#heart attack tw

[sammyshuno]

[angstfactory]

THE ACCIDENT @nananathanb

"Oh my god," Her breath escaped in a low exhale of disbelief as she drove upon what unmistakably had to be the reported accident. The extent of damage was far greater than her mind had wanted to imagine, because a chill sent down her spine. This wasn't good.

The vehicle had t-boned itself around one of the light poles, on its side, giant flames licking up through its gnarled metal body. And there was just debris everywhere, far as her eyes could see, with being down that one solo light pole, only the fire and her headlights doing a decent job of lighting the area right then. Things looked so terrible, she couldn't even recognize the vehicle yet. Ney found herself quietly thankful it was the middle of the night, that they couldn't see fully just how awful it was.

Movement, cries of help diluted with pain. Ney saw the outline of two figures on the ground, away from the burning wreckage — one not moving, the other appeared to making desperate, life-saving measures. Her response? To go numb, to mentally distance herself as best she could, from what she was about to stumble her way into. A mask of authority clicking into place, one that would prioritize only what needed to be done, to get everyone through this ugly situation, rather than actually process any of it. There was no time to process, right now.

Neylani was out of the SUV with a flashlight in hand, stalking forward quickly. She did a quick check of the vehicle first, getting as close as she dared, just to make sure there wasn't anyone else trapped inside there. Not that there'd be much she could do for them if they were, at this point. Then she rushed toward the other two, flashlight going over their figures on the ground as ambulance sirens grew louder in the distance. They both were definitely injured, how could they not be, she didn't need to see the color of anything to know what all that dark stuff was. Her heart froze up for one nauseating thick beat as she recognized the face of the gasping young woman on the ground, then shined the light towards the young man helping her. Aggie... Maddox..

"Are you okay? Can you hear me?" Maddox turned her way, light now in his face; checking for the signs they were trained on. He didn't seem to be processing anything and how could he? Ney wished there was more she could do, than ask obviously stupid questions because it didn't take a rocket scientist here to see that no, things were not okay. "Are you hurt? Tell me where you're hurt—"

The ambulance was there now, she could hear the EMTs barking orders to each other, already getting out their stretcher and equipment to help Aggie Robshaw. She appeared to be the worst of the two in the moment, so Ney let them handle her. But that didn't mean Maddox didn't need help.

In fact, as the man made a harrowing step her way, Ney witnessed him clutching at his chest. Whispering something about something not being right. "Did something pierc—" The deputy gasped, question cut off as she caught the fainting man, his body becoming nothing but dead weight in her arms in the most terrifying way. "Hey, no," alarm rang out, as she gently lowered him, hovering over his figure and abandoning the flashlight to instead try and get him to wake back up, "stay with me, Maddox, c'mon, don't— I need someone over here!" These words were flung desperately towards the EMTs, to the fire and rescue who just arrived. "Something's wrong, he was grabbing his chest — I don't — I can't find anything—" Her clothes were already stained in his, or Aggie's, both?!, blood now, as she patted everywhere over Maddox's chest, trying to find whatever wound he'd been grabbing at.

We got it, deputy—

Ney quickly found herself crowded out, hands drawing her back and out of the way. She let them, because she wasn't capable of helping anymore. Aggie and Maddox needed those people, not her. They were going to fix them.. Oh please, please, let them be okay. She stayed kneeling for just about thirty seconds longer, staring blankly at a piece of the wreckage at her side — looked like one of the side mirrors, its glass shattered. At least until a touch came at her back, the words of someone asking if she was okay.

Her? She wasn't the one being loaded into the back of a fucking ambulance right now.

"Yes," the word came out shakier than she liked, so Ney physically wiped the nerves from her mouth, blood smearing across her cheek, as she repeated more firmly and caustically, "yes, I'm fine." She got to her feet, taking in the fact that a small crowd of onlookers had begun to appear from the neighboring houses, crowding the sidewalk and curbs, each concerned citizen horrified to realize how the new year started off.

"Let's get this scene under control," the deputy said then, more help arriving by the second. Back to business, back to doing what needed to be done.

-----

It was some time later, after the sheriff, herself, their colleagues, and all the men and women of the fire and rescue teams managed to wrangle the situation under control, before Neylani could seek out their witness. The person who called it in.

Another person she knew intimately. Another one of, basically, her children. They might as well have been, when she helped to raise them from their snot-nose days, while barely being a young adult herself. Point was, these were her Rugrats. Aggie, Nate... So many others, too. And the scope.. the scope of this one little accident, was about to affect so many lives.

As she approached the shell-shocked young man, still sitting at the curb, a sense of distaste went through her. Hating her job, in that moment. Because she didn't want to come to him in an official capacity— she wanted to come to him as a friend, to make sure he was okay. Right about now, she knew he must need a hug or something, anything, but a round of ridiculous questioning when not a single one of them could be expected to wrap their brain around anything tonight.

"Hey Nathan," the greeting came soft, but firm, as Neylani sank into a squat in front of the younger man, staring down at him closely, "you're the one who called this in?" She did reach out, to give his knee a comforting but brief squeeze, and hopefully help him to focus on her, but stopped short when she remembered her hands were covered in blood. Dried blood now, but still. He was definitely drunk, she could smell the liquor on him. Please, please don't tell me he was involved in this somehow. "I know it's probably difficult right now, but could you answer a few questions? I'll get you out of here as quickly as I can, okay?"

[menaceonice]

Anonymous asked: ☤ (you know i had to / lovelyrozanova) Send a ☤ to visit my muse in the hospital.

it was all over the news: national television. web articles. and ilya had no idea.

the game started out as usual. the raiders versus the metros. the stadium was packed, it was one of the final games before the playoffs. rozanov and hollander were going at it, goals being scored left and right. it was going to go down as one of the highest-scoring games in history if they kept it up.

it's the third period when it happens. ilya had slowed down, just a bit. he stood to the side for a moment to catch his breath after a goal, bent over, hands on knees. cameras zoomed in on him instantly. "very atypical behavior from rozanov." he assured the ref he was fine and was back out on the ice moments later. a minute passes, maybe two. he's out before he hits the ice. "and rozanov is DOWN—"

utter chaos. the crowd erupts in shock before going silent as they assess him. the reporters go back and forth, narrating what they're seeing. there's a collective gasp as one of the trainers waves an arm for back-up while another starts chest compressions. the rink is silent, as if everyone is holding their breath. they get him back after a few rounds, and then they move. he still doesn't wake. the rest of the game is cancelled. no one is declared a winner. they will have to re-play. without rozanov, no doubt.

ilya comes back in pieces. the first time during an MRI. he's able to open his eyes, and that's about it. the second time is worse. panic sets in. he pulls the oxygen mask from his face, goes straight for the IV in his arm, clutches at his chest in pain from broken ribs. they calm him down, not explaining what happened to him just yet. they're still trying to figure it out, to an extent.

the next two days are a blur. teammates come in and out, most people talk around the elephant in the room and wish him well. shane is the first to tell him the truth about what happened. the sudden collapse. the CPR. the way the news is milking the story like a prized heifer.

it's bright when he opens his eyes. early morning, probably. he feels a soft, small hand wrapped around one of his fingers. the oxygen mask has been replaced with a smaller cannula. he's still hooked up to quite a bit of machinery, but not nearly as much as he was initially.

when he looks to his left, he swears he's hallucinating. katya. it wasn't right. she should be across the ocean. guilt settles painfully in his chest. they hadn't seen each other in what felt like forever. and now here she was. ❝ katyusha. ❞

[wickedsrest-rp]

Joel Metzger He / him

"You gotta have pride in what you do. Without pride, what the fuck else is left?"

SPECIES: Bugbear OCCUPATION: Sole proprietor of Metzger Auto Salvage AGE: 52 Years Old PLAYED BY: Elliott FC: Karl Urban

BIOGRAPHY:

TW: Parental death, child death, heart attack

Childhood as a bugbear in East London was nothing short of a complete snooze fest. Forbidden from shifting into his bear form, Joel was warned about the dangers of being too bold and drawing unwanted attention. Where they lived, it wasn’t commonplace to see a bear around. Not just in the city, but in the country as a whole. His parents worried that reports of wild bear sightings might catch the interest of rangers, who would likely suspect bugbear activity rather than the sudden reappearance of a locally extinct species. But Joel hated being told what to do, and as a child who rebelled against every form of authority, he fucked off from home just as soon as he could find an employer that didn’t mind paying him under the table. This went fine for a while and the boy oscillated between homelessness and finding temporary shelter he could afford with his meager wages, but it never really bothered him. He didn’t have to buy human food, which saved him a lot of money. All he had to do was scare the everloving shit out of people, and he was golden. 

But still, the comforts of having a bed to sleep in couldn’t be overstated. Eventually, Joel got old enough to want some kind of stability, so he signed on to be a welder and general mechanic on an oil rig in the North Sea. This job served him for years, bouncing him around from one rig to the next, where he always had a place to sleep and plenty of coworkers to terrify. But life on the ocean wasn’t his favorite (he much preferred a nice forest), and in his early thirties, he found a reason to stay on the mainland. Her name was Claire, and he asked her to marry him after only six months of dating. She said yes, and the rest was the white picket dream you’d expect, if only a little rough around the edges.

In their first two years of marriage, they had two kids together. Joel found a job at a nearby factory, working as hard as he could to support his family. The rebellious ne’er-do-well of his youth was no more, as he found he much preferred companionship, love, and family. His children were everything to him, and watching them grow into curious, rambunctious toddlers instilled him with a sense of pride he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt before. Still, he needed to eat, so some nights were spent away from his family and causing trouble. His wife didn’t know he wasn’t human until their third year of marriage, and it forever changed the landscape of their marriage. She never could see him the same as before, and what had once been a loving, peaceful household became a terrible source of tension and mistrust. She always warned him to never do anything stupid that would put her or the kids at risk, but of course one night he went a step too far.

A group of gruff looking men out having a pint were a perfect meal ticket. Always easier to scare than you’d expect based on appearances, and funny to boot. Joel did what he did best, following them out of the pub and catching the trio alone to give them the fright of their lives, only… one of them, the eldest of the three, clutched at his chest and dropped to the ground. Joel took off, not having meant to do that, and the guilt started to weigh heavily on him. His wife took note and started pressing him on it until he finally gave in and explained to her what had happened. She was furious, reminding him that he’d promised not to put them at risk and horrified at the idea of her husband having murdered someone because of his own carelessness. In her anger, she kicked Joel out of the house. He begged her to let him stay so he could protect them, but her only response was that he’d done enough.

He watched the house every spare moment that he had, arriving one day to find a strange car in the drive. Joel leaped into action, breaking into his old home to find the two younger men from the pub with his family in their clutches. They seemed happy that he’d arrived, informing him that their father had died because of him, so now he was going to feel what it was like to lose his family. Because they no longer feared him or his illusions, Joel was helpless to stop them as they slit the throats of his wife and children, their screams drowning out everything else as he sank to the living room floor. 

He’d been warned not to go after them or he’d suffer the same fate, and Joel didn’t bother. Obviously he couldn’t harm them, so what was the point? He was a useless excuse for a bugbear. The agony of his loss and the self hatred that spawned from it colored every aspect of his life for decades after that, and he became reckless with his shifts, not caring how often he was spotted by humans until the day it caught up to him. Having seen himself on the news, it should have come as no surprise when a team of endangered species biologists cornered him. Being much more excited than afraid to see a wild, undocumented brown bear, they were unmoved by his roaring protests. He was tranquilized, tagged, and left there, waking in a rage and trying desperately to remove the tag. He failed at this and only managed to give himself a permanent reminder of the pitiful display. 

Enough was enough, he thought. To hell with this place. The decision to move was an easy one, Joel following in the footsteps of the only friend he had and leaving London with them to instead make landfall in Maine, USA. It’s been a massive change, but it’s one that Joel hopes might help him get his shit together and feel like a proper scaremaster again.

PERSONALITY:

Snarky · Reclusive · Insecure · Hardworking · Devoted · Protective · Scrappy · Lonely

OTHER INFO:

When shifted, Joel looks like your average Eurasian brown bear. He’s even a little bit on the small side for that bear species, which doesn’t help his scariness factor. Those ears are just too darn cute! He suffers the same problem as a human, standing at an unimpressive 5’5” tall.

For much of his life, Joel worked as a welder in less than safe conditions and had no access to ear protection. Because of this, he now suffers from severe noise-induced hearing loss. 

Despite having dealt with his deafness for around a decade, Joel's grasp on BSL is pretty lacking. He relies almost entirely on lip reading and still responds with spoken word. He cannot hear a person speaking at a normal volume, and will only hear muffled, distorted versions of some very loud sounds. 

He has a strong Cockney accent that has never wavered, even as his ability to hear diminished. His language is… colorful.

The tracking tag in his ear looks like a weird scapha piercing and a wide cuff of silver metal wrapped around his upper helix. At a glance it could be mistaken for regular piercings, but only at a glance. He doesn’t like when people point it out and often wears knitted caps to hide it, always tugging the brims of them down when he’s anxious. 

Metzger Auto Salvage, which Joel owns and operates (mostly) on his own, is run out of a scrapyard in the southeastern end of Worm Row. This also doubles as his place of residence, which is technically a small building (an amalgamation of a stone hut and a cabin) that’s tucked away among the piles of scrap metal. Cozy.

[lassofics]

I’m Glad You’re Alive

Word count: 1k

Timeline: Post Season 3

Warnings: Heart attack, general hospital stuff, near-death experience

Summary: After having an stress-induced heart attack, Roy is left to grapple with his own mortality. But he’s not alone.

Notes: This fic was created and is being published as a part of #Whumpuary2025 !!

The chest pains had come out of nowhere. Roy hadn’t even been fucking doing anything; he’d just been sitting at his desk analyzing some plays for their upcoming match.

He’d thought nothing of it at first. Just the anxiety and stress that had been building up over the past… well, decade. Though, admittedly, the past few weeks have been especially stressful due to his new head coach role on top of everything else.

Beard had found him. Lying on the ground, on his side, clutching his chest and practically gasping for air, with a pile of his own vomit on the floor.

In fact, the doctors said, Beard had saved his life. How about that?

“You had a heart attack,” the doctor had told him, in that same clinical tone his sister always used whenever she was in doctor mode. Briefly, Roy had wondered if they taught that in med school.

Right now, lying in this fucking hospital bed, Roy can’t stop replaying her words in his mind: “Your blood pressure was through the roof. You stopped breathing for a minute. You’re very lucky to be alive.”

And then, Beard had turned to Roy, his gaze softening more than Roy had ever seen, and calmly said, “I’m glad you’re alive.”

Roy closes his eyes, trying to get rid of those memories. He’d been so fucking close to death. So fucking close.

“Roy?”

The familiar voice jolts Roy out of his train of thought. His eyes slowly open, and he lets out a soft groan when he sees her.

“I’m fine,” he grumbles, an obvious lie considering he’s hooked up to machines in the fucking hospital.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Rebecca all but snaps, her heels clicking on the floor as she hurries over to his bedside. “I’m just sitting in my office, minding my own fucking business, and I get a call from Beard that you had a fucking heart attack?”

Roy rolls his eyes, but stays silent, knowing Rebecca will tire herself out eventually.

“How the fuck did this happen, Roy? Seriously?” She looks worried. Scratch that; she looks horrified.

This time, she doesn’t continue, clearly waiting for a response. So, Roy grumbles out a reply.

“Stress. Lack of sleep. Poor diet. Fuck if I know.”

“For fuck’s sake, Roy!” Rebecca snaps, sounding equal parts angry and concerned. “You’re barely even in your forties! And you’re in good bloody shape!”

Roy deadpans. “I know.”

Rebecca doesn’t seem to hear him. “Why didn’t you tell me, Roy? Why didn’t you tell me how fucking stressed out you were?”

Roy glances up at her, his gaze softening slightly. “Nothing you could’ve done.”

“Bullshit.” She suddenly grabs his hand, a firm grip that Roy doesn’t even bother to try and resist. “Dr. Sharon’s right fucking there! You could’ve at least told her! It’s her job!”

“Rebecca…” It feels weird to say her first name; Roy hardly ever addresses her like that. But they’re holding hands, so he might as well.

“Don’t ‘Rebecca’ me!” she chastises, her grip on his hand tightening, just a bit.

Roy grits his teeth. “Fine. Ms. Welton…”

“Stop.” She holds up her free hand, her eyes narrowing.

Roy leans his head back against the pillow. “What do you want me to say? I’m sorry for having a heart attack?”

“No,” Rebecca snaps back, but then, her tone softens into something slightly more gentle, but somehow still just as determined. “I just want you to acknowledge the fact that we’re here for you. We’re all here for you. You take on all these bloody burdens and you never ask for help. Look where that got you.”

Roy falls silent. Rebecca lets out a long sigh and squeezes his hand, this time intentionally. “You have our support. Fucking use it.”

Roy’s gaze flickers back down to the ground. He knows he has everyone’s support. Ever since he’s been at Richmond, he’s never felt alone a day in his life. That’s not the issue.

The amount of pressure, the amount of responsibilities, the amount of stress… that’s what fucking kills him.

Rebecca lets go of his hand, taking a seat beside his bed, clearly not planning on going anywhere anytime soon.

“How are you feeling?”

Roy shrugs. “IV itches. That’s about it.”

Rebecca gives him a look. Roy rolls his eyes. “I’m on fucking drugs, alright? I don’t feel much.”

Rebecca keeps staring at him for a few more seconds of silence before she speaks, her voice soft and full of worry. “You could’ve died.”

Roy looks down, fiddling with the stupid fucking hospital gown he’s now wearing. “I know.”

“If Beard hadn’t found you…”

“I know,” he repeats, probably sounding like a broken record. But what the fuck else is he supposed to say? It’s still sinking in to him, the fact that he could’ve died.

Roy’s not a religious man by nature. He’d prayed for his granddad’s health, and that had gotten him nowhere. A part of him believes that there is some sort of a creator out there, but that doesn’t explain what happens when you die.

He’d almost found out.

Needing to get his mind off that dark train of thought, Roy clears his throat. “You don’t have to stay, you know. I’m sure you’ve got better shit to do than just… sit in this fucking hospital.”

Rebecca sits up straighter, stubbornly shaking her head. “Fuck off. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Roy should’ve expected that, but he can’t help grumbling, gazing down at the IV in his arm. “Me neither.”

Rebecca glances over at the heart rate monitor, beeping steadily, then suddenly locks eyes with him. “Roy?”

“Hm?”

She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. When she’d gotten the news, the first question she’d asked was, is he alive? And if she’d gotten a different answer…

She can’t even think about it.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” she says. And if Roy wasn’t drugged up, he could’ve looked a little closer and seen the slight glistening in her eyes.

Luckily for them both, he misses it, and just closes his eyes. “Yeah,” he murmurs, trying not to think about it too much. “Me, too.”

[comehellorhighwatertheywillwrite]

I write really long author notes for the most part but here's one I just laugh at myself for.

When fic writers say ‘busy’ you can safely assume they mean a matter of life or death

[murkyhazed-is-archiving]

another update and probably final for tonight. dad is okay, the doctors listened to his heart and it sounds good. they're still keeping him until sunday for monitoring. the other artery isn't blocked enough for them to be able to do anything about it, whatever that means. i guess he'll have to keep an eye on it and alter his lifestyle even more.

but the good news is that he's okay and the doctors expect he'll be okay.

[xchxsingcxrsx]

@ssacharlotterothmanrp || Continued from here

Alec lay there. He hadn't told anyone. There was one person but he knew he wouldn't have said anything. But it didn't matter now. He ended up collapsing while going after a suspect and here he was, laying in a hospital bed, after having a heart attack. Now it was out there. Alec kept his eyes on her, even though she was looking away. "Miller told you?"