#rib injury

[torturing-characters-101]

Hi! I love your blog, thank you mods for your dedication <3 ! I have two characters in a temporary wilderness survival situation; they have to make about a 3-4 day hike to get back to civilization. One of them sustains a few broken ribs (simple and nondisplaced, so painful but not immediately life-threatening). With limited medical resources, what kinds of options would they have for making the trek a bit less agonizing?

Basically your character is going to want to immobilize the arm over the broken ribs with some padding in the middle to provide as much protection and immobilization as possible. The ideal way to do this with few resources is to use 2 large shirts (one long-sleeved) and an ace wrap or another long-sleeved shirt.

They're going to fold the first shirt and place it over the injured ribs and tape it in place (can be either to the skin, which will hurt coming off, or a tight undershirt, which will be a little less protective).

Then they'd use the long sleeve shirt to make a sling- use the shirt arms to go around the neck and the body of the shirt to support the arm. This will probably stretch out a little, but can be occasionally re-tied.

Then they're gonna want to use either their wrap or the arms of a third shirt to wrap around the chest and the arm in the sling. This is called "sling and swathe" and looks like this (you can do more than one swathe here):

So at this point there would be a pad between the arm and the chest, and the arm would be immobilized over top in a comfortable position.

Other measures to decrease pain include over the counter pain meds seen in many first aid kits (acetaminophen and ibuprofen can be taken together), and cooling the area during rest breaks by undoing the sling and swathe, uncovering the injury, laying a bandanna or other cloth over the site and wetting it, then letting the water evaporate. It's not as great as ice, but in the wilderness it's kinda what they'd have.

Keep in mind hiking with an injury, while possible, takes a lot longer- your characters 3-4 day trek might stretch to 6-7 days or more depending on how often the character needs to rest. This puts a strain on food and supplies and pain medication.

[loveisparpall]

cause of injury? flirting.

[jasmines-library]

I'll Make This Up To You

WHUMPTOBER DAY SIX: Prompt: made to watch

Summary: after being kidnapped by the joker, Jason is forced to watch you being tortured when you beg to take his place.

Warning: Blood, beating, gore, cursing, punctured lung.

Word count: 1.3k

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

Your entire body throbbed. Your wrists hung limply from rusty chains that dangled from the ceiling. Your bare toes struggled to relieve the burning that spread down your arms and into the sockets of your shoulders, but your bare toes only skimmed the floor, not providing you with a fraction of release. The groan, and clanging of the chains on the other side of the room, alerted you to the other presence in the room. He was still wearing his black suit with the red bat insignia printed across his chest. 

“Hood?” You murmured from across the room, trying to grab his attention. The boy groaned, bleary eyed before mumbling your name in response.

“Are you okay?” He asked, testing the strength of his chains albeit to find that he was firmly stuck. 

“Yeah” You nodded. “What happened? I don’t remember anything besides-”

A blinding light piercing through the darkness. Shattering glass, a scream. Then nothing.

“The crash.” Jason finished for you. 

You were about to speak again; to utter another string of words when you were silenced by a catatonic laughter. 

The Joker barged his way through the double doors to the room. They slammed loudly against the wall as pushed up his sleeves. Although Jason was still wearing his mask, you could sense the fear rising in his body. 

“Isn’t this nice?” He said, walking around the two of you. “My two favourite birdies all in one place.”

He smiled a toothy grin, his face too close to yours for comfort before whipping back around to Jason and wiggling his fingers. “How’s it hanging Little Robin? Did ya miss me?”

Jason tried to recoil from the man before him, but the chains only allowed him to swing feebly back and forth. This elicited another manic laugh from the Joker. 

“Now, I would say that I'm sorry to do this to you again, but that would be a lie, wouldn’t it?”

He ran his finger along Jason’s hooded jawline, before trailing his fingers down to his neck and to the hem of his mask which he tore from his face. 

“Hiya, Jaybird.” He said, giving him a wink. Jason stiffened at the nickname. “Oh how I missed this pretty face.”

“Fuck you.” He spat.

The Joker pulled back, placing a hand to his chest in mock hurt and cackling once more. “Your words wound me, Jason. Like father like son I see.”

The sound of an old, metal cart being pushed with a squeaky wheel by one of his goons filled the room. On top of it lay an assortment of weapons and tools, two of which you identified as yours. Another man tugged in an old camera.  “I think it’s time that we send the bat a message.” he trailed his fingers along the edge of the tray, before picking up a small knife and twirling it between his digits. “He needs to stop getting on my last nerve and you, my little birdy, need to learn to keep your mouth shut.”

His last sentence was exaggerated with a swing of his arm, which landed a well placed cut to Jason's cheek. 

“Hey!” You yelled, squirming against your restraints. “Get the fuck away from him!”

The suit-clad man spun around slowly, tilting his head and the knife towards you.

“Oh? The little bird has something to say. Tell me, Y/N,” He provoked as his goon removed your mask from your face. “What are you gonna do about it? What are you gonna do when I drive your very own knife through your beloved Jaybird’s heart? Hmm?”

“I told you to leave him alone.” You spat back in his face. 

The Joker's eyes turned dark as he narrowed them coldly at you. His grin dropped as he turned back around and slashed another line against Jason’s face. He groaned, eyes wide as he began to relive his past time with the man. You felt your heart clench, you couldn’t let him go through that. Not again, you couldn’t watch as he tried to fix himself. You couldn’t watch him suffer again. 

“Stop it!” You yelled at him, only for the other man to cover your mouth firmly with his hand. You fought hard, shouting until your voice went hoarse. “Please…hurt me instead.”

The man stopped, a shit eating grin exaggerated across his features. “Smile for the camera.”

~~~

Your head hung limply, chin resting on your chest. Blood trickled down your temple, oozed from your nose and clung to almost every inch of your skin. Inch deep cuts lay littered across your skin, along with a multitude of  The sound that left your mouth was barely a scream as he drove the knife into the flesh of your thigh. 

Jason had tried to keep from crying out; each yell or vulgar comment leaving you with another scar to add to your collection, or another fingernail ripped out from its bed, but he couldn’t bear to watch you suffer in place of him. It made his stomach twist into knots. He prayed that Tim would be able to hack the livestream that Joker was feeding to the cave and reach you before something fatal happened.

Jason squirmed in the chains. They clanked together loudly. “Leave her alone!”

The man tutted before you, turning away and leaving the knife lodged within the muscle.The vigilante was about to let out a sigh of relief when he watched the Joker's fingers dance over the various bloodied tools and towards the wooden bat. 

Before the dark-haired boy could make another sound, the bat was slammed into your ribs. You gasped, eyes flying open as you swung on the chains. You heaved a ragged gasp as he swung hard again, crying out as you felt your ribs shatter. You let out a haggard cough, tasting the copper on your tongue as blood coated your tongue and dribbled from your mouth. The rib had punctured a lung.  

The villain's laughter morphed with your and Jason’s shouting. The wooden bat clattered on the floor, but was soon replaced by Jason’s pistol. He cried out loudly.  “I hope you’re watching, Batsy.” Joker, picked up the camera, zooming in on your face. “I want you to see the light leave her eyes.”

“I’ll do you one better.” A voice sounded behind him.

Looking over his shoulder, the villain was greeted with the dark cowl of Batman’s suit. The taller man grabbed the villain, swinging him into the wall. The three other boys jumped into action, tackling the goons. Fueled with anger and determination, it didn’t take long before they were releasing you from the shackles that tugged agonisingly on your body. 

You landed in a heap on the floor, wheezing loudly as Jason collapsed to his knees beside you, fingers pressing harshly against your thigh. You whimpered. 

“I’m sorry. Stay with us, I'm sorry.”

“I’m fine- ” You tried to dismiss Jay’s worry. You didn’t want him to feel any guiltier than you knew he already did. Your head dizzied as you were hoisted into the air by a strong pair of arms. 

“I’m sorry.” He repeated it like a mantra. “I’m sorry. This is my fault.”

You shook your head. “Jay…this is not your fault.”

“But-”

You cut him off with another ragged cough, spilling more blood from your lips. He forced his legs to move further. 

“Not your fault.”

Instead of fighting back, he decided to pull you closer. “I’m gonna get you fixed up Y/N. I promise. I will make this up to you.”

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY FIVE ⛤ DAY SEVEN ->

🏷️ taglist

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

[the-magpie-archives]

Like many of you, I am fascinated with the state of Jonathan Sims head archivist of the magnus institute London... In particular, his ribs! Many focus only on his missing two, but there are many more things to consider!

Jon's a fragile guy, I mean it's pretty much his whole canon appearance! For a man like him to be thrown around like a ragdoll for pretty much his entire time as archivist, he'd certainly have suffered more than a few broken ribs!

To contribute even more to the damage, after the unknowing, Jon was found with no pulse and not breathing, meaning he would have undergone CPR for at least 20 minutes. And trust me, THAT BREAKS RIBS.

Aside from bones, I can't imagine Jon's lungs are in the best state either. He's a long time smoker, was exposed to dangerous amounts of CO2, and survived a massive explosion followed by a collapsing building. Needless to say, these sort of things make it hard to keep lungs healthy!

Despite all the pain and horror, I like to think that Jon managed to stay looking at least relatively put together, so picture this:

A polite, slightly awkward office worker comes into your clinic. You decide that to diagnose properly, you'll need to do a chest X-ray! He's distracted, but readily agrees. After the brief wait, you get the images back, and see THE MOST FUCKED UP CHEST YOU HAVE EVER SEEN. A horrifying amount of healed fractures, warped and re-broken; two ribs are just straight up gone, both lungs scarred beyond survivability, and somehow this guy is just sitting there. Alive, as far as you can tell.

The man remains composed, and smiles politely as you stare at the X-rays, and you begin to think that maybe those aren't acne scars across his face.

[gangrel-pride]

when literally everyone, including your boyfriend, knows you're in love with your roommate

[whumpypepsigal]

Fire Country s02e04: “[Bode] is concussed. Eve said that debris fell on him inside.”

[thebad-lydrawn-sanses]

*randomly spawned a sassy cat in their castle.*

Cross's shirt: bone hurting juice (image depicting text)

Cross: i can make it to the kitchen i can make it to the kitchen i can make it to the kitchen i can make it to the kitchen i can-

sassy cat: (poof)

Cross: .

Cross: pspspspspspsps

[marlynnofmany]

Nothing like a rib injury to make you want to hold perfectly still in front of the computer for a few hours. How's everybody doing on this fine* evening?

*Your mileage may vary. OW.

[rjalker]

[ID: a five panel comic in mostly black and white, showing a werewolf on the right side, and text on the left.

In the first panel, the werewolf is grinning with a mouth full of teeth and saying, "Here are some of my personal experiences with being disabled for anyone who wants to be able to write a disabled character accurately :)", with a smiley face emoticon at the end.

In the second panel, the werewolf is smiling with its eyes closed, while tags in dark grey appear in the empty space across from it: "disability" "reference" "writing advice" "writing disability" "dislocated rib" "save for later" "hypermobility" "dislocations"

In the third panel, a new tag reading "whump reference" has been added in big black letters, covering some of the smaller ones. The werewolf's face has gone blank in shock.

In the fourth panel, The werewolf is snarling, and the tag "whump reference" has grown larger and erased all the tags before it.

In the fifth panel, the background is light red, and the werewolf is motion blurred as its mouth is open to scream with its eye glowing red,screaming in all caps black text:

"If your first thought upon seeing disabled people talk about their personal experiences is "Ooh I should write torture porn about this" you are a shit fucking ableist person who needs to stay the fuck away from disabled people forever!"

End ID.]

If you tag any of my fucking posts about disability as "whump reference" or "whump prompts" you are so ableist and horrible it's not even fucking funny. Stay the fuck away from disabled people, and especially stay away from my posts where I am sharing my personal fucking experiences with being disabled.

At what point will "whump" writers stop being ableist fucking shitbags? Never, apparently!

Edit for people are fortunate enough to not know this yet:

"Whump" is what people who write stories where they do nothing but torture a character for gratuitous violence call it. It goes far beyond normal levels of "this is an angsty story", it's literally just people torturing characters and getting off on doing so.

So the person who left that tag meant that they were going to be using my personal experiences of being physically disabled to write a story where someone with my exact disability using my personal examples was going to be tortured through that disability, probably graphically.

"Whump" writers are constantly being ableist and putting their horrific shit in tags for disabled people and doing crap like this.

They literally look at me, a real disabled person, and think my experiences, which I was sharing for people who wanted to write about disabled characters /respectfully/ is inspiration for a story where they're going to litterally torture and humiliate someone exactly like me, with my disability, using my own words to help describe it.

It's ableist, it's fetishizing, it's absolutely revolting and evil.

[friendamedes]

from nona the ninth:

Text:

He undid her scarf, and Nona looked away. Beneath the scarf a huge wound in the throat made the neck yawn wide open. When she peeked back, wishing she had her braids to screen everything, she saw that Palamedes had unbuttoned the shirt partway and there was another big wound in the chest – a big purple bloodless puncture wound, with white teeth peeking out coyly from within. “Damage is consistent with reported injuries. There’s another wound lower down.”

[just-here-for-the-whump]

Magnum P.I. 1x16 The Black Orchid

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1162

The team parent has a ‘frequent flyer’ punch-card for every medical visit they have to do with a teammate. They’re all as equally accident prone as they are avoidant of medical, therefore someone must be in attendance, much to the chagrin of the team parent who always takes them. (Secretly because they want to make sure the teammate is okay, but that’s not important ;) )

It started out as a joke, the nurses giving him a hand-made slip of paper with ‘frequent flyer, free check-up for every ten visits’. And they tick it off everytime he walks through the doors dragging an injured teammate with them.

But when the second card is filled up, they make it a permanent thing; made with proper cardstock and glitter.

The parent halfway to their fourth free checkup when The Incident happens.

Like clockwork after missions, the nurses will wait by the door to treat sprains and cuts and breaks, their stances casual but their minds focussed on the whereabouts of crashcarts and gauze. They all jump when the doors slam open, a gurney being rushed through followed by the entire team and then some. The field medics are barking orders as someone writhes in pain on the gurney.

It’s the parent.

“Long time no see.” The lead doctor jokes, shining their torch in the eyes of the parent to check for head injuries.

“Just- couldn’t stay- away.” The parent gasps in pain, jolting when someone presses too hard on their broken ribs.

“And here’s me thinking you were sick of this place.” The doctor tries to keep them talking: to keep them alert despite their grievous wounds.

“You can- can- p-punch my card.” Wheezes the parent with a bloodstained smile.

[cienie-isengardu]

Mortal Kombat 1 Behind the Scenes AU: Medic

[Cage’s Mansion] [Waiting for Liu Kang] [Special Bonus] [Grandmaster’s commentary] [Climbing scene] [Madam Bo’s Inn] [Cage’s Mansion 2 (fire extinguisher)]

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

WELCOME BACK!!! That’s right fellow humans, it’s the second episode of

Bedtime Stories With PCE

And man did I enjoy writing this one, my sweet boys, Stan with the broken ribs and struggling with being hurt for the first time since running dry, his super awesome sponsor, Kyle w the solutions, Moose being the best lil cat ever, just!!!!! And this one is really important to me, because it is SMACK DAB in the middle of Broken Bottles From Apartment 2 after our beloved vet tech Stan gets kicked by a scared horse at work, setting the ball rolling for the rest of that story. Essentially I wanted to address more of his mentality following that incident, and to have y’all meet his AA sponsor! Iconic. Here’s

•coconut yogurt•

“Jesus, dude, that looks bad.”

“I’m-“ Stan cut off with a sharp *schh* as Kyle helped him the rest of the way out of his scrub shirt. “Fuck, I’m okay.”

Breathing fucking hurt. More than that, he was seriously bummed that not only was he on bed rest for two weeks (something that his partner would no doubt enforce with an iron fist), but he was gonna be stuck to paperwork once he could finally go back to work. And it wasn’t like he could quell the boredom by slipping away to the clinic for a few hours while Kyle was at his own job, because Wendy ran the front office and would not hesitate to rat him out.

“Baby, they’re only a little cracked.”

Kyle rolled his eyes and carefully helped him ease to a more comfortable laying position on the couch, gently resting one of the big ice packs they always kept on hand over his side. “Where’s your discharge shit?”

“Front pocket,” he muttered.

Kyle grabbed the papers and scanned them quickly. “Hairline fractures… bone bruising, sweetheart, how on earth are you breathing?”

“Carefully?” His partner didn’t seem to like that response. “Ky, I’m okay. You know how much worse it could’ve been?”

“YES! Yes, I do, Stan! Don’t fucking-“ his face softened. “Don’t smile like that about broken ribs, dude.”

“I’m not smiling about that; I’m smiling about you.”

“You’re hopeless,” Kyle laughed. “The hell am I supposed to do with your hopeless romantic ass when you say sappy bullshit?”

Stan might’ve been a little foggy from the pain. Maybe. “Aww, babe, C’mere,” he struggled to open his arms, which was annoying, yeah, but he wanted to hold Kyle.

“Dude, I am SO not laying on you.”

“Just a little?”

“No.”

Kyle went to read the paperwork again, fully ignoring Stan’s efforts to get cuddled. “Babe…”

“Your prescription should be ready, dude.” Kyle knelt down to kiss him. “Gonna be good if I’m gone for a few?”

Stan pouted, knowing damn well he was being dramatic, but not caring. “I don’t want it.”

“We went over this, sweetheart. You had a problem with alcohol, not pills. Is it just because you don’t like taking stuff anyway?”

“…yeah.”

“Okay.” Kyle kissed him again. “You’re sure?”

Honestly, he wasn’t. There were a lot of feelings coming up right now. Kyle noticed, because of course he did. “Stan, I know that face.”

Against his will, tears started trailing from the corners of his eyes.

“Oh, dude, I know.” Kyle took Stan’s face in his hands. “Look, I really don’t want you to hurt, okay? I know you’re emotional right now. I’ll give you your meds when you need them, and you don’t need to think about it. I can ask the pharmacy about the info too. Hon, we’re gonna know exactly what you’re taking, and you’ll be just fine.”

“I- I always heal fast.”

“You do,” Kyle assured him. “And there’s nothing wrong with needing a little help, okay?”

“Uh huh.” Yeah, he would call his sponsor. He needed to talk this out, with someone who got it. Kyle understood for the most part; he literally had a degree in psychology and had been firsthand through an eating disorder, which was its own form of addiction, but, well, specifics. “I’m- *hic*- gonna text Mark, maybe zoom into tonight’s meeting.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Kyle rose and ran his hand through Stan’s hair. “Ten minutes, hopefully.” He glanced at the corner and laughed. “Oh, poor thing doesn’t know what to do! It’s okay, Moose, c’mere, keep your dad company.”

Their cat slowly crept up to the couch, perching on the arm like a sentinel and making a cute little “mrrmm”.

“Good boy.” Kyle spun his keys once around his finger, and put on a serious face, staring down at Stan with one eyebrow raised. “Now, don’t you move.”

“Just stay where I can see you douse the lights.”

Kyle laughed. “You’re incredibly lame. I’ll be right back.”

That laughter seriously helped so much. “Okay, dude, you know where to find me.”

Moose had started purring, asleep next to him by the time Stan worked up the motivation to get his phone and send Mark a “yo I got the fuck kicked out of me by a horse I won’t be there tonight”. The old man immediately called him.

“Hey,” Stan answered, trying not to laugh at how fast that call was, because he knew that would feel awful.

“The hell do you mean, “hey”, Superman? How’d you get kicked by a damn horse?”

“Oh, you know.” Just hearing his sponsor’s voice helped. Some of the older crowd at AA had taken to calling him “Superman” too, which was objectively funny, and also comforting to hear, especially right now, when he was feeling vulnerable. “Went to give him an antibiotic shot, he got scared and bucked around, broke my ribs.”

“Christ.” He could practically hear Mark rolling his eyes through the phone. “Leave it to you. How ya doin’ with all of that? Gonna be able to come chair tomorrow?”

Judging by how much he was hurting, definitely not, even if Kyle would let him leave the apartment. “I was thinking I’d Zoom in. Will you, uh, do you think that’d work?”

Mark chuckled. “Well, I don’t know much about the video callin’ you young folks do, but I’ll figure it out. Might need ta get Laura to help me. She’s good with technology.”

Laura was a woman even older than Mark, who was not good with technology. Oh yeah, this was gonna be fun.

“Seriously though, kid, are you okay?”

Stan sighed. “It’s- I’m nervous,” he admitted. “About the feelings this is gonna bring up. We’ve talked about my coping mechanisms before, like how I like to move, when I start feeling down, instead of drinking? But I…”

“You can’t go for a hike or work out with busted ribs,” Mark finished. “I know being injured, havin’ to stay put, that’s a trigger for you. Like the bender you told me about in high school, after you broke your arm.”

“Yeah…” Not even Kyle knew how bad he had spiraled that time. He knew it had been bad, but not to the extent that it had gotten to. Getting hurt because of something he loved, combined with the timing and completely changing his career path senior year, all of that had led to a full depressive episode, complete with binge drinking and attempting to cut his cast off with bolt cutters. “I still could’ve been scouted in the spring,” he muttered dejectedly.

“But you chose to quit football,” Mark reminded him. “You’ve said you don’t regret that. You remember why you don’t regret it?”

Reaching up to pet his cat, the little creature who had been the driving force to him actually applying his degree, Stan was reminded that he really did like how his life was turning out.

“Yeah. I’m where I’m supposed to be, right?”

“Not for me to say, Superman,” Mark said. “You’re a damn good vet, and gettin’ hurt because of your job happens.” The smile was clear in his voice. “You’re more worried about the horse, ain’t ya?”

Stan once again had to force himself not to laugh. “Dude, he was scared. I was literally coming at him with a needle.”

“And what would you do if you were in his horseshoes?”

“Mark, dude, please don’t make jokes, laughing hurts like a bitch.” He checked the time. Kyle would be back home any minute. “Same thing, though. Ky’s gonna be on my ass about painkillers. That’s… uh, kinda why I needed to talk.”

“Hmm. I gotcha. You’re worried about the addiction potential? Combined with being home alone until you go back to work?”

Hit the nail on the head. Stan nodded, then remembered that Mark couldn’t see him. “Pretty much. I’m just… I haven’t been hurt this bad, since running dry. I’m not sure what to do to distract myself, honestly.”

“Alright.” Mark could be pretty straightforward, when it came to a course of action, a lot like Kyle. “You like them video games, right? And reading your fantasy books? Bet you got one downloaded on your phone right now.”

As a matter of fact, he did. “Uh, yeah, Atherton, I think”

“I don’t know what the hell that is, but you catch my drift?”

Moose had moved down to drape over him like a scarf, warm and little and soft. Sweet little guy; he always took care of his dads. And Stan had a support system. He’d be okay. “I’m picking up what you’re putting down, dude,” he said into the phone. “Distractions that aren’t physical, but keep me engaged, right?”

“And bingo was his name-o,” Mark confirmed. “Good to think of some that you can do when you’re my age, anyway. You ain’t gonna be Superman forever, right?”

“Dude-“ Stan heard the security door open, finally. Kyle.

Mark interrupted. “I know you got that whole thing about age, kid, sorry. I know you’re strugglin’ so how’s about we just focus on today. That boyfriend of yours taking care of ya?”

“Mhm. I’m pretty sure he just got home.” Yeah, definitely, because Stan could hear the voice of Sheila Broflovski through the door, and Kyle probably didn’t even have her on speaker. “Yeah, he’s home, and on the phone with his mom.”

“Uh oh,” Mark laughed. He had heard many a tale. “She’s gonna give you an earful. I’ll let ya go, then. You can call me anytime, okay? It works if you work it.”

“It works if you work it,” Stan repeated. “Thanks, dude. I’ll probably skip tonight, but I’ll call into the meeting tomorrow, okay?”

“Gotcha. Tell Kyle and y’all’s critter I say hi.”

“Will do.”

Right as he ended the call, Kyle burst in, arms full of Walgreens bags and his phone sandwiched between his ear and shoulder, looking hilariously frazzled. “Oh my GOD, Ma, look okay, he is literally right here just- OKAY, Jesus, yes I’m putting him on-“ he gave Stan an expression that clearly was asking if he was up for this. Stan nodded and grabbed the phone so Kyle could get everything set down.

“I’m here.”

“STANLEY!!! Are you okay?! Oh my GOODNESS I can absolutely drive up- do you need anything?! Have you told Sharon?”

Kyle mouthed “don’t blame me”. Stan shifted a little. He’d been talking a lot for the past half hour and he was actually starting to have trouble catching his breath. “No ma’am, I- wait, how did you find out?”

“Your friend Bebe’s gossip list! She posted to Facebook and said “a certain vet got kicked by a horse” and I just KNEW IT WAS YOU! Kyle said he was picking up your medication?”

“Fuckin-“ Kyle took the phone back. “Ma, okay, I’ve got him. I’m going to take care of him and- Ma. I’m not putting Stan back on the phone. It hurts him to talk. Yes, I’ll tell his mom. No, he’s on bed rest. Do you seriously think I’m letting him out of my- okay, okay, sorry, no- oh my God, I’m not making chicken noodle soup, he’s been vegetarian for twenty years, Ma. Alright. We love you too. Christ, yes, I’m eating. Please don’t start right now. Alright. Yes. We got it. Okay. I’ll keep you updated. Yeah, love you. Bye.”

Kyle slumped over the kitchen island, groaning. “If you say anything about me being exactly like my mother, I’m gonna be super annoying and not run interference next time she calls.”

“Pretty sure you’re not beating the Sheila allegations, baby.”

“Ughhhhh.”

Stan reached his hand backwards, eyes closed, waiting for his partner to take it. “Talked to Mark.”

Kyle took his hand, kneeling by the couch and kissing his forehead. “Good, sweetheart. Do you think you’re okay to get some medicine in you? I know it hurts.”

He was always so thoughtful, so gentle with him, and not in a condescending way, either. No wonder Kyle was so good at his job. He could handle a grown ass man emotional over broken bones; angsty preteens were probably a cakewalk to him.

Stan bypassed the cat across his chest, lifting the ice pack from his lower torso. “How’s it looking?”

“Oh, honey.” Kyle sounded genuinely distressed, and Stan opened his eyes to see his partner actually genuinely distressed. “Stan, I can see the hoof print!”

“…damn.”

“Jesus, dude, you poor thing. ” He stood back up and grabbed the prescription bag from the counter, along with a snack sized yogurt from one of the bags. “Solution time.”

“I’m listening.” He’d take just about any idea. It hurt.

“Here’s what I’m thinking. I got a few things of that coconut yogurt you like. I checked with the pharmacist and she said we can crush up your painkillers into it if you want, if you’re not feeling the swallowing pills. I can keep up with your dosage schedule so you don’t need to think about it.” He tilted Stan’s face up to make sure they were seeing eye to eye. “But if you want to take them less often and stick to ice and over the counters, that’s okay. I’ll handle the thinking about shit, and you handle the taking it easy.”

Stan eyed the bottle. “Are they gonna make me sleepy?” The thought scared him.

“Oh, dude.” Kyle could strategize incredibly, though. “We can start with half, okay? It isn’t likely that they’ll knock you out, sweetheart. You’re not a small guy, and I asked. Dosage isn’t high. And you say the word; we work something else out. First priority is keeping you comfortable so you can heal, okay? Does that help?”

“I’m gonna be okay.”

“Yeah, you are,” Kyle assured him. “I’m right here, you know how to deal with this, and you’ll be better before you know it. Now, some meds and I’ll help you upstairs? We can take a nap? I’ll be right there, dude. Keep you from moving around too much.”

He knew damn well Kyle wouldn’t be sleeping a wink. But he nodded. “You’re for real gonna feed me my painkillers in yogurt like I’m a puppy?”

Kyle grinned. “Whatever works.” He reached over to pet Moose. “Whatcha think, young nastyman? Do I have good plans or what?”

Stan slowly sat up, an arm around his midsection and definitely not comfortable, but that was alright. Pretty soon he’d be able to breathe a little better. “What would I do without you, Ky?”

[whumpdaydreamerx]

Matador 1x08 | Tony’s Broken Rib

[deva-arts]

wait wym he's seen everyone naked?? 🥸

I mean he's seen everyone naked. He tries to avoid it as much as possible, but emergency treatment tends to be awkward.