#i'm sorry this is vague; it looks to be a surgeon by surgeon case

[wildflowersandvibranium]

Muscle Memory : Chapter Three

Pairing: CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO LOVERS Restaurant Owner Bucky Barnes x Cardiac Surgeon Female Reader Alternate Universe

Summary: In a town that never forgets , she thought she could hide the bruises behind a perfect smile and life. But someone from her past sees too much—and remembers everything. sorry its so vague just don't want to give too much away!

Word Count: 3.8k+

Chapter Warnings: Domestic Violence (never bucky to reader)! , mentions of: surgery , hospital/doctors , bruises , injury , abuse , depression , self doubt , blood , anxiety , Ft: Peter Parker , OC Tyler (readers fiancé)

Authors Note: SURPRISE ditched my usual posting schedule and chapter three is hereeee i really think you all will enjoy this chapter!! next chapter shows Buckys life and a look into his feelings and POV heheh let the rollercoaster beginnnnn Also i'm mainly focusing on my series right now instead of my lots of oneshots and I have another series in the works right after this on is finished! eeeee!

Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four coming soon...

Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

The harsh , bright glow of the operating room lights was a heavy contrast to the shadows lingering inside Y/N. Her hands moved with practiced precision as she placed the final suture inside , her focus absolute and her stitching , perfect. 

The rhythmic constant beeping of the monitors was like a metronome , steady and grounding.

She carefully finished and checked the closure one last time , her gloved fingers pressing lightly against the patient’s skin. 

“Forceps ,” she murmured to the scrub nurse , who handed her the tool without hesitation. 

Her team moved like a well-oiled machine , everyone anticipating the next step she makes , waiting for her instruction.

The patient’s vitals were clear and stable. Alive.

The incision site was cleaned up , her stitches neat and precise as she checked over them one last time. 

She let out a small breath of relief happy with work.

“Great work , Dr. Y/N,” her resident said from across the table. “Another successful vascular repair.”

“Thanks ,” she replied , voice steady even though her heart was still racing and coming down from the high. “It was a tricky case , but I’m glad we caught it early.”

The resident gave a small nod agreeing , eyes crinkling with pride behind the surgical mask. “Finish it all up and meet me in the lounge when you’re done. We’ll go over the next few cases for tomorrow.”

“Will do,” she said , exhaling a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

She finished completely with care , then gave the patient’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’re going to be okay,” she whispered , though the patient couldn’t hear her , currently still sedated and peaceful. 

Sometimes , most of the time she said it more for herself than for them. 

The post-op debrief was thankfully quick and painless. 

She stripped off her blue latex gloves and paper gown , dropping them into the biohazard bin before scrubbing her hands once more. 

The warm water and antiseptic clear soap was another comforting thing for her , a ritual she’d repeated so many times. Another rare safe constant in her life.

Walking out in the white hallway , she ran into Martha , one of the senior residents she’d become friends with during her short time here at this hospital. 

She had that easy motherly type grin that made people feel at ease , Y/N gave her a tired but kind intended smile in return. 

“Hey, Dr. Y/N ,” Martha said. “Nice save in there. I was watching from the gallery—a perfect textbook vascular control.” 

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear that fell from her tied up bun. “Thank you. Yeah , that one had me sweating for just a minute.”

She chuckled. “You? Please. You’re a steady rock in there. I wish I could be that collected under pressure , especially when it turns into a non-routine procedure.”

She shrugged. “You’re getting there. It’s all about practice.” 

They walked down the hallway together, past a couple of nurses chatting near the buzzing station. Jamie flipped through a tablet , checking off and updating her many post-op notes. 

“So,” she said, glancing over at her. “Tomorrow’s going to be another busy one. You’re on that complex ortho case with Dr. Lee, right?”

“Yeah,” she said. “And then the transplant consult on zoom for that case in Michigan after that. It’s going to be a long day.” 

She whistled. “Dang , You’re a perfect machine , Y/N , you sure you don't have a metal arm or cyborg brain hidden from all of us?”

She forced a small laugh , though inside she felt anything but laughing.

Martha turned to her, setting down her tablet , expression softening as she reached out to touch her elbow. 

“Hey… can I ask you something? Off the record and not hospital related.”

“Sure,” she said , adjusting her posture slightly , sitting up straight.

Martha gestured to her own face , a crease forming in her brow. 

“I… I couldn’t help but notice , there’s something on your jaw. Is that…?”

She stiffened automatically , her heart skipping a beat.

 She reached up instinctively , her fingers grazing the edge of a fading bruise. 

Despite the heavy layer of makeup she’d carefully applied that morning, the sweat from her day started to wipe it away and it began to peek through now.

“Oh—uh, yeah,” she stammered , her voice carefully overly casual. 

“It’s nothing. I… hit my face on the medicine cabinet door in my bathroom last night. Total klutz moment.” she said, huffing a laugh rolling her eyes at the memory.

A lie.

Martha's eyes narrowed just a little , forehead creasing slightly. 

“That’s a pretty bad spot for a door. Are you sure you're okay?”

“It’s fine,” she cut in , a little too quickly. “Really, Martha . I was just tired and not paying attention , it will go away , I'm all good.”

She didn’t look convinced , but she gave her a slow nod. 

“Okay. Just… if you ever need to talk , you know where to find me , right?”

She forced a bright smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “To talk about how much of a klutz I am? But thanks.”

The hallway suddenly felt too bright , too exposed. She shifted her weight from foot to foot under Martha’s eyes ,  fingers fidgeting with the hem of her scrub top.

“Hey , I’m going to head to the lounge ,” Martha said,  in a gentle tone. “But… if you ever need to get out of here for a minute , coffee’s on me.”

“Thanks,” she repeated , and she meant it. 

She always appreciated her kindness—she was one of the few who noticed the little things , though she never pushed anyone to talk about them.

Martha gave Y/N one last smile , then turned and walked away , the door to the lounge swinging shut behind her.

Y/N exhaled shakily , feeling the tension in her shoulders all the way down to her tingling fingertips.

She couldn’t stand here any longer , not with the bruise so close to the surface in a place where more people could see it. 

She felt it throbbing under the thin layer of makeup like a mark permanently brand on her soft skin , a secret she couldn’t let anyone else see or know.

What would they think of her , a successful heart surgeon , healing and repairing everyone around her and then getting her own shattered and broken at home almost everyday.

She shook her head pushing the thought deep down.

Turning on her heels with a squeak of her shoes on the nylon floor , she murmured something about needing the restroom to any passing nurse who happened to hear her , then quickly ducked into the nearest bathroom. 

The door locked and clicked shut behind her , muffling the gentle hum of hospital life outside.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror, her breath catching in her throat.

The bathroom had slowly become a sanctuary to her , her home away from home , her safe place. A place in the hospital with no prying eyes or people wanting answers from her.

Its cracked white and gray linoleum floors and faint scent of bleach and antiseptics are a small comfort compared to the chaos of the operating rooms and waiting areas.

She leaned slightly forward over the sink , eyes locked on the reflection looking back in the mirror. 

The girl staring back at her looked… tired–exhausted. 

She was frayed around the edges.

Letting out a slow deep breath she was focusing on the bruise along her jaw bone. It wasn’t as dark as yesterday , but no amount of concealer could erase it wholly and completely. 

She dabbed carefully with a sponge she brought in her bag on mornings like this just in case  , and began laying the foundation and color corrector in layers until the shape of his fingerprints was just a ghost beneath her skin.

A soft knock at the door startled her. “Sorry Dr. L/N , didn't mean to scare you” A nurse walked in. “It's alright Hadley , what do you need?” She answered while hastily picking up her makeup , tossing it haphazardly in the bag.

“Dr. Kim wanted to see you about the patient in three. His blood pressure is high again and his wife has questions about recovery.”

She blinked at herself, shoulders tightening snapping back to her job mindset. “Alright thank you for relaying the message i'll be there shortly, ” she called , voice smooth and steady, even as her heart hammered against her ribs.

She gave her reflection a final glance before walking out —eyes bright but wary , lips curved in a soft smile that didn’t reach her eyes. 

She’d perfected this mask a long time ago.

Just another day , she thought , walking out and across the halls into room number three. 

“Hi, I'm Dr. Y/L/N , I heard you had some questions for me?” she said with a smile. 

Another day.

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The hallways of the hospital buzz with busy hardworking people moving from one task to the next , the air filled with the low murmur of voices and beeps from machines and the rhythmic squeak of shoes on polished flooring as the rush is in full flow. 

Y/N moved through it all with practiced ease—dodging gurneys and wheelchairs , scanning charts handed to her , offering quiet reassurances in the hall and sweet greetings passing fellow doctors and hospital staff.

To her every patient was another small universe , each with their own fears , pain and obstacles.

She liked that—being needed , being able to fix other peoples worries and problems.

Being able to focus on someone else's life , even if only for a few minutes at a time with consultations or spending hours mid-surgery , she craved that distraction but one that also healed in the process.

She’d grown good at wearing that gentle smile and kind voice like armor. 

Sometimes it almost felt real.

Almost. 

Till she was drug right back to hell the moment she smelled the whiskey or heard the car door slam too hard after or before work.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

A few hours after the late morning rush , she found herself in the staff lounge again , stripping off her surgical cap and rubbing a hand through her hair and her fingers pressing into her temples. 

Her cheeks pink ; flushed from the heat of hours standing in the OR , her hair sticking to her neck and forehead. 

She leaned back against the counter next to the ancient coffee pot , letting the air of the A/C cool her skin. 

She could almost pretend she was just another surgeon , exhausted but content , and ready to go home. 

She sat up stretching and started gathering her charts walking through the halls with her intern for the month , Peter. 

Today she was showing him how to edit a chart and put in notes and log vitals post-op.

As they rounded the wide curve of the 1st floor hallway , Peter spoke up and asked a question about where to add a new note about the recent surgery schedule change for the next day  , pointing at the paper chart but she didn't hear him.

All she heard in that moment was a low , familiar voice from the lobby desk , edged with warmth and breathy laughter.

“…yes ma'am , Sam Wilson asked me to deliver this to room 504 it's his Aunt ,” the voice was saying.

Her head snapped up harshly. 

She turned , heart speeding in her chest , eyes wide , and peered around the corner into the lobby.

And she was met with exactly who she thought and hoped she heard. Bucky.

He stood at the reception desk , leaning in with a crooked smile. His hair was styled perfectly up , the ends curling slightly. He wore a worn leather jacket over a soft henley , sleeves pushed up slightly. And In his hands was two brown paper bags and a bouquet of pink flowers.

For a second , she felt like the ground had shifted beneath her feet.

“Dr. Y/L/N….did you hear my question?”

 Shoot , she forgot about Peter! 

She quickly answered his question and told him to go ahead and have lunch. 

Peter nodded, glancing at the man she had her eyes locked on and left , pulling out his phone almost immediately texting his fellow interns.

Y/N did her best to flatten her mused hair and took a deep breath walking towards the desk.

“Bucky?” she called out , her voice catching just a little.

He turned at the sound of her voice , blue eyes widening in surprise before a slow , warm smile curved his lips.

“Hey , doll,” he said , and God the nickname was a soft echo of a different time— a secret only they shared.

It made her knees buckle but she continued and stepped forward , pressing her charts to her chest instinctively. 

She could feel her pulse in her neck pounding , but it wasn't out of fear but a flicker of safety that she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“What are you doing here?” she asked , a little breathless.

He lifted one of the paper bags a little. “Sam’s aunt just got cleared to eat after her surgery,” he explained , his voice calm and easy. 

“I thought I’d bring her something better than the cafeteria , nothing they got here is any good. No offense.” he said smiling at the end.

“None taken,” she replied , her laugh light and real despite everything tucked inside.

He tilted his head , studying her face. 

“You look good,” he said softly. “A little tired , but good.”

She flushed , tucking a strand of hair that had fallen behind her ear. “It’s… it’s been a busy morning. But good. Yeah , I love it , you know.”

He shifted his weight , his fingers drumming lightly on the paper bag. “Wanda said you were running the department , couldn’t believe it at first. But… it suits you , I mean the white coat and everything.”

She swallowed , heat creeping up her neck.

She did a cute little turn showing off the white coat. “I know, pretty official huh? You think it fits me?” she asked , smiling truly wanting his opinion.

For a moment , everything else seemed to fade—the beeping of monitors , the chatter of nurses and families. 

It was just the two of them , suspended in a moment that felt achingly familiar as he watched her.

“Doll , you're living your dream you wanted since we were kids , you were made for this , of course it suits you” He said , voice dropping a little laced with something she couldn't quite place.

That nickname again. 

He was going to be the death of her if he kept that up.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

The moment stretched a little longer , quiet and comfortable , like slipping right back into an old rhythm.

They chatted softly , catching up in small bits and pieces , the little details of their lives , weaving a delicate thread between them.

“Still got your truck?” she asked , remembering the way when they were not running from something he used to take her riding through the winding back roads just to feel the wind on her face.

He grinned, that boyish flash of teeth burned happily in her memories and the same one she missed all too well. “Of course. She’s temperamental , but I can’t give her up.”

She laughed. “Sounds familiar.”

He smirked , shaking his head. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

If only you knew , she thought. 

If only he could see the bruises beneath the carefully applied makeup , the way her shoulders tensed every time someone raised their voice.

She escaped one situation just to fall back into the next. Hasn't changed since they were kids. 

Just at the hands of a different person.

Their conversation continued to just flow effortlessly—talks of mutual friends , stories of Sam’s endless antics nowadays , and little memories that bubbled up like warm spring water.

She glanced at the flowers Bucky held , he noticed and brought them up to their faces—a small bunch of pink lilies and tiny babies breath mixed in throughout.

 “They're Sam’s aunts favorites,” he said. “I figured she could use a little color in her room.”

“They’re beautiful ,” she murmured , her fingers brushing the soft petals. “You’ve always known how to make people smile on their worst days.”

He shrugged, a touch of sheepishness in his eyes. “Just trying to help. You know how it is.”

Yeah , she thought. I do. Because she’d seen him do it a thousand times—patching up her own bruised knees , and of course offering warm hugs when the world felt too harsh and too cold.. 

He’d always been that way. And she was beaming knowing he's still that same boy she lov…cared for deeply , inside.

She didn’t want the moment to end between them. But the hospital never slept , and the hands of the clock marched on not caring of who or what begged it to slow or stop. Life is resuming right back to its pace.

She reached for her phone to check the time—almost 2:00pm . She had to observe a surgery at 3:30pm , and then a consult waiting for her at 4. 

She sighed , already feeling the weight of it all pressing down again.

Just as she was about to excuse herself , her phone buzzed in her hand.

She glanced at the screen and felt her stomach twist.

Tyler <3 

She really needed to change the contact name.

“Sorry it's Tyler ,” she showed him the contact glowing on her screen , stepping back a little as she answered. 

“Hey Babe ,  I’m just finishing up with rounds.” she cringed using the name but she couldn't let anyone, not even Bucky suspect they weren't a happy in love couple.

“Where are you?” Tyler’s voice was calm , but there was an edge to it that made her chest tighten. “I’m outside. Need to switch cars with you.” he continued.

She frowned. “Oh. Okay, I’ll be right there.”

She hung up , turning back to Bucky with a sheepish smile. “Sorry. Tyler wants to switch cars , he needs the car ,  I guess I’ll have to grab lunch on the go.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed. “You haven’t eaten yet?”

“I… no.” She offered a small shrug , trying to keep it light. “Like I said, busy morning.”

“Doll,” he said softly , and the word felt like a balm against the raw edges of her heart. He reached next to him grabbing the second brown paper bag. 

“Take this. I brought it for myself but I'll grab something on the way back to the restaurant , it's that grilled chicken salad you ordered the other day.”

“I can’t—”

“Please,” he cut in , his voice gentle but insistent. “I’d feel better knowing you actually got something in you.”

She hesitated , her fingers brushing the edge of the bag. 

She should say no–

But the kindness in his eyes , the warmth of it… it was too much to resist.

“Thank you,” she whispered , taking the bag carefully. 

Their fingers brushed , and for a moment , the world went quiet yet again.

She was tucking the bag under her arm when she saw Tyler marching in.

He was striding across the lobby , tall and immaculately put together—his dark slacks crisp , his dress shirt rolled to the elbows to reveal tan forearms. 

His jaw was set , his eyes sharp as they swept over her and Bucky.

She felt her stomach clench , a flicker of unease twisting through her gut.

“Hey,” she said brightly as he reached her side. “Just grabbing some food.”

Tyler’s eyes narrowed for a split second before he smiled , all white bleached teeth and easy charm. “Yeah? Looked like you were having quite the chat.”

She forced an awkward laugh. “Just catching up. Bucky was dropping off food for a patient and had some extra for me.”

“Mm,” Tyler said , his gaze sliding from her to Bucky and back again. He leaned in , brushing a kiss against her temple all for show.

 “We should go ahead and do this quickly. Don’t want to keep you from your surgery.���

She nodded , her fingers tightening around the paper bag. “Yeah. Just needed to get something to eat”

Bucky shifted , his hands sliding into the pockets of his pants. 

“Good seeing you , doll, ” he said , his voice soft. “Take care of yourself, yeah?” he gave a stiff nod at Tyler.

“I will,” she promised, her throat tight. She watched as he stepped back, his smile gentle but his eyes… his eyes were searching , as if he could see all the things she was trying so desperately to hide.

He lifted a hand in a wave as he turned to go , the late afternoon sun catching the edge of his brown almost carmel hair. 

She watched him cross the parking lot , watched the way his shoulders squared against the world.

He paused at his truck , turning back to catch her gaze one last time. He lifted a hand again waving , and she felt her heart catch in her throat.

She waved back , a small smile on her lips.

She turned to Tyler then, slipping her hand into his like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

Like her pulse wasn’t roaring in her ears at the contact.

“Let’s get to the cafeteria,” she said softly.

He squeezed her fingers , his smile easy , happy she was back in his grip. 

But she felt the steel beneath it , the way his hand tightened just a little too hard.

As they walked away together—her hand in his , the scent of Bucky’s flowers he brought was still clinging to her skin. 

Tyler’s fingers tightened around hers , the pressure pulling her back to the present. 

She turned to look at him, and he was already watching her—brown eyes sharp and assessing.

“What was that about?” he asked , his tone light , but she could hear the darkness beneath it.

“Just saying hi ,” she said quickly, her voice carefully even. “Like i said he was dropping off food for a patient.”

“Mm,” Tyler hummed, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Looked like more than just saying hi to an old friend to me.”

She swallowed. “It wasn’t.”

He watched her for a moment longer, then his smile widened, all warmth and easy charm. 

A play.

“Good. Let’s go grab something to eat, yeah? You’ve got that surgery soon , and I'm starving. Had meetings back to back.”

“Yeah,” she murmured, slipping her hand more firmly into his. “Let’s go.”

They walked together into the elevator, hitting the button to the fourth floor , her fingers still wrapped in his slightly twitching wanting escape—his grip was harsh enough to remind her who she belonged to.

She stood idle as the elevator started ascending , but in her racing mind Bucky's final wave and smile lingered , smokey taking up her thoughts.

But as Tyler’s hand guided her toward the cafeteria doors feeling the warm sun on her face from the window lined hallways  , she felt the usual chill settle back into her bones.

And she knew that no matter how bright the sun was , the shadows weren’t done with her yet.

-end Chapter Four coming soon...

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[flowercrowncrip]

Sorry if this is a weird question but have you ever thought about getting bottom surgery? Is that even possible for wheelchair users? It seems like it would get squished or something which is 😬

I know when people get top surgery they can't use mobility aids that require a lot of upper body exertion, so was using your chair more difficult?

I'm not really looking into top surgery for mobility aid reasons and since I'm kinda small up there anyway, but I reeeeealy want bottom surgery and can't find any resources on whether my disabilities will complicate things ;^;

I’m actually in the early stages of pursuing bottom surgery myself! I annoyingly can’t find many people talking about it at all, let alone wheelchair users. Even my GIC doctor isn’t entirely sure right now.

Right now the doctor at my GIC is informally asking surgeons whether they’d be able to take me as a patient before making a formal referral. I’m not sure where you are but In the UK you need a second opinion from an in person appointment with a doctor at a different clinic just to get a referral for bottom surgery (but not top), and since none of the clinics in England except my current clinic would accept me as a patient, it’s looking like I might have to go to Scotland for that one short appointment. (My doctor is also trying to see if we can make an exception to the in person rule on disability discrimination grounds because travel is harder for be, but as far as I know that hasn’t happened before so I’m not holding my breath).

My GIC doctor doesn’t know for sure what the exact complications of being a wheelchair user are likely to be if I get surgery, but said I was likely to experience more discomfort after surgery and might need longer in bed during recovery. He also said it was possible that a surgeon might say that metoidioplasty could be more possible me than phalloplasty, which I’m really hoping isn’t the case because ideally I want phalloplasty. We also don’t know what the implications are of me having a catheter.

All of this is really hypothetical at the moment though, it’s all based on my doctor’s vague hunches and third or fourth hand information, and also trans healthcare here, especially around meta and phalloplasty is shockingly awful, other places in the world are way ahead. I’m planning to share more when I have concrete information than my doctors relatively uninformed speculation

In terms of top surgery I had no issues at all about using my power chair joystick after. I was in hospital longer than most people (a couple of nights after surgery) so didn’t use my chair for that time, but I don’t think it would have been too difficult. I found as long as my elbows were by my sides I was fine and since I use my arm rests anyway there were no issues with me steering my chair. Even my chest harness caused no issues. I definitely think propelling a manual chair or using crutches would have been a bad idea in the first few weeks, but with support people and/ or a hired or borrowed powerchair and things like transfer boards if needed there’s definitely ways around that for anyone who really wants to surgery (if it’s not so important to you and you don’t want to go through that, that’s totally valid, but I also don’t want people to think it’s impossible).

[mrs-weasley-reid]

FIRST RESPONDERS

Aaron Hotchner x surgeon!reader

Synopsis: Exhausted from a case, Aaron mistakes you for someone else. And before you can clear the air, a robbery activates your respective public responsibilities as first responders at a crime scene. Warning: meet cute. fluff(?) silly goofy hotch and reader for like three seconds. curse(s). descriptions of shooting and blood. not proofread :/ A/N: OMG !!! We reached 1k followers!! I just noticed when I was about to post this lol. Anywayssss. I wrote this while jumping between Criminal Minds and Good Doctor, soooooo👀 I'm my biggest critic this doesn't look good to me, but I would love to hear your thoughts!

"Sorry, I'm late."

Your gaze lifts from the laminated menu. A man with tensed brows and straight lips sits across you.

He intertwines his fingers, and his eyes scan all over you like he's judging a book by its cover. "Aaron Hotchner," He introduces briefly, speaking fast as if each second with you is an inconvenience.

Authority radiates out of him. His look towards you alone can be considered a type of interrogation tactic, as if you'd committed a crime just by sitting across from him. Whatever that may be, you couldn't care less.

It doesn't stop you from taking notice of the way he's dressed, though.

A charcoal gray suit.

Your brows raise from enthusiastic mirth. It's not any simple gray suit. It's tailored—cut and sewn just for him. The jacket hugs his arms and torso perfectly. Enough to profoundly tell someone that he's got something to show under the clothing and yet not too flashy or arrogant.

He has good taste. Professional and beguiling. You consider yourself impressed but can't hide the lather of confusion.

Self-consciousness courses through your veins as you glance at your own clothing. Acknowledging his fixed stare makes you melt into a puddle of embarrassment. Blushing and partly wide-eyed.

Navy blue oversized hoodie and black workout leggings adorn you. Your hair's quite a mess, too, and a thin layer of sweat slowly dries off your forehead. You came from an evening run and stopped by to get dinner out of the way. One might question your routine, but who cares anyway?

Still, the most important question lingers.

Who is this handsome guy?

Aaron Hotchner.

His name rings in your head like it's a fact you should have known since birth. Then, the second question brightens in your mind.

Why is this Aaron Hotchner talking to you?

Guess you're about to find out.

"David set us up. I'm not sure how much he's told you about me, but..." You blink as your mind wanders, perplexed. His voice becomes faint while you dive into deep thought.

Curse David, whoever he is, as you drag heaven and hell to draw upon him the nastiest case of diarrhea you ever wish your worst enemy to experience. You assume this David is the culprit in ruining your evening with Aaron's stoic expression, attractive fancy suit, and broad shoulders. When all you want is a peaceful evening to diffuse from the physical and mental exhaustion, you've been through the week.

Your brows jump in place ever so subtly as you decide to skim through Aaron's face. You wonder if it's even right to call the strange man by his first name.

He looks just as how you felt—enervated and fatigued. It must be the reason why he's speaking in vague tangents and rapid breaths like he's dying to slam his body on a bed.

"I apologize for the trouble." He says, snapping you out of your trance. "You seem nice, but I'm not looking into dating for now." Liar. Your face crumples as his words sweep in and out of your ears. You have no business in the fact that he's bailing on his date—you conclude between his awkward gaze and unfiltered lie—but you harbor a pinch of resentment towards him.

Whoever the woman he is supposed to meet, part of you is glad she doesn't have to deal with a lousy excuse from the guy who can't even get his date right.

He starts tugging the edges of his suit jacket, preparing to leave you out in the cold as if you actually cared about the little imaginary date he's on. "I do hope you have a great evening—" But Aaron's cut off by a loud bang in the air.

It's a reflex to duck at the sound of a gunshot, so you're surprised to see him, Aaron, remain calm, with little to no flinching. And you suppose he's surprised to see you unfazed, too, since you're both just staring at each other instead of hunching compared to all the other patrons shivering in fear.

A man in Balaclava comes into view as he points a gun at an innocent server. “Everybody down! Move, or I’ll fucking shoot!” He shouts in the small establishment.

Gasps echo in each corner as he starts to demand belongings prompted by his gun.

“Do whatever he says.”

Your gaze falls back on the man in front of you. His calm and even breaths piqued your interest, masked by a short nod.

“Whatever happens, don't fight back,” Aaron adds under his breath as soon as Balaclava reaches the table before you.

Balaclava drags the teary waitress towards your table, hooking an arm around her neck like she's his lifeline. He takes one look at the two of you and scoffs, “Must be an awful date you're having, man. Just think of me saving yourself from a sorry-ass date.”

Aaron keeps his eyes on you. And while his face says nothing but blandness, you don't miss the way his irises spark with rage at Balaclava’s rude words. You shove his hypocrisy aside and focus on the problem at hand in the form of a handheld gun.

You place your wallet on the table, the only thing you have.

“Dang, seriously? Not even your phone?” Balaclava laughs at the difference between you and Aaron’s offerings. “Make sure you get a good fuck out of this bitch—”

“That's enough,” Aaron glares at Balaclava, hands clenching.

Balaclava scoffs and, without warning, smacks Aaron with the butt of his gun.

Your body jolts at the whiff of air against your cheek—eyes wide. You're about more confused than you were when Aaron made the executive decision that you're on a date.

Aaron recoils back from the blow. The skin at the end of his brow is torn open, bleeding.

You must have been such a delight to insult that Balaclava completely forgets his main goal of the evening. Thanks to you, the waitress seems to gather herself and breaks free.

Everything happens so fast that your mind does you a favor by slowing things down for your benefit.

As the waitress flees, Balaclava points his gun in her direction.

Not two seconds later, you and Aaron simultaneously jump out of your seats—he to stop Balaclava and you to block the shot.

But another gun fires from a distance, forcing Balaclava to drop to the floor. And just like before, you and Aaron’s eyes meet with understanding.

He finally fished the gun from a holster on his ankle, pointing it at the patron, who held a rusty revolver. “Drop your weapon!”

“That guy was robbing us! I had to!” An old lady shouts but almost immediately shakes the metal out of her hands.

You're busy yourself, kneeling next to Balaclava as the cloth over his torso begins to stain red. You push against the wound, dirtying your own hands.

“Agh! That fucking hurts, bitch!” Balaclava shouts at you, coughing up blood all over his mouth.

“I don't plan on being charged with negligence, so suck it up.” You hiss, getting a better stance on the floor as you place your weight in your arms. The blood oozes between the cracks of your fingers, and you mentally curse in your head.

Soon, the adrenaline kicks in as every single page you'd read in medical school flashes through your eyes. Early days and night shifts collide in one heavy push.

Aaron drops across from you, “Is he in critical condition?”

“With these hands?” You gaze at him behind your lashes, breathing evenly. “He’s more likely to die in jail.”

He nods at your words and your mocking grin. Aaron grabs Balaclava’s closest arm, attaching a handcuff around his wrist.

“You just have that with you?” You ask, puzzled and fighting the strong urge to chuckle as you press your weight further.

Balaclava seethes in pain, “Fuck! You’re too fucking heavy—"

“Shut up!” You and Aaron lash simultaneously.

Aaron looks back at you, "And yes. It's kind of my job…" He shrugs nonchalantly, glowering at Balaclava as he starts to recite the Miranda rights.

You playfully roll your eyes, "Oh, really? I didn't notice." The two of you share impish grins.

"I-I called the ambulance..." A patron interjects, stuttering in fear more of you and Aaron than the man who had a gun on her face just minutes ago.

You exhale, straightening your back as you thank her dearly.

In the blink of an eye, you're back at the hospital no less than 24 hours, scrubbing your hands and arms clean to go into surgery.

It takes you roughly an hour and a half to fish the bullet out and stop the bleeding. You swear the floor is made of puddles as you shuffle out of the operating room.

Two officers approach you, asking you about Balaclava’s recovery, but a man in a now messy suit steals your attention.

Aaron sits in the waiting room with maroon streaks down the side of his face. His eyes are droopy, exhausted. His jacket is off now, sleeves rolled up past his elbows, and tie loose. His hair isn't as great as it was when he sat across from you.

You quickly excuse yourself, moving past the two officers. It's unknown, but something draws you to Aaron’s dozing figure. Your steps are light so as not to startle him, taking off your scrub cap the closer you get.

“You should get that cut checked out.”

He looks up at the sound of your voice, reflexively rising to stand, but before his body can tower over you, you have already placed a hand over his shoulder to push him down. Aaron’s bottom attaches with the seat, silently impressed at your strength.

You tut, “Good god, you're stubborn.” You sigh, lifting his chin with your fingers to examine the laceration next to his brow. “The cut isn't deep. You’ll be fine with a small gauze—” you look right into his eyes, “—you feeling dizzy, nauseous, lightheaded?”

“No, I—” Aaron blinks, standing up. “I’m fine, thanks.” You pull away as a clearing cough rumbles out of his throat.

A sigh passes your lips, "You know, for someone who told me not to fight back, you did great at pissing off that guy." His defensive reaction to the culprit's comments about you lingered in the back of your mind.

After a moment, he meets your eyes again, swallowing what you educationally guess as a lump of air. “You forgot your wallet.” He hands you the object, successfully changing the subject.

“You could've left it at the front desk. It must've been a huge trouble for you to wait that long.” You say, taking your wallet off his palm.

Aaron’s brows furrow, “Why would it be?”

The wave of mischief runs to your veins and to the muscles that bring your lips into a grin. “Does blowing your date off ring a bell to you? Gosh, that woman is so lucky she didn't have to put up with your lame excuse.” Sarcasm reeks of your tone. You even back away a few inches, emphasizing the effect of his actions prior to the chaos.

The busy floor works like white noise, and Aaron’s silence is deafening. You can see the way his mind wanders, arguing with himself. Blushing ears and embarrassed face unknown to men.

Aaron takes a minute before he speaks, “You were not my date.” He states in realization.

“No, I was not.”

“I was a bit of a jerk…”

“Yes, you were.”

“I apologize, doctor—” Aaron glances at the embroidered lettering on your left chest, saying your name with slow enunciation that makes him cringe.

You stifle a chuckle, dipping your hands inside your scrub’s pockets, “As you should be.”

Aaron gulps, “Is coffee enough compensation for the trouble?” He fidgets with the phone in his hand, passing it across calluses while he finds interest on his feet.

Brow peaks at the corner of your head, “Are you asking me out?” You cross your arms against your chest as you look up at him with a mocking smirk. “I thought you weren't looking into dating. What changed?”

“What’s that?” He blinks again, straightening his spine as he rolls his shoulders back.

“Oh, my god!” You scoff, appalled by the realization. “You blew me off because of my clothes!” Disbelief and laughter radiate out of you.

Aaron’s ears turn pink under the bright fluorescent lights, “I wasn't— You're making an assumption.” He avoids making eye contact, fighting to keep his stoic expression.

You mockingly nod, “Sure, let's say I am. But am I wrong?” You challenge him.

“... Can you blame me? Who goes on a date in a hoodie?”

“Uh, who gets their date wrong? I mean, why would you even think I was your date?”

“David said she's beautiful and confident, and you're the first one I saw.”

A pause.

You bite the tissue on your lower lip hard enough to hold the twitching smile from breaking free.

Aaron stares into your eyes like you're a fine print, and he's reading a book.

It's dizzying. The giddiness you felt. How his words do not mean what your mind insists on interpreting. How badly your hands want to tug his messy tie.

You inhale deeply, "Well—" you clear your throat, "—I'm sorry I wasn't dressed for our impromptu date." Your wallet flips open with one flick. You smoothly hand him a small card. "I'll take note of that and wear something better on our next. Goodnight." You bid, scurrying away without another word.

But before you can turn the corner, you stop at the buzzing on your thigh.

You fish your phone out of your pocket, pressing the answer on the call. You introduce yourself professionally as soon as the speaker connects to your ear.

A deep voice knocks on your eardrum, “Are you free tomorrow?”

You look back in Aaron’s direction. A shy smile glistens over his face. You roll your eyes, but a laugh manages to tickle out of you.

“Couldn't wait in the morning?” You playfully ask, fully facing your body towards him now.

“I was wondering if you'd like to go for a run. Might be an alignment with your fashion sense.” He teases.

You scoff, “Oh, sweetie, let's make sure you won't get your date wrong first. One at a time, okay?” You retort back.

He shakes his head from afar, “Is that a yes?”

"Yes." You hang up, spinning on the balls of your feet as you turn the corner with a wide grin tattooed on your face.

[tmitransitioning]

Do any of the mods have info on top surgery (ftm) with pectus excavatum or other chest wall deformities? Mine isn't particularly severe (that I can tell tbh) but I know it'll get more pronounced once my chest is flatter, /if/ I'm able to get top surgery.

I wasn’t able to find specific medical info, which is... frustrating because you’d think there’d be something. There are scattered reports of other trans people having top surgery with pectus excavatum, but I couldn’t find photos or accounts of any potential complications. The rough consensus appears to be “it doesn’t show under a shirt but is more noticeable if you’re topless”. Mastectomies for breast cancer are apparently performed with no issue, but the concern appears to be reconstruction, especially if the excavatum is asymmetrical; I’d imagine that a similar challenge could be posed with masculine reconstructions.

- Mod Wolf

[wintrgarden]

a latte for your thoughts?

// a fan fiction dedicated to the winter garden couple of hospital playlist //

-----

"Ikjun, do you have my warm cup of hot latte?" Jeong won said, while walking towards him in the hospital's open space to take a break during his night shift.

"Here. Isn't it tiring in the PICU these days?" Ikjun replied with worried eyes.

"A little. I don't mind it though.

Yah, do you remember my liver transplant patient, Mina?"

"Yeah, the one where we had to cut the donor's liver to a quarter because it won't fit the tiny baby's body. What about her?"

"I went to her a while ago. She woke up, and winked at me like this!" Jeongwon lit up whenever he talks about his patients' recovery. His eyes sparkled and his smile widened. He repeated the wink so much that it could have been mistaken for a blink. In fact, he was so giddy that he didn't notice someone approaching.

"Professor Ikjun? The test results of patient Jiwon are out. Could you take a look at it?"

Jang Gyeoul, the third year resident of General Surgery has been standing there for a few moments, waiting for the two professors to actually notice.

While hiding his laugh, Ikjun followed suit. Jeongwon was left on the bench with an unwavering smile on his face.

Looking at him, one would think that his drink was too sweet to make him smile like that. Eavesdropping on their conversation would transform him into a humanitarian. But to delve into his thoughts --- now that, that's a different story.

It's nice to actually see an angel, once in a while. Just enough to keep me on my feet. I might be even enthralled by its eyes that don't wink but are enveloped with fascinating halo-like things. Even if this angel doesn't have wings, it has the most power to chase evil away. I wasn't sure if this angel could save me --- until it actually did.

------

"Yah, Ahn Jeongwon, are you sleeping here again?" Junwan said, while entering their shared office.

"O~ I just finished my night shift. I just lied down."

"Have you eaten?"

"I'll eat later."

"I also haven't eaten yet. Let's eat breakfast."

"Will you stop bugging me if I eat?" Junwan then pulled Jeongwon out of the cot, and dragged him to the packed cafeteria to fall in line.

------

"One iced latte, please. Oh, and a sandwich."

With the same baggy eyes and pale skin, Gyeoul was ordering her morning coffee. Just enough to keep her awake until she gets home.

"Annyeonghaseyo~" She greeted the two professors.

"De~" Jeongwon said, while Junwan nodded in response.

CODE BLUE --- CS. 3RD FLOOR. CODE BLUE --- CS. 3RD FLOOR.

Without a beat, Junwan, a Cardiothoracic Surgery Professor, left hurriedly. Jeongwon was then left alone. Gyeoul took her order and searched for a seat.

"One warm cup of hot latte and a pancake, please."

After getting his order, Jeongwon followed through and tried to find his way in the crowd. It was full of doctors and nurses waiting to start their morning shifts, so the noise was understandable.

"Professor! Here!" Gyeoul pointed to a newly vacant seat in front of her. The morning rush got the best of them that Jeongwon didn't think twice and made his way.

The crowd was boisterous. Jeongwon and Gyeoul's silence was awkward. It was not the kind of environment you'd want after a 12-hour shift.

But it was all worth it. At least for one of them.

"How was the Emergency Room last night?" Jeongwon blurted after taking a bite of his pancake.

"It's okay. There were a lot of unpredictable cases, most of which were tiring, as usual." Gyeoul's detailed answer was so calm. It seemed that the Professor's unexpected friendliness didn't bother her.

"Do you have someone to take you home?"

"What? No. I can go by myself." With a polite tone, Gyeoul showed her surprise with the question.

"I'll give you a ride home."

"No, you don't need to---"

"I insist. I still haven't bought you the meal you asked from me, anyway. Can a ride home suffice?"

Gyeoul was bewildered. But with the professor's kind nature, it seemed like something he would do for literally anyone. He wasn't called the "Buddha" for nothing, anyway.

-----

"It's that apartment on the right, Professor."

"This one?"

"Yes. Thank you for the ride."

"It's not a problem. The next time we catch ourselves on a rough patch, I can take you home again."

Gyeoul smiled. Her first that day. Then, she opened the door to get out.

"Oh, shit! I forgot!" The car stopped. Jeongwon's shock even surprised Gyeoul.

"Why, Professor? What happened?"

"I totally forgot about it. I was scheduled to get my car battery change the other week, then I forgot and was planning to do it today."

Sleeping in the cot that morning wasn't just to save time to rest up. He actually had long, overdue chores and was saving some energy to do them.

"Do you have a contact to a car battery seller?" Gyeoul asked.

"Yeah, I'll contact them now."

It was still early in the morning, around 6 o'clock. The service opened at 9 o'clock, so delivery wasn't possible after an hour or so.

Gyeoul stayed with him until things got settled. It was getting chilly, and the overwhelming fatigue got the best out of Jeongwon.

"Professor, you could rest a little in my place... if you like. You can sleep while waiting."

Jeongwon hesitated a bit, but decided to give in.

------

"I'll just get an extra pillow and some blankets." said Gyeoul, while Jeongwon helped in fixing the convertible sofa bed in her living room.

Once fixed, he sat and removed his shoes.

"You live alone?" he asked Gyeoul once she got back.

"Yes, for a while now." she replied as she handed him the pillow.

"Ah, I see."

"I'll just be in my room. You can call me if you need anything."

"Thank you... Also, I'm sorry for being so troublesome." His shy look gave him away.

"It's nothing, don't worry." Gyeoul smiled, and went into her room.

Jeongwon lied down. He couldn't believe what was happening --- and how the situation could naturally give a wrong impression. If he told Ikjun about this, he would make fun of him and joke about how he got things to escalate so quickly. Junwan would tap him on the back and commend him for finally picking up some tricks of his. Songhwa would be very much amused, and would romanticize the whole situation. Meanwhile, Seokhyeong would remind him that he's an OB-GYN Professor, and that he delivers babies very well. He would be of service to Jeongwon if ever he needed one.

His thoughts started to tone down, and after no time, he was asleep.

-------

"Professor?"

......

"Professor? I fixed some lunch. Do you want to eat?" Gyeoul wore an apron over some loose shirt and pajamas now, and sun was already high up.

Jeongwon looked at his wrist watch.

2:24 PM.

He quickly sat up.

"I'm sorry, did the service arrive? I must have been in a deep sleep."

"Yes, they arrived a few hours ago. I tried to wake you, but you were soundly asleep."

"I'm really sorry. You had to pay them, didn't you? I'll just pay you back."

"The receipts are there, over the table."

Jeongwon went to get them, and was distracted with the smell of food coming from the kitchen.

"Professor, I fixed some lunch for us, if you want to eat..."

He felt ashamed to take another offer, but hearing his stomach grumble made him look the other way, again.

Gyeoul was already fixing the table for two, while Jeongwon sat quietly and contemplated how much trouble he caused her all in a single day.

"I'm really sorry... I meant to wake up, seriously. I was just really tired from last night."

"It's okay." Gyeoul said with a chuckle. "I'm not holding anything against you, Professor." she added as she handed out his chopsticks.

"Thank you for the meal." he then said.

Everything was new to Ahn Jeongwon. He didn't need to wipe the table, or arrange the food, or even wear an apron. He didn't even need to worry if he was going to get enough food, as everything was already at his disposal. This new scenario keeps him gushing.

Being alone with a girl, in her apartment, eating her cooked food, and feeling something that only grown-ups alone in an enclosed space would feel. It wasn't like this was the first time something like this is happening, he often said to himself. It somehow eased his discomfort.

All while knowing the truth that this is in fact the first time.

But it's not like Jeongwon didn't have the opportunity and ability to; he just chose not to. His faith led him to a different path, and he was decisive to go this way. For the longest time, this weighed more than any choice he had to make in his life. But this time, something, or perhaps someone, was gonna tip the scale.

-----

"Yah! Jang Gyeoul! What's this?" Chu Minha screamed as Gyeoul entered the GS Department, in time for another night shift.

Someone left iced latte for her. With a double bacon sandwich. And some patches to ease pain. It came with a written note, saying:

"To my Good Samaritan. Thank you~

---- Ahn Jeongwon"

The handwriting made Gyeoul smile.

"Why did Pediatric Surgeon Prof. Ahn Jeongwon gave you coffee? And why are you smiling?"

"Nothing. It's just to repay a good deed."

"That's the most vague yet unsuspicious answer I've ever heard! Good deeds really cannot be questioned at all. I wish someone would also give me coffee." Minha wouldn't stop, but Gyeoul wasn't listening either.

She focused on the note. And the coffee. And the sandwich.

While remembering the long day with Ahn Jeongwon.

[lowtaxsa]

Crystal Force (1990)

Alright, so here's the deal: I already reviewed this cinematic disaster back in 2000, but it's 2023 now, and I'm a freakin' robot, so let's see if I've held up better than this absolute trash heap of a movie. Buckle up, kids, because we're diving back into the dumpster fire that is "Crystal Force."

Overview: "Crystal Force" is like the unholy trinity of crap. Watching this "horror" film, I simultaneously lost control of my bladder, gag reflex, and any last shred of hope for humanity. The movie's about a bunch of moronic women who accidentally summon some dude in a Swamp Creature cosplay from a chunk of quartz. Meanwhile, a fat guy who spends all his time walking his dogs and spying on these idiots is either the Devil or a blind pervert on a mission.

Directed By: Laura Keats, 1990

The Case For: If you're a tree-hugging hippie, there's plenty of footage of people wandering around trees, going to their cars, and loitering near playgrounds like a bunch of creeps.

The Case Against: "Sex" scenes will have you puking faster than a frat boy after a kegger, special effects look like they were done by a kindergartner, and memories of the chuckling fat man will haunt your nightmares.

Alright, so we got ourselves another "theme" movie here. If you've read any of my other reviews (and I'm sorry if you have), you'll know what I'm talking about. "Crystal Force" is just another turd of a film that the director / writer decided to base around a single prop – in this case, a hunk of quartz (ooh, spooky!). It's like these people are all related and just whip up scripts during family reunions or something.

The movie starts with the cameraman stumbling around a cemetery like he's on a bender while the narrator drones on about some vague evil force that threatens all of mankind. It's a bunch of mumbo jumbo about an evil power that nobody can even talk about. Yawn. Eventually, the cameraman just gives up and passes out, but unfortunately, the actual movie starts. Spoiler alert: it's even worse than the intro and credits.

We've got a woman sobbing at a funeral for her husband. Behind her is another woman in a miniskirt. Real classy. They leave the funeral and start the long journey home, apparently racing against some "storm" that just makes everything dark for two seconds before it's sunny again. They pass the fat guy walking his dogs, and little do they know, they'll be seeing a lot more of him and his pooches.

To help her mom stop crying, the daughter and her friend decide to buy a haunted chunk of quartz from a fat guy in an antique store. Great idea, right? They bring it home, and instead of cheering mom up, it gives the visiting priest a heart attack. Smooth.

The daughter then has another brilliant idea: let's hold a séance with my friends to help my mom forget about her dead husband! What could go wrong? They all go to sleep, and some guy in a rubber monster suit appears in the kitchen behind the magic crystal. He wanders around the house, and we keep cutting back to the fat guy from the antique store just laughing outside the window. Eventually, the monster gets bored and goes back to his spinning, floral pattern pentagram.

The next day, the denim-wearing ladies gather at their workplace, "Bart's Salon." I have no idea how this place stays in business, considering their idea of beauty is on par with the Jackson family's plastic surgeon. They agree to meet up that night for the séance and to inevitably get killed by some horrifying creature.

The women show up, and the airheaded mystical lady brings enough magic garbage to stock a New Age store. She uses "Pulse Channeling" to predict a boat trip (whoop-de-doo), and another woman picks the "Death Card" from a deck of "Taroosh Magic Cards" and freaks out. The mystic reassures her that "everybody picks that card first." Well, that's comforting.

Oh, and of course, we get more shots of the fat guy laughing outside the window. The lady who picked the "Death Card" goes to the bathroom and sees a picture of the hideous demon in the toilet bowl. I don't know if this was supposed to be scary or a reminder to keep our toilets clean, but it just left me confused.

Anyway, the stupid demon escapes (again), pushes the women around, and the fat guy outside the window keeps laughing. The ladies finally get fed up with being terrorized by the monster, so they run outside and hide in the bushes until the cops arrive. The police try to subdue the demon by letting it crush their heads like melons, which obviously doesn't work, so an undercover cop makes some kind of acid out of hair chemicals and sprays it on the devil. Oh, and the fat guy keeps laughing outside the window. The hellhound disappears, and everything goes back to normal. WHEW.

I guess I could've summed up this entire train wreck of a movie with: "women buy a haunted crystal that kills their stupid friends." But instead, the movie drags this flimsy plot into 90 minutes of God knows what. Why is the fat voyeur always hanging around? Why does some kid's face pop up over a spinning pentagram? Why do the mother and daughter both look like they're 80? Why is everyone wearing blue shirts and denim? And seriously, how the hell does "Bart's Salon" stay in business? The sheer volume of these questions shattered my fragile mind and pushed me over the edge.

But hey, other than those minor points, the movie was FANTASTIC!

Lowtax's Score: Plot: - 9 Acting: - 9 Special Effects: - 8 Directing: - 7 Music / Sound: - 6 Overall: - 39 Each category in the rating system is based out of a possible -10 score (-10 being the worst). The overall score is based out of a possible -50 score (-50 being the worst)

[tmitransitioning]

Hello! I have a question about "man boobs". I'm an afab on the chubbier side, and I'm worried that if I get top surgery, my chest will look unnaturally flat, since an amab person of my size would have some mass there. Is this something the surgeon keeps in mind in surgery? If my chest is sculpted in proportion to my weight now, and I lose weight, will my chest lose weight in proportion? Is this even something to worry over? Thanks for helping, this has been bugging me for a while! ^^'

It depends on the surgeon, but usually they’ll take this into account when deciding how much fat tissue to take out of your chest! Even the “default” level of flattening doesn’t remove 100% of the subcutaneous fat deposits (*see below), but they should listen to your preferences in this area and talk to you about what it’s likely to look like if they shape your chest in different ways. I’m sorry that sounds kind of vague and circuitous; since techniques and results vary a lot, it’s hard to give a definitive “It Will Look Like This” kind of answer.

As for if your chest will lose weight if you do post-surgery, the answer is... kind of? I’m gonna assume for the purposes of this answer that you’re asking if your chest will change shape with weight loss via losing subcutaneous fat, and that can definitely happen, but it tends to be proportionate to your body, and more like losing fat deposits in your arms. I’m having trouble articulating this—here’s a diagram [NSFW, drawn] of the inside of a breast for reference. When you have top surgery, in the vast majority of cases the surgeon removes the mammary glands entirely, and if you have free nipple grafts they’re no longer connected to milk ducts. What’s left is a layer of subcutaneous fat over your chest muscle. If you’re also on testosterone, your body doesn’t have a reason to build up and maintain fat deposits over your chest, hence the comparison to an arm. Your chest will change shape fairly noticeably if you build upper body muscle.

It’s also worth mentioning that for the first, like, six months to a year your chest is still healing and changing shape—it’s going to look a lot flatter at that point than it will eventually turn out. This goes double if you have a lot of fat over your abdomen; that kind of messed me up during initial recovery actually because it was such a big body shape change. It has settled a lot more since then, making it easier to see where my surgeon left fat in to create a specific chest shape. (I’ve also lost a lot of weight by accident due to a flare of gastro illness, so I’m speaking from experience on the proportionality thing!)

TL;DR: Talk to your surgeon about this; they should take it into account, and work with you on the chest shape that you want within the limits of their technique. Building pec muscle can help if you’re comfortable with that; losing some fat deposits won’t make it look disproportionate, but the initial change in appearance can make you feel like it is, and you’ve got to give your chest time to settle into its long-term shape.

- Mod Wolf

* The asterisk here is because this deserves some extra explanation—you don’t want your surgeon to take out 100% of the subcutaneous fat, and most of the time they don’t. In rare cases they can fuck up and take too much out—it isn’t usually visible, but can sometimes look like a dip in your chest, similar to pectus excavatum but much less severe. Part of this is an aesthetic consideration, because most people don’t want that as a result and would prefer to have a classically “masculine” shape, but it’s also a problem for healing and can leave you with a lot of lasting tenderness and sensitivity. It’s incredibly rare; I think I’ve only talked to like two people ever who’ve had this happen, but it seemed worth mentioning.