#I hate daily meds and I hate going to the doctor and I hate that my tummie hurtie

[kakusu-shipping]

Eepy and overwhelmed with choice

[seelestia]

— thoughts of saccharine.

two cubes of sugar for each daydream.

#STARRING: wanderer, kaveh, alhaitham, cyno, tighnari, wanderer w/ gn!reader.

#GENRE: fluff, crack-ish but that's just how i write fluff, headcanons/hcs.

#NOTES: mentions of kisses, one implied injury but nothing graphic, cyno's reader isn't a qualified doctor (sorry to the med students).

#THOUGHTS: comically enough, i spent more time on the formatting than the writing itself. maybe i'll play around with them more often? anywho, here is a little smth before fontaine and while i work on other stuff per usual! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

© seelestia on tumblr, aug 2023. do not repost to other sites, plagiarize, translate nor claim as your own.

thinking about . . . how wanderer says he 'could care less' about what you do or where you go, always averting his gaze with that disinterested look. it's true, he hates getting caught up in people's business but good riddance, why does he find himself sticking to your side? maybe, he finds your company tolerable (preferable) or that he might even possibly harbor worry for your safety. the wanderer doesn't have a definite answer to this and so, all he can do is insist that he is only here to make sure you don't do anything 'stupid' — yet, he stays so close to you that he could've reached out for your hand if he wished. right, if only pride wasn't an option.

thinking about . . . how wanderer drums his cold fingers on your bare skin while knowing that they are as cold as ice, for a puppet is bereft of humanly warmth, just to incite a reaction out of you. whether it be little yelps, flinches or frowns, he'll drink them all up with an amused snicker. "too cold?" he'd ask oh-so teasingly — but bring his hands up to your lips and press a kiss to them, then you'd see how his eyes dilate and his lips quiver. who's got the upper hand now? (you do, before he snatches his hand away flusteredly and calls you 'an impulsive fool', that is.)

thinking about . . . how you're the first person kaveh looks for when it comes to everything (literally). sorry, he can't help it; but if you think it's good, then it must be really good, right? his clothes today, menu suggestions, your opinion on a performance you saw at the bazaar together and more — but oh, his architecture drafts can be a different story because he gets pouty with those. (just give him a kiss and it'll wipe itself away, easy peasy?)

thinking about . . . how kaveh would set aside some mora with you in mind. when it comes to food or other expenses, he complains about them with no reservations — but your favorite dish? or the item you were eyeing the other day? knowing that you will tell him not to trouble himself, he can only beg the traveler and paimon to keep quiet when he keeps stumbling into them when he's out buying a secret gift for you. seriously, why does this always happen to him? (huh, who would've thought that kaveh finally learnt a bit more about financial management thanks to you? "how surprising," a certain someone with gray hair and green clothes comments.)

thinking about . . . how instead of one, there are two mugs on alhaitham's kitchen table every morning. as an early bird, he knows that hydration is something much needed in the morning, so he always prepares two; one for his daily dose of caffeine and the other for your preferred drink. you never recalled asking him to do so — "and you didn't," he affirms, he just gradually incorporated it into his routine. alhaitham states it's for efficiency because he can handle sleepiness somewhat better than you (how offensive). but maybe, the way you always sleepily press a kiss to his cheek as thanks meant something too.

thinking about . . . how alhaitham lets out just the quietest sigh of relief when he realizes you're the one entering his office and not a colleague. for someone so diligent about work (he never claimed he is), he sure perks up when you visit him at work. ask him about it and alhaitham will say that he doesn't know what you're talking about — but the moment you go behind the desk and offer yourself for him to lean on, believe it or not, he melts into you so easily. (...just a little, though.)

thinking about . . . how cyno places his hood on your head when no one is around. you're not a hanger for hats, but he says that you're "cap-tivating" so it makes sense (please send help). regardless, the general does it as his own unique form of affection; he only ever takes off his head accessory around people he trusts and he thinks you look adorable with it on. not to mention, it also has his scent so he's technically marking you as his territory. relax, he's just joking. (or is he? just make a note to ask about his shampoo next time... unless he's into that all-natural stuff.)

thinking about . . . how as a general, cyno is used to speaking in a clear and precise tone with his subordinates and co-workers. but when he's here, sitting beside you while your nimble fingers make light work of bandaging his arm, his lips can't part themselves to say anything else besides a "sorry" mumbled with a pang of guilt. you tell him it's alright as long as he comes home to you at the end of the day and he refuses to be treated by anyone else ever since. ("sir, but they're not a qualified doctor." "...your point is?")

thinking about . . . how tighnari's tail always seems to have a mind of its very own; curling around your leg or wrist almost idly, almost as if it's just second nature when you're near enough to be reached. you have a suspicion that he's trying to communicate an unspoken wish — but ask tighnari about it and he'll say it just does that sometimes. you're pleasantly shocked he didn't ask if you sniffed any odd mushrooms that day (...you didn't, you think).

thinking about . . . how tighnari gives your head a little pat after you complete a task he gave (or didn't give) you. finished sweeping the floor? pat, pat. taught collei how to do her homework? pat, pat. oh, you rearranged the bookshelf when he complained about not having time for it last night? pat, pat, pat. at this point, you don't even know if he realizes he does this — but really, this is just a way to say that he's proud of you without being too overly mushy. no, it's not patronizing and no, he isn't going to admit that he has a soft spot for you in a professional setting. though, the way he'd pull back his hand at the speed of light when a ranger walks in on his patting you is a little funny.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ・・・・・・☆・・・・・・・⊰ ⊹ ─

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© written by @seelestia, 2033. do not copy, translate, repost to other sites nor claim as yours.

[whynot-tryit]

Angel of Small Death: Chapter 1

John Price x female! reader

Summary: Laswell convinces Price to hire a team medic. You spend your first day meeting each one of the men and you take an instant liking to the captain, and he does so too.

Word count: 5,528

Warnings: inaccurate medical stuff, mentions of blood, insomnia, body parts, body touching, lmk if there’s anything I should add.

----------------------------------------------------------

“John, in the past six months your team alone has made up almost forty percent of overall med bay visits. I’m not saying your team isn’t fit, I just think you should hire a team medic.” 

This isn’t the first time the idea has been brought up to Price during his and Laswell’s debriefings in his office. His hands run over his face, racking through his mutton chops before laying them down on his desk with a grunt of annoyance. “I know you guys can take care of yourselves on base and out there on the field but come on John, you guys need someone. You need someone to help you.��

Price wasn’t fond of asking for help but it was starting to get on his nerves with how much Laswell was bringing this up. “I already said no, Laswell.” His annoyance makes his words come out gruffier than usual. Laswell rolls her eyes and rests her back against the chair posted on the other side of his desk. “How about I choose for you? If you hate them then you’ll never hear me talk about it again.” 

The sigh that rolls through Price’s chest is the only sound that radiates through the small room for a couple seconds. He hasn’t had the time to finish the mountain of paperwork on his desk along with the daily training regime for the team, along with all the meetings he’s been dragging his feet to day in and day out. Maybe some help would be nice. Did that mean he was unfit in his role? His eyes come up from the papers on his desk to Laswell’s. Her eyes seem to read his mind and her eyes get softer trying to voice her thoughts.

He was good at his job, getting help wouldn’t be a bad thing, he deserved it. The bags under his eyes and stiff shoulders were a tell tale sign of how much he worked, an extra set of hands wouldn’t be the worst thing. 

“Fine. You pick ‘em.” 

..............................

You were an experienced medic, having been stationed in multiple locations, saved a multitude of civilians and soldiers. You were proud of your work. Moving around so much, feeling like you were being tugged in one direction to the other was getting quite exhausting. Once the rumor of a job opening as a team medic passed through your small base you hesitated for a small moment, you had no idea what team, where, but you knew it would be good to get some fresh air and maybe to have a new place to find stable ground for a foreseeable amount of time. It took months of rigorous interviews and paperwork but they chose you. Laswell, chose you. You had asked her why the captain of the team didn’t pick you, asking why they weren’t present for any of the interviews if you were going to be working with them. She had only hinted that they seemed to be a close friend of hers who needed the extra hand and didn’t have the time to pick someone themselves, so she was doing them a solid.

You had always liked the idea of helping someone, that's why the idea of being a medic, a doctor, was one you had had since you were a child. One that you worked very hard to make a reality, so the thought that whoever it was that you were going to work for really needed you made you even sounder in the idea of taking the new opportunity. 

Duffel bags are still packed and laying on the floor of your new living quarters, hands on your hips and eyes trailing around the four walls, all the way to the small bed and desk. This would have to do. Since the process of getting here had taken so long you wanted to jump right into introductions. You hadn’t heard a single thing about the team, 141. Cute name, you thought.

Unpacking and making the room somewhat livable for your needs was going to have to wait, changing into your scrubs and grabbing the four manilla folders you made your way to the medical wing on base. Laswell had helped you set up one on one meetings with the team so you could go over their medical files. Military medics, especially ones who didn’t work with the team directly and personally were always known to look over things and forget to file symptoms and problems properly so you wanted to make sure you went over some things. You wanted to do your job properly. 

First up was Kyle Garrick. 

As you walked towards the curtain which separated your little appointment room for your little meet and greets you noticed the feet underneath the small sliver of space made by the floor and the bottom of the curtain. He’s early, 15 minutes early to be exact. That earns a check in your book.

You take a deep breath to calm your nerves and reach out a hand to pull the curtain to the side and take a quick step inside before pulling it back to its place behind you. “You must be Kyle.”

“Yes ma’am.” 

You greet the soldier with a kind smile, moving to place the folders in your arm on the small side table in the corner before pulling out the rolling stool from underneath and taking a seat, scooting yourself a little closer to the cot located in the middle of the room, closer to Kyle who is seated right on top. 

“You don’t have to call me ma’am, makes me feel older than what I really am.” You say with a small chuckle. He doesn’t seem to be much older than you, a little younger than the other members in 141, you presume. Your eyes make their way from his eyes down to his shoulders, then to his arms, hands interlocked in his lap, all the way down to his legs and feet. “You can call me Gaz then, that's what everyone calls me around here anyway.” You file the nickname into the back of your mind. 

You splutter out a greeting, a more friend like one at least, your name and medic title. “I already went through your medical history and you seem to be pretty healthy or at least your file is a lot lighter than some I’ve seen.” You mentally flinch when you realize that it might come off as you think he’s inexperienced in his field, new to the military, although his age hints at him being quite the opposite. But Gaz smiles, “Means I’m good at my job. Don’t get hurt too often, at least I try not to.” Oh thank God, you think, he didn’t take it that way.

“Well then, I guess me and you are gonna get along just fine then.” You chuckle. “Is there anything you wanna tell me though? Anything like trouble sleeping? Appetite problems? Joint Pain? It doesn't seem like you’ve complained about anything, ever. At least according to your records.”

A deep hum can be heard coming from his chest as he seems to run through his own mind, trying to come up with anything he would deem reasonable enough to complain about, at least to a doctor. As he’s doing so you take note of his clothes, the medical wing is set up like most hospitals, AC blasting, it’s cold, sure, but not enough to be bundled up for. Your eyes focus on his shoes, more specifically his socks, they’re not the military issued kind. They seem to be wool socks, which is odd, not something you see that often. Maybe his feet get cold, at least to a level that he takes an extra precaution to keep them warm. 

While you’re finishing reeling in your thoughts after noticing your observation, Gaz finally finishes rummaging through his mind for anything to tell. “I don’t have anything I think is worth complaining to you, Doc. I mean if complaining about the food on base to you can actually change anything then that's about it.” A deep chuckle makes its way out of his throat. You smile.

“Can I see your fingers?”

The odd question makes Gaz raise a brow but he pulls his hands from his lap and lays them out to the space between you and him, palms up. You take a soft hold of his fingers, wrapping yours around them almost like you would grip onto a handle of something. They’re oddly cold. You take note of it in your mind and move his hand to be palm down so you can take a look at his fingernails, softly running your thumbs over them.

Gaz stays silent, watching you as you bring them level to your eyes as you take note of the very subtle vertical lines that run through his nails. You let a slight hum almost like an aha moment and Gaz is very confused. “What is it?” The question comes out with a slightly worried tone. 

“Do you get cold easily, Gaz?” 

“I don’t think I get any colder than the average guy, why?” 

You finally drop the hold you had on his hands and scoot to the desk, opening a drawer to quickly take a pair of gloves out and slip them on before scooting back to your previous position near him.

“You wear wool socks, which aren't really military issued so I’m guessing your feet get cold easily and your fingers too. Your fingernails also show symptoms of an iron deficiency. Is it alright if I check your eyes and gums?” You always try to explain the best way you can, talking slower than you normally would- trying to come off as understanding as possible. He gives you a nod of approval before shifting closer to the edge of the bed so you can do your little investigation. 

You take a hold of his face, placing your thumbs underneath his eyes before pulling down his water line to get a good look underneath. The spot is oddly void of red, a classic sign of anemia. You move on to do the same with his mouth, pulling on his bottom lip to look at his gums which are a pale pink- not the exact color that they should be.. 

Retracting your hands and pulling the gloves off you scoot to the manilla folder, pulling out a pen from your scrub pocket to jot some things down. “I think you’re anemic, an iron deficiency, nothing too serious since it doesn’t seem to affect your work but I’m gonna order a blood test to confirm and to see if it’s just a dietary issue or if you need a supplement to get you to normal.”

Gaz is kind of taken aback. He felt fine, or at least he thought he did. Sure, his feet and hands got cold but he had trekked through waist high levels of snow and water. The soldier thinks of how he gets winded when moving from one sparring match to the next. Was that what that was? “You got that because of my socks?” 

Shit, you’re good. 

---------------------

Next was Johnny MacTavish, or “soap” at least that's what the red mess -doctor handwriting, right next to his real name on his file read. You had stayed in the curtain enclosed room after Gaz had left, writing out a referral for the blood test you had mentioned when you heard the slight squeaking of boots on the shiny floors headed right your way before they stopped right on the other side of the curtain. You looked up right as they were pulled aside and a friendly face greeted you, and a mohawk- which surprised you. 

“You must be the new Doc, names Soap.” He greets you and steps inside, extending a hand to shake yours. You take it, giving him a light shake before introducing yourself and directing him to sit on the cot. Soap’s introduction didn’t seem rushed yet happened all before you could even stand up from your seat. It somehow exuded this confident aura off him, which somehow in your mind explains the haircut for you. 

“I see here that you're a demolition expert?” To be frank, when you had read that in his file while going over all the men’s information, and seen all his med bay visits you knew he would be the one that would take up most of your time. You had seen first hand the aftermath of the explosions his people have dealt with. On enemies and on your very own. The thought and images are quickly pushed to the back of your mind. 

“Yes ma’am.” He laughs, it's deeper and louder than Gaz’s. “You are the second person to call me ma’am today, please just call me anything else.” 

“My bad, Sorry, Doc.” He raises his hands in a mock surrender. “I’m guessing you also know that your file says that you frequently find yourself in the medical wing.” Soap winces, a hand coming to rub the back of the neck. “Yeah, sorry about that. Kind of comes with the job. But, hey! We’ve got you now, so no worries.” 

Yep, you had your work cut out for you on this one. “I guess you do, can’t wait to see what you get yourself into that I have to bandage you up for.” 

Soap enjoys your replies, the banter settles nice under his skin. His smile doesn’t seem to fade, maybe slightly but never fully gone. “I’m guessing that since you’ve been at this a couple years you know about the annual hearing tests you should be taking.” 

His smile drops instantly. “What.”

“You did know that all personnel that deal with explosives regularly are supposed to be given a hearing test once a year while for others it’s every 3, right?” 

A laugh bubbles up in your chest, past your rib cage right near your spine as you watch him gape at you- like he’s grappling to find the words that he clearly doesn’t have. “I’m pulling your leg, your file doesn’t have anything on them either so I'm guessing you never had them.” Soap lets out a sigh before shrugging, flashing you a sheepish smile. 

You chuckle, “Alright, I’m gonna have you do one for me and let's just hope to God you’re not deaf yet.” That earns a chuckle from him, again. He was a lot more talkative than Gaz yet around the same level of openness. Thank god it seems like you got a good team, no weirdos so far. 

“Can I ask you one thing, lass?” Your eyes dart up from your folder where you were jotting down your notes. “Yeah, of course.”

“How fast does hair that's been burned off, by let's say- an explosion- take to grow back?”

Oh boy.

………………………………..

It had taken a while to finish up with Soap, he had too many questions for his own good. But the interaction puts a smile on your face at the thought. Your next patient was already waiting outside, Soap greets him right on the other side of the curtain before he comes in.

“You must be Ghost.” 

You had heard of him before, small whispers of a skull masked man who never showed his face. To be honest with yourself, it wasn’t quite unfamiliar to have a soldier that preferred to cover their face most times, so the thought of it that wasn’t unsettling to you in the least. Even as his huge frame slips past the curtain before moving to the other side of the room, or at least to the other side of the bed. You suppress a frown, he’s purposely distancing himself from you- normal in his case, you try to tell yourself. There's a long moment of silence where you’re at least expecting him to somewhat introduce himself but it doesn’t come. Alright then.

You introduce yourself instead, trying to get rid of the silence. “Did you know that most of your files are almost completely redacted?” His eyes finally meet yours after making their way across the room. “Yeah, I know.” 

There's silence again, this isn’t gonna be easy.

Ever since you were a kid you had always been able to read people, their eyes, their hands, the way they walked. You look at his eyes and the skin around them, at least the small amount you could see through the baklava he wore. They move down to his neck and shoulders, they���re stiff- almost painfully so. Then onto his crossed arms. 

“So, how often do you get nightmares?”

Even Though you can’t see his face you know he’s surprised. “Excuse me?”

You give him a soft smile, “Your eyelids are kind of droopy, you have serious under eye bags, both indicative of an inadequate sleep schedule and your right shoulder is higher than your right even though you're standing straight which tells me you sleep on your side very often. It's actually an effect from what we call a sleeping soldier position. You lay on your side, one arm under your head and the other most likely holding onto some kind of weapon.”

He doesn’t answer straight away, it almost seems like he’s sizing you up. Trying to guess if you’re serious, if you’re being condescending in some way but Ghost can’t seem to find anything behind your eyes except kindness. It almost scares him more than what he was expecting. You know you're right, you’ve worked with dozens of cases of PTSD, diagnosing it and treating it. “What have you tried in order to help?” 

You almost think he’s not going to answer you, that he’s just going to storm out of the room and somehow you’d lose your job before you even got the chance to do anything about it.

 “I don't know how to fix it.” It’s a quiet, muttered reply. You almost miss it. 

Ghost feels like he’s out of his comfort zone, sure soldiers had nightmares and maybe he had had them when on a mission, sleeping just a few feet away from his teammates but you were new and somehow could see through him. “Does your captain know?” You hoped the answer was yes because then it meant you wouldn’t have to tell his superiors about his personal problems and you could just help him without anyone having to know and judge him which is what you guess is making him uneasy. “Price knows.” You nod- they seem to be the closest in age on the team so you guess they’ve known each other for at least a decent amount of time, knowing things about each other that only a close friend would. “Then I can help, I don’t have to tell the captain unless he asks and neither do you.” 

“No drugs.” Ghost had lost hope on ever truly resolving his problems when he lied awake at night thinking about it. Drugs would be written down, stored and used against him. He’ll be seen as an unstable soldier- a sick man. 

“I can do that.” You offer him a small smile, at least you’re getting somewhere- doing your job.

Soap might not be the one to worry about, you thought.

—----------------------

You let out a quiet sign to yourself, the back to back meetings have had you cramped inside the room for hours. The team seems to be a good one, funny and kind, thank god. The last meeting was with the captain. You were nervous even though he had hand picked the three men you had met earlier so he couldn’t be too far off in comparison. But the thought that you were going to be working with him and he hadn't been involved in choosing you was gnawing at you. If he hated you or thought he didn’t need you he could have your bags packed in an hour tops. You try to take a deep breath, he couldn’t be that mean- none of the boys seemed to warn you about him so that means he had to be nice or else they would complain about him somehow. 

The thoughts in your mind seem to be clouding your senses, you barely hear the steps coming towards the curtain and how they come to a halt right before the fabric is slowly pushed to the side. 

Still lost in your thoughts and sitting in the stool, it seems like you’ve been glued to the whole day at the desk that's been housing all the manilla folders, referrals, and notes you’ve been working with for hours on end- you don’t hear the steps get closer and the figure who they belong to standing just slightly past the threshold. Price knows he should probably make himself known, maybe clear his throat or rustle the curtains so you know he’s here. 

He plans to, or at least that's what he tells himself, he can’t help taking your form in, your back to him- legs crossed, seated, elbow resting on the desk, chin in your hand. He gulps, he hasn’t seen your face but somehow he knows that you’re beautiful. He would bet money on it without you even having to turn around. Surprisingly, it's the very gulp that makes him let out a small cough that finally has you turning your head to face him. A part of him wants to back out of the room and call Laswell, curse her out for this idea of hers but that thought seems to slip out of his mind as your eyes meet his. 

You’re quick to stand up, wiping your hands off on your thighs before reaching one out for a greeting. “Shit, so sorry. I didn’t even hear you come in. You must be the captain.” Price takes your hand but his eyes don’t leave your face- that smile that he can already feel is going to get him in a load of trouble and gives you his own. “It’s alright, love.” You try to hide the sharp inhale you seemed to have involuntarily made when the name hits your ears. 

His hands are calloused, not in a way that scratches you but feels sturdy, warm, somewhat comforting. The grasp he has of your hand lasts a little longer than what anyone would deem normal and you stutter out a soft command for him to take a seat on the cot. 

Price does as you say and lets go of your hand before taking a seat, interlocking his hands in his lap. You take the time to turn and rearrange your papers, trying to get your breathing under control, of course no one mentioned he's handsome. Fuck.

“I hope my men haven’t given you a hard time so far.” You finally turn around after hearing his voice, it matches his face- handsome, charming. “ No, they're nicer than I expected.” That makes Price raise a brow, questioning what you mean by that and you catch on. “Gaz doesn’t like talking so much, Ghost is an enigma of his own, and well soap is one hell of a character.” You chuckle while taking a seat on the stool once again and scooting over til you’re a few feet away from him.

To be completely honest, Price had almost forgotten about the deal he made with Laswell. She had come by to drop your file at his desk- for him to look over- but in reality, he had forgotten. He feels what he thinks is guilt eating at him in his chest. He had been adamant for so long on not needing a team medic, that they were a waste of time and money- yet here you were, nice, beautiful and he didn’t hate you one bit. 

“Well, Gaz is called Gaz for that very reason and well Simon is Simon, and soap- well he’s most likely the reason you’re here.” Soap had been the sole reason for 141’s increased med bay visits which is what had tipped off Laswell to initiate the month long debate of hiring someone. 

“I’m glad you did, it doesn’t seem like you guys have been keeping up with protocol.” 

“What do you mean, love?” Concern is laced into his words, the thought of his men not getting adequate help makes the knot in his chest grow tighter. 

“I’m having Gaz checked for anemia since he’s got some of the tell tale signs. Soap hasn’t had a hearing test in over five years and Ghost has a severe case of insomnia.” You know that not a lot of teams have the opportunity to have a team medic, often resorting to rotating med bay doctors who aren't very keen on prevention and treating for mundane things. The look of guilt spread across the captain's face, his brows furrowing and lips taut. “It’s not your fault, I’m here now so I’ll be taking care of you guys and I’ll be trying my best, captain.” 

Your words seem to settle the man down but you can tell he still seems anxious over his men. You place your hands on your knees, “Let’s worry about you right now.” You offer him a kind smile before standing up from your seat and taking a few steps forward before coming to a complete stop when you're standing right in between his spread knees. Your hands are held up a few inches from his face, silently asking for permission. Price pushes the feeling of apprehension to the back of his mind before tilting his chin slightly up, granting you to do so. 

“Any past surgeries I should know about Captain?” The tips of your fingers press into the skin right below his ears, feeling the tension underneath while you slowly make your way down his neck, dotting your fingers into his hair clad skin. 

“No.” You don’t know if it's in your head but his reply almost comes out as a whisper, your fingers run back up his neck applying pressure directly under his jaw on both sides of his esophagus. You hesitate for a moment when you don’t feel the usual clump of cells that should be there. You spare a glance at his eyes, taking a second too long to remember the shade of blue you find yourself trying to jot down in your mind. “You sure about that?” Your voice sounds softer, closer to the whisper he seemed to have let out before.

You slowly remove your hands from Price’s head and reach for the pen in your scrub pocket and turn to write something in your manilla folder that's laid out on the desk. “I think I would remember going under the knife, love.” 

A small smile graces your lips while you finish writing your notes, scooting back to him. “Well Captain, I’m sorry to break the news to you but you don’t have tonsils.” You try to keep a straight face looking at the man sitting on the medical wings cot, barely a foot away. Your knees brushing up against his. “What does that mean?” You hear what sounds like a hesitation of concern laced in his voice and it almost makes you break the stoic look you’re trying to maintain. 

“Either someone drugged you and ripped them out of your throat in your sleep or you had them removed when you were a kid and you didn’t remember and no one ever bothered to check or write it down. I'm gonna go with the ladder so you can sleep better at night.” You let out a little chuckle at your imaginative story to pull his leg. Before Price seems to catch onto your joke you ask a follow up question. “Do you smoke?” 

“Does that matter?” He looked like the type to smoke, maybe not exactly a cigarette but maybe a cigar, your eyes flash down to his hands and look at his fingers which are laid out on his knees. Yep, he looks like the type to smoke cigars. Your eyes come back up to meet his.

 “Cigars?” 

Price doesn’t have to answer your question, the look on his face alone answers for you. Before the words reach your ears you’re already back to writing some notes in the folder. Sparing a glance back at the man you notice how out of place he looks. His dark clothes stand out against the pristine whiteness of the blanket laid out on the medical bed, and the slightly off white colors of the walls, the freshly mopped shiny floors. You have the sudden urge to comfort him even though he’s not here for any actual type of medical treatment. 

You can see the questions brewing underneath his lips and behind his eyes. Turning your body back to face him, inching your stool a little closer til your knees are almost back to pressing against his. 

“If you got your tonsils removed as a child you have a slightly increased risk of upper respiratory infection and you smoking- even if it’s an occasional cigar increases that risk even more.” You try to show some sense of empathy through your eyes while they meet his. A sense of understanding seems to cross his face from your words and it causes a warm smile to find its way on your face. 

“It's not that big of a deal but since it’s now in my job description to make sure you and your men are as healthy as can be I just want to make a note of it in case of anything.” 

“Alright, love.” 

The gruffness in his voice makes you fight back a shiver. “Do you not like doctors, Captain?” His eyes wander around the room, taking note of the fluorescent lights and sketchy wallpaper with a not too fond look on his face. “Not exactly, just not fond of the medical wing itself.” You nod, “yeah I can agree with you on that, not exactly friendly.” John smiles, it's small but something and you feel a tightness in your chest just from the sight of it. “Well since I’m your doctor now we can always just meet in your office instead of here, as long as I can just bring my supplies when needed.” 

Price doesn’t understand why you’re trying to be so understanding, so comforting. It’s strange, out of the ordinary for the man, especially in his line of work. His eyes rack your face, down to your hands where you’re fiddling with your fingers. “I’m here to help you Captain, that's it.” You can tell he’s thinking, trying to take you in- read you. 

Price decides he likes it, likes you.

“You gonna cook me dinner too, love?” He chuckles. You let a small laugh slip past your lips. “Ask Laswell to see if you can upgrade to the doctor deluxe package and maybe I will.” You’re enjoying this, and judging by Price's reaction he seems to be enjoying himself too. 

“Deluxe package?” 

“Yeah, cooked meals, back massages, the whole nine, Captain.”

“Sounds like a dream if you tell me, love.” 

You both break out into a chorus of light laughter and quiet chuckles. The room doesn’t seem so small and suffocating like you had thought a mere thirty minutes ago and that pit in your stomach has seemed to all but dissipate. You finish going over some more of his medical records, confirming some information and filling in some gaps before you realize that it's been over an hour and the day is coming to a close. It doesn’t even hit you until Price brings it to your attention by looking down at his watch. 

“I’m so sorry, I’ve probably kept you here for longer than you planned.” You say with an apologetic smile, nervousness etched into your words. “It’s alright, love.” 

The boys were most likely waiting for him in his office for the past twenty minutes but he didn’t have the heart to tell you. Your eyes seemed to have glued him to the cot and your voice lulling him into a daze. Maybe having you around wasn’t so bad after all.

He stands- you follow him. “Well, it was nice meeting you, captain.” You hadn’t had time to take him in when he first came into the room. He’s tall, wide shoulders, tapered waist, and a nice strong set of thighs you have to force your eyes off of. 

“John.” You raise a brow, lost in thought from seeing him in his full form. “You can call me John.” His smile is warm and it's almost like the warmth of it radiates onto you and you feel a rush of heat crawl up your neck. 

“Okay, John.” 

“It was nice meeting you, love.” Price gives you one last kind smile, the crows feet along the edges of his eyes come out at the gesture as he walks towards the curtain before pushing it aside and stepping out. The curtains don't go back to their previous place. You watch him as he walks away until he’s out of eyesight and you finally feel like you can catch your breath. Fuck, your captain is hot. 

---------------------

Taglist: @sharkiestory

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I broke up with my girlfriend for not taking her meds?

My (24M) girlfriend (28F) has bipolar and BPD. We've been together coming up on 3 years now. For the last half a year we were together it was pretty rough and turbulent, she was unmedicated and was having suicidal breakdowns almost every day, ended up in hospital several times, threatened and got into physical altercations with other girls who spoke to me or she thought were flirting with me, and I was spending almost every single day of my life having to take hours to talk her down from suicide or self-harm. It was emotionally exhausting and as someone who's also had suicide attempts in the past it was also incredibly triggering and damaging to my own mental health.

For additional context as to why I feel the way I do, my last girlfriend also had diagnosed BPD and NPD and when she stopped taking her medication she became fully abusive both physically and verbally and it took me a year of being absolutely beaten down to finally snap and leave her.

(Obvious note: I'm not saying everyone with bipolar, BPD, or NPD is abusive or that these illnesses inherently make you abusive. They were an abuser who just happened to have those things, and that played into how they acted and thought/felt.)

Current girlfriend eventually got medication and has been doing much better for most of the time since then. When she's on her meds she's a wonderful and generally pretty healthy partner - she's supportive, understanding of my boundaries, checks in with me, she's a year clean from self-harm, hasn't displayed any kind of self-destructive behaviour. She's gotten a job and managed to hold it down (got fired from several jobs in the past because of her daily meltdowns meaning she wasn't attending work), she's started exercising and going to the gym, she's picked up new hobbies, made new friends, she's just been doing great in general.

For about the past month though, she started going days without taking her medication and when I reminded her she would say she didn't want to, that she hated taking it, that she doesn't like the way it makes her feel etc. This is something my last girlfriend said too, and I know it's really common for people with BPD (and maybe bipolar too?) to stop taking their medication because they feel emotionally flat in comparison to how they feel off of the meds. I pretty much said that I couldn't handle going back to how she acts when she's off of the medication again and that if she was going to stop taking them then I didn't think our relationship would last through that kind of period again because last time it completely destroyed my mental health, my sleep, my life and several of my relationships due to how much energy and time I was having to put into her vs. myself and everything else. I suggested asking her doctor/psychiatrist/etc. for another dosage change or meds switch again to see if that would work better (though up until recently they have seemed to be working great so I'm not sure how good of an idea switching it up again would be).

She agreed at the time but I was kind of concerned about whether she'd been keeping up with it or not because over the last few weeks I've already noticed things devolving again - her screaming at me out of nowhere and having mood swings, intense jealousy and possessiveness, impulsive behaviour, even a couple of breakdowns again and having to talk her out of self-harm for the first time in over a year. True enough, today I found out she's been pretending to take her medication and throwing them out. When I confronted her about it she admitted she hasn't taken her medication for weeks.

I pretty much withdrew after that and didn't say anything at that moment but after a while she asked me why I was being so quiet and I basically repeated what I'd said to her in the last conversation, that I was honestly rethinking whether or not the relationship would work because I can't handle that kind of emotional exhaustion and constant sacrifice all over again. I don't mind some emotional support and some labour of love in a relationship because of course I'm going to need to look out for her mental health and reassure and comfort sometimes, that's the reality of loving someone who struggles, but I can't do it 24/7 again. I can't once again put talking her down for hours every day and weathering screaming and violent lashing out all the time at the expense of even my own basic needs and my own mental health struggles (for example my c-PTSD from my last relationship).

When I said that she got very very upset and basically said I was forcing her to choose between me and freedom or being able to live a normal/unmedicated life (which I mean, I guess I can't argue with because in a way I am making her choose between me and stopping her meds), and that I couldn't control her like that. I told her I wasn't doing it to control her and that if she's really determined to go off of them she could, but that I would have to make my own personal choice to walk away as a result of it for my own sake.

She said she'd think about it but ever since that conversation I've been going back and forth in my head on how much of a dick move it would be to flat out just do a black-and-white "Either you stay on your meds and regulate your behaviour or I leave"

TL;DR Girlfriend wants to go off of her medication, but when she's off her meds she has almost daily suicidal breakdowns and lashes out at me physically and verbally. WIBTA if I broke up with her if she goes ahead with stopping?

What are these acronyms?

[anama-cara]

Take care

Boston Era!Joel Miller x you

Part 2

Summary: You're a nurse working in the Boston QZ and when a handsome new patient comes in you just can't help yourself. Word count: 1.4k

Warnings:  Dead Dove Do Not Eat, +18 minors dni, handjob, somnophilia, noncon. reader has no physical descriptions such as skin color or body type

You fucking hate it here- you hate Boston, hate FEDRA, hate your job, hate the world, hate your life. You need some excitement, something new. You're working as a nurse in a dirty QZ hospital. It's such a fucking joke. The hospital (if you can even really call it that) looks like an abandoned building. The lights flicker, the glass windows are shattered, the floor is always covered in grime, some of the brick walls are even crumbling in the front. Whenever a surgery needs to be done they just dip the instruments in a bucket of alcohol, theres no such thing as a sterile procedure anymore. There aren't enough supplies or staff left to properly function as a real hospital. There are only a few doctors for a ton of patients, some people that come in don't even get seen by a doctor. So that's where you come in, the nurses. You aren't even an actual nurse, you've never been formally trained. Before the outbreak you were a radiology tech, and once the QZ was set up they went around asking for anyone who was in the medical field. You volunteered, but you had no idea it'd be for a job like this. They just threw you to the wolves and over the years you've improvised and learned what works. It was messy in the beginning, you were scrambling and scared and had breakdowns almost daily. But now you feel like a hardened nurse, numb to most things. 

You're sitting in the "break room" munching on some jerky and absentmindedly kicking at a smudge mark on the ground with your boot. 

There's a flurry of commotion the hallway and the door flies open. 

"Jen?"

Your friend pokes her head in. "Oh good you're here, come on, we've got an intake. Male in late 40s, early 50s. Stab wound. "

"Is the doc coming to take a look?"

"Nope. Busy. It's on you."

"Me? He's not my patient and I'm supposed to be on break."

She laughs. "Yeah sorry. I would. You know I would. But my plate is full. I got a gun shot wound that's infected that's taking all my time. I wouldn't throw you this one if I didn't know you can handle it."

"Of course Jen. I got your back." You're following her down the hall rushing towards the emergency entrance.

"Thanks. Two guys brought him in." She nods to a room at the end of the hall on the left. 

"OK thanks Jen." You give her a nod and head towards your newest patient as she bustles down the corridor. 

"Hello I'm- shit." This is the kinda shit you're getting sick and tired of. The men just dumped him and left. Your patient is fully unconscious, laying flat on his back on the exam table, wound still bleeding. This guy needs a doctor, but you're all there is. You sprint for the supplies closet, grabbing alcohol wipes, gauze and suturing materials. With your arms full you rush back to the room. Good thing he's unconscious, you think, because this is going to hurt and the hospital ran out of pain meds long ago. 

You tug and rip his flannel shirt open, making the buttons pop off. You're tearing open packets of gauze and trying to clean his wound so you can get a good look at the entry point. Finally after wiping away the dried and fresh blood you get a clean view. You begin disinfecting. There's an open gash about four inches long running underneath his ribs on the right side.

You blow out a deep breath, pull up a chair and get to work closing the laceration. 

--

An hour later you push yourself up, set your instruments aside, wipe the sweat from your brow and look over the stitches. Given the circumstances its looks pretty darn good, you're actually proud of yourself. 

You look your patient over, eyes moving past his wound and taking him wholly in for the first time. 

He's probably in his early 50s, patchy graying beard, tan skin, ruffled hair. His flannel shirt you ripped open reveals his hard chest and soft tummy. You study his sleeping face, the creases in his brow and the hard angles of his jaw and nose. He's undeniably handsome.

You notice the blood on his flannel and you sigh as you stand up from your stool. You stretch, back aching after leaning over him to sew his wound. You reach for his flannel and begin tugging his limp arms out of the sleeves. You pull the bloody shirt out from underneath him and toss it on a nearby table. His arms are muscular and you notice a few scars here and there. Your hand reaches out on its own accord to lightly trace over a jagged white line on his bicep. He twitches at your touch and your hand quickly pulls away. 

You move down to his jeans. After unbuckling his belt you slowly pull them down, trying to be as gentle as possible. Now that the immediate danger of the bleeding stab wound has been dealt with you need to do a physical exam and make sure he has no injuries elsewhere. You toss his pants on the table and walk back to your patient, examining every inch of his beautifully tanned skin. You can get him a hospital gown later. Your hand traces up his leg and you watch it as it moves over his dark hair, over his knee and rests on his thigh at the edge of his boxers. You shift your gaze higher and to your surprise you see his hardened bulge pushing against his boxers. You gulp and your hand lightly glides up and down his inner thigh, tracing along his muscle. You shoot a glance up to his face - he's still out. You look at the closed door and try to listen. You don't hear anyone in the hallway. The only other nurse on duty in your unit of the hospital is Jen and she's definitely still occupied with that gunshot wound...

You reach up and with one hand you pull the waistband and his boxers out while your other hand slips underneath, wrapping around his hard cock. His cock twitches when you first touch him and you smile. You slowly move your hand all the way down, feeling the full length of him. Damn he's got a nice one. You swallow the spit that's pooling in your mouth. You drag your hand back up and your thumb runs through his slit and circles around the head. You look at Joel's face again. He's still completely out but you think his brow looks more furrowed and his mouth a little more opened. You continue to gaze up at him as you twirl around his head, feeling precum beginning to bead at his tip. You swipe and gather it on your index finger before popping it in your mouth. Salty and warm and deliciously masculine. You pull your finger out and hold up your hand as you tounge it, licking your palm and fingers.

Your grab his cock again, pumping him faster now as your hand glides over his warm smooth skin. You hum to yourself as you work. 

Minutes later and you feel him tightening. You quickly grab a cloth from the table and tuck it under his boxers just in time. He erupts under your hand, ribbons of messy cum spilling into the cloth. When he's done your pull the cloth out and wrap it up neatly, keeping everything it caught tucked into the middle. Joel's eyelids flutter and he makes a groaning noise. He'll be waking up soon. You place the dirty cloth in the laundry bag and step into the hallway to grab a patient gown from the clean linen cart. You wash off your sticky hand and quickly dress him. You're tidying up your instruments when Joel finally wakes up, groaning as he tries to sit. 

"Woah mister careful, you got a pretty good gash in your abdomen there. Easy. Just relax. You're in the hospital now. I'll take good care of you." 

You smile pleasantly at him. 

[daftpatience]

Turned 30 last November, and had started T in September, I've been wanting this for years but wasn't ready mentally, but now I want it all, the meds the top surgery, the hysterectomy eventually too... But I was super concerned about what top surgery could look like on my body ... But k have a very similar build to you and it literally brought me so much joy to see results that made me go !!!!!!!! I have a dr appointment next month and gonna ask to begin my process for top surgery thanks to you sharing your experience so big big thank you ! ( Also could you share what was your recovery wishlist stuff? I could see you received nice pillows and Im curious what you'd recommend as well ?)

ahh congrats im really happy for you!!

and yea i can share the wishlist stuff lemme see - u dont need to get these specific exact brands of things but i'll link them anyways for the visual aid and searchability + explain each thing:

triangle wedge pillow & pregnancy pillow - sitting more upright & supported on the sides like that really helps healing. getting it early to practice sleeping upright-er really helps. my first few nights with it were really rough and i'm glad i wasn't post-op yet.

bidet - it is difficult to bend forwards or sideways at first, so one of these is rlly helpful if you don't want to ask for help wiping your ass.

bath wipes - you can't shower for the first little while and won't be able to get your chest wet for longer, so being able to spot clean helps. your armpits are going to smell weirdbad for awhile due to the proximity to healing stuff.

bromelain - the pineapple enzyme that eats u. it helps to reduce swelling and inflammation after surgery, lots of surgeons will recommend it. i definitely felt like it helped during the first couple weeks post-op 'cus i missed it for a couple days on the 2nd week it was a much angrier red in the area and i felt extra swollen and sore.

bandage tape, bandage pads, polysporin - after the first week you're gonna be changing out bandages daily on the areas your surgeon recommends (usually nipple grafts and drain holes) until they are no longer wet and oozing. if your scar decides to spit stitches anywhere it'll open up a bit until the stitch is out (and then close again!) & you'll want to cover those areas too. this will all last way longer than you expect. you'll need a lot of these.

silicone scar gel and silicone scar strips - only to be used after all the scabs are gone. they improve the appearance of the scar + the tape helps keep it from stretching out. they're more for long-term results so idk how well they worked, i basically used up one pack and then got tired of doing it. some people develop allergies to it so if they make you really red and itchy talk to your doctors!

reusable bendy straws - lifting a cup to your mouth is not a recommended motion to be doing at first. i picked these types because i hate the taste and feel of metal/silicone straws + they're a little wider and i don't like how skinnier straws make soda fizz so much from the higher pressure/narrower passage lol. that's just me being picky. i like these though and still use them often!

[flowery-mess]

Noah dating girl with atopic eczema

Soo I know this is very specific and probably not everyone is gonna relate, but as someone struggling with this condition and having big flare up this last month, I wanted to share this with you. It is important to me that this condition is spoken about, so feel free to slide in my inbox or message me if you want to talk about it.💗

*Atopic eczema is a condition that causes dry, itchy and inflamed skin. It is long lasting (chronic) condition and tends to flare sometimes. It is not contagious. The cause is unknown and there is no cure for it, only treatments that can make ot easier to lice with it.*

Noah learned about this condition when he met you.

You are used to living with it by now, but for Noah it's something new.

He sees it as any other condition and takes it very seriously.

He reads about it, because he doesn't want to make you uncomfortable by asking questions.

When you two met and it became more serious, you were scared that it will throw him off.

It's not contagious, but lots of people don't know that.

And because of that you get lot of stares and sometimes ugly comments.

When you started dating you were using your creams to make it better, but you HATE those oily creams, so you use them usually only when you know you will be in public and your skin will be seen.

As you two got closer you felt confident enough to tell him about it.

He was surprised, but just because he didn't notice it.

His reaction was very neutral, because he didn't see it as a problem, as you were scared he would.

Which was relief for you.

You stopped using your creams daily and it started showing more and more.

Noah asked some questions, mostly about how can he help, if it hurts when he touches you or if you want him to apply your creams for you.

Which was honestly one of your favorite things, him putting cream on your back and giving you a little massage along with it.

Those creams weren't so bad sinxe Noah started applying them.

But you have your ups and downs with this condition.

When it's really bad, it hurts.

It hurts like burns, and they're all over your body.

Noah makes sure you have water and your meds that help with the itching on your bed table.

He noticed that you're scratching yourself even in sleep, so he gave you one of his longsleeve t-shirts to avoid scratching yourself to blood.

He also started taking showers with you daily, because he noticed you always come out all bloody and bruised and the bathroom is like a fucking sauna.

That's because hot water triggers your skin, but it also feels really nice on your skin in the moment. But you're left with bloody hands and red skin afterwards.

So he showers with you to make sure you use warm water, not boiling hot water.

If you mention that some food or shampoo or washing powder triggers your eczema, you bet he will throw it out immediately and will look up options that are safe for sensitive skin.

When it's really bad and it effects you mentally (because it does) he showers you with love and cuddles.

He hates when it makes you cry.

Or when he sees you looking at your skin in the mirror with those sad eyes.

But what he hates the most is when you come home, obviously sad and he has to get it out of you, that someone at work said nasty comment towards your condition.

His heart aches when he sees you in long sleeved clothes almost every time you two leave the house.

It's not that you're ashamed of eczema, but you want to avoid those looks you get from strangers.

He also hates seeing you in long sleeved clothes at the band's concerts. Those venues get real hot really quick and he knows you're hot even if you say you're fine.

He makes sure to point out if your skin get's even a little bit better and he's all happy about it.

He helps you look for doctors that specialize in those conditions.

And he makes sure to attend every appointment with you, if you want him there.

He also uses it as a reason to go on vacations by the sea for a longer period than is usual, because sea helps with eczema.

Overall he helps you with everything, he helps build the confidence you lost because of this condition and he loves you unconditionally.

Remember that conditions like this don't definw you and you are beautiful and loved!💗

[chronicallycouchbound]

Rating names/terms for Ehlers Danlos Syndrome:

Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome: 10/10 Lawful neutral, it’s the official terminology, lets you know what’s up

EDS (in all caps): 9/10 Sometimes confused with other unrelated conditions and acronyms but usually works

EDs (‘S’ is lowercase): 2/10 Usually refers to erectile dysfunction or eating disorders, which causes a lot of confusion.

Ehlers Danlos: 8/10. Good shorthand while still knowing what’s going on.

Earers Daniel’s Syndrome: 1/10. I have only heard this once, from an ER doctor. He said it to me as he turned away from his screen (which was pulled up to the Web MD page for EDS) and proceeded to mansplain my condition to me inaccurately. At least he tried.

“Eyers Dan—“ *waves hand around*: -5/10 I’ve heard this one a lot from medical professionals. I just know I’m about to be malpracticed and am already planning the quickest way out of the situation.

Zebras: 6/10 I like the imagery, I like mascots, I like the story (when doctors are in med school they’re told “if you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras” but them zebras are missed) however, I have two criticisms: a) more rare conditions are out there, and zebras technically refers to any rare diseases, not just EDS b) I feel sad when I think about how it basically calls EDS the “I was medically malpracticed disease”

EDSers: 8/10 a cute lil shorthand for “people with EDS”. Easier to explain than the zebras thing

hEDS/vEDS/cEDS/including subtypes: 7/10 I like the idea of being able to know what your subtype is and find people in your sub community, HOWEVER my only concern is that it can feel (and used for) invalidating people without a genetically confirmed subtype because of inaccessibility. I haven’t had gene testing because I can’t afford it— but I have clinically diagnosed EDS, which has been confirmed at multiple hospitals by multiple specialists. I score a 9/9 on the Brighton, meet all major criteria, and meet almost every other minor criteria for EDS on top of that. But I don’t know my subtype yet. I don’t hate/dislike people who use this term and I don’t discourage it, but I do encourage mindfulness about genetic testing accessibility and privilege of access.

Bendy disease: 10/10 a silly goofy joke I say with friends “I cannot walk up stairs on account of my loosey goosey bendy disease” which is always funny to me. Even with my serious things like “my life threatening cardiac conditions are rapidly progressing” you add “on account of my bendy disease” and bam theres my coping skill.

Ehlers: 3/10 a step in the right direction, but it sounds like “yellers” and dismisses half of the team that described the condition

“Double jointed”: 1/10 I was told my whole life until I was 18 that I was just “double jointed” for starters, it’s medically inaccurate. You’re hyper extending, subluxing, or even dislocating joints whenever you’re “double jointed” in a joint. There is not two joints there (unless you’ve had x rays and for some reason genuinely do have two joints in that spot). I honestly hate this term and it’s incredibly dismissive of the pain that happens with EDS while also making it seem like a super power that we’re encouraged to do

Contortionist: 1/10 [NOTE!!! some contortionists DO NOT have EDS and can just bend like that. Some have benign joint hypermobility. But many contortionists do have EDS.] In the context of people with EDS, I hate this term. It’s often the first thing people jump to when I explain my condition. They see my crippled ass in my wheelchair/powerchair or limping around with my cane/crutches/rollator, usually in multiple braces/supports (and thats just external noticeable-to-everyone things, let alone if you hear any aspects of my daily life) and their first thought is: “wow!! So you can entertain me like it’s a freak show!” And not “holy shit dozens of dislocations per day and countless subluxations per day must be excruciating”. I did contortions when I was younger to get praise and due to peer pressure. Fuck that noise I will not be your ugly law era freak show creepy cripple p0rn. Fuck everything to do with that actually.

[lepusrufus]

I was gonna throw this in a list of hcs but actually I wanna give it its own post bc I'm very normal about Widow and what's been done to her

I know the more widely accepted idea is that Widow has some inhuman strength and agility due to all the procedures she went through, but what if it's actually the opposite? Her blood flow is so slow her body barely gets the minimum amount of oxygen through it to survive. It makes her lethargic and chronically exhausted because she's always on that fine line between surviving and dead. It helps her keep deadly still when sniping, with great results as far at that goes, but on the flip side a burst of physical activity while running from one place to another on an assignment exerts her body to the point of agony. There's always a team of doctors and days upon days of physiotherapy waiting at Talon's hq, but that doesn't really erase the pain.

There's nanites flowing through her system but they don't really work. Not like they work for Angela or even Moira because they're not there to heal her, they're just there to keep her body from collapsing in on itself.

Her blood flow is so fucked she has pretty much zero temperature regulation and any environment that's too hot or too cold or spikes in temperature really screw with her. And she can barely even feel it until it's too late and she's either dizzy to the point of fainting or can barely move. (Yes I see the cinematic of her wearing basically nothing in the tundra. Yes I'm ignoring that detail and saying her uniforms are made to help with that thank you.)

Her lack of emotions was a carefully crafted mix of psychology work and meds specifically made for her that by this point keep her body going just as much as every other bit of "maintenance" she needs on a regular basis to survive. It doesn't always work. The human mind is great and complex and frankly she would sometimes prefer it not to be because whenever a strong emotion manages to sneak past all the walls built in her mind it leaves her frustrated and more exhausted than she already is. She can still make connections, have likes and dislikes, but anything particularly strong is like an unwelcome shock to an already fragile system.

But Talon doesn't really care because she's their perfect sniper and at the end of the day all the pain that comes as a consequence is only there to make her stronger.

And to top it off, Moira loathes how Ameliè turned out.

She didn't have that much of a hands on role in the making of Widowmaker, she's neither a psychologist nor a surgeon or any other kind of doctor that could do all of that, but she has been sort of an overseer to it. She's the one handling the regular procedures Widow needs to survive and the one taking note of how she handles one thing or another. And she hates all of it.

Moira used to be proud of Widowmaker, but after years of seeing basically a dead woman constantly walk the line of barely even alive, she realised that this is the complete opposite of what her idea of going against the limitations of the human body used to be. If Widow was to ever stop taking the fistful of daily meds or the medical procedures needed to keep her body going she would simply die, and even Moira can despise something that cruel.

[mayhems-cannon]

update

posting it here instead of bluesky cause i don't know how much people can handle my bullshit act there anymore+idk maybe it might be useful to understand the context of things idfk (tw graphic talks of suicidality, self harm, as well as medication talk (SSRIs, hormonal meds))

recently started going back to school again and i find myself constantly exhausted again, no matter the amount or quality of sleep. i'll wake up, go to school, and have my head hurt so much it'll force me to slep for an hour before exiting like a thief. i don't even want to try drinking coffee or energy drinks or anything anymore, it all knocks me down even more. hell, it feels i can't even eat much either before i start falling asleep again. my sleep schedule is completely fucked because of that, no matter how much i want to wake up and go to school and actually learn what i genuinely care about. my body won't let me, and i don't even want to treat it gently anymore.

i've emailed my obgyn about half the treatment i take, which is given out by her to solve my thyroid issues, and i'll try to get back to her again, but there's something genuinely soul shattering about meds not working on you yet having everyone who says they love you make you take them cause they won't listen to you but only to the doctor. it doesn't matter what i feel until the doctors say it, all that.

i've been considering self harm almost daily at this point, just the whole "going all out, going to town" on it just because everything feels more and more pointless. i want to go to school, i want to go to the museums downtown cause they have stuff i want to study, but my body won't let me. i want to startdrawing and painting outside, in museums, paint and draw the most random things i find cool but my body keeps telling me it's too cold, again and again, never letting me go anywhere when i really want it. what's the point of any meds if i still can't do what i genuçinely want? are those scars not proof enough they aren't working? should i go deeper, do more, so much more of them, or will that be considered too dangerous? (because it is.)

i've been asking myself a lot why should i keep living, a sort of passive suicidality, a weird "i wouldn't be scared if i didn't wake up" evolving slowly into a "maybe i should take all those things i shouldn't and not wake up". i see someone telling me they like what i do, they enjoy my works, they see themselves in them or anything of the sort and i'm like, i'm so glad you do! but i still can't feel any love from anyone, no one online, no one irl, just understanding the logical course of "i know people love me, i know people love my work, i just cannot feel it and might never have have felt it, not even from my parents". it's really ungrateful of me, and it's certainly superficial of me to chase that love through engagement but i don't ven know what to do anymore to dea with it. self harm only works to numb the inside pain enough times before you start worrying about what your mom says. meds barely work anymore and changing them would mean going to school even less.

i try to cope with things, i try to draw gay shit, play games, draw that sreies with Gabriel, but the more time passes the weaker i keep getting, and i can't even explain why, i can't even fight it most of the time, i just keep telling myself "i can't handle it anymore, i can"t handle anything anymore" again and again until i end up actually harming myself and going to bed hoping i'll wake up feeling better.

even creation is an act made in fear, because i fear everyone actually fucking hates what i do, which i am extremely aware is nonsensical with what i stated previously, but i guess psychoses and delusions won't let themselves be defeated by what i had been looking for after years of emotional abuse. it's a constant fear of "everyone will fucking hate everything i do, and especially the creators of whatever i'm making fanworks of. they will fucking despise me and everything i am and ever make of their creation.", it's been here for as long as i can remember and i guess it's here to stay. i'm doing my best to drill beyond it, go past that fear and imagine i'll still be okay no matter what but it's all just undone i two seconds, again and again. of course people fucking hate what i do with John and Mike, and of course no one cares about it, and of course no one cares about anything else i might do, and that's the best ending, somehow.

it's all just serious nonsense, things that just don't go together in any way and might never will because the pieces never fit together to begin with. if anything i hope this is a nice view into what psychosis and delusion apparently look like instead of people calling themselves "delulu" over impulsive thoughts of dyeing their hair blue or something.

apologies for the wall of text and just general miserabilism lately, from here and especially bluesky. i'm trying to see the positives but it's getting really hard to see anything good anymore.

i hope everyone had a nice beginning of the year and will have a nice 2025 going on forward.

i love you.

[noodles-even-less-stable]

How do I explain to my doctor that the suppliments I was given for anxiety (cum pills, remember those?) aren't helping? In fact I'd argue it's only gotten worse 🫠

She doesn't want to increase my lithium

But I don't want to go on anxiety/depression specific medication because it absolutely fucked me up

I also don't want to keep taking more pills/suppliments because I hate taking pills and taking 3 extra suppliments a day was already enough to make my tiny brain want to skip my meds

But I'm back to having daily panic attacks

Haha things are great, I'm not dead inside

[ramblingsfromthytruly]

back again~

so i haven't been posting these lil daily posts for a few days now, that's because i haven't been doing much. i would say it was period pain but also it was just sheer laziness. i am very ashamed but i don't want to dwell on it and instead DO something. i want to regain momentum and be regularly productive, actually i need to.

sooo, a new week and a fresh start.. and i was late to school. if i'm late once again i'm gonna have to pay a fine (cuz this new school is crazy like that). i need to go to sleep earlier and wake up earlier.

showered in the morning

came back home around 1pm and because i went to sleep late the last night i just changed and fell asleep for way too long.

slept for 4hrs unintentionally

ate some snacks

i was watching a video about the kolkata rape case made by another med student and though i don't know the exact details i'm still horrified. and the fact is that some people really don't understand just how violating sa is. in my books it's the worst thing someone can do, it is something that cannot be justified even a bit under any circumstances at all. it's the most vile thing ever. that woman was just resting after a long shift, and disgusting disgusting men did the worst thing ever to her. i can't imagine the pain she felt in her last moments and her family's. she was just training to be a doctor, to pursue her passion and save lives. and some people aren't even that shocked, just disappointed because it is THAT normalized. it is that normalized that people (almost entirely girls & women) grow up having to always worry about their safety and the possibilities of threats. i hate this world so much sometimes.

scrolled on tumblr for way too much time i'm not proud of that.

completed my biology homework

studied for tomorrow's biology test on biomolecules

ate dinner

extended my duolingo streak

night skincare (been neglecting my skincare for the past week and i wanna fix that)

all in all, not a productive day AT ALL.

song of the day: 'Camden' by Gracie Abrams (this song is my soulmate fr)

[ask-the-clergy-bc]

AAAHHHH can you write some headcannons for the papas helping a depressed partner??

Happy to write this but always like to say a few things when it comes to this particular subject.

You're never alone and there is no shame in asking or seeking help. You don't have to suffer alone, and there is love and support for you during these hard times.

I hope these head canons can bring comfort to anyone who is just having a tough time mentally, right now.

Trigger Warnings for talks of Mental health, depression, depressive symptoms, and talks of doctors/medication.

Further Disclaimer: Every individual with depression has different symptoms and experiences. We all have our own needs and ways support helps us. This will not cover every experience, but I hope it covers a good general range. Thanks!

Papas Supporting Their S/O With Depression

Papa Nihil: Despite not having the best medical knowledge, Nihil knows depression and how it has affected many of his friends in life. Seeing you, his partner, be affected by it makes him sit down and actually learn all he can. Yes, he was always the supportive friend and mentor in his time as Papa. You couldn't be Papa without helping those in need. But it's different now that it's someone so important to him. Nihil makes it a point to sit down with you when you have the energy. The fancy medical text books and blogs can only tell you so much. Nihil knows only YOU know how you feel. That's the root of his faith after all, trusting your own mind and sense. So that's where he truly wants to start and support you! He asks how do YOU feel and what YOU are personally going through. Truthfully, it was nice for someone to ask and not just ASSUME you are having all typical depression symptoms.

You're also a bit flattered that Nihil is protective of you during initially working to feel better. He'd eat his own saxophone before jumping to conclusions that you were going to hurt yourself, or that 'he knew what was better for you.' Nihil trusts you and whatever path you want to take. Just know if it's seeking professional help you'll get the best, and if you felt like your doctor was dismissing you well... the doctor is going to have to deal with a lot of ghouls in their work place. Other than that, he will be by your side as long as you need him. He isn't a doctor, but he loves you with all of his being. So he will be there to carry you when you can't stand.

Papa I: His support is often very gentle yet firm, and goes at your pace. Papa will never force you to 'just get over it' or 'try to be better'. Actually, he often hates blind optimistic or overly cynical approaches to mental health. Neither are helpful, and he'd refuse to subject you to them. Papa is more prepared to ask you what you'd need, and WHEN you'd need it. Maybe one day you need his help entirely, and other days you don't want him messing with your progress! Either way, he's an unwavering presence. As a magic and faith user who supports medical advice, Papa would help shape some aspects of your daily routine to alleviate some of your symptoms. Anything that just makes getting through the day with less stress and hassle. It's slow but steady, but it makes life so much easier!

You find you like him not verbally reminding you to keep with your meds. Instead he incorporates them wordlessly with breakfast or lunch. Instead of energy drinks, he offers hand blended teas he uses from his own garden (He loves a good holistic approach when appropriate in his own aging body.) They are a good way to get a bit of energy and calm down. Papa encourages you to join him for some daily tasks- whether that's a small errand you can run together or a small activity. He worries about a lack of stimuli for you and tries to keep you out of bed as much as possible. But he will never force you. Instead he uses his deep and comforting voice to ask you join him just once. Most importantly? When you have no energy, he let's you rest. Let's you sleep it off because that's your body telling you what you need.

Papa II: I've often said that Papa II always has a tough time with issues he can't fix by punching them in the face. And trust me, if he could punch your depression he absolutely would. Papa keeps to himself how much he HATES watching you struggle. Because sulking about it on his end isn't helpful and he'd never put that burden on you. Instead, Papa tries to do his best to support you where he is needed and wanted. If you looked closely at your daily life, he does subtle things to make your life easier. Encourage you to get up with him in the guise of needing company, cooking to see if you'd eat because he took time to make it, or even just making small comments of 'Oh, I need my vitamin. Do you want me to grab your antidepressant?'

For big things, he goes where he is needed. Papa would be loathed to make you ever feel like you didn't have autonomy even on your low days. So you have discussions about it often. Papa and you have decided that, outside of emotional support, he would get more staff to help with daily tasks. And you appreciate it on days you just can't do anything. What you even cherish more is him always reassuring you that having help DOES NOT make you a burden or useless. Everyone needs a little extra help. And if that means hiring a ghoul or sibling to do some laundry or make food, then by Lucifer, he's going to hire the entire convent! And he'd be BLESSED before he let you feel like it wasn't ok to need support! Papa is always a strong rock for you.

Papa III: Papa has never told anyone about his own struggles with mental health. He's had some pretty bad lows in his life. So he knows exactly what you are going through, and he fucking hates seeing you like this. If it was up to him he'd take it all away and keep you safe. But life is not the fairy tale he'd like it to be. So Papa resolves to do what he always wished someone would do for him; be there to support you unconditionally. Papa offers this in MANY ways. But the most important one he wants to convey to you (should you be open to it) is just making sure you know you are NEVER alone. That, and letting you know you are such a precious person to him and you are NOT broken. Because truthfully, that's all he ever wanted for his own battles.

Papa does everything he can for you, whenever you want. His best expertise is letting you talk it out. Getting out all of your numbness, your fears, and even some of the events that triggered your depression. Other times, he tries to keep you occupied- even if it doesn't necessarily bring you joy. Just something to keep your mind off of how awful you feel AND knowing you have a safe person to do it with. Sometimes these are walks, sometimes these are cheesy horror movies, and even more they are just small activities to do together. Anhedonia was the worst for him, and Papa believes finding some sprinkle of joy in life is a good start to hanging on. For him back in the day it was finding he likes writing. So he's happy to help you discover what brings that spark back for you.

Papa IV/Cardinal Copia: Copia is a well known pillar of strength in his flock, even before ascending to Papacy. But it's distressing to him to learn that you, his beloved, has this problem. If it wasn't for the fact he has done this so much he wouldn't feel qualified to help you. But Copia REFUSES to throw a pity party for himself, especially when it's YOU who needs the help! So he's going to be there for you as the best partner he can be! Starting with encouraging you to seek professional help. Copia will always be there as a helping hand and a shoulder to cry on, but he knows his limits. One day when you mention you were considering medical intervention, he sat with you and encouraged you gently. Copia explains all the benefits to you and offers to go with you to your appointment. Even sheepishly he has had to do the same before. He won't be ashamed to admit he's had his own battles with anxiety.

Copia does what he can to assist you when needed. Sometimes he brings you to his office on less busy days so you can have some work. It takes your mind off of matters without being overwhelming. Copia makes all the time for you he can so you don't have to be alone. (or if you want space he gives you all of it you need between checking on you once in a while.) Copia is very big on sticking to professional recommendations, as the routine helped him control his anxiety a bit more. He offers his advice (when asked) and is happy to do tasks with you. With his Papa connections too he gets the best therapist when you ask, and will refuse to stop looking until you find one you have the best chemistry with. A bit over the top? Yes. But you're worth it to him, and he will do whatever he can to see you beat this.

[anachrosims]

I'm struggling right now. I'll have to go a month (or more) without my ADHD meds. I hate my job because it is thankless. Although I'm waiting on a doctor's appointment in June, I'm still frustrated about the cyst, which is drawing the life out of me and now hurts my insides on a daily basis. It's so hard to battle waves of depression that gets worse when I'm extra tired. I am in constant pain. People don't talk about it, but chronic pain is so fucking exhausting.

It's just hard not to feel drained and frustrated and hopeless at the state of society and the world.

I'll be okay. I think. I'm trying to eat better. I go on walks with roommate's dog. I'm trying. I'm still doing creative projects. I'm trying to find what little joy I can, offline and online. I can only hope that things will get better. I feel like I'm trying to move a mountain one pebble at a time, and hope is all I have sometimes. I have to remind myself that I have so much to be thankful for, to be happy about, and I try to focus on those things in prayer.

If I suck at answering messages, all this is why. I promise I am not ignoring anyone.

Any kind words and responses mean the world to me. Just want you all to know. <3

[chronicallyill-butterfly]

I hate being autistic and receiving no support. I have no idea what my support level/needs are because I have never received real support. I look “high functioning” but so much falls through the cracks 

I go to college and live in a single dorm because of my medical equipment. And it is so hard

I lose speech so frequently that 70%% of the time now, im unable to speak. when I can speak, it’s awkward and I can tell it isn’t ‘correct’ but I don’t know how to fix it. when I can’t speech, I also lose the ability to text/email/type. All communication gets lost.

I can’t do my dishes- it’s been four weeks at school and I’ve resorted to paper plates/plastic utensils for when I do eat. I am mostly tube fed and I struggle to set up my feeds daily. Im supposed to do it 3 times a day and on a good day, I’ll manage to do it twice. Half the time, I can’t remember to take my meds, and when I do, the task is sometimes so overwhelming I cant do it until night time instead of when I wake up, like I’m supposed to. 

I can’t do my laundry or take out the trash- my parents have to do it for me when they see me on the weekends. I can’t handle going to doctors appointments on my own or places that aren’t within a few blocks of my dorm. And even then, if it’s something that isn’t one of the three places im used to I Just Cant. So I don’t go anywhere except those places. 

I shut down so often and have had to leave class to try and prevent meltdowns. Any change in plans/routines just sends me over the edge. 

And there’s more- there’s so much more. Sensory issues and stupid routines/rituals I *have* to follow that don’t make sense to anyone else. 

I keep seeing people say if you live alone you’re automatically low support needs. But it doesn’t feel right. Idk what I am but I don’t relate to the low support needs experiences my friends have or people online talk about. I just didn’t have a choice in living alone. 

Everything is falling through the cracks because of my autism- my hygiene, my self care, my general ability to function. But I show up for class most days so I’m “fine” 

[insipid-drivel]

I can finally say I don't want to die. I really don't.

Death is an easy thing to wish for when you've endured too much pain to bear alone. Death is sort of like the catch-all desire that comes from desperate times.

But really, wanting death can really be a way of hiding the true identity of what you really do want from yourself in a way that makes loudly, desperately, screamingly wishing for it feel less selfish. In a weird way, it both serves as the ultimate self-denial, while also being the ultimate desire for everything we've been to afraid to admit we need.

I've been having a rough few days, and so I need to say it somewhere:

I want to be loved. I want to be loved in a way that matters.

I don't need sex. I don't need romance. I don't need monogamy. I don't need vows, candles, bells, or rings.

I just need a friend. I need to be a friend. Ideally, someone that can be a housemate, because I live in a house with a spare bedroom and extra bathroom and am lonely as absolute hell with just my mom around and our pets. My mom is a lovely person, but she's almost 70, and busy most of the time.

I need the kind of companionship where the person who happens to share my home with me can handle the ferocity with which I love them for choosing to stick around.

I need you to stay with me; to let me tell you I don't want your rent. To see you hear me tell you that your companionship means so much to me that I don't need money to justify having you as a housemate. I need you to use the kitchen to make your coffee. I need your orange peels in the trash bin. I need you to lament that the only thing you did today was run the dishwasher so I can cheer, "At least someone remembered to!" and we can both smile at our shared uselessness. I need you to tease me when you noticed my trashcan almost overflowing so it reminds me, oh yeah, I forgot to take the trash out and that's okay and we can laugh it off together.

I would give my life to protect you and keep you safe, if only you would suffer the burdens of some tears on your shirt and an awkward request to sit and listen to you play video games.

I would insist you use my wheelchair if you hurt your foot, because I'm still ambulatory, and I want to see you smile at how fun wheeling around can be instead of limping.

I want you to see how much stability and comfort it brings me just to hear you living your daily life around me. I want you to feel a warmth in your chest on your way home from a part-time job knowing that no matter how I'm doing when you get home, seeing you come back will automatically make things better, no matter how bad they may be. The simple sound of you taking off your coat and settling in your favorite spot to relax and unwind makes me relax, too.

I want you to be suspicious at the look on my face you've noticed for the past couple of days that's had you cautiously alert, only to find a plushie on your desk I sent away for because you mentioned you loved those pink and yellow fuzzy moths you've seen on tumblr when you were high on pain meds after you got your wisdom teeth out, and not even you remember babbling about that.

I want you to infodump to me about your favorite subjects while you're petting and playing with my ridiculous dogs and my fuzzy, weird cat.

I need someone to wake up to after I get my bottom surgery in the hospital. I want you to pester me about if I remembered to take my post-op pain meds. I want you to laugh at the way I always wind up rubbing the end of my nose raw because those kinds of meds make my nose tickle.

I need you to let me look after you when you're feeling ill or down. Let me bring you some soup and crackers. Let me bring you your cold medicine so you don't have to remember when to take it. Let me hold your hand when we're waiting in the doctor's office because you hate going to the doctor almost as much as I do. If you menstruate and have really bad cramps your doctor doesn't take seriously, let me slip you half a dose of vicodin and a discount variety bag of Halloween candy and put on your favorite comfort shows.

I just need someone in my life to show how awesome a friend I can be.