#all my colleagues think I am on a diet and when I say I am NOT they are like “aww you are to shy to tell we understand🥺”

[fareehaandspaniards]

Fellow girlies ask me "How did you lose so much weight?? Are you on a diet? Recommend something to lose weight"

And I will answer: girl, the secret of my thin body is working for 13 hours (physical activity + communicating with people + flower art), constant stress and 300g of food per day, DO NOT join me, take care of yourself, stay safe, hydrated and wish me survive till end of the august when I will be unemployed again😎🔥💅💅💅💅

[preppyacademy]

From a meaningless virtual life to the preppy boy I am now

Elliot's story

To convince you to come to the Preppy Academy, here's Elliot's personal testimonial. His life has changed radically thanks to our school's methods. The following are his words: 

Hello, my name is Elliot, I'm 20. I'm a student at the Preppy Academy. I'd like to thank M.Gilliard, our principal, who has asked me to write an account of my time here. 

Two years ago, I was still living with my father. I often dressed in sportswear; I loved Adidas clothes, so comfortable and easy to put on. Did I do any sport? No, not at all, but my mates dressed the same, so I followed suit. When I wasn't at school, I used to play video games all the time. I wore my clothes for days on end because I was too lazy to change. My bedroom was a real dump, with everything strewn all over the place. My diet consisted of eating chips and drinking sodas. 

My father was fed up with my bad behavior. He works in business, economics, something like that. My mother left us when I was a kid, and since then it's just been me and him. He'd tell me to “tidy my room”, “get dressed properly”. But I didn't give a damn, soon, I thought, I'll be able to leave soon, and I thought I'd be able to live with a friend in a flat-share for a bit of fun. 

There was a week when I made a decision that I had regretted at the time but that now makes me what I am. That week, it was at the beginning of my school year and I was playing a game that was too epic and I wanted to do it too much, so I made my dad think I was going to high school while I was pretending. Then, when he left for work, I'd come back and play on my P.S. console. But my stupidity caught up with me, and my father was contacted by the school and told of my repeated absences. It was a Thursday lunchtime, I remember, and he came home to find me quietly in bed. He came into my dirty room and said: 

" Elliot, that's enough! You're not going to school anymore, you're dressing like crap. Look at you, you've got holes in your clothes. You haven't washed or combed your hair in days. Things are going to change for you. A colleague at work told me about a boarding school that would be perfect for you. "

I was on my phone when he said this so I half-listened, as usual. He was clearly desperate about my behavior and had every reason to be. Now I understand. At the end of the afternoon, my father called me and reminded me that he had to take me to the dentist for an annual check-up. I'd completely forgotten, it wasn't something I was interested in remembering. I stayed in the same clothes and he took me to the dentist. I really didn't remember the appointment. Once there, my father accompanied me inside. A waiting room with other parents and their teenagers. There were guys from high school, who were also dressed in sweatpants and sweatshirts and sneakers. I wasn't the only one who dressed like that, which is why it seemed normal to do so. When it was my turn, the dentist called me in. I sat down in his dentist's chair. He asked me to lie down so he could check the inside of my mouth. He put some products in my mouth to relax it. And these products were starting to put me to sleep; he'd put in more than usual. 

I had fallen asleep on his armchair, I didn't know for how long. When I woke up, my hands were tied tightly to the chair. I tried to speak, but my mouth was still anesthetized. My father was talking to the dentist, and they were both looking at me. My father had collected my things, my bag and my phone. Looking around, I soon realized that I wasn't really at the dentist. The man posing as one approached me and said: 

"Elliot, your father, has informed us of your behavior at home and has decided to leave you with us for a while. Do you agree? "

I couldn't answer as my mouth was still anesthetized. 

" Since you're not answering my question, I imagine you're completely in agreement. If you don't say anything within a minute, we'll assume you agree."

I was trying to speak to refuse and scream for help, but only discreet moans came out. 

" Then we do have your agreement. "

My eyes began to tire again and I finally dozed off again.

I don't know what treatment he gave me, but it was like a dissociation. I saw myself outside my body like a ghost looking at my body. My father left with my things. The staff laid me properly on the bed and undressed me. I was completely naked at one point. They put a red ball in my mouth and covered my mouth with a gag that held with a tight strap behind it. I was as if unable to act, in the hands of my kidnappers. They dressed me in a white short-sleeved polo shirt, buttoned all the way up, tucked into khaki shorts with a brown belt, white knee-high socks and black loafers. They then cut my hair and styled it, neatly styled to the side and held with wax. I began to regain consciousness little by little, but I felt as if I were paralyzed in my own body, between the products that were still taking effect and the bonds that prevented me from fleeing. 

"Elliot, you're back with us. We've prepared you in a more respectable outfit than the garbage you used to wear. This preppy outfit suits you much better. Your hair looks much better like this. You probably have a lot of questions, but you're in good hands. I'm Doctor Greenwood, I'm here when sometimes you need a little push to get you into the Academy. I'll leave you here tonight and you'll make your official entrance tomorrow. "

I was stuck on this bed for several hours, and above me they'd set up a screen with a series of images and sounds that I had no choice but to watch. And no matter how tempted I was to close my eyes, a deep voice kept reading every word on the moving image. Eventually, I fell asleep to the rhythm of the video, which hypnotized me as it went along. 

“I want to be a preppy boy. Good preppy boys must obey, serve, submit, behave. Good boys comply. I want to be a good preppy boy” again and again and again...

This mantra was stuck in my head like music that never wants to come out. I still felt resistance, an urge to rebel and run away, but I was blocked and strangely began to feel pleasure at the idea of being a good preppy boy. 

When I woke up, four men in their thirties, all dressed in pastel shirts tucked into their pants, with bowties and loafers, took me by force. They took me by the arms and forced me to follow them. They put me in a van and tied me up. My gag was still in my mouth and I couldn't scream. I was at their mercy, with no power or control over the situation. I was their object. 

I was taken to a large, ivy-league type establishment, at the top of the main entrance is written “Preppy Academy”. I was led inside and up the stairs. I arrive in a very elegant office, with wood paneling and bookcases on every wall. The 4 men undress me.

I find myself in a preppy outfit: a white and blue striped OCBD shirt, pastel yellow shorts, red and blue suspenders, a dark blue and red striped tie tied around my neck, long white knee-high socks and dark loafers. Nothing to do with my outfits at home. I've been completely transformed into a preppy boy. I'm left with my hands tied and my mouth gagged in this office. I don't know what to do, I'm a slave to this establishment. My outfit isn't as comfortable as the one at home, I can feel the fabric of my shirt on my torso compressing me, the suspenders holding my shorts are like two ropes binding my outfit to my body, the pulled-up socks are so humiliating, I feel like a boy. But as I think I'm disgusted by my outfit, I realize that it actually turns me on. I like to think I have to be dressed like this to feel good. A few minutes later, a man in his fifties walks in. He's dressed in a nice three-piece suit, with a red tie. He looks at me deeply: 

"Hello Elliot! Welcome to the Preppy Academy. Your father told me you weren't behaving properly at home. He contacted us and paid for your enrollment. Whether you like it or not, you're staying here. You'll wake up here and sleep here. Your education needs to be reviewed. You must learn to be a good preppy boy for your superiors. I am M.Gilliard, the principal of this prestigious establishment. I am the Master of all the students here. You owe me obedience, submission, service and respect. "

These words enchanted me, and even though I wanted to leave, I could only nod in agreement. 

"To complete your admission among us, I must collect something. "

The 4 young men from earlier return and make me sit down on the chair, holding me tight. Mr. Gilliard unzips my pants and pulls out my penis. I start moaning, not agreeing with what's happening. Mr.Gilliard puts a sort of cage on my penis, forcing it to stay very small and any erection would hurt. 

" It's called a chastity cage. I'm the only one who keeps the keys. Every good boy here is caged. Your personal pleasure doesn't matter; you're here to obey and learn to serve. Your only satisfaction at the end of the day is to please men superior to you. "

“I want to be a preppy boy. Good preppy boys must obey, serve, submit, behave. Good boys comply. I want to be a good preppy boy”. This phrase made more and more sense. I was introduced to the establishment, the rules to follow and taken to a room I had to share, with a wardrobe full of preppy clothes, nothing I'd had before. 

I've been here for two years now and I don't want to leave. I like to serve my Master when he asks for it. I like being a good preppy boy. Obedient and helpful. I don't miss my old life anymore. I encourage all boys and men to come to the Preppy Academy. You'll love it! 

[rudjedet]

Oh hey! Another anosmic! So rare to see. I'll admit, I can smell now, but I was definitely born without the ability to do so.

My parents didn't notice it until I was 5 and I couldn't smell Vick's VapoRub, but they quickly found me like, the only anosmia clinic in the country and the first in the world, Dr. Henkin's Taste and Smell Clinic. It was and is unlike any clinic I've been to. They had rows of brown glass bottles of (probably) pungent liquids, they would collect saliva from you using name-brand lemon juice, you would get your blood drawn monthly in the doctor's own office, a little closet-sized room stacked floor to ceiling with binders. (Maybe this description is just showing how privileged i am) Anyway he treated me with an athsma medicine for 3-4 years and it indeed worked.

The first thing I smelled was my mom's minty breath after she brushed her teeth. Not having any frame of reference, I called it stinky lol

I've found smell to be a very valuable sense, and I'm eternally grateful to Henkin and his colleagues. When I was maybe 10 I was camping with my father and my sister, and me and my sister were in a tent together with a space heater. Had I not smelled the space heater burning my sister's blanket, we both could have been seriously burned.

About your question, I've never noticed distinctly different smells coming from anyone I know. Sweat smells the same on everybody, farts can smell a little different based on diet, same goes for mouth smell, we all sort of smell the same. The closest I can think of to "people's scents smell different" is people mistaking the idea of cologne or perfume for something like animal musk, which it Is Not.

But then again I do have those anonymized MRIs floating around the clinic's website, so maybe my sense of smell isn't exactly normal lmao

Oh that's cool! Based on all the responses, whether or not you can smell other people (and even whether sugar granulate has a scent) seems to be highly dependent on a ton of factors. Perfume and other hygiene products is one thing, but there's definitely people saying they can recognise certain people under certain circumstances based on their scent.

Most of you weren't around for this, but during my second pregnancy I suddenly started being able to smell (and this was the thing that made me side eye my uterus because I hadn't done a pregnancy test at that point yet). The first whiff of something I caught was the window cleaner I was using at work. It smelled vaguely sweet, and it was such a weird experience. The next morning I visited bestie and we tore open her spices cabinet just shoving anything and everything into my nostrils. I could mostly get the pungent stuff like paprika and dried ginger. Two weeks later we were out for ramen and that's when I recognised my first smell without knowing what it was beforehand (the ginger in the gyoza).

I lost that baby and the smelling went away again, but for my last pregnancy the same thing happened. Unfortunately what also happened is that I ended up with pregnancy rhinitis and hay fever (hubs has hay fever and our kiddo does too, so throughout pregnancy I was suffering thanks to his overly excited immune system copying onto baby), so there wasn't much smelling going on during the pregnancy itself. It did persist for about 6 months post-partum, and I did find out that if I keep my dust allergy under control with antihistamines, I can sort of smell again once my ovulation rolls around.

Interestingly and opposite you, my immediate response to any scent is "oh wow that's nice!", I guess just because I can even smell it lmao. But once I get used to them, there's room for nuance. My favourite scents are ginger, properly aged cheese, and my daughter. I will say I once walked into a group of old humans (choir practice, lmao) and... didn't like it, it was this uncomfortable wall of something undefinable. Dirty diapers are ... oddly minty? I wouldn't classify it as a "stink" but it's a scent that definitely lingers.

The thing with human personal scents and why I operated on the notion that all humans in general would be able to recognise someone based on scent is part having smelled my own kid before and hearing a lot of mums say they love the scents of their children, part knowing that perfume does tend to travel across larger distances, part being told that I have a pretty present personal scent, part being autistic and having overactive other senses and thus thinking "well scent would be the same then wouldn't it", and part just... not having any direct experience with it lmao. As with everything scent-related everyone's replies have all been extremely elucidating, just like the time I ended up hyperfocussing on perfumes.

[victoriazielonka]

CAS Project: Update 1 (Investigation)

Since CAS Project requires a dedication to action I could not think of anything else but connecting it to my all-time favourite branch - Service. Young patients of Children Medical University Hospital in Warsaw are always full of energy and joy within themselves and so my best friend Weronika and I decided to base our project on what we noticed the patients had been enjoying most so far!

I remember introducing my friend Weronika to the foundation and its principles at the beginning of this school year, and now we decided to put our knowledge about the preferences of the kids here at the hospital to use. In September I made sure to tell her about our favourite activities with children such as Uno Cards competitions and Dobble which never fails to entertain those sweet patients. Although the Uno Cards competitions and Dobble are great fun I thought of going a step further. There are a lot of times when kids want to make something, either for us or their parents or colleagues, so why not engage with them in something physically lasting, while teaching them additional skill and learning it ourselves in the process.

I must say I got inspired by the idea from one of my patients, sweet Karolinka, whom I had the pleasure to spend some time with 2 months ago. She was a super fan, to say the least, of Loom Bands. Loom Bands bracelets were something that bonded us even stronger because of the fact that I was also their big fan when I was her age. Even though I am not much older than her, just 7 years, it was surprising to see her interested in the same activity at the same age since so much changed through the last 7 years!

Of course, I had other ideas, such as movie nights with snacks, but since it's hospital and patients' diets vary from one to another, we have decided, Weronika and I, to stick with making bracelets. It involves our creativity and service to the hospital, but it feels like pure joy. Can't wait to present our idea to our supervisors at RMHC and get to making some bracelets with the children! We need to learn priorly how to do them ourselves!

[fuwushiguro]

They Tell Me That It's Good For Me

Zeke Yeager x f!reader Genre: Smut Notes: It’s hip to be square… Warnings: 18+, dubcon, cheating, violence, murder, mental health issues, vaginal sex. Lmk if I missed any. Words: 4k

Zeke resented his brother, Eren. The brunette being ten years his junior made him wonder who he thinks he is to be telling him what to do. He’s a doctor, and yet Eren seems to think it’s a good idea that he go to therapy? Family therapy, at that. It’s just the two of them sitting in the office on account of their parents being dead. The therapist immediately senses hostility in Zeke. A reluctance to be a part of this ridiculous practice. Eren disagrees, though. His temper around their penthouse recently has been less than pleasurable.

“What does a regular day in the life of Zeke Yeager look like?” the therapist asks. Zeke’s eyes roll so violently, they flutter manically. He adjusts his seating position, pulling up his trousers slightly as he crosses one leg over the other and sinks back into the armchair. He’s a picture of perfect coolness as he rakes his fingers through his hair and thinks about his answer.

A day in the life of Zeke Yeager.

He lives in one of the most expensive properties in the city. The name Zeke Yeager is one of renown and respect. An excellent doctor who studied under his father, Grisha, a title and career he achieved and solidified all before turning twenty-nine. Self-care is very important to Zeke. He likes women, you see, and being in his line of work can be incredibly stressful and taxing on your appearance. He knows every trick and technique to prolong his youth and prevent wrinkles for as long as possible. His morning regime can be gruesome, as if the poor man isn’t tired enough. But it’s all worth it to look how he does.

Not many people see his body under his work uniform, but it’s often a surprise to many when they realise how perfectly sculpted and chiselled he is. Taking care of himself can’t just stop at using specific creams and scrubs on his soft skin to prolong his youth. A balanced diet and exercise play a crucial role in it all, too. The exercise is probably the most irritating part of his morning routine to Eren. For some reason his elder brother insists on playing porno tapes on the TV at full volume while he works out. The sounds of women’s moans incentivise him, apparently. It doesn’t stop it from being irritating, though.

Zeke Yeager is successful in every way that an individual can be. He’s wealthy, he has a good job, good looks that attract enough women to placate his salacious desires. And even a brother who, whilst they annoy each other to the brink of self-detonation, they care for each other.

But it’s not enough for Zeke Yeager. He’s a shell of a man. No matter how much money he has, there’s always someone with more money. Despite him being magnificent at his job, there will always be someone somewhat superior to him. Regardless of which woman he takes to bed, there’s always a man with a sexier woman and a hotter cunt than what he’s going to devour and enjoy.

Zeke Yeager exists, but only barely.

“This was a stupid idea, Eren. I don’t need a shrink, I myself am a doctor, you know.” he talks to his brother in the chair beside his own. Zeke doesn’t get a response, but he notices the therapist begin to scribble down notes in their little book.

“I’d rather you not talk to Eren, Zeke. Focus on me. I’d like you to tell me why you’re here. What has been going on in the last few months?” the therapist speaks. Zeke runs his tongue along his top row of teeth as he contemplates the question. He’d have to ask Eren why they’re here, but now it turns out they aren’t even allowed to speak with each other.

“My life isn’t as interesting as you might think. I work. I go for the occasional drink with colleagues or my brother. I go home and enjoy video tapes and then return them when I’m finished with them.” he explains, prompting the therapist to write down more notes.

“Video tapes. I must say, from what I’ve seen and heard you watch quite a substantial amount of pornography films. Do you think you have a porn addiction?”

“No.”

“No?”

“That’s what I said.”

The therapist takes her time writing his response. It’s quite difficult to make Zeke feel uneasy, but the radio silence for five minutes straight filled with only the sound of a ballpoint scratching on paper fills him with unease. He feels like he’s on trial. Part of him wants to clear his throat, but he doesn’t wish to give the therapist the satisfaction of thinking she’s rattled him. Or worse, she’s won.

“I’d like to know about your sexual history. At what age did you lose your virginity and how frequently do you engage in sexual intercourse?” she asks him. This makes Zeke scoff. It’s not something he cares to divulge with a stranger. He sees Eren scowling at him and shakes his head unimpressed.

“I was seventeen. And I couldn’t say how often, truthfully. I like women, I’d say I have sex more than most.”

“Do you ever pay for it?”

“Is that relevant? I don’t see how that matters.” Zeke answers her question defensively, earning another series of notes appearing on the paper in front of her. “Sometimes I do, yes.” he adds, and she writes it down.

“Outside of sex, what else do you do for fun?”

“I can’t think, right now. I’ve told you a few things, I think we should move on.” he suggests. She smiles, crossing one leg over the other and nodding in agreement. He isn’t sure about therapy; he never has been. The idea of someone getting inside of his mind and trying to unearth secrets and fantasies that he may not even know about himself is terrifying.

“Do you get along with Eren’s fiancé?” she asks. Now Zeke does clear his throat. He unfolds his legs and leans forward in his seat pressing his fingertips against one another as he thinks of how he should answer.

“I don’t think we should discuss this.”

“You have a fiancé, don’t you?” she pushes. Zeke grimaces and nods. This must be why Eren brought him here. He looks over his shoulder in Eren’s direction, and he can barely look at him. He’s been a terrible older brother. So selfish and insufferable. But Zeke has never claimed to be selfless. What Zeke wants, Zeke gets.

“I stole Eren’s fiancé, yes, if we must talk about it then sure. It wasn’t a particularly nice thing to do, but I—” she stops him from saying another word by raising her hand as she writes again. He waits patiently for her to finish so that she can ask another question or wait for him to continue.

“Do you recognise this woman?” she asks as she places a polaroid on the coffee table in front of them. Zeke leans forwards to pick the image up and pushes his glasses further up his nose so he can get a proper look. He shakes his head, placing it back down and pushing it towards her.

“What about this woman? Or this woman? Maybe this one?” she fires off as she places another three images down on the table. He looks at them all intently, once again shaking his head as he pushes them back at her.

“I don’t recognise any of them. What about you, Eren?” he asks his brother, he’s still scowling at them. He thought they were on better terms since he stole you away from him. Apparently not. The therapist clicks her fingers and reminds him not to talk to Eren.

“That’s a shame. I had hoped you could help me, they’re all deceased, you see. Quite grisly murders, actually.” she tells him, not even looking at him as she focuses on her note taking. It scares Zeke to hear. Four women murdered. It’s a scary world to live in. It’s enough to encourage him to light up a cigarette and get comfier in his seat as he digests the information.

“That’s horrible. All the same killer, you think? Or—”

“What do you like to do for fun, Zeke?” the therapist asks him again. His eyes scrunch as he wonders if he heard her right. Haven’t they been over this already? Why does she keep asking?

“I… I enjoy eating. There is a restaurant in the city that is difficult to get on the guest list for, but they usually make an exception for my colleagues and I. That could be considered fun.” he tells her. She doesn’t bother writing it down, which makes him feel like he’s said something boring. Or something wrong entirely.

“I assume you and your fiancé have a considerable amount of sex? How much, would you say?” she queries. Zeke scratches his beard as he thinks about it. He pushes his glasses a little way up his nose, again, before answering.

“Not as much recently. Three times a week, possibly? Work is exhausting. I’d never be off her if I had the choice.” he confesses. That is something she deems necessary to write down. She even pouts as she does, like she’s really concentrating on getting every single word perfect.

“Do you cheat on her? You sometimes pay for prostitutes, have you done that since you became engaged?” she asks him. He looks down, awkwardly, and concentrates on the sounds of his bones cracking as he crushes his knuckles. He sighs, though, preparing to answer yet again.

“Unfortunately I do. I’m not proud of it, it doesn’t mean I love her any less.” he explains, trying his very best to justify himself and his abhorrent behaviour. She’s writing yet again. He notices the way her eyes harshen when she’s writing something particularly juicy, otherwise her brows remain relaxed and her eyes almost appear lifeless.

“What do you do for fun, Zeke?”

“Why do you—? Music, I like listening to music at home. Dancing and a few drinks with the right music on is fun, for me.”

“Those four women were prostitutes.” she announces casually, scribbling some more and not making any form of eye contact as she speaks. Zeke’s jaw hangs low as he comes to realise what might be happening here.

“I feel like you’re accusing me of something.” he tells her. She doesn’t confirm nor deny. She simply keeps her eyes fixated on him as he begins to awkwardly laugh under her intimidating glare.

“Could you tell me about the first time you had sexual intercourse with your fiancé?”

Oh boy, could he. But should he? Would you approve of him diving into the intimate intricacies of your relationship and what you get up to between the sheets? It’ll be fine, he thinks, patient doctor confidentiality is a requirement. He knows that just as well as she does.

Eren had brought you home for the first time to introduce you to his brother. Zeke couldn’t believe how beautiful you were. From head to toe you were a total knockout. How a shit bag like Eren bagged a girl like you, he’ll never know. You spent the evening getting to know more about each other. About their family and their relationship with one another. It was sweet, you thought.

Zeke couldn’t keep his eyes off you, and it didn’t go unnoticed. Eren was the same, you were the only one who realised how intensely the brothers were staring at you. But of course, you didn’t comment on it. Instead, the three of you drank more and more. You drank the least, but it was still enough to feel tipsy.

Eren drank the most and he blacked out completely. Zeke had to carry him from the dining room chair to his bedroom. He landed on the soft mattress and bounced a little when Zeke let him fall from his arms.

“I think you like me, Zeke.” you said. He smirked immediately and you noticed his face go a little red. You stepped a little closer towards him, unable to keep away from his magnetic charm. “Am I… right? To think that.” you questioned. He shook his head, you were perfectly correct.

“I like the idea of bending you over and seeing what you look like stuffed full of me. If that means I like you, sure, I like you. But you’re with my little brother. I’m wondering why you’d ask a question like that when you’re engaged to him. Do you like me, too?”

You stood closer to him, wanting that to answer his question. It does. His hands moved around your neck and then one held the back of your head as he landed his lips on yours. It became heated quite quickly. Both of your hearts racing with adrenaline as you knew Eren could have woken up at any moment. He picked you up and made you wrap your legs around his waist so that he could carry you to his own bedroom.

You were set down and he pushed your body against his floor to ceiling mirror in his room. He dropped to the balls of his feet and then onto his knees, pulling your panties from underneath your skirt and tossing them over his shoulder. He nuzzled his face between your thighs and began to lick at your delicate, petalled flesh. Your little pearl was at his mercy, your hips bucking and stuttering with each suckle and slurp. He looked up at you, face and beard sparkling with pussy juice.

“Turn around, look at yourself.” he demanded. You did, and watched your own body as he began to undress you. He whispered under his breath. Mostly about how beautiful you were. He loved the way your face contorted when he spanked your ass. So, he did it again, and again, and again. “You look gorgeous when you hurt.”

That’s when he decided to soak his cock with your juices. He slid it up and down between your folds to make sure he was wet enough for you to take. He smoothed your hair back so you could both look at your face when he began to tear you apart with his thick cock.

“That’s it. Good girl, how’s the stretch feeling?”

“It— It hurts so good.” you moaned for him. It made him smile cockily. Of course it does. It was just what he wanted to hear.

He loved the way your jaw hung low and eyes were almost fully white as he ploughed into your little cunt. He adored that you didn’t care how fucking loud you were moaning on him, it didn’t bother you that Eren was in the next room. It was euphoric when you began to tighten on him like the little whore you are. You angled your body slightly so that you could face him. Kiss him. He was hitting your sweet spot so perfectly, you scratched down his defined back and earned a cat-like hiss from your soon to be brother in law.

“Fucking bitch, are you gonna cum?” he asked. You nodded like a fool. So damn close. He watched your pretty O face as you hit your peak. It was an inspired idea that he had decided to fuck you in front of the mirror. He doesn’t think he would have been able to examine your reactions and responses as perfectly as he did if he was facing you directly.

He didn’t let you relax as you came down from your high, though. He held your head in place and insisted you look at him as he fills your cunt up with himself. He’s giving you everything he has, the least you can do is admire him as he does so.

“You came in her?” the therapist asks, Zeke nods a little too proudly in front of his sibling. “Interesting.”

“Is it?”

“Did you cum in these four women that you fucked?” she asks him as she spreads the photographs out on the coffee table for a second time. He leans forward and looks at them again. He only shrugs his shoulders, though.

“Maybe. It’s likely. I don’t usually like to pull out or wear protection.” he tells her. She writes that down. Zeke isn’t afraid anymore, he’s starting to get agitated. “How much longer is this session?”

“What do you do for fun, Zeke?”

“Are you aware of how many times you’ve asked me this question?” he answers her question with his own. He pushes his hair back again as he slinks back into his seat. She isn’t done with him, though, he can tell that much by her demeanour.

“That’s not how things ended with your fiancé though, is it? How did it end?”

“Eren here caught us, unsurprisingly.”

“That isn’t what I was referring to. He wouldn’t have caught you if your fiancé wasn’t screaming.”

“Screaming?”

“Screaming, Zeke. Don’t you remember?” he shakes his head at her question. He remembers nothing of the sort. She didn’t scream. He would remember that. Wouldn’t he? He’d remember if she was screaming. “I think you’re confused. Are you confused, Zeke?”

“Very. I wouldn’t make her scream, only in a good way. Why would she be screaming?” he questions. She flips through her notebook and leans her body forward so that Zeke knows she’s reading directly to him.

“She claims the sex was indeed consensual. She instigated it and she enjoyed it until the screaming started. Can’t you remember? Can’t you try and remember why she was screaming?” she talks at him, he shakes his head again. His mind is blank. Is he going insane? “You’ve been referring to her as your fiancé. She’s nothing of the sort. You don’t have sex three times a week, you had sex that one time.”

“No,”

“Yes, Zeke,” she insists as she flips through her notes again. Instead of reading, she had another polaroid image to show him. “Might this jog your memory?” she asks, placing it above the other images.

It’s you. All bloody and cut to ribbons. He can’t believe what he’s seeing. You’re so beautiful but so broken. Who could do this to you?

“Jesus, what happened to her? Can I see her?”

“What do you do for fun, Zeke?”

“Stop asking me that! I want to know what happened to my fiancé! I need to see her!” he raises his voice, momentarily standing from his seat before the therapists scalding glare forces him back into his seat.

“You happened to her. Shall I read her statement to you?” she queries, flipping through her papers until she finds your handwriting. She clears her throat as she prepares to speak. Zeke looks terrified. He doesn’t know you or himself. “We were flirting discretely over dinner. When Eren went to bed it got more intense and I knew I wanted to have sex with him, so we did. We were against the mirror in his bedroom and he performed oral sex on me. He made me look at myself as we had sex and it was pleasant. Until he snapped. I think the change happened when I scratched his back. He started calling me names and he became rougher with me. As he began to climax, he pushed my head against the mirror and told me that I need to see how a whore takes his cum. He didn’t stop pushing and that’s when I started screaming. He pushed so hard that the glass broke, shards entering and slicing the skin on my face. That’s when Eren came in.”

She finishes speaking and looks at Zeke incredulously. He doesn’t know what to say. He can’t believe you would tell such a vicious lie. Are you trying to ruin him to save your reputation? You’re his fiancé now, why would you do such a thing?

“I wouldn’t— I would not do that.”

“What do you like to do for fun?”

“Are you listening to me? I did not fucking hurt that girl, I love her. We’re happy.” Zeke expressed pathetically. It was obvious to him that she wasn’t buying it, though. But who was she going to believe? Women stick together in times like these.

“What happened between you and Eren when he found the two of you?”

“We argued but, everything is fine now, right Eren?” Zeke asks his brother. He simply shakes his head, remaining completely silent as he does. “I don’t— I don’t understand what is happening.”

“Are you sure you don’t remember what you did to her? Or if you slept with these prostitutes?” she goads him, but he shakes his head in utter refusal. When will this end? “You aren’t yourself right now, Zeke.”

“Fuck you.” he spits at her. She only smiles.

“Do you remember hurting your brother?”

“Aren’t therapists supposed to help people? Are you trying to make me lose my mind?”

“He came in to see what all of the ruckus was about when his fiancé was screaming. You picked up a huge shard of mirror glass and pinned him to the armchair and stabbed him again and again. You don’t remember killing your brother?” she explains. He scoffs at that.

“Eren isn’t dead, he’s right here. Are you stupid?”

“Zeke, tell me what you like doing for fun.”

“No! What the fuck is the matter with you? You’re making up lies about my fiancé and my brother.”

“This girl here was stabbed. This one was chased and murdered with a chainsaw. This one was shot. This one was strangled. And you were the last person to see them all alive, after paying them for sex.”

“I don’t care about them. I care about why the fuck you just told me my brother is dead.” he barks. She shakes her head and stares at him.

“You tried to kill Eren’s fiancé. She managed to get away and call the police. But it was too late for Eren, he’s dead.” she tells him yet again. He almost growls at her answer, unable to believe she’s still speaking so cruelly to him and his brother.

“Are you blind? He’s here. He’s literally right fucking h—” Zeke has to pause as he turns to face his brother one final time. He isn’t sitting beside him pulling sarcastic faces and refusing to speak. He isn’t disgusted with him after the therapist had dredged up their past and betrayals.

No.

Eren is dead. He is right next to Zeke, but he is dead. His head drooping backwards over the back of the arm chair with dozens of stab wounds in his neck and even more on his shoulders and down to his stomach. The large mirror shard is still lodged in his younger siblings’ neck. His head moves rigidly so he can face the therapist. He looks down at the coffee one final time. He remembers you. You only met one time and he fucked you stupid. He remembers smashing your head into the mirror. He remembers how badly he needed you and how tight you were around his cock. He’s even starting to remember the prostitutes. At this point, he’s crying. Not because he’s sad, he’s laughing maniacally. It’s all coming back.

Fuck.

Every single thing is coming back to him, now.

“What do you like to do for fun, Zeke?” she asks, one final time. He manages to still his laughter as he wipes away his tears. He has an answer for her now. He finally has an answer he thinks she’s going to like.

“I like killing people,” he laughs softly, smoking a cigarette he lights up. A cigarette he feels may be his final one for a long time. “I like killing people, for fun.”

© 2022 fuwushiguro

[atashinokaishaku]

Trial AU: "TDRKvTDRK" / The people v Endeavour

Either for a post-war trial of the people v Endeavour or to determine if Rei is able to live unsupervised or if she's a fit guardian to Shouto. They would need to determine if there was abuse towards her and/or the kids in either case.

-Endeavour's argument during his testimony being "it was training", "in order to become nro1 hero/what he was meant(created) to be" and some people siding with him since "he's perfect to become a hero, it'd be a waste of talent otherwise, of his quirk, his fast judgement, his training, the kid should just keep going!"

-And Shouto's lawyer response being "so that means it's ok to raise all kids with strong quirks to be heroes? (some Hawks parallels)" "Train them as soon as we find out! Take them from their childhood and family and instead of a kindergarten send them to a hero factory!" "Because as long as they become perfect heroes it doesn't matter if they are kids." and they get close and holds Endeshit's eyes "Isn't that right, Endevour-san?"Reminds me of Snowpiercer "As long as it's beneficial to our society the sacrifices don't matter" kind of mentality.

-Imagine the media asking heroes what they think about the allegations. And Hawks smile suddenly turning serious and answering with hints about this being covered up for years without explicitly saying it. 

And Endeshit's sidekicks being all "as long as Endeshit does the work perfectly it's not our business" Most heroes opting for a "no comment". Some reflect on their colleagues and how they view them until now. Others are aware this wasn't the first case and are sure won't be the last no matter the outcome. WWP coming out regretting not having being able to realise despite being in charge on people's safety "80% of our rescues are kids, be it from disasters, accidents or domestic calls involving villains". "Kids are strong, most time, the adults are the ones that need more reassurance from us, when kids see a hero they immediately feel rescued, safe, they follow our instructions as soon as they call down" "We heroes are supposed to inspire that feeling, our presence should evoque safety even before starting the actual rescue" "For a kid to not only see their father as danger, but a hero, the Nro1 Hero as a threat to that safety... is something that will not only destroy everything we have worked on as Pro Heroes but will came up every time we see a kid light up when we arrive in their rescue"

-Then Shouto's testimony; being asked about his routine, his training, diet, education, his relationships with his friends, with his mother and how he saw her, with his siblings. By his lawyer and then by Endeavour's lawyer. "How was your relationship with your siblings?"; "Non-existent" "What's the closest you remember being to them" "I saw them once" "they were playing with a ball on the yard, I was being dragged to training" "Touya-nii fell and Natsuo-nii was laughing at him, Fuyumi-nee and the housemaid were worried" "I asked Fa-Endevour to join them but he say no" "Did he say why?" "Objection hearsay!" "Denied" "Did Mr.Endevour say why?" Not looking up, in a soft voice he repeated mechanically "They are failures, don't get close to them" -Can you describe what happened that night?" 

“Until recently I'd only remember her crying, her words at her breaking point" "...then I started remembering her words, her reassurance "It's ok to become who you want to become" 

and then they get to the scar incident, which at this point everyone was speculating was Endeavour's training fault, another cover-up. And then the defendant lawyer starts "it was your own mother who hurt you wasn't it?" and Shouto is visibly mad "she is the one who burnt your face, am I wrong?" "and that's the only burn scar you have isn't it?" and Shouto glaring "that's the only scar with medical records, since an ambulance was called" and either then or on redirect Shouto's feed up and determinated "where's my scar?"

"She was talking on the phone about needing to leave, she was asking her mother for help, in the middle of the night, in desperate whispers, and then, as soon as she turned she saw red peeking from the door" "the terror on her face as she grabbed that boiling water while her her whole body was shaking its marred deeper into me than any scar" Shouto shifting his eyes from the lawyer to Endevour "And of that, he is responsible."

aaaand tw going nuts cause Shouto is saying an abused mother was so on the edge she saw red hair and blue eyes and reacted in fear, thinking her 6yo son was her abusive husband.  #wheresmyscar is trending Bakugo

Imagine if Endeshit trial happened when they grew up (which would happen if it was Shouto who wanted to press charges since he'd need to be over 20yo, to testify tho there's no age restrictions I think) Class 1-A are already pro heroes and Bkg goes in as a witness to "needlessly" prove the point that "Shouto is a victim". Cause the other lawyers would be like "Pro Hero Shouto, best grades, best results, best hero, where's the flaw? What was the consequence of this alleged "abuse"? being the best? My client was the best and trained the best hero, and it shows!" And then Bkg goes into detail on how being "classmates" with Sho allowed him to be the expert in identifying abuse victims he is today 

"and also" Bkg ending his speech "Endeshit wasn't the best, All Might is, he just turned up to be the asshole who abused the kid who would end up being the best on his own, and he shouldn't get too comfortable just cause I spend a few months in USA, I'll be taking that title soon" and then when sho's on the stand he's asked about what he thought about Bkg's testimony "it's weird how he still doesn't notice we are friends even when he sees everything else" Shouto's lawyer

Imagine their protectiveness towards a child, a 15yo who had given up on justice but is willing to make this step regardless. They'd be so fucking honored to be in charge of this case but under so much pressure, not only cause it's The Trial of the current Nro1 hero that'd change all their society's views on Pro Heroes, but because of his client, this kid's trust in them is the biggest and heaviest responsability they've ever carried, and they will make sure to get them justice and hope.I need their first time meeting Shouto and their first impressions, the revelation of how big this case is, Aizawa being the one briefing them before being introduced to Shouto. 

Endeshit

Endeavor would be combative and deny everything; corruption, propaganda, Endeavor’s side trying to depict Shouto as an exaggerating rebellious teen, a liar, using the Sport Festival as an example "he just wanted to make his father mad! a victim wouldn't take that risk!" totally not taking into account that Shouto wouldn't consider making Endeavour mad a risk but just part of his daily life, especially since there's no one else who would get hurt as collateral damage, and he's used to being hurt. 

All Might testifying, recounting his meeting with Endeshit at the Sports Festival and his regret on not seeing it sooner, his failure. -I need corruption, old and new cover-ups attempts, hero&villains propaganda, paparazzi following Shouto and his siblings, reporters surrounding Rei's hospital freaking Shouto out when they try to barge into her room and making him question if all this was worth it.

-I need jury reactions, a judge that controls both sides and is polite, Shouto's lawyer feeling this case close, Endeavour's lawyers being at the top of the chain and having a reputation.

-I need the public response, on the news, on twitter/blogs, paparazzi.

And the news portraying Shouto "not being social" "unfriendly and giving off an arrogant vibe" "expressionless and impossible to read".   Mainstream media covering it while being biased, hyperfocusing on the heroes v villains implications. While tw/blogs/yt being like "how tf are they so blind" while analysing Shouto's and Endeavour's answers and behaviours.

-I need doctors' and/or nurses' recits and secret notes.

And the maid who used to take care of the Todoroki children, and had stopped making their meals because of a back injury, being a surprise witness.

[amerrierworld]

I’m Not Jealous

request: more dom!daphne x reader? Thank you!

Summary: the press have seen you and Daphne together, but your relationship hasn’t been confirmed, so speculations are made. 

Characters: Daphne Kluger x fem!reader, a real-life actress cameo ;)

Word Count: 2,121

Warnings: SMUTTT. you know how this goes :) dom!daphne & jealousy!

“People are staring at you,” Daphne whispered in your ear as she wound an  arm around your waist, flashing a sweet smile at the cameras. 

“They’re looking at you,” you chuckled, pressing close to her. “It’s not every day  a big-wig celebrity is out shopping.”

“Hmph,” Daphne put her sunglasses back on, you following suit, before pulling you to the nearest restaurant. Your arms ached from the bags hanging off of your wrists.

“Table for two, please, pronto,” Daphne sighed, startling the host who was stacking some new menus. He was about to protest until he realized who was talking to him, and the cameramen pressed up against the front door windows, trying to get a good shot at the actress. 

There was a seat in the back, away from the windows, close to the kitchen where chefs were bustling and cooking relentlessly. You would be shielded here, even if just momentarily. 

“Daph.. this is a steakhouse.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Are you sure you wanna eat here? You told me you don’t like steakhouses, cause of your diet.”

“Do you want me to drag you out there again?” Daphne raised a sleek eyebrow at you, and you raised your hands in mock defeat. 

“Very well, m’lady.”

“This’ll have to do,” she skimmed through the menu, lips pursing as she read  through the options, “I’m starving after such a busy day.”

A day that had consisted of manicures and a shopping spree. Not that you were complaining, of course. 

Comfortable silence followed. Daphne picked at your side of fries as you ate, just like she always did, when suddenly your phone pinged. You ignored it.

Then it pinged again. And again. A series of text messages from friends and colleagues that read OMG and you sly devil! and other sorts of teasing, confusing texts.

You got a couple of fresh news article links, and intrigued, you opened some.

And then you nearly choked on your drink. Daphne, startled, quickly asked what’s wrong.

You coughed, “...People seem to think I’m involved with.. Anne Hathaway? What the hell?”

“Oh, really?” Daphne’s voice was light, but tense. You scrolled through your phone again, pictures of the other actress jogging your memory.

“Oh, yeah, cause I ran into her at that gallery last week! Remember? You had something to present, and you got me that extra ticket. I ended up sitting next to her in the audience when you were on.”

Daphne scoffed, “everyone knows Annie is straight. She’s got a kid too, for crying out loud.”

“Okay wait, this is hilarious though,” you mumbled around a mouthful of steak, “listen to this... Mystery gal seen in tow with Daphne Kluger a week after getting comfy with Anne Hathaway... Hathaway and Kluger: fighting over damsel?... serial heartbreaker or love birds?”

“What the hell?” Daphne bristled, nearly yanking the phone out of your hand, “I swear to god, tabloids are the absolute worst.”

“I think it’s funny. They don’t have any proof other than I’ve spent time with both of you. They don’t even know your sexuality, so what’s the worry?”

“Hmph,” Daphne chewed aggressively on one of your fries. They were almost all gone, and you had barely touched them.

“You’re not jealous, are you?”

“Absolutely not,” Daphne snapped, and you suppressed a smile. “I hate how they feed lies into the media, that’s all. There’s always going to be people who believe them, too.”

“Yeah, but they don’t matter. I can call Anne right now and settle it? Maybe she can come join us for dinner sometime-”

“No! I- I mean.. let’s not. Let’s not bother her, right?” 

You reached over and grabbed her hand, and Daphne sighed, flicking her hair over her shoulder,

“Maybe I should just come out and tell them about us. I’m getting tired of this. They’re thinking that I stole you from her. When they should be worried about it happening the other way around.”

“You don’t think that’s actually going to happen, do you?” You asked, startling her. She hadn’t expected you to take what she said that way, and she was lost for words for a moment. 

“Come on, call your driver, we should go home,” you suggested, “I’m full anyways, aren’t you?”

-

“We didn’t even get to that shoe store downtown,” Daphne grumbled as you got inside her second city apartment safely. 

“I can call Hathaway,” you teased, smirking as you dumped the bags in the front hall, “she could get us in-”

A finger hooked in the collar of your shirt and pulled you backwards, Daphne catching you and pulling you close, hot breath wafting over your ear.

“Don’t say her name,” she growled. You wriggled your hips, trying to escape her grasp.

“So you are jealous?”

“No.” 

“You’re a great actress, Daph, but you can’t always hide-”

“Fine.”

Daphne pushed you forward until you were pressed against the kitchen counter. Her hands tugged at your shirt and pressed against the soft skin of your stomach. Your breath hitched.

“I am jealous. Alright? I’m so fucking jealous at the thought of all those people thinking you’re with her when you’re mine. And will always be mine.”

“Tell them, then,” you said, head tipping back onto her shoulder and your breath hoarse. “Let’s tell the world.”

“I suppose it’s about time, right?” Her hands grabbed your hips and she rolled hers against you with a slow, maddening pace. 

“Y-yeah,” you whimpered, because now she was sucking her neck. You could faintly see yourself in the reflection of the cupboard door glass, and dark lipstick was already smudging on your skin.

“You can tell them now, if you want,” Daphne’s voice was lilting, seductive, and your brain was trying to catch up with what she was saying.

“Now?”

“Yes. When I fuck you so hard that you’ll be screaming my name so loudly every paparazzi in town will hear it.”

You laughed, because Daphne was always so private with her sexual escapades, and you knew that would never happened. But you toyed with the idea in your mind briefly, just for fun.

The fantasy escaped you, however, when Daphne’s hands began pushing past your waistband.

“B-bedroom?” you pleaded.

Daph relented, but only briefly, to make sure you both watched your step as you got to the bedroom. 

You wanted to pull her dress off, but she tutted.

“Not so fast,” she whispered and you stilled. She pressed against your shoulders until your back hit the mattress and yanked your hands up above your head.

“Hng- wait- the clothes-,” you mumbled deliriously, distracted by her cleavage in her formfitting dress.

“Shush,” she said, as if scolding a child, “all in good time.”

She unclipped the belt that sat at her waist and created a rough resemblance to a pair of handcuffs that chained you to the headboard.

Then her hands pulled your shirt up, over your head, and bunched it around your wrists. The same happened with your bra. You felt their fabric wound around your hands and wrists, cushioning against the metal of the headboard. 

Daphne straddled you for a moment, the dress riding up until you cold see her lacy underwear peeking out from underneath. You felt your arousal coursing through your body now, and she raked her newly manicured fingers up your sides, making you shiver.

“If only they knew, hm?” she chuckled, tucking some stray hair behind her ear. She raised herself up on her knees, arms stretching to unzip her dress from behind, and slowly tugged it down. 

With every extravagant motion of a silver screen actress she deftly pushed her dress down, revealing her bra, breasts threatening to spill over, and you felt yourself salivate. 

Then she turned around, and you watched, gaping as she pulled the rest of her dress over her ass and down her long legs. 

“Fuck,” you whimpered, hips bucking up at the sight. You rubbed your thighs together, desperate.

Eventually, Daphne tossed the dress to the side and faced you again. She sat on your stomach, unabashedly grinding against your abdomen, her knees spread wide. 

“D-Daphne,” you gasped. She had pulled one cup of her bra down and was tugging at a rosy nipple. Her lower lip was caught by her teeth and she looked down at you with a grin.

“Need more, baby?” she asked, voice rough. You nodded, straining against the multiple things holding your hands together. Your pants felt unbearably tight now. You wanted her skin, wanted to feel her, your body heat suffocating you in the fabric.

“God, you look so needy,” she chuckled. “It makes me so wet, you know that?”

Her hand left her breast and pushed into her underwear, fingers immediately rubbing her clit as she rocked on top of you.

“N-not fair,” you whined, pressing up again, making her gasp softly.

“I’ll decide what’s fair,” she retorted, and her other hand snaked behind her to sneak past your own waistband and press snugly against your cunt.

Your voice came out in a choked cry. It felt nice- warm and wet and her long fingers rubbed vigorously, but it wasn’t enough. The fabric of your pants held her hand in place, in the wrong place, and she was obviously getting distracted by touching herself that you couldn’t get any proper friction.

You spread your legs as wide as possible, pushing her closer with your thighs and you wriggled for her attention. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked down at you and your pleading eyes.

“Not enough?” she asked, a finger slipping around your clit, but not touching where you needed it. You furiously shook your head, and she flashed her award-winning smile.

“That’s too bad then, isn’t it?”

She swiftly took off her underwear and before you knew it her cunt was settling over your face. You whined in protest as her hand left your pulsing clit and she fisted it in your hair instead. 

“Give me that tongue and maybe I’ll let you cum,” she gasped. 

She cooed soft praise as you followed through, tongue sliding out to suck and lick her wet skin desperately.

“Hungry, are we?” Daphne chuckled, her breath catching as you suckled at her clit. “Didn’t get enough at the steakhouse?”

You hummed in the back of your throat as you pushed your tongue deeply inside her and she groaned. Her milky thighs trembled and tensed at the sides of your head and she pressed closer to you.

You breathed in heavily through your nose, catching her sweat and arousal and bucked your own hips in response.

Taking pity, Daphne’s hand slipped back behind her, clumsily nudging your pants away until her fingers roughly found your cunt and pushed inside of you. You whined against her cunt, your pace stuttering for a moment.

“Don’t slack off,” she said, her other hand tugging at your hair in reprimand. Your fingers twitched and tensed above you, wishing you could touch her. 

She slipped her bra off completely as she rocked on your face. Her hand pressed deeply inside of you, wriggling and nudging against your front walls with strong fingers. 

“Make me cum,” she ordered breathily, her hips stuttering, and you pressed your tongue against her clit until she gushed into your mouth, sweet and intoxicating. Her soft, high-pitched groans contrasted with the iron grip she had on your cunt. 

Now that she had nothing else to focus on her hand picked up a sure pace. She lifted off of your face to let you breathe, only for you to gasp and beg,

“Please- please, please please..”

Daphne chuckled, two fingers pinching and rolling the hood over your clit, and you were done for.

You felt sweat and slick sliding down the inside of your thighs and she kept rubbing lightly as your orgasm rushed over you. Your abdomen convulsed and shivered through the sensations until your senses could return to normal and you saw Daphne staring at you lovingly from above.

Her hands reached forward and tugged the restraints off of your wrists. You felt blood rush back to your arms as they dropped by your sides, but you were too distracted by sucking and kissing her breasts hanging so close to your face to notice.

Daphne squealed as you nipped her skin and cradled your head closely before pulling you up for a deep kiss.

“Love you,” you mumbled against her lips. 

“I know,” she muttered, making you chuckle. Her hands worked the rest of your clothes off and then she laid down by your side, stretching like a cat, a leg hooking over yours as she kissed your face.

The shopping bags remained unpacked in the front hall for the rest of the night.

[petiteoat]

Things I wish I had known about Recovery

It is the hardest thing you’ll ever do, it’s more difficult than starving, fasting or counting calories, it hurts more than hunger pangs and dizziness; it brings to light every ounce of self loathing you have and you can’t just starve it away anymore but learn how to sit with the pain

On that note, if you’re asking yourself “am I even sick enough to have anything to recover from?” the answer is 100 per cent yes, because healthy people do not have to ask themselves those questions. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been enduring this, whether you’ve lost fifty lbs or your weight hasn’t changed - eating disorders are a mental illness, not a physical one.

That being said, you can’t have one foot in recovery and one foot within your eating disorder. Trust me, I tried. All it does is create a hellish purgatory where you’re not losing weight but you’re hungry all the time and all you can ever think about is food and numbers and macros and weight and meal times and miles walked and your body.

When you first start recovering you’re going to experience a terrifying level of hunger, you’ll eat full meals and it won’t even touch the sides. You’ll wonder how you ever managed to get through the day eating so little, and you’ll try countless times to curb your insatiable appetite. However the very difficult truth is that the only way to get rid of extreme hunger is to - you guessed it - eat.

Eat when you first wake up, don’t worry about chugging a litre of water. Eat snacks for no reason, eat junk food, eat because someone else is, eat when you’re hungry and when you’re full and when you’re bored and when you’re angry and when you’re scared. Eat. Eat the meal your mother made for you and cherish the taste, remember how much you loved her cooking when you were a kid. When your jeans don’t fit anymore, eat. When someone makes a comment about your weight, eat. There is no way to escape the insatiable hunger your body feels because you have been starving it for so long.

You will be confronted with the harsh reality of how sick you are. This is particularly prevalent for those of you in denial - like I was. I told myself it was all ironic, that I could stop at any time, that I even ran a fucking thinspo blog ironically because I wasn’t like everyone else, I wasn’t stupid or skinny enough to actually develop an eating disorder in my late teens. Instead every day I had to endure my suddenly overwhelming thoughts regarding food, and there was no escaping it.

You’ll start to realise how frequently normal people engage in disordered behaviours or ways of speaking. You’ll have to watch your colleague drink the black coffee that you tried so hard to pretend to like. You’ll listen to aunts, sisters, cousins, brag about their new diet or talk about how bad they’ve been for eating. You’ll listen to guys talk enviously about some other girl who is super skinny. You have to rise above it.

The alternative to recovery, of course, is death. Maybe not today or tomorrow or even in ten years. Perhaps you’ll live to the ripe old age of ninety. I wonder how your body will look then? Will you have children sat by your death bed - could you endure the horror of being fat and pregnant? I wonder how much you’ll weigh? Will you look back on your life and feel an immeasurable sense of pride because against all the odds you’ve had a thigh gap to die for. You missed out on the birthday cakes, on christmas dinner, on going to the movies with your partner and your hands touching over a bowl of popcorn. You sacrificed years of your life to running, walking, starving, starving, so hungry you think you’ll die - but you didn’t, except one day you will.

Despite it all, how infuriatingly difficult recovery is; if I could go back to my lowest weight and run my hands over my ribs, admire my teeny waist and collar bones; I would choose recovery every single time, because I am myself again - after fucking years of living as a ghost I can proudly say I actually exist and have thoughts outside of food and I promise you it is possible to be fully recovered, but you have to eat.

[formenis]

Lesson

Anon asked: “ Can you do a scenario where L hasn't sleep in a while and it got to the point where even the Task Force is worried about him so Watari calls L's secret S/O and she comes barging into HQ and starts yelling at L that he is getting sleep or she is drugging him so he will sleep and L just follows behind her like a love-sick puppy“

A/N: please everyone, let’s give L so much love! Our best detective needs some rest sometimes.

And consider English is not my first language so I’m sorry about all the mistakes you’ll find. I’m trying to improve.

pairing: L x fem!reader

warning: nope

requested: yes

Y/A = your alias

Once Watari said: «L has no internal clockwork or any concept of time. After 102 hours of staying awake, he slept for almost 17 hours» and for him it was not enough.

If you think it's strange, well you don't know L. He goes to the toilette by himself with open doors and slightly changed sitting position. Since he likes clearness, he bathes frequently. But he never washes himself; he just sits in Watari's special "human washer" which includes drying functions.

L is rather picky with regards to clothing, there are always ten or so identical sets of clothes prepared for him. But he cannot put them on by himself…no, rather, he never feels like doing it (Watari has to say something like "banzai" to tell L to lift his arms). Most of the time, he is in his room, sitting motionlessly in that position.

But Y/N L/N knows it very well. She is L's girlfriend for a long time and she is used to L's particular (and almost non-existent) routine. That's her patience and kind personality that caught L's attention. It all started when Y/N went at the Wammy's House for a job interview. They were searching for a new teacher and Y/N satisfied all the prerequisites. During her probationary period all children fell in love with their new teacher, so patient and gentle even with the most spiteful kid.

When Roger Ruvie, the Wammy's House manager when Watari was not there, sent his observations about this new candidate, L agreed in hiring her. And when he met her in person he was hypnotised by her. The children were right, she was special: Y/N became the mother, the sister, the aunt and the friend those children didn’t have. This captured the attention and the interest of the greatest detective in the world.

It didn’t take long for both Y/N and L to fall for each other: the young teacher was attracted by his intellect and by his gaze, so deep and mysterious; on the other hand, L was mesmerized by her personality and by her smirk she had whenever she was right about something. But the thing that convinced L that Y/N was the right one for him was when she beat him at chess.

«Checkmate»  

At first, L didn’t pay attention to what she said but when he observed the chessboard he couldn’t hide his surprise. «Miss L/N…you won»  

«That's what I said»

But back to the present. Y/N was at the Wammy's House checking the homework of her little students when Roger entered her classroom.

«Miss L/N, there's a call for you»

«Ah yes, thank you Roger» Y/N answers at the phone placed on her desk. «Hello?»

«Miss L/N, it's Watari» the old and warm voice of Quillsh Wammy (as known as Watari) echoed through the receiver.

«Good afternoon Watari, I was correcting some homework. Do you need something?»

«It's about L»

.

.

.

Since the beginning of the Kira case, L moved to Japan. He changed hotel every week until Watari finished the new HQ and for the task-force was compulsory not to use any electronic devices when they were with him. This meant L couldn’t call his beloved Y/N that often and he started to miss her.

In order to solve as fast as he could the Kira case, he dived in the work for entire days and nights. Sugar cubes and coffee were his meals and he almost refused to sleep. He focused his mind and all his being to the case.

At first, the task-force wasn’t that concerned since they realised L had particular habits. But week after week, month after month, the situation got worse. His eyebags became darker and heavier, his skin became more white than his shirt and in general he looked really sickly.

«Uhm Ryuzaki? Did you sleep last night?» Soichiro Yagami asked him, there was worry on his face.

«When the Kira case will be solved I'll sleep» L replied rather tiredly despite his monotone voice didn’t express it. But Watari, who was with them serving ice-cream to everyone, noticed it immediately. He couldn’t bear such sight, he had to do something so he made a decision: if nobody could convince L to rest, then Miss Y/N L/N will.

.

.

.

«That's why I need you here, Miss L/N»

«He didn’t sleep for how much, Watari?! Are you serious?»

«Unfortunately yes. He dedicated every part of his being to the case. And by "every part" I mean literally every part of him»

«I can't believe it. I'm coming there, Watari»

«Very well, Miss L/N»

♰ TIME SKIP ♰

When Y/N arrives in Japan she was truly amazes by that country, so full of life, lights and culture. She can't believe it's the same country where Kira is killing. However, at the moment she can only think about L. She is so worried about him and about his well-being: he can be so odious and stubborn about his work that he would gladly renounce to his health if it meant to solve a case.

Y/N is boiling from rage, L went too far. If he falls ill how can he solve the case? Despite the anger she feels, she is excited too: it's been months since she saw or heard L. She misses him so much…but at the same time she wants to scold him.

«He is more hard-headed than the children at the Wammy's!» Y/N mutters at Watari, who is driving the car. With an excuse, he left the HQ to go at the airport to pick Y/N up and now they were coming back.

«Yes, I know.  It's the reason I called you…you are the only one who can convince Ryuzaki»

During the way towards the HQ, Watari informs her about the Kira case, the task-force and all L's suspects. At the same time Y/N warns him about all the new prodigies at the orphanage. The old man smiles kindly when he sees, through rear-view mirror, how Y/N's eyes shine when she started to talk about her students.

After an hour, the two of them arrives at this famous HQ: twenty-three floors aboveground and two floors belowground; Watari said there is a helipad on the roof of the building but the structure is designed so that the helipad and the two helicopters on it cannot be seen by those looking at the building from the exterior.

«Miss L/N, please use the back stairs. I deactivated the cameras so you can reach the monitoring room without being watched by Ryuzaki»

«Alright Watari, thanks»

Y/N did as instruct by him and takes the back stairs in order to reach the elevator. In her mind, Y/N is preparing the discourse to do at L: it doesn't matter if his colleagues are with him, he has to come to terms with her and starting to have a regular and healthy routine.

In the monitoring room nobody has any idea that the greatest detective's girlfriend is there in the same building as them. Actually they don’t know that L has a girlfriend either. So when the task-force see a young woman spread open the main door of the monitoring room they are quite shocked.

«Who is she?» Matsuda looked up from the papers in his hands. Shortly after that, all the other men looked up as well.

«L!»

That voice distracted L from his dossiers and through the reflection on his laptop he recognises Y/N. His lips become a thin line, a sudden rush of thoughts and emotions hits L at the same time. Why is she there? Something bad happened at the Wammy's House? Is it because he cuts ties with everyone during the investigations? Confusion, concern, worry, alarm…fear yet happiness, because he can see her after long time. L is overwhelmed.

«Everyone, please meet Miss Y/A, Ryuzaki's significant other» Watari introduces her at the task-force and each member gasped in shock.

«L! Watari told me you refused to eat properly, to sleep properly…to live properly!»

Ryuzaki spins his swivel chair towards her so Y/N has the chance to look better at him: hollow face, paler skin colour, dark and heavy eyebags. «Y/A, please, I'm not one of your student»

L is somehow relieved that Y/N was there because of him and not because something terrible happened to her or to the children at the orphanage. So he half-sighs in relief when she started to complain about is health.

«Well, you seem like one in this moment! I cannot bear seeing you like this, you know how much important health is for everyone. The lack of sleep or an unregulated diet will affect your mind and your efficiency will decrease! And how can you catch Kira if you're tired?»

Ah, how much L misses those cute "telling-offs". It is clearly Y/N's professional deformation: she worries about people and strangers as much as she does with the children at the Wammy's. So when she finishes her discourse, L couldn’t hide a wide smile.

«I guess you're right, Y/A» L pretended to be sorry but the truth is that he loves seeing that part of Y/N's personality.

«Of course I am! Now let's start from the sleeping part!» she walks closer to him and grabs the wrist. Then she drags him out of the monitoring room leading towards the bedroom. In L's eyes, admiration and love can be seen while Y/N continues with her discourse about a new healthy routine he has to start.

Right before entering the bedroom L stops and hugs Y/N from behind, his arms are around her chest now. «Y/N…you have no idea how much I missed you»

She smiles, removing her teacher mask for a moment, and looks at him. «I missed you too, cutie pie»

L rubs slightly his cheeks against hers in a cute act of affection. Having her in his arm is such a relief for him, L can sense a strong wave of tiredness on his shoulders. «Will you rest with me?»

«Of course~» Y/N caresses his dark hair, something she really misses doing. «I'll stay with you from now on»

[cosmiclatte28]

Tongue Piercing (Yuta x reader)

 A/n : the promised, Nakamoto Yuta tongue piercing scenario :D not the best out there, but y’all are thirsty for yuta’s tongue piercing jk lol or yes? 

also happy lunar new year! (づ￣ 3￣)づ

tags : to my fellow yuta simps :”) @yutahoes @ailoveyuta @2-3-t-i

warning : suggestive, piercings, yuta is a flirt (but so are you)

enjoy~~

“Back here again Nakamoto?” You ask after hearing the small bell on the door chimes. You glance from cleaning up the greeting table to the tall man with a gummy smile portrayed on his face.

“Yes I'm here as you can see.” He shrugs his shoulder and takes off the cap and mask he used to hide his face.

You watch the clock and notice it's already working time. You wonder where your colleagues are, it's a bit unusual for them to be late.

“Alone?” The man asks you once again as he walks to stand in front of you.

You nod, this is Nakamoto Yuta, a regular customer in your tattoo and piercing parlor and he is your boyfriend. Well don’t be surprised at your morning encounter, he is an idol so he doesn’t live with you. You rarely check your phone in the morning, so maybe you missed his message about coming here.

“What are you planning to do? Visiting me or you're here for something else?” you fold your hands over your chest leaning on to the table you've just cleaned.

Yuta smirks and pulls your chin “Is that how you greet your boyfriend?”

Before you can roll your eyes for his clingy behaviour, he already takes over your lips with a short kiss and that’s that.

“I am here to visit you and at the same time for a new pierce.” He cups your cheeks and you just wait for him to explain everything.

“Didn’t we agree you had enough already this month?” you ask in your squished cheek phase and Yuta giggles at that and he pulls his body away from you.

“I am not talking about my ears.” He says as he pulls a small mirror he found on the desk and examines his ear. You were right, his ear has had enough!

“Then where?” you ask a little bit shy.

Yuta cocks his head upon hearing your cracked voice “I guess you were thinking of wild things… judging by your cracked voice.”

You shake your head and mumble in your heart “Come on be  professional about this.”

You take a deep breath and smile “Okay so tell me Yuta where do you exactly want the new piercing?”

“Actually after getting one for my navel, I really want to have another one in my tongue.” Your face fall and he has the audacity to click his tongue and winks at you.

“Tongue?” you stutter at him. He nods and licks his lips slightly.

“That hurts so much Yuta!” you yell a little bit at him.

He nods “I’m aware of that.”

You shake your head “Are you sure? Like really… I always make sure my customer are ready if they ask for a tongue piercing.”

Yuta teasingly leans closer to you “And honey who else should I trust in piercing my tongue if it's not you?”

Your mouth can only open and close like a fish and Yuta pinches your nose “Now, why don’t you get the needle ready before the store gets crowded and you'll be busy with your clients. It's a relieve I am here alone with you.”

He pushes you lightly to the working room and you can only hide in the store room as you prepare the needle and anesthesia needed.

Yuta has taken the seat like piercing was nothing big nor painful. This man can be a masochist who enjoys the pain. Gosh … you shake your head as you bring all the equipment to the table and puts over your sanitary gloves and mask.

“Do you bring the stud already?”

He nods and reaches to his pocket, then gives  it to you. You nod, nothing new. Something simple only a round ball stud.

“Have you eaten a good meal?” you try to lighten the mood. Yuta nods “I've eaten all the good stuff.  I know I won’t be able to eat painlessly for several week but I'm on a diet for a comeback don’t worry.”

You sigh “Okay, well if this is what you want I'm glad I got to be the one doing this. I'll make sure there's no regret and it's gonna be pretty.” You wink at him.

Yuta chuckles “Gosh I cannot wait to kiss you!”

You slap his firm tight “Pervert! You shouldn’t kiss not until I make sure there is no inflammation or infection! Now open up that mouth baby,” your voice turns husky within a gulp and you're glad no one else is here.

Yuta taps your ass “Wasn’t I the one in charge?”

You click your tongue “Not for today, I guess. Now open,” you gently hold his chin as Yuta’s eyes glisten when he sees you inject the anesthesia to him.

“Close your eyes, let me focus.” You wink and start doing your job.

It doesn’t take much time; you know Yuta can literally bare any slight pain when it comes to piercing.

You place the metal ball and finish the last touch. After making sure you’re done, you tap his shoulder.

“All done! Now, the pain will come in like another half of an hour. I suggest you drink a pain killer and please let me know if you feel any pain okay?” You cup his cheeks into your palm.

Yuta smiles through the numb feel in his tongue, he opens his mouth to talk but his tongue still cannot cooperate. You giggle and kiss his nose, “Don’t worry. Your tongue should be numb, and you can’t talk well for a while. But it’s regular.” Yuta only nods and he gets up to leave the chair.

You walk him to the front desk again and find your colleague already standing there.

“Alright, I’ll go.” Yuta speaks unclearly but you nod your head and just give him a thumbs up.

“Oh! Take this with you, you’ll need it.” You put your lip balm in his palm and he only smirks when he sees you blushing.

Yuta knows that is the favorite cherry lip balm he always smooches from you, and he knows you’re sending him some naughty ideas to his head.

You did not see Yuta for the last week, it’s already ten days since you pierced his tongue, five days since he came to have them checked for any problems, and after you told him he is already ready to use his tongue like usual, he’s gone.

You understand he is busy with his practices, but you did not expect him to suddenly knock on your door one Saturday night, looking all hot in his sleeveless black shirt.

“Oh! You didn’t tell me you’re coming.” You peek from your door, actually not prepared to receive him in your house. You haven’t really cleaned up your mess and you yourself look so plain and messy.

Yuta smirks “Does a boyfriend need to set a schedule to come visit his own girl? Move aside, let me in before anyone notices I am here and before I found any man in your room other than me.”

You roll your eyes and open the door for him, he directly enters without much hesitation. Running his eyes through the room and make a quick scan on you.

He chuckles, “Isn’t that a bit too revealing?” he asks when he notices your super worn out tee shirt and shorts. Well they’re the best to sleep In with so you don’t mind using such worn out clothes that happened to be “revealing” to Yuta.

You pull the sleeves of your tee up and shrug “Nah, it’s super cool with this, also I am sleeping alone Yuta. No one bothers what I am wearing.”

He places his bag down and jumps to the sofa on your living room.

“Good, no other man here.” He giggles as he pats your head. You sigh “Really? You came just to check if I am cheating on you?”

He raises his brow “Can’t I come? Didn’t you miss me? It’s been more than a week.”

You smile “Well, I have a quiet week without you! Quite a good one, but you could’ve texted me, and you know I could..” you rub your neck

Yuta leans closer “Could what?” his playful smirk comes up to his face.

You push him back “Could clean the house and prepare some food or drink for you.”

He giggles “No need, I’ve eaten dinner. I thought you said you would’ve worn a nicer lingerie.”

You smack his thigh and he yells “Why are you so rough right now, I am just kidding.”

“No sexy lingerie. I don’t have one.” You lean to your sofa, eyes watching the movie playing in front of you.

Yuta chuckles “Are you telling me that you want me to get you one?”

You want to punch him right then and there, but you know that will just make him tease you more.

So, you grit your teeth and punch him several times “If that makes you happy, yes go on buy me one! A lacy one okay! Damn it Yuta and his pervert head.” You launch your playful attack back at him and he just laughs.

“Alright alright, I know what you like, don’t worry.” He winks and licks his lips.

That’s when you remember your boyfriend has a piercing.

“Ah! Yuta let me see the piercing!!” you pull his chin and that makes the man flustered

Yuta sticks out his tongue and there you can see your wonderful professional work of piercing.

“It’s pretty! Do you mind, if I take a picture for a testimony?” you pull out your puppy eyes and phone.

Yuta clicks his tongue “I can do that,”

With that you make your boyfriend sticks his tongue out nicely and he’s a good model. You got a few good pictures that you’ll print and put on your office for references.

“Now, that you said I can do anything with my tongue, and you’ve done your job… can we try what I’ve been wanting since last time?” your boyfriend pulls you closer to him and lifts you up to his lap when you nod your head shyly.

“Don’t be shy, you knew too much to be acting innocent. I know you wanted to kiss me so bad too.” He nuzzles his nose to yours and you stick your forehead to his.

“Hmm? What do you mean?” your eyes twinkle in front of his.

Yuta fishes something out of his pocket and your eyes follow his hand. You blush when you see him shaking the cherry lip balm you gave to him.

“You knew I wanted to kiss you, but that was not allowed… so you gave me this? So I can feel like I am kissing you, right?” He raises his brow.

You look away from him, cursing his smart head for getting your message.

“But as much as I am thankful for this balm, I want to taste it from your lips.” He pops the balm open and spreads it over your mouth. Your eyes grow wide as you feel your stomach tingles at how close you are to him. You’re on his lap, one of his strong arms is holding your waist thumb barely touching your exposed skin from the worn shirt, while his other hand is applying a balm over your lips.

You balance yourself by placing your hands over his shoulder and when he pops back the lip balm lid, you smack your lips and dive into his lips. Yuta smirks as he savors you and you have to remind yourself there is a metal ball in his tongue that you’re battling with. Damn it’s hot, but still you don’t want to hurt him.

Yuta’s hands find their way to pick you up by your waist and you tighten your hands over his neck. He walks his way to your bedroom he knew by heart and for once you’re glad you always keep your bed clean or pausing to clean the bed up will ruin everything.

Once Yuta sets you down on your bed, you both part to gasp for air and you can feel your cheeks burning.

“That was hot,” you say between your breaths.

Yuta winks “I did not regret this at all, are you in?” he asks your concern, though this was nothing new, Yuta always wants to make sure he has your concern before continuing.

You nod and he leads you in.

“Gosh I really have to buy you sexy laces, huh?” he teases you and you hit him “Yak! Faster, don’t drive the attention elsewhere.”

Yuta licks his lips one more time when his eyes run over your body on your bed. He’s glad he got home tonight and he’s glad to see you after a long week.

--

You face Yuta who is lying on your side. Your naked bodies are still sweaty in the cold room, but with the covers and Yuta’s warm hug you don’t shiver at all. His fingers brush your hairs away from your face and he looks at you with stars in his eyes.

“I love you so much,” he blurts out

You stifle a laugh “Suddenly?”

He nods “Yeah, Every time I see you, I don’t want to lose you.”

You trace circles on his biceps and lay your head on his chest. You snake your arms into his torso and hug him close

“I am not going anywhere, don’t worry Yuta. I love you too.” You peck his nose and he giggles.

“I’m glad I found you.”

“Me too,”

“So, what color do you want for your lace?” he wriggles his eye brow.

You laugh “Whatever suits your taste, I can rock them honey.”

Yuta kisses your cheek “Naughty! But I like it.”

You taunt at him “So, where do you want the next piercing to be?”

Yuta smirks “I don’t know, surprise me?”

end

I- just had the courage to post this

[cudan2]

One Last Surgery

Spring Break Shadowing Part 5.1

Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Word Count: 2,043

Summary: You finally find out the reason for going to the children’s hospital, but you’re more distracted than usual today and Dr. Cullen can tell. 

A/N: Tell me why part 5 of SBS takes up over half of the whole series? I’ve had this sitting in my drafts for 5 months because I keep adding more to it smh. Now it’s too long so I’ve decided to split it up into 3 parts (in addition to parts 6 and 7). I’m making the final edits the rest of this part now - 5.2 should be posted in like two days.

Anyways, this is technically the beginning of  #1 and #2 on my headcanon list.

Masterlist

XXX

Morgan Stanley Children’s Hospital is only across the street from Doctor Cullen’s office, but it seems to take forever to get there. You trail the doctor like a lost puppy through a skyway and a series of corridors before eventually reaching the right building. Different is definitely an understatement.

Gone are the linoleum-tiled floors, the abstract paintings lining the hallways, and the stark white walls. Instead, there are bright colors everywhere you look. Artwork featuring various galaxies and planets scatter throughout the hospital, and giant stars are imprinted along the floors; even the whole atmosphere just feels different.

You don’t get much time to analyze the differences though. Doctor Cullen is wasting no time to reach the destination, and his long legs aren’t making it any easier to keep up.

“Not that I don’t like surprises, but any chance you can tell me what we’re doing in the children’s hospital now?”

“Impatient, are we?” Doctor Cullen chuckles. He stops at an elevator and pushes the up button, only giving into your question once he catches a glimpse of your pout. “Alright, you win. Are you familiar with a cleft palate or cleft lip?”

The elevator dings, the doors sliding open with it. You shake your head no and get on the elevator with him. He presses the button for the floor and then leans against the wall, arms outstretched on the handrail, and gives you an explanation. 

“A cleft is a gap or split occurring in the roof of the mouth, upper lip, or both. It is due to improper joining of the tissue during fetal development. There are no definitive known causes as of right now, but it’s believed that the environment and genetics can play a role.

The hospital has its own craniofacial team, but I was asked to join this particular case given its more complicated nature. Hanna became one of the first patients I treated when I came to Columbia,” Doctor Cullen finishes fondly, a smile gracing his lips.

“What makes this case complicated?” you ask.

“Hanna was born with a bilateral complete cleft lip and palate, meaning her lip cleft is two-sided and continues into her nose. It took quite a few surgeries to repair the lip, but now the next step is to repair the palate.”

The elevator reaches the floor and dings. You follow Doctor Cullen out and continue prodding him with more questions, which he is more than eager to answer. It’s incredible how knowledgeable he is. Granted, it is his job to know these things, but you couldn’t begin to imagine yourself being able to even scratch the surface of these topics, not to mention give a mini lecture on it.

You’re soon standing at the door to a patient room while the doctor asks Hanna’s parents if you can observe. They readily agree, and Doctor Cullen motions for you to come in.

Inside the room, you see an infant that can’t be more than a year old – Hanna.  She’s sitting upright on the bed, leaning against who you assume to be her father. You notice two fading scars going up into her nose above her lip. Her mother is waving a stuffed toy around her, but Hanna’s attention is fixated on the blonde doctor.

“Y/N, allow me to introduce you to Hanna’s parents, Anthony and Linh Pham. And this is Doctor Giselle Adamou, who will be working with me on the surgery,” Doctor Cullen gestures to the older doctor in the room.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” you say politely.

Pre-op goes differently than what you’ve gotten used to observing this week. There is no case presenting given the lack of residents on the case. If anything, this is what you would expect out of a non-teaching hospital.

Doctor Cullen re-explains the procedures to Hanna’s parents, but halfway through, Hanna crawls to the end of the bed where Doctor Cullen is and attempts to stand, arms outstretched as if to say, “Up! Up!” Bewilderment is not a word you would have associated with him, and yet you catch the brief widening of his eyes that betray his usually calm demeanor.

“I think she wants you to hold her,” Linh comments.

“I can see,” Doctor Cullen muses. “Do you mind?”

“She’s all yours.” Linh picks her daughter up from the bed and hands her to the doctor. The sound of Hanna’s elated laughter fills the room, and you can’t stop a small smile from appearing on your own face. A cute baby and a gorgeous doctor? You don’t know who to thank for the sight.

Meanwhile, Hanna starts playing with various pens in Doctor Cullen’s breast pocket while Doctor Adamou continues where her colleague left off. You try to pay attention, you really do. Like Hanna though, your attention lies on someone else, and that someone else happens to be Doctor Cullen.

The more you study him, the more the minute features you never noticed about him before seem to pop out to you. Under the bright fluorescent lighting of the hospital, the dark purple circles under his eyes are more apparent than ever. How ironic for the preacher of health to lack sleep himself. His eyes, which you normally consider to be a vivid golden, are darker than you initially thought them to be. They are liquid pools of dark amber, speckled with dustings of gold and flecks of black. There isn’t a single blemish on his face that you can see either, further confirming your belief that this man is truly the most attractive person you have ever met. Either that or he must have one hell of a skincare routine.

It’s unnerving how young his appearance is. Skincare and diet can only do so much for a person, right? Doctor Cullen has to be at least 35 at the minimum, yet he could easily pass off as someone from your own school.

“Any last minute questions?” you hear Doctor Adamou ask and snap back into reality. By missing nearly everything the older doctor talked about, you already know you’ll be so screwed if and when Doctor Cullen decides to interrogate you on this case.

Neither parent has anything left to say, so Doctor Cullen gives a reluctant Hanna back to her mother. She lets out a cry and his expression softens.

“I know, sweetheart. I’ll miss you too, but I need to get ready for your big surgery, okay? I promise you’ll see me again in a few hours.” His soothing voice does wonders for her. In an instant, Hanna quiets down and her frown is replaced with giggles and smiles again. She waves the two of you off, and you both take your leave with Doctor Adamou trailing behind you. You’re not even halfway out the door yet when Doctor Cullen starts testing your knowledge again.

“Y/N, what procedure will we be doing to repair Hanna’s cleft?” 

You do not have this one in the bag whatsoever. You wrack your brain for information that could help you, but Doctor Adamou interjects before you get a chance to say anything.

“Why does it not surprise me that you’re treating students like interns already, Carlisle?”

“I am merely advancing the education of next generation’s doctors,” he responds.

“Whatever you say,” she laughs. “Don’t scare off Y/N though, or we won’t have any doctors left in the next generation.” She turns to you after picking up files from a nearby counter and says, “You come running to me if he pushes you too hard, alright?”

You grin. “For sure.”

“Good. I look forward to seeing you both in the OR,” she says before heading off.

You like Doctor Adamou. Each surgeon you’ve met here so far has had such different personalities, yet each also has the charisma and confidence to take control of a room and command respect. You, on the other hand, could barely get your own friends to listen to your own words. How are you ever going to get on the level of all the amazing doctors around you?

“She saved you there,” Doctor Cullen comments, leafing through Hanna’s charts as he walks you into an empty elevator to the operating floor. Oops, it’s just your luck that he noticed your lack of attention during the pre-op. “It’s unlike you to be distracted. Penny for your thoughts?”

The elevator doors shut, and he looks up from the chart, his eyes falling onto yours. He has that twinkle in his eyes again – the one that brings warmth to your cheeks and could make anyone weak in their knees. You know it’s silly, but a single look from him could make you spill any of your deepest and darkest secrets, yet a part of you also knows that he would keep it. You’re not naïve – you know it’s dangerous to put so much faith into a man you only met this week ��� but there’s something about him that told your instincts to trust him from the very beginning.

Call it intuition, or maybe it’s just plain stupidity, but you sure as hell aren’t going to tell him about how you got distracted because of his pretty face.

You hesitate for a moment and let out a sigh. “How do you do it?” He quirks a brow, momentarily perplexed, and you attempt to find the right words. “How do you make all of this look so easy? How do you know what the right thing to say is? Or trust that what you’re doing is even right? How did you know if this was all meant for you? This is really dumb, but it seems like everyone here was born for this job, and then there’s... me.”

There’s a slight sense of dread starting to form in your stomach. You’re unsure if what you asked even made any sort of sense and wonder if you gave too much away. Giving any reason to second guess your abilities is like digging your own grave when it comes to this career. Expressing uncertainty is one of the biggest taboos of the cutthroat world that is pre-med because schools would not accept students that aren’t absolutely, totally, and completely sure about this path.

You’ve wanted this for so long, yet there’s still a part of you that doubts if you would be enough.

Rather than going straight to gowning and scrubbing in for the surgery, Doctor Cullen grabs your hand and leads you down to an abandoned hallway, only letting go once the two of you are hidden in an alcove away from any prying ears or eyes.

“What are you doing? Shouldn’t you be getting ready for surgery?”

“We have a few minutes to spare. Y/N, please know that I understand how you feel,” he says softly. “There was a time when I questioned my own abilities as well… whether my perseverance could overcome adversity. It took quite some time to reach where I am today.  However, without enduring those trials and tribulations, I would not be here. With time comes experience, and it is that experience that allows me to perform my job the best I can.”

His voice reminds you of a gentle breeze, rustling the leaves of a tree on a cool summer night when he continues speaking in hushed tones. It brings a blanket of reassurance, a sense that things would eventually be alright.

“I have said this before, but I see enormous potential in you. You still have a great deal of time to grow and develop your skills. It’s easy to get caught up in comparing yourself with others, especially given today’s societal standards, but I believe you are much more capable than you may think you are. Everyone’s journey is different and yours may not necessarily be as linear as you would prefer. In due time though, I have faith that you will succeed.”

What he says is exactly what you needed to hear.

The swell of tears pricks at your eyes and start blurring your vision, but you blink them away quickly, fighting the urge to wrap your arms around the doctor. 

“Thank you, Doctor Cullen.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“You’re very welcome. Now, I believe there’s a little girl waiting on us.” 

XXX

Tag List - Message me to be added or removed to either this series or the rest of my fics!

@jelly-fishy-babie @notahappytree @anxiousgoldengirl

[blu-joons]

When You Feel Insecure Around Them ~ Super Junior Reaction

Leeteuk:

You felt the bed dip as Jeongsu finally came to bed at the end of his shoot, wrapping his arm around your waist instinctively as he cuddled up to you, only to feel your hand grab his arm and remove it from around you.

“What are you doing?” He murmured, pressing a kiss against your shoulder. “I’ve not seen you all day, at least let me cuddle you for a little while and spend some time with you.”

Your head shook back at him, “you shouldn’t have to cuddle me, it’s unfair on you. Cuddle Shimkoong, she’s a lot nicer to cuddle than I ever am.”

“You’re talking nonsense, of course, you’re the one I want to cuddle.”

“I’m too big for you to cuddle up to me Jeongsu.”

His head shook, trailing several kisses against your shoulder. “I wish you realised a little more how beautiful you are in my eyes. You’re gorgeous Y/N, please.”

“How can you say such things when they’re simply not true?”

“Because they’re true to me,” he assured you, placing his arm back around you. “I’m not moving, I want to cuddle you, so that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

“You really don’t think that I’m too big for you to cuddle?”

“No way, you’re perfect for me to cuddle.”

Heechul:

He glanced across at you in confusion as you walked out of the bedroom dressed in a large jumper and one of Heechul’s old pairs of trousers. His eyes looked out of the window and then to you, struggling to understand.

“It’s so hot outside,” he pointed out to you, studying your outfit. “Why would you wear something so thick on a day like today? Have you not got any shorts here?”

You nodded, taking a seat on the sofa. “I’m comfortable in this, you don’t need to see me in shorts. I promise that I’m not too hot either, I’m doing alright.”

“Is this about the weather or about how comfortable you are with yourself?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, can you just drop it?”

His hands reached out to hold onto yours. “I want you to show off your body, it’s perfect. Please, go and change, you’d be a lot more comfortable too in this heat.”

“I don’t want to Heechul, I’m happy just wearing this and covering.”

“If you don’t go and do it, I will,” he smiled, picking you up from the sofa. “I want you to see a bit more of what I see in you, because I see perfection.”

“You can’t force me to change my outfit.”                

“Watch me, I find a way to do anything.”

Yesung:

Any time that you visited SM kicked your insecurities into touch. Jonghoon had no idea where you’d gone after he went to greet the boys, eventually finding you sat at the back of the cafeteria lost in your own thoughts.

“There you are,” he smiled, following your gaze to where you looked across to a few of the backing dancers had walked in. “Are you on this planet right now or daydreaming.”

You jumped gently as he waved his hand over your face, “sorry,” you mumbled, biting down on your bottom lip. “I didn’t even realise that you were there.”

“You were too busy comparing yourself when there’s no need for you to do so.”

“How can I not? Look at them all, they’re stunning.”

His head shook gently, “look at you,” he mused, pointing to your figure. “I think you look better than any of them do, you’re the one that I love, that I’m obsessed with.”

“Why would you ever be obsessed with me of all people?”

“Because you’re you,” he chuckled as if it were obvious, “every single thing about you is all that I’ve ever wanted, that’s why I’m obsessed over you.”

“I’m sure there must be one thing wrong with me.”

“Nope, every single thing is perfect to me.”

Shindong:

He recognised the signs better than most of when you were feeling insecure, he’d seen them in himself for a number of years. Donghee approached you silently with his arms around your waist, pulling you onto the bed.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered into your ear before you even had the chance to speak. “I know what’s happening, and I’m going to put a stop to it right away.”

You sighed against his hold, “there’s nothing you can do to stop the way I see myself. I know you want to help me, but I just don’t see how you can.”

“Why don’t I remind you of all the things that you used to say to me?”

“You can’t use my own advice against me, that’s unfair.”

His head shook back at you, “you always used to make me feel better, so now it’s my turn to make you feel better. I’d be a rubbish boyfriend if I didn’t at least try.”

“You’re the perfect boyfriend, you could never be rubbish.”

“Just like you’re the perfect girlfriend,” he hummed, nudging you gently, “I don’t want you to feel like you’re anything less than perfect, especially for me.”

“You’re adorable sometimes, thank you Donghee.”

“Don’t thank me, because you do the same for me.”

Eunhyuk:

His abs had always been a trigger for your insecurities, Hyukjae’s body was incredible, a body that you could only ever dream of having. As he walked down the stairs and sat to dinner, he noticed you had nothing for yourself.

“What’s going on?” He asked, sensing straight away that something had caused you to give dinner a miss. “You’ve given me a plateful and yet you’re not eating a single thing.”

You glanced across at him, “I’ve decided to go on a diet, I need to focus a bit more on myself. I need to look better when I stand beside you, your body is incredible, and I don’t compare.”

“Do you realise how ridiculous you sound? The last thing you need is a diet.”

“Hyukjae, look at me, a diet is exactly what I need right now.”

“I look at you and I see perfection,” he frowned, dropping his fork and walking around the table to be by your side. “Please, eat some dinner. You can diet, but at least do it healthily.”

“I want to be better, for you, when you’re so amazing.”

“Don’t do this for me,” he pleaded, wrapping his arms over your shoulders. “If you want to do something for me, I’d want you to continue as you are.”

“I guess I could get a small portion for dinner.”

“Eat properly, please don’t hurt yourself like this.”

Siwon:

As he walked into the room and saw you spinning around in front of the mirror, he felt his heart drop. You looked beautiful in your dress for the evening, but Siwon knew straight away that wasn’t something that you saw.

“Wow,” he chuckled when he was close enough to you for you to hear. “I can’t believe I get to be the lucky guy that has you beside me tonight. You look incredible in that outfit.”

You pouted across at him with a shake of your head, “I look horrific. It just doesn’t fit me at all and highlights all my flaws. I really don’t think that I can wear this tonight.”

“Tell me what you think is wrong about it, and then let me prove you wrong.”

“We’d be here all night long if I told you what was wrong.”

His lips pressed against your cheek, snaking his arms around your waist. “I’d be more than happy to be here all night long and tell you all the things that I love about you.”

“If you did that, I’d honestly think you were crazy for having so much.”

“I’m crazy for you,” he whispered into your ear, “every single thing about you. Please don’t be too harsh on yourself because you’re perfect in my eyes.”

“Alright, I’ll wear this tonight, just for you though.”

“It looks stunning, I promise you Y/N.”

Donghae:

He’d lost count of how long he sat on the bed and watched you study yourself. Eventually, Donghae stood up from the bed and walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your wrists to stop you from touching your skin.

“Can I talk for a moment?” He whispered in your ear, “because I want you to see a little bit more of what I see in you and remind you that you’re beautiful, and perfect for me.”

You spun around in his hold to meet his eyes, “how can I ever possibly be perfect for you Donghae? Look at me, you could seriously do a lot better than me if you’re honest.”

“Absolutely no way, you’re the one for me. You’re the perfect one in my eyes.”

“How can you possibly say that when I look like this?”

His eyes studied you closely, “how are you supposed to look, because when I look at you, I don’t see anything wrong with you? I see everything that I’ve ever wanted and more.”

“Do you really mean that? From the bottom of your heart?”

“Absolutely,” he assured you, kissing against your forehead. “You’re perfect for me, please don’t even feel like you’re not and beat yourself down.”

“I’ll try and do better, I promise you Donghae.”

“I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

Ryeowook:

He sat patiently and listened to you as you vented to him about the new girl at work who seemed to have impressed every single one of your colleagues, pushing you aside as if you were nothing to the rest of the team.

“Finished?” He chuckled once you eventually paused for breath. “Can I tell you now why you’re completely wrong about her and why you’re so much better than she ever can be?”

You glanced across at him, “you didn’t see them Ryeowook, I felt like nothing beside her. She’s gorgeous, she has all the guys swooning over her in the office, it’s a joke.”

“Why do you need others to swoon over you when you have me to swoon over you?”

“You know what I mean, she has all their attention.”

His head nodded, pecking against your cheek. “I do know what you mean, but maybe all of your colleagues are stupid too for not realising what an incredible person you are.”

“None of them care about me now that she’s there.”

“That’s not true, I’m sure they all can see how gorgeous you are too,” he smiled, “you’re your own kind of beauty, you don’t need to compare yourself to her.”

“Thank you Wook, that made me feel better.”

“I’m glad, because you’re incredible as you are.”

Kyuhyun:

As soon as he felt you stand closer towards Kyuhyun could tell that something was wrong. He moved his arm to wrap tighter around you, pressing a kiss gently against the side of your head to try and make you feel better.

“Stop,” he whispered closely, “please don’t feel like you need to compare yourself to anyone here tonight, you’re beautiful and you look incredible,” he smiled, trying to comfort you.

You stared helplessly back across at him. “I don’t look anywhere near as nice as the other people here tonight, you don’t need to try and make you feel better Kyu.”

“I’m being serious, you’re stunning, even if you can’t see it in yourself.”

“But there’s so many beautiful women here tonight.”

His shoulders shrugged, pinching at your waist. “And none of them compare to you in my eyes, I know it’s hard, but just smile, and trust me when I tell you that you look incredible tonight.”

“You always know how to make me feel better.”

“I won’t stop until you see yourself in the same way that I see you,” he assured you, meeting your eyes. “I’d love for you to see what I see when I look at you Y/N.”

“Maybe one day I will, with your help too.”

“I’ll always support you, I promise you jagi.”

---

Masterlist

[ouyangzizhensdad]

Do you think that making Chinese food is cultural appropriation? I'm white and started making some of the foods I saw in the shows I've watched since the untamed, but now I'm worried I'm appropriating the culture.

Hi anon,

As a fellow white person, I am also someone who needs to critically reflect on how I engage with different cultures. I can't give you the definitive answer you seek, the clear absolution from any potential wrongdoings; in its stead, I can only offer to share my current thought process on this topic. I’d still encourage you to seek other perspectives, and many people have written or spoken on this topic.

I believe we must first acknowledge that, on the terrain of the internet, discussions regarding cultural appropriation have reached a certain... extreme where some people view all forms of cultural exchanges as inherently suspect. They purport that so long as you stay within the bounds of ‘your’ culture, you will problematic behaviours. That perspective is inherent flawed. That is, it relies on a vision of culture as ‘bounded entities’ that exist in themselves. In reality, the ‘stuff’ that makes culture is emergent, existing only relationally, dialectically--it is a not a ‘thing’ that moves through time but an idea which is constantly negotiated and reproduced in relation to power and changing material realities to remain relevant and intelligible. The boundaries of cultural and ethnic groups are fuzzy, overlapping, and constantly being reworked and made meaningful. As an illustration, many of the food I grew up eating was influenced by ingredients and recipes immigrants brought in the 19th and 20th centuries, yet these dishes were understood as 'typically ours’. And it needs to be acknowledged that most of what is currently considered ‘white people food’ relies on ingredients that were introduced to our diet through colonialism and the violent dispossession of indigenous peoples (and, often, the current day exploitation of workers in the South and of migrant workers). No food can be truly ‘traditionally ours’, whatever the purported ‘we’ ends up being brought into the equation, and no eating behaviours can avoid the historical legacy and continuity of violence and power.

Of course, as people who exist in the world, we know that there are cultural differences. Bakhtin’s insights on language through the tensions between centripedal (ie towards uniformity, a common meaning) and centrifugal (toward diversity and change) forces can be expanded to help us conceptualise how we make sense of the way a ‘culture’ is perpetuated through time as something meaningful in our daily lives. Uniformity allows intelligibility, sense-making, but diversity and change are inescapable by-products of individuals and groups repeatedly going through life, meeting and trying to create intelligibility and sense together in a world that cannot stay the same. It is at the intersection of these two conflicting forces that something can be different yet considered the same--that we can create continuity out of change. But something perhaps less emphasized in Bakhtin’s discussions is how much power and material realities work on these forces. Power influences both centripedal and centrifugal forces, if only in orchestrating circumstances that shape how one encounters ‘different cultures’ or reproduces their 'own' culture.

We live at a moment where the world seems to have reached an apex of connectivity--where goods, people, ideas (and viruses) move across distance and borders at speeds that defy comprehension. Yet the way goods, people and ideas move (through which canals and systems? in which direction? to the benefits of whom? at the expense of whom? to what reception or use? in the service of which institutions and ideologies?) or are, inversely, incapable or unwilling to move, is influenced by power and material realities. It is inescapable.

In a roundabout way, what I’m trying to say is that it's useless to try to live life in 'your lane' by turning to a baseline 'culture' because we simply do not have a baseline culture to return to that is 'safe' from the influences of other cultures or the taint of the historical legacy and continuity of violence. So how do I personally reconcile that with how I engage with content that is produced from different cultural contexts, and how I engage with cooking food that is influenced by different cultural contexts? For me the guidelines I take into consideration are respect, attribution and avoiding forms of dehumanisation. These emerged out of witnessing how other white people have acted as well as critically reflecting on how I have acted in the past, and trying to do better (including of course, by listening to different perspectives on the topic). [just in case, warning for examples of racism/micro-agressions] I've been in China with white people who would praise the cooking we were eating in the same breath they were making jokes about dog meat. I've witnessed in Japan a dude decide not to come to an izakaya with Japanese colleagues, fucking off on his own to Akihabara instead, because he was disappointed he couldn’t talk about anime with them--too obsessed with the idealised version of Japan he’d created in his head to treat the Japanese people he met as people. The internet is full of white people telling you how to cook food from places they've never been and taking credit for 'popularising' that dish or 'making it better'. That's not even talking about the tendency for food to become a mark of a cosmopolitan, metropolitan identity in the West--the open-minded, the liberal, the traveler, the hip white person up with the times and beyond the mainstream. Hell, I've even seen people who act as if eating ‘ethnic’ food prepared by immigrants is the singular proof that they were people who cared about immigrants' well-being.

Food is rarely just about food, even when consumed at home. At the same time, we’d be remiss in all these discussions of power to dismiss how food is also one of oldest things we, as humans, want to share with others--including strangers. Feeding is nourishing and giving, eating is accepting into ourselves something made by others. Most people appreciate it when the value of a dish that holds importance for them is recognised by others--although, of course, many might understandably also resent that they have been discriminated against or mocked for eating that same food. Every time I’ve been invited in an immigrant household or at events with mostly immigrants, I’ve felt this sense of almost trepidation emanating from them, waiting for my reaction, and satisfaction once I was seen eating and appreciating the food they had served me--as if the acceptance of the food that was tied to their identity was a form of acceptance of who they were. Of course this can’t be disentangled from past experiences where other people might have been disrespectful, dismissive or outright racist: but the excitement they had in sharing food that had meaning to them and seeing others appreciate it was genuine.

Beyond situations of clear cultural sharing, where we get closer to what appears to be ‘cultural appropriation’, I believe that we cannot act as if there is something inherently sacrilegious in the idea of adapting recipes or using a specific ingredients in new ways--that’s centrifugal forces at play, and they have provided us with many dishes we love today: from immigrant creations like butter chicken to things like spicy kimchi. We cannot work with the assumption that people will only react with hostility at the idea of other people cooking the food they grew with, even in ways that are different from how they’re traditionally used and are thus “not authentic”. I still remember an interaction I had in a Korean grocery store, once upon a time when I lived in a metropolitan city. A man in front of me at the cash register who had been buying snacks and chatting with the employee in Korean looked at my stuff and suddenly asked me if I knew the name of the leafy green I was buying. I wasn’t necessarily surprised because I had overheard in the past customers and employees commenting in Korean about being surprised about the ingredients I, a white person, was purchasing, thinking I couldn’t understand them. I confirmed to him that I knew I was buying mustard greens. He then asked me what I was planning to do with them, and I explained that while I didn’t think it’s a traditional or common way of using it, I personally liked to add them to kimchi jjigae because it compliments their bitter/strong taste and I like leafy greens in my soups and stews. He said it was interesting, and that he was kind of impressed. The employee chimed to tell me I should be honoured at the compliment because the man was actually a chef who owned famous Korean fusion restaurants in the city. That was clearly someone who took Korean food very seriously and clearly had a certain degree of suspicion regarding how white people interacted with it, but he was also curious and interested in seeing how I approached ingredients without having grown up eating them.

Another point of contention is also that we cannot ignore that food is a sensual experience and that, while tastes are greatly influenced by our environment, they are not solely so. I grew up hating most of the food my parents would serve me, and started cooking in my early teens to avoid having to eat it. Before I started cooking, I would often just eat rice with (in hindsight horrible) western-brand soy sauce instead of the meal my mom had made. When I ate Indian food for the first time during a trip at the ripe age of 16, it blew my mind that food could taste like this. Of course I never wanted to look back, and with each years I discovered that a lot of Asian cuisines fit my palate better than what I grew up eating or other cuisines I had tried. When I was a teenager we visited my mom’s friend in France and I hated what she served us so much I’d simply choose to nibble on bread, prompting her to try to stage an intervention for my ‘obvious’ anorexia. Yet, being in China made me realise ingredients I thought I hated had just been cooked in ways I disliked. Do my taste buds absolve me from any need to think critically about how I interact with food? Of course not. But sometimes the reason we want to cook certain recipes and foods is just that it tastes great to us, and we want to reproduce the recipes we enjoyed with the ingredients and the skills we have. Or, really, sometimes we just want to try new tastes because we do a lot of eating throughout our lives, and it seems a waste to limit ourselves to a narrow number of dishes for decades to come.

So that’s where I currently am in my thinking about this topic, as a white person who cooks dishes influenced by a number of different places but who is also not trying to cook in a way that is necessarily authentic. Some things that I keep in mind that you can ask yourself now that cdramas and cnovels have made you interested in Chinese cooking is: are you taking this as an opportunity to support immigrant businesses when getting your ingredients? are you supporting white creators when looking for chinese recipes (some suggestion of youtube channels: Made with Lau, Chinese cooking Demystified, Family in Northwest China, 西北小强 Xibeixiaoqiang, 小高姐的 Magic Ingredients)? are you being respectful (not reproducing harmful stereotypes in how you talk about chinese food and the people who eat it)? do you use your interest in Chinese food to create a narrative about China and Chinese people that denies them, in some way, of their complexity and humanity? are you using your interest in Chinese food to create a narrative about yourself?

In conclusion I will leave you with a picture of some misshapen baozi I’ve made.

[therealvinelle]

Maybe this is bold of me to ask, but are there any deleted scenes from your fics, or scenes you had consideted writing but didn't? And if yes, would you be willing to share them someday?

Oh no problem!

Usually when a scene is deleted it stays deleted, so I don't have a lot to give you. There are a few things that were cut in betaing for various reasons, I can put a few of them below a readmore in this post.

There's the prologue that never was to Nebuchadnezzar's Dream, from back when the fic was supposed to be told alternately from Bella and Carlisle's respective points of view. In the prologue we saw how Bella, Alice, and Edward came to the point where they decided to overthrow the Volturi. Or, we would have, except I didn't actually like that prologue, and found myself jumping straight to writing chapter 2, the "Carlisle is at a party and gets attacked by a werewolf" chapter instead. My good beta @theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin asked why I didn't simply make the whole fic from Carlisle's point of view, I realized she had an excellent point, now here we are.

For that matter, this is nowhere near the only significant change that happened to this fic during writing. One example, in the original outline I never brought up Carlisle's gift. Two significant things in the last chapter were not planned until after I published chapters twelve and thirteen, respectively (Luckily for me it'll look like I plotted them all along, so yay for that). For a tightly plotted fic, this one has had a lot of leeway.

Slight caveat, as I’m self-conscious: with most of these you will probably be able to tell why they’re deleted scenes. Especially the prologue. God, that prologue.

(Also, for the record yes I do write other things, but due to 1. being betaed, and 2. being long, I really only have examples for Nebuchadnezzar's Dream.)

The prologue that never was. Apologies for the fluff saturation:

The Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar II once had a dream.

There was a statue that was gold on top, then silver, then copper, then iron, then clay and iron. As he watched, a rock struck its feet, and soon the whole statue crumbled, leaving nothing but rubble. The rock then grew into a great mountain that covered all the world.

This, the prophet Daniel told the king, was a message from Jehovah.

The statue represented five great human empires, the golden head being the Babylonian Empire, and the following three being those who would come after. The last would be both iron and clay, a divided kingdom. It will fall, and then the kingdom of Heaven will come, crushing those empires in its path.

Thousands of years later, in 1453, the Byzantine Empire fell. The last of the Roman Empire, a divided kingdom, had fallen.

The Christian world trembled, because reckoning was surely near. With the fall of this last, great human empire, all the world would fall to rubble.

-

Fifteen years had passed.

The Cullens had left Forks behind, settling in the small town of Grafton, Idaho. Carlisle had quickly settled into the new hospital, and Esme had designed a beautiful new home for them while the rest attended the new school. Jasper and Rosalie were Carlisle’s younger siblings while Bella, Edward, Renesmée and Esme comprised another set of siblings. Alice and Emmett were the fosters.

Jacob wasn’t far, he still lived with his old .

«Did you hear they all scored an A on Mr Rosen’s test? Seriously, all of them!»

The words were uttered by Jenna Gilbert, a blonde sophomore who reminded Bella very much of Jessica Stanley. She was sitting on the opposite end of the cafeteria from Bella and her family, though

«Jen, it’s the Cullens, that’s just what they do. You should stop comparing yourself…» her friend said soothingly.

Bella ducked her face into her hand to hide her smile, and winked at Alice, who grinned back at her.

It was Bella and Renesmée’s first time going to high school as a vampire. It was exactly what Edward and Alice had said it would be, for better and for worse.

For the worse, because she spent her days pretending to be a human girl, never using her strength or speed, pretending Edward wasn’t her husband and Renesmée wasn’t her daughter.

For the better, because she got to spend every day with Edward, Renesmée, and the rest of her new family. The others had done the high school routine too many times to see things the way she did, and Renesmée had never known a life without the Cullens, but to Bella, attending high school as one of Dr. Cullen’s adoptive kids felt like she had truly come full circle since that first day she spotted Edward in the cafeteria. She was one of them, truly, irrevocably, and high school was nothing if not a promise of the countless years to come surrounded by the people she loved.

Edward caught her eye, and she smiled back at him. She lowered her shield briefly to show him how happy she was to be with her family.

His face softened into that beautiful, lop-sided smile of his, and he leaned in to whisper into her ear, «You’ll be less happy when you’ve been through English 101,» he said.

«Hey, hey,» Jasper said quickly. «Don’t you dare, Edward, I need all the happiness I can get in this place.» He locked eyes with Bella. «Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.»

Bella laughed, and rested her head on Edward’s shoulder. He placed his hand above hers on the table, and she smiled. «Not a problem, Jazz.»

Jenna’s voice caught her notice again. «Look at how they’re sitting! Try and tell me they’re not incestuous, Cam. Just try.»

Her friend didn’t reply to that one, although a quick glance informed Bella that the girl was staring at the Cullen table with a frown on her face.

Bella and Alice caught each others’ eye again, and this time they couldn’t hold back the giggles.

***********

Later in the day, Alice’s eyes lit up. «You’ll receive a letter from Stefan and Vladimir a week from now,» she chirped.

«Oh!» Bella exclaimed. «What does it say?»

«The usual,» Alice replied, her eyes slightly distant as she concentrated. «They hope we’re all doing well, and they included a new story of how things used to be before the Volturi. It’s the story of how they once built an entire temple for themselves in just one day. Oh, and they have a new phone number. O-seven nine six five nine six.»

Bella’s eyes widened as Alice talked. She hoped they had included drawings of that temple, it sounded incredible.

Bella hadn’t expected the Romanians to stay in touch, when they left after the thwarted battle with the Volturi she thought they would slink back into the old European shadows they had cloaked themselves in for that past several thousand few years, not to be heard from until some new threat to the Volturi loomed.

But no, that very next Christmas Bella had received a gift from them. It was an old, if flaked painting of Ivan the Terrible looking a lot like Vladimir, and a note from Vladimir explaining how he fooled all of Russia into believing he was their ruler for decades, all right beneath Aro’s nose. Carlisle had broken into a fit of uncharacteristic giggles when he heard that, and even agreed to put the painting in the hallway. To this day, he’d huff with silent laughter whenever he walked past it.

After that, Bella and the two Romanians had been in touch. They’d send her gifts, stories, and their own observations about the Volturi, and she’d respond fondly.

It was a very unlikely friendship, but she was was eternally grateful to all those who had stood with her family when the Volturi came. The Romanians were no exception,

«Are you going to call them?» Alice inquired.

Bella nodded. «They were going to tell me about their visit to Thebes.»

(Outline: Prologue of sorts. Status quo update, everyone’s happy except for the part where the Volturi are waiting to kill them. Alice, Bella, and Edward form their plan. Alice sees that she’s going to have to send Carlisle away, and coincidentally his hospital colleagues are having their Christmas weekend in Montana. PERFECT. She talks to him.)

***********

Heavily altered scene from chapter 7

Carlisle makes more jokes than he did in the final product, they're unfunny to the point where my beta said "you can't publish this", the plague joke in particular is a bit too dark for him so I gave it to Jane instead. More importantly, the chapter itself has a very weird, clunky start:

«Is it the gift of being profoundly unimpressed by ridiculous claims?» Carlisle deadpanned. «Because if so, Aro, I think you might be on to something.»

Several seconds had passed since Aro made his ridiculous claim. At first, Carlisle had burst out laughing. Then, as he realized he was the only person in the room laughing and Aro was staring at him in full seriousness, his laughter had trailed off and he’d been left to stare dully at Aro for several long seconds, waiting for Aro to crack up and say «gotcha!».

Aro never cracked up.

Carlisle had absolutely no idea what Aro was playing at, especially not immediately after Carlisle had very reluctantly decided against shutting him out of his life.

«You can’t be serious,» he’d said.

Aro had sighed. «I’m afraid I am.»

And now, at Carlisle’s deadpan guess, Aro only shook his head. «Not quite.»

Carlisle stared at him for another second, before he ventured another, scathing guess. «Are you hoping it’s the power of being highly suggestible? Because I definitely don’t have that, or I would have abandoned my diet centuries centuries ago.»

Aro just looked at him. «If you would let me explain-» he began, but Carlisle cut him off.

«No, no, you want to try and convince me I have some sort of gift, then I want to guess at what you’re going for,» he said, crossing his legs at the knee and propping his chin up on his knuckle in a faux-pensive look.

«Now,» he continued, even as Aro gave him the world’s most unimpressed glare, as if Carlisle was the one who was being ridiculous, «I’m pretty sure I would have noticed the power to throw fireballs by now, so it can’t be that,» he mused aloud. «Same goes for the power of…» he searched his mind, «turning into a bat. That one would definitely have come up at some point. Or maybe I should suspend myself upside down in a cave. See if it triggers anything. Just to be sure.»

«Carlisle,» Aro murmured, but Carlisle wasn’t done.

«Maybe I spread disease. My father certainly thought demons did. Maybe that’s why I get so many interesting patients. Those brain fungi,» he nodded towards Renata, who was still sitting with the book open in her lap, «I’ve had two in one year. That’s a lot.»

«Carlisle-» Aro tried again, but Carlisle held up a finger, a wide grin spreading across his face.

«The power to change my eye color. You see, yesterday they were black-»

Aro actually rolled his eyes at that. Of course, he made the insolent gesture look like a fluid, enchanting movement.

«Yes, quite funny, now if you would let me explain…» Aro tried again while Carlisle tried not to snicker at his own joke.

***********

Two deleted paragraphs from chapter 9. The alteration was made because it was a bit on the nose about what Renesmée does.

Humans were mammals, and mammals were hardwired to protect their young. This extended across species, making mother cats care for puppies and humans care for anything that was small and cute. The instinct to love and cherish anything cute and helpless was an evolutionary necessity, and had to run deeper than anything if a species wanted to survive.

Enter Jane, who was the smallest, cutest thing Carlisle had ever seen, but from a species humans instinctively knew to fear. Maybe the very fact that she was something that humans knew they should want to care for made their fear exponential, made it impossible to deny that something was very wrong about her, that they were looking at a predator.

Perhaps too there was something to vampires having retained some of that human instinct to protect their young, if the countless stories of covens dying to protect their immortal children was anything to go by. Carlisle himself had been no exception when the Volturi came for Renesmée, even as he found himself risking the lives of countless friends.

How far things had come, he thought, from preparing to die along with his loved ones at the hands of the Volturi to sitting across a café table with Jane and pitching costume ideas.

***********

Chapter 9 was heavily altered, mainly as it was too funny the first (and second!) time around and I kept having to return to insert more existential dread. A side effect of this is that Carlisle in the original draft was still undecided on whether he had a gift up until the very end of the chapter, whereas it's proven beyond a doubt much earlier in the published version.

Jane was looking a bit daunted, though it was nothing compared to how Carlisle felt.

Silently, they went to stand in front of one of the many sports stores that Whitefish had to offer.

«This could still be confirmation bias,» Carlisle whispered, and leaned against the wall. For all the human blood that was in his system, his knees felt oddly weak.

Jane let out a startled laugh. «You’re seriously still in denial?»

Carlisle shook his head quietly. «They reacted pretty reasonably, just because they didn’t run away screaming…»

«Reasonably?» Jane echoed dully. «Carlisle, you can’t actually…» she shook her head. «Remember that bubble we talked about?»

Carlisle put his head in his hands, and let his fingers move up, under the wig, pulling it off in one neat motion.

Jane shook her head at him. «You look even more glamorous with your real hair.»

Carlisle still said nothing, balling the wig together in his hands.

Could it be he actually had a gift?

***********

The chapter 11 outline originally had Renata and Carlisle failing to communicate like normal people because they've spent too much time with Aro, and unintentional innuendo keeps ruining their attempts to make polite small talk. Sadly (or happily) this is a lot easier to conceptualize than carry out in actual writing, and their conversation wound up being far too serious for that, so it was cut. Luckily for you I did pen Carlisle flashbacking to a time his foot got in his mouth:

The moment after the words were out her face scrunched up.

Carlisle snorted. «Aro is a horrible influence on us all.»

He remembered one of his first talks with Jasper, when they were still getting to know each other.

Jasper had been a little starstruck when he learned Carlisle’s friends in Italy were those Italians.

He’d asked Carlisle a lot of questions once he got past a misplaced sense of awe, wanting to put a face to the eternal, petrified, leaders of the vampire world.

During a hunt with just the two of them, Jasper had been asking about Aro’s gift.

«What do you even think about when you’re with him?» Jasper had marvelled aloud, and he would later explain that the way he say it, this was like the way the Egyptian gods supposedly measured souls.

Place your heart upon the balancing scale against the weight of a feather, and if your heart weighs heavier it is devoured by the demon Ammit.

Place your hand in Aro’s, and if he deems you guilty of breaking his law, you will be torn to pieces in the space of a second.

Being friends with the man sounded unbearably stressful to Jasper.

Unfortunately, Carlisle’s mind had gone in the opposite direction, and what came out of his mouth before he could stop himself was, «England.»

He’d covered well enough for that, or he hoped he had. Jasper never asked.

***********

Chapter 11 was also supposed to have Renata being brave enough to ask for a selfie with Carlisle when they're both in black robes, this because I just really want Edward to sift through the Volturi group chat after all this and finding that. Alas, I couldn't work it in there. (Determined to not lose the joke, I had Aro take the photos in chapter 12 instead.)

***********

Chapter 12, the fandom ghost requested I include another butt slap and offered me fanart if I fulfilled her wish.

And so:

He held up a hand, presumably to touch Carlisle’s arm in comfort, but just then Alec started retching.

«He ate human food,» Jane deadpanned to Demetri, Felix, and Renata. Shaking her head, she brushed Alec’s hair out of his face as he hurled into the river.

Aro grimaced slightly, his hand hovering in the air.

Carlisle felt all the bread, corn flakes, and water that he’d swallowed press uncomfortably against his esophagus. «I’ll do you one better, Alec,» he choked, before he span around, fell to his knees and started retching, much like a cat.

Aro, evidently not sure what to do with his arm but not about to let it drop purposelessly, gave Carlisle a supportive pat on the bum before kneeling beside him to hold his hair as he hurled.

It was funny, but simply didn't fit the tone considering what happened after. It had to go. But hey, I got the art.

[aperrywilliams]

Couvade  (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

(Not my gif!)

Masterlist

———————

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Summary: The team having weeks full of work, traveling across the country. Tiredness is taking its toll on Reader and Spencer.

Word Count: 3747.

Warnings: References to headaches, stomachaches, and another “aches” as well. Couple discussions. Spencer losing his temper. Spencer and Reader clueless. But fluffy in the end.

A/N: Work has drained all my energy these last few weeks. Something from our favorite doctor to get me back.

——————–

In recent months the cases that were coming to the BAU were a true roller coaster in many ways: some simpler, others tremendously difficult and rough. Some local others far across the country.

With all this turmoil, there wasn't much time left for personal life. My advantage, if I had to compare myself to my colleagues, was that my boyfriend worked with me and at least we could see each other a few moments a day and spend some time together on the jet traveling from one place to another.

I think Spencer also saw it as an advantage, even though as the weeks went by following this same rhythm he was much more irritable and angry than usual. Not that Spencer is an irritable man by definition, quite the contrary, but the work’ stress was taking its toll on us and he was no exception.

One of the few mornings we were able to be quiet in the BAU offices, I approached his desk. It caught my attention that he had the palms of his hands covering his mouth.

“Spencer, ¿what’s wrong?”. Looking at him, I saw that he was paler than usual.

“Nothing , I'm fine. I just feel a little nauseous. Apparently the muffin for breakfast made my stomach funny”, he lamented.

“Baby , I'm sorry. I should have asked when it was made when I bought it,” I tried to apologize.

“It's not your fault. It may be that my stomach is more fussy than usual,” he said with a sigh. Sigh that was apparently interrupted by another nausea. In two seconds Spencer was on her feet running towards the bathroom.

Not that Spencer is a tremendously healthy person, but it was rare to see him sick, except for his headaches and his periods of insomnia, which we were both used to living with from time to time. But this was different. Spencer rarely caught a cold or had stomach problems, even given all the coffee and sugar she consumed daily.

In general, when men feel sick they are like children . And in Spencer Reid that was increased by three. Thus, throughout that day I was concerned with checking his condition, preparing herbal tea and doing everything possible to prevent him from drinking coffee. When we got to the apartment that we had shared for more than a year, I made sure to make soup for him and send him to bed early.

In the following days his stomach discomfort began to disappear. A relief, because my genius boyfriend was unbearable during all those days, so much that we argued about almost anything. I also felt irritable and overwhelmed by the amount of work we had, and besides having to take care of Spencer .

Another case, another trip. On the jet on the way to San Francisco, and after reviewing details of the case, I went to sit next to Spencer. I wanted to apologize for our last discussion that morning. When I got closer he was reading a book, but I knew he wasn't really reading since the pages weren't turning. I was sure he was attentive to how I approached his side.

“Spencer... baby...,” I said in the softest and most tender voice I could. I did not get an answer. “Spencer ... can you look at me please?”. The second call was less friendly. He raised his eyes to look at me.

“I'm looking at you (Y/N),” he replied with a bored expression that began to annoy me and even regret wanting to apologize.

“Thank you. Can you close your book too? I need to talk to you”. Not very enthusiastically he shut the book and put it to the side of the seat.

“Done. What do you want to talk about?”. Same look and same voice. I didn't want to be upset with him, but he was making it difficult for me. I took a deep breath and began to speak.

“I want to apologize for our discussion this morning. I know I said not very kind things to you. None of that was truth, you have to believe me. It's just that I also feel overwhelmed by everything and I understand that you are tired, but I am too and you know that I say things without thinking when I am like this…”. His gaze softened when he saw that I was genuine and tears even started to come out of me without my meaning to. He sighed and extended his arms for me to snuggle with him, which I did immediately burying my face into his chest.

“I must also apologize. I didn't react in the best way either. I yelled at you and that's not right. I also feel overwhelmed and tired, more than usual. Being sick last week didn't help me much either… ”. He hugged me tight so I felt his words were sincere.

“I'm sorry. I hope this job’s rhythm drops in the next few days, I don't want to live fighting with you”. I said giving him a soft kiss on his chin and drying my tears.

“I don’t want that either. In fact, I think we should take a few days off, just for us. At this point I am having a hard time separating work’s moments from our private’s moments,” he stated.

Spencer was right. What seemed to be positive also had its bad side: Which was the real boundary between the professional and the personal? We always tried our relationship wasn’t a problem for our job, but it was also important to do the reverse exercise: our job shouldn't be a problem for our relationship either.

All this time that we had been on this beat - more than 10 weeks and counting – we had no enough time to spend together like a real couple. The last time we had sex was before Spencer got sick and it was a quicky in my hotel room during a case in Denver. And before that, I don’t even remember well.

I hadn't felt very good either. Going from place to place around the country had me dizzy most of the time and with headaches for weeks. Of course, none of that managed to incapacitate me at work, so I didn’t take it seriously and didn’t tell anyone about it . I also had a few days with stomach pain and nausea, which I explained by the poor diet we were having between so much travel. After a few weeks I began to feel better from these discomforts, but irritability and tiredness continued.

I was still cuddling with Spencer when I felt him whine shifting for a more comfortable position into the seat.

“Spencer, what’s wrong?,” I asked lifting my head to look at him.

“Since yesterday I have a back pain that is killing me. (Y/N), I still have some years to go to turn 40 and I already feel like an old man!,” he complained.

“We haven't slept well either. Hotel beds are not the best. I have also had back pain some weeks ago. But I think I'm used to that and it doesn't hurt so much anymore.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I’m complaining about my pain and you too haven't felt well lately. I'm failing miserable as a boyfriend”. He gave me a kiss on the forehead, hugging me tight again.

“I didn't want to worry you with those things. I know how you get when something happens to me, surely you would have insisted on me taking a leave. And it's not a big deal. The worst is the tiredness and the bad mood, besides that I feel that my body weighs on me. I gained weight grossly. I look awful,” I said, pouting.

“Of course you’re not. You look beautiful. Tired… but beautiful”. He took my chin and gave me a soft kiss on my lips.

“You say it just to not make me feel bad,” I replied when we pulled away.

“(Y/N), I mean it. You know I like everything about you,” Spencer replied as he stroked my back and rested his chin on my head. How I missed those moments with Spencer, even though I wish they weren't on the jet on their way to a case.

The San Francisco case was terrible. We were in the fifth day and couldn't identify the unsub yet. We were sleeping very little and badly. We couldn't even agree between ourselves on the profile, which triggered a heated discussion with Spencer while we were in the meeting room we had been assigned to work. The worst thing was having this argument in front of the whole team.

“You are not seeing the obvious (Y/N), it’s impossible this can be done by a single person. There aren't any hints of that in the evidence”. Spencer spat as he pointed to the board with the notes and photos we had.

“Are you saying I don't know how to do my job? I am seeing the same evidence as you, but you are so obsessed with your theory that you are not able to think of other possibilities”, I replied back.

“Obsessed? Oh no, no. The only one obsessed with a theory here is you. You have not put any evidence of what you are saying!”

“Don’t say that. Look at this board! What do all these photos tell you? Why couldn't it be a single person with a psychotic break? Can't you see the pattern? I began to despair and inadvertently tears I couldn’t control began to fall. That upset Spencer even more.

“Your crying isn’t going to convince me of this stupid theory (Y/N)!,” he shot almost making my heart shatter. Watching the exchange grow increasingly rough, Prentiss finally intervened.

“Reid! Enough!,” she said seeing how I couldn't control my tears and my hands started to shake. At the wake-up call, Spencer fell silent and realized my state. I started to feel dizzy. He tried to grab my arm and I avoided him.

“Don’t touch me!,” I yelled at him, as I headed straight to leave the room, but the dizziness intensified and I fell to the floor losing consciousness.

***

I managed to grab (Y/N)'s head before it hit the floor. At that moment I realized that I had lost my temper and had pushed (Y/N) to the limit. JJ immediately came over to help me. We checked the pulse and checked for any injuries. Meanwhile, Rossi went in search of the paramedics.

I felt a lump in my throat. Suddenly the nausea returned. I couldn't help myself and ran to the bathroom. I was cursing myself for not being able to control myself. My girlfriend had passed out because of me and I couldn't even be with her because I felt sick again.

When I came out of the bathroom I was intercepted by Emily in the hallway. She told me that (Y/N) had regained consciousness but they would take her to the hospital for a check-up anyway. I just wanted to go with her.

“JJ went with her and the paramedics. I'll let you go with her, but first tell me what's going on between you both. You two have been between fights and reconciliations for weeks. Your mood is a roller coaster, we no longer know what happens to you. I understand that we are all tired of this rhythm, but in you guys it seems like something unbearable! Are you okay? Can you tell me Spencer…”. Emily was right. We had weeks between discussions and mutual apologies. Now, I couldn't find a mildly convincing reason for the situation.

“I honestly don't know. I don't know what happens to us. Until a few weeks ago everything was fine and now… I don't know. I can't control myself. There are days when I feel tired, jaded. Others where everything seems normal. I have felt sick more often. I can't even stand myself sometimes,” I said scratching my head.

“Whatever it’s, I think you need to talk. This kind of outburst can't happen again, Spencer. Now go with her”

“Are you sure?... what about the case?...” I asked.

“Unbelievably, your argument gave us a clue. Rossi, Luke, and Tara are analyzing it now. So don't worry about the case, go. Talk to (Y/N)”. I nodded and ran to the hospital.

***

When I regained consciousness I was still in the meeting room, JJ was holding my head and a paramedic was checking my vitals. I felt embarrassed. I wanted to get up but JJ wouldn't let me. She told me that they would take me to the hospital to check me up even though I had already regained consciousness. I just shrugged. I didn’t know why so much commotion, for me it was just fatigue and the anger of the moment. Anger that still ran through my body, because I didn't even want to ask where Spencer was.

At the hospital a nurse came to my room and asked JJ leave the room for a moment. Then she took blood samples from me, measured my blood pressure, among other things. When she was doing that she asked me what happened. The nurse asked me too about my health in the previous weeks and I told her about my back pain, bloating, headaches, nausea and dizziness. She just nodded and told me that we should wait for the tests to rule out things and conclude if it was only fatigue and stress that triggered my fainting. Then she left the room and JJ came in again.

“What did she tell you?,” JJ asked me.

“Nothing yet. She took samples and said we have to wait,” I replied shrugging.

“What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know. I guess it's stress. In the last two months we have not had a truce JJ, I don't know how you are still standing…,” I said with a sigh.

“Yeah, I know. We have had very intense weeks lately. But it looks like it hit you and Spencer a lot harder. Are you two okay?”. There was genuine concern in her voice, but honestly I didn't have an explanation beyond the obvious: stress.

“Yes , I guess. I mean, it's true that we've argued more often, but that doesn't change how I feel about Spencer. In the opposite. It's weird what I'm going to say, but I miss him. I mean, I miss our moments together without having to think about work or argue”. I hadn't realized that tears were already coming from my eyes. “Shit JJ, and now I'm crying and I don't know why… I should be mad! He yelled at me in front of everyone and called me stupid!”

“You need to talk about it, (Y/N). I'm sure he didn't mean it”

“He is an idiot, JJ. He is almost more insufferable than me…”. I crossed my arms over my chest frowning just thinking about what happened. And as if it were fate, at that precise moment Spencer Reid made his appearance in the hospital room.

***

I walked into the hospital room and saw (Y/N) on the bed with her arms crossed over her chest talking to JJ. They both looked at me standing in the doorway. I could see (Y/N)’s anger on her face. She had right, I wasn't going to blame her for that. I steeled myself and approached (Y/N). If I had to receive her anger, I was willing to accept it.

“How do you feel?,” I asked. I wanted to take her hand, but she quickly pushed it away.

“Fine”. She didn't even want to look at me. Her eyes fixed on her feet covered by the hospital bed’s sheets. At that moment JJ ​​got up from her chair heading to the door.

“I’ll be outside calling the team. I let you talk for a while”. On leaving JJ closed the door. (Y/N) still didn't look at me.

“(Y/N)… I’m so sorry. Baby, I'm really sorry. I lost control. I don’t know what happened to me. Nothing I said I meant it. (Y/N), you have to believe me, I don't want you to think I don't value your job. That’s not true, you are invaluable to the team. You are an excellent profiler…,” I was looking at her with pleading eyes.

“You yelled at me. You treated me lousy. I don't know what is wrong with you. If you're as overwhelmed as I am, that doesn't give you the right to do what you did either”. She looked up and I could see that she was hurt. That broke my heart.

“I know. I'm sorry. I don’t know what's happening to me these weeks. I would like to give you a better explanation, but I don't have one. I know it’s wrong and I promise I will do whatever it takes to make up to you. I love you, (Y/N). I can’t stand see you hurt because of me”. This time she reached for my hand and squeezed it hard.

“I should hate you Spencer Reid. But I can't…” (Y/N) said shaking her head and huffing. “I guess I must believe you this time. You are not forgiven yet, though,” she warned me. I kissed her hand nodding in agreement. At that moment the doctor entered the room, still checking a folder with many papers.

“Miss (Y/L/N), good afternoon, I’m Dr. Anna Ragger, how are you feeling?”

“Much better now, thank you doctor,” the doctor nodded looking at me. “He is Spencer Reid, my boyfriend,” (Y/N) hastened to explain.

���Ah. Nice to meet you. Well, I have the results from your blood tests.” I was standing next to (Y/N) without releasing her hand.

“Is there something I should be concerned about doctor?”, (Y/N) asked.

“It depends on what you consider to be a concern, but I would say no,” doctor replied with a shy smile on her face. I looked at (Y/N) who had the same confused face as me. Before the doctor could say anything else, I felt my stomach twist again. Dr. Ragger looked at me strangely.

“Is something wrong sir?,” she asked. When my nausea subsided, I was only able to speak.

“I'm fine. I've only been with some stomachaches for a few weeks…,” I mumbled.

“What else did you feel? Fatigue? Headaches? Body aches? Mood changes?,” Dr. Ragger asked. I looked at her in amazement. She had perfectly described my symptoms of the past weeks. (Y/N) was frowning trying to understand what was happening.

“Yeah… ehm… all of them. Well, we've had very difficult weeks at work,” I replied. The doctor tried to hide a smile.

“Have you heard of Couvade syndrome?,” I thought for a few seconds and yes, I knew what it was.

“Yeah. Couvade syndrome is something that happens to men when their partners are pregnant. It emulates the symptoms that women experience during the first trimester of pregnancy,” I explained. The doctor nodded, smiling. (Y/N) dropped her jaw. Dr. Ragger, seeing I had not thought enough about my own words, intervened again.

“That likely explains your symptoms...”

“You mean I have that syndrome? I don't think so, because for that to happen (Y/N) would have to be... oh!”. The realization hit me like a freight train. “Oh!”, I exclaimed and looked at (Y/N) and then turned my eyes again to the doctor. “(Y/N) is...?”

“That's right, Miss (Y/L/N) is pregnant. Congratulations!”.

“Oh my God, are you sure Dr. Ragger?,” (Y/N) asked almost jumping out of bed. I started to feel dizzy. Dr. Ragger noticed my reaction and helped me to sit in the chair where JJ was before leaving the room.

“Yes miss (Y/L/N), your symptoms are consistent with pregnancy, and the blood tests confirmed it. My guess is that you must be in your 10th week of pregnancy, which would explain why your boyfriend would be experiencing similar symptoms. It doesn't happen to all men, of course, but there is always a possibility,” she explained. A little less dizzy I got up from the chair and stand beside (Y/N) holding her hand, still paralyzed. She was astonished yet.

“Well. Now that we are clear about the reasons for your symptoms, you are ready to go home miss (Y/L/N). Talk to your obstetrician about the next steps. Congratulations again,” Dr. Ragger stated before leaving the room.

Once we stayed alone in the room, (Y/N) shook her head in disbelieve. Maybe my face still didn't reflect it, but inside I was burning with happiness. Admittedly, it wasn't something we would have planned, but I was ecstatic at the news. I noticed tears began to roll down (Y/N)'s cheeks. I panicked. Maybe she was not happy with the news.

“Baby, what is it?”

“Spencer... we hadn't planned this. We hadn't even talked about the possibility of having children. And now it's happening... I’m happy, but I don't know if you want this. I can't force you to be with me for that. If you're not comfortable with this, it’s okay, I'll understand... really,” (Y / N) began to cry. I took her cheeks with my hands.

“Hey, look at me. Everything is gonna be okay. We will be okay. I love you so much (Y/N), and that's reason enough for me wanting everything with you. I want to be with you, I want to have children with you. I want you to be my wife. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You make me the happiest man in the world, and that is why it hurts when I see you suffer for something I did. Please forgive me for these days that I have put you through...,” I said kissing her forehead. I could feel her body relaxed at my words. She took a deep breath.

“Only if you're willing to forgive me for what I'm going to put you through in the next few months... and the rest of your life, Dr. Reid,” (Y/N) said now with a small smile on her face.

“Fair is fair. I'll face it happily,” I replied laughing. I was so pleased seeing the woman who made me so happy every day smiling again.

“I love you Spencer,” she said in a whisper into my lips before kissing me.

“I love you… both,” I replied when we parted. Both smiling and happy for what the future held for us.

——————–

[yeet-me-dad-dy]

Bloody Mary

Warnings: Blood

Summary: You find yourself on Hannibal’s menu. Unfortunate for him that you’re not easy prey.

Characters: Hannibal + Vampire Reader (Gender Neutral)

Words: 3,537

Hannibal rested back against his kitchen counter, humming a quiet tune as he flicked through his recipe box. Whatever recipes he ultimately settled on making you into needed to be perfect. You deserve only the best recipes, and the recipes must deserve you, too. 

You and Hannibal met two weeks ago, when he accompanied Jack Crawford to your little classroom in the local college to ask about some strange symbols that were found at a recent crime scene. He was there to create an on-the-go profile of you for Jack, something that the FBI agent had started doing when some little bird whispered worrying things into his ears at night and made him paranoid that no one could be trusted.

Despite being experienced at profiling, Hannibal had great difficulty reading you. In fact, he wasn’t able to read you at all. He was too distracted by… well, you. He didn’t know if you had the same effect on Jack, but your very presence caused Hannibal’s head to spin. There was something about the way you moved, the way you talked, your scent, your smile… your eyes, god, your eyes. When you shook Hannibal’s hand, you looked straight through him. You looked into him, peeled back the curtains and gazed at his very soul as if it was as easy for you as making a cup of coffee. His heart had caught in his chest, and there was, momentarily, a very real fear that you knew exactly who and what he was.

Was this why he decided then and there that he was going to kill you and eat you? It may have contributed to the decision, as well as the certain level of arrogance that you carried, safely tucked under your jacket. As he thought about it more and more afterward, though, he came to the realization that it wasn’t fear that drove this decision, nor was it a dislike, or the belief that you were rude. You weren’t. Arrogant, yes, but not rude. You were perfectly pleasant. In the end, he concluded that it was desire that made the gears in his head turn toward your demise. You smelled divine, you had soft skin, a strong body. You were intoxicating- perfect - and he wanted to devour you in the most literal sense of the word.

With a pleased sigh, he closed his recipe box and returned it to its rightful place on the counter, then checked the time. It was nearly 11pm. He should go to bed, he knew, but his mind was racing with thoughts and plans. It was far too busy up in his head for him to be able to sleep. Instead, he stretched, poured himself a glass of red wine, and headed for his study, where he sat at his desk, retrieved a pen and paper, and began to write.

“Agent Crawford, Dr Lecter. Good to see you’re both well.”

You greeted Jack and Hannibal with a dazzling smile and a handshake, then motioned to the twin chairs in front of your desk.

“Make yourselves comfortable, please.”

Jack obeyed, but Hannibal couldn’t. He couldn’t look at you without thinking of your flesh in his mouth, so he wandered over to a nearby bookshelf and absentmindedly browsed the array of titles, his focus on the conversation behind him.

“What do you have for us, Professor?” Jack asked pleasantly, and Hannibal glanced behind him only long enough to see you take a seat in your expensive desk chair and open an old tome to a marked page, which you then spun around to show Jack.

He kept one ear on the conversation, but didn’t hear much. His head was swimming again, confirming that your presence was the source of the problem and not the vanilla body spray you had been wearing the day he met you, but were not wearing today. Before he knew it, Jack was clapping him on the shoulder to get his attention and thanking you for your help. 

“It’s my pleasure, Agent Crawford.” You had come around to stand on their side of the desk, hands tucked into your pockets. “I’ll help in any way I can. I want to see whoever is doing this caught and cuffed. Not only are they killing innocent people, but they’re playing with things they shouldn’t be. They’re a danger to everyone. You have my number, so please don’t hesitate to call if you need me. I’m available any time of the day or night.”

“I appreciate that, Professor. Truly. It seems like it’s getting harder and harder to come across good people nowadays.”

You nodded solemnly. “You two be well. And stay warm out there; the forecast calls for snow this weekend.”

Jack chuckled. “You too.”

He strode from the room without looking back, sure that Hannibal would follow. He would, in a moment, but he needed to talk to you first. He took in a deep breath to try and clear his head and stopped before you with a gentle smile.

“Did you get my invitation?” he asked.

You nodded and offered him a smile to match his own. “I did, and as honored as I would be to join you for dinner, I’m afraid I can’t. I have a very strict diet, one that I know that you won’t be able to provide for. I am truly sorry.”

Hannibal tilted his head to the side, only the barest gesture to indicate that he wasn’t sure he believed what you were telling him. 

“Whatever your special diet is, I am sure that I would be able to accommodate. I am quite the skilled chef. I can make anything you should request of me.”

You tilted your head as well, a perfect mirror to Hannibal. “I’m sorry,” is all you said, and the last you would say on that matter. He returned home that night, disgruntled and inconvenienced, but not put off in the slightest. There was always the chance that you would decline his invitation, and so he would have to find another way to get you to his house. If you wouldn’t join him as a guest, kidnapping was always an option.

It wasn’t difficult for Hannibal to discover that you stay on campus late into the night, and sometimes all night. Jack had been very useful in uncovering information about you, even if he was ignorant of the fact that it would be used against you. You have many admirers at the college, both students and colleagues, you work hard, you rarely sleep, you arrive early and stay late, or you don’t arrive at all. The days when you don’t arrive, it’s as if you’ve fallen off the face of the Earth. No one knows when you’re about to take one of your impromptu vacations, or where you go when you do, and quite frankly, everyone is too afraid to ask, though they wouldn’t tell Jack why.

He decided, after a few days of contemplation and careful planning, that taking you late one night would be the best decision. There would be no one else on the campus, at least not anywhere near your office, and no one would question your sudden disappearance if that was something you did frequently anyway. He scouted the parking lots before hand, thought through all of his tools to decide what would be best for knocking you out, made sure his car’s back seat would fit you comfortably, and prepared you a place in his house, where you would stay, alive and healthy, as he slowly cut you apart, piece by piece, meal by meal, to devour you.

When the night finally came to pay you a visit, large snowflakes fell gracefully from a black, moonless sky, the stars beyond obscured by thick clouds. The parking lot was sparsely lit by dim street lights placed few and far between, and they illuminated the snow that had begun to stick to the ground. Hannibal would have to hurry. He didn’t want his footprints giving him away. 

He strode purposefully across the blacktop, using his phone to light the way, until he came to one of the college’s ornate side doors and the steps leading up to it. He tucked his phone into his pocket, pulled on his black gloves, and tried the door. Locked. He expected this, which is why he had stolen your key earlier in the week. He retrieved the key from the inside pocket of his coat and unlocked the door with a soft click. He opened it and stepped inside, then closed it quietly against the cold outside.

It was much warmer in here, comfortable, and the hall was dimly lit with the emergency lights that the school keeps on during the off-hours to deter intruders. He had stared at the college’s blueprints so often and for so long since deciding he would have you, that he knew the way to your office like the back of his hand, despite never reaching it from this entrance before. Down the hall, take a right, go up the stairs, another right, two lefts, and yours was the office tucked at the end of the corridor.

There were no windows in this hallway, and thus no emergency lights. The walk to the thick walnut door that closed off your little sanctuary from the rest of the campus was done in darkness, and Hannibal’s shoes made no sound on the tile floor as he approached. He never gets nervous before a kill, but tonight, he had to pause and steady himself before he finally raised his knuckles to the wood and rapped three times.

“Come in,” your voice answered from inside.

He turned the knob and pushed the door open. The large room was dark. The only light came from the lamp sitting on your desk that illuminated a large, ancient-looking tome open on the surface, and you sitting behind it with your hand on the page.

He stepped inside and offered a polite smile. 

“Hello. You didn’t hesitate when you heard the knock. Are you expecting someone?”

You chuckled and leaned back in your chair to stretch.

“No, but this isn’t the first time I’ve had a visitor at one in the morning. Although uncommon, it does happen. Usually it’s one of my students, though. Please, come in. And feel free to turn on the light.”

Hannibal flicked the lightswitch and closed the door behind him, then strode forward, taking a moment to study his surroundings. A bust of an unknown figure by the window, thick curtains, fireplace tools… all things you could use against him should this go poorly.

“Are you fond of the dark, Professor?” he asked as he took a seat in one of the chairs across from you.

“Yes, I am. The lights give me a headache,” you smile.

“Well, I won’t be here for long, and I’ll be sure to turn them off when I leave.” He returns the smile.

“What can I help you with, Doctor?” you ask as you mark the page you were studying in the book, close it, and scoot it aside.

“I was on my way home and thought I’d stop by. There are some things about these murders that have struck my curiosity.”

He meant the recent string of homicides that you were consulting with the FBI on, of course. 

“The kind of curiosity that I can help with?” you asked with a raised brow.

“Yes, perhaps. Agent Crawford came to you because you teach a course on occult studies. You know the symbols that were carved into the victims, drawn on the walls in blood, scribbled on the floors…”

“And is it those symbols that you’re curious about?”

“I’m curious about all of it, Professor.”

You and he talked for quite some time, far longer than he expected to. He supposed that kidnapping you would take him all of fifteen minutes if all went well, but when he looked at the clock on the wall behind you, it had been over an hour and he hadn’t even considered what he had gone there to do yet. He had to admit to himself later that he enjoyed your company and the conversation; not only the topic, but how passionate and insightful you were about your work, and how excited you seemed to be to teach someone something new. He supposed he knew why you became a teacher, then. Eventually, an opportunity arose, and he knew he had to cut the conversation short and take it, or he would leave there without his prize.

He asked you the specifics of the origin of the ritual that the murderer had seemingly been trying to perform, and you rose from your chair with a grin.

“I have a book here that explains it in great detail that I would be willing to let you borrow. Let me just find it.”

You strode around your desk and made your way behind Hannibal to the massive bookshelf on the far left wall. It was as you searched the titles for the one you needed that he pushed himself to his feet and strode quickly toward you. He wanted to strangle you, not enough to kill you, of course, just enough to knock you out. He wanted to feel you in his arms, squirming, writhing, choking, struggling to breathe, fighting to free yourself. He wanted to feel your heart pounding in your chest as fear flooded your senses. He wanted to smell your delicious aroma as your body went limp in his arms. He wanted to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck as you finally fell unconscious.

He darted forward, like a viper striking its prey, but instead of wrapping his arm around your neck, he felt a shove between his shoulder blades and then the sting of a nearly broken nose as the bookshelf came forward to meet him. He managed to maintain his footing, and spun around with his hand covering his nose, eyes watering from the pain, to press his back against the books and steady himself. You stood before him, and he watched as your soft, friendly smile twisted into a wicked grin, and those gentle eyes that seemed to see all went dark, your gaze morphing into something predatory. 

It took him longer than he liked to admit to realize what had just happened. The speed with which you stepped out of the way and spun around to shove him into the bookcase was nearly inhuman. 

“To be entirely honest, Dr Lecter… I expected more. I expected a challenge.”

Hannibal only blinked in response, confused and unsure how to proceed. He hadn’t accounted for this.

“Nothing to say for yourself?” You took a step forward. “I know you came here to kill me, Doctor, but you’re going to have to try a bit harder than that.”

“I didn’t come here to kill you,” he mumbled through his hand as blood from his nose began to seep between his fingers and drip onto your carpet.

You clicked your tongue as you watched the crimson droplets fall. “That’s gonna stain,” you growled.

That’s when Hannibal’s survival instincts kicked in. He retrieved his knife from his pants pocket and flicked it open. A crude weapon, yes, but effective. He managed to clear the tears from his eyes and accept the pain in his nose well enough to remove his hand. And then he struck. Or, he tried. You dodged effortlessly out of the way, not only of his first attack, but of his second as well, and then his third, his fourth, fifth, sixth. It was as if you knew every move he was going to make before he did.

“Come on, Doctor Lecter. You’re a killer. Kill me.”

Mocking… you were mocking him. He sneered and adjusted his grip on the knife’s hilt.

“You know, Professor… mocking is rude.”

He lunged again, missing your cheek by a fraction of a centimeter, and then your neck by just an inch on the backstroke. Strike after strike was either dodged or blocked, and then suddenly, you were on the offensive. 

You landed a jab to his ribs, and then another to the other side. You shoved your foot behind his heel as he stumbled back, and he fell back against the window. The cold of the glass sent a shiver down his spine despite his wool coat… or maybe it was the sudden realization of the situation he’d found himself in. You held him against the window with an arm across his chest while the other curled around the fist that held the knife and pinned it flat, immobilizing the only method of attack he had. The thick curtains and the bust were too far for him to reach, and your hips were against his, rendering his legs useless.

Hannibal panted hard, struggling to catch his breath after expending far too much energy trying to wound you. You, on the other hand, hadn’t even broken a sweat. Despite dodging every attack he had made, you weren’t breathing hard. He furrowed his brow. You weren’t… breathing. He couldn’t feel your breath on his face, your chest wasn’t rising and falling. He was imagining things, surely. You were just breathing lightly. That must be it.

“That was much better, Doctor Lecter, thank you for the exercise. I’ve been sitting in that chair for far too many days and nights. I’ve been needing a good fight to wake me up, and here you are providing one. Now tell me… if you weren’t here to kill me, then why creep up behind me?”

“You didn’t accept my invitation,” he panted.

You smirked. “So you were going to knock me over the head and drag me home, was that it?”

“Not knock you over the head. I was going to suffocate you.”

“I’m afraid that wouldn’t have done much, Doctor. But to be fair, neither would knocking me over the head, so I suppose you chose what you thought was the best option.”

His nose and ribs were throbbing, and all the late hours preparing for this night seemed to catch up to him all at once. He was exhausted. “What happens now?” he asked quietly, gazing into those cold, dark eyes of yours. “Will you kill me? Toss me from this window? Use my own knife to gut me?”

You chuckled and released him, but remained close. “Eventually, perhaps, but now. That would be too easy. Boring.”

“So you release me and revel in the terror I feel, looking over my shoulder every second of every day, waiting for the knife in the dark?”

“That’s a wonderful way to put it. Yes, I think I like that idea.”

He grins weakly, exhaustion evident on his bloody face. “And what makes you think you’ll be able to get to me? What would you do, I wonder, If I told Agent Crawford that you are the one doing all of these ritual murders?”

“He would believe you, I’m sure, but it wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to slaughter an angry mob that came banging on my door.”

Hannibal scoffs. “You think you can stand against an army of armed and armored law enforcement?”

You only smiled, not the wicked grin, nor the soft smile from earlier, but something altogether different. Something… bone-chilling.

“I want to show you something, Dr Lecter.”

Gently, you reached out and took hold of his wrist, his arm and his knife long since fallen to hang loosely at his side. Your black gaze bored into him as you raised his hand and pressed the edge of the blade to your throat. 

“Cut,” you ordered.

“You want me to kill you?”

“You won’t kill me. Now cut.”

Something happened in his head when you gave the command the second time, as if you had taken hold of his strings to puppet him. He didn’t want to, truly, and he didn’t understand why you were ordering him to, but he couldn’t stop himself. He drew the blade across your neck, cutting deep.

There was no gush of blood, no choking, no stumbling back, no terror in your eyes. You stood there, calm and collected, with that not-quite-right smile as blood slowly oozed out of the wound and ran down your neck. And then, the unexplainable happened. Your wound began to heal. Hannibal watched, eyes wide, as the gash slowly knit itself back together, until it was as if he had never cut you in the first place. Not even a scar remained as evidence of the deed.

He understood all too well in this moment that what he had gotten himself into this time was far too deep to ever get out of. His heart beat frantically in his chest, his breathing was heavy and ragged, adrenaline flooded his veins. He swallowed hard.

“What are you?” he tried to ask calmly, but his words came out as barely a whisper. 

Your lips twisted into a deadly grin and you leaned forward. You took in a deep breath, breathing in his scent. Then, you whispered into his ear.

“My dear Doctor… I’m your worst nightmare.”