war patients

latimes.com
What’s really causing the prescription drug crisis?
There are two quite different stories about why there is a prescription drug crisis in the United States, and why opioid-related deaths have quadrupled since 1999. At some level, you are probably aware of both. Earlier this year, I interviewed people in the New Hampshire towns worst affected by this crisis — from imprisoned addicts to grieving families. Even the people who were living through it would alternate between these stories, without seeing that, in fact, they clash, and imply the need for different solutions. Thousands of lives depend on which of these tales is correct.
By Johann Hari

God bless Johann Hari, everything he writes is the most erudite and prudent commentary on the so-called “opioid crisis”, and this one is another good one.

“This is a coherent story, put forward by serious and thoughtful people. But there are some key facts that don’t fit. Here’s one: Doctors in many parts of the world — including Canada and some European countries — prescribe far more powerful opiates than their peers in the United States. There, if you get hit by a car and you break your hip, you’ll likely be given diamorphine (the medical name for heroin) to manage your pain. Some people take it for long periods. If what we’ve been told is right, they should become addicted in huge numbers.But this doesn’t occur. the Canadian Journal of Medicine summarized the best evidence, explaining, “there was no significant risk of addiction, a finding common to all studies.”“

I sometimes like to imagine Vader meeting Leia on the Tantive IV and wondering why in the hell she seems so familiar. He’s heard of her, sure, but since Vader is not always directly involved in politics he’s never seen her before and she’s just so young. But it’s not just that, there’s something else…

I think it also bothers Vader that she is completely unbothered by him. Vader is probably used to getting the upper hand on people purely based on his appearance - especially when you consider his suit, his height, and his modulated voice - but Leia is completely unfazed. She openly defies him, she lies to his face, and she’s smug about it, too. And yet, despite all the setbacks and confusion, Vader cannot for the life of him put a finger on why she bothers him so much.

Maybe it’s the way she talks to him, or her lack of fear, or maybe it’s the youthful veracity that tinges her every dissentful remark.

Once Leia escapes the Death Star, though, Vader finds himself preoccupied with the origins of another - a certain Luke Skywalker. Not only is he the pilot credited with destroying the superweapon, but he bears the same name as him, as well as the same tutor: Obi Wan.

Vader thinks nothing of Leia, at least not until his confrontation with Luke on the second Death Star. Luke’s origins are almost a no-brainer. Once he learns of the rebel’s surname, it’s only a matter of time before he confirms that the boy was his… but there was no mention of a sister. After all, Leia was an Organa - he always knew that. Regardless of whether he followed galactic politics or not, Bail Organa had been a contemporary of Padmé’s, and royals have kids all the time, right? There was no reason for him, or anyone else for that matter, to think otherwise. But suddenly, Leia makes sense to him now. 

She looks like Padmé. She has her eyes, her hair, her same penchant for politics - but she’s not actually like her at all. She looks like her mother, yes, but she takes after him. She is as passionate and personable as Padmé, but she is fueled by the same fearless ferocity as Anakin. He sees Padmé, but all Vader can sense is himself - but a better self, an old self he left behind long, long ago. And in his son, he sees his older visage - the same youthful face framed by blonde hair, those bright blue eyes - but he senses Padmé. Luke has her kindness, her compassion, and her unending patience when it comes to others and seeing the good in them. Leia is tempestuous and argumentative, and just as impatient with the galaxy as Anakin was with the Jedi Council. 

She has Padmé’s eyes, yes, but she is also every bit of Anakin, yet a far better version of himself than he could ever possibly be.

Valentine’s Day, 11:07pm

Time is slipping away as you wait for Bucky to return home from a mission so you can celebrate Valentine’s Day.

Pairing:
Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings:
 This pure, shameless fluffy fluff…no really.

Word Count: 2,322

A/N: I was sitting in a creative meeting today and we were looking at some vintage designs when I spotted something that just screamed for a story.  I can’t tell you what it was here but it’s down below ;)  So for the next hour I tried to discreetly type out on my phone the story that was running through my head while also trying to pay attention to my coworkers. Be warned that this is a quickie and hasn’t been subjected to my usual weeks and weeks of editing, rewriting and obsessing.

It’s 11:00pm in Budapest.

1:00am in Moscow.

5:00pm in the Avengers compound where you are hunched over a screen tracking the quinjet on radar.  

You’ve been silently staring at the display of vintage world clocks in the control room for hours; lulled by the sweep of the second hands as they circle slowly.

Just ten more minutes you tell yourself.  In ten minutes, Bucky will be home.

Keep reading

lol but imagine how much more badass all the female characters in naruto would be if kishimoto didn’t let his misogynistic views influence his storytelling

like what if sakura and ino stayed friends despite their rivalry and trained together to make each other stronger instead of dragging each other down

what if inner sakura was acknowledged to be a major threat to itachi’s mangekyo, sasuke and naruto are out cold in the hospital and itachi comes and sakura’s there and they face off and he’s like “oh shit, what is this girl? I done fucked up”  

what if sakura, after three grueling years of training, was actually a match for sasuke and put up a hell of a fight, what if sasuke grudgingly acknowledges her and she just went ‘frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn’

(I know this is a bit of a stretch) but what if sakura, after being the hokage’s apprentice, healing thousands during the war, being extremely intelligent, patient, determined, and diplomatic, was at least considered for the hokage position (but turns it down because it’s naruto’s dream)

what if karin tried to slap some sense into sasuke and stood up for herself, what if her dream was to keep young girls from suffering the same abuse she did, or getting revenge on the people who used her, instead of ‘seeing sasuke smile one more time’

what if hinata was inspired by naruto to have and pursue her own goals regardless of what other people thought of her  (like being the best head of the hyuuga clan to ever live and liberating the branch family vs. just being like ‘naruto-kun *blush*)

what if (aside from the few existing exceptions) the female characters in naruto actually put up a hell of a fight, maybe even WON most of the time when they went against a male opponent

what if naruto was a genuinely empowering show for boys AND girls all over the world, what if naruto OBLITERATED the subtle undercurrent of “yeah, girls can do it, but never quite as good as guys” that taints the shonen genere

look at all this wasted potential. what a fucking shame.

This large chain supermarket  petrol station is in Lansing Michigan.  it’s on Pennsylvania road.  it’s right at the entrance to I-96, one of the busiest intersections in the state. 

According to the Michigan State Police this entrance sees more drug traffic than any entrance in the entire state. Why ? Well they say there are more growers in the mid michigan corridor. Clearly there is more weed in this area and the prices are better than almost anywhere in the state. in some dispensaries the prices rival the larger dispensaries In Detroit.  it’s not about sales volume in Lansing, it’s about the size and output of your grow.

The reason I’m showing it to you is because I was there on Saturday watching the d e a try to figure out how to remove a case of plants from someone’s car.

They were so angry because Michigan State Police were standing there with them saying they could not take the plants because the person was legal.

I did not take the picture of the police or of the DEA because when I was pointing my camera in that direction they came to me and said do not photograph us so I took the picture of the gas station instead and I’m telling the story

In Michigan we see this all the time, Some stupid ass calls the police because they see you with a pot plant. The uninformed think no one can have pot plants.

Apparently it happens regularly on Saturdays at this gas station as well; because when I went inside to pay the ladies told me, oh well its just another Saturday.

FYI the law in Michigan allows each patient to have 12 plants and if you are a caregiver you can have 12 plants per patient

LOL Michigan State Police why don’t you demand that the DEA and other mich cops take the real clear FREE course on that law that we have here in Michigan, about those pot plants, it’s called the Michigan Medical Marihuana act number one of 2010.

And about those drug figures, those figures are not right, since there is much more pharma traffic as of late.This is noted by the media reports on the rise of Pills and Potions beginning to show up in the Ingham county jail  Most notably heroin, fentanyl and percocet.   

anonymous asked:

6, 7 and 11 elriel please

Training Headcanon:

  • Azriel offers to teach Elain self-defense not long after the war

  • He is patient with her as she awkwardly goes through the steps.

  • Elain more often then not stumbles through most of the practice and Azriel is quickly there to prevent her from falling.

  • But Elain doesn’t give up and each day she slowly becomes more comfortable in her movements.

  • Azriel notices this and is proud of Elain continuing her self-defense lessons.

  • He soon stops hovering nearby knowing that even though Elain may stumble and fall, she will always get back up again.

  • During their sessions Elain admits how much she can’t stand how everyone treats her as some frail being. She then goes on to saying how Azriel is perhaps the only one who doesn’t treat her as weakling.

  • Azriel politely disagrees and tries to explain that no one thinks she is weak. That everyone has their own strength and Elain should embrace it.

  • Long after Elain has mastered self-defense she still will train with Azriel. She finds his company soothing. 

  • And Azriel enjoys her presence as well.

Awkward Moment Headcanon:

  • Everyone in Velaris knows that Elain loves gardening.

  • One day Azriel felt the sudden inspiration to purchase a small bouquet for Elain. He event bought seeds for for to use in her garden.

  • When he gives Elain the flowers she is clearly excited, but then her expression turns puzzled upon further inspection of the flower.

  • She blushes and thanks Azriel in a small voice before walking away while trying to hide her blush behind the flower petals.

  • Azriel is confused by her reaction and ever since he gave her the flowers Elain starts acting slightly different around him.

  • He asks Feyre if he knows why and Nesta, who has read a large selection of books, soon provides the answer.

  • Nesta shows them a flower symbolism book and Azriel quickly discovers that the flowers he gave Elain signify “passion” “desire” and “fertility”.

  • In it’s most simple meaning he basically told Elain he is passionate for her and desires to consummate their relationship and have children.

  • Azriel cleared up the situation with Elain by clarifying he didn’t understand the meaning the flowers would give. He mainly chose them, because he thought they “felt right”

  • Elain couldn’t hold back the giggles as Azriel nervously explained his side of the story and in the end they both now look back on the moment with laughs

Bathing/Showering Headcanon:

  • When Azriel comes home from a mission Elain insists that he takes a hot bath.

  • Azriel isn’t dirty by any means so he wonders why Elain is so adamant about him taking a bath not a moment after he walks in the door.

  • He soon finds out why. The bathroom is candle-lit and scented oils line the tub. Elain has created a atmosphere to help him relax after being away for weeks of spying.

  • Clothes are tossed to the floor and Azriel sinks into the warm bathwater.

  • After Elain hears him splash into the tub she enters and starts assisting Azriel with his bath. She rubs his arms, chest and further down until the heated look in Azriel’s eyes make her pause.

  • “Care to join me?” Azriel’s voice has dropped low enough that Elain’s fae ears strain to hear him.

  • “But this is supposed to be for you Azriel.” Elain answers.
    “And I would be awfully put out if you didn’t enjoy yourself.”

  • Elain is about ready to stand and leave Azriel to finish his bath, but she finds herself tugged into the warm waters.

  • She sputters in Azriel’s naked lap and flushes at the feel of him pressed hard against her. The only thing separating them is her dress that melds to her skin in in the water.

  • Azriel kisses Elain’s neck until she fully turns to face him. Then they kiss each other in the bathtub until Azriel lifts them up and helps Elain remove her soaked dress.

  • Azriel and Elain leave the bathroom amid a flurry of shadows and laughs as they hurry naked down the hall to their bedroom.

Portrait of Union patients posing in front of a building at Lovell General Hospital in Portsmouth, Rhode Island, during the American Civil War.

Source: Rhode Island Historical Society.

twitter.com
ForcedFromHome on Twitter
“Nurses, dads, kids, patients - the beautiful faces of Mosul @Medium https://t.co/fmSjTI4Sf7”

Rebuilding lives shattered by war: testimonies from our patients and staff

For those wounded by fierce fighting in Mosul, Iraq, emergency trauma surgery is the beginning, rather than the end, of a long journey to recovery. As such, Doctors Without Borders/Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) runs a 40-bed hospital in Hamdaniya, a town south of Mosul, to specifically cater to the needs of those recovering from surgery and attempting to rebuild their lives.

Abdulrahman, 11-year-old patient from western Mosul

“I was going to a food distribution when something exploded in the street next to me. I was hit in the chest and arm by shrapnel.”

Faten, five-year-old patient from western Mosul

Told by her father:

“When our neighborhood in western Mosul was retaken by the Iraqi army, we went back to our house. Faten was playing in the garden when a mortar bomb fell in the garden and exploded.

Now she is here in the post-operative ward in Hamdaniya Hospital. Every day the staff here clean her wounds and put new bandages on. Faten is a brave girl; she likes to play and laugh, but she misses her brothers and sisters at home and at night she cries.”

https://medium.com/@MSF_USA/the-beautiful-faces-of-mosul-7562d4dfcdb9

A flash Jonsa AU. Again, sorry, couldn’t resist. :)

*******

The Healer

“Miss Stark! Come in here, we need you! Quickly now!” a voice jolted her out of her drowsiness. She hadn’t had any rest since the booming blasts heard not far away wheeled in dozens of screaming young soldiers, injured, burnt and in agonising pain.

“Anything you need Dr Davos?“ Sansa rushed in to a smaller and more private enclosure of the large medical tent. She stared at the body laying lifeless on the worn canvas stretcher. He looked familiar.

“Hand me that gauze and stop the bleeding as much as you can. He’s losing a lot of blood. We’ve got to save him, no matter what,” the elder gentleman commanded as he took the cotton gauze from her hands and placed it on the gaping wound that was spurting blood. The shells had hit an arterial vein. The gush was bright red and copious. There was no way this young man would live. Even for a terrible nurse that she was, she knew there was no way he would survive it. Still, she followed Dr Davos’ orders.

“Doctor, I don’t think we can stop the bleeding. There are other soldiers out there who need treatment-”

“Miss Stark, do you know who he is?”

Sansa shook her head. She had seen many faces, most of them young and reminded her of her brother Robb and his friend Theon but she hadn’t a clue who the body that laid before her belonged to.

“That’s Jon Targaryen. Grandson of the Duke Aerys Targaryen the Second. Do you know what that means?” Dr Davos asked her again, as he frantically changed the soaked gauze with clean ones. Sansa wasn’t sure yet she understood, that he must be someone incredibly important. More important than the other young men out there, it seemed.

“But Dr Davos… he has no pulse. I’m sorry,” Sansa lessened her grip on the gauze, releasing the wound she was assisting Davos with. More than five minutes had already passed. Jon Targaryen was possibly clinically dead. Davos paused and bowed his head, taking off his glasses. He glanced at the young lady and back to the fresh corpse before him.

“Miss Stark, this man.. This man is the future of England. He has in him dreams that would make our nation great. I know there’s something in you.. I don’t know what it is but I know you can help him. Please, Miss Stark, I’ve seen the soldiers you’ve treated, it’s as if you have the hand that gives life. Do something for this young man. He is important to us, whether you know it or not,” he said quietly, ignoring the commotion and frantic calls for him outside the private space that held the three of them.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dr Davos. I-I should be returning to the others, they need treatment,” Sansa tried to dismiss the hint of the suggestion that Davos was implying. She was about to take her leave when she felt a gentle grip on her elbow.

“He saved my life once. And I vowed to make sure he’s to return alive and well to his family once all this is over. Miss Stark, please think about it.”

Though the slight waver in his plea seemed earnest, Sansa didn’t look back. She found herself almost running out to tend to a writhing young man who had burns all over him.

It was three in the morning when Sansa restocked the medical supplies. She counted the bottles of iodine and counted them again and again, distracted by the earlier conversation Dr Davos had started with her. She glanced across at the enclosed space of the tent that kept the body of one Jon Targaryen. Dr Davos had ordered all who were on duty to keep out of that space, except for him and herself, to tend to the patient.

Sansa didn’t know what came over her when she decided to cautiously walk over to it and tiptoed inside. The whole tent was silent in the dead of night, save for the occasional groan and quiet sobbing of the patients while trying to sleep through their pain. The scene was of great dire and despair.

Sansa looked at the body and let her fingers linger along the muscular arms that laid stiff at the sides. He was frozen to the touch.

He saved my life once… He’s to return to his family when all this is over..

Sansa sighed deeply. Every time, she laid her hands, it took something from her. She wasn’t quite certain what it was but it often left her drained and dizzy and incapable of standing. Ever since she was a child, she was told she had a gift. And they said time and time again, that her gift would change the world.

The Starks were direct descendants of a long lineage of witches and magick. Everyone born of Stark blood had some supernatural ability within them. Arya had the gift of strength; Bran had the gift of vision. She, well, had the gift of bringing back life from the dead. She was warned not to use it often, and only when needed but the death and disease that encamped all around her was too devastating to ignore. She would deal with the consequences when it comes. At that moment, Davos’ plea was the only thing that echoed in her mind. She liked working with him and he had become a sort of father figure to her while she was far away from home and family. If he said it was important, she believed it to be true.

Sansa took the cold wet cotton cloth in the basin of water that was left earlier for washing. She wiped away at the dirt and blood that streaked his face and tucked away the curls that covered his closed eyes. She wondered what colour his eyes could be. Sansa grabbed the medical shears that were in her apron pocket and sliced through the thick fabric he was clothed in. Sansa had to look away from the large hole on his side that greeted her the instant she took off his uniform. She was still not accustomed to the sight of bloody wounds and the white of exposed bones jutting out from their flesh.

Sansa cleaned the dried blood from the wound and dipped her finger onto the red fluid and smeared some of it onto the spot where his lifeless heart had stopped beating. Sansa shut her eyes and began chanting under her breath.

There is none other

than the great Mother,

Who gives us life and light

and who brings the end and night;

O’ great Mother, you are the one

to whom we seek and to whom we run;

I call on your name to give your breath

back to this vessel claimed by Death

To return to its former self and might

I proclaim it with your blessing of love and light

Sansa whispered again this time into his ears and gently blew her breath on his face and leaned down to do the same on his wounds and chest. It took her three gentle blows when she felt as if she was knocked hard on her chest by some large force. Sansa stumbled back, suddenly feeling exhausted and her heart racing. Sansa inhaled deeply and clung onto the stool in the form of a large wooden stump, that stood beside the stretcher. Sansa willed herself to sit up and regain her composure. It got harder every time she did it. But she was determined to stand by her decision. If this man was really who Davos said he was, then perhaps, she had made a difference.

Sansa watched Jon intently, her insides stirring, as if ominous that it was about to happen any moment. Sansa gently thumbed along Jon’s arms again and hoped that this man would really be someone she could trust her hopes and dreams with.

A sharp gasp for air startled her, almost made her lose balance off her seat as Jon started to heave and huff to draw in air to revive his once dead body. Sansa stood up to face him. Jon’s eyes fluttered open to stare up above him. His dark grey eyes darted to her in a state of panic and fear.

“Shhh.. Mr Targaryen. It’s all right. You’re fine now, you’re in the medical tent and treated for your injuries,” Sansa assured him gently, her eyes roamed towards his open wound that had shrunk to a small hole. Jon’s eyes drifted to her direction and felt with his hands where the hole was.

“But I, I was shot.. There was an explosion… My men, they were.. Who are you?” Jon opened his mouth to speak, his speech slurred but audible. He winced as he tried to get up but Sansa gently pushed him back to lay down again.

“Gently, Mr Targaryen. You’re just recovering and you.. You need to rest. My name is Sansa Stark, your attending nurse.”

Jon was still confused and his pained facial expression made her want to embrace and comfort him. She wasn’t quite sure why.

“Now, Mr Targaryen, I would sug-”

“Jon, please call me Jon,” Jon interrupted, his breathing now steady and his revived heart establishing a somewhat normal pace. His dark grey eyes that hovered on her was somehow unsettling to Sansa. She suddenly felt a hot flush spreading to her cheeks.

“Jon. I would suggest that you rest till the next morning. Your tired body needs it. If you need water or food, I shall get it for you. But please, promise me you will stay here till the morning? Till I come get you?” Sansa asked, not realising her hand planted firmly on his heaving chest. Jon grabbed her hand in his and Sansa almost let out a small whimper. Why did this man have an effect on her? What was it about him that made her feel things she never felt before?

“Yes, Miss. But you have to promise me that you’ll do me one thing. Please find out for me if my men are all right and well. I won’t be able to live with myself not knowing. I have their families to answer to. Please, Miss. These young men are sons who have fathers and mothers who miss them. I promised I would look after them.”

Dr Davos was right. She felt it in her heart that this Jon Targaryen was someone undeniably important. And special. His dark eyes shone with a deep ferocity she had never encountered before. Her senses tingled every time they made eye contact and goosebumps pimpled her skin. To Sansa, it seemed peculiar yet exhilarating. His now warm skin mingled with her own as he held on to her hand that was still on his chest.

Sansa nodded and pulled her hand away reluctantly. She kept her shears back in her pocket and handed Jon a blanket. The night was cold and his current weakened state would still be vulnerable to the elements. Sansa smiled and turned to leave.

“Miss Sansa.”

“Yes, Jon?” Sansa turned back to him. She felt glued to the spot, there was something about him that was pulling her in.

“Thank you. Whatever you did, thank you. I owe you my life and I will forever be indebted. My family and I.”

Sansa was truly blushing now and wished the lamp that was lighting the tent did not make it conspicuous.

“It is my duty and I’m glad that you’re alive, Jon. The doctor will tend to you in the morning when you’re up from your bedrest.”

Jon nodded his agreement, his eyes never once left hers.

“Sansa.. It’s a pretty name. I’ll remember it for as long as I live. Good night, Sansa.”

A sudden urge to leap onto him and kiss him came over her, but Sansa bit down hard on her lip and merely nodded shyly to Jon, who now wore a gentle smile on his face. Gone were the pain and panic. He looked like a true gentleman.

I’ll always remember you, too,

Sansa thought to herself. She gave him a smile, bid him goodnight and stepped out of the tent, hoping to find Dr Davos. She had never wished for morning to come sooner than ever.

********

sorry this went a little long! Oops!

Didn’t think I’d need to announce this cause I don’t post art as often as I’d like, but my computer is currently receiving data from my old laptop owo! It’s in the shop ATM and will be done mid next week (this week???) so I’m without my monkey king bby till wed or thurs.

All that means is that if I post anything it’ll just be pencil/pen sketches, which has become more normal on this account anyways so it’s nothin really huge or too different but yah! Btw my computer works fantastically and I can’t wait to have him back >:0

When I do get it back I’m gonna try to draw more digital shit if I can. The only thing is that Sabers is I the works again so my time will be more dedicated to that again. I have 3 ½ months to get the next chapter finished so I’m gonna be focused on that when I finish sketching chapter 6! Gonna do my best to balance out fanart and original junk but hey maybe there will be more streams due to needing to focus and all that ✨✨

These are good updates for the most part. I’m trying very hard to keep an optimistic outlook on life but it is very hard ( ´ ▽ ` )

Yellow Rose~Prologue (1940s Bucky Barnes x Female Reader)

Originally posted by imaginingbucky

(GIF NOT MINE, CREDIT GOES TO OWNER)

Words: Around 350

Pairing(s): 1940s Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Flirting, Bucky being a total ladies man

Requested By: Anon

Request: Hey, do you think you could write a Bucky x reader based on Ed Sheeran’s song Nancy Mulligan please ?

Summary: (AU where Bucky never falls off the train and gets to live a happy life) Working as a nurse in WWII, you never expected to fall in love. But then a certain blue-eyed soldier walks into your life, and you can’t ignore the sparks between you. Eventually, the war ends, and you return home. Bucky courts you for a while, before proposing. But your father refuses to give you his blessing. Will you give in, and let your father control your life? Or will you take a leap of faith and run away with the love of your life, James Buchanan Barnes?

A/N: Okay I actually hadn’t heard this song before I got this request, so I gave it a try and LOVED IT! So thank you for requesting this!! I’m having so much fun writing this. I wanted to post at least one part of it today as a sort of birthday special for Bucky. So Happy Birthday Bucky! Anyway… This was originally going to be a oneshot but I decided to make it a multiple part story. So here’s a little intro! I hope you enjoy it!


You hated war.

Which was why you decided to volunteer as a nurse during this time.

World War Two.

A patient had just arrived. You looked at his file as you walk towards the tent where he was being kept.

His name was James Buchanan Barnes. He had been trapped behind enemy lines but was rescued by Captain America, along with the rest of the 107th Infantry Regiment.

You stepped into the tent and saw a man that looked like the one in the picture on the file you held.

“Hello Mr. Barnes.” You say, setting the file down on a small table next to the cot he was sitting on.

“Hi.” He said, his voice slightly raspy, but you think it’s the most beautiful sound.

You look up at him, flashing him a smile.

And that’s when you really see him.

He had the most beautiful baby blue eyes, and plump lips that you could’ve kissed right then and there. He had a sharp jawline, and a cleft chin that you thought was adorable. His hair was short, brown, and messy.

You suddenly realize you’re staring, and blush, averting your gaze. You grab a wet rag that sat in a bowl of water next to his file.

‘Damn it (Y/N)! Stop crushing on him! He’s probably married! You are just here to do a job!’ You mentally scold yourself.

“I’m (Y/N) by the way… (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”  You say, realizing you hadn’t introduced yourself.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, missus-”

“Miss.” You correct him.

He smirks. “I’m sorry. I assumed a pretty thing like you would already have a soldier of her own.”

You blush, as you start wiping the dried blood off his face.

“You flatter me, Mr. Barnes-”

“Bucky.” He cuts in.

“Pardon?”

“Bucky, call me Bucky. My friends call me that.”

“Alrighty then, Bucky.”

He smiled, a smile where he flashed his pearly whites at you, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. It made you dizzy.

You didn’t know it yet, but that moment would change your life forever.


READ THE NEXT PART HERE!

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Hopefully I can get the next  part posted by Sunday night. Feedback is appreciated! Have a great day my lovelies!

Yellow Rose Tags: @marvelofcourse

Bucky Barnes Tags: @meep-meep22   @the-craziestone @barnes-toddpartnersinheartbreak

Permanent Tags: @storm-howlett  

Please send me a message or let me know in the comments if you’d like to be added to my tag list for imagines about just this character or for all of my fics! Thank you!

anonymous asked:

imagine Claire taking Brianna to Faiths grave... Claire sings by the seaside...

Why was it that Brianna seemed to get heavier when she was sleeping? Was it the furrow in her brow denoting her frustration at the long flight? Or perhaps Claire’s own fatigue, not just from the flight, but from being back in Paris once more.

The city had patched itself up well after the war, like a patient embarrassed by their own wounds. Yet the traces of those wounds would always remain; deep scars visible to memory’s unforgiving eyes.

“Claire?” Frank called from the waiting cab. He’d noticed something had been off about her ever since she’d agreed to come with him to his conference, but he suspected that was a wound he shouldn’t prod.

Claire tore her gaze from a city peopled with those now far below it, and let modern Paris whisk her and her small family away.

The blue eyes that smiled at her in her dream reached a hand to her cheek, its small size and accompanying “Maaaama” pulling her back to reality.

While Claire had miraculously managed to drop off almost the moment they’d made it to their hotel, her jet lag hadn’t stopped the disquieting memories that swirled through the city from shaping themselves into dreams.

Thankfully Bree seemed to have slept peacefully (of course, Beauchamp, why wouldn’t she?) and was now regaining her seemingly inexhaustible toddler energy.

“Good up. Pris!” Bree exclaimed, happy to have managed to wake her somnolent mother.

A laugh broke through the sorrow that engulfed her upon waking, surprising her. “No no pumpkin, that’s not a good word. Paaaa-ris. Yes?”

Bree rolled onto her back, thinking, and Claire caught a glimpse of a note on the other pillow. Frank’s pillow.

“Paaaarse.”  Interrupted Bree, looked back at Claire, hopeful.

Claire leaned over to collect the letter, kissing her daughter’s little auburn head on her way. “Good enough, smudge.”  

Darling,

I’ve gone off to the conference and thought I’d leave a note and let you get some sleep instead of waking you. I managed to cajole Bree back to sleep too; with any luck you’ll get a lie-in.

The busboy suggested a nice restaurant called Épicure on Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, so I’ve made reservations at 7. Hope that suits.  

Enjoy Paris.

Love,

Frank.

Enjoy indeed. Why had she even decided to come? Frank’s conference was just for the weekend, but they’d decided to take the rest of the week as a vacation. She suspected Frank thought it would lift her bouts of depression. Truth be told, she’d wondered the same; if facing some ghosts might help her finally say goodbye to them. If not for herself, then for Bree, and for the promise she’d made for Jamie. And for Frank too, who was trying his best to make a normal life for them.

Yet looking outside, the deep sorrows of both her earlier visit to Paris and her more recent yet earlier still time in Paris cut deep in her chest. Brilliant, Beauchamp. You’re supposed to bandage a wound, not rip it open.

“Mama, we can go to the pock?” Once more, Brianna snapped her out of her reverie.

A park was good, safe. There were things she knew she would not forgive herself for avoiding, but they could wait a day. They had already waited 200 years, after all.

“Yes darling, let’s go to the park.”

It was comforting, to get lost in the city, listening to Brianna babbling on about all the new sights and sounds and “speak French” (unfortunately this involved her shouting “hron hron” at passers by. Claire rapidly shooshed her and explained was impolite, so instead Brianna shouted “bonjour!” Which was on the whole better, but still earned some frowns.)

A corner of green poked itself into the grey of the Parisian streets as they rounded a corner. Brianna took off like a small dog, shouting “pock!”

Claire’s laugh was cut off as she caught up and caught sight of the church still standing proudly beside the green space it sheltered.

Oh I do like to be beside the seaside

A dream come to life, her feet moved without her consent, knowing the way to the stone that had weathered 200 years in 6.

I do like to be beside the sea

“Sad, mama?” Brianna knelt by her mother; beside her sister. The only time the two would ever meet.

I do like to stroll along the Prom, Prom, Prom

Claire took Brianna’s hand in reassurance. “I am, darling. I… there’s someone here you would have loved very much. Who would have loved you very much.”

Where the brass bands play, “Tiddely-om-pom-pom”

Bree leaned into her mother, pulling her arm into a hug. Thank you for seeing her safe.

2

just for you, sweet anon

Do any of you think that Inej would go insane if she knew Alina Starkov, one of her Saints, was alive? Because I do. 

Just imagine Kaz somehow finding out that Alina is alive and he brings Inej to Ravka for her birthday present of for some Suli holiday (or for their honeymoon). So Kaz is subtley urging Inej to go to this one orphanage and since Inej is Inej, she knows something is up and is like uhh ok, what’s going on. 

And she gets there and sees Alina and it takes a moment for her to realize who she’s seeing but she knows exactly who this young, white-haired woman and her husband are. (Inej is a little mad at Kaz because he didnt let her clean up or put on some better clothes so she settles with smoothing her jacket) 

And Alina and Mal, of course, invite them inside for afternoon tea/lunch. (for the first hour or so, Inej is trying not to scream or freak out) They talk a little about the war and Alina patiently answers all of Inej’s questions and tells her and Mal and the Darkling’s story. Also, Kaz totally told them all about how amazing Inej is so they ask her questions and Kaz and Inej and the Ice Palace and jurda parem and their adventure.

 Of course Kaz makes it seem like Inej has the biggest part to play and he tries to shut down his whole business man/dirtyhands act to make this special for Inej. 

And whenever Alina and Inej are just fangirling over each other Mal and Kaz are just staring at them like “look at our beautiful nerdy girls”

Also I’m really sorry Grishaverse fandom, I didn’t realize how much everyone despised Mal
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A Sisterhood of Women in an Afghanistan Hospital #IWD2017
On International Women’s Day 2017, Doctors Without Borders/Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) is highlighting the challenges that women in Afghanistan face durin...

On International Women’s Day 2017, Doctors Without Borders/Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) is highlighting the challenges that women in Afghanistan face during pregnancy and childbirth. #HerVoiceIsMyVoice

Severine Caluwaerts is an MSF OBGYN in Khost, Afghanistan, at MSF’s largest maternity project. This is her seventh time in Khost.

“I’m doing exactly the job that made me study medicine so many years ago, to help people who most need help,” said Caluwaerts. “Afghanistan is a war-torn country. Our patients are continuously confronted with the war. Families lose husbands, children die, mothers die. And what MSF is offering them is a safe place to deliver.”

“ I see Afghan women, Afghan doctors, Afghan midwives. I see them from doing their first delivery to becoming really experienced and two of our national doctors still here, Dr Sadia and Dr Farida, I taught them basically their first Caesarean section and now so many years later they are independent.

It’s like a sisterhood of women. It’s Afghan women taking care of Afghani women and Afghani babies.”