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watchtheworldargue · 4 years ago

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egg magazine, april 1990. interview with Michael Hutchence

transcription below :)

Michael Hutchence on Lower Broadway

By Hal Rubenstein \ Photography by Steven Meisel

Globe-hopping is hell on a wardrobe and hard on the feet. Sometimes you have to get out of the limo to spend your money.

Michael Hutchence rarely comes to New York without luggage monogrammed INXS or Max Q, so one would think that on a visit without portfolio, the last thing he'd want to do is add on more baggage. But given a free day, a book of tickets, and our offer to go anywhere to do anything, Hutchence got into the limo with an agenda we could hardly call a new sensation. What kept us from sulking was that he hadn't left the devil outside.

Michael: You think we can load this car up with Yamamoto, Comme des Garcons, and Armani by 6?

Hal: Driver, step on it. Down to Grand and make a left.

[The car turns onto Union Square West.]

Isn't there a club on the corner here?

The Underground.

That's the one that keeps surviving regardless of how many people get shot there. How many are they up to?

No one's quite sure.

Where are we now? I don't recognise this.

This strip of lower Broadway didn't exist last time you were here. Now it's like a mall-less town's Main Street.

And Tower Records is City Hall. Not bad. It's wild to see this much activity because people around the world now talk about New York in terms of decay, how New York is such a rude place, and we keep telling them, No, New Yorkers are quite friendly, we like it there. New Yorkers are just very honest. They don't have time to bullshit. I like New York because people are linked to each other. L.A. Is fun, but segregated. Here there is a metro, and a different philosophy of getting around so there's rich upon poor upon rich. The only thing I don't remember is how many homeless are asleep on Park Avenue and everywhere else. Or is it my imagination?

No, it's real. How come you choose to live in Hong Kong instead of Australia?

For about three years, I thought it didn't matter where I lived. But I kept passing through it again. I grew up there, from when I was four until twelve. My dad still lives there. It has great energy, like New York. And it's ten hours closer to the world than Australia is. If you travel a lot, it adds up.

[We enter the Yohji Yamamoto store.]

So austere. Do they go wild if you hand back anything wrinkled? Those clothes over there are good acid-house colors. Has acid house caught on here?

Not like in England.

That's 'cause New York has bad radio. Are these dogs always here? They must sleep in the shoes. Ooh, look at these here. Not very me, but very Star Trek. $500 for a T-shirt. I see. I'll buy six. No, twelve. Now, here is something very stagy. Ultraflouncy. I like that, but the general consensus might kill my career.

Is what you wear onstage the same as you wear off?

I sort of smush them all together. My favorite piece of clothing is a leather jacket I had made for me that says “Hutch” in chain mail on the back.

Did Michael Schmidt make it for you?

Yeah – how'd you know? He's great. He sort of looks like a beautiful snake. He loves all the Hollywood stuff, but he's so sincere when he talks about it. Almost makes me like it. Is there somewhere funkier we can go, like Yankel's House of Pile? I saw that on the way down.

If you want old clothes, we should go to Cheap Jack's.

[We head back up to Broadway and 13th Street. Several young ladies on the corner stare at Hutchence as he enters Cheap Jack's.]

Do you enjoy recognition?

Depends on where I am.

Like when you're out on your own. Shopping, for instance.

Shopping, yeah, 'cause I get discounts. And there is a definite bonus to recognition when I'm onstage.

It makes the night go faster. But I'm not an institution yet. Sometimes I think about how hard it must be for someone like Bob Hope to go for a stroll. I don't really get hassled. I can stand in the middle of a street in London, or even New York, and usually nothing happens. I don't think I have that distinctive of a face. I got recognized in Tangier once, going by in a taxi, very fast … from a distance … in a fog … during monsoon season. Just kidding. It's odd how once you are conscious of being watched, you stop being so self-conscious because you realize there's nothing you can do about it. Of course, nobody in Hong Kong gives a shit who I am.

Aren't people there freaking about the city's eventual realignment with China?

Thousands are leaving a year, but they're the ones who can afford to leave, to give Australia half a million to let them in, though a lot more are going to Vancouver or New Zealand instead because they've heard, and it's fairly true, about Australia's racism.

It's actually more like unconscious racism. There's a naivete to it that you might call charming if it wasn't so sick. See, most foreigners don't realize – because we refuse to believe it ourselves – that Australia is southern Asia. Australia is linked to England in everyone's minds.

Yet most Australians don't have the faintest idea why the Japanese tried to invade us during the Second World War, and can't understand why they might not have wanted any foreigners on the biggest island in the Asian paradise. If we had lost, my home would be covered in rice paddies by now. Australia would have been Japan's Great Plains, their grain barrel.

I've never met one Australian who knows that. We have it so easy in Australia. It's very easy to live there. Tougher than it was before, but that's because five years ago it was ridiculous. I used to live in a three-story, five-bedroom house. It cost me $20 a week.

Did you make that much playing music?

Nah, but so what, we were all on the dole. Everyone went on it. That's one of the reasons you have so many bands in Australia. It's cheap to live and collect, so all the bands go on it. You wouldn't even have to go pick up your employment check; they'd mail it to you or transfer it to your account. Ready cash. I guess because there is such an anti-authoritarian vibe in Australia that people are quite happy to accept government checks. “Aw, screw 'em” - that's the attitude. Lots of people accept four and five checks or even have jobs. It's very lax. That's why we're stuck with the tall-poppy syndrome.

Translation?

Don't be successful, don't rise above your mates, or you'll get chopped. It's weird. It's the don't-leave-the-pub way of life. I think people in America are generally happy for someone's good fortune; they know how to let themselves go. In Australia, they go, “Good, mate,” and don't ask a single question. There are no celebrations for a job well done. I'm still shocked at how Americans cheer you on when they like you. I know you don't fancy it anymore, but I like phrases like “dress for success.”

And that's why you're shopping here?

I love hideous ties. Girls love 'em. Dunno why. Its like red socks. Are the playing Richard Hell? I haven't heard this song in 20 years. God, you must hear better music in clothing stores than you do anywhere else in New York. All these baseball jackets are so cheap. You know what they pay for these in Australia? I should buy the whole lot, take them back. I'd never have to tour again. I could get 150 to 200 bucks just for the ratty ones. I think this is the first clothing store I've been in that wasn't playing videos.

Are videos big in Australia?

We've actually been involved in music video a whole lot longer than in America. Because we are so far away, the only way we've had to understand all this music flying around the world is through video. Since the '50s, even when it was only 10 minutes a week, Aussie tv has been showing music videos.

And we don't censor the way you guys do. The “Way of the World” single is a very serious song, but MTV is quite shy of the video, you should note – I say this diplomatically. They censor here for all the wrong reasons. Like it's okay to stare at Cher's crotch for four minutes, but it's hard to say something truthful about the state of the world.

Could it be because with a group that's become as wildly successful as INXS has, it's inevitable that favorable reaction always turns?

I don't think INXS has reached that point yet. Give us four more years. We've only recently become hip in England. At the beginning, they hated our guts.

Why?

'Cause we are Australians writing pop music, why else? They don't make much in England, apart from nice jumpers and Jaguars, and one of the few things they can claim some turf on is pop music. So, they're not happy when someone else does it. It's a standard trait of island people; they're very territorial.

But you guys are island people too.

Yeah, but we got a bigger island. Now, if we can just get rid of some competition from the expatriate colonies.

Isn't it enough already with this rivalry between Australia and England? L.A. And New York have settled their feud.

England still treats Australia like we're descendants of convicts. Well, I guess we are, aren't we? We're trying to get rid of them, but unfortunately, they're coming back with money and buying up half the country. Don't you resent the Japanese buying Rockefeller Center?

I resent the Rockefellers more.

[Having tried on everything and bought nothing, Hutchence decides against old clothes. We head down to If boutique.]

Armand Basi. Nice stuff. That Claude Montana is fabulous, but God, this stuff is expensive. We don't know anyone here for a discount, do we? My father used to design clothes for a shop in Hong Kong called Dynasty. Glitzy evening wear for too much money. One year, when we did our first tour, we bough ta lot of Sprouse, real colorful stuff, and we spent a fortune, especially when you consider it's disposable fashion. All it had to do was last a month. All the buttons fell off, it shrunk, seams opened up. We would have been more upset, but it made us homesick for the mother country. Disposable fashion is very English. The nice thing about it when it comes from there, however, is that even though the stuff falls apart, it's cheap.

Ah, I like this. Very sexy, very smart. Basi, right? I found the best underwear. I think it's called Nikos. Someone gave it to me last night. Well, that's a plug. No names, please. These pants might go with the Basi shirt. [Like Navy pants, they have over a dozen buttons instead of a fly.] Not good clubwear. Certainly not quick enough to please me.

Your choice of underwear would have to be very discreet.

And always clean. Maybe these pants come with a catheter. Should I ask the shopgirl? [He raises his arm to call her and, wincing, puts it down.]

Just realized a colostomy bag wouldn't hurt?

No. I think I have a cracked rib, from too much fun the other night at Inflation, this super club in Melbourne. Melbourne has some of the best clubs in the world. Great people. Amazing clubs. Sydney has nothing. Boring as hell. Nice place if you're a surfer. Really pretty, like L.A. But very corrupt, Sydney. Everyone is always paying everyone off. That's why you can't afford to do a club there. It's like, in order to get a club license, all the other nightclub owners have to agree to your having a license. And four people control the voting on that. Melbourne now has a club called Razor that is so exciting. It used to an automobile club, especially popular during the '50s, where people used to talk about their cars, you know, with photos of Mini-Minors making hairpin turns around corners. Like a racing club, I guess, except for slower cars. Razor gets the best people.

[He picks up a pair of huge, get-lost-in-the-rain-forest-and-survive black shoes and delights.]

Many people have shoe fetishes. I guess it's around the world actually, not just with Imelda. I think people are probably just jealous of her because they secretly wanted so many pair. But these are big, like size big. Are Americans getting larger feet, or do they just want more room? I always notice shoes when I'm here.

There's almost like a $100 tax on shoes in Australia. Like a pair that will cost you $50 here will cost you almost $200 in Australia. A pair of Levi's cost $100. I never buy furniture in Australia, either, and I have an obsession with furniture the way Americans love shoes. It's a shame I don't have an obsession with homes, too, since I have no place to put all the furniture. I have it stored all over the world.

Let me get the Basi shirt, and then I want to buy records. I would get them later, but I just remembered I have a friend coming in tonight for only one night. He and his father are trying to get down to Nicaragua. They're helping Ortega keep the Contras back. Good luck. What's so weird about their going is that these guys are publishing magnates in England. Entrepreneurs. They should be serious Thatcherites, but they just hate Thatcher. Real lefties.

If everyone is so vocal of their dislike of her, how come she's so strong?

The British love her because they love to be miserable; they love to complain. Thatcher's become irrepressible. She's finally showing signs of faltering, except she's winning by default, because no one wants to put Kinnock in, either. It's like your Dan Quayle. What an alternative.

Are Australians political?

It's compulsory to vote, if you want to call that political. Frankly, nobody particularly gives a fuck. That doesn't mean Australians are not aware people. I think they know more about what's going on in the rest of the world than the average American, but that's because they have to compensate for being in the middle of nowhere. They're more concerned about international politics, about the environment. Every time the Americans come into Sydney harbor with their nuclear ships and submarines, there's always 5,000 people telling them to fuck off.

But the hell with domestic politics?

Do you know anything about our system? It's built on a bickering sort of war. The front page is always about politicos throwing shit at each other, spending more time insulting each other than governing.

Mind you, they are really very good at it. It's a fine Australian tradition of political insult. Listening to parliament is hilarious - “Shut up, you bastard!” - and that's our prime minister, Bob Hawke. He's in the Guinness Book of World Records for having drunk a yard of beer in record time. He is actually a brilliant leader, a Rhodes scholar at Oxford, and he has done a bloody good job, considering the apathy he's up against. What he should be real pleased about its restoring pride in being Australian, particularly after all that nonsense when the governor general dismissed Prime Minister Whitlam in 1975.

How was that possible without the consent of the Australian parliament?

We're still a colony. I think a lot of us were cynical after that. They felt like puppets. Probably had something to do with the CIA. The good old CIA. I'm in their files, I found out. That they should waste their time on me. I'm listed as subversive, for my lyrics to “Guns in the Sky” and because I once threw condoms out to the audience in Northern Australia.

How is that subversive?

The more north you get in Australia, the more it is like the South in America. The man who ran Queensland, one of the biggest states in Australia, was this guy, Joh Peterson, who was in power for over 20 years. Peterson was this sort of South African leftover who arrived in Australia, and he made things illegal, like sex education, abortion, condoms to minors – you couldn't have the vending machines in clubs. [You can now.] Well, I slandered him, and so I got taken to court, where he was thrown out of office from the corruption uncovered during the proceedings.

Did that make you a hero down there?

Say what, mate? This is Australia, remember. Our heroes are bushrangers, outlaws, and sporting stars. If you're an athlete, you can get away with anything.

[Hutchence purchases the Basi shirts, and then we head to Tower Records at the corner. A street person approaches us.]

is this the official mugging committee?

Street person: “Ooh, ooh, here they come in their limo, straight from Saks Fifth Avenue. Board of directors, how you doing, moneys, you big-time decision makers. Uh-oh, who's you? You must be a rock man. Stand aside for the rock man.”

They always pick on me.

“I want to give you something, man. Some humility. But there's only enough for one.”

I don't care for some, but humility is something we can spread around.

“Hey man, this is for seriously. You will love this humility. No side effects, no speed. Say yes, and I can be back in an hour.”

[We go through the revolving door and right to the rock section; within three minutes, Max Q is playing on the system.]

That's good, somebody knows it's out.

[Hutchence buys albums by Ciccone Youth, Camper Van Beethoven, Soul II Soul, Grace Jones, Shakespear's Sister, Jesus and Mary Chain, and Suicidal Tendencies. As he is paying for them, he spots a postcard stand that features a picture of him.]

Holy shit. When did they take this thing? What a bizarre likeness. I hardly know this guy. This is not an approved photo. [He gets the attention of a young lady behind the counter.] Excuse me, please, this is not an approved photo. It's a pirate. Do you know where you get these from?

Salesgirl: “No idea.”

Can you find out?

“Why, do you want to buy a lot of them?”

See, I told you no one recognizes me.

[We walk outside and the street person comes up to him again.]

Street person: “I know who you are.”

Who am I?

“You are someone who's gonna give me a lot of money.”

How much you want?

“Just give me one of those bills, thank you. Now I'm officially your biggest fan. Just tell me what you want to buy.”

I must be dressed for success.

#inxs #michael hutchence #egg magazine #salesgirl's answers are perfect lol why would she know that hutch #maybe these pants come with a catheter #what kinda pants......#long post #tagging that in case read more doesn't work on mobile idk #collection

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bimbo-toy · 2 years ago

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A Training Plan

CW brainwashing, bondage, torture

Locked away in total sensory deprivation. Completely covered in thick latex. An iv for fluids and nutrients, a catheter for waste. No touch, no smell, no vision. Maybe sedatives to make me more receptive. And absolutely no noise at all for a full 24 hours. Enough to make me lose track of time and longer.

Putting me on the edge of madness, desperate for anything to interrupt the nothing. Then when I’m pliable and desperate, you get to install new thoughts. A track of mantras is welcome after the silence. “You are nothing without your master”... over and over... for hours... “you are nothing without your master"... And I’ll know its true. The nothingness was terrible. Your voice saved me from nothingness.

Then quiet again. The terrible silence. I scream and wail, but i cant even hear myself the sound proof ear coverings are so good. Hours pass again to remind me how terrible nothingness is. Then finally... “you are nothing without your master”. I'm sobbing, so grateful. I’m held tight but in my mind I’m nodding and crying and begging and thanking you. Yes master! Yes thank you master. I’m nothing without you! Thank you master!

Silence returns. More sobbing. Noooo... but the silence doesn’t last long this time. It’s interrupted by a shock. The worst pain I have ever felt. It’s everywhere, I cant tell where the electrodes are, my entire body burns, convulses, stiffens. I cant breathe until it passes. Then ragged heavy panting...

Your voice returns. “Pain is better than nothingness” I’m not sure. Somehow you know. Maybe your watching, maybe its programed. Hours of silent nothingness until i break. The shock again. 10 seconds of agony. 5 minutes of trying to recover. Your voice... “pain is better than nothingness”. I’d nod if i could yes master, yes please please, pain is better than nothingness!

The silence returns for a minute. I start to lose it. i cant handle the nothingness. I’m mentally fractured. No idea how long its been. If nothingness comes back, I know I’ll lose it, I’ll have a complete breakdown. Your voice returns. You give me a choice, “pain or nothingness?” I eagerly beg for the pain, the shock.

You grant it. Agony, writhing misery. When it passes I thank you. Just a muffled grunt but you know. “Pain or nothingness” you ask again. I choose pain, and you supply it. Over and over... until it sinks in. Until you get bored. Then the lesson again... “pain is better than nothingness” repeating on a loop. Endless hours pass. Random shocks... “pain is better than nothingness”... I pass out and I’m shocked awake. “Pain is better than nothingness”...

Then i stay out, unconscious from the strain but enough drugs to make sure I stay that way. I wake up back in my room and start my normal day. You never talk about it and I never mention it. Like it never happened. Did it even really happen? I’m not sure...

But I know, in my soul, that pain is better than nothingness and that I am nothing without my master. Its written deep inside me. It’s the core truth of my existence. I would sooner question that the sun rises in the east. I am nothing without my master and pain is better than nothingness. And from then on I’m a much better toy for you...

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afanoffeederism · 3 years ago

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These four walls

For the last two years this room has been my world. It's not a bad room, it's got windows that look over the park next door. It's painted a rather pleasant cream color, or it was the walls are now a rather tan/yellow. There's a flatscreen TV mounted to the wall with cable, and a video game console. I have a desktop computer, with the tower underneath my bedside table and the monitor mounted to a swingout arm on the wall next to my bed, and the bluetooth keyboard works pretty good. I am massively obese. The last weight I had, two years ago when they put me in this bed was 711 pounds. I've probably put on at least a hundred more though. All I do is lay in this bed, and eat, and smoke, and eat. I probably don't have much longer left but I've accepted that. I actually enjoy being fat, being able to eat as much as I want, and having everything done for me. All I've ever known my whole life was fat. I was born fat, to fat parents, in a fat Mississippi town, and then moved north to work in IT where I was surrounded by fat coworkers. Eventually I switched to online and phone tech support from my house because it was too hard to go outside and walk to my office. I downsized to an apartment. One day at my doctors, they found numerous fungal infections, and my blood pressure and blood sugar were out of control. I qualified for disability and moved into a different apartment, one in a handicap accessible building, where the rent is subsidized for disabled tenants. Needless to say about 2/3s of us were obese with 15% being disabled by their size. The special day for me was when I found out my caregiver Macy was an FFA. One day she found me struggling to pleasure myself and just offered to help. Now she's my full time carer, lives with me, and takes care of everything. Macy is tiny, 5'0 and maybe 100 pounds. Before she moved in full time, which was two months ago, I still moved around some, from my bed, to the living room, and the bathroom and kitchen. Most of the time I used my motorized wheelchair and limited my walking as much as possible. But one day I couldn't get out of bed. I couldn't breath so good either and no matter what couldn't stand. Macy called 911 and I was dragged from bed, onto a too narrow stretcher and to the hospital. The doctors told me that everything was high that shouldn't be, from blood pressure and blood sugar to cholesterol. They told me that with my smoking I was lucky I could still breath. They told me to take my new doses of medication, quit smoking, and start loosing weight or I was living on borrowed time. When the ambulance crew brought me back inside my apartment, with the new nasal cannula giving me oxygen and I saw my new bariatric bed against the wall I knew I wouldn't be loosing weight. Now I lie here in my bed in the old living room, Macy has my old bedroom, and does all my cares. All I do for myself is eat and smoke. She wipes me, bathes me, gives me my insulin shots, and all the rest. She's small but muscular, and I get so hard when I feel her hard little body pressing into my soft overflowing body. When I poop and she's wiping me with one tiny hand pressing into my massive butt cheeks I get sharp little pangs of pleasure in my chest. Every week she changes the catheter and that the day we make love. Sometimes its just a handjob, but sometimes she strips naked and lets me massage her tiny breasts, (Each one of my moobs is three times the size of her breasts) and she'll push my belly to the side and then rub her groin against my fatpad till my hidden penis become hard enough for her to find it. With only two inches exposed she has to do a lot of work for me to penetrate her. Today I lie here, the smoke from my ever present cigarette drifting upwards, debris from my latest feast, which like all of them has a mix of good foods, like veggies (In massive amounts) and fattening deserts scattered about. The window is open, to try to let some of my funk out. Sweat pools in my folds, saturating into the rolled up towel under my massive gut. I pant, like I always do, and try not to worry about running out of food. Macy is off getting more food. I've shit myself, but I hardly notice anymore, Macy will come and wipe me down and change the chux pads, accidents happen. I belch and notice that it echos off of the four walls. (Originally posted to my blog: http://fatallyobese.blogspot.com. More posts from there, and OC coming soon)

#ssbhm #immobile #death feederism #death feedee #death feedist #fat fiction

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werenotadulting · 3 years ago

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Routine Procedure - Finale

Author's note - Hope you enjoyed!

Part 7 - Kate

If you'd asked her, Kate wouldn't have been able to tell what exactly had gotten her interested in it.

Maybe it was the idea of the power dynamic. She had always been one of those girls labeled as 'bossy' growing up, which was a misogynistic way of saying that she wasn't afraid to speak up and speak her mind.

Or maybe it was the subversion of expectations of a traditional relationship that did it for her. The idea that she was the one in control, the one making all the decisions.

Maybe it was the fact that it was so taboo and kinky that appealed to her. It didnt really matter, whatever the reason.

Kate was into being a Mommy Domme, and Kate found nothing hotter than having a diapered little bitch boy to call her own.

The ultimate fantasy was teaching the boy to love and trust his diapers. Make him associate orgasming with wet diapers and diaper changes. Create a leaking "accident" in public so he learns that while thicker diapers might increase the risk of being noticed, they save you from the embarrassment of wet pants.

Of course, she had considered bringing up her desires to Mike, but based off of past experiences, she didn't want to chance it. Mike was just too perfect of a guy to risk blowing it like that.

She had always been the dominant one in bed, with Mike eagerly submitting to her every whim, so she knew they were sexually compatible. It had never gone past light bondage though, and Kate was starting to get an itch that handcuffs and blindfolds just wouldn't scratch.

────────

It had come up entirely by chance, one day while she was scrolling through an obscure ABDL forum.

The post read: "Biomedical engineer here, and I think I've figured out a way to induce instant, semi-permanent incontinence."

The post was over 3 days old, and only had two comments on it. The first was from a mod, basically saying to take everyone's posts with a grain of salt. The second was from the OP, about 24 hours after the original post.

"I know it sounds like a fantasy, but I'm pretty confident it will work. I've had a career in medical devices for the last 8 years, specializing in the urology space. I don't want to get too deep into the details on here, so just PM me of you're interested."

Kate rolled her eyes.

Everyone in this community is so hooked on the 'I want to be instantly incontinent' thing, and all it ever ends up being is some silly fap content, she thought to herself.

"You know what, let's feed the troll and see what bites," she muttered.

Liv2DomU: ok spill, what's your magical method?

PrinceOfPadding: this for you, or someone else?

Liv: hypothetically, let's say it's for a boyfriend

Prince: Ahh okay. Very interesting. Well, like I said, I've worked in med device for awhile, and I've recently started my own company. I primarily work in the urology space, catheters, scopes, that kind of stuff.

Liv: hmm hate to break it to u bud, but catheters kinda already exist

Prince: oh sure, catheters exist, but my idea is to bridge the catheter world with the stent world

Liv: sounds idk...sketchy? illegal?

As she read more, Kate was beginning to think that this guy might not be as full of crap as she had initially thought. He had his own start-up, which had already launched a Foley catheter to the market. It was all above-board and legit.

Prince: so, for the aspiring incontinent-person-to-be, the ring is positioned with a catheter, and stays in place once the Foley is removed. Then overtime, probably a month at minimum, depending on the chemical makeup and customer desire, the ring breaks down and is naturally absorbed into the body. And they all sign a consent form saying they accept the risks of such a procedure.

Liv: so then once it's dissolved they are back to being being able to control their bladder?

Prince: that's the theory, yes

Liv: theory?

Prince: well, dissolvable stent technology present state takes like 18 months to break down, and the manufacturing of it is patented and kept under lock and key

Liv: so basically all you have to offer is a catheter lol

Prince: well no. I've got some good leads on dissolvable compounds, but I've got to do trials of the rings first to see if it would even work. I've promised free diapers for the first few months if people sign up, but it's been hard to get subjects

Liv: so these trial rings wouldn't dissolve?

Prince: nope

Liv: meaning my hypothetical boyfriend would be....?

Prince: permanently diaper dependent, yeah

────────

In the end Kate was curious enough that she was willing to hear the guy out.

He'd asked for a mailing address and her phone number. The first was to send proof that his company was real, and the second was just to keep in contact should she decide to proceed.

It all made sense, at least in theory. Foley catheters were safe, provided they were inserted by a trained healthcare professional. A normal person would get a normal catheter just like everyone else. But an ABDL would be signing up for what was essentially an intentionally faulty catheter.

Assuming they knew they were willingly signing up for it.

When asked about 'accidental' ring implants, Prince had basically said, hey, people really need to learn to read the fine print.

────────

I walked out to the mailbox. I've been expecting test results back from the scan I'd had a few weeks back. Opening up the box, I noticed a large envelope with my hospital's address on the front.

About time, I thought, grabbing the envelope and the rest of the mail.

I walked back into the house, where Kate was making herself a cup of tea.

"Anything good in the mail?" she asked, taking a sip from her mug.

I listed them aloud as I started to flip though the mail, "Looks like some junk mail, an internet bill, a brochure for some UroVention medical thing, and last but not least, my test results."

I dropped the rest of the mail on the counter and started to open up my scan results. As I was reading, Kate walked over and began sorting through the other mail.

"Oh good, they said it's benign, but they're still worried about the location. They're recommending removal, just to be on the safe side."

"Removal for something benign? That sounds odd, but whatever," Kate said, tucking something into her back pocket.

"I'm not too worried. It sounds like it should be a pretty routine procedure."

────────

Part 8 - Mike

I sat down on the couch, my diaper squishing underneath me. Kate had taken to putting two stuffers in my diaper, even though these Tykables could already hold a lot. The warm, comforting feeling of my wet diaper started to turn me on, just like it did every time I realized how wet I was or if I was about to get a change. Not that I could do anything about it, though.

I flipped open the laptop and signed in. It would probably be a good hour before Kate got back from the store. Apparently I was being downgraded from sippy cups to bottles.

Once logged in, I noticed that the screen was still up to the site where Kate had last been. It was another diaper order, this time a case of Megamaxes. I felt my cheeks start to heat up, seeing that Kate had chosen the pink color for the whole case.

I opened up a private window, and navigated to KinkLink. My profile on here was pretty bare. It always had been, just containing my age, gender, and some basic interests. I hadn't even bothered to post a picture when I set it up. I preferred to look at other people's profiles rather than post things of my own.

I was always intrigued by people's locations and how close they were to where I lived. One such person who I came back to check the posts of daily was a mommy domme, who it happened lived in my town. Her first posts, from nearly three years ago, were what had first caught my attention.

'Every night I dream about finding my perfect diaper slut. He will wake up to me rubbing his thick, soggy padding, the little bedwetter that I turned him into.'

'Picture this: You, in a wet diaper and nothing else. Me, in my black lingerie with a strap on. Do I have any volunteers?'

'Have no doubt, if you date me, it's diapers forever. There's no "only at home" or "but my parents are coming over". Maybe I'll just find a way to make you incontinent. Then you won't have an excuse.'

And then there were the pictures. She never would show her face, but she didn't need to.. She wasn't lying about the black lingerie. It left very little to the imagination. Then the next picture, where the bra came off, and she was just in her lacy panties, her pierced nipples and tattoos on display. Maybe it was the octopus tattoo on her arm, my favorite animal, that made her stick out to me.

But there was one post that I always came back to and was entranced by. It was a picture of her holding an ABU Kiddo, right below her breasts. She wasn't wearing any clothing.

'Aww baby, did you wet the bed? I think we should probably put you in some protection.'

────────

I stood in line at the coffee shop. It wasn't too busy for a Tuesday at 9 a.m., only two people were ahead of me. As the first person in line got her coffee and the second lady stepped up to place her order, I checked my phone. Still a half hour before I needed to be at work, I had some time to sit and enjoy my drink. I got my usual and went off to a booth in the corner.

"Excuse me, but do you happen to know what the Wi-Fi password is here?"

I looked up to see the woman who had been in front of me in line.

"Oh um, yeah it's....oh I think they just changed it. Try 'PINTO'. They always pick some sort of bean, I think they find it amusing, but it's never a coffee bean..." I trailed off.

She smiled, "Oh thank you so much, yeah I'll try that."

My mouth fell open is shock.

"I uhhh...I like your tattoo," I said. "They're my, um, favorite animal."

"Oh mine too! Isn't the octopus, like, the coolest animal?"

"D-definitely. Hey, would you like to sit with me? I'm just hanging out while I wait for work. My name is Mike by the way."

"That sounds really nice. Thank you, Mike. I'm Kate."

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lillywillow · 3 years ago

Text

Healing Hands

Summary: When you take on a new job working at a hospital, you’re surprised to see the attending nurse is a blast from your past

Word Count: 1385

Square Filled: Hospital AU

Pairings: Nurse!Steve x Doctor!Female Reader

Warnings: Mild angst, death mentioned, giving birth, hospital themes, slight sexism (not from Steve)

Written for @star-spangled-bingo

You had recently been transferred from one hospital to another. At the moment you were waiting for someone to show you around the place.

“Hi, are you Doctor... wait... Y/N?”

You turned around to see the face of Steve Rogers whom you hadn’t seen since your high school days.

“Steve! It’s so good to see you,” you smiled, giving him a hug. He smiled and hugged you back.

“So you’re a doctor now?”

“Board certified and everything,” you grinned. “And you’re a nurse?” You had remembered from school that all he had ever wanted to do was become a nurse, just like his mother was. A lot of people had made fun of him and insisted that he become a doctor instead but he was adamant in which direction he wanted to go. Much like yourself really. You felt a sense of pride for him that he accomplished his dream.

“That’s right,” he smiled. “So, let’s get started.”

After orientation, Steve took you in to see your first patient. You started by asking the old man a few standard questions but he would look past you and answered the questions to Steve. Whenever you said something, the man would ignore you completely and look to Steve as if checking to see if that were the correct answer. You were about to check his IV drip but he pulled away from you.

“Listen, sweetheart, why don’t you let the doctor do his job here? If you really want to make yourself useful, why don’t you be a good little nurse and give me a sponge bath?” You were mildly shocked at his audacity when Steve stepped in.

“No, you listen old timer. Y/N here is your doctor, I am your nurse and if you ever disrespect her again, I will put in a request that you have a catheter for the duration of your stay.”

The patient’s face soured and he grumbled under his breath, allowing you to do the procedures necessary.

Once he had been tended to, the pair of you headed out of the room.

“Thanks for that, Steve.”

“Anytime, Y/N. I’ve never liked guys like that... I was wondering if you wanted to catch up sometime. Maybe grab a coffee in the cafeteria or something...”

“I’d like that,” you smiled.

“Great! See you later!”

As Steve walked away, one thing you had to admit, he did look great in those blue scrubs.

...

A few weeks went by and you had gotten to know Steve a little bit better. He was still the same charming and kind guy you remembered from high school.

One night, you were on call and decided to try and get some sleep in the hospital’s bunk room while you were able to. The moment you walked in the door, you saw Steve sitting on one of the beds. He looked up at you, his eyes puffy and red from crying.

“Steve? What’s wrong?” You immediately rushed to his side.

“One of my elderly patients, she... she just passed away...”

“Oh, Steve, I’m so sorry...” You wrapped your arms around him and rubbed his back. Steve hugged you and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“It was a long time coming and I had prepared her family... They were all there when it happened...” He held you tighter as he quietly sobbed. You knew this was always one of the hard parts of being in the profession you were in but it was still heartbreaking nonetheless.

“Can you just... hold me for a while?” he whispered.

“Of course, Steve.”

You both laid down and made yourselves as comfortable as can be, staying there until the next emergency called you both out.

...

One stormy afternoon, you were talking with Steve as he was taking a cart of medical supplies to one of the upper floors.

“Hold the elevator!” A heavily pregnant woman called, waddling in a hurry to get to it before the doors closed. Steve held the door open for her so she could get there in time.

“Maternity ward, please,” she panted, holding her bulging stomach. She was clearly in labour. You pushed the button for the right floor and the elevator started moving.

Suddenly, the lights went out and the elevator stopped moving.

“What... what’s happening?” she whimpered.

“Storm must have hit a circuit breaker...” The woman cried out in pain as a contraction hit her.

“Ma’am, how long have you been in labour?”

“About... thirty minutes... I didn’t realise I was until the... pain got too intense... my husband is... on his way...” she managed to get out.

Fortunately, the backup generator went on but it only had enough power to switch on the emergency lights, bathing the inside of the elevator in a red glow.

“Y/N, see if you can get through on the phone,” Steve instructed, helping the woman onto the floor.

You tried calling for help on the phone but they told you it could be some time before anyone could come.

“Looks like we’re on our own...”

The woman cried out in both pain and fear.

“What’s your name, ma’am?” Steve asked, crouching down to be near her.

“S-Sarah,” she breathed. Steve couldn’t help but smile fondly at the name.

“Hi, Sarah. My name is Steve and this is Y/N. We’re going to do everything we can to help you deliver this baby, okay?”

“Okay... okay...”

Steve cleaned his hands with sanitiser from the cart and got into position.

“What are you doing?” Sarah questioned, moving a little away from him.

“I have had expert training in midwifery but if you’re more comfortable with Y/N doing this, it’s okay...”

Sarah looked between the two of you before allowing Steve to continue. You held her hand as Steve directed her when to push and when to hold back. Time passed by and eventually, a beautiful little boy was born. You cut the umbilical cord with a pair of sterile scissors from the cart as Steve handed the wailing infant to Sarah.

Finally, power was fully restored and the elevator started moving again. The moment the doors opened, you were able to get Sarah and her baby to the maternity ward where they could both be properly cared for.

...

A few days later, you were getting ready to out to lunch with Steve when you were unexpectedly stopped by Sarah and her husband who were taking their baby boy home at last.

“Dear, these are the people who helped me when I was trapped in the elevator,” she smiled.

“Allow me to shake your hands,” her husband beamed. You both shook his hand.

“Steve really helped me to stay calm and guided me through it. I don’t know what I would have done without him...”

“You a doctor here?”

“Actually, I’m a nurse, sir,” Steve corrected. The man stared at him in utter surprise.

“A... male nurse?”

“Yes, Steve is a man and yes, he is a nurse but he’s good at what he does and he’s one of the best,” you supplied.

The man looked at his wife and newborn son, his face softening a little.

“I guess it must be true otherwise...” He turned his attention back to the pair of you and shaking Steve’s hand again.

“Thank you, again.”

“Just doing my job, sir,” he smiled. The couple smiled and headed off with their new baby.

As they walked away, you couldn’t help but smile. This was one of the best parts of the job.

“Y/N, I was wondering...”

“Yes?”

“If maybe you wanted to go out sometime... like an official date...” You couldn’t help but smile at him.

“I would love that Steve.”

...

Life in a hospital was never easy. It had its ups and down, good and bad moments but it was never boring. The important part was that you had that special someone who could help you navigate the ever changing rapids that came with working in such a busy place.

#ssb2021 #Healing Hands #steve rodgers x reader #Steve Rogers #Marvel #Nurse!Steve Rogers #Doctor!Reader #Male Nurse #Female Doctor #Hospital AU #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #marvel one shot #Medical themes #birth

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just-dreaming-marvel · 4 years ago

Text

Love and Medicine ~ 7

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 4,400ish

Summary: Clint has feelings. You try not to cause too much drama at work.

You immediately began avoiding Steve after Gamora caught you two in the car. You need not need her, or anyone else, thinking that you were sleeping with him to get ahead. Having no desire to get ready for work, you laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, as your alarm buzzed.

Outside in the hall, Clint was nervously walked towards your door with two cups of coffee.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just ask her out?” Valkyrie suddenly asked, popping out of her room.

“Ah!” Clint jumped, slipping the coffees on him. “Val!”

“She’s right, ya know?” Scott added, stepping out of his room. “Just ask her out. It’s not like it will be awkward when she tells you no.”

“I hate you both,” Clint grumbled. He leaned into your door, able to hear to slam on the snooze button for the third time. “She’s gonna be late.”

“Maybe not.”

“We should wait for her.”

“Definitely not,” Val shook her head. “I’m not her mother, and you are not her boyfriend.”

“Not yet, anyway,” Scott added.

“Stop, both of you, okay?” Clint said, frustrated. “I told you I’m not interested.”

“Life is short, Clint,” Val said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Do you really want to die before you ever ask her out?”

“I do not want to ask her out.”

“Do you really want to die a liar?” Scott said.

“I’m not… I’m not dying.”

~~~

From the parking garage, you rushed towards the building. Late for work. As you wait for the elevator, you see Steve coming toward you.

“Crap,” you mutter.

“Crap?” Steve repeated, having heard you.

“Hi. I’m late.”

“Hi, late. You’re avoiding me.”

“You’re right. But I can’t do this right now. I’m late.” You hurried towards the stairs, only for him to follow you.

“Okay, but are we going to talk about this?”

“No.” You marched up the stairs.

“About us and Gamora and what she saw?”

“I don’t need to talk about it. I experienced it. Naked.”

“This is getting complicated.”

“Complicated for me. Not necessarily for you. I’m the intern sleeping with the attending. Gamora isn’t even speaking to me anymore!”

“Not that, that’s a bad thing. If I was a better guy, I’d walk away.”

“Yes, you would.”

“Do you want me to be a better guy.”

“Yes. Now,” you reached the level of the locker rooms, “I’m late. Please leave me alone and get to my job.” You opened the door. Steve caught it, keeping it open as you walked away.

“Take your time! Think about it!”

“Think about what?” Tony asked, walking over to Steve. He looked to where Steve was looking, watching her rush down the all. “Ooohhh… I get it now. Well, at least she’s talking to you.”

“The date go bad with Pepper?”

“It didn’t go at all. I was pulled into a surgery and completely forgot about it.”

“Yikes.”

“I think I’ve blown it.”

“Me too, Stark. Me too.”

~~~

“That was definitely worth being late,” Natasha sighed as she put on her pants.

“Thanks,” Bruce smiled shyly, doing the same. “Is this a… should we talk about this?”

“Yeah,” Natasha slipped her shirt on, “definitely. Just, I’m late.”

She rushed out of the on-call room and straight to the locker room, where you were getting ready.

“You’re late,” you stated.

“So are you,” Natasha responded.

“I know, and I can’t afford to piss off Gamora any more. Do you think she told anyone?”

“About you and Captain McDreamy?”

“Yeah.”

“No, he’s her boss too.”

“If they find out, what can they… Can they kick me out? Or—“

“No…. Well, I don’t think officially. You'll just get edged out, blacklisted, banned from his surgeries, passed over for chief resident. It’ll be humiliating, but you’ll live.”

“I have to end it. I definitely have to end it… I have to end it, right?”

“Y/N, shut up.” Nat headed out of the locker room.

“What?” You chased after her. “Did you seriously just tell me to shut up?”

“Oh, please. You got a hot doctor who like to make you open up, and say "ahh." It's the American dream, stop whining about it.”

“No. No good can come from sleeping with your boss.” You two arrived in front of Gamora.

“Natasha, you’re late,” Gamora stated, unhappy.

“So is Y/N,” Natasha replied, pointing at you.

“When we walk in this door, you will maintain decorum,” Gamora continued, ignoring Nat and you. “You will not laugh, vomit, or drop your jaw. Are we understood?” She walked to a door.

“Why would we laugh?” Val asked quietly.

“Oh, just you wait,” Peter replied.

The interns followed Gamora into a patient room. On the bed, there was a heavier woman with an extremely large tumor bulging out fo her side.

“Good morning, Miss Anderson,” Gamora greeted.

“Good Morning,” Miss Anderson, the patient, replied.

“What is it?” Scott whispered.

“Tumor,” Nat responded.

“Good morning, Millie,” Peter smiled, walking around to the other side of the patient’s bed. “How are you? This is Dr. Gamora and some of my fellow interns.”

“Dr. Quill, we refer to patients as ‘mister’ and—“ Gamora began to reprimand.

“I old him to call me Millie,” the patient interrupted. “Miss Anderson makes me feel old and fat, which I am, but why have to feel that way?”

“Good morning,” Dr. Banner greeted upon entering, eyes lingering on Natasha a beat too long.

“Millie, this is Dr. Banner,” Peter stated.

“Dr. Quill, give us the run down.”

“Millie Anderson is a 43-year-old woman who presented last night with progressive shortness of breath fo the past three months. Found to have a very large tumor of unknown origin pressed against her diaphragm. Stable vital signs. Scheduled for CT this morning, sir.”

“Thank you, Dr. Quill.” Banner turned to Millie. “Are you at all claustrophobic?”

“I’ve been housebound for the last year,” Millie replied. “How claustrophobic could I be?”

“Alright then. Dr. Valkyrie is going to take you up for a CT. It’ll give us a better look at the tumor, and we’ll know how to proceed.”

“Could someone tell my dad? He’ll worry if he gets back and I’m not here.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“And would it be possible for Peter to take me instead? I mean, he… he’s just so fun to look at.”

“Millie,” Peter laughed, clearly trying to gain favor.

“Sure,” Banner said. “Sure, Miss Anderson. Excuse me.”

Dr. Banner left the room, with Dr. Gamora and the interns following.

“How much do you think it weighs?” Scott asked.

“60 pounds,” Clint answered.

“More,” Val said. “She’s carrying a whole extra person.”

“This one’s going in the books,” Natasha said. “I’ve got to get in.”

“I almost did,” Val glared at Peter.

“I was on call last night when she came in,” Peter said. “I’m never leaving this place again.”

“Let’s move, people,” Gamora said. “Miss Anderson’ surgery, should we choose to proceed, will take most, if not all, of the surgeons off the floor. Which means you people will have to work extra hard not to kill anyone, cause we won’t be there to fix your mistakes.”

You and the others listened to Gamora’s orders while Natasha slipped away to talk to Bruce.

“I really want in on this,” she whispered to him.

“I thought we weren’t talking,” Bruce replied, eyebrow up.

“I’m not talking. I’m just saying.”

Bruce sighed. “Find her father, get a family history, and I’ll tell Gamora.”

~~~

“I know you both think I like Y/N,” Clint stated as him, Scott, and Val walked up the stairs. “But I don’t like Y/N.”

“What?” Val questioned.

“No. I like Y/N. Obviously, I like her. She’s my roommate. I just… I don’t have a thing for her.” Scott and Val shared a look.

“Okay,” Scott said.

“It’s just this morning… I know you two were probably just teasing. But I don’t want you to say anything like that to her. Because, you know, we live together and that’d be awkward.”

“Clint, stop talking,” Val ordered.

“Okay, then… It’s just—“

“Seriously, dude,” Scott stopped in front of Clint. “You’re making this all worse. Just stop.” Scott peered behind Clint where you were making your way towards them. “Or you could just be honest with yourself and us and ask her out now.” Clint looked back to see you almost there.

“What are you guys standing here for?” You asked. “We’re going to be late meeting Gamora.”

You and Val continued on your way with Scott watching Clint watch you.

“Liar,” Scott muttered, shaking his head.

The two guys caught up with you and Val. The four of you met up with Gamora in another patient room. Inside the room, a man is trying to walk but was having difficulty. Steve was also in there and a younger woman.

“Morning,” Gamora greeted.

“Mr. Jones, this is Dr. Gamora and her fine staff of surgical interns,” Steve introduced. Steve, yourself, and Gamora all exchanged glances.

“Welcome to hell, kids,” Mr. Jones stated.

“Who’s presenting?” Gamora asked.

“Edward Jones,” Clint stated, “is a 63-year-old man admitted for pain management for Dyskinesia. He's been stable since last night, and responding to the bolus injections.”

“Val, possible treatments?”

“For Parkinson’s disease?” Val questioned. “Um, deep brain stimulation has shown—“

“Not for Parkinson’s,” Steve clarified, “for spinal pain.”

“Oh, um…”

“Instraspinal catheter,” you stated. “That way, he can have constant pain medication.”

“Excellent,” Steve smiled. “This is Dr. L/N. She’s gonna prep you for the procedure and assist.” His pager beeped, causing him to look down. “Excuse me.” He left.

“You make yourselves busy,” Gamora said, following Steve out. “I’ll catch up with you.”

She followed Steve to the elevator. Where they end up alone.

“Gamora,” Steve greeted.

“Excuse me?” She responded.

“Well, that’s your name, right? It’s on your jacket.” She wasn’t impressed. “Alright, fine. Dr. Gamora then.”

“You think you're charming in that talented, neurotic, overly moussed hair sort of way, good for you. But if you think I'm going to stand back and watch while you favor her—“

“I don’t favor her. She’s good.”

“I’m sure she is.”

“You know, can I point out that, technically, I'm your boss?”

“You don't scare me. Look, I'm not going to advertise your extracurricular activities with my intern. However, the next time I see you favoring Y/N L/N in any way, I'll make sure she doesn't see the inside of on OR for a month. Just for the sake of balance.”

~~~

“Okay, Mr. Jones,” you said with a smile. “We're going to get you more comfortable, okay? I'm going to go downstairs and I'll be back up shortly.”

“Okay,” Mr. Jones responded.

“Okay.”

You left, with the younger woman from the room following you out.

“Excuse me,” the younger woman called out, causing you to turn your attention to her. “I’m sorry, doctor…”

“L/N,” you smiled.

“Dr. L/N. I’m Lucy, his daughter. My dad seems to like you. He’s always liked your type. Is that rude? I’m sorry. I’m so tired.”

“Is there something—“

“I was wondering if you would talk to him.”

“About?”

“Brain surgery. The doctor mentioned it, and I've read about it online. If it worked, it could help with most of his symptoms, not just his pain.”

“Is he a candidate? I don’t—“

“He is, but he's afraid of it. Surgery on his back, he can understand, but his brain...And there are risks. But his quality of life…”

“There isn’t any.”

“And, it keeps getting worse. I'm getting married next month. I already lost my mom. And I want him to walk...I want him with me. Maybe that's selfish, but...you don't know what it's like having a parent...Watching him…”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks.”

You immediately left in search of Steve. You watched outside a room where he was talking to Gamora and Banner about Miss Anderson.

“Dr. Rogers,” you called as he walked out. “Mr. Jones, the Parkinson's patient, is he a good candidate for DBS?”

“Yes,” he replied, “but he’s not interested.”

“Okay, but I think it's worth talking to him again, pushing him.”

“We're talking about a brain surgery that is performed while the patient is wide awake, a risk of paralysis, a risk of death. And, the patient doesn't want it. It is not my job to push him into anything and it's definitely not yours.”

“Okay.”

“And since you’re clearly uncomfortable with my decision in this case, it's probably best you don't scrub in.”

“But—“

“It’s a minor procedure. You won’t be missed.” This took you by surprise. “I’m good here, Dr. L/N.” With your mind reeling, you walked away. Steve turned to Gamora, who had been watching. “You know that you’re a bully, right?”

“So I’ve heard,” Gamora replied.

~~~

You and Val were sitting in a corner of the cafeteria, eating lunch.

“It's just that he blatantly favors me in front of her and then blatantly dismisses me,” you complained to her.

“How do you know he was favoring you?” She asked, which you didn’t answer. “Look, you've got a brain. You got into this program. Just because Rogers wants to munch your cookies doesn't mean you didn't deserve what you worked for.”

“But he’s making me look bad. I have to end it.”

“Right.”

“It’s over.”

“Sure.”

“Is it true you get to scrub in on that tumor?” Peter asked Natasha, appearing out of nowhere with Val. They both sat down at your table.

“Don’t sit here.”

“You get to scrub in?” Val repeated. “How psyched are you?”

“On a scale of one to ecstatic, ecstatic.”

“It’s unbelievable,” Peter complained. “You know what I think? I think Banner wants to get into your scrubs.”

“Why are you sitting here?”

“He kicked me off that surgery for the same crap most of you pull every day.”

“You know what.” Natasha held up her fork. “If I stuck this fork into his thigh, would I get in trouble?”

“Not if you make it look like an accident,” you answered.

“Hey!” Clint greeted, coming up with Scott.

“Thank goodness,” Peter exclaimed. “I’m drowning in estrogen here.”

Clint sat down next to you, studying you. “You look… is everything okay?” He asked you.

“Rogers is a jackass,” you muttered.

“Really?” Val questioned. “I think he’s kind of great.”

“He reamed her out in front of Gamora,” Natasha said.

“Why?”

“Cause he’s a jackass,” you repeated.

“Well, bad days are… bad,” Clint said. “Maybe tonight, uh, if, you know, if you drink alcohol, I mean… we could, all of us, I mean, go out and rink alcohol… because of the bad day.”

Your pager beeped. “I’ve got to go.” And you left.

“Dude,” Peter laughed at Clint once you were gone.

Clint groaned and rested his head on the table. Scott panted his shoulder while the others laughed.

~~~

Steve had called you to Mr. Jones room. You stood near the door, watching.

“How’s your back?” Steve asked Mr. Jones as he checked him over.

“Still good,” the patient responded.

“Good.” Steve turned to Mr. Jones daughter. “How are you? Good?” She nodded as he turned his attention back to her father. “Can you lean forward for me? I just want to check something. Does that feel okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Right here?” Steve pressed along Mr. Jones’ back. The man grunts slightly and Steve looked up, finally noticing you. “Mr. Jones,” Steve took his hands off the man, “have you given any more thought about the other surgical options we discussed this morning?”

“What? Why would I? I already told you no. I'm letting you cut into my back, but that's not enough for you. All you guys ever want to do is cut.”

“Dad,” his daughter scolded, “just listen to what he has to say.”

“I already listened.”

“Sir, there’s a very small window of opportunity here,” Steve stated. “You know, once the Parkinson's progresses to a point of dementia, there's, you know, you're no longer a candidate for DBS.”

“And when I'm no longer a candidate, is that when you people will leave me the hell alone! What? Do I have to start drooling, and forget my name to get a little peace and quiet?”

“Alright,” Steve nodded. “I’ll check back with you later. Try to get some rest.” Steve left while you lingered a bit longer, just more in the hallway.

“Dad, you’re being unreasonable,” the daughter said. “The doctors are only trying to help you.”

“It’s my damn life, and it’s my damn brain,” Mr. Jones stated. “You want me to let them cut up my brain while I'm lying there awake, for what?”

“Dad!”

“I'll be at your wedding. I will sit in the back. Your uncle will walk you down the aisle. I know it's not perfect, but it's life. Life is messy sometimes.”

“I know that.” The daughter walked out and Mr. Jones looked at you.

“If she knows, then what the hell are we still talking for, huh? Why in the hell can’t she drop it?”

“It is your life,” you said, stepping further into the room. “But it’s her life too. And you have a chance to get better here. And all she's asking you to do is try.”

~~~

Mr. Jones agreed to the DBS. But you needed to hurry and find Steve, before the man changed his mind. You found him scrubbing in for Miss Anderson’s surgery with Banner and Gamora.

“Dr. Rogers,” you called.

“Yes?” He responded, looking over with his red, white, and blue scrub cap on and a mask.

“Mr. Jones has agreed to DBS. Only if we do it today. If he leaves, he won’t come back.”

“Don’t worry, Steve,” Bruce said. “It’ll take hours before we get around to the spine. I’ll page you.”

“Alright, then,” Steve said, shaking off his wet hands. “Let’s do it.”

Steve walked out of the scrub room while Bruce walked into the OR, leaving you and Gamora alone.

“Dr. Gamora. I didn’t know… I din’t know that he was my boss, when I met him,” you said. “I really didn’t know.”

“I don’t care,” she responded.

“Really? Oh, well, you sort of seemed to not be talking to me, so I—“

“You see this, what's happening right here? This is the problem with you sleeping with my boss. Not whether or not you know him before, but how it affects my day. And me standing here talking to you about your sex life affects my day. And the longer this little fling goes on, the more favors you get over the others, who are fighting tooth and nail just to make it through this program without any assistance. When those people start finding out what's going on and they don't want to work with you and talk to you or look at you, and they start bitching and moaning at me, the more it affects my day. So, no, Dr. L/N, I don't care what you know, or when you know it. Are we understood?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

~~~

“Neuro sponge,” a male nurse said, handing a sponge to Steve.

“How you doing, Mr. Jones?” Steve asked.

“Alright,” Mr. Jones responded.

“Drill bit’s charged,” the nurse announced.

“Where’s the girl doctor?”

“I’m right here,” you responded, stepping closer. “Can’t you see me?”

“I’m shaky, not blind. Anything goes wrong here, I’m blaming you.”

“Okay, in that case, I'll stay where you can see me. Now we just have to drill a hole and try to find the spot that controls the motor function.”

“You can't see my brain from there. Aren't you supposed to be learning something?”

“I’m good,” you grabbed onto his hand, “right here.”

“EEG waves look good,” the nurse stated.

“Okay, Mr. Jones. Just take a couple of deep breaths,” Steve told him. “Focus on the pretty girl. Okay, this is going to sound really scary, but try and relax. You shouldn't feel a thing.”

Then Steve began to drill into Mr. Jones’ head. After a few hours, Steve asked you to have Mr. Jones try and mimic you.

“Just keep trying, Mr. Jones,” you encouraged. “Mimic my motions. You can do it.”

“Oh, damn it!” His body was too shaky to mimic the motions.

“Take a breath and try again. The probe is almost in. You’ll know when we find the right spot.” Mr. Jones tries again, to find that he stopped shaking and was able to mimic you. “Well, how about that?” You smiled, though it was covered with a mask.

“There it is,” Steve said.

~~~

After the surgery, you and Steve brought Mr. Jones back to his room and met back in the hallway.

“I know you’re probably asking yourself why I took you off the surgery,” Steve said. “Gamora was on the warpath. I was trying to protect you.”

“You trying to protect me is why she's on the warpath,” you replied, the both of you heading down the hall. “You can't do me favors. You can't ask me to scrub in when I haven't earned it.”

“Okay, okay.”

“And you can't treat me like crap when I haven't earned that either.”

“Okay.”

“I can take care of myself. I got myself into this mess, and I’ll—“

“And you'll get yourself out?”

“I don’t… I don’t know that yet.” Steve’s pager went off as you arrived at the staircase. “Don’t let me keep you.”

“You did great work here today.” He smiled at you then headed off.

“Dr. Rogers,” you called after him.

“Yeah?” He turned around to face you.

“Sorry I called you a jackass.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did. Twice.”

Steve chuckled and continued on his way. Tony had heard and seen the exchange from behind. He came up beside you.

“You both are love sick idiots,” he said.

“And you aren’t?” You responded.

“Yes. But I blew it.”

“Dr. Potts will give you another chance.”

“How do you know? Did she tell you that?”

“No. I just know from experience.”

~~~

You decided to go to the OR gallery and watch Miss Anderson’s surgery. Peter was up there watching as well.

“Wow, it’s unbelievable,” you said, looking at the mess down below.

“Right,” Peter agreed.

“How did she live like that?”

“Watch what you say. You never know who's listening.” He looks down below, then laughed. “Look at Scottie. He looks like he's about to fall in.”

“Are you really as shallow and callous as you seem?”

“Oh, you want to go out for a drink later and hear about my secret pain?”

“Does that line ever work for you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Oh. Must be because you look like that.”

“Like what?” You laughed at him. “So is that a yes?”

“No. I can't. I’m… seeing someone.”

“Look, if you don't want to go out with me, just say so. No need to lie.”

“Oh, okay. Well, I don't want to go out with you. But I think I really might be seeing someone.”

Suddenly, Val entered the OR below. And you could hear everything that was happening.

“Mr. Collins, the post-op heart patient in 2114. I had to open his sternotomy bedside,” Val stated, almost panicked.

“You what?” / “What?”

Peter quickly left the gallery and you stood up to watch from the glass.

“He had cardiac tamponade. His chest films were clean this morning,” Val explained. “It just... It happened fast. He was in PEA. There was no time.”

“Go ahead,” Steve told Bruce. “I got it. We’re okay here.”

“Okay.” Bruce hurried out with Val.

“I need some retraction. Pull back on the retractor. And someone page Hill to help… Never a dull moment here at the medical center.” A blood vessel burst, suddenly, squirting blood all over Steve and Gamora. “Oh!”

“Oh!” Gamora exclaimed.

“Get right in there!”

“She can’t afford to lose this much blood. We need more blood.”

“Get me some suction here. I can't see what I'm doing. Clamp, clamp, clamp, please. Is there any blood in the rapid infuser?”

“We’re waiting on two units,” the female nurse stated.

“What do you mean, waiting?”

“Well, we didn’t anticipate this much blood loss,” Gamora replied.

“They’re on their way,” the nurse said.

“We prepped a double supply. We’ve used it all.”

“What did you cut?” Steve asked.

“Nothing. It just blew. She came in with too much damage. The artery walls are too weak. Ten units of o-negative.”

“I cannot see. Lang, give me your hand. Push right down here. Pull it towards you. Suction! Suction!”

“The pressure’s dropping,” a nurse stated.

“She needs blood. Where the hell is the blood?! Somebody grab that. Push it back, Lang. Come on.” Everyone is breathless as they move Miss Anderson more onto the table. “Oh, God. Just squeeze it off right there. Here we go… Some suction, please, in here, now. Come on. We're losing her now. Look at this. Look at this. Come on!” He started CPR, with the flatline of the machine going. "Oh, come on! Come on!” He continued with the CPR. "Come on!” After a few more times, Steve breathlessly stopped CPR. “Time of death is 11:42.”

~~~

Natasha found her way to an on call room after Miss Anderson’s surgery. She was stretching when Bruce entered.

“I'm not doing you any more favors,” he stated. “This was it.”

Natasha scoffed. “I've been holding up 50 pounds of tumor for the past 12 hours. My back's going to need traction, and the patient died anyways. And you think you did me a favor?”

“Look, I'm just… What is this… that we're doing here? What is it?”

“You need a definition? You really want to be that guy?”

He watched as she continued to stretch, then he locked the door.

~~~

You waited in the parking garage for Steve to leave the hospital. He walked up to you.

“I, um, know this place where they’re an amazing view of the sunrise and ferryboats,” you told him, pulling out some beers from your bag.

“I have a thing for ferry boats,” he smirked.

“I remember.”

He took a hold of your hand, leading you to his car.

next chapter >

NOTES: from now on the taglist when be added by a reblog. I will reblog it using my second account, @just-dreaming-marvel-2. Just so that my main page doesn’t get too cluttered.

If you want to be added to the tag list, please dm me or send in an ask.

#steve rogers x reader #tony stark x reader #the avengers x reader #avengers x reader #marvel x reader #gamora x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #clint barton x reader #scott lang x reader #valkyrie x reader #peter quill x reader #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #steve rogers imagine

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magnoliabloomfield · 3 years ago

Text

I survived my tilt table test. I wouldn’t say it was torturous which is what I was seeing most people say, maybe their cases are more severe tho, so I thought I’d relate my experience for anyone else curious what they’re getting into.

I’ll list things out briefly and clinically first and then tell you how I fared. Idk if all the tests are like mine but here’s what I got.

Put on gown. Kept bra, pants, and shoes on.

Laid on the “table” and they started putting the EKG pads on me, hence the gown, a blood pressure cuff, and an IV port?catheter? Poked a hole in me through which they could administer whatever I needed.

Laid down and chilled for 15 minutes maybe, I think mine took longer than the 10 they said it would be and I’ll get to that reason later.

They put the straps on me, my arms were free, and tilted the table up to a 70 degree angle, think of Captain America

I was upright like that for I believe they said half an hour but it didn’t really feel that long. I told her everything I was feeling as it came to me.

The whole time they were taking my blood pressure every two minutes.

At that point they were like yeah, you got POTS, do you want to keep going? And I was like, let’s get all the info we can while I’m already miserable so I only have to do it once. So they did the second thing where they massaged the carotid arteries on my neck while taking my blood pressure, once on each side.

She had me hold my breath and listened to the arteries as well with the stethoscope

The last phase was she put a nitro tablet under my tongue. That was the show stopper.

So, when they were putting the IV in I got so oogy feeling that she was dang we might not even have to do the test. I told her I’d passed out getting my blood drawn several times and that I was usually fine and then gone. I just had to get over that wave of oh my god they poked me and they left it in there and I can feel it. So that just in case IV port was used immediately to give me Saline.

During the first phase I was uncomfortable, obviously that’s kind of the point unfortunately, and I let her know like ok this is when I’d start shifting my weight, this is when I’d brace my hands on my knees, this is when I’d sit down for sure, and all the temperature changes, clammy parts, tingling, muscle twitching etc. There was a point where I was like I might be about to go out, but I didn’t. I managed to power through, a lot of heavy breathing and dizziness tho.

The whole thing with the arteries was no biggie. But when she gave me the nitro tablet, it’s smaller than a tic tac and goes under your tongue, that’s when I was like OOF yeah this is it. I think the last thing I said was “I’m gonna go”.

As the white faded and I could start to see again I saw her and knew she was talking to me, I could hardly hear, and I was wondering why is she talking when my eyes were closed? And somehow I managed to ask after a while if my eyes closed and she told me the most uncomfy thing lol

“Nope. When people pass out their eyes rarely close. The lid droops though so your lids came down a little and your pupils got really big then they just slid over to one side.”

The last thing I remember was being upright and I came to completely flat, yet they said I was only out about three seconds, idk what the deal with that is. But she looked at me and was like you do go out really fast! And I’m thinking yeah that’s why I avoid it by sitting down as soon as I feel off, otherwise I could really get hurt. I told her about a spot in my abdomen that really hurt and she said that was linked to some other thing people usually have with POTS, I can’t remember what it was but I’m sure the paper work will say when they’re done going through all the results.

Will update when results come.

#pots #postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome #disautonomia

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beautiful-bau-beau · 4 years ago

Note

helloooo!! I have a Spencer request :) Could you write one where Spencer is injured (maybe like when he broke his leg or something like that) and he stays round yours and you look after him, help him shower, comfort him and stuff :)

Anonymous said to beautiful-bau-beau: could u do a soulmate au w spence where you feel the share pain with your soulmate, i think it would be interesting since spencer seems to be shot or nearly killed in almost every episode

Sticks and Stones

fem!reader/Spencer Reid

masterlist

[Set in season 5 when Spencer gets shot in the leg but makes references to Maeve]

----

To the average eye flowers are soft, simple little things. They spark romance in the hearts of budding couples, they aid the grieving widows, their beauty inspires the masses in forms such as poetry and art. For some, flowers only caused distress.

Few were "fortunate" in the world to have soulmates. Once twelve years of age, a soul bound to another would feel the pain, to a lesser extent, as well as receive a flower at the sight of the intrusion. Small purple blooms grew at bruises, at a cut, the flowers would mimic the length and size. Any other type of pain was indicated by large, red blossoms. As each wound healed, the flowers would wilt and die.

You were among the many to few flowers as flimsy nuisances, only serving as reminders of the pain you had to go through.

Before turning twelve you often wondered if you had a soulmate. You had spent many days vividly imagining who your soulmate was, what he looked like, what he did for a living, choosing to ignore that if you indeed had one, a lifetime of pain was sure to follow.

Lifetime of pain indeed.

Your soulmate must have been a stuntman, a police officer, hell- even a lion tamer with the amount of pain he seemed to put you through. The occasional bruise and scrape seemed to hit you up until your early twenties, that's when the real pain began.

Every other day it seemed that you were doubled over, screaming in agony. You were an ugly vision of purple and red, but hell, it seemed to strike up a conversation with you and your patients.

You served as a private duty nurse, taking care of patients in the safety of their own home. You enjoyed the one-on-one with your patients, and it was decidedly better than working in a crowded hospital with a difficult schedule.

You had just finished a job working with an elderly woman, as her granddaughter had recently decided to move in with her to take care of her. It was a sad departure, but the job had finished and it was now time for you to find another patient in need.

You were employed through a small local medical office and received career requests through their office website.

One particular request caught your eye that morning from a Ms. Penelope Garcia. A friend of hers had recently been shot in the leg and needed to quickly recover before returning to his job.

You eyed your own leg, sighing heavily. It still seemed to throb harshly every once in a while.

A week ago, out of nowhere, an extreme pain radiated through your leg, causing you to drop what you were doing and scream. Thankfully you hadn't been on the job but the look of pity your neighbors gave you the next day felt just as awful. Every time you glanced at the offending appendage you could swear you saw another blossom grow.

"You and me both, buddy." You mumbled, picking up your phone. The job seemed simple enough, and hopefully you would be able to bond with this new patient by shared leg pain.

"You ordered a nurse for me?" Spencer hissed into his cell, turning to look over his shoulder. "I can take care of myself!" He eyed your figure, currently unpacking a medical bag. You had entered his apartment mere minutes ago, not understanding his confusion.

"Are you Spencer Reid?" You asked, greeting his wheel-chair bound figure. "I'm Y/n Y/l/n, the nurse your girlfriend Penelope ordered." You were met with a blank stare. "Is she uh.. here?"

"I'm going to have to make a phone call." Spencer blurted, wheeling himself inside. He left the door open so you took it upon yourself to enter.

"Spencer, I love you but are you listening to yourself right now?" Penelope replied, twirling a pen around her fingers. "You were shot a week ago, you're in a wheelchair. How are you going to shower? Replace your bandages? Sweets, this nurse will help you. And before you even have to ask I already checked and your insurance covers this!"

"Garcia-"

"I won't hear anything more about it as I know I'm right! Goodbye, dear!" A heavy sigh came from the man, and he placed his cellphone back in his pocket. He turned to look at you again, wheeling his way over to you.

"I apologize for earlier. I wasn't exactly informed that you would be coming here." He placed his hands on his lap, awkwardly.

"That's alright!" You chirped. " You’re low-risk so I won’t invade your space too much by staying overnight with you. I'm here to help with personal medical care, bathing, trimming nails, and making you comfortable.... as well as urinary and colostomy care." His eyes widened and you simply waved him off. "I get it. It's weird. But from what I read through of your medical reports, the bullet went clear through and you'll need a crutch in two weeks! At least you're not hooked up to a catheter?" You tried to joke. You were met with another simple stare.

"Let's uh, change your bandages, shall we?"

It had been a few days since you started working with Spencer. He was a nice man, a little awkward, and seemed to be more of an introvert, so you respected his space. He seemed to take to staying in bed, simply asking for books every once and awhile.

"There's no way you're able to read all these so quickly. You'd have to be superhuman..." You teased, bringing him a stack of his latest requests.

"I have an IQ of 187 and can read 20,000 words per minute." Spencer replied, catching your eye. He flushed under your surprised glance. "...Not to brag."

"Well... that'll do it." You set each book in your arm down, one by one, a particular title catching your eye. "The Narrative of John Smith?"

"Have you read it?" He asked, trying not to sound too eager. He hadn't originally pegged you for an Arthur Conan Doyle fan.

"Uh, no." You scratched behind your ear sheepishly. "But a few friends of mine have, they all highly recommend it. What do you think? Does it live up to all the hype?" Spencer opened his mouth but shut it almost immediately, causing your brows to furrow.

"I can't tell you what to read... it's just a very special book to me."

"Did someone special give you the book? Penelope?" Spencer let out a chuckle, hissing as he adjusted himself on his bed.

"Garcia is just a friend but you're correct, someone special gave me the book."

"A soulmate?" You asked, immediately regretting your choice of words. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed. I'm just the nosy nurse that asks too many questions." You knew it was a sensitive topic for some, with or without the soulmate.

"No, it wasn't from a soulmate... but I wish she was." Spencer's voice grew soft. You felt as if you had stepped too far, intruded upon a fond memory.

"I do have one though." He continued, noticing your unease. "Sometimes I worry I imagined her but every once and awhile, I'll notice some flowers by my legs, the likely result of a cut from shaving or bruises." You let out a laugh, leaning against his door frame.

"I would love a low-risk soulmate like that. He must jump through flaming hula-hoops or something. I could make a decent living as a florist." You murmured.

"That's got to be tough." Spencer observed, noticing no flowers on your arm.

"I guess he's a lot like you." You lifted up your pant leg, crimson petals on display. "His reason can't be nearly as heroic as yours, though." Spencer couldn't suppress the smile that grew from the compliment.

"Well I guess you'll have to find him and ask."

"Well you're in the FBI right? Let's formulate a profile and find him so I can give him a piece of my mind. You in?" You teased.

"Sounds like a worthy use of all my newfound time." He let out a small huff of amusement, eyeing your figure. He appreciated how lighthearted and casual you were. He noticed the space you gave him and your little efforts to make the apartment easier to maneuver around. Although he hadn't seemed motivated at first, something told him he should get to know you more.

"Y/n?" Spencer asked, drawing your attention away from one of the books you had borrowed from his shelf. "Is there any way we can wash my hair?" He had procrastinated in asking, too embarrassed for whatever your plan was for showering.

"Of course! I could cut it too if you'd like." You offered, standing to wheel him into the bathroom.

"Are you saying you don't like my hair?" He faked an offended tone which he knew would make you laugh.

"I think your hair is beautiful, right at that perfect length before it gets too weird for any man to wear." You snorted. You moved him to a stool, not too difficult a feat as he was able to support the majority of his weight on his good leg. "Alright, the shirt has got to come off."

"Isn't against a code to try and seduce your patients?" Spencer teased. Since your conversation the other day he had grown to feel more comfortable with you and a friendship ensued. You took care when treating him and told stories of past patients. It was clear you loved what you did and cared for the people even more.

"Oh please. If I was seducing you, which I'm not, you'd know." You rolled your eyes, waiting for him to lift his arms before peeling his shirt off of him. He leaned back, long tresses falling into a pool in the sink.

He was extremely handsome, you couldn't deny it. His sharp cheekbones and jawline, his full and enticing lips, the way his hand flexed as he read.... you didn't notice any of that. You especially didn't notice how wonderfully intelligent he was, or how kind. Not at all.

Besides, it would never work. You both had your respective soulmates and he seemed to still be carrying a torch for the past relationship he was in. Not to mention the most important factor of all, he was your patient.

You carefully stepped around him to grab a large and small towel, snickering as you found a familiar design on one.

"Star Trek fan?" You asked, hanging the fabric on the shower rail and turning the tap on to warm water.

"Typically I'm not one for fiction but surprisingly there aren't that many scientific errors in Star Trek, especially considering how long ago it was made. There are certain improbabilities, but not that many outright errors, which make it so enjoyable to watch."

"Eh, I've only seen the film from 2009, and I was mostly paying attention to the deliciously handsome cast." You knew that would agitate him. "And not just for Chris Pine but Zachary Quinto as Spock? Oh, he is gorgeous, even if he is gay. Not that there's anything wrong with being gay, and not that I had a chance with him anyway." You laughed.

"Y/n, I am not one to comment on the education of another but you are seriously missing out! Star Trek: The Next Generation is one of the most influential series of it's time. the new film doesn't even have Data! Data, y/n, Data!" He grumbled as you washed his hair.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Next you're going to tell me that the 1996 Doctor Who movie is better than the series?" He opened his mouth when you raised your soapy hand. "Disregard that statement, I can't afford another argument, I'm already too emotional from our last one." You faked a sniffle.

"You know, most females I talk to don't watch Star Trek or Doctor Who."

"I'm just that amazing, I know." You sighed, moving to grab the washcloth and dousing it with water, handing it to Spencer so he could wash himself. You grabbed the Star Trek towel and started to dry Spencer's hair.

"You're something alright." He retorted, drawing a gasp from you.

"I could have let you sit with greasy hair, you know!" Just for extra measure you rubbed his head a little harsher than before but miscalculated your aim, accidentally hitting your wrist against the marble sink.

Spencer felt pain radiate through his wrist and time seemed to slow. It suddenly seemed to dawn on him all at once. You experienced constant pain, pain he gave you because he was often injured on the job. Not to mention his gunshot wound on your leg and now the purple blossoms forming on his wrist.

He wanted to shout, yell, jump up, wrap you in a hug. He had finally found his soulmate! However, he remained silent.

When you spoke about your soulmate the other day you seemed angry and forlorn at the amount of pain you had to endure. There was no doubt in his mind that if you knew he was your soulmate, you would walk right out of his life, but not before giving him a swift kick to the ass.

So he stayed quiet.

You weren’t sure what changed between you and Spencer. After the shower he mentioned he didn’t feel too well so you guided him to bed. Since then he stayed in his room, barely calling you to his side.

It was weird. If it was any other patient you would have paid no mind and kept to yourself but you thought you had made a connection with Spencer. You enjoyed the banter between you both and finding out your shared interests. It must have all been in your head. You brought yourself out of your thoughts to prepare Spencer’s tea.

“Here you are!” You called, stepping into his room to hand him the mug. “I’m about to head out, do you need anything else?”

“No, thank you.” You stayed by the door, waiting to see if he would even spare you a glance. When he made no motion to move, you gave up, spinning on your heel to grab your purse and coat.

“Ah!” You heard Spencer hiss from the other room before feeling a sharp sting on your tongue. Your hand came up to cover your mouth, brows knitting together in confusion. Was he…? Did he…?

Spencer was your soulmate, he had to be. There was no possible way that him burning his mouth and your pain that followed were coincidences, right? Spencer was your soulmate! So why did you feel your heart drop into your stomach?

You shut the door, racing down the stairs and out of his apartment building, letting the cold air sweep over you.

There was nothing special about you. You were just a simple nurse and he was your patient. Besides, how were you deserving of Spencer? You weren’t.

He couldn’t find out, he just couldn’t.

You didn’t know if it was just because you knew that Spencer was your soulmate but the tension between the two of you was… palpable.

“Hey!” You popped your head into his room, his figure jumping in surprise. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to startle you!” You exclaimed.

“Hi?” He greeted, trying to seem calm. You were leaving tomorrow and he was panicking. The past few hours were spent debating about whether he should tell you that he was your soulmate. Could he really just let this opportunity pass by?

“I just wanted to know if you needed anything? I figured you probably ran out of books by now. Everytime I think you’ve reread all the books in your library I keep finding new ones.” You tried to joke.

“I… Yes. Yes, please.” He mumbled, hiding his gaze. You sighed, wondering for the millionth time what you had done wrong to make him so distant and reclusive.

“Alright, I’ll take the stack.” You bit your lip to keep from sighing once more, groaning as you picked up the books littered around the room. “God these are heavy.” You whispered under your breath, trying to waddle into the other room as you quickly realized you were losing your grip. It seemed as if it was too late, the pounds of literature falling on your feet.

Both you and Spencer let out a groan, heads snapping towards each other in surprise.

“Did you- did you feel that?” You asked, even if you knew the answer.

“I did.” Spencer’s voice seemed small. “Y/n, I am so sorry.” You were taken aback, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“You’re sorry?” You questioned, pain forgotten as shame radiated through you. “Am I that bad of a soulmate?” You whispered, clenching your fist to keep tears from pricking your eyes.

“No! No, no, no!” He tried to sit up as straight as he could, internally cursing at how hurt you looked. “I only apologized because… I can’t help but feel like I disappointed you! I am an FBI agent, I’m always going to be in danger therefore putting you in danger. When you first mentioned your soulmate you seemed so… upset. I don’t know if I’ll ever truly be able to make you happy.” He admitted, the tips of his ears turning red as his gaze fell to his lap.

“Disappointed? Past-tense?” You cried. “Did you know about this?” He didn’t move.

“Well… I guess I can’t be angry with that.” You sighed. “I knew too. I just thought that… you wouldn’t want me. You still seemed so in love with whatever woman gave you that book. And out of my league. And my patient.” You let out a wry laugh, sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Are you kidding me? You are the most gorgeous woman I have ever met. You make me laugh and you are so kind and caring. I am proud to be your soulmate.” He swallowed thickly.

“Spencer you are selfless. You dedicate your life every day to helping others. You are handsome, sweet, and hilarious.” You reached for his hand. “And I am so happy you turned out to be my soulmate.”

Your eyes finally met and before you knew it, your lips smashed against his.

“I don’t know if you know this… but I happen to get injured on a lot of missions.” He uttered as you pulled apart. “So I have a feeling that I’ll need you around more often.”

“Well Doctor, I think you just might be right.” You giggled, drawing him in for another kiss.

-----

Feedback is always appreciated!

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janekfan · 4 years ago

Note

Oooo for prompts how about: season 2 or 3 Jon's got terrible stomach pains and ends up having to ask Tim for a lift to the hospital, but Tim cuts him off bc Tim is aaaangry that he's asking for a favour. And maybe he says some horrible stuff that discourages Jon from asking anyone else for help. But then oh dear a couple days later Tim finds him collapsed bc Jon had appendicitis and bc he couldn't get to the hospital it ruptureddddd. If it's up your alley!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27406324

It’s like you were reading my mind!

“T’Tim?” Looking up from his phone screen, he scowled at the sight. Jon was hanging off the door to his office with a white knuckle grip, panting open mouthed and pale. Seemed he’d come down with whatever flu took Sasha and Martin out. They’d been home sick since before yesterday and abandoned him here alone with their boss, who for all he promised to change, to be honest with them, was still insufferable. “Tim--”

“What?” Jon flinched, ducking his chin to his chest and dropping one arm to wrap around his middle.

“Sorry, I. I’m not f’feeling very well.” Rolling his eyes, Tim went back to scrolling with a scoff.

“Probably the flu.” Stubbornly, Jon had yet to move. Tim wasn’t quite sure he was able to the way he’d begun shaking.

“D’doesn’t. It doesn’t--” He cut him off, angry at being interrupted. Angry at Jon making himself Tim’s problem, like he didn’t already have enough of them.

“Have you eaten?” Trembling fingers slipped, tightened, clutching at the molding.

“No, no. I’m. I think--”

“Then eat something. Get some sleep. Do all the normal things people do to take care of themselves. You’re not a child, Jon!”

“I kn’know. Think. I th’think I need…ah.”

“Don’t go bothering Martin about this either. I’m serious, Jon.” He fixed him with a firm glare. “He needs to rest. Go home. Drink water. Eat food. Stop making yourself our mess.” Somehow, he made himself even smaller, hunched into himself and barely upright.

“Y’you’re right. M’sorry.”

“Yeah.” Tim hefted his bag from where he’d stowed it under his desk. “You always are, aren’t you?” He avoided glancing behind him where he was certain he’d find Jon’s eyes wide and sad and lined with shadow.

“Mm.”

“Right. I’m going home.”

“Night, Tim.”

Jon waited until he could no longer hear footsteps before allowing himself to fall the rest of the way to the floor, tucking his knees up and curling into himself on his side. The cement was cool against his cheek and even though he was completely alone in the Institute, Jon bit into his bottom lip to keep the pained whimpers scraping his throat raw from becoming too loud. Despite what Tim said, this didn’t feel like the flu. There was no way to escape the agony twisting up his insides with a spaghetti fork. Earlier that morning he thought it was just a bad stomachache but it worsened so quickly he’d been bent over his desk for the past few hours working up the wherewithal to move.

He didn’t want to go to hospital alone.

But, Tim. He’d thought.

Maybe.

Hot tears slipped over the bridge of his nose when he closed his eyes against the white hot fire poker digging around in his side. Tim was right, of course. He couldn’t be trusted to take care of himself. Always making his problems their problems. A spasm of misery swept over him leaving nausea in its wake and he groped blindly for the nearby bin, hunching over it only to end up with the echo of his own ragged breath in his ears.

“Nngh…” Fumbling in his pocket, Jon groped for his phone, intending to call 999 and bear the hospital on his own and finding, tragically, that he must have left it on his desk. “Damn…” There was no way of getting to it now, the thought of moving in the slightest causing more stinging tears. What he’d give for Martin. He’d never have left him here, even though he didn’t deserve his help or his kindness Martin would offer it freely and Jon would take advantage and take from Martin and take and take and take until there was nothing left. His teeth clattered together as the fine sheen of sweat cooled in the chill air of the archives. It was freezing and he was hurting, folded up on the floor just inside his office and if he didn’t know he was completely alone already, he’d have thought someone was stabbing him over and over and over again but there was no one and he writhed, a worm stranded on the pavement after the rain. If Tim found him tomorrow, would he care? Would he just shut the door and pretend Jon wasn’t there?

Jon wouldn’t even blame him if he did.

Vision blurring in and out of focus, Jon fixed it on the glare of the emergency lights flooding over the cement, breath shallow and fast in an attempt to spare himself more pain. Any relief was wishful thinking and Jon let lead-lined lashes flutter shut, exhausted, curling tighter, hugging harder, choking on the pathetic noises and certain he was about to go mad.

Worse, and worse, and impossibly worse, and Jon once more attempted to reach his desk, extending an arm as far as possible before the knife buried in the very core of him twisted any further. Incandescent, the pain seemed to peak, stealing the air from his lungs, the sight from his eyes, any sound from his ears other than the blood rushing like lava through his veins, louder in crescendo, deafening.

And then nothing.

Tim shouldered open the door, briefly surprised when it was still dark, and figured Jon had listened to some advice for once in his life and gone home to recover. Thumbing through his feed, Tim dropped his bag and leaned back in his chair to put his feet up on the desk. As he reclined he noticed Jon’s office door yawning open in his peripheral vision, turning to look and wondering why the light was off. Jon never left his door open when he left, too suspicious to risk any of them getting a look at whatever he did all day. Tilting back too far, Tim nearly flipped the chair at the sight of a patent leather wingtip attached to a slender socked ankle, scrambling back to his feet to stumble to his knees at Jon’s side. When he touched the sleeve of his button down it was soaked with sweat; he was burning up under his hands and curled up so tight Tim couldn’t see his face, shivering violently with harsh chills and before he did anything else, he dialed 999.

They’d be here soon.

Eight minutes if the news could be believed.

And Jon would be fine.

Is this what he’d been trying to tell him last night? That he needed help?

“Jon, hey.” Even shifting aside the mess of curls escaping from their tie only revealed a flushed cheek and gently Tim began to pull him apart, trying to unwind his arms only for Jon’s bloodshot eyes to spring wide with a hoarse shout at the attempt.

“S’stop, stop…please...” Gasping, breathless, and to Tim’s horror, Jon began to cry, whimpering when he tugged at him once more.

“Jon!” He flinched as though he’d been struck, slamming his eyes shut and trying to comply and gagging on the next sob to claw its way out of him.

“Sorry...s’ssorry…” hiccupping between swallowing damp gulps of air. It stopped his whining, those awful noises he’d been making only because he was forcing back the tide because Tim yelled at him. He hadn’t meant to, he’d never seen him like this, face nearly grey with pain and streaked heavy with tears. “T’Tim, it, it hur’s.” Slurred apologies strung together on an awful garland of stifled groans and wretched mewling, teeth grit together so tight Tim thought he’d see them fracture.

“They’re coming. Just, just hang on.” Awkward silence broken only by Jon’s keening shattered further when the paramedics flooded into the space, shifting Tim out of the way and asking questions he had no answers to.

“How long has he been like this?”

“I don’t know.”

“How long has he been ill?”

“I don’t know. Last night he was, we’ve employees out with the flu, I thought...” trailing off Tim was embarrassed. Last night, he’d looked bad. Last night, he’d asked for help.

“Ah!”

“Jon!” Insistent hands were prying his arms away, uncurling him and touching him and Jon didn’t like to be touched by people he didn’t know and he was crying-- ”Stop, you’re hurting him!” And Jon’s weeping was so full of pain that Tim felt it in his own chest, squeezing his heart, constricting his lungs, and he took up his hand as it flopped limp over the edge of the gurney he was curled on top of, small and trembling, drenched in sweat, narrow back heaving in his effort to breathe. “Easy, Jon. It’s alright.” They slipped out, these familiar, comforting words he’d not said to the man before him in what seemed like over a lifetime.

“40.3.” Crammed in the back of the bus hurtling through congested London streets, paramedics shouted numbers, readings, words Tim didn’t understand between them, one slipping an IV catheter into a dusky blue vein and the other strapping an oxygen mask over his face while Tim kept hold of him in a careful grip as they tried and failed to get Jon’s attention.

“Hullo, sir, can you tell me your name?”

“It’s, uh, it’s Jon. Sims.” Tim supplied when it became clear he was too feverish to do so himself. 40.3. 40.3. 40.3. A neverending and continuous chant.

“Mr. Sims? Jon? Can you tell me where you are?” Unintelligible mumbling and nonsensical syllables punctuated Jon’s eyes rolling back beneath salt damp lashes.

“Wh’what’s wrong with him?”

“Burst appendix, looks like.”

“That’s bad.” Of course it was bad. Had he left him there before or after? A dozen hours lying on the floor, infection raging unchecked. It was a wonder he hadn’t just--

“It is. He’ll be in an operating theatre soon. You can wait for him if you’d like.” They lurched to a stop, Jon’s gurney rushed so quickly into the hospital it tore his hand away from Tim’s.

If they’d known more about their relationship, he doubted the doctors would have let him see Jon so soon but as it was, Tim, hands fisted in his jacket pockets, ducked past the curtain concealing the little bay in ICU from the rest of the world. Even drugged to the gills or perhaps because of it, Jon dredged up a proud and wobbly smile for Tim when he recognized him.

“Din’t call Martin.” And honestly, what was he supposed to say to that? Anger and irritation at Jon’s witless proclamation bubbled up, near blinding.

“No. You didn’t. Should have.” His boss looked so confused, upset, his expression twisting up and tears glossing his eyes.

“But.” Did he remember being in the back of the ambulance, Tim holding his hand, insensate, dying? “You said.”

“I know what I said!” A machine attached to Jon somewhere via a lead or line and hidden under an ugly hospital gown beeped a warning, for what he couldn’t know.

“Oh.” Moisture spilled over when he blinked, streaming down each cheek and getting lost somewhere in the wild tangle his nurses hadn’t had time to tame. “I. I’m sorry. I thought--”

“You didn’t.” It was cruel and mean and this was just stupid, fighting with Jon while he was barely out of majory surgery and clinging to the last instructions Tim gave him, proud that he’d followed them and looking for approval, raw emotions naked on his face. Why Jon would look to him for anything now. Hadn’t he learned? There was no going back to what they had before. There was no going back at all.

In the end, Tim called Martin. And when Jon woke next it would be to someone glad to see him, happy to fret over him. If nothing else, Tim could give him that.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Jon jumped at his desk, pressing a hand over his healing incision with a gasp. Martin had been by, if the pair of pills and still steaming cuppa were any indication. He’d likely be by again soon to make certain Jon took the antibiotics. He didn’t look well but he was being looked after.

“I did.” Rather than the irritation as was his wont, Jon merely sounded tired, resigned. “And then--”

“You should have tried harder!” And Jon matched his bitten off volume, neither one wishing to attract Martin’s attention.

“You made it pretty clear you didn’t want to know!” His palm was still laid over his stomach. Tim knew he’d refused the good painkillers so he could work after spending over a week doing little else besides sleeping in between Martin’s check ups. But the spark was back in his eyes, however drawn his features, and he looked prepared for a verbal sparring match. Deeper though, hidden under all pretense and mask, Tim recognized the hurt, the abandonment there in the cant of his mouth, the set of his shoulders. “Trust me, you needn’t worry about me asking again.” And just like that the spark was gone, replaced by the exhaustion ground into him by this place, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, swiped his eyes quick enough he probably thought Tim hadn’t noticed.

“Yeah, well. Next time tell Martin before it gets that bad. Or better yet, go to A&E--”

“Yes, yes, yes, so you don’t have to deal with me.” Jon turned away and back to his statements, a clear dismissal that Tim ignored, choosing instead to linger in the doorway and watch him pretend to read over the research notes. “Lesson learned.”

“Always did take you longer than most.” The barest hint of a smile crossed Jon’s face, tainted with melancholy, and Tim pretended not to hear him as he left.

“Thank you, Tim.”

#TMA #The magnus archives #jon sims #tim stoker #prompts!#appendicitis #fever #sick jon #hospital #nausea

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xanadontit · 4 years ago

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Great news: my dad has discovered the comic genius of Ali Wong (“Always Be My Maybe was very good. I cried a little. It’s fine.”) and thinks Baby Cobra is so funny he’s glad he has a catheter so he doesn’t have to worry about peeing his pants.

Anyway he’s on a mission to find out everything about her and her career and hooboy if live comedy comes back and she tours she better be ready for a 60-something dad in a wheelchair to howl with laughter and make shit weird.

#OMG Dad

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myonechicagoworld · 4 years ago

Text

CHICAGO FIRE – GOD HAS SPOKEN (S01E11)

[background commotion]

Gabby Dawson: [grunts]

[grunts]

[straining]

[pained groan]

Shay? [grunts]

Shay.

Hey. Shay, sweetie. Sweetie [groans]

Hey.

Shay, Shay.

You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.

[sirens approaching]

Gabby Dawson: [pants] You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna

be okay.

cutscene

Nancy Casey: You look good, you really do. I’m so proud of you.

Matt Casey: Thanks.

Nancy Casey: How’s Hallie?

Matt Casey: We broke up.

Nancy Casey: Oh. But you were together for, what, four years?

Matt Casey: Eight.

Nancy Casey: Well, I never liked her.

Do you, uh… do you talk to your sister?

Matt Casey: Not really.

Nancy Casey: Well, the reason I’m asking is, um, my hearing’s

coming up.

Matt Casey: I know.

Nancy Casey: And I thought maybe this time… I’ve been thinking

about this a lot, Matthew… you could talk to her.

Matt Casey: It’s still hard for her.

Nancy Casey: It’s hard for her?

Look, I need to turn the page on this too, you know?

When am I gonna be allowed to do that, stuck in

here?

Matt Casey: Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you killed

dad.

Mom.

[door buzzer sounds]

Man 1 (Orderly): All keys, cell phones, any metal objects must be

placed in the basket.

cutscene

Paramedic: BP’s 180 over 100. Pulse of 56. Respirations of ten and

irregular.

Gabby Dawson: Her pupils are unequal, but she responded to light

on scene.

ER Doctor: Is she allergic to any medication?

Gabby Dawson: No.

Chief Boden: Gabriela.

You okay?

ER Doctor: We’re going to need a blood test, stat… [indistinct

chatter]… order labs, get a CBC… [continues

indistinctly]

Gabby Dawson: [sobs]

Chief Boden: She’s gonna be fine.

Gabby Dawson: Yeah.

Chief Boden: Gonna get you looked at, okay? Get you cleaned up.

Come on. It’s okay. Go ahead.

Kelly Severide: Is that her? Is that Shay?

Chief Boden: Let them do their job.

Kelly.

Kelly!

Kelly Severide: I want to see her.

Chief Boden: Right now, there’s nothing you can do.

Kelly Severide: What are they… what are they talking here?

She’s got a…a head injury?

How bad is it?

Chief Boden: I don’t know.

- Title -

[indistinct hospital chatter]

Matt Casey: [panting] What have you heard?

Chief Boden: Moderate traumatic brain injury. And they’ve located

the brain swelling, so they’re gonna do an MRI,

try to determine the extent of the damage.

Mouch: If anybody can find a way to rally, it’s Shay.

Matt Casey: And Dawson’s all right?

Chief Boden: She has a laceration on her leg, but other than that,

she’s fine.

They’re gonna release her here in a minute.

Matt Casey: The other driver, this tow truck, was he DUI or?

Otis Zvonecek: No. Breathalyser came up negative.

Peter Mills: Stupid freak thing. Truck blew a tire.

Matt Casey: What about Shay’s family?

Kelly Severide: Mom’s in Tacoma. Dad’s in Baton Rouge. I left a

message for them both.

Chief Boden: Every thought, every prayer needs to be directed

down that hallway.

Okay?

cutscene

Christopher Herrmann: This house needs a run, big time.

Mouch: Hey Dawson.

Firefighter: Hey Dawson.

Matt Casey: Hey.

Kelly Severide: Shay?

Gabby Dawson: Uh, she’s still in ICU, but, uh, the brain swelling

subsided, and she won’t need surgery or the

ICP catheter. They’re hoping she’s out of the

woods.

Chief Boden: Just spoke with Chief Hatcher. In the absence of

Shay, Candidate Peter Mills will fill in the vacated

post in an EMT capacity.

Gabby Dawson: For how long?

Chief Boden: Till Shay’s back in this house.

Otis Zvonecek: Hey, hey. Finally some good news. Listen to this.

That fire on North Hamlin… guess who the body

was. “The Chicago medical examiner identified

it to be that of Manuel ‘Flaco’ Rodriguez,

purported leader of the street gang, Insane

Kings, wanted for a string of unsolved West

Side murders, said a CPD spokesman.”

Mouch: So long, Flaco. God has spoken.

Christopher Herrmann: I don’t throw the word, karma, around a

lot, but that’s exactly what that is, my

friends, with a capital K.

Matt Casey: Your brother can breathe easy, Cruz.

So can you.

Joe Cruz: Well, you got that right.

cutscene

Kelly Severide: Hey, Dawson. Hey.

What else did the doctors say?

Gabby Dawson: Uh, it’s a head injury. They’re hoping to get a better

indication of where she’s at in the next 24.

Hey, she looked a little better.

Kelly Severide: You saw her?

Gabby Dawson: Yeah.

Kelly Severide: They told me no visitors.

Gabby Dawson: I wasn’t a visitor. I was… I was getting examined

myself.

Kelly Severide: You’re right. I’m… I’m sorry. Sorry, sorry.

How are you doing?

Gabby Dawson: Great, thanks.

Kelly Severide: The thing is, me and Shay had a disagreement right

before she went on shift.

Gabby Dawson: Yeah, I know. She asked if she could stay at my

place for a while.

Kelly Severide: Yeah. But in the light of things, I think she should

come back home after she’s discharged. I’ll take

care of her.

Gabby Dawson: I mean, that’s her call to make. But I’m not really

worried about that right now.

Kelly Severide: Of course. Yeah. I just want her to be okay.

Gabby Dawson: Yeah, me too.

[locker door swings open]

cutscene

Leon Cruz: Yo.

Joe Cruz: What are you doing, waving that thing around in here?

Leon Cruz: Yo, did you read this?

Joe Cruz: Yes.

Leon Cruz: I thought you would have been doing cartwheels.

Yo, when nobody saw him come out that blaze, there

was crazy stories flying everywhere, like he was

hiding out somewhere.

This confirms it, bro. Flaco’s dead.

Joe Cruz: I know, Leon.

Leon Cruz: You did this for me.

That’s why you’ve been acting all shook lately, huh?

Yo, we take this to the grave, just me and you.

Thank you. Thank you!

Me salvaste la vida.

So quit trippin’, bro.

cutscene

Christopher Herrmann: This wedding job I booked, the father of

the bride and I, we hit it off. Anyway,

he’s the CFO of this sewage treatment

plant.

Chief Boden: Really? You’re into sewage now?

Christopher Herrmann: No. Anyway, turns out he’s a family guy,

a really good guy. He has some venture

capital that’s burning a hole in his

pocket, says he might be willing to

invest some start-up cash in a

fleet of limos.

Chief Boden: What’s the catch?

Christopher Herrmann: None. The only hitch is that I invited him

here to the firehouse today to hash

things out. But with everything going

on…

Chief Boden: If Shay gets wind that you screwed up this business

opportunity ‘cause of her, she will kick you in your

nuts.

Christopher Herrmann: Yeah, but…

Chief Boden: Go ahead, take the meeting. We need to get back to

normal around here.

Christopher Herrmann: I appreciate it, Chief.

Chief Boden: No catch, huh?

Christopher Herrmann: Not unless he tries paying me with

Monopoly money.

[station alert buzzes & sounds]

(Over PA): Truck 81…

Chief Boden: [sighs]

(Over PA): Squad 3, Ambulance 61. Woman trapped from unknown

cause.

[indistinct chatter in background]

Lady 1: The ground just collapsed.

Kelly Severide: Okay. Get back. Get back.

(into radio) We got a sinkhole.

Guys, get these cars moved in case of a secondary

collapse.

Lady 1: I tried to get close, but the ground started to pour in.

Kelly Severide: She your neighbour?

Lady 1: Our mail lady.

Victim 1 (Mail lady): Help me, please hurry!

Somebody, help me! Help me, please.

Kelly Severide: Lieutenant Kelly Severide, Chicago Fire

Department. We’re gonna work on getting

you out. What’s your name?

Victim 1 (Mail lady): Sylvia. I need to get out of here. I… It’s getting

hard to breathe [coughs]

Kelly Severide: Hey, air, struts and shoring, right now.

Matt Casey: Call the Chief.

Firefighter: Got it, Lieutenant.

Victim 1 (Mail lady/Sylvia): [strained breathing]

Please help me!

Kelly Severide: Is that all we got?

Firefighter: That’s it.

Kelly Severide: That won’t be enough.

[ground collapsing]

Victim 1 (Mail lady/Sylvia): [screaming & coughing]

Kelly Severide: Get me more boards!

Matt Casey: Grab anything you can get!

Victim 1 (Mail lady/Sylvia): Please help me [coughing]

[saw buzzing]

Lady 2 (Resident with Fence): Hey!

Christopher Herrmann: Sorry ma’am.

[indistinct chatter in background]

[ladder raising]

Matt Casey: Come on.

Victim 1 (Mail lady/Sylvia): [gasping]

Kelly Severide: Hey, Sylvia, put these on to protect your eyes.

Christopher Herrmann: Up on green.

It’s in.

Chief Boden: Okay, go ahead down. Check the shoring.

Victim 1 (Mail lady/Sylvia): [coughs]

Kelly Severide: All right, Chief, good to go.

Victim 1 (Mail lady/Sylvia): [gasping] I can’t breathe.

Matt Casey: Got something for you.

Victim 1 (Mail lady/Sylvia): I can’t feel anything.

Matt Casey: Here, put this on.

Deep breaths, Sylvia.

Kelly Severide: [grunting] Good to go.

Joe Cruz: Here’s the line, Lieutenant.

[ground starts to collapse again]

Kelly Severide: Easy.

Matt Casey: Come on.

Good.

Kelly Severide: All right, get her out of here.

Chief Boden: Pull her out. Pull her out now.

[men grunting]

Victim 1 (Mail lady/Sylvia): [cries out]

[ground rumbling]

Kelly Severide: Let’s get out of here!

Victim 1 (Mail lady/Sylvia): Oh!

Matt Casey: Let’s move.

Christopher Herrmann: Let her in.

Chief Boden: I got her.

Victim 1 (Mail lady/Sylvia): [crying] Thank you.

Christopher Herrmann: All right.

Chief Boden: Way to go.

Good job.

cutscene

Doctor: Eye, motor, verbal responses have improved steadily in the

last two hours. We still have to monitor her closely, see

how she progresses.

Gabby Dawson: Hey.

Leslie Shay: Hey. You’re working?

Gabby Dawson: Well, you know, with you faking it, someone’s got

to step up.

[both chuckles lightly]

Gabby Dawson: How you feeling?

Leslie Shay: Oh, a little beat up, but I’m all right. Be a little while

before I see the ambo, I guess.

Gabby Dawson: You really scared me, girl. Don’t do it again, okay?

Leslie Shay: So you were telling me, last thing I remember, about

your date with Casey. It didn’t go so well or

something.

Gabby Dawson: Oh, no. Jeez. The date was a disaster. And Casey

kissed me on the cheek.

Leslie Shay: Oh… listen, it’s not too late to switch teams.

Gabby Dawson: You already moved in. Let’s take it slow.

[knocks on door]

Leslie Shay: Hey.

Oh.

Kelly Severide: You’re up.

Leslie Shay: Yeah.

Kelly Severide: [chuckles]

[kissing sound]

Leslie Shay: Hi. They’re so beautiful. Thank you.

Kelly Severide: Be good to get you home. The place feels really

empty without hipster music blasting from your

room [laughs]

Leslie Shay: I’m still gonna stay with Dawson, Kelly. I think the way

we left it is best.

Kelly Severide: Let me know if you hear any more updates.

Gabby Dawson: Are you high?

Kelly Severide: What?

Gabby Dawson: You’ve got pinpoint pupils.

Kelly Severide: Are you out of your mind?

Gabby Dawson: You didn’t answer the question.

Kelly Severide: I’m worried about Shay. Is that okay with you?

cutscene

Matt Casey: Herrmann, relax.

Christopher Herrmann: I can’t, okay? I got a lot riding on this.

Me and Cindy, we need 5 grand more to

make the down payment so we can move

the hell out.

Mouch: I thought you got along with your father-in-law.

Christopher Herrmann: You want to drastically alter your

relationship with your father-in-law?

Move in with him. Used to be that I was a

fireman hero. Now he treats me like I’m

Mr. Frickin’ Belvedere.

Matt Casey: You’re putting too much pressure on yourself.

Capp: Herrmann, there’s a Lance Ebbott out front for you.

Christopher Herrmann: He’s punctual.

Mr. Ebbott.

Man 1 (Lance Ebbott): Lance, please.

Christopher Herrmann: Lance, good to see you.

Man 1 (Lance Ebbott): You too.

Christopher Herrmann: Fantastic wedding the other day.

Man 1 (Lance Ebbott): Oh, well, thank you.

Christopher Herrmann: Your daughter looked lovely. So did your

wife.

Not that I was staring or anything.

Man 1 (Lance Ebbott): [chuckles] You’re very kind to say so.

So uh, I looked it over… or rather, my

business manager did. And it looks good.

Just one last step, and then I’m in.

Take me for a ride after your shift. Show me

how the business operates, or more

importantly, how you operate.

Relationships, trust, loyalty, that’s what’s

important to me.

Christopher Herrmann: As it is with me, sir.

Man 1 (Lance Ebbott): Lance.

Christopher Herrmann: Lance.

Man 1 (Lance Ebbott): See you at 7?

Christopher Herrmann: Yes, sir. See you… Lance, see you at 7.

[whisper shouts] Yeah!

cutscene

[train horn blowing in distance]

[knocking on car window]

Man 2: Can I help you with something?

Joe Cruz: What?

Man 2: Can I help you with something? This is private property.

Joe Cruz: Where am I? What is this place?

Man 2: Gary.

Joe Cruz: Gary?

Man 2: Yes, sir.

Joe Cruz: Indiana?

cutscene

Gabby Dawson: [exhales]

Matt Casey: Hey.

Gabby Dawson: Hey.

Matt Casey: So Shay’s good, huh?

Gabby Dawson: Well, she still got some recovery left to go, but we

definitely got lucky.

Matt Casey: What about you?

Should probably have taken a couple days off.

Gabby Dawson: Right. Like you would have.

Matt Casey: Listen, uh… the Christmas party. If I seemed

distracted, it’s because… I guess I was. There’s some

stuff I’m dealing with, stuff I gotta figure out.

Gabby Dawson: Well, you know you can talk to me anytime you

want, right? About any of that…stuff.

[station alarm buzzes & blares]

(Over PA): Ambulance 61, difficulty breathing. 800 East Cottage

Grove.

Gabby Dawson: I hope it works out… whatever it is.

If we set a shift record for calls, it’s on you,

you know.

Peter Mills: So you’re setting me up to be the firehouse jinx?

Gabby Dawson: I’m just saying I’m counting.

I’m not one to shy away from labelling folks.

Peter Mills: [chuckles]

[knocks on door]

Gabby Dawson: CFD. Anybody there?

Peter Mills: Whoa, there’s a woman on the floor in there.

Gabby Dawson: All right, we got to get in. Break it.

Peter Mills: All right.

[glass smashing]

[dog barking & growling]

Peter Mills: All right. Here. Shh, shh.

[barking]

Peter Mills: Okay, good, good… good poochie.

[barking]

Peter Mills: Wait! Wait!

[sighs]

Gabby Dawson: [sighs]

Peter Mills: Oh man.

[barking]

Peter Mills: That woman is in bad shape. We need to get back out

there.

Gabby Dawson: (into radio) This is Ambulance 61. We need a

company for manpower and CPD.

Dispatcher: Copy that, 61. Sending backup. We’ll notify...

Peter Mills: Here, take this out of the wrapper.

[dog snarling & barking]

Gabby Dawson: What?

Peter Mills: Okay.

Here goes.

[snarling & barking]

Gabby Dawson: [chuckles]

[clears throat]

Peter Mills: [sniffing] It smells nice. It’s, like, a… a vanilla candle or

something.

Gabby Dawson: Uh, that… that’s my body lotion.

[dog panting]

[dog whimpers]

Peter Mills: Yeah, we’re good.

Gabby Dawson: You got her ID, medical info?

Peter Mills: Yes. We are all good.

Gabby Dawson: Just don’t miss any turns on the way to the ER.

Peter Mills: Ha. Funny.

cutscene

Christie: This thing always catches.

Matt Casey: You should look into getting it fixed.

Christie: Yeah, unfortunately Jim’s dangerous with tools.

Matt Casey: [chuckles]

Christie: If only I knew a contractor.

Matt Casey: Thanks for having me.

I wanted to talk to you about something.

Christie: Let me guess.

Matt Casey: Just wondering if maybe you’d be willing to dial it back

this time.

Christie: This coming from you or her?

Matt Casey: From me. She’d be on parole. There would still be

restrictions in place.

Christie: [scoffs] She could’ve asked for help. She could’ve moved

far away from him. But she didn’t. She killed him.

Matt Casey: Yes, I realised that, Christie. I was there. You were in a

campus dorm on the other side of the country. I heard

all the things he said. I saw him belittle her…

break her.

She paid the price.

Listen, 15 years ago, I’m not having this conversation.

Now I am.

Christie: Nothing excuses what she did.

Matt Casey: I’m not asking you to forget.

cutscene

[kissing sounds]

Renee Royce: Mm…

Kelly Severide: Damn, I’m glad you’re back in town.

Renee Royce: Yeah, me too.

Kelly Severide: [chuckles]

Renee Royce: I was in Madrid.

Kelly Severide: How often do you have to go there?

Renee Royce: This was for an interview, actually, for a, um,

promotion.

Kelly Severide: You taking it?

Renee Royce: I am.

Kelly Severide: When?

Renee Royce: They need me there next week.

Kelly Severide: Ah.

Renee Royce: You know, it’s funny, ‘cause we’ve only dated a

couple times, but it just feels like longer,

doesn’t it?

Kelly Severide: Yeah.

Renee Royce: My stomach’s been in knots just thinking about

telling you.

[exhales] Do you get any vacation time?

Kelly Severide: A little, here and there.

Renee Royce: So then, would you think about coming out to visit

me?

Kelly Severide: Yeah.

Renee Royce: Now my stomach’s back in knots again.

Kelly Severide: Hey…

[kissing sound]

Kelly Severide: Congrats. Seriously.

And yes, I will come visit you… when I can.

Renee Royce: You will?

So then, should I pop open a bottle of champagne

to celebrate?

Kelly Severide: Absolutely.

Renee Royce: Yeah?

Kelly Severide: Yeah.

[kissing sounds]

Renee Royce: Okay.

Kelly Severide: [sighs]

cutscene

[car banging]

Lady 3: Hey, hey, where you… get back here.

Where you going?

Lady 4: He’s going away.

Lady 3: Yeah, aw.

Man 1 (Lance Ebbott): This is good. This is good. You good?

Christopher Herrmann: Great.

Man 1 (Lance Ebbott): This is great. So really great.

Christopher Herrmann: Okay.

Man 1 (Lance Ebbott): So what I’m thinking is that, once a week or

every two weeks, we go on a run, you

know? We, uh, meet clients, we drum up

new business, and that’ll be our cover

story. And then we, you know, have a

good time.

Christopher Herrmann: Sounds good to me.

Man 1 (Lance Ebbott): Good. So, uh, give me, like, ten minutes…

Christopher Herrmann: Uh huh.

Man 1 (Lance Ebbott): And then we’ll be out of here, all right?

[indistinct chatter]

[siren in the distance]

cutscene

Gabby Dawson: My family had a German Shepherd. They are great

dogs.

I’m not scared of them.

Peter Mills: Please, please. You screamed like a girl.

Gabby Dawson: I am a girl. What’s your excuse?

Hey, Cruz, you okay?

Joe Cruz: Yeah.

Gabby Dawson: You sure? You look like you’re gonna throw up.

[Mills & Dawson chuckles]

Peter Mills: She literally almost hit the ceiling when the dog lunged

at us.

Matt Casey: Oh yeah?

Peter Mills: Yeah.

Gabby Dawson: He… he jumped higher than I did.

Peter Mills: No, I jumped higher to make myself bigger. Like, when

you encounter a grizzly bear in the wild, you… you…

Gabby Dawson: That survival tip doesn’t even make any sense.

All you’re doing is, you’re standing there, making

yourself a bigger serving size for the bear or

whatever. Where I’m from, you haul your ass out

of there.

Peter Mills: Oh really?

Dawson & Mills: [laughs]

[knocks on door]

Matt Casey: Hey, Cruz.

Joe Cruz: Lieutenant, I have to talk to you about something.

Matt Casey: Okay.

[door shuts]

Joe Cruz: My brother, Leon, he might be a screw-up, but he’s got a

really good heart, you know?

Matt Casey: Yeah, of course.

Joe Cruz: And… and these… these scumbags, the Insane Kings,

you know, he’s nothing like ‘em. But… but they got their

hooks in him, and they weren’t gonna let him go.

When… when I was in that building, I was checking

floors. And there he was, you know, Flaco. He was…

Matt Casey: Let me stop you right there.

If you’re about to say what I think you are, then you

and me can walk right out this door, down to the

police station.

The second option is, you sleep on this one more

time. Think about why you did it or didn’t do it,

‘cause at this point, I have no idea ‘cause you’ve

told me nothing.

Sure as hell sounds like your brother got a new lease

on life.

Next shift, come to me. And either we go to the cops,

or you shake my hand and say, good morning, and

we go about our business.

Understand?

Joe Cruz: I understand.

[door shuts]

cutscene

Christopher Herrmann: I really appreciate it. We’ll speak soon.

Okay. Bye.

Chief Boden: Who’s that?

Christopher Herrmann: The business manager for that, uh, investor

guy.

He’s in.

Chief Boden: You’re kidding me. How much?

Christopher Herrmann: Full boat. 30 grand.

Otis Zvonecek: Dude!

Mouch: Let the ink dry first. Let the ink dry first. These things have a

way of going south.

Christopher Herrmann: He already wired the money into my bank

account.

Mouch: Well, egg on my face. Congrats.

Chief Boden: You and Cindy can get that house now.

Christopher Herrmann: Looks like it.

Chief Boden: Hey, go on. Show ‘em.

Nice little two-storey over in the West Loop.

Go ahead, show them.

Gabby Dawson: Oh, man, Herrmann, congratulations.

Otis Zvonecek: Wow.

Gabby Dawson: That’s awesome.

[cheering]

Gabby Dawson: Cindy’s gonna flip.

Christopher Herrmann: Yep.

Peter Mills: Tray?

Gabby Dawson: [clears throat]

Kelly Severide: You got a sec?

Um… I need help.

Gabby Dawson: You got it.

[station alarm buzzes & blares]

(Over PA): Truck 81, Squad 3, Battalion 25, Ambulance 61. Traffic

accident, University Village Marketplace.

[horns honking, sirens blaring]

Man 3: He drove right through… through everything.

Lady 5 (in hat): He hit that child. Didn’t even stop.

Crowd: Get him out of there.

Come on.

Chief Boden: Crowd control, before they kill that man.

Severide, get your men on that storefront glass.

Kelly Severide: Hadley, Capp, let’s go.

Joe Cruz: Back up. Back up, please. Back up!

Matt Casey: Back up.

Man 4 (In beanie): Come on.

Matt Casey: Sir, you okay?

[glass breaking]

Victim 2 (Guy on ground): [grunts]

Kelly Severide: All right boys. Glass is cleared. Treat the victim.

Gabby Dawson: Here we go. Sit down.

Firefighters: Hey, hey, hey, hey.

Hey, hey, get back. Come on.

Victim 3 (Driver): It was a shortcut. It’s the way I always go. I didn’t

see ‘em.

Gabby Dawson: Okay.

Victim 3 (Driver): I didn’t see ‘em.

Gabby Dawson: How much did you have to drink today, sir?

Victim 3 (Driver): I think a bottle.

Peter Mills: A bottle?

Man 4 (In beanie): That man is drunk off his ass. Look!

Matt Casey: Stand back and let the paramedics do their job.

Peter Mills: Stay still. Come on, stay still.

Calm down.

Gabby Dawson: Severe ataxia. What did you have to drink in that

bottle, sir?

Victim 3 (Driver): Since we were playing football all day at school…

Peter Mills: Playing football at school? You taking us down memory

lane?

Victim 3 (Driver): The coach said drink a lot of water, keep up your

energy.

What’s the score?

Police Officer: We’ll need a sobriety test from the drunk.

Man 4 (In beanie): I cannot believe this, man.

[crowd roaring]

Firefighters: Hey, hey, hey! Hey!

Come on, please.

Gabby Dawson: You smell anything on his breath?

Peter Mills: No, nothing.

Gabby Dawson: All right, sir, open your eyes wide for me and track

my finger, okay?

Crowd: Nothing but a drunk!

Gabby Dawson: He’s not drunk. He’s having a stroke.

Peter Mills: What? Are you sure? I mean, he’s not slurring.

There’s no signs of partial paralysis.

Gabby Dawson: It… it could be at the base of his brain stem.

We got to get him to the hospital right now.

Firefighter: Casey.

Crowd: Let’s kill him!

Matt Casey: Back her up.

Crowd: Why are you helping him for?

Man 4 (In beanie): Why should we move?

Crowd: Yeah, yeah, why?

Matt Casey: Because he needs treatment.

Kelly Severide: All right, everybody, back now!

Man 4 (In beanie): We’re not going anywhere.

Kelly Severide: Back up, or I’ll knock you on your ass.

Matt Casey: Pass me an IV. Sir?

Man 4 (In beanie): What?

Matt Casey: I need your help. We’re short on medics right now.

Man 4 (In beanie): You’re crazy, man.

Matt Casey: Hold this IV bag high in the air to start the flow of

saline. We use it to help the victims.

Man 4 (In beanie): You sure? Man, give me this.

Like this?

Matt Casey: Perfect.

All right, back up. Let’s give him some room.

Man 4 (In beanie): Yeah, give me some room, people.

Kelly Severide: Back up for the medics.

Man 4 (In beanie): You heard the man, back up for the medics.

Gabby Dawson: Nice.

Matt Casey: Learned that one from you.

cutscene

Leslie Shay: Seriously? I’m a paramedic.

Doctor: You’re a patient. Wheelchair to the door.

Leslie Shay: Hardass.

[groans]

Doctor: Take care of yourself.

Leslie Shay: Yeah, you too.

What’s going on?

Gabby Dawson: We have a great plan.

cutscene

Cindy Herrmann: It was gonna be sound of music, but my mom is

saying the kids are too young for Nazis. I don’t

care if they watch Scarface. They’re occupied,

and we’re celebrating.

You ready? Christopher, honey?

Oh, no. Did the money not go through?

Christopher Herrmann: No. It went through.

Cindy Herrmann: What’s the matter?

Christopher Herrmann: This guy… he’s not my kind of guy, Cindy.

Cindy Herrmann: Then we’ll give the money back.

Christopher Herrmann: Then there’s no house. Or I got to find

another schmo to invest 30 grand.

Cindy Herrmann: Let’s rent.

I love you so much for working your ass off to get

us a house again, but we just want you home.

Margie, from school, they’re gonna have a

vacancy in their complex next week. We’ll make

it our dream home.

Christopher Herrmann: You’re my girl. You know that?

cutscene

Gabby Dawson: Well, I made it for Shay, but she cancelled. So I

figured, why let it go to waste?

Peter Mills: Oh, wow.

Gabby Dawson: And you’re the only friend I have who’d appreciate

the work that went into this meal.

[keys clinking]

Peter Mills: Oh, so this is where the magic happens.

Gabby Dawson: You know it.

All right. Juniper-braised short ribs.

Peter Mills: Ooh [sniffs]

Gabby Dawson: And roasted asparagus.

Peter Mills: Damn.

Gabby Dawson: The only thing I didn’t make was dessert.

Peter Mills: Oh, hey, well, I’ll whip something up.

Gabby Dawson: Can you make something to follow this meal?

Peter Mills: Okay, let’s not get too cocky now.

Gabby Dawson: Oh, well, it ain’t being cocky if you can back it up.

Oh, didn’t Peter Mills just say that not too long

ago?

Peter Mills: Damn straight I did, but you watch and learn. Okay?

Gabby Dawson: [chuckles] Okay.

cutscene

[knocks on door]

Christie: Hi, Matt.

Matt Casey: Hey.

Christie: Come on in.

Matt Casey: Uh, I just wanted to talk to you about the mom thing

first.

Christie: Okay.

Matt Casey: [sighs] I realise that one of our problems is we don’t

talk. And I wanted to tell you, whether or not you’re

speaking up against mom at the hearing…

Christie: I will be.

Matt Casey: Then so am I. And I’m going to argue that she should

be paroled. And I respect you and… and where

you’re coming from, and I hope you can do the same

with me.

Christie: Can you wait here for a sec?

Matt Casey: Yeah.

Christie: Violet’s school picture. I was going to give it to you after

dinner.

[door shuts]

cutscene

Leslie Shay: [laughs] “An epic arctic hurricane, all-time low king

crab supply, and two mutinies aboard ship.”

Shay & Severide: [laughs]

Leslie Shay: Awesome.

See, this is why we’re best friends. Kendra, sweet as

she is, she gets me Pride and Prejudice.

Kelly Severide: Nah.

Leslie Shay: Yeah. I mean, get to know me already.

What?

And mint chocolate chip ice cream?

Kelly Severide: [chuckles]

Leslie Shay: I mean, what are we talking about here?

Kelly Severide: Welcome home.

Leslie Shay: You know I’m gonna be with you every step of the way,

right, Kelly?

Kelly Severide: I’m meeting with the surgeon next week.

They say they can get the whole procedure on the

books soon after. And I got to get Boden involved.

And… the painkillers… I’m gonna go cold turkey.

But if I feel like I’m gonna slip on a banana peel,

the union has an employee assistance program for

substance abuse. Dawson looked into it

Leslie Shay: I am so damn proud of you, Kelly.

And if I were straight, I’d throw the biggest hump into

you right now [laughs]

Kelly Severide: [sighs] I really don’t know what I would’ve done if

anything happened to you.

Leslie Shay: [sighs] I felt the exact same way.

[kissing sounds]

Leslie Shay: All right.

Kelly Severide: All right, all right. All right.

Leslie Shay: [sighs]

cutscene

Gabby Dawson: I feel like going to med school’s a way to push

myself further, you know?

Peter Mills: Yeah.

Gabby Dawson: Take it up a notch.

But that’s all on hold until my finances improve.

Peter Mills: See, you… you did take it up a notch today on shift,

calling out that stroke. I mean, you take it up every

day right where you are, so…

Gabby Dawson: [chuckles] I don’t know.

It’s funny though, the things that… the things that

you keep in your head and the things you forget.

Peter Mills: Like what?

Gabby Dawson: [chuckles] Don’t laugh. Sometimes I have a hard

time remembering all the bones in the body…

basic EMT.

[both chuckles]

Peter Mills: I don’t think I could name them all either [chuckles]

Gabby Dawson: You don’t have an excuse. It should be fresh in

your mind, Peter Mills.

Peter Mills: Well, let’s find out.

Like, what is that?

Gabby Dawson: Uh, radius.

Peter Mills: And that?

Gabby Dawson: Ulna. Right? Ul… ulna.

Peter Mills: Good. What is that?

Gabby Dawson: Sternum.

Peter Mills: It’s actually more the… costal margin.

What about this?

[kissing sounds]

[cell phone vibrating]

- end -

Definitions:

Respirations of ten = A person’s respiratory rate is the number of breaths you take per minute. A normal respiration rate for an adult at rest is 12 to 20 breaths per minute. A respiration rate under 12 or over 25 breaths per minute while resting is considered abnormal

CBC = A complete blood count (CBC) is a blood test that measures red blood cells, white blood cells, and blood platelets (cells that help your blood clot). It is one of the most common tests ordered by doctors. A CBC can provide a quick snapshot of your overall health.

Moderate traumatic brain injury = A term used when a person experiences changes in brain function for longer than a few minutes following trauma. Traumatic brain injury usually results from a violent blow or jolt to the head or body. More serious traumatic brain injury can result in bruising, torn tissues, bleeding and other physical damage to the brain. These injuries can result in long-term complications or death.

MRI = Magnetic Resonance Imaging (MRI) is a medical imaging technique used in radiology to form pictures of the anatomy and the physiological processes of the body. MRI scanners use strong magnetic fields, magnetic field gradients, and radio waves to generate images of the organs in the body.

DUI = Driving under the influence (while impaired by alcohol or other drugs).

ICP catheter = Intracranial Pressure (ICP) monitoring uses a device placed inside the head. The monitor senses the pressure inside the skull and sends measurements to a recording device. The intraventricular catheter is the most accurate monitoring method. To insert an intraventricular catheter, a hole is drilled through the skull. The catheter is inserted through the brain into the lateral ventricle. This area of the brain contains cerebrospinal fluid (CSF). CSF is a liquid that protects the brain and spinal cord. The intraventricular catheter can also be used to drain fluid out through the catheter.

Me salvaste la vida = “You saved my life” in Spanish

CFO = Chief Financial Officer

Air, struts and shoring = Technical rescue teams use a variety of equipment to support collapsed structures or trenches and move heavy debris to gain access to confined void spaces. Rescue struts are commonly used in conjunction with the air bags to support the debris. In a trench rescue situation where one or both sides of the trench have collapsed, the air bags can be used to backfill the void spaces behind the shoring panels as they are being set in place. The shoring panels will be held in place against the air bag by rescue struts to protect the victim and rescuers.

Pinpoint pupils = Pinpoint pupils are pupils that remain very small even in bright light (under normal conditions, pupils change size to let in the right amount of light). They can signify many issues, including drug use, poisoning, haemorrhage, or Horner syndrome (caused by a tumour or stroke or damage to the central trunk of the brain – the brainstem)

Mr. Belvedere = It is an American sitcom where the title character, Mr Belvedere takes a job as a butler with an American family.

Ataxia = Ataxia is a degenerative disease of the nervous system. Many symptoms of Ataxia mimic those of being drunk, such as slurred speech, stumbling, falling, and incoordination. These symptoms are caused by damage to the cerebellum, the part of the brain that is responsible for coordinating movement.

Schmo = A stupid person

EMT = Emergency Medical Technician

Radius = The radius or radial bone is one of the two large bones of the forearm, the other being the ulna. It extends from the lateral side of the elbow to the thumb side of the wrist and runs parallel to the ulna. The radius is thicker than the ulna.

Ulna = The ulna is a long bone (slightly longer than radius) found in the forearm that stretches from the elbow to the smallest finger, and when in anatomical position, is found on the medial side of the forearm. It runs parallel to the radius.

Sternum = The sternum or breastbone is a long flat bone located in the central part of the chest. It connects to the ribs via cartilage and forms the front of the rib cage, thus helping to protect the heart, lungs, and major blood vessels from injury.

Costal margin = The costal margin is the lower edge of the chest (thorax) formed by the bottom edge of the rib cage. Sometimes referred to as the costal arch, the costal margin in the medial margin formed by the seventh to tenth ribs.

15 notes · View notes

udunie · 4 years ago

Note

Yussss extreme food control! Stiles presents late as an omega and is considered too big by most standards (omegas have, u kno, alternate food sources) so in desperation to get his omega son bonded the sheriff puts Stiles on an experimental lifestyle/diet: as much piss&cum as Stiles wants to drink, paired with a tightlace corset, a special cock cage/sound that only lets him piss when his bladder passes a certain pressure, a fat plug that has a special enema in/out valve set 1/2

diet!Stiles: and a chastity belt that locks the corset/cock cage/plug together and in place. It doesn't have to come off - so long as Stiles is meticulous when cleaning the exterior parts, the enema-plug is self-cleaning and the sound is basically a specialized catheter. It does unfortunately take Stiles a long time to get down to an acceptable omega form, and his dad swaps out the cage for smaller ones several times hoping *this* gets Stiles an alpha. Stiles, of course, never comes 2/3 moar sry

diet!Stiles: but the relief Stiles gets when his bladder finally fills enough for the sound to open- for as little as it takes for the pressure to drop- is so intense it starts to replace coming in his mind. He starts to drink as much piss as he can just to reach that point more often, to the point his dad gets fed up and tells him if he's going to indulge so much in piss he's going to have to start drinking his own as well because this is supposed to be a DIET. Stiles loves drinking himself dry

Oh maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan I adore all of this *___________*

Also, if I may add, cause it just logical... Since Stiles does not control his bladder, (and enemas can be tricky if water reach inside deep enough) he needs to wear a diaper? I feel like that would be a nice finish to his looks :D

Just like, imagine him having to wear a diaper with a cute rubber panty on it to make sure he doesn’t leak, with a tightlaced corset, and of course he needs to wear those little nipple pumps to get him more omega-like. And you can’t put a shirt on a nipple pump, and none of his pants fit over his diaper, so when John needs to take him somewhere, that’s how he it is :D

Alternatively:

Stiles presents at 14/15-ish (not between 10-12 as most do) and by then he started puberty... Late presentation is not very rare, so there are facilities that promise to mold late bloomers into proper omegas with SCIENCE!

Stiles needs to stay for a few months, and undergoes hard training. They get him on a special diet (maybe some tasteless slop - a cup twice a day), get him into tight lacing (maybe even remove his lowest ribs), give him multiple painful injections to help devolve his cock and develop his chest (into his balls, the head of his cock, his nipples etc), and they need to work a lot on his ass, cause ‘normal’ omegas are self lubricating, and he is not - yet. So he gets his rim pumped daily and injected with chemicals, gets painful enemas that help him change...

Just all the medfet until he is unrecognizable :D

#prompt box #Anonymous

14 notes · View notes

whump-tr0pes · 4 years ago

Text

Honor Bound 2&3 - 79

If you didn’t see my earlier post, I’m splitting HB2 into 2 books and extending book 3 a bit. HB4 starts in a few chapters.

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound.

AO3

Cw: conditioning mention, needles, blood, IVs (including one in the neck), surgery mention (but no actual surgery), mention of possible amputation, sharing needles mention (in medical setting), emesis mention, ketamine, broken bones mention

Finn’s stomach lurched as they looked up at Lucy’s gasp. Her mouth fell open, then closed again, shaking until Finn thought she might collapse.

“Lucy…” Vera said softly, and took a step in front of Gavin. “Let me explain.”

“Is… is he… Gavin Stormbeck?” Lucy hissed.

“No,” Vera said through clenched teeth. “Not anymore. He’s ours now. You heard the rumors that Gavin Stormbeck was dead, right?”

Lucy nodded slowly. “Y-yes,” she said softly. “We h-heard that h-he was, was dead, and he c-came back last month.” Lucy fell a half-step back, into the house. Finn glanced between Vera and Lucy. Their hands were frozen in the air over Sam.

“Well…” Vera stepped fully in front of Gavin, her hands at her sides. “…he’s ours now. He’s different. We fucked him up and we b-broke his, um…” She licked her lips. “…c-conditioning, I guess. He can’t hurt people now. He’s… he’s ours.”

Lucy stared wide-eyed at Gavin. “He… won’t…?”

“No.”

Lucy’s eyes filled with tears and she heaved a broken sob. “If he… if y-you brought him, him here, and he—”

“He won’t. I bet my life on it.”

Lucy swallowed hard. “Y-yeah. You do.”

Everyone stood in a tense, frozen silence. Sam whimpered again.

Gavin jerked forward like he’d been dealt a blow. “S-Sam,” he whispered. “Sam, I, um, I’m giving you my blood, okay?” Gavin looked up at Finn with desperate eyes. “Right?” he said softly, with tears in his eyes. “Right now?” The mask on Gavin’s face pulled in and out with each breath.

Finn shook themselves. “Yeah,” they said, their breath catching in their throat. “Come, come here.” They went to the counter where Topher had been working and picked up the IV tubing, careful not to let the needles on either end touch anything.

“Um, Gavin?” Finn looked around the garage. “Um…” They looked to Lucy. “Is there, maybe, a stool? A tall chair? Something to get him up higher than Sam.”

“We have some tall chairs in the kitchen,” Lucy said breathlessly. “Let me—” She was gone before she finished her sentence.

Finn didn’t look up as they pulled Gavin closer, inspecting the veins in his arm. “Vera,” they said tightly, “Get the bottle of alcohol and some gauze pads. And that IV tourniquet I put somewhere…”

“Here,” Gavin said, holding it in his hand. It was shaking.

“Trade you,” Finn said as they passed the tubing to Gavin. “Don’t let the needles touch anything. It needs to be as sterile as possible.” Vera returned to their side with the alcohol and gauze as Finn tied the IV tourniquet around Gavin’s arm. The veins popped to the surface almost immediately. Lucy stumbled into the garage, carrying a large bar stool with a back.

“Bring it here,” Finn ordered, not bothering to soften their tone. Sam is dying, Sam is dying, Sam is dying, Sam is dying, Sam is dying. Lucy placed the chair at the side of the table, next to Sam’s uninjured arm.

Finn pushed Gavin roughly into it. “Sit,” they said gruffly. Gavin sank into the chair. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

Finn glanced up, then took the alcohol and gauze. “You scared of needles?” they said as they wiped the crook of Gavin’s elbow clean.

Gavin shook his head, his eyes fixed on Sam. “N-no,” he mumbled. “Just the… the, um… the blood.”

“I need you to keep your shit together, Gavin,” Finn snapped. “At least until I’ve gotten some blood from you.”

Gavin nodded desperately, the tubing still held tight in his hand. “Yeah. Yeah. For Sam.”

“Okay.” Finn glanced up at Vera. “Vera, can you help me?” She jumped forward, her hands outstretched. “Okay. Turn Sam’s head to the side. Towards Gavin, so they don’t have to look at what I’m doing.” Vera gently turned Sam’s head, her fingers running gently through their damp curls. They whimpered.

“Okay…” Finn murmured. “Okay.” They looked Gavin full in the face. “Okay. This is just gonna be a straight-up needle,” Finn said carefully. “Not like in the hospital. No plastic catheter. So you’re going to have to keep your arm straight, or you’ll push the needle right through. I can tie your arm to a board, if that helps.”

Gavin shrugged. His eyes never left Sam. “Whatever. Either. Um. For Sam.”

Finn pressed their lips together. “Okay. I’m going to put the needle in you, and it’s going to bleed into the tubing. I really, really need you to not pass out.” Gavin nodded. “Okay.”

Finn took one end of the tubing from Gavin. They slid the needle deftly into Gavin’s skin. Gavin hissed and closed his eyes as blood began to run into the tubing.

Finn pinched the other end closed right as blood began to dribble out the other end. “Shit,” they whispered, looking around for the tape. “Vera, can you… Gavin, hold that needle in place. Open your eyes. There you go, now hold that.” Gavin pressed his hand against the needle, trembling. Finn reached for the counter for a small roll of tape. With the other end of the tubing pinched between their fingers, they quickly taped the needle down to Gavin’s skin.

“Okay.” Finn let out a breath. “Vera, now I need you to hold Sam. Gently, just… just so they…” Finn swallowed hard. Sam was so pale. Finn wiped the side of their neck clean with the alcohol.

Vera moved so Finn could have access to Sam’s neck. She crouched down so she was at eye level with Sam.

“Sam, honey,” Vera said softly, tremulously. Their eyes opened hazily. Finn adjusted the needle in their hand.

“I’m scared,” Sam whimpered. “It, it hurts…” They shook with weak sobs.

“I know,” Vera said, as tears rolled down her cheeks. “But Topher went to get you something for the pain. Alright? It’s only going to hurt a little while longer. They’ll get you fixed up.”

“Are they g-going to…” Sam whimpered as Finn pulled the skin at the base of their neck tight.

The vein there stood out slightly from their skin. Nowhere near as much as it should have. Finn swallowed hard. They slid the needle into Sam’s neck and felt the slightest pop as they entered the vein. They bit their lip as they let go of the tubing, letting the blood flow into Sam. If I missed the vein, I’ll know when their neck swells. Finn shivered. Please, please let me not have missed the vein. Finn’s hand shook as they taped the needle down to Sam’s neck. They crouched over Sam, too, their hair brushing Vera’s.

“Sam,” Finn said softly. “Gavin’s giving you some blood, okay? And wh-when Topher gets back, I’ll fix you up. He’ll have something for the pain.”

“Are you going to…?” Sam’s face twisted and they wailed weakly. “Are you going to, to, to cut me open?” they sobbed. “Finn no, Finn please, no, I’m scared, please d-don’t…”

“I have to, Sam,” Finn said, their voice shaking. “I h-have to. You’ll bleed to death if I don’t. Or you’ll… if I don’t get that tourniquet off you soon, you’ll lose that arm. We have to do this.”

“H-have you… done this before?” Sam said, pleading. Finn wanted to believe their skin was getting pinker.

“No, Sam,” Finn said. A shudder rolled over their shoulders. No, I’ve never done this before. Whenever it’s something with my family, it’s something I haven’t done before. I never know for sure if I can save you. Never.

Tears poured from Sam’s eyes, streaming back into their hair. “No,” they moaned. “I’m scared, I’m… Isaac…”

Isaac lunged forward along the table. His hands flew towards Sam. He trembled and his hand landed on Sam’s leg. “I’m here, Sam,” Isaac croaked. His chest still heaved with each breath.

“Isaac,” Finn said softly. “Why are you still wearing the vest?”

Isaac jumped and looked down as if his body had suddenly turned invisible. “Um…” He fumbled at the straps. “I don’t know.”

“Let me take a look,” Finn said weakly, and beckoned Isaac over. “We only have a… a minute…” Finn glanced at Lucy. “Right? Til Topher gets back?”

“Any second,” Lucy said weakly. “It’s not that far away. Any second.”

“Okay,” Finn murmured. Isaac pulled the vest off over his head, whining softly as his he let his arms fall again and dropped it to the floor. Finn bit their lip and pulled the front of Isaac’s shirt up over his chest. It was soaked with Isaac’s sweat. They took in a sharp breath at the ugly bruise that spread across Isaac’s chest, almost dead center in the middle of his sternum. Finn pressed gently on the ribs around it, and over Isaac’s sternum. Isaac winced and groaned softly as Finn felt for breaks. They didn’t feel any shifting, any crunching. They glanced away for a moment and saw Gavin staring at Isaac’s chest with horror and crushing guilt. It’s not just the bruise, Finn realized with a start. Gavin’s never seen Isaac’s scars. They let Isaac’s shirt fall. Isaac’s face flushed with something that looked like shame. Finn opened their mouth to ask—

Topher jogged into the garage with a bag slung over his shoulder. His face was red and sweaty. He panted as he went straight for the counter and dumped the bag over it.

“What did you get?” Finn rasped. There was more than just painkillers on the counter.

“More suture kits, extra gauze sponges, forceps, more alcohol, antibiotics, extra gloves, more sterile gloves—”

“What did you get for pain?” Finn said desperately.

Topher held up a small vial. “Ketamine. I figured narcotics wouldn’t cut the—”

Finn sobbed and collapsed forward, nearly falling onto Sam. “Ketamine’s perfect,” they whimpered. “Ketamine’s…”

“Ketamine’s good stuff,” Gavin said faintly. Finn looked at them in confusion. He met their eyes slowly. “Shot in the chest,” he whispered, his eyes fixed on the floor. Finn swallowed and turned back to Sam.

“I don’t know how you dose animals,” Finn said. “I’ve heard point three to point five milligrams per kilogram for IV pain management, sometimes more, with—”

“Let’s just stick with human dosages,” Topher said uneasily. “That sounds fine.”

Finn looked Sam over. They definitely looked pinker than they had five minutes ago, though not by much. They cast a glance at Gavin. He looked pale behind the mask. Finn couldn’t tell if it was the blood loss, or seeing the blood soaked into everything Sam was wearing, dripping off the side of the table. Finn chewed their lip.

“Um…” Finn looked at Topher. “Do you know how to take a blood pressure on a human?”

“Yeah,” Topher said weakly. They pushed the vial into Finn’s hand and disappeared from Sam’s side to rustle through the cabinets.

Finn went to the counter with the medical supplies and selected the syringe and needle they needed. Okay. Okay. Calm. You can do this. Let’s go middle of the road with the dosaging to start, since they’re got to stay still for fucking surgery, but I don’t want to have to manage an airway. Point five milligrams per kilogram. Sam is about sixty kilos, so 30 milligrams… in a concentration of 100 milligrams per milliliter… which is… fuck, fuck, no, it’s okay, calm down, that’s just point three milliliters. Finn pulled up the amount they needed and stepped back towards Sam. Topher was just letting the air out of the blood pressure cuff. He turned to Finn.

“I got one-oh-two over sixty-two. I’m pretty certain of it.”

“Let me just make sure,” Finn said quickly. They took the stethoscope from Topher and pumped up the blood pressure cuff again. They carefully watched the needle as they let the air out. Satisfied, they tossed the stethoscope onto the counter. “One-oh-four over sixty. Good ear.”

Topher nodded. “Okay. Good.”

Finn glanced up at Gavin. He no longer looked pale. He looked green. They leapt forward and pinched the IV tubing shut.

“Fuck,” Finn spat. “Shit. I’m sorry, Gavin. I… I took too much.”

“It’s just the blood,” Gavin said weakly. “I can smell it. Through the, through the mask.”

The smell hit Finn like a freight train. They didn’t even noticed it until Gavin said it. Now it was the only thing they could smell.

“Still. You’ve given enough. You get a break.” Finn gently pulled the needle from Gavin’s arm and held their thumb over the skin where the needle had been.

Topher raised an eyebrow. “Are you content to share needles? Or…”

“No,” Finn said quickly. “Topher, can you… would you mind… would you cut off the end of that and start with a new needle? For Vera?”

“Of course.” Topher pulled on some gloves. He pinched the end of the tubing and took it from Finn, away from the others. He got to work replacing the needle.

Vera gently helped Gavin from the chair. He swayed and fell against Vera, sweat shimmering on his skin. Isaac lunged forward to help. He stopped and shrank back to Sam’s side, his gaze darting between them and Gavin.

Vera propped Gavin upright. “Okay, Finn,” Vera said weakly. “Me next.”

“We’re actually okay, for a few more minutes at least,” Finn said weakly. “Permissive hypotension. It means we can—”

Vera held up a hand. “Finn… I don’t care what it means. Just tell me what you need.” She adjusted her grip on Gavin as he stumbled, gagging slightly.

Finn’s eyes went wide. “Get him, get him inside,” they urged. “I can’t have him throw up in here. Get him inside. I’ll come get you when I need you.”

“Or you can use me,” Tori mumbled from her spot against the wall.

Finn and Vera both turned to look at Tori. Tori’s eyes were focused, teary. She stood away from Ellis, arms crossed over her chest, and shivering. Tori licked her lips and looked at Vera. “You can use my blood,” Tori said weakly.

“Babe, are you—”

Finn practically shoved Gavin towards the door into the house. He fell against Vera. Tears streamed down Gavin’s face. “P-please,” he whimpered.

Vera dragged Gavin towards the door. She threw a look back at Tori and pulled Gavin into the kitchen, out of sight.

Finn turned back to Sam. They trembled, their skin still pale and shining with sweat. But they looked… they didn’t look like they were nearly dead now. Finn swallowed painfully.

“I think I’m just going to do an IM injection,” Finn said softly. “More consistent uptake.”

Topher nodded. “Sounds fair.”

Finn selected another needle. They prepped Sam’s uninjured upper arm with more alcohol and pinched the muscle in their hand. “Quick poke, Sam,” Finn said softly. They pushed in the needle and pressed down the plunger.

“W-will that…?” Tori spoke like she was remembering how.

“It’ll take a few minutes,” Finn said softly. “But it’ll help. It’ll help a lot.”

“F-Finn,” Sam cried. Their body shuddered in misery. Finn’s eyes moved slowly over Sam, from the torn clothes they wore, to the bruises and torn skin around their wrists, to the places on their neck where the skin had rubbed raw, to the needle sticking unnaturally out of the skin to the side of their throat. Finn ached, knowing that beneath Sam’s shirt there were massive, angry bruises that stretched across their back and chest. Cracked ribs that must hurt every time Sam breathed. The whip marks on their back that must, even now, be soaking through the back of their shirt, smearing blood onto the table beneath them. For a moment Finn crumpled. They heaved a desperate sob and sunk to their knees beside the table.

“Sam,” Finn gasped. “I’m s-so sorry, I t-tried to fix it, I tried, but… I… just let them hurt you, I couldn’t make them stop, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Finn felt hands on their shoulders, clumsily pulling them up. They staggered to their feet and wrapped their arms around the person helping them. Isaac cried out as Finn’s arms tightened around his chest. Finn immediately released Isaac.

Ellis came to Finn’s side and pulled them into a hug. Finn shuddered and wailed into their shoulder, tears cascading down their cheeks and onto Ellis’s shirt. Every part of them threatened to shake apart at the sight of Sam, at the sound of their pain, broken and battered and destroyed on the table in front of them. Everything from the past few weeks hit them at once. They couldn’t breathe.

“Finn?” Topher said hesitantly. Finn clutched Ellis harder. “Finn.”

Ellis gently pushed Finn away from them. Finn looked up. “What?” they whimpered.

Topher gestured to Sam. “It’s kicking in.”

Sam seemed to slowly go limp on the table. Their face relaxed, their eyes moving lazily beneath the lids. Their breaths no longer came in ragged gasps, but in slow, easy inhales and exhales. They went to turn their head.

Finn’s hand shot out and held Sam’s head in place. Sam moaned softly. “Finn?” they groaned, looking for Finn.

Finn scrubbed their face with their sleeve. “Yeah, Sam?” they croaked.

“I f-feel… better now,” Sam sighed. “Can we go home?”

“Not yet,” Finn said, a smile pulling at their lips despite themselves. “Not yet. Still gotta fix you up.”

“Wooow,” Sam slurred. “This is… um… this is…”

“I need you to stay still for me, Sam,” Finn said, lurching into action like they were suddenly remembering what they were doing. “Okay? Stay still for me.” They glanced at Topher. “Can you, um, help me?”

“Of course,” Topher said, his voice shaking. “Whatever you need.”

“Ellis, can you, can you take blood pressures ab-bout every five minutes?” Finn said, new energy making their words clumsy. Ellis nodded. “Okay. And… keep their head turned this way. Can that be your job? Can you… can you do that?”

“Yeah, babe,” Ellis said faintly. They grabbed the stethoscope off the counter.

Finn turned to Tori. “You’re sure you can give blood?”

“Yeah,” Tori said, her eyes filling with tears as she stared at Sam. “I can do that.”

“Topher, will you start that line on Tori? Isaac—” Finn stopped short when they saw Isaac’s face. He looked at Sam like he was seeing hope, for the first time in weeks. I’ll just let him be there for Sam. That’s his job.

“Okay.” Finn pulled off their gloves and went to the sink to wash their hands again. They wiped their hands on a pile of clean gauze. “Topher—” They looked over at him. The needle was already in Tori’s arm, held in place by Tori’s fingers as Topher taped down the line. “Perfect. Tori, go ahead and gently pinch that line so we don’t bleed you out. Let a little through, but not much. And… Topher?” Topher looked up at Finn like he might faint. “Let’s, um…” Finn swallowed the lump in their throat. “Let’s get started.”

Continued here

@untilthepainstarts, @womping-grounds, @blue-flare10, @free-2bmee, @quirkykayleetam, @walkingchemicalfire, @inpainandsuffering, @redwingedwhump, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @insomniacscoprio, @cursedscribbles, @whumpywhumper, @stxck-fxck, @omega-em-z-02, @whumps-the-word, @justwhumpitwhumpitgood, @justplainwhump, @moose-teeth, @slaintetowhump, @finder-of-rings, @grimwhumper, @inky-whump, @thatsthewhump, @im-only-here-for-the-whump, @orchidscript, @insanitywishes, @cinnamonflavoredhugs, @this-mightaswell-happen, @newandfiguringitout, @whumpkitty, @pretty-face-breaker

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ontochristine · 4 years ago

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02.01.21

Two weeks since EK’s birthdate. I had hoped to write this sooner, while things were still fresh, but I’m learning that newborn care takes a lot of attention!

To recap my labor & delivery...

My EDD was 1/29. Up until January’s Kaiser appointments, EK had been measuring a little larger so we all thought he’d come sooner. Then Jan’s appointments showed he was back on track. It was both good and disappointing news. Work picked up after the holidays and my coordinator just started, so I needed the time to catch her up and get things in order. On the flip side, at 37 going on 38 weeks, I was really uncomfortable; sleeping horribly, back hurting, eating endlessly, etc. In other words, I was ready for baby to come out asap. By mid-Jan, DK & I figured baby would come closer to his EDD, whereas before DK figured he’d come around 2 weeks early and I thought he’d come 1 week early.

Fridays became my favorite days of the week while pregnant because 1) end of work week, 2) our takeout day and 3) sleep aid night (sleeping was awful during pregnancy and the sleep aid helped me get one full night of rest). So Friday, I wound down and went to bed between 9-10pm, while DK played DOTA in the second bedroom per usual. Sat am, I woke up with a spreading warmth waist down. I thought at first maybe I had like triple the layer of blankets in that area until I felt the wetness with my hands. Then thought to myself, “Is this my water breaking?” So I started to yell for DK but he was knocked out. I waddled my way to the bathroom, stripped, washed off my body & my PJ pants. At this point, I figured, “Well who knows how urgent this is. I’ll wake up DK after I’ve called Kaiser.” So I call, they advise to come to hospital as soon as possible - but no crazy rush - and I wake up DK, who doesn’t leap to his feet but more annoyed/groggy haha. This man doesn’t like to be woken up anyway. Knowing we have time, I put on makeup (I admit it! I’m vain!), try to figure out how to stop the leaking with the limited pads I have, and start packing last few things into the hospital bag. Then I eat an apple and write Janice’s bday card (whyyy do I irrelevant things during times like this). We finally head out and because of COVID, only I walk into the hospital where I’m seen in the triage area. Since it’s so early (before 8a), the hospital is really quiet and a Korean nurse comes to see me. I count both these things as God’s hand over me :) She chatters on and on about this and that and tells me that DK should definitely bring up snacks and it’ll be a while. So I send DK to Costco and he ends up coming to the hospital around 1p, after I’ve moved to the L&D unit.

The medical staff administered pitocin around 11a (?) and from 11a-4p, we just waited for the contractions to build up. Started a new show called Cobra Kai and ate the popsicles from the hospital. ALSO important to note that I sent DK to buy snacks in the am and then we later found out once Pitocin is in my system, I can’t eat solids until baby is out. I had like 8 popsicles over the course of waiting. Anyway, come 4p, the contractions were painful enough to request the epidural and by then, I started crying from the pain. It was just like the miscarriage contractions. I think the reminder of that mc coupled with the new pain made it an emotional experience for me again. The tears wet my mask, I muffled my gasps bc of the nurses and I was embarrassed, and my mind was just blank from the pain. I don’t know how women deliver without the epidural!! With the epidural hooked up and several tubes and devices on me, the pain subsided but around 6-7p, a bunch of nurses and doctors stormed into our room saying “baby is a little grumpy so we’re gonna do XYZ”. One staff member started reading off C-section risks to me to get my verbal consent, others tried to get me into an all-fours position, while another put an oxygen mask on me. I think the oxygen mask really freaked me out. Meanwhile DK was off to the side just watching and I didn’t say anything. Eventually things calmed down, we didn’t need the C-section and DK & I agreed that some calmer context would have helped haha. We waited overnight to dilate fully and by 5am on Sunday, we were ready to go! After pushing for 5 minutes, EK was born (cone-shaped and blue) and my first words were, “What the heck!” Once we cleaned up, it hit me how freaking adorable he was. DK sent photos and messages to both families and that was that!

As the epidural wore off and the catheter removed , I was introduced to the wonderful & embarrassing world of urinary incontinence. Almost immediately, I wet myself (a lot!) and the nurses had to tend to me. Thankfully, I heard, read or watched YT videos about this so I was pretty shameless about it. Like, what can I do? I have no control! We got moved to the post partum unit before Sunday noon which was slightly smaller and there, we had a nurse or doctor check on us or EK every other hour. Going to the bathroom every three hours to prevent serious leaking was annoying and the IV became super painful, since I started to move around and hold EK. I was on email for about an hour, canceling & consolidating meetings, and crafting my final week at work message. I decided I needed one more week (even while EK was here) to transition everything smoothly and feel at peace, which is another way of saying “I know it’s unconventional but this is how I want to do things!” I finally checked my phone - not sure why, but I hated the thought of texting or holding conversations during the L&B/pp time. I think I was just exhausted. I slept so poorly with the nurses coming to check on me every hour from the night before and I was just mentally and physically off.

Come Monday am and with the prospects of going home soon, I felt better and Facetimed umma & appa. When I got wheeled Covid with EK in my arms, the nurse covered his face with the swaddle...covid things to recall years from now. Finally, we got home! And as we lifted EK out from the carseat, DK & I were both kind of amazed. “It’s like we went shopping and came back with a baby!” And the first few nights, of just me and DK, were so special. Just figuring it out. Powered by adrenaline and burning desire to do things right for our baby.

On night 2, EK’s circumcision bandaid had come undone and hung onto his skin by a thread. We didn’t know what to do, since we were told this & that about the circumcision healing process. Anyway, we decided to pull it off and EK’s cries broke me - and I’m pretty sure it tore at DK too. We knew it was already painful for EK but the sight of the swelling, bright red part + his crying was too much for these two new parents. I cried and cried and cried haha. But to conclude the whole circumcision story, after about 1 week of careful tending, he is fully and perfectly healed :)

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trashmenofmarvel · 5 years ago

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Devil’s Backbone - Chapter 4

Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader

Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)

Chapter Warnings: Whump/wound care

Word Count: 1.5k

Tag List: @pandalandalopalis @insidethemindoftrent

AO3

Time: Unknown, Date: Unknown

The second time the men come to your cell, your struggles were far weaker than before. You had a suspicion as to why, and it was confirmed by the lab coats as they began to pump drugs into the IV catheter in your hand.

“She has a fever of one-hundred and two.”

“Irrelevant. She’s nearly ready for the procedure.”

“Will she survive it if that wound festers?”

“If the procedure succeeds, she will be able to survive more than that. Proceed.”

“Hail HYDRA.”

The words washed over you without meaning; the narcotics had already hit your bloodstream, and you floated in the euphoria before the pain began, shooting lightning into your skull and down into the roots of your very being.

When next you opened your eyes you were back in your cell, lying on the mat with the echoes of screams in your ears. You couldn’t remember how you got there, and you weren’t sure if the memory of screams were yours or the remnants of a bad dream.

Seeing as how your life had become a nightmare, maybe the answer didn’t matter.

The only gauge you had in regards to time was when they took you into the white room. It contained high, narrow windows, covered with wire and opaque with rippling glass, but you could see the sunlight as distant and untouchable as hope of rescue. Had you been there for one day? Two? By the way your wound was inflamed and clearly infected, you guessed this was your second day of captivity.

You remained on the mat, unmoving as you drifted in and out of sleep, barely able to stay awake in the midst of your fever. A part of you was relieved—it meant the torture couldn’t go on forever. Eventually you would succumb to the infection and the pain would end. Unfortunately, sepsis was a terrible way to die, and it was going to get rough before the end.

When you heard the door open, you struggled to lift your eyelids. It seemed too soon for them to take you back to the white room. And indeed, you didn’t see the men in black fatigues. Instead, there was a single man carrying some kind of white box. It was difficult to focus on the blurry figure, but you saw the shine of metal reflected in the bare bulb overhead. You shivered.

“No…” you moaned as he drew near. You tried to sit up, back away from him, but you only flinched as your body rioted in pain. “Don’t…”

He gripped you roughly under your shoulder blades and hooked his metal arm under your knees. You struggled to free yourself, or at least you tried, the movement came out as little more than a weak tremble.

The assassin set you down on the lid of the toilet. You nearly toppled over but he kept his normal hand on your left shoulder as he pried open the box with his metal fingers. You tried to focus on his face, noting something was different. The black paint was gone. Although the mask remained, he looked less… monstrous, somehow. Almost human.

But when his cold blue eyes met yours, you still felt as though you were being stared down by a predator.

You watched in mute apprehension, too tired to speak and knowing he wouldn’t answer anyway, as he rooted around in the medical kit. You couldn’t understand why he was here and what he wanted, even after he dampened a cloth in the sink and began to clean your wound.

You tried to escape from his unwanted touch, convinced he was just there to hurt you, but he held you firm with his hand on your shoulder. You looked down at the injury and quickly looked away, your stomach roiling at the sight of pus leaking from the inflamed flesh. You groaned, fighting to swallow down the burning bile in your throat.

The assassin worked without word or a second glance at you. He wasn’t brutal but he was clinical, treating your wound as if he might have been servicing a car. You didn’t know why that oddly domestic image popped into your head, but it caused hysterical laughter to rise in your throat. You swallowed that down, too.

Helpless in his grasp, all you could do was wait. He eventually finished cleaning the wound and tossed aside the soiled gauze and cloth, and then he pulled out a small canister and sprayed foam onto the gash. It burned but then began to fizzle and bubble before disappearing completely. You didn’t know what it was, some kind of disinfectant spray, but nothing like you had ever seen before.

The assassin didn’t give you any warning or time to prepare as he squeezed the edges of your wound closed with his metal fingers. You gave a muffled cry but he held you still as he squirted surgical glue across the edges of the wound. He kept his hands in place, on your arm and on your shoulder, and you closed your eyes as the room began to spin. You kept them shut even as you felt him press a gauze bandage to your arm.

Why? you wondered weakly as your head buzzed unpleasantly. Why is he doing this?

The sensation of dizziness soon passed, and you opened your eyes to find icy blue ones mere inches away. You sucked in a breath and held it, unable to function with him staring at you so intently, your frazzled thought scattered like a swarm of disturbed insects.

When you thought about it later, you blamed your feverish state for what you did next. You lifted your free hand and reached towards his face, slowly and trembling.

You wanted to see. You had to know there was a person under there. A living man and not a supernatural creature of destruction and death.

Your fingertips grazed the polycarbonate mask covering his jaw, feeling the hard weave under your touch. But you didn’t get far enough to unhook the mask; the assassin snatched your wrist, squeezing enough to immobilize you and almost hard enough to hurt.

His breathing was erratic again. And his eyes were dark, a ring of blue fire edging the blown pupils.

I need to see, your feverish mind demanded. In your borderline delirious state, you were convinced that there would be a set of wolfish jaws hidden underneath, teeth sharp and gleaming with carnivorous intent.

It filled you with dread, but you needed to know. Needed to see.

I need to see the monster.

But you never got that far. The assassin reached into the kit, pulled out as syringe, and jabbed the needle into the meat of your right thigh. It went straight through the fabric of your pants and directly into the muscle.

You cried out and jerked back your hand, preparing for the next attack, but he had already removed the needle. He grabbed you by the waist and hauled you up as if you weighed nothing at all.

“Asshole!” you screamed, voice breaking painfully in your dry throat. “Haven’t you fucking drugged me enough! Let me go! Don’t touch me!”

The assassin ignored your shouts and your soft, pathetic punches to his arms and kicks at his legs. He deposited you on the thin mat, practically dumping you there like a load of laundry, and then he turned, shoved the soiled supplies into the kit, and headed toward the door.

“Dick!” you shrieked at his retreating back as he slammed the door behind him.

Hot tears flooded your eyes as you frantically rubbed at the burning spot on your thigh. An objective part of you knew the infection was making you delirious, unable to keep your emotions in check. But it didn’t change the fact you were having a small breakdown, not from the physical pain but the fact your feelings were… well, hurt. The men who tortured you, who dragged you from your cell, they were enemies you would kill without hesitation. But as soon as the man with the metal arm had showed you an ounce of human decency, your thick defenses had begun to shift out of place.

You knew the signs of mental deterioration from isolation and torture. You should have seen it coming, but you hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly. And yes, maybe a small arrogant part of you had thought you were tough enough to resist the effects of such abuse.

It won’t happen to me. Clearly, it was happening, and your previous self-assuredness meant fuck-all now. No one was immune to the effects of psychological torture. No one. It just took some longer to break than others, and perhaps you had reached your shattering point.

It was the only explanation that made sense as to why you would have tried to touch that… that beast.

You waited to feel the narcotic effects of whatever he had shot you with, but you felt nothing at all. Exhausted, maybe, but that was your normal state of being in this hellhole. So you lied down and waited for the inevitable torment.

Instead, you fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Next Chapter

#bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #reader fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #my fanfiction #devil's backbone #let me know if you want to be on the tag list

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