#please just give me a fucking swab

[doctor-fancy-pants]

Totally Scientific and Not At All Anecdotal Review of Rapid Antigen Test UX by type

So we were PCR tested twice during quarantine, and then we were given a bag of saliva test RATs. Took one of those before getting on the bus down to the wharf, then one every three days until 26th November. I messed up my first one and so had to grab one from ship supply, which was “oral fluid.”

This means that I am now in a position to compare the experiences of different RATs.

OLD SCHOOL Ye olde swab! Scrape the back of the throat! Then scrape the brain via the nose! Mix with buffer, apply to test cassette. Don’t fucken wuss out on the scraping either — SARS-CoV-2 infections present initially as lower respiratory tract, which we can’t swab. So there’s less of it lurking about in the upper respiratory tract. Also please swab your throat. YES EVEN IF THAT’S NOT IN THE DIRECTIONS.

SALIVA TEST Stick the hideous absorbent lollipop in your mouth until the indicator turns blue, which means it has enough saliva, then apply to test cassette.

ORAL FLUID Hock up a loogie into the buffer. Apply to test cassette.

PERSONAL EXPERIENCES

Now, I previously hated swabbing my nose. Then I started swabbing my throat, which I hate even more, so I don't hate swabbing my nose so much. Basically, I stimulate a pretty solid coughing reflex on the throat and I always, always sneeze after swabbing my nose, but it's now pretty inoffensive to me.

I've been aware of the saliva and oral tests for a while, and thought that something less intrusive would be good for people with hyper-sensitive gag reflexes, and also little kids, who really don't like sitting still long enough for someone to swab their tiny wee nostrils.

So I was optimistic about the saliva test.

My optimism was misplaced. The instructions say that it should take about 2-3 minutes for the sponge inserted into your mouth to absorb sufficient saliva. The indicator is supposed to turn blue.

My medication causes dry mouth.

3 minutes? HA. FUCKING. HA.

TRY 20 FUCKING MINUTES.

That thing felt like it was sucking out my goddamn motherfucking soul. And I had to move it around and swizzle it and press down and I had to do all this before leaving my cabin before shift. My very life essence was drained into this obnoxious fucker.

(I actually had significant shoulder pain due to continuously trying to move it around while lying down. My joints are weird. This is not going to be an issue for most people.)

We had a messaging platform on the ship's intranet, which I used to declare that if anyone had swab tests and wanted to swap it for the spit lollipop, I was down for that. I now considered swabs to be the best possible option.

Nobody took me up on it. Everyone struggled to get enough spit.

On the last day, I had that "oral fluid" test, which involves hocking up a loogie and spitting into the funnel. This was less of a trial, to be honest, but given my dry mouth issues, it was still a pain in the arse to muster up the necessary quantities of saliva. Not as bad as the fucking saliva sponge.

I cannot imagine that sponge thing works well with little kids, not unless they are producing copious quantities of spit and snot and--

[pauses abruptly]

--okay, yes, I now recall that little kids are absolutely capable of just leaking from every available orifice (hopefully not the ears), so maybe they would have an easier time of it.

Anyways, TL;DR: the saliva sponge is vile. The oral fluid is okay.

I still prefer the old school swab.

[s4pphicghost]

doing ellies eyeliner ⋆｡˚ ❀

first post !! hope you guys will like it <3 (im sorry for mistakes, english is not my first language) feel free to correct me/give advice!!

!! palestine links !! & !! daily click to help !!

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your girlfriend frowned and crossed her arms at your words. "seriously? me and makeup?” she looked at you doubtfully. "yes!!" you cried out happily, “i’d really like to see how eyeliner would look on you.. please, ellie”, you looked at her with a soft, sweet look, trying to mentally convince her. the girl rolled her eyes jokingly. you were so excited by the idea, she just couldn’t upset you with refusal.

“okay..”, she sat on the bed, leaning on her hands and watching in a relaxed position as you rummaged through your makeup bag with enthusiasm. “gonna sit on my lap?” ellie grinned playfully. “only if it makes you more comfortable” you glanced at her and sat on her lap. she wrapped her arms around your waist and looked into your eyes. her touch sent pleasant goosebumps across your skin. you placed your hands on her cheeks and she leaned into your hands… you couldn’t help but smile. “close your eyes and don’t open until i tell you to”

ellie obediently closed her eyes. you spent a few seconds admiring your girl: freckles randomly scattered across her face, cute thick eyebrows and that scar... the features that made her stand out. you stared long enough, she realized what was happening, smiling without opening her eyes. noticing her reaction, you got down to business. you carefully traced the tip of your eyeliner along her lash line, trying not to move too fast. such thick and dark eyelashes, they always impressed you and you loved it. silence filled the room. you were so close to her, you could hear and feel her breath on your hands. the moment felt kind of intimate, it made you slightly nervous. your fingertips gently stroke the girl’s cheeks. she seemed very calm and relaxed, unlike you. ellie frowned when your movements became more confident, her eyelids twitched from your touch out of habit. you accidentally moved your hand with the eyeliner in the wrong direction. “fuck..” you whispered through a dissatisfied sigh and stood up from her. "whats wrong?" the absence of you in ellies hands, even for a few moments, upset the girl.

“you’re twitching too much, the line is crooked..” you returned to her lap with a cotton swab in your hands. she raised her head again. "too ticklish." she said sharply, her voice filled with playful annoyance. you carefully wiped away the crooked line of the eyeliner, trying not to press too hard on her thin skin. “be patient a little longer baby”, you kissed her forehead softly and again did your best trying to draw perfect lines. the girl put her hands back on your waist and squeezed a little, pulling you closer. she smirked in satisfaction, without opening her eyes. you melted under her touch, but you tried to keep your hand strong and make confident movements, even if your hands were a little shaky. after a few minutes of suffering, you got more or less accurate triangles. “open your eyes..” you closed your eyeliner and looked at your girlfriend with admiration. she frowned a little “ugh, this thing tightens the skin..”

you smirked contentedly and placed your hands on her shoulders. “you look so cute.. i knew this shape would suit you.” the girl smiles back at you, happy that you are happy with the result. “you’re such a pro”. “you didn’t even see it!”, you exclaimed, quickly got up from her lap and ran for the mirror. "here.." the girl was slightly surprised by her reflection. “wow.. this is really good,” she said, looking at herself from different angles. the eyeliner really did highlight her eye shape well and the forest green color of her eyes seemed to pop out more. “im surprised i even like it". a smile spread across your face and you began peppering your girlfriend’s face with endless amount of soft, small kisses. she laughed softly, feeling the warmth of your lips that made her blush a bit. her arms are wrapped tightly around your waist.

"what's next? you’re gonna dress me in your evening dress?” she asked jokingly through your nonstop kisses. you paused for a couple of seconds and looked at her. the delight on your face made it clear to ellie that she just made a big mistake. her eyes widened with slight embarrassment. "oh fuck no..."

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i would be really grateful for any feedback!! ty<3

[diazsdimples]

⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️⚕️(Hi, I love you)

The good news is I love you too sdfhkdsjk

“How’s the kid doing, Buck?” Hen calls over her shoulder, voicing the question that’s been bouncing around in everyone’s heads. “Uh – n-not great,” Buck stammers, voice tense. “Struggling to get the laryngoscope in but the second I do we’re transferring to the NICU. Little guy has a long road ahead of him.” “Eddie, her BP is getting dangerously low and we’re running fluids wide open. Is that bleeding under control or do you need more drugs?” There’s so much going on, so much noise and movement around him as Eddie’s hands slip, trying to stem the flow of bleeding as the uterus refuses to contract, that he can’t think clearly. “Fuck,” he mutters as he flings a clot to the floor. “There’s so much fucking blood, I can’t see shit. Bobby, please give carboprost and ergo, it’s just not contracting down again. Jameson, I need suction, please!” There’s a flurry of movement as everyone hurries to complete their tasks. Eddie continues his seemingly futile wrestle against the flow of blood, one hand rubbing the top of the uterus to get it to contract while the other tries to find the true source of the bleeding. In all that, Eddie almost misses the triumphant noise from the other side of the room, until Buck turns around, his arm up to get Eddie’s attention. “Tube’s in, we’re off! Update me about mom later, yeah?” Eddie’s chin jerks as an affirmative. “Good luck, sweetheart,” he thinks as he catches a final flash of pink as Buck and his team race from the OR. “Hen, what’s the blood loss at?” Eddie asks as Bobby injects the final drug in Jessica’s thigh. They’re out of drugs now, with the constant oxytocin infusion and all the other’s being reasonably long acting. All he can do now is pray he finds the source and cauterise it before she bleeds out. “She’d lost 2 pints by the time we got into the OR, suction’s got another 3 in it and that’s not including what’s on the floor or in the swabs. If I had to guess, I’d say probably around 6 in total.” Where the fuck was the bleeding coming from? The warning bells on the monitors behind him, updating them on Jessica’s vital signs, all toll loudly as her heart rate spikes. In an act of desperation, Eddie pulls his hand from her uterus and cups the organ in his palms, turning it over to see if there’s something he’s missed. The incision from the delivery of the baby has been cauterised so it’s not from that. Just when he’s about to give up and return to fixing the bleeding, Eddie sees it. A jagged cut running from the underside of the uterus over to the top, neatly bisecting one of the uterine arteries. A fucking uterine rupture, and he almost missed it.

mandatory @theotherbuckley and @daffi-990 tag for this wip!

[cyberwhumper]

 “Shit on a fucking shingle, Dom.” Nora sighs, rubbing her temples. “Do you have to smoke right now?”

He grins up at her from where he’s sprawled, bare-chested, on the futon, the smile not quite reaching his icy blue eyes. “Yes.”

She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t fight him. He’s in considerable pain, she reasons. And nicotine is vasoconstrictive. And…it’s Dominik. So. Whatever. She’ll let him smoke.

Nora sanitizes her hands and sits down close beside him, deliberately not thinking about how their legs are touching, how warm he is, how she can smell his sweat and cologne under the cigar smoke. Focus, she snaps at herself, peeling off the occlusive dressing to expose her worksite.

“Damn. They got you pretty good this time, didn’t they?”

It’s an impressive gash. Not quite life-threatening, thanks to Dom’s generous layer of insulation—a chirp that gets a rough laugh and a gentle yank of her braid—but it’s still much worse than anything she’s used to seeing on the boss. Her hands tremble almost imperceptibly as she patiently wipes the tackiness of half-dried blood from his skin.

Dominik hisses through his teeth as she runs an iodine swab over the edges of the wound, sending smoke spiraling up to the ceiling.

“I know,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, lisichka,” he grunts. “Be quicker.”

Nora tries not to smile, just like she tries not to let her heart skip a beat when he calls her that. She fails at both.

She preps a taper point and switches her optics to micro, focusing in on the simple, precise repetition of suturing. 6 to 1 spacing, horizontal mattress, pulling together muscle and fascia and subcutaneous fat. Dominik takes it like a champion—of course he does, she thinks fondly. The second layer comes together even quicker, neat and tidy, a row of little square knots like ants marching across Dom’s belly.

“There,” she says, once she’s secured a clean dressing over the wound. “Good enough for television, or something.” Dominik’s eyes are closed, now, a faint crease of pain between his brows, but he gives a vague grunt of acknowledgement. She lets her hand rest on his body a little longer than she strictly needs to, running cool fingers across his collarbone. The confrontation that got him carved up had been…unpleasant, to say the least. He would be shaken up after that, not to mention the pain creeping in as the adrenaline faded. He needs comfort. He needs her.

Yeah, yeah, she’s projecting. She’s fucking pathological, she knows. It’s pathetic. But if this is the only way she gets to touch him, if the only softness that she can eke out from the man she loves has to come on the heels of violence, well. She’ll take what she can get.

[Fic by the exceptionally talented @bxtterflystxtches , who I have the honor of collaborating with for this event. Please show him some love!]

[OC INDEX]

COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN!

Tag list: @whumpsday // @demondamage // @squidlife-crisis // @whumpedydump // @cyborg0109 // @whumpfish // @astrowhump // @the-scrapegoat // @whatwhumpcomments // @dustbunnywhump // @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question // @dokidokisadness // @moss-tombstone // @lambofmine // @maracujatangerine // @pinkraindropsfell // @writereleaserepeat // @blood-and-regrets // @littlespacecastle // @snakebites-and-ink // @unforgiven235 // @lonesome--hunter // @atomicsandwichprince // @writereleaserepeat // @whatamidoingherehelpme // @skittles-the-whumpee // @the-blind-one-speaks // @i-eat-worlds // @devourerofcheesecake // @theauthorintraining // @otterfrost // @mommymarichatfurever // @whumpifi // @catnykit // @bitchaknso // @softmutt444 // @yet-another-heathen // @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat // @burnticedlatte // @violent-ultraviolet // @limitlesstrash17 // @inspiral-rl // @coyotehusk // @mis-graves // @caffeinatedscorpio // @defire // @badluck990 // @unforgivenn //

If you’re interested in being added to the tag list, please let me know!

[ilythecolorpink]

The better one P2 (Satoru Gojo x fem reader)

On the car ride, he says, "Stop right here," to Kiyotaka Ijichi. I ask him, "Is everything okay, Satoru?" as I turn to face him. Gojo faces me and nods. "Gojo, are you serious?" Ijichi asks as he chimes in. "I'm sure, don't worry about it, just go," Gojo replies. I then step out after Gojo as Ijichi pulls away "I know this is unexpected, but there is a special grade, so just stay by side. Then the cursed spirit emerges and attempts to crush Gojo, which Gojo easily avoids.

Gojo grabs my waist and says, "Be a good girl and let me handle this, got it?" in my ear. I respond with a blush and say, "Mhm, please be careful." He then flashes a cocky smile as he says, "How cute worrying about me, this will be nothing” Gojo begins to move toward the direction of the special grade and declares, "This is going to be fun." Gojo tends to the one cursed spirit while doing so. You are drawn to another spirit as they emerge from the shadows and you say, "I can never catch a break can I." He manages to hit me once, leaving a severe cut on my arm, as I block his attack with my arms.

"Didn't anyone teach you any fucking manners? That hurts, you know". I hear Gojo ask, "Y/N you, okay?" just as I turn to attack. I immediately give him a smile and ask, "What's this tiny scratch? I'm fine.” Then, as he walks away, he nods. I then focus on the cursed spirit, attacking it with my cursed technique. It pushes me against one of the trees while we are fighting, and blood begins to run down my face, from the cut on my forehead. I start to laugh as I declare, "I'm starting to like this a lot," feeling as though I don't care what happens anymore. Then, as I gesture with my finger for it to approach, I say, "Oh, don't be shy, come over."

As it approaches me, I cut it off before it even has a chance to get near enough, stomp on its head, and then kick it away with my heel. I make my way towards Gojo, I spit blood out of my mouth as I notice that he has not even sustained any damage, whereas the cursed spirit has been severely injured. He turns to face me and says, "That cursed spirit better be dead, because I swear I will kill it with my own bare hands for what it did to you." He gives me a worried look. Then I laugh and add, "Don't worry about it, its ugly ass is dead."

I then take a position next to Gojo and lean down towards the cursed spirit, teasingly asking, "Aww poor baby, want me to pick up where he left off?" He looks at me with a smile on his face and says, "Fuck Y/N, you look so hot." while admiring your beauty. "Heh, you don't look too bad yourself, now I guess, I can play a little rough, yeah?" I then smirk as I turn to face him. Once you and Gojo had finished, he insisted on taking you to his house. I comply because I am unable to object. He invites me inside and places me on his couch before going to grab badges and rubbing alcohol.

He continues, "I know this is going to hurt, just remember that it will only last a few seconds, okay doll?" as he applies some rubbing alcohol to a cotton swab. After tending to my injuries, he leans in close and asks, "Can I kiss you love?" as our lips are now a few inches apart. I then blush as I answer, "Please do," in a voice that is nearly whisper-like. Then, as I cup his face and faintly moan in reaction, he kisses me while his hand begins to trace my thigh.

P1: https://www.tumblr.com/ilythecolorpink/727247942035144705/the-better-one-satoru-gojo-x-fem-reader-p1

A/N: I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH. I HOPE THIS IS OKAY. ALSO THE NEW EP WAS SO GOOD.

[abbysbasement]

nah cuz listen ur so real about sub!abby I wanna make her feel so good, make her legs shake and come so hard 🙏🏼🙏🏼 (abby's a rough(but loving) dom and reader's a soft dom that's my truth :3)

like I’m so sick to my stomach about her 😭 wait let me jump in real quick

A/N: dirty whorish smut, I got carried away BAD 😵‍💫 thank u anon for satisfying my sub!abby fix bcz I need her so bad. BRING HER TO ME NOW!

cw: sub!abby, dom!reader, petplay elements, cunnilingus (mutual), strap on penetration (mutual), humiliation/teasing (light), orgasm denial (ment.)

as I said before, 18+ grown folks business

abby is absolutely a rough, hard fucking dom, pushing you against (and sometimes past) your limits, demanding everything from you. your body, your heart, every inch of your existence should belong to her without question. she’s so soft afterwards, cleaning you up, thanking you for how cooperative you were, making you feel like a good girl again, rewarding you with a couple of gentle fingers or her tongue before she puts you to bed.

abby in her subspace, though? Like night and day.

to everyone else, she’s scary, intimidating, unapproachable, can beat you to death with her bare hands and not give a fuck. to you? she’s your baby, your puppy, tiny-minded and oh-so obedient. When she’s tense from assignments, or just annoyed and pent up, you weave your way into her mind, bringing her to that special, perfect place where she gets to not think, just listen and feel. she needs it, of course always so stressed out, always feeling so dehumanised from all of the things she’s seen, or had to do. but you make all of that go away, at least for a little bit; all she needs to do is say the magic words and be a real good girl for you.

sometimes it’s you soft domming her as a form of self care; taking her to the bath, wiping her down with warm cloths, cleaning any cuts and soothing any bruises, taking out her pretty braid and letting those golden strands slip free to wash them. she’d wince out of your touch when you swabbed a slit over her brow with alcohol. you’d place a soft kiss on her temple after, shushing her whines.

“gotta let mommy take care of you, puppy. gotta make sure my pretty thing is okay.”

and she’d melt again, feeling so safe and cared for and protected. being able to let her guard down, letting you finish cleaning her everywhere, jumping just a little at the feeling of the rough, wet cloth wiping through her pussy and ass. she’d let you towel her off, comb through and braid her hair while it dries, soothing your fingers over every scar, planting fairy-light kisses on each bruise. your perfect girl, only yours.

-

sometimes, you use submission as a form of stress relief for her; when she flops down on the bed after a long day, you’ll be rubbing her tummy, leaving hickeys. willing her to stay, to relax, open your legs, baby, don’t you want mommy to make you feel good? be a good girl, mommy will take alll of it away. You’d proceed to dropping down between those golden, freckled thighs, cleaning her out until she’s in the condition you like, pristine; clit hard and swollen, standing at attention, lips soaked in her juices and your saliva, just wet enough to drip into your palm, her hole clenching around the memory of your fingers that reached every spot. by the time you get done, she doesn’t even remember why she was so frustrated in the first place.

you’re stingy with your pussy while you’re in domspace. she has to earn the right to touch it, to kiss it, to stick her tongue inside and fuck you until you’re sobbing. one night, she got mouthy, acted like a bratty, disobedient little mutt, so you took away her treat. instead of letting her fill you up with her strap like you had planned, you punished her by fucking yourself with your fingers and audaciously, her own de-harnessed cock, and made her watch the entire time. she was dripping, begging; she was so sorry, she would be a good girl this time, just one more chance, please, please. but you came, alone, and put her to bed with an ache in her little cunt and a frustration that she definitely took out on the recruits during training.

when you do let her fuck you, however, it’s a sweet torture. she’s watching you ride her, trying her best to abide by your ‘no touching’ rule, as her pussy wets from underneath the harness. it’s so cute, watching her try to keep her cool, the thick veins in her neck bulging, her face red, muscles in her arms tensing and relaxing as she tries pitifully to keep them at her side. you use her like a fucking dildo, and it drives her insane with lust. “mhmm— babygirl, making mommy feel sooo good, filling up mommy’s pussy so well.” you’d moan, nails scratching the pale flesh of her chest, leaving angry red lines across her breasts as you chased your peak. she’d only be able to hold you after you came, your squirt rolling down her chest as she held you tight. she’s denied again, tonight, but it’s enough that she gets to feel your divine skin under her hands, gets to be in your presence, gets to make her princess feel so good, even though she’s a just a mutt. sometimes if she’s a real good girl, you spread your pussylips and give her a ‘special dessert,’ which she always devours happily, sloppily.

when you fuck her, it’s a different story. sometimes you’re mean; making her ride you, full eye contact, arms at her sides, never allowed to touch you. “c’mon soldier, I said pick up the pace! gotta catch up with those scars!” you giggle crudely, giving her a mock salute, wearing one of her uniform hats, the one with the brim that casts a shadow over your eyes so all she can see is your evil smile. slapping her ass, kneading it, your little toy soldier. she’s embarrassed, so embarrassed, the way she’s moaning, the way her pussy is so creamy, all of those juicy noises spilling out, the way her ears keep filling with the sound of her little titties slapping against her chest as she bounces away. you’re looking at her like she’s a little prop, just entertainment, and she becomes so small, so dirty, but drunk on the way you make her feel. this person, no, this creature, that you make her become.

edit: the original, soft ending of this got cut off by tumblr, for some reason, so here's the amended version

sometimes, you're soft and sweet, giving her exactly what she needs. fisting her hair in low light that wraps around her body as you fuck her gently, taking slowly, marveling at how you can feel her heartbeat through her panting, heaving chest. she'd be wet for you, –she's always wet for you– so good and obedient and dripping around your cock, tiny delicate moans that she tries to stifle, but you're everythingwhere , snaking a hand between your bodies to rub her throbbing clit, working out her pretty noises with no effort.

when abby's with you, she gets to be. not a ruthless killing machine, not a broken child soldier, or the darkness she had to create to survive her trauma, to survive whatever the fuck all of this is. just be. she's quiet about what she needs but you hear it, and you give it away without her having to ask. she gets to be with you, in this third space where nothing else exists, where for a couple of hours a night it’s just you and her and shared desire. shes frowning; her eyes are pensive as she looks through you, out to nothing. but whatever it is rushing through her mind, you catch it; you kiss her deeply, you hold her, 'baby, go to sleep.' as you ghost fingertips through her hair in just that way she likes it, and she's back to you, and she closes her eyes even though you always make her feel not tired somehow. and she'll fall asleep.

when she's with you, she's repaired.

she's home.

when she's with you, she's repaired.

she's home.

[becauseimanicequeen]

RANDOM THOUGHTS: Unknown ep. 8

It’s finally Unknown time again! I just want to preface this post by mentioning that I have the worst migraine right now so I might start crying because of the most ridiculous shit. And then comment on the fact that I’m crying because of the most ridiculous shit. So, beware. But, since it’s Unknown, I won’t mind the possible tears fest. Just make me bawl my eyes out. Even if it is for the most ridiculous shit. Thanks.

Shit, it’s barely started and I’m already tearing up. The way they’re looking at each other. There’s definitely a difference from before. It might be because Qian is different or because both of them are. But there’s definitely something that’s changed.

If anyone (read San Pang) doubted Yuan could take care of Qian before, they won’t it doubt anymore.

Omg it’s so awkward. And the surprise on Qian’s face when Yuan served drinks to Xiong and San Pang first… It’s not even been 5 minutes and I’m already crying. I’m blaming my migraine, of course…

Allergies?! What the fuck kind of excuse is that? That’s not allergies. Don’t listen to San Pang. That’s your sister’s doing, Qian. Now, out with the knives!

Omg, Qian didn’t grab a knife. He grabbed a fucking cleaver! The way I laughed until my eyes were leaking…

Look at Yuan sitting there in the background just eating his snacks watching this like a movie at the cinemas. Iconic!

Wait, is Quian so fierce he can cause injuries with cotton swabs? Well, I don’t actually have to see it to believe it. If it is to protect his sister, he can do anything.

Yuan said Qian’s full name when wishing him a good night, not Ge. And after he talked about changes. Specifically the changes in dynamics in the relationships between Qian and Lili and Qian and Yuan.

Yuan being all hot and cold is giving me whiplash. Dude, make up your mind, please.

Why do I get a sense that Yuan is being a tad manipulative? This is getting weird… I don’t want to feel this way about Yuan.

Lili is so fucking cute. If San Pang ever hurts her, I hope Qian beats that mofo to a fucking pulp.

No! Why did they stop the episode there? It was just getting interesting.

This was another great episode. It’s definitely awkward between Qian and Yuan, which isn’t that strange considering they’ve been apart for years. But I love watching characters be uncomfortable, squirm, and not know where to look. That shit is my guilty pleasure. So, I’m as happy as I can be with this migraine.

[minotaur-asterion]

The voices, and when they get down with the sickness (long post underneath, please prepare yourself):

I think Hero kind of wishes they could act out that classic sickfic scene where they get to stay in bed all day and someone brings them soup and takes good care of them. Well, it’ll never happen with that nervous attitude, so until they get the balls to ask someone they’ll have to suck it up and take care of themselves. So, so tired the entire time. Poor meow meow

Alternatively, Hero’s a doting caretaker, if not physically distant. Doesn’t want to catch anything… but rest assured, they’re at their charge’s beck and call- they’ll bring food, medicine, heating pads, blankets, the crown of Russia, Russia, and more!

Cold can’t tell until something really noticeable happens, and even then it can be a while before he figures out he’s sick. Oh, his nose is running? It has been getting cold recently, no pun intended. He collapsed? Has to determine whether it was lack of sleep or if he got stabbed recently and that was blood loss; illness just doesn’t immediately come to mind. Might get a little loopy and out of it while recovering. Appreciates the lack of taste if forced to eat

Cold’s really good at treating sick folks, but taking care of them can be 50/50 depending on who it is. If he actually gives a shit he mostly curls up in a chair nearby and chills- again, pun not intended- until they need something. He might even offer the briefest of cuddles, which depending on his charge’s strength might end up lasting a lot longer than he planned

Cheated gets sick a lot- he doesn’t get much sleep so his body doesn’t have a lot of energy to fight it off. It’s total chaos if he gets a fever. Complains soooo much. But he gets very warmly happy if someone throws in the towel to take care of him. Wants to snuggle a lot

He refuses to take care of most of the others. Fuck them! But he’s probably going to get roped into it one way or another, knowing his luck. The only people he’d actually agree to care for is Opportunist and Contrarian since they live together. I’ve always imagined those three as a package deal anyway

Speaking of Opportunist- ey’re used to a little bit of body ache, so ey’re able to power through the less severe colds and such, just take it a little easier than usual, wear a mask to work, you know. It gets trickier when severe sickness aligns with a bad back day, ey don’t enjoy feeling like that while barely being able to move around. Ey’re honored if anyone decides to help, honestly…

Opportunist is a believer in laughter being the best medicine. He likes to talk and talk about all sorts of things just to take his charge’s mind off their symptoms. He also likes to hear himself talk, so it’s a bonus, really!

Contrarian… surprisingly barely ever gets sick. Or, at least, they don’t let on most of the times they do. Maybe they get a little quieter, but it’s surprisingly easy to melt into the crowd for them. It’s probably easier to not expect or ask for anything anyway

But on the contrary, pun intended this time, Contrarian loves to help out and take care of sick folks. God knows he’s not helpful at all with treating the sickness- which makes me think he’d be a good duo with Cold- but he’ll certainly entertain and keep company. “Oh, but you’ll catch something-“ he definitely will, but it’s worth it!

Paranoid is fascinated by disease. Would probably get sick and immediately think “how can I turn this into a zombie-making virus?” Jots down every single sniffle in her journal. Studies the microorganisms that caused it. Just really weird and iconically herself about it. The few times she does sleep, her dreams will be even weirder than usual. I think her obsession with recording the darn thing is overriding the symptoms

It’s much the same with when someone else is sick- pencil to paper, on a scale of one to ten how bad do you feel, describe your symptoms, can I get a swab for totally normal not nefarious reasons. Makes sure to wash her hands after existing in the same room as anyone who’s sick

Broken genuinely doesn’t think it’ll make it. Sure, it’s a really light flu, but it just won’t survive. Most illnesses are similar to a bad pain day regardless of how bad they’d normally be, but the good thing about the whole ordeal is snuggles and attention… Even if it’s out like a light most of the time. Might get weird and horny about it

Broken gets really worried about the others when they’re sick, and usually sticks them in bed if he can even move them there. Perches at the foot of the bed and watches closely. A little creepy, but he means well. So so so worried

Hunted’s surprisingly clean, so it’s hard for it to get too sick. Very pragmatic approach to dealing with it, which includes keeping everything clean during times when it feels better and resting when it feels worse. Doesn’t enjoy it for a second, especially when it clogs its ears and nose, but it’ll survive

Goes a little haywire when someone else is sick. You’ve never bore witness to the kind of strength it can muster to get someone in its nest. Protective as all get out, preens and tries to spoon feed. Will only allow people it trusts with its life- and maybe not even that depending on how feral it is- near the nest

Stubborn isn’t one to get sick often, and even then through the sheer power of, I dunno, muscles or something, he can fight it off pretty well. Just lay off the baking for a bit so he doesn’t accidentally infect anyone… In the rarest cases where he just can’t keep going as usual, he becomes surprisingly tame. Too tired to get all worked up. Sleepy little guy…

They can also be surprisingly helpful, especially with calming down a much stronger personality (cough. Hunted) who’s also trying to take care of someone sick. Makes the meanest fucking soup you’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting. And I say this with Broken definitely in mind, but they get a little affectionate about it. Just a smidge. Not because they care about this person, no! Don’t be ridiculous

Smitten probably gets sick all the time from his flower allergies, but he can’t bring himself to stop gardening. That’s why he got allergy medicine. If it’s not allergies he’s stumped on what to do. Might even get dramatic about it- write his will, eat some ice cream while watching his favorite rom com shows (he knows at least that sugar can help calm nausea), read Shakespeare, uh… I don’t know what else he’d do but it’d be dramatic!

Smitten’s a total sweetheart when taking care of someone else. Breakfast in bed, reads to them (dyslexic, does silly voices), treats them like total royalty. The drawback? Literally never takes care of anyone on a whim. Has to be planned, premeditated. Draws up a schedule of the whole thing

Skeptic likes to take sick days slow. Sit in the butterfly garden. Unless it’s winter. Then he’ll just stay in bed the whole day. Probably hibernates through the illness and wakes up crusty but healthy

He’ll certainly try his best to take care of someone else, but he’s not that great at it. Good at reassuring them about their anxieties though. Gives them a little too much medicine

I have a feeling Meek might be immune to disease. Otherwise she’d fucking die. Sneezes so loudly it’s like a bomb went off

She’s also not great about helping someone through their sickness, but she’ll scoot into their lap and offer them to pet her. The others suspect she might even like being pet… she will vehemently deny it though

Flinching is very shaky when she’s sick. Terrible grip strength. She’ll realize something’s off when she accidentally drops her favorite mug and now has to sadly stare at it on the ground before Doubting picks it up and puts it back together (he made a mug that’s easy to repair specifically for this reason)

Very gentle with sick people, almost as though she’s afraid to break them. Wonderful bedside manner. If she wasn’t so squeamish she would’ve tried becoming a nurse, but alas, just a librarian for now…

Doubting’s vision is usually bleary, but eventually he’ll figure out something’s wrong when he puts his glasses on and he still can’t see well. He’s a good patient, though, and recovers quickly with the right conditions

A lot like Flinching, he’s also good about taking care of others. May or may not be developing experimental treatments for diseases though. Do not touch those beakers

Much like a huge disoriented beast, Obsessed doesn’t do well with sickness. It messes with them badly. Not as clean as Hunted about it but definitely not to be trifled with still. Think like a rabid animal, how they can lose their fear of certain things and just… stare

They don’t live near anyone, so there’s nobody to take care of when sick

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Angels Are Avian-Adjacent"

Rated: Teen

Pairing: Steve x Bucky

Tags: wing fic, avian creatures, angel Steve, veterinarian Bucky, supernatural meet-cute, fantasy au, injury and medical treatment

Summary: Unlike Bucky's regular patients, Steve was going to need a bit more reassurance than a simple belly rub or placating scritch behind the ear.

(A last minute fill to grab a B-I-N-G-O on Stucky'Verse Bingo!)

A fill for @stuckyversebingo

card: sarah-writes-stucky / sarahyellow

Square D1: "Creature: Avian"

“I … I don’t think I can do this,” Bucky stuttered, hands fluttering about nervously, hovering over one of the massive wings and then pulling away again, too freaked out to touch him. “You’re hurt. Y-you need a doctor.”

“You’re a doctor.”

“I’m a veterinarian!” 

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Steve said, voice coming out strained due to the pain he was in, “but don’t you still receive a fair degree of medical training for that?”

“For animals!” Bucky blustered. “N-not, not humans! And certainly not for … whatever the heck you are!”

Steve huffed in frustration. “I told you, I’m an—”

“An angel. Yeah, you said that.” Bucky still didn’t want to believe it, even though the proof was in the pudding, and the pudding was currently lying face down on his clinic’s exam table—all two hundred pound, six foot tall, approximately twelve foot wingspan of it. Bucky laughed slightly hysterically. “This is insane!”

“Be that as it may, this actually hurts like a motherfucker, so if you don’t mind, isn’t there something you could give me?” Steve grit out. Bucky hesitated, until the creature turned to face him, a wince taking over his—sweaty and visibly pained, but also admittedly angelic—features. “Please?” he breathed, fear and pleading in his eyes. “I can’t go to a regular hospital. Please. You understand, don’t you?”

Bucky nodded after a beat. “Yeah,” he whispered, though he really didn’t understand a fucking thing at all. “O-okay.” He swallowed nervously and looked around, trying to gather his wits. “Um, do - do you know how meds affect you?”

Steve shook his head and tried to shrug, but when his shoulders moved his wings did too, and he gasped sharply, his pearly white teeth bared in a pained snarl—though far prettier than any made by Bucky’s usual patients. “I don’t know,” he said tightly, voice clipped from the pain of trying to hold himself still. “I’ve never needed medicine. I don’t usually get sick. or hurt.”

Bucky made a dubious face. “O-kaay … well ... how much do you weigh?” 

Steve gave him his best guess, and Bucky decided that he probably wouldn’t kill a roughly two hundred-twenty pound, avian-adjacent humanoid creature with a conservative amount of ketamine. Despite the wings he had sprouting out of his back, Steve did still appear to be mammalian in nature. The guy had nipples, leastways.

 “Okay,” Bucky said, sighing as he pulled out his phone. “Hang on for a sec.”

“What are you doing?”

His lips twisted as he started typing. “You’re just a tad heavier than my usual patients, bud. I’m consulting Dr. Google for your dosage conversion.”

After navigating past a slew of search results promoting crisis hotlines and addiction recovery centers, he was able to find the information he needed to calculate how much of the drug to give Steve. “Okay,” he breathed, still wildly nervous and freaked out over what was going on. He went and prepared an injection of the medication and came back to prep the angel’s arm with a tourniquet and alcohol swab. Steve didn’t make a peep when the needle went in, and a minute later, his body was visibly relaxing from the sudden relief of pain. 

“Oh,” he breathed, blond eyelashes fluttering against his pretty cheeks. “Oh, thank you. That’s … that’s much better.”

Not knowing where to touch him, Bucky tentatively patted the angel’s hair. “You’re welcome,” he said, eyes sliding down to the injured wing. There was a shard of metal wedged up between the secondary convert and marginal convert feathers, the blood that stained their white color indicating that whatever the object was, it’d likely pierced Steve in the humeral portion of his … his wing. 

Bucky licked his lips and moved his hands down Steve’s back, hovering, afraid to touch something so foreign. “Um, okay,” he hedged. “There’s some sort of shrapnel. I can see where it is, but I need to get a better look at the point of entry. Can you …” (Jesus, what the everloving fuck was he even doing?) “Um, can you move your wing at all?” He gingerly touched the coracoscapular joint, watching as Steve worked up the nerve to give a tentative movement. He hissed at the motion, but was able to slowly unfold his left wing out from his back. “Good,” Bucky praised, gloved hands gently guiding him. “Okay, easy. Good, right there. That’s good enough.”

Steve stopped moving, panting from the exertion, a slight sheen of sweat on his brow when he turned his head further to look at Bucky out of the corner of his eye. “How bad is it?”

“It’s not gonna be life threatening,” Bucky said after a moment of carefully moving the feathers out of the way to examine the site of penetration. “Unless you’ve got a major blood vessel in a place where birds don’t.” He inspected the injury, mentally cataloguing the supplies he was going to need to perform the extraction. “Okay,” he muttered under his breath, talking more to himself than he was to Steve. “Okay, yeah. I think this is gonna be okay. I think we can do this.”

“You can?”

Bucky’s attention shot back to Steve, who sounded very anxious. Bucky was abruptly reminded that unlike his regular patients, Steve was going to need a bit more reassurance than a simple belly rub or placating scritch behind the ear. “Yeah,” he promised, firming up his voice into something more confident and professional. “Yeah. Your anatomy is basically human, with avian anatomy in the places where I need to work."

“You operate on angels often?” Steve joked nervously.

“Nope. But I know birds, and it’s more a matter of basic principles than anything else,” Bucky reassured. “Don’t worry. I know what to do.” 

Steve exhaled in relief, and Bucky didn’t feel too guilty for making a promise he wasn’t a hundred percent confident on. “Kay,” he said, turning around to go gather what he’d need for the procedure. “We’re gonna do this under a local anesthetic, so you’ll be awake. Just give me a few minutes while I get ready.”

Masterlist

If you liked what you read and feel so inclined, please consider dropping a tip in the Kofi🍵 cup!

[moira-mains-go-to-hell]

Hiii can I request mercy x Fem reader that refuse to get treated by her eventho she's really sick and cannot get up on her own. maybe she's scared or smth >< I kinda have a bit trauma from past experiences with visiting Dr so I kinda a bit scared of them loll but thank youuu

Feel free to ignore

I felt that, I didn’t get treated right once for a kidney issue and had two different surgeries.

Off the Clock

Pairing: platonic! Mercy x Reader

Warnings: sickness, medical stuff

“For the last time I am fine,” you grumbled as Cassidy stood in your doorway, a tray with the soup you asked him to get from your favorite restaurant.

“Fine is the ability to come get this from where I’m standing,” he held the bag out on the end of one finger, giving you a ‘come get it’ look and a nod.

“But I am just so comfortable here in my-“ a coughing fit wracked your lungs, a burning ache filling your chest with each heave, “fucking hell.”

“You sound worse than a dog with a stick in its throat,” he walked in, setting the soup on the nightstand next to your bed, “there’s some mucinex in the bag too, but I think you’ll need an exorcist to get anywhere near better.”

“Thanks,” you roll your eyes, looking over at him, “can I get a hand sitting up?”

He sighed and shook his head, helping you up, “go to the doctor. If you can’t even get up then there is definitely something wrong.”

You shook your head, holding up an ‘x’ with your arms, “Cassidy, it’s just a cough and a head ache, please don’t get a medic.”

“Why are you being so stubborn? I need my field partner! You are the only one of these assholes I like out here!”

“Cassidy…” you look at him, a plea behind your eyes, “I don’t do well with all that medical stuff. Please stop asking,” you folded your hands, not quite looking him in the eye.

He sighed, “I don’t think it’s my place to ask about it, so I’m not, but I need you to get through this, if not in three days, I’m calling a damn doctor for you,” Cassidy made the ‘I’m watching you’ hand sign and left, leaving you with your sickness and soup.

The next day he went around the same time to check on you, hearing you blow your nose from outside the door.

“Feeling any- what the-“ he stopped, looking around your room. There where tissues loose on the floor, and your face was a bit more pale than yesterday, your eyes carrying luggage instead of bags.

“I told you to get better! Not worse!” He set the tea he got you in the nightstand, walking towards the door.

“Where are you going?” You tried to sit up but you slipped, wincing a bit as your back hit the bed.

“Doctor,” he cut short as he rushed out, closing the door behind himself.

About a 10 minutes later you heard a knock.

“Don’t come in!” You groan, rolling over on your side as you let out another terrible cough.

“Y/n this is for your own good!”

“Cassidy I said no doctors damn it!”

“It’s not a doctor! It’s Angela!”

“She is literally a doctor!”

“Not of the clock she isn’t! Her shift doesn’t start for another ten minutes,” at that he entered the room, Ziegler in tow.

“Cassidy I told you I don’t do this medical shit-“

“I promise none of the ‘medical shit’ I do is anything terrible,” her voice was soft, but you were still wary, “we haven met yet in person, but I’ve heard much about you, hello, I’m Angela.”

“And I am not the most gung-ho for you to be in my room,” As she approached the side of your bed you scooted away, noticing a small gun shaped device in her hand, “What’s that?” You look from the device to her.

She raised the device to her own forehead, clicking the trigger and showing you the small screen on the back, “it’s a touchless thermometer, I’m only going to take your temperature, is that ok?”

You nod, settling a bit as she pointed it at your forehead.

“You are running a high fever, and based on what Cassidy has already told me, you may have the flu,” she reaches into the bag she had with her and took out two sterile swabs, “I’m going to let you do this part, swipe the inside of both cheeks and as far back in your throat as you can.”

You do as told, handing them beck to her. She puts them into two test tubes, placing them into her bag.

“See? That wasn’t so bad. I only needed two things from you.”

“I guess, but that was just for my little sickness, what about if I where bleeding out or something?”

“Then it would be different I suppose,” she sat on the edge of your bed, “ but would you trust that I would take care of you then too?”

You wanted to say no, to tell her that her efforts were fruitless, but she was so nice. She treated you with so much ease and kindness and you where so rude to her.

“I guess I would,” you tilted your head a bit, looking over at Cassidy who gave you a thumbs up.

“Good, I’ll have your results in an hour, if it’s anything bad, you don’t have to call Cassidy anymore, you’ve got an angel on your shoulder now.”

[anti-the-glitch-bitch]

You'll always be alive in my head

This is for prompt #4 Hallucinations. It gets really dark so fair warning.

TW: Character Death, Descriptions of decaying bodies, wounds, panic attack, blood

Summary: Clint is held captive after a mission goes wrong. Used as an experiment, he must face his fears and come to terms with wounds he'd thought had healed. Will he make it through or will his mind crumble under the pressure?

I really hope you like this. Please leave a comment if you do. It'll decide if I do this again next year.

Clint is going to kill Fury when he gets out of here. He knows Clint is better at long range than up close. Yeah, he can hold his own if he has to but it was always Nat that was great at close range combat. 

Now, he's strapped to a table in some mad scientist's lab staring down said mad scientist. 

Doctor Andrew Tachrive is currently trying to create a mind control device that controls what the poor victim sees. In order to do that he's been injecting people with a special chemical compound that activates certain parts of the brain. 

Clint was supposed to grab a vial of the compound and try to get any information he could get his hand on. 

Obviously something went wrong. 

He never should have taken the mission. He should have told Fury to shove off. 

He isn't Nat and now it's going to bite him in the ass. 

“Come on Doc. I. Sure we can talk this out.” Clint says as he struggles against his binds. 

He's strapped to a metal table with leather cuffs around his ankles and wrists. Neither give him any leeway to move. The strap across his chest keeps him from wiggling too much and the strap across his forehead keeps his head firmly positioned against the table. 

Doctor Tachrive walks toward Clint t with a needle in hand filled with a neon blue liquid that Clint assumes is the compound. “What is there to talk about, Hawkeye? I have an Avengers in my lab to use as a test subject. This will provide wonderful results for my experiments.”

“You won't be getting any results when my friends find out where I am and blow the place up.” Clint says through gritted teeth. 

The doctor chuckles standing just out of reach of Clint's hands. “How? The place has a tracker jammer in place. The trees are too close to the building to be seen  from satellites properly. You are about to be incapacitated. So, Hawkeye. Please, tell me how your little friends are going to find me?”

Damn. He's got a good point. Even Shield struggled to find this place. Will they even notice something is wrong if he doesn't show up in a few days? God he hopes so. He really doesn't want to be injected with whatever that is but it's not looking too good right now. 

“Tony's a smart guy. He'll notice if I miss another game night.” Clint is trying to bluff his way through now. 

Tachrive scoffs as he prepares the area on Clint's arm for injection. Ripping an alcohol swab open he wipes down the crook of the arm thoroughly. When finished he looks at the Archer strangely. 

“Perhaps your friends do find this place. Maybe they do rescue you and shit this place down.” He sticks the syringe into a vein and slowly injects the shot into Clint's arm. “It will be too late to save you from what's about to happen. It won't save you from what you're about to see.”

Clint has no words for that and just watches the doctor throw the syringe into a biohazard waste bin. Tachrive turns around to address Clint again. “I will be back in an hour to watch the reaction… Not that you will notice.”

Well, that's not ominous. Clint is really wishing he'd told the group where he was going when Steve had asked. 

He's really wishing he'd told Fury to fuck off. 

Clint is expecting something to happen far sooner than it does. He spends most of that time trying to figure his way out. It's not until the twenty minute mark that he starts noticing anything weird. 

A child's voice rings out, faintly sounding as though it came from down the hallway. It sounds like a young boy yelling out for his dad. The kid only calls out a few times before fading away. The voice almost sounded like Cooper but that's impossible. Right?”

A small shot of doubt and fear shoots through Clint making him struggle against his binds harder. It works as well as it did the first time, which is, not at all. 

Five minutes later he swears he hears Lila screaming for him. Begging for him to save her. The terror in her voice, as she screams for Clint, makes his face pale. How did this guy find them? If his daughter is here then the boy crying out earlier was absolutely Cooper. Oh god. Do they have Nathaniel or Laura? What’s the sick bastard doing to them?

Fear and adrenaline spark through his entire body. Clint frantically pulls at the cuffs but the most they do is rattle where the links meet the table. He growls in frustration at his helplessness. He has no weapons he can reach. His wristbands have been taken off so the cuffs would fit.

They have his family and he’s stuck here completely useless. Father of the year right here.

“Let me out! Let my family go! They have nothing to do with this.” Clint screams.

“Are you sure about that, Legolas?” Clint looks over at the doorway only to see Tony Stark.

Tony is leaning against the doorway wiping his glasses off with his t-shirt, his watch glinting in the harsh light. He’s watching Clint with an eyebrow raised. 

“What are you doing just standing there? Help me get out of this thing.” Clink kicks out as much as he can in emphasis.

Tony doesn’t move at all. He simply hangs his glasses from his shirt and continues to stare down the archer.

“What the fuck are you doing? My kids are in trouble!” Clint yells out in frustration, unable to keep still.

“Some father you are. You can’t even keep your kids safe. I’m surprised your wife never divorced you when this all started. Hell, you’re pretty useless as an Avenger.” Tony says this as if he’s talking about the weather or a grocery list.

“What the fuck are you talking about? Stop standing there and doing something useful, Tony!” He’s panicking in the worst way just thinking about what his kids might be going through.

“Laura was one helluva Shield agent. To think she was one of the best and gave it all up for you. And then you didn’t even have the decency to keep your family safe.” Tony walks into the room glancing around the place. “ She's a great mom and she'd have made an amazing Avengers. I doubt she'd have even blinked twice at keeping you family safe.”

That cut Clint to the quick because Tony is right, isn’t he? She'd been at the very top and had given it all up so she could stay home and raise the kids. While he's doing what? Gallivanting all over the world? He's barely home anymore and it kills him. 

Another scream echoes along the hallway and it sounds exactly like Laura. The terror in her voice shakes Clint. She's a seasoned agent. It takes a lot to make her sound like that. What are those monsters doing to her? 

“Laura? Laura, baby just hold on! I'll get you out of here!” Clint screams as loud as he can. 

Clint is scratching at the cuffs around his wrists like a wild animal. With the little momentum he has he jerks his legs back and forth trying to break the ankle cuffs. All it does is wear him out. 

Tony watches him while sitting on a little stool until Clint stops wheeling himself over to where Clint can see him. 

“Well. That was a life dramatic and anticlimactic. I don't think you're getting out of this one, Legolas.” With a little smirk Tony boops Clint's nose. 

Clint growls, “I would if you'd untie me instead of acting like this is some kind of fucking vacation! That's my family they're hurting. What would you do if that was Pepper?”

“Oh, I'd burn this place to the ground but I'm not the one strapped to the table. Am I?” Tony shrugs and gets up. “While this has been absolutely riveting, I do have better things to do. I can't just sit around all day listening to people screaming.”

What? Is Tony about to leave? Is he seriously about to leave Clint and his family in this place? 

No. 

No, that can't be right. Tony wouldn't do that. The guy has a lot of faults but he'd never abandon someone in need. Especially a fellow Avenger. 

But… those things he said. 

“Tony! You can't leave. At least get my family out of here. Please!” The desperation in Clint's voice is palpable. “Tony!!”

The genius doesn't say anything as he walks toward the doorway. No matter how much Clint begs and screams, the man leaves. 

A guttural scream builds up in Clint's throat. All that fear, frustration, and helplessness building up into a horrible noise. 

The screams of his family are getting louder with Nathaniel’s voice added into the group to create some sort of sick harmony. The intermingling voices are driving Clint insane and can’t help but wonder what god he angered to have his family tortured like this with no reprise.

He’s watching the doorway for any sign of his family or their tormentors when a familiar figure walks past the door, red hair with blonde tips fluttering in the air as she quickly walks by. 

It’s not possible. He watched her die. His heart broke the day that she sacrificed herself for him. His best friend wouldn’t have just walked by alive and indifferent to him strapped here. This has to be a ploy. A trick by his captors to break his mind.

With the screams of his wife and kids echoing in the room, Clint fears it might be working.

“Nat!” He screams out to the illusion on the off chance that it’s real.

“You dont deserve to say that name.” a female voice with a Russian accent says with such disgust.

Turning his head toward the voice as much as he can his heart nearly stops.

No longer does he see the sterile lab he’s trapped in. No, he’s back on Vormir, breathing in the thick air again. Yelena, Natasha’s sister is standing on the edge of that forsaken cliff casually balanced on the balls of her feet. She’s wearing the same clothes he saw her in last. Her arms are crossed and the look of disgust on her face makes Clint feel like a bug.

“You don’t deserve to utter her name.” Yelena snarls, “Not after you killed her.”

“No! I tried to catch her. I did everything I could to save her. It was supposed to be me.” It’s a conversation they’ve had before and he thought they were past it but the anger in her voice tells him otherwise.

“You could have done more. Should have done more. Now, I will never see her again.” Unshed tears shimmer in Yelena’s eyes. “I will never get to see my sister again.”

“You know… He let your family die so I say we show him what that pain feels like.” Kate Bishop is standing off to the side with her bow notched and ready to be used.

Clint’s heart falls seeing his family kneeling before Kate and Yelena. They have their backs to him but what he sees is enough. Each of them has their arms tied behind their backs. Their clothes are ripped and he can see bruises and blood covering every inch of their exposed skin.

Clint cries out for them but they don't turn around. It’s as if he doesn’t exist. Maybe he doesn’t. Everything seems to be out of place and surreal and yet at the same time what if his doubt is wrong and it gets his family killed?

His mind is cracking under the pressure.

“I’m not sure how you fooled me into thinking you’re such a great role model but I think it’s time to rectify that,” Kaye says cheerfully as she aims her bow at Lila.

“NOOO!!” Clint screams. “Please, Kate. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong but don’t take t out on them. They’re innocent. Let them go!”

“You let me die, Clint. That’s what you did wrong. I loved you like family and you didn’t save me.” Natasha walks into view as if she’s been there the whole time.

Except it’s not possible. She’s dead.

His best friend. His sister. His family is standing in front of him looking just as she did when she jumped off the cliff. He’d hug her if it wasn’t for the fact he’s still strapped down. Instead, his frustration spills out of him as tears.

“Nat, this isn’t possible. I watched you die.” Clint’s voice is full of disbelief.

Natasha scoffs and cocks the gun she pulls out of her thigh holster. “No thanks to you. Which is why your family has to die.”

With swift movements, Natasha and Yelena shoot Laura, Cooper, and Nathaniel in the head while Kate shoots Lila in the head with an arrow.

Clint screams and struggles to break free as each member slumps forward, blood instantly pooling around their bodies from the wounds. The screams elicited from Clint are those of a broken man. Of a man whose been betrayed by those he trusts.

His mind crumbles and he throws himself around as well as he can, like a wild animal trapped in a cage. There’s no rational though as he howls with pain and claws at his binds.

The binds fall away like magic though Clint doesn't question it. Instead, he scrambles off the table trying to get to his family as close as possible.

The blood is easier to see the closer to them he gets. Each pool of blood flowing closer to the others and then joining together like a small pool of red liquid. Each wound is just as prominent as the others. 

Clint drops to his knees at the closest person which just so happens to be Lila. He grabs at her still warm body drawing it onto his lap, almost hugging it as he sobs. 

“I'm so sorry.” He cries as he kisses her blood soaked hair. “It's my fault. I'm so so sorry.”

He's oblivious to the world around him as he gently rocks his dead daughter back and forth. 

“This is your fault, Clint.” Nat squats next to him putting her hand on his shoulder. “If you had taken my place, none of this would have happened. Your family would still be alive.”

“Dad?” Lila's eyes are open and focused on Clint's face. Her skin is a pale only the dead can have and her eyes have lost all color. “Why didn't you save us? You're a superhero. An Avenger. Why did you let us die?”

Clint gasps in disbelief. He watched Lila die. He can feel her skin cooling as she lays in his lap. The arrow from Kate's bow is still protruding from Lila's head. 

“How is this possible?” His voice is thick with tears. “I… I watched you die?”

She doesn't answer. Simply looks up at him with those dull eyes, blood leaking down her face from the wound creating the only color on her. Movement in Clint's periphery has him looking over at Laura. She started sitting up as if she wasn't dead just seconds ago. Yet, when she looks over at him he can still see the oozing bullet hole in the middle of her head. 

“Look at what you've done to us, Honey.” Laura says as she gets up. “You've killed us.”

A sob breaks free as he listens to the accusations being thrown at him. He did kill them didn't he? Maybe it wasn't by his hand but if he had tried harder to save Nat then his family wouldn't have been murdered. 

“Dad?” If you loved us you would have saved us.” Copper is standing up helping his brother do the same. 

All Clint can do is repeat the same broken apology over and over again. He sits on the Stoney ground sobbing as his family and friends encircle him. Nat and Yelena pick Clint up under the arms and force him to stand on his own two legs. 

The longer he watches each of them the more he notices how all of their features change. His wife's hair starts to fall out in clumps while Nats skin grows gray and clammy, eventually peeling backwards as it decays, exposing the muscle and tissue underneath. An eyeball falls out of Cooper's eye socket and Nathaniel has less teeth than before. Lila's nose is gone exposing the bone underneath. 

The cacophony of voices grows louder and he can see the crowd surrounding him has grown larger. Even with faces half decayed he recognizes them. Some are from Shield missions gone wrong while others are innocent victims killed while he was trying to save the world as an Avenger. 

The noise of each accusation merges together to create a wall of blame. It presses down on him and cocoons him in a wall of guilt and regret. It's well placed blame that he deserves because it is his fault. It's his fault that they're dead. He could have done so much more. Should have done so much more. 

Clint spins in circles, tear filled eyes flickering from face to face as he tries to continually spit out apologies while choking on the sobs trying to break free. He's nearing levels of hysteria and insanity as his sobs are closer to screams. 

Something pricks his neck and he tries to slap the area but the crowd closes in and attacks. They grab at his clothes and lbs causing his reflexes to kick in. 

Clint fights against the decaying of his loved ones as a spotty darkness enshrouds his vision. It only takes a few minutes before he lacks the energy to continue his fighting. His energy lags so much that if it wasn't for the crowd constantly grabbing at him he would have fallen to the floor. The spotty darkness soon takes over his vision completely and he falls unconscious listening to the screams of the dead and living alike. 

~~~

Clint wakes up confused. There's the smell of cleaning chemicals and the sound of beeping that tells him he's in a hospital but he doesn't know how he got here. Slowly, opening his eyes against the barrage of light in the room, Clint blinks rapidly. He can tell he's in the media at the compound; he just doesn't know how he got here. 

“Glad to see you're awake.” The familiar voice draws Clint's attention to the doorway. 

Clint groans as he tries to remember what happened and how he got here. “Hey, Steve. How long have I been out?”

Steve Rogers moves closer to the bed and hands Clint the small cup of water that was on the table next to him. “A few days. We had to keep you under sedation.”

Clint struggles to process that. Under sedation? What the hell for? “Why was I sedated? Actually, how did you find me? I was in the middle of a Shield mission.”

Steve grabs one of the visitor chairs put in the room and drags it over to the bed, seemingly struggling with something if the expressions on his face are anything to go by. He seems to finally settle on something when he takes a seat. 

“What's the last thing you remember Clint?” Steve says with a soft calm voice. 

Clint squints his eyes at Steve in suspicion and confusion but answers anyway. “I was sneaking into a scientist's lab. I had just managed to get past the security and was working my way inside when…”

What did happen? Why was he having such a hard time remembering? Was it a side effect of the sedation? An echo of a scream bounces around his memories but he can't place where it's from. 

“Why don't I remember? Steve, what happened that I needed sedating?”Clint asks. 

“Fury called the team when your tracker went offline. The place was so well hidden that it took us a few hours to even find the place. When we finally found you, you were strapped to a table screaming about something and trying to break free. I got the straps and cuffs off you and you ran over to one of the security guards Bucky shot screaming about how sorry you were. It was like you were seeing something completely different.” Steve whispers as if that would soften the blow. 

As Steve talks small bits and pieces of memory flash in Clint's mind causing him to gasp in pain. 

Seeing Nat again.

 His family's death. 

Their decaying bodies shambling towards him like zombies. 

“Friday! Call Laura. Call her cell.” Clint shouts as panic sets in. 

“What's wrong Clint? What's going on?” Steve asks. 

Clint doesn't answer until Laura's voice comes through the ceiling confused. “Laura, you're safe.”

“Of course I'm safe, Honey. Clint, what's wrong?” The worry in her voice comes through clear. 

He sighs in relief. It wasn't real. His family is safe. “Sorry, Laura. Just a mission gone wrong. I'll be home whenever I'm cleared from the medbay.”

“Is it serious?” She asks. 

“Mad scientist injected me with some hallucination chemicals to figure out how to mind control people. I'm fine now. I promise.” Clint says it with the utmost confidence praying to whoever will listen that it's true.

Steve nods his head in confirmation. 

“Can't you have normal problems like, I don't know, maybe getting shot?” Laura laughs, “as long as you're okay. I love you.”

“I love you too. Give the kids a hug for me.”

“I will. Now I'm sure you need to do a million other things before you can come home. Text me when you're on the way.”

“You're right I do. I'll let you know.”

They say their goodbyes and when the call has ended Clint sighs in relief. He looks at Steve and gives another sigh but this one is tired and weary. 

“I'll tell you what I know and then I am going to get some answers.” Clint says. 

~~~

Two days later and Clint is finally out of medbay and ready to leave. Whatever chemicals were on that syringe took an awful long time to clear out of his system. He'd have mild hallucinations and start screaming about something terrible he was seeing. Doctors or one of his friends would have to calm him down. 

It happened less and less as the stuff was flushed from his body until he'd finally gotten the all clear sign. He absolutely knows he's going to have nightmares about this and he's prepared to deal with the fall out. 

The wound he thought had healed at losing Nat feels like it's been ripped open and is bleeding again. It's going to take time for such a raw wound to heal again but he'll get there. 

She'll always be alive to him in his head. 

[evidenceof]

Hiya!!

Secret Santa here! 🎅

I’m very excited to be writing for you in the exchange!!

In your form you said that your favourite ships were Winnix, Leckie/Runner, Webgott & Loosier. If you’d be so kind, please tell me your favourite things about those pairings!

Go wild explaining the dynamics, I’m more than happy to listen!!

-your Secret Santa :)

vibrating at the thought of a gift fic yay!! (thank you in advance already hehehe wahoo!) answering this right away so it doesn’t get lost and you can recheck the tag if that’s easier. :) expounding below the cut!

leckie/runner (rukie hehe) - they are gross and tender and so sweet. the pacific didn’t really shy away from actual bodily excrement, the meet cute or rather, the beginning of my synapses firing for these two was the peaches and diarrhea scene so there’s that lmao! i love them post-war. the idea that they were shipped back stateside together always gives me some kind of relief, only in the sense that they weren’t alone in that. they also just riff off each other so well. i love the idea of the playfulness wearing down into something softer that gives way to vulnerability.

loosier- they tend to get irritated and sick of it (the war, the navy, the fucking rain) in the same length of time—but they manifest it so differently. hoosier’s just tired, frowns, but if you prod him enough he rips you a new one. whereas leckie cannot pretend to be okay with the situation even with a gun to his head. i also really like the idea of them finding comfort in each other, i’d love to see it set during the war. in a foxhole when one of them’s tired of being so goddamn angry and just wants some semblance of softness, and the other one’s just happy to give it back.

webgott - friction and finding some kind of hope, some part of themselves under each other’s skin. webgott is endlessly fascinating to me bc they’re so alike but seemingly not enough. how theyre so busy on arguing that it sounds like pleading to be seen—and only in the way the other man can. they can’t seem to catch up with each other no matter how fast they run. they collide and it shatters everything in good ways and bad. like they’re gripping each other’s shoulders and they don’t know if it’s from frustration or if it’s because they scared that the moment they let go, it’s gone. war or post-war. it’s always so so interesting to me and i’m so fond of both of them individually. i don’t mind some tragedy but i love seeing them happy too, and wanting, always wanting.

winnix- ….man, idk how to begin with this so… i guess i’ll start by saying i like my winnix mixed with their irl characteristics. by that i mean there’s a love and a fondness that’s so undeniably there. and neither of them know how to regard the other one with anything less than devotion and affection that they themselves can barely name. i like the confusion that gives them. i said it before but it almost feels like paradoxically, being with the other is both the easiest thing in the world, and the one thing that causes them to feel desperate. i don’t think either of them know the word codependency until they’ve been removed from the side of the other (dick saying hes lonesome as a lovesick swab, nix calling him up to ask ‘heyyy haha so ur back… still want the job or?’) Whatever they have is suddenly the easiest thing they’ve had to navigate—the quickness of their understanding each other isn’t necessarily an immediate shock, it’s like… in my head it doesn’t hit them until it’s like 3AM and they’re in the barracks wide awake after lights out taking about nothing, and it’s like ‘oh you’re still here.’ and that’s still them when they’re 60 and they wake up with arthritis, talk about the morning and it’s still ‘oh, you’re still here.’ and it’s hard not to fall in love again. but it’s also so new, to be seen so easily, but they both feel like they have to somehow earn each other? nix feeling like dick is the first thing he didn’t inherit, and dick feeling like there’s no one else like this and he has to keep working for it. i loooove winnix because they simply cannot even begin to think of hiding their fondness because it’s just the movement of an involuntary muscle. pre, during and post war. <3

this is quite long sorry about that!! 🥲 and aaa thank you again in advance!!!!!!! i know i will love it <3

[moons-cozy-corner]

It's Necessary

Holy crud its been MONTHS and I havent posted ANYTHING but IM BACK and with some whumpy sustenance for you!

TW: unskillful attempt at healing, restraints, mention of torture/implied past torture, crying, blood (as always, tell me if I've missed something!)

Whumper missed again, the cotton swab hitting only air as Whumpee squirmed once again out of their reach, falling onto their side this time. This had been going on for ten minutes now, and Whumper was getting seriously tired of it.

Instead they took a deep breath, grabbing the other by the ropes that bound their wrists and pulling them into a seated position again. You’d think Whumpee would just stay still, considering the couch was way softer than the old mattress was.

Whumpee eyed them, glared at them, as they reached for the peroxide, dabbing a bit more on the cotton swab before turning back to Whumpee. The poor thing had blood crusted in their hair, splattered all over their face and shirt. The bruises on their face weren’t even Whumper’s doing; Whumpee had fallen hard on the floor from struggling so hard, and couldn’t even put their hand in front of them to save themself.

"Can't you stay still for one minute? You really are stretching this out, Whumpee."

"Oh, I'm the one dragging this out?" Whumpee scoffed, dodging another of Whumpers attempts to help them. "And how long have you kept me here? Fucking over my life for something that isn't even my fault!" Tears now. Great. Just what Whumper needed.

Whumper groaned, throwing down the first aid supplies and standing, bringing Whumpee up with them. "You're nothing but an ingrateful piece of shit!" The entire room echoed with the thud of Whumpee's head banging off of the hardwood floor. Shit.

Whumper fell to the ground at their captives side, pulling them up slowly. The other let out a choked sob, tears falling from their unblinking eyes. "Whumpee, I'm..." No. This was their prisoner, not their friend. "Get up. If you're refusing treatment then we're going to continue."

Their gazes locked. "N- Whumper, please. Please, I'll stop being difficult. I don't want more, no more!" The whining was impossibly loud in the near empty room. Abandoned houses were meant to be quiet.

Whumper scowled, dragging the sobbing bleeding mess behind them as they walked back to the torture room. "Should have thought o' that before pissing me off." They threw Whumpee into the room before slamming the door. Whumper refused to enter with them. They kept telling themself it was necessary, that doing this was for the betterment of so many others. If they could just get what they needed…

But it had been months. Whumper sank to the floor with their back against the door to Whumpee’s room. Their chest racked with silent sobs, invisible tears tore down their cheeks. All they needed was to lure out Villain, or to get an answer out of Whumpee. But it was getting harder to believe Whumpee knew anything, and the hope that any of this would help was becoming hopeless.

Whumper knew that Villain deserved to deal with the loss of a child. That Whumpee should die just to make Villain suffer. That was what they’d believed, why they’d never stopped. But now…

A weak thud sounded from the door. “S-sir, please. Let me- lemme out… please, help me, I- I'm sorry, Sir, please-" A sob echoed the space around Whumpers head, that of their captors and nearly one of their own following. What would that make of Whumper, that they would cry at this? Weak. They can't give up their mission.

They wiped away their tears and stood. "If I let you out, you will let me tend to your wounds. One more slip-up from you today and-and... well let's hope it doesn't come to that." As Whumper pulled the door slowly open Whumpee fell to the floor. There were beads of sweat, tears, and blood running all over their cheeks. It was pitiful; it made Whumpee look like a-

Whumper sighed. "C'mon, kid, let's get you cleaned up."

Tag-list: @meandmy100blanketsagainstheworld @subval01 @bleeding-letters @whumpkinz @aswallowimprisoned @nicolepascaline

[tailorvizsla]

tailorrrrrr your sex pollen fic with din got me thinking… Paz reacting to you getting hit with weaponized sex pollen/truth where if u don’t fuck you’ll die… and all the thots you’ve had about him are very suddenly not protected by your brain to mouth filter any longer 🫣

uhm HELLO??? i was already passed out on the ground no need to kill me like this?????? enjoy the feels :D

You've always planned to keep your thoughts about Paz to yourself because let's face it Paz is way too cool and so freaking unapproachable and sometimes kinda scary?

But all that changes when you're hit by something during a hunt - they throw a grenade of some kind into the stairwell and you're like fuck I'm gonna die but oh wait no it's just...some sweet liquid? And it doesn't affect you? so you carry on and get the bounty but something starts to tingle and oh no what's going on

You get back to the pickup point - you can't afford your own ship so sometimes you get to bum a ride from Paz - and you're sweating, you're shaking, and you can barely keep yourself upright so you call Paz and tell him you need help NOW

He's there in a heartbeat and he's worried you've like been badly injured but you tell him there's something wrong, they sprayed you with something and you can't breathe -

"Alright, alright," he says, his voice oddly calm, "Let's get you inside, and I can try to run a test."

He turns away to go back inside and you blurt out the first thing on your mind, "Fuck you've got some broad shoulders". Paz Vizsla's head slowly swivels as he turns around to look at you. "S-Sorry, I couldn't s-stop myself - you really do have some nice shoulders - FUCK sorry - "

He waves you in without another word and you bite down on your lower lip so hard you're afraid it's going to bleed. You sit down at the bench and he swabs the liquid and as you watch his strong, hands you feel another thought burble up and you physically can't stop yourself, "Gods you have beautiful hands - FUCK I'm SO sorry - " Tactfully he doesn't say anything as he puts the sample into the machine and you swing your legs back and forth nervously as you keep your hands over your mouth. The machine beeps and he hums.

"Well, in reptilians, it's a poison," Paz says. "But in warm-blooded mammals, it acts as a truth serum. You are just going to be very talkative for the next couple hours."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you whine. "Just tie me up and gag me, please. Or put me in the cargo hold. Just don't let me tell you how fucking hot you are. I'm so sorry, I don't want to make you uncomfortable, you're literally the coolest verd in this entire tribe and I'm just some little dork - "

"Hey," Paz says sternly. "You are a valued and cherished member of this Tribe. You are hard-working, you're always learning something new, and you're so good with the children. Dork or not, you're not allowed to talk about yourself like that. Got it?"

You nod mutely and the beautiful moment is ruined when you add, "I turn into a fucking mess when you order me around in that tone." Shit. Paz says nothing. "I'm so sorry for what you're about to hear."

"I won't hold it against you," he says with a shrug. "If it makes you feel better, I think you have really nice tits."

He goes to the cockpit so the two of you can go home, and you figure you're not going to be able to stop talking so you sit down and pray the stuff wears off before you really tell him about all the nasty shit you've been fantasizing about him doing to you.

"You are going to be a wonderful buir one day," you say to Paz, as soon as he comes back within hearing range. "Every time I see you with the ade, I wish I could give you one. Are you interested in having kids?"

He shrugs, "haven't met the right verd yet. I want an entire meshgeroya team of my own, and most of our Tribe only want a couple. I want to make sure this Tribe has many strong verde to continue our ways by the time I go marching far away."

"I think if anyone can handle a dozen children, it's you," you say in a serious tone. "If you want to practice making them, I'm available, just so you know." You press your bucket into your hands. "Shit."

He lets out a noise of amusement, "Practice is fine, but I'm ready to settle down and - "

"Will you marry me?" you blurt out. "Ahhhshitshitshit sorry - "

"How about I answer that question once you're no longer under the influence?" he asks with a laugh. "If you want me to, that is."

You nod miserably, and you don't even notice that he didn't say no to you.

He puts his gear down on the table and starts cleaning up. You want to clean up, too, but you are terrified of what you are going to blurt out - "Sometimes I wish you'd caress me the same way you do your cannon. Oh gods. I'm so. So sorry."

"Stop apologizing," he says. "Being attracted to someone isn't a bad thing, and...I'm flattered."

You let out a noise of mortification. By time the truth serum wears off, you've said some things to Paz Vizsla that you've never even dreamed of doing. Like, how would he even be able to bend you like that? He hasn't said anything, but by the time you get back to the rest of the Tribe, you're ready to throw yourself into the forge. You sprint to medical, where Doctor Shen makes a noise and gives you a hypospray. You grab some food and sprint back to your room, praying to the gods that no one will know what you've said to poor Paz Vizsla.

You're just about to sit down and eat when there's a knock at the door. You put your bucket back on and answer it, thinking it's Doctor Shen. Instead, it's Paz, and he's leaning aginst the door jamb. You stammer out a "hi".

"You alright?" he asks. You nod in response. "Are you still under the influence?" You shake your head. "...want me to answer that question?" You nod, your heart thudding uncomfortably in your chest.

"The answer is yes," he says. "I'll marry you." His head obviously tilts as he looks down. Then back up. "You are going to look so good pregnant, mesh'la."

[fiendishactsatdiabolicalprices]

fuck you tumblr

with that out of the way, hi. here's a medkit i threw together out of the stuff i have in my household supplies. these are australian products and i took this like, two months ago to post on private and forgot to share here.

honorable mentions missing here are bottled water (important for rinsing wounds clean of debris and substances of skin), package of bandaids (for small wounds that can be easily covered), and a tourniquet.

a friend of mine was great enough to give me feedback on the kit (it's good, just needs identifying on where to store it while protesting and what else needs to put in), and suggested:

compressed gauze

powderless nitrile gloves

masks because you're going to be in crowds of people and god fucking dammit nobody takes covid seriously

and, the tourniquet.

and one that i suggest with high caution:

any essential medication the twelve can not try and pin you for. if you get pulled to the side and have a restrictive practice object on you, they'll try anything.

A quick note about the makeup pads I will go over in the item description after the image: alcohol swabs are for cleaning, not drying. the makeup pads are what you use to dry the wound. i've suggested makeup pads here because they're all around applicators, generally inexpensive, and compact.

Storing your medkit: have a designated medkit carrier. if you have to carry semi or fully restrictive medications, or have a lot of people therefore a lot of supplies, or feel as if that might slow you down, store it in your vehicle so you both have a medical station AND a safe place to keep it. most people have a first aid box in their cars nowadays- it's not unusual, and they cannot fucking arrest you for having one in there.

Regular medkit checks: Before the protest, make sure your consumables are still within their expiries. Swap out old medication, put in new stuff. Disinfectant also spoils over time. Make sure single use things like bandaids, swabs, blister packs for pain management aren't broken or opened to expose the contents to outside elements.

Allergies and intolerances: Before you meet up for the protest, ideally, is when you make sure you have your medical bracelets on your person. That way if something happens to cause you to be unable to speak or communicate effectively and a person you do not know tries to give you treatment, they can determine whether you can or not receive particular forms. Common bracelets have penicillin, and diabetes, but can be engraved to have any ailment on them. Look out for a medical bracelet, necklace, or any other form of ID when giving treatment to an unresponsive person.

feel free to add whatever you want to this post, but be constructive about it. this is for palestine, sudan, bali, the congo. this is for rioting against oppression and genocide- not rioting for.

[Image ID:] General use household items laid out against a beige tablecloth. There are edited in numbers to identify each object. Please ignore the quantity text- .

1: Bandage clasps/bobby pins. Carry as many as you want, important for fixing wound covers.

2. Alcohol swabs. Good for quick cleaning of wounds.

3. Makeup pads/ tissues/ anything good for cleansing and packing wounds. These will take up room in your kit, but are worth having.

4. Antiseptic ointment. Needed for things that look infected. Good for awkward placed wounds that need to be disinfected.

5. Liquid disinfectant. Much stronger than the ointment, can be used to disinfect wounds. Also much better for disinfecting equipment.

6. Bandages. Used in conjunction to your clasps and bobby pins. Watch a few videos on different limb wrapping techniques, practice on yourself or a friend. Get them to do the same to you. Medium crepe is recommended for general purpose woundwrapping.

7. Paper tape. Used for packing down wound dressings from under the bandage.

8. Bars of soap. Useful for unsticking zippers, and can be used to clean equipment and clothes. Incredibly useful.

9. Aspirin and other pain managements. Ensure you have an alternative to penicillin products- very common allergy. Would not carry more than one sheet per person for obvious reasons. Avoid taking very strong pain managers that can be both confiscated as dangerous drugs and pin you for assumed trafficking.

Not included: bottled water (for rinsing, drinking, cleaning) and a tourniquet (i hope you never have to use this in a protest, but you can never be too careful), as well as a box of disposable masks. A plastic bag or two would not be harmful, either.

[spaceghostcornertocorner]

A short story that I wrote based on a series me and a good friend of mine are working on!

Doctor's Visit

The night was quiet. Serene, actually.

Constantine preferred it this way. The small buzzing of the bright, fluorescent lights bought him a sense of calm. The squeaky-clean tile floors and cabinets pleased him. The examination table was unoccupied and, importantly, clean from the blood of former patients. Everything was laid out in front of him: Bloody needles, scalpels, tweezers, cotton swabs, and among other medical essentials. After a long day's worth of work, Constantine attends to his nightly ritual. He makes it a priority to clean, sterilize, and organize each and every one of his tools. The doctor likes to keep a container of wipes and a bottle of alcohol and hydrogen-peroxide nearby during the process; also a priority. He requires that everything must be a certain way. Tasks are given and must be done diligently with precision, just as he likes it.

With a satisfied inhale and exhale, he pushed up his glasses and he got to work. As he was about to grab the scalpels, a heavy set of footsteps approached the door.

The metal door swung open, revealing Jax. One of his eyes was bruised and puffy, his shirt torn to shreds, and blood soaked parts of his tee. He clutched the side of his abdomen. More blood seeped through his hand and dripped onto the floor. Jax gave Constantine his signature cheeky smile, "The doctor's in, I see."

Constantine shot him a look, "Who kicked your ass this time?"

The muscle-head shot back, "Oi, not all of this is my blood, luv! No need to piss your pants, alright?"

Constantine's face remained the same as he sighs, "Give me a moment to clean up. And, get on the damn table, will you? It's no secret how I feel about blood on the floor."

"Aye, aye.", Jax replied as he limped towards the table and plopped himself down. "So, any other visitors stopped by for a checkup? Give out any lollipops?"

Constantine switched out his old pair of gloves for new ones and came over to Jax. No amusement showed on his face, "No lollipops. But, had a few visitors tonight. None as fucked up as you are."

Jax gave a cocky smile, "Hehe. Don't I feel honored?"

Constantine rolled his eyes as he donned his stethoscope and began examining Jax, "Mind telling me what kind of trouble you got yourself into?"

"Straight to the point, as always, I see…", Jax sighed, "As you may or may not be aware, the turf wars gettin' heated up there. The boss is wantin' everyone to be on the prowl for more territory. Fortunately, I found some, unfortunately, it was occupied by some members of the Vitum. You know 'em, right? Those glorified tree-hugger bastards."

"Mm.", replied Constantine.

Jax continues, "Anyway, I walk into this pub owned by Angus, the big 'ol teddy bear. Had some lass with 'em. I demanded he go and kick rocks, right? The fuzzy bugger attacks first. I attack-Oww!"

Jax lets out a scream of pain. Constantine pokes into his wound. It was a bloody mess of three scars left behind by a clawed-creature.

"The fock was that for, doc!", Jax screamed in outrage.

Constantine didn't blink twice, "Hm? Oh, nothing. It's not like I'm a doctor or anything trying to do my job. Sorry to interrupt your story. Want me to heal you now or continue your drabble?"

"Arsehole…", Jax murmured. Constantine, with a "I-thought-so" expression on his face, removed his gloves. He applied his bare hands onto the wound.

He allows incantations to flow from his lips. His eyes turned an inky-black as black vein-like tendrils flowed from his arms to his hands and down to his fingertips. An amber-colored glow traced the lines of the scars. Jax hissed with clenched teeth. The fleshy gaps started to fill in from the inside until the skin closed with lines of the scars vanishing seamlessly. Constantine removed his hands off of Jax's abdomen to reveal a patch of smooth skin. It's as if the scar had never been there.

Jax smiled from ear to ear. He ran his hand over where the scar used to be, "Haha! Fockin' hell, doc! I could just kiss ya!"

Constantine held up a hand, "No need."

"Aww, one of these days, luv.", Jax teased.

Constantine walked over to the sink and began washing his hands, "Angus did quite the number on you."

Jax laughed, "Me? Oh no, ya should've seen him. I say, it's one of my best pieces of work. Best believe that piece of territory will be ours."