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findafight · 1 year

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Tw for hospitals and use of of pain medication, infection, and canonical injuries, brief mention of the AIDS crisis. Ohhhh steddie dating pre S4 au where Robin has now been subjected at work to Steve both striking out spectacularly and flirting like he knows he's getting laid that night. She isn't sure which is worse. (The striking out is worse. She is glad her friend is happy. She's just painfully single and pining away)

The same stuff happens in s4 minus Robin and Eddie pushing Steve and Nancy together romantically (Dustin is trying to push Steve to both Robin or Nancy he's like dude these are girls you like why are you not making a move on them! I want you to be happy!!! And Steve rips his eyes away from Eddie's lips like huh?) But they're still like hey Nancy! It would be nice! If we could be friends maybe! And it's still awkward.

Robin is out here sweating and glaring at Steve and eddie trying to beam thoughts into Eddie's brain in the Upside Down like Eddie please cool it I know it's a stressful situation but stop staring at Steve's tits for five minutes pl-oh giving him your vest??? You think that's going to help? Ok buddy. I'm just going to. Distract Nancy up ahead a little bit while you and Steve chat aaaaand neither of you are listening. Fine.

And it's still a mess. Max and Eddie and Steve end up in the hospital. The ground split open but sealed itself once Steve cut Henry's head off. Everything is over.

Eddie gets discharged first, despite having more bites than Steve, because his didn't have two days to get infected with Upside Down nastiness. So he ends up camped out with Robin at Steve's bedside as he fights the infection with antibiotics (the doctors hope will work), pain meds, and a slight fever.

Which is to say, completely out of it and high as a kite.

So when Dustin visits and Steve is awake, he gets to see a big, goofy grin spread across his best friend's/adoptive older brother's face as he reaches out and says "dusssstyyyy! Cmere. Lemme. Boop you." And yeah, okay, it makes him feel a bit like a baby but Steve is out of it and apparently drugged Steve likes to Boop his younger friends noses. Dustin can accept that. He sighs and leans forward and allows his nose to be booped.

Steve giggles and smiles and pats his head. "Good to see you, man"

Dustin smiles, a bit watery because it's hard to see Steve in the hospital again, and because it was fucking terrifying to watch him nearly drop to the ground after making sure Eddie got treatment, only being caught by Robin. Dustin almost lost three people he loves, and he is so fucking glad they're all alive, if not well.

"yeah, Steve. Good to see you, too. They say when you're allowed to blow this pop stand?"

Steve frons. "No. Still got Upside Down goobies in my guts, 'parently."

Robin sighs. "They said a few more days. Make sure the infection is clear and there's no suspicious side effects."

"yeah. That's what I said, Robin."

Dustin grins, then settles down beside Robin, across from Eddie. He hasn't said anything since Dustin walked in, but was playing with the sleeve of Steve's hospital gown and tracing patterns on his arm. He looks up at Dustin, and offers a small smile.

It's a bit weird, how close he's stuck by Steve this whole time, but Dustin guesses they probably bonded when they got sucked through the watergate, and that Steve saving his life really endeared him to Eddie. He hopes they can be actual, real friends once things settle. Given how much Eddie is at Steve's bedside, he thinks they're well on their way to it.

They all chat for a while, Steve sometimes getting off topic and dreamy, but looking happy even when he isn't quite following what they're all saying. Dustin is pretty sure Steve doesn't have his hearing aids in on top of the drugs, so he isn't really surprised.

His mom eventually bustles into the room, and fusses over Steve. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry. Let me know if we can do anything, I mean anything, to help, okay? I'm sorry I cant visit for longer today, but what with everything happening like this, I -"

"isss okay, Mrs. H...Ma." Steve corrects himself immediately, smiling. Dustin's insides always get a bit squiggly when Steve calls his Ma, Ma. Like they're actual brothers, and she's their mom, and no one could ever argue they're not family for real. What makes it better that it was Ma who insisted Steve call her that since January of '85, as though she knew just how much both Dustin and Steve needed each other like that.

"I'll be by tomorrow, okay, dear? Robin, you and Eddie are alright for tonight? I'll stay tomorrow but today I re-"

"it's fine! Seriously, Mrs. H. Don't worry about us. My parents will force me home tomorrow anyways, but tonight we're good." Robin grips at Steve's ankle, grounding herself. Dustin doesn't think there's been a day when she hasn't been in Steve's room. Doubts if the places were reversed Steve wouldn't have to be dragged out to shower and change clothes. They're so weird, but Dustin is glad Steve has someone older that loves him like Robin does. It makes it easier to not be able to spend all day with him like he wants to.

"okay. Alright." She leans forward and kisses Steve's forehead a few times, brushes some stray hairs out of his face, just like she does when Dustin is sick in bed. "You take care Steve, sweetheart, and make sure you let Robin and Eddie take care of you too." She turns to Dustin. "I'll give you a few minutes to say goodbye and then meet me down at the car, okay?"

Dustin nods, and his mom is out the door. He sighs. "Well. I guess I'd better head out." He gives Steve a hug, a bit awkward from Steve lying down, but it's fine, Steve wraps his arms around Dustin and tries to give him his normal double squeeze, but it's more of a press with his hands than anything. Dustin'll take it. "I'm glad you're getting better Steve. Glad we're all safe."

Steve's smile is soft, gooey in a way that he usually tries to hide. "Glad you're safe, too, man. Love you." Something in his smile sharpens, then. "Unlike some people in this room you actually...listened? When I told you not to be a hero. And didn't nearly almost die."

Eddie groans, dramatic. It seems like a game they're playing with each other more than anything, but it's a game Dustin doesn't know the parameters of, and it's jarring. "C'mon, Steve. I said I was sorry! I wasn't going to let Dustin get hurt."

Steve glares at Eddie, which would be more intimidating if he wasn't scrutching up his nose or propped up by pillows freshly fluffed by one Claudia Henderson. "Which is the reason why you're allowed in here even though you almost died. Dustin is safe, and that's good. But I'd've been so fuckin pissed if you died."

Robin snorts, pats Steve's hand. "Oh, buddy. You'd have been inconsolable."

"yeah. Exactly. it would have fucking sucked, Eddie. So. I'm still mad at you, even though I love you. Probably because I love you."

Which is. Not what Dustin was expecting. Sure, Steve was pretty open about his love. Especially after Starcourt, when he finally seemed to settle into something Dustin thinks of as comfortable with who he is. (Which is, actually, a big softie with a bit of a bitchy mouth) He's told Dustin he loves him before, and he's pretty sure he's told Max too. Steve says he loves Robin all the time, just not romantically even if Dustin doesn't think that's entirely true, but.

This feels different.

It is different, given the way Eddie squeaks a bit and sways towards Steve. "Steve..." He breathes, his eyes big and wet and wide. He swallows. "Steve. Dustin doesn't. He's still here, i--"

Steve's brow furrows. "Yeah? So? Did you not want...oh." something in the blankness that drops over Steve is scary, especially in comparison to how Steve's been open and lax the entire time Dustin's been in the room.

Steve turns his head slightly towards Eddie, ten slightly away, like he doesn't know if he wants to look at him or not. Dustin shuffles his feet, not quite sure what's going on, feeling awkward and wrongfooted. Robin stands, puts her hand on Dustin's shoulder, tries to turn him away and out the door, but Dustin isn't leaving when Steve's face is all stiff and blank like it is.

"steve--" Eddie sounds wrung out, wrecked. What the hell is going on?

Steve sniffs ever so slightly, interrupting Eddie. "You don't have to say it. You don't even have to-uh. To feel it, right now. That's okay. I've done that before. I can wait." Dustin sees a muscle twitch in his jaw. "But if you- if you don't think you can, I need to know now, actually. Because now Dustin knows but he's my brother so that's good and fine but if you don't want to--if you don't think this is gonna, like, be a long-term, tell people important to us kind of thing; if you're realizing that it's been long enough that you should feel that--that way about me but you don't, then I need to know because I don't want you lying about how you feel. I can't do that again. When you say it back I want to be sure you mean-"

"I love you too, Steve! Jesus fuck." Eddie blurts, apparently having had enough of. Well. Everything Steve was saying.

It's dawning on Dustin that maybe when Steve and Eddie said they knew each other they didn't just mean from highschool. That they. Well. Obviously they love each other. Which is....something to consider later because Steve looks like he's about to cry. Because Woah, Dustin has misread a lot between the two of them if they're...like this.

"yeah? You're sure?" He says, wobbly now he isn't rambling.

Eddie's squished himself more into Steve's space. "yes, yeah, of course Steve. Fuck. You met Wayne! I want you in my life, for a long, long time. I don't- I didn't do anything to make you think I didn't, did I?" His voice is a little rough, and little pleading.

Steve shakes his head, grips Eddie's hand in his m, even as Eddie uses it to support himself over top Steve. "No. I just. I know it freaks people out, is all, and I don't want you to freak out, or leave, or think you had to because we've been dating for a few months and I want to say it. It just came out because it's true."

Eddie laughs, leans in reeealy close to Steve. "Honey. It came out because you're high and morphene."

Steve grumbles a bit, but he's smiling too, and knocks their foreheads together. "Yeah. And also because it's true. I love you."

Eddie's eyelids flutter, Dustin can see, as he grins. "And I love you." He says, before closing the distance and kissing Steve squarely on the mouth.

Robin clears her throat. "As...heartwarming and sappy you two are. Dustin has to leave, and probably...has some questions? That he's not going to be a dick about?" She says this as she grips his shoulder tightly, in a way that is definitely a threat.

Dustin nods furiously. Eddie sighs but pushes away from Steve, not before pecking him again, drawing that dopey smile back into Steve's face. "Yeah." He says. "I'll walk you out Henderson."

Dustin waves goodbye to Steve, who seems cheery once again, wiggling his fingers are Dustin and Eddie, before walking out the door behind Eddie.

"so. How long have...has that been a thing?" He asks, as soon as they clear the doorframe.

Eddie huffs, but seems good natured about it. "Few months. December."

"okay." Says Dustin. "Uh. I didn't. I didn't know you...or Steve, I guess...I didn't know you guys were-" he lowers his voice, despite the hallway being surprisingly empty. "Gay."

There's something steely in Eddie's eye when he answers. "We're not. Well-we are, but we both also like women."

Something doesn't sit right about that with Dustin. "But! You just said-"

Eddie holds his hands up, and Dustin shuts his mouth on instinct. "You can like both while just dating one person, Dustin. Just because you like women doesn't mean you're going around with girls who aren't Suzie, right?" He nods. He adores Suzie, can't really imagine looking at any other girl like that because she's just. Amazing. She's his girlfriend and they love each other, and just because girls are pretty great doesn't mean Dustin wants anything other than friendship wi--oh. He sees where Eddie is going.

"right. Yeah. Sorry."

Eddie shrugs. "Steve kinda dropped a bomb in both of us, today"

""isn't it weird though?"

"well...girls and guys are different"

"they are indeed."

"so, if you like girls, why do you like...boys...too?"

"why do you like girls and not boys, Dustin?"

Which is hard to answer because, well. Dustin's never really thought about why he likes girls. He just does. And maybe that's what Eddie means. There's no reason, really. People just...like what they like.

Or there are reasons, because girls are pretty and often smell nice and Suzie looks like a mad scientist when her ponytail gets a little loose after hours of working on a project, her eyes glinting behind her glasses as she giggles and bites her lip, just a little. But that's mostly Suzie. So. He can't really put a finger on why he's only ever had crushes on girls, or why before last summer they've never been as much or as consuming as his love for Suzie. Never been anything like the long days spent together at camp building and creating and blasting ideas off each other, before one day Suzie took his hand and they ended up sneaking away to look at the stars, trying to outdo each other's knowledge about them and slowly being pulled into the other's orbit like binary stars. He's never really wanted to kiss anyone like he wants to kiss Suzie, not even when he had a brief and fleeting crush on Max.

"oh." Is what he says, and feels pretty lame for it.

Eddie shrugs. "You can't really choose who you like." He says before breathing in. "But you do choose who you love, and how you love them."

And. Well. Dustin thinks of his Ma sweeping Steve up into family dinners every other week, and how the party absorbed Max into it as easy as anything, and holding Suzie's hand as they looked up at the stars in dew covered grass feeling like the world starts and ends there, and of Steve and Robin cackling together and having seemingly no personal space or boundaries between them. And of Steve and Eddie, saying I love you for the first time in a hospital room after saving the world.

"That's pretty good." Dustin says, and Eddie smirks at him.

"yeah. Steve said it to me, way back on our second date."

Dustin scoffs. Because he should have known; it's so typically Steve to say something like that. "And you were surprised when he said he loves you?"

Eddie's eyes twinkle in the florescent lights of the hospital. "Nah. Just... it's different being pretty sure, and knowing for sure. I also didn't want him saying something in front of you he'd regret."

He nods. "That's fair. I...don't know how I would've taken it if Steve weren't in the hospital, honestly. Like!" He tries to reassure Eddie "I would have gotten over it, for sure! But if had had sat me ore the party down and talked it out I might've been, like, y'know. Super weird about it. Because. I mean. This talk is good, right? I'm think about things and thinking about how I've only ever really wanted to kiss Suzie, even if I thought about maybe abstractly kissing other people. And how we as humans have all these quirks that let us be human, but different, which enable us as a species to thrive." He heaves a breath. "But. Seeing Steve all loopy and saying it, and then being worried you felt pressure about it, I dunno. It makes sense, I guess. I don't know how you two met or got to know each other, but. I guess it makes sense, how you like each other. And talking to you now. It's helped, I think."

Everything is a bit scrambled in Dustin's brain, the love and the confusion and the worry, because it's setting in that in Hawkins, something like this, for Steve and Eddie, is dangerous. Something that could get them hurt or killed, scorned by the town they've helped save.

His mother always grumbles agrily when ads about how the virus going around is God's punishment for sinners, or how it's cleaning up the streets of unwanted people gays and addicts. She huffs, swears. Says that just because bigots don't consider the people getting sick as wanted or valuable, doesn't mean no one does. That no one deserves to get sick for things they cannot control, or for things they can. A smoker is more likely to get lung cancer, but that doesn't mean they deserve it more than someone who's never seen a cigarette.

Their families will mourn them the same.

They reach the main doors, and Dustin sees his mom has pulled into a pick up lane, blinkers on. He turns to Eddie, and burries his face in his neck.

Eddie takes it in stride, parting his back and giving him a bit of a squeeze. It's not as good a hug as Steve gives, but that bar is only really surpassed by his mom, so it's still a good hug.

"please be careful, Eddie."

"ah," says Eddie, and he pulls back slightly. "We are, man. You're close to both of us and didn't suspect. We know what we're doing."

Dustin raised his eyebrows. Now that he has context, a lot of interactions between Steve and Eddie in the wake of getting them out of the Upside Down seem a lot less friendly.

Eddie chuckles. "Seriously. We are. It was just hard during everything, and, well, we both feel safe around you guys. I think Steve's been gearing up to ask me if we can tell all of you sheepies soon."

"yeah?"

"yeah, bud. Don't worry about us."

"Considering you just got released and Steve is still in the hospital, I think a little worrying over you jackasses is justified."

Eddie smirks. "Fine. A normal and reasonable amount of worrying, then. But no more than that. Now, git! Your ma's waiting on you."

Dustin smiles, "yeah, yeah. I'll see you tomorrow."

"yep. You know where to find me."

He waves again as he hopes into the front seat, and buckles his seatbelt before Ma can ask him to. He smiles at her, and feels oddly...grounded. a mystery has been solved, even if Dustin doesn't have all the pieces, he still has the big picture.

"everything alright, Dusty? Nothing wrong with Steve, is there?" She asks, even as she changes out of park.

"yeah, yeah. Just accidentally stumbled over something saying goodbye, and was worried about them. But everything is fine. Robin and Eddie have Steve handled."

They turn out of the hospital parking lot, heading for home. Ma smiles. It's softer, more indulgent than usual. "Yes. They're good for each other, I think. Compliment one another nicely."

Dustin doesn't bother asking which set she's talking about, thinks maybe they both know.

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idontknowreallywhy · 2 months

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A thing I’m toying with - maybe as a sequel to Presence… but I’m not sure as I suspect hallucination Scotty was the best bit of that one and so now he’s been banished it might just be a bit pedestrian. Hmm. Ah well, let me know if you think it’s worth pursuing?

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

Virgil pretended to be asleep until everyone had left and then quickly slipped out of bed and tiptoed the seven half-paces to the other bed in the room. This one was a more bulky structure and had many machines attached to it. He knew exactly what they all were and he did his utmost to ignore the readouts as the past few days had taught him that knowledge was not always power in his current situation.

He had never been so powerless, in fact. Nor so confused.

He both wanted to know and really REALLY didn’t want to know.

He perched on the chair his father had just vacated and rested his elbows on the fall-rail at the edge of the bed, propped his chin up on his hands and kept watch. From experience he knew his father wouldn’t be gone long. The man had probably just needed to use the facilities, hopefully have a shower. Virgil was fairly sure he hadn’t actually TOLD Dad how badly he needed to do that but wasn’t 100% certain… his face may have betrayed him at the end of that hug a short while ago.

There has been a lot of hugs from Dad since he’d moved up here. He was aware that the hospital staff weren’t happy about him being here but Dad had ranted in the hallway about duty of care and having the hospital administration hung out to dry over some security incident Virgil didn’t quite catch the details of.

The hugs had been good though. Dad had been there when Virgil woke disoriented and crying out for Scott and he’d held him so tight and stroked his hair and kissed him on the head. Then he’d helped Virgil over to sit in the chair by the other bed so he could hold his brother’s cannula-encumbered hand.

If only he knew why Scott wouldn’t wake up.

He knew he was sick, injured. He knew a lot of the technical details, the medical terms, the numbers… the statistics. He was trying to ignore all those.

What he didn’t know was WHY.

He felt like he should know, in fact he was sure he DID know, but the information floated just out of reach.

He was less fuzzy now. There had been another tense conversation between Dad and the staff about a stash of tablets inside a clock that Virgil wasn’t sure of the relevance of, but the upshot was he wasn’t being sedated anymore. One of the other tablets which they were weirdly insistent on checking he had swallowed was an antibiotic which he guessed was related to the nasty wound on his stomach… he couldn’t recall how he got that. Something to do with a window, they’d said but that made no sense as he’d snuck a look when they changed the dressing and it didn’t look like a glass cut at all. Nor would a glass cut require the tetanus booster he’d been given. So he must have misheard.

The others he knew to be two kinds of anti-psychotic medication. Which, he reasoned, was presumably why he was here. It would explain why his memory resembled a quilt of vividly oversaturated impressions, scattered thinly amongst an overwhelming palate of grey and fluffy interspersed with light-sucking heavyweight obsidian patches. When the doctor had raised an eyebrow at this description Virgil had sighed and summarised as “there are a lot of gaps” which had met with a sympathetic nod and some kind of reassuring nonsense. He hadn’t paid attention to said reassuring nonsense because he had been distracted by overhearing one of the nurses tending to his brother muttering to her colleague:

“Probably just as well”

Which was less than reassuring.

The only thing worse than worrying the voids in his memory were concealing something awful was knowing they definitely were.

Which brought Virgil back to why his brother was lying unresponsive and almost unrecognisable in front of him.

What if this was his fault?

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #idontknowreallywhy fanfic #bereznik aftermath #Tw: hospital #Tw: mental health #Tw: section #Tw: psychosis #thunderangst

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ronearoundblindly · 1 year

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Being in the hospital im thinking what would it be like if Ari's girl ended up in the hospital nothing life threatening but something that needed to be treated in the hospital. I'm betting he'd be a nervous wreck and wouldn't let anyone see it he'd maybe go into the bathroom and freak but I'm guessing he'd try and stay strong but crack a bit infront of her or maybe stay overnight if they let (it depends on the wards)

ok, full disclosure, I did absolutely no research for this because I'd like you to have reading materials, so it's in no way scientific 🤷🏻‍♀️

The Chair Beside Your Bed, a Bedrock and Blueprints tale

No warnings except minor angst to fluff. (Sry, the gif barely works here but I'm...not changing it. 👀) WC 975

Ari can barely keep his eyes open. You're already asleep, but he just can't bring himself to join.

The IV in your hand looks uncomfortable when you tense involuntarily. He watches the tendons pull and roll beneath your skin and swallows hard.

He should have seen the signs, and the doctors say you'll be right as rain once the antibiotics are done. He still can't leave. He still can't eat. He still refuses to sleep.

Ari's mind can refuse all it wants. Eventually, his eyelids are too heavy, his neck slumps over the thin pillow behind it, and he's lost to a dreamless land in the chair beside your hospital bed.

"Ow," you hiss, releasing the two-by-four in your grasp.

"You get your hand, honey? I got those gloves for you."

You wave him off. "No, no. Stepped too close to the pile and scraped my leg. No big deal. That's almost all the wood from the truck."

"Great," Ari chirps, straightening after marking the outline of your She-Shed in the backyard. "I'll go get another load before dark. We can plot out the frame and whatnot tomorrow."

As you wipe the back of your hand over your head, Ari doesn't see any blood on your legs and immediately forgets.

"So we'll need equal amounts of wood on all sides," you ask.

He shrugs and pulls off his own thick work gloves. "More or less, yeah." Ari won't let you use any of the tools, but he will let you speak like it's a joint effort. Because it is. Everything he does is meant for you now.

While he's out at the store again, you divvy up the stacks of planks around the edges, far enough away for space to work but close enough for convenience. He's grateful, but Ari doesn't realize this means hours where you did not clean the cut on your leg.

A week later and you're running a slight fever. Ari only notices you aren't walking properly when you get off the couch.

His worst fear at that point is that stupid desk chair you're always complaining about. Your back is constantly aching. He wishes the company would replace all the chairs soon but especially, specifically yours.

You work too hard. You're worn out.

He knows you've had a bandaid on one calf, but it's on the outside leg where you sleep in the bed. He forgets a lot until his leg brushes against it while you two snuggle, and you hiss in pain.

Ari insists on taking a look, switching on the bedside lamp. He can tell something is wrong before even removing the bandage because it's red beyond the adhesive. The middle is warm to the touch, which he can barely do before you gripe at him.

You promise to go to the urgent care first thing in the morning, and Ari drives you himself. You're so sure that they'll just slap some pills in your hand and send you on your way that you shoo him off to work.

He gets a voicemail two hours later.

"Hey, uh, don't be mad, but they've transferred me to the hospital. I have to be hooked up to this drip thing for a few days and--"

Ari's in his truck before his supervisor can even wish you well.

If he'd thought about it at all, he would have gone by the house to get you and him a change of clothes, but no such luck. He refuses to leave the hospital grounds and only leaves the building when he absolutely can't stand his cigarette cravings anymore. Otherwise, he is right beside you.

You sleep a surprising amount, wiped out by the intensity of your treatment albeit fairly standard.

It's a long three days.

Ari decided after the first afternoon there that his chair needed to be on the other side of your bed. That way he could hold your hand that wasn't pierced with a needle, and he can safely rest his head on your side.

When you're awake, your fingers card through his hair. When you're awake, you tell him he looks like shit and needs to sleep, too.

"I promise I will later."

"You're lying," you complain weakly.

"Yeah, kid, I'm lying."

This exchange happens three separate times: the first you forget, the second you laugh at, and the third you start playing dirty.

You tell him you'd like to listen to one of your audiobooks, and since neither of you has headphones, you play it on speaker with the phone on your chest.

Ari is successfully out cold within minutes and wakes refreshed and a little pissed.

He lied and told the nurses you are his wife in order to be allowed to stay overnight, so them calling him by your last name during the discharge routine is awkward, to say the least.

Ari has fun explaining that one on the drive home.

With a few more days of ingestible antibiotics left, you're entirely on the mend and use every single ounce of your energy to argue Ari out of the house and off to work. He only feels less guilty when he comes back to find you asleep again, and after one more full day of bed rest, you are able to return to work as well.

From those days on, however, you are forbidden from helping with any repairs or building Ari does. José and Dimitri are rangled to assist when necessary, but it's a hard line in the sand that Ari will not shift on. He also takes it upon himself to be the First Aid King of the Castle and is in charge of all bandaging and cleaning of any wounds, no matter how small.

You only allow this complete farse (enacted over every papercut now) because he looks so cute when he fusses.

[Main Masterlist]

#ari levinson fanfiction #bedrock and blueprints #series #drabble #ari levinson imagine #ari levinson x you #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson fluff #ari levinson drabble #ari levinson series #ari levinson angst #ari levinson fic #fluff and feels

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jhscdood · 4 months

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i woke up in a Bad Headspace today and imma use by blog to vent about it like it's livejournal circa 2004.

tw for discussion of medical stuff

- I hate xmas. I'm jewish but my dad is not and the pressure to have An Perfect Xmas every year and the disappointment every year just grosses me out now. Not even going to talk about american xtian hegemony but there's some of that in there too.

- Today i began to suspect that the awesome new migraine med that actually stops my weather-induced migraines might also be interfering with the efficiacy of my prediabetes meds. or maybe im wrong and im Just That Fucking Exhausted.

- Spouse spent all last week recovering from a severe medication allergy and hives on 70% of his body. and steroids Do Not Agree with him so it was just. a wild time. terrifying af. stood over him with an EpiPen basically the entire time.

- 3 days before The Hives, i scratched my cornea while pruning bushes and that right there is a pain i do not ever want to revisit. had to go to the optometrist and get The Goo.

- 2 days before Cornea i had my first Botox For Migraine treatment. 31 injections to the face, neck and shoulders. it stung but it was over in like 4 minutes. takes 3 sessions to start kicking in. sessions are 12 weeks apart. so i guess we'll find out in August if it's working.

- day before Botox i had an ENT appointment and he stuck a camera up my nose and then diagnosed me with a weird vocal cord paralysis thing so now i have to go back to speech therapy for the first time in 26 years.

- Week before that, saw my neurologist and she diagnosed me with a weird intermittent lazy eye / motion lag thingamawhatsis so now i have to go to an ophthalmologist AND vision therapy.

- That week I also saw my PCP and explained to her about the intermittent abdominal pain I've been having since like 2021. She took me seriously!!! Which is good!!! But now i am scheduled for baby's first colonoscopy. And i have to keep a food journal, which i HATE because food is STUPID.

- All of the above all happened this month btw. December 1-23.

- My final appt in November was yet another ultrasound of my former left tit because there is an oil cyst at the site of my top surgery and they are VERY SURE it is a benign oil cyst but the rules require them to poke it every few months for 2-3 years.

- Before that I had a 48 hour ambulatory EEG which was the itchiest i have ever been in my LIFE. That same week our basement stairs collapsed and a contractor had to come rebuild them (up! to! code!). That same week i also went to the dentist to get my crown fitted.

- I think my MIL was in the hospital that same week, too. so that's a thing that's been going on the whole time since then.

- I spent most of October deathly ill with food poisoning thst was originally misdiagnosed as viral. I ended up with a CT scan and colitis. and, eventually, cipro. it was the sickest i have ever been in my adult life. i would rather have mono again. i fantasized about those cholera beds with the hole in the center so you didnt have to get up to have your horrid dysentery. nightmare.

- The day before that hit i had ONE golden day where i felt good and had energy. we went to temple and i got glomped by about 10 different people. my 80 year old bestie kept finding me to hug me again. Rabbi hugged me super hard.

- Before that was a root canal, and before that was a tooth infection that took 2 rounds of antibiotics to kill, and before that was the original cavity filling that started it all. the dentist kindly comped me the $172 for the filling against the $3,800 bill for the root canal + crown.

- Before that? IDEK man. I have lost track. Somewhere in there i got diagnosed with insulin resistance which explained my HORRENDOUSLY TERRIBLE fatigue and cloudiness and waking up starving every 3 hours. The meds they gave me changed that literally overnight. it was a miracle. which is why im freaking out about the new migraine med possibly counteracting that. i spent the entirety of last summer in a fog. several of my very good friends visited and all i could do was nap on them. i couldnt go anywhere or do anything. it was a nightmare. i don't want to go back to that. but also i don't want to have a migraine every time the wind blows. but i would rather have a migraine 50% of the time than be back to that fatigue fogged state 100% of the time. nope nope nope.

- and amongst all of this, still having the seizures. they were going down for a while but the last week or so has been 1-2 per day. so. another checkmark in the "gee do you think you're stressed?" column.

- it is going on 10pm and I'm tired so i very likely have accidentally omitted several other things. to be fair to me, there's Quite A Bit to remember.

- so if youre wondering why i havent updated my latest fic, its partly bc i am TIRED and partly bc if i gave jason even a third of the health bullshit i have dealt with the past few months, it would absolutely defy belief. TWO kinds of eye problems AND a speech problem AND food poisoning AND dentistry?? surely no one in the world has to deal with that much!

sigh. anyway. thanks for listening. i promise i am stressed out of my GOURD but, shockingly, have not slid into any sort of depressive space. mostly im just annoyed. i spent today watching dinosaur documentaries and reorganizing my craft supplies.

tomorrow will be better. today just sucked.

#me #personal

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bomberqueen17 · 10 months

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a week

hoo boy it has been A Week.

i keep thinking that i haven't worked all that hard this week really, but then i think about what's been going on, and like, yeah ok, i have done a lot. i've been really really tired every night. i've had almost no free time. i thought about going to see the barbie movie since everyone is, but i really truly simply just did not have time. behind the cut is just me sort of loosely recounting this week, minus the hospital adventures. (My finger is healed, if weirdly itchy in one spot, and I've got four more days of antibiotics about it?)

i spent time every day over at dude's aunt's house with his mom. i hadn't thought she'd need me thursday but then she texted to ask when i was coming, lolsob, so i got my laundry hung out and went over. i just hadn't asked, and i had assumed she'd mention it, and had built it up that i was going to get stuff done for myself that day. but then i didn't. i only went over there for a couple of hours, but it wore me out.

today we were only there for maybe an hour, not quite, and dude came too and we got a bunch of stuff removed. i keep not quite believing there's more. but there's more. there's always more.

i spent thursday afternoon and all but about an hour and a half of friday cleaning my own basement. and my own basement is not nearly so good. it's awful actually. there's so much shit that i put away not very carefully and it's wrecked now and honestly why was i keeping it anyway, and i need to just-- get rid of it, and i don't.... know... how... it's exhausting.

and i know, I know! what would make it so much easier, is that so much of the shit I have hoarded, not to put too fine a point on it, is stuff I want to use to make things, and if I just had like. IDK like maybe a week, let's say. During which I could just. Lay out and work on a bunch of projects with no other obligations. I know what would happen is I would realize that a lot of these carefully-hoarded things I've set aside to craft with are garbage really and my time would be better spent working with better materials. And then I'd throw them out! I know this sounds like wishful thinking but it has actually happened several times, I think I'm finally good enough at the things I want to do as hobbies that I feel able to let go of things that haven't worked, let go of things that aren't ideal, etc. We found out where all the textile recycling places are while clearing out Auntie's dragon-hoard of fabrics, and now I know, and I could let stuff go to that, I know I could. They take old shoes! I could do it.

I just don't have the time, which is frustrating. And so a lot of the cleaning I did is just rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. but those deck chairs are rearranged now, and the crucial thing is that when the movers come to take away our broken dryer and poorly-functioning washing machine, and give us Auntie's working ones instead (her washer is even OLDER than my nearly-unusable one from the 70s, it's kind of amazing, but ilke, you know what, why not, it would be amazing not to have to stand there holding the knob down the whole time it fills) they will be able to get in and out easily and we won't be paying them $225/hr to shimmy around my piles of junk. The front of the basement is now just like. Well I even mopped the floor, ok, so, if that means anything.

It doesn't, except to me. But there it is.

I am so tired. We got the guest bed taken apart; we're getting a fold-out couch in there instead, from Auntie's house, so that the room is more usable as an office. We'd been discussing that change for a long time. I was dreading to find out what's under that bed but it turns out almost nothing, refreshingly. Two strange boxes that contain things my sister left there when she lived in that house in 2007, but apart from that, just a whole lot of dust. Now that that's cleaned up, probably Dude's allergies will be better actually.

I knocked off work at 4:30 pm and took a shower and then we went out to dinner, and I made dude come for a walk with me around a local park, to do a Pokemon Go thing. He was amused. I asked him if he was having fun and he said "I have put myself into a place where I am enjoying this" which is familiar, honestly; I do that all the time. I realize a thing is just what's happening so I decide that I'm going to enjoy that however I can manage to, and usually it works.

I did get a tiny bit of writing done this morning, too, so there's that. But mostly this week was spent going through things and clearing out Dude's aunt's house. And that's what it is.

I'm headed back to the farm tomorrow. I need to work out how to cram things into my car effectively. I believe in myself. It'll be fine.

I'm so tired, and it's a chicken week coming up so I need to get my shit together. It'll be fine. I'm fine. God I could really use a whole day just-- mostly in bed. Wouldn't that be something! No I'd get too anxious. But a day reading. OMG Martha Wells put a new book out like a month ago and I haven't even bought it. Haven't even read an excerpt or summary. Haven't even looked at it. What would it be like to have time for that!

Someday.

#about the author #whining #hoarding #what i'm up to #misc

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hoffmansnightmare · 6 months

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Keep Away From The Edge

Chapter 2

Read Part one here: Part 1

Pairing: Mark Hoffman X Emmy Hodges

Recovering, Hint of Panic Attack, Crying, Not Comfort, Drinking, Nightmares

(You can also read it here! Keep Away From The Edge)

Emmy only stayed at the hospital for another day before they decided she was well enough to head home.

Well enough was of course relative. Emmy wasn't sure she'd ever be well enough again, but she wasn't in any danger of dying from her wounds. They'd monitored her to make sure she didn't spike a fever, and released her with scripts for painkillers and an antibiotic.

"If you start to feel like you have a fever, please come back." Her nurse, Betty, had explained. Betty handed her the clothes she had arrived in, which had been washed as thoroughly as they could be, but still had slashes from the glass. Emmy winced at the sight of them.

"Is there anything else I can wear out of here?" She asked. The idea of putting the clothes she had suffered in back on made her skin crawl. These garments were fated for a fire when she got home, most likely. "Also…did you find a tape recorder with my things?" Emmy didn't know why she was worried about that thing in particular. The memory of sticking it in her back pocket was already becoming hazy.��

"I think we may have some sweat pants and t-shirts we can send you home in." Betty looked uneasy at her second question. "I'm not sure about the tape recorder. I would guess that the police probably took anything like that as evidence."

Emmy thought about the detective's business card that still sat on the bedside table. She imagined herself calling him up, demanding to have her tape recorder back. It was hers. She'd earned it. "My wallet and cell phone are gone too?"

Betty just shrugged, looking very apologetic. "I didn't see anything besides your clothes."

Emmy drew in a long, labored breath. "Can you still see about those clothes?"

Betty gave her a small smile and a nod, leaving her to find something for her to wear. Emmy was grateful, but soon how she was even going to make it home crossed her mind. She lived across town, and with no wallet she couldn't get a taxi. She had no family left and the few friends she had were states away. She had one friend that did live close by, but Emmy also didn't feel like she had the strength to explain what had happened to her again…not yet anyway.

Her eyes wandered over to the business card again. 'Detective Mark Hoffman' in bold black letters above his phone and fax number. Surely he was far too busy to humor Emmy's woes. Maybe she'd just see if one of the nurses could give her just enough for bus fair. Then she thought about being crammed in a tight space with strangers, unfamiliar faces, any of which could be the person who had taken her.

Her hand yanked the room phone off the receiver and she was dialing his number before she could think any further about it. By the third ring she was starting to get cold feet, her hand on the receiver getting tense, ready to slam it down after another unanswered ring.

"Detective Hoffman."

Great he'd answered and now she had no idea what she was even going to say. What had she even needed in the first place? Her wallet?

"Hello?"

"H-hi." Emmy forced the word out. "It-it's Emmory, Emmory Hodges?"

"Yes." Hoffman's voice pitched up in recognition. "Did you remember something?"

"W-well not exactly."

Mark listened to her plight. "You don't have any family who can help you out?" Of course Mark knew she didn't, but asking was a part of the script, part of the act he had to keep up as the detective who hadn't been following her around for weeks. He knew her routine very well, and it wasn't very exciting. It looked much like his had, before John. Work, bar, home. Only to be repeated day after day. Both of her parents had passed away, and there were no siblings that he knew of. And she certainly didn't spend time with friends. At least not often.

"No, and without my wallet I can't get a cab." Emmory said.

Mark looked over at her possessions he had taken when he'd grabbed her. Just a cellphone and wallet. He'd added the tape recorder she'd put in her pocket before dropping her off. Just three lonely items sitting on a cluttered desk in the crowded warehouse he was currently using as a home base. Mark checked his watch for the time. He should probably head into the station soon anyway.

"I can swing by the hospital, and I think I can return your wallet and cell to you."

"That would be great." Emmory's voice brightened. Just a little. "Then I could pay a cab. I don't mean to be a bother."

Hoffman smiled at that. He wasn't exactly sure why.

"O-oh there was one other thing." She sounded unsure again. "There was a tape recorder in my back pocket. Did the police retrieve it? If so…I would like it back too."

"You want your test tape back?" Now Mark was truly confused.

"Y-yeah. I made it all the way through with it in my back pocket and I…I just want it."

Mark chewed the inside of his lip. On one hand he didn't see much harm in returning it to her. He could wipe it for all prints, and it was one John had prerecorded. But what she wanted with it was a mystery, and Mark didn't like mysteries.

"I'll see what I can do." He answered. He heard a whoosh of air on the other line.

"O-okay. I'll see you soon?"

"Yes." Mark was already standing and grabbing his coat. "I'll be there soon." She hung up and Hoffman snapped his cell closed. He stood over her things, cell, wallet, and tape recorder, still debating on whether just giving her the thing was a problem or not. Then he had to stand there and consider why he was even humoring the request. He should just tell her he couldn't get that particular thing out of evidence. She'd believe it.

He pulled on his leather gloves and shoved all three items into his coat pockets.

At the hospital she was waiting for him at the nurses station just outside her room, which was currently being turned down and sanitized for the next patient. Emmory was wearing a shirt that looked to be two sizes too big, and a pair of sweatpants that were synced around her waist. They looked like they were as big as the shirt. In her left hand was a plastic bag with what looked like her old clothes.

Her eyes landed on him as soon as he exited the elevator. They almost pinned him still in the spot. They were such an intense shade of corn flower blue, a little unsettling if he was honest. Mark kept his feet moving, procuring her wallet and phone from his pocket. For now he left the tape recorder where it was, not exactly keen on revealing it in front of all the nurses there. She grinned as he handed them to her, opening her wallet to make sure everything was still there.

"Wow, they didn't take anything." Relief was obvious in her voice. Next she tried the phone, but the battery had long since died. She put both things in the pocket of her much too big sweatpants. "Thank you again…and the other thing?"

Of course she'd ask. Mark tilted his head toward the elevator. "Let me walk you out." She followed without further comment, looking absent again. When the elevator doors closed he produced the tape recorder. "Here, but it's our little secret."

She took it with wide, almost reverent eyes. He told himself he was giving it to her to gain more of her trust. The more she trusted him the easier his life would be down the line. Her thumb hovered over the play button, and Mark put a hand over it.

"Maybe don't listen to it. Not so soon after anyway." Was she trying to traumatize herself further? Thankfully she listened to him, putting it with her phone and wallet. The rest of their ride down was silent.

On the ground floor the elevator doors opened up to pure chaos. In the short time it took him to get here and their elevator ride down, the press had learned Emmory was being discharged today, and were not swarming the front doors. Emmory stopped dead, watching the reporters shout at her through the doors. Apparently the hospital staff had shut off the automatic sensors and locked the doors.

"Oh…" Emmory said, her hand fisting itself into her oversized shirt. "How am I going to get a cab?"

She wasn't, not without going through that throng. The two of them were far enough back that the crowd hadn't noticed them, and Emmory was already taking a step back.

"We go back to plan A." Mark said simply, tapping her elbow. "I take you home. Come on. I parked in the parking garage. We can go out the back way."

She looked up at him with those wide blue eyes again. "Okay."

Escaping the press was relatively easy. At least it seemed that way to Emmy. She supposed the detective was probably used to maneuvers like this. Emmy tried to covertly take the man in properly from his passenger seat, being fully conscious for the first time in days.

Objectively he was handsome. The first thing that had stood out to her was his eyes, blue like hers, but riddled with emotions she could not even begin to decipher. Then his lips, they were so full it seemed like a crime. His hair was a dark brown and combed carefully. Clean shaven face and a build that was just…solid. He wasn't exceptionally tall, but he was…well thick. He looked like her might be a little soft in some areas, the way older men sometimes were.

"So, where am I taking you?"

Emmy started sharply. Right, he needed to know where she lived. "I'm just outside of the city. 1428 Summers Ave." She gave him directions on how to get to her place, although once she said the street name Hoffman had nodded. He probably knew every street name in a ten mile radius of the city.

There was still something, at the back of her mind, bugging her. Like an itch she just couldn't reach.

"You seem to be handling everything very well." Hoffman said, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Oh…well…" truth be told she hadn't really let herself stop to think about it. She'd either been sleeping or trying to figure out how she was going to get home. "It hasn't, I guess, occurred to me yet?"

Hoffman was quiet for several moments, then he nodded. "It could still be shock. Hasn't sunk in yet." They were out of the city now. Her stop wasn't very far from here.

Emmy tried to think about that. It wouldn't do her any good to ignore it. Was it just that she was so thankful to be alive? She didn't really think so. Yes she was happy she didn't die, but now she was going to be covered in scars, and probably have some bad nightmares to boot. Would she just go about like it didn't happen? Why hadn't she cried yet? Emmy thought the not crying thing was probably the weirdest part. Then again she'd heard stories of emotions so great they were beyond tears. Maybe that's what she was experiencing?

"Hey, you get lost in there?" They were stopped at a red light, and Hoffman had taken the opportunity to look at her, tilting his head slightly to get a better look at her face, which was pointing down to her lap.

She blinked slowly, coming back to the present painfully. Her throat was closing and she suddenly couldn't be home soon enough. She turned her head to the window, swallowing hard. "I'm fine."

He left her alone for the rest of the ride. When he pulled up in front of her house Emmy turned back to him. "Thank you. You really saved me."

Hoffman smiled and something flickered in his eyes. "Hey, it wasn't any trouble."

Emmy tried to smile at him as she left the car. It felt off, and she hoped she wasn't actually grimacing at him. Once she closed the door behind her everything hit her like a wave crashing over her. Her back fell against the door and she slid down until she was holding her knees and shaking. It was then, when she was finally all alone for the first time in a few days, that the tears came. They rolled down her face fat and hot. Now Emmy could really feel the ache all over her body, how the deeper cuts hurt.

A sob bubbled out of her chest, which started a torrent of more sobbing. She sat there, on the floor with her back to her front door, and cried for what felt like hours. She cried until she just couldn't anymore. She was still heaving sobs, but her cheeks had long dried. Eventually she got too tired to even make noise, so she subsided to whimpers, then silence. Just sat there with her chin on her knees, staring at the hard wood floor of her living room.

How was she meant to just keep going after what had happened to her? The point of the test was to teach her to appreciate being alive, but now all she could think about was how she was going to go about things as usual when she had nearly been another deceased victim of the Jigsaw killer. Now she was one of his lucky survivors. She was supposed to just put that all behind her? In the moment that seemed impossible. Like she'd never be able to move on. Logically she knew she eventually would, probably with plenty of nightmares, and the scars to remind her every day, but down the road it really would become just a memory.

Being back in her home just threw into sharp relief how wrong it felt. To be back here, safe in her house, when only a few days ago she may never have seen it again. It was beyond her comprehension. And her job…oh God she'd have to go back to work. That alone suddenly seemed like a monumental hill to climb. Did her boss even know what had happened to her? She hadn't called him yet, but she'd have to go back to work eventually. Trauma didn't make the bills go away. Emmy sniffed at that. It felt cruel that the earth kept on spinning.

Her ass really started to hurt from sitting on the hardwood floor, and her back was getting stiff, so she got back to her feet. She walked into the kitchen, which was just a step out of the living room in an open floor plan. Her phone charger was on the kitchen island so she plugged her phone in and set it down there to charge. She took the tape recorder out too, setting it next to her phone. It still had her dried blood on it. She hadn't noticed that before. She went back to retrieve the plastic bag she had been holding that held her old clothes. She chucked it into the trash on her way to her office.

Her office was down the hall off of the living room. Really she just wanted to go into her bedroom and collapse on the bed, pretend she didn't have to actually exist for one more day, but she thought it would be better to check in sooner rather than later, and she was sure her email was full to bursting by now. Mainly she wanted to email her boss and make sure she did indeed still have a job. That would really just be the cherry on top, having to job hunt after everything. Her email was full, most of it was spam and chain emails. Some were from her boss, wondering where she was, and worried. Emmy sent a way too brief email explaining what had happened and letting him know she'd be back again on Monday. She hadn't realized what day it was until she sat down. Thursday. For some reason the fact that the Jigsaw killer took her in the middle of the week really stuck with her.

Wonder if he has a 9 to 5 schedule.

She received an email back within a few minutes. It was the middle of the day and he was probably sitting right at his desk. Her heart thumped opening the email, expecting him to say that she'd been terminated. But no, he was relieved she was alive, if not okay, and that she could take more time if she needed to. Emmy replied back her thanks, but that she'd be in on Monday. She thought returning back to routine is what they always said you should do. Keep yourself busy and all that.

Now all she had to do was turn on her phone and see who had tried to contact her.

The precinct was abuzz as it always was. Kerry cornered him as soon as he walked through the door to ask him about the latest survivor.

"Did she have anything new?"

Mark could have rolled his eyes. "You read the notes. She saw as little as the others."

Kerry followed him all the way to his office, filled with way too much energy. "I want to bring her back in. After recovering she may remember more details.

Real irritation flared in Mark's chest this time and he rounded on her, his hand gripping the door handle. "Jesus, Kerry, give the woman a few days at least. She's going to have enough trouble adjusting."

He watched as shame flickered through her eyes. Mark wanted to sneer openly in her face. You forgot she was human for a moment there didn't you? All you could think about was that she lived through what you are studying. He could have sympathized with Kerry at one point, not so much now. Maybe some of that was his own fault. The work he did with John seeping unto his very marrow. Had he once just wanted to put bad guys away? He thought so. Now he was beholden to a dying old man who swore there was a better way.

"We can give her a week, but I do think it's important we question her again. It's standard."

It was. People tended to remember details after a period of time. Not that Mark thought Emmory would magically remember anything important. Well he knew she wouldn't. His only reply was a grunt as he opened his office door. A clear sign that this conversation was over. Mark sat down in his chair with a groan. He had plenty to do, or pretend to do. That day he had the request John made of him to fulfill, and he had a lot of work ahead of him.

Mark worked well into the evening, eventually checking his watch and seeing it had gotten quite late. He’d made some good headway. He’d call John and update him once he got out to his car. He wanted to drive by Emmory’s place, just to check in. Not that he expected he’d see much, but it was worth a look to see if she were home, or back at her favorite bar.

All was quiet at the Hodges House. The lights were out, and the car was in the driveway, which didn’t mean much. The little hole in the wall Emmory frequented was only a couple of blocks away, and he knew she was prone to walking there. They couldn’t take your keys if you didn’t drive.

So Hoffman made his way to the bar. It was a small place with a weird name, Lavender Tavern Syndrome. It was a step above a dive bar, and seemed to be video game themed. There were arcade cabinets along one wall and a few of the tables themselves were arcade machines, with a screen under the glass tabletop. Hoffman wondered if this place was Emmory’s favorite because of the theme, or because it was so close. He also thought they’d probably do better business deeper into the city, but they seemed to be doing well enough. There was no sign of Emmory here either, so hopefully she was at home in bed.

Mark ordered a drink, not wanting to look more suspicious than he already did in his cheap suit. The bartender was very welcoming, taking his drink order with a smile and producing it quickly. Definitely a far cry from the bars Mark had been used to in his heavy drinking days. He’d finish his one drink, then head home for the night. Maybe he’d swing by in the morning to see if there was any change. He didn’t think Emmory would be open to joining them, he wasn’t sure if she had the fortitude…

And maybe he didn’t want her to be. John’s cult didn’t need to grow any bigger. Mark could guess that John would eventually want to talk to Emmory, see how she took his ‘rehabilitation’, but Mark would leave that up to his discretion when he returned from Mexico. Mark wasn’t ready to out himself to her anytime soon.

Emmy tossed and turned in her bed, a sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead. The nightmares had come, memories of broken glass and how hot her blood had felt oozing out of a fresh cut. Shards grinding against the bones in her knuckles. In her nightmares she could have sworn there were still pieces inside of her, burrowing deeper under her skin.

Then, at the very end, when she got to the light at the end of the tunnel, a voice. It was deep, resonating in her chest.

Congratulations. You made it.

@grxmreaperx

#mark hoffman #saw 2004 #sawposting #saw franchise #saw movies #saw x #mark hoffman x oc #Mark Hoffman x Emmory Hodges #Keep Away From The Edge

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xieyaohuan · 4 months

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I have a splinter I can’t remove, so I made an appointment with my GP, like a responsible adult. My GP turned me away, saying she doesn’t do this and referred me to another doctor. The other doctor turned me away and sent me to the hospital, which I knew was going to be a disaster. Now I’ve been sitting at the hospital for the past two hours, waiting for the nurse to track down a doctor to check if there’s someone who can do this. She’s already told me they likely cannot because it’s not life threatening but also too complicated. I have a deadline for a 60 page paper tonight, which is about 2/3 done and I’m supposed to fly to Korea tomorrow, which is the reason why I made the doctor‘s appointment at the GP in the first place, not wanting to drag this along.

Now I already know I will likely get turned away here as well, but I also don’t know if there’s a hospital in this city that will actually take me in, so I’m trying to figure out if I should

1. Leave and try my luck elsewhere, wasting time on another trip across the city only to find they won‘t take me without ever knowing for sure this hospital won’t treat me

2. Wait here and risk being turned away after eight hours or so, seriously diminishing my chances of finding another hospital that’ll take me in (I’m fully preparing to check all of them, but I can’t do that if I wait here too long) or

3. Ask for a tetanus shot, some antibiotics and some alcohol and maybe a better knife than I have at home and try it myself.

Yeah. It’s a slow apocalypse. We will work through it.

#Personal #sorry for all the vent posts #my life has been a shitshow

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evermorethecrow · 1 month

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EVERMORE THE CROW 1K SPECIAL..... EXPOSING MY PAST.................

ages ago when i was younger i had to write this letter talking about times i got injured for school work and it was so bad i went through it with a friend of mine and because i thought i wouldnt hit 1k before the end of the year saying id post it if i did.

AND NOW IVE DONE IT

so heres my letter :(

Dear sir, I chose to write about a dangerous situation I've been in but I found it so difficult to pinpoint one situation.I am such an impulsive and spontaneous person and I rarely think before I act .Therefore instead of just one dangerous situation I have composed. Before i start i would like to issue a warning under no circumstances should a person attempt to recreate any action in this list for it is ill advised and i don't want to go to court again Kind regards -------

Okay so let's start out small ,i mean like when i was small really small i couldn't walk, but oh boy i could climb and unfortunately for the better of my own health climb I did,climb out of my cot and i know because gravity people who drop out of things tend to have this annoying habit of hitting the floor.Lets just say my mum put PE mats on my bedroom floor after that.

Next…uhhhhh incident??? Oooh it's another escaping story maan maybe i should change my name to houdini or something,anyway this was a little later like i was able to walk (uh oh) i reckon i was good a walking, a little too good, my mum looked away from my pram for a second a second too long when she looked back i was gone, everyone in the park was looking for me and after 10 minutes of looking my mum saw me walk out the playground, i left and went to the playground.We went home after that.

Time for the third story I was two years old and was running buckwild in Greenwich Park and having a fun time, in fact I was having such a fun time I didn't hear my mum shout “LOOK OUT”. I had a comically large bump on my head got concussed and had to go to hospital, Not for too long though the very next day i got sent home for using a IV as a skateboard

Just a heads up befor the next story alot of these storys will be me being stupid and endeing up in hospital so if you have idiotphopia or are scared it would be advised to leave now or buy todays sponsor raycon earbuds.

Anyway next accident When i was five I was in bed as a five year old should be when I had a genius revelation Hmmm i I dont wanna use my legs to get out of bed so why not roll out instead….i did roll out of bed,right onto a plastic dinosaur and cut my eyelid, there was blood all over my face.But hey at least i got to meet an old friend of mine.The hospital waiting room.

So yeah you can probably see how i'm quite an accident prone person but i never really did anything that bad.SO WHO WANTS TO HEAR ABOUT THE TIME I JUMPED OFF MY SCOOTER WHILE GOING SUPER FAST ON IT DOWN A HILL? I was seven and i was at our local park blythe hill and my seven year old brain wanted nothing more than to go down that hill at record speeds on my scooter,and i'm not talking about one of those fancy stunt scooters no i'm talking about a kids micro scooter, you know , the one where you would always put elastic bands on it, any way I was about halfway down the hill when i decided I was going too fast on it and i could get hurt and since id never had an injury before i wanted to prevent that so what did i do? I jumped of the scooter I was a smart kid. I jumped off my scooter and pretty much removed all the skin on that side of my body and too make matters worse it got infected and i had to take antibiotics for 4 weeks. Fun times

As you can probably see i might be a bit reckless and might be a bit bad at planning ahead Which leads me to our next story, this ones a bit different you see this time I didn't actually get hurt. I was at a friend's house and that friend's house had a garden with a tree,a tree and a garage which was placed close to the tree, and I, being a master climber since birth, scaled the tree with ease. But that wasn't enough for me no I wanted to climb the garage.So i went across the tree to the branche nearest the garage ,and climbed on top of the garage,the lovely,brick garage.my friends dad came out and saw me on top of the garage simply chilling and as you can probably predict he asked me to get down so instead of doing the rational thing and using the tree to et down.. I jumped of the garage onto the stone floor.I didn't go to their house for a while after that

I have another garage related story,This was in 2017 I was nine surely I was smateer by then and learned my lesson Right……Right? Me and my siblings were playing marco polo out the front of our house (never a good sign) And it was my turn to be blindfolded and find my siblings.I decided to run straight forward and hit the brick wall between two garages , I fractured my nose, chipped my front tooth and had to go to hospital.oops.

Now they say save the best for last and boy did i. It was 2020(oh god ) and we were celebrating my mom's birthday and all was going smoothly, well until i decided to leave our living room by jumping out the room from the sofa.it didn't go as planned.yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah i jumped off the sofa hi my head on the top of the door landed on my arm and spent 5 hours in hospital on my mums birthday.

That's all we have time for today However here are some honorable mentions

.The time i used my scooter on a tall thin brick wall (someone really ought to take that thing of me honestly)

.All the times I hit my head on bins

.And that time this year I literally without thinking put the hairdryer on my face after I used It and burnt stripes into my face

Well thats the list of the most dangerous things ive done, of course ive done more dumb things but this paper has gone on long enough and I have school in the morning so bye I guess.

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MY LIFE IS RUINED

#Evermore exposed

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macgyvermedical · 11 months

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I have a character who gets shot in the side and her friends sensibly realize she will die without actual surgery. Unfortunately there are also people who still want to kill her, so staying put in a public place isn't ideal. How do I determine how long she absolutely positively must stay in the hospital? And what are the risks of leaving early?

The reason hospitals exist is because there are many situations in which a person doesn't have the skill, equipment, and/or ability to take care of themself at home.

Maybe the person can't keep anything down and needs IV fluid to stay hydrated. Maybe they have altered mental status for some reason and can't keep themself safe. Maybe they need assessments for changes to their status around the clock. Maybe they need a medication that is dosed based on an assessment that they can't do themself. Maybe they need a treatment or medication that is too dangerous or side effect prone to give outpatient.

Any of these, among many others, are reasons people might have to stay in a hospital.

For surgery/trauma specifically, a pretty standard checklist has to be met for someone to go home. They have to:

Be able to hold down fluids (with oral anti-nausea medication if necessary)

Have tolerable pain with oral pain medication

Be back to (or very close to) their baseline mental status

Be able to pass gas

Be able to urinate

Finish their course of IV antibiotics (in the case of trauma or an intestinal surgery)

Be able to understand and follow their care plan at home (when to take meds, how to change dressings, when to come back for follow ups, when/how they can bathe, etc...)

Once these are all met, the person can generally go home safely. For some people and surgeries, this takes a few hours, for others this takes weeks or even months. Some people may even need to go to a rehab center or a skilled nursing facility before they can go home safely (especially if they can do everything but the last one).

Someone who is shot in the side and needs surgery likely had the bullet penetrate their peritoneum- the sac that holds their abdominal organs. This probably injured some intestine, which means she will need IV antibiotics and runs the risk of part of the bowel dying or failing to work as it should after the surgery.

If she was really proactive and there were no complications*, she could probably meet everything but the antibiotic requirement within 24 hours.

Now, after 24 hours, even if she'd met all the requirements except the IV antibiotics, she'd still have to leave against medical advice, or "AMA". This means that the best course of treatment, the IV antibiotics, has to take place in the hospital, and she would run the risk of complications (peritonitis) by skipping out before they were done. If she could convince the doctors to give her oral antibiotics**, she might even be able to leave without the high risk of peritonitis that comes with bowel surgery.

Speaking of complications, the main complications would be dead bowel (which would cause a lack of bowel movement/passing of gas, and vomiting), and peritonitis. For either of these, she would have to come back to the hospital and spend possibly a week or more with an NG tube or more IV antibiotics.

*This is something that would require her to start working on her checklist the second she got up to the floor. Trying to pee, being really aware of when she passed gas, drinking clear liquids like it was her job the second she was allowed, refusing IV meds if there was any other option, etc... It would not be fun or comfortable, and this assumes of course there are no complications.

**This is something that is surprisingly difficult to convince doctors to do. I have had many, many times when a patient is either refusing IV access, we can't get an IV in them to literally save their life, or the patient is leaving AMA and still needs antibiotics, and even so no one will change the IV antibiotics to oral or IM. If you are a pharmacist or a hospitalist I would love to hear reasons and if there are some magic words I can say to get alternative antibiotics for my patients.

#whump reference #writing reference #surgery #hosptials #hospital life #nursing

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osscarh · 16 days

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This is my first post ever and I thought maybe I could share a nice story with ya all. I've never really put it in complete order so it's time I do that.

As prelude, I own 3 cats. One of them, the oldest, is, at the time of writing this, 12 years old, with his papers noting that he was born the 6th of April 2012, 3 days after my dad's birthday. His name is Sacha, despite the vets who all name him Sasha (and also wrote that he's a girl for some reason? I mean he doesn't seem bothered but I don't think he understands English.) His name is kinda dumb but my bro named him. I prefer giving Egyptian names to my cats.

I got Sacha around 2015, I don't really remember which month. I was around 13 at the time and my first cat had just died. My mom was really feeling bad so we adopted Sacha from a center. His previous owners had placed him there cuz the lady got pregnant and apparently cats can mess with fetuses or something. Idk but I think his previous owners were lame cuz he stayed in that center for like 6 months and they took bad care of him. His claws grew in his paws, his fur got a lot of knots and he smelled really bad. He's half Persian so he needs a lot of care.

When he arrived home he was super sweet but really doing poorly. We toon him to the vet for his claws and hired a lady to remove his knots. He didn't like his new cut so the lady zooted him on I thinl weed? It was some drug, mfer has had more experiences with illicit substances than I and I'm kinda jealous tbh.

Sacha was my only cat for a while. My mom adopted Bagheera, a kitten born from one of her sister's cats when she divorced my dad around 2016 and Sacha stayed at my dad's place with me and my brother (the fucker who named him with such a lame name).

Anyway time passed, I lived my best life with my cat, took care of him, took him to vet every year for his vaccines (he goes outside), reconnected with my mom and adopted a kitten who was born in my mom's backyard and named him Settra. So that's why I have 3 cats. But back on track, in 2022 Sacha got an eye infection. We had to do a lot of ophtalmology to get it sorted and my mom helped a lot with that despite the fact that the cat wasn't even in her home. His eye's doing okay now but he needed new material be brought in his eye. Persians tend to be weak in eyes and nose.

Then when the summer vacations of 2023 ended, Sacha got sick. At first it was a minor cold so we didn't do anything, some snot in his nose, then around mid September he ate less. Come end of September and he was doing bad, still eating but always sneezing and his throat was inflamed. I brought him to the vet and he was given antibiotics that kinda helped.

By the beginning of October Sacha was doing pretty poorly and eating way less. He was always a fat cat so this concerned me a lot. The vet couldn't tell why the antibiotics weren't acting as he was supposed to have an infection so they gave him more and asked us to get a visit to a pet hospital 1h of travel away (Belgium is small, 1h of travel looks a lot for me but for American folks it's prilly shorert). So we did, got something planned for end of october. I wanted faster but they were full and he was still eating so not an emergency.

Meanwhile Sacha's health got worse. One of his eyes (not the one who had the surgery) couldn't open and he had little things in the part of forehead between his eyes that made a sort of scritchy sound when you ran your hand over it. Most concerningly, he wasn't eating. We (my mom and I) took him to another vet who did acupuncture with relative success, allowed Sacha to eat well for a day or two before going back to not eating.

I was getting really desperate so I mixed his food and fed him with a syringe for a week. I knew if my dad knew he wasn't eating, he'd suggest euthanasia as the costs of bringing a pet to the hospital are quite high. So I took his wet food, put it in my mom's mixer and mixed it for like 15 minutes when going back from school while dad was away, then cut it into even smaller bits and forcefed him with a syringe (his throat was super inflamed and small so he was probably in pain and I knew it but I couldn't stand to watch him thin like that).

On the 26th of October, we went to the hospital for him. My mom and I were reluctant to go there because it's an universitary hospital and we were kinda scared that he'd be put on life support and...I guess experimented on? We didn't want his life be prolonged if he was in constant pain but we went nonetheless. My mom took a day off work (again, she took a lot to get the cat to the vet) and I warned my Spanish teacher that I couldn't attend. She's a really sweet lady and I told her the story, she was super supportive.

The hospital was not all like we anticipated. The doctors were really charming and quite open with how much stuff cost. I speak French and the hospital staff spoke Dutch so we settled on English as a language to communicate with. Tirns out spending all that time playing dnd with strangers on discord paid off for me, I was able to talk with these docs no problem.

Of course without insurance it was expensive but it was doable to pay. They ran scans on Sacha and it was promising, they said he had an infection but had the right antibiotics for him. Since he didn't eat, they wanted to keep him there and we agreed. We gave our phone numbers and left.

When we visited Sacha the following day, they told us he had a lymphoma. It's blood cancer for those who dunno what that means (I certainly didn't till October). They asked us if we wanted to begin chemo.

I was fucking devastated. That cat had been with me through my parents' divorce, the death of family members, graduation, the lowest of my sick days and the brightest of my good days. I didn't want to leave him die of hunger without a fight.

My mom didn't have enough money to pay for it in full and my dad'd never use his money to pay for a cat's chemotherapy so I agreed to pay most of ot. I had a decent bit of money in a bank account, I basically never buy anything so pockeh money, student job money and birthday money stacked up. My dad'd never have allowed me to pay for that (neither him nor I even knew they had chemotherapy for cats) so I lied and said my mom paid for it.

He stayed at the hospital until the 31st of October, of course we visited him everyday and the hospital staff kept us informed with daily phonecalls to schedule a visit and tell us what was up. During that time (5 days since he arrived, 4 days since chemo started) they put a tube in his throat to feed him and started the chemo.

That. Shit. Worked. When we brought him home, he could open his eye again and even wanted to go for food (motherfucker do you know how much that tube costs?). He played with the other cats and we had a weekly checkup for him. I missed many Spanish classes. During his time at the center he really liked one doctor who calls him Sir and basically saved his life.

Of course he stayed at my mom's place. It was easier for feeding through his tube at first, my mom was in vacations and he needed 3 meals a day, then he stayed there. Wasn't gonna let him stay in the home of a person who'd let him die. I love my dad but fuck him for this. He admitted several times he'd have never brought my cat to that hospital (so he'd have left him die of cancer and hunger, poor cat was thinning by the day).

His tube was removed a month later and visits moved to once every 3 weeks. It's been continuing since then with me and my mom paying 50/50 for the costs. I missed a university travel to Athens because I couldn't afford it (something I'll never admit to my parents, I pretended there was drama and I didn't want to get involved) and I guess I won't leave the country this year. Honestly I'd have cut both arms to save that cat so it's a small price.

The people at the hospital love him too. He's really friendly so students can take his blood and try to take his heartbeat without worries. Problem is that he purrs too loud for a good lung listening to take place. Turns out Sacha loves getting pets and attention from groups of students and doctors who give him treats and headpats. He has done more drugs than me and has a better date game than me.

It's been quite a while now. Sacha's been doing really well and the recent reports note that he is in remission. I may have cried when I read that mail ngl. He goes outside and killed a big pigeon a few weeks ago. He plays with the other cats, he really likes Settra and for the first time in his life he does playfight. Bagheera likes him as a punching bag despite being smaller than him. My mom stays with him everyday and I visit half of the days of the week. He eats like a lion too, he went from 3 kilos to 4.7 kilos when he was last checked this Wednesday.

I guess this is a selfish post, it's kind of my way of both thanking the people who helped me like my mom, the docs and my Spanish teacher, without having to say thank you to their faces yet again, and a way of making my cat immortal in a way. Even with all the help, Sacha's gonna be gone one day, hopefully in a very long time. But this post'll remain for a while more so there'll be a trace of what humans did for that cat.

I also wanted to say that please don't be afraid to go to universitary pet hospitals if you have the means to afford it. It's a scary place, I didn't even know it existed but these people aren't out there vivisecting animals. They're really nice. And don't give up too early on stuff that matters to you, it's really worth to keep going, at least in this case.

And if you could do a few prayers for Sacha, that'd genuinely mean a lot to me.

Anyway here is the cat tax. I've included quite a few pics so this post can be even longer than it is.

Sacha as he was before he got sick:

Sacha as he was in October:

(Don't mind his lack of fur that's because he had too many knots and drastic measures had to be taken)

Sacha as he is now:

Sacha with Bagheera, on their favorite blankets.

Sacha and Settra begging to go outside (it's raining! I open the door and they don't leave!)

I love you, you dumb orange fuck.

#long post #cat #orange cat #first post #sick cat #cats

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satans-helper · 5 months

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Reaching for Stardust - Part XIV

Read Looking for Space here / Playlists / Read RFS on Wattpad

Word Count: ~3000

Warnings: sexy time ;)

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Indeed Josh was desperate–though thankfully not literally dying–to get home. With the green light from his doctor given that his heart rate improved and the antibiotics were in full swing, I gathered him into my car and we headed back to the apartment where his brothers still were. My tires crunched over salt and leftover snow as we drove into the monochromatic gray of our little world, the heat blasting over both of us but really so high just to keep Josh warm. He looked better–warm color had returned to his face and he actually appeared to be pretty well-rested despite not having slept in his own bed.

“You’re feeling better?” I asked when we hit a red light.

“Yes, mama. Certainly better,” Josh told me, then sniffed a little. “Thanks for doing all of this.”

“Anything for you.” I reached over to squeeze his knee. “I’m so glad you’re on the mend. I don’t want to bring you to the hospital ever again. Not for an illness, anyway.”

“I’ll do my best. What about you? I don’t want you to get sick either.”

“So far, so good.” I hit the gas again. “Maybe the universe knows both of us can’t be sick at the same time. But the boys are gonna stay today and tonight to help out and keep us company. They were coming up Thursday anyway. Might as well stick around now, right?”

“That’s good that they spent the night.”

“It helped. As soon as I got home without you, it felt intolerable.”

Josh let out a dry laugh. “I love you.”

I looked at him for a moment before I had to make a turn. “I love you more.”

In my peripheral vision, I could see Josh stare out the window at the snowy streets and say, “Impossible.”

Back home we were greeted by loud, excited jeers of triumph over Josh’s road to recovery as well as a few bags of sick staples–more soup and broth, more Gatorade, a package of those little boxes of fruit juice, some zinc, cough drops and a big box of Rocket Pops, which Josh immediately tore into. He plopped himself down on the couch with the Rocket Pop in his mouth while Jake sat down next to him, Sam paced the living room while monologuing about how disgusting hospitals were and Danny helped me put everything away.

“You sure you guys wanna crash here again?” I asked him while he shoved the box of popsicles next to our other half-empty box of popsicles. “Don’t get me wrong–I love it. But I bet it feels pretty cramped. You should all be sleeping in beds.”

“We’ve agreed to stay here tonight,” Danny told me, balling up one of the empty plastic bags. “After that we’re gonna go back home.”

“Aw. Sam will miss you.”

“We live like, three blocks away from each other,” Danny replied with a little laugh. “So do you think Josh will be able to go to Thanksgiving?”

“I don’t know. Guess we’ll see.” I lifted a can of chicken noodle soup. “For now, this will have to do.”

Jake ended up playing nurse more than I did–he spent the entire day doting on his twin, making sure he was taking his meds, feeding him, keeping him hydrated and comfortable. That gave me a chance to catch up on work, though Sam and Danny were distracting in their own right no matter what I did to try and carve out my own space. It was nice though, the coming together of everyone again for a prolonged period of time in a home base, even if that had been instigated by Josh getting sick. What mattered was that he was fully on the mend and we were all spending time together, and I found myself no longer thinking about death but rather thinking about how it might be possible to have this all the time. A commune was always sort of a joke idea, but couldn’t it be real? Why couldn’t we be tied together like one big, happy family? The boys had had that for many years. I was a newer addition. I wanted it to stay like that. I was pretty sure they all did too. Being apart made no sense and I got caught up in this fantasy while I tried to stay tied to my computer screen. Ultimately, no other place in the world felt as good as home did.

Things winded down even further after we all watched a movie. Jake, Danny and Sam took their respective couch and sleeping bag beds in the living room while I got some long-awaited alone time with Josh, who seemed absolutely delighted to be back in our bed. He snuggled back against the pillows in a clean set of pajamas–the fleece set patterned with puppies in Santa hats that I’d bought him two Christmases prior–looking cherubic and adorable and more healthy than he had at the hospital.

Then he wiggled ferociously, hips shimmying on the mattress with an abundance of suppressed energy that finally could resurface. I smirked, standing in front of our dresser with my own pair of clean pajama pants waiting in my hands, and asked, “What’s up, buttercup?”

“I feel,” Josh began, bringing one hand down to his crotch. He grabbed himself, groping in a very uncharacteristic way that completely captured my attention. “Pent up.”

“Yeah, I bet,” I said, my attention drifting from changing my clothes to getting Josh out of his. “It’s been days since you…got off. Right?”

Josh nodded, palming himself through those silly fleece pants. It was one of those times where his almost innocent-seeming, unfathomably adorable nature butted up against the more robust biological male sex drive; how fascinating it was to see the mingling of those sides as often as I did.

“Yeah. Days,” he said. “I think I need some help.”

I stepped over to the side of the bed, bending down to pet back the curls that had fallen down past his ears. His hair was growing out just a little bit. I secretly wished he’d let it all grow out completely and return to the wild, messy free set of long, sunkissed curls that I just loved running my fingers through. He looked up at me with the softest eyes, the dark, shiny irises reflecting the dim night table lamp, and I thought back briefly to the bachelorette party.

“I have an idea,” I told him, already retreating to grab one of the gift bags that was still sitting in the corner of our bedroom. One peek inside allowed me to see that bottle of edible body oil–raspberry-vanilla flavored. Questionable, but certainly worth trying. With that now in my hand, I swiveled to face Josh again: “You should get naked.”

Josh gave me his best puppy dog eyes. “No foreplay?”

I shook the bottle, the wet, gloopy sound making him perk up. “This is all foreplay, baby.” Before I got ahead of myself, I paused. “I should get a towel.”

I slipped out of the bedroom to the hall to grab one of our least desirable towels from the linen closet, then peered further down the hall to check on the boys–Danny and Sam were chatting, the TV blinking in front of them, and Jake was lounging beneath one of our extra throw blankets, the book in front of his face illuminated by the end table lamp. We were all basking in different lights tonight, I thought as I crept back to the bedroom, but I thought my Starshine was by far the brightest.

But he could also be the loudest. I grabbed the little fan from our closet and set it up on the dresser next to the humidifier for some extra white noise, pointing it away from the bed, and motioned for Josh to move to the side so I could lay the towel down. He got up entirely and stripped down to nothing, and I watched, soaking him up with my eyes. True aging hadn’t exactly hit either of us yet–sure, a few new, at first odd-looking lines had grown into our faces, our tolerance for certain foods had changed, hair grew differently–more slowly, it seemed–metabolism slowed down just a touch. More than anything, I could see that some of his juvenile, boyish looks had developed. But true aging was far off, I felt, and it was even further away for Josh, who continued to embody such youth and vitality despite getting older that it sometimes felt as though getting old would never touch him.

Again, I thought as I dropped to my knees in front of him while he laid back on the bed, almost like he was immortal. That’s a big part of why him being in the hospital was so scary–because until that moment, Josh had seemed completely, totally untouched and eternal.

I almost asked if he really felt up for a “full release,” but he was already hard and looking very eager, thighs spread and his erection firmly pressed against his belly. But I did remind him of one thing after I squeezed a bit of the oil into my hands: “You’ll need a shower after this. This stuff feels sort of sticky.”

“That’s okay,” he said, voice still a little hoarse but still an improvement from a few days prior. He laid back, propped up on his elbows, watching while I brought my hands to his calves. When my hands slid up to his thighs, he laid back flat, stretching his arms up over his head. “Nice and slow seems right. I’m beat.”

“I bet you are.” I broke contact to get more oil–it smelled okay, like the artificial raspberry I was used to from candy and a touch of sugary-sweet fake vanilla, but I was still a bit apprehensive about the taste. I worked my hands around his thighs, massaging gently and intentionally ignoring his most sensitive part; his quads were strong, perpetually taut, and his inner thighs were delightfully soft, his skin pliable as I worked my hands over them. I leaned forward to lick–mostly to try the taste, really, which ended up being a primarily bitter, fake fruit flavor. It made me pause for a second, which Josh noticed, looking down curiously. I slid my tongue between my teeth, making a sour face, but the after-taste was actually less unpleasant.

“How is it?” he asked, still keeping his hands behind his head. I wasn’t sure everyone got to see it in action, but there were plenty of instances in which Josh could exhibit impressive patience.

“Not terrible?” I replied, then finally wrapped my hand around his cock, hot and hard within my palm, and Josh laid his head back down. The oil did serve as a solid lubricant, I could give it all the credit there–the slide was slick and easy but I went slow, massaging his thigh and up to his hip with my other slippery hand. I ran my thumb over the little slant of bone, fingers splayed over his side, then back down and around to squeeze his ass as best I could. It didn’t take much effort until Josh was whimpering–a little too loudly. I squeezed a little harder in warning and said, “Best to be quiet, babe. They’re not asleep out there.”

“I’m too pent up!” Josh replied in a frenzied yet hushed huff, thrashing his arms. The whole thing made me laugh but I slid my hand back to his inner thigh, massaging again, and he stilled with a silent nod, pressing his lips together tight. So I carried on, petting his leg and up to his side while I stroked him, studying the slight curves of his body and the heat that was radiating from everywhere. Thankfully, however, it wasn’t a fever anymore. It was pure arousal, all those hormones festering for too long in that beautiful form.

“You’re still the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” I told him with complete intention, my eyes grazing from his tense neck down to the quivering belly. “Even when you have pneumonia.”

“You don’t get to talk if I can’t,” Josh replied, abs tightening while his cock twitched in my hand.

I laughed softly. “Fine, fine.” I brought my face lower while I pushed one of his legs to the side a bit. “Fair’s fair, I guess,” I added before I pressed my mouth to his inner thigh, beginning with a kiss, carrying on with a long lick and ending with a bite. With Josh holding back another whimper that I could see caught in his throat, I decided to go all in, swiping my tongue up his length while I gently squeezed his balls.

It still caught me by surprise how abruptly he came. I pulled back just in time to let Josh’s abdomen catch a bit of the release, the rest caught in my fist while I kept pumping him and, throughout it, he was biting his lip to keep himself as quiet as possible. His fists clenched the sheets until his knuckles were white, every muscle in his body visibly tightening and then contracting. He thrashed a bit to tell me no more, so I released him and wiped my hand on the towel beneath him.

I sat by his side, placing my cleaner hand atop his chest. “You should really breathe, though. For the sake of your lungs.” His heartbeat was strong, though–I could feel it beneath my palm.

Josh let out a long breath through his nose, then covered his mouth with his arm to cough a bit. “Sorry,” he said, sounding more spent than he did earlier, but in a good way. “Wow. Alright, darling, I definitely needed that.” He looked down at himself and groaned. “But now I do need to hop in the shower again and I really don’t feel like moving.”

“If I could carry you, I totally would,” I told him, bending down to give him a long kiss, sickness be damned. “Want me to run you a bath?”

Josh’s hand gently clasped the back of my head, keeping me pinned in front of his face. “Only if you take the bath with me.”

I suddenly remembered the three other people in our apartment. “Maybe we should just make it a quick shower,” I said to Josh, looking behind myself at the bedroom door. “We’re not the only ones here tonight.”

Josh huffed dramatically. “They can hold their piss for a little while.” He rolled out from beneath me and got on his feet, taking the dirty towel and tossing it into our laundry basket, then planted his hands on his hips as he stood in front of the door. “Come on, love.”

I relented and, in the bath, I leaned back against the tub and held Josh between my legs. “I hate to say it, but you might need to skip Thanksgiving this year,” I told him as I rubbed soap beneath his armpits. “Do you think your parents will be really upset?”

“They completely expected me to miss it. My mom cried more than you did.”

“Well, I’m not surprised. It’s gotta be hard to see her baby in the hospital, even if you’ve been there like a hundred times before.”

“Not a hundred.”

“Close enough. Too many times.” I ran one hand up to the back of his neck, massaging a little, and gave him the reminder of, “You’re not allowed to go back to the hospital ever again.”

Josh laughed, turning his head to look over his shoulder at me. “What if I need to?”

“You won’t. This was enough for a lifetime.” I plunged my hands down in front of him before bringing the soapy water up to his chest, running them over his pecs and shoulders; he hummed contently and I moved my touch beneath his arms. The scrubbing motion of my fingers and palms made him start to laugh and wiggle, water splashing around us. I put my chin on his shoulder, turning to nibble at his ear: “Ticklish?”

Through more uncontrollable laughter, Josh said, “Yes, you know this!” He wiggled some more, slippery hands flying to my wrists. “Play nice.”

“But I love hearing you laugh like that,” I told him, although I did, after another second, cease the torment. I nuzzled into his neck, closing my eyes. “Even though I’m sure the boys have a very clear idea of what we’re doing now.”

“Spooning in the bath? They’re imaginations could never,” Josh said, flicking water away from himself to let it splash against the tiled wall. “So, doll–what’s next on our list for the wedding? I have to admit I haven’t been thinking about it much these past few days.”

I resumed rubbing his shoulders and up to the nape of his neck. “Me either. That’s been weirdly kind of nice. But I think we’re settled for a while. We finalized the cake order so that’s good to go. Everything else is set.”

“Except the ‘couple’s shower,’” Josh reminded me, tilting his head back to try and meet my eyes.

“Yes, that. I’m glad we’re not just doing a bridal shower. So lame,” I said with a chuckle, twirling a damp curl between my fingers. “Not everything has to be so separate and weird. I need you there for that for sure.”

A brisk knock on the door made us both turn our heads. “Hey, lovebirds,” Sam called out. “Danny’s gotta piss so can you wrap up whatever it is you’re doing in there?”

“He can’t ask us himself, Sammy?” Josh asked with a laugh.

“He’s shy,” I reminded him, patting his shoulder. “Okay. Let’s get up.”

---

Tagging: @sparrowofrhiannon @starbuggie @lightsofthe-living-gvf @sanguinebats @gvfrry @clairesjointshurt @bizzielisteningtogreta @jjwasneverhere

If you'd like to be tagged in any of my fics, you can go here or DM me :)

#greta van fleet #gvf #josh kiszka #josh gvf #josh kiszka x reader #gvf fan fiction #jake kiszka #jake gvf #sam kiszka #sam gvf #danny wagner #danny gvf #rfs

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shion-yu · 7 months

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Day 30 - Coma

It gets more than Elliot can handle at home (part 3). Part one here and part two here. Whumptober 2023! I’m using the @ailesswhumptober's prompt list. This story is about my OC Cliff - here’s his profile if you’re so inclined: https://toyhou.se/23741453.cliff. This one’s a multiparter, this is the third and final part (I think).

TW/CWs: Major chronic illness, hospitalization

The ICU was much quieter than the emergency room. For some reason that was worse - maybe because it forced Elliot to think about something other than the chaos around him. Cliff lay on bleached white sheets pale as a ghost. Elliot couldn't bring himself to look directly at him. Perhaps the sound of the ventilator pumping in and out should have been comforting because it meant Cliff was still alive, but it wasn’t. It really wasn’t.

Moira called him sobbing. The hospital had notified Cliff’s father, who had then notified her. She was on the first plane there but it wouldn't arrive until later that afternoon. Elliot just told her it was fine. Cliff was stable, at least as stable as someone who couldn't breathe on their own could be. Cliff’s father made a short appearance but said little, focusing his efforts on working with Cliff’s doctors on diagnosis and plan of care. Elliot didn’t even have the energy to glare at him properly.

Upon arriving, Moira hugged Elliot right away. Elliot tried to comfort her but his attempts were half-hearted when he could find little to comfort himself with. He had called his own mom and had a full breakdown on the phone earlier. While she was of course supportive and worried for Elliot, she hadn’t offered to come by the hospital either. Elliot understood, but secretly he wondered if part of that was influenced by resentment, too. He'd been so broken the first time they'd split up and he knew she was still worried Cliff could just be using him as someone to take care of him now that he was sick. It wasn't true, but it was a fact that ate away at Elliot's consciousness. It was similar with Milo - he could call his best friend, but the guy would only be there for Elliot’s sake, not Cliff’s. His followers online definitely weren’t the right place for this. Ultimately, he felt alone.

Several differential diagnoses were thrown around over the next few days, but none of them stuck. The doctor explained that they'd taken several samples of blood, CSF, lung tissue and sputum to test and they were waiting to see what grew. However they were sure that at the least it was a very bad infection, most likely an opportunistic one from long term steroid use; Cliff's immune system was destroyed by the very medication that had been keeping him alive. There was talk about brain surgery too if nothing grew on the cultures which sounded beyond terrifying, but thankfully on the fourth day after arriving Dr. Barrows told Elliot and Moira they'd identified a bacteria - nocardia. It was something that was usually harmless in most people, but in this case it was severe and Cliff's chances of survival were extremely poor considering it had already reached his brain. The most intensive of antibiotics were all they could hope for. Elliot googled nocardia and then quickly wished he didn't, because it said the chances of survival for disseminated nocardiosis in immune suppressed people was only about 15%. That number throbbed in his mind. 15% sounded painfully low.

Despite this number, Cliff did respond to the antibiotics. His numbers were apparently getting better, even though to someone like Elliot he seemed the same. A week in, the ventilator was removed and sedation weaned. Cliff was breathing on his own with just oxygen, but he wasn’t waking up. There was nothing else to do but wait at that point and hope that Cliff’s body allowed him to wake up again. There was a possibility that there would be lasting brain damage. There was a possibility that he’d never wake up at all. The idea of either thing happening was almost too much for Elliot to handle. The stress caused him to feel the tug of old habits, but he ignored them for Cliff’s sake and Cliff’s sake only.

Elliot couldn’t help but blame himself though. Cliff had been getting progressively weaker for a while, but they’d assumed it was just part of his flare up. The doctor said that there was no way of knowing - Cliff’s immune system was so poor that he likely hadn’t been showing signs of the growing infection until it was so severe. Still, Elliot kept thinking, maybe if he had just paid a bit more attention...

It had been ten days since they’d come to the hospital. Elliot had rarely left the building this entire time and he was exhausted. This evening, Moira had convinced him to go home to shower and to take a nap; Elliot had resisted, but once he’d given in he didn’t even remember getting home before he passed out for the entire night, dead to the world. He was woken up the next morning by Milo knocking on his door - apparently zombie-Elliot from last night had texted him to come wake him up in the morning if he didn’t wake up himself. He hadn’t, after twelve long hours of sleep.

Milo gave Elliot a tight hug before coming in and immediately providing Elliot with much needed coffee and breakfast that he’d brought. “You look terrible,” Milo pointed out. “Have you eaten anything at all?”

“Thanks a lot... And yes. Cliff’s sister force feeds me every so often,” Elliot mumbled around a hot cup of coffee. He closed his eyes and felt like if he let himself, he’d sleep for another twelve hours. He was so tired, so worried. “What if he never wakes up, Milo?”

“He’ll wake up. He’s pretty stubborn,” Milo pointed out. It was a testament to how serious things were that he didn’t take the opportunity to tell Elliot he’d be better off without Cliff. “But he needs you alive, too. You need to take care of yourself.”

“I’m trying. I’m here, aren’t I?” Elliot snapped. Then he sighed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...”

Milo nodded. “It’s okay, I know. You love him.”

Elliot looked up at Milo in surprise. “Really?” His best friend had always disapproved of his relationship with Cliff, something that had pulled them apart before.

“Yeah,” Milo said. “You need him too. So he’s going to wake up.”

They fell quiet, Elliot nursing his coffee and willing himself the energy to go back to the hospital. He showered and was convincing himself to return to that painful waiting game when his phone began to ring on full volume. Immediately panicked, Elliot grabbed it and saw that it was Moira. Please don’t be bad news. “Hello?!”

“He’s waking up,” Cliff’s sister answered. She sounded like she was crying. “Come back, okay?”

She didn’t have to tell him twice. Milo drove Elliot back to the hospital in record time and Elliot sprinted up to Cliff’s room. He couldn’t believe it until he saw for himself, but there Cliff was, eyes half lidded but open. The head of the bed was elevated and Moira was there holding his hand, talking softly to him. When Elliot showed up she smiled and pointed at him. “There he is,” she said.

Elliot burst into tears. He hugged Cliff as tight as he dared what with how fragile Cliff surely was, trying not to get caught in all the wires. When he pulled back, Cliff’s eyes were looking at him. Elliot let out a relieved sob. “You’re awake.”

“He’s not talking yet,” Moira informed Elliot gently. “I don’t think he really knows what’s going on.”

"That’s okay. That’s okay, baby, you’re awake, that’s what matters,” Elliot said. Cliff’s lips trembled slightly as if he were trying to say something, but nothing came out. Elliot wondered just how extensive that possible drain damage could be. But then he felt Cliff’s fingers twitch in his hand and he felt it form a very loose shape. He looked down and recognized it: sign language for I love you. And Elliot knew Cliff was going to be alright. Maybe not right away, but eventually, and that was what mattered.

#ShionWrites #oc: Cliff #ailesswhumptober2023 #ailesswhumptoberday30 #ailesswhumptober #day 30 #whump #sickfic #sick whump #medical whump #hospital setting #illness whump #chronic illness #coma #male whump #hurt comfort #angst #chronic illness whump #hospital whump

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factorialsotherfandoms · 7 months

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(Backtracking to day 13, general warnings for like injury, infection, horrific care of it, cannibalism, me having not watched the relevant source material so I'm coming at this from a 'QSMP backstory' not a 'FI slight AU' angle (I'm told in FI canon Pac doesn't loose his leg, which is what I mean by slight AU). But if that's all good with you, enjoy! ... And, poor Mike.)

Human mouths are, it turns out, filthy. Despite their best efforts it takes a day for infection to become apparent, and another two because Pac is near entirely lost to fever and delirium.

It took another five hours before Mike accepts that they need, if not help, then at least more equipment than he has to hand, two thirds of the way home from jail.

They can't go to a hospital. Hospitals will ask questions like "why are there human teeth marks" and "why didn't you call an ambulance" and "why do you look like and have the names of the wanted criminals escaped from a max security prison all over the news". Which leaves... Well, it leaves them here.

Pac, delirious and barely conscious, lying on the kitchen table of a back alley doctor. Mike, with a bone saw and a needle, because fresh out of prison all they can afford is to borrow somewhere mostly clean and some tools, not actual expertise.

It's fine, it's fine, Mike's done this before.

Sort of.

Not really.

... To a corpse.

(He had to learn anatomy /somehow/.)

The quack, in his generosity, or perhaps not wanting to deal with a corpse, did leave them already measured anesthetic, antibiotics, and gave Mike a run down of what he needed to do. His sister and assistant is a little more gracious, or maybe a little sweet on them, or maybe a little too into the gore, because she is willing to provide an extra pair of hands and a little expertise to keep the surgery going smoothly.

She asks him if he's ready. Mike swallows, and nods, and holds Pac's hand as they put him to sleep.

---

Hours later, Pac is still out. The quack and his sister took everything the two owned and, once the bleeding was definitely stopped and Pac full of antibiotics, tossed both of them to the street.

Mike found them shelter under some old awnings, and keeps them safe for the night. He curled Pac into his lap, keeping the bandages from the filthy floor, and his friend's head against his chest. He can only pray the infection had not spread into Pac's blood, and that no new one sees fit to set in.

Their base of operations is, thankfully, uncomprimised, or at least it was last Mike knew. If they can get to the river, and then a boat upstream... It's a fair distance, but Mike can row that far. If it means saving Pac, he will.

Not tonight, though, not right now; all around them thunder roars, and rain splashes up and off the ground.

They can't wait as long as morning, though - Pac needs a bed, somewhere warm, and Mike only stole enough bandages to last until tomorrow.

In his arms Pac stirs, and Mike hushes him back to sleep as best he can. He manages it, but Pac is crying in his sleep.

Painkillers, right, the quack didn't sell them painkillers. Not Mike's forte - Pac's always been better with the chemistry set - but they have some back home.

What else back home... Their tools, their gadgets, their machinery - it will be months before Pac can use it, if he even survives, but Mike is already thinking through thoughts of prosthetics and wheelchairs and any changes that need made. They can't get hospital ones for much the same reason Mike /had to cut off his own friend's leg/, but maybe that's better, a custom one, suited to their adventures and exploits. Maybe Pac loosing the leg is better, when the bite had already taken too much for the muscles to ever recover.

(What is he thinking? Of course Pac will survive, Pac has to survive, and of course this isn't better, huddled under an awning in a thunderstorm and just trying to last the night.)

In thoughts of numbers and schematics and artificial limbs Mike drifts, never quiet sleeping, always there.

---

Pac wakes thrice on their way upriver, passing out from the pain each time. The third time Mike, exhausted, fails to notice quickly enough - instead of giving his friend water he's met with screaming and thrashing, and ripped stitches. For a few terrifying moments the blood starts cascading once again, until Mike can swallow down the fear and pin the flesh together again.

He won't be able to a third time. There's no good places to shove the needle left.

Somehow, they make it. Mike drags Pac onto the shore, and cuts the stolen boat loose. Then he picks him up, over the shoulders because any other way leaves them both unsteady, and gets him inside.

Bed first, then painkillers - at least he remembers how to work an IV. Mike barely even thinks as he forces painkillers, antibiotics, fluids into Pac's veins, frowning at how cold he feels.

Once he's sure he will be okay left alone for a moment, Mike runs to turn the heating on. It has always been a bit finicky, and time away has only made it worse.

Eventually he gets it going, abandons the basement to the heater and drags himself back upstairs.

Maybe, maybe, he can lock up and pass out on the couch for twenty minutes... Surely if he managed the night and the boat trip Pac will last twenty minutes?

The scream implies no.

Adrenaline gives Mike the strength to get back to Pac, brandishing the wrench he had still been holding like an actual weapon. What he finds is no intruder, but Pac awake, but distant, feverish and screaming and panicking.

Mike drops the wrench, and grabs his hands instead.

"Pac!" he almost yells, as though saying anything will help. "Calm down!"

Something of Pac must be less delirious than Mike thought, as the tears stutter for a moment. When they come back quieter Pac all but flings himself at Mike, mumbling his name again, and again, and again.

Mike pulls Pac closer, holding him tight for as long as he dares.

When he pulls away Pac whines, the noise growing more distressed as Mike settles him back onto the pillow.

"I need to get your bandages," Mike as good as scolds him. "It's going to get even worse if I don't."

"Mike," Pac manages to whine. "Mike... It hurts."

"Well you did get eaten," Mike snaps back. He tries not to, he really does, but its been so long since he slept...

From Pac's panicked glances around the room, it was entirely the wrong thing to say.

"He's not here," Mike says. "We left him. Bandages."

He doesn't stop talking there, though, instead he talks Pac through what he's doing - half to comfort, half to remind himself what he's doing. Take off the bandages, clean the wound, apply dressings, ignore the confused giggling from Pac, rewrap the severed leg, tuck the blankets back up and around, try to leave and have his sleeve caught instead.

It's fine.

Mike didn't really want to leave anyway.

"Fine," with a sigh he doesn't quite mean he climbs up on the bed, taking Pac's less injured side. It's against medical advice, but they only have the one and, well, what of the last few days /hasn't/ been against medical advice?

Pac shoves his face into Mike's neck, and Mike catches him.

Sweaty, feverish, still very, very sick...

Mike knows there is more he should do before he rests, but it's been so long since he slept...

He'll work it out when he wakes up. This close, if anything goes wrong, he hopes he'll wake up to it too.

"Goodnight Pac," he manages.

He chooses to believe that the mumbled response is 'goodnight Mike' in response, and he chooses to believe that they will get through this, too.

#qsmp fanfic #qsmp tazercraft #major character injury #I'm pretty sure only like 2 good choices are made in this fic #but there also weren't any better ones to make #sucks to be them

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