#Its what finally pushed me to get anxiety medication

[emberkyrlee]

I voted

[petrow1tch]

They weren't lying, this psychological recovery journey got hands

[thedensworld]

Arrangement Crossed | K.Mg

Pairing: Mingyu x reader

Genre: arrange engagement au

Summary: Mingyu started to enjoy the arrangement between him and you. What should he do?

Why do birds suddenly appear everytime that you near? Just like me i long to be close to you. - Close To You by Carpenters

Mingyu sprinted from his car, heart pounding, as he rushed toward the scene. One of the doctors at the hospital had mentioned that a fire had broken out in a Gangnam district building—your building. His breath was ragged as he pushed through the crowd, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene. Paramedics and firefighters swarmed the area, the flames now subdued, but the remnants of the fire still smoked in the air. A police officer stopped him from moving closer.

"My fiancée lives there," Mingyu gasped, his voice tight with anxiety.

Just as the officer held him back, he spotted you in the distance. You were casually walking, still in your pajamas, holding a half-eaten ice cream cone. Mingyu's eyes widened, watching as your expression changed the moment you took in the sight of your charred apartment building.

"My apartment!" you exclaimed, your voice laced with frustration as Mingyu hurried over to you.

Mingyu quickly examined you, scanning for any signs of injury. A wave of relief washed over him when he realized you had been safely outside while the fire ravaged your home. His tense shoulders relaxed for the first time since hearing the news.

"Where were you?" he asked, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that you seemed so unfazed by the chaos around you.

You blinked, a bit dazed by everything. "I was out for a meal..."

Mingyu glanced at his watch—half and an hour left before his surgery. "I'm glad you're alright. I’ll drive you to my place for now. I’ve got surgery in an hour."

The procedure went smoothly, but exhaustion weighed heavily on him as he sat in his office afterward. All he wanted was to go home and collapse into bed. But he hesitated, remembering that you were now at his apartment. The two of you had never really shared a space before, and the thought made him uneasy. After all, this wasn’t a typical engagement.

A year ago, your families had arranged for you two to be engaged. It was strictly business—a merger of two powerful legacies. Your family owned the hospital where Mingyu worked, while his family operated a successful medical and paramedical equipment company. It made sense for the families to align themselves, and though the proposal had taken him by surprise, Mingyu agreed to the engagement. What really caught him off guard was that you agreed too.

From what Mingyu knew, you ran a small homemade Korean restaurant near Seoul University. It wasn’t a huge enterprise, but it had a loyal customer base thanks to its affordable prices and excellent food. When news of the engagement broke, everyone speculated that your family needed Mingyu to step in and continue running the hospital, especially since you showed no interest in taking it over yourself. Mingyu knew he benefited a lot from this arrangement—more than he was willing to admit sometimes.

It was nearly morning when Mingyu finally arrived home, expecting you to be fast asleep. He took a quick shower, hoping to unwind before getting some rest. But when he stepped into the living room, he nearly jumped out of his skin. You were sitting on the couch, staring into the darkness.

"You scared me!" Mingyu muttered, his heart still racing. "Why aren’t you sleeping?"

You shot him a sharp look, your voice dry. "My house just burned down. How could I possibly sleep soundly?"

Ah, right. He had forgotten that small but important detail.

"Right... of course." He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, make yourself at home. Feel free to use the kitchen if you want breakfast. I’ll head to bed."

Mingyu retreated to his room, hoping for some much-needed rest. But as he lay there, he found sleep impossible. His mind kept drifting back to the strange reality that the two of you were now sharing a roof. It wasn’t that he didn’t like you—far from it. You were smart, independent, and capable. But the idea of being engaged, living together, and yet still feeling like you were strangers unnerved him in ways he couldn’t quite explain.

"Yeah, she's fine. She's alright. She's with me. I'll handle things with the building owner about her place. You don’t have to worry, sir." Mingyu reassured your father over the phone as he finished getting ready for work.

Despite having only gotten three hours of sleep, Mingyu needed to be at the hospital for an early morning meeting as the branch director. He had already filled your father in on last night’s fire, assuring him that you were safe and staying with him for the time being. Ending the call, he stepped out of the closet and made his way to the kitchen, where he was greeted by the sight of you preparing breakfast.

You were wearing one of his shirts.

"I’ll call you later, sir," Mingyu said quickly before hanging up, his eyes immediately locking with yours as he entered the kitchen.

You glanced at him briefly, then gestured for him to sit down as you placed the plates on the table. Mingyu couldn’t help but stare for a moment. You must have noticed because you spoke up.

"I didn’t have any clothes with me," you explained, a hint of self-consciousness in your voice. "I borrowed your shirt, if you don’t mind."

Mingyu nodded. "It's fine."

An awkward silence lingered for a moment before he asked, "Is there anything you need to do today?"

You thought for a second. "I definitely need to get some clothes first. And maybe check on the restaurant."

Mingyu thanked you for the food as you joined him at the table. He picked up his spoon, and as soon as he took a bite, his eyes widened in surprise. The breakfast was incredible. He had visited your restaurant a couple of times and knew you were the mastermind behind the recipes, having graduated with a degree in culinary arts. But still, he hadn’t expected his simple morning meal to taste this good.

"How about your belongings?" he asked between bites. "Anything important you need to check, like documents or valuables?"

"Luckily, I left all my important documents at my parents' place," you said, relieved. "But I do need to talk to the building owner about the fire and the damage."

Mingyu nodded thoughtfully. "I’ll go with you."

You both finished breakfast in comfortable silence, and as Mingyu got up to leave for work, he thanked you again for the meal. Before heading out, he made a few calls, one to the aunt who cleaned his house regularly, asking her to pick up some women’s clothes for you, and another to the building manager to arrange an extra parking space for your car.

As he drove to the hospital, he reflected on the morning. He hadn’t expected starting the day with you to feel so... easy. For a moment, he wondered what it would be like if your engagement weren’t just a business arrangement. The thought lingered in the back of his mind as he went on with his day.

"Doctor Kim, thank you for the meal!" the nurses chimed in as Mingyu passed by the emergency room station during his daily rounds.

He blinked in confusion, unsure of what they were referring to. Then, he spotted the neatly packed meals from your restaurant sitting on the counter. You had sent food to his staff. It was thoughtful—something he hadn't expected but appreciated. Mingyu smiled and waved to the nurses, telling them to enjoy the meal before heading to his office, where he found a meal from your restaurant waiting for him as well.

Mingyu quickly shot you a text: Thanks for the meal, everyone’s enjoying it.

You didn’t respond, and Mingyu wasn’t surprised. He rarely texted you, and from what he had observed, you were just as busy as he was. He could understand if you weren’t glued to your phone all the time. Besides, it’s not like he was your priority when it came to messaging.

Over the past week of living together, Mingyu had noticed that the two of you had fallen into a quiet, predictable routine. You would both wake up early, have breakfast together, head off to work, return late in the evening, and go straight to bed. The cycle repeated itself day after day, with only a few short exchanges of "How was work?" or "Did you sleep well?" in between. It was strange to be living under the same roof, sharing meals, and yet feeling like you were still strangers in many ways.

That morning, you casually mentioned that you had signed the lease on a new apartment, not far from your restaurant.

"Do you want to go furniture shopping with me?" you asked over breakfast.

"Sure" Mingyu agreed without hesitation.

And now, here he was, sitting on his couch in a casual outfit, waiting to go furniture shopping with you. It felt like an odd thing to be doing with someone who was supposed to be his fiancée, yet didn’t quite feel like one. Still, Mingyu couldn’t shake the curiosity growing inside him—the thought of spending more time with you, learning more about you beyond the polite small talk and daily routine. He wasn't sure if it would change anything between you, but part of him wanted to try.

"This couch looks good. It fits a lot of people," Mingyu said, running his hand over the fabric as you continued to browse.

You shook your head, clearly unimpressed. "I don't get visitors."

Mingyu chuckled, leaning in a little closer. "What about friends? Boyfriend, maybe?" he teased with a playful grin.

You scoffed and held up your left hand, flashing the engagement ring in front of him. "In case you forgot, I’m engaged."

Mingyu’s eyes flickered to the ring, and he was momentarily struck by the sight of it. You always wore the ring, even though the engagement had been arranged. He, on the other hand, rarely wore his—only during major events or family meetings where it was expected. His profession didn’t really allow for accessories, so he often went without it. But seeing you wear it regularly was a subtle reminder of the commitment hanging between you both.

"Right, how could I forget?" he replied, smoothly continuing the conversation as if the ring hadn’t stirred something unspoken inside him.

Despite the casual banter, the moment felt a little heavier than it should have. He couldn't quite shake the realization that the ring—a symbol of their engagement—was more present in your life than his. It was a quiet declaration, whether intentional or not, that you were his fiancée.

When it came time to pay, Mingyu insisted on covering everything, even after your countless protests. He waved off your refusals, casually brushing them aside as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to take care of it.

"A rib for dinner?" Mingyu requested once he done paying. How dare you to refused.

*

After ten days of living together, Mingyu realized how quiet and empty his place felt without you around. He found himself looking for any excuse to see you, whether it was a quick text, a call, or even dropping by your restaurant. Without fully realizing it, the relationship between the two of you had begun to shift into something he hadn’t expected.

At this point, almost all of your staff knew him. They had even started referring to him as "the boss's handsome fiancé" every time he walked through the door. This month alone, he had visited your restaurant 8 times—sometimes for a meal, sometimes just to drive you home. And he was relieved that you didn’t seem uncomfortable with his presence. In fact, you appeared to be getting used to it, just as he was.

One afternoon, as Mingyu made his rounds at the hospital, he overheard a group of nurses whispering as he passed by, his name mentioned in their conversation.

"If she's the daughter of the owner, then she must be Doctor Kim’s fiancée, right?"

Mingyu, always the friendly type, chimed in with a grin. "I heard my name."

The nurses looked a bit startled but quickly filled him in. "Doctor Kim, the owner's daughter was brought into the emergency room after being assaulted. Isn't she your fiancée?"

What?

Mingyu’s stomach dropped. Without wasting a second, he grabbed his phone and immediately dialed your number. It rang, but someone else picked up.

"Y/n?" he asked, his voice tight with concern.

"Ah, Mr. Kim? She left her phone behind. She's at the hospital right now. A crazy person caused a scene and she got hurt."

Mingyu didn’t wait for more details. He bolted to the emergency room, his mind racing. When he got there, he hurried to the nurses’ station and asked for your whereabouts.

They directed him to a bed where he finally saw you—sitting up, your arm and head wrapped in bandages, while a doctor carefully tended to your injuries. Relief washed over him, but it was mixed with a surge of worry and anger at what had happened.

He approached you cautiously, his heart still pounding in his chest.

You looked up at Mingyu and smiled, a wave of relief washing over you as soon as you saw him by your side. As the doctor finished tending to your wounds, he greeted Mingyu and explained that you would need to wait for the results of the X-ray, as you had hit your head during the incident.

Once the doctor left, Mingyu turned his full attention to you, his eyes scanning over your injuries with a mixture of concern and relief. Without saying a word, he gently pulled you into an embrace, holding you close as if making sure you were really okay.

"I'm so glad it wasn't worse," he murmured, his voice soft yet filled with emotion. He pulled back slightly to look at you. "What happened?"

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the lingering tension from the day. "There was this drunk guy, making a scene in the restaurant. He was about to hit one of my staff, so I stepped in. I got pushed and my head hit the table. This," you pointed to your bandaged arm, "is from some shattered glass."

Mingyu sighed, his jaw tightening in frustration. "I'm calling the police," he said firmly, standing up as if ready to take action immediately.

But you reached out and grabbed his hand, stopping him. "It's already been reported. My staff handled it."

Mingyu paused, looking down at you, the worry still clear in his eyes. Though the situation had already been dealt with, his protective instincts were hard to turn off. He sat back down next to you, still holding your hand, as if to reassure himself you were safe now.

Your mother, the vice president, appeared in the emergency room, her presence commanding attention as she quickly made her way toward you. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of her, though you could see the worry etched in her expression.

"My heart dropped when I heard my daughter was in the emergency room. Are you okay, honey?" she asked, her voice laced with concern as she reached out to touch your arm.

"I'm fine, Mom," you reassured her with a small smile, trying to ease her worry.

Mingyu stood quietly to the side, observing the exchange with a sense of relief. He was glad to see how close you were with your family, something he hadn’t really gotten to witness much before.

Then your mother turned her attention to Mingyu, who stood respectfully behind her. Her gaze softened as she acknowledged him.

"Thank you, Mingyu. I heard you’ve been taking care of my daughter, especially after she lost her apartment in the fire. And now you're here again," she said, her gratitude clear.

Mingyu bowed slightly, feeling the weight of her words. "It's my pleasure, ma'am," he responded with sincerity.

Your mother waved off the formality with a warm smile. "No need for 'ma'am.' Call me Mother. After all, you're part of the family now—my daughter's fiancé."

The words caught Mingyu a little off guard, though he masked it with a polite nod. He glanced at you, noticing the subtle shift in the room. The formality of your engagement suddenly felt a bit more personal, more real.

After spending some more time talking with your mother and assuring her you were okay, the X-ray results came back clear. The doctor recommended rest and monitoring for the next few days to ensure there were no lingering effects from the head injury. With that, Mingyu insisted on taking you home.

As you left the hospital, Mingyu walked by your side, his hand resting gently on your lower back as he guided you to the car. The day had been exhausting, but knowing that Mingyu was there gave you a strange sense of comfort. It was a feeling that was becoming more familiar lately.

The drive home was quiet, with Mingyu occasionally glancing over to check on you. You stared out the window, your mind still processing everything that had happened, from the fire at your apartment to the incident today. You felt the weight of it all, but at the same time, there was a sense of relief that you weren’t alone in dealing with it.

When Mingyu pulled into his apartment complex, he parked the car and quickly came around to your side to help you out. You couldn’t help but smile at how attentive he was.

As you sat on the couch, trying to unwind from the long day, Mingyu hovered nearby, clearly still worried. You noticed his eyes flicking over to you every few minutes, as if checking to make sure you were really okay.

"You really should rest," he said, standing up and grabbing a blanket from the nearby chair. "I can see you're exhausted."

"I’m fine, Mingyu," you protested softly, though you knew you needed the rest.

He walked over, gently draping the blanket over you, his hands lingering for a moment as he looked down at you. “Just lie down, please. Doctor's orders,” he added with a small, teasing smile, trying to lighten the mood.

You sighed, giving in. The exhaustion was catching up with you, and the couch felt more comfortable with the blanket wrapped around you. As you shifted to lie down, Mingyu crouched down beside you, his expression softening as he watched you settle.

"Better?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

You nodded, pulling the blanket closer. “Yeah, better.”

He lingered for a moment before standing up again, running a hand through his hair. "I think I’ll stay out here with you, just in case you need anything.”

"You don’t have to—" you started to protest, but Mingyu was already grabbing a pillow for himself and setting it on the other end of the couch.

"I know, but I want to," he said simply, lying down beside you, keeping a respectful distance. “We both need to rest anyway. This way, I’ll be right here if anything happens.”

You turned your head slightly to look at him, noticing how comfortable and natural he seemed lying next to you. The tension that had been hanging in the air for weeks felt like it was slowly fading, replaced by an unexpected sense of ease.

"Alright," you murmured, closing your eyes.

Mingyu lay there quietly, the soft rise and fall of his breathing the only sound in the room. He wasn’t saying much, but his presence was steady, reassuring in a way that made you feel safe. After a few moments, he shifted slightly closer, his hand brushing against yours under the blanket. He didn’t say anything, but the gesture spoke volumes.

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you let the quiet warmth between the two of you settle in, realizing that maybe this arrangement between you wasn’t so bad after all.

As you drifted off to sleep, you could feel Mingyu relax beside you. The weight of the day slowly lifted, and with him lying there next to you, it felt easier to rest.

As evening approached, the soft glow of the setting sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm light over the room. You and Mingyu had both woken up from your nap, feeling more rested but still shaken from the day's events. Mingyu sat up, glancing over at you with a gentle smile.

“Do you need anything?” he asked, his voice still soft but with a hint of concern.

You shook your head, feeling more at ease now. “No, I’m okay. Thanks for staying with me.”

He nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Actually, I should probably check and clean your wound properly. Just to make sure it’s healing well.”

You hesitated for a moment but then nodded, realizing it would be reassuring to have him take care of you. Mingyu moved to get a first aid kit from the bathroom, then returned and sat next to you on the couch. As he began to carefully clean the wound on your head, his concentration was palpable.

The proximity brought an unexpected intimacy. Mingyu’s breath lightly brushed against your skin, and you could feel the warmth of his body close to yours. You glanced up at him, and for the first time, you noticed how dangerously close his face was to yours. The closeness made both of you acutely aware of each other, and suddenly, your cheeks flushed a soft pink.

There was a moment of shared awkwardness where neither of you knew quite what to say. Mingyu’s fingers brushed lightly against your forehead, and a nervous laugh escaped both of you simultaneously. The sound was light and shy, a clear indicator of the tension and the new feelings stirring between you.

Mingyu’s hands paused as he looked at you, his eyes meeting yours with an earnest expression. The silence between you was thick with unspoken emotions. He seemed to be gauging your reaction, his gaze shifting from your eyes to your lips.

Without breaking eye contact, Mingyu leaned in slowly, and you felt a rush of anticipation. For a heartbeat, everything seemed to stand still. Then, ever so gently, he pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was tender and soft, a simple yet profound gesture that spoke volumes.

You responded instinctively, your lips moving against his in a hesitant, exploring dance. The kiss deepened just slightly, filled with a mutual tenderness that neither of you had expected but both seemed to crave. When Mingyu finally pulled back, his expression was a mix of relief and uncertainty.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, a slight blush still visible on his cheeks. “I just... I needed to do that.”

You smiled softly, reaching out to gently touch his face. “It’s okay. I think I needed it too.”

Mingyu’s smile was more relaxed now, a genuine warmth in his eyes. He resumed cleaning the wound with a renewed calm, the previous tension replaced by a new, comforting closeness. As he finished, you both settled back into the couch, the space between you now filled with a quiet, shared understanding.

Mingyu set aside the first aid kit and took a deep breath, his gaze locking with yours. “I... I know this might sound sudden, but I think we need to talk about where we go from here.”

You looked at him with curiosity and a hint of apprehension, waiting for him to continue.

He shifted slightly, his expression earnest. “I know our relationship started out as a business arrangement, and things between us have been... different from what I expected. But after spending time with you, especially today, I’ve realized something.”

You watched him closely, feeling a flutter of anticipation in your chest.

“Mingyu, what is it?” you asked softly.

He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us. About how we’ve been living together, how you’ve been there for me in ways I didn’t expect. And honestly, I’ve come to realize that I really like you. More than just as my fiancée. I want to be with you, not just because of our families or the arrangement, but because I genuinely care about you.”

His words hung in the air, and you could feel the sincerity behind them. Mingyu reached out and took your hand in his, his touch gentle and reassuring.

“I want to start over,” he continued, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “I want us to settle everything that’s happened and move forward. I want to take you out on dates, to spend time with you as someone I truly treasure. Not just because it’s what’s expected, but because it’s what I genuinely want.”

Your heart raced as you listened, his confession a mix of relief and excitement. It was clear that Mingyu wasn’t just fulfilling a duty anymore—he was speaking from the heart.

“I’ve felt the same way,” you admitted, squeezing his hand. “I never expected this arrangement to lead to something real, but it has. I’ve come to care about you a lot, and I’d like to see where this could go, too.”

Mingyu’s face brightened with a hopeful smile. “So, are we starting over then? Taking a chance on something that’s more than just an arrangement?”

You nodded, a smile of your own spreading across your face. “Yes, let’s start over. I’d like that.”

With a sense of newfound clarity and excitement, Mingyu leaned in and kissed you again, this time with a deeper sense of commitment. It was a kiss that promised not just the continuation of an engagement but the beginning of something much more meaningful.

As the evening drew on, you and Mingyu talked more about your hopes and plans for the future, feeling a sense of anticipation and warmth. The journey ahead was still uncertain, but now it was a journey you were both eager to take together, as partners who truly cared for each other.

*

“Because you’re handsome?” Mingyu chuckled softly, clearly amused by your answer. He had asked you why you accepted the engagement in the first place, and he hadn’t expected your candid response.

“Of course, you’re very handsome and attractive,” you said with a playful glint in your eye. “But beyond that, I didn’t have anyone special, and I didn’t want to go against my parents’ kind intentions, especially when it didn’t harm me.”

“You didn’t go against it?” Mingyu asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

You paused to think before shaking your head. “No, not at all. I wasn’t planning to get married. I was just focused on my business.”

Mingyu nodded thoughtfully. “How about now?”

“What do you mean now?” you asked, a hint of confusion in your voice.

“Get married,” he clarified. “Do you want to get married?”

It had been three years since the engagement, and throughout that time, you and Mingyu had maintained your commitment to each other. Even though your parents had pushed for a wedding, you both had insisted on getting to know each other better. It was only after a year of engagement that you truly began to enjoy each other’s presence.

“With you?” you asked innocently, and Mingyu rolled his eyes with a chuckle.

“I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t with me. Do you want to get married to me?”

A scowl formed on your face as you stared at him, your emotions a mix of surprise and curiosity. “Are you proposing?”

Mingyu laughed, his eyes twinkling with affection. “Why? You don’t like it, baby?”

The scowl melted away, replaced by a warm and genuine smile. “I’d love to. I’ve been happy these two years with you. Why not be happy forever?”

Mingyu’s expression softened as he cupped your cheeks gently. “You’re really happy?”

You nodded, your eyes shining with sincerity.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. “Then I’m happy too.”

In that moment, it felt as if everything had come full circle. The uncertainty of the past had given way to a future filled with promise, and both of you were ready to embrace it together.

[epigstolary]

Real Talk

TW: Medical fatphobia, health issues, fat shaming, toxic masculinity

Dude, you say you want me to help you, but you’re going to have to get serious if you really want to start losing weight. I’m a trainer, not a miracle worker. I mean, look at you; you know your body’s fucking disgusting, right? You let yourself get so huge that even your fat guy clothes can’t hide your belly anymore. Every inch of you is covered in blubber. Everywhere you look. And you have to push all that fat around every time you want to walk or move. It’s so gross watching you try to go anywhere. You’re just waddling around under hundreds of pounds of fat, wheezing like you just ran a marathon. Like… people aren’t supposed to get to the size that you have. And don’t give me that “health at any size” bullshit. You’ve got to have some serious problems to get this big and think it’s ok. Nobody your size is healthy. Your body’s a fucking disgrace, tubbo.

You gotta realize just how bad being this fat is for you, right? Think about it. All that fat’s wrapping around your organs. Either they work harder, or they just quit working. Your joints are getting annihilated having to move all that extra weight around. Your heart’s having to work so much harder just to do its thing because you’re so fucking big. Your body’s not supposed to work like that. It feels like it’s under attack 24/7 — because it is — so you’ve got anxiety, you’ve got inflammation, your hormones are all out of wack. Your body chemistry is basically fucked once you get fat. And fucking forget about it when you weigh as much as three normal people, like your flabby ass does.

Not that you seem to care, since you pay zero attention to your diet. It’s just fucking scary, bro. I’ve seen you pound an entire pizza or a bag of burgers and be ready for more. And that’s just, like, a regular lunch for you. There’s so much saturated fat and sugar in all the shit you eat for every meal, it blows my mind that you’re even able to function. Where do you think that shit goes after you cram it down your throat, meal after meal? It’s blowing up your body even fatter. It’s clogging up those arteries to make that overworked heart work even harder. It’s running through all the insulin your body tries to pump out so that it can deal with the abuse you put it through. I bet if I went through your kitchen right now, I couldn’t find one goddamn vegetable — all sweets, and takeout, and chips, and junk food, am I right? Yeah, you love kicking back on the sofa and working through a big pile of garbage like that, don’t you, fatass? I bet you sit there just belly out, crumbs and shit all over your tits, like a big fucking blob, huh?

Keep eating like that, and you don’t have a fucking chance. You’re just gonna keep blowing up until you finally have the fucking big one. That shit is so, SO bad for you. You want to not be a total embarrassment, fatty? You’re gonna have to throw the snack cakes in the garbage. You’re gonna have to cook stuff that’s not loaded with butter or grease or sugar. You’re gonna have to eat something green that grows in the ground every once in a while. And yeah, you’re probably going to feel like shit for a while because your body’s used to getting fed lard nonstop all the fucking time. But you gotta get a little self-control. The whole reason why you look like a fucking enormous cow, why you’ve got that belly packed full of fat fucking garbage, is that you’ve never had any.

I guess what I can’t figure out is, why the fuck did you do this to yourself? It’s so much harder to make it through life when you’re this fucking heavy. You can’t even go anywhere or do anything because you’re too fat to leave the house. Everyone you meet has to be shocked at what a lardass you are. Nobody who sees your disgustingly obese body is gonna want to fuck you, except the fucking weirdos who get off on that shit. Maybe that’s who you have to settle for, since there’s no way you’re reaching your dick with all that fat in the way. God, I can’t even imagine letting myself get too fat to be able to fuck. That’s so fucking gross, bro.

Like, look at me. Look at this rock-hard bicep next to that big flabby fucking water wing of an arm you have. Look at these abs next to you and that belly hanging down to your knees. It doesn’t even have a fucking shape. Look at these tight glutes next to that wide, wobbling, fat ass you’ve gotten from sitting in front of the tv stuffing your fat face for years. With a body like this, I can fuck anyone I want. How do you think that same hookup’s gonna go for you, huh? Nobody out there’s going home with a pile of jello like you You’re going home, alone, to try and figure out a way to get yourself off.

And dude, I’m not saying all this just to shit on you. I’m worried about you. It sucks to see my bro blow up into a fucking whale and get all mopey ‘cause he can’t get any ass. But you need someone to be real with you. Someone’s gotta tell you how much of a fatass you are, and how much of a fatass you’re gonna be until you get to the gym and shut this fast food and shit down. You can’t blame anyone but yourself for how you got this way. Keep complaining, and you’re going to keep being a gross fatty. You’re gonna have to go out, get some fucking exercise, and deal with being embarrassed at being the fattest guy at the gym until you’ve put in the work to fix it.

Trust me, bro, you’ll thank me later.

[leighsartworks216]

Doctor, Doctor

Zayne & gn!Reader

Shoutout to everyone who's ever been fucked over by the healthcare industry

Also yes it's another medical Zayne fic shut up

Warnings: medical trauma, hospital, anxiety, swearing, crying

Word Count: 1,158

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You take a deep breath before knocking on the door. When you walked into the hospital with an entire 3-ring binder full of papers, the nurse had given you a sympathetic look.

For years, years of your life, all your symptoms, all your health issues, anything even tangentially related to being medical, was ignored - or worse, mistreated. Doctors who would take one look at you and dismiss you without hearing a single word of why you scheduled an appointment in the first place. Doctors who brushed it off as anxiety or told you to work out more. Doctors who failed you. Over and over, constantly driving you to this point in your life.

You’d cried when putting together this binder, terrified that it wouldn’t be enough. Detailed lists of symptoms and when you experienced them. Lists of test results from every time you were told to do a blood test. Medication you’d been put on or other stupid advice you’d been told. Anything you could think of, it was in there.

“Come in.”

If this didn’t work, you were completely out of options.

You push open the door. Dr. Zayne is at his desk, typing something into the monitor. He glances over. It’s the only sign he’s acknowledged you at all when he goes back to typing.

The door closes behind you with a gentle click. Before you can chicken out, be the perfect docile patient doctors love to laugh at behind closed doors for being paranoid, you cross the distance and drop the binder onto the desk. Admittedly, it lands more harshly than you intended. You wince. He stops his typing.

He slides it over to himself, flipping open the top cover to reveal all the documents inside.

“It’s a log of my symptoms over the last few months,” you explain quickly. The room is cool, comfortable, but you feel like a fire is slowly cooking you alive the longer you stand there and watch him flip through. “A-And all the tests doctors in the past have had me do, and prescriptions and… advice.”

His face is hard to read. He frowns in concentration as he flips through, not reading each page in its entirety but skimming through to get the gist of all the information. He skips from the log to the tests. He lingers on these a bit longer, scanning each line of the results for anything abnormal or unusual that could account for the symptoms you’ve described. He barely glances over the final section, but he frowns deeper when he sees “Lose weight” among the shortlist of dismissive comments.

“Most new patients just introduce themselves.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks. “Please. I have tried just about every doctor in every clinic, hospital, and treatment center in Linkon. If you can’t help me, then I won’t be your patient for very long anyway.”

He finally looks up at you. You wonder what he must think, seeing this crazy person with this huge catalog of things wrong with you.

He gestures to the stool beside him. “Sit.” He turns to face the stool, putting the earpieces of his stethoscope in his ears. You stare at him for a moment, at a loss. He glances up at you. “I’ll help you, but I need a baseline to start with first.”

Doubt starts bubbling in your stomach. If he’s just going to check you over, give you a lab for more bloodwork, and tell you to get some rest…

You reluctantly sit down.

He presses the stethoscope to your chest. His eyes look beside you, staring off as he focuses on the sound of your lungs and heart. You’re all too conscious of how you breathe; how long you hold each breath for, how quickly you inhale and exhale.

“Your heart is beating quite fast,” he points out.

You fight not to laugh. Obviously, it’s beating fast; you’re putting the quality of the rest of your life in the hands of another fucking doctor who may treat it with the same care and consideration as a bruised banana peel. Of course your heart is beating fast! You’re fucking terrified!

When he finally pulls away, he turns to his computer monitor again. A document for your file in the hospital’s system takes up the screen. His fingers tap away quickly to fill in a few boxes of data.

“What do you think is wrong with you?” he asks suddenly.

You frown. “What do you mean ‘what do I think is wrong with me’? I just gave you a whole list of shit wrong with me.”

He turns back to you, shaking his head. “You misunderstand me. With this amount of documentation, I’ve no doubts that you’ve done research into figuring out your condition, correct? I’m curious to hear what you think it could be.”

Your anger withers under his gaze. Conflicts war within you.

Is he asking just so he can dismiss them all so he can make himself feel smarter than you?

Or is he asking because he really wants to know what you think is wrong, so he can begin helping you?

It’s hard to tell. He’s almost completely unreadable to you.

He flips the binder back to your daily log, reading it over while you try to gauge what his intentions are.

“I… didn’t look into it,” you lie.

He glances at you from the corner of his eye. “Really? Then why have you gone through the effort of listing your symptoms in medical terms?” He points to one of the logs, just one of many where you’ve substituted the weaker-sounding complaints so they can be taken more seriously by a doctor who would understand what they mean.

He faces you again. You think it’s sympathy that flickers in his eyes, the way it had with the receptionist. His piercing gaze makes you want to look away, it’s so intense.

“As my patient, for however long you choose to remain in my care, your wellbeing is of the utmost importance to me. These concerns are impacting you enough to log everything and jump between healthcare providers for a solution. As such, it is my duty to help you figure out what is causing you such distress, and work with you to find the methods you need to mitigate its effects.” He tilts his head slightly. “Does that sound agreeable to you?”

Your chest is tight with overwhelming emotion. He actually wants to listen to you. To work with you to figure out what’s wrong. Tears burn at your eyes before you can stop them. You nod as you wipe them away.

He doesn’t seem to judge you for your emotions at all. He simply rolls over toward the counter of drawers behind him to retrieve a box of tissues, and places them down in front of you. You grab a couple to clean your face.

“Now, let’s start with what you’ve researched and go from there.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44

[monzabee]

the first monday in may – dr3

masterlist || part 1 ||

Summary: The one where you and Daniel make your first outing as a couple at this year's Met Gala.

Pairing: daniel ricciardo x actress!reader

Word Count: 4288

Warnings: cursing, mentions of anxiety and medication, apart from that none?? fluffity fluff fluff

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! i wrote this on a train and a plane, so if you see any grammar issues or typos or a sentence which doesn’t make any sense, no you didn’t. after mr daniel blessing us with his met look, i just knew i had to write something for it, so i really hope you guys enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it! please know that feedback is always appreciated and my inbox is always open for you guys!! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

A loud groan leaves your lips at the sound of the alarm, your hand reaching out to get a hold of your phone, but accidentally hitting something someone else. Daniel groans as you repeatedly try to hit the snooze button on his chest, and he tries to stop you by grabbing your wrist which is moving too quickly for his morning reflexes. 

“Sweetheart– ow– Y/N,” he lets out a frustrated groan as he tries to turn away from you, “please stop hitting me.” 

Thankfully for him, you choose to listen to his request as you roll away from him in an attempt to cover your ears with your pillow. “Make it stop, Danny.” 

“Okay, just– gimme a second.” His voice is still thick from sleep, coming off more as a mumble than anything else, and his moves are sluggish as he reaches over you to turn off the alarm you’ve set the night before. “Here, done,” he breathes out as he lets himself fall back to his side of the bed, sideways, and breathy from moving quickly while still half-asleep. “Sweetheart, take your head out of there, you’re going to suffocate yourself.” Daniel mumbles, trying to coax you with this fingers leaving feathery touches on your arm and his lips leaving small kisses on the exposed skin of your neck. A lazy grin forms on his lips as you mumble something incoherent underneath your pillow, “I can’t understand you; you know.”

Your moves are almost jerky as you lift your head up and turn your body backwards to shoot him a sleepy glare, “I don’t want to wake up, let me sleep.” You go back to hugging your pillow as you close your eyes, your whiny voice making Daniel chuckle. “Stop laughing at me!”

“I can’t help it, you’re so grumpy in the mornings.” He continues to chuckle and proceed to sit up on the bed with his back against the headboard. “Pass me the phone?” 

“You’re evil,” you mumble, reaching to the bedside table to retrieve his phone and turn towards him to hand it, “what time is it anyway?”

Daniel turns the phone on, his eyes burning due to the brightness of the screen as he recites, “6.30.”

“What kind of a person, in their right mind, would want to wake up in this damn hour?” You groan, hand reaching out to touch him in any way possible. 

“You said you wanted to work out before all the commotion, sweetheart.” 

You can hear his smile through his voice, which makes you finally open your eyes in irritation – though all your grumpiness disappears when your eyes level with his thigh. Your fingers move without their own volition as they start tracing through the helmet design of his tattoo, “Don’t listen to me, I’m crazy.” 

“I thought I was the crazy one,” he reminds you, moving his eyes from the screen of his phone and flexing the muscles on his upper thigh to draw out an appreciative sigh from you, “eyes up here, Y/LN.” 

You push your bottom lip out in a pout as you meet his eyes. “You know how it makes me feel like when you call me by my last name.” 

“Your libido honestly concerns me.” He shakes his head, satisfied when he sees a small smile snaking its way on your lips, his voice is warm as he says, “Good morning, sweetheart.” 

Pressing a soft kiss to the skin of his upper thigh, which is exposed thanks to his habit of sleeping without pants. You keep your eyes on his as you straighten up and press another kiss to his lips, resting your chin against his shoulder afterwards. “Good morning to you too, honey.” 

He smiles, leaning down to give you a full bodied kiss which leaves you yearning for more; you seek him out as you follow his retreating form, which makes him smile wider as he gives into your wish. The kiss you share might be sweet starting out, but he knows better than to let you keep on going when you nip at his bottom lip. So, being the gentleman he is, he pulls back and rests his forehead against yours as he mumbles, “I take it back, you are very sweet in the mornings.” 

The giggle he hears back from you is enough for him to know that this is the window he needs to take advantage of to get you out of bed, knowing that there is absolutely no way you’ll actually work out this morning. He successfully coxes you out of bed with promises of breakfast and morning coffee, directing you to the en-suite attached to your bedroom to help you with your morning routine. He holds your hair as you brush your teeth when it makes you frustrated because of the way it keeps getting in front of your face, and he watches you as you wash and apply numerous products on your face; moisturiser, eye cream, sun screen, and even stays still as you apply some on his face because “You should be treating yourself, especially today, Danny.” You hug him from behind and rest your face against his back as he brushes his own teeth, rambling about the day ahead of both of you. He makes sure to put on sweatpants and a t-shirt before going downstairs with you into the kitchen to make you breakfast and coffee as he promised, not in that order. You sit on the counter next to his work station as sip on your coffee and watch him prepare breakfast; he sings an old eighties song in an awfully off pitch, which makes you smile into the cup and let him steal some of the coffee from it. The two of you have your breakfast against the view of New York City, which is starting to become more and more alive as the time goes on. 

“Are you excited for today?” He asks you, leaning against the back of the couch – the two of you are seated on the floor behind it to watch the city scape. 

“Honestly?” You take a pause to try to choose the right words. “The only reason I’m remotely excited about it is because I know you’re going to be there. Are you excited?” You nudge him with your shoulder as you give him a playful grin. “The Daniel Ricciardo is making his Met Gala debut; how does it feel to be a rookie again?”

“Ha-fucking-ha,” he mockingly laughs, rolling his eyes at the sound of your laugh getting louder with a small smile forming on his lips, “I am excited, and I think we’re both going to have a lovely night.” 

Your laughter continues as you poke him on his cheek repeatedly, making him join you as he starts laughing. “Look at you, being all optimistic and stuff.” 

He pulls you over his lap, which ends you half-way straddling his thighs as you rest your hands on his shirt clad chest. “I’m the personification of sunshine, and don’t you ever forget it.” 

The rest of the morning is spent with hushed whispers shared between you two, lazily cleaning up the kitchen to the sounds of an old record you found in your parents’ attic and took it back with you to your apartment in New York. Daniel still tries to keep up with the lyrics of the sound in his awfully off-pitched voice, claiming that he is not hearing what you claim would make “the Phantom of the Opera cry.” It’s an awfully domestic scene, a routine the two of you have been perfecting for a while since meeting each other, but it’s interrupted when the two of you hear the front door open, followed by a; “You better be awake and ready to go because I am not dealing with traffic today.” 

You smile knowingly at Daniel before calling out, “In the kitchen!” 

“Hi, Rosa, you want some coffee?” Daniel asks the woman, who enters into the kitchen with an angry look on her face. He gives you a peck on your forehead and moves towards the coffee machine without waiting for her answer, since he anticipates it’s going to be affirmative. 

“Oh, he’s good.” Rosa mumbles, pointing to the man who hands her the cup. 

The two of you share another laugh as Daniel returns to his position behind you, wrapping his arms around you. “Are you okay, Rosa?” You ask her as you try to get some of the pastries you had earlier ready for her. 

“People are particularly stupid this morning, it must be in the air.” Your assistant mutters as she digs into the croissant, sighing as she takes her first bite. “You are an angel; they should consider you for the Nobel prize at some point in the future.”

“The least I can do is feed you,” you shrug, jumping slightly when Daniel squeezes your waist ever so slightly as a reminder to take the compliment – you turn to give him a look which makes it very clear for him to see you rolling your eyes. “How many photographers are there downstairs?”

“I love it when she refers to them as photographers, don’t you?” Rosa asks Daniel, and then turns her attention to you to answer your question, “A lot, which is why I need you to go get dressed so we can be early for your last fitting.” 

You begrudgingly leave Daniel’s arms as you make your way towards the stairs and warning the two, “Do not gossip about me when I’m gone.” 

“Wouldn’t dare dream of it, sweetheart.” Daniel nods with fake seriousness, laughing as you roll your eyes at him and poke your tongue before running up the stairs to get ready. 

After managing to get ready in record time and making sure you have all the necessities for the day, you go back downstairs to say goodbye to your boyfriend for the day. There is a heavy look in his eyes as he cups your cheeks between his hands and tilts your head back to take a good look in your eyes. 

“Don’t forget to call me if you’re feeling overwhelmed, okay?” Daniel asks, which comes off more as an assurance rather than a question. “Do you have everything you need?” 

“I do, Danny.” You assure him, hands gripping the front of his shirt. “I’ll see you at the carpet, right?” 

“Yeah,” his whisper hitting your lips as he repeats, “I’ll see you at the carpet.” After he gives you a final sweet kiss on the lips, which is interrupted by Rosa screaming for you to be quick, there is a dopey grin on his lips as he watches you walk away. “Who are you going to be wearing, again?” He asks, leaning against the counter. 

You roll your eyes at his attempt to learn more about your dress – both of you having agreed not to show each other what you’re going to be dressed in just to enjoy the mystery of it all, you only know the designers both of you are going to be dressed in. “I’ll be the one in Chanel!” You call out to him as you walk out the door. 

It’s not that you hate getting ready, not at all. In fact, you love sitting in a chair for three consecutive hours without having to make any moves as the light is shining in your eye. You’re glad to endure the entire process with your team, though, who manage to make the time go faster by continuously talking to you and helping you take your mind off of the anxiety starting to form at the back of your mind. Not only do you have to get ready for one of the most publicly scrutinised events of the year, you’re going to be wearing a dress which you cannot, under any circumstances, spill something on or harm in any way – and the top it all off, your entire process of getting ready is being filmed for one of the most watched YouTube channels of the most famous fashion magazine. So yes, the anxiety you’re starting to feel is not displaced at all. 

The makeup-hair-nail extravaganza is interrupted by a delivery, which Rosa doesn’t allow you to go receive at the door in your robe, so while she handles the delivery, you’re stuck with three pairs of curious eyes.

“I wonder who it could be from.” Rosa smiles covertly as she hands you the flowers and the small package that is wrapped up in a bag. 

You try to appear cool in front of everyone – but fail miserably as you mumble, “I wouldn’t know, I haven’t read the card yet.” After placing the vase full of colourful flowers onto the table, you spot a card attached which you take off and hold it close to your chest in a playful manner as you read it out loud, “‘You’re my celebrity girl crush’”.

“Is that supposed to be an inside joke?” Mark whispers loudly to Rosa who’s standing next to him as he peruses his make-up bag to find the right colour for your blush. 

“Oh who cares?” Your hair artist, Miranda, sighs behind you. “He sent her flowers! Open the box, open the box.” 

You roll your eyes at their antics as you open the small box that was in the bag, revealing three thin gold bands, which are decorated by small diamonds. A gasp comes from the man next to you, who is shaking his head in approval as he points to the ring box. “Oh he’s good, they are gorgeous!”

“You know what they say,” you mumble, smiling softly, “all good things come in three’s.” 

Rosa gives you a mischievous look, “Isn’t Daniel’s driver’s number three, Y/N?” 

You can feel the blush coming onto your cheeks as you wave your assistant off and duck your head slightly to get away from the amused looks of your colleagues, “Stop it.” 

After hours of preparation and shooting, followed by the task of getting you into your dress for the evening (which involved lacing up a very stubborn corset) and a round of  “Should the hair be up or down”, you’re finally leave after completing the last touches of your look. You try your best at standing still as you let Miranda fasten the headpiece onto your hairdo, which she manages to complete pretty quickly. The trek to the car is chaotic to say the very least, but you manage to do your best as you walk through the doors of your hotel and smile at the flashing cameras and shouting fans while you walk to the van. Having to stand in the van in order not to damage the form of the dress you’re wearing, you think the worse part of the night is over – the only thing you have to do is meet Daniel on the carpet, pose, go up the stairs and enjoy the rest of the night; easy. Which is exactly why you end up close to losing your mind when the car suddenly stops moving. 

“Oh my god, please tell me we didn’t just stop in the middle of the road.” Rosa mumbles from her seat. 

You take a deep breath as you answer, “I’m sure we didn’t stop in the middle of the road–”

“There are protestors on the street, in front of the other car.” The driver replies from the front seat. 

“Wh-who’s in the car front?” You ask Rosa, confused, as she furiously types away on her phone. 

“Paris Hilton,” she mumbles, looking up at you, “I’m sure we’ll be there on time, just a bit delayed. I need you to keep calm, okay?”

The whine that leaves your lips has her looking at you worried, “I need– can you please give me my phone?” 

She hands you your phone from her bag per your request, watching you struggle with your phone. “Y/N, do you need to take your medicine? Just to calm your nerves down a little bit?” 

“No, they make me sleepy.” You mumble, finally finding his contact and calling him, “I’m fine I just need to tell Daniel.” 

“Sweetheart.” His voice filling your ears as you take a deep breath. “Oh my god, you didn’t tell me how crazy it was in here!”

The excitement in his voice is enough to calm some of your nerves, “Yeah, you’re having fun?” 

“Fun?” He exclaims, “I just saw Jared Leto come out of a cat suit, Y/N!”

“What?” You let out a breathy laughter, your eyes are on Rosa who is trying to talk to the driver. “That is crazy.”

“I know, I wish you were here to see it, too. Where are you anyway?” 

“I– I’m stuck.” You confess, hand gripping the seat you’ve been using as support tighter. 

“Stuck?” He asks, his voice conveying how confused he is. “Is everything okay? Where is Rosa?” 

“She is here, Danny, there are protestors on the street so it looks like I’m going to be late.” Your eyes keep watching the scene around you with you trying to see whether the people are moving as your voice wavers at the end. “Paris Hilton is also late though, so at least we’ll be fashionably late together.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Daniel coos, his voice sounding so soothing to you, “don’t worry, okay? I’ll just wait for you down here.” 

You let out a disagreeing hum. “They won’t let you; they need to have people move along so they can stick to the schedule.” 

“Then I’ll just wait for you at the top of the stairs,” Daniel announces, “Kris Jenner did it for her kids, didn’t she?”

“I– What– ” You scramble to put the words together, making Rosa frown at you. “How do you even know that?”

“You obviously doubt my ability to keep up with the Kardashians, sweetheart. Now breath for me, will you?” 

Daniel ends up staying with you on the phone until he is called up. You can tell he is hesitant to leave you, but you assure him that you’ll see him when you get there. Lucky for you, the crowd end up scattering and the car starts moving once again. You let out a relieved breath, but pray that no other complications arise until you make it to the Met. When the car stops again and Rosa informs you that you’ve made it to the location, you feel as if there is a big weight being lifted off your shoulders. You don’t even remember getting off the van and going inside or even stepping on to the carpet, but your short-lived dissociation is cut in half when you hear your name being shouted over and over again. You do your best to pose for every single camera even if the flashes are hurting your eyes once Rosa gently moves you along to help you onto the stairs, and you follow her as you pose for the las time looking over your shoulder with a wide smile – a pose you give every year, which the media dubbed as being yours and your mother manages to find new places to hang around the house after every year’s gala. You shoot Rosa a grateful look as she helps you move up the stairs by linking her arm with yours and lifting your dress for you to move more freely. 

You’re almost out of breath when you reach the top of the stairs, but there is a smile on your face as you hear, “We have another bride, ladies and gentleman, another one!” You look around to the source of the voice a loud laugh escaping you when you locate it. Emma hums the Wedding March as you make your way over to her, also singing, “Here comes the bride.”

“It’s so good to see you again!” You smile at her, quickly giving her a hug. “Three years in a row? I’m so proud of you!”

“Oh stop it, I’m never going to keep this gig if I blush on camera!” Emma laughs, pointing to your outfit. “Obviously, we have another Chanel Bride here, but what can you tell us about your look today?” 

“Well, it’s Bridal Chanel –  from my mother’s collection actually. She decided to buy this for me before I was even born, so than you mom,” you tip your head to the camera and lift your fingers up in a mock salute, “sorry for not wearing it for my actual wedding.” 

“Oh, no!” Emma gasps, “Was she angry with you for not saving it for your wedding?” 

“I don’t think so?” You wave her off, laughing as you assure her, “We were looking at different looks to pull from the archives, and I always ask her opinion on these things, actually she was the one suggested it.” 

She nods in understanding, smiling as she tips her microphone. “Well that’s a relief! What are your thoughts about this year’s theme for the Met Gala?”

You widen your eyes playfully, taking a moment to choose your words very wisely. “Yeah, I mean Karl was such a big influence in the fashion industry, but I think the important part about tonight’s theme is that creativity and fashion brings people together, and when people do come together beautiful things happen; that’s what I’m choosing to focus on.”

“That’s a beautiful way to put it actually,” Emma praises your answer, pointing to your hands as she asks, “And as a last question, what can you tell us about your jewellery? I mean I love all the bling you have on you right now.” 

That manages to pull another laugh out of you, and you show the camera your hands for a moment as you answer her question. “The necklace was a wedding gift from my father to my mother, which is why it makes it so special; I think. As for the rings, most of them are mine but my boyfriend got me the gold ones, so they are very special as well”

“Well, thank you for answering a few questions for us tonight, and I hope you have a wonderful night!”

Right as you turn back to leave after saying goodbye to Emma and her team, your eyes lock with a very familiar set of brown eyes. The breath is knocked out of your lungs when you take in his attire, your legs taking you to his waiting arms in no time. You can’t help the giggle sneaking out of your mouth as you look up to him with a wide smile to match the one on his own face, “I am sending Thom Browne a thank-you card, and a fruit basket.” 

“You like?” Daniel asks, raising a brow and wrapping his arms around your waist. 

You let your fingers toy with the bowtie resting on his neck, “Oh, I love.” 

His voice is smug as he lowers his voice, “I’m glad, sweetheart.”

“You in tweed does something to me,” you mumble, hands going over to feel the fabric of his jacket, “and don’t even get me started on the damn bowtie.” 

“The bowtie is doing it for you?” Daniel laughs, and it is a full-bodied one where he throws his head back. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Do I look like I’m joking, honey?” You ask him in a deadpan voice. “I love this, I want you to wear this around the house, please.”

“Well, since you asked nicely.” Daniel nods. He takes your hands in his as he makes you twirl around for him to see your whole outfit, smiling at you boyishly when you face him again, “I was not expecting you to see you in a wedding dress when I woke up this morning.” 

“Well, it’s Chanel.” You emphasise what you’ve told him earlier this morning, which he responds to by attempting to tickle you by your waist through the corset of your dress. 

He tilts his head as he looks at you without any hint of joking, but his voice is the opposite as he asks, “Hey, you wanna get married after this?” 

“Yeah sure, can I still take you home tonight afterwards?” 

“You can always take me home, sweetheart.” He wiggles his eyebrows, pulling get another giggle from you. “Now, before we go inside and lose ourselves in all the food and the alcohol, is it going to ruin your makeup if I kiss you?” 

You raise your eyebrows as you playfully smile at him. “I might not make it through tonight if you don’t kiss me right now, honey.”

“Well, when you say it like that,” he murmurs, pulling you towards himself with the help of his hands on your waist, and capturing your lips in a long awaited kiss. His lips are unbelievably soft, you realise, as your eyes close and suddenly all you care about the man in your eyes. The camera flashes doesn’t slow down the way Daniel kisses you, it’s one of those kisses he gives you when the two of you see each other after it’s been a while. A groan rumbles from the back of your throat when he scrapes his teeth against your lower lip, the pad of his thumb and his pointer finger angling your chin to give him a better access. You can hear the smirk in his voice as he pulls away, leaving you chasing after his lips while they touch yours as he speaks in a low voice, “I told you; you shouldn’t have doubted my ability to keep up with the Kardashians.” 

You let out a breathy chuckle as you mumble, “Just kiss me, idiot,” and pull him in another kiss by his neck. 

[karmarox]

Kallamar the Coward

Thinking about Kallamar in Cult of the Lamb, with how the lore and even his own siblings taunt him for being a coward and he even tries to bargain and sway you away from getting your revenge and killing him, even ready to throw Shamura under the bus to save himself, but then when you finally push him into a corner and he's forced to fight he not only busts out a bunch of weapons and starts quad-wielding them but he was once regarded by the fandom as being among the hardest bosses of the base game.

It got me thinking, was he always like this? Narinder certainly thinks so, but there's bias there. It's easy to just write him off as always being a mess like this...

But there's no denying he's the second in power after Shamura, Anchordeep is known for its beauty, he takes personal pride in the way he took care of his cult/area, and when in Purgatory out of all the bishops he's notably the most lucid/aware of where he is.

So I present this: After Narinder's sealing, Shamura was in no state to lead or give orders. The Bishops all had massive injuries that refused to heal. Who out of the 4 would immediately be assumed to be the one to take a leadership role? Who had comparatively more "manageable" injuries to take care of the other 3? And who would you assume is most likely to have medical experience to at least try to lessen the impact of all of their wounds?

Kallamar, Pestilence and Cure.

Early on after The One Who Waits was sealed away, Kallamar would have had to effectively take over the Old Faith while also caring for a broken beyond repair older sibling, who had always been the "Wise" one that the others blindly followed, yet was now barely even there at the best of times, and two younger siblings, one who was now permanently blind (and young/weak enough that they couldn't even muster a single Curse towards the Lamb before being crushed within days of their resurrection even years after the sealing, so just imagine how new to godhood they were back when this all started), and another who had had her throat torn out, all while downplaying his own wounds.

What if, then, at some point, he simply broke?

He resents Shamura, even potentially sincerely blames them for causing the entire thing (which Shamura confesses to), both leading them to turn on Narinder and also for leading everyone to killing the Lambs. He's still fond of Leshy, but from how quick to take charge Heket is, it's clear that after he proved unable to take the stress of it all, she was next in line as the "leader" of The Old Faith. There's gotta be some resentment there on both ends because of that, particularly with how quick he is to criticize how she took care of her territory.

And then compare how he is as a bishop to how he is as a follower. I think it's very very interesting that he goes from a dirty coward and absolute pathetic mess of anxiety and fear, to pleading directly to his own executioner for help, to being almost perfectly happy and content to simply be a Follower of the Lamb's cult. The others (minus Shamura, due to their condition) are resentful and quick to give sharp words to the Lamb, but Kallamar? It's like all his anxiety is gone with his godhood. He has nothing to fear anymore, and is almost ridiculously quick to be friendly to the Lamb and share his tastes in decor and pride in appearances with them. Not even in the "kissing up" way, he talks like they're equals. Is this what Kallamar was like, before everything? Is he actually HAPPIER as a Mortal now that all of the responsibility and fear of death is gone? Even secretly grateful?

There's no denying his cowardice. There's no denying it crossed a line when he was ready to betray Shamura when his nerves reached their limit. There's no denying that as much as he'd like to believe that he is absolved of guilt for The Old Faith's sins simply because he was just doing what Shamura told him to even if he claims he thought it was a bad idea.

But you also have to wonder what caused that cowardice to form, and what other feelings motivate his actions besides fear.

(tldr: sad squid was not ready to become the responsible one, especially not after going deaf and being traumatized. Has a mental breakdown halfway through raising the others due to not being able to actually deal with going deaf or being traumatized because it turns out being the god of physical health is different from mental health. Little sister ends up having to step up and be the mom now. Their relationship never recovered because of it, and he now blames the eldest for failing them and also for his own failures to cope. As a bonus developed an attachment to his own killer out of some weird warped perception of them "rescuing" him from his stress and then from death itself.)

[astheforcewillsit]

Title: Rest Stop (ao3 link)

Summary:

Five years after the Clone Wars, the Jedi are being hunted. Obi-Wan and Cody try to navigate what that means for them. or Quinlan Vos goes missing, and Obi-Wan rescues him with some difficulty. They recover in a clone colony, and uncomfortable conversations are had.

"What do you mean there are people after you. Who is after you? Who did this to you."

Cody interrogates him in rapid succession. Without pause, words flow freely from his mouth as if he is commanding a platoon on the battlefield.

His voice rising at every syllable as anxiety seizes him.

It is uncharacteristic of the former commander's usual collected approach to disaster. Especially when that disaster is Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Though Obi-Wan cannot blame him. It has been two months since he last made contact with Cody, and even longer since he visited the clone colony.

Now he's returned looking worse than a walking bruise.

And in that time he had missed much.

New buildings have been added to this particular colony. Spring has settled upon it, and new life sings in the Force. The tension that engulfed the clones during the war has all but dissipated.

Cody's home has grown too. Both physically and in the Force.

The kitchen--now a temporary medbay-colorful and large. There are more dishes than there were last time. Baking trays, cookie sheets. Colorful utensils. The cabinets are the burnt yellow of the 212th, and there is an apron hanging on a door hook. The faint smell of spice hangs in the air. And the Force shows him a memory of laughing children, eagerly eating away at sweets that must have been put out on this very table hours ago. A table that Obi-Wan now sits at. A table his blood has stained.

He tries not to think about what the Republic says about the Jedi, now. How they ruin everything they touch.

He's brought back to present as a bacta patch is applied to his arms. His sleeves have been sliced off (he'll have to make a new tunic when he's able to), and the cool air burns at his open wounds.

The young medic--a kid really, Threads, curses loudly. He's doing what he can, but he never served under a general or in the war. He hangs around Cody because he looks up to him, but stopped his training when the clones got their rights.

He just happened to be the closest Cody could grab while the other went to flag down an actual doctor.

"I apologize, Threads. I'm sure you believed you escaped the horrors of war." "How on Earth did you get metal shards in your arm, Master?" He mutters, gaze focused in morbid curiosity. He pulls out sharp pieces of metal, and lets them clatter on the ground beside him, "And no worries. This kinda makes me want to actually go back to my studies as a doctor. But it would help to know what happened."

The past few days have absolutely horrendous, that's what.

Though now beside Cody, the adrenaline begins it's exit from Obi-Wan's system as it registers he is safe. Finally safe.

And with the adrenaline gone, the pain begins to collect its toll. He aches. Badly. Though for now he can use the Force to will the pain to numbness. His head is full of lead, his eyes carrying the weight of the world. He just wants to sleep. And strangely, Cody is the perfect pillow. He leans forward in his chair, and let's his head fall onto clone's stomach. Force, he could stay here in this chair for ever, face buried in the soft fabric of Cody's clothing.

"Obi-Wan, what the kriff happened?" It's more of an exasperated sigh, a breathless question as Cody runs his finger's through the Jedi's hair.

With great effort, Obi-Wan turns his head to the side, gaze landing on the cause of his current predicament.

Quinlan Vos has managed to push himself into a corner, avoiding Fox's touch like it's Force Lightening.

Quinlan, who is his own trembling mess of bloodied robes. Kiffar blood is so bright, disturbingly bright.

Sometimes Obi-Wan forgets Quinlan isn't human.

They'll need to clean the kitchen floor after this. Fox hovers over him, hands hesitantly raised above his Jedi, as if touching him will do more damage than has already been done to him. Contrary to his brother though, Fox has managed to keep himself relatively collected.

He only jumped when Quinlan used to Force to push himself into the corner.

It scared all of them, even Obi-Wan.

The adrenaline has finally run it's course. His body reminds him of the full extent of his injuries, relays the injuries to him as the medic continues to tend to him.

Obi-Wan's head throbs. Ribs ache. His arms burn from where molten metal painted his skin as he tried to deflect solid shrapnel.

And now, recognizing it's own bloodless state, his body begins to shake.

He needs to tell them what happened, at least as much as he's allowed. They've let him bleed all over their pretty floor. They've dealt with Quinlan who's fallen--again.

He closes he's eyes and speaks.

"There are people after the entire Order, Cody. Jedi...they've--we've been disappearing since the war ended. We thought it was the normal disappearance--" Waxer snorts. Clearly, he's frustrated. Obi-Wan didn't even know he was there. His control of the Force is wanning.

"What are normal disappearances? When is that a normal thing?" Cody articulates what Waxer couldn't. Because what the kriff? Normal disappearances?

"We thought they may have been bounty hunters. It wasn't uncommon for us to be targeted before the Clone Wars. " He grimaces in pain, turning his head back into Cody's stomach.

He stays there for a moment, and breathes in all that Cody is. Feels his solid muscles past his shirt, feels the warmth radiating off of his body.

It's grounding.

"But when Jedi Master's started disappearing," he continues, muffled, "powerful ones, we started taking notice. We started realizing we were being picked off. One by one. And with each one of them gone, there'd be a Dark Side user--who used their same skills, same fighting style. It didn't take us long to put together what was happening." Unease reverberates throughout the small kitchen. The light shines above them, dim as it buzzes. It doesn't reach Vos, who is shrouded in darkness that was not there before.

Those who know Jedi personally no doubt recount the last line of communication had with them. Wolffe leans against the wall, index finger nervously tapping his inner arm.

Threads lifts his head from where he kneels beside Obi-Wan, fingers red with blood.

It doesn't take a lot of brain power to guess who the strongest amongst the Jedi are. And what the implications of this means.

"Quinlan went missing a month ago, I volunteered myself to go after him. And when I found him--he attacked me, not of his own doing." Obi-Wan assures, "And whoever did this to him attacked me as well. But not with blasters, with bullets. They knew how to kill us."

That tastes like bile on his mouth.

Confirming it amongst the Jedi had been one thing, but admitting it to the clones? That they were being kidnapped and turned against one another? That is another thing. That makes it real.

Fox has managed to close the space between he and Quinlan, who looks worse off than they've ever seen. In the small moment that he and Obi-Wan looked at each other, he could have sworn Quin's eyes were gold. What corner was he pushed against to lean into the Dark Side? What agony did these monsters put him through for him to fall and attack Obi-Wan.

Not that it matters now. His face is mostly obscured from view by the tangle of his locs, eyes screwed shut as his fingers twist into his roots. They all watch watch as Fox's fingers unweave Quinlan's own from his hair, cooing him gently.

"Quinlan, you're going to hurt yourself." He seems to calm when his finger's find Fox's. Cody knows a bit about what Quinlan can do. And well, Fox has spent the past three hours baking cakes for the little ones--clones and natborns alike--singing with them in ways that Palpatine's toy solider never would have five years ago.

Cody hopes those hands give Quinlan some peace. And with the way Fox hauls him to his feet, he thinks that maybe they have. The shaking stops, at least. Though he's hunched over like he's in pain.

His hair still obscures most of his body.

"Why didn't you tell us?"

Obi-Wan hisses as Threads resumes his treatment.

It's a question that the Order grappled with.

"Because we are not your responsibility. Because we will not drag you all into another fight." The conviction is not as strong as Obi-Wan would have liked it to be, but he means it.

The decision was unanimous. They would not involve the clones.

"Obi-Wan, where is Master Plo?" Wolffe cuts through the bullshit, his voice is on edge in a way that means he's concerned. Very concerned. Obi-wan hadn't noticed him either. He wonders how many clones are filtering into this small rest stop.

"I--Commander Wolffe, it has been some time since I have--"

He doesn't get to finish explaining to him what has transpired. Wolffe peels himself off of the wall, and walks out of the kitchen.

"Cody, I'm taking Quinlan with me upstairs." Cody's eyes follow the retreating form of his brother, and with effort he pulls Quinlan close to him. Quinlan trips over his feet, making a considerable effort to keep up with Fox, " Somethings...not right. I've commed our medic. Sorry Threads, but I need an expert."

Cody nods curtly, turning his attention back to Obi-Wan. "Fox," Obi-wan calls out, weakly as the commander hauls Quinlan away, "he fought so very hard." "I know," now Fox's voice breaks. He sounds small, like he's struggling to hold himself together, "I know he did."

Still, Obi-Wan paints a clear picture, "It was not like last time, he did not want to hurt me. It was like--" "Like the inhibitor chips?" Rex has made his way into the kitchen, Obi-Wan's arrival gaining more attention. He moves to let Fox and Quinlan leave, placing a comforting hand on Fox as he does so.

"Yes, but when I managed to draw him away from the place he was at, whatever influence was on him released him. But clearly, it is still tormenting his mind. It was unfortunately almost impossible to reason with him when he was in that place."

The Jedi are being hunted. And they were are being turned against each other.

Part of Cody's world ripples at that realization. Happiness seems to be eternally just out of reach, it's sweet embracing kissing the tips of his fingers.

Teasing him. Weren't they supposed to live together? Didn't Obi-Wan talk about taking on a clone padawan? If Obi-Wan, who Cody surmises is concussed, wasn't burrowing his head into the clone's stomach, Cody would be sitting right beside him.

But somehow he always ends up holding Obi-Wan up. Today, he wishes he didn't have to. He hardly has the strength.

"You know, we get to chose when to fight too, Obi-Wan. If you're all being killed, we deserve to know. Our brothers didn't die so you could all die five years later." He manages, "Believe it or not, some of us will choose to stand with you."

For Obi-Wan's part, he's unsure of how to take the statement.

He's not sure how much of Cody wants to fight for him, or how much a decade of conditioning by the Kaminoans has told him--all of them that they have to.

"The Republic has people that will protect us--" Cody's temper flairs in the Force. Obi-Wan groans.

"You think natborns give a kriff about the Jedi? The Republic still doesn't trust you after the disaster of the Clone Wars. We're the only ones who can keep you all safe. We were made for you."

Cody catches himself too late. And collective, the clones hold their breaths. The silence is louder than it should be. Cody finger's still in Obi-Wan's hair.

When Obi-Wan was a young Jedi, newly made master to an even younger Anakin Skywalker, he enjoyed watching as his way with words often tripped Anakin up.

How the boy's head first personality would almost always end up a lesson of how not to approach the Jedi Way.

It was as if their entire apprenticeship consisted of Anakin proving Obi-Wan right, walking into a trap--be it physical or verbal.

I told you this would happen, Anakin.

If only you'd listen to me.

And now, Anakin, you have proven my point. Again.

He remembered the satisfaction that would fill him as he watched Anakin fulfill his own prophecy. Watch him enact the irony that Obi-Wan had warned him of.

Yet, He feels numbness as Cody does the same.

"And that is the problem, Cody." Obi-Wan smiles sadly through the fabric, slowly lifting his head to captures the clone's eyes, "you never should have been.

And yet, like Anakin, Cody continues to talk--argue. To reason.

Let us help you, it won't be like last time. Please.

Though at a point Obi-Wan stops listening, and simply feels Cody's presence.

Threads says something about a concussion, and suddenly, Obi-Wan's world gets a bit darker. Still, he loses himself in Cody's presence.

It's enough to eventually put him to sleep. He will worry about the world attacking his Order--his family--later. For now, he allows himself to succumb to the rest that Cody's very being has provided.

[gloryy-vs]

Neteyam x reader or Jake x reader with anxiety???

idk what to title it so i titled it as the medication i used to take idk 😭😭

Xanax

characters: jake x na’vi reader

ratings: soft, concerned jake, soft jake, nice boy jake

||

Antsy, restless, impatient, unsociable were only a few words used to describe you by your parents a fellow Na’vi. Ever since you were a teenager, large social events and stressful situations made you indescribably afraid. It was like an impending doom or weight constantly sat on your back and shoulders when around other people. Which made socializing very difficult.

You we’re continuing your rambling to Jake, trying to explain why you never wanted to go to community meals and hunts, as the stares and numbers of people usually scared you off after only a few minutes. Your mate Jake was in awe, realization slapping him in the face. No wonder when he first arrived you seem to avoid him at all times or just look indescribably restless, cracking your knocks or pulling at your fingers.

“Baby girl, anxiety. That restless feeling?” Jake wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

Your ears went flat, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean? Is that what that is?” Jake grimaced, nodding his head.

“It’s like you feel like you constantly have to do something or…like you’re worried, always looking behind your shoulder.” He explained, fingers caressing your shoulder gently.

It was still a lot to wrap your head around. Na’vi people didn’t really have s good explanation for this as they’re very sociable people who enjoy large families and get together. So to find the odd one out is very astounding.

“We can work it out together. Find better ways to cope, you don’t need to hide from everyone all the time.” Jake said, kissing your forehead.

He was a very comforting figure in your life, always looking for signs of your anxiousness. It even brought those habits to your attention. How you’d bounce your leg impatiently, crack your knuckles and absurd amount of times and play with your hands consistently. Like when it came time to finally go out to your first communal meal in a long time, he could tel you were hesitant about getting any closer to the group. Your breath was erratic, and fingers balled up tensely.

“You got it, baby. Just breathe, just breathe. I’m right here, you tell me when it’s enough. Okay?” He said, his hand resting on your lower back to guide you closer. Your feet moved on their own, instantly finding an empty spot towards the very back, but Jakes hand pushed you in the opposite direction, towards the center.

You whined softly, unwillingly following. He sat you both down, and the Na’vi on either side of you and Jake were surprised to see you out and about. As you squatted down on the log, your leg began to shake, distracting you with its quick movement. Jake was being handed two bowl of season fruits, one for him and one for you. His yellow eyes darted over to you, seeing your habits began again. Your face looked distressed. He placed his free hand on your knee, massaging it harshly to calm you down.

“I’m right here. You’re gonna be okay.” Jake said, his hand remaining on your leg to stop the shaking from starting again. He handed you your share of food, placing his in his lap while he wrapped another arm around you, pulling you closer so your leg pressed against his.

“Let’s eat. Keep your mind off it.” He said, taking a berry out of your bowl and plopping it in his mouth. Letting out a shaking breath, you nodded quickly.

Your hands grabbed at an apple like fruit, sinking your teeth into it while your eyes darted around the room to see if anyone was staring. Nobody seemed interested in you, which calmed your nerves more than anything. The only eyes you could tell were on you was your mates. He smiled softly, “See baby? Calm already.” He joked. He knew better than to assume your anxiety had magically gone away. Jake knew this would be a long process but he’d be there to help you each step.

You laughed, wiping your mouth from all the fruit juices. “Got a laugh out of me in a place like this.” You said pretty confidently.

“I know, it’s my specialty.” He said, ruffling and messing up your braided and beaded hair.

[epicthemusical]

The Sword and Soul

okay another one not EPIC based but decided to share here. again its Odysseus and Diomedes during the Trojan War.

Diomedes slices through enemy after enemy in the chaotic ocean of soldiers fighting. The air is hot and heavy filled with shouting and the clanging sound of metal meeting metal. He wears blood and death like a second skin. Diomedes hates war but at the same time he feels more at home on the battlefield than anywhere else. It's what he was made to do, to fight and kill, it makes him feel alive.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Odysseus just in time to watch an enemy get a lucky slice into the chink in Odysseus armor right at his shoulder. Diomedes is on the move before he can fully process it and effortlessly cuts down anyone standing in the way. He arrives and quickly beheads the enemy Odysseus had been struggling against.

"Diomedes how nice of you to stop by and help."

Diomedes snorts as he clashes with another enemy. Odysseus grimaces as jostles his injured shoulder blocking an attack.

"Well someone has to make sure your dumb ass doesn't die."

Diomedes knocks the enemies sword aside and cuts them down.They start fighting back to back keeping each other safe as they continue their banter.

"I had it handled."

Diomedes blocks a strike heading towards Odysseus.

"Yeah sure and I'm a Trojan prince."

Odysseus tries to smirk but it is tight with pain even as he replies with a sarcastic remark.

"Oh really and why didn't you tell me that my friend?"

Diomedes huffs but doesn't try and respond as they continue to fight but to his concern Odysseus' movements start to get sluggish. By the time the enemy retreats and the battle is won Odysseus is swaying on his feet.

"Come on Odysseus let's get you to the medics."

"I'm sorry Dio..I think I'm about to pass out…"

Once Odysseus slurred words are heard he staggers and then starts to fall. Diomedes lurches to catch him as he curses. Checking the wound reveals just how much blood he has lost and an unfamiliar fear starts to creep into his heart. He picks his limp form up and starts running towards the medic tent.

"Damn it Odysseus you are not allowed to die on me you understand?"

It feels like far too long before he finally reaches the medics. He places Odysseus down on an empty cot and before he even yells for a medic someone runs up and starts looking him over. He watches them start to stop the wound from bleeding before telling him to leave.

"You can go now, you will only be in the way. I will make sure you get news on if he lives or not."

Diomedes nods and exits the tent and heads towards his own. He pushes open the tent flap and walks over to sit down on his cot. He doesn't even bother taking off his armor letting the familiar weight comfort him from his anxiety over Odysseus. He instead starts to clean his sword as his mind starts to wonder.When exactly did he start caring so much for him?

He isn't used to being afraid for others, usually every death on the battlefield is just another body, another casualty of war. He was hardened by the reality of war with nobody to care for him and nobody he cared for. Yet somehow Odysseus seems to have worked his way into his defences and refuses to let go.

Odysseus with his sarcastic remarks and sharp grins. Odysseus with his eyes full of mischief and calculated constantly ready with tricks of every kind. When he can see his bloody reflection in the blade he sheathes it and starts cleaning his spear. The familiar action is calming, helping his anxiety some.

Once he's done he just sits there as the blood dries on his skin and armor but even then he does nothing. He simply sits there waiting for news. Eventually he hears someone enter his tent and he looks to see it was Odysseus with a tired yet amused grin.

"Hey there Diomedes I was told you were worried for me."

Odysseus looks a little paler with his shoulder wrapped neatly with bandages but otherwise seems to be just fine. Diomedes relaxes a bit at the confirmation.

"Well you seem to be just fine if you can come and bother me."

Odysseus glances at his armor still on him with a knowing look that makes Diomedes both happy and anxious. He doesn't like how vulnerable it makes him feel but he also yearns for someone to really see him. Everything is always so complicated when it comes to Odysseus.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

They both work on taking off the armor and scrubbing away the dried blood with a wet cloth. The water in the basin soon turns red as Diomedes turns his attention to cleaning the armor. By the time he finishes and places the armor on its stand Odysseus is waiting for him.

"Do you want me to stay here?"

Diomedes doesn't look at him as he replies

"I don't need you here."

There it is again the look that says he knows.

"I didn't ask if you needed me here I asked if you wanted me here."

Diomedes thinks about it some before looking away. As a warrior he shouldn't need the comfort of company or to be reassured but still he finds he does want it.

"Yes… I want you to stay."

Odysseus has a victorious grin on his face as he takes a drink before tossed a wine skin at him. Diomedes catches it and nods in thanks before taking a sip.

"It's good wine."

Odysseus sits down on the cot next to him.

"Yeah unfortunately the medics would have my head if a drank too much with my injury but I thought someone might as well enjoy it."

Diomedes grimaces at that knowing how scary the medics can be about their patients health. As time goes on Diomedes continues to drink as the both talk about random stuff he finds himself relaxing.

Maybe he can get used to this.

[sleepingnova]

Hello! Could you do a female!reader that's a spider woman and tends to Miles Morales wounds when he comes back home?

Feel free to ignore this, I hope you are having a beautiful day!!

 of course, hope you like it :) it took me a minute, but I really liked how it turned out.

SUNFLOWER 🌻

Pairing: miles morales x spider-woman reader, implied female reader.

Summary : being the significant other of miles morales aka spiderman, you never know what could happen, but he knows he can always trust you'll be there.

word count : 1.8k

“I hate Quantum Mechanics.” You mumbled to yourself as you rolled around your floor in your rolly chair with your knees tucked to your chest as you pushed yourself around.

Your soundproof walls in your room catching your music on your speakers and pushing it back out, creating a comfy, safe environment. Your phone started ringing, its vibrations slowly being muffled by your thick comforter on your lofted bed.  

“I’m going to get water, you stay put, professor fat cat.” You pointed at your slightly chubby cat as he stretched and rolled over on your carpet under your desk. He meowed softly at you as you smiled and walked out of your room.

As you went to get water, you couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong. Everything was off, nothing was burning, so why was your anxiety pooling in your stomach and why were your spider senses going off so violently right now? 

In actuality, your phone ringing was none other than your boyfriend, miles. He was calling because he was badly injured and needed a place to lay low and rest. 

You shrugged it off and concluded that it was time for you to take your anxiety medication again. As you walked back into the room with a bottle of water and a pack of chocolate pretzels, your chubby kitty brushed against your legs as the door shut behind you.

Your parents were out of town for the month and you were happy because, let’s be honest, your parents stressed you out. Like hair pulling, want to scream at them every chance you get because of how they talk to you stressed out. It was just bad, and Miles’ parents definitely knew that.

When you started coming over regularly, Miles’ mom, Rio, started to get concerned when you didn’t want to go home and when she would pop into his room to say good night when she would see you curled into a ball, on the hardwood floor, shivering as miles would be working at his desk, completely oblivious. 

You hated taking your medicine because it was really gross. As you were taking it, you heard some glass breaking in the living room, to which you and your cat jumped.  You quickly put your spidersuit on and swiftly crawled across the room to switch the light off. You shushed your kitty as he followed you into the dimly lit hall where heavy, jagged breathing could be heard in your living room.

Meanwhile, Miles had been trying to contact you, but you were not answering the phone at all. He finally got to your living room window, and saw a light on. 

“Here goes nothing, please forgive me darling.” He whispered, as he venom-struck the window, wincing when he heard the shards fall to the floor and climbed into it and rested on the couch, clutching his sides, breathing turning ragged and harsh. His hands were cold and clammy, and he started feeling light headed.

As you silently walked into the living room, you identified the unknown person to be none other than your boyfriend, miles. He’s struggling to catch his breath, as he slides off your couch and onto the hardwood floor, his blood slowly seeping out and onto the floor. You inch over and within a few seconds, you’re hovering over him.  Your hands have a mind of their own as they inch closer and closer to his face, his mask’s bloodstains coating your fingertips as you finally pull the mask off. 

There you are met with your boyfriend’s brown eyes, clouded in darkness. He groans as you remove his mask, cupping his face as he coughs. His eyes softened in sorrow when he saw your look of terror and fear when you saw his face. 

“Oh, miles. Darling boy, what happened to you. Who’s done this to my boy?” You gasped as you removed your suit. He lightly chuckled before groaning in pain. 

“Come on, take off the suit, baby. It’s a good thing I’m super smart, graduated college at 15, and graduated med school early with a doctorate, because you’re bleeding all over my floor.” You lightly laughed while tugging at his arms to get him to stand up, him still clutching his sides. You shot a couple webs at whatever his injury was on his side to plug up the blood so he could undress. 

“I don’t have anything on under here. You still want me to take the suit off?” He gasps, in between breaths. 

“Yes, I’m not focused on how your body looks, miles. You know me better than that. I need to make sure you don’t die on my couch.” You rolled your eyes before turning around to grab the first aid kit. 

He nodded, before slowly pulling his suit, which was heavily stained with blood, off and tossing it on the floor. “Sorry about the window, by the way. You weren’t answering the phone, and I couldn’t go to the hospital, it was too far.” He mumbled in embarrassment, partly because he broke your window, and also because he didn’t have anything on except his boxers, to which, you weren’t in that part of your relationship yet. Sure you both were sophomores in college, and you both have had your experiences with one another, but you both were in love with each other. You were his first everything, he just didn’t know if you were ready to go that far with him yet. He didn’t know if you even wanted to go that far with him.  

You walked back in after grabbing the first aid kit and sat down on the couch.  

“Alright, show me. I have to patch a couple things, will you let me do that, my love?” You say, while setting down your equipment. He nods and you gently push him back into the arm of the couch.

“Is that a needle? Wha– why do you have that?” He asks, his heart beating faster as his eyes follow the syringe needle that is in your hand.

“Yes, I have to use this. Alright, this is lidocaine, don’t think about it.” You ask, and when he starts squirming as the needle slowly pierces his abdomen skin, you grasp his hand, shifting his attention. 

“Hey, I said not to think about it. Almost done, you’re doing great. Alright, done with that, how do you feel? Does anything hurt?” You ask, slowly letting go of his hand, as you hear your boyfriend exhale deeply, almost as if he was holding his breath. He shook his head, and indicated he couldn’t feel anything on his abdomen. With that, you got started. 

“What's that bucket for? Wha— what are ya doin’?” He asks, his eyes following your every move.

“It’s okay, just some disinfectant for your wounds. Don't worry, you’ll be alright.” You coo at him, trying to reassure him after seeing the fear settle in his eyes. 

He watches as you dab the cotton ball into the disinfectant and slowly wipe the area around his wound. The dark crimson blood starts to pool again around him. You work quickly and steadily, your hands never wavering. Fortunately, it was only wounds around his abdomen, which only one of them went deep enough to need stitches. 

“Okay, I have to put this on your wound to clean it, okay? It’s going to burn, but bear with me. I’ll have you as good as new in no time, baby. In the meantime, you can’t be spiderman for a while. At least a couple months. Which means I need your suit. I’m not asking you to hang up the suit entirely, but to give yourself time to recover.” You explain, while slowly removing the webs you put in place onto his deeper wound as he stares at you in disbelief, confusion, and anger.

“Wha–? No, I gotta do this, I’m okay.” He countered at you. 

Shaking your head, you offered to take his position for a bit, arguing that no one knew who was under the mask, so it wouldn’t be too much of a difference. He sighed after some convincing from your side, and finally agreed. Time feels like it stopped and the silence became uncomfortable. Your mind was just in another world, while your hands moved on their own. 

His words sounded like mumblings but you were brought back to the same living room you were currently in by your cat brushing up against you, and then suddenly jumping onto you. You blinked and looked around. 

“Your hands are so steady, are you not nervous?” He questioned you.

“Not really, but I’ve had a lot of practice to get my hands this steady. Years of sewing, crocheting, playing the guitar, a lot of things that play into my ability to keep my hands steady. My first intern job was to fix old clothes for a fashion designer’s store.” You responded, looking up into his eyes. You both locked eyes for what felt like an eternity, before continuing to finish the stitching. 

“Alright, I’m done with the stitches. All I have to do now is bandage your stomach and clean your face. So, can you sit up, sweetheart?” You coo at him, watching him nod and slowly sit up against the couch. He felt your soft hands cup his face, and he sighed contently, thinking what did he do to deserve someone as wonderful as you. You smiled lovingly at him as you bandaged his stomach and grabbed a face cloth to wipe his face. The cloth absorbed the water from the bucket as you wringed it out and wiped the dried blood off of his face and knuckles on his hands. You announced you were finished as you stood up to stretch. 

“Here, let me help you clean up. At least let me clean the glass off the couch.” He pleaded, feeling a little guilty because of him technically breaking and entering but also you did all that work while, in his mind, he just sat and did nothing. 

You cleaned everything, and started to follow your chubby cat back down the hallway as it stumbled on its thick legs back into your room. You gestured for him to come in with you, and he did. 

Miles plopped onto your bed, and pulled the blanket over him. You laughed quietly as you put your quantum mechanic homework away, and then tidied up your room. When you finished, he couldn’t help but ask, “Are you sure you can take over being spiderman until I come back?” You could sense the uncertainty in his voice.

You chuckled as you kissed the top of his forehead, then replied, “Yeah, trust me, I got it. After all, anyone can wear the mask.”

hope you liked it!! should I make a part two of the reader going out and daily shenanigans of her being spiderman while miles is recovering? Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated :]

[chronicpain-itsastruggle]

Third surgery of the year went rocky yesterday. I have cried a lot in the last 48 hours. My mom and husband came with me and my mom was able to stay with all the way up to laying down for surgery bc babe had a therapy appointment i wanted him to go to and he agreed. My nurse was so nice and sweet but she tried and failed once to get my IV in. Then the anesthesiologist came in and was a very quiet man. And he sat and picked and prodded at my right hand for about 30 minutes. He tried twice with a lidocaine shot each time before he finally got an iv placed on the inside of my right wrist the third try, also with a lidocaine shot first. I sobbed the whole time. I barely remember walking to the surgery room and laying on the table. Then i woke up holding my moms hand so confused and then in 10/10 pain in my left arm where they took more of my arm out. I screamed and sobbed in pain. I asked Mom “where is Tyler?? Where is babe?!” I didnt even open my eyes i was crying in so much pain. My mom told me they couldnt reach him and i sobbed even harder, terrified. Tyler walked in abt 3 minutes later. His phone wasnt getting calls and he literally sped from home when he saw the voicemail notification. They held my hands as the nurses pushed a bit more pain and anxiety meds and i sobbed in pain. It took a while to get me to Tyler’s truck. I puked twice before i got home, revisiting the apple juice i had tried right after waking up and coming to. Once home i slept a lot on the couch. In and out of consciousness. Tyler stress cleaned our kitchen building our new shelf for our pantry and even selling our dog crate we’ve been needing to sell. So he was very productive awesomely while i was in and out of sleepy town.

Our dog Jupiter, his timing impeccable as always, had diarrhea and pukey all night so we were up every twoish hours having Tyler take him outside again and again. I woke up each time but had to stay on the couch. It was a very rough night.

Today has been the day after surgery and the pain has been so severe. I am staying on top of my pain meds. And thankfully i have been able to eat and drink just fine. The pain is just incredible and severe. We had to take the bandage off and clean it tonight and i sobbed thru the whole thing in agony. Tyler was so patient and gentle with me. I was so brave and its rewrapped and I’m back on the couch calming down while i write this. Im exhausted and it hurts and im so glad i gave myself a month before i go back to work because this is going to be a long recovery.

If anyone is so inclined or wants to: my cashapp and venmo is @ earnham and literally anything will help. I am having to spend so much on medical supplies and dont know when my fmla will actually go thru. Im also going to link my amazon wishlist eventually with a bunch of melanoma gear for this summer but that will be closer to my bday in June bc thats what ima be asking for this year, is help with anything on my wishlist.

This isnt the point of the post i rly just needed to vent my past 48 hours. Thanks for reading if u did.

[dangraccoon]

Anything

Day 1 ~Panic Attack~

Echo

Word Count: 708 Content: panic attack, anxiety, grief, death, major character death/reference to major character death, mild sedative

Echo looked down the hallways from the corner. He looked left, right, left again, and then took the right hallway. The halls seemed almost deserted, which didn’t soothe the edge of nerves that twisted his guts, but if memory served, there would be a console with a scomp port three sections down.

Get in, get the info, get out.

Simple enough.

He looked around him as he reached the console, then plugged in. He was still getting used to the energy-like sensation that pushed information to his proverbial fingertips. It always made him feel as though he had one foot in the real world and one metal prosthetic in the data stream. A chill ran down his spine.

He began digging for the information he so desperately sought. His scomp whirred in the port, mechanical clicking filling his ears. He almost didn’t hear the comm attached to his other arm.

“--cho? Echo, do you copy?”

Shit, he swore in his head.

“Yes, sir,” he answered, trying his best not to sound guilty.

“Echo, where are you? You were supposed to be at your physical therapy session.”

Echo flinched. After three sessions without being under Rex’s watchful eye, he thought it was a pattern he could use to his advantage. He thought wrong.

“Kix… let me go early,” Echo hummed, hoping it sounded believable. “He was busy prepping Torrent company’s innoculations for the mission to Rodia.”

The silence of the comm line was deafening. If Rex was looking for me, he’d go to Kix first, he realized. Shit.

“Echo, please. Come back to the barracks. I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Echo’s scomp froze. His heart started to race as he reread the information at the top of the file again and again.

“Echo?”

It couldn’t be true. It- it just couldn’t.

Rex persisted. “Echo, where are you? What did you find?” Distantly, Echo noted the panic creeping into Rex’s voice.

The edges of his vision were blurring, but he read it again.

“ARC Trooper CT-27-5555 Status: Deceased”

As the information finally pushed its way into his comprehension, Echo yanked his scomp from the port, falling back onto the floor. 

He could feel the restraints tightening again, the icy metal exam table beneath his back. The lights were too bright. The whirring of a medical droid screamed in his ears. 

No!

Rex finally saw him. “Echo,” he called, dashing to him, Kix on his heels. 

Echo was on the floor, pressed against the wall as though something had urged him there. His eyes were wide and scanning the area in front of him, but they didn’t seem to really see any of it.

“Echo, can you hear me?” he pleaded, grabbing Echo’s shoulders.

“C– CT-1409,” Echo muttered, his eyes wide.

“His heart rate and blood pressure are through the roof,” Kix said. “I can give him a mild sedative.”

Rex’s head snapped towards his medic. “A sedative?”

Kix held his hands up. “Just enough to help calm him down, not knock him out.”

Rex looked back at Echo, helplessly repeating his number. “O-okay,” he finally said. “Do it.”

Kix nodded, grabbing the injector from his med kit.

“It’s okay, Echo,” Rex spoke gently to his brother. “You’re safe on The Resolute. It’s just me and Kix.”

Echo flinched as the injector pressed against his neck. “It’s alright, brother,” Kix said. “I won’t hurt you.”

An eternity passed in seconds as Rex held his breath, watching for any sign of Echo coming back.

The nervous twitching began to slow and Echo’s eyes seemed to start to focus on his brother. “CT– 1- …R-Rex?”

“I’m here, Echo,” Rex assured him. “It’s okay.”

Echo’s breathing was finally evening out as Rex and Kix helped him to his feet, his arms over their shoulders as they led him back to the officers’ barracks.

By the time they had him sitting on Rex’s bunk, Echo’s expression had changed from one of panic to a sullen acceptance.

“He’s really gone, isn’t he?” he breathed.

Rex didn’t need him to say who “he” was. “I’m so sorry, Echo.”

Echo inhaled shakily, nodding slightly.

“I’ll tell you as much or as little as you want,” Rex said, his eyes not quite meeting the other’s eyes. “Anything, Echo.”

Next Day »

Thanks for reading! - River

Whumptober 2024 Masterlist DangRaccoon Masterlist Taglist Form Read on AO3

Tags: @writing-positivelyexisting @nekotaetae @lokigirlszendaya @get-wr3ckered @jediknightjana @idoubleswearimawriter @lucyysthings @unstable-kiwi @6oceansofmoons @l3xi3luv @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff @winter-phoenix1995 @serenityselene @nomercyforthewarrior @padawancat97 @flowered-bicycles @error6gendernotfound @techs-goggles9902

[sysmedsaresexist]

Question about the fear of demedicalization of plurality and your opinions on if it's a real concern or just used in fear mongering within syscourse.

I feel like like a good therapist isn't going to care if your system is real or not. They are only going to care if it's causing distress or if it is helping you.

So i'm a little confused and perhaps a little nieve on how endogenic systems are pushing towards demedicalization when the focus shouldn't be on if something is real or not, and is instead looking at how it affects you? If there is even a small number of people negatively affected, then it should still be a medical concern.

But, my opinions aside, I overall just want to know if there is legitimate concern over demedicalization, and if so, what are they, and how can people help to avert that risk without invalidating the lived experiences of endogenic systems?

As someone active in clinical circles, and with access to proper libraries,

This isn't something you need to worry about.

It was my biggest fear. I had so much anxiety around doctors being "duped" by this endogenic nonsense, and it pushed me back into my old circles to investigate.

This doesn't need a big long debunk of a response.

I promise you, doctors aren't being fooled, they're just as certain as I am that these are generally different concepts.

Obviously, there'll be people in the middle. I fucking HATE Schwartz, I don't like the way he compares CDDs and IFS. Thankfully, many other doctors feel the same way I do. It's not the same. And this is true for endogenic plurality, as well.

One of my big fears was that this would send us back into sociocognitive (fantasy) territory, but... nope. It's not happening. Instead, research has expanded to include more factors in the development of DID (biopsychosocial), without being able to account for all cases. It's recognized that the concepts only overlap in a small number of cases.

Another fear I had was that it would be brought back to transgender issues. In the general public, yes, but clinically, no! The discussion of plurality, sexuality, and gender identity are incredibly complex, it's ALWAYS been an issue for CDD systems, and the growth of endogenic systems has actually given the field a push in a very positive direction. Those who are scared to be denied transitioning, this is our ticket. We should want to support this.

In general, DID research continues on as normal. The trauma theory is only being further supported by the day, and endogenic plurality is blossoming into its own category.

I expect we'll also see a spike in specialists over the next few decades, thanks to all the limelight the topics are getting lately.

In therapy, the only change I'm seeing is a more... personal approach being used by therapists. They're a lot more willing to ask about how you identify and how you want to be referred to, what language you prefer. There's some who lean too far one way or the other, but that's always been true, back in the days of MPD-- think of the debate over final fusion vs healthy multiplicity in clinical settings.

The transition period is going to continue to be bumpy, with ideas clashing and overlapping, but I genuinely feel no fear anymore about it, and I believe it'll settle relatively quickly.

Many of the concerns are syscourse talking points that never get elaborated on. Endogenic systems are stealing language and resources, but they can't tell you what words were stolen (most of them weren't stolen) and the resource thing isn't something measurable. Endogenic systems typically don't want dissociative specialists.

Obviously, again, there are still going to be cases of truth-- one of my mods had a therapist that was a bit too plural friendly for their needs, and they had to do some educating to their therapist. I consider these cases to be part of the bumpy transition period. I acknowledge that they happen, but I recognize that it won't be long before everyone is much more educated. Their therapist will now be a much better resource for other CDD systems.

I hope this helps ❤️

[lincolndjarin]

a love letter about writing star wars fanfiction.

(aka a love letter to my eleven year old self, and to anyone who's read bks.)

this is extremely sappy, and gross, and personal.

tw : homophobia, internal & external

-

There is nothing I love as much as storytelling. 

I wrote my first story when I was eleven. It was a story about an angel and a demon who fell in love with each other and I posted it on Wattpad with a cringey title while under the pseudonym of a young genderless author, and I thought I was so cool. 

I wrote that story for some time. I remember being at my lola’s house (the only place I had access to a computer) and checking my page and seeing that I had over one hundred hits on it. 

I also remember later that night when my father called my lola and asked her to put me on the phone. I was a child and I used my father’s email for everything because I didn’t have one of my own and I didn't know any better. He called and he told me to delete my account immediately because what I was writing was extremely inappropriate. 

My story didn’t contain so much a kiss between its love interests.

I thought maybe he was upset because of a scene where one of the male characters changed shirts, or maybe it was because I was writing about the devil. 

But my father wasn’t a religious man. He’s quite the opposite actually, I distinctly remember when I was eight, I would go to church with my lola, and that Christmas I played the Virgin Mary in our pageant. 

And I looked out in the audience to find that he wasn’t there. 

Lola told me he had a cold sore. 

(My mom told me he just didn’t like church.) 

When I told him I was sorry and I didn’t know what I did wrong he told me I should write a different kind of story because the one that I was writing was bad, he told me that it was disgusting. 

The love interests in my story were both men. And at the ripe age of eleven I hated myself for what I had done. 

Over the next ten years I found different ways to tell stories. I wrote songs, I performed in musicals and I played Dungeons and Dragons. Every once and a while I would try to write but it just never worked. I would sit and stare at the notebook or the screen and I could never get further than a chapter or two because I just couldn’t stop thinking about how inappropriate it was for someone like me to be telling a story. 

I came out as queer my freshman year of highschool. 

That morning a family member (who I have since reconciled with) told me that they didn’t love me anymore. Since that day they have come to terms with who I am and I love them endlessly but I will never really get over that. I just can’t stop wondering what kind of person would tell a fourteen year old girl that they don’t love them over something they couldn't help? 

I came out as nonbinary when I was nineteen. 

That was the thing that finally destroyed any ounce of a relationship I had left with my father. 

I stopped singing, I stopped performing, and I stopped playing Dungeons and Dragons. And I just sort of hit a wall. Years of people telling me that I talk too much, that my identity was something that made me wrong, and years of people halfheartedly listening to me when I spoke finally wore me down to a point where I just wanted to be alone and silent. 

I wanted no one to look at me and I wanted no one to speak to me because I had been told since I could talk that I was a chatterbox. So I shut up and I stayed in my room. I went to work, I went home, and once a week I would hang out with the only friend that I hadn’t pushed away. (Trust me I tried, and I’m grateful everyday for how hard he fought to stay.) 

I did this for a long time, around three years. 

A little over a year ago I started taking medication for my severe social anxiety and my depression. It helped me snap out of the funk I was in and I quickly realized that my routine was about to vastly change. Evan was moving away for college and I was going to be truly alone. Sure I’d made other friends by this point but I only ever really hung out with Evan. 

So I needed something to fill that loneliness lest I succumb to it entirely.  

So I wrote a story. 

A vague story, where the characters had no names but they had big emotions. A story about a princess who fell in love with a knight but she never saw his face, and when he sacrificed himself for her he fought tooth and nail to get back to her, and thanks to his anonymity he actually managed to do it. 

At the start of May this year I started to write in earnest, for the first time in a decade. And anyone who has followed Best Kept Secret for a long time knows just how quickly those chapters were coming out. I was posting nearly three chapters a week because a decades worth of words were rushing out of me, desperate to finally see the light of day. 

When Evan went to college I wasn’t scared because I had something new to fill my time, a story. Since the day I posted that story, not a day has gone by where I haven’t written. 

Yes it is a silly piece of Mandalorian fanfiction, yes it is basically just porn for quite a bit of it, and yes it is full of spelling and grammatical errors. But it’s mine. It’s my story and it doesn’t matter if it’s dorky or terrible or anything along those lines because for the first time in a long time I don’t feel bad anymore. I don’t feel guilt or shame for the things that I say or do because I have been able to grow past that and a large part of that is because of Star Wars fanfiction. 

And I wish so badly that I could tell my eleven year old self that they are going to be okay and that she isn't wrong in any sense of the word. I wish that I could tell her that she doesn’t have to be a girl and that she can like whatever she wants to like and she can write whatever she wants to write. 

I wrote Best Kept Secret for me, and I wrote it for her. Because she loved Star Wars so fucking much, and if she knew that we found our peace in a silly story about a princess on Naboo she might finally be happy because she loved Padme so so much. 

I should probably be more sad that it’s ending but I’m really just proud of myself and I’m eternally grateful to anyone who’s reading this because if it weren’t for people reading what I was writing I don’t know if I would have carried on. I was so scared and nervous to write this story but when people liked it I was reminded of why I liked storytelling so much in the first place. 

Because it makes other people happy. 

This is already too long and too sappy but I can’t thank everyone who has supported me enough, because this silly little story of mine has unironically changed my life. I’m going to continue to write fanfiction because I love it but I’m also going to write a book. I’m going to write my first novel because this is what I love to do and I want to share it with anyone who cares, this is my favorite thing and thanks to this I have been reminded of that fact. 

So thank you, to every single person who read this mess, and thank you to every single person who read the wonderful mess that is Best Kept Secret. 

Tomorrow I am going to celebrate with my mother who I have to thank for all of this. She has supported me endlessly and she has pushed me to write and keep writing. 

Tomorrow I am going to call my lola, who sadly now lives further away, and tell her that I finished writing the story she constantly asks about.

Thank you mom, thank you Lola, thank you Evan, Tori & Carli, thank you to every single person who has ever supported my writing. 

Thank you eleven year old Ro, thank you for writing fanfiction about minecraft youtubers on your lola’s laptop.

here's a photo of the wonderful women of my family and of me writing bks in a coffee shop, curtesy of my friend tori, taking a point five.

[sollattes]

90s love

non idol!takahide suzuki x hockey player!reader

The loud uproar of cheering filling up the arena almost made takahide go deaf, he looked around the crowd charged arena and took a sit in the side of your team, far from the glass but still near enough for you to find him in the crowd.

Takahide watched as your team was still huddled, planning, on your side of the bench, he never really got comfortable with the idea of you playing a sport you would need to constantly rough house your opponent though seeing you so happy while playing made it all worth it.

He watched as jersey no.3, you, skated off the bench as your finally finished up with the huddle and went to your starting position, takahide felt a sudden sense of pride when he looked more at your jersey number, which was his birthday, you promised him that you'll always have 3 as your Jersey no. so takahide can feel as if he was playing in the arena with you.

Takahide observed intensely as he saw the player guarding you was a bigger guy, a guy who seemed arrogant, it ticked takahide off when the guy tsked and snigger when he saw that he was guarding a player, much smaller than him.

As soon as the buzzer signaled that the game has started, takahide watched at the edge of his seat, his anxiety slowly eating him as blades were skating off the ice in the arena echoing loudly in his ear.

You knew that this match was not gonna be pretty at all. With all the rough housing you're already receiving this early in the game, this team was taking offensive side immediately.

While handling the puck you suddenly felt a strong push to your side causing you to loose the puck and being slammed against the barriers, you took off your helmet, catching your breathe for a minute, and waited for the referee to signal that foul, but the ref continued the game as if nothing happened.

The scene just made takahide jump up from his seat. The game not being stopped made it hard for takahide to check on you.

Having no choice but to continue the game, you played smart since playing physical was no use against this team.

You were aiming to score from behind the goal, but as soon as the puck was passed to you, you were immediately crushed between the opposing team's two biggest guys, since you were aiming to score your wrist were positioned to strike and that put your wrist into a dangerous place in the impact.

Just when you screamed in pain, did the referee whistled, and the guys were escorted out of the game, Your coach and your captain assisted you back into the bench where you checked by the team's medic.

They quickly removed your glove to examine your injured wrist. It was swollen and turning red. You tried turning it, but it just caused you to hiss in pain.

Once Takahide heard you scream, he instantly made his way through the crowd to your bench to check on you. Your team knew who takahide was to they allowed him inside. He and the medic assisted you to the clinic for further inspection then treatment. He handled you as if you were the most fragile person in the world.

Inside the clinic, the medic left you alone for a few minutes to get some things, takahide was quiet but the worry was evident on him, the way he was biting his lip with his eye brows furrowed, his right knee rapidly bouncing up and down, non stop fidgeting his hands.

Noticing this, you grabbed his hands with your non injured one and just held them in comfort.

"I'm okay, you know," you affirmed him softly, "this isn't my first time having my wrist sprained." You continued.

"But that still doesn't stop me from worrying," takahide turned to you with worried eyes, "I know that you can take care of yourself and youre tough but still that does not make me less worried, I'm not saying that you need to quit hockey what im saying is that just because youve already experience it doesnt mean its okay, I care for you too much." He finished.

You looked at takahide with a slight suprise look in your face.

"No... No guy has ever said that to me... they always tell me to quit hockey or were breaking up." You said quietly and looked down to your lap.

Takahide softened his gaze with your reaction, even if he worries about you daily because of hockey he can never tell you to quit because he knows how happy you are when you're playing, he finds you the prettiest when you're smiling all widely after scoring a point, he feels a surge of pride and joy when he hears you scream after winning a hard match, he finds you in the echoing noise that he pucks and sticks make, he finds your eyes the brightest when they're looking at the cheering crowd, in hockey takahide finds the best you and who was he to take that away?

"No, never, I will never tell you to quit hockey, I know how much it means to you and how much it makes you happy." Takahide kneeled down in front of you to meet your tear shined eyes.

When the medic came back, takahide stayed by your side, just like he always had, just he always will.

Tags: @simpforchuchu