweat very well)

Img desc #5: doc is seen laying on a white blanket and pillow. She is turned to her left side while wearing a black short-sleeved shirt and beige-colored shorts. Her Atrophied arms are crossed against her chest. She is smiling near a white dog.

Img desc #6: doc is seen in a professionally taken photo. In that photo, doc is giving a stern yet a passionate look into the camera. She is wearing a black short-sleeved buttoned shirt, her hair is neatly combed, and she is wearing a pair of thin grey glasses. there is a grey filter over the image.

Img desc #7: doc is seen smiling into the camera. She is in her electric wheelchair. She is wearing a black short-sleeved buttoned shirt and black skinny jeans. This photo is professionally taken while Doc smiles into the camera as her Atrophied hands are resting on the joystick of her electric wheelchair. She is wearing a pair of thin metal glasses!

Img desc #8: doc is seen in a professionally taken photo. She is seen in her electric wheelchair while wearing a black short-sleeved shirt and black skinny jeans. She is staring into the camera while wearing a pair of thin metal glasses! Her atrophied arms are resting on the joystick of her electric wheelchair.

Img desc #9: doc is seen passionately staring at Emmie with a loving look in her eyes. She is about to kiss Emmie. As Emmie's hand caresses the side of her face (these photos were taken when Emmie was abled-bodied), doc is wearing a black short-sleeved shirt. The photo is matched with a grey filter.

Img desc #10: Luz is seen near her wheelchair, Luz is standing with the aid of her wheelchair and her vitamin water near her foot is a catheter collection bag and a chux pad Luz is wearing a green short-sleeved jacket over her white tucked-in shirt paired with beige colored shorts and purple orthotic braces she is smiling at the camera while standing up against her pink frame manual wheelchair.

[ialdabaoth-eviscerator]

BG3 "Endless Critical Hits" Paladin Build

For my next playthrough. Build from YouTube user KhrazeGaming. Slightly different in this post, as he includes being specifically a Zariel Tiefling for this build, and also I got a gear rec from a comment.

PALADIN - OATH OF VENGEANCE

Abilities: 17(15+2) / 10 / 14 / 8 / 10 / 15(14+1)

2: Fighting Style: Great Weapon Fighting. Searing Smite, Thunderous Smite, Wrathful Smite, and whatever for the last, perhaps Heroism or Shield of Faith.

3: No options, and whatever spell you want.

4: Whatever spell you want

FEAT: Great Weapon Master

5: Extra Attack! Woo! Branding Smite, and whatever else

6: No options, whatever spells you want

7: No options

8: No options

FEAT: Ability Improvement: Strength and Charisma

9: Blinding Smite, add all previous Smites, Elemental Weapon and/or Crusader's Mantle, Warden of Vitality

10: No options

11 and 12: No specific instruction

ILLITHID ABILITY: Luck of the Far Realms

Also: I don't know at what level this is at but Vow of Enmity is recommended.

RECOMMENDED GEAR:

ACT 1: Everburn Blade (Dropped by Commander Zhalk on the nautiloid, so set that difficulty down and get smacking.)

Haste Helm (Found in a locked chest in Blighted Village, outside in the open next to a wagon near the waypoint)

[another helmet option] Grymskull Helm (Found after defeating Grym, I believe. In Grymforge)

Adamantine Splint Armor (Made in the Adamantine Forge in the Underdark. Also requires defeating Grym.)

Gloves of the Growling Underdog (Found in Dror Ragzlin's treasure room at the Goblin Camp)

Linebreaker Boots (Dropped by Beastmaster Zurk in Goblin Camp)

ACT 2: Risky Ring (Sold by Araj Oblodra at Moonrise Towers)

Vivacious Cloak (Found in a chest in Thorm Mausoleum, -260, -881)

Surgeon's Subjugation Amulet (Dropped by Malus Thorm)

Killer's Sweetheart (Dropped on the ground by your mirror self in the Self-Same Trial, Gauntlet of Shar)

[marmotsomsierost]

Patient: (has been getting progressively more and more irritated the more times the nurses come over/walk past without the doctor coming over) "hey, c'mere, i got a question."

Me: how can i help?

Patient: i know you can't do shit* but i know you can go drag that doctor over and talk to me

(*we had spoken earlier where i explained i was not a nurse which ended with them going 'so you can't do shit for me,' but in that kind of politely resigned way. I had said that (thing requested of me) was above my pay grade, which clearly slotted me under their 'military-adjacent, favorable' classification of personnel)

Me: I can let your nurse know you -

Patient: I don't need the nurse i need the doctor. Get the doctor.

Different nurse, overhearing: it's going to be a long time before the doctor can come see you. We've told you that before. You're going to have to be patient.

Patient: that's bullshit. I been here for three hours and then i'm waiting another two in the damn hallway and the doc hasn't even seen me once

Other nurse: we have one doc right now, she's busy with a very sick patient. She'll come see you when she can.

Patient: i'm sick enough that my damn doctor called my house after business hours to tell me go to the damn emergency room, don't tell me i'm not sick

Other nurse: i didn't say you weren't sick. You're still going to have to wait. Think of that as a good thing.

Patient: (clearly about to go mt st helens)

Me: have you ever broken a bone?

Patient: ....yeah, why

Me: it's kind of like if you were sitting in a room with fifteen other people, and all of them had cuts and scrapes and the sniffles and maybe a weird rash, and you were over there with your leg splinted and hurting like hell. Regardless of when everybody got into the room, you'd be the priority, right?

Me: now say one of the people waiting has had a fever for the last five days and a headache the size of dolly parton's hair. They've been here a lot longer, they're pretty upset that the doctor is ignoring them. The doctor's not ignoring them, it doesn't mean that they think that patient isn't sick- but their direct focus is on the patient who needs the more immediate interventions.

Me: but you'd be rightfully pretty pissed off if the doctor said 'oh, hang on, i know you have an extra joint in your leg right now but they've been here longer, i'll be back' because maybe that extra hour you spend waiting could mean you have nerve damage in your foot.

Me: and it sucks! It's a small hospital with one doc and one pa on staff, and when it's busy like this we can only do so much. They've got protocols and order procedures so that right when people come in, they start getting tests and lab samples run and xrays and things so that when the doctor can finally see them, they have as much information as we can get. They also do that so that if you look fine-ish and your vitals look fine, but one of your lab values comes back like 'this dude has so little blood they'd starve a vampire', they can update the triage information to reflect the higher acuity level.

Patient: so that other nurse was what, just being a jerk?

Me: no, they basically said the same thing i did, just way more concise.

Patient: (dubious gaze)

Me: if you see a packed er waiting room when you come in, and you get sent to the main er either in the middle of triage or right after being triaged, you are actively dying. Or maybe standing in the hallway leading up to death. You don't want to be in that position. That's what they meant by it being a good thing.

Me: and we don't give a time estimate because Murphy is always listening and it'll always be wrong. I know that's frustrating as well, but it's worse if we say '15 more minutes' seven times in a row, right?

Patient: why don't they just explain it?! Nobody said shit to me about that before!

Me, internally: i know we did because i know I did at least twice while you were in the waiting area and i am like 70% sure i explained this the last time you were here which is why my filter is gone and i'm talking about fucking vampires, apparently

Me: well, i'm an er tech. I don't have a nursing assignment of four people whose care i'm primarily responsible for, i go kind of wherever. I generally have a little more time for some stuff.

Pt's nurse: and she's still new enough that we haven't sucked all the nice energy out of her. I have some meds for you, and M needs to help cardiovert, go.

(As i was walking out that pt was like 'hey she said you were new, how long you been working here' and i said 'two years, but if fourteen years on the ambulance didn't get me, the ED doesn't have great odds. The ED has climate control and absolutely no stairs,' which made the medic waiting to give report across the hall start laughing.)

[blood-mocha-latte]

unrelated and i totally get if you're not interested in asking questions about your career but how did you become a paramedic? how long was your training? I'm hoping to get EMT certification and maybe up it to paramedic eventually, but idk how much that will really interfere with my current career path.

hi love! don’t worry about career asks, i’m totally fine with whatever anyone wants to talk about (i have Chatty Bitch Disease)

and i’m afraid i misspoke because i’m a huge idiot that doesn’t know how to use words, lol! i’m emt registered and was going to become a paramedic, but ended up going to medical school instead and becoming an emergency medicine (em) doctor, working in an er lol. BUT i’ll still outline most of what i did, just in case. i also included things that my sister-in-law did, since she actually is a paramedic, lmao.

under the cut since this is kind of niche <3

becoming a paramedic:

- got high school diploma/ged (she took classes focused in anatomy and physiology, which isn’t required but can help to get you a foothold in what you want to do. i did this as well and highly recommend it)

- doing emt-basic certification training - for both of us, this took about half a year :) it was mainly just going into things like:

how to take vital signs and offering basic life support (i.e. administering oxygen, doing cpr)

other skills like controlling bleeding, taking care of burns, splinting bones, dealing with spinal injuries, and administering limited medication sets

- getting in-field experience! my sister-in-law did this but i didn’t, which i kind of really regret. even though it’s not required, getting more hands-on experience with emt stuff before applying for a program can help you get ahead and feel less lost :)

- complete a paramedic program - this takes about 1-2 years, typically (it took me about 14 months, and my sister-in-law 12, but we went through different programs). training mostly just looks like:

cardiology, dealing with physical trauma, administering meds, airway procedures, etc

field clinical rotations and ambulance runs are also a part of this, which are pretty fun

- getting certified/licensed (this is what my sister-in-law did, i went the opposite route and ended up getting an md, lol)

all states have differences, but you’ll have to take the nremt, which gains you certification as a paramedic. depending on where you live, there are other state requirements as well that would add on to what you would need to do to receive your license.

okay, that’s about it! some of this may be iffy, since this was a while ago and i don’t know where you are in this process/where you live/some of this is by word of mouth, but i hope this is somewhat helpful!

one thing i WILL say about going into anything healthcare is make sure you have the mental toughness for it. medicine isn’t for everyone, and emergency response/intensive care can be incredibly difficult to go through and maintain parts of who you are. i know people who haven’t been able to do it, and myself have troubles with c-ptsd because of it. hours can be rough (for the majority of this year i worked for 24 hours straight with 48 off, this is what a lot of my paramedic buddies do as well) and it can get in the way of life (i had to cut my honeymoon short by 8 days because the hospital needed extra hands).

i don’t mean to scare anyone off, because i love my job and can’t imagine doing anything else, but it can be a difficult field, so make sure you have a strong support system and know what you’re in for :)

thanks for asking! i hope this is both somewhat coherent and what you were asking, lol <3

[heartshield1]

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[caught-tumbling]

Dealing with my body is a full time job. All the doctor appointments, physical therapy, getting blood work done, managing my medications, fighting insurance, fighting insurance, fighting insurance. I prep for every doctor appointment, making sure I have a written plan for the appointment as well as any relevant tests. I am more prepared for doctor visits than I ever was for a college class.

I have some rare conditions, so I need to do my own research because doctors don't always know how to deal with them or even the full scope of the condition. I have to double check every medication given to me to make sure it won't interact with a current medication or condition, doctors should do this but the more complicated the case the harder that is. I double check every piece of imaging and blood work because I've had them miss vital issues that even the untrained eye could see. I'm not a doctor/nurse/pharmacist/xray tech/etc. But I (and many people with chronic conditions) know a ton about medicine. All that work and experience is unofficial though, we don't get compensation or credit. We have nothing to say "I put dozens of hours researching reputable sources regarding this specific drug and my condition."

And I've had to make at least one call to my insurance every week for the past 8 months. Every. Fucking. Week. Usually multiple times. And these aren't short chats, I am frequently spending 2-4 hours arguing stupid shit like "yes the medication I've been on for 9 years is vital," and "no I don't need 3 doctors to individually diagnose gallstones, you need to pay that hospital bill." And "yes I need this specialist. No I can't just use my GP. Because my GP herself sent me to this specialist because she doesn't know shit about this," and my favorite: "I specifically called to confirm you'd pay this bill, why aren't you paying it??" Dozens, hundreds of hours a year that are just gone from my life. It's work no one but me will ever see. Its work most people don't consider or care about.

And the time it takes to care for myself! Showers take longer, preparing a meal takes longer, getting dressed takes longer, cleaning takes longer, all the basic things everyone does takes me longer by the nature of my body. Which would already suck if I didn't also have way more things to do! Preparing meals means checking to make sure i have safe food (which is more expensive), I need to use aids to complete basic cooking tasks which I then have to clean/put away, and I need breaks. Getting dressed means struggling to get my compression socks and any KT tape, braces, or splints I need that day. Cleaning isn't just ticking off a to do list, I need to assess what needs to be done, which tasks I can physically do that day, which tasks I can do with my limited energy, realize that narrowed list will likely change through the day, get whatever extra gadget I need to do that task, and of course breaks breaks breaks.

And I just need to rest more. Not "I'm lazy and like just sitting around," more "If I want to be able to walk tomorrow I need to sit now," more "fuck I ran out of spoons faster than I planned, I need to lie down or I'll have a complete breakdown" more like "my pain is so severe if I keep going I'll need a hospital." I want to do more! Desperately! But I can't.

Being disabled is a job. A hard one. So to anyone doing all that work, not to mention the hits to your mental health, I see you. I know how hard it is. My experience isn't special, nor the most severe case I know about. Disability can be so isolating but you're not alone.

[tonyhightower]

PARIS, FRIDAY: Somebody Please Remove These Cutleries From My Knees

Alright, after this I'll write something other than my personal kvetches, but today is not that day. (If you want to skip my personal health story, go to Part 2.)

PART 1 (CW: My Innards)

Things are possibly looking up.

Yesterday, I managed to get an appointment with a knee specialist who spoke English. Unlike the last guy, I was able to talk with him -- English was clearly not his first language, but his English was definitely better than my French, so we were good, and he was a guy in his 40s who played squash, and he said had the same problem I did at one point.

It's not a ligament problem after all; he thinks it might be the meniscus, folded over on itself inside my kneecap. That's apparently a thing. It certainly would explain the pain.

[The meniscus is a small film of tendon-like material in the knee that sits between the femur (the thigh bone) and the tibia & the fibula (the two shin bones). It's a pretty common issue, and it has nothing to do with running or anything.]

The good news is that it's a quick arthroscopic procedure (pro athletes get it all the time, and they're often ready to play again pretty quickly), and then about three weeks' recovery. I'm probably out for the Paris Half Marathon, but if recovery goes well, and I can train good, I still want to at least give the Paris (Full) Marathon in April a go. It won't be a PR attempt in any way, but dammit, I want to at least do the course.

So, he drew this up (the whole appointment took about 15 minutes), and I was able to get an X-ray appointment that afternoon, and I have an MRI this morning, all set up by myself, online. They literally said "Go find someone close to your apartment. Anyone will do."

The cost so far? (The American in me is fascinated by this. It’s okay, this chapter will be over soon.)

The all-but-useless GP consultation from last week: €25

The initial consultation: €120

The X-Ray: €0

The MRI: €600 (which, um, JEEZUS, but still, (a) that's still a tiny fraction of what it costs in the USA, (b) it's 100% covered & refundable, and (c) once I get a Carte Vitale, I never see these bills in the first place.

It is a torn meniscus. It's fixable. And decades of sticker shock isn't going to go away easily, but I'm starting to be optimistic.

I've shown no ID at any of these places (One place asked to see my passport, but that was only to make sure they spelled my name right on the form.) These charges are all fully reimbursable on our temporary health plan (~$100/month). Once we get our full Carte Vitale into the French Health Care system proper, we won't even see these charges at all.

OK, enough about my health problems. Kvetching about that crap is something old people do, and I'm intimately aware of that. I just always thought, as an American, that it was interesting how little literally everyone else in the world pays for their health care, and now that I have a chance to take advantage of that, I have to at least mention it.

* * * * *

PART 2 (CW: American Health Care System Rant)

I've spent my entire adult life not going to the doctor. Toughing it out. Walking it off. Riding it out. Dealing with pain.

Oh, you have a kidney problem? Have some soup. You broke a bone? Splint it up & lay off it for a few weeks. Slice your hand open with a dull knife? RICE: Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation. Put a bread bag over it when you shower. Hope you didn't cut a ligament, or else congrats, those fingers don't move right no more!

Every (non-rich) American I know, even people with actual health insurance, has these stories. You know at the time how horrifying it is, but you also know that there's no other way to get through it. It's either work it out on your own, or you go into indentured servitude to some hospital's collections department for the rest of your life, simply because you couldn't scotch-tape a popsicle stick (or a pencil, or whatever item's at hand at the moment it happens) to your finger when you accidentally jammed it in a door somewhere.

It's fucking barbaric, and the mass delusion that it's just how things work in America is infuriating.

If I stayed in NYC with this knee thing, I'd have never gotten a diagnosis, certainly never gotten treatment, and I'd probably spend the rest of my life hobbling around, in pain. Certainly, as it turns out, I'd have never run again.

God, just typing that out makes me angry.

If you're going through something like this, I'm so, so sorry. The stories of people buying a plane ticket, dragging their broken bodies to some European country, getting themselves fixed, and then flying home, aren't silly ones. Not only do you actually get what's wrong with you fixed, and for a fraction of what an American hospital would charge you, you get a trip somewhere nice, or at least different.

If you're dealing with a thing, especially something you know is probably fixable, and you have that as an option, I'd honestly recommend it. If not Europe or Asia, then even Canada. You only get one body to go through this life. Do whatever you gotta do to fix it.

The American health care system should not be holding your own body hostage against you.

[regentbison]

so we know that the shapeshifting power is a thing in Wednesday, but we know virtually nothing about said power. so i wrote an “explanation” about the power and how it works in my mind/fics 

big thanks to the superpower wiki lmao

Shapeshifting: 

 Shapeshifting is the power to alter one's form and appearance.

Users can change their shape, size, color, density, texture, and cellular composition to mimic qualities and impersonate entities.

 There are many uses to the shapeshifting power

 The powers typically awaken around a person’s late-to-early teenhood

 When they're first tapped into they’re virtually uncontrollable and take a lot of time and patience to master

Limitations:

 Users may need awareness of each form's limitations and weaknesses; for all things, both living and non-living, must abide by the laws of the shape they inhabit.

 Unconsciousness, excessive pain, and/or death may involuntarily revert the user to original form.

The process of changing shape may be painful.

The process of returning to their original form may be difficult.

Users may involuntarily transform in response to physical and/or mental stimuli.

Staying in a single form for extended periods may start affecting user behavior.

Users are limited to humanoid forms.

Users may be limited to imagination and/or memory.

Users may be unable to change genetic makeup (species, sex, blood type, etc.).

Regenerative healing:

Also called enhanced healing

The power to rapidly heal at a level beyond that of the other members of their species

Users can rapidly heal and get restored to their optimal and full health/state at an extremely fast rate. 

Users can recreate lost or damaged tissues, organs, and limbs, sometimes slowing, or even stopping aging

The user is generally in very good physical shape, as their bodies are constantly reverting to a healthy state, granting them nigh-inexhaustible stamina and vitality.

At higher levels, a user can regenerate not just their cellular tissues, but also their DNA, undoing genetic mutations and breakdown, as well as maintaining one's youth by extending telomeres. If advanced enough, the ability will cause the body to cease aging as the cells are regenerating and dying in equilibrium, granting a form of immortality.

Limitations: 

Instant death can kill the user before they can regenerate

Users cannot regrow their heads, if a user is decapitated, they will die. 

Broken bones don't place themselves in the correct position, if a break heals quickly, a medical professional will need to rebreak the bone and splint it correctly. The same goes for displaced joints. 

Too much exposure to radiation may affect the user on a cellular level and destroy their regeneration 

For regeneration of more serious amputations to the body, healing may not be perfect.

certain conditions such as Alzheimer's and depression that do not cause physical damage to the body can't be healed

Regeneration may be extremely painful

Shapeshifter levels: 

Level 1: ‘weak’ - only being able to shift certain parts of the body for an unlimited time, being able to completely shift into another person for only minutes at a time

Level 2: ‘average’ - able to shift certain parts of the body for an unlimited time, the ability to fully shift into another person for a virtually unlimited time, slight regenerative power (differs between each user) 

Level 3: ‘powerful’ - able to shift certain parts of the body for an unlimited time, the ability to fully shift into another person for a virtually unlimited time, full regenerative healing power. 

[feathercreates]

can I just say

recurrent de quervains in your dominant hand is an absolute pain in the ass

i've never had this much energy to draw in my life only to be confined to a splint and forbidden from doing so for weeks on end

needless to say I am sad

... and I think I need a hug???

Idk that's why there's no art here atm

I'll be back one day I guess

[whiskeynwriting]

Eyes On Me

Simon “Ghost” Riley x OFC “Bones”

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Word Count: 8.1k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI) 

Flirting, pining, size difference, mentions and descriptions of injury, mentions of battle, dirty talk, praise, dry humping, unprotected vaginal sex

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Summary: Ghost gets a life-threatening injury, and it’s your job to make sure he returns to full-health. 

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A/N: I rarely do summaries on one-shots, but since I’m introducing a character I figured I would (: I loooove this character, and I’m really hoping to write more one-shots with her and Ghost in the future!

Part Two: Lucky

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Simon “Ghost” Riley Masterlist

Join My Taglist!

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Working on them was easy, they took everything you gave them like champs. Splints, stitches, cleanings, anything they had, you took care of. They’d bite their tongues, ball up their fists if they had to, but for the most part, that was it. Vargas wouldn’t whine, but Gaz would. Price was nearly silent and in all honesty, Soap whimpered like a baby. But Ghost, he didn’t ever make a sound. 

It wasn’t always like this, you weren’t always 141’s go-to medic. Before, you were here for everyone. Whoever needed you, that’s who you tended to. You got so good at it that at one point, you’d been promoted to a rescue mission position. Daily helicopter rides became your usual. Freezing temperatures and smoke-filled air met your exterior shell on a weekly basis. You’ve even been dropped into open fields full of bullets and bloody cries. The training you received was minimal, but enough for you to take it and run. You had talent, that talent growing into expertise. You knew how to defend yourself, your reflexes were good. You could shoot a gun and if need be, hold your own. That’s what got you to 141. 

They impressed you, they still do. The team worked like a well oiled machine. And when you first saw them, you immediately questioned him. 

“What’s with the mask?” You’d asked him, straight to his face. He tilted his head. “Is it still Halloween?” 

The boys laughed, but Ghost didn’t. His fingers curled, and he sucked in a breath. You were brand new; not a good way to start off with him. Hey, it’s not your fault he took it the wrong way. You love Halloween. Sometimes you even find the scary things sexy. 

Eventually you learned the real reasoning behind his mask, behind the skeleton head that hid his face. Honestly, you were intrigued by it, his anonymity. But sometimes, it got in the way. 

“Blood type?” You’d asked, going through each soldier’s file as you became acquainted, some months ago now. 

“Unknown.” Your colleague responded. 

“What? What do you mean?”

“We have little to no information on Ghost’s background.” 

“What if he starts to bleed out? Or needs a blood transfusion?” 

“Guess I’ll die.” Came his gruff response. 

Spinning around in your small and circular wheeled chair, you saw his bulky body taking up the majority on the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest while leaning against the frame. 

Why is she so interested in me? He’d wondered, suspicious of you. What he should’ve been asking himself is, why am I so interested in her? 

He’d seen you work on his team, you were efficient and clean. He’d even go so far as to call you fearless. And surprisingly, he finds himself liking that. You were a bit of a brat, but at the heart of your teasing jokes, there was a sense of playful familiarity. And overall, having you around was good for his men. He didn’t know how vital you were to his team, though, until you had to be flown in to rescue him. 

Pressing into his wound, you didn’t even feel him flinch. The gauze was soaked in the red stain seeping from the cut in his skin, and you were running out of supplies - you were running out of time. And apparently, your frantic nature showed. 

“Hey,” You direct your sternest voice at him. “Ghost - Simon, eyes on me.” 

He’s spiraling; body feeling light and his consciousness leaving you quickly. His eyelids are fluttering. 

“You worried about me, love?” He was out of it, losing blood and flirting while in his hazy state. It was the first time he’d ever been nice to you. 

But really, he wasn’t just being nice because his body was going into shock and losing his grip on reality. He was talking to you this way because he didn’t know if he’d ever get the chance to after this. 

Giggling, you shook your head, happy that he was now responding to you. “Nah, big boy like you?” Patting his shoulder, you said, “You’ll be just fine.”

Even if he didn’t show it, Simon was worried, too. 

“But I bet you wish you’d told me your blood type now.” 

He wasn’t happy. Simon didn’t ever seem that happy, but right now, he definitely wasn’t happy. All he’s ever known is a military lifestyle, training and being out in the field. Having his team’s back, contributing to the work effort, that’s what he was best at. And now, he can’t do any of that. At least, not for the next couple weeks. 

“I’m not a child.”

“Never said you were.” Rolling your eyes, you openly sass him. “It’s just a blanket.” 

It was the first day of him being in your mini infirmary, just the two took up the room. Each of the boys came in to give him a pat on the shoulder, make sure he was doing alright. But in all honesty, Ghost hated this kind of attention. Being coddled and cared for. He could take care of himself. 

“Are you hungry?”

“No.” He grunts, looking away almost childishly. 

“Suit yourself. I’m gonna go get some pizza.” 

At this, he perks up a bit, groaning. “Can you bring me back a box?” Mumbling, he’s still looking away.

Before you leave, you turn back around with a grin. “Sure thing, big boy.” 

Once you’re finally gone, he sighs, his emotions contradicting each other inside. Frustration doesn’t even come close to what he’s feeling. He never gets injured in the field. Is he losing his touch? Surely not, he’s still in his glory years. For him, it’s embarrassing to be seen like this, not just in front of the boys but in front of you, though he’d never admit it. You make him feel nervous inside, like he has to heighten the man he already knows himself to be. He has to be tougher around you; he can’t show any weakness. The only problem with that, was that he did have a weakness, a major one. That gaping hole in his chest. 

“Alright,” Coming back with two boxes of pizza, you set them on your desk, moving them to the side. “Let’s clean you up.” 

“I can do it myself.” 

“Okay, look.” Wiping your hands off of your pants, you turn to face him. “This is my job. Would you get angry at Soap for clearing a room before you? Or Price for conducting an infiltration route?” 

This makes him stop, closing his mouth for a moment, although you can’t see it. 

“I’m part of your team, you have to acknowledge that. Your job is to kill bad guys, and my job,” Taking a few steps toward him, you point to his chest. “Is to fix the mess the bad guys make.” 

Ghost shifts his shoulders, looking away from you for just a second. And after a moment, his eyes return to yours, and he nods. 

Reaching down, he cracks the knuckles on his hands, and it takes everything in you not to break his eye contact. Every movement of his muscles makes you sweat, the ripples of them more than a beautiful sight. He’s impressive. All he has on right now are a pair of shorts and a bandage wrapped around his upper chest. Other than that, he’s bare. You can see the muscles in his abdomen, the impressive form and firmness of them, the bulges of his biceps and the chorded muscle in his forearms. His legs are thick, huge, sturdy enough to hold his entire weight along with two other men, if need be. Again, impressive.

Satisfied with his nonverbal response, you turn to grab the essentials. Pulling over a small, wheeled tray, you begin your work. Ghost sits up off the back of the bed for you, allowing you to remove the bandages around his chest. He maneuvers himself to sit cross-legged while you do it, his head tilted down to watch you work.

Truthfully, Simon thought you were attractive the moment he saw you. And then you made fun of him. But when he balled up his fists, when he inhaled that sharp breath as a reaction, it wasn’t because he was mad at you. It was because right then and there, he was attracted to you. 

“You ever been stabbed like this before?” 

He doesn’t answer for a minute, not really wanting to admit it. But then he shakes his head. “No.” 

This tells you something, it tells you that you’re tending to the worst injury he’s ever had. And you’re shocked by his answer, you would’ve assumed he’s had worse. But a stab to the chest that just barely misses the heart? Yeah, that’s pretty bad. 

He doesn’t budge when you apply the antiseptic, allowing you to work in peace. Once you’ve cleaned the wound, he’s surprised to feel your hands. His eyes widen while keeping his gaze on you, watching as your fingertips explore him. They move across his chest, just barely gliding over his skin. 

“Doesn’t look too bad.” You murmur to him, eyes trained on his chest. 

Ghost is undeniably the fittest out of the entire team. He’s huge, and not just in height. You haven’t seen his naked torso since the day he was stabbed, and when you were tending to him then, you definitely weren’t thinking about how attracted you were to him. You were working to save his life. But now, you have time to let your thoughts wander, to let yourself experience what he feels like. 

Trailing down a bit, your fingers graze over his abdominal muscles, your tongue briefly sliding across your lower lip. His muscles are firm, smooth, and warm. Your touch makes him feel uncertain; he doesn’t know what you’re doing, but it’s making him nervous. Well, not nervous, necessarily but… excited. 

“What happened to you being nice to me, huh?” You ask, tilting your head up to look at him. And the smile you offer is pretty. “Thought you’d be my best friend after I saved your life.”

This makes him laugh, a small grunt coming out toward the end from his injury. You’re right, he should be nicer to you considering the circumstance. He should also be nicer to you because, well… he fancies you. 

“I’m sorry.” He finally acknowledges, albeit quietly. “I know I’ve been acting… standoffish.” 

“It’s okay,” Shrugging, you reach for the clean bandages. “I get it, you’re embarrassed.” 

Sighing, he looks down at your nimble hands again. “Yeah.” 

“Let’s get your blood pressure before you eat.” You then tell him, changing the topic while retrieving your tools. “Then I’ll leave you alone,” Glancing up at him, you grin. “I promise.” 

Right now, he doesn’t want you to leave him alone. You’re nice company. 

Attaching the cuff over his bicep is a feat in and of itself. His muscles stretch the fabric, but it ends up securing around him adequately. You then take your stethoscope, applying it to his inner elbow while you begin pumping the meter. Glancing up at the machine, you focus on the readings, and absentmindedly, your hand wanders. While continuing to record his data, your free hand slides down his arm and into his palm as you steady yourself beside him. 

Widening those pretty brown eyes, he releases a breath, now looking further down. He’s surprised, but honestly, it feels nice. Makes him relax. And while staring at your smaller hand now resting in his, he inhales deeply, curling his fingers slightly around your hand. This makes your head snap to the side, having not fully realized what you’d done. But Ghost doesn’t move when you look at him; he does stare at you though, right into your eyes. And while keeping your gaze, he lightly squeezes your hand. He really is sorry. He’s grateful.

The days following the first are actually pretty nice. With your main focus on Ghost, the rest of the crew seem to leave you alone for the time being. 

“You’ve been a big help lately.”

“What?” Comes that thick, English accent. “I’ve done nothing but sit on my ass.”

“Yeah, but it keeps them,” Pointing out into the training yard, you finish, “Off my ass.” 

Turning, he stretches, watching his team run around and lift weights on the field behind him, only a window separating them. 

“It’s like I told you, sweetheart.” His head then moves, returning his gaze to you. “You’re the finest thing they’ve seen in months.” 

“Oh, yeah?” You tease. “What about you?” 

Since he’s been nicer, you’ve been spending more time at his side. You didn’t need to sleep here, he was fine by himself, but after that first night, you did. You couldn’t help yourself. Thinking about him all alone in the infirmary while you lay cozied up in bed made you sad. You didn’t want him to get lonely. So, you slept on the small loveseat in the corner, the one the boys usually sit on to smoke. And your sleepovers were starting to make you close, that sweet little nickname being evidence of that.

“What about me?” Under his mask, his face heats up. He knows what you’re asking.  

“Am I the finest thing you’ve seen in months?”

Under that skull-painted cover, he grins, giving you a single nod. “You’re pretty.”

“Oh, Ghost,” Walking over to him, you lean into his bicep, clutching it. “I knew you’d eventually fall in love with me.”

Rolling his eyes, he grumbles with an amused tone, “A pretty big pain in my ass.”

After he says this, you laugh, pushing yourself off of him. 

“Bones?” Your comm link buzzes slightly, a bit of static coming through. 

Pressing your button, you tilt your head to the side. “What’s up?” 

“Searg. is calling a meeting.”

“Time?”

“Eighteen hundred.”

“Alright, I’ll see you then.” 

“Bones?”

Once your conversation has ended, another one promptly begins. Lifting your head to face him, you raise a brow. “Yeah?” 

Ghost tilts his head to the side slightly, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Never heard anyone call you that.”

“Yeah, well you’re not on my med. team.” 

“Well, you’re on my team, aren’t you?”

Giving him a thoughtful pout, you eventually answer with, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” 

“Then we should know your cover.” His voice is stern and gritty, deep and rumbling. It’s like how he talks out in the field. 

“Well, now you do.” Giving him a quick wink, you turn away, intent on doing some paperwork before your meeting. 

“What’s the meaning of it?” When you don’t immediately answer, he calls for you. “Bones?”

Something about him using your code name makes you grin. 

“I’m known for breaking them.” Turning, you face him once again, a smile plastered across your smooth lips. 

“Known for breaking bones?” He clarifies, sounding skeptical. 

“Yep.”

“Huh,” He scoffs, “That’s not exactly something to boast about, is it?” 

“Well, it wouldn’t be if they were mine.” 

Oh, now he gets it. 

“I did a lot more than sew up wounds before I came here.” With a heavy sigh, you reminisce on your time in the field. But you made a choice to be here. “I used to break them, now I heal them.” 

He never knew. And honestly, this new information only makes him more attracted to you. A badass soldier with a gentle touch? Sounds like his kind of woman. 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” You emphasize, “I’ve got some paperwork to do.” 

“Fine.” He returns flatly, and you giggle. He really sounds upset about that abrupt ending. 

“Think you’re gonna be okay by yourself while I’m gone?”

“Won’t be a problem.” He grunts, shimmying to lay back down. “I’ll just sleep.” 

Throughout your hours spent together, you’ve discovered that he’s quite the fan of naps. He takes one every day around three in the afternoon, and you wonder if he’s finally enjoying his rest. It doesn’t help that you often have to leave him while he’s sleeping, though. You’ve liked being by his side lately, it’s comforting. His presence has begun to grow quite kind, and even in the quiet times, it’s nice. But you still have meetings and other duties to tend to. Which include the one you’d been called to. 

Ghost’s gentle snore is what prompts you to look up, your eyes searching for his own. But they’re closed, one arm propped behind his head with his other hand laying over his stomach. He’s fully laying on the bed, the blanket only covering up to his waist. He’s still shirtless, and right now, he looks practically naked. Aside from the mask. Eyes trailing up his form, you take in the steady rise and fall of his chest, the light-colored hairs scattering his pectorals, and even further down, leading from his belly button to the hem of his pants. It makes you sigh, he looks peaceful. You’ve never seen him so relaxed. 

You don’t like the thought of him waking up to a room empty of you, so to make up for it, you head to the cafeteria. As quietly as you can, you return with a large pizza, one with his favorite toppings on it. Steak, mushrooms, onions, and two kinds of cheese, specifically provolone and American - strange and lengthy details, but ones you memorized, nonetheless. And after you set the box down, taking in another look of him, you turn to leave. 

Eventually, the smell wakes him up. How could it not? It’s his absolute favorite thing to eat. But he has to be careful, he needs to keep himself in shape over these couple of weeks, or he’ll need more training than originally planned. Sighing, he props himself up, the realization now setting in. 

She did this for me. 

He knows it was you and not the boys because of the little note on top of the box. 

Ghost, 

I’m at a meeting until six tonight, I’m sorry I probably won’t be around when you wake up. Here’s some pizza to make up for it. Hopefully you still love me &lt;3

Bones

He rolls his eyes at that last part, a smile pulling on the edges of his lips. You can be so sarcastic sometimes. But he likes it. You make him laugh. 

While you’re gone, Simon thinks about the way you take care of him. You’re so gentle with him when changing his bandages and cleaning his wound. Your smaller hands touch him so softly that it makes him feel things for you. He wonders, is he just interested in you because you’re the only woman around? Or is he interested in you because you’re funny? Because you’re nice? It’s because you’re such a tender caretaker and you remind him of all the love he never got in life. 

Looking back at the note, he reads it again. It sounds like you’d regretted leaving him, even for something as important as a medical staff meeting. Maybe you’ve been enjoying his company, too. 

When night rolls around, you snuggle up on the couch, pulling the blanket you’d grabbed from your cot over your shoulders. Ghost just stares at you, one leg laying flat on his bed with the other up, the sole of his foot planted on the mattress. 

“How the hell do you fit on that?”

Shrugging, you answer with, “It’s easy to fit in places when you’re not an enormous tank.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

“You should,” Smirking, you can just barely see his eyes in the darkness. Those nearly black orbs find your own, and it makes your chest tighten. “I like the way you’re built.” 

He chuckles, amused. “Yeah?” And then he reaches for a pack of cigarettes next to his bed, lifting the edge of his mask. “Why’s that, love?” That word makes the skin on your face burn. 

You get a small flash of his face when he lights the end of his cig with a match, and you notice something you’ve never seen before. 

“What’s that scar from?” It just comes out on its own. He knows you’re talking about the one on his jaw. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” He points out, taking a puff. And for some reason, you find that so hot. 

“I’ll answer it if you answer mine.” 

Sometimes, you aggravate him. Sighing, he speaks through the darkness, telling you, “Fine.” 

A sly grin crosses your face on the other side of the room, and you wonder if he can see it. He can. 

“I like men with muscles.” And he likes that answer. “Makes me feel like they can take care of me.” 

He exhales calmly into the nighttime air between the two of you, pressing his lips to the cigarette and then inhaling once again. Ghost knows he could take care of you. 

And then he thinks about his own response, settling with, “It came from a knife.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Rolling your eyes, you scoff. “You gotta tell me more than that.” 

Flicking the ashes of his cigarette into a tray, he lays back a little on the bed. “It was a mission in the Middle East. Bloody heat was killing me, I had to lift my mask up.” 

Oh, wow. Honestly, you were just kidding. You never thought he’d actually tell you anything more. But you take this chance and run with it, listening intently so you don’t miss a single piece of his story. 

“We were ambushed,” He continues, shaking his head. “Price never saw it coming.”

Truly, you can’t even imagine. Sure, you had your time in the field, but it was nothing compared to what he’s gone through. 

“We took them out, but not before one of them got to me with a knife. Sliced up my jaw.” Ghost exhales a puff of smoke, watching it billow into the air. Then he gently shakes his head. “Didn’t let him get any further ‘n that.” 

By the end of the story, his voice has grown flat. Maybe he doesn’t like thinking about his scars. Maybe it’s why he keeps the mask on. 

“Could I… could I see?”

“My scar?” Comes his instant response. “What for?” 

“I dunno,” Shrugging in the dimly lit light, you glance down at the floor. A timid gesture that he again sees. 

After a moment of silence, he figures, what the hell? Having you be close to his face didn’t sound like the worst thing in the world. Besides, he likes getting a good look at you. Finishing off his cigarette and rubbing the butt of it down into the tray beside him, he says, “Why not?” 

Looking up, you shake your head. “It’s okay, I don't have to. I don’t even know why I asked.”

He doesn’t even hesitate. “Come over here, doll.” 

Almost giddily, you do, shoving your blanket to the side and popping up onto your feet. He chuckles deeply upon seeing your reaction, watching you scamper over to him. 

“You’re excited about this, huh?”

Shrugging, you grin, standing right next to his bed. “Maybe.”

You don’t give a single shit about his scar. You want to see him. Being close to Ghost gives you a good feeling. 

Leaning over, you turn on your desk lamp, illuminating this corner of the room. And when you come back to him, you’re met with the incredible sight of his eyes. They’re dark brown in shade, but in the dim light, they're a dazzling pool of honey. But what really catches your eye is the lower half of his face. His mask is still pulled up, revealing his mouth, chin, and jaw. 

“Can I touch?” You then ask, keeping your voice quiet. 

He eyes you up and down while your gaze is fixated on his mouth. His lips curl, and he nods. “Sure.” 

Lifting your hands, they fall to either side of his face. When you make contact with him, he closes his eyes, exhaling a slow breath, accepting your touch. He can’t remember the last time he let someone do this. 

“Hm…” You don’t mean to, but you hum, fingers trailing along his jawline and chin. He has stubble here, just barely. It seems like when he’s crept away to the showers at night, he’s shaved. 

Ghost’s eyes trail across your face, feeling your breath on his skin. You’re closer than you ever have been before, and it makes the muscles in his chest tighten, makes his pulse quicken. Licking his lower lip, he whispers, “How’s that feel?” 

“Good.” You respond, nodding, your eyes not once leaving his mouth. “I like it.”

“Why’d you want to feel it?” He then wonders aloud, and he wishes you would look up at him. He wants to look into your sweet eyes. “Haven’t you seen enough scars in your lifetime?” 

“I don’t really care about scars.”

What the hell?

Scrunching his brow, he then asks, “Then why the hell did you want to see mine?”

Now, you do look up into his eyes. Taking a deep breath, you work up the nerve to say what’s floating through your mind. “Because it’s on you.”  

Immediately, he swallows. His gaze falls to your mouth for the first time since you’ve been this close, flickering back and forth from your eyes to your now slightly parted lips. And all at once, he sits up a bit straighter, wrapping an arm around your back to pull you in.

As if you’re expecting it, you melt into him, letting him press you to his body. The fingertips on his jaw slide along his cheeks as you move to fully hold his face in your hands, Ghost’s lips easily meeting your own. One large arm slides around your back, hand securing to your waist as he pulls you further into him. 

Heartbeat pounding in your veins, you gasp quietly against him, molding your mouth to his as you return his enthusiasm. Your hands hold onto him tightly, sliding down to the back of his neck. But then he stops, releasing a rough sigh and opening his eyes to look at you. 

“Come here,” He whispers hurriedly, his other hand reaching out and tugging on you. 

“Ghost, I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?” His lips are moving over your jaw, his hands still pulling on you. 

“You’re healing.” 

Scoffing, he leans over the side of the bed, hands securing themselves to your lower back and upper thigh. He then hauls you forward, leaning down so he can hoist you up onto his lap.

“Oh!” 

“I go back into the field next week.” He grunts out, now looking up at you. “I’ll be fine, sweetheart.”

“Ghost, I -”

“You know my name?” He asks, his rough, baritone voice demanding your attention. 

And suddenly, you feel extremely fucking small. Your legs slide forward and down, straddling him. Quietly, you squeak out, “Yes.” 

“Say it.” 

Leaning forward, you embrace the excitement of being on top of him. Your hands return to hold his face, and he lets you. Bringing yourself in close, you look into his eyes. 

“Simon.” 

“That’s right.” Comes his breathy exhale, leaning in to close the small gap between the two of you. 

And then Simon’s hand is on the back of your head, pushing you further into him. His other lands on your hip, fingers curling around your flesh. He smells like cigarettes and cologne, tastes like mint and tobacco. And you overtly, eagerly, wholeheartedly, welcome him. 

“Closer to me,” Simon grumbles, the hand on your hip curling around your lower back. He pulls you until you’re flush against his chest, your breasts pushing up against his clean bandages. 

“Simon,” 

He groans into your mouth when you use his name, repeatedly moving his lips over your own. Your legs press tightly to the outsides of his thighs, holding him close to your body. And when he feels your hips shift against him, when he hears your soft, delicate moan, he decides to slide his tongue into your mouth. He licks inside, rubbing the wet muscle over your own. Moaning wantonly, it echoes into his throat, the hand on your head sliding down to hold your jaw open. The way he moves against your mouth is almost overwhelming, full of passion and lust and a particular sense of need. 

“You wanna take this off for me?” His accent is making you melt. “Can you do that for me, love?” 

Tugging impatiently on your shirt, those frosty eyes look into your own with a look of utter desperation. But also control. Ghost was always in control. 

Nodding, you reach down, finding the edges of your longsleeve shirt and slipping it up and over your head. 

“Oh…” He moans - Ghost fucking moans. His head immediately dips down to the luscious space between your breasts, mouth finding your skin. 

“Oh,” It comes as a complete surprise, him surging down to kiss you here. “Simon…”

Fuck, you’ve wanted to do this since you met him. You both have. 

His mouth drags along the curves of your chest, and you’re surprised when they’re followed by tender kisses. And then his hands drop, groping your ass. 

“I want you.” He growls against your breasts, nipping at the soft slopes of them. “What do you want, love?” 

“I want you, Simon.” Nodding quickly, your hands slide back up to his face. In your hurried state you accidentally move the fabric of his mask just a bit, and his hands come flying up to your forearms as soon as it happens. 

“Don’t take it off.” It’s a firm boundary, a stern warning. His head lifts, too, eyes staring menacingly into you. 

“I wouldn’t, I won’t.” He looks at you almost skeptically. “I respect your privacy.” 

When he doesn’t budge, you wiggle on top of him. “Please. Simon, I wouldn’t ever do that to you.” 

Slowly, his hands leave your forearms, loosening their grasp. He’s deciding to trust you. 

One of those meaty hands falls to your chest, still holding your gaze while he cups you. The other rises to your neck, fingers curling around the back to pull you in again. This time, though, he doesn’t return to your lips. This time, he goes to your neck. Rolling your head to the side, you let him, feeling Simon’s teeth scrape along your skin. He’s feeling every inch of you that he can, hands falling to your ass when he feels you move over him. With a firm grasp, he urges you forward and back, grinding your covered crotch over his own. And while he’s busy exploring you, you take this opportunity to explore him. 

Delicately, your fingertips slide down his face, down the chorded muscles along his neck, landing on his sculpted shoulders and then moving to his biceps. When you squeeze the thick meat of his arms, he groans, smirking mischievously against you. With your nails scraping lightly over his taut skin, they quickly find his back, gently scratching him. His muscles are flexing, damn near all of them. He’s so worked up with you like this on top of him. And he’s still moving you, shoving your hips over his crotch and manhandling you in the softest way he knows how. He’s strong, but he’s gentle with you. 

The length of him is palpable beneath his thin shorts, settling right into your covered folds. And it makes you moan, makes your breaths pick up and your center pulse. The air is thick with arousal, the room lit dimly in the soft, yellow hue of your small lamp. His breaths are hot, fanning across your face in humid and heavy wafts. But then he stops, taking a breath. And for some reason, your sass decides to fill this brief, empty space. 

“So,” Sighing, you’re also working to catch your breath. “Does this mean you think I’m pretty?” 

He chuckles, that beautiful smile making itself known. “Does this mean you like my muscles?”

“I love your muscles.” Wiggling even closer to him, you grin, sucking in a tight and excited breath. Your one hand then slides down his chest, his abs, curling around to hold his hip, your thumb just barely brushing his pelvis. 

“Yeah? Even when you’re sewing ‘em up?” He asks, that deliciously rich accent making you flutter inside. 

“You can’t do that again.” Shaking your head, your hands move to hold his face. It’s a tender act. “You can’t scare us like that again.” 

That night, you swear you started to see the light fade out of his eyes, and that, well… that was a first for you. You saved Simon’s life. 

“You care about me, eh?” He replies in the cockiest voice.

“Your team cares about you.” Eyes flickering down to the bandages on his chest, you then say, “And yeah, maybe I do, too.” 

Simon’s body flexes beneath you, hips rutting up into your own. And now, it’s his turn to hold your face in his hands. He lifts your jaw, making you look at him. 

“Hey, don’t worry about that now.” 

“Are you okay?” Eyes darting back up to his, they’re filled with concern from the memories of that day. “With me sitting like this on you?” 

He gives you a cocky grin. “I’m just fine, sweetheart. Don’t you worry about me. I’m a big boy, remember?” 

This makes you smirk, one hand finding its way to his pelvis with much more confidence than before. “Is that right?” 

“That’s right.” He nods, keeping that gorgeous grin. “Think you wanna take it?”

Breathing out a small laugh, you give your head a single shake. “I never knew you wanted to fuck me so bad.” 

“You never noticed the things I’ve said to you?”

“No, I noticed. I just thought… maybe it was harmless flirting.” 

At this, his head tilts, eyes boring into your kind orbs. “I don’t think anyone has ever called me harmless in my entire life.” 

“Yeah, you’re one scary motherfucker.” Leaning in to kiss him, he accepts it with a heated moan. “And I find that sexy as hell.” 

“Well, you said you like fixing bones.” He’s feeling desperate for you at this point; it’s like you won’t stop teasing him “Hop on this one, then.”

“Oh my god, you really are like every other fucking guy.” But you’re already reaching for the bottom of your sports bra, slipping it off your torso in one go. 

“God damn.” Large hands instantly return to your breasts, cupping and weighing your tits in his palms. His chest dips dramatically from releasing such a heavy breath, leaning in to kiss one of your delicate peaks. It’s firm and wet, the repeated press of his lips. And it wouldn’t be so overwhelming if he wasn’t practically making out with your tits.

Seeing your naked form for the first time sets his own alight. He always knew you were a sexy little thing, and now, he’s got first hand proof. Your curves look delicious, and if he weren’t in a tiny medical bed, he’d lay you down to lick them. 

“You want me?” He doesn’t expect this sort of response, his surprise going tenfold when he feels you reach down between your bodies. 

“Oh,” He releases a tight breath, feeling you run a finger over his erection. 

Staring into your eyes, he gives you an almost predatory gaze. “You know I do.”

Easily, you slide your shorts and panties to the side, revealing your delicate sex to him, though he can only barely see it. And then you’re reaching down, fingers curling over the band of his shorts to pull him out. When you do, he releases a sound you’ve never heard from him before, his jaw hanging low. He’s long and firm, crimson at the head and already leaking. The pulsations rocking through his cock are, at this point, an almost painful sensation; and when you look down, you grin. Letting the length of him rest on his lower abdomen, you move yourself so you can slide your glistening lips over him.

Simon hisses at the contact, strong hands cementing themselves to your hips. But he doesn’t stop you from moving. If anything, he only encourages you to. 

“You get off on this?” He suddenly asks, the feeling of your slippery center sliding against him making his head spin and his insides tense. “Fucking your superior?”

“Baby,” You laugh, shaking your head while continuing to move over him. “I’m on the med. team, you’re not my superior.” Taking a breath, you reach out, grabbing his jaw and lowering your voice to speak. “But you did get one thing right. I do want to fuck you.” 

Before he can say anything, you’re lifting yourself, his throbbing tip prodding at your entrance. You hold his gaze, an unexpected moan drifting from your lips when you finally begin to feel him. 

“Fuck,” He grits out, fingers digging into your sides and urging you down. “Come on, precious. You can take it.” 

Sliding down only a few mere inches, you wince. Holding onto his shoulders, your fingernails dig into his skin, scratching harshly at the firm muscles all along him. He’s bigger than you’d imagined him to be. His girth is wider than you’ve ever had, and when you reach down to feel him you quickly discover he also isn’t lacking in length. 

His military voice then comes out, that stern, commanding tone. “Focus - hey, eyes on me.” Irises snapping up to his, you do as you’re told. “That’s a good girl.” Jesus Christ, you didn’t expect a single ounce of praise to come from him.

Simon’s dominant hand then slides down, the pad of his thumb finding the reddened nub at the peak of your sex. Your hips jolt when he presses the thick digit against you, but with his free hand on your back, he brings you in. He applies pressure, prompting you to lean on him, his mouth seeking out your nipples once again. Slipping his tongue out and over your skin, it forces you to whine, feeling your hips rock involuntarily against him. With the stimulation coming from his thumb and tongue, you find yourself relaxing, resting on the weight of him. 

“Feels good, yeah?” 

Your fingers find the back of his head, your own dropping back. “Yes…” 

It’s overwhelming and sexy as all fucking hell. Simon can see the marks he’s left on your neck, shoulder and chest, and he grins, knowing they’ll be there in the morning even if he won’t be able to see them. He doesn’t stop the movement of his thumb, keeping the same amount of pressure as he swirls little circles over your sensitive clit. His mouth is sucking on you, too, his tongue running over your nipples in wet and passionate swipes. And altogether, it works like a charm, lubing you up enough for him to slide entirely inside. 

“Simon.” 

“You’ve got it, yeah… there we go…” The only hand that moves is the one that was touching your clit, fingers now attaching themselves to your hip once you’re entirely seated on him. 

“Fuck me,” You’re clinging to his shoulders, both arms wrapping around his neck. He’s removed himself from your tits, resting his face in the slope of your shoulder, just beside your throat. 

He’s searing hot and filling you completely, his tip seated deep in your guts as you pulse around him violently. And Simon’s aware of his size, so he waits for you to make the first move. And he snuggles into you while he does, resting in this brief lull. 

Feeling another person surrounding his body like this brings out a sensation from the depths of his heart, a feeling he hasn’t experienced in genuine years, decades, even. He feels like he can relax in your embrace, like he can let go with you. 

“Oh, god.” Head dropping back, you shift slightly, beginning to move. 

“Yes,” He encourages you, reaching up to hold your neck. “That’s it.” And then he pulls, bringing you down to him. Your lips meet in a small clash, tongues colliding as soon as you make contact. 

This entire event awakens something inside of you. It’s like he’s consuming you, taking over your body and every part of your mind. And you’ve felt like this for weeks, months; you’ve ached for him. At night you’ve touched yourself to the thought of him, and during the day, you’ve dreamt about him. It was so hard to be in his presence, knowing you couldn’t have him, that he probably didn’t even want you in the first place. But he does; he wants you just as badly as you want him. 

Simon sways his body with you, leaning back against the head of the bed. He uses this slight change in position as leverage to shove his hips up into you, giving you small and shallow thrusts. But he lets you do most of the work, grinning while admiring the way in which you find your pace. 

“You’re a tight thing, aren’t you?” His voice is gruff, eyes lowering to stare at the space where you’re repeatedly connecting. And then they furrow, mouth dropping open when he finally witnesses you lifting and lowering your hips. “And look how well you’re taking me…” 

“You’re… so fucking big.” Lowering your head, you then offer a half smirk, shaking your head at him. “Guess you really do have reason to be cocky, huh?” 

“Damn right, and I’m glad you know it.” 

“Jesus - fuck!” The first word is said through a scoff, the second through a high yelp. 

“You feel like makin’ fun of me again?” Simon then challenges, having lifted his feet and planted them directly on the edge of the bed. He uses this leverage to punch himself up into you, huffing out a sharp breath when he feels you fall onto his chest.

“Fuck, baby - I’m sorry.” You immediately lift yourself up, looking down at his bandages. “Are you alright?”

The fact that you’ve so easily been able to call him baby makes Simon smile, his teeth even showing for the first time that you’ve ever seen.

“You need to stop asking me that.” He says in that deeply, gritty tone. And then he shoves you forward again, knees high in the air as he lets you rest over his chest. 

Your arms slide around his neck, clinging to him as he begins to shove himself up into you. Sucking in a deep breath, he grunts out beside your face, his arms wrapping around your naked torso. He’s starting to feel sweaty, sticky, his skin warm and glistening. And at this point he’s bouncing you on his cock, your ass slapping down onto his pelvis with every move. He let you have your fun; now, he’s fucking you. 

“Oh my fucking god,” You’re trying desperately to keep up to move yourself back against him, but he doesn’t allow it. He’s punching the breath from your lungs, one hand sliding up your back to hold your head. 

He lets out a breathless laugh. “Are you alright?”

“S-Shut up, Ghost.” Comes your stuttered response, now gasping from how deep he’s hitting.

“Uh-uh,” He tuts, “Say my name, sweetheart. Sounds so good comin�� outta that pretty little mouth.”

This makes you laugh, a small hiccup of a sound due to his intense movements beneath you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, wanna hear you say it when we fuck.” 

“Oh, so this is going to happen again?” You tease, feeling his groans vibrate through his chest. Jesus, he’s so sturdy. 

Leaning forward, he grabs a fistful of your ass, growling into your ear, “I damn sure want it to.” 

You take advantage of his closeness, turning your head to capture his lips. “You’re so fucking deep.” 

“Yeah? You want me to stop?” He whispers in return against your lips.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” 

At this point, he’s panting beneath you, sliding down a little further on the bed. You move with him, still holding onto his firm body with a wild desperation. And he keeps your lips on him, shoving his tongue inside your mouth while keeping his brutal pace.

If you were dripping before it’s nothing compared to now. You’re leaking down his shaft, the creaminess of your arousal coating him entirely. And he can feel it; it’s making his eyes roll back into his head. 

“You’re gonna make me cum, squeezin’ around me like that.” 

One of your hands lowers, moving down to hold onto his bicep, and then his forearm. Turning your head to the side, you smile, ignoring his comment while you breathe out lightly, “I love your tattoos, baby.”

“You just love praisin’ me, don’t you?” In two seconds, that tattooed forearm rises, hand grabbing your face. “Bring those pretty eyes back to me.” And when you look into those endlessly deep eyes of his, he grits out sternly, “Eyes. On. Me.” 

“Simon,” It’s a small whine, one uttered when you feel him strike gold inside. “Please make me cum.” Your head drops to his shoulder, and what he does neck surprises you. He kisses your fucking cheek.

“I can do that for you.” 

As if things couldn’t become more intense, he takes it up a notch, ramming into you and forcing your face into the crook of his neck. His hand on the back of your head holds you there, and when you bite into his neck, he groans into the nighttime air. 

“Yesss, baby, don’t stop. Oh my god, please don’t stop.” He’s so big beneath you, his muscles bulging against your naked chest. And he revels in the feeling of your soft tits pressing against him, your beautiful body bouncing as it gets fucked by him. 

“Fuck me,” Comes his gasped out curse, muttering, “Such a good pussy.” 

“Fu-uck,” 

He’s pounding against that delicate spot that’s making you go dumb, your arms and thighs beginning to shake around him.

“G-Ghost, I’m…” 

“Say my name, say it again.” His voice is deep and thick, stuttering a bit. “One more time for me.” His thighs are flexing beneath your ass, one arm wrapped around your back and the other gripping the flesh on your hip.

It’s overwhelming, the feeling shoving its way through your body, coursing through your veins. The excitement of it all is something you haven’t felt in too long of a time, if ever before. Swallowing, you gather yourself enough to do as he says, once again, uttering his name. 

Immediately after, he’s cumming, hips breaking their pace and length throbbing inside you. His forceful shoves against your g-spot make you crumble above him, onto him, your body shaking. The way you’re holding onto him makes him feel like he can do anything, makes him think you feel safe with him. And you do. The world could be crumbling and still, you’d cling to him, knowing he’d hold you in his arms. 

Quivering limbs press against him, your body going a bit numb from the intensity of it all. Your center pulses around his girth, squeezing him tightly while you wash him in your arousal. You can feel his, too, the milky ropes shooting into you, and you revel in the fact that your body has made his feel this good. He’s breathing harshly beside you, pectorals flexing against your naked chest. You’ve never heard him groan so forcefully, not even when he’s out working. And that makes you smile, knowing you bring those noises out of him. A blissful smile crosses your face, body rolling in waves as you experience your own high above him. 

“Fuck me,” His accent is thick, coating the shell of your ear. He’s petting at your hair, body beginning to slump down on the mattress beneath him. “You okay there, princess?”

You’re quiet, still trying desperately to find your breath. Swallowing, you nod, turning your head to kiss his throat, breathing heavily against him. And while his body relaxes, he holds yours above him, urging you to do the same. 

“Maybe I should get hurt a little more often,” He looks over, pointer finger curling under your chin, gently lifting you to look at him. “If it means seein’ you.” 

Part Two

[ms3ox]

knuckle cracking ain’t for the faint of heart

drabble — 571 words, pairing: glamrock freddy/reader

—

You sat in Freddy’s green room tapping mindlessly on your phone. It was a slow night at the Pizzaplex, which left you with virtually no responsibilities to attend to. You took sanctuary in Freddy’s room.

“Ah, it is you! Come in,” he said, beckoning you inside with a friendly hand.

So there you sat, just as bored as you were before, but now in the added company of a ginormous, animatronic bear. You set your phone down, taking a deep breath and stretching. You curled your hand around your fist, cracking your knuckles on each hand, feeling the tension between your joints fade with every pop. In your peripherals, however, you spotted the bear gawking in horror at you.

“Oh, stars, are you alright? Did you just break something?” He asked, blue eyes scanning you worriedly, “I will go and fetch a splint right away!”

You watched Freddy shoot to his feet, pacing nervously around his room and trying to find something to help. You put up your hands defensively, actively trying to show him that you were, in fact, perfectly fine and did not require a splint.

“Freddy, what the hell—“

He pointed a claw at you, “Language.”

You waved him off, “what in the world are you talking about? A splint? For what? I haven’t broken anything!”

Freddy turned to you anxiously, brows furrowed with concern, “do not lie to me, superstar, I heard something crack a moment ago! Usually, cracking within the human body is cause for concern.” He tapped a nail to his chin, murmuring to himself, “should I alert the main office…?”

“Wait- wait, wait. Are you talking about me cracking my knuckles…?”

“So you admit it then! You did fracture something!”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. Was he seriously unaware of the concept of cracking one’s knuckles? Of course, it’s not like he, himself would be capable of doing it, but surely someone in the plex has done it in front of him before? You sighed, squeezing the bridge of your nose.

“Freddy. Do a quick vital scan on me.”

He scanned you.

“Do you see anything wrong?”

“Well, no…but—“

“When I said I cracked my knuckles, I didn’t mean I actually cracked them, bud. It’s a bedazzled way of saying you popped the air bubbles between your joints. Tons of people do it. Completely normal human thing. No bones were fractured, I promise.” To emphasize your point, you curled your fingers in and out of your palm to show him that you were, in fact, not injured in the slightest.

Freddy huffed the robotic equivalent of a disappointed sigh and walked over to you, taking your hands into his own, much larger ones and cradling them, lowering himself to your eye level.

“Well, if you say so, then I believe you, superstar. Just know that if you are ever in need of medical attention, I am capable of giving first-aid and various emergency procedures.”

His sparkly blue eyes looked at you affectionately, worry dissipating. You patted his head.

“You would know if I’m injured before I’d know, you big goof.”

The two of you sat silently for a moment, just staring at each other. The only reason you didn’t point out the pregnant silence was because you could see a thought bubbling behind Freddy’s eyes. He opened his palms, looking between you and your hands.

“Do you think…I could ‘crack my knuckles’?”

You laughed.