“Girls can dress masculine” and “Boys can dress feminine” are both very true statements - but they only truly become empowering statements when they apply regardless of their gender assigned at birth.
Celebrating cis girls who don’t shave and wear no make-up for “breaking gender stereotypes” and being “feminist rolemodels” is pure hypocrisy if we at the same time shame trans girls who choose to not adhere to the same stereotypes.
All pastel blue positivity posts telling cis boys that it is okay to be soft or that make-up and dresses have no gender, mean nothing if we at the same time shame trans boys who do not want to present the way we decide would be masculine enough to count as “real boys”.
It just makes no sense to want to get rid of traditional gender roles - and still demand trans people to perfectly fit into those roles to “prove” their gender identity.
Summary: You’re a doctor for the avengers and when Bucky comes in with a hunk of metal in his side you find that it’s not his injury that’s making you sweat.
Warnings: Description of wounds/blood, Bucky being shameless
Note: I’m overwhelmed by the feedback I got on my last fic! You guys are great! So for my second fic I though I’d try out Bucky, again I’d love any constructive comments/criticism.
“Incoming! Incoming!” Odette, the surgical tech assigned to you rushes into the room.
“How many?” you ask, looking up from the table where you’ve laid out your tools.The tech flushes. You sigh. “What type of injuries?”
“Uh-hm..” the tech stutters. You turn around so you can hide your eye roll. “Dr.Cho’s been called in..” Odette says.
“Thank you, Odette” You say and head to the sink to scrub your hands again. You are a top scientist working for Fury, and besides having your degree in engineering you’re an MD who specializes in general surgery. So whenever the reinstated avengers go on mission you’re put on call, which basically consists of you waiting in the med bay in case anyone needs to be treated. Usually the injuries are minor, the team are unparalleled in what they do, and you just end up patching up deep scrapes or bullet grazes. Because of this and the fact you have daily work at the Avenger’s compound you’ve become very friendly with the team.
Your palms start to sweat. Today’s mission was supposed to be high risk and it’s a bad sign that Helen’s been called in. With you and one other doctor on call her and her technology are only called in for severe injuries. The door opens and a battered looking Steve supporting an even more battered looking Bucky walks in. Steve helps Bucky sit on the examination table.
“Any more injured?” You ask, pulling on gloves.
“Scrapes all around, except for Sam. He’s badly burned.” Steve blows air out of his mouth. You look at him, his brow is creased in worry.
“How badly?” You look at Bucky, he has a chunk of what seems to be jagged metal in his side, about two inches thick, protruding several inches from his gear. It seems to be a simple extraction job.
“Badly. But Park’s seeing to him” Samuel Park is the other doctor in the compound “Dr.Cho’s supposed to put him in the new Cradle.I hope she gets here soon.”
You walk to the table and pick up scissors and a knife. “Odette, You should go assist Dr.Park.” the tech nods, and scurries out the door. Steve goes to follow but looks back at Bucky.
“He’ll be fine, go,” You say, and with that Steve leaves.
You look at Bucky. His eyes are already trained on you. It reminds you of the time Steve came in for stitches. His forearm had been split open. Bucky leaned against the wall in the corner of the room, he remained silent but his eyes followed your every move. Even when you looked at him he didn’t break his gaze. You assumed he was just being protective over his best friend. Bucky hasn’t said more than two words to you in the time that you’ve known him. Even after he started opening up and joking around with the team he remained oddly silent around you. You assumed you annoyed him. He had no problem talking with the others and even flirting with the research techs.
You step up to him and start cutting away his gear. ‘Oops probably should have asked before I started cutting off his clothes’.Heat flushes down your neck and you stop your actions.
“Sorry, do you mind if I cut away your gear?”
“ ‘S fine” he says, voice low. You look up and you swear there’s a hint of smile on his face. You nod and continue. He smells of something metallic mixed with blood and sweat and a hint of….cologne…? As you cut away more of his gear you catch more of it. You try not to think about it. He’s handsome, the type of handsome that makes people do a double take. You try to ignore the broadness of his shoulders as his gear falls away, leaving him in a damp wife-beater.
“Ain’t even the first date and you’re already tryna get me outta my clothes.” He rasps, startling you. You stutter and stammer, before deciding not to respond.
“Okay,” you say, taking a breath. “I’m just going to take a look at this” You step in between his legs and inspect the metal shard. It looks worse than what you first thought it was. The shard is about the size of your hand and sticks out right below his rib cage, there’s a possibility that it might have hit some organs. There’s no exit point. Your heart rate goes up. Can a super soldier die if his major organs fail before his body can repair them?
You wheel over your table of tools. You wish you hadn’t sent away Odette.
“Can you lay down for me?,” You ask.
“Of course sugar.” He says, piercing you with his stare.
You take a deep breath, feeling flustered. Did this man want to die on the operating table?
You cut away his undershirt and prepare some local anesthesia.
“I’m going to try to numb the area, but I don’t know how well this will work. I’m sorry I don’t have anything else on hand.” You don’t even know if anesthesia would work on him.
“ ‘S alright, darling I’ve been through worse,” He says giving you a small smile. You feel your face fall as you think about how true his statement is. You numb him and take a deep breath.You move to start extracting the shard when his hand shoots out and grabs yours. You stop yourself from jumping.
“You know there is something that would make me feel better.” Bucky says, voice gravelly.
“Of course, what is it?” You place your tools back on the table. ‘Maybe a special painkiller?’ you think.
“A kiss,”Bucky’s face stretches into a wide smirk.
You splutter “James…!”
“Bucky.” he supplies, smirk not leaving his face.
“Bucky….I uh….I don’t think that would be necessary for minimizing your pain.”
“Oh I beg to differ darlin’“ He says.
You clear your throat and start to grab your tools again. Bucky says your name, pleadingly.
“Come on, ya really gonna deny a dyin’ man his final wish.” You roll your eyes at his dramatic tone. You fix him with your gaze.
“You’re not gonna die Bucky.”
“Here I am,bleeding out on your table, and all I’m askin’ for is one little kiss. Just one little kiss, from the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He looks at you from the corner of his eye “….before she slices me open.”
You sigh. One thing you know about Bucky Barnes is that he’s stubborn as a bull. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you lean over and press a kiss to his cheek, his stubble prickling you in a not unpleasant way.
For a moment Bucky just looks at you, it seems like he’s crawling underneath your skin with that stare. Then he groans “Really sugar? Ya gonna try and cheat a man with a chunk of metal in his side?”
“I-I, uh” You stammer
“You really are heartless.” He sighs dramatically, closing his eyes.
You war with yourself for a split second, before leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. As you start to pull away Bucky’s hand comes up and stops you, and he deepens the kiss. His lips are surprisingly soft, his stubble scratches your face deliciously. Remembering the fact that he has a piece of metal in his side, you slowly withdraw. Bucky tugs on your lip with his teeth as you do so, which makes you have to turn around in order to regain your composure. When you turn back around, Bucky’s face is split in an ear to ear grin.
“Alright beautiful, cut me open, I can now die a happy man.”
You swallow, “Shut up James,” you snap, hating how your voice shakes. You pick up your tools and start to remove the metal. It comes out surprisingly smoothly, except for the last few inches. As you pull them free, Bucky starts to bleed. Way too much. The end of the shard is jagged. You try to contain the blood. But there’s just so much, you call for assistance and try to repair the damage.
By the time you finish you’re covered in blood. “Bucky, Bucky can you hear me?” You say, stepping close and touching his face, he looks drawn, pale.
“His pulse is faint. But it’s there.” Odette says. You jump, you forgot she had come in.
“Alright,” you sigh, blowing hair back from your forehead. “Guess we’ll wait.”
Bucky’s moved to a different hospital bed in another one of the rooms, and fitted with IVs. Steve understandably freaks out, with two close friends gravely injured within 24 hours it’s no wonder. Sam’s healed now, resting. You tell Steve to do the same and sit in a chair in Bucky’s room. The others wander in and out of the room.You know with his regenerative properties he’ll recover, but when six hours pass you can’t help but worry. ‘Why hasn’t he woken up by now?’ .
You blink your eyes open as a sliver of sunlight passes across your face. You squint, looking at the clock on the wall: 7 am. Damn. You finished patching Bucky up at about 4 pm last night. You had fallen asleep in his room. ‘I’m terrible at keeping watch’ you scold yourself. ‘What if he had worsened during the night?’ You look over at Bucky, only to find him watching you. You jump.
“Man you need to stop doing that.” Your voice is thick with sleep. You lick your dry lips, feeling self conscious. Standing you hear your joints cracking as you walk over.
“How can I help it when you’re always lookin’ so gorgeous?” He smirks.
“Shut up,” You say, pulling back the covers and inspecting his wound. It looks nearly healed. “How do you feel?” you murmur.
“Alright,” He says wincing slightly as you put pressure on his wound. He sits up, and you try to ignore the way the muscles in his chest and stomach flex. “I’d feel better if you’d let me buy you dinner, though” He looks up at you through his lashes. You click your tongue.
“You really are shameless,”
“Come on, it’s the least I can do after bleedin’ all over ya.” You look down at yourself, your scrubs are crusted in dried blood. You start replacing the dressing on his wound.
“You say that to all the girls who stitch you up?” You quip, avoiding his gaze.
“Nope. But then again I don’t spend six months building up the courage to ask those girls out either.” You look at him for a long while,saying nothing, and notice how red starts to tinge his ears and creep up his neck.
“Alright,” You answer finally giving him a smirk of your own.
Bucky lets out a huge breath, and chuckles “Damn sugar, you really know how to make a man sweat, don’t ya?”
“It disturbs me how many abled liberals try to call out ableism while still enforcing the stereotypes that it brands disabled people with. The most important example of this is the repeated ‘defense’ of Serge F. Kovaleski against trump… Granted, trump’s mockery of kovaleski is an important example of American ableism, but note how liberals talk about it. For months now I have seen people, tears in their eyes, refer to SFK not by name but as ‘a disabled person/reporter’.
They dismiss the event, not as slander but simply as ‘rude’. ‘Low class’, ‘unprofessional’, ‘cruel’.
What I have consistently failed to see liberals mention is the true motive behind his statements: making SFK look incompetent, subhuman…
What unnerves me, what makes me question how many people really understand PwD, is that in these events no one calls it ‘untrue’.
Kovaleski is a lifelong photojournalist whos employed by a major newspaper. frankly a hero for a community who faces unemployment constantly.
What trump did in that moment, by and large, is defamation. Yet his opponents never call it what it is. It’s simply ‘sad’.
What this communicates is that liberals ‘find it unclean’ [because] it’s TOO representative of their idea of PwD…
To these liberals, the true crime of ableism is not character assassination but that you repeated their own assumptions in a mean voice.
To witness abled people failing to call out slander and lies against PwD is to see a criminal antagonist get arrested by a crooked cop.
disability is not a limit to someone’s understanding of their life. We aren’t the ‘poor dears in the hospital’ we’re trying to talk to you.”
⚬ warnings⇁public indecency, cumplay, exhibitionism, rough sex, dom/sub undertones, dom!junghope, jealousy, mentions of infidelity, sex in front of a mirror, oh n light daddy kink
⚬ word count⇁15k
Triangles are my favorite shape Three points where two lines meet.” (tessellate)
Triangles are supposed to be the strongest and most stable of all geometric shapes. You wonder how true this statement is if applied to real life situations. The way you see it: triangles aren’t a reliable structure for relationships, especially if the parties you’re involved with find commitment to be a foreign concept.
‘autistic and autistic-coded characters are often desexualised and seen as universally incapable of sexual or romantic attraction and autistics who do experience attraction are allowed to want representation of all facets or their identity’ and ‘autistic asexuals and aromantics exist and are allowed to want representation of all facets of their identity’ are both true statements that are able to coexist