#it would be great if hospitals got medication they needed

[mllepomme]

hey just a thing. especially for usamericans. when you see stuff from gaza and think “oh my god, it’s so horrible that these people don’t get to have medications they need due to israel blocking access! israel is so evil for doing that.”

never forget that your goverment regularly does, and is doing the same to many countries.

many have lost access to simple things such as over the counter pain medication, either due to overly high cost or simply lack of supply, due to sanctions placed and i damn well hope you guys will be banging down the doors of your political representatives so they stop harming the most vulnerable whilst acting like they’re sanctioning a state, not their people.

[girlgenius1111]

Ingrid Engen, “oh that doesn’t feel quite right”, at Home

---

Ingrid was, among many things, easy to celebrate. She was about as close to perfect as a human could get. Or, at least, you thought so. You’d pestered her about what she wanted to do for her birthday for weeks in advance, and though she kept saying she was fine with anything as long as she was with you, you were very determined to plan a day full of things she loved. 

First, you both slept in, waking up just before noon still entangled with each other from the night before. Then, you’d gone for coffee and lunch at her favorite place in the city. She’d called her parents and her siblings after that, chatting for a while and opening the gifts they’d sent ahead. You’d put on her favorite movie once she was off the phone, curling up against her on the sofa as she watched, mumbling some of the words from memory under her breath. 

Next up was cooking dinner together, again her favorite meal on the menu. The gifts you’d gotten her were set on the bed, a small cake hidden in the back of the fridge so you could sing to her. Everything had gone perfectly according to plan. 

And then, as you were cutting the vegetables for dinner at the counter, the knife slipped. 

“Oh!” You gasped, dropping the knife down with a clatter. 

“Love?” Ingrid asked, turning away from the stove, peering at your back. You’d gone completely still. 

“That… that doesn’t feel right.” You mumbled, clutching your finger tightly in your other hand. 

“What doesn’t–?” Ingrid cut herself off as you turned around, blood already staining your shirt, dripping down onto the ground underneath you. “Oh my god!” 

“Ow,” you stated, voice completely devoid of any feeling or inflection. Ingrid rushed towards you, her hand gripping your shoulder in an attempt to steady you. Your girlfriend knew how you were with blood. 

You weren’t really thinking about the blood, though, because you knew whatever the state of your finger was… it wasn’t good. 

The knife had slipped. It had stung. You’d dropped the knife, and without really looking at your finger, you’d gripped it in your other hand tightly. It was bleeding heavily, but something in you refused to unwrap your hand from around your finger, refused to look at the damage. 

“Let me see.” Ingrid instructed, her brows knitted together in concern. 

Still, your hand remained wrapped around your injured finger. Partially because you knew it would hurt like hell the minute you took pressure off it, and also because you weren’t convinced that you wouldn’t be missing part of your fingertip. 

“Ingrid,” You exhaled, shaking your head and looking at your girlfriend with fear written across your face. 

“It’s going to be okay love, just let me see.” 

With a bit more gentle coaxing, you shut your eyes tightly and let go of your finger. Ingrid bit her lip to stop a gasp from escaping, more than a little horrified by the injury. You had a massive gash cutting into the top of your index finger, and there was blood pouring from the wound. Ingrid was surprised that the tip of your finger was still attached, and she knew it needed medical attention immediately. Your eyes were still shut, though there were tears starting to make their way down your face. 

Ingrid grabbed a clean towel from the drawer, uncaring that she got blood on the white cabinets, and wrapped your hand up tightly in it. 

“Is it bad?” You asked. 

Ingrid hesitated, but knew there was no use lying. “It’s not great, but we’ll go to the hospital and they’ll stitch you right up.” 

You whimpered pathetically at the thought of stitches, but even though you hadn’t actually seen the injury, you knew it needed them. Opening your eyes, you found Ingrid looking right at you, a reassuring look on her face. Without another word, you allowed Ingrid to guide you out of the apartment, into the elevator and down to the car. 

Maybe you were going into shock or something, because all you could think was that you’d probably let Ingrid take you anywhere. Even to the hospital, where they’d thread a needle through your skin and put you back together. Anywhere. 

—

You could feel Ingrid’s eyes on you as she pulled to a stop at a red light, yet you didn’t turn towards her. Your finger still throbbed with pain, the medication they’d given you at the hospital not having kicked in yet. Your hand was wrapped up in an enormous amount of gauze and bandages, which felt a bit overkill. 

Thought after thought was rushing through your brain, all of them centered around trying to salvage Ingrid’s birthday, which you were absolutely sure you’d completely ruined. Still, it must have looked like you were in pain, because Ingrid was still looking at you worriedly. 

“What are you thinking, min kjære?” She wondered, her hand reaching over to rest on your knee. 

Turning towards her, you blinked hard at the tears that were rapidly accumulating in your eyes. “Nothing! If you want, we can go out to dinner. Or I could go get your favorite from–”

“Are you crying?” Ingrid interrupted, brow furrowing with worry even as she fixed her attention back on the road in front of her. “Does it hurt?”

Her voice was dripping with sympathy, and you resisted the urge to sigh. 

“No, I’m fine.” You insisted. “For dinner–”

“Love, I don’t care about dinner. I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t! Don’t worry about me. It’s your birthday and I’ve already ruined it, I don’t want to make it worse, so please just tell me where you want to go to dinner.” Your voice was trembling, your need to make up for messing up such a special day overwhelming you. 

“You haven’t ruined anything!” Ingrid exclaimed, pulling the car over to the side of the road and turning to look at you sadly. “Love, you didn’t ruin my birthday. You didn’t almost cut your finger off on purpose.” 

You huffed out a laugh that turned into some kind of sob, and Ingrid didn’t hesitate to unbuckle her seatbelt and lean over the center console to pull you into a hug. 

“You have not ruined anything, baby. Truly. We can do dinner another night and it will be just as special. I just want you to be okay.” Ingrid murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. 

“I’m okay,” you sniffled into her neck, quite aware how ironic and completely unbelievable you sounded. 

The Norwegian pulled away, placing both her hands on your cheeks. Her thumbs swept away a few tears, before she leaned in and gently kissed you. “You’re in pain and that was an awful, terrifying experience and I can tell you just want to go home to bed. So let’s do that, hmm?” 

You nodded begrudgingly, well aware that now Ingrid knew how upset you were, there was no way on earth or in heaven that she would allow you to go anywhere but home to bed. And you couldn’t lie, that was truly all you wanted. 

Ingrid kissed you once more, before putting the car back in drive and pulling onto the road again. Her hand remained intertwined with your uninjured one, her thumb tracing circles over the back of it.

“You know,” you began after a few minutes. “I still have a working hand. And working fingers.” 

Ingrid laughed, the sound melodic, bringing butterflies to your stomach no matter how many times you heard it. “We can put your good hand to work tomorrow, if you’re feeling better.” 

You sank back into the passenger seat with a grin, the promise of tomorrow’s activities improving your mood greatly. Or maybe, that was just Ingrid improving your mood. Even when you felt like you were at your worst, she was always able to make you feel like things weren’t so bad. Mostly because if you were with her, things couldn’t be bad. This situation wasn’t any different. 

---

[onehundredelevven]

Pt. 2 of this

---

“WHERE THE HELL IS HE?”

The nurse flinched, clutching the clipboard as you screamed through another contraction. Your grip on the hospital bed’s side rail could bend metal at this point. Toji, your ever-so-reliable husband, was nowhere to be seen.

“I-I’m sure he’ll be here soon, ma’am,” the nurse stammered, glancing at the door like she half-expected Toji to burst in and make things worse.

Oh, he would.

Another wave of pain rolled through, and you let out a groan so guttural it felt like you were summoning demons. Just as you were about to demand Toji’s head on a stick, the door slammed open.

In he came, looking harried, out of breath, and… holding a bag of snacks?

“Babe, I’m here!” he announced, as if you hadn’t just been swearing his name to the high heavens for the past ten minutes. He tossed the bag onto the counter, ignoring the judgmental stares of the hospital staff.

“Where the hell were you?!” you snapped, glaring at him with all the fury of a woman in labor.

“Vending machine was broken. Had to shake it down,” he replied nonchalantly, cracking his knuckles as if this were a normal day in his life.

“You LEFT ME for SNACKS?”

“To be fair, I got you something, too,” he said, holding up a candy bar like it would earn him redemption.

The nurse cleared her throat awkwardly. “Mr. Fushiguro, your wife is fully dilated. It’s time to—”

“WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!” Toji bellowed, panic flashing in his eyes.

“It means we’re having the baby, now,” you snarled.

His face went pale. The man who once faced off against cursed spirits without breaking a sweat now looked like he might faint.

“Wait, wait—like, right now? Right now?”

“Yes, Toji!” you yelled, grabbing his shirt collar and pulling him close. “And if you don’t stop acting like an idiot, you’ll be the one who needs medical attention!”

That seemed to snap him out of it. He quickly took his place beside you, gripping your hand as the doctor and nurses prepared for delivery.

Toji was silent for all of three seconds.

“Holy crap, is that the head?”

“YES, Toji!”

“Damn, that’s… that’s kinda gross.”

“Shut UP!”

The delivery room descended into chaos. You screamed, Toji swore, the doctor gave orders, and the baby decided to make its grand entrance in the middle of it all.

“Push, push, push!”

“You’re doing great, babe,” Toji said, though his expression screamed What the hell is happening?

“Don’t ‘babe’ me, this is all YOUR FAULT!”

“Yeah, yeah, blame me later,” he muttered, wiping sweat from your forehead with his sleeve.

And then, at last, the wailing cries of a newborn filled the room.

“It’s a boy!” the doctor announced, holding up the squirming, crying baby for you to see.

Toji froze. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again like he couldn’t quite process what he was seeing.

“…That’s mine?” he asked, voice unusually soft.

“Yes, Toji,” you said, tears streaming down your face. “That’s our son.”

The nurse handed the baby to you, and you cradled him against your chest. Toji leaned over, his large hand brushing against the baby’s tiny fist.

“Damn,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. “He’s… perfect.”

For a moment, everything was quiet. The chaos of the delivery room faded away, replaced by the soft coos of your newborn and the warmth of your husband by your side.

Then, of course, Toji broke the silence.

“He looks like me. Poor kid.”

You snorted, exhausted but unable to help laughing. “He’s already got your big head.”

“Hey, watch it,” Toji said, though his smirk betrayed his amusement.

The nurse stepped forward, gently taking the baby to weigh and clean him. Toji followed her like a hawk, grumbling under his breath about how they’d better not drop his kid.

When he returned, holding the now-swaddled baby in his arms, the sight nearly broke you. Toji Fushiguro—big, rough, intimidating Toji—was holding your tiny son like he was made of glass.

“Hey, kid,” he murmured, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “I’m your dad. And, uh… I’m gonna try not to screw you up too bad, alright?”

Tears welled up in your eyes again. “Toji…”

He looked at you, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. “Thanks for this, baby. For him. For everything.”

You smiled, reaching out to take his hand. “We did this together.”

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Yeah. And we’re gonna kill it as parents, even if the kid ends up with your weird-ass cravings.”

“Hey!”

The baby let out a tiny, gurgling cry, cutting off your retort. Toji chuckled, bouncing him lightly in his arms.

“Guess he’s hungry already. Kid’s got my appetite.”

As the three of you settled into this new chapter of chaos together, you couldn’t help but think: If Toji could handle vending machines and ramen monstrosities for you, he could handle fatherhood just fine.

[elixirfromthestars]

Crossroads

Pairing: Ex!Bucky Barnes x Neurosurgeon!Reader

Summary: On a rainy night on your way home, fate decides to cross your path with someone who used to hold the dearest place in your heart.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warning(s): ANGST / heartbreak / failed relationship / very tiny mention of a surgical procedure, not in great detail / I know I mentioned angst already, but this is all angst with maybe like a tiny sprinkle of fluff / medical career mentions (I did my research, but just in case I got anything wrong) / mentions of Bucky's trauma and hardships from his past

Prompt/Theme: chai latte (caught in the cold rain) + melancholy (write a tragic tale)

a/n: This is my submission for @the-slumberparty ‘s Winds of Autumn Challenge. Did I choose melancholy because of my name? Perhaps 🫢 In all honesty, it has been too long since I wrote a pure angst piece, so I knew I had to write something to get the heartbreak going. As a piece of advice, not everything is as it seems, so wait till the end for the whole story to come together. I would say happy reading, but instead, I'll wait here with tissues and a hug for those who need it after reading this. ( ´･･)ﾉ(._.`) Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!! ♡♡♡

bucky masterlist ♡ // main masterlist ♡

Lightning crackles across the sky as you scurry across the puddle-ridden streets of New York desperately searching for a cab. The wind had rendered your umbrella useless, so the rain fell in harsh sheets against your body—soaking you from head to toe. 

You had been performing an emergency surgery on one of your patients in a different hospital from the one you resided in. Your patient had suffered from an aneurysm brought on by a complication from a previous surgery. She couldn’t be transported across the city as immediate medical attention was needed, so you were transported to said hospital via the hospital helicopter. 

Which you obviously couldn’t use to fly back home.

The surgery took longer than anticipated—eight hours to be exact. When you were close to being done there was unexpected bleeding coming from the surgical sight and you had to go back in and reexamine everything to stop the bleeding. Thankfully, there were no more complications after that and you could focus on stabilizing your patient so she could go and recover in the intensive care unit.

The downpour had started towards the end of your surgery. You were far from home and the already unfamiliar streets had blurred together amongst the harsh streaks of water obscuring your vision. It was still the early hours of the night and you were exhausted—longing to collapse against your bedsheets and wrap yourself in their warmth. Tiredness had seeped its way into your bones faster than the rain had seeped into your coat. 

As you cross another street you spot a bus shelter nearby and make a run for it. Knowing it might be a while before you can catch a cab and at least those glass walls would be enough to protect you from the icy wind that threatened to freeze you. Once inside you try your best to warm up your hands, observing the way your breath materializes in the air. You consider ordering a rideshare, but you know the numbness in your fingertips has to go away before you can take your phone out and order it. 

Fate, however, had other plans for you. 

“Y/n?”

Your body stiffens when a voice calls your name, flinching slightly at the way the thunder that follows rattles the glass shelter. The shiver that makes its way down your spine is no longer from the chilly air. 

This can’t be happening—not after two years. Not when you had finally moved on from him. 

He calls your name again, his presence cementing itself into reality. You don’t want to face him, but there’s that small part of you—the part that will forever be his—that begs you to look. That needs to know if it's him. 

Your head turns slowly, holding your breath as you keep your emotions in check as best as you can. Hoping the universe was playing a cruel joke on you and presenting you with someone who sounded exactly like him. 

But what stranger would ever utter your name with such heart-aching familiarity?

Deep down you knew there was no mistaking it. It was him. It was Bucky. You would know the sound of his voice even in the loudest of crowds—like a language only your heart spoke. Even now when it was on the cusp of becoming a forgotten one.

Your eyes meet his as a flash of lightning illuminates you both. Your heart squeezes in your chest at the way his eyes seem stormier than the sky. Filled with as many conflicting emotions as you know are reflected in yours. 

“Bucky. Hi…”

When you find your voice it sounds foreign to you—quiet and tight. The years of rebuilding every part of yourself are on the edge of crumbling down in a simple greeting. Bucky gives you a small smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes as he looks between you and the bus shelter. He frowns for a moment as if having a silent debate with himself.

“Is it okay if I um…?” He nods towards the inside of the bus shelter as he trails off. This is when you finally notice the way the rain whips against his skin, soaking him where he stands, and it dawns on you what he’s asking. 

He wants to know if it’s okay for him to seek shelter from the rain with you. The man who used to insist on holding your hand wherever you went because he loved the feeling of your hand in his, the man who would hug you from behind and hide in the crook of your neck as he showered it with kisses when he missed you on the days you came home late, the man who cuddled you close every night and whispered how much he loved you between kisses that seemed to want to reach your very soul—that man was now asking for your permission to be in the same space as you. 

Oh, how cruel fate could be…

“Yes, of course. It's fine,” your response is polite—too polite, and your movements are virtually robotic as you take a few steps to your right to keep a stranger’s distance between you. He mumbles a small thanks before he steps inside, his hands firmly in his jacket pockets. Keeping to his personal space as much as possible.

Silence stretches between you—heavy with unspoken sentiments—interrupted only by the booming of thunder and the drumming of rain as it hits whatever is in its way. You try to distract yourself by counting the seconds between the stoplight changing from green to yellow to red and then green again, but it's no use when he’s but a few steps away from you. The man who you used to know like the back of your hand is now a stranger and it's causing you more distress than you’d like to admit. The inside of your cheek feels the brunt of that torment as you bite it incessantly. You have to do something about this silence before it consumes you. 

“How have you—”

“How’s it been—”

You both speak up at the same time, holding each other’s gaze for a fraction of a second before falling into an awkward laugh. He clears his throat before encouraging you to speak first. You look away, the civility of his tone crawling under your skin and unstitching mended wounds—some of which still had not fully healed yet. 

“Okay, well how have you been, Bucky?”

“Good. I’ve been good. You?”

“Oh. I’ve been good too.”

The exchange went by quickly between half-truths and hesitations. Then it crept up again—the silence. Gnawing at you both and mocking you for not being able to have a simple conversation. When words between you used to flow as freely as the rain that traps you here—really the lack of vocabulary now is laughable. Your past selves would have never been able to wrap their heads around how hard talking to one another would be. 

Your past selves would also never understand why you broke up.

Your current self still doesn’t entirely understand. 

Bucky shifts on his feet, lips in a tight line as he speaks up, “I read about your recent award. Congratulations, you deserved it,” the sincerity in his voice causes your head to snap in his direction. When you see his genuine smile, one that makes the corner of his eyes slightly crinkle, it tugs at your heartstrings in a way that threatens to pull you back to him. 

You won that award for your research achievements in neuroscience a few months ago. Which could only mean that at least until a few months ago, Bucky had been keeping up with you. A piece of information that left you speechless and with a million thoughts running through your mind.

Had he always kept up with you?

Or did he only just recently revisit a part of his past?

Were you on his mind all this time like he had been in yours?

There was so much you wanted to ask—to say—but instead, your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water until you were able to mutter a soft, “Thank you.” The sound so quiet it was almost swallowed by the rain. Bucky caught it, however, his body less rigid hearing the familiar cadence. He smiles a little wider, the kind of smile that chips away at the walls you built up these last two years and insists you spill a string of secrets you have locked away in the deepest depths of your heart. 

All secrets that revolve around him.

How you also kept up with him, never scrolling past a social media or news post highlighting anything that had to do with the Avengers in hopes of getting a glimpse of him. Visiting the coffee shop where you two met on occasions telling yourself it's because no other coffee tastes better, but really it's because of the memories of you two that lie in every corner of that building. The loss of him follows you even when you order takeout because you would rather deal with the lie of ordering for two rather than with the truth of ordering for one.

However, the biggest secret of them all pertains to those days when the ache, the longing, and the loneliness become a cacophony too loud to ignore, that you find yourself rummaging through your closet. Searching for the shoe box that’s tucked away amongst miscellaneous items. One that holds the pieces of your heart that shattered the day Bucky broke up with you.

A faded movie ticket from the Lord of the Rings marathon you took him to, gum wrappers folded into hearts that Bucky had a habit of doing every time you needed a new bookmark, photobooth pictures that always ended with you two kissing, a letter he wrote you on your one year anniversary where he told you he loved you for the first time, and other items you cherished with every part of you. 

Holding onto these things might seem to others like a mistake when your goal is to move on, but these were things you couldn’t find the strength to get rid of. And if that made you weak, clinging onto bits of what was the greatest love of your life, then so be it. 

You were weak—and quite frankly you didn’t give a damn.

The one thing holding you back from pouring your heart out to Bucky was how things had ended. The vagueness, the fight, the resentment and confusion. All of it took hold of you and screamed at you to be more cautious—to keep your guard up. 

Thunder snaps you out of your thoughts, grounding you in the present once more. You need answers, but you know you have to be careful about how you retrieve them. 

You cross your arms, pressing your coat tighter against your body in an attempt to comfort yourself—turning to face him only to have your heart skip a beat when you realize he is already looking at you. His gaze softens with a vulnerability that makes the words get stuck in your throat. 

You let out a shaky exhale, “I uh—I saw Sam became the new Captain America. I also saw you on the news fighting alongside him. Are you two friends now?” The question comes out innocent enough, making Bucky’s demeanor brighten as he takes it as a sign that you’re open to talking to him. Your hidden intention behind that question is a need for confirmation of something that eats away at you anytime you think about his reason for breaking up with you. 

Bucky runs a hand through his damp hair, “Yeah, sort of—it's a long story. We went on a mission together and I realized he wasn’t that annoying, so we became mission partners and I guess you could consider us friends now,” he explains to you with a fond expression, one that leaves a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. Through the occasional flashes of lightning you’re able to get a better look at him and the sinking feeling is on the verge of drowning you. 

Bucky no longer had harsh dark circles under his eyes, his scruff was nicely shaven, and his posture was lighter as if the world was no longer falling heavily on his shoulders. His hair is shorter than when you last saw him, he had lost a bit of weight, and he had found a friend in Sam. Something you had encouraged him to do while you two were still together, but he refused on account of saying he only needed you. All of this verified to you the one thing you feared the most. 

Bucky had been right all along. He had been right in breaking up with you. 

Two years ago, Bucky had sat you down on his living room couch and told you he wasn’t ready for a relationship. That was it—that was his reason for ending things with you after almost two years of being together. He claimed he wasn’t ready for a long-term commitment, not after everything he had gone through. And seeing him now, seeing how much better he looked was enough proof for you. No amount of your love, your support, or your companionship would have been enough to keep him in your life. 

Bucky had been right all along, and you hated how utterly bitter that made you. 

How could you accept that what tore you to pieces mended Bucky back together?

The air between you shifts, it’s thick and acrid, and your heart races in your chest with fury as loud as the thunder that rumbles in the clouds. Leaving you wondering if Bucky can differentiate which one is more turbulent. He can sense the change in you and it causes the heaviness in his shoulders to return and his body to go rigid—his own heart threatening to leap out of his chest.

Your phone rings and you use it as an excuse to turn away from Bucky. You pull it out of your bag and check the caller ID—it's Nate. Your neighbor from down the hall of your apartment complex who moved in a couple of months ago, and was now a casual hookup of yours. You weren’t one for hookups, but after years of no connection you longed to feel something—anything with anyone. 

You were only human after all. 

You answer the call, needing to put your attention elsewhere before you say anything to Bucky you might regret later. You keep your responses short, knowing Nate could only be calling you at this hour for one reason and one reason only. Bucky didn’t need to know that reason, so you decide to keep the conversation as brief as possible. 

Bucky shifts his weight on his feet as he pretends to watch the rain. Focusing on a water droplet sliding down the glass wall as it races the other droplets to the ground. He’s tempted to use his super soldier hearing to listen in on your conversation, but he knows he doesn’t have the right to. There are only bits and pieces that slip through—like the fact that you’re talking to a man—and it has one soul-crushing thought come to his mind.

You have someone. Bucky comes to the conclusion that you have moved on. 

As soon as you end the call the words slip out of Bucky’s mouth before he can stop them. 

“Was that your boyfriend?” The word boyfriend tastes bitter on his tongue and he can’t help the prickly edge to his voice. You catch the way his jaw tenses and he averts your gaze—ripping the wounds of heartbreak right open. He has no right to feel any sort of way about you moving on. He knows it, you know it, and yet there he is troubled at the thought of you with someone else. 

Screw not saying something you’ll regret later. 

“Yeah. That was him,” you lie with the utmost confidence that even you believe it. A tiny voice in the back of your head scolds you for lying, but it's hard to hear it when the resentment fights its way up to the surface and wins. 

Bucky had fallen from a train, been brainwashed, tortured, beaten left and right in battles, gone to war, blipped out of existence, stabbed and shot more times than he can count and yet no physical blow could ever amount to the sheer devastating pain he was feeling right now knowing you had found someone else. Knowing there was someone else who got to see your sleepy smiles in the mornings, who got to cuddle you close to his chest on movie nights, who got to steal kisses from you while cooking dinner together, and who got to hear your laughter whenever he wanted—a sound that never failed to make Bucky all warm and fuzzy inside. 

There was someone else who now had the privilege and the honor to be loved by you, and to love you.

Bucky would never be able to recover from that.

“I’m…happy for you. I’m happy you were able to move on,” Bucky lies through his teeth as he says those words that feel like acid on his tongue. 

“It’s not like I had a choice in the matter,” you retort coldly, causing Bucky to flinch as if you had struck him. 

“Y/n I—”

“No. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear how you weren’t ready for a relationship. How ending it was for the best. Breaking every single promise you made to me like it meant nothing to you. You don’t tell someone you love them, that you want to move in together—you don’t talk about the future and then turn around and break up with them because you’re not ready for something long-term. Not unless…not unless it was all a lie from the start,” your voice cracks by the end and it takes everything within you to swallow the lump in your throat before it suffocates you. 

The thunder roars so loudly it shakes the glass walls around you and for a second you think they might break—but ultimately they don’t. Bucky doesn’t know what to say, taking a sharp intake of a breath before blowing out the air in what sounds like a choked sob. Every fiber of his being longs to break the distance, wrap you in his arms, and never let you go. Cradling you close to his chest like he used to whenever you were upset. 

He had lost that privilege—he’s well aware of that, and yet his wishes remain the same. 

Bucky knows there’s more he can say. Things that might not restore what was broken, but that will definitely give you answers or closure. Although, at the risk of hurting you even more he keeps them to himself and instead whispers a strained, “I’m sorry.” Letting the weight of his apology hang in the air.

Your tears threaten to spill, but you blink them away not wanting to cry in front of him. Maybe you shouldn’t be bitter and resentful—after all the man you loved with your whole heart ended up better off without you. If you truly loved him you should be happy for him. Despite that, there is no ounce of happiness that you can conjure up for him right now. At this moment, you are swimming in an ocean of negative emotions that are close to pulling you under into a very dark place. 

You can be the bigger person tomorrow—tonight you won’t be.

Bucky can hear it before it comes into view, a cab is finally making its way down the road. He steps out into the road to wave it down, the rain ricocheting off of his shoulders. Without speaking another word, he heads over to the cab and opens the door to the backseat, gesturing for you to go in. For a second, you hesitate to take the cab. You know once you do this is it—it's over. 

A beat passes until you make a decision. With a heavy heart, you force one foot in front of the other, stepping into the rain and then into the backseat. Accepting this small gesture from Bucky as a heartfelt goodbye. If you stuck around any longer that bit of animosity brewing in the pit of your stomach would’ve boiled over. 

You don’t look at Bucky as he closes the door, but you steal one last glance at him as you tell the driver your address. The sight squeezes your chest so tightly it might stop beating—Bucky is crying. He’s hiding it well with the rain and with the way he stands, but you know him better than that. At one point he was your other half and you can tell by the way his jaw trembles, his eyes narrow, and his expression molds to one of pain that he’s crying.

You hide your face from him as the dam breaks and everything you had been holding back comes flooding out.

Bucky steps back into the shelter of the glass walls and watches the cab drive off with you in it—taking his heart and his hope with you. 

Bucky tries to force the tears to stop, but he knows it's no use. Just like you, he had held back a sea of truths he wanted to confess. Truths he wasn’t sure you even wanted to hear or he even deserved to tell. 

Bucky is not doing good. He has to throw himself into work and missions every waking moment because if he doesn’t his thoughts will run straight to you. Every night he has to hold his pillow close to his chest because he got so used to sleeping with you cuddled against him, that he feels like a part of him is missing and it steals his sleep. He tosses and turns for hours and stares at the ceiling as if there he’ll find the answers on how to make the heartache go away. In the silence, he longs to hear your voice, so the radio and the tv stay on so he doesn’t have to sit with the uncomfortable. The food he eats lacks flavor and the world around him seems devoid of color. 

His existence feels soulless without you.

Sam is trying to get him to talk about it, but you’re the one thing Sam is not allowed to bring up. Not when Bucky is ashamed of the full story—of the truth. 

The full story—the full truth—was the one thing most of all that he wanted to get off of his chest and confess to you. Bucky didn’t break up with you because he wasn’t ready for a long-term relationship. That was the biggest lie he had ever told and one that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

He was ready. He was so damn ready he even bought the ring to ask you to marry him—to make forever official. That was until he noticed how his problems began to bleed into your life. So much so, that your career as a surgeon began to suffer from it. The one thing you were most passionate about—your dream—the one thing you worked blood, sweat, and tears for was in jeopardy because Bucky was still suffering from the baggage of his past as the Winter Solider.

Bucky felt like a burden. You would never call him that and he knew if you ever heard him call himself that, you would do and say everything you could to assure him he was wrong. You loved him so deeply and so selflessly that your career became an afterthought. When his nightmares plagued him, when his PTSD was triggered, when the world felt like it was closing in on him—there you were. By his side no matter the time of day to hold him close and reassure him he wasn’t alone, that he was safe, and that he was loved. Bucky had become so dependent on you he didn’t realize how it had affected you until he stumbled across the warning letters your job sent, the voicemails, and the overheard calls. The articles that came out questioning your morality for dating the Winter Solider—a cold-blooded killer.

Your reputation as a surgeon was on the line because of him.

That’s when Bucky knew he had to call it off. He had to be the one to end it and fix his own problems before his darkness ruined you. You had sacrificed so much and worked endlessly to prove yourself in your field, that there was no way he would let you risk all of that for him. He knew he couldn’t be honest with you over the real reasons—you would never accept them. So he made sure to find a reason that would lead you to hate him. 

Bucky knew he had to be the villain of the story. He was used to it, he’d be okay with it. As long as you were safe from the shadows that followed him, he would gladly be the bad guy. For some people that was all he’d ever be, at least in this case he could control the narrative and in the end it would benefit you.

Bucky couldn’t give you forever, no, but in letting you go he made sure you kept your dream—and that was enough for him. That meant everything to him. 

He had to suffer the greatest loss of his life so that the love of his life could be free. A hard truth that he would forever carry the weight of and that you would never know was done as an ultimate act of love—the selfless act of knowing when to say goodbye. 

[lexsssu]

Light (Sung Jinwoo)

TAGS: Jinwoo/Wife!reader, a/b/o dynamics, yandere, possessive behavior, death threats, breeding, impregnation, oneshot Ao3 ver. | Ko-fi | Commissions (OPEN)

‘E-Rank Hunter’ Sung Jinwoo, a title that followed him wherever he went.

Despite being a Hunter, his power was barely above an ordinary human aside from his slightly more durable constitution and slightly increased healing factor. 

So it’s only natural that he’d always get hurt. Hell, he’d even nearly gotten killed several times already too!

It’s not that Jinwoo wanted to be a Hunter in the first place, because aside from the danger, others also made fun of him for his weakness. Even the pay was surprisingly not that great.

Unfortunately, someone in his mid-20s who lacked any viable skills that could land him a normal, stable job could only work for the Hunter’s Association as one of their Hunters thanks to their medical aid. Had it not been for that, he wouldn’t have been able to afford the millions of won in medical bills he owed to the hospital that took care of his mother. 

It’s not even just his mother that he had to provide for, but there was also his little sister and…

“Look Yeonjin, it’s Papa!”

Worn out from another hard days’ work, E-Rank Hunter Sung Jinwoo felt all the fatigue in his body seemingly melt away into nothingness as the sight and scent of his wife and child soothed his weary soul.

“Baba!” Yeonjin babbled excitedly as his father made a beeline straight towards you both.

“Welcome home, honey.” You press a kiss to the corner of his lips, smiling up at him with those beautiful eyes he always finds himself lost in.

This is why even if he didn’t want to, he would still participate in these Association supervised raids.

No sacrifice is too great when it comes to his loved ones and regardless of how incompetent he was as a Hunter, Jinwoo will do everything in his power to ensure that they are cared and provided for.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’ve been with Sung Jinwoo ever since you were both just awkward teenagers in high school. When his mother succumbed to Eternal Slumber and left the two siblings to fend for themselves, instead of leaving you surprised Jinwoo and moved into their cozy little home and took it upon yourself to keep the house running.

While Jinwoo did his best to provide for the family’s needs, you would ensure that Jinah and the house was taken care of, this of course also included the man himself whenever he came home from a raid. You even managed to get a remote job that helped with the bills in spite of juggling that with your online college classes as well. 

You and Jinwoo had gone through so much together over the past decade so was it any surprise you’d end up married and with a child? 

Former friends and schoolmates might have tried to dissuade you time and time again to leave him, pitying you for spending your youth making ends meet and watching over your comatose mother-in-law, Jinah, and now your own baby.

But you don’t need their ‘advice’ when it all basically boiled down to having you leave your family because you ‘deserved better.’

They are already what’s best for you.

Why can’t they see that?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“ How are you and Sung Jinwoo? Sorry I couldn’t check up on you guys sooner. Life’s been pretty hectic on my end.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t attend your baby shower before! I had an important appointment that I couldn’t bail out on back then. Why don’t we go out for coffee to catch up?”

“...way too long since we last got together! Our whole class is gonna have a reunion this weekend. Everyone will be stoked to see you and Sung Jinwoo there— ”

Beep.

You don’t have the chance to reply to the latest call you received from another ‘old friend’ when your husband pressed the ‘end’ button in one swift movement. Though his face looked impassive, his scent clearly revealed his agitation…not to mention the shadows that seemed to curl spread from the soles of his feet.

“First they tell you that I’m not good enough for you and that you should leave me, but now they’re all tripping over themselves just to get to me through you…” His lips stretched into a snarl, power rolling off of him in waves at their blatant shamelessness.

Jinwoo’s inner alpha snorted and growled, the mere thought of these impertinent swine daring to involve themselves with his mate even if to gain some sort of favor from him made him see red. 

How dare they?! He will rip and tear into their bodies and reap their souls to become his puppets if they so much as even approach you. Did they think he was bound by the rules of ordinary mortals? Foolish! 

The hunter’s alpha grinned diabolically, cackling from within the confines of his soul at thought of giving them their just desserts.  

“My big, strong alpha…Always willing to jump into the fray to provide for and protect us…How can I even think about choosing anyone else?” You crooned and purred at him, the soft sounds and your calming scent enveloping him and taming the shadows that once agitatedly tried to claw their way out of him to carry out his will. 

Burrowing into his arms, you embrace his waist and nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck as best as you could considering his height had also shot up recently. A few soothing kisses and kitten licks against the skin of his neck later, Jinwoo’s darkness ceased pouring out of him.

Because now he focused on wholeheartedly pouring every last drop of cum into your quivering pussy, thrusting weakly even as his fat knot plugged you up. Your lower belly bulged with the amount of cum he’d already fucked into you, but he still didn’t think it was enough.

At the rate he was going, he’s definitely gonna knock you up again.

Not that you were complaining. It was about time for Yeonjin to finally have a sibling to love.

[what-even-is-thiss]

I’m thinking about healthcare right now. I’m back on Kaiser since I’m back in California (and went through a several months long incredibly frustrating process with medi-cal and Medicaid) and they’re kind of one of the better health insurance companies. I say kind of because they deny the smallest percentage of claims of any major US health insurance company but they still deny around 7%

The weird thing with Kaiser is you need to do almost everything through Kaiser. They own hospitals, doctor’s offices, psychiatrists, etc. and usually that’s a great thing except for when it’s not.

See if I go to Kaiser every doctor they have there has access to my medical record. I don’t need to sign any tedious forms, spend two weeks pulling my hair out and sending emails. They’ve just got it. I don’t need to do my own research deciding what specialist to go to. I just go to one. Sometimes in the same building on the same day.

Usually, this is really good. When I was on blue cross/blue shield in Texas it took me like two weeks of constant emailing and phone calls to set up an appointment with a specialist. With Kaiser I just go to my GP and they look at me and confirm yes a specialist would help with that and then make an appointment with the next available one. And if I don’t like that guy or my GP I can just request a change on the website and get a different one.

The thing with Kaiser though is you need to go to Kaiser. Physically. You’ve gotta go to one of the Kaiser buildings. Often times there’s one, maybe two per city. You’ve gotta go there for doctors appointments, pharmacy, emergency care, everything unless they’ve contracted out to someone else. And they don’t do that very much.

So if I live next door to a random pharmacy I can’t use that pharmacy. I’ve gotta go halfway across town to go to my local Kaiser facility.

They also kind of might sometimes have a lack of local people with knowledge about certain very niche things. For my transgender related health issues I almost always have to do a tele-health appointment with some guy in San Francisco. I can’t talk to a specialist in person because my local Kaiser hospital doesn’t have anyone who specializes in transgender related healthcare on staff.

I mostly like Kaiser. I like that my doctors all just have my info. I like that I can just go to one place to get everything done relatively quickly. I don’t like that I have to go on a video call with a guy in San Francisco to ask questions about certain things or that I have to go across town to pick up my prescriptions when I live within walking distance of a pharmacy.

Why am I telling you all this? Well I think some people don’t know this sort of thing even exists in the US, or the advantages and disadvantages of it.

Of course the amount of money that Kaiser covers still varies depending on your plan like every other plan in the US. They have eye care but not all employers will pay for Kaiser eye care. They don’t have dental as far as I know.

I just think that there’s a world out there where we could have the best of both Kaiser and traditonal insurance companies, you know? A world where you can go to any pharmacy you want and also see a doctor the same day. That’s not the sort of world or specifically country I live in but I think it’s good for us all to understand the sort of stuff that’s out there. The possibilities.

[steddieas-shegoes]

Wayne Munson can’t read beyond a very basic elementary level, enough to read warnings and food labels, road signs, small notes Eddie leaves for him, but that’s it

But he tells stories. Always has. That’s where Eddie got it from

So when Eddie is in the hospital, in a medically induced coma so he can heal properly without pain, Wayne struggles. He knows he can tell Eddie stories, but he wishes he could read to him, give him something familiar to grab onto

One day he walks in to see Steve reading The Hobbit to him, blushing when he’s caught like Wayne would give two shits about anything when it comes to someone supporting Eddie

It happens every day after that and Wayne listens. He hears the way Steve stumbles over words sometimes, how he pauses after a complicated paragraph as if he needs to read it silently again to understand what it said

And he realizes Steve isn’t a strong reader either, but he’s pushing himself for Eddie

He doesn’t say anything outright, but he starts sitting next to Steve when he reads instead of across the room, watches his fingers glide across the pages and associates words with what he says, starts to feel like maybe he wants to try reading to Eddie too

Steve doesn’t say anything outright either but he recognizes what Wayne’s doing, hopes he’s able to find the confidence to try because Eddie won’t care how fast or well he reads to him, he’ll just be happy that his uncle is trying

Steve intentionally leaves the book on the bed when he leaves to get food at the cafeteria and hopes Wayne tries

When he comes back he quietly peeks around the doorway and smiles to himself when he sees that Wayne is trying, he’s going slowly, sounding out words and names that are actually difficult for anyone not just people like them

Decides he doesn’t want to interrupt today, gives them privacy for this

Doesn’t say anything when the bookmark is only three pages ahead of where steve was the day before, just smiles and picks up where Wayne left off

When Eddie wakes up, Wayne is the one reading to him, Steve asleep in the corner

Wayne still prefers telling his own stories, may never be a great reader, but Eddie will never forget the way it felt to see Wayne so engrossed in his favorite book

[drchucktingle]

POUNDED BY DR. GLOBUS

wanted to post today about recent health journey of chuck. ALL STARTED at texas show when i began to feel tightness in throat. i have learned this is called GLOBUS which is a tingler character name if ive ever heard one. got through appearance and had blast but felt terrible

plane journey home was even worse. first thought i strained my voice, then tested for covid (negative) and then figured it was just some kind of virus. had running nose and hoarse and extreme pain behind face and MOST of all this golf ball throat

figured i would get better as viruses tend to go but I DID NOT. after a few weeks went to way of urgent care and they took one look and said you have EXTREME FORM OF ACID REFLUX called laryngopharyngeal reflux (also great tingler character name)

basically this is when your stomach acid comes all the way back up into your throat and erodes it. they immediately put me on medications name of pepcid plus tums plus gaviscon and on and on. was inhaling a dang pharmacy every morning

problem is, NO CHANGE. in fact it started getting worse. in addition to previous symptoms i now couldnt keep any food down. upset stomach all the time. could barely sleep. plus it is scary to have a sickness that gets WORSE over time like this

more doctor talks. i up doses of medication to combat sickness but does not seem to work. one night wake up and think 'dang i need to go to er my stomach is going to just melt or something' (keep in mind because i cant keep food down i am always hungry too).

i go to hospital and they say 'WHOA we need to intervene right now we are doing some tests and putting you on SERIOUS LIFE CHANGING MEDICINE. but here is catch to do the tests we need you to stop all your medication for 48 hours and it will be HECK but you gotta do it bud'

so i stop all medication in preparation for new SICK LIFE and suddenly… i start feeling better. not just a little but after weeks of this awful way i wake up in ONE DAY and feel fully cured. now heres twist: at the same time this was happening I started taking allergy medicine

you may already know where i am going with so i will just hit you with it. my INITIAL SICKNESS was just extreme seasonal allergies that required nothing more than claritin and flonase. however i was misdiagnosed with ACID REFLUX and medication was making my stomach a wasteland

the second i stopped taking acid reflux meds and started on allergy trot i was better almost instantly. today i feel HECKIN GREAT. (SIDE NOTE: after 4 years of chronic pain i am so thankful to not have some OTHER long term health trot to deal with. DANG)

so what is lesson here? first of all please do not think this is in ANY WAY anti-doctor rant or anti-medicine. my doctors were trying their best and made a mistake, they are just people. ALSO while acid reflux medicine made me sick, allergy meds made me better. i am SO fortunate

but what is REALLY fortunate is that chuck is covered under SWEET BARBARAS HEALTH CARE (she gets very good coverage under the frozen lake). most artist buckaroos, even WILDLY successful ones, do not have health care which is huge issue that should be talked on more.

point is EVERYONE should have healthcare. this whole adventure was bad, but it also only cost me 50 dollars. hundreds of thousands of other buckaroos would have to deal with this PLUS it would completely upend their life to cover medical expenses because of a SIMPLE MISTAKE

so that is my story, usually there is more of a lesson to these rants but this one is really just ‘dang what a trip.’ so grateful for my health and my way and the fact i can get simple allergy medicine over the counter. most of all THANKFUL FOR MY BODY it is such a treat to exist

thank you for reading and remember to advocate for yourself and your feelings both BODY and MIND at the doctor. listen to your trot and do not forget that LOVING YOURSELF AND THE SYSTEMS OF YOUR BODY proves love just as much as loving others. trot on buckaroos

[withahappyrefrain]

Ok hear me out. I just saw your 60 Meet Cutes list and, I know you already technically kind of wrote a fic about Bob being high off his meds after a training exercise puts him in the hospital. But I saw #5) A is a doctor/nurse treating B for an injury, but B won't stop flirting, and all I can think of is Bobby high of his rocker following an injury/surgery after a training exercise gone wrong and all he keeps doing is flirt with his doctor. And the dagger squad was visiting him post-surgery and they’re all cackling from the normally quiet Bob rizzing up his doctor. And then maybe that’s how he meets his wife 😂

Working at the Naval Medical Center meant several things.

One, there would always be patients. Whether it was the soldiers themselves or their family. Primary care, immediate care, your workplace did it all.

Second, no injury was too abnormal. A patient’s needs could range from needing a sling due to falling in the middle of bootcamp to delivering a baby.

Third and most importantly, don’t fall for a patient. The chances of them being married were high, plus it made things complicated.

You were doing a great job at following all three. Until today.

Lieutenant Commander Robert Floyd was a WSO for the Navy. He and his pilot had to eject from their jet during training due to a bird strike. While he got out of the jet okay, it was the landing that got him. His left arm was definitely sprained and he had a fractured rib. Combined with all the bruising that littered his left side, needless to say he was in a lot of pain. Thankfully, he didn’t need surgery, but he did need quite the cocktail of pain medication.

No amount of bruising could hide his handsome face. It was the first thing you noticed when you walked into his room. His long lashes fanned his face. Faded freckles scattered across his face and neck, like constellations. You had seen him before, visiting other pilots and checking in on their family members. Even spoke to him a few times when he asked how they were doing. But never anything in depth.

When he was first brought in, he was barely conscious. You had explained to him what was happening, that they were putting him under to do a full body inspection. He had looked up at you with those big blue eyes and God, he was just so cute. You could admire how cute a patient was, nothing wrong with that, right?

At the sound of the door opening, his eyelids fluttered open, revealing eyes bluer than sapphires.

“Hi Mr. Floyd. Are you doing alright?” Your voice was lithe and gentle, he was still waking up after all. He mumbled something in response.

“What was that Mr. Floyd?” Moving closer, you hoped you could hear him better. It totally wasn’t to admire how cute he was. No, not at all.

“’m Bob,” His words were slow, but clearer, “Mr. Floyd’s my dad.”

“Bob it is,” you couldn’t help but giggle, “I’m just checking in on you, see if the medication is working. I’m going to help you sit up, alright?”

Bob nodded, his eyes never leaving your face. Placing your chart down on the nightstand, you gingerly helped him sit up, just enough to do your job.

“This is an important day f’me,” there was a slight twang, complimenting the richness of his voice.

“Oh really now?” Already, you were creating a list of possibilities; birthday, partner’s birthday, anniversary-

“Yeah. Not every day you’re touched by an angel,” a soft, droopy smile graced his face as he looked up at you.

Oh.

It was far from the first time a patient had flirted with you. But it was the first time it had sent a warm rush throughout your body.

“That’s um, very kind of you Mr. Floyd-”

“Bob,” he corrected.

“That’s very kind of you Bob. But I’m no angel. I’m actually about to do some things that may hurt,” you warned.

Bob was quite coherent while you checked his vitals. He answered all your questions with great ease, even had some questions for you. It felt more like a first date than checking a patient-

No, you couldn't think like that.

“Alright Bob, it's time to check your injuries. Let me know if any of the places I touch cause me pain,” you warned.

His brows furrowed in concern, “But I…I haven't taken you out to dinner yet.”

Holy shit, he was darling.

You began at his shoulders. He watched your nimble fingers move about. “You don’t have a ring,” he stated. Probably should have asked that before referencing taking you on a date but again. Meds.

“Um no, I don’t.” Usually pain medication would cause some patients to be blunt, to make odd statements. Usually, you could ignore it and continue on with your responsibilities.

“Well that’s stupid. How has someone not married you yet?” Just ignore him, just keep working.

“Well,” you laughed nervously, “That is a whole can of worms that I doubt you want open. Does it hurt here Bob?”

“No. But how has someone not married you yet? You’re so sweet and smart and patient, also funny too. I still laugh when I think about how you told Jake to sit down and shut up a few months ago. What am I not getting?”

“Well,” you sighed, “For starters, I work long and unusual hours.”

“So do I,” He replied. His body was deceivingly muscular, smooth and firm. Not even a hospital gown could hide it and holy crap, that was so inappropriate.

“So as a result, not a lot of people see me as dateable. I also just moved to the area less than a year ago and it’s been hard finding people,” you confessed, trying to swallow the bitter pill as you moved to his arms. It was easier since you had his huge biceps to focus on.

“Well, those people are stupid. If you care about someone, you’d make it work.”

“I wish more people thought like that. How is it here? Any pain?” You slightly dug your fingers into his sides, watching his face for any reaction. Bob Floyd either had a high pain tolerance or he was high as balls. You guessed it was the latter, given how he could barely shake his head.

“Is there any part of your body that’s in pain Bob?” You asked, fighting the urge to push back the strands of sandy brown hair that had fallen over his forehead. Bob nodded and grabbed your hand. He placed it over his heart.

“Your-your heart?” Panic rose in your voice, if he was experiencing pain in his chest, that meant you needed to alert the cardiologist and the-

“Doesn’t so much as hurt. Just starts beating real fast whenever I see you. I also forget how to breathe when I see ya too, but I know that’s due to your beauty,” He explained, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

Without breaking eye contact, he brought your hand up to his mouth and kissed your wrist. His lips were soft and warm. You were a goner. Yes, it was all slightly cheesy and it totally worked. You prayed he couldn’t tell that you were flustered, that your body felt warm all over, that butterflies were exploding in your stomach.

“Since when the fuck do you have game Bobby?” You were thankful for the voice that interrupted. Turning around, you saw a group of pilots standing at the doorway, holding cards and flowers.

“Um, are you friends of Lieutenant Floyd?” Even your voice was shaky, the professional composure that always got you compliments in med school now completely gone.

“We’re friends, and I apologize for my coworker’s outburst,” You recognized the mustached pilot, having seen him a few months ago when his wife delivered their first child. Lieutenant Bradshaw.

“Oh please, I know you’re just as shocked as I am to see Bob finally making a move on the woman he’s been crushing on for months,” The blonde pilot retorted, completely oblivious to the glares he was receiving from the other pilots.

“I said I was waiting for the right time!” Bob hadn’t let go of your hand, “I know it should have been sooner. I’m sorry.”

“Um, Lieutenant Floyd isn’t ready for visitors yet. Could you please move to the waiting area?” Letting go of Bob’s hand caused him to form an adorable pout with his pink lips.

Once the group has gotten out of your hair, you look around the room, frazzled. Grabbing his chart, you began checking things off.

“Alright, minimal pain though we’ll check again later when your medication has worn off. Heart rate is normal, as is your blood pressure and-”

“I'm sorry,” looking up, there was Bob with a concerned expression written all over his face.

“Oh Mr. Floyd, you're fine. I know you're on a lot of different medications and that causes people to act-”

“I shouldn't have waited so long to talk to you. Was just so nervous because you're so beautiful and kind.”

Good lord, this man was going to be the death of you. The fact he was so sweet, so endearing when he said all these things. It didn't feel sleazy, it felt genuine.

But it couldn't be that. It was due to the medicine. So you'd just have to play along.

“Don't worry about it Bob. There's always tomorrow. Or, in your case, three days after tomorrow.” The comment got a laugh out of Bob, revealing a melodic giggle.

“You mean it? I can ask you out after I rest?” His eyes were now full of hope and excitement.

Nodding, you decided to not add if you remember it. Once the pain medication had worn off, Bob wouldn't remember a thing.

But his friends mentioned a crush that had been developing long before today.

Maybe…..

*************

“I am so sorry.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, surprised to find Bob sitting up in the hospital bed, face redder than a tomato.

“Um, good morning Bob! How are we feeling today?” You walked over to the bed, looking at his vitals.

“Mortified. The way I acted towards you yesterday was so…..God, I'm so embarrassed,” he buried his face into his hands, “If I've- scratch that, I know I offended you yesterday. I made you so uncomfortable and I'm so sorry.”

You thought about his friends’ words, what they said when you came out of the room.

“Yeah, he’s usually not that….bold. But honestly, good for him, he’s been pining after you for months.”

“Without all those meds, he’s still sweet. Just not as talkative.”

Bob continued to ramble, failing to notice how you were using the clipboard to hide a huge grin, “My momma would be so ashamed of me right now. My sisters would be smacking me upside the head. You’re a doctor and a darn good one at that and I just acted like such a…..why are you smiling?”

“Because I think you’re cute. Like super, incredibly cute. I've thought that ever since I saw you here four months ago to check on Lieutenant Garcia.” Your confession made Bob's eyes widen.

“And I was hoping that after you’ve had your three days of mandated rest, maybe we could go out to dinner?” You paused, “Now that I think about it, we should wait four to five days. I’d feel really bad if I caused a patient to reinjure himself.”

A slightly crooked and small smile appeared on Bob’s face, “Do you like Italian food?”

[citrusandrottefruit]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Steve probably should have had surgery after Vecna ​​died, because Hanahaki's roots seemed deep, but he chose to alternate between Max and Eddie's hospital rooms. There was no time to waste on his own health.

His parents were back this time. They had sold their house and bought a huge apartment for Steve, who wanted to stay in the city. His parents didn’t even question it, they just demanded his time for a week before leaving with a big hug and the promise of a trip somewhere nice that summer. If he had been a little younger, Steve would have been happier, but after so many years of neglect, all he could think was that this was as far as he was going to get.

A side note, an afterthought. They cared about their son, just not as much as they should have.

Steve's new apartment had four bedrooms, more than he needed, but he was glad his parents tried so hard to make up for it, because it meant he could offer Robin a room when she graduated and there would always be room for the kids. And Eddie and Wayne, who stayed with him while the government found them a new place to live.

Eddie made a joke about Steve's parents being more powerful than the government, for being able to find Steve a great place to live so quickly in a broken city while he and Wayne had to wait.

Wayne was usually around, and despite being a somewhat taciturn man, it was easy to see the love that overflowed for Eddie. It made Steve think of his mother, who had loved and suffered so intensely that she had developed Hanahaki.

And yet, she was not with him.

The cough got worse.

One day, Steve woke up in the middle of the night, struggling after yet another nightmare of torture. Some days, it was easy to forget about Vecna ​​in favor of that hour beneath the Mall, with his life in someone else's hands. On days like these, Robin was needed more than ever, but her parents didn't want her away so much, so sleeping in his new apartment was hardly an option. Calling her wasn't a good idea either, because all it would do was stress her out and they'd end up up all night on the phone. So he resigned himself to taking medication and going out to the balcony, longing for the fresh, clean night air.

He would turn on the TV or music, but he didn't want to wake Eddie, so he just stood outside with his eyes closed and imagined being alone again when Wayne and Eddie left, then tried to imagine what the trip with his parents would be like, if it were to happen. Steve still wasn't sure if he wanted to go, but it might be nice. Maybe he'd get something out of being away from Hawkins for a while. Maybe the coast would make it easier to breathe.

As lost in thought as Steve was, after years of trauma it was impossible not to be aware of the sounds around him, so when Eddie opened the bedroom door and started walking down the hall, he heard it. He stayed silent, not wanting to disturb Eddie.

Of course, Eddie didn't care and showed up a few minutes later with some tea.

For your cough, man.

After that, it became almost a ritual between them. Eddie was always there when Steve woke up startled, and Steve reciprocated. They always had nightmares, so who went to who depended on which one of them woke up first.

Sometimes they would stare at the stars in silence, other times they would talk. Most nights, they would end up in Eddie's bed, in one of the spare bedrooms, without touching each other.

Steve's room, which was definitely his and not a temporary arrangement, felt too intimate.

At the same time, Eddie began asking more and more about Steve's throat, about his shortness of breath, if he was okay, when he planned to go to the hospital. The questions became so frequent that Wayne noticed, too.

The feeling of being cared for was too much. Feared and desired in equal measure.

Eddie shouldn’t even be doing all this, because he was still bandaged, still covered in pink scars, still had a long way to go in physical therapy.

For the second time in his life, Steve felt suffocated by love.

This time, Steve almost hated it. Because he was in love with Eddie, because Eddie didn’t know the things Robin knew. Even if he loved Steve back, how could Steve demand that Eddie take care of him?

Mr. Harrington had reasons to stay with Mrs. Harrington. Although no one talked about it, Steve was sure that his father had been the trigger for his mother’s Hanahaki. And maybe if she had never left, chasing her father across the country, trying to be happy with him to stay alive, maybe… Just maybe, Steve wouldn’t have been alone and maybe he would have been healthy.

Neither Eddie nor anyone else had a good reason to pursue any kind of happiness or emotional stability with Steve.

In addition to the burden of living with a chronic, progressive disease that would possibly become terminal at some point, being emotionally involved with someone with Hanahaki was very complicated. It required loyalty, responsibility, patience, a willingness to accept endless arguments and a desire to reconcile.

Communication was essential. Making sure the other person felt good and loved, comfortable and safe. All of this was too much work, too demanding.

Loving Steve was a prison.

I'll try to post part 3 soon. I've already written the ending, but I'm thinking about how to connect this part to the ending, which will be happy.

[maxlarens]

pairing(s): engineer!george russell x driver!reader

brought on entirely by this ask thank you anon i owe you a great debt😭 also light angst beware.

You’re more angry than anything.

What a stupid mistake, taking the turn like that. Too hard too fast too reckless. Never careful enough, like George always presses you to be. You feel shame churning in the hollow of your chest in the back of the safety car.

You’re on the way to medical. You would be even if you didn’t have an ache in your neck. Something sharp in your chest. You’ve fractured a rib, you think. Broken it even. You know this feeling, the whiplash of a crash. Waiting to have your injuries confirmed.

You think of the car, the smell of smoke registering as you took a second to reorient yourself. To remember all of your limbs. Ringing in your ears, then George. George, prompting your reply over and over. Tone clipped, hurried, near-frantic, still-professional. The car is on fire. You need to get out of the car, now. And your limbs snapping back into awareness, into motion—

You’re fine now. Angry mostly.

You let the doctor check you over, refer you for an ultrasound for the rib. It hurts when they press on it. You’re left with a manila folder to give to your team and an order to take it easy for the rest of the day.

Outside the medical building you can hear the cars on track. It puts something sick in the pit of your stomach. At least it’s only FP2. You’ve not utterly ruined a race, and the team still have time to fix your mess. Still. Still.

You turn a corner to make your way back to Mercedes hospitality, you find George instead.

He looks like someone’s taken a livewire to him. His head of usually soft curls is messy, hair standing half on end. He’s got those serious, shell-shocked eyes that always appear when his smile vanishes. You frown as his head snaps to you, alerted by the sound of gravel underfoot.

“Shit,” you blink and he’s already halfway to you, “Are you alright? What did they say?”

His hands are on your shoulders, pulling you toward him and you’re not thinking anything in particular about that. Just grappling with his sudden closeness. His apparent worry. So apparent that someone’s sent him here to medical, to you instead of having his valuable input on the pit wall.

“I’m fine,” you push his hands off you, “I’ll just need an ultrasound. It’s nothing.”

“Did they check you for smoke inhalation?” he presses on, despite your attempt at deflecting, “Your car was on fire.”

You shrug, shake your head, “I dunno, George. They checked my breathing I guess.”

You hear a sharp intake of breath and feel him start to move toward the building. You grab his wrist, haul him back, knowing he’ll march you in there and demand they check if you don’t reassure him.

“I’m fine,” you insist, “No smoke inhalation. Not even a cough.”

He’s looking down at you, jaw set, the line of his mouth severe. So serious as he checks you over like he has x-ray vision— as if he can see things the doctors can’t because he’s more worried than they are. You’re keenly aware of your fingers looped around his wrist, the feeling of his pulse, his skin, the tender way his hand reaches to grab your wrist in kind.

Your relationship feels different here. In this moment.

The closeness of a driver and her engineer has never escaped you. From the moment you met him for the first time in Brackley— tall, cheerful, a bit awkward, a little overbearing— you’d known that you’d be close. That’s the nature of it. You didn’t have to be charmed by his sincerity to predict that.

But you’d grown closer than you would have ever thought. You know his quirks, his idiosyncrasies. How he has his tea, the clothing brand he buys all his clothes from, the way speaks to waiters like they’re old friends, the overly friendly nature that masks a man who’s just nervous people won’t like him. He knows yours.

Your proclivity for being reckless on track, because winning is everything and what are you if you’re not a winner? How you have three shots of espresso in your coffee every morning. The way you cry your eyes out at father-daughter moments in movies. Your ache to be loved and your accompanying fear of commitment.

George is like no-one else. No ex, no best friend, no situationship knows you like George does.

Inside and out.

Anyway. Your hand on his wrist, your aching rib, him standing outside medical when he should be on the pit wall. It makes your head spin.

He closes the distance between the two of you. Hauls you into his flat chest and weaves his fingers into your hair, cradling the back of your head like he might lose you. Something wells in the top of your throat. The back of your neck feels gooey, soft, as he holds you. As if all the tension is easing out of you.

You take a deep breath, wrap your hands around his waist. Fireproofs against the bare skin where his Mercedes polo has hiked up. He says something into your hair that you can’t hear. The tone of it gets you anyway, the fondness.

You hiccup, hating yourself for it.

Then you’re crying. Shock of the crash wearing off, unable to ignore the comfort of being held up physically and emotionally by George. Tears, wet, hot are streaming down your face. Soaking George’s shirt.

“You’re okay,” he says into your ear, rocking the two of you back and forth in the gravel, “You’re okay, I promise.”

You know you are. Logically. But hearing George say it makes it easier to believe. You think, even, that he might be saying it for himself too.

[cosyvelvetorchid]

Alt meet bucktommy prompt: instead of Buck and Maddie riding in an ambulance after Doug kidnaps her, the weather is too bad so they airlift them out. Tommy is the pilot. He hears Maddie asking after chimney and Tommy is like “howie got stabbed??” Anyway, Tommy ends up staying at the hospital to check on Chimney (another reason why Chim feels comfortable enough to call him for the water drop later on) and while Maddie and Chimney are having their moment, Buck and Tommy have one in the hallway outside his room.

1. Thanks for the prompt. I enjoyed writing this one.

2. Love your username!

3. Enjoy! 🩶

**********

Buck wanted to cry with relief when Maddie was being lifted into the helicopter to fly her to hospital. He didn’t—he kept himself together for her sake. She needed him to be strong right now, even though he himself was in absolute awe of Maddies own strength in surviving what she had. Surviving that son of a bitch Doug. If she hadn’t have killed him, Buck would have.

“We’re almost there, guys.” Pilot Kinard said through the mic.

“You hear that, Maddie? We’re almost there. You're doing great.” Buck squeezed her hand and smiled at her, trying to keep her positive.

“Tired.” She mumbled, her eyelids getting heavy.

“Uh, hey, hey, Maddie, I-I know... I know you're tired, but I-I need you to keep your eyes open for me. You-you know the drill.”

“Uh-huh.” She said trying to force them open as best she could as the medic on board tended to her wounds.

“Yeah, just, uh... just like that.” Buck reassured her. “Hey, you, uh... you think you had a hard day. Athena and I have been running all over the state looking for you. I wasn't dressed for snow.”

“Me, either.” She joked and it sent relief through Buck.

“Athena said she'd, uh.. she'd call Bobby, let everyone know that you're okay. They are gonna be... so relieved. Chimney. Chimney most of all.”

“Chimney's alive?” She questioned, her face breaking into relieved tears.

“Oh, my God. Y.. Maddie, no, yeah, Ch-Chimney's alive. He, uh.. He-he made it through.” He paused. “You both did.”

“Uh, Chimney as in Howard Han?” Tommy asked.

“Y-yeah. You know him?” Asked Buck.

“Yeah I know him. Was at the 118 back when he was a probie.”

“No way.” Buck exclaimed. Small world, he thought.

“You said he’s going to be okay?”

“Yeah. Docs said through knife missed any vital organs.” Buck told him.

“Thank God for that.”

**

Maddie was going to be okay. Just like Chim, Doug had missed anything vital when he stabbed her. She’d need quite a few weeks to heal from the physical injuries, and likely many more for the psychological injuries, but she was alive and Buck was grateful for that.

The hospital that she’s been taken to wanted to keep her for a few days for observation which she didn’t want. She wanted to go home and make sure Chimney really was okay.

So after some begging, cajoling and Tommy offering to transport her to the hospital in L.A where Chimney was admitted, the doctors agreed to let her go.

After getting checked in at the second hospital the first thing Maddie did was asked to be taken to chimneys room. Buck followed behind as a nurse wheeled Maddie to his room.

“Are you coming in?” She asked Buck.

He shook his head and gave her a reassuring smile. “No. You-you should have some time alone.” She smiled thankfully and was wheeled inside by the nurse who closed the door on her way back out.

Buck leant against the wall opposite the room, watching them through the window. He smiled seeing them happily embrace one another.

“Your sister okay?”

Buck turned to see Tommy walk up. “Uh, yeah. She’s okay. Relived that Chim is okay.” He pointed to the window.

Tommy looked in to see Maddie sitting on the edge of Chim’s bed, leant forward with her head in his shoulder and him stroking her hair.

“That’s sweet.” He responded.

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay?” He asked Buck, noticing his hands were shaking. The shock and adrenaline from the last 48 was beginning to wear off.

“Y-yeah, I’m.. I’m fi-“ his face crumpled and his breath hitched. A whine came from his throat as tears exploded from his eyes.

“Hey, woah! I got you.” Tommy moved quickly and put an arm around him, guiding him a few feet away from the window to Chimneys room and wrapped his arms around Bucks shoulders.

Buck fell into him almost and held on tight to Tommys flight suit as all of the fear and relief he’d held inside poured out of him.

“It’s ok. You’re okay.” Tommy said softly, running a gentle hand up and down his back.

When Buck came to his senses, an embarrassed heat flushed through him and he let go of Tommy.

“I’m-I’m sorry.” He sniffed and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “I didn’t mean to..” he blew out a breath and rapidly blinked his eyes in an attempt to dry them out.

“You have nothing to apologise for, uh..” Tommy realised that he didn’t know the man’s name.

“Buckley. Evan, uh.. Evan Buckley.”

“Evan. Tommy Kinard.” He smiled.

Buck felt- he looked at the man before him. He had piercing blue eyes surrounded by warm wrinkles as he smiled, a light dusting of stubble caressed his jaw, dipping into the prominent cleft of his chin. He was incredible handsome. Beautiful, even.

He’d admired good looking men before, even checked out the ass of a few—which was totally normal—But this was.. different. There was a warm feeling in his belly at those eyes and that smile and that cleft.

And definitely that build. Buck wondered what his physique looked like underneath the flight suit.

Was it weird to think that a crying man was beautiful? Tommy couldn’t decide. Evan was definitely gorgeous—that baby face, the cute birthmark and those lips.. Tommy would go to war if those lips asked him to.

But it was the vulnerability that got him. He’d felt a little disappointed when Evan pulled away. He’d wanted to comfort him longer. Which Tommy wasn’t entirely unaware was strange given that up until seconds ago he didn’t know this man’s name.

“It’s just.. she’s all I have, ya know?” Buck told him.

“Your parents not around?”

“Oh they’re around but they- She pretty much raised me herself. She the strongest person I know. But seeing her like that today..” He blew out a breath in an attempt to keep himself together.

“It must have been scary.” Tommy offered and Buck nodded.

Buck all of a sudden felt exposed. He rubbed his face with hai hands trying to clear away the remaining emption.

“Do.. do you have to go back to work?” Buck asked.

“Actually my shift ended an hour ago.”

“Oh. Why are you still here?” Buck realised how that sounded and rushed to correct himself. “I-I mean, you can go home. If you want.”

“I actually can’t fly back to Harbor. I’ve now maxed out my flying hours for the week so I’m officially grounded.” He explained. “I have to stay here until they send another pilot to fly the helo back.”

“How long will that be?”

“Not sure. Our other pilot is on another call right now so could be 1 hour, could be several.” He said. “Besides, I wanted to check on Howie anyway. Although, I think your sister has that covered.” He chuckled.

“Yeah. That’s why I didn’t go in; wanted to give them their moment.”

“Are they dating?” Tommy asked.

“Uh, actually it was their first date that night.”

“Talk about bad luck.”

“Seems my sister is carrying on the Buckley tradition of almost dying on a first date.” Buck joked. Tommy gave him a confused look.

Buck let out a small laugh. “Last year. I, uh.. choked on a piece of bread and my date had to perform an emergency tracheotomy.”

Tommy pushed himself off the wall he was leaning on and stared at Buck. “What?!”

Buck laughed again. “Yeah. I should be clear—they were a dispatcher so not a civilian, and did have medical help over the phone. But yeah, I stopped breathing for a minute.” He pulled down the neck of his hoodie to revealing the pale scar on the base of his throat.

Without even thinking about it Tommy reached up and his finger tips grazed the area. Buck felt his body temperature go up with a flush at the touch.

Tommy suddenly realised what he was doing and pulled his hand back, shifting awkwardly in his stance.

“I thought I’d had some bad dates, but I’ve never almost died.” He said trying to push whatever this feeling was he had back down.

“What was your worst?”

“Huh.” Tommy said thinking about it. “Gotta be between the guy that stole my car the morning after, or the guy that dined and dashed but didn’t tell me until the police showed up at my door the next morning.

So Tommy was into guys. Buck felt.. pleased? Relieved? ..happy? He couldn’t pinpoint the feeling.

“Did you get arrested?”

Tommy shook his head. “Thankfully, no. I knew one of the officers and they knew I wasn’t the type to do that. I still paid the bill though.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have.”

“Yeah, well, I really love Micelli’s and wanted to be able to go back.” He laughed and Buck followed suit.

His laugh was beautiful. And that dimpled smile when he did it made Tommys mouth go dry.

The laugh died down but they continued to look at one another. Buck couldn’t pull his eyes away. Tommys eyes were just so mesmerising that he could willingly get lost in them.

They broke eye contact when Tommy’s phone rang.

“Go for Kinard.. okay great.. I’ll be there in second… bye.” He tucked his phone back into his pocket. “Seems my ride is here and a replacement pilot.”

A flood of disappointment filled Buck that Tommy was leaving.

“Right. I mean, uh, good. I-I bet you’re looking forward to getting home.” Buck said unable suddenly to keep eye contact.

“I’m definitely looking forward to a shower.” He said with a chuckle. “But it was nice meeting you Evan.” He reached out a hand to shake. Buck took it and held on to it a second longer than was normal. He kind of didn’t want to let go.

“Uh.. you too, Tommy.”

“Tell Howie I’ll call him in a few days to check in.” He said beginning to walk away.

“I-I will.”

Tommy wanted to turn back around and.. well, he didn’t know what. He wanted to stay talking to Evan that was for sure. He was gorgeous and sweet and adorable and.. and probably straight. There was no point in deluding himself, he thought, as he pressed the elevator button.

Before Buck knew what he was doing he was running down the corridor to the elevator.

“Wait!” He called out and Tommy turned around.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Uh.. I-I.. I was wondering if, uh.. if you would like to.. to go to.. dinner. With me. Some.. sometime.” Buck let out a relieving breath.

Tommy looked at him for a moment and tilted his head. It made Buck feel weird—like he was naked and exposed.

“Evan, are you asking me out on a date?” Tommy asked, trying his damndest not to give away the excitement he was feeling.

Buck, however, realised what he had done. He’d just run towards Tommy not really thinking about what he was going to say, and oh..

Oh.

It suddenly hit him. The warmth in his belly, the little pin pricks of nerves he was feeling when talking to Tommy, and the definite swooping in his belly when Tommy was looking at him.. he liked Tommy.

“Yeah, I.. I guess so.” He smiled shyly. “But-but if you don’t, uh.. if you don’t want to that’s-“

Tommy stepped forward, tilted Bucks head up by the chin and kissed him.

Buck thought his bones had disappeared. It took all of his strength to not melt into a puddle on the floor at the feel of Tommys soft and warm lips. He pushed back into the kiss for a second before Tommy pulled away.

“Was that okay?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper and looking at Buck with those eyes. Buck was simply fucking mesmerised and all he could do was nod.

Again, Buck moved before his brain could compute what was happened and he shoved his lips back onto Tommy’s. Tommy responded with unexpected hum and a lash of flames soared up through Buck at the sound.

His arm immediately wrapped around Tommys neck to draw him in as he opened his mouth to deepen the kiss.

Tommy didn’t have any brain cells left to resist and wrapped his arms around Bucks waist and opened his mouth to let Bucks tongue in and holy mother of god it was exquisite!

His perfectly plump lips were softer than he could have imagined and moved so wonderfully against his own, with perfect pressure and a delicacy Tommy hadn’t experienced in a kiss before.

A voice echoing out of the hospital tannoy brought Tommy back to his senses and he gently ended the kiss.

“We should probably stop.” He spoke; his voice hoarse and thick with desire. He desperately wanted to kiss Evan again but they weren’t exactly in the best place for that.

He placed a gentle kiss to Buck cheek before stepping back.

Bucks chest was filled with a number of different feelings. Pleasure, excitement, confusion. And a feeling of contentment he hadn’t anticipated. As though a piece of him had slid in to place that he hadn’t realised was missing.

Buck couldn’t take his eyes off Tommys swollen, pinked up lips.

“I really have to go.” Tommy said reluctantly. “Hand me your phone.” Buck unlocked it and passed it over. Tommy put in his phone number before giving it back and pressing the elevator button. The doors immediately opened and he stepped inside, turning to face Buck.

“Text me when and where and I’ll be there.” He said with a smile.

“I-I will.” Buck replied, his own throat struggling to make sound.

“Bye, Evan.” The doors began to use shut.

“Bye.”

Buck was in a total love struck daze as he walked back to Chimneys room.

“Earth to Buck!”

“Huh? What?” His brain finally came back online to see Maddie in her wheelchair in the doorway to Chim’s room.

“I said what’s got you smiling like that?” She asked.

An embarrassed flush tried to take him over by he coughed and pushed it away.

“I’m, uh.. I’m just happy you’re okay. Both of you.” He smiled and followed her back into the room.

**********

[howtofightwrite]

so if someone is shot with an arrow and we’re not supposed to (or more likely can’t, because of the arrowhead design) pull the arrow out of a wound, but we shouldn’t push it all the way through either… how would someone go about removing an arrow? In a less lethal area at least, like a limb. You can’t just leave it in, especially if it’s pinning together muscles that you need to be able to use.

So, eventually, that arrowhead is going to need to come out. The recommendation about leaving the arrow in the wound is more for immediate first aid, rather than a long term solution.

Specifically, the first aid advice is to bandage around the arrow, so that the entire thing is stabilized. In the event that the arrow is helping to seal the wound, you don't want to pull it out, but you also don't want it moving around causing more damage. It's a bit of a delicate balance in that regard. If it's in a leg, and the injured individual cannot walk on their own (which is likely) they'll need assistance, either a stretcher or someone to help support them, while they get to help.

This is one of those times where the best medical practice runs counter to the popular image of how an arrow in a wound is treated. Which is to say, the character who's just been shot ripping it out, staring at it for a moment, and then throwing it a way. Much like pulling a knife out of a wound, this is a great way to accidentally start a fatal bleed out.

If aid is being rendered by someone with actual medical training, in an environment where a bit more work can be done, then the arrow does need to come out. This may also require packing the wound with gauze in the event that it does start bleeding seriously, and bandaging the wound to minimize further aggravation.

Now, if you need to use the muscles that just got pinned together, I've got some bad news. Even after the arrow comes out, those muscles are not going to be working right for a while. As we've mentioned before, your muscles are basically bundles of meat chords, getting pulled over your skeleton based on electric signals. If some of those chords have been cut, they're going to need to heal before they'll do anything, and the ones around them in the same muscle will be under much greater strain, and also at risk of tearing. So, the affected body part will be weakened, after the arrowhead comes out, and trying to use it in any serious way, runs a serious risk of inflicting further harm and impairment. Worst case, if strained too severely, this can actually cause a muscle to completely tear. In this case, you're probably looking at surgery, just to get the muscle to start healing.

The good news, such as it is, you don't need a full surgical theater or surgeon to get the arrowhead out. A reasonably trained medic with decent supplies can do it in the field. The problem is if the arrowhead nicked an artery, and is holding pressure, if that comes out, you're probably going to die. (Then again, even in a surgical theater, with a wound like that, it could easily be touch-and-go.)

So, yes, the arrowhead does need to come out, and it can be removed by a trained medic. What you don't want to do is the, “badass,” reach up and rip it out, routine, because that can kill you. (Also, a trained medic will be in a much better position to make an educated guess whether it's safe to pull out the arrow, or if it really needs to stay where it is until the injured individual can get to a hospital.)

What's harder is that even after you can get articulation back, that area's going to be hurting for a long time. Torn muscles (which includes if someone's carved you up with a blade, or asked you to hold an arrow for them) can take more than three months to heal. So, while getting the foreign object out is a critical step on the path to recovery, it's going to be a bit before you're up and going after that.

Modern medicine grades all of these (including where the muscle has been completely severed, or torn) as “muscle strains” with three grades. Grade I strain indicates a few stretched or torn fibers, but nothing too serious. You've probably experienced this from time to time, and while your body's ability to repair these injuries is technically limited, it will usually heal in a couple weeks. Grade II strains (which is what you're seeing from an arrow wound) will take at least two months to recover. Grade III strains are where the muscle is completely severed, and as mentioned, require surgery, and will still take months of physical therapy after the injury, in addition to the healing process.

-Starke

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[lets-try-some-writing]

Sneezes and hiccups are super cute BUT i love the angst of the bots reacting to more serious medical issues. Rafael has to keep a nebulizer at the base, maybe Jack has to give himself insulin injections. God forbid Miko is stung by a wasp and starts to swell up. Humans just got so much going on Magnus in particular doesn't understand how we aren't extinct.

The team would take any medical condition VERY seriously. Squishies are already so fragile. Ultra Magnus is indeed absolutely befuddled when it comes to humanity somehow managing to drag itself away from extinction.

Ratchet would personally tend to Rafael nebulizer. He would learn how to care for it, how to make something similar in a pinch, and probably throw himself into understanding raspatory issues as a whole. One can never be too careful. Bumblebee would also probably begin carrying around an inhaler just in case. The rest of the team would go through a rundown from June in order to help if Rafael needs assistance.

Jack's injections scared the every living daylights of the team originally. To them it looked a great deal like Ratchet's attempt at playing with chemicals over the vorns. However once his issues become clear, the team would largely accept the situation and move on to helping. Ratchet keeps a small store of insulin near his work station. Arcee has been dutifully instructed in the art of giving clean injections. The rest of the bots, being too big to help with such small objects, were given a crash course in how to get to the nearest hospital in record time if need be.

As for Miko? Well let's just say Wheeljack and Bulkhead were absolutely certain she was about to explode until she reached for her epipen. Watching her swell up like some sort of balloon haunted the team for a while and they made sure to begin storing a pen in their alt modes, just to be safe. Smokescreen had to go purge after Miko's first run in with a wasp. Fleshies shifting like that isn't normal and it has haunted his dreams ever since.

Ultra Magnus will never not be confused.

[cjlouwho]

Bucktommy prompt: Tommy is dealing with chronic pain and Buck helps him through it.

Part 3 of my injured Tommy fic

If Tommy were being honest, there were some positives to being paralyzed. The first time he'd told Evan as much, he'd stared back at him with eyebrows raised and a face that said, “I can't wait to see where this is going.”

So Tommy had gone through the list he'd made in his head.

1. He always got the best parking spots.

2. Little old ladies now helped him in the grocery store.

3. People were constantly opening doors for him.

4. He'd get to board first on a plane... as soon as he and Evan figured out where they were going to go for their honeymoon.

5. Sometimes people let him cut in line.

6. He'd learned how to do some sick ass wheelies!

Buck had laughed along with his list, even adding a few himself.

7. Bigger hotel rooms.

8. Tommy's biceps were larger than Buck thought humanly possible.

9. If Buck got tired of walking, he could just sit on Tommy's lap and get a free ride.

And while these things were all good and true, there were plenty of things that made Tommy's new life far more difficult.

One of which were the body spasms.

He'd been warned about them in the hospital. Had a few of them before he'd been discharged. Learned how to deal with them, for the most part, through physical therapy. He'd also been put on muscle relaxants, sleeping pills, and antidepressants.

Which really only caused more problems, because he spent the better part of a month feeling so doped up that he was asleep more than he was awake.

His doctors changed doses and moved around schedules, trying to find the perfect balance, but Tommy hated the pills no matter what.

They didn't only impact his day to day life, but also his ability and desire for sex.

And God, as his body recovered and he and Buck settled into their new normal, he really wanted to want to have sex.

Adjustments already had to be made do to the reduction of sensation he felt around his pelvis. Things got weaker and weaker from there, reduced to no feeling at all in his legs.

They'd had their quickie wedding at the courthouse in February, followed by a ceremony with family the next month, and started planning a honeymoon in the summer. And that's when Tommy decided he was going to cut back on some of his medications, and cut others out completely. He was not going to spend his honeymoon in a half daze, not caring whether or not his drop dead gorgeous husband was naked on top of him.

Buck had protested at first. He'd made it clear that sex didn't mean everything to him. The things they still did do were pretty damn great, and it wasn't worth Tommy being in pain.

But Tommy insisted.

So they'd met with his doctors and come up with a plan. He could go off the sleeping pills, taking them only when needed. They'd reduce the antidepressant in increments. And muscle relaxants could be used as needed as well.

For the most part, everything went fairly smoothly. His spasticity would rear its ugly head from time to time, but it wasn't anything unmanageable.

Until, one night, it was.

He should have known it was going to be a bad night. He'd been restless and uncomfortable all day long. He'd go from his wheelchair, to the couch, to the wheelchair, to the dining room chair, to the wheelchair, to the bed, then back to the wheelchair.

He'd tried wheeling around the neighborhood, usually enjoying using his arms to push himself around, but today he just felt stiff.

The muscle relaxants in the kitchen cabinet had been calling his name, but he'd resisted. Evan was coming off a forty-eight hour shift tonight, and he'd already texted Tommy a picture of himself all sweaty, no shirt on, telling him he was gonna get himself all cleaned up for Tommy.

And Tommy wanted nothing more than to give him everything he wanted, because he wanted it too. Which was a damn good feeling to have back.

He hoped that sex would help his body relax.

It didn't.

He'd gotten through it though, with a few little twinges of pain in his chest and back. Nothing too severe. And with Buck on top of him, his body flushed red, head tossed back and mouth hanging open, the pleasure overrode the pain.

It didn't get really bad until after Buck had fallen asleep. Tommy wasn't sure how long he laid there, trying to stay as still as possible so he didn't wake Evan.

Even as the pain started to radiate up his back, he clenched his teeth to keep himself from groaning.

Then it went to his chest, causing his breath to hitch. The spasm made his back arch off the bed. If it didn't hurt so bad, he would have made some sort of exorcist joke.

His hands gripped onto the fitted sheet and he could feel a vibration.

His legs were probably shaking. He couldn't feel it, but it always happened when he had these spasms, even the minor ones.

He couldn't hardly get a breath. Not while fighting to be quiet. Not while his back and chest felt like they were becoming harder than a rock.

Finally, he unclenched his jaw and let out a half-moan, half-gasp.

“Ev- Evan,” he huffed out, releasing his grip on the sheet to smack his hand down on the bed. Tommy couldn't quite reach out far enough to touch him. Not when everything was seizing up like this. “Evan!” he repeated, louder this time.

Even in his deep sleep, Buck must've realized something was wrong. One second he was dead to the world, and the next he was jumping up, tossing the covers off of them both.

“What? What's wrong?” he said, clumsily reaching over to the nightstand and turning on the lamp.

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut against the light. He didn't feel like seeing himself right now.

It took Buck's brain a few seconds to catch up to the sight in front of him. When he finally registered what was happening, he headed for the door. “I'm gonna get your meds.”

“No!” Tommy yelled, sucking in a breath. “D- Don't.”

“Tommy, you need your muscle relaxant.”

“I- I can't.” He managed to bring a hand to his throat, hoping Evan understood.

“You can't swallow right now,” Buck replied. It wasn't a question.

“Mhm. Just... Just-”

“Massage?” Buck guessed, getting to Tommy's side of the bed in record speed. “You think that would help this time?”

Figuring out the correct responses to these episodes was always a guessing game. Sometimes touch could make it worse. Tommy was pretty sure nothing could make it any worse right now.

“Mm... Mhm.” His jaw was getting so tight he could barely open his mouth.

“I'm gonna move you onto your side.” Very carefully, Buck turned Tommy's rigid body so he was facing away from him. It was an awkward angle, and he was having to do most of the work to keep Tommy on his side, but he managed to get into a position where he could start to dig the palm of his hand into Tommy's back.

At first, he was so tight Buck worried he was going to hurt him even more by massaging him. But, Tommy's breathing seemed to become a little fuller, and the groaning died down a bit.

So Buck continued. He'd alternate between using his palm, his fist, his thumb, to dig into the muscles and get them to loosen.

After a few minutes, Tommy had quieted down completely. His body relaxed into the bed as he flopped the rest of the way onto his stomach. The shaking in his legs subsided. He no longer felt like he was going to shatter into a million little pieces.

Still, Buck continued his massage. He worked up Tommy's neck, massaged his head, down to his shoulders, his back. He even massaged over his legs and feet, letting Tommy know what he was doing so he wouldn't think Buck had just left the room.

After about half an hour, Buck rested his hand at the center of Tommy's back. “Feel better?” he asked quietly, unsure if Tommy was even still awake at this point.

“Mhm. Thank you,” Tommy replied. He paused, blushing before starting to ask, “Did I... Do I need..?” He couldn't quite get the words out. Did I piss myself? Do I need to get up so we can change the sheets and clean me up?

It happened sometimes, when his body seized up. And while he nearly had full bladder control back, everything went haywire when it came to his spasms.

“No, you're good,” Buck answered, and Tommy thanked whoever might be listening that they were able to read each other's minds. “Think you can turn back over now?”

“Yeah. Yes, I- you'll have to help me though.”

“Of course.”

Once Tommy was resting comfortably on his back, head propped up under two pillows, Buck stared down at him. “You knew it was gonna happen today, didn't you?”

Tommy sighed. There was no point in lying. “Yeah. Not this bad though.”

“And you didn't take a pill earlier?”

“No.”

Buck sucked in a shaky breath as he nodded. He didn't answer. Didn't say a word. He simply turned and headed into the bathroom.

Tommy listened as he turned the sink on. It ran for a while, then Buck was back by his side. He ran a warm washcloth over Tommy's face, Tommy closing his eyes and melting into the touch.

Once Buck had finished wiping off his face, he started on his chest.

Tommy blinked his eyes back open, studying Buck.

He was tense, eyebrows knitted together as he focused on cleaning the sweat from Tommy's body.

Tommy's eyes drifted to Buck's hand, shaking ever so slightly.

He reached out and placed his hand over Buck's, gently gripping his wrist. Finally, Buck made eye contact with him.

“Please don't be mad,” Tommy said, knowing it was unfair even as he said it. Still, he hated to see Evan disappointed. Wasn't sure if he could handle it right now.

But as he looked further into Evan's eyes, he didn't see anger.

He saw fear, and sadness. Red-rimmed, wet with unshed tears that were threatening to spill over.

“M'not mad,” he replied, clearing his throat. “I- I'm upset. I don't like seeing you in pain, Tommy.”

“I know. I'm sorry.”

“You don't have to be sorry. Just don't do it again. I can't... I can't enjoy being with you- having sex with you,” he clarified, “if I think you're hurting yourself for it.”

“I know, Evan. I just... I just wanted to be with you tonight. Wanted to feel good. Wanted to make you feel good.”

Buck tossed the rag onto the nightstand, sitting down on the bed beside Tommy. “You know what makes me feel good?” he started, resting two fingers under Tommy's chin so he couldn't look away. “Seeing you comfortable makes me feel good. Us enjoying dinner together makes me feel good. Going for a walk in the evening, watching movies, going out for ice cream, you holding me in your arms, getting to hold you in mine, kissing you for hours and hours. All those things, plus like a million more, make me feel good. Sex is fun, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it because damn you've got some moves,” he said, getting a smile out of Tommy, “but it's not everything to me. You are everything to me. I know we can't always prevent spasticity, but when we can, it would make me feel good if we did. Got it?”

Tommy nodded, giving himself a few seconds before verbally responding. “You can't just say stuff like that to me, you know,” he said, choked up. “I'm a softy now.”

Buck scoffed, rolling his eyes playfully. “You were always a softy,” he informed Tommy, leaning in for a kiss.

“I'm gonna go get your pills now, okay?”

“Okay.” Before Buck could get too far, Tommy reached out and grabbed at his hand. “Hey. Have I told you lately that I love you?”

Buck cocked his head, giving Tommy a glare. “If you start singing Rod Stewart to me, I will divorce you.”

“No, seriously, Baby,” Tommy said, keeping a straight face. “Have I told you there's no one else above you?”

“I already know a good attorney.”

“You fill my heart with gladness,” Tommy continued, grinning, “take away all my sadness.”

Buck wriggled his hand free of Tommy's grasp, heading out toward the kitchen. “If you hear the front door slam, I'll be back later for my things.”

Tommy's smile only widened as he yelled out, “You ease my troubles, that's what you do!”

[petew21-blog]

Healthcare insurance

Doctor Green approached his oncology patient in the ICU. The old man, Benedict Brown, suffering from lung cancer, was in the hospital for his late diagnosis of his condition, which wasn't improving.

Dr. Green:"Mr. Brown, I don't have very good news. The tumour is a small cell lung carcinoma. It is the direct result of your smoking. Unfortunately it is very aggressive and in your case has been diagnosed very late. We can offer you a support group along with some pain medication..."

Mr. Brown:"Are you JOKING ME?!? When I came months ago, you said it was just... eh ehh ehhhh cough cough... Just cough. And now you're telling me I'm gonna die?"

Dr. Green:"I'm very sorry sir. We did everything we could, but the diagnosis is final in this case and overall the condition can be hard to diagnose in early stages"

Mr. Brown:"You're just trying to get out of this so you won't feel guilty. For not treating me as you should. You turned me away and you know it damn well"

Dr. Green:"Sir, if there was something I could do, I would. But I am out of my options"

Mr. Brown smiled. "Oh there is one option. Come closer I can tell you. But send everyone away."

Dr. Green hesitated. But did as he said. Dr. Green sat down on a chair next to Mr. Green.

Dr. Green:"Ok. So tell me."

Mr. Brown grabbed Dr. Green's hand and started the incantation. Dr. Green could feel how the man's cold hands started getting warmer and warmer. And suddenly, he felt the warm presence all over his body.

Mr. Brown opened his eyes. He was sitting now and looking at the old man on the bed. He looked down and saw a white coat with a stethoscope around his neck. He inhaled a big ammount of air. "What a relief"

As soon as he said that, his old body started coding. He pushed the button and started doing a CPR. The doctors did what they could, but couldn't save the old man. Or atleast his body

But Mr. Brown didn't really care. Because he was now a young healthy doctor. And this time. He was gonna live his best life

Dr. Green:"What's happening?"

Mr. Brown:"Ahh, you're here too? You were supposed to die in my body. Oh well, I guess I can handle one black passenger."

Dr. Green:"How did you do this? Mr. Brown, you have to get out of my body!!!"

Mr. Brown:"You know what? I don't have to get out. This is my body now. And I'm gonna enjoy it"

Mr. Brown:"Fuck yeah, look at me in these sunglasses and a vest. Now your body has atleast some style, doctor. You should thank me. You were in desperate need of a makeover."

Dr. Green:"My wife will know it's not me. She will figure it out"

Mr. Brown:"Right. She won't last with me for too long. I can tell you that"

Mr. Brown:"The same goes for your job. I won't stay in healthcare with a body like this. That would be a waste of time. Now, I really wanna smoke so bad."

He got out of the car and lit a cigarette. He coughed

Dr. Green:"My body isn't used to it. You can't smoke"

Mr. Brown:"Oh don't worry about it. I'll get used to it pretty soon. Also, I don't need to smoke right now. Just need it to get some photos for Grindr"

Dr. Green:"Grindr? Isn't that for gay people?"

Mr. Brown:"Great job, Dr. Green. Exactly"

Mr. Brown:"Man, look at me. I look good. The jeans, the leather. The smoke. I look so fucking good. Thanks for the body doc. Since you killed mine. Oh yeah. Look at that. That's the one for Grindr"

Dr. Green couldn't believe what was happening. His own body was smoking and doing things he would never do. He was controlled by someone else, possibly forever. What was he gonna do? He can't stay like this forever. But what if he has to?

In the nearby alley the two men were kissing passionately. The younger one pushed the other against the wall, pressing his hard dick against his.

The man:"Aren't you a bit young for me?"

Mr. Brown laughed:"Well. What can I say? I'm an old soul"

Could you make a story in which a man who suffers from lung cancer takes revenge on his young doctor for not being able to cure him, possessing him and turning him into a smoker and gay? You could do the perspective of the old man in his new body and the young doctor being possessed and forced to see his changed appearance. I really like this guy by the way. https://www.tumblr.com/male-meat-suit/724018661918195712/maybe-a-story-with-this-one?source=share