#and that point was that the scar tissue from my surgery as a kid

[tinyspringtrap]

ough im getting symptoms and problems again why me man why can't I just live my life

[mormshaw]

Title: It’s Okay to Feel

Please read my fanfiction about Izuku after the latest chapter of MHA.  The poor kid is going THROUGH it.  He needs to vent and he needs a hug.

Genre: h/c, angst | Pairing: Gen (no pairing) | Rating: PG-13 | Wordcount: 3971 | Archive: Tumblr

Summary: After his return to school, Izuku Midoriya is forced to deal with his experiences in the war before everything he has gone through destroys him from the inside out.  Continuation of story from MHA 425 onwards.  Canon-compliant (as far as I can guess up to this point).

~--~

Izuku felt everything.

He felt the afternoon June sun beaming down on his neck, more exposed than it usually was, as he slowly bent to stretch his calf muscles.  It was a poor excuse for a warm up.  He tried jogging in place, taking it as easy as he could.  His legs were fine, thank God.  He could do this much.

He felt the skin below his left ribs pull a little, and felt the dull throb that followed. He tried not to wince. The deep wound had been treated with care during his stay in the hospital, and the stitches had since been removed, but it was still raw and his movement was hampered slightly by the pain.  The ugly scar on his abdomen was thankfully hidden under his UA gym clothes.  He had changed last, holding back in the changeroom while his classmates had run outside to the field, not quite ready for them to see.

He felt a lazy summer breeze flit across his face and along the exposed part of this head.  The scars there were less hidden, unfortunately, and the air stung. He was still getting used to looking at himself in the mirror and seeing what looked back.  The long, angry gash on his scalp had needed surgery to properly close.  He had been lucky, the Doctors had said, that his skull hadn’t cleaved from the force of Shigaraki’s attack.  Lucky that his hair, when it finally returned, could hide most of that scar.  The scar that covered his right cheek and creeped down his jaw- there was no hiding that scar. At least in his civilian clothes.

He felt sweat start to bead under his black compression bands, now worn on both arms.   The bands stretched and tugged but hugged his arms closely.  He was used to their embrace by now, but he almost wished they were longer, that they covered more.  He was keeping his arms close to his sides as he breathed through his warm up, trying not to let them get out of his control, to not let them flop around too much. He wasn’t sure if his classmates had noticed yet. He had been so careful yesterday in class, moving as little as possible, saying as little as possible…

He felt his arms.  Sort of.  And the Doctors said that was a good thing. They thought.  Actually, they weren’t sure.  They told him that not many people regrew their arms after losing them so he was all new to them.  They had even brought in a Specialist whose research revolved around people whose quirks allowed them to regrow limbs.  But answers about his chances of healing fully were limited.  In actuality, Izuku knew what was wrong better than they did. He knew. He’d been dreading an outcome like this since his fight with Muscular last summer.  Before. Since his match with Todoroki in the Sports Festival.  Eri’s horn had successfully rewound him, but the effects had stopped just shy of when Shigaraki’s Decay had started to break them down.  It had left them covered in a mottled patchwork of scars and bruises and thin vein-like markings winding their way over his hands, forearms and elbows.  Skin had been gouged out in places, almost as if with an ice cream scoop.  His body’s natural ability to heal, and weeks in bandages, had allowed most of the deeper wounds to scar over, joining the older scar tissue from his previous battles.  But Izuku knew:  he had been warned over and over that his body would not keep bouncing back;  that his arms could be paralyzed if he kept damaging them; that the patchwork of purple that was his skin wasn’t the worst of it.  His muscles and tendons had been rewound, but it had all amounted to too much for the already damaged tissue to heal properly.  Some feeling had returned, sure.  But moving them at all was his new battle.  

He felt insecure about them, yes, and scared.  Simple things were harder now.  He could grab objects with stiff and clumsy fingers. He could bend his elbows with effort and pain.  But everything was harder.  Dressing was harder.  Writing was almost impossible.  Chopsticks were out of the question.  He could form a fist if he really thought about it.  His shoulders were largely fine, so he could lift small objects if he was careful.  His dexterity was just…shot.   Parallel processing was something he had been forced to learn while he had had One For All, so he was managing to think his actions through, but most of the time, his arms just hung loosely at his sides.  Kacchan had told him to follow his lead and keep his arms in a sling to keep them secure, but Izuku wasn’t ready to admit that he needed one.  Kacchan just said he was trying to show him up in their recoveries to “stay ahead”.

He felt everything.  Isolation.  Frustration.  Anxiety.  Fear.  Guilt.  Shame.  Anger.  Weakness.  Loss. Grief.  Depression.  Loneliness.  The war had been disastrous.  He felt no sense of accomplishment or success.  He had not “won” or “saved”.  His physical health, while improving, was taking a toll.  His mental health was poor at best.  His failure to save Tenko Shimura and, though he had said differently to Kachhan, his loss of One For All had left him with an emptiness in his heart that wasn’t going away.  Izuku had taken to imagining a locked door again, and shoving the negative feelings behind it.  But they bubbled under the surface.  Waiting.

Most of all, though, Izuku could feel his classmates' eyes on him.  They were watching his every move.  

“Welcome to your quirk assessment test,” Aizawa drawled, putting an end to the warm up.  Izuku’s focus was forced out of his reverie, onto his teacher.  Aizawa was standing on the ball field, hair sloppily thrown in a bun.  He leered at them for a moment from his good eye, then smiled.  “Are you ready to see how far you’ve come?  To remember where you started?”

Cheers and whoops from his classmates.  Izuku briefly remembered just how nervous he had been on his first day at UA last year when Aizawa had announced that they had to show off “what they could do.”  Kacchan had introduced himself to class 1-A spectacularly, lobbing the ball hundreds of metres down the field.  Kacchan wasn’t here today,  his Doctors arguing that maybe gym class was a little outside his current realm of ability. And Izuku?  He was probably even more nervous today than he had been last April.  Last year he at least had HAD a quirk.

Aizawa stared at them all for a moment.  He nonchalantly tossed a baseball up and caught it, tossed it up, and caught it.  “First, before we get started, I want you to know how proud I am of you all.  Every single one of you went beyond in your first year.  You are heroes already, and I have very little left to teach you.  But we can always improve.  We can always go higher.  Be better.  Throw further.”  He paused, tossing the ball up and catching it again for effect. 

“Now.  Who wants to go first?”

Pause.  

Heads and eyes turned to Izuku.  Izuku could see Kaminari nudge Jiro and point, an excited look in his eyes.  Tsu was watching him closely, her finger to her chin, head tilted, expectant.  Iida adjusted his glasses, waiting. Uraraka was smiling warmly at him and nodding.  Izuku could hear a low murmuring between his classmates, and Izuku understood why.  They wanted to see him in action again.  To see what he could do with One for All this year.  They had been with him the day his last punch had destroyed All For One and “saved the world or whatever”, but they wanted to experience just a little of that excitement and power again, to see just how far that ball could go.  And, likely, to see that he was okay.  They knew he had been badly wounded.  They had seen the recorded video of his battle on the internet that Ikzuku still couldn’t bring himself to watch, but everyone else had viewed on repeat since that day.  They wanted a repeat now.

Pause.

Izuku took a deep, steadying breath and stepped forward.

Pause.

Aizawa seemed to sense the excitement and points of class 2-A and a look of dawning realisation came to his eye.  He took a few quick strides toward Izuku and whispered in his ear.

“Midoriya.  Shit.  I’m sorry.  I thought you’d just watch today.  You don’t have too-”

“No, Mr. Aizawa.  It's okay.  I want to try.”  Aizawa peered at him for a moment, trying to gauge his resolve.  Izuku stared back.  Aizawa seemed to sense that this was important to him and relaxed, smiling briefly. 

“Okay. If you’re sure.”  Aizawa held out the ball.  Izuku focussed.  

Shoulder.  Elbow.  Wrist.  Hand.  Fingers.  Reach. Open.  Bend.  Stretch.  Grasp.  Pain.  Ball acquired.  Fuck.

Izuku stared at the ball in his hand, scarred fingers trying to keep a tight grip on the leather.  There were more calls from his classmates gathered a ways behind him as they watched.

“Yeah, go Midorya!”  Kirishima.

“Show us what you’re made of!”  Sero.

“Go, Deku!”  Uraraka.

“Realistically, Midoriya should throw the ball much further this year, since he is so much stronger.”  Yaoyorozu. 

“Anyone remember last year's distance?” Shoji.

“706.3 metres.” Todoroki.

“Did anyone else notice his arms?”  Shinso.  Huh.

Izuku closed his eyes.  They’d find out sooner or later.  May as well be sooner.  Izuku had not activated the embers of One for All since the battle.  Initially, he’d been recovering in hospital and his health and lack of mobility had prevented experimentation.  A couple of weeks after the war, when he’d moved back to his apartment with his mom and started physiotherapy, he’d been too scared to try.  

He felt them, though.  Deep in his core, a warmth like a candle burned.  Izuku had been doing mental calculations for a while now.  When All Might had transferred One for All to him, it had been February, and his power had steadily declined since then.  Two major fights later, and by July- just six months after- All Might’s embers had been extinguished for good.  

It had already been a month for Izuku, and the last part of his battle with All for One had been entirely dependent on the embers.  Izuku didn’t have much time left, he was sure.

He concentrated.  One for All- Full Cowling.  The candle inside him sputtered for a moment, then the heat grew, expanding outwards, enveloping his body and limbs.  For a moment, Izuku felt comforted by its presence.  Even his arms felt a little better as his blood flowed faster, and the ever-present ache in his muscles relaxed slightly. 

Izuku reached his shoulder back and threw the ball, trying to let the power of his depleted quirk push the ball forward, to not let his arms give way to pain as his elbow unbent in the arc of his movement, and his fingers released their tenuous hold.

The ball left his hand and flew.  Izuku waited.

A couple of seconds later, he could hear a distant “thud” as the ball hit the grass on the far end of the field.  There was silence for a moment, then one of the UA robots announced the result, its mechanical voice piercing into the air:

“154.7 metres.”

He felt their eyes on him again, and no one spoke.  

Izuku turned to face them.  He could see a few mouths hanging open.  He watched them for a moment, but he could take it no longer, and he ran.  Before they could say anything, Izuku ran. No quirk, no embers.  Just his legs, pushing him away from the staring eyes and gaping mouths of class 2-A.   He ran past the bleachers, not really knowing where he was heading, just knowing that he couldn’t stay there.  Through the tunnel back into the school, back to the changerooms.  No thoughts, just heavy breathing, and dull pain in his arms as they flopped uselessly behind him.   

The next thing he knew, he was standing in front of the sinks in the changeroom, panic welling up from deep inside.  He was breathing heavily, not just from his run, but from sheer hysteria. His world was crashing down around him.  He glanced up, and caught sight of his reflection in the mirror.  He was panting and pale- all colour had drained from his face.  His new scars stood out in sharp contrast to his skin: bright, angry, and red.  The remaining hair on the left side of his skull was damp with sweat.  This was the new Izuku Midoriya: weak, scarred, and broken.  Quirkless.

He felt a desperate anger take over and without realising it, the embers within him sparked and ignited.  His shoulder drew back, his hand formed a fist, and, without feeling the pain that was shooting down his arm, he threw a focused punch at his reflection.  Glass shattered and flew everywhere, showering the changeroom with shards like hail.  The force of the punch let out a blast of pressurized air, scattering the glass, tearing the fluorescent light fixtures from the ceiling and a sink from the wall, and pushing Izuku to the floor as the changeroom fell into darkness but for sparks from the frayed wires in the ceiling.  Water sprayed from the sink pipe and collected in puddles on the tile.

And Izuku cried.  Curled on the floor, covered in glass, knuckles bleeding, Izuku wept for himself and everything that had happened to him.

Sounds of quick footsteps came from the door, followed by crunching glass underfoot.

“Midoriya!  Fuck, are you okay?”

“Midoriya!”  Are you in here?!”

“Midoriya!” Hey, my Dude, answer us!”

The sounds came closer as they crossed the changeroom.

“Here guys, I made us a little light.”

A flashlight beam broke through the darkness of the room and quickly found Izuku, still balled up on the floor, soaking wet from the damaged sink.

There were sounds of running as his classmates quickly closed the gap between them.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.  Midoriya.  Hey, man.  Take a deep breath.”  A hand fell onto Izuku’s shoulder as Kirashima reached him first.  “Guys, he’s hurt, I think.  Can someone run to get Mr. Aizawa and Recovery Girl?”

“On it.”  Hagakure (presumably) turned from the room and left at speed.

“She can’t help me.”  Izuku’s small voice snapped class 2-A to attention.  

Another hand rested on Midoriya.  Iida.  “Midoriya.  Talk to us.  We’re your friends.  What do you mean, ‘she can’t help you’?  Your hand is bleeding.  She can get it all tidied up for you.”

Tsu came forward now, with Todoroki, and together they placed gentle hands under Izuku and helped him to a sitting position.  Tears still welled up in his eyes, running down his face, and his breath came in short, shuddering gasps.

“I mean, she can’t help me. I can’t be helped.  Don’t you think she hasn’t already tried?!  She sat with me for ages afterwards.   Look at my arms!”  

Unconsciously, Yaoyorozu’s flashlight beam shifted to land on Midorya’s arms.  The purple bruises and deep scars stood out in the pale light.

“Oh. Uh.”

A small pause.  

Tokoyami’s deep voice reached out to him.  “Midoriya.  It is okay that you have damaged limbs.  You are strong.  You will recover in time, I am sure of it.  You are already better from when you were in hospital.  You will continue to improve.  Maybe they will not look as they did, but you-”

“One for All is gone. I’m going to be quirkless again.”

Another pause.  No one in class 2-A seemed to have anything to say, though Iida’s hand remained tight on Izuku’s shoulder.  Izuku’s breathing remained quick.  Everything he had felt since that day: the loss, the guilt, the shame, the weight of the world’s expectations came bearing down on him all at once.  

“Aoyama shouldn't have been the one to leave UA, it should have been me.  I can’t be a hero now.  I can barely move and soon even the embers of my power will leave me. How am I going to do hero work now?  I’m just some kid.  Besides, even when I had my quirk, I couldn’t save someone when it really mattered.”  Izuku took a convulsive breath.  His dream that he had worked so hard for, the happiness he had felt the past year, was slipping away from him with each passing moment.  He felt utterly alone, even surrounded by his friends.  He could never keep up with them now.  He would be a liability on the field.

The air in the room fell still.  Only the sound of the water splashing from the pipe and Izuku’s laboured breathing filled the spaces between them.

A cough. Shinso was clearing his throat.  “You know, I can’t throw a ball very far either, and I probably never will.”

Izuku’s head snapped up and he gaped at his new classmate.  Shinso’s intense stare looked back at him, not blinking, entirely serious.

“It’s…not the sa-”

“Yes it is. My quirk doesn’t make me stronger.  Or faster.  Or tougher.  But I worked my ass off to be able to stand next to you and call myself a hero on equal footing.  Don’t you dare look at me and say you can’t do something, when you're the reason I stuck this out. You saved the world, and we helped.  You don’t get to give up on us now.”

“But, I'm not going to get stronger now.  From here on out, I only get weaker.  That’s how this works.  When All Mi-“.

“You are not All Might.”  That was Todoroki.  “Just as I am not my father.  You helped me understand that a long time ago.  I think it's time you start figuring that out for yourself.  All Might may have given you a quirk, but you made it your own.  I’ve watched you more carefully than you know. So just because something happened to All Might, doesn’t mean it will happen the same for you.”

He knew what they were doing. They'd tried this before when he’d abandoned UA back in April.  Had that only been two months ago?  So much had happened.  But back then it was different.  Back then, he had seven quirks inside of him.  Even when he’d been clouded by the obsession of bringing down the League on his own, he had felt powerful and capable.  Now, there was nothing.  No vestiges offering advice, no Black Whip, Fa Jin, or Danger Sense.  It was just broken Izuku and the dying embers of a shattered quirk.

Izuku tried rubbing his tear-streaked face on his shoulder, trying to clear his head. “Look, guys.  Thank you, really, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to stay here long-term.  I’ve got a couple months, tops, before the embers die out.  My arms are messed up.  The world is expecting me to help them, to fight for them, to be their symbol, and I’m just not going to be able to.  Maybe it's time to think about my future for once.”

Uraraka ran forward at that moment and enveloped Izuku in a tight, and unexpected, hug. He could feel her trembling against him, like she was also crying.  “Oh, Deku.  Your future is here.  It isn’t UA without you.  You are a hero and this is your home.  Please.  Just…keep trying.  We will be there to help you.  You have helped every single one of us be better.  Let us help you continue being a hero.”  Uraraka released him, then backed away into the shadows.  She seemed sad, Izuku thought.  He had thought so yesterday too when he’d tried to talk to her.

There were nods of agreement and murmurs of assent as Izuku tried to find them in the darkness beyond the flashlight beam.  Just then, Iida’s arm came under his own, and he was lifted up to his feet.  “Midoriya.  You and I are meant to keep each other in check.  Don’t follow this path of grief and pain and anger.  You are strong, even without your quirk.  You are happiest when you are helping people.  I’ve seen it time and time again.  No matter how hurt you are, you just keep helping.  Now is no different.  Be happy and keep helping.”

A shuffling sound in the dark, then a spark. Kaminari had lit one of the damaged fluorescent lights with his quirk and illuminated the room again.  Aizawa was standing in the doorway, Recovery Girl at his side, listening to their pleas.  

Aizawa continued to gaze at his class from across the room, arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the door.  “They're right, you know.  Every single one of them.  Even quirkless or with damaged limbs you can still be helping.”  It wasn’t lost on Izuku just how personal that was to Aizawa.  “Listen to your classmates.  Besides, I refuse to accept your resignation from this school.  You will graduate with the rest of your classmates next year, I promise you.”

Izuku looked at each one of his classmates.  Their determined looks met his.  Each one of them, he knew, had faced their own traumas in the war.  Some of them were still suffering.  He could see the cap on Jiro’s ear; the burns on Todoroki’s face; the bandage on Kirishima’s head; the careful way Uraraka was holding herself.  

He sighed.  

He stepped forward.

He met them at his new beginning.

He felt lighter.

[poindexters-labratory]

Could you tell us your thoughts about Evan in your au???

Sure!!

Evan can best be described as the asshole kid brother for the first half of Before the Storm. He is a lot like Michael, being highly argumentative and confrontational during this point in time. Evan is the quiet listener type, doesn't have a lot of friends, and isn't very emotive like his father and brother are.

Him and Michael fight often, but their arguments end quickly. Until 1982, Evan found Michael to be more of an annoyance than anything, and his brother viewed him the same way.

One of my favorite aspects of FNAF lore that I haven't seen a lot of people touch on is that they're located in the United States desert west, which is where I spent some of my childhood. I'll just mention this here because cowboys are Evan's favorite thing.

This AU gives me the opportunity to touch on western US culture and environments. There are Gila monsters, red-tailed hawks, cougars, coyotes, and snakes roaming about the environment. There's desert, mountains, red rocks, winding roads, and broad open sky, it all feels like home to me. Henry is from a ranch-hand family, he was and remains a cowboy. The Afton kids all get a taste for helping out on Henry's family ranch from time to time.

Evan especially likes to work on the ranch. He likes being helpful and especially loves the animals. The kid likes it to the point of spending Wednesdays with Henry to help out with feeding the animals and learning from Henry's patience combined with his hard work ethic.

(Henry is almost a second father to all of William's kids.)

Evan development takes a drastic turn at the age of 11 (1982). William had his horrific springlock accident and during his hours long surgery to get everything off under Henry's guidance, Evan slipped away from Michael, and walked into the OR. He couldn't come anywhere near William without panicking for a few months and animatronics, he never got over.

Over the course of the year, he couldn't sleep through the night and vivid night terrors would wake him up (he's always had them, but these went on for months and months). Michael didn't help much with his constant pranks. His dad tried to help when he could, but was either occupied with work or retraining his body to function.

William didn't break any bones in his accident (thankfully), but it was a lot of nerve and tissue damage. His vocal cords were damaged in the accident, so he didn't sound like himself much, and Evan wasn't a fan. He was also suffering intense nightmares and psychological trauma from the accident.

The only one who could take care of Evan during this time was Michael. Evan didn't have any friends to go to, Henry was always busy as his father was (combined with William's healing physical and mental health), his older brother was the only other viable option. And it sucked ass.

William did another one of his antics in placing copies of Fredbear stuffed animals around Hurricane on Evan's routes to and from different locations to make sure he was okay and because he knew how Michael would be.

Michael had better things to do, 1982-83 being his senior year, with his friends leaving for college, studying because he wanted to leave, be a stupid teenager, and do everything for his last year of high school that wasn't looking after his crybaby kid brother. So, there was payback in making Evan as miserable as possible.

But then it went too far.

Evan Afton Fun Facts!!

His birthday is April 24, 1971

Also, not William's biological son (William and Claire had a mutual agreement to keep their relationship open to make it easier for them, then later got divorced when Claire really wanted to go back home)

The scars on his face, arm, and leg is result of really terrible road burn he got when he was younger. Henry has dogs, and not just dogs, but herding dogs. These dogs are really good with their commands. Evan was holding the leashes for two of the dogs and Henry called them, causing little Evan to be dragged across road. Henry apologized a lot. He still apologizes.

Evan has Tourette's because I said so

His favorite game is "Freak Dad Out", which includes dramatic theatrics both at home and in public (he's only gotten in trouble once and it because he broke one of William's rabbit figurines)

He has a staring problem

Nicknames: Sweets (William-given), Worm (Michael-given), Grizzly (Lizzie-given)

Favorite animatronic: he's never liked them enough to have one

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

Ok, not a question, not a request, just a scene, that lives in my head rent-free. Feel free to do whatever you'd like to do with it.

Ghost leaning against a counter in the cafeteria, methodically stirring the coffee with a spoon. The rest are discussing something related to work, Ghost limits himself to only a couple of comments, not stopping stirring the coffee, but not starting to drink it either. At some point, Price turns away from the conversation, turns to Ghost and speaks.

"Ok, when are you going to stop this noise? I swear, I hear that spoon hitting your mug for one more time - Im gonna confiscate and drink that coffee myself." Ghost doesn't answer on that and just extends his hand with a mug towards the entrance to the cafeteria, where a few seconds later Riot appears. Almost bumping into the mug, she takes it from Ghost's hands and asks him.

"Sugar?"

"Just as you like."

"Cream?"

"You think, I'd forget, how you like your coffee?"

'... and, the temperature?"

"Been stirring it for last 5 minutes."

Silent, but so loud manifestation of love)

Awwwww I absolutely love it, I have to get this one out of my system))

Disclaimer: Much, much later in my fic (lol) and... kinda angst but sweet!! (you and @sofasoap are contagious! I love it!). Also, unedited and I haven't checked anything, so there :P

''Thank you'' She says, with a smile weaker than normal, and carefully takes a sip while he looks at her, searching for any sign of discomfort when the liquid touches her lips, and most importantly, the tender flesh of the scar. They don't touch, but they're standing so close that from some angles it's not clear where she ends and he starts.

The rest of the team watches them with amusement. Although they were not big on PDA, that they were in a relationship was already known to the core members of the Task Force 141.

''So... what did they say?'' Soap asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, but she keeps her eyes focused on the contents of her cup.

''There's nothing else they can do. Tissue is dead, some nerves too'' Riot shrugs, her voice calm as always, but a bit more emotionless than usual. ''If I have surgery for the fourth time I risk paralysis''

''Shit, I'm sorry'' Gaz advances to wrap her in a hug, which Soap joines eagerly, and the two Sergeants embrace her, tight. In normal circumstances she would protest, or laugh, or pretend to be offended, but in this moment she just lets them, trying to leave the cup on the counter before they make her drop it.

Price looks up towards the big windows of the cafeteria to observe the building of the Queen Elizabeth Hospital. He had had to fight her for the majority of the week to get her to go to a checkup in Birmingham about her scar, and now he was regretting it.

''It's alright, I was expecting it'' Riot manages to get rid of her two friends and retrieves her cup from the counter, but she's still looking down, not wanting to meet their eyes. Ghost stares intently at the crown of her head, standing right beside her, with one finger loosely hooked on one of her belt loops.

''You were in there almost an hour, it took that long to tell you that rubbish?'' Price grunts, and she shakes her head.

''No, that took fifteen minutes, in and out. I... took the stairs down''

To cry in peace, but she doesn't say that. She can't look up at the faces of those four idiots that she loves so much and that are her family, and allow them to see her falling apart. Again.

''C'mere, kid'' Price grabs her jacket and drags her close enough to engulf her with his enormous arms. ''You need anything, just tell me''

''Pizza?'' Riot asks, hopeful, and Price barks a laugh, nodding.

''Pizza it is''

Gaz and Soap cheer in agreement, finishing their own beverages while they collect their jackets, and the Captain goes to pay. Ghost stays right beside Riot, and she turns to face him, looking up.

''I'm fine'' When he looks down at her she takes the opportunity to step closer and her fingers touch his ever so slightly. ''It was worth it''

''What was worth it?'' Ghost asks, a bit lost, specially when she smiles. It had been months since she had discarded using the mask except during missions or when with big crowds, but seeing her smile still sent a chill down his spine, every time.

''This'' Riot makes a vague gesture towards her face, and her other hand slides in his, feeling his fingers lacing with hers. ''For what I have now. For you. Worth it''

Ghost nods slowly, still looking down at her, and then checks for a moment that the other three are not looking before leaning in and bumping lightly his forehead against hers, staying like that for a couple of breaths.

''Worth it'' He murmurs, and she nods, standing on her tip toes to press her forehead against his, still smiling.

''Worth it''

[damiemontclair]

Ok let me start this post by saying this is not me asking for help or advice. I will not listen to any advive unless it comes from a medical professional I trust. This is a mind-clearing, thoughts-sorting post. So if you click the read more, you agree to the above. If you can't, don't click the fucking read more.

For context: this is in relation to The Surgery(/ies). If you haven't followed along with *that* bit this is probably just going to be gibberish to you.

Please be aware that I chose not to tag this so it doesn't show up in any tags since its personal.

Since january my periods have been a little... Weird. As in almost non-existent aside from cramps. Now I know a lot of people wouldn't look that gift horse in the mouth, but in light of what happened, and the fact this was my 4th surgery (still wrapping my head around that, it really fucks with me) and that I have been on the pill since 2016, I think theres something more serious going on here.

I started the pill after my first surgery, and one of the resons was that my periods had always been a bit wack ever since I first started to get them as a teen. No regularity *at all*. Heavily influenced by stress and such factors. I once had 3 months without one due to stress and mild depression. Thats why I went to a gyn in the first place, as a barely 17yo, and how I ended up in surgery for the first time. Lucky find.

Since I started the pill, I've been living a very predictable life.

I've noticed since 2019, when my ovary twisted (twice (ow)) that my periods have been. Shorter. It seemed good at first. So what if I don't get 4-5 full days. 3-4 is fine too. I didn't really make any connection between the circumstances of the surgery and the diminished period (I was *very* busy doing 2 semesters at once that semester)

But since january we've dropped to something more along the line of 2 days with very little bleeding. And by little I mean litte. Even the smallest tampons don't fill up when I leave them in longer than recommended. Theres barely any tissue.

And I know for a fact that my ovaries have been. Damaged. By the whole thing. The doc said nothing can be seen on the ultrasound and that they look healthy back in january, but theres no way that everything is fine, between the 2 full twists in 2019 and the partial twist in january... (btw did you know those can't be seen on ultrasound? Yeah, its a fun time all around. They only found out after cutting me open. And in january they were gonna send me home without surgery. Fucking mess. Anyway.) I've been concerned about everything ever since.

I'm going to try and make an appointment with my gyn next week. She's been great ever since that first time I went, and she's requested I come for twice yearly checkups again, like I did back in 2016/17/18. I'm want her to check hormone levels and stuff, because clearly something is up.

You know, they're all going on and on about babies, and not removing the ovaries of a childless 'girl' in her 20s.... But I can't help but wonder if it'd even be possible for me to get pregnant without medical at this point. Between the scar tissue and whatever has been going on with my body since january.... I'm not interested in having kids that way anyway but you know. *would* it even be possible?

Anyway, I've finished my tea and the painkillers seem to have kicked in so its time for me to start my day.... Sorry for the wall of text, if you made it all the way down here. I've just been having a lot of thoughts lately, and my brain can't seem to let them go.

[yet-another-heathen]

For my beloved henry: 12, 27, 38, and..3 (go to bed and nEVER WAKE UP HAHA)

And for Naddylicious: 18, 32, and B!

Oh boy. Putting this bad boy under a cut because it's a long one! Thank you Nemi <33

Henry:

How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?)

Most nights, Henry spends about an hour before bed bundled up and reading. He almost always ends up reading a little longer than he intended to, fighting off the heavy eyes until he finally has to put the book down before he drops it.

How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach? 

Oh, this one is a very familiar frustration for him—the scar tissue around his arm acts up sometimes and will get insanely itchy, but because the nerves have been so heavily rewired it can be nearly impossible to figure out WHERE the scratch is coming from. Imagine if you got a mosquito bite but no matter how much you ran your hand over your skin, you can only find a spot CLOSE to where the bite actually is. And most of the places you end up trying to itch are on scar tissue, which itself feels awful to scratch at. It's endlessly frustrating. Henry will try to ignore them for a while, but he usually just gets shifty and then irritable and then finally has to go off to a bathroom somewhere to spend ten minutes searching for them.

More mundane itches, he'll just excuse himself to go handle.

What causes them to feel dread? 

😈 Electricity. The sound of it crackling, the sight of sparks arcing through air. It gives him a very tangible kind of dread because he knows that if he gets shocked, it could very well stop his heart. And even if it doesn't kill him outright, a good shock means going to make sure that his ICD is still functional. And if not, that means yet another heart surgery in order to replace it.

Dogs are another one. Less dread and more 'you're gonna get to see him climb onto a table to get away from your Pomeranian' kind of antics.

What memory do they revisit the most often? 

You know, this is a really really hard one for me to answer. Henry spends so much of his time planning for the future, and very rarely goes about living in the past. Unless it's something he's still carrying a lot of guilt over. And of those, you pretty much have your pick—most of the time it's over the kind of mistake that you can only see the other choices for in hindsight. How you'd wish you'd been more careful, that you'd known to ask, that you'd waited just one day more. The ones that really haunt him are the ones that got other people hurt. And unfortunately, of those he has quite a selection.

Nadi:

What embarrasses them?

Nudity. And unfortunately for Nadi, his definition of the word is MUCH different than the ifrits'. To him and his people, a grown man having his hair exposed to people other than family is horribly indecent. Having his face exposed to strangers before they've become acquainted is the same. And having any more of his body exposed than just his hands and feet?? It's so unthinkably humiliating that to be in as little clothing as the ifrit wear would make Nadeem want to curl up into a little ball and cry. He has no idea how the ifrit just. Do that. And he's so badly hoping they won't make him join them.

[Here's the fun part of having Nadi as a narrator though: this boy doesn't realize that to the rest of the world, he's the one who is such a traditionalist and prude that it borders on comedy. They entertain it because they think it's cute.]

Do they have a go-to story in conversation? Or a joke? 

Not a specific joke, but he does have some pretty signature stories when he's around younger kids. Nadi earned himself a reputation around his village for being able to entertain all the children with his storytelling. It got to the point where parents who wanted to socialize during holidays knew exactly where to go leave their little ones; circled around a fire where Nadeem was already painting tales of travellers and magic. And the kids loved it because if they begged enough, then near the end of the night they could always talk him into one (1) scary story. And at those? Nadeem absolutely excelled. Sometimes it would be stories he adapted from real jinn encounters—a lot less bloody and terrifying than real life tales, but taking from the things that made them so unnerving. And he'd watch for when the kids were all holding their breaths in terror, then give a little jump scare. And then end the story on something silly, once the chorus of delighted screaming was over.

And for Nadi's final question, I've already got the answer for you here!

[aprilertle]

It’s hard to have any sort of motivation when you’re in chronic pain.

I just want answers.

This nightmare began in summer 2022 and just progressively got worse, to the point of barely able to function without being in excruciating pain.

Went to the ER March of last year. Bloodwork and ct scan came back ok. They chalked it up to possible “reproductive issues” and told me to schedule an appointment with my obstetrician.

So did. Called and made the appointment. Had to wait until May to be seen but finally got in. We discussed the possibility of endometriosis and adenomyosis. Had about 3 appointments throughout last summer. Including one with my family doctor because I was having arm pain/numbness. Had bloodwork and an EKG done, all came back ok. Fast forward to August - severe flare up with my pain, always in the same spot, lower right abdomen. My ob said when I experience another flare to call immediately and they will get me in right away. I called, they were able to squeeze me in that same day and he ordered a pelvic ultrasound. That all came back ok, although the tech did say that the right side was a little more difficult to navigate through than the left. I had an immediate appointment with him right after the ultrasound. He wanted to perform a laparoscopy for that same week. It was Monday and he wanted to do it that Thursday. I had to make some arrangements with my schedule but we were able to go ahead with it. The lap did not find anything abnormal. Just the suspicion that I had adenomyosis inside my uterus. The pain I had prior to surgery was completely gone. I was able to cough, sneeze, laugh without doubling over in pain. I was pain free for about 2 weeks, then once my period hit the pain came back, full force. I called my ob again to schedule an appointment to let him know. It was early September by this point. We did discuss the possibility of a hysterectomy but he wanted me to get a second opinion before going forward. He thought it was possibly a hernia. So they put in a referral for the general surgeon. They called that same day to schedule the appointment but they unfortunately couldn’t get me in until mid October. Tried to manage the pain as best I could until then. Appointment came and went. That doctor didn’t believe it was a hernia due to the location of the pain. He also didn’t think it was diverticulitis. My father in law passed away the same week as that appointment, so I don’t think I scheduled anything with my ob for awhile due to family stuff going on. Fast forward to early December, I finally called and scheduled to see my ob again since at this point it was safe to assume the pain wasn’t going to go away. At that appointment we discussed the hysterectomy and decided to go forward with it. Signed the consent forms there and just had to wait for them to call and get it scheduled. They told me it wouldn’t be until after the holidays. About a week or so passed and I got the call that it would be for January 22nd. I was relieved that I’d have a little over a month to prepare myself mentally for it.

I put it out of my mind for awhile. The holidays took over and I was thankful for the distraction. I was still in pain but pushed through. I got my schedule all squared away and made arrangements in advance with my niece to come stay and watch the kids the day of my surgery.

Surgery was set for 7:30a but had to be at the hospital by 6. This was when it was really setting in. No more possibilities of ever having more children. No more periods, which, strangely enough, I was sad about as well. The finality of it all. I was getting everything but my left ovary removed, so it wouldn’t throw me into menopause.

The surgery went well. My uterus was fused to my bladder. Scar tissue, adhesions, endo, adeno, cysts. From my understanding the surgery took longer than they thought it would. I was able to go home that same day. Was discharged around 7 that night.

Two days after surgery I noticed the pain I had prior was starting to come back. At first I didn’t even want to consider it, I was hoping it was just from the surgery and I was just being paranoid. By that Friday I was able to walk a little better but there was no denying that that pain was back full swing.

I had my first follow up on the 4th. Had an exam done, everything from the surgery was so far healing well. I told him that the pain was back. Explained where the pain was, that it was constant and relentless. Since my right ovary was removed during surgery, that was ruled out as a possibility for the pain. I was right back to square one. He said it was likely bowel related.

They put in a referral for GI. Since my follow up was so early in the morning, I was hoping I’d get a call that same day to set an appointment up. Nope. Waited and waited and received no call, so I decided to call them that Friday. Left a detailed message. Still no call back.

About two weeks ago I noticed a sharp pain in my neck anytime I’d inhale, along with a lump. That worried me so I made an appointment with my family doctor. I also wanted to talk to him about the possibility of an antidepressant because my mental health has been absolutely fucking awful ever since my surgery.

The neck pain and lump were pretty much gone by the time I saw my doctor but he said it was likely a muscle spasm. I explained my anxiety and panic attacks. He was happy to prescribe me something to relieve that. I also told him about this debilitating pain. How it’s never ending. Also told him that despite my calling their office as well and leaving a message, I never got a call from the GI doctor’s office. He said I should have definitely heard something so he was going to check into it. He said if they didn’t call me within the next day or so then to give him a call and he’d check into it further. Couple days went by, still nothing, so I called and let them know. They said, “you should be hearing something within the next couple days.” Still no call. So I looked up GI doctors in the area and called to see if any of them were accounting new patients. One wasn’t because he would be retiring soon but the rest were; however, they were all booked out until mid March, early April. So I said, “this probably explains why I haven’t gotten a call regarding my referral then?” The lady literally snickered and said yeah. I understand they’re booked out. Is it disappointing? Yes. But what I’m very upset about is the fact they haven’t even made an attempt to call and at least schedule me, even after I AND my doctor have made attempts to contact them regarding this. I find that completely unacceptable.

Fast forward to this past Monday. The pain was so excruciating I couldn’t take it anymore. I went to the ER. Waited 3 hours in the waiting room, by this time I was regretting even going, but they finally got me back into a room. Same song and dance as last March. Even saw the same practitioner. She ordered bloodwork and a ct scan. I already knew everything was going to come back ok. Just like last year. And everything did. Except I had some “haziness” toward the bottom of the scan. Whatever that means. She said I could “possibly” have a uti and wanted to prescribe an antibiotic. I’ve had UTIs in the past, I KNOW I don’t have one, but I decided to try the antibiotic anyway just in case this pain could still be some sort of infection.

By the time I was discharged the pharmacy was closed so I had to wait until Tuesday to pick the prescription up. It’s twice a day so I take it 6p and again at 6a. I took my 4th dose this morning. So far there has been no changes. Pain is still excruciating. No relief whatsoever.

Yesterday, my doctor’s office called to check in because they saw I had been to the ER Monday. I told them no, that the pain was horrible and I had not heard from the GI office and that I was literally at a loss of what to do. They were able to schedule me in today to see my doctor for 12:45. I am hoping by some miracle that we can figure something out. Nothing helps this pain. Pain medicine barely touches it. I cannot keep living like this. It’s affecting my quality of life so much. I just want to feel better.

[takeeachdayonebookatatime]

Why did you elbow me? 141

Achilles Castle part 46

Castle: pov I start on dinner we are having fish tacos. We headed out after we ate dinner. We are at the health food store. We arrived after Kate got off work.

Kate: pov Castle gets a cart and starts putting the stuff we usually get in the cart. They are giving out free samples of some food and drinks. I can't have it unless I know the ingredients and I still might not be able to have it. The nice lady asks if I want to sample any of the fruit drinks at the table. They look fruity. I ask what's in them, pointing to my chest. I tell her I have to be cautious. I have a heart condition. She asks if I was born with it. What I'm about to say is going to shock her. She probably won't have a reply or know what to say. Actually Senator Bracken hired someone to shoot me in the chest at my Captain's funeral because he was trying to hide the fact that he was a criminal that hired someone to kill my mother in 1999 and my Captain was involved. She definitely looks shocked by this info. By the way, I'm a police Captain now and was a detective at the time.

Bernice: pov Oh my, back to the drinks, is there anything specific you need to avoid? I know grapefruit and pomegranate mess with people's meds. Kate says caffeine is a big no and lately she can't have pineapple. The last time she ate it she broke out in an ugly rash. I find something she can have, Kate says it tastes amazing. Her husband is in a different aisle shopping.

Castle: pov i notice Kate picks out a few drinks and puts them in my cart attached to the motorized wheelchair. I found some new items Kate might want to try in the check out line. I pay for our groceries and Kate loads them in the car. We then head home, after unloading the groceries we have a snack.

Kate: pov today is the day of my appointment. I don't have work today and took off for the appointment. Castle is coming with me, I'm so nervous I couldn't sleep last night. I hop in the shower while Martha makes me oatmeal, she has been a real help since Castle was injured with my fatigue. I get tired easily. Castle is eating something else. I'm dressed in a cute black top and blue jeans. The ride to the Dr's office is short. In the waiting room all of the other ladies are pregnant, Castle can tell i'm struggling since i might not be able to have kids. He fills out the form for me.

Castle: pov it's only been a few minutes and her name has been called, in the back a nurse takes her height and weight. In the exam room she takes her vitals then leaves the room. The Dr arrives and introduces herself as Dr Mary Fields. After we introduce ourselves she tells us she read Kate's very big file.

Dr Mary Fields: pov your file said you were shot in the heart at a funeral in 2011, Captain Kate Beckett says yes my left chest. It was actually my Captain's funeral, she explains how her mother was murdered and everything leading up to her shooting. I just feel so bad for her, Kate's file mentioned she also has PTSD and has previously had a collapsed lung on the left side. Something I want to ask you about Kate, your file mentions you have a weak immune system.

Kate: pov yeah not sure how that came about my Dr's best guest is it's from my body having to work so hard, because of my heart or all the meds they gave me after my heart surgery. We talk about my scar tissue, she wants me to take my shirt off so she can listen to my lungs and heart. It opens in the front so I don't have to take it off

Dr Mary Fields: pov I knew her scar was going to be big but seeing it in person it's huge. It starts under her left breast on her chest and wraps around her side and ends near her backside. I have a few questions, any shortness of breath walking or exercising no, okay that is great any chest pain or tightness walking or exercising, no that's good to hear. I know your PTSD can trigger you to have a heart episode. Looks like she takes 3 meds for her heart condition, one is daily, the other one goes in her pod and the 3rd is an emergency injectable medicine.

Kate: pov we go over some more of my medical history and my recent MUGA scan. A nurse draws my blood. Dr Fields then examines me saying everything looks good down there.

Dr Mary Fields: pov If she were to get pregnant with her severe chest trauma she wouldn't be able to breastfeed. I tell Kate I would like to run a few tests to make sure everything is working and she can have children. Now that doesn't mean you can't get pregnant Kate, your health is important. Please be careful, I know sometimes even if you are careful things happen. If that is the case then we do everything possible to have a good outcome.

Castle: pov so are you saying it's not a good idea for Kate to get pregnant, the Dr actually says every case is different and we won't know how her heart will hold up with a pregnancy it puts a strain on your heart, there are risks involved if she wants to get pregnant. Like high risk for miscarriage, further damage to her heart, possible heart failure. Dr Fields mentions all 3 could happen or none will. We could always use a surrogate. It would be safer for Kate, Dr Fields says if Kate wants this she will do everything in her power to make it happen safely. Kate would have to sign a form saying I know the risk of getting pregnant and accept. She says to talk it over because this is a big decision.

Kate: pov in the car I start crying Castle says it's okay. No it's not you heard Dr Fields she doesn't think i should get pregnant. To be continued. ……..

[magniloquent-raven]

more trans billy fic! read my first two here and here (not necessary for context, but they are technically a series)

(cw: talk of past suicidal thoughts/suicide attempt)

~~

billy's never been with anyone who didn't ask about his scars.

if it wasn't their opening line—fake concerned bullshit, trying to get in his pants by pretending to care, it only worked on the days he was feeling especially low—it would always come up later. some people's idea of good pillow talk. like the fact that they'd stuck their dick in him meant they were entitled to his life story or something.

once, a guy made it a whole three weeks before he asked. he'd picked the dude up at a bar and kept around because he was good with his hands. then kicked him to the curb because he was shit at minding his own business.

everyone seems to think him wearing low-cut shirts that leave the twisting ropes of scar tissue over his heart on full display means they're allowed to pry.

everyone except steve.

they knew each other for months before they started dating, and he never brought it up. and now. he's seen all of billy's scars and he hasn't asked about a single one.

and billy's starting to wonder if he wants him to.

they're laying in bed together one morning, the sun streaming in through half-drawn blinds, dappled on the bedspread and lighting up the honey coloured highlights in steve's hair.

hair that's tickling billy's nose, but he can't bring himself to move. not when steve is so comfortably draped across his chest, breath warm against his collarbone, fingertips absently trailing up and down, caressing his side.

another first for billy, truth be told. he didn't date much before steve—wasn't really the boyfriend type—and the people he did date never did this. never wanted to just...exist together in an easy silence, sharing soft touches with no intent.

it should make him antsy, the stillness, the quiet, but he's found himself enjoying the lie-ins just as much as the mornings he coaxes steve awake with lazy kisses and a thigh pressed between his legs.

on really good days he gets both.

but today...today steve's lips trail down billy's chest, following the sunburst lines of scar tissue, and. billy stops him. with a hesitant hand on steve's shoulder. and steve looks up at him, a question in his wide brown eyes.

"you've never asked," he says after a moment, holding steve's gaze but shifting nervously.

"asked?...if you want to—oh god, did you not want me to—shit, billy, if you aren't in the mood you can just say so, i—" steve starts to pull away, scrambling, looking absolutely mortified, but billy shakes his head immediately and pulls steve back to his side wrapping his arms around his waist.

"not about that, jesus."

a relieved sigh ruffles his curls, and steve relaxes into his embrace, "alright, then...what?"

billy chews the inside of his cheek. "the scars, steve. you're not even a little curious?"

there's a pause. "what? i mean, i thought, uh...guys like you usually get, like, surgery right?"

"...you thought—" billy chokes on a strangled noise that's almost a laugh. "what, that i got my tits hacked off with a chainsaw or something?"

steve snorts against his shoulder, smushing his face further into the crook of billy's neck with a groan, "maybe? shut up. i dunno how it works, okay. didn't figure it was polite to ask." he shifts his weight around, wriggling into a position that lets him look at billy's face without detangling their limbs.

"ahh, country club etiquette, shoulda known." billy smirks at steve's eyeroll. "next time just ask, baby."

"okay." he worries at his bottom lip, brow furrowed, gaze darting between billy's face and his chest. he puts a hand over the worst of the scarring, palm flat over billy's sternum. "so..." his voice is soft, suddenly, hesitant, "what happened?"

he expects regret. irritation at himself. shame. he expects to feel himself closing off, second guessing his decision to invite the questions. but.

he covers steve's hand with his own. lets out a breath. lays there and feels nothing but the warmth of steve's body next to his, and a slight twist of trepidation in his gut.

"i was kind of. a fucked up teenager," he starts, and grimaces. "used to jump into any fight i could find. and when i was eighteen...i stumbled across...something. all i know is there was some little girl about to get kidnapped or worse, and i. well. i blacked out most of it, but. she got away. and i woke up in a hospital a few days later all..." he pauses, and gestures vaguely at his chest. "and there were all these people tellin' me it was a fuckin' miracle i survived, but..."

his blinks away the tears threatening to fall, turning from steve's wide-eyed concern, but steve puts a gentle hand on his cheek and guides him back. "but what?" he murmurs, brushing curls away from billy's face.

but he never wanted to wake up in the first place.

but every time someone told him what he did was brave he just got a little angrier, a little more bitter.

but no matter how much better staying at the hospital was, away from neil, away from max, always trying to be his sister, no matter how many times he told himself his life was better now, he still felt hollow and lonely and...

he's never talked about it. any of it. not with the shitty hospital-mandated therapist they assigned him when he was still bedridden. not with the psychiatrist he went to a few years later when he was trying to get prescribed testosterone. not with any of the friends he's made here.

he doesn't know why the hell he decided digging up this particular skeleton was a good idea now, but he can't exactly rebury it at this point.

steve's hand is warm and solid and his thumb keeps softly rubbing his cheekbone and making his heart flutter. and he supposes that's the why of it. love has made him an idiot.

he sighs. leans into steve's touch. "i hated it. all of it. there was this article in the local fucking paper and everything, about what i did, calling it heroic. and people constantly telling me i should be grateful to be alive but i didn't want to be." his breath catches in this throat, voice breaking, "i didn't save that kid to be a hero, i did it because i wanted to die."

steve makes a wounded noise, low in his throat. "billy..."

"i don't anymore," he says quietly. "i—it hasn't been that bad in a long time."

there's a moment. a pause. a silence that has billy holding his breath as steve watches him with a pinched frown, his eyes shining with unshed tears. and then he shifts, slips a leg over billy's and rolls on top of him, rustling the sheets and knocking the air from billy's lungs.

it takes billy a second to realize what's happening, that steve's buried his face in the crook of his neck again, but this time hugging him with his whole damn body.

"...steve?"

"m'sorry," he whispers, muffled and quiet, breath hot against billy's skin. "sorry i wasn't there."

billy's heart clenches. painfully, bittersweet, swooping like he's been dropped from a great height. he tightens his hold on steve's waist. "you're here now. and i'm okay." he pauses, and turns his face to rest his cheek against steve's dishevelled head. "better than okay."

steve hums. kisses his collarbone. slips his hands more securely under billy, wiggling til his palms are squished between billy's shoulder-blades and the rumpled sheets. "you're sure?"

"yeah, pretty boy. i'm good."

"...good enough to make me pancakes?"

billy snorts. "i can't when you're laying on top of me, steve."

"lies. i know you can lift me."

he snorts again, dissolving into helpless giggles that entirely ruin his ability to respond with a clever retort. steve lifts his head and meets his eye, smiling softly. he presses that smile to billy's mouth.

and they have their pancakes. later. much later.

[your-cryin-fool]

Married in Vegas

Pairing: Tom Petty x F! Reader

Request: I wish I had copied it down because unfortunately I do not remember it. But I would like to thank @run-down-that-dream​ for requesting it and for being so understanding that it took me until now to finish it

Word Count: ~1.6k

Warnings: Mentions of Tom smashing his hand while making Southern Accents 

Rating: T

Notes:  If you enjoyed this please lemme know! Just a like would be fine, but if you can comment or reblog, or even shoot me an ask about it I’d be so grateful! As much as I am writing this because it makes me happy, I also like to know how it’s being received by all of you! Thank you for reading!!

Tags: If anyone would like to be tagged in my fics please let me know :)

Going on tour with Tom and the band wasn't anything new to you, you'd been with them on their previous tours, but this one seemed risky to say the least. It hadn't been long since Tom had recovered from shattering his hand, though you worried that going out on tour right away would mess something up, but when he assured you he would be okay, you believed him.

You sat next to him on the tour bus, he had his arm around you, your head was turned so you could look out the window and watch the dusty horizon, and he idly twirled strands of your hair.

"You okay?" He asked after a noticeable silence grew. "Seem awful quiet."

"Hm?" You turned to look at him, "Sorry I was zoning out a bit. I'm alright, though."

"Just makin' sure," he smiled then kissed your forehead.

"Be nice to get out of this bus though, I need to stretch my legs."

"Shouldn't be too much longer. You wanna take a walk when we get there?"

"Yeah I'd like that."

He moved his hand from off of your shoulder and held yours instead. You smiled and leaned against him, gently stroking his hand with your thumb. 

You eyed the thin pink line running down the back of his hand, and as you stared you remembered the circumstances that resulted in that scar. Mike calling you from the hospital telling you not to worry while Tom waited for an x-ray. And of course Tom telling you it wasn't a big deal when you burst into the waiting room looking for him. Then, what you remembered most of all and what you never wanted to see again, the pain in Tom's eyes. Not just pain from the injury, but pain from the doctor telling him that they could fix his hand but he may never play guitar again. Pain he hid behind a smart-ass comment. He didn't accept the possibility, you recalled him saying 'Fuck that' and you knew then that he was determined to prove the doctor wrong, and he did.  

"(Y/N)?" 

You snapped out of the memory, "Hm?"

"I was wondering if I could ask you something." Tom's voice was quiet, shy. Not a tone you were used to hearing when it wasn't just the two of you.

"What's up?" 

Just as he was about to speak, the bus stopped. 

He fumbled, almost as if he was counting on the engine to muffle whatever he was going to say.

"Well it's just--"

"C'mon lovebirds, we're here!" Mike beckoned the two of you as the band headed toward the exit.

"Guess I'll ask you later." He sighed, but a smile stayed plastered on his face as he got up from his seat, and helped you up after.

You stumbled slightly as your legs woke up, but Tom just held you tighter to stop you from losing your balance. You smiled at him, then headed toward the exit. When you stepped out you immediately felt the contrast between the nice cool bus to the dry desert heat, but it was only temporary as you headed into the hotel shortly after. 

Once you'd checked in, everyone went up to their rooms to rest from the drive. Your mind was preoccupied on what Tom could have possibly wanted to talk to you about on the bus, to a point where you didn't even notice him leave the room. 

Was it something bad? Had you done something? No, Tom would have told you then and there if there was something wrong between the two of you. Neither of you really believed in going anywhere angry, so if you'd fight, you'd always be quick to make up. And there was a lot of fighting when he was in recovery. 

His frustration with not being able to play anything or do anything, and your inability to help him. To say your tempers and stubbornness would clash was somewhat of an understatement. You knew neither of you meant anything you said, but you still said it, and you both would always apologize as soon as you realized you had said something that hurt the other. 

In all the years you had been with Tom, that was probably your most difficult time as a couple, but through patience and understanding, and beyond all things, love, you got past it.

"Hey, you ready?" Tom asked you after he had come back in, once again snapping you out of your thoughts.

You nodded and took his outstretched hand, then once again headed out into the arid city air.

The two of you walked hand-in-hand along the strip, pointing out the fun looking buildings and funny signs and taking pictures in front of them. 

It wasn't very often that he could go out while he was on tour, but one good thing about Las Vegas was that everyone there was too preoccupied with sight-seeing to pay attention to who was standing in front of them. It was a nice break. 

"So," you began, "What were you going to say on the bus?" 

He rubbed the back of his neck, "Oh right, well I…" 

You couldn't help but think that he seemed nervous.

"It's just that you mean the world to me, you know that?"

You laughed, "I had a hunch."

After a pause, you continued. "Was that what you wanted to say earlier?"

He shrugged, "It's part of it."

"You gonna tell the rest?"

He laughed, "I might." 

The two of you continued walking, and eventually he spoke again.

"What would you say Vegas is pretty known for?"

You looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "I don't know, casinos?"

"Yeah, but anything else?"

"Strip clubs, tourism, cocaine... wedding chapels."

"Right..."

He stopped suddenly and you looked at him. "Is this still about what you were gonna tell me on the bus?"

"Sort of." He pointed up at the sign on the building you stopped in front of.

You looked up to read it, then looked back at him.

"Wait are you-?"

"Do you want to?" 

You grabbed his face and kissed his lips. "Let's go." 

The two of you walked in and were greeted, not only by someone dressed as Elvis at the end of the aisle, but the rest of the band waiting for you.

"Are you kidding me?" You asked him, "You set this up?" 

"Well, I figured we might as well." He grinned.

"And if I said no?"

"Then I'd be pretty embarrassed I guess. Good thing you didn't."

You stood hand in hand at the altar, listening as Elvis spoke to you about what you were agreeing to, and then Tom asked to say a few words. 

"(Y/N), you helped me through one of the hardest times in my life. Having to go through surgery and relearning to play, I don’t know if I'd have ever been able to do that on my own. I know I probably wasn't much fun to be around, but you stayed by my side the whole time. Without you, who knows what I would have done, maybe I'd have done what the doctors said and stopped playing. But you believed in me, you've always believed in me. And I wanna return the favour, I promise to be there for you when you need someone by your side," he chuckled quietly, "And even when you say you don't. I know you're strong, but you don't have to do everything alone. I'll always be in your corner, I'll always believe in you, and most of all, I'll always love you."

You were fighting back tears, you thought this was a spur of the moment decision, something brought up just because you were going to be here, but he was speaking like he had it written down long in advance. As you dabbed at your eyes with a tissue, he pulled out a small box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a ring you recognized.

"Wasn't that your mom's ring?"

"She loved you, she would've wanted you to have it." He smiled.

The tears you were fighting back almost came out right then and there. You knew how much his mother meant to him, and you knew how heartbroken he was when she had passed away. So for him to give you a ring with such importance to him meant everything to you.

"But how... Did you plan all of this?"

"The guy dressed as Elvis is a surprise." He shrugged then slid the ring on your finger. 

Soon, the two of you said your 'I Do's' and Elvis declared you married. 

You kissed Tom and the guys cheered from the audience, and without really having a plan to do so, you'd just married the love of your life. 

––– 

That evening, you laid in the bed with Tom, tangled up in a cuddle.

"So, we're married," Tom said, a smile growing on his face.

"Apparently." You wiggled your ring finger and smiled.

"Can I talk about it at the show?"

"What, like, tell the whole world now?"

"Not the whole world, just a couple thousand people."

"And the press."

He frowned, "So that's a no?"

"It's a 'not yet', you know my parents, they'd kill me, well they'd kill you, if they found out we got married in Vegas."

"Yeah, I didn't really think of that. My folks would've probably been a little pissed too." He shrugged and his smile returned. "You know what that means, right?"

"What?"

"Means that we have to get married again, just not in Vegas. I'd rather not be killed because I couldn't wait."

"Well, if it spares your life, I guess I can agree to that." 

He pulled you close to him, "I'm glad that I'll get to call you my wife, even if no one knows."

"Well, the two of us know, and the boys."

"And Elvis!"

You yawned. "Right, can't forget Elvis." 

He kissed your forehead, and smiled at you, "Goodnight, Mrs. Petty." 

Just as you were about to drift off to sleep, he spoke up again.

"Can I tell the crowd I proposed?"

You laughed sleepily, "Sure." 

[kirankickskancer]

DMX

Funny story guys - remember how I said it felt too good to be true that I was getting off easy with a lumpectomy? Turns out it was too good to be true. Tomorrow morning at 6am I am heading in for a double mastectomy (DMX) and an axillary lymph node dissection (ALND.) Like the character in the movie Saw, I have to make a choice between my life or my body part. At my post-lumpectomy visit with Dr. Cody, he explained with his trademark diagrams on the back of the pathology report how my margins were not clean. Lots of the bubbles he drew around a breast silhouette (that looked nothing like mine) had question marks and one had a big fat cross. Then he sent me up to radiology to get magnified mammograms to prove his point. This just felt like a cruel joke - getting a mammogram on a healthy breast is bad enough, but getting one on a breast that has just been split from armpit to nipple and sewn up again two weeks ago, was pure torture. A fellow survivor on my Facebook group likened it to running over a dead animal (this is why I love these ladies - that made me LOL!)

Dr. Cody’s verdict after seeing the mammogram was that even he, the famous breast conservationist from MSK, recommended a mastectomy. Even if he got the positive margins, there would still be too many far-spread calcifications left behind. (Hello Doc, the calcifications were there since the beginning, so then why did you suggest a lumpectomy?)

I was feeling less than confident with the whole staff at MSK - swanky hospital, efficient service, top notch research but the personal touch was lacking. At my post-lumpectomy visit, I was not asked how I was feeling or the range of motion in my arm. I didn’t even realize I had developed cording, which affects a quarter of all breast cancer surgical patients and is a result of scar tissue developing under the arm where the lymph nodes are removed. A simple exam on their part would have proved that I couldn't stretch my arm above my head or reach out to pick up something without pain, which are symptoms of cording. If it wasn't for my groups, I wouldn’t even have known what I was experiencing or how to make it better (PT, massage, heat and stretches to increase range of motion.)

Feeling disillusioned with my doctor, and upon the advice of my oncologist brother-in-law, I got a second opinion from the surgeon who practises in Hartford. Dr. Niamey Wilson came highly recommended by my beloved oncologist Dr. DeFusco who was in charge of my chemo treatments all summer. I had met with her over the summer when we were going back and forth between having the surgery in NYC or CT. We finally settled on NYC because MSK had the best technical capabilities including frozen section and so I could be near the kids during their school year in NYC. Dr. Wilson agreed that mastectomy is the way to go. She also thought that more nodes should be removed in addition to the 2 sentinel nodes removed by Dr. Cody.

At this point I had way too many decisions to make - Single mastectomy or double? Reconstruction or not? Sentinel nodes or Axillary node removal? New York or Avon, CT? After soul-searching for a week, long walks in Central Park and conversations with other survivors (Thanks Laura, Anu, Deb) I finally decided: Double, because I don’t want to look like Dr. Wendy Sage from The Simpsons (much as I admire all single-breasted women.) Flat, because I would rather have no boobs than fake boobs that have no sensation. Axillary node removal because cancer is a sneaky fucker and I will play hard (even if it means I have to wear a lymphedema compression sleeve 12 hours a day) - I tried to get away easy and it didn’t work so I will give it all I have this time around to make sure I win. Avon, because I need the mental and physical space to recover and even though it feels selfish to think of myself first, it is what my kids need from me in the long run.

So, here I sit, in my big empty house in Avon, with all the space I need and crave, to come to terms with my loss. I grieve for the body I have to give up, and look forward to the new person that will emerge after the scars and the trauma has healed. I ask myself Why me? And the answer comes to me: Why not me? This is my path to tread. I am not brave, I am not a warrior, I am just a woman taking one more step forward because that is all we can ever do.

[mcu-fan-fics-blog]

The Helping Hand

This is a Repost from my Ao3 I wanted to bring it to Tumblr. As I was editing the last chapter I decided to go a different direction than on Ao3. So moving forward the story will be different.

Word Count: 2200 approx

Summary: Y/N Krast Illegitimate Daughter of Tony Stark. Product of an unwanted teen pregnancy. What would Howard Stark be capable of doing to assure his sons future? What will happen when Tony meets our Beautiful, young, genius, rich philanthropist.

Tw: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Drug use, Drug addiction, Teen Pregnancy, Slight Stalking. (If there are any I missed please tell me.)

Ch.6

Chapter 7: Time is Running

Ch.8

The pain is unbearable and the bright light just isn't helping. You start to see shadowy figures around you, you close your eyes again trying to focus. You feel cold, then suddenly a hand in your own. You turn to see who it belongs to, you're slightly surprised to see Tony there holding your hand. He stands when he realizes you've woken up. He's saying something but you can't quite put it together.

"What-what happened to me?" Your voice is dry and hoarse. Suddenly Bruce is at your side as well. "Well, that's what we want to know Y/N." You look at them confused. "I-i don't know what this is, but it's happened before…" They both look at you intrigued, prompting you to continue. "When I was little I was really sick in and out of the hospital. Until one day it got very bad, long story short I had heart surgery." Still not getting the point you continue. 

"And I had this dream, it felt exactly like this. My mom was there…" You say to finish your statement. "Your mom?" Tony repeats walking towards you. You simply nod. "What did she tell you… anything important?" He asks rather impatiently. "She's dead… my- my dad he's alive." You say quietly like you didn't want to believe it. Tony and Bruce share a look, but you don't mention it. "I don't know what happened." You sigh again "Did you check my Heart?" Your question seems to knock them out of their daze. 

"No we didn't, your vitals were stable… Um, do you want me to?" You nod. "It's for the best, considering what happened last time." He begins to walk out “Bruce I would appreciate your discretion on the matter. No need to worry the team.” He hesitates but ultimately agrees. You watch him walk out and turn to Tony. “I’m going to ask that you do the same.” He goes to speak but you stop him before he can start. “Tony, please I don't need their pity, and therefore mentioned yours.” He sighs in hindsight he should have told them but he didn’t and you appreciated him for it.

The next couple of hours Bruce spent running tests on you. You knew something was wrong when he decided to re-test for “better images”. Just as he’s about to walk away and run the said test for the third time you stop him. “What’d you find Bruce, be honest with me running the damn test again won’t change the results.” He rubs the bridge of his nose and sighs. “It just doesn’t make scene Y/n, earlier when I ran these tests everything was fine, and now your results are all over the place.” He gives you a worried look. “When Wanda tried to look into your mind she said you were blocked off she couldn’t get through the barrier. I think It was keeping you stable Y/n.” 

“So you’re saying that whatever is happening to me Is keeping me alive?” He nods and builds on his theory. “It’s like a survival instinct it kicks in when you’re in danger.” You scoff and rub your hands together. “More like imminent death, show me my heart scans.” He walks off and hands them to you. “Oh, fuck me. That’s bad isn’t it?” He nods. “The surgery you had did not fix the initial heart issue you had, It actually got worse with time.” 

You close your eyes trying to calm your thoughts. “What does this mean Bruce can we do something?” He sighs “You’re gonna want to talk to Tony about this, Maybe he can do something with the arc reactor. Maybe Vision could help us; he won’t tell anyone.” He adds quickly at the end. “Y/n they need to know about this…” You cut him off  “No, Vision, Tony, and you need to know about this. There isn’t anything the rest of the team can do.” You stand from the examination table and clothe yourself. Bruce didn’t want to look but curiosity took over. “Y/n where’d you get those?” he asks quietly looking at the scars on our back. “Bruce the Foster Care System is fucked.” you say while putting your shirt on. “Do-do you want to find your father?” He asked another question this time you freeze in place. 

“Bruce, thin ice bud.” You say walking away. As soon as you walk out you see the team sitting in the common room. “Steve, Pietro, Nat, Wanda I owe you all an explanation…” When you try to continue Natasha stops you. “Y/n you owe us nothing, when you’re ready to talk we’ll be here waiting.” she says casually. You look around the room and everyone is agreeing which is odd. Something is going on, they know something you don't, you look at Steve, his eyes immediately shift away from yours. “You are all terrible liars.” You state bluntly, them being closed off huddling together after all the “we’re a family, we’ll be here” crap just makes you less inclined to ever open up to them. 

“Vision, Tony and Banner want to talk to you.” You say changing your attention to the synthezoid currently floating in the corner of the room. He simply nods and phases through a wall. You stare blankly at the wall, a ‘that’s new’ leaving your lips. Not minding the rest of the team behind you, you leave them there heading back to the lab. "Right have you gotten Vision onboard." He simply nods. "Y/n I have to ask your heart since when has that been going on." Vision asks and you nod "When I was dropped off at the hospital as a baby I had minor non invasive surgeries, later on I got this bad boy." You point out lifting your shirt to reveal a rather large scar. 

"Y/n would you mind if I accessed your medical files." You ceded "It's fine do what you must. Bruce? Um thanks for all of this... What's your estimate?" You ask quickly he almost didn't catch it. "Y/n you don't need to know that." Your anger rising "The hell I do Banner. Look I don't have my affairs in order. I need you to tell me whether or not I should get started on that. Or I could just ask Vision." He shakes his head. "At the deterioration rate your heart tissues are in I'd say 4,5 months." That takes you by surprise and it takes you a moment to process. You look up at him, your smile faltering, you nod and head out of the lab.

Surprisingly a certain red head was waiting for you outside the lab. You walk up to her "Do you want to go get that dinner you promised?" She's surprised by your sudden invitation, but you don't back down. "I would love to." You nod. She clears her throat "so what's actually going on with you?" She tries to ask casually but ultimately fails. "I won't ask about your little secret and you won't ask about my little episode. Sound good? I just want to enjoy the night." She nods and you both make your way to the elevator. The walk to the restaurant was pleasant. “So tell me Y/n how’d you become the billionaire you are today?” You laugh at her phrasing no one’s ever asked you that. “I wouldn't paint myself in that light but I guess I am a billionaire, but I’m smart.” She scoffs “So, Tony’s also smart, tell me something I don't already know.” 

“Fine, let me think… I had Howard that's how I did all of this I guess if it wasn't for him I would probably be on the streets.” She stops walking. “Another fun fact, that for my 12th birthday he gave me my first Million Euros.” She tilted her head. “Why Euros you may be asking yourself? He said  ‘Y/n anyone can give you money, but I, I got you the best money there is.” Natasha broke out in laughter. “So Howard was rich, that must have been like culture shock.” You nod. “Well It should have been, but when your bestfriend gets a private island for her birthday your expectations change.” You mention casually. “Who is this best friend of yours?” She asks curiously. “Remember when we ‘met’ the coffee place? My friend Jenna owns the place.” 

“What is she doing working at a Coffee shop?” She asks Intrigued. “Well, her family comes from old money. And something that usually comes with old money is strings. So she cut herself off.” Nat shakes her head. “That must’ve been hard.” You nod. “It was but by then I had my own money I could help her out when she really needed it.” You stop abruptly and turn to nat. “I can't believe I almost forgot, there's this place that has the best grilled cheese I’ve ever had!” You basically drag her down the street to the food truck. “Thank God! It's still here.” You exclaim trying to catch your breath. 

“See, I was thinking candlelit, waiters and wine!” She mentions jokingly you give her a playful glare and proceed to order. “You see I’m not the wine and dine type of Girl.” she chuckles “I’m beginning to see that.” You take the first bite and it’s like heaven on earth. “It’s still as good as I remember.” You say in between bites. Natasha can only nod “You know you eat like a child right?” you fain being offended “Nat I’ll have you know I have the most refined palate. You can't tell me It’s not good. ”She hums taking another bite of her grilled cheese. “I never said it was bad Y/n.” She teases. Her eyes met yours and for a moment it felt like it was just you and her. When suddenly the world your eyes have created is brought to an abrupt stop.

“Y/n is that you?” fuck… “It’s me Zack from last night.” How can this keep getting worse. You turn your head towards Zack meeting his gaze. “Yeah, I remember you. My new favorite barista, thanks for helping me out yesterday.” You say plastering on the most artificial smile you could. “You like Doc’s too, I used to come here as a kid with my parents.” Your demeanor falters at the mention of his parents. “Yeah, It's my favorite. It was nice to see you Zack, but we gotta go see you around.” You take hold of Nat's hand and walk away from him. Once you're a safe distance away you let go and finally notice that you're breathing is of the charts. “Sorry that guy just creeps me out.” You say while catching your breath. “You could’ve fooled me. Your favorite barista?”

“Nat? Are you jealous… Cause if you are.” You stop talking when you notice her glaring at you. “He’s not my favorite barista far from it. Who would’ve thought an international spy Jealous.” She scoffs “I think you’re getting ahead of yourself Y/n. We haven't even gone out.” Now it's your turn to laugh “We haven't? Then what is this we’re doing?” The words in Natasha's mouth go away. She's left there opening and closing her mouth. "Right, now how about you pick dessert?" You say changing the subject. She nods "How does Ice cream sound, I know a really good place around here."

"That sounds Perfect." You hum as you start walking. "You know Zack, he's a horrible person. He's not in my good graces I guess is what I'm trying to get at." You mumble. She turns to you with a worried look. "Y/n are you okay? We can go back if you're not feeling well." She states taking hold of your shoulder. "No I'm okay I just wanted to clear the air." She nods and you continue walking. Once you make it to the ice cream shop you order and sit in a both. "So Y/n If you don't like Zack why pretend?" She asks "To put it simply he doesn't remember who I am hence what he did to me." 

"What are you planning to do with this guy then?" She continues down the same road. "Nothing… It's not my priority right now." You say taking another bite of your ice cream. "So Natasha tell me about you. Yes, I know it might be surprising you might have picked up on how I like to make things about me. It's your turn now tell me something I don't know." You say and she chuckles. "I was beginning to think you'd never ask." She teases. "Well I'm Russian. I was trained to be the best assassin there is and I was until Barton recruited me." You nod. 

"See we've already got something in common. You have Clint I had Howard." She laughs at the fact that you completely flew over the International Assassin part. "I would like to do this again some time… of course if you want to too I mean." You go on. "Nat, are you listening to me?" You notice her eyes looking elsewhere. "Y/n he followed us here." You almost drop your ice cream. "He what?" She takes your hand. "Zack creepy guy followed us here. I'm starting to think he does remember you." 

[hale-13]

Trapezius

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 27 Prompt 27 - Injured

Peter gazed out over the harbor forlornly, twisting his mask into knots in his lap. Normally he would really enjoy the view – the sun was setting in a clear sky turning the normally disgusting water a soft orange and painting the area with a soft warmth. The peaceful view was marred by the emergency vehicles, Coastguard boats and police and news helicopters which made Peter’s gut clench with anxiety. He just… he tried so hard.

Words: 2123, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, May Parker, Helen Cho

TW: Injury, Poor Emotional intelligence

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

Peter gazed out over the harbor forlornly, twisting his mask into knots in his lap. Normally he would really enjoy the view – the sun was setting in a clear sky turning the normally disgusting water a soft orange and painting the area with a soft warmth. The peaceful view was marred by the emergency vehicles, Coastguard boats and police and news helicopters which made Peter’s gut clench with anxiety. He just… he tried so hard.

The sound of repulsers approaching made Peter tense and he mentally put his walls back up. He couldn’t afford to let Mr. Stark see him as a kid right now. They were colleges when he was Spider-Man, peers. He took a deep breath and held it for a moment before letting it puff out through his clenched teeth.

“Previously on Peter screws the pooch I tell you to stay away from this instead you hack a multi-million dollar suit so you can sneak around behind my back doing the one thing I told you not to do,” Mr. Stark’s sarcastic voice said and Peter held back a flinch, keeping his expression blank as he cautiously looked back over his shoulder. His back was killing him and felt hot and swollen from his Hercules hold of the ferry earlier – he had definitely felt something tear – but he couldn’t afford the weakness right now.

“Is everyone okay?” He asked instead, keeping his voice monotone and trying not to tense his back.

“No thanks to you,” the Iron Man voice made Mr. Stark’s snide tone sound slightly metallic but, more than that, it made his blood boil and he whipped around to face the man.

“No thanks to me?” He took no precautions as he lifted his lefts over they side of the concrete tower and jumped down on the other side making his shoulders throb. “Those weapons were out there and I tried to tell you about it and you didn’t listen. None of this would have happened if you had just listened to me!” His voice broke and he could feel blood rushing to his face but he did his best to push down the embarrassment. “If you even cared you’d actually be here.” He threw in boldly.

It took him by surprise, therefore, when the armor opened in from of him and Tony Stark stepped out, a grim look of disappointment on his face that made Peter stumble back a could steps, unable to hide his wince of pain but playing it off as shock instead. “I did listen kid. Who do you think called the FBI huh?”

Peter dropped his gaze, unable to make further eye contact, only interrupting to correct his age and flinching again at Mr. Stark’s yelling. “I’m sorry,” he stammered, but he could tell the platitudes were only making his idol angrier so he said instead, with the most sincerity he could push into his tone “I just… I just wanted to be like you.”

“And I wanted you to be better,” Mr. Stark said back in a weary voice before asking for the suit back. Peter heart sank further but he got it. Mr. Stark was right – he didn’t deserve to be Spider-Man if all he did was hurt other people.

The car ride back to his apartment in Queens was silent and awkward, broken only by Mr. Stark and Happy leaving the car and throwing his a pair of hideous Hello Kitty pajama pants and an oversized New York tourist shirt. It took more effort than he would care to admit to slip the suit off of his painful muscles and lift his arms up high enough to pull the shirt on but he managed it.

Happy slipped back into the driver’s seat a moment later and raised the partition but Mr. Stark didn’t return as they pulled away from the curb and Peter’s heart sank further when he realized the man had probably taken the armor back to the Tower because he couldn’t bear to be in the car with Peter another minute. His eyes were burning but he refused to cry here – he’d already proven to be a problem and he wasn’t going to cry about his well deserved punishment.

The car stopped in front of his apartment and the locks on the doors popped but Happy didn’t roll down to partition to talk to him or offer any direction so, without a backward glance as his poorly folded suit, Peter slunk out of the car and upstairs.

May was not happy with him for skipping school and not answering his phone and, with the pain of his torn muscles ratcheting up and the emotional trauma of the day weighing down on him he collapsed onto the couch and tearfully confessed to his aunt that he had lost his internship, wanting to bring his arms up to return her tender hug but physically unable to do so. His only relief was that she directed him to take a shower pretty immediately because he smelled like garbage,.

And, yeah, he probably did.

The piss poor water pressure of their dingy shower was actually a blessing today but Peter could still barely stand with his back facing the hottest water possible hoping that the heat would relieve some of his pain but he was still just as painful when he forwent his sleep shirt a few minutes later.

He healed fast. This was fine – it would all be resolved in a few days.

———————————————

“Fuck,” Peter muttered, keeping his right arm tucked close to his stomach as he wrestled with the leukotape he had bought at the pharmacy. It kept sticking to itself and the wall and his hair and basically everywhere but where he was trying to stick it and Peter groaned, balling the piece up and throwing it away.

It had been a few months since dealing with the Vulture. A few months since turning down Mr. Stark’s offer to be an Avenger but accepting his offer to become his personal intern and Peter couldn’t be happier.

Well. Except for his shoulder that is.

His left arm had healed fully after straining his muscles holding the ferry together but his right had just gotten worse and worse and it was interfering with his ability to not only be Spider-Man but also to just perform everyday tasks. He hadn’t been able to lift much with that side or even put on a shirt normally in weeks and it was starting to grate on his nerves. After spending hours watching videos on YouTube Peter decided to try some strengthening exercises and taping.

Neither was working very well.

“Fuck,” he said again, with feeling, as he bent forward at the waist to rest his head on the cool counter top of his bathroom. He was supposed to get picked up by Happy in a few minutes to go and spend the weekend at the Tower with Tony to work on his suit and there was no way he could hide this anymore. He couldn’t even lift his arm up to chest level. His phone vibrated on the counter top and he moaned, answering it without looking at the caller ID. “Hey Happy.”

“Nope, guess again,” his mentor’s voice said and Peter jerked up, letting out a strangled grunt as he jostled his shoulder. “You okay kid?”

“Why are you calling me?” Peter said instead, deflecting.

“I’m picking you up,” Tony said. “Now are you okay?”

Peter waffled for a minute but one look at his duffle bag made him ache and he let out a sigh. “Not… really I guess.”

“What’s wrong?” His mentor’s voice was sharp and he could hear the sound of his seatbelt smacking the window of his car and the door opening and closing as Tony got out of the car.

“It’s not a big deal,” Peter said, going to the front door and unlocking and opening it just as Tony left the elevator, they made eye contact and hung up their phones.

“Well you look to be in one piece and there’s no blood everywhere,” Tony said as he joined Peter in the living room of his apartment and looked him over. “So what’s going on kiddo?”

Peter nibbled on his bottom lip and gripped his right hand into his shirt tightly for just a second before releasing it. “Remember the ferry?”

Mr. Stark was silent and attentive as he listened to Peter ramble and sighed deeply at the end of his story, reaching one hand up to massage his eyes. “You really don’t half-ass anything do you?”

“Do you actually want me to answer that?” Peter asked confused and his mentor rolled his eyes, grabbing Peter’s bag from where it was resting in the hallway.

“Come on then, you have a date with Dr. Cho and the MedBay.” Peter whined but didn’t overly protest when he was directed out of the apartment and down to where Mr. Stark had illegally parked in the fire lane in front of his building.

It was just some muscle straining right? A week or two of meds and resting it and everything would be okay.

“Well its not a strain,” Dr. Cho told him just over an hour later looking at the images of his radiographs and MRI on a holotable. “You’ve torn your rotator cuff and continually re-injured it to the point that its basically just a mass of scar tissue.”

“Oh…” Peter said, a little dazed from the small dose of painkillers he had been given so that they would be able to manipulate his arm for the images. “What does that mean?”

Helen gave him the same disapproving look she had been giving him since she had taken his history and had learned that he had been putting massive amounts of pressure and g-force on an injury that he had never allowed to fully heal. “It means Peter,” she said firmly shutting down the table, “that you’ll need surgery to repair the tear and clean out all the scar tissue. And you’ll need to give it time to heal and go to physical therapy if you plan to ever use your arm to its fullest extent ever again.”

Peter’s mind went a little blank at that. “Surgery?” He asked, a note of panic creeping into his voice. “But Spider-Man–,”

“Will be taking a break,” Tony told him. “Your health always comes first Peter.” He turned his attention back to Dr. Cho. “Can you tell his aunt all of this later? Also when can we do the surgery.”

“I’ve already got him scheduled for tomorrow morning with a specialist I’m bringing in from NYU,” she said. “And of course! Just let me know when she gets here.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Peter groused from his spot on the exam bed but both adults ignored him and he rolled his eyes. “What if I don’t want surgery?”

“Then you’ll be dealing with chronic pain, pion and needles, weakness and continuous tearing for the rest of your life and you’ll need a shoulder replacement in less than fifteen years at the rate your going,” Dr. Cho said, typing notes into his chart. “So I’ll see you in the morning for the surgery.”

Peter glared at her but, at the twinge in his arm when he adjusted in his seat, he grumbled “fine”.

“It won’t be that bad Underoos,” Tony said later as they sat on the ridiculously large couch in the penthouse living room watching Brooklyn 99 while May spoke with Peter’s medical team. “You get to skip school for the next week while you recover and I bribed Bob Igor to give me the next season of the Mandolorian early for us to binge.”

“But…” Peter gnawed at his lip, hating the taste of blood that filled his mouth as he broke open the tender skin again. “What if this doesn’t fix it?”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Tony said with a smile. “Cho is the forefront in development in regeneration. If anyone can fix you it’ll be her. And May and I will be there the whole time. You have nothing to worry about okay?”

“You’ll be there?” Peter said, fiddling with a loose thread on his shirt and refusing to look up at his mentor.

“Of course I’ll be there!” Tony said warmly with a squeeze to his good shoulder. “You’re my favorite intern.” He teased.

“Thanks Mr. Stark,” Peter said sincerely, reading the unsaid bit and relaxing a little back in the couch. Between his pain meds and his full stomach he could feel his eyelids drooping and he decided to relax more fully into Tony’s side – there was no where he felt safer.

[detransexual]

Im struggling with femininity at this point in my detransition. I have so many thoughts about it, ill try to not go on forever but bear with me.

I know i dont have to be 100% gender non conforming, i know a long flowy dress in summer isnt exactly anti feminist, but it certainly isnt rejecting the ideals that are already in place either. I dont like wearing makeup, it fucks with my perception of myself, but being able to cover up the ever present shadow of facial hair is really relieving. I dont like wearing bras, but a very slightly cupped/padded sportsbra makes a (surprisingly) big difference in making me look like a flatchested woman rather than a dude. I dont like the concept of plastic surgery or surgery in general, but i would love to look more normal even without prosthetics or just a bra, i would to look a little closer to what i should have been like. I miss them the most in the context of sex, and it makes me sad that i always bound and hid them from my girlfriends rather than allow my whole body to be loved and seen as acceptable. Even though im happier about my chest now than i was pre surgery, i wish it had just been a reduction, scars (even of the size i have now) wouldnt be nearly as painful a reminder than the (almost, there's still like, a little more breast tissue than a bio male with my body weight/muscle/fat ratio would have? ) complete lack of tissue.

There are things im happy about, and i was actually a bit sad to notice my body hair has gotten lighter and that my clitoris is not as sensitive or quite as "full"/big as it was on T, because im still really happy about those changes, they've both made me feel MORE comfortable as a woman and in my body.

I dont think id dislike my voice as much if people, particularly (or perhaps exclusively?) other women, still recognised me as a woman with it. Its not a bad voice, its just not really mine, and its not a voice i can freely use without thought or consequence. my voice was already quite deep, especially if i wanted it to be, so it would have been better as it was.

There's still a lot that i dont know where i stand, and since ive always been unsure of who i am and shit, and since ive been so certain in things i was wrong about, its hard to commit, its scary. Both permanent changes and coming out again are very distant, both because i need time and because it takes time to get help again.

But all of this is making me struggle with femininity, it makes it easier to pass, and in turn not be reminded of the whole ordeal, although it also makes me more focused on it, which is probably gonna turn out just as harmful as when i was focusing on the opposite in my original transition.

I dont want to buy into exploitative and objectifying behavioirs, but i feel very very isolated and alienated from other women, something ive felt since i was very, very small, but this is different.

Feeling alienated as a kid was rough, and i desperately clung to what was expected of me, trying to fit in, trying to make myself "right", and ofcourse it was painful, but it was more internal than external.

During my trans-identified years, the alienation became explainable, and being alienated from other girls and women felt like a given, ofcourse thats how it was supposed to be since i was a boy! And i didnt feel trult alienated from boys until i was in my late teens and early 20s living stealth, and suddenly i had to pretend to be someone else in order to fit in. there was a huge difference between being the tomboy friend and actually being "one of the boys". You hear and see very different things when they dont think there's any girls or women around.

But after realising i neither could nor wanted to fit in with men, i gradually realised i was no longer just feeling alienated from other women, but i actually was. Its hard to connect with other women, make friends or exist in female spaces when you're no longer seen as a woman if you open your mouth, and i know thats nothing that overt femininity would change, but i honestly dont know how else to "compensate".

Meeting other detrans women has been wonderful, and i definitely wish i knew more gnc and butch women, but i just cant seem to find any in real life, ive yet to find any real women's spaces that arent "for women and anyone who doesnt identify as a cis-man :)".

I dont want to have to be feminine to be seen as a woman, i dont want to reinforce to myself or others that womanhood=femininity, i dont want to reinforce or portray detransition as meaning becoming genderconforming or like "accepting" and falling into stereotypes or "becoming a REAL woman" through femininity and gender roles. I dont want that, but i dont know how to balance what i want for myself with what would make my own existence less painful and what i think is "right".

I want to be able to be a visbly gender non conforming WOMAN rather than being seen as a gender conforming man, but being a gender conforming woman often makes ne appear and sometimes feel more like a gender non conforming man anyway. I dont know how to balance it all, and im torn between wanting to be a boghag and wanting to perform excessive femininity.

[this-is-my-main-i-follow-from]

I already wrote this post, but I’m coming backk up to the top to put a cut bc it’s p long.

my brother is singing falsettos out loud & I’ve already had a stressful day bc I’ve done nothing (lack of structure & lack of productivity gives me really bad anxiety) & he’s either singing out of key & out of time, or it just sounds really bad without the music. He’s the only one who can hear the music bc HeadPhones. & also the falsettos is probably really bad for my mom bc she’s mad that dad left her, esp bc the house is a mess & stressing her out & she needs to go grocery shopping & he used to do that “but now he doesn’t because he stopped loving [her]”, so my bro singing fucking falsettos is really bad. I can’t cook supper bc I don’t have a recipe & the stuff is still frozen & idk what kind of dough I should make & besides the kitchen is a mess & he won’t fucking clean it. I mean it’s also partially my fault bc I’m a lazy adhd mofo, but it’s his job today & my job to cook. I need to get into the kitchen & cook before mom & my OTHER brother get home from shopping but I can’t bc he’s just drawing & singing & the singing is so annoying- I was trying to listen to a thing but I couldn’t fricking hear it bc adhd auditory processing disorders, it didn’t have fucking subtitles or anything & it was not great audio quality & I couldn’t differentiate between the words he was singing, & I couldn’t hear the quiet parts when they overlapped with his singing. I wasn’t going to write all of this I was just going to say that his singing makes me want to cut myself, but apparently there’s a lot more to it. also I don’t want to end up cooking while mom is home bc I don’t have any drawings on my arm & mom is fucking nosy & wants to see my scars so I have to work extra hard at hiding them but even with ppl who arent nosy, like my little bro I don’t like them out, but the longer my older bro sits there fucking yelling out of key, the longer I’m delayed & I won’t be able to cook. By this point, I won’t even be able to cook the meal I was planning on, I have so much shit to do I’ve missed so much & I’m so behind, but I’m so incapable of doing anything like i can’t do chores bc I use the excuse I have homework but I never fucking do my homework so I’m also behind in school & even with the stuff I like like dnd & writing & violin I can’t do, & I skipped online kung fu & I’ve been slacking off under so many excuses but I’m just being lazy & anxious & I also gained so much weight & it makes my body feel so bad & i know this isn’t my body’s happy weight & being fat makes my boobs bigger & I’m fucking trans & I hate them I even tried cutting them off myself & ended up waiting 15 hours to go to the hospital so that I wouldn’t make mom suspicious (& they put me through triage really fast bc apparently I did a lot of dammage- I was planning on giving myself stitches, but my icepack melted & I couldn’t numb my body anymore so they’re lucky I even went to the hospital, it was bad bc I had to walk 20 minutes either way weighted down with a fucking toolbox & I waited outside in the cold bc my phone died & thus:) mom found out anyways so I lied to her about going to buy drugs bc obv /that’s/ a better idea than telling her I went to the hospital & SHUT UP UNNAMED OLDER BROTHER ok he’s between songs now. If I told mom I went to the hospital she would ask why & be like “y didn’t u tell me” & “r u cutting urself again” & like yeah bitch I have been for a while ik the social worker said I should tell you a codeword, but I don’t do that bc u blame yourself or cry or want to talk about & I yes I fucking cut myself what of it? Yeah I tried fucking removing my own left breast, bc u arent’ supportive of medical transitioning, at least not when they’re ur kids. Ur mad at dad bc he got a tattoo bc it’s  body modification & thus uncatholic, but u’ll support ur catholic university friends gettin gtheir eldest daughter a reduction bc her boobs are big & painful- bitch what’s so different about me? I went so far as to try giving myself a reduction, you say you’re concerned about me mutilating my body & making bad decisions, but, you know what? because of this I have legitimately mutilated my body, & made a dangerous & bad decision. isn’t autosurgery proof that I need top surgery bc it’s a danger to my life if I don’t get it? The government is able to pay for it I think & bc it’s a danger to my health (& i get pain & I can’t work out & I get back pain & my skin pulls & hurts & if I jump my tissues yank my skin & it hurts & it puts so much strain on my back, & binding gives me pain, so I need a reduction as much as your catholic university friends’ daughter does) I should be abe to qualify. Even if I don’t qualify yet & have to wait two years, at least that would be the start of two years now instead of in a long time, I mean, mum, you say you want me to talk about it & you’re afraid I’m rushing into it? guess what? They are too! the healthcare system will make me do a bunch of shit to qualify, & tbh, I think that they are better qualified to talk to me about surgery & what I really want than you.  Fucking finally, I hope my brother is done his play & finally shuts up. TA MA DE FUCK NO HE’S STARTING AGAIN CROWS DAMN IT CROWS CROWS CROWS & MAGGOTS I”m not even gonna be able to make anythiung for supper & i have no ideas besides the long one which I don’t have time for anymore. fine. whatever. I’ll go SH in my room. I won’t even work on fanfic bc I’m too fucking adhd & broken. I fucking hate it when ppl say “we;re all a bit adhd” like no bitch shut the fuck up, we all struggle with the things adhd ppl struggle with sometimes, but adhd is a neurological condition that makes those struggles so commonplace & intense that it affects our everyday lives. & no. adhd does not mean we’re more creative. Even if we do have more likeliihood of coming up with funky ideas, most of us struggle to articulate them or understand them, or we forget them as soon as they come. you’re not adhd bc you’re a little more creative, youre just an ableist asshole & fuck you. adhd isn’t creativity its’ a fucking disability. I’m directing this at those fucking parents who have the lovely nd daughter who gave me a hug, but you two are motherfuckers. Yeah I get thaat adhd, once you learn how to mannage it, can be useful, & I understand that part of the reason this disability is so hard is bc society isn’t designed for it (like a lefty using right hand scissors), but ot’s still fuxking REAL & if you can’t deal with it yet, it 100% is a disanbility. OK? Ok. I had smth I was going to say earlier, but I got distracted by smth else that made me mad, so I never got around to it. Youo know what I love? I fucking love how tumblr has next to no character limit so I can just type as much as I want. You know what I don’t like? I’ll probably get deactivated by some SJW maggot-eaten crow-fucker who thinks that my rant& mentioning my failed ed & my self harm (oh fuck shut up, my brother is chanting “dumb”) so anyways some fucking sjw fuck-hole will report this post & my blog & I’ll be deactivated for simply getting angry on tumblr. It’s fucking tumblr! You used to be able to say whatever you needed to say! But now, esp us ppl w EDs, have no safe place to talk about our issues (at least, not w/o fear of gettin gterminated for “encouraging” EDs, when we’re just trying to help ourselves). Anywasy, sorry for all the swears & go se, I swear when I’m mad. I’m gonna go do smth, idk what. Can’t be anything productive, Can’t even be unproductive stuff I like, like watching youtubem, or smth cathartic like playing fiddle. I might just go & bleed a bit & ignore everything for a while. I nkow that the world will still be stressful when I get back, & I’ll still have to cook, & I’ll still be behind in school, & mom will still be broken-hearted over dad, but I’m feeling calmer just thinking about it so that’s what I’ll do. 

[pigeonfancier]

Surgery scheduled! For the entire two weeks prior to it, I’m not allowed to eat or take anything that’s an anti-inflammatory, including ginger and garlic. Because: “These medications increase bleeding and we do not want you to bleed any more than you have to!!”

Apparently, they are not going to operate on my midline, because four surgeries means there is So Much Fucking Scar Tissue There now, but instead, they’ll be operating above it. So instead of just having a slasher scar, now I will have a double slasher scar, and I can make jokes about how someone tried to slit my throat, but they had to try twice and still fucked it up, smdh at zoomers these days --

I keep trying to anxiety spiral about this, because I super loathe surgeries, and my definitive memories of them as a kid are just the ways they ended up fucked up. Waking up in the surgery room! My stitches popping open! It’s an abstract kind of fear, because the surgeon’s office is aware of the past complications, they’re having me get a full physical beforehand, they’ve given me a lot of info and are making sure to emphasize the precautions they’re taking, etc, etc. So it’s not too overwhelming. Just random moments of - “well, four fucking people fucked this up in the past, so how likely is it that this dude won’t?”

Hopefully more likely in that, while my parents had two healthy kids and then me draining on their income, I am a single adult with the time, money and spite to sue if it gets fucked up. Hate to think of it like that, but it’s hard not to be very jaded about the medical industry at this point in my life.

A f;are-up is trying to happen again, but it’s so WARM and I have plants and I’ve got a shit ton of projects I’m working through. I’m currently waging a long-term war against wasps, who have been trying to take over my greenhouse. Last year, because they were eating the caterpillars, I tried to let them be, and got the shit bit out of me by one as a result. It’s deeply questionable if insects are capable of self-cognition to the point of feeling emotions, but I’m pretty sure their primary emotion at any given point in time is “contemptuous ingratitude, derisive amusement at any attempts to simp”.

So this year, they can just fuck right off. My lettuce and other greens are all staying inside the greenhouse, and the bugs can just stay the fuck out of it.

With that said, I’m a squeamish asshole and I feel too bad to set up wasp traps directly, or a zapper? And I can’t use pesticides, because those fuck with me, and my immune system is throwing enough of a shitfit as it is without provoking it. If the wasps weren’t getting aggressive, I’d just leave them be, but they are, so I’ve basically set up my greenhouse to just hotbox and murder any of them that come inside.

I started off with coconut wax melts that release peppermint/sage as soon as it gets hot, and resolidifies at night. The wasps fucked off from anywhere near those, but still kept coming inside, the little bastards.

So my second tactic has been: potpourri cheesecloth bags of rosemary, sage, peppermint, basil, thyme and peppermint extract! I bought a solar fan and set it up inside of the greenhouse, and surrounded it with the bags. So far, wasps keep coming inside, landing, and then just fucking dying. I’m not entirely sure what’s going on there, chemically? My suspicion is something about vapors and exoskeletons and probably clogging or burning the pores that they use to breathe, but I refuse to actually look it up. They’re dying, and I’m not provoking my throat into swelling more, or getting hives for the audacity of being near aerosols. And isn’t that all that matters?