#surgical hooks

[hgirasol-blog]

[vanburensounding]

Surgical Hooks

Surgical hooks are specialized instruments used in surgical procedures to manipulate tissues, retract organs, or hold surgical drapes in place. These hooks come in various shapes and sizes, designed to meet the specific needs of different surgical procedures. They are typically made from stainless steel or other medical-grade materials to ensure sterility and durability during use. Surgical hooks play a crucial role in providing surgeons with precise control and visibility during surgery, aiding in the safe and effective completion of procedures.

Website:

https://www.linkedin.com/company/surgipro-inc

[ask-a-vetblr]

i was wondering how common it was for vets to use spay hooks? i currently work w a vet n she hates them n prefers not to use them, but shes the only one i know who doesnt use a hook in my area.

she has never life threatening complications w spays, so its not more dangerous to my knowledge? she uses thumb forceps and her fingers to find the uterus

gettingvetted here.

I have never heard of a vet that doesn't use one. I use one, for sure. I think I'd have to create a much larger incision if I was going to look for the uterus without a spay hook. And spay/neuter vets make incisions so small that you couldn't fit a finger through them if you wanted to. It doesn't mean it's wrong for someone *not* to, it would just be considered highly unusual.

[tinierpurplefishes]

I don't want to go get a CAT scan tomorrow. I just want to sit around with my actual cat and watch Off the Hook videos.

[humanimalgam]

i just wrote the funniest fake article about one of my gf's ocs. unfortunately she's asleep rn so i have no one to show it to, ALAS

[duncebento]

why did they get so mad anyway like you must not be getting harassed enough as a transphobe if you get so mad at one person vaguely and indirectly telling u to die

[ghoul-haunted]

the homosocial text about the legend of sleepy hollow has all the isolation-murder-haunting themes I was looking to find with a side of hi john andre it's so nice to see youuuuu

[sundancefemme]

i am a mad genius

[hgirasol-blog]

[blackwaxidol]

"please allow me to play / with my shiny stainless blade / and stroke your marble skin... / ...and feel the steel slide between your thighs" <- irreverently Valinesque.

"let me do a little dance / let me show you some romance / let me be your gentleman..." <- whimsically Valinesque, like a male bird performing courtship.

[thewanderingconstellation]

Dimensional traveling Prince!Danny Fenton & Obsessed but still somewhat sane and logical! Damian Wayne

Just a random DeadSerious prompt I thought of at like 2am :>

Clockwork stumbled upon a peculiar universe where a group of humans had been engaging in bizarre activities. Recognizing the need for investigation, Clockwork assigned the newly announced Prince Phantom, a 14-year-old named Danny Fenton, to venture into this realm. It was a training opportunity for Danny, preparing him for his future role as King. Through a portal, Danny found himself suspended above the Lazarus pit, with Ra's al Ghul standing below him. Fortunately, Danny was dressed in his regal attire, which inexplicably aged him to 18 years old, sparing him from too much embarrassment. Ra's began questioning him, leading to a discussion about the potential dangers of the pit.

During his stay, Danny crossed paths with Damian, who was in the midst of his training. The 8-year-old assassin-in-training wasted no time in challenging Danny to a duel. As expected, Danny emerged victorious, leaving a lasting impact on Damian. Danny revealed that he too was an heir to a throne, possessing strength, power, and a tolerable personality, as Damian had previously remarked. These qualities managed to thaw Damian's cold and unyielding heart, finding a special place within it. From that moment on, Damian began courting Danny using the rituals he had learned from secret books in the league's library. He showered Danny with small gifts, heartfelt letters, acts of service, and even presented him with his second favorite knife.

In the meantime, Danny had been well aware of the situation right from the beginning, and he wasted no time in creating distance between himself and the child. Forget about it! Sure, he might be clueless at times, but he's not foolish! When a child hands you a thornless Rose and affectionately calls you 'Habibi', 'Rohi', 'Hayati', 'Albi', and/or 'Ya Amar'—even though he may not fully understand the meanings behind those words, he definitely knows what 'Habibi' means—you can't help but have doubts, you know?! So Danny tried his best to keep the kid at arm's length, not wanting to give him false hope. After all, the kid was only 8 years old for crying out loud! But you have to give it to the kid, he was incredibly stubborn and persistent.

As time went on, two whole months flew by, and Clockwork finally informed Danny that there was no longer any need for him to investigate or keep an eye on the pit. When Danny asked for an explanation, the old man, true to his cryptic nature, simply delivered a mysterious message and left, much to Danny's annoyance. All he could do was leave a letter of explanation for Damian. Damian's heart shattered into a million pieces when he read the letter, realizing that he would never be able to see or even meet Danny again, as they belonged to different dimensions.

Time flew by and it was finally the moment to reveal his secret identity to his parents as Phantom. Unfortunately, things didn't go as planned and he ended up being captured by the GIW, strapped to a surgical table for three days. After escaping, he made a quick exit from home, promising his friends and sisters that he would keep in touch. Clockwork then whisked Danny away to another dimension, sensing that he needed a change of scenery. Dropping him off in a crime-ridden city with just a backpack of essentials, including a dagger from Damian. As he transformed back to his human form in Gotham, he pondered his next move. Suddenly, a young vigilante? Hero? appeared and whisked him away through the city with a grappling hook. Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse!

Damian, now taking on the role of the vigilante Robin, was out patrolling alone. His father wanted him to gain more experience on his own. As he made his way through the city, he noticed a faint but distinct bright light coming from one of the nearby alleys. Curiosity piqued, he decided to investigate.

To his surprise, he saw his beloved from years ago emerging from a strange green portal. Gone was the royal attire Damian was accustomed to seeing him in. Instead, he was clad in a black and white HAZMAT suit, with a symbol in the center. And astonishingly, he even held the second favorite knife that Damian had given him all those years ago.

In a matter of seconds, his beloved transformed into what Damian believed to be a Wayne adoption bait. Without hesitation, he sprinted towards them, landing in front of them and carefully assessing the situation. In one swift motion, he slung his beloved over his shoulder and shot his grappling hook, swiftly taking off with them.

Damian wasn't sure what he would do next, but one thing was certain - he would never let his beloved out of his sight again. He had lost him once, and he refused to lose him again. His possessiveness over the things and people he considered his had grown stronger.

Perhaps he would find a way for them to sign marriage papers, or at least become engaged, despite their young age. Of course, it would only happen if his beloved, Danny, agreed to it. Consent and trust were crucial in any relationship, after all. If Danny disagreed, Damian would resort to the courting rituals his mother had taught him. The conventional methods from books hadn't worked, so he would try his mother's unique approach. Granted, he was technically kidnapping him, but it was only a few steps ahead. Damian was determined to win his beloved's heart, no matter what it took.

[ellaa-writes]

Gym rat König who fucks you in the locker room shower. (not edited)

He saw you first, walking up to the squat machine. Wearing tight black legging and just a sport bra. It was nearing midnight, König only came to the gym at night. Like a creature out of a horror movie, emerging from his crypt to do some weight lifting.

He couldn't stop staring, you must know he was staring. You probably did it on purpose, with the way your dressed, out late at night. Setting your water bottle down beside the machine you.

Watching you has you worked out, König long forgot what he was even doing to begin with. The heavy weights still in his hands, he let them drop to the floor without a thought. A loud thud rang though the gym, making you flinch and reel your head in his direction.

This was his opportunity, pulling at the bottom of his tank. He lifted it up to wipe off the sweat building on his forehead. Making sure his abs and chest were on full display. Hell he even flexed a little just to make sure you were looking. Hook, line and sinker, you snapped your head away as a blush crept up your chest to your face.

Today wasn't leg day, but for you it sure was. König sauntered over to the leg press machine which so happens to be right beside your machine. Giving it a quick wipe down before he looked in your direction and did his signature goofy smile, gummy and all.

"Haven't seen you here before." he called out to you, his accent thicker than usual. He was really laying it all on you. "I've been a few times but usually to busy." you replied back in between grunts. König watched has you worked up a sweat. Noticing your poor form and using that has an excuse to get closer.

"You're going to hurt yourself that way." he said nonchalantly, pointing to your back. You let the weights gently down as you sat facing him. "Leaning forward to much, watch I'll show you." he rose from his machine. Reaching you in one big step, he was so much bigger closer up. Like a skyscraper kissing the clouds, he had a surgical mask over the lower half of his face. But you still heard him like he was whispering in your ear.

You stepped back has König showed you the proper form. Doing one squat before he ushered you back to the machine. Helping you get the bar on your shoulders. His hand on your lower back, so big and wide and warm as hell. His other hand resting on your lower stomach, telling you to squat and you did. Feeling no pain as you did so, König asked "Better?" hands still on you. You just nodded your head, to dizzy to answer.

He stepped away but not far before you called out "If you don't mind, can you do that again. So I can get a better idea." König's heart started to pound as another sleezy smile spread across his face. He could show you a few more moves if you wanted, he said with a raise of an eyebrow.

Lucky for the both of you the gym was quiet dead that night. You, him and three others. He followed you back to the locker room, and into the showers. You shoved him in first, before following after and closing the curtains tight.

Konig had your leg slinged across his shoulder, your back pressed against the shower tile. The hot steam of the water filling the small enclosure. You other leg wrapped around his waist has he pounded your pussy.

He's whimpering and babbling in German, peppering your neck and chest in small kiss and bites. You nails digging into his back, panting like a bitch in heat. His thick cock hitting all the right spots, the tip bullying against your spongy cervix. His magic fingers working the bud of your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles.

The door to the locker room swung open, both you and König froze. His cock twitching inside your warm wet pussy. Listening to the sound of someone walking around, rummaging in their belongings before the always started up a shower.

Konig began to lazily pump his cock into you, slow thrusts that made your whole body buzz with need. You whined out causing König to cover your mouth with his hand. Leaning into your ear to shush you. And you tried, oh god you tried.

Letting his hand fall back down between your bodies. Working your clit once again and his thrusts became more focused and hard. The sound of the water pelting against the tiles drowning out the lewd noises coming from your stall.

You were so close, he could feel it. He was right their with you, snapping his hips harshly into your own. He was building you up until it all came crashing down. You bit into his shoulder to muffle your moan, your pussy convulsing around his cock. König could help himself, pumping his thick load into you. Grunting out before he bite his own tongue.

After a few silent moments between you to, the shower a few stalls over turned off. The curtain being yanked open and a few minutes later you bother were alone again.

He slowly washed his cum from your cunt, down on his knees. Looking up into your eyes he asked "Wanna go have a bite to eat?"

Thank you all for 600 followers!!

[thetxtdevil]

Scrub Nurse

Nurse!Yeonjun x Doctor!Reader

summary: After the nurse makes you look like a fool in surgery in your opinion, you get into an argument that leads to the nurse putting you into your place.

content: smut, hospital setting (if you don't like anything correlating to blood and anything medical don't read), descriptions of surgery, dom.yeonjun, sub.fem.reader, pinning, restraining, spanking, doggy style, manhandling, and the slightest dacryphilia ?, public sex? kinda

word count: 2.2k

au note: took my sweet time with this one hope you like it, and credit to @aduh0308 for help/support.

A metronome of an EKG echoes through the quiet sterile room, the environment is properly lit, agonizingly bright, but perfect to focus on the patient in front of you. The silence of the room is broken by the first words “Alright everybody we have a Mr. Johnson, a 65 year old, white male presenting with a lovely pulmonary embolism, now let's get this clot out shall we?”

You turn your head to your scrub nurse, glancing down the man’s hand already hovering over the iodine packet and sponge. Your palm reaches out above the patient, “Iodine please, Yeonjun.” The solution lands in your hands firmly, not a chance for it to slip and fall out of the sterile field. That’s how good the scrub nurse was, Yeonjun, the whole surgical staff’s favorite. He has been a scrub nurse ever since he graduated nursing school, long before your surgical internship. Never missed a shift, never made a mistake, always a trustworthy coworker, and there was no way you were going to deny it. You also couldn’t deny that he was unbelievably handsome, his warm brown eyes squint signifying a smile under the surgical mask, little dark hair flipping up from under his white and black starry scrub cap.

Yeonjun is smart, handsome, kind, but also a man-whore. First day of internship rumors circulated in your small group that he hooked up with everybody. You’d roll your eyes and deny the fact, first, that's none of their business, second, we’re all too professional to be hooking up with our coworkers and “doing it” in the hospital. Oh how wrong you were, when little innocent surgeon wannabe you walks into a supply closet to witness your surgical resident getting fucked dumb by none other than, Nurse Yeonjun.

It was a hard pill to swallow because he wasn’t the only one. Not only did you have to learn the extensive material of saving lives but you also had to dodge the overly attractive men working with you. You didn’t know if it was all the sad deaths or the burnout but you felt like they were everywhere fucking everybody. You soon learn that's the way of a hospital, a business that wants your money, employees that work until they are their own cause of death, and it is a building full of horny people.

You bite your lip in concentration and the fact that the man who you’ve seen his naked ass a few too many times is standing so close. Eyes locked on the open chest of the patient, your skilled eyes can easily identify the pulmonary artery and the exact spot of the clot. One by one a tool is given to you, “Yank-” the suctioning tool is already in your grasp.

You look at the man, “The yankauer, Doctor” he says as you know that he has a smirk under that mask.

“Getting a little ahead of yourself aren’t you?” you say looking back into the cavity suctioning out the loose embolus.

“No doctor, ok maybe a little.”

“Are you bored of me, nurse?” Yeonjun’s eyebrow quirks up when you exaggerate his title. He leaves the conversation at that so you can continue to focus on the surgery. The clot was removed, blood flow restored, the chest cavity was put back into place and it was now time to close the incision site. “Staples.” Yeonjun says with the item waiting in his hand.

“No, no I want sutures.” Yeonjun shifts on his feet and stares at you. With a little nudge forward of the tool you stare at the item contemplating. Suddenly you feel your feet ache from hours of standing your brain trying to tell you to go for the faster option in front of you. This is a big incision and the healing rate is quicker if staples are used. Rolling your eyes, your gloved hand stretches out, “staples.”

%%%

You’re sitting down outside the operating rooms, taking your little sterile booties off. You couldn’t help but stare at your scrub nurse, perfect posture at the rolling desk-cart, already chewing his habit gum while charting. You didn’t like how he was telling you what tools you needed in surgery, irritated at each crack of bubble and his sharp jaw clenching at every chew, but you again couldn’t deny how handsome he looked. Picking yourself off the bench grabbing your white coat on the way to Nurse Yeonjun. His hair in his face looking through his eyelashes sees you in front of him all the while a big pink bubble pops. Taking a deep breath for encouragement you ask, “so do you want to grab a drink after the next operation?”

“Thanks for asking but I’m meeting with the other scrub nurses”

“Ah yes you nurses always like to stick together” you say as you pick at the ridges of the desk, annoyed, “and always have to prove themselves better than doctors.”

Another gum bubble pops, Yeonjun leans over the desktop getting closer to you, “Aw does precious not like that I know how to do her job better?”

You straighten your posture trying to look bigger than the man, “That’s doctor to you” Yeonjun rolls his eyes, “now nurse I want you to get this surgery prepared in time”

“Well doctor princess, I’ll do that for you if you show your nurses a little more respect.”

You’re shaking of anger at his low judgment, the man smirks looking around the room. Your eyes follow to find out that everybody’s attention is on you two. Yeonjun logs out of the computer, spitting his gum out in the trash, before grabbing your wrist dragging you to the nearest empty on-call room. “W-what are you do-ah” you words interrupted by gasp as Yeonjun pushes you into the door.

“I’ve seen more than your little doctor eyes have seen, I might not have many years of education but I have the experience” Yeonjun spits his words, face so close, one hand on your waist while the other locks the door behind you.

“I’ve gone through years of school to not get orders from a nurse.” The nurse scoffs, “We’ll see about that.”

Yeonjun’s plush lips crash into yours so rushed and harsh your head bangs on the wooden door. He tugs away your scrub cap, unraveling your hair at the same time. You squirm at the feeling of the man’s hands finding their way under all your layers of clothing to rub the soft skin of your waist. Your hands reach up to drag your fingers through Yeonjun’s hair but he was not letting that happen. His big hands grab both arms, pinning them over your head making you squirm more as he grinds his half hard dick against your core.

“I know what you say about me,” you whine out of confusion, his lips grazing yours as he speaks, “words get around fast around here, words like you calling me a man-whore.” You would feel embarrassed but it was hard when his soft lips felt so nice on your neck while his cock so easily felt thanks to the thin material of the scrub pants. “But I know those words don’t mean shit especially when I see you drooling over me,” your half lidded eyes look into his dark ones, “just like that precious, even when you’re in someone else’s heart you look at me like you want me to fuck you right there.”

One hand still pinning your hands as the other slips under your seafoam green pants. His long fingers slip into your panties making your hips jut out. Yeonjun hisses when he feels your smooth slick making it easy to slide a finger in your cunt. Moans muffled by his lips as his fingers stretch you out and curl making your legs weak. So weak that your knees actually buckle, stumbling a bit before catching yourself. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Yeonjun, “what’s the matter pretty, can’t handle a few fingers in your cunt.”

“I-its the ah- long surgery” you try to deny the fact that the nurse has you melting.

“If that's so, let me put you in a different position.”

Yeonjun’s fingers slip out of your folds to be pushed into his mouth. You’d admire the filthy sight before but his other hand had you whipping around to the uncomfortable cots. The springs squeak as you fall into the cushion, looking up at the man watching as his fingers pop out of his mouth. He tugs the green scrub top over your head, “so a pretty surgeon can’t handle my fingers standing up but she can stand for hours on end, that’s cute,” he kisses your shoulder as his hand unhooks your bra, “wonder if you’ll be able to stand after I’m done with you.”

Your heart rate was pulsating, if you were hooked up to a heart monitor they surely would call an emergency code blue on you. Yeonjun knows it too, studying your body, noticing your rise of breathing rate and his lips on your neck could clearly feel your carotid pulse heightened. Taking your bottoms off, he smiles at the big damp patch on your underwear slipping them off to meet your pants on the floor. “Flip over, ass up,” you do what he said, losing the battle of superiority quickly much to Yeonjun’s surprise, but he wasn’t complaining. Taking off his clothes, he licks his red lips appreciating the sight of your plump ass and pussy patiently waiting for him. His hand slides up your inner thigh, listening closely to your whimpers as his finger tips touch your wet folds once more. You bite your lip trying to stop yourself from telling Yeonjun to do something instead you move your hips against his fingers.

 “Be patient” he hisses as he slaps your cunt, you cry out from the sensitivity, “aren’t good doctors supposed to be patient?” You whine, Yeonjun’s fingers tease your folds making you wetter to the point your dripping down your thighs. His other hand grazes your ass cheek, gripping them to spread you open every now and then. Yeonjun couldn’t deny that you were also one of the most attractive coworkers. He actually has been wanting to see you like this for awhile ever since you caught him during your internship. It was common for doctors to downgrade the nurses and he has learned to ignore it, but he took it as a chance to get you riled up. Looking at your ass then to your face, your neck stretching so your eyes can meet his, pleading, “Please Yeonjun.” Yeonjun reaches next to your head into the drawers knowing all too well that there was a convenient box of condoms in it. You lick your lips watching the man slide the condom on his stiff pink dick. You gasp again when he smacks your ass before positioning himself. Face falling into the flat pillow as Yeonjun pushes his fat cock slowly into you, stretching your hole deliciously, agonizingly.

“Mmm- more” your muffle getting another slap on your cheek. Yeonjun’s head was thrown back relishing in the feeling of your tight pussy around him, “so needy n’ so tight.” His slow movements quicken into your core making the cot’s springs squeak as loud as your moaning, head bobbing as the cheap bed moves in its spot. He leans over pecking your shoulder, “making me think you don’t do this often” he chuckles, “no wonder you’re so tense.”

You felt more tense right now since his dick was pounding harshly into you. Your insides were rearranged so much so you didn’t realize how loud you were being. "Gonna fuck you til you can't even remember your name, let alone operate like you're supposed to." Everything in your body felt like it was burning the stretch of your cunt, the friction of your folds, the teasing rubs of his hands on your ass. Each groan and hiss he made had you clenching around him. You whine, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten, “J-jun ‘m cummin.”

“Hmm I don’t know if I should let you.” he teases knowing there’s no way you could hold yourself back.

“Please, oh god- please” you scream out stretching your neck again to show your teary eyes. Yeonjun’s eyes roll back loving how fucked you looked. You came on his cock before he could say anything else resulting in Yeonjun thrusting hard to reach his high cumming into the wrap. “Shit” you both say in unison and collapse on the small bed close to its breaking point.

Yeonjun kisses your shoulder once again slipping out of you, throwing away the dirty condom. You rolled onto your back brushing your sweaty hair out of your face. Stunned by a passionate kiss on the lips by Yeonjun, “We should do this again sometime, Doctor.”

“I’ll put that in your orders, Nurse Yeonjun.”

%%%

Later that night Yeonjun stands in the operating room waiting for the surgeon to arrive at the table. He looks over his perfectly placed tools checking yet knowing he has everything in place for the surgery. The quiet room is disturbed by the air tight door opening by the surgeon. You walk in with clean hands, Yeonjun’s eyes scan your form as you dress into a gown and glove. It was dark in the room for the type of surgery but he still noticed the slight limp in your strut. Only he knew why you were in a bit discomfort, well, him and the others that were around the on-call room.

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil

taglist: @inkigayocamman, @naoristerling

[you-have-a-metal-arm]

'Til The End of The Line pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Mentions of hospitals

Summary: You get injured in a mission, and Bucky cannot bear to see you in such state.

Author's Note: Please do not copy or translate my work. English is not my first language, so please understand grammar or spelling mistakes.

Thank you for those who enjoyed the first part, and thank you again for waiting.

Part 2 is now yours.

The world around Bucky seemed to blur as he followed the medical team through the corridor. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears like a drum. The sight of you lying so still, bloodied and broken, was something he never thought he’d see—not like this, not when he hadn’t even told you how much he loved you that morning.

As Dr. Cho and her team wheeled you into the surgical room, Bucky’s steps faltered. He felt like he was wading through quicksand, every movement heavy and slow. He wanted to be with you, to hold your hand, to tell you that everything would be okay. But he was kept out of the room, forced to watch through the glass as the doors closed behind you.

Tony, standing beside him, placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “She’s strong, Bucky. She’ll pull through.”

But Tony’s words felt hollow to Bucky. He had seen too much death, too much loss. The fear of losing you was like a knife twisting in his gut. He couldn’t lose you—not when you were his reason to keep fighting, his anchor in the storm.

His mind raced back to the last few months—the mornings spent in quiet domesticity, the late-night talks about the future, the way you laughed at his terrible jokes. How could it all be ripped away in a single moment?

Bucky pressed his hand against the glass, his breath fogging up the cold surface. His other hand clenched into a fist, the tension coiled tight in his chest. The image of you, fragile and bleeding, burned into his mind.

Minutes passed, or maybe it was hours—he couldn’t tell. Time had no meaning as he stood there, waiting, praying, hoping for a miracle.

Tony stayed by his side, silent. Steve joined them, his face drawn and pale. The guilt weighed heavily on Steve’s shoulders, and Bucky could see it. But Bucky had no room for blame—only a desperate need for you to come back to him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Dr. Cho emerged from the operating room. Her face was tired, but there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “She’s stable, but it was touch and go for a while.”

Bucky’s knees almost buckled with relief, but he held himself upright by sheer will. “Can I see her?”

Dr. Cho nodded. “She’s still unconscious, but you can sit with her. It’s important she has someone she loves nearby when she wakes up.”

Bucky didn’t wait for further permission. He pushed past the others and entered the room where you lay. The sight of you hooked up to monitors, IVs, and machines tore at his heart, but at least you were alive. Your chest rose and fell steadily, and the color was slowly returning to your cheeks.

He pulled up a chair beside your bed, taking your hand in his. The warmth of your skin, even faint, was enough to give him hope. He brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead, his thumb tracing the lines of your face as if memorizing every detail.

“I’m here, doll,” he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. “I’m right here. Please, come back to me.”

The room was quiet, save for the beeping of the machines that tracked your vital signs. Bucky stayed by your side, his grip on your hand firm but gentle. He didn’t sleep, didn’t eat—he just watched you, waiting for any sign that you were waking up.

Hours passed, and the rest of the team came and went, offering support, but Bucky barely registered them. His world had narrowed down to just you, lying so still in that hospital bed.

At some point, he must have dozed off because he was startled awake by a faint pressure on his hand. His eyes flew open, and he looked down to see your fingers twitching slightly in his grasp.

“Y/N?” His voice was barely a whisper as he leaned closer, his heart pounding in his chest.

You stirred, your eyelids fluttering weakly. It took you a moment to orient yourself, but when your eyes finally opened, they were full of confusion and pain. “B-Buck?” Your voice was hoarse, barely audible.

“I’m here, doll, I’m right here.” Bucky’s relief was palpable as he squeezed your hand gently, his eyes misting over. “You’re okay. You made it.”

A weak smile tugged at your lips, though the effort seemed to exhaust you. “I… I thought… I wasn’t going to make it.”

“You did, though,” Bucky whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re safe now. We’re together.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, your hand trembling slightly in his grasp. “I… I heard you… on the comms. I was so scared… that I’d never see you again.”

“It’s quite a miracle that she woke up. But we still must keep an eye out for any damage to her brain,” the doctor said.

“I’ll call Dr. Cho for further checkups. My job’s done for now.” The doctor left, and Bucky’s gaze returned to you.

Bucky sat back down beside you, his eyes brimming with unshed tears as he clutched your hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality. He couldn't believe you were awake, breathing, speaking to him. The terror of almost losing you hadn’t yet faded from his mind.

You looked at him, your voice barely a whisper but full of the love you had for him. “Hey, I told you I’m not going anywhere, didn’t I?”

Bucky let out a shaky laugh, a mix of relief and disbelief. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours, feeling the warmth of your skin that he thought he’d never feel again. “You scared the hell out of me, doll. I thought—”

His voice cracked, and he couldn’t finish the sentence.

“I know, I know,” you whispered, your free hand weakly brushing the tears from his cheeks. “But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, Buck.”

He pulled back to look at you, his blue eyes swimming with emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he admitted, his voice barely holding together.

“I can’t lose you. I won’t.”

“You won’t,” you reassured him, squeezing his hand with as much strength as you could muster. “We’re going to get through this. Together.”

For a long moment, Bucky just stared at you, memorizing every line of your face as if afraid it might vanish if he looked away. The weight of everything he had almost lost hung heavily in the air between you, but so did the promise of the future you still had together.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice trembling with the intensity of the words.

“More than anything in this world.”

“I love you too, Buck,” you replied softly, your eyes shining with the same intensity. “And I’m sorry for putting you through this. For making you worry so much.”

“Don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t apologize. None of this is your fault. You’re the strongest person I know, and you’re going to get better. We’re going to get through this, and then we’ll live that life we talked about.”

A small, hopeful smile tugged at your lips. “Yeah, with the house, the backyard, and maybe… maybe even those babies.”

Bucky’s heart swelled with emotion at the thought. The future seemed so far away, but with you here, with your hand in his, it felt possible again. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice choked with emotion. “We’ll have that. I promise you, we’ll have that.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, exhaustion weighing heavily on you, but you fought to stay awake, to stay with him. “I’m going to hold you to that, Barnes.”

He chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You better. I’m not going anywhere either, doll. You’re stuck with me.”

“Good,” you whispered, finally allowing yourself to drift off to sleep, knowing that Bucky would be right there when you woke up again.

As you slept, Bucky stayed by your side, his hand still holding yours tightly. He didn’t move, didn’t even blink, afraid that if he did, this fragile moment of peace would shatter. But as he watched the steady rise and fall of your chest, he let himself believe that everything was going to be okay. That the darkness had passed, and the light of a new day would bring the life you both deserved.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Bucky allowed himself to hope.

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Tag list @baw1066 @hzdhrtss @mrsnikstan

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Thank you for reading and enjoy your weekend :)

[etz-ashashiyot]

Quotes from "Executed Jews" I want to especially highlight:

Two distinct patterns of antisemitism can be identified by the Jewish holidays that celebrate triumphs over them: Purim and Hanukkah. In the Purim version of antisemitism, exemplified by the Persian genocidal decrees in the biblical Book of Esther, the goal is openly stated and unambiguous: Kill all the Jews. In the Hanukkah version of antisemitism, whose appearances range from the Spanish Inquisition to the Soviet regime, the goal is still to eliminate Jewish civilization. But in the Hanukkah version, this goal could theoretically be accomplished simply by destroying Jewish civilization, while leaving the warm, de-Jewed bodies of its former practitioners intact.

For this reason, the Hanukkah version of antisemitism often employs Jews as its agents. It requires not dead Jews but cool Jews: those willing to give up whatever specific aspect of Jewish civilization is currently uncool. Of course, Judaism has always been uncool, going back to its origins as the planet's only monotheism, featuring a bossy and unsexy invisible God. Uncoolness is pretty much Judaism's brand, which is why cool people find it so threatening — and why Jews who are willing to become cool are absolutely necessary to Hanukkah antisemitism's success. These "converted" Jews are used to demonstrate the good intentions of the regime — which of course isn't antisemitic but merely requires that its Jews publicly flush thousands of years of Jewish civilization down the toilet in exchange for the worthy prize of not being treated like dirt, or not being murdered. For a few years. Maybe.

I wish I could tell the story of Ala's father concisely, compellingly, the way everyone prefers to hear about dead Jews. I regret to say that Benjamin Zuskin wasn't minding his own business and then randomly stuffed into a gas chamber, that his thirteen-year-old daughter did not sit in a closet writing an uplifting diary about the inherent goodness of humanity, that he did not leave behind sad-but-beautiful aphorisms pondering the absence of God while conveniently letting his fellow humans off the hook. He didn't even get crucified for his beliefs. Instead, he and his fellow Soviet Jewish artists — extraordinarily intelligent, creative, talented, and empathetic adults — were played for fools, falling into a slow-motion psychological horror story brimming with suspense and twisted self-blame. They were lured into a long game of appeasing and accommodating, giving up one inch after another of who they were in order to win that grand prize of being allowed to live.

Spoiler alert: they lost.

[...]

But Soviet support for Jewish culture was part of a larger plan to brainwash and coerce national minorities into submitting to the Soviet regime — and for Jews, it came at a very specific price. From the beginning, the regime eliminated anything that celebrated Jewish "nationality" that didn't suit its needs. Jews were awesome, provided they weren't practicing Jewish religion, studying traditional Jewish texts, using Hebrew, or supporting Zionism. The Soviet Union thus pioneered a versatile gaslighting slogan, which it later spread through its client states in the developing world and which remains popular today: it was not antisemitic, merely anti-Zionist. (In the process of not being antisemitic and merely being anti-Zionist, the regime managed to persecute, imprison, torture, and murder thousands of Jews.) What's left of Jewish culture once you surgically remove religious practice, traditional texts, Hebrew, and Zionism? In the Soviet Empire, one answer was Yiddish, but Yiddish was also suspect for its supposedly backwards elements. Nearly 15 percent of its words came directly from biblical and rabbinic Hebrew, so Soviet Yiddish schools and publishers, under the guise of "simplifying" spelling, implemented a new and quite literally antisemitic spelling system that eliminated those words' Near Eastern roots. Another answer was "folklore" — music, visual art, theater, and other creative work reflecting Jewish life — but of course most of that cultural material was also deeply rooted in biblical and rabbinic sources, or reflected common religious practices like Jewish holidays and customs, so that was treacherous too.

No, what the regime required were Yiddish stories that showed how horrible traditional Jewish practice was, stories in which happy, enlightened Yiddish-speaking heroes rejected both religion and Zionism (which, aside from its modern political form, is also a fundamental feature of ancient Jewish texts and prayers traditionally recited at least three times daily). This de-Jewing process is clear from the repertoire of the government-sponsored Moscow State Yiddish Theater, which could only present or adapt Yiddish plays that denounced traditional Judaism as backward, bourgeois, corrupt, or even more explicitly — as in the many productions involving ghosts or graveyard scenes — as dead. As its actors would be, soon enough.

The Soviet Union's destruction of Jewish culture commenced, in a calculated move, with Jews positioned as the destroyers. It began with the Yevsektsiya, committees of Jewish Bolsheviks whose paid government jobs from 1918 through 1930 were to persecute, imprison, and occasionally murder Jews who participated in religious or Zionist institutions — categories that included everything from synagogues to sports clubs, all of which were shut down and their leaders either exiled or "purged." This went on, of course, until the regime purged the Yevsektsiya members themselves.

The pattern repeated in the 1940s. As sordid as the Yeveksiya chapter was, I found myself more intrigued by the undoing of the Jewish Antifascist Committee, a board of prominent Soviet Jewish artists and intellectuals established by Joseph Stalin in 1942 to drum up financial support from Jews overseas for the Soviet war effort. Two of the more prominent names on the JAC's roster of talent were Solomon Mikhoels, the director of the Moscow State Yiddish Theater, and Ala's father Benjamin Zuskin, the theater's leading actor. After promoting these people during the war, Stalin decided these loyal Soviet Jews were no longer useful, and charged them all with treason. He had decided that this committee he himself created was in fact a secret Zionist cabal, designed to bring down the Soviet state. Mikhoels was murdered first, in a 1948 hit staged to look like a traffic accident. Nearly all the others — Zuskin and twelve more Jewish luminaries, including the novelist Dovid Bergelson, who had proclaimed Moscow as the center of the Yiddish future — were executed by firing squad on August 1952.

Just as the regime accused these Jewish artists and intellectuals of being too "nationalist" (read: Jewish), today's long hindsight makes it strangely tempting to read this history and accuse them of not being "nationalist" enough — that is, of being so foolishly committed to the Soviet regime that they were unable to see the writing on the wall. Many works on this subject have said as much. In Stalin's Secret Pogrom, the indispensable English translation of transcripts from the JAC "trial," Russia scholar Joshua Rubenstein concludes his lengthy introduction with the following:

As for the defendants at the trial, it is not clear what they believed about the system they each served. Their lives darkly embodied the tragedy of Soviet Jewry. A combination of revolutionary commitment and naive idealism had tied them to a system they could not renounce. Whatever doubts or misgivings they had, they kept to themselves, and served the Kremlin with the required enthusiasm. They were not dissidents. They were Jewish martyrs. They were also Soviet patriots. Stalin repaid their loyalty by destroying them.

This is completely true, and also completely unfair. The tragedy — even the term seems unjust, with its implied blaming of the victim — was not that these Soviet Jews sold their souls to the devil, though many clearly did. The tragedy was that integrity was never an option in the first place.

[...]

In Jerusalem that morning, Ala told me, in a sudden private moment of anger and candor, that the Soviet Union's treatment of the Jews was worse than Nazi Germany's. I tried to argue, but she shut me up. Obviously the Nazi atrocities against Jews were incomparable, a fact Ala later acknowledged in a calmer mood. But over four generations, the Soviet regime forced Jews to participate in and internalize their own humiliation - and in that way, Ala suggested, they destroyed far more souls. And they never, ever, paid for it.

"They never had a Nuremberg," Ala told me that day, with a quiet fury. "They never acknowledged the evil of what they did. The Nazis were open about what they were doing, but the Soviets pretended. They lured the Jews in, they baited them with support and recognition, they used them, they tricked them, and then they killed them. It was a trap. And no one knows about it, even now. People know about the Holocaust, but not this. Even here in Israel, people don't know. How did you know?"

— Excerpted from "Executed Jews," Chapter 4 of People Love Dead Jews by Dara Horn

(All emphasis mine)

Read the full chapter here.