#(neither of us because surgeries suck to recover from)

[darlingknave]

Now I just have to convince my guts that it’s okay to calm down now. Really irritating how my main response to stress and/or despair is for my remaining internal organs to go into open rebellion against idk life itself.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

hi! last anon here again. i won't go over all your advice here, and there's some i disagree with, but i have found it helpful and insightful as a whole, so thank you. i don't know if you actually wanted clarification on these things, but i figured it would be worth providing in case you genuinely wanted it.

straps as female disidentification - i do see it as different from other sex aids; it's partially about not imposing man/woman sex dynamics on sex between women, and also that as part of recovering from trans identity i've been encouraged to disengage with any practices, thoughts, or self-beliefs that represent false consciousness/male identification, and that includes a desire to have a penis/penetrate women/take the male role, and replace that with meditation and mindfulness. unfortunately i suck at meditation so i haven't gotten anywhere. i see it more as a behavioural problem than an object problem; it's unhealthy because it's a maladaptive coping mechanism about reality; i don't have a penis and can never have one and pretending i do during intimacy is hurting a theoretical sex partner.

female infantilization - this is about the bush thing; attraction to shaved vulvas is dysfunctional and unnatural.

being put off women's bodies - again this is a dysphoria thing mostly. i like how pretty much all women's bodies look, particularly femmes, and before radfem stuff i mostly just felt horny seeing nude women, but being in an environment that's very focused on the importance of reproductive organs and secondary sex characteristics to female identity has involuntarily caused me to fixate on this; when i see a woman naked i end up thinking about her uterus and the size of her breasts and her hips in relation to passing; i know that things like testosterone/hysterectomies/double masectomies/binding are really unhealthy for you physically and psychologically now, so seeing a woman's body makes me uncomfortable now because i just feel a kind of despair that if she has big breasts or big hips she'll never be able to pass for male without hurting herself and if she has small breasts or hips she got lucky with natural androgyny and she's wasting it, either way neither her or me have any way out of this and we're female forever. which is not very arousing.

once again, thank you for your advice. it's definitely given me a lot to think about (and read). i appreciate you hearing me out.

I'm actually stoked for a response, because these clarifications are very illuminating and genuinely so saddening to read.

that entire paragraph about disavowing the strap is genuinely tragic to me, as an advocate that people should just fuck however they want to fuck. you'd think if womanhood was such an innate and unchangeable thing then a fake dong wouldn't have the power to somehow impose manhood in a relationship between women, but I guess the strap is more powerful than I realized. I would love to know if this applies to fingering, given that you can't really argue that fingers are specific to any gender, or women who use straps to peg their male partners.

being told to meditate instead of want to fuck women is so funny, it's really giving 15th century nunnery.

you may not have been born with a penis but it is just literally a factual reality that you could have on if you wanted; regardless of what radfems think of it, phalloplasty is a very real surgery that can in fact produce a sexually functional penis that many people are extremely satisfied with.

okay sure super normal to fixate on someone's uterus.

I do actually very seriously need to correct this part: testosterone/hysterectomies/double mastectomies/binding are not unhealthy. they're healthcare, and the people who benefit from them - which, reminder, is not only trans people - tend to experience tremendous boosts to their physical and mental health because of it. there's nothing radical at all about opposing people's rights to determine what they do with their own bodies, and between that and the hyperfixation on reproductive organs you sound /this/ close to explaining why women shouldn't be allowed to get abortions.

in the politest way possible if looking at women makes you sad because it reminds you of your own dysphoria, you need to get out of radfem spaces and start hanging with some trans people who can help you figure some stuff out and help you envision a future where you don't fear your own body and sexuality.

[queengarbage]

feeling really angry about life today and i just need to rant a little

it sounds so silly to be like "tearing my acl significantly changed my life and not for the better" but like this injury fucking sucks and i hate it and i hate my life right now. and yeah, i'll recover and things will get better. but like. not for a fucking year. i can't even fucking walk right now. all the muscles in my left leg have just vanished to the point where i can't even lift my foot off the ground without assistance. and i'm just so tired and i'm only at the beginning of this journey.

sports and working out have been such a huge part of my life for my entire life and to have something that is both an outlet for frustration/hard feelings and also a huge source of joy just yanked away from me without warning has been really fucking hard to deal with. and like boohoo i can't go kick a ball around with my friends people are dying kim but like. i feel trapped in my body, my life severely limited by my lack of mobility. i do not feel like myself. i'm angry. i'm constantly crying. i'm not even in pain anymore, it's just that i physically cannot do anything!!!!! and i've just never been in this position before and i'm not handling it well.

it's been almost 3 months since i got injured and almost 2 weeks since i had the surgery and i feel like i'm being robbed of that time, as well as the year of recovery ahead of me. my partner and i keep referring to this summer as a "sacrificial summer" (because he's getting ready to apply to post-docs/finish his phd, and because i literally can't walk, so neither of us ever leave the apartment). and it's kind of like "yeah okay we just gotta get through this period and things will get better." and yeah maybe they will, but they won't be the same as they were before.

my sister tore her acl her junior year of college when she was playing soccer. she trained really hard to come back for her senior season, and a week after she started practicing again, she tore her other acl. after that, she took a few years off (because who wouldn't). she started playing again this past year. and then she tore her acl for a third time. my dad has also torn his acl playing football. this injury haunts my family, and even when i get cleared to return to sport, who knows if i'll be brave enough to come back?

i hate so much that i will never be able to step on a field with confidence in my body again. my athleticism has always been a huge source of pride and confidence, it was something that i put a lot of time and effort into, and i don't know if i'll ever feel that way again. i am very grateful that i'm still able to do a lot of other things not related to physicality (i can still write, i can still work, i can still pursue my intellectual hobbies/interests), but there is a particular thrill of satisfaction that comes from physical achievement, and i'm just really sad that i'm cut off from that for the forseeable future, and that even when i return, it will probably feel different.

i just want things to be normal again. and they're just straight up never going to be, not like they were. i'll find a new normal, and i'll adjust, and i know this time will pass. but right now i'm smack in the middle of it and i'm just so deeply, deeply unhappy, and i just needed to let that out.

[reversewerewolf]

it's been a really long time since i've made one of these posts but i need to scream into the void because i am completely beyond my limit to deal rn and it needs out. cw for general negativity, hopelessness, brief mention of parent suicide (long time ago, i'm fine)

i seriously do not know what to do anymore. six months later i am STILL in the process of moving into my mother's house (it's slow going because we are both multiply disabled). we're both living well below the poverty line already, but apparently her credit is so bad and she's so in debt that she's also in danger of losing the home that i am ACTIVELY moving in to.

neither of us can afford to pay our bills already, and she's somehow convinced that everything is going to be ok and it will be easier when we're living together, even though i've been living off the very generous donations of friends and strangers for... close to a year at this point? probably more? and all of this is already after she used the entirety of my savings (tens of thousands of dollars, without my knowledge or permission, but i don't have the energy to be mad about it) to pay back taxes so neither of us ended up homeless. it's not even fully her fault, like, she doesn't have a retirement fund because my dad cashed it out and spent it all on teenage sex workers before he killed himself some years ago and then she spent three months in the hospital last year due to medical negligence and she was basically in an induced coma for a month of that, and it took months more to recover, and she STILL needs surgeries to fix what they fucked up, but like... it's kinda frustrating! lmao!

my brother is selling his house and lending her what she needs to get back to zero while i struggle to get my (and many of her) belongings out of here and into her house, but my god, i don't know how much longer i can live like this. i can't get a job, i'm too disabled to even START a disability application, my temp jobs suck the life out of me when they bother to actually set me up with the work they supposedly want to do, nearly every fucking day i have to decide between groceries or medication for me, or taking care of my pets, or trying to keep the electricity on so puppy and i don't get heatstroke.

like i straight up can't do this for god knows how many more years. i have never made enough money to live off, and i'm never going to, because i don't have a degree, i don't have any marketable skills, i don't have the ability to act "normal" enough to get a steady job, i don't have the ability to regulate my mental health and emotions enough to function in a society that already wants me dead. i can't live off of the generosity of other people for the rest of my life and i don't want to, it fucking sucks, it makes me feel guilty and nasty, but i just NEVER see this getting better. i'm so stressed out that i can't even just ENJOY things to distract myself from how fucked everything is anymore. therapy isn't helping. medication isn't helping. it's affecting me physically at this point, not just from the stress, but because i can't afford healthy food to manage my diabetes, and it's affecting my organs lmao. i just don't fucking know what to do anymore. i really don't. i can't imagine it ever getting better, only worse, and i'm so fucking tired.

[little-grey-dowitcher]

Most people just don’t even know what nonbinary means. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had people ask me “are you a boy or a girl” and when I say “neither, I’m nonbinary,” they say “that’s not a thing” or “oh so you’re a [h-slur]” (I’m perisex) or “ok but what’s in your pants” or “well I think you look like a girl so I’m just gonna call you a girl”. Some people know so little about it they immediately assume it’s a sexuality, like when I came out to my mom she thought it meant that I was gonna cheat on my husband??? And that’s just how little people know about the umbrella term, I’ve never even bothered trying to explain any of the microlabels I use for myself to anyone other than other nonbinary people. I’ve made a post about it before but I usually end up having to explain my gender to other people by telling them “I’m not a woman” and having to define myself by what I’m not instead of what I am, and it’s beyond exhausting to keep reducing myself down to the things I’m not and the things I don’t want to be and the things I’ll never be only to get a “I don’t get it” in response with no further attempt to understand.

If I tell people I use they/them pronouns, they say “that’s not grammatically correct” or just “I’m not doing that”. I’ve even had people that I thought were really supportive go behind my back and say that it’s dumb and grammatically incorrect and laugh at me, when like… singular they/them has been used regularly since 1375. It’s been considered grammatically correct for 650 years. And god forbid I tell people I also use xe/xem, I always get some speech about how neopronouns are “cringe” and “useless” and it doesn’t matter how many times I explain that we were forced to come up with language to describe ourselves because nobody would bother to slightly alter their wording to accommodate us, I still get hit with “well it’s still dumb”. And that’s just my experience with English, a language that’s much less gendered than most others. I hear from nonbinary people all the time who speak much more gendered languages, it’s a fucking nightmare for them.

I had to delete multiple social media accounts on other platforms because I was constantly just getting fetishized. I never even posted my real face, people just saw from my profile that I seemed like a cute girl with a weird gender and decided that meant I was ✨exotic✨ and they wanted to “try it out” (the “they/them pussy” memes I’ve gotten over the years have ridiculous amounts of psychic damage that I don’t think I’ll ever fully recover from). And if I wasn’t getting fetishized, I was just getting harassed, usually sexually, because I was perceived as a girl. And this especially sucks for me because my asexuality very much impacts my gender, so to be seen as an object of sexual fascination feels like double misgendering to me.

I’ve had so many people call me a “theyfab transtrender” or something along those lines because I’m not medically transitioning and they assume it’s because I don’t have any dysphoria. I do have dysphoria, I want to get top surgery and low dose T, but I can’t because of my health issues. It doesn’t help that I’m kinda the stereotypical skinny white AFAB enby that’s naturally somewhat androgynous, so therefore by existing I “reinforce” those stereotypes and I’ve even had people point directly to me as an example of someone who is the reason transphobes/exorsexists don’t take us seriously.

It feels like most people (both cishet and queer) lump me and other nonbinary people into the women-lite/women+ category with far too much haste, or they boil us down to our AGAB. I only have experience as an AFAB enby, and I see us getting treated as either cis women who wanna feel special or as trans men who are too scared to admit it, but I often see posts talking about AMAB nonbinary people being left out of nonbinary spaces because they’re perceived as too masculine or as an infiltrator, and intersex nonbinary people face so much fucking bullshit but I’ll leave that for them to discuss in more detail, I just see intersex nonbinary people talking about the way they’re treated it makes me so mad that they have to go through that.

Not to mention that a lot of binary trans people seem to think we have privilege, because we’re more accepted and pass easier somehow and like… I don’t even know where that comes from. Even on the rare occasions when I manage to pull off perfect androgyny, I still don’t get read as nonbinary. I get read as a masc woman, or occasionally as a slightly femme boy, or just a queer woman. There’s no “passing” for us, because, like I said in my first paragraph, there’s just not a lot of awareness of us. And we’re definitely not more accepted, I mean, the vast majority of legal forms don’t include an option for us at all, what little representation I’ve seen in mainstream TV and such shows us as completely irrelevant side characters that are either just there for diversity points or to point and laugh at, and so many people treat our very existence as a joke. Yea, binary trans people aren’t fully accepted either, and they get similar treatment too sometimes, but like everyone knows what a man or a woman is, and there are ways to pass as one of those options — they’re not viable/desirable for everyone, they’re deeply rooted in unrealistic, white, skinny, perisex beauty standards, I recognize that, but the sort of “guidelines” at least exist. How do you “pass” and have passing privilege as a group that most people don’t even know exists? Even people who know about and support nonbinary people usually misgender us until we tell them we’re nonbinary, we’re never just assumed to be nonbinary. We have to out ourselves to get gendered correctly no matter how much we transition or in what way, because there is no way to “look nonbinary”.

Specifically in queer spaces, far too often I’ll see people mention AGAB when talking about nonbinary people when there was absolutely no reason to, such as posts that say things like “Happy pride to AFAB nonbinary people and AMAB nonbinary people!” Like what was the point of mentioning AGAB at all in that context? You could’ve just said “Happy pride month to nonbinary people” and left it at that, mentioning AGAB at all was just unnecessary. It really does just come across like the people saying these things don’t actually think of nonbinary people as our own separate group, but as a sort of “AMAB/AFAB but make it weird” identity. And I cannot emphasize enough how much they cannot be normal about multigender people, or nonbinary people who aren’t perfectly androgynous, or just any nonbinary person who doesn’t fit neatly into a “third gender” mold, such as nonbinary people who present closer to their AGAB after coming out, or use pronouns that are usually associated with their AGAB.

It also feels like I have no history to point to. Like, yea, there’s historical evidence of cultural “third genders” and many of those are still around today, but I’m not from any of those cultures, and even if I was, I don’t think I’d really connect with the idea of a third gender in general, because I’m multigender flux and most of the descriptions of ancient nonbinary people seem to mostly describe a single, static, third gender. The closest I’ve ever come to finding nonbinary history I relate to is the stories of Ishtar blessing those who were neither man nor woman, and even then it’s more of like a “oh that’s really cool” feeling than a “those are my people” feeling.

❗️❗️ This is asked entirely in good faith. This post is intended to open dialogue and help with solidarity and understanding. ❗️❗️

I would like to hear specifically from nonbinary people how the system of exorsexism/enbyphobia uniquely targets and affects you. Things that you feel other demographics do not experience. Reblogs and replies are very encouraged! If you would prefer, you could dm or send an ask to be added anonymously by me.

This is in the spirit of wanting to understand. I am listening. I encourage all binary trans people to not speak on this topic and let nonbinary people do the talking here. Reblog the post to spread it, but please say nothing.

Any and all people who identify as nonbinary are encouraged to participate. This is not agab-locked. If you are agender, trans neutral/neutrois, genderfluid, bigender, trigender, multigender, xenogender, genderqueer, third gender, two spirit, or any other gender not wholey contained within the strict binary of "man" or "woman", this post is for you. Even if you have already posted on the trans fem or trans masc versions, if you are nonbinary, you are welcome here.

This is not bait to start a fight. I will block without hesitation anyone who is actively being a shithead on this post. I want to hear and uplift your voices by getting it directly from you.

Click this to access the trans fem and trans women version of this post.

Click this to access the trans masc and trans men version of this post.

[supercorpkid]

Lena’s assassination attempt.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader.

Word count: 1631.

Warning: panic attack.

This wasn’t your mom’s first assassination attempt and probably won’t be the last. You know that. But the last one was five years ago and it was so traumatic that you compartmentalized and pretended it never happened.

You were 10, and you remember that Kara came to pick you up from school in the middle of your math test. You tried to argue, you knew every answer, you wanted to finish it. But she just looked lost and scared, so you went with her. You flew together to the hospital, she kneeled down on the concrete and said, and you still remember every word of it.

“Hey, kid, listen. You don’t have to worry, because I promise your mom is going to be fine.”

“What? Why? What happened?”

“She got… She was shot.” Kara holds you still when you feel your legs shake. You feel like there’s a hole on the floor pulling you in. “But she’s out of surgery, and she is going to recover, ok?”

You don’t answer. There’s no answer to this. You want to see your mom, want to make her feel better, want to protect her. You should have protected her. You’re bulletproof. You could’ve shield her, or fly her out of there. You could’ve done something, but you were too focused on shutting your super hearing and paying attention to your test.

When Kara takes you to the hospital room, the world swallows you. Literally. You can’t see anything but your tiny helpless mom in a hospital bed. It’s too much. And that day you promised yourself that was the last time you would feel this way, and that you would let Lena feel this way.

You also worry about Kara, but it’s different. She fights aliens, super villains and even your uncle. Sometimes she gets beat up, but you know she can shake it off. But Lena, Lena is just human. What if one day she can’t shake it off?

After the promise you made to yourself, you’re constantly checking on her. Her heartbeat, her voice, her breathing. Neither one of your moms have any idea of this, but it’s something that you catch yourself doing every day. So, you’re in the middle of English class when you hear:

“Gentlemen, please, lower your weapons.”

In a blink, you’re running out of the classroom (you obviously didn’t get a hall pass), you find a window and you fly to L Corp so fast; the men didn’t even answer her yet. You break through her window (it was closed, not your fault), and the men get spooked and start shooting at you right away.

You shield your mom with your body, and press the button on the watch to get Supergirl to deal with them. But she takes a while, and the loud shooting noises are stressing you, so you punch one guy on the face, and kick the other one down. Then you grab both men and make your way to the balcony. You’re two seconds away to throw both from it, when Supergirl shows up, takes them off of your hands and flies away with them presumably to the prison.

You run towards Lena, who’s currently sitting on the floor. She has a hand on one arm, and you can see there’s blood.

“No, no, no. It can’t be!” You kneel in front of her, and can’t control the tears running down your face. “You’re hurt.”

“Baby, I’m ok. You saved me.” She is hurt, and bleeding, but still has a smile on her face and she looks proud of you.

“No, mom. You’re hurt.” You use your x-ray vision on her and apparently the bullet is not inside her arm. You see the bullet just grazed through her skin, but it doesn’t look good and it’s your fault. You didn’t shield her enough. You should’ve attacked them immediately, you should’ve thrown them out of the balcony, you should’ve done more. And where the hell was Supergirl while this was happening, anyway? “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should’ve, I could’ve…”

“Hey, I’m ok. I promise. You did it, kid.” She cups your face with one hand. “You did it, babygirl, you saved me.”

Kara flies in as soon as Lena is finished with the sentence and picks her up in a bridal style.

“Let’s take her to Alex.” She flies away to the DEO, leaving you alone in the room and you look around. There’s glass everywhere. And blood on your hands and on your school t-shirt. You’re supposed to follow them to the DEO, but all you do is sit amid the broken glass and the bullets, and cry your heart out.

Technically, you know she is safe. She only has a wound, she’ll recover. She will be able to move her arm so it’s ok. You did it. You saved her.

You know it, but you don’t feel it.

Your legs are trembling, and you feel the weakest you’ve ever felt in life. There’s blood on your hands, there wasn’t supposed to be blood. Especially not hers. There’s this gut feeling saying you didn’t do enough. You should’ve done more. Lena is still hurt, it’s your fault.

You lay on the floor, there’s so much tears you can’t see straight. And then comes the same feeling of the last time. The world swallows you again.

You hear all the noises, all the voices there are to hear in the world. They are loud, incomprehensive, and are driving you to madness. You want them to stop, but they just keep getting louder and deafening.

And then, you feel your eyes burning like fire and you’re unsure if you are actually using your heat vision, or maybe all the fear is dripping from your eyes in the form of a wildfire.

You try to ground yourself, so you grab the closest thing to your hand; you don’t know what it is, but in seconds it’s smashed into pieces and your hands feel empty again.

Then you hear another crashing sound and you can only deduct you broke the desk. Or maybe the ceiling. Or maybe the entire room is collapsing over you right now, but you don’t even feel it. And you don’t move. You can’t.

The only thing that you can do is yell. So you do it. You try to scream all the panic out of your body, but the only thing you manage to do is freeze the room entirely when you do so.

Suddenly, you feel everything at once. There’s part of the ceiling on top of your body. And you feel more. You feel broken glass and bullets and blood and ceiling and wood and ice. The room it’s a nightmare, but it doesn’t come close to what you feel. You’re not enough. Lena is hurt. You let your mom get hurt. You can’t breathe.

You feel your body being lifted, and you hear in the midst of all the other voices, Kara’s quiet voice in the back of your mind. You don’t dare open your eyes.

“She’s alright, you’re alright kid. You did it, little one. I love you.” She repeats the same words over and over again. And after a few minutes the world is silent again and her voice is all you can hear.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” Kara says and you finally open your eyes. You’re not at L Corp anymore and judging by the metal walls you can only imagine she took you to the DEO, but you didn’t feel any of it. “There you go, momma is here with you, my baby.”

You want to ask where Lena is, but your voice doesn’t come out. Kara is holding you like a baby, you can feel you’re on her lap, she’s making soothing sounds and holding you so close you can feel her heartbeat against your own. It’s helping, but your heart is still beating faster than usual, and you still need to see your mom.

“Just breathe for me ok, baby?” Kara asks and you obey. You suck the air, but it doesn’t feel like it’s going to your lungs.“There you go. My brave girl. You saved your mom. I’m so proud of you.”

“Mom.” You finally say and Kara smiles at you.

“Your mom is safe because of you, little one.” She kisses your forehead and you close your eyes in relief, feeling tears rolling down your cheeks. You don’t know if you’re crying again or if maybe you never really stopped. “Hey, look who’s here.”

You open your eyes again and Lena is right in front of you. She has a bandage on her arm, but that’s all. She holds you tight and you breathe. You finally breathe.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t enough, mom.” You say and Lena holds your face with both hands. One tear falls from her eye.

“You were more than enough, babygirl.” She kisses your cheek. “You’ll always be more than enough.” Then she kisses your forehead. “I love you so much.”

“I love you so much.” You repeat and she smiles. Kara is smiling too; you can see their faces close to yours.

They keep you wrapped in their embrace for a long time. And they keep repeating that they’re proud of you, that they love you, and that you are a hero. You don’t feel like a hero, you feel like a kid that just blew up an entire room out of fear of losing her mom. You know the feeling will follow you for a long time, but right now all you can think about is that Lena is safe, you are safe and Kara is safe. You’re all here, together, and that’s all that matters, for now.

[midasinc]

modern era courfius hcs:

for @a-rose-remembered, bae asf

-courfeyrac likes marius from the start. he has it BAD and it absolutely wrecks him when marius starts talking about this girl that he is deadset on being in love with, but courfeyrac is a good friend even when it hurts and helps marius to find and date this girl. he's happy that marius is happy, but it sucks to see him happy with somebody that isnt himself

-marius gets capital d Dumped because cosette realizes that oh my god she just isn't into guys. marius is sweet and she likes him as a friend but being with a man isnt what she wants and he is SO heartbroken and cries to courfeyrac. courfeyrac doesn't use this as an opening because once again, he's a good friend, and chooses to comfort marius and help him move on. it takes a few months for him to totally recover before he starts thinking that courfeyrac is a really good friend and also has very soft, curly hair and very pretty eyes and oh wait-

-bicon marius pontmercy confirmed

-anyway, they both really love halloween and do matching costumes every year. they always pick a new theme and never repeat a costume. joly and bossuet do the same thing, however, and the two pairs are weirdly competitive about it. one year, all four of them show up in matching sexy-zombie-french-revolution-bourgeoisie and it starts a legitimate fight that takes two months for joly and courfeyrac to fully forgive each other. the next year, feuilly and bahorel show up to the party as "joly and courfeyrac fighting in sexy-zombie-french-revolution-bourgeoisie" and neither courf or joly find it funny at all

-marius is trans and just saved up enough to get top surgery last year. courfeyrac was sosososo supportive and helped him out a lot after the actually surgery by lifting things for him and washing his hair and making sure he was comfy all the time and taking his meds and everything. courfeyrac was a very good bf when it really mattered to marius and that made him very very happy

-courfeyrac was also really helpful when it came to unlearning lots of things. marius's household had really old fashioned viewpoints and those fell onto him as well, but after meeting les amis and seeing different kinds of people and listening to their arguments (more listening than talking after the iconic Marius Gets Owned By Combeferre Incident) helped him realize that he had a lot of internal bias and he wanted to be a good person. courfeyrac explains to him when things are particularly harmful to another person or group when he just genuinely doesn't understand why what he said was bad and i also hc marius to be autistic so he appreciates that courfeyrac tells him straight up without being condescending or talking down to him like he's a baby

-courf has so many food allergies. so many. he's lactose intolerant and marius gets so stressed out when he comes home to see courfeyrac eating ice cream straight from the carton because "nnnnooooooooooooo you can't eat that!" but he's still nice enough to bring him pepto-bismol and his lactaid pills when courfeyrac gets a stummy ache

-marius can't stand pickles and a lot of other foods. he's not purposely picky but so many textures of food make him gag and he just can't do it. marius doesn't really like eating out for this very reason because he doesn't want to be in a situation where he just can't stomach something he didn't ask for. courfeyrac notices this when they do go out, though, and he wants marius to eat enough so if an order comes and it has something that marius can't do, he'll go up to ask the worker about it because marius is too anxious to. either that or he'll eat the pickle! courfeyrac loves pickles and he eats them all the time

-THE FISH!!!!! they have fish. courfeyrac has owned a fish every year of his life and he won't stop now. marius moved in and at first he didn't really notice or care about the fish but now he cares just as much as courfeyrac. they both fret the fuck over this little fish in its tank and are horrified of the thought of accidentally killing it. they both have a part-time job of worrying about this fish. its tank is very cute, though. jehan bought them LED lights for the tank and it's very well stocked and decorated for the lil guy

-marius had to have physical affection grow on him and it took a while, but the best way for courfeyrac to work with this was to always ask first and never be surprising. if he wanted to hold marius's hand he'd ask. if he wanted to hug him from behind he'd ask. even after marius becomes desensitized to touch with courfeyrac, courfeyrac still asks for permission every time he wants to do something

-courfeyrac is an attorney (he actually works at the same firm as enj) and marius has a job at a natural history museum. usually once a week, courfeyrac will come over during his lunch break to pick up his bf and they eat at the museum's cafe because marius already has an order he likes to get and courfeyrac is just happy to be there and see his bf

-marius also works in the back part of the museum, cataloguing new items and such and he fucking loves his job. evenings are always very eventful bc he can just infodump about this and that history-related topic while courfeyrac makes dinner

-courfeyrac gets insecure about his looks really easily. he doesn't mean to, but it happens. a lot of people have put so much worth on his looks during his life that he worries that when his looks aren't great, his worth as a person decreases. marius has learned to not be shocked by the occasional meltdown over a breakout or a change in courfeyrac's weight or worst of all- the day courfeyrac found a grey hair. he's not always sure what to say but he can press a kiss to courfeyrac's cheek and reassure him that he still loves him very much and he's still worth very very much as a person if he breaks out on his chin

-marius doesn't smoke weed because it just heightens his anxiety (he's tried it once and will never again), but he doesn't mind courfeyrac smoking. the smoke he isn't a fan of, but courfeyrac usually smokes outside or uses a dab pen so it doesn't bother marius. marius also doesn't mind a high courfeyrac because he gets very sleepy and is very happy and splays himself across the bed

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Whumptober Day 21: Infection

CW: sick whumpee, abdominal pain, medical whump, emeto mention, nausea mention, pet whump references, recovering whumpee, fever, sickfic

TIMELINE: Chris’s first year after rescue

Nat makes the call, her jaw set in a grim line as she puts her phone up to her ear, and Jake has never seen the laugh-lines and crow's-feet wrinkles as clearly as he does in the dim yellowed light from the single lamp in the corner. 

"We can't do this," Jake says, softly, but he's outvoted by sheer necessity and he knows it, he knows before the protest ever leaves his mouth. It doesn’t stop his heart from racing, dread pooling deep inside him. "Nat, we can't, he isn't-... they’ll turn him in, Nat, god damn it-"

"Hey," Nat says into the phone, ignoring Jake entirely. "It's me. Yeah. I'm calling you for help." 

Next to Jake, lying on the couch while the big man balances himself seated precariously on the coffee table, Chris whines weakly in pain, pressing the back of Jake's hand to his clammy, sweat-soaked forehead. Coppery hair sticks to him, soaked the color of old pennies. 

Jake half-expects to see the blue-green tarnish growing and taking over.

"Hurts," Chris whispers, and Jake's heart breaks open. They didn't know - Chris had collapsed this morning, thrown up his breakfast and then blacked out in the bathroom, it was the first they'd seen of his illness.

Only when he'd been bundled down here to the couch, temp taken - 102 degrees Fahrenheit, holy fuck, he’d been fine yesterday, right? - had Chris admitted he'd been hurting for two days, a pulsing pain around his navel that felt like it was taking over his whole right side now. He told them he’d been so scared they would make him take medicine again that he hadn't told anyone. 

When Chris pointed to the right side of his stomach and said that it hurt there, and it kept getting worse... that was when Nat had given that serious, firm nod, said Dr. Masood couldn't help them this time, and picked up the phone. 

"Nat, he still has his barcode, they'll fucking turn him in-"

"My money’s on appendicitis," Nat says flatly into the phone. Her eyes move to Chris, lips thinning at his pale skin, freckles and two bright red splotches standing out on his cheeks, the way his green eyes are glassy, hazy, lost until the pain spikes and they briefly clear, just enough for him to start crying again. "Guarantee it. I can't use our guy." A pause. "Listen, he's eighteen - I think - and was routinely subjected to dehydration, starvation, and sleep deprivation. His medical care inside isn’t exactly nothing, but... this is appendi-fucking-citis and that motherfucker is going to burst if we don't get someone to cut it out of him ASAP. I don't have the time to waste going back and forth on this with you. Take one fucking look at him and you’ll know it!"

Nat never swears like this, with such intense hostility and insistence. Chris tightens his grip on Jake, and moans, frightened, turning to look up at him with wide green eyes far too big for his pinched expression. “S-sorry, I’m, I’m sorry… ‘ll... ‘ll b’good...” 

The plaintive haunted fear and hurt in him makes Jake wish there were an enemy, someone he could fight. Sitting here watching Chris get sicker by the hour, able to do absolutely nothing about it, is so much worse than anything else ever has been. 

“It’s okay,” Jake murmurs, stroking over his hair, carding his fingers gently through the damp, sweaty strands. “She’s not mad at you, little man, I swear. You’re sick and she’s trying to get help, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Fuck those motherfuckers who made you too scared of pills to tell us you were hurting.

"Jake-" Chris starts, and then stops, swallows as his face goes a little green around the edges and he tenses, whimpering, torn between nausea and the way muscles tensing makes him hurt even worse. Jake watches his internal battle written openly across his expression. Tears slip from his eyes, running down his cheeks, as he chokes back a sob. "It, it, it hurts so much... Jake, I, I need… I could take, take, could… could could could take something now."

Jake nods and starts to move but Nat puts up a hand. "No drugs," She says, quietly. "They'll give him something there to put him under. We don’t want anything to interact badly.”

“Nat-”

“I’m sorry,” She says, her voice firm and calm. “But nothing until my contact has him.”

“Who is your fucking contact, anyway?”

Nat gives Jake a small, tired smile. “Not yet, Jake. Have to keep these things under wraps.”

"Mom, please," Chris pleads, and Jake and Nat both turn to look at him, shocked, eyes wide. "Mom, it, it, it… It hurts!"

Neither of them says anything at first, and Chris stares at them, eyes pleading but far away. It isn’t them he sees at all.

“Nat-”

“Just go with it,” She says, and goes back to the phone.

“Please, Mom-” Chris whimpers.

"Sorry, we can't," Jake whispers, fighting back the burn of hot tears himself as he goes back to stroking through Chris’s hair. Guilt twists inside him, sharp as any knife. Being helpless is tearing him apart.

Chris’s eyes move, lock on Nat, struggle to maintain their focus, go hazy again. His flush is layered over a gray-green paleness that makes him look like a corpse with makeup, pouring sweat that doesn’t cool him down at all. “Mom, please, please help me, please… don’t, don’t, don’t let them take you out, out of my head, Mom, please!”

Nat listens to the voice on the other end of the phone. Her eyes glimmer and her jaw is starting to tremble where she has it locked, visible in the low warm light coming from the lamps, but her voice stays steady. "No. Yes. Yes, that’s him you’re hearing. Yes… 102.3- yes, I'm sure. Fifteen minutes ago, more or less. Abdominal pain - he even said he thought it was a stomachache at first. Fever. Nausea, vomiting, yes. Getting worse and moving down and to the right. Yeah, I know. So how do we keep my rescue safe without the solution being to sit here and watch him die from infection?"

Jake ignores the cold fear that squeezes bony fingers around his heart and wipes Chris's forehead with a cool wet cloth. 

"Mom, m'sick," Chris whispers. "No, no school. Please, please…" His eyes track blearily over Jake's face. "Dad, tell her. Tell, tell, tell-... tell her m’sick…”

"I know," Jake says quietly, his voice shaking and thin. Nat is speaking softer now, lightning-fast whispers with her contact, somebody she's worked with for years with the hospital. "I know, Chris. We’re going to take you to see a doctor, okay?”

Chris blinks at him once, twice, and then his eyes are gone, shifting away. His lower lip starts to tremble, jerking fast, shallow breaths, nearly panting. “I’ll be, be, be-be, be good, don’t… don’t hurt me, sir, I’ll… I’ll be good.”

“I know, buddy, I know.” Jake can’t listen to this much longer. “I know you will.” Chris’s voice is small, losing all his sense of himself. Timid, scared, sweet.

“Be good… can, um, can, can be good f-for… you…” Chris whispers, eyes closing, new tears run out the corners as he whimpers and curls up against the pain. “Just, just stop… hurting me… b-be good, handler, good for, for, for you...”

Jake’s stomach flips and he has to fight the bile trying to rise in his throat. “Nat-”

“Hush, Jake.” Nat’s voice is still calm, and her attention is on the phone. "Mmhmmm. Christopher, um... say Yoder-”

“Stanton,” Jake says from the couch. 

Nat might smile. The expression is too tight, too pinched with worry, to really be called that. “Strike that. Christopher Stanton." Nat listens for a long time, then says quietly, "Eighteen…. We think. No known health problems or pre-existing illness. Autistic."

Jake looks up, blinking, and Nat calmly looks back at him, giving a firm nod while speaking into the phone. "Yes. Yes, I'm confident. He is sensitive to fluorescent lights, scared of needles, and terrified of sedation. Yeah, I realize that I just described the exact environment of a hospital.” Her voice starts to shift, then, and Jake watches her free hand close into a fist. She speaks with increasingly open anger, badly masking her worry and fear. “For the love of Christ, just put on the fucking papers that Christopher Stanton is fucking autistic, because that's what my goddamn rescue is and he still needs care - I'll sell someone else's firstborn to fucking Satan if he isn't autistic, god damn it, mark my fucking words - and we're wasting time goddamn dithering over whether you believe a diagnosis while he gets worse!"

Nat's voice rises, nearly shouting, and Chris whines and curls up closer to Jake, then winces and cries out in pain, straightening back out again. 

"Sssshhhhh, it's okay," Jake murmurs, but his heart is racing, too, his nerves are jagged with memories of swearing, shouting adults. Some part of him that has never stopped being a child braces for the sound of impact. "It's okay."

Nat is quiet for a long time, then snaps, "Yep, nope, I know, I know you needed to confirm," fast and angry. “See you then.” She hangs up, turning to look at Jake and Chris. "My contact is on their way. If the surgery works, two days and he's home. If his appendix bursts... Could be two weeks in the hospital, Jake."

"No," Jake says, lips barely moving. "No, Nat. Two weeks… he can't fake being someone else for so long."

"He better give it his best shot," Nat says, pushing herself to her feet. "I know this sucks, Jake, but sometimes what we do is make the hard choices they can’t make. And… and even if they turn him in, being turned in is better than dying."

Is it? Do you know that?

"What do we do, then?" Jake says, resting his hand on Chris's sweat-damp hair. Chris doesn't seem aware anymore, staring off into space, weeping silent tears and hitching soft sobs, promising in whispers to be good and obey his handler if only he’ll make the pain stop. “What’s the next step? Give me a fucking order, Nat, because I’m lost, and-” Jake gives a nervous, humorless laugh. “-I’m pretty fucking scared for him.”

"Yeah… yeah, I get that. Just pack some clothes and toiletries," Nat says flatly. "And prepare to swear on the fucking Bible to doctors and surgeons and fucking cops if we have to that his name is Chris Stanton and he's your little brother. We’re about to put on a show, Jake."

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not leaving him. You are going to be the most concerned and caring big brother the world has ever seen. When he gets out of surgery, you’re going to meet him in recovery, you’re going to stay with him in his room day and night. You’re there from day one until he walks back out the door.” Nat’s jaw is set again. “And he will be walking back out that door with us.”

“Visiting hours-”

“He can’t make his own medical decisions,” Nat says, leaning over a little, staring Jake right in the eyes. “So someone has to be there all the time. Do you understand me? He can’t.”

“He’s not-... he could, if he was a little further along-”

Chris whines, and his hand grabs weakly at Jake’s and squeezes. Jake can hardly feel it. 

“He’s not. Okay? He’s not that far into recovery yet. We’re going to pretend he’s a lot less capable than he is, to get him through this. We are going to pretend he can’t do it himself, because right now it’s not pretending, he wouldn’t remember what to do yet. And I feel like shit treating him like a toddler, Jake, I really do, but… but he can’t do this alone, and I can’t exactly tell them it’s because he was a pet and they’re trained to be dependent, now can I? We’re going to have to lie about his condition.”

“That wasn’t actually a lie, though, right? We do think he is actually-”

“Yeah. We do. But he’s not incapable - or he won’t be, once he’s older. That’s what we have to lie about. And I don’t-... right now I don’t give a shit about a damn thing except buying him more time to fucking grow up.”

"What about his barcode?"

Nat takes a deep breath. "My contact is going to bandage it over, say it was part of when he passed out and they’ve taken care of it and we're going to hope to Christ no one who they don't trust checks under it. We're out of options, Jake, unless you know how to do an appendectomy and you’ve just been holding out on me. I’m not prepared to do kitchen table surgery. Are you?"

There’s a pause while they stare at each other, and then Jake takes in a deep, steady breath.

You can do this. Chris needs you to do this.

"His name is Chris Stanton," Jake says, meeting her eyes, "and he's my little brother, and he's autistic. I’m his medical power of attorney, I make medical decisions when he’s incapcitated. He’s scared of hospitals because of bad childhood experiences and needs someone nearby at all times or he’ll lose it.”

Nat gives a terse nod. "Good. Pack your shit, and hope his fucking appendix hasn't burst while my contact dicked around." 

Nat went up the stairs like a lightning bolt, and Jake let out a shuddering breath. 

By the time they hear the ambulance pull up a few minutes later, sirens and lights carefully off, they're packed and ready to follow in Nat’s old truck.

Chris's fever is still rising. 

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @slaintetowhump , @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary

[spir1tfar3r]

Miss my Lover Man

「 summary: Long distance relationships weren’t always smooth sailing, Iwaizumi knew that. But no one told him just how hard it really would be. He didn’t realize just how badly he missed you until it was too late. You were already gone. 」

Warnings: Death

Words: 1287

a/n: This is a repost from my old account

reblogs are appreciated <3

The alcohol served its tour. And it's headed straight for my skin, leaving me daft and dim

“So... you’re really leaving huh?” Your voice broke the rather comfortable silence that had stretched between you two. You didn’t look up at him, your gaze trained on the cup that was resting in your hand. But you felt his eyes on you, watching the way you swirled the dark liquid in a circle inside the cup.

“Yeah. I’ll be gone in a couple of weeks...” He seemed worried, scared even by the way his voice shook. As he turned his attention over to your mutual friends wishing Oikawa luck in Argentina you let out a bitter laugh. Of course you would be losing not one but two people that you cared about. You didn’t blame them however, knowing that this was a great opportunity for the both of them. You just wished everything would be the same as it was these past few years.

You were hoping this situation wouldn’t ruin the relationship you had with Iwaizumi. You loved him and you didn’t want that to change. Before you spoke up, Iwa’s voice cut through. “I don’t want to break up just because of this. I know it’ll be hard but I want us to work if you’re willing to try.”

He was looking at you now as you glanced up at him. You took notice in the way that he was trying to blink the tears in his eyes away, probably not wanting to cry in front of your friends. You didn’t say anything, moving quietly next to him and resting your head into his shoulder. As he rested his head onto yours, you quietly whispered what he hoped you’d say. “I want to try.”

I’m Mr Loverman. And I miss my lover man

“Hey loser! How’s America treating you?” Your voice relaxed your boyfriend as he set his pencil down onto his homework.

“It’s surprisingly well. I actually ran into Ushijima earlier which… was really weird.” He replied, stretching his arms over his head as you snickered. “How are you doing?”

“Besides missing my boyfriend, I’m good. Matsukawa and Hanamaki hung out with me for a couple hours earlier! So that was really nice. They and Tooru asked me to tell you hi by the way.”

“Did you talk to Shittykawa before talking to me? How dare you.” Iwaizumi teased and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him, momentarily forgetting that he couldn’t see you.

“Since when did you get so dramatic?” You asked as you opened the door to the university you started attending earlier in the year. Thankfully you both found the best time to call each other relatively quick whenever he moved away. Of course there were times that either one of you were busy but neither of you minded.

“When you’re friends with Oikawa for well over ten years, you pick up on his dramatic antics.” He replied through a yawn. A smile disappeared just as quickly as it appeared on your face. A small pain formed in your chest, though you thought nothing of it.

“Hey.” You spoke quietly. The only indication you got that you knew he heard you was the soft hum that left his throat. “I miss you.”

Iwaizumi glanced at his phone, looking at it with so much love that he wished you could see it. “I miss you too Y/n.”

The way you call my name. Have me runnin’ on and on

Tossing the blanket off of you, you headed into the kitchen of your apartment. You weren’t really sure why you had the sudden urge to go into that room. You weren’t sure hungry nor thirsty so there really wasn’t a reason to be in there. That was until your eyes landed onto your phone on the counter. As you went to pick it up, it lit up due to a call coming through from Iwaizumi. You smiled as you picked up “Hey aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

Your voice actually startled your boyfriend, not expecting you to pick up. “Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?” He retaliated and you muttered a ‘touché’ in response.

“How is school going for you?” You asked and all you got back was an annoyed grunt. You laughed at his response, leaning onto the counter closest to you.

“It sucks. I… just want to see you. I miss you so much.” His voice was barely a whisper and you frowned. You both knew this was going to be hard. Being 4,986.91 miles away from each other and being in two different time zones was clear just how much you both had to make this work. Though it was rough whenever you both couldn’t even video chat.

“Hajime.” Startling your boyfriend yet again from his thoughts, he hummed in response. “I love you so much. We’ll see each other soon ok?” You sounded so sure. Neither of you realized this promise was going to be broken.

“Ok.”

I’ve shattered now, I’m spilling out upon this linoleum ground

“Makki I appreciate you calling but I don’t have time to talk. Y/n’s going to be calling me soon.” Iwaizumi said as he placed his bag next to his desk.

“Iwa—” Hanamaki began, his voice breaking. Iwa immediately knew something was wrong. You sent him a message saying that you were heading to your friend’s house twenty minutes ago and you’d let him know when you got there. You should’ve been there by now. “Y/n got in an accident. They’re in surgery now but it’s not looking good. We don’t think they’re going to make it… I’m so sorry.”

Iwaizumi’s thoughts raced, trying to comprehend how this happened. You always took the exact same route going there so what changed? Did you take a different way? Did you hit someone or some animal? Did someone hit you? He didn’t even realize he was crying until a tear hit his phone. “Can… you please keep me updated?”

Makki nodded, hearing the way his voice broke even though he couldn’t be seen. “Of course. I’ll let you know the moment we get updated.”

“Thank you.” Before Hanamaki said anything else, Iwa hung up the phone. He slumped into the floor crying and holding his phone tightly. He begged whatever god there is that you’d recover. Just so he could keep the promise of seeing you soon.

Oh what am I supposed to do without you?

Throwing his bag by the door, Iwa headed towards his bedroom. He heard the news of your passing a couple hours after the initial phone call. While he hadn’t seemed to be acting any differently, the people close to him could tell how he really felt. Even Ushijima caught on and told him that he was there if Iwa had needed anything. Oikawa began calling more often, sometimes even accompanied by Hinata just to keep him occupied. He appreciated it, he really did but it never seemed to change anything. He still called your phone to check in on you. He always looked at his own, expecting a good morning text from you as you got ready for the day.

Going back to Japan was much harder than he thought. It was three (3) months since the accident but he refused to go near the road it had happened on. Sometimes it even felt like you were there with him. Your familiar warmth had passed by him as he let out a soft sigh. “Hey baby…” he muttered as he took off his shoes and went onto the bed. “I miss you.”

I’m Mr Loverman. Oh, and I miss my lover man

[djcarnationsblog]

2022-5-15

I ALREADY FORGOT HIS NAME. UH.

EDEN

EDEN WAKING UP UNDER ANESTETIC OR SPMETHING WITH LIF AND DEE HAVING TO DEAL WITH THIS

Try it I dare you -Pix

THANK YOU THANK YOU VERY MUCH-

TW: MEDICAL DRUG USE (BUT IT'S THE HEALTHY WAY, NOT UNHEALTHY)

---

Dee has no idea what either he or Lif expected.

"Y'all know me?"

He did not anticipate this, however.

It had been at least an hour after Eden's initial top surgery, and he was still recovering from it, as it normally is supposed to go. The doctors had drugged him up on anesthetics as well, so basically saying, this dude was as high as a god damn kite.

Life chuckled at Eden, "Yes, we know you, big guy." She casually dismissed, leaning against the railing of the hospital bed as Eden lazily raised one eyebrow. "Damn," He spoke, speech slurred the slightest bit.

"Did you know you both look hot as fuck? Like, seriously," Dee turned his head away, knowing his cheeks were dusted a slight pink as he held in a laugh of his own. "Could destroy the sun and take it's place. I'd wanna see that."

"Of course you would." Lif rolled her eyes, patting him on the head. "Hey, hey, heeeeeey." Eden spoke up, Dee turning back to see the other with wide eyes. "Don't tell, uh, don't tell my lovers I said this, but-but holy shit, you might be hot, but I'm a loyal bitch! Yeah, fuck yeah!" he seemed so proud of himself, and the declaration even though he was high off his rockers was rather endearing, if not ridiculous.

"Eden," Dee finally chimed in. "Eden, we are your lovers." Eden blinked for a moment, looking between them both before turning his head to the ceiling and blurting, "Did I fucking bribe you into this? How the hell? Y'all are waaay out of my league." He was so astonished, stars in his eyes when he looked back to them, a loopy smile making its way to his face.

Lif pressed a her palm to the bridge of her nose, shaking her head with a fond smile as Dee rolled his eyes, flattered at the thought, but also exasperated that he could think that. "No, Eden, we're not out of your league. You're just fine." Dee hummed with a shrug of his shoulders, hands pressed into his pockets as Eden chuckled.

"Fuck, I should marry you both."

Lif and Dee jolted at that.

"Yeah, get me two pretty lookin' rings for you two, but they're never gonna be prettier than y'all," he began rambling. "Let's get married! Right now! Anywhere you want I can do it, I-I'll buy ya any dress or suit, or somethin' I dunno, whatever you feeel! I'm loaded, baby! I got stuff to spend, I'd spend it all on y'all until I'm broke! Broke as a beggar!" He tilted his head this way and that, that loopy grin as bright and cheerful as it always is, a certain glint in his eyes that just screamed 'lovesick'.

Dee's never been so red in his life, and neither has Lif.

"H-Heh! We'll-we'll see about that, bud." Lif stammered, averting her gaze with a sheepishly flustered smirk, Dee letting out an exaggerated sigh.

"Wait," Eden muttered. "Why am I here again?" Dee damn choked on a snort, covering his mouth as Lif looked back at him with an amused, yet surprised face. Dee hushed her quickly, but he could see from her expression she wasn't gonna let that go any time soon. Damn her.

"Uh, well," Dee huffed. "You were the one who said, and I quote, 'Guess who's gonna off their tits in the next month?' and now look where you are?"

It took at least a minute or two for it to click for Eden, who squinted his eyes and slowly raised one eyebrow, before completely blanking out. "Oh my God," he muttered, looking down at his blanketed chest. "Oh my god, the fuckin' disaster's gone."

Dee sucked in a slow breath. He was not about to laugh in a public place because of his idiot boyfriend being too high to take anything seriously right now. He could see Lif holding in her own laughter, the two looking at each other, exchanging similar expressions and glances. And then Eden, dear Lord Eden, blurted out without a single bit of restraint in his drugged up body,

"HALLELUJAH, I'VE BEEN RID OF SATAN'S PROBLEM TITS-"

Neither could help breaking down wheezing.

A high Eden was terrifyingly funny, apparently.

---

I had to.

Kinda ooc, but it's wholesome so I like it uwu

and yes, if you couldn't tell, Eden has close to no filter when he's drugged up on Anesthetics.

[youbloodymadgenius]

Brother (a Modern!Ivar fic with an unexpected Ragnarsson as special guest)

A/N: This is my entry to @maggiescarborough​ celebration. Happy early Anniversary, love 💝

I’m quite proud of this one! So, please, I know it’s not a reader insert, but give it a try, give it a chance 🙏🏽

Prompt in bold, as usual.

@inforapound​ - I know how much i owe you. Thank you 💞

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: One of Ivar's brothers was in a car accident. How will Ivar react?

Warning: description of physical injuries; mention of a car crash; medical and surgical inaccuracies.

Words: 2331

As soon as he spots Doctor Mikelsson, Ivar gets up, wincing at the throbbing pain in his legs as he steps closer to the renowned surgeon. 

 "Doc," he says, giving him a slight nod, "How is he?"

 The surgeon sighs tiredly and slowly rubs his palms down his scrubs-clad thighs. "I'd say he has been very lucky. As far as I know, it could have been much worse. Car versus truck is never a winning combo, at least for the car's driver. His car has been completely destroyed, from what I hear. It must have been a terrible wreck. "

"That’s an understatement." Ivar grumbles under his breath, shivering as he struggles to get the images of the crash out of his mind. The pictures he saw were so vivid, he could still hear the screams and ambulance sirens that had undoubtedly filled the accident scene. Closing his eyes for a brief instant, he shakes his head, forcing himself to focus on the here and now. 

 "That's not what I was asking, Doc. How is he?" He insists, emphasizing the last three words as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, leaning heaviliy on his crutch, physical and mental discomfort obvious on his face.

 "Well, he's not so bad, all things considered. As I said, it could have been much worse. He's stable and his condition isn't life-threatening. It's serious, though."

 Ivar rolls his eyes, getting impatient. "Straight to the point, Doc, please! And no need to sugarcoat it." His commanding voice is sharp and stern, his tight-lipped expression giving away what little patience he has. 

 "Okay, Ivar." Doctor Mikelsson gives him a weary smile, a hand up in surrender. "About his upper body first. Aside from several bruises, he had a sprained wrist and a cracked rib. The last one will be painful for awhile but it won't be an issue in the long run. His lower body, on the other hand…" The surgeon frowns, visibly gathering his thoughts. "He suffered a double tibia-fibula fracture of his right leg and his pelvis has been multi-fractured; therefore I had to stabilize it with plates and screws. To allow his pelvis to recover, your brother will be bed- and then wheelchair-bound for at least six weeks, maybe more. Not that it matters, anyway, given the condition of his left leg."

 Hearing those words, Ivar shudders. "How…" His voice comes out strangled and he clears his throat. "How is it? You… You could save it, right? That's why I… had him transferred here."

 Putting a soothing hand on Ivar's forearm, the doctor nods. "Yes, I saved it. It was quite a challenge, I must admit. His leg has been severely shattered during the crash, literally crushed by one of the truck's tires. From the top of his thigh to the tips of his toes, not a single bone was intact. I do understand why my colleague from the public hospital wanted to amputate it, you know?"

 "But you saved it?" Ivar asks once again, his free hand running nervously through his disheveled hair.

 "I did." The doctors answers soberly before explaining. "I reduced the largest fractures, using rods and plates there as well. I couldn't avoid putting an external fixator though, his leg was too damaged. He'll still need several more surgeries, but he gets to keep his leg."

 "Thanks, Doc." Ivar adorns a slight smile which doesn't completely reach his eyes. "And what about recovery? He will fully recover, right?" A frown creasing his forehead, Ivar bites his inner cheek, worried and concerned. 

 Grimacing, the surgeon lets out a deep breath. "Ivar, I'm not sure you understand the extent of the damage. It's not just about a couple of broken bones. We're talking about devastating injuries that could have – that should have – resulted in amputation. If you ask me if your brother will walk again, I can't be sure yet, but I'm quite confident he will. Will he need walking aids, like cane, crutch and or leg brace? It's too soon to say. But to be perfectly honest with you, it's quite likely." Seeing Ivar wince, the surgeon gives him an apologetic look. "Sorry Ivar. Be sure I did my best."

 "Don't be sorry, I know you did. It's just a lot to take in. Does he… Does my brother know?"

 Scrunching his face, the surgeon hesitates, unsure. "More or less. I talked to him in the recovery room but he was a bit dazed from the drugs and the nurse had to increase the morphine because he was in pain. He was completely out of it after that. He'll probably sleep through the night so I'll talk to him first thing in the morning." Taking a step back, Doctor Mikelsson stares at Ivar from head to foot, noticing how the blue-eyed man favors his left leg, his right foot barely touching the floor. "You should head home and get some rest, Ivar. I'm pretty sure you've been wearing these braces for far too long." Giving him a light pat on the shoulder, he shrugs. "I'll do the same anyway. Guess I'll see you tomorrow. Good night, Ivar." 

 ***

 Opening the door as quietly as possible, Ivar watches his sleeping brother. He's awfully pale, his frail frame so small on the hospital bed, his right leg in a cast, his left propped up on a huge pillow. Ivar frowns at the sight of the fixator, which makes him think of a barbaric tool more than a medical device. He suddenly feels grateful that he never needed one. 

 Trying to not make any noise, he crosses the room without using his crutch, struggling and wincing with every step. He's successful but fails to stifle a hiss as he sits down on the chair next to his brother's bed. He looks at him, worried, and sees his eyes flutter open. 

 "Ivar?" His brother's voice is hoarse and the stunned look on his face unmistakable. "Why did you come here? To make fun of me?" There's no fight or fire in his eyes, only exhaustion and sadness. 

 Ivar shrugs, a light smile playing on his lips. "Can't say the thought didn't cross my mind." He lowers his head one second, snorting, and when he raises it again, it's with a serious look on his face. "Guess I wanted to know how you are doing." His voice is barely a whisper and he doesn't look his brother in the eye. 

 "What did you say?" Ivar's brother's tone is suspiscious, dripping with disbelief. "Since when are you concerned about that??" He tries to sit up but groans in pain, collapsing back onto the bed. 

 Worry wrinkling his forehead, Ivar instantly gets up, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Hold still, will you? And seriously, tell me, how are you feeling? How is your pain? I mean, on a scale from zero to ten, zero meaning no pain at all and ten an unbearable pain. Tell me, how bad is it?"

 Ivar's brother rubs his cheek with two fingers, squinting his eyes, before letting out a long and audible sigh. "Four I think, maybe five."

 Ivar – who lives on a daily basis with a six or seven rated pain – has to remind himself that his pain treshold is much higher than that of ordinary people. "Okay," he begins softly, "four or five might still be tolerable but don't let it get higher. Look," he points at a small medical bulb with his index finger, "that's a morphine pump, just squeeze it once and let the magic work. Trust me, it's terribly efficient. It will make you a bit dizzy but it'll be worth it." As to illustrate his point, Ivar squeezes the pump and he can see the relief washing over his brother's face almost instantly as the pain goes numb.

 "I spoke with the doctor who did the surgery this morning. Did you?" Ivar's brother asks, a frown on his face and biting his lower lip.

 "I did." Ivar answers without saying anything more. An uneasy silence settles in, eventually broken by Ivar's brother‘s shaky voice. "So, you know there's a chance…" His words catch in his throat and he swallows loudly. "What if…" Overcome with anxiety, he's unable to say more.

 "Hey, stop that, brother!" Ivar almost scolds him."You will walk again. It may be hard, but you'll get there. For now, you should be thankful for being alive. You know what they say… Where there's life, there's hope. So please, stay positive and fucking look at me if you need to. I was able to walk, so I'm pretty sure you can too."

 Ivar's brother looks at him for a long time, a puzzled look on his face. "Karma is a bitch, isn't it?" He eventually says sheepishly, a sad smile crossing his lips. "You can say it, I won't get mad, you know? I probably deserve this, after all I did…" He sighs, lowering his gaze, but Ivar doesn't allow it, raising his brother's head with a finger on his chin. 

 "Listen carefully, brother. No one deserves to suffer. Neither you nor anyone else. Karma has nothing to do with what happened to you. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, nothing more. The truck driver was sleep-deprived and didn't see the red light. It sucks, I get it, but it was just bad luck that you were at this crossroad at the same time that he was."

 Ivar's brother just nods lightly, and then yawns, rubbing his eyes. "You should rest, brother. I'll be back soon." Ivar grabs his crutch but his brother wraps his hand around his wrist. 

 "Wait… You told me why you were here but there's one thing I don't understand. Why are you the one here? Where are our–" He stops as another yawn cuts him off.

 Ivar, however, understands his unfinished question. "Last time I heard from our dear brothers, they were going on a business trip to Cancun. Seeing as it is the beginning of Spring Break in the US, I'm pretty sure calling it a fuck trip would be more accurate. It also means that you're stuck with me for a couple of weeks. Sorry about that." Tilting his head, Ivar gives his brother a semi-amused look. "Anyway, now, you're going to rest,” Ivar strokes his brother's hair with unexpected gentleness, "and in the meantime I'm going to make arrangements for your future."

 "What… what does that mean?" Ivar's brother babbles, the drug-induced dizziness hitting him with full force.

 "It means that as soon as you'll be discharged, you'll be moving in with me." Ivar says casually, shrugging, as he heads towards the door.

 "Moving in with… you? But… why?" The questioning tone of his brother is obvious and Ivar turns back to look at him. "It was either this, or the rehab center. Trust me, you'll be better taken care of with me. My apartment is fully accessible, I've got a real PT room and Sven, my longtime PT, is the best in all of Scandinavia. You'll also probably need an OT, and it happens that I know the best OT too. Flora is her name, she helped me a lot a few years ago. So yeah, you will be in good hands, I promise. As good as Doctor Mikelsson's hands."

 Confused, Ivar's brother looks at him questioningly.  "Doctor Mikelsson is… your…" Obviously befuddled, his speech is now slurred and he can't find the right word.

 "My surgeon, yes,” Ivar completes the sentence. "Has been for the last twelve years. That's why I had you transferred here, in this clinic."

 Dumbfounded, Ivar's brother stares wide-eyed. "I don't… I didn't rela… realize I've been transf… transferred. And that… that was…"

 "At my request, yes." Ivar nods. "Because the Doc is more than a surgeon. He's a magician. He truly can work wonders. Me standing and walking is enough to prove it." Raising his head proudly, Ivar smiles at his brother reassuringly. 

 "Why… why did… you do… this for… me?" Ivar's brother sputters, exhaustion written all over his face. Yet, he fights it, his curiosity prevailing above all else. 

 Ivar shrugs once again, giving his brother an airy wave of his hand as to let him know that what he's doing is no big deal. "I know your pain, brother. I know the struggles you'll be facing. You have a long road ahead and I know how scary it might be. You won't be alone. I won't allow it. We'll get through this together, because no one should have to deal with such things alone." Ivar almost hiccups, his heart is suddenly in his throat as a wave of painful childhood memories floods his mind. He pushes them away, gritting his teeth, because now is not the time. Focusing once more on the blond in front of him, he speaks again, in a firm tone. "So, brother, you won't be. Never. I will be right next to you at every step, literally. We'll make our own version of 'the blind leading the blind', you know?" Ivar scratches the back of his neck, a half-smile on his lips, before taking a deep breath. "And you may be an asshole most of the time, but you're still my brother. That's why I do it. It's as simple as that. Sleep now, we'll talk later."

 Hand on the doorknob, Ivar hears a faint whimper. Looking backwards, he's surprised as he sees a single tear running down his brother's cheek. "Thank you, Ivar." His brother says with a trembling voice, clearly shaken up by Ivar's words.

 Ivar gives his brother a genuine smile, suddenly struck by the thougth that it's probably the first genuine smile he's given his brother in years. "You're welcome, Sig," he says sincerely as he has to blink back his own tears, an unfamiliar but warm feeling in his chest, "Sleep now, I'll be back soon. I promise."

 🛡💖🛡

@maggiescarborough​ @honestsycrets​ @lisinfleur​ @waiting4inspiration​ @saldelys​ @gearhead66​ @readsalot73​ @milkkygirls​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @shannygoatgruff​ @zuxiezendler​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @hecohansen31​ @lonewolf471​ @ivarthebloodyking​ @fuckindiva​ @tgrrose​ @didiintheblog​

[suituuup]

When Beca Mitchell is diagnosed with MS, she agonises over what it will mean for her career and more importantly, her relationship. But if there’s one thing Chloe Beale knows for a fact, it’s that nothing, including MS, will get in the way of their love.

for better or worse

Rating: T

ao3 link

*

Multiple Sclerosis.

Beca blinks at the doctor’s words as she sits in his office, the news shaking her to the core. The last few weeks have been a whirlwind of medical tests ever since Beca went to her GP after dealing for months with blurred vision, vertigo, pains in her hands, and general exhaustion.

She didn’t think much of it at first. Work has been crazy since the start of the year and Beca’s been too excited about Chloe’s pregnancy to focus on her state, but Chloe has been worried it might be more serious and insisted she got some tests done.

Beca’s heard of MS before, but isn’t sure of what it means or if there’s a treatment for it. “What-- um… How is that going to affect my life, exactly?”

She suddenly wishes she’d said yes when Chloe offered to take the afternoon off to come with her to this appointment, because she really needs a hand to hold right now. Beca assured her it would be fine, that it was probably nothing.

But now… she’s fucking terrified.

It doesn’t help that her doctor doesn’t have time to answer all those questions barreling into her brain at full speed, instead sending her home with a few pamphlets and the number of a specialist.

Beca’s walk home is a complete blur, her feet carrying her on auto-pilot back to their building complex. She spends the rest of the afternoon online, researching whatever she can on the disease. Her panic only grows the more she learns about it, and when Chloe steps through the door an hour later, Beca’s still sat on the couch with her computer propped against her thighs, pamphlets and handwritten notes sprawled around her as she stares blankly at her screen.

Two words have etched their ways into her skull.

No cure.

“Babe?” Chloe asks as she takes off her coat, hanging it by the door. “What did the doctor say? I got worried when I didn’t get a text after I got out of surgery.”

Beca snaps out of her daze, her gaze finding her wife’s as she rounds the corner to their living room. Chloe’s eyes drop to the documents laying next to Beca, and she takes it between her fingers, her silence deafening as she reads the title.

“Oh my god,” she eventually croaks out, her trembling hand blindly reaching out for the back of the couch as she lowers herself on the surface. “You should have called me.”

Beca shrugs. “I know you were in the middle of surgery,” she says quietly, puffing out a breath as her eyes roll towards the ceiling to keep from crying. “So this really fucking sucks.”

She knows a dozen of questions if not more are hindering Chloe’s ability to think right now, much like they did to her back at the doctor’s office, and Beca reaches across the pamphlets to cover Chloe’s hand.

“I have an appointment with a specialist next week, she’ll answer any questions we have.”

Chloe visibly swallows, blinking away the moisture in her eyes. “Right, okay.” A few tears slide down her cheeks despite her efforts to get rid of them, and she hastily wipes them off, swearing under her breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Beca requests softly, squeezing her hand. “I know it’s a lot.”

Chloe shuffles closer, draping her legs over Beca’s and snuggling into her side. “I love you.”

Closing her eyes, Beca basks into the comfort only her wife’s affection can provide. She knows whatever’s ahead of her, they’ll figure out how to live with it. “I love you, too.”

The next few weeks and months don’t bring much change to Beca’s daily life. She’s still tired and achy, but it doesn’t prevent her from going to work and getting the job done on her many projects. She can tell Chloe is trying her best to be supportive without crossing to the overbearing side of things.

Her first relapse shows up six months after her diagnosis. It starts with blurry vision towards the end of her work day and dizziness throughout the evening. She retreats to bed around seven and sleeps for twelve hours, waking up in more pain than she’s ever felt before. Her limbs feel exceptionally heavy and tingly all over, and it takes Beca a few minutes to realize the bedding underneath her is damp, and so are her pajamas bottoms.

Humiliation washes over her in a cold sweat when it dawns on her that she peed herself during the night. She can hear Chloe in the shower and is determined for her wife not to find out about that shameful episode, attempting to get up to change the sheets. Her body is not agreeing with her though, and the simple act of sitting up is too much for her weakened muscles that she soon gives up altogether.

The reality of her disease crashes into her all at once, the emotional turmoil she’s been trying to push down over the last few months spiraling in her chest like a tiny tornado. She bursts into tears right there, ugly sobs wrecking her from the inside out as she curls up into a fetal position.

“Baby?” She feels a hand on her arm and burrows deeper in the covers. “It’s okay, let it out.”

“I can’t get up,” she eventually manages, opening her eyes to find Chloe staring at her in concern. “I can’t get up.”

“Oh, babe…” Chloe strokes her hair gently and leans in to kiss her forehead. “I’ll call your work, okay? Tell them you’re not feeling well. You stay in bed, I’ll be right back.”

It takes Chloe a few minutes to do so, and she comes back with a glass of water which she sets on Beca’s bedside table.

“Do you want to eat anything?”

Beca shakes her head faintly. “Chlo…” Her chest tightens with shame. “I need to get up.”

“No, you don’t. Work can wait, alright? You need to take care of yourself first.”

Beca shakes her head once more. Even finding words is exhausting. It feels as though her brain is all fogged up. “I wet the bed.”

Realization and brief shock flash in Chloe’s eyes, but she quickly recovers. “Okay, that’s okay. I’ll help you up and change the sheets, alright?”

Beca whimpers; Chloe is her wife, not her caretaker, she shouldn’t have to do this. But It’s not like they have much of a choice right now.

“Come on, I’ll help you into the shower.”

With Chloe’s help, Beca manages to slowly shuffle towards the bathroom. She sits down on the toilet, more tears leaking out of her eyes as she takes in her current state.

“Hey,” Chloe whispers, kneeling beside her and cupping her cheek tenderly. “Nothing to be ashamed about. It’s not your fault.”

Beca remains silent, keeping her eyes fastened on the bathroom tile.

“I’ll go grab a chair so you can sit in the shower, okay?”

“K,” Beca mutters.

Chloe returns less than a minute later and helps Beca undress, then helps her into the shower. Beca is thankfully strong enough to wash herself so Chloe doesn’t have to do it for her, though it feels like a work-out of its own.

“Chlo?” She calls out ten minutes later. “I’m ready.”

“Coming!”

Chloe’s obviously seen Beca naked more times than Beca can count, but not like this; frail and weak and unable to fucking take care of herself. She wraps a large towel around Beca’s body and guides her back to the toilet.

“I took today off, too,” Chloe says as she rubs Beca’s skin dry.

Beca wants to argue with that, but she can’t; she doesn’t know how worse it’s going to get throughout the day and doesn’t feel like she can deal with it on her own.

“Thanks,” she croaks out, sniffling. “‘M’sorry I’m like this.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Chloe murmurs, glancing up. “You hear me?”

Beca puffs out a breath and eventually nods. Chloe helps her put on a clean pair of pajamas, long sleeve shirt and a hoodie, and Beca settles down on the couch with a blanket, preferring to be in the living room.

She weaves in and out of sleep for the next few hours, waking up just after lunch claiming she’s not hungry. She does accept the herbal tea Chloe makes her, and Chloe settles at the head of the couch once she’s done drinking it, Beca propping her head onto her lap.

“Maybe you should think about telling your boss?”

Beca has avoided doing so since finding out, because she didn’t see the point of making a bigger deal out of it than it was up until today.

“I know, I just…” She sighs. “I’m afraid the label might give me shitty projects if I tell them. What I’m doing right now, it’s been my dream for so long, Chlo. And I finally have it and now--” She inhales sharply, forcing the lump in her throat back down. “I’m terrified it might crumble. Not only my job, but our marriage whenever it becomes too hard for you and--”

“Baby,” Chloe interrupts softly, stroking Beca’s forehead with the pad of her thumb. “That is not going to happen. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t know that,” Beca croaks out. As much as she wants to believe Chloe, neither of them has a crystal ball to predict the future. “We don’t know how bad it might get. I could lose my sight, or not be able to walk anymore or-- we have a baby on the way. I just, I can’t be a burden to you.”

“We’ll learn to live with it,” Chloe murmurs, sliding her free hand in Beca’s. “This is all so new, we need to find our footing. You just started your treatment, and the relapses aren’t going to last forever. We’ll find professional help for whenever you do have them, and losing your sight or ability to walk is not going to make me love you any less, Bec.”

Beca swallows. “Promise me you’ll put yourself first if it becomes too much, okay? Promise me.”

If the disease were to ruin her life, Beca doesnt want it to ruin Chloe’s or their child’s as well.

“Okay, I promise,” Chloe whispers, blinking back tears. “I love you so much.”

Beca closes her eyes, letting those words wash over her. “I love you, too.” She twists her head to press her lips to the gentle swell of Chloe’s belly. “And you.”

She’s bedridden for four days, and requires the use of crutches for a week after that as her balance is really off. There’s no more avoiding possible in telling her boss about her condition, but he proves to be incredibly understanding and reassuring about Beca’s future with the label.

Over the next few months, she works with a personal coach to strengthen her balance, and finds a neurologist who specializes in MS. It takes a little while, but they eventually manage to find a treatment for which the side effects aren’t too heavy and which considerably slows down the progress of the disease.

Chloe is incredibly supportive, not that Beca is at all surprised, and somehow, learning to live with MS brings them closer and strengthens their bond.

She relapses a few months after Micah’s birth, and Chloe’s parents move in for the couple weeks it lasts as Beca can’t do much to help out. Micah’s presence keeps her from falling in a depressive state over that lapse of time where getting out of bed is difficult, as her entire right side is paralized. He often naps with her, or hangs out on she and Chloe’s bed during tummy time, his smiles and gurgles keeping Beca afloat.

“Hi,” Chloe whispers as she rounds the corner, hearts flashing from her eyes as she takes in the scene before her. Micah is fast asleep sprawled across Beca’s torso, his fingers curled around loose fabric from her top.

“Hey,” Beca attempts a smile, though it comes out crooked as she can’t control the right side of her mouth. “How was work?”

Her speech is slurred, too, but Chloe manages to understand her most of the time.

Still clad in her scrubs, Chloe gently climbs into bed, settling on her side beside her family. She kisses Beca’s cheek. “It was alright. I missed you guys, though.”

“Missed you, too.”

“My parents just went out to get groceries,” Chloe lets her know. “How’s my sexy pirate doing?”

Due to vision loss in her right eye, Beca wears an eye-patch to lessen skewed vision. She should regain her sight once she’s in remission.

“Feeling very unsexy,” she replies with a soft chuckle. “Same old. My leg’s been tingling though so that’s progress.”

“You’ll be walking again soon,” Chloe states, smiling softly. “And the three of us can have a fun day at the park.”

“Mhm, that sounds perfect.” She sighs as Chloe’s head finds her shoulder, and twists her head to kiss her hair.

As Micah grows up, he learns that sometimes his Mama has “bad days”, which means she can’t get out of bed much. One of his things whenever he’s home during those times is to move his toys to Mama’s room and play quietly on the floor so she’s not lonely. He also naps next to her and reads stories to keep her entertained, and sometimes wears an eye patch when she has to, so he can be a pirate himself.

He and Chloe are Beca’s sunshine, always there to battle the clouds with smiles, laughter and hugs, whenever they get too dark.

[willow-salix]

Fluffember prompt: Feathers (vaguely, and with a dash of Rainbow)

Day 13 of Isolation on Tracy Island 2.0

“OK, who threw that pencil at me?” Scott demanded to know. No one owned up. Honestly I didn’t even see where it had come from let alone who threw it. 

“No clue,” I answered.

“I’m gonna find out,” he growled. “I could have been badly hurt!”

I sniggered to myself, for a real life action hero Scott could be so dramatic sometimes, and didn’t bother looking up from the latest copy of ‘Better Gnomes and Gardens: Witches Weekly’ that I was flicking through.

“Seriously, that could have taken my eye out, it’s like a miniature stake,” he continued to grumble.

“Talking of stakes,” I started, trying to distract him so that he didn’t go off on a ranting tangent about the danger of flying pencil projectiles, “there’s been a development with the Highgate Vampire, he’s been spotted again. Seriously, what more can this crazy year throw at us? Don’t answer that,” I warned John before he could even utter a word. I know my boy and I know that he was about to throw out some highly logical statistic or another that would make complete sense but would make me want to cry.

“Highgate Vampire?” Scott asked, distracted as I'd hoped he would be. My evil plan had worked. I turned my magazine to show him the article. “You remember, when we tried out that new ka- pub,” I corrected myself, aware of just how many of his brothers were crowded around. “We walked past the cemetery and I told you all about the legend of the Highgate Vampire.”

Scott looked blank, which is a look I’m used to seeing on him, I gotta be honest, he barely ever listens to me. “You know, I told you the story of how, back in the 1970’s a group of ghost hunters decided to try to find a vampire that supposedly lived there?”

He shook his head. 

“Self appointed bishop vampire hunter dude?” I tried again.

“Oh, yes! I remember him. He’s back?”

"Who?" 

"The Bishop."

"No, he's dead, the vampire."

"The vampire killed him?"

"The Bishop is dead of natural causes, and the vampire has been seen again," John supplied. 

“Yes," I agreed." Apparently so, and they’re blaming him for this virus outbreak.”

Everyone went quiet for a second, not sure what to say to that. John reached out a hand and I passed over the magazine so he could read it for himself. 

“Why do you read this rubbish?” he asked after perusing the rest of its offerings.

“Why wouldn’t I want to know that blue aliens brought Elvis into that lady’s garden?” I asked, genuinely perplexed.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” he told me honestly, handing the magazine back to me.

“Do you remember that time that Virgil thought he was a vampire?” Scott suddenly asked him.

“Oh, God, yes. I hadn’t thought of that in years,” John laughed.

“Wait? He what now? There were vampires involved? Why was I never told about this? This is my one area of expertise and you've been holding out on me?”

“I did not think I was a vampire,” Virgil corrected them. “Our high school math teacher did.”

I tossed the magazine aside, this was far more entertaining than anything I’d find in there.

“Spill,” I demanded.

“It’s really not that interesting a story,” Virgil insisted, trying valiantly to deflect us.

“He was a sophomore, so about fifteen years old,” Scott started, dodging out of the way when Virgil threw a pen at him this time. Scott narrowed his eyes, like he wasn’t sure if that was proof that he had been the perpetrator of the pencil or not. Virgil, for his part, looked innocent. Pen, what pen? I saw no pen? What even is a pen? Isn’t that something you put pigs in?

“And he had to have two of his back teeth out due to overcrowding,” John continued, grabbing me and yanking me onto his lap, using me as a human shield when Virgil lifted his sketch pad threateningly.

“I’m so glad I married such a brave rescuer,” I deadpanned as John continued to hide behind me. "My hero."

“I was driving him back from the dentist and he was still a little out of it from the sedation they had given him,” Scott took up the tale.

“I’m just not a big fan of the dentist, OK?” Virgil defended himself. "They have to sedate me."

“His gums were still bleeding and he’d spat the gauze out within a minute of getting out of there,” John continued, ducking back behind me when Virgil glared at him.

“They’re going to tell it anyway,” I told him, “so why don’t you do it instead?”

Virgil nodded, seeing the wiseness in my words.

“My gums were bleeding but I didn’t know what to do with it all, I didn’t want to swallow it and to be honest, I was still pretty woozy, so I just kinda let the blood collect in my mouth.”

“Aww, that must have sucked, babe, I’m sorry.”

He nodded at me in thanks for my sympathy, something he was NOT getting from his brothers.

“We stopped at some lights and by that point my mouth was getting pretty full-”

“He was drooling like Alan at nap time,” Scott butted in.

“Did you not give him a tissue or something?”

“No, he was evil.”

“I was driving and I don’t carry things like that on me as standard,” Scott argued.

“I’ll pick you up if anything like that happens again,” I promised the big guy. “For girls our cars are like an extension of our house or our handbags, there's tissues, lip balms, snacks, bottles of water, everything.”

“Thank you,” Virgil sniffed, casting Scott a smug look, knowing I was firmly on his side.

“So, how is this vampire related?” I had to ask, I mean, I was sympathetic but I was also nosey as hell.

“I wound down the window as we stopped at the light,” Virgil continued. “And I...well, I was still a bit muddled…”

“He opened his mouth and all this blood came oozing out, it just dribbled everywhere,” Scott  practically yelled, bursting out laughing.

“Why are you laughing, you evil thing?”

“Because,” John piped up from behind the shelter of my person, “the car next to Scott’s was Mrs Beddleman’s. Virgil, recognising her, breaks out into this wide, goofy and completely bloody, smile.”

“She looked absolutely horrified and even though she wasn’t going that direction she turned right to get away from us. She was a very religious lady and she took to wearing a cross to school for the rest of the year until I left her class.”

“And she moved his seat to one beside the window,” Scott howled, doubled over laughing.

I bit my lip, trying very hard not to laugh.

“It’s OK,” Virgil sighed, “you can laugh.”

“I don’t want to,” I told him as seriously as I could. “But I really don’t think I can help it.”

I made the fatal mistake then, I glanced at Scott who was at the point of silently laughing, his body shaking and I cracked.

“It’s not like I’m the only one that had bad anesthesia reactions,” Virgil said slyly and I snapped to attention.

“Are you not?” 

“Nope,” he shook his head, grinning now. “We’ve all had broken bones and hospital stays over the years.”

“Oh, oh, tell me a Scott one!”

“He had an appendectomy when he was twenty. He was taken in for day surgery and when he woke up he was completely coherent,” Virgil started.

“He was?” Knocked out Scott had to be different to sedated Scott, because sedated Scott was hilarious and very snuggly. 

“What can I say, I have a strong constitution,” Scott preened.

“He’s lying,” Virgil continued. “He was talking normally, answering questions and the doctor said he was doing great and could go. He was starving, hadn't eaten since the night before and he insisted that the only thing he would eat was Chinese food, and it had to be a buffet, nothing else would do."

"I mean, he's not wrong, there is nothing like a good Chinese," I agreed. 

"Well, it appeared that he hadn't been as recovered as we thought he was."

"What happened?" 

"I came round from the anesthesia sitting in the restaurant and as far as I knew I'd just gone under in the operating room and I'd woken up with a plate of chicken teriyaki on a stick in front of me."

John sniggered, muffling his laughter against my shoulder.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing,” Scott huffed. “Have you forgotten about when you had your tonsillectomy?” 

“That was not my fault,” John mumbled, clearly regretting his previous amusement.

“Oh gods, what did you do?” I asked him, turning my head to look at him over my shoulder.

“Nothing! I was just talking to the anesthesiologist.”

“The anesthesiologist was new to the hospital so hadn’t met any of us before,” Virgil started.

“Do I take it that you all had frequent user passes? Like buy ten ops and get the eleventh free?” 

“Pretty much,” Scott shrugged, unashamed of just how bad that sounded. “So John’s there, being himself, talking to the surgeon and anesthesiologist about the operation and what they were planning, how long it would take, telling them what they needed to do, that sort of thing-”

“I like to know what to expect,” John defended himself.

“Swot,” Gordon teased, coming in at the tail end of John’s mini rant, Alan trailing along behind him.

“It’s not a bad thing to want to go into a situation with full knowledge of it. Research and a game plan are only sensible. How do you expect to get good at something if you don’t know the mechanics behind it?” He glanced around at his brothers who looked less than convinced. “You know you’ve all been grateful for my expertise more than once.”

“I know I have,” I agreed, ignoring the raised eyebrows that came my way. Let them think dirty things, that was their problem. I received a small kiss to the side of my neck thanks for my support so I’m not going to complain.

“So, what were you guys talking about?” Gordon asked, flopping down on the couch beside Virgil.

“They were sharing with me their tales of woe under the effects of anesthesia and sedation,” I informed him.

“Oh, yes, we’ve all got those,” Gordon agreed. “Which one was John telling?”

“The time when he had his tonsils removed,” Scott helpfully supplied.

“I don’t remember it,” Gordon frowned.

“Neither do I,” Alan added.

“He was talking to the anesthetist, we got that far,” I said.

“He was talking to him as they were asking him to count down from a hundred,” Virgil continued.

“I only remember getting to ninety-one,” John told me.

“We were outside in the relatives room, waiting for him to be taken to recovery,” Scott took up the tale. “We had only been in there about fifteen minutes when the anesthesiologist and a nurse came out looking like they had seen a ghost.”

“Dad stepped up and demanded to know what the problem was and if John was OK,” Virgil said. “It turned out that John had been far more coherent than he remembered and hadn’t stopped counting at ninety-one.”

“He’d gotten to sixty-two but when he reached eighty-nine he’d apparently switched to fluent Japanese, and then started talking about a wakizashi, that and asking them about their day.”

“A what now?” 

“A small, fourteenth century Japanese sword,” John supplied.

“The anesthesiologist was actually Japanese and he had apparently called three of his peers in the ten minutes that John had been under to ask how it was possible that this Caucasian, american teenager was suddenly speaking in fluent Japanese under the influence or anesthesia.”

“It took Dad a good five minutes of solid laughter to finally tell them that they hadn’t broken John or damaged his brain in any way, he was actually fluent already,” Scott laughed.

“Apparently he gave them the biggest scare they had ever had in more than twenty years,” Virgil finished.

“I was obviously being considerate and had thought that it was more polite to talk to him in his own language rather than English,” John sniffed, crossing his arms around my waist. “I don’t see what the big deal was.”

“I’m just impressed that you were speaking it fluently at all,” I said, earning a gentle finger flick as punishment for ever doubting him. “I meant that I can only speak three languages fluently, English, bad English and Sarcasm, so anyone that can do anything else is just amazing to me,” I quickly defended myself.

“Sarcasm is your native tongue,” John mumbled. I ignored him.

“He’s mostly self taught too,” Scott added, showing that, despite how much time they all spend teasing each other, they are always proud of their siblings.

“I used to watch a lot of foreign films and TV shows to pick up the pronunciation and read a lot of graphic novels and translated books to learn how to read and write,” John elaborated. “It’s a very effective way to learn and I apparently have a gift for languages.”

“As well as many other things,” I added to be nice. “Any other stories I need to know?”

“When Gordon was having one of his back surgeries they told him that they had to strap him down and when he asked why they told him it was so he wouldn’t fall off the table and he said ‘It’s OK, five second rule’,” Scott told me.

“‘Cause I'm a snacc,” Gordon added with a grin. “Apparently I also woke up with a violent jolt and when I was asked if I was OK I apologised to the nurse and told her that I thought I was a shark.”

“You also started a joke with the nurse as you went under and finished it the moment you woke up with no prompting,” Virgil laughed.

I clapped enthusiastically for that one and Gordon bowed modestly.

“What about me?” Alan asked, finding the whole thing highly amusing.

“You’ve only been under once but you were hilarious in both the things you said,” John answered. “You apparently woke up screaming ‘Where are my wings?  I want my wings? You stole my feathers you jerk! You were only supposed to take my tonsils!’ and then passed right out again.”

Gordon cracked up laughing, as did everyone else including Alan.

“You then woke up again and asked how long until the anesthetic kicked in, and when the nurse told you it was all done and had actually been two hours you yelled in her face ‘WOAH, DID I JUST TIME TRAVEL?’” John finished.

“That’s so precious,” I cooed, because Alan is adorable in everything he does regardless of what it is.

“We have a lot of stories like that,” Virgil said, “we sometimes have to give pain relief or sedate someone who is freaking out and they do the weirdest stuff.” 

“They do? Is there some kind of hippocratic oath that you guys have to swear or can you tell me some?”

“No oath,”  they assured me. 

“One woman grabbed Virgil’s hand, stuck her fingers up in his sleeve, stroked his arm and said ‘You’d make a great carpet’,” Gordon told me.

“It’s not uncommon for people to feel stressed and unsure of where they are,” Scott continued, “they often wake up screaming or panicking, but we delivered one guy to the hospital who’d had a pretty nasty bang to the head and broken an arm. We were unable to calm him down so we had to sedate him so he wouldn’t do any more damage. He woke up as we were transferring him to the hospital gurney and he hopped off before we could catch him, pulled his pants down with his good arm and started to helicopter right there outside the hospital.”

That broke me, I’m sorry to say. I might proclaim to be far more mature than these idiots and not find fart jokes and the like amusing, but the mental image of this guy, standing there, twirling...I just couldn’t stop.

“One girl asked us if we were single and we didn’t answer and deflected by asking her if she had a boyfriend or girlfriend and she started crying that she just wanted a dog.”

“Remember that young boy who meowed the entire way to the hospital?” 

“And that one lady that was really nervous so we told her to think of something nice and she started singing ‘I wish you a merry Christmas,’ but it was July!”

“And the one that said she wanted us to drop her off at the top of a rainbow so she could slide down it?”

“And the guy that woke up when we landed, looked right at Kayo and said as loudly as he could ‘Look! The love of my life! Don’t leave me, I can change!’”

“And that one guy who knocked out a few teeth and spat out the gauze we packed his mouth with and started freaking out crying ‘was that my liver? Nooo, my liver! I need that! Get back in you!’”

“A woman lost a couple of teeth too and was crying about being ugly. We gave her some pain relief and she was so hazy that, when we handed her over to the doctor and gave him her teeth she started screaming at him... what was it she said, John? You heard it over the comms and were laughing so hard.”

“She yelled, ‘Charlatan! I demand you return my teeth! They are mine and I will choose how they are to be spent!’”

I cracked up at that, mostly the way John told it, which I assume was the same way she had, like a plummy Victorian aristocrat that had just been insulted.

“And that teen who said ‘hey, mister, my ass itches and I’m too high to scratch it.”

“Oh, that’s pure gold,” I laughed, wiping my eyes because I was laughing so hard.

“What about you?” Alan asked me. “Have you ever done anything weird?”

“Only every day of my life.”

“I meant under sedation.”

“Oh, yeah, not really,” I shrugged. “I know that when I had teeth out once, after napping on the couch for a few hours I suddenly sat up and announced that I needed to make Mum a cup of tea. She told me I didn’t need to but I said she was my guest and I had to be polite or she’d leave me alone to die. There was no arguing with me so I got up, went to the kitchen and came back and gave her a mug of cold water with a spoon in it. I apparently said ‘drink up, luv,’ like a really bad impression of Parker and face planted the couch and passed out again. Mum made her own tea after that.”

That got a fair few sniggers and Scott threatening to take away my British card for screwing up tea so badly.

“I have to ask,” I said conspiratorially once everyone had calmed down, “has Kayo ever done anything like this?”

They all looked around, as if scared that she might be listening, then eventually Virgil nodded.

“She came round from her knee surgery after she dislocated it and insisted on trying to get out of bed. The nurse told her she had to stay put as they had just fixed her knee and it needed time to heal. She answered in the most confident, how dare you try to stop me way and informed the nurse that she was a ninja and that they heal three times faster than normal people. The nurse let her try and she dropped face first.”

Honestly, out of all the stories I’ve heard today, that one was the best. It’s nice to know that even the most capable and sometimes terrifying of us isn’t always perfect.

[dr-gloom]

A Post About Top Surgery From Someone Who’s Currently Recovering

Yo! I’m gonna make a Trans Survival Guide sometime soon but until then I’ve had some stuff on my mind I wanted to get out here for anyone thinking about/waiting for top surgery. I’ll try to keep it reader-friendly cause i totally understand how hard it can be to read large blocks of text

So, here we go.

Pre-Op

You’ll be asked to not drink or smoke for anywhere from a month to 2 weeks prior to surgery, depending on your surgeon’s preference.

They ask that you only use Tylenol if you need to take pain meds as ibuprofen is a blood thinner and can lead to surgical complications.

If you take vitamins or supplements of any kind, get it cleared with your surgeon or stop taking them as well.

You are absolutely allowed to ask a surgeon how many surgeries they’ve done, their success-to-revision rate, their style if they haven’t already told you, and anything else. 

You won’t offend them, and even if you do, making sure you’re going with the surgery you want is waaaay more important. Put your health and your chest above their feelings.

You’re also allowed to meet up with other surgeons to make sure you’re making the best choice. Consider this “shopping”. Just because you met a surgeon, doesn’t mean you have to go with them.

The Surgery

The specific details may vary, but from my own experience, this is how it goes. 

You’re given a time to check in, then you’re called in from the waiting room to go into Pre-Op. 

For me, this meant chillin for a couple hours under a heated blanket, IV in my arm and heart monitor on my finger. 

Until you’re taken into surgery, a lot of nothing happens, and the everything happens. You meet your surgeon so he can draw on you. You meet the anesthesiology team and presiding nurses etc. 

You can absolutely ask them any question you have, express any anxiety, no judgement. The more vocal you are, the more they can help you and by extension themselves. 

I told the anesthesiologist I’d never had surgery before so I was stressed about going under, and they put something in my IV to help me relax before I was wheeled into the OR. Then they put the mask thing over my mouth and I was out. 

You’ll be chillin naked under a hospital gown for a while lol. After you wake up, if it’s an outpatient procedure, they’ll keep you until they’re sure you’re stable - oriented, no vomiting, etc - before wheeling you out to go home. 

You’ll feel kind of slow, very tired, maybe loopy, and of course whatever you tend to feel from anesthesia. For anyone who’s never had surgery, affects range from nausea to coldness to sleepiness to Total Crap.

Incisions and Types of Surgery

There are of course the two main distinctions most people know: key-hole and double incision. What many don’t know is there are vast differences in surgeons’ styles when it comes to these. I’ve seen double incisions shaped like

smiles

a straight line across the chest

two straight lines

two slightly curved lines

incisions that meet in the middle (as mine did, but only to avoid “dog ears”)

incisions that follow the pectoral muscle

This doesn’t even include botched stitching

If you can, ask to see pictures. They may or may not be allowed to show you; if they have a prior patient’s permission, they can.

Just to cover my bases: key-hole is a small incision made near the nipple which can only really be done for those with small breasts (A cups or smaller ((apparently there are smaller ones???))). 

I still recommend double incision, because you have better results and are less likely to have excess skin. The only drawback is the scarring but I believe it’s worth it.

Pain and Pain Management

Typically, from my understanding, top surgeries are outpatient surgeries if you have to travel to get to your surgeon. 

This is cause they want you numb while you’re travelling back home. 

Of course, I’m speaking as someone from Sacramento who had to travel to San Francisco to see a top surgeon so of course you should check with your surgeon about these specifics.

You’ll get prescription meds. If you stay within the guidelines set for you on the dosage label, you won’t get addicted, so don’t put yourself through pain just cause you’re scared of addiction, trust me.  

It is completely possible and probable for you to swell if you don’t have drains. 

Your chest will feel swollen, maybe spongey ((BUT STOP TOUCHING IT)) and that’s normal. 

If the skin feels heated, you get a fever, you have a hard time breathing, it’s tender to the touch (more than it should be), or makes liquid sounds, CALL YOUR SURGEON/RN.

For me, it was like this:

The first day wasn’t too bad, neither was the second day. The third and fourth hurt the worst, but the pain you feel after the first check-up is different and worse. 

You get the gauze taken off your nipples, whatever compression device they have you use is taken off for the first time and you’re moving skin for the first time in at least a week. It hurts. 

It goes from “bad bruise” pain to “oh shit my chest was cut” pain. If you’ve got a little meat on your bones and your skin tends to fold a little, that can cause irritation too. It sucks.

After about Week 2, you can switch from prescription meds to Tylenol, but not Ibuprofen just to be safe.

Surgery Aftercare

Range of Motion:

They’ll tell you not to raise your hands above your head. 

They’ll say no heavy lifting or working out. 

You absolutely cannot use your arms to sit up. 

You should not go your full reach without doctor approval. 

Try to avoid reaching out to the side or behind you. 

Bending over is also something you wanna avoid cause as your midsection bunches up it can rub/crease your incisions and that hurts.

Ideal Outfit/Clothes:

Honestly if you can avoid wearing anything but underwear and the compression garment, go for it. 

If you can’t, button-ups or tank tops with big arm holes are your best friend. 

For the first few days at least have someone else help you dress. 

I’d suggest loose, non-button/zipper pants such as sweats or gym shorts.

 No shoes with laces/velcro since you can’t bend over - sandals/flipflops are best.

Medications:

As mentioned earlier, you’ll be given prescription pain meds. Take them as prescribed and you’ll be fine. 

If you feel any of the negative side effects like hives or fever or nausea, absolutely stop taking them and contact your doctor. 

You’ll also likely be given antibiotics to prevent infection. Take ALL OF THEM, as prescribed. 

Depending on how you react to anesthesia and who your surgeon is, you may also be given stool softener. 

Bottom line: take ALL of your meds AS DIRECTED. These people know what they’re doing.

If you’re doing everything safe and nothing has set you back, typically you’re good to drive around 3 weeks after, workout lightly about 4 or 5 weeks after, and everything else about 6-8 weeks after.

*****This post was made from things I have learned and my own current experience. If I haven’t mentioned something it’s because I don’t know about it and I’d prefer you have to find information elsewhere than risk spreading false information******

[wavesmp3]

i’m so terrible at remembering to do tag games so here i am compiling all the ones i can remember into one post jsbgkakn

i was taggged to do these by @secndlife​ @queenoats​ (tecnically on my main but shh) @chocosvt​ @tidalstorm​ @oh-my-vocal-unit​

and if anyone wants to do any of these you can just say i tagged you 

this one i was tagged by karol and choco i think

rules: bold all statements that apply to you

[Appearance]: I’m over 5′5”. I wear glasses/contacts. I have blonde hair. I prefer loose clothing to tight clothing. I have one or more piercings. I have at least one tattoo. I have blue/green eyes. I have dyed or highlighted my hair. I have gotten plastic surgery. I have or had braces. I sunburn easily. I have freckles. I paint my nails. I typically wear makeup. I don’t often smile (well maybe i do actually idk). I am pleased with how I look. I prefer Nike to Adidas. I wear baseball hats backwards.

[Relationship]: I am in a relationship. I have been single for over a year. I may have a crush. I have a best friend I have known for ten years. My parents are together. I have dated my best friend. I am adopted. My crush has confessed to me. I have a long distance relationship. I am an only child. I give advice to my friends. I have made an online friend. I met up with someone I have met online.

[Hobbies/talents]: I play a sport. I can play an instrument. I am artistic. I know more than one language. I have won a trophy in some sort of competition. I can cook or bake without a recipe. I know how to swim. I enjoy writing. I can do origami. I prefer movies to tv shows. I can execute a perfect somersault. I enjoy singing. I could survive in the wild on my own. I have read a new book series this year. I enjoy spending time with friends. I travel during school or work breaks. I can do a handstand.

[Aesthetics]: I have heard the ocean in a conch shell. I have watched the sunrise. I enjoy rainy days. I have slept under the stars. I meditate outside. The sound of chirping calms me. I enjoy the smell of the beach. I know what snow tastes like. I listen to music to fall asleep. I enjoy thunderstorms. I enjoy cloud watching. I have attended a bonfire. I pay close attention to colours. I find mystery in the ocean. I enjoy hiking on nature paths. Autumn is my favourite season. I enjoy gazing into the forest canopy.

[Miscellaneous]: I can fall asleep in a moving vehicle. I am the mom friend. I live by a certain quote. I like the smell of sharpies. I am involved in extracurricular activities. I enjoy Mexican food. I can drive a stick-shift. I believe in true love. I make up scenarios to fall asleep. I sing in the shower. I wish I lived in a video game. I have a canopy above my bed. I am multiracial. I am a redhead. I own at least three dogs. I am most calm in nature.

this one i was taggged by eros

real me vs fantasy me (i had to use a diff template for real me cause i couldn’t figure out how to make that one look like me so yeah also lets ignore the fact that ‘fantasy me’ is just a whole other person,, also i added the mask because i’m so bad at making things look like me, but i feel like the ‘real’ me is relatively accurate)

i was tagged by liz 

to list ten songs i really like all by different artists 

1. smiling at phone // tobi lou 2. sleeping lessons // the shins 3. can i call you tonight // dayglow 4. affection // between friends 5. violet // peach tree rascals 6. summer // brockhampton 7. dominic’s interlude // dominic fike  8. godspeed // frank ocean  9. maar dala // from the movie Devdas 10. 3005 // childish gambino

i was tagged by eros to do this one 

Rules: bold the statements that apply to you, italicize your aspirations, then tag nine people

Air

i have small hands / i love the night sky / i watch small animals and birds when i pass them by / i drink herbal tea / i wake to see dawn / the smell of dust is comforting / i’m valued for being wise / i prefer books to music / i meditate / i find joy in learning new truths from the world around me

Fire

i don’t have straight hair / i like to wear ripped jeans and overalls / i play an organized sport / i love dogs / i am not afraid of adventure / i love to talk to strangers / i always try new foods / i enjoy road trips / summer is my favourite season / my radio is always playing.

Water

i wear bracelets on my wrists / i love the bustle of the city / i have more than one set of piercings / i read poetry / i love the sound of a thunderstorm / i want to travel the world / i sleep *til* midday most days / i love dimly lit diners and fluorescent signs / i rewatch kids’ shows out of nostalgia/ i see emotions in colors not words .

Earth

i wear glasses or contacts / i enjoy doing the laundry / i am a vegetarian or vegan / i have an excellent sense of time / my humor is very cheerful / i am a valued advisor to my friends / i believe in true love / i love the chill of mountain air / i’m always listening to music / i am highly trusted by the people in my life.

Aether

i go without makeup in my daily life / i make my own artwork / i keep on track of my tasks and time / I always know true north / i see beauty in everything / i can always smell flowers / i smile at everyone i pass by / i always fear history repeating itself / i have recovered from a mental disorder / i can love unconditionally.

also tagged by eros for this one, i feel like i might’ve done but i can’t remember so i’ll just do it again 

name: shawna height: like really short either 5 ft or a little under, i think that’s like 150ish cm  languages: english, malayalam (ish), and spanish (ish) nationality: american favorite season: fall favorite flower: peonies favorite scent: jasmine favorite color: i guess a good purple, either a light lavender or a dark royal purple favorite animal: sloths! favorite fictional character: april ludgate and  coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: don’t make me choose dogs or cats: can i say neither :/ average hours of sleep: anywhere between 7-10 hrs no. of blankets i sleep with: just one dream trip: italy! (mainly for the food but shh) blog established: i think a little over two years now  followers: one, it’s me  random fact: idk i suck at getting to tag games lol

and this one i was tagged by choco probably back in like april or march its been literal months 

i think thats all hopefully but i probably missed some cause my notifs stopped letting me scroll down so yeah XD okay i apologize that i’m so crap at remembering to do tag games

[adoredontour]

every fic that left a lasting impression with me this year. sorted in order of when i read them!! 

buckle up lads, it’s a long one

nicotine by krisstylinson 32k

"We're two different types of people, Liam. He likes sex and drugs, I like theater and tea. Trust me, we'd never date." Except they would, they do, and neither of them plans on letting go anytime soon.

"Just because you can get me hard doesn't mean I like you," Louis whispered. The fact was, he didn't like Harry right now, not at all. Not even a bit.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry murmured, his breath fanning over Louis' cock as he spoke. "You done telling me how much you hate me so I can suck you off?"

like candy in my veins by littlelouishiccups 31k @littlelouishiccups

Basically the A/B/O, enemies to lovers, fake relationship, Christmas AU that nobody asked for

worth dying for by whoknows

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. In the center of the table, a set of three glossy photos stares up at him, mocking him.

“A security detail is non-negotiable, Louis, you know this,” his mum reminds him, tapping the middle photo with two fingers.

Louis doesn’t look back down at the pictures, gesturing towards them wildly, over-dramatically. “This is not a security detail!” he protests. “This is a lanky college student. In what world do you hire someone like this kid to protect me?”

damn your love, damn your lies by ifthat

“Of course you’d use your free time to go to the gym.”

“Your idea of the best way to spend your free time is annoying your neighbors,” he laughs, dimples carved into his cheeks like marble.

No, Louis likes to annoy Harry. Everyone else on this floor is just an unfortunate casualty.

“No one has complained except for you,” Louis informs him smartly. Which is actually a good thing. If someone other than Harry had complained to him long ago, he would have unfortunately had to stop.

you came into my life by disgruntledkittenface @disgruntledkittenface

When the Queer Eye cast and crew sweep into Louis’ small town and fire station to make over his best friend and coworker Liam, Louis’ carefully constructed walls start to fall down and he has to face his fears – and the only guy he’s ever been able to see a future with.

a thousand miles from comfort by littlelouishiccups 

In which Louis is a closeted gay actor and a recovering addict with a troubled past. Harry is the personal trainer who helps him get his life back in shape.

smaller than me by checkthemargins 

Harry's just finished his first year of uni on his way to becoming Dr. Harry Styles, Neurosurgeon. He's young, he has endless potential, three amazing best mates, a new love and the world at his fingertips. The fact that his new boyfriend may or may not be a sex-worker, of course, throws a wrench into the works. But it's not true. Really.

Probably.

It most definitely might not be entirely true. And that's all Harry needs to know.

escapade (i was late to the game shut up) by dolce_piccante

In the grand scheme of things, finding a date for a wedding should be no problem for Louis Tomlinson. He's rich. He's handsome. He's reasonably well behaved. But when the wedding is for his lifelong best friend (and former boyfriend), and is happening in under a month, finding a date for the ceremony and accompanying festivities becomes more of an adventure than he ever could have planned for.

soft hands, fast feet, can’t lose by dolce_piccante

American Uni AU. Harry Styles is a frat boy football star from the wealthy Styles Family athletic dynasty. A celebrity among football fans, he knows how to play, he knows how to party, and he knows how to fuck (all of which is well known among his legion of admirers).

Louis Tomlinson is a student and an athlete, but his similarities to Harry end there. Intelligent, focused, independent, and completely uninterested in Harry’s charms, Louis is an anomaly in a world ruled by football.

A bet about the pair, who might be more similar than they originally thought, brings them together. Shakespeare, ballet, Disney, football, library chats, running, accidental spooning, Daredevil and Domino’s Pizza all blend into one big friendship Frappucino, but who will win in the end?

oh glory by alivingfire @alivingfire

Harry Styles is Team Great Britain's newest swimmer, and has spent his whole life training for this moment, a chance at the gold medal in the Rio 2016 Olympics. All his training, hard work, and dedication to no distractions is tested when he's assigned to the same Rio apartment as Louis Tomlinson, British gymnast and Harry's childhood crush.

it’s all brand new because of you by supernope

AKA, Louis starts a new job as a summer camp counselor at the local aquarium and Harry is a biologist who really likes teaching people about the ocean.

this wicked game by cherrystreet @cherrystreet

An AU in which The Bachelor is gay, Louis is a contestant, Harry is the bachelor, everyone drinks a lot of champagne, the entire world gets to watch them fall in love, and no one plays by the rules.

do not go gentle by afirethatcannotdie @afirethatcannotdie

When Harry Styles starts his first day as a surgical intern, he expects a lot of things: to treat patients, to observe a surgery, to feel a bit overwhelmed. What he definitely doesn't expect, however, is that the handsome guy he kicked out of his bed this morning is also an intern.

A Grey’s Anatomy AU where tensions are high, Harry and Louis are hooking up in secret, and no one has time for love. Or do they?

to brim with fright by hereforlou @hereforlou

The only reason he’s here is because it’s tradition. And also, Harry said it’d be fun to make Liam wet himself in fear and Louis agreed. It’ll be hilarious. He’s not an insecure new transfer anymore, thank you very much. It took him no more than a week to insert himself into a group, to get invited to his first party, and to start crushing on someone—he’s not what anyone would call socially impaired. He doesn’t need validation.

have you coming back again by whoknows

It’s five o’clock in the morning. Louis has a lecture at half eight. He could be using this time to study or to do his readings or to go to the gym, but - well. He doesn’t have any exams coming up, he’s not going to his seminar today anyway and he hates the gym.

Instead he’s using this time to fuck with Harry Styles’ poor little brain.

Louis jogs across the street and jabs the key into the car door. It opens easily, not that he was expecting anything else. He copied the key for a reason, after all.

He’s got Harry’s schedule memorized, more because the guy keeps following him around than anything, so he doesn’t bother looking around before climbing behind the wheel and setting his bag on the passenger seat. It’s a Monday, which means that Harry doesn’t even get out of bed before noon unless he’s planning on harassing Louis.

i put a spell on you by bethaboo @bethaboolou

A BBC/Secret Santa mashup featuring Captain Niall, our intrepid weatherman/amateur matchmaker, rather clueless sports reporter Liam, charming political analyst Zayn, and cheeky entertainment reporter Louis. Harry is the new fashion correspondent who prefers to dress like a flamingo. And pining. There’s a lot of pining.

naked & proud by kiwikero 

In which Harry runs an organic store, not a nudist colony, and Louis doesn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

take me under the blue by objectlesson

Louis hasn’t even seen his legs yet. He doesn’t know how they work or how long they’ll be. Maybe they won’t suit the rest of Harry at all, and he’ll have to grow into them or something. It doesn’t matter; Louis has loved Harry for a year with scales, so he can’t imagine wonky legs putting a damper on his attraction.

He supposes he’ll just have to find out. In the meantime, he wonders how the fuck he got here, in his squelching wellies about to save the love of his life from the sea and take him to bed and bang him for the very first time.

It’s sort of a long story.

paint the sky with stars by kiwikero

the historically accurate Titanic AU with a happy ending.

truth be told i never was yours by justfortommo

(or the one where Louis and Harry have a complicated past, Louis is getting married to someone that’s not Harry, and the universe has decided to have a laugh and make Harry the wedding planner.) 

into the badlands

Louis is Q. Harry is a double-oh agent who thinks that making knock-knock jokes around foreign embassy delegates mid-mission is a good idea.

swim in the smoke by whoknows

“What about this, Captain?” Liam asks, nudging the boy kneeling between their feet with the toe of his boot. The boy hisses and swipes at him, slurring out something unintelligible around the makeshift gag Niall had to stuff in his mouth. He misses by a mile and tries again, just as ineffectively.

Harry looks down at him, at the way the sun streams over his face and shoulders, at the way the gag stretches his mouth, lips pink and chapped. He’s lithe and pretty, smudged all over with dirt. They had found him tied up below deck, mostly unconscious, next to a barrel full of gold. He’s clearly a prisoner, but there’s something familiar about him, something that niggles at Harry’s brain. Something he can’t quite put his finger on.

“Put him in my cabin,” Harry decides, turning back to deal with the rest of the loot. The boys screams out jumbled curse words at Harry’s back, muffled by the gag, and Harry can’t understand any of it.

resist everything except temptation by domesticharry @domestic-harry

The one where Louis is the commodore's son who is forced to become a part of Harry's crew when he is captured.

pray till i go blind by el_em_en_oh_pee 

Louis is (kind of) a preacher. Harry is (probably) a demon. Of course, nothing's as simple as that.

This is not a love story.

(your heartbeat) rang true inside my bones by flimsy @flimsi

Harry goes as Louis' date for a weekend wedding. He ends up taking the role a bit too seriously.

i love your demons (like devils can) by ariadne_odair

Harry didn’t plan to join the football team. She didn’t plan to sleep with the captain of the football team. She definitely didn’t plan to sleep with the closeted captain of the football team, who promptly acted as if nothing happened and left Harry a pathetic, pining mess.

alien roadtrip! by helloamhere @helloamhere

roadtrip with desert feelings, too much snack food, and empty motels. Harry is definitely absolutely not an alien. That would be ridiculous.

treat mothman with kindness by flowercrownfemme @lesbianiconharrystyles

In which Louis, Liam, Niall and Zayn are amateur cryptozoologists and Harry is the creature they find in the woods of a small north-western town. ft. lots of glitter and shrieking and a whole shed full of lesbian cats.

just me, you, and this box of matches by tomlinsunshine

Louis is fairly sure that his new neighbour is going to destroy him. And also their apartment building, and the dumpsters outside, and all the forests within a thirty mile radius. But. Mostly him.

close to nowhere by angelichl @angelichl

Louis and Harry are psychics who kind of hate each other. They go to Tennessee to investigate a haunting. 

magical soup by gloria_andrews

Slytherin prefect Louis Tomlinson's seventh year at Hogwarts takes an immediate turn for the worse when he's made to be potions partners with Harry Styles, Hufflepuff's resident heartthrob and class clown. Louis has always considered Styles to be a terrible show-off who coasts by on his charm and good looks, but the more they work together, the more he questions that idea. As term goes on, will Louis be able to admit to himself that he might actually like Harry Styles after all... and maybe, just maybe, as more than a friend?

sainted taints and velvet vices by toomanytears

A self-fulfilling Hogwarts AU in which Louis is new to seventh year and Harry is the resident devil-may-care Slytherin set to make his entire experience a living misery. Due to less than favourable circumstances they're forced to forge an unwilling, tentative relationship for their own survival. Repressed emotions, decidedly unromantic ballroom dancing, Triwizard Tournament tasks, creative jinxes and twilight flying above the Forbidden Forest ensue.

run like the devil by benzos

Supernatural AU. Louis hunts demons; Harry's the strangest demon he's ever met, and he keeps fucking meeting him.

be with me so happily by briamaria

[aka Louis is the director of the Styles Elephant Sanctuary and really doesn't want to babysit his funder's spoiled lay-about son for two months]

come together by bottomlinsons @bottomlinsons

Harry and Louis slept together three weeks ago, and haven't talked.

Their coming group project is gonna change that.

what this world is about by isntrio @bloubird

An eighties American high school AU; there are first times, football games, and feelings.

Alternatively titled: the beginning.

once upon a dream by thedeathchamber

Louis is psychic and gets caught in the middle of a murder investigation led by FBI Special Agent Harry Styles.

aka. the Medium/Criminal Minds-inspired AU no one ever asked for.

led by your beating heart by missandrogyny @missandrogyny

(Or: AU where Harry's in One Direction, Louis isn't, and they reconnect over a game of 'Call or Delete'.)

forever and always by jacaranda_bloom @jacaranda-bloom (again, thank you!!!!!!!)

OR the one where Harry’s neighbour is a crotchety old witch who hates vampires, Niall is the unsuspecting human who ends up inhabiting Harry’s body, and Louis is the caseworker who is assigned to swap them back. How it ends up a love story is anyone’s guess.

sail your sea, meet your storm by kiwikero

The strangers to enemies to friends to pining to lovers fic where Louis is cynical, Harry is charming, and they have seven days to get their shit together.

tangled up in you by missandrogyny

Harry blinks once. And blinks again. And says, his voice dangerous: “Niall, did you get me a mail-order bride?”

Because what the actual fuck. It kind of looks like Niall’s just purchased a person. For Harry.

Niall blinks back at him for a few moments, before throwing his head back and howling with laughter. Harry throws a pillow at him. Hard. “No, what the fuck, Harry.”

“A prostitute then?” Harry also doesn't want a prostitute.

“Of course not!”

“A stripper?”

“No!”

Damn, he’s running out of ideas. He settles for launching another pillow at Niall’s head. Niall bats it away easily, still laughing. “Stop!”

“What did you get me, then?!” Niall must hear the tinge of hysteria in his voice, because he’s pulling himself together, trying to stop himself from laughing.

There’s still a big grin on his face, though, when he says, “I got you a professional cuddler.”

A professional…what. “What?”

i’d burn this city down to show you the light by you_explode 

Harry's a sheltered rich kid and Louis's a punk with a heart of gold. They meet when Louis breaks into Harry's house, Harry obtains an instant and all-encompassing crush, and they spend the summer falling into a whirlwind romance.

sail your sea, meet your storm by kiwikero

Louis is thirty, single, and a bit of a workaholic. He's happy with his life, but then his mother decides to buy him tickets for a Singles Cruise. Appalled that his family thinks he can't handle his own love life, he steps aboard the ship determined to have a terrible time.

That is, of course, until a persistent brunet keeps offering him drinks.

The strangers to enemies to friends to pining to lovers fic where Louis is cynical, Harry is charming, and they have seven days to get their shit together.

bring out feelings in me i never show

“I really think you should stop reading,” Liam says, having moved to hover behind Louis’ back at some point. “I can already see the cogs turning in your head, Louis, and I don’t like this.”

“Shut up,” Louis waves him off and continues reading.

I can do these things, at your request: openly hit on other female guests while you act like you don’t notice; start instigative discussions about politics and/or religion; propose to you in front of everyone; pretend to be really drunk as the evening goes on (sorry I don’t drink, but I used to); start an actual, physical fight with a family member, either inside or on the front lawn for all the neighbors to see.

remember you well by fondleeds @fondleeds

“Um,” Harry starts. He looks out of place. Louis can’t really believe he’s seeing Harry like this, so unsettled, so unlike himself. He holds out his hands. “Should we–. Should I, um. Did you wanna, like, cuff me to the bed or something?”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “I don’t know. Do I need to?”

i love you most by stylinsoncity

friends with benefits has always been enough for louis. until, of course, it isn't.

ready to fall by whoknows

“Ninety and rising,” Nick says triumphantly, as though making Harry’s heartbeat pick up by thrusting an obscenely attractive person in front of his face is any kind of success. “Louis Tomlinson has just walked into our control room and suddenly our dear Harry Styles has lost all ability to speak. Could this be some kind of strange coincidence?”

“I hate you,” Harry hisses, forcing his eyes back into Nick’s direction, uncaring that the mic must have picked it up. “I thought we agreed that you were going to play fair.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nick denies, except he’s holding up a picture of Louis’ face now, sharp cheekbones prominent, soft lashes nearly sweeping against his cheeks as he looks down, and his fucking mouth –

“A hundred and two!” Nick crows, all but clapping his hands together in glee. “The highest it’s ever been!”

“To be fair, I did bend over the desk on purpose,” Louis’ voice comes crackling in the headphones. Harry practically breaks his neck whipping his head around at the sound of it, gaping at him through the glass panel. “You can’t really blame him for getting a little excited about that, can you?”