#anyways my new meds ive been on for two weeks now have a warning that they can cause increased suicidal thoughts and i have depression

[crabs-nonsense]

Guys. Depression. *melts into the floor*

[areallybadwriter]

9/24

found the will to provide an update. got inspired whilst reading through my past posts and decided it would do me some good. and jesus christ, the last couple of posts have a lot of run-ons. i need some more practice obviously.

the city is doing me quite well at the moment. i had a brief stint of absolute disdain for my everyday life when i was unemployed and still adjusting to one of the biggest life changes a human being can experience. there was this period of feeling terrible about my self (physicality-wise) which im presuming is because its a new territory full of new people - a lot more people at that. a lot more people that i shouldn't value their passerby opinions but i do anyways. im getting over it now and am starting to like myself again but boy did i slip for a minute. ive been exploring new places, whether it be food or entertainment, which has provided me a sense of understanding of this place i live in. my friend and i were actually discussing how the city still felt a little weird to reside in, still enough foreignness to give off warning signs at times. we decided we hadn't sat at enough coffeeshops by ourselves yet, or we hadn't gotten enough groceries. i try to remember what moving from my hometown to my college town felt like but i don't recall the same amount of difficulty to adjust. i think in time i will feel better about it, maybe when the weather or just the general business of this place has chewed me up and spit me out a bit. i do hope that the winter is kind.

i had this past weekend off of work so i decided to take the train to this cute lakeside town where my very best friend (who ive known since i was 15) who now lives thousands of miles away was visiting her family's cottage. the train was gorgeous and ive never felt such excitement at the chance of listening to my music, sketching a little, and sitting in my own two seater on a train taking me to the beach. i thought of it as something so valuable i think i would only take someone who i truly love on there. to show them. they kicked us off halfway through to exit the train and board a bus to resume the rest of the trip because there was construction on the tracks. that part wasn't as fun, but i quickly arrived at my destination and had a wonderful less-than-24-hours with my best friend. the cottage her family owns has been in the family for many, many years and they've kept it pretty much the same. its an untouched but well-lived part of history and i basically foam at the mouth with adoration every time im there. its all lace and florals and carved wooden floors. we had a bonfire on the beach the night i arrived and all shared barbecue chicken pizza from this place down the road. her and i split a bottle of chianti and got a little tipsy, while her family talked and laughed amongst themselves. being away from home and familiarity for awhile, it felt really good to stretch out on the beach with all of them. it really filled the void of loneliness and missing my family. we took the train back into the city the next day after we drank coffee and ate breakfast casserole on the beach as the sailboats went by. it was a gorgeous little break and im glad i got to see her at the beginning and end of her trip. we plan on me visiting her next or both of us meeting somewhere in the middle.

one of my other best friends from high school (who is in the same friend group as the girl mentioned above) had a psychotic episode this past week and is most likely in an inpatient mental facility currently. she was my roommate up until i moved to the city and she is still living in our college town, now with her little sister and another bestie from that friend group. while we lived together throughout the years, she definitely had episodes and mentally ill tendencies (honestly, we all did) and it had gotten worse in the recent years. she had finally found some good therapy and some good meds that seemed to be doing wonders for her but i believe she went off of them, thus entering another episode. she was texting complete nonsense to a few of us in an aged group chat and from what i heard, didn't recognize her own sister and ended up calling the cops on herself. i hate being far away and not being able to help more and not being more informed on the situation. i just hope that she gets the inpatient help that she's needed for quite a long time and can get to the bottom of some of these issues. i think its interesting how many of us in the friend group have had psychotic episodes. i don't think i have personally experienced an episode exactly like that but there's something to be said about people forming friend groups around shared feelings and similar mental states.

wyoming is coming to visit me in a couple weeks. we are going to a late-night concert and then hopefully hanging out for awhile the next day. he has not been to my place in the city yet, which i think he will enjoy. the last time we were in the city together it ushered in a new era of how we interacted with each other (in a very positive light imo) so i hope this trip will provide us the same. there's something to be said about neither of us knowing many places or people up here. it lacks years of memories like our hometown so we are rid of burdens and guilt we may have experienced otherwise. maybe our purest forms. ive had a couple revelations about him recently as i haven't seen him in person in awhile and can think more clearly without constant thoughts of how our last time seeing each other was or something. the latest one was that i think i like him a lot more than he likes me. it absolutely stewed the last few days and it was hard to even talk to him over the phone because i kept reminding myself of the heartbreak. we had a conversation weeks ago about being able to love things or people and how both of us were scared that we had never actually done that. talked about how maybe every relationship up until this point had felt faked at times. we both related on these things, but he never clarified whether these feelings applied to our relationship as well. for me, unsurprisingly, it has been the most genuine connection ive ever had and there's never been a need or feeling to fake anything. and i know for a fact i love him. can just tell, and honestly ive felt it from sixteen and on. its something that freaked me out years ago but so much time has wilted the panic of it all. what scares me now is the investment of care ive put into it all, and with that comes certain moments of absolute uncertainty on whether he feels the same at all (especially if we've recently had a conversation about being able to love other people or he's in one of his distant periods). i think seeing him in person and spending that amount of alone time with him will mend some things and hopefully give me insight on how to proceed with the relationship. although at the end of the day, i know he will always be around somehow.

saved this is drafts and forgot what i was going to say next so to post it goes.

xoxo anonymous

[hardlystrictlystarwars]

What happens in Canto Bight (Commander Wolffe x Jedi! F!Reader)

Masterlist || Tag list || Requests/Prompt sheet || Requests

Commander Wolffe x Jedi! F!Reader (Fake Marriage troupe)

What’s life without love?

Concept art inspo(jedi look) // Concept art inspo(Wardobe look) // Concept art inspo(Canto Bight look) People much more talented than I am created the art used for the concept art and gifs

Warnings/Topics: minor character death, canon-typical violence and cursing, some heated kissing(nothing too bad though) 

A/N: Happy May the 4th Be With You! I wanted to post something today and this is the latest piece I had been working on. It’s a little different, but I really like it. The Wolffe x Reader comes out later in the second half of this one-shot btw. Also did I use a gif of Coruscant because I couldn’t find one of Canto Bight that I like... maybe but I’ll never tell. Anyways I hope you like it!! Happy Star Wars Day!!

“Careful we must be, when delivering this news to her padawan,” Was the first thing you heard after waking up. Master Yoda’s voice, while calm as always was now only filled with sorrow and dread. 

“I will do it” Master Kenobi’s voice responded, “I was the last one with Master Gallia,”

“Wise choice that is,” Master Yoda claimed. The small pats of his cane echoed as you could feel them move closer to you. 

You stirred a little before opening your eyes. First feeling the tightness from the bacta patch on your abdomen and the IVs in your arm. Once you managed to open your eyes, they were hit with the blinding lights of the med bay. It took you a few moments of blinking before you were able to make out the two masters at your bedside. 

“Master yoda, Master Kenobi ,” You addressed them.

“Young one, a grave blast you have survived” Master Yoda sighed, “But sorrow we feel more for your loss,”

All of a sudden, the events flooded back to you. You and your Master Adi Gallia had been on campaign to take back a Sepertist-ruled planet in the mid-rim. Your assignment was to organize an air raid that she would follow with a  coordinated ground assault. While you had been successful on your front, when landing to help your master, the LA-AT you had been abroad was shot down. The last thing you remember was your master pulling you from the debris and calling out for help. 

“I am so sorry my dear young one,” Master Kenobi uttered, “Your Master and I left for a mission while you were recovering here-”

“Oh Maker, Masters,” You gasped, interrupting him. You looked up at the two of them, feeling something in the force. It was a terrible sorrow like you had never felt before built up in your chest. Tears started falling down your cheeks as you felt your heart crushed. You didn’t need Master Kenobi to finish giving you the news of what had happened. You could already feel it. 

Your master was dead. 

---------------- Weeks later

“Hey! Shiny with the sword!” One of the clones called out to you across the dining hall, “Come sit with us!”

You froze looking over at the table where the voice came from, a little shocked at the volume he used. It was the first time anyone of the 104th had interacted with you besides on the battlefield. Even after being reassigned to Master Plo as his apprentice and having been aboard their ship for weeks, you still had yet to make even a friend besides your Master. Instead, most of the time you found yourself in your quarters reading or in the ship’s meditation chamber. 

You hesitantly walked over to the group of about half a dozen troopers, hoping that eating with them at their table would be better than in your quarters again. 

“Hey! You’re General Plo’s new kid right?” One of the other clones asked, “The one from General Gallia?”

 Even though it had been a couple of weeks since your former master’s death, her name shocked you. It sounded foreign rolling off someone’s tongue. However, you quickly hid any shock from your face and just sat down with your lunch tray instead.

“Oh kriff!” One of them exclaimed, “You jedi always get access to the good stuff,”. He peaked at your lunch before taking a piece of jorgan fruit off your plate and popping it in his mouth.

“Please, feel free to have the rest,” You offered, pushing the plate towards them, “I’m actually allergic,”

A couple of the clones immediately dug their hands into the bowl of fruit. Soon after, there were a few murmured introductions over their chewing. As it came down to the last couple of pieces, you couldn’t help but giggle a little at their manners as they fought over who would get it. 

“Commander (Y/L/N),” Someone said in a stern voice, everyone’s head looked up to see where it had come from.

All the clones immediately recognized who the voice belonged to and elected to stop fighting. It was Commander Wolffe. 

You looked up, startled by his appearance. While the two of you technically shared the same rank of commander, you had yet to actually build up the courage to talk to him in a setting other than front lines of a battle.

“Uh yes Commander?” You uttered, nervously toying with the hem of your sleeve.

“I’m sorry to cut your lunch short, but General Plo has requested to see the two of us on the bridge immediately,” 

You stood up giving a small, quick wave goodbye to some of the troopers before following the commander out of the dining hall. It was a quiet few steps with next to him as you tried to keep up with him. It took three of your steps to make up for just one of his. 

The silence lasted until the two of you stood in lift going up. 

“I see you started fraternizing with my troopers,” He said, breaking the silence. The words came out almost as a threat making your heart stop for a moment.

If you had the courage, you would’ve argued you shared the same rank and they were your troopers as much as his. But you didn’t, instead electing to stay quiet. Anxiously looking up, watching the floor numbers increase and praying the lift would speed up.

“I would have expected you’d come around sooner,” He smirked with his head facing front, “Rumor has it that your old master has a sharp tongue. Something she taught and passed onto you,”

“Had,” You finally spoke in a soft voice, correcting him, “My Master Gallia had a sharp tongue,” 

While you admired the compassion Master Plo had emphasized in your training, you missed your old master’s wit and sarcasm. A snide comment didn’t feel the same as when she was alive. So you chose to hold your tongue back ever since her death, figuring any of her humor she had passed down to you had died along with her. 

The doors of the lift opened up to the bridge. General Plo stood talking with a couple of deck officers, everything seemed to be business as usual. 

“”Commander, my padawan,” Master Plo greeted the two of you, finding you among the the sea of officers, “I have an classified mission for the two of you,”

“Classified?”

“For the two of us?” Wolffe and you said over each other. 

“Yes,” You master answered you both, “The Galactic Army has assigned the two of you to go undercover into the Sepertist-ruled city of Canto Bight. We have reason to believe many of the casinos there are fronts for the Separatist’s money-laundering. The GAR’s main goal is to make this war unfinanceable without ruining the city of Canto Bight,”

Taking down a source of revenue for the Separatists would be a huge victory for the Republic. It could be a possible tide-changer in the war. You looked at Wolffe, both of you were sharing the same expression, understanding the weight of this mission. 

Your face turned into a frown, thinking and somewhat confused about how Wolffe could be assigned your partner, “Master, with all due respect, but there might be a problem with this plan. Seeing as Commander Wolffe has a recognizable face,”

“That is no worry Padawan,” Plo chuckled, “The jedi recently had some success using facial transformation, vocal moducatores, and holomasks. I think it will work to side-step the issue of Commander Wolffe being recognized,” 

“How do you know that it will work against the Separatists?” Wolffe asked, suspicious about the tech mentioned. 

“It was good enough to fool General Skywalker and Count Dooku,”

Wolffe nodded, accepting Plo’s answer. If it was good enough to fool the proclaimed “Chosen One” and Master Yoda’s old apprentice, it was good enough for him. 

“Your wardrobes and cover identification chips will be delivered to your quarters. The two of you leave tomorrow before breakfast,” Your Master dismissed you.

The two of you bid him goodbye and started walking away. 

“Also, Commander and my dear padawan, one more thing,” He called out to the two of you, both you turned once more to look at him, “The two of you are going undercover as a recently married couple,”

---------------- 

“No, absolutely not,” You said, stepping out from the partition and taking a good look at yourself in the mirror.

“Come on, you don’t look that bad” Boost, one of the troopers you had met at lunch and had delivered your wardrobe commented. 

When he dropped off all of the pieces for your new identity you requested him to stay. Asking him to help you sort out which outfits you could actually wear. Glance at most of the clothes the GAR had given you, you were pretty sure they had just raided the closet of a pit dancer. 

“I can see why the Jedi stuck to robes,” You said as you picked at the slim fabric that hung around your waist. Having a wardrobe that consisted only of robes since you were a youngling, your innate instinct was to cover up all of your exposed skin.

“You can’t hate it that much,” Boost dragged his voice. He had told you he didn’t know any married women or anything about them, but he did claim to have extensive knowledge on what all the girls wore to 79’s when the 104th was on Coruscant. At the time it was good enough to let him stay and help you. 

“Does everything else look like this?” You asked, pinching your face in disgust. While the cover the GAR had assigned you was pretty much summed up to be the life of a just-married noblewoman, the clothing they had sent along with it gave you more than enough detail of who you were really supposed to be. 

“What, do you really not like it?” He asked, eyeing you up and down.

“Boost! My boobs are gonna fall out of this!” 

“Here, try on this,” He threw you another outfit. This one seemingly longer. 

“This one better at least cover my navel,” You complained before walking behind the partition again. 

As you undressed you heard the doors swoosh open.

“Whoa commander, you look different,” Boost laughed. 

“What, was I too ugly for you before?” A deep voice answered. The voice sounded close to Wolffe’s, but also completely different. It was hardened and more grueling compared to his normal voice. Ever word he spoke was intimidating, like everything he said was an automatic threat. 

“What about this one?” You voice tapered off as you stepped out again seeing what used to be your commander.

Wolffe now had an eye patch over his prosthetic, a couple of deep, nasty scars that laid over his skin, his eyes were piercing blue instead of brown and his haircut had been been changed red buzzcut. The two of you stood in front of each other in your new looks, stunned in silence at the site of the other. 

“You look nice,” He said, his eyes lingering on you.

“You look different,” You replied, missing the old Wolffe for a reason you couldn’t explain. 

Wollfe messed around with the buckle of his belt before his appearance pixelated and suddenly the real version of him was back.

”Better now Commander?” He asked, now standing in the middle of your quarters with just his black on.

“Maybe, depends if your acting skills compete with your looks,” You teased with a smile on your face. 

 “There’s that sharp tongue,” He smirked, “I knew it was somewhere,”

---------------- Weeks later undercover

“There’s a Republic-disguised cruiser coming to pick us up tomorrow,” Wolffe told you as the two of you prepared to go out one last time, “It should be here by morning to pick us up and take us back to the 104th,”

“So we only get to look like a couple one last time and then it’s all over?” You asked, trying to put the last pins in your hair. Even after several weeks of being undercover with Wolffe and doing your hair on a daily basis, you still struggled.

 “I’m afraid you only get to be my wife for one more night,” Wolffe replied, appearing behind you to help.

He hadn’t put on his belt and changed into his disguise yet so you saw his soft, natural brown eyes, instead of the icy blue ones that he had as a part of his cover. You were a little happier upon seeing his honest reflection in the mirror.

“You know, as a jedi we’re told marriage is never an option so I never thought I would actually get to be with someone,” You said with a smile, watching him intently focus on sliding a pin into the perfect place of your updo, “I’m really glad I got to be married to you Wolffe. Even if it was just for a little bit and if it technically wasn’t real,”

You turned to face him once his hands left your hair.

“Well, I’m the luckiest man in the galaxy to have had you just for the time that I did,” He replied.

You suddenly found yourself sentimental at the sound of his words. Realizing that after this mission you would probably have to lie and say that you didn’t miss being undercover with him. 

Your gut told you that Canto Bight would always have a significant place in your heart because of a certain someone. 

It would be inaccurate to say that you and him hadn’t grown close over the last several weeks. You had opened up to him about your injury and waking up to find you had lost your master. He had talked about almost losing his entire battalion and then losing his eye. Your conversations with each other, having each other’s backs and the amount of times you saved each other's lives while undercover blurred the line of being just friends. 

You reasoned that it was just for the mission. However, the more you thought about it, the more clear it became that it wasn’t just that. The two of you had both found simple ways of helping the other. Whether it was Wolffe helping you with your hair each day or you preparing Wolffe’s caf in the early morning just the way he liked it. Both of you could have done the mission without these little ways in your routine, but you liked these little things. They helped to make it not just another mission for the GAR, but rather something for yourself. 

“Wolffe, do you think that there’s a chance we might go on another mission like this?” You asked, stepping closer to him and closing the gap between the two of you. 

“If the GAR deems our mission successful, I don’t see why not,” He shrugged, welcoming your closeness. 

“I would really like that,” You replied. 

You knew what you were saying to him was pushing the lines of the Jedi Code. That if any code-abiding jedi heard your words, you would most certainly be punished, possibly even be kicked out of the order. But you reasoned that it was your last night of being undercover. Maybe it wasn’t too harmful to play into what you felt for just a little bit longer.

---------------- 

“We have a tail,” Wolffe said, looking over his shoulder. His eyes hooked on a pair of Zygerrians sitting at a nearby table. They were clearly still pretending to be playing the same game of sabacc they had started an hour ago. 

“We’ve had them tail us for weeks,” You replied before taking a sip of your beer, “It’s no different now if we just keep our covers,”

“We should take care of them now,” Wolffe said, his hand over his pistol in holster. He was probably a little bit too trigger-happy after weeks of not being on the frontlines.

You quickly placed your hand over his, stopping him from pulling out his pistol, “If we engage then we will out ourselves as apart of the Republic, and all the work we’ve done over the last several weeks will be for nothing,”

The stakes of the mission were high, if the Separatists found out that two Republic commanders were shooting up a storm on their occupied planet it wouldn’t take long for them to figure out the Republic’s intentions. They would move their money out of Canto Bight and all the information you and Wolffe had collected on their money-laundering scheme would be useless. 

“They’re looking over here again,” He murmured, “They know,”

“If they knew we were Republic we would be dead by now,” You sighed. 

“It’s not safe, we’re leaving,” He said, grabbing your arm and pulling you away from the bar you had been sitting at.

“Wolffe -my beer!” You exclaimed being pulled away from it.

“I'll buy you another one sometime,” He said, slipping off the jacket he was wearing and putting it on your shoulders as you exited the bar. 

As the two of you made your way back to the apartment you had been put up in, the zygerrians had decided to suddenly end their sabacc game and followed closely behind. Wolffe put his arm around you, pulling you in closer to him as he guided the two of you down a few dark backstreet pathways. 

“They’re still following us,” You said, looking behind you. It was just the two of you a few paces in front of the linger Zygerrians now. 

“Do you trust me?” Wolffe asked looking down at you. 

“Of course,” You replied without any hesitation. 

Without skipping a beat, his hands were wrapped around your thighs, pinning you up against the closest wall so his back was to the Zygerrians. His lips landing on yours. His hands never letting go of your thighs, instead, giving them a good squeeze that drew out a small gasp from you. 

While the two of you had kissed in public before, it was never like this. Never in a way that made your cheeks flush. For a short moment, you forgot that it was all for show. Instead, just letting yourself enjoy it. 

You could feel his chest expand with his breath as he pressed against you. His lips traveled down your jaw and then to the arch of your neck. His gentle yet affectionate nature had you withering around him for another touch. You wondered if this was what marriage was really like. If it was this that made the jedi concerned about allowing any attachments. 

Gently pressing a few kisses on your collar bone. You wrapped your hand around the nape of his neck, making sure his lips wouldn’t leave your skin. 

“Grab my pistol in the holster,” He murmured against you, calling you to the task at hand, “Grab it and shot them,”

As much as you wanted to stay in the moment, you did what he told you. You grabbed one of his dual blaster pistols and raised it at the Zygerrians. They were both unsuspecting, looking away from you and Wolffe. As you fired, they turned just in time to realize they were too late to draw their whips. With two blaster shots, there were two Zygerrians on the ground not moving. 

Wolffe let go of your legs, setting your feet back on the floor, “Nice shot commander,”

You were still a little bit too stunned by his actions to reply. 

---------------- 

You had been back on board the 104th star-cruiser a couple of days. 

 You and Wolffe went your separate ways after giving your reports to the GAR. Everything changed after that. Everytime you and he were in the same room, he stood a little closer next to you. Sometimes you would sneak a quick peck when no one was looking. At nights, one of you would sneak into the other’s quarters. 

When you were alone, you could feel how much you wanted to be with him. You knew your Master Plo could feel the change of your state through the force, telling you to meditate on “whatever it could possibly be”. 

You followed his directions, walking down to the meditation chambers. As you walked, your baggy jedi robes got caught in between your legs. Something that had developed over not wearing them for so long. 

You had returned most of the clothes the GAR had given you, although you secretly kept some of the garments that had grown on you. They were a nice reminder of your time on Canto Bight. Although the outfits didn’t look exactly the same if you didn’t do your hair. Something only Wolffe could help you with.

Your legs crossed over a pillow, trying to relax and connect with the force. Trying to discipline yourself long enough to reestablish a connection with the force like you had before your mission.  It seemed like you tried for hours to shed all emotions and attachments. But nothing came of it, your mind kept slipping back to Wolffe. You instead focused on him, what would become of the two of you.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. It slid open to reveal Wolffe. 

You smiled at the sight of him.

“You missed dinner, thought you might be hungry,” He said, placing a plate of plums in front of you before grabbing another pillow and sitting down next to you. 

“Thanks you,” You replied before starting to eat, not realizing how hungry you had become.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” He said, “You weren’t at the meeting on the bridge this morning,”

“I was with Master Plo. He said he wants me to take my trials within the next cycle,” You revealed. Both of you knew if you passed, you would probably have to leave the 104th and become the General of another battalion. Meaning both of you could be sent to different sides of the galaxy at any point.

There was a lull between the two of you before Wolffe spoke up again, “Do you ever miss Canto Bight?”

Your head tilted at him, flashbacks of memories flooded your mind as you thought about the time you spent there, “Yes, sometimes,” You replied, “Do you?”

“Yes, sometimes, but I find myself okay with what I left with, someone who is much better than the city itself,” He smiled, looking at you. 

Your heart melted as you grinned back, “Who is this lucky girl commander?”

“Well,” He sighed, relaxing and spreading his feet out, “They deserve someone much better than me, that’s for sure. Even if they end up choosing a life of solitude, it would probably be better than if they ended up with someone like me. But they’re that kind of person that has convinced me that I’ll die a happy man if I die around them,”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his morbid words, almost choking on the slice of plum in your mouth. 

“They sound great Wollfe, but don’t put yourself down like that, I’m sure they’re just as lucky to have you,” You said, placing your hand on top of his, feeling the rough calluses on his fingers, “Have you told this person about how you feel?”

“Not exactly, but I think I’ve made it pretty clear,” He leaned in closer to you, “But every time I want to, I’m reminded that our lives won’t allow it,”

“Huh? And why is that?” You frowned.

“We can’t be together,” He summed up, “If anyone ever found out my feeling for you, I would be decommissioned and you would lose your whole livelihood,”

Your heart sank hearing his words. Though, you knew he was right.

“You know what’s crazy though?” He asked resting his forehead on top of yours, “I love you enough that I would risk it all for you. If you asked me, I would do it in a heartbeat without any regrets,”

You knew what he was suggesting. And you knew you would do it for him if he asked you to leave the order. 

“I used to think this war was just a mess of power and glory, but you’ve changed that. Somehow, you’re worth making this mess,” He leaned in kissing you, “Whether you choose to leave it or not, I’ll follow you wherever,”

[mari-beau]

GIVE ME A REASON: PART SIX - A Rogue One Fanfiction

This is a shorter installment, and maybe pointless… maybe I’m dragging this out too long… But also, who cares, I’m doing this for fun. I just love playing with them!

Read on AO3

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Title: Give Me A Reason: Part Six

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Characters: Jyn Erso POV, Cassian Andor

Pairing: Cassian/Jyn (mostly pre-ship?)

Spoilers: Rogue One; Episode IV A New Hope

Setting: Post-Rogue One AU (Cassian & Jyn live); Also during/post A New Hope

Warnings: Some coarse language. References to wounds. And… Cuddling?

Words: 1,720

Story Summary: Jyn’s entire universe has been turned on its head, so maybe she’s clinging a little too hard to the one thing she feels certain of (strangely enough) as she tries to figure out her place in the galaxy. And maybe she’s being a little overprotective of a wounded captain.

Also can be found on AO3.

The Death Star had come for them.

Again.

But Jyn couldn’t bring herself to care. It did seem a little strange to have been spared the last time only to probably be destroyed this time, barely a week later. But either way, it was the end to her life she now knew to be her fate, or whatever. It just felt right. It just was. Not the Death Star specifically, but,

Jyn Erso would die in Cassian Andor’s arms.

Whether it should’ve been on Scarif. Or it was here on Yavin 4. Or the next day. Or thousands of days in the future.

And there was a sort of peace in knowing that. One that allowed her to climb into his bed, slide her arms around him, and bury her face in his shoulder. He stirred and her heart skipped a beat. It was easier when he was unconscious, to consider how she felt about him, how she’d been attracted to men before, even had something akin to a relationship with one or two, but it had never felt like this.

“Jyn…?”

“Yes, it’s me. We’re on the base on Yavin 4. Safe. In your quarters.” It was easier to preempt any confusion or alarm Cassian experienced when he woke from his heavy, partially drugged, mostly just exhausted from his body’s healing, sleep.

“How long?” he asked, then realized there were static-laden voices broadcasting over the basewide intercom. “What’s going on?”

“You’ve been asleep for 12 hours,” Jyn said, moving closer and partially on top of him to prevent him from trying to get up in a rush and falling flat on his face. Also, she was admittedly afraid on some level, afraid to be alone and facing death. When he was near her, when they were physically entwined in some way, she felt like everything would be okay. Even if she died, if it was in Cassian’s arms, then everything would be okay. Irrational, yes. But that didn’t make it any less her truth.

“The Death Star is here,” she said, once she could tell he was awake enough to understand, not muddled by pain meds. “The Alliance is scrambling their forces to engage. They’re leaving the comms open, since you know…”

“We’re all dead if they fail.”

His arms wrapped around her and engulfed her in his warm embrace. Cassian Andor, a man who, she didn’t think she was wrong to guess, hadn’t received much at all in the way of affection in his life, somehow was so good at holding a person he made the pain of the universe go away, made the entire universe fade away except for his hands on her body, gentle and undemanding but also firm and reassuring, his breath hot on her neck, sending shivers down her spine, and his body beneath hers, so strong despite his injuries.

“Are you okay?” she asked, remembering the physical state of him.

“Mmm… Yes.” His hands tightened their grip on her side and shoulder, reflexively, a gentle squeeze as he murmured into her neck. “Feels good.”

He probably meant he felt fine, but oh, yes, it did feel good. Or maybe he was still quite medicated?

“My weight isn’t putting pressure on your injuries?” Jyn asked. “Maybe I should…”

“No.” Somehow he managed to pull her further into him, her breasts flattening against his chest, her hip practically fusing to his, her breath hitching momentarily and then joining the rhythm of his own breaths...in and out… in and out… in and out...

Cassian sighed, made a frustrated, growling sound.

“I need to use the ‘fresher,” he said, loosening his grip on her.

Jyn rolled off from him, swung her legs around to sit on the side of the cot and waited to see if Cassian could manage to stand. He slid to sit on the edge of the bed next to her and took a moment. She didn’t press him, though an instinct inside of her wanted to offer assistance, wanted to take care of him, wanted to ease the pain and struggle his recovery was.

He stood, again pausing for a moment, then walked slowly across the small room to his private refresher facilities. Apparently, it was one of very few benefits to his officer’s rank, for the small quarters were nothing more than a glorified closet. But she supposed it spared him from having to sleep in a large barracks with a bunch of others, not that it would’ve deterred Jyn in the least from crawling into his bed.

Part of her felt like she shouldn’t watch his laborious movements, out of respect, but she couldn’t look away. What if he needed her?

Force, what if he didn’t need her? Not like she needed him? Aw, fuck. She needed him.

She watched the muscles in his naked back twitch, stiff from inactivity and injury. But her eyes were inevitably drawn to the perfectly uniform lines of small circular marks running down his spine. She knew there was a matching sort of trail along his ribs. Injections of some sort of bacta cocktail meant to speed the fusing of the fractures in his vertebrae and ribs, injections straight into the bone. How painful would that have been if he’d been conscious, she couldn’t help but wonder, couldn’t help but want to wrap her smaller body around as much of Cassian as she could, run her hands gently over his scars, old and new, make sure his wounds were healing and his bruises fading, hear him sigh contentedly against her skin, hold him forever.

As he disappeared into the ‘fresher, Jyn realized she was hopeless.

Cassian Andor had taught her about hope. And had made her absolutely hopeless at the same time.

But why fret about it? What did it matter?

Jyn was used to dealing with life moment by moment, day by day. And she might not have many more moments, anyway.

The loud, static-laden voices crackling over the basewide intercom announced the launch of yet another squadron of fighters, then abruptly switched over to some ship’s communication officer announcing visual confirmation of the target. The Death Star.

Looming on the horizon like a moon, a harbinger of death, bringer of eternal night. Cold, austere, which made it somehow more terrifying, somehow worse than staring down an angry brute about to put a knife in you. It was just so inevitable, indomitable. Made her feel so small, insignificant, so alone.

“Do you mind if I turn this off?”

Jyn startled. How had she not noticed Cassian reappear in the small room? He pointed at the comm, which was broadcasting the prelims of a battle to determine all their fates.

She didn’t want to listen to it either.

“Please do,” she said, already feeling less… alone.

She watched Cassian lean over to switch the speaker off, wincing in sympathy with him as he straightened again, taking a deep breath that expanded his chest and shifted the muscles beneath his skin, mesmerizing her more than a little. His mostly naked body preoccupied far too many of her thoughts.

But what else had she been supposed to do? She’d woken up drenched in sweat that first night in his quarters, had to strip out of the heavy infirmary clothes, found Cassian tossing in his sleep, nearly feverish, removed the sweltering clothes from his body, as well. Little did she know, how enthralling she’d find his lean muscles, the shape of his body, the feel of his bare skin, his-

His hands cupped her face and Jyn looked up at Cassian Andor, his kriffing gorgeous dark eyes fixed on her. His fingers swept some stray hair from her forehead, tucked it behind her ear, returned to swipe gently over the nearly-healed scar above her eyebrow, in her hairline.

“Are you okay?” A knot formed in her throat. Cassian was a good man, despite every questionable thing he’d done and tortured himself over. Of course he would care about her wellbeing. It didn’t mean-

“Ow!”

“Your blaster wound still hurts?” His fingers feathered over her shoulder, not touching the freshly healed injury this time.

“It does when you jab your finger in it.” She grabbed his wrist and tugged his hand away, throwing him off balance so that he fell into her and she managed to catch him and ease him onto the bed, right where she wanted him.

A chuckle escaped him and he smiled, making something flutter inside of her. And then he was reaching for her, pulling her close.

His embrace was everything she’d never known she’d wanted. His hands stroked her back and he buried his face in her neck, nuzzling a sensitive spot just behind and below her ear.

She sighed, wrapping an arm around his middle and burying the fingers of her other hand in his messy, soft hair. She pressed gently as she massaged his scalp down to his nape, eliciting a hum of pleasure from him that vibrated against her bare skin and into her flesh.

If this was to be her last moment, Jyn held no regrets. It was a good moment.

“Jyn?” His voice had a lethargic but happy edge to it, thick and low and sleepy. She could sympathize.

“Yes?” She twisted her finger in a lock of hair curling about his neck.

“Please don’t let me sleep so long this time.” His whisper tickled her ear. “No more than 10 hours. Okay? Please?”

He wanted her to wake him up in 10 hours… Like there wasn’t a battle raging in space nearby… Like he didn’t believe they were quite probably going to die soon, incinerated by a weapon her own father helped design. Like he didn’t believe they were going to lose, after all. Somehow, he believed they would be there, together, ten hours from this moment.

Hope.

Such a man as Cassian… The most unexpected thing she’d discovered about him was his belief in hope. That he possessed any at all after all he had done, all he had seen. And then he’d given it to her.

And again, it warmed her, deep inside, that small seed of hope. She snuggled closer to the man, hoping for something she couldn’t even begin to conceive of. But yearned for it, with every fiber of her being.

[pizza-soup]

Sorry I've been missing in action.

Long story short I got very injured at the labs, but I've been making a fast recovery. For the more detailed, graphic version, you can read below. Warning: Mention of hospital, blood, car accident.

As I mentioned, I got really injured at work beginning on February 21 at around 9 PM. It was during a routine check at some of the sites, one in particular needed our higher clearance because there had been a breach at a fence that past week, so I, and two other guards went to check out any tampering of the fence again. They say it might be vandals but a lot of them say it was some kind of large animal. The road to those sites are a single path through the woods, lit with a few lights, no curves, just a flat road with a hill on one side. It hadn't snowed that week either, so no fear of ice or anything. It was just a routine jeep trek.

It happened so fast. Our vehicle was knocked over, I'm not even sure how, but we were rolling in the dark down a hill, hitting trees. I remember the shouting, holding fast, and the glass. I remember crawling toward a tree and trying to sit up against it or maybe I was put there by the other guard, Dolores, I remember her telling me to stay awake. I asked her if I was dreaming. It didn't feel real. I asked what was happening to me because I couldn't move right, everything felt so slow and muffled. I passed out by the time they got us into the medical ward. I don't remember them putting me in a gown or putting in an IV. I woke up later, I buzzed the call button out of fear and pain. My whole left side was throbbing. A nurse was relieved I finally came to. She gave me pain meds and called the doctor in.

I was told there had been an accident, that much I already knew, but no one was killed, just injured. I lost a lot of blood, my uniform was soaked in it and they had to cut it off me. Part of the metal from the door frame folded in and pieced my left shoulder and I had minor cuts on my hands and arms from the glass. My blood pressure dropped so low they were scared my heart might've stopped. I was given blood, hooked up to a lot of things and I would have to stay under watch for a few days. There was a lot of tests they needed to do to figure out just how bad my injuries were.

For the next few days I was just sleeping, I couldn't sit up without feeling dizzy. I had to lay semi flat, my blood pressure was still very low. My left side was still throbbing and the stitches itched. A lot of bruises developed from being tossed around like I was, mostly on my arms because I was shielding my face and head. My minor glass cuts stung while batheing. Nurses came in every few hours to check my vitals, help me use the restroom, shower, help me eat, ect. I got so tired from the smallest things. I couldn't call anyone, my phone was in my locker. I finally got someone to help me call my brother to tell him what happened. My brother was naturally scared, he thought something happened to me and he was sad to know he was right. He wanted to see me, but he couldn't, I was in the medical ward on lab property. He wanted to call our mom to tell her but I told him to wait, there was a possibility that I might be transferred to a local hospital where they can visit me, and I didn't want her panicking and trying to drive up here in bad weather. It's best she waited til things cleared up.

After the first week I was transferred to a local hospital after getting a bunch of tests done. No brain trauma, no broken bones, no blood sugar issues or thyroid problems. I could sit up in bed by then and eat on my own. I still couldn't walk very well without feeling really dizzy, again, low blood pressure. A lot of minor bruises were fading away. I never had my anemia officially confirmed, but they confirmed it and had me take daily iron and placed on a blood building diet in the new hospital. I was tested for covid, I came out clear.

My brother and mom visited me daily, and the other doctor said I was recovering really quickly, that gave us a lot of hope. I could be out of there by a few days, though my blood pressure was worrying her. Seems it wasn't so much the blood loss, but that it might have been an underlying condition already linked to my untreated anemia. She would get the in-house dietitian to include a bit more natural sea salt to my iron rich diet, as well as tell me what I should eat at home and that I need to drink a lot more water than I normally did. This is a problem I've had for awhile, I forget to drink enough water. The doctor warned me I better remedy that immediately especially with low BP. My mom was already taking notes. She really wanted to just take me home already. I really liked her being there, I'm not that shy about my body, but I honestly felt better having my mom bathe me and comb my hair instead of strangers doing that. She was also a lot more gentle around my stitches and bruises.

Eventually I did come home, I still needed a lot of rest and help getting out of bed. I had to fight the urge to clean house, help with groceries, ect. I'm so used to being self sufficient. I felt so frustrated that just walking around the room would tire me out, when I'd hike for miles just a few months ago. I was tired of sleeping and sitting down. But there wasn't much else I could do. I did a lot of origami, my bro got me a coloring book, I watched a lot of movies, took my iron -which is nasty btw-, ate meals that were saltier than I normally would prepare but my taste buds would have to adjust. I was happy my new diet included a lot of fish though.

I did have some close calls. I really thought I could stand up in the shower instead of sitting, and wound up calling for my mom to help me up after collapsing. I collapsed again when I was trying to cook dinner for myself. My face, according to my mom, was drained of color and my breathing was shallow. I felt so dizzy and nauseated. She nearly wanted to call the hospital again. My bro said I was pushing myself too hard and I always had a problem with not asking for help. That I needed to learn to stop being so damn stubborn and rest. To anyone else, that sounds harsh, but he knows me way too well, probably better than our mom. I do have that problem, I do push myself too much. After that, I decided to be more patient with myself. I was sick and might be sick for awhile.

This week I'm doing a lot better. I can do my daily things now, I even went to get groceries and take a little walk to the river. But I can't over do it, I can't stand up or walk for too long, and I can't lift anything heavy, otherwise I get bouts of dizziness and need to sit down. The pain isn't as bad on my back anymore though it's still very sore, my arms, especially my left side, have a dull pain. I can't sleep on my back and left side, only my right and on my stomach. A lot of the cuts on the back of my arms and hands have scabbed over, minor bruises are gone but major ones on my shoulder and neck are still pretty dark and tender. I'm still finding glue spots on my chest and stomach from the medical tape and the EKG patches they put on me, but a bit of lotion is taking it off. My stitching, according to my mom, is definitely going to leave a pretty bad scar above my shoulder blade, but it's fine. My body has a lot of scars here and there from close calls, but I consider them ' Marks of Life'. They're proof I survived and thrived.

It'll take time for me to really feel like I'm back to normal. My mom refuses to go back home until I make a full recovery. She hasn't tended to me like this for a long time, mainly because I rarely get sick. I trait from my dad's side. We don't get colds or flus for years, no history of cancer, heart issues or diabetes, and his family usually remain active to their elderly years, not to mention our graceful aging. My dad used to say it was our native blood, we're just built tougher. The only thing that could kill us is getting injured like this. God, he'd be so worried about me though. I remember how he'd fuss over me when I skinned my knee as a child or got my allergies. If he was alive, he'd probably refuse to let me do anything out of bed, but then that's exactly what I should be doing anyway.

I got a report on the other guards health yesterday. Dolores and Elijah. She was the least hurt out of all of us, just a dislocated arm, mild whiplash, and some really bad glass cuts on her chest and arms, she's home recovering with her husband and kids. Elijah was the driver and got knocked unconscious with a bad concussion, his entire left arm was sliced by glass and metal, he lost a lot of blood like me and is recovering just as slow as I am. He opted to stay in the lab medical ward because he doubts his roommate can care for him at home, he's on a lot of pain meds, so he sounded distant on the phone. I think out of all of us, he's going to take the most time to recover. I told him I'd pray for him and if he wants, I can visit. He appreciated that a lot. I thanked Dolores for helping us that night, she was the one trying her best to keep us alive and sent the distress signal on our ARK devices so they could find us in the dark. Without her, I think we would've bled to death.

God, it feels like a distant nightmare. I still can't figure out how we were knocked off the road like that. Something hit us out there and it was strong. I felt the impact in the backseat, but I didn't see it. Dolores says it looked like a bear, but bears aren't that strong. Eli says he saw horns, so maybe a bison. Bison are that strong, especially against a little jeep. The incident is still under investigation. The lab is also very concerned about how this happened. It's possible the same thing that hit us, has been tampering with the fence.

One less thing to worry about is the hospital bill, the accident happened on lab grounds, everything is taken care of through them, probably because they don't want to get sued. They are giving us another two weeks before we report back in to the doctor for another round of tests and physical tests, as well as check to see if my stitches were still secure. Our return to work solely depends on our results, we may not be able to come back until late April. They really want to be sure we're okay. Because I'm an 'Ophanim' aka Tier 3 guard, I'll also be given a mental test before being hooked back into Selene. They just want to be sure there's no cognition issues and I can sync properly to her. I may have to do a refresher since I've been away for so long, but I'll worry about that when it comes.

Well, if you read this far, thanks. I hope I didn't scare you all too much. I am doing a lot a better though, I promise. I'm getting stronger everyday, though activity on this blog will be slow. Send me some prayers, good vibes, whatever. I'd really appreciate anything. Hope you've had a good month, better than mine hopefully.

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

Taco Bout Hospital Service || Queenie and Kaden

TIMING: The late night after the mime stabbing incident PARTIES: @drqueenieking and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Queenie babysits Kaden in the hospital. There’s sass. 

Waking up in the hospital sucked. Kaden wasn’t getting used to this and he hoped to god he wasn’t going to, either. “Regan?” he said her name before he turned over to see if she was there. And, when he looked over, there was no one there. Fair enough. There was no reason she should be chained here just because he was, even if he sort of hoped she’d be there. That said, this might be the one time he had the chance to make a break for it. He did a quick look around. Seemed clear enough. He’d have to figure out where his clothes were, he wouldn’t make it far in just this hospital gown, but fuck if he was staying in this place any longer than he had to. Kaden reached over to yank the IVs out of his arm dramatically as fucking possible for the tenth time tonight. And then someone walked into the room. Putain, hopefully it wasn’t a medical professional. His hand shuffled quickly away and he sat up like nothing at all happened. Then his brow furrowed when he realized the woman in the doorway wasn’t at all a doctor. “Uh, can I help you? Who the hell are you?”

Sure, Queenie had missed date night for this. But despite the antagonistic relationship that she shared with Regan, she did consider her a friend. Plus, she knew how proud Regan was. It wouldn’t have been easy for her to ask Queenie to look after this man. Or to admit that she trusted her to keep him safe. Queenie wasn’t sure that she could have admitted it herself. Luckily, her husband had understood the situation. Queenie hadn’t had time to stop home before grabbing her stuff, so unfortunately she had come into the hospital in her jeans, converse and a hot sauce taco bell shirt that had “I may be hot, but he’s fire” written on it. She got more than a few odd looks as she rushed through the hospital to grab a lab coat and check on Kaden. Once she took a look at him and determined that he wasn’t going to bleed out, she had left him unconscious in the room for a few hours while she went to grab food from the cafeteria and call her husband. She lost the lab coat somewhere in this process, and walked back in with perfect timing. Just as Regan had warned, the man didn’t like hospitals. He perked up when she walked in, but it wasn’t hard to tell that he had been fiddling with the tubes sticking out of his arms. “You can help me by not messing with your Iv’s” She glared at him, closing the door behind her and making her way over to the counter. “I’m your doctor. Well, unofficially I’m your doctor. Trust me, you’re better off with me. My name’s Dr. Lin-King. Considering my attire, you can call me Queenie” She pulled some gloves free and pulled them on. “How are you feeling?”

Was this lady in a fucking orange t-shirt and jeans seriously trying to tell him that she was his doctor? “Unofficially? What the fuck does that mean?” Kaden asked. He was tempted to hit the nurse call button bullshit to see what was going on but the last thing he wanted was to have two medical professionals in his room. Or three, who knew. When she turned around and headed to the counter, that’s when he finally saw it. “I’m sorry, does that shirt say what I think it does? Are you actually a doctor, what the hell is going on here?” Oh great, and now she was putting on gloves. His eyes grew wide as his mind raced through what the fuck she planne on doing. Putain, he just wanted to get up and leave right then. Bolt. He could take her. Hell, he probably killed a guy earlier that night. This would be nothing. Even with the stab wounds and blood loss “I feel like I got stabbed, doc. But I’m fine. All sewed up, ready to be anywhere but here.”

Queenie sighed, Regan had given her a forewarning but hadn’t mentioned just how bad Kaden’s attitude would be. He was a real charmer, just like Regan. She understood why the two were so important to each other. “It means that Regan asked me to keep an eye on you.” She answered nonchalantly. Speaking of their mutual friend, she could only imagine how horrified Regan would be to know that Queenie was working without the proper dress attire. “Depends on if you can read or not, but I hope we’re reading the same thing.” She came over to Kaden’s bed and checked the screen for any changes in vitals. She ignored the clipboard, she had spent enough time staring at the thing and memorizing everything earlier in the night while Kaden was still passed out. “Sit still, you’re knocking your IV’s loose.” She warned him, grabbing at his arm to make sure that nothing had fallen out during his failed escape attempt. “Of course I’m a real doctor. Regan interrupted my date night.  She’ll be back, by the way. She just needed to take care of a few things. She was very adamant that you are taken care of. And that you listen to whatever I say.” He definitely wasn’t going to make this easy, was he? “Stating the obvious doesn’t help me. Try a scale. Pain, 1-10.”

So this was Regan’s doing. Suddenly it made a lot more sense. Kaden wasn’t any less annoyed, however. His mouth spread in a thin line across his face as he held out his arm for her while she poked and prodded. Every part of him wanted to yank his arm away from her. But he also wanted her to leave already and Regan was right that cooperating was the easiest way to do that. He really hated that. “Yeah well I’d feel bad but a mime with a knife interrupted mine. Wait, that’s what you wore to date night?” He grumbled as she made sure all the needles and whatnots were back in place and not going anywhere. “Did she say when she’d be back?” Fucking soon, he hoped. He sighed. Seemed he was stuck with this Queenie for the moment. Great. “A one. Can I leave now?” Her face said no pretty clear as day. “Fine. Six. Maybe 7. But I have a high pain tolerance. Animal control. I’ve survived worse than this. Do I really need to be here for days?”

“A mime with a knife? I knew they couldn’t be trusted. What a wasted career path.” Perhaps Queenie would be driven to madness and have stabbed somebody too, if she had become a mime. Though obviously Queenie never would have never chosen to become a mime. “Never mind my attire. I’m not the one in the hospital bed.” So it had been a date? Queenie had some theories, considering Regan’s state of mind when they met up at the hospital. “No, but I assume it will be soon. She didn’t want to leave you alone for too long.” She didn’t bother gracing Kaden with a response. Clearly he was lying. She didn’t care how badass he thought he was. Bumping into a wall was a one, stab wounds were at minimum a five. “You can leave as soon as you’re healed up. However long that takes.” She did feel bad for the man. Being stabbed could not have been fun. And being stabbed by a mime just added insult to the injury. “We stitched you back up when they brought you in last night. You had some internal bleeding, but with some rest and these IV’s you’ll be good as new. Maybe a couple new scars. I need to check the wounds, sit still for me.” She made ready to peel it back the bandages to get a better look, but she wasn’t going to waste her time alone with Kaden without some questions. “How long have you and Regan been seeing each other?”

Kaden was oddly relieved to hear her distaste of mimes. At least they could agree on one thing. He was less thrilled about her attitude at the moment. It seemed like Regan had the better bedside manner, who knew. Still, didn’t like her answer to how long he was stuck there. However long that takes. Well, shit. That was going to be less than they anticipated. Kaden wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. “Well hopefully it doesn’t take long,” he grumbled. Kaden already wanted to squirm away from her as she went to look at his wounds; her questions only made it worse. He could run, right? Just roll right off of the bed and bolt out of this place. That’d be fine. It could work. No one would stop him. “Depends.” He sighed and lay still as he could fucking manage while she checked his wounds. He might as well cooperate. Not like he was going anywhere anytime soon. And he had a feeling she was the type to demand answers eventually. Might as well get it over with. “A few months. Why are you asking? How do you know her anyway?”

“Technically by law I’m not allowed to hold you here. We could be charged with false imprisonment.” Queenie felt obligated to tell the man, whose mumbling and grumbling certainly made Queenie wish that he would refuse their services and stumble out of the hospital so she could get home and go to sleep. But she really didn’t need him bleeding out and Regan holding that against her. “But we’d both have to put up with Regan then. So pick your battles.” Not to mention Queenie wasn't especially good at following the rules anyways. “I can see why the two of you get along. You’re both stubborn as hell.” She rolled her eyes, peeling back the first bandage to get a better look. No sign of infection, which was a plus. But more than that, the wound looked surprisingly good for being less than a day old. It was still there, but the length of it had shortened, as if some of it had already begun healing. A puzzled look on her face, Queenie pushed at the some of the areas around the wound, “Do you feel any pain when I do this?” When she was done with the first, she swapped the bandage out for a clean one and moved onto the next stab wound. Same thing there as well. “Either I must be better at this than even I thought, or you have an extraordinary amount of red blood cells. This wound is healing surprisingly fast.” She explained absentmindedly, rebandaging the second wound and pulling her gloves off of her hands and discarding them in the trash. “We went to med school together. Haven’t had a lot of contact until I moved to Maine a few weeks ago, so I’m very curious about her life now. You’re an animal control officer? Does that mean you partner with the police department?” If so, very curious that Regan would find herself in a relationship with what could be construed as a coworker.

“Point made.” Kaden was sure even if he left, Regan would drag him back kicking and screaming. He didn’t know how, but he trusted she’d find a way. His heartbeat picked up as she looked at the first wound. This might have been the first time he wished that he didn’t heal quite so fast. Maybe she wouldn’t notice. Merde. The look on her face said otherwise. She definitely noticed alright. Kaden winced at her touch, but it honestly wasn’t that bad. He tried to exaggerate it a bit. “Oh, yeah, it hurts, alright. I just got stabbed in the chest.” He fixed his gaze to the speckled shitty ceiling tiles as she moved on to the next one. He knew it wasn’t going to be any better. Fuck. This is exactly why he hated hospitals. Shit like this. Having to explain it and hoping no one noticed. “Red blood cells, yeah. Must be that. Guess that means I’ll be out of here sooner than you think. Can’t wait.” Thank god she was covering them back up, he didn’t need her prolonging this any longer. If only that meant she’d leave and stop asking him fucking questions. “Med school, huh? You know you could just ask her instead of grilling your patient.” He had to wonder how the two of them got along back in the day. Something about the way Queenie worked seemed diametrically opposed to how seriously Regan took every little rule.  “I am, yeah. Technically have a badge and everything. So yeah, I partner with them but I’m not exactly knee deep in murder investigations or shit like that. Mostly it’s just a lot of actual shit.”

A promise was a promise. From the looks of it, Kaden was going to be just fine, but Queenie wasn’t going to leave his side until Regan was back. Hopefully that was sooner rather than later. Kaden clearly didn’t want Queenie there any more than she wanted to be there herself. But she wasn’t exactly mad at the opportunity to question someone so personal to Regan. Regan had always been so stoic, she wondered if that translated into her romantic life as well. Kaden seemed very shocked that his wounds had started healing so quickly, but perhaps the relief at the idea of getting out of the hospital was enough that Kaden didn’t actually care. Still, it was peculiar. But Queenie was just here to make sure that Kaden survived and left the hospital, the rest didn’t matter as much to her. “Well, I’m sure you know how Regan can be. It’s much easier to pry this information from a friend that has nowhere else to go right now.” Queenie grabbed the chair from the other side of the room and dragged it over closer to Kaden’s bed. She still kept her distance, they weren’t friends or anything, but she figured since the two were stuck they may as well talk. “Fascinating. A couple of people asked Regan out back in school. She never wanted to mix business with pleasure.” She reached into one of the drawers and pulled out a stack of magazines, flipping through them until she found one that interested her and she fell back into the chair, haphazardly glancing at the pictures as she flipped through. It was peculiar. He must have been someone special for her to break her own rule. “So what’d you do to piss that mime off?”

“Right. Pretty sure I’m a little more than a friend but sure. I do. Still trying to figure out why you care.” Kaden sort of wondered if he should really be telling this woman all this about Regan. Then again, she had asked her to watch him. She must trust her well enough, right. “What kind of friends were in school anyway? Didn’t even keep contact?” Part of him wanted to ask more about what she’d been like in school, find out how much had changed since then. He figured he’d have to play along a bit longer til he got to ask the fucking questions. If he could last that long talking to the doctor. “Good to know that’s a long standing thing with her.” Was she fucking settling in? Shit. Regan really had put her on babysitting duty. And she had magazines? For fuck’s sake. He was finding it harder and harder to believe the two of them had ever been close. Still, had to admit he was a little jealous she had something to occupy herself with. He’d take anything at this point. A coin to flip, paper clip to bend, rubber band to fucking snap, anything he could do with his hands beyond fiddle with the edge of a sheet. Or contemplate trying one more time for the IV. Sitting still with nothing to do was going to fucking kill him soonere than any stab wounds. He turned and shot her a look while she continued to flip through her magazine. “I’m sorry am I fucking boring you?” He sighed and went back to counting dots on the ceiling tiles. “And yeah, trust me, she told me all about how she doesn’t make friends at work. Let alone date colleagues. She’s also said she doesn’t consider our jobs to have enough overlap for her to worry too much. Considering I don’t normally deal with human death and cant’ even make arrests, she’s probably right,” he said with a small shrug. He wasn’t sure how much of that he really believed but at the same time, it was hard for him to think he was some sort of exception. There was no way Regan would break her self imposed rules for the likes of him, right? He turned back to Queenie at her question, eyes narrowed and face scrunched in incredulous confusion. “Putain, really?” He groaned. “I did not piss off a mime, he barged in the restaurant and attacked me out of nowhere. The hell kind of doctor are you anyway? Asking shit like that.”

More than a friend? This was even better than Queenie had imagined. To think, Regan had neglected to mention this when the two were reconnecting. She would just have to ask her about this Kaden fellow. Maybe invite them over for a double date night. After Kaden was released, obviously. Though she wasn’t sure how well her husband would fare against Regan and Kaden. Regan didn’t have much of a funny bone in her body, and Kaden didn’t seem particularly chipper. And that was coming from Queenie, who had often been described as a mixture of both of those same qualities. “Yes, well the two of us were more focused on the educational aspects of Med School. We wanted to be the best. In a way, that kept us from making a lot of friends. And also made us… unique friends ourselves.” Any of their classmates may have assumed that the two hated each other or at the very least competed with each other for top spot. That was true, but throughout that they also developed a sort of kinship. Queenie was flipping through her magazine when Kaden asked if he was boring her. “Well you certainly aren’t the friendliest conversation. But I’m multitasking.” She shrugged, reaching over to hold up the stack of magazines, “You want one too?” He probably was going a little stir crazy in the bed, though considering the look of the wounds he would probably be here for another day or two max. All things considered, for two stab wounds to the chest that was a short trip. “Right, of course.” Queenie didn’t believe it and she didn’t think Kaden did either. But Regan was fantastic at rationalizing things to herself. Of course she would find a workaround in her own logic to date Kaden. “Hey, I’m here off duty. Usually I couldn’t care what brought someone into the hospital unless it pertains to the operation. We’re stuck here until Regan gets back, figured I’d ask some questions. We can sit here in complete silence if you’d rather have it that way.”

“Guess that doesn’t surprise me. With how seriously she takes work and all,” Kaden responded. He was still curious what kind of friends that made the two women if they were always competing against each other for the top spot. “I’d ask who ended up being the best in your class, you or her, but I have a feeling you’re not going to give me the unbiased take.” Not that it mattered much to him either way, he just wanted to see what kind of response he’d get; what else he could dig out of her. He still didn’t like how quickly she'd settled in over there; “Yeah well Regan asked you to be here, not me." He raised a brow as she handed him a stack of random magazines. He didn’t really want to read a single one but he was desperate. "Fine," he said as he reached out and took one off the stack and started rolling it into a tube in his hands. Less reading material, more fidget device at the moment. It felt better already just having something to do with his hands. Didn't do a whole lot to lessen how much he wanted to get up and run out of there, but it was something at least. “Again, I didn’t ask for a babysitter.” He sighed and the room was quiet for a moment, nothing but the hum of the fluorescent lights and the occasional drip from the bag of fluids. She may have had a point. “Fine. Anything else you want to you know?”

Queenie nodded in agreement. Of the two, Regan would most likely win that battle. Both took their jobs seriously, but Queenie had always been more open to more rule bending than Regan was. In that sense, Regan was about as serious as they came. “That doesn’t matter.” Queenie shot a look over at Kaden. At the end of the day, how the two fared in med school didn’t matter at all. Because neither of them had ended up at the top. Dr. Chonksky had swooped in under their noses and stolen that from the two of them. And look how she had ended up. What a wasted career. “Another doctor ended up at the top of the class. Shame what happened to her.” She shook her head and flipped another page in her magazine. Kaden messing with the pages of the magazine was slightly irritating, but Queenie relented. Queenie didn’t reply to Kaden, just sat in silence for a while until he finally spoke again, a knowing smirk crossing her face. Just as she had figured. “I’ve covered my bases. I won’t hound you too much for information. I’ll leave some of my interrogating for Regan herself. You got anything for me? It’s only fair.”

Kaden’s brows furrowed. “Uh, what happened to her?” Not that he sincerely cared but the way she said it, it was hard not to be even a little bit curious. He drummed his fingers on the magazine before flipping through to see if there was anything remotely worth looking at. Couldn't say he was impressed. He turned to her at her question. “I mean, you covered a lot.” He paused to think if there was anything more he wanted to know. Then he caught a flash of orange. “That’s right. I need to know. You really went out in public in that shirt?”

Queenie shook her head at Kaden’s question, deeply sighing before answering him. “She became a plastic surgeon.” There was a hint of disgust and disappointment in her voice. Perhaps her tone had made him believe she had died or something. But some things were worse than dead. Queenie was still bitter that she had wasted all of her talent to become a plastic surgeon. What a tragedy. “I’m thorough” Queenie grinned, proud of herself. She had to admit that Regan fascinated her. Though it seemed that much had stayed the same with her, so much had changed as well. Of course, that was to be expected with anyone over time. But Regan had always seemed so opposed to change that Queenie honestly thought the woman might never age through sheer stubbornness. “Of course I did” Queenie glanced down at her shirt, wondering what could be wrong with it. “Oh, you must be confused because there’s no fire, like the joke implies. My husband was wearing the fire shirt. Make more sense?”

Kaden’s face scrunched up and his eyes narrowed. Plastic surgery? Was… was that supposed to mean something? “Oh. Yeah. Of course. Plastic surgery. What a failure.” At least it was nice to learn that all doctors were weird and intense and not just Regan. He wasn’t sure if that was comforting or not. Or that he really needed two people like that in his life. Granted, at the moment, it seemed like he didn’t have a choice, Just when he thought he couldn't be more confused, she explained the shirt. Well, she tried to explain it at least. His head tilted as he looked over her outfit again. “Yeah I got that much. More confused why you both wore matching shirts in the first place. Is that a thing? That you do?” Oh god, did couples do that? That sounded awful. Maybe a death curse was preferable to that. Mimes, maybe not.

Queenie nodded as if this was completely common knowledge, “I’m glad you agree with me. No wonder Regan likes you.” There were a lot of reasons that Queenie could see the two together. Ironically, there were also a lot of reasons why she was still seemingly unable to shove the two of their puzzle pieces together. She was still having a hard time processing the professional and personal mixing of the two. Definitely something worth discussing with Regan at a later date. Once her boyfriend was out of the hospital. “How are others supposed to know that we’re w- a couple if we aren’t wearing matching shirts?” She had almost said winning but changed her mind at the last moment. She needed to calm herself down, she didn’t actually know this man. “Every date night we usually wear something coordinated. It’s like our thing.” She added as if this was the most common thing in the world. “Okay, fine. Admittedly I thought it was a bit weird at first too. But after a while it really starts to grow on you. Just wait until the four of us go on a double date and we all wear Taco Bell shirts. You and Regan can be mild.”

[mcuamerica]

Hii can I have a Steve x Reader with these prompts 1, 5, 10, 14, 15 Can it end in fluff :>>> thank youu 💞💞

Summary: A mission goes wrong, but what makes it worse is the fight Steve and you have right before the team leaves.

Pairing: Steve x Fem!Avenger!Reader

Warnings: violence/injury, angst, fluff

Words: 1910

A/N: Prompts are in bold. I’ve been thinking about this all day and I’m hoping that this plot is good lol. I didn’t think this was going to be as long as it is but it is so... Also, don’t ask who this villain is because he is kind of based off of Mysterio but he isn’t Mysterio...  I hope you enjoy it! Request a prompt from this list.

(gif credit here)

“You can’t be serious, Steve.” You groaned, slipping on your mask. “Why do you think I like Sam or Bucky? They’re my teammates. And you are my boyfriend.” You put on your gloves and made sure that you could move properly in your new suit. 

“I’m your teammate too, (Y/N). Doesn’t mean anything. You spend all last week with Buck making your new suit, and Sam helped train with you too. You barley came over to my room when you were done too, so I’m feeling a little left out.” Steve went over the past two weeks of your life, starting to get on your nerves. 

“Because they’re my friends, and Bucky’s suit has all of the same things mine does, he was helping me upgrade it. You were in mission briefs all week, what else was I supposed to do? I needed to train and Sam wasn’t doing anything. You know he’s good at combat.” You told Steve, trying to get him to calm down. He seemed a lot more jealous recently, but you two didn’t spend much time together in the past few weeks. It just made it worse that you were spending that time apart with his best friends.

“You could’ve waited--” He started but got interrupted when FRIDAY called out that you were approaching the jump point. “We’re gonna finish this later.” He told you. 

You narrowed your eyes and crossed your arms, looking over at the mission sheet. “Wait, who’s partnering with who?” You asked, surprised he didn’t pair the four of you up earlier. 

“There’s three of us, choose one,” Steve said, crossing his arms to wait for your decision. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You muttered, looking to Steve and then to his two best friends. “Steve-” 

“Come on, we can go in together. It’ll be easier to carry her rather than metal arm over here.” Sam said, putting on his goggles. 

Steve looked to you and hummed, opening the drop door to the jet. “Okay then,” He said and Bucky followed him out of the jet. You groaned and walked with Sam to the drop door. 

“Don’t let me fall,” you said before Sam took you down to the building’s roof. You got to a hatch and opened it, following the plan that you had gone over on the way here. 

It was all going fine until you heard a large boom come from the room over, followed by a wave of smoke and fire. “Sam!” you called out, asking if anyone was in there through comms. When you only got static, you walked slowly towards the door. You put your hand on the handle and turned it, silently thanking Tony for making your gloves heat-resistant. “Steve? Sam? Bucky?” You called out, wandering throughout the smoke-filled room. 

“Oh, sweetheart, this is so unfortunate.” You heard as the voice filled the room, the smoke dissipating around you. “You fell for it, I didn’t think a super spy would be coaxed by a false explosion.”

“Then why did you…”

“I wanted to test it, and now you’re not going to get out of here alive.” The voice said, a man appearing from the door. “I hear you’re pretty important to Captain Rogers, so maybe I’ll use you to lure him here...” You looked around, seeing multiple exits you could take, realizing that you weren’t even tied up. You could easily get away, especially since he was doing a classic villain monologue. You slowly made your way over to the door you had come from, only to have it disappear as soon as you touched it. 

“Oh, you really thought I would say all of that without having you tied up? You passed out the second you walked into the room.” The man said, walking in front of you. Your eyes widened, trying to get out of the restraints. “Maybe you need to be a little more battered to make it seem direr.” He spoke, creeping towards the chair. 

You cringed as you tried to get out of the restraints and they tightened around your arms. “You’re insane, you can’t hurt me.” You tried to stall him, get him to talk more as you thought of a way out. You didn’t feel the comms in your ear anymore, which meant he must’ve taken them out when you were passed out. 

“Oh, of course, I can. I have all these tools here.” He said, bringing over a tray. You tried to think back to the multiple ways that Nat taught you to get out of this situation, but every time you tried something, another restraint tightened or you got shocked. This chair you were stuck in was near impossible to break, which made it worse when he neared your body with a weapon that made you struggle even more. 

***

“Now go on, call out to him,” The man said, holding the knife up to your throat. 

You winced as you shook your head, trying to get the breath to tell him that you weren’t going to do anything. You felt the knife break skin, giving it a small cut but nothing compared to the other injuries on your body. You felt your broken ribs, sprained wrist, the cuts and bruises on your face, a busted lip. Anything from the waist up probably didn’t look good, since he couldn’t do much with your legs tied to the chair. Your ankles, however, most likely had terrible bruises if not burns on them. “Call out to him.” He said again, not asking but telling. 

“St-Steve.” You called, using the energy that you had left. He had turned up the smoke in the room again after he put on a mask to cover himself. It was draining your energy quicker than the blood loss could. The man grabbed the comms and told you to say it again, and when you did he crushed it underneath his foot like some kind of further torment. 

“And now, I get to watch as the two of you claw for life.” He said, laughing as he walked out of the door. You heard a ringing as the door shut, followed by a real bomb going off. 

“(Y/N)! (Y/N)! Are you in there? Are you hurt” Steve called out once the dust subsided. You could hear the building rumble as you tried to get out of the restraints again. 

“I can’t breath.” You said, wincing at the pain in your lungs as you inhaled the smog around you.  

“Alright, alright just hang on. I’m coming for you, don’t move.” He called out, making his way through the wreckage. 

You tried your best to stay awake and conscious, but the blood loss and the smoke was starting to be too much for your body to handle. It was going to shut down to preserve your life any minute now. 

You felt your eyes well up with tears not only because of the amount of pain you were in but because you were thinking this may be the last time you see Steve. And the last thing you did before this fight. 

“Hey, (Y/N) I’m right here.” He said, covering his nose with his sleeve to keep him from inhaling the smoke. He held up his shield and cut the restraints from your ankles and arms, giving you a small amount of relief. 

“St-Steve... The building... It’s gonna…” You started but he cut you off. “You gotta save your energy okay? I’m gonna get you out of here.” He said, wrapping his arms around your waist. You let out a cry of pain and clutched onto him. 

“Broken... Ribs..” You muttered, shaking your head in the slightest way when he asked if he could carry you. 

He set you down on the ground in what seemed like a stable part of the building, for now, to try and help with the pain so he would be able to carry you out. He pulled out the shot that they were given in case something like this happened, putting it into the side of your arm. “I wish I could do more but until this kicks in, we can’t go anywhere.” He said, sensing that if you were put in any more pain you would pass out, possibly not wake up again. 

“Just smile, I really need to... see your smile... right now.” You muttered with staggered breaths, eyes opening and closing in a slow tempo. You could see the water build up in his eyes as he gave you a small smile, shaking his head. 

“You have a long time to be able to see my smile, doll.” He said, cupping your cheek as gently as he could. “You smile now, please. Just stay awake.” Looking into your eyes, he leaned his forehead against yours. 

You gave your best attempt at a smile, but it came out as a pained cringe. You grabbed onto your stomach and winced, clenching your jaw from the agony caused by your rib cage. “I can’t…” Your voice faltered as your hearing started to change into a constant ringing. 

Steve’s muffled voice was the only thing you could hear as you lost consciousness, “Don’t close your eyes on me...” 

***

It had been days, too many for Steve’s liking, that you had been asleep. Bruce said that it was a miracle you were still alive. Partly because of the shot Steve gave you that kicked in right in time to keep your vitals strong enough to get you to the med bay in time. It still didn’t help the fact that you were in a bed with a heart monitor attached to you, an IV in your arm, and a cannula around your head to give you stable oxygen. 

Steve barely got sleep, staying by your side until Bucky had to drag him out so Bruce could run a few more tests. He had finally fallen asleep at your bedside just as you woke up. You took a few shaky breaths as you opened your eyes, the low beeping of your heart pulling you out of the deep slumber you were put in. You looked over to see Steve clutching your hand in his as his head was on the bed. You didn’t know how much time had passed, but you could tell he didn’t get enough sleep anyway. You tried your best to not wake him, but he had barely fallen asleep and was on edge already. 

“(Y/N)?” He asked with a sleepy voice, seeing that you were awake. “(Y/N)!” He said happily, raising his head to yours and kissing your forehead. “You’re awake. God, you’re awake and you’re okay.” He said and squeezed your hand, making you wince at the amount of pressure he applied. “Sorry, sorry.” He said and loosened his grip. 

You gave him a small squeezed, raising his hand and kissing the back of it. “There’s the smile I wanted.” You said, giving him one that he wanted as well. 

You heard his soft chuckle, the sound giving you a small amount of energy you needed to lean up and kiss him softly. “You know that you’re the only man that I love right?” You whispered against his lips. 

He hummed and nodded, leaning his forehead against yours. “I don’t think I’m ever going to doubt you again.” He assured, wrapping his arms around your to pull you into a soft embrace.

[kinkykinard]

What the Water Gave Me

Fandom: Star Trek AOS. Pairing: Leonard McCoy x female reader. Word Count: 5099. Warnings: vaginal fingering, anal fingering, enemas, vaginal sex, anal sex (female receiving), butt plugs. Rating: Adult (18+). Summary: You never thought you would agree to give enemas a try at Leonard’s suggestion, but in the end you’re oh so glad you did. Beta: @daughterofthebrowncoats. Author’s Note: Thank you so so so much to @daughterofthebrowncoats for inspiring this fic and pushing me over the edge into writing it!  I’ve done my absolute best to keep it tasteful without being overly graphic in the wrong ways.  Please don’t feel obligated to read it, but if you want to give it a try, I hope you enjoy it!  Additionally, I’m only tagging the select few people who already know what the fic is and who haven’t run away screaming, but if you would like to be tagged in future fics like this, please let me know!

You’ve been preparing for this night for weeks now, getting used to the idea of what Leonard had told you he wanted to do to you.  You’ve been reading, researching, and carefully asking around about what he had proposed one night when you’d been lying in his arms after a round of lovemaking and though you’ve heard good things, you haven’t been able to quell the undercurrent of anxiety you’ve been feeling.

Shifting around a little on your knees and elbows, you fight the urge to cover yourself.  Your entire backside is exposed to Leonard’s view and though you can hear him in the bathroom next door getting things ready, you can’t help but feel vulnerable and like you’re on display.  The sound of water running has your heart racing and pounding and while you trust Leonard implicitly, you can’t help but be a little bit terrified of what’s about to happen.

When the topic of enemas had first come up, you’d been skeptical and hesitant, but after a bit of reassurance you’d caved and agreed to try it.  Leonard had been over the moon and had promised to take excellent care of you.  He had assured you that it would be painless and wonderfully exciting, and so after thinking on it for a fortnight, you’d let him know that you were ready.

You hear the water in the bathroom stop running and unconsciously fist your hands tighter in the plush towel beneath you.  You hear Leonard’s footsteps grow nearer and gasp when his hand settles gently on the curve of your lower back, rubbing the skin there in broad, sweeping strokes that help soothe you.

“Are you ready, sugar?”  He asks in a tone much more gentle than the authoritative one he often uses in the bedroom, though the effect is the same.

“Yes,” you say breathlessly.  “Please be gentle.”

“Do you trust me?”  He queries further.

“Yes,” you assert.

“Yes…” Leonard trails, quirking an eyebrow and slipping his hand down to your buttock and giving it a firm squeeze.

“Yes Doctor,” you amend.

“Good,” Leonard says, satisfied.  “Now I want you to relax for me, darlin’.  I’m going to lube you up.”

Your heart rate soars again at his words; you’ve never had anyone or anything inside of your ass before and the thought of his fingers there is equal parts maddeningly sexy and terrifying.  You shift a little as you hear the snap of gloves behind you and shiver in anticipation.  Moments later, Leonard’s hand lands back on your buttock and pulls it aside to expose your anus.  You bite your lip and yelp quietly when you feel a cold dollop of lubricant land right on your opening.

“Deep breath,” Leonard instructs.

A few beats of silence and stillness go by and then you feel Leonard’s finger pressing gently, just barely, against your asshole.  Making a conscious effort to relax as it circles, massaging the slick gel into your skin, you resign yourself to his ministrations.  Your face flames in humiliation at being bent over so lewdly but you can feel yourself growing wet as his massage starts to feel good.

When his fingertip first dips inside just the smallest bit a few seconds later, you grasp the towel harder, the skin over your knuckles stretching taut from the effort.  You know Leonard felt your tension mount when he pulls back a little, instead continuing the slow and methodical massaging for a little while longer.

Eventually you relax and when his finger slips inside once more you manage to stay still and at ease.  He takes his time working it in, adding a drop of lube here and there as needed to keep you comfortable.  The longer he spends fingering you, the more you start to wonder why you’d never tried anything anal before; it feels just as good as Leonard had promised it would.

So far, anyway.

“I think you’re ready,” Leonard murmurs.  “You’re relaxing real quick here.”

You nod, resting your forehead on your crossed arms and biting your lip as his fingers slips free of you.  His other hand stays put, though, holding your buttock aside as he picks up a large squeeze bottle with a long, thin nozzle screwed into the end of it. You shut your eyes tightly as he holds it aloft just over your backside, allowing a few drops to dribble from the tip of it and onto your skin.  The water is warm, you’re relieved to feel, and you take a slow, steadying breath as you feel him poise the tip of the nozzle at your opening.

“Okay?”  He asks.

“Yes,” you allow.

You inhale sharply as you feel him press forward and feel the nozzle slide in deep.  It’s only a couple of inches, but it’s more than you’ve ever had inside of your ass before and it feels intense. It takes you a moment to adjust to it as the flared neck of the bottle comes to rest flush up against your opening and you squeeze involuntarily around the hard, unyielding plastic of the nozzle, feeling a twinge of arousal.

“Here comes the water, sugar,” Leonard warns.

Before you can even think to brace yourself, you feel a sudden flush of warmth somewhere deep inside of your belly.  You rock involuntarily back against the nozzle and earn yourself a soft chuckle from Leonard.  He lets go of your buttock, instead stroking his hand up along your spine as he continues squeezing the water into you with the other one.  It’s a completely new and unique feeling, but it’s not unwelcome and perhaps even somewhat pleasant.  The heat of the water spreads through you as more of it is instilled and you moan softly.

“Too much?”  Leonard asks, easing off a little for a moment.

“No,” you say breathlessly.  “It’s nice; it feels good.”

You can hear the smile in his voice.

“Glad to hear it,” he says.  “Not much left to go, but if you take this one like a champ, I’ve got another ready for round two.”

You consider his words as he increases the pressure he’s applying to the squeeze bottle, filling you up with the rest of the small amount of fluid.

“Let me hold this one for a little?” You suggest.  “So I can get used to it?”

“That’s the idea,” Leonard assures you with a chuckle.  “There, all in.”

You groan quietly as you feel him withdraw the nozzle, leaving you missing the sensation of being penetrated.  You shift your weight from one knee to the other a few times but you can’t feel the water sloshing around inside of you like you assumed you would be able to.  Instead, you just feel a little full and very warm.

You tense a little when you feel Leonard’s fingers gently part your labia and slip in the moisture that’s collected there.  As he eases one inside and brushes up against your g-spot, however, you let yourself enjoy the sensations the friction is creating. Between the water in your belly and the finger in your vagina, you feel an orgasm building quickly and you clench your fists to hold it back.

“I don’t want to spill!”  You gasp. “Len, please!”

His rubbing against your g-spot slows and his free hand comes to land on your hip, squeezing it to help ground you a little.

“You’re doing fine,” he encourages.  “You can hold it.”

You shake your head as a fine sheen of sweat breaks out across your skin, making it prickle with goose bumps.  You’re very suddenly feeling the need to release the water and you shimmy forward, scarcely even noticing that Leonard’s finger has slipped from inside of you in your rush.

“I have to go!”  You exclaim, clambering toward the edge of the bed; you’d known the feeling of needing to go was going to be intense, but you hadn’t quite imagined it to this degree.

As you move to stand, Leonard offers you a hand, gently steadying you as you get to your feet.  He presses a hasty kiss to your forehead as you stride by him, making your way into the bathroom and shutting the door behind you.

When you emerge ten minutes later, you feel a little shaky from the emptying but also more turned on than you remember ever feeling before.  You’re aching to feel more, and it’s with a coy expression that you make your way back over to the bed.

The sight of Leonard standing at the bedside and adjusting the height of an IV pole he’s very clearly purloined from the med bay – a pole with an impossibly large, full enema bag hanging from it – nearly stops your heart.  You bite your lip as you approach him slowly, eyeing the setup.  As you get close enough, Leonard steps in and wraps his arms around you from behind, splaying a hand on your abdomen and rubbing it gently.

“Ready for more?”  He asks.

“Yes, Doctor,” you purr.

Leonard nods, dipping his head to press a kiss to your cheek before nudging you towards the bed.

“On your knees then, sweetheart,” he instructs.

You comply easily, assuming the same position you had been in earlier. It isn’t long before Leonard is standing just behind you, pulling on a fresh set of gloves and uncapping the lube. When he touches you a moment later, spreading your cheeks again just like the first time, you relax a lot more easily and though it’s only the second time you’ve ever allowed him to touch you like this it’s already familiar enough that you’re perfectly content as he presses a finger inside of your asshole to lubricate you.

As he switches out his finger for the enema tip, you realize that this nozzle is thicker than the last one and you feel a little thrill at the thought of it stretching you even more than his finger has.  As he continues to push it forward it occurs to you that the nozzle is shaped like a plug, long and somewhat uncomfortably wide at its maximum diameter.  The discomfort eases quickly, though, as it slides completely inside of you and seats itself with its flared base keeping your cheeks spread.

“I figured that might help you hold this one,” Leonard says softly, strong a hand over your buttock and pressing the plug just a fraction deeper with his thumb, making the tubing running through the center of it bounce a little, sending pleasurable little shocks through your core.  “It’s going to be a big one; going to make your belly swell with all that water.”

“I want it,” you beg on a whim a moment later, turning your head a little so you can just see Leonard out of the periphery of your gaze.  “Please, Len.  I want to feel it.”

“How can I refuse when you beg so sweet, darlin’?”  He says, pleased at the state he’s worked you up into.

Without any warning, Leonard reaches for the clamp on the tubing and releases it, allowing the flow to start.  It’s intense, so much more intense than the first one, and you can’t help but moan as you immediately start to feel full.  You’re about to ask him to slow the flow down a little when you feel a sudden release and realize that the water has started moving deeper inside of you.  The feeling that you’re about to burst fades and is quickly replaced by a pleasant warmth and relaxation.

As the minutes creep by in silence, you focus on the growing heaviness in your belly and the way Leonard’s hands have begun to sweep in a gentle, soothing massage over your lower back, hips, and thighs.  You can feel yourself growing full, the skin on your belly becoming taught from the strain of all of the water inside of you, and soon it starts to become uncomfortable.

“How much more?”  You ask.

“You’ve got just under a third of the bag left,” Leonard replies. “You can do it, sweetheart.”

“I’m getting crampy,” you whine softly.

You gasp as you suddenly feel a brush up against your clit and realize it’s the inside of Len’s wrist as he reaches between your legs to splay his hand on your gently swollen belly.  He carefully massages all over your abdomen, easing the cramping quickly and returning you to a state of comfort and arousal.

“Better?”  He asks.

You nod and take a slow, deep breath as you feel his hand slip away. You can hear him moving around behind you and you glance over your shoulder as you feel him pat your hip a moment later.

“All done,” he announces with a smile.  “You did great, darlin’.”

“I feel so full,” you breathe.

“I want you to hold it for a while,” Leonard insists softly.  “But I can help take your mind off it; make it easier.”

“Yes, please,” you say.

You can hear the rustle of fabric behind you and you can only imagine he’s removing his boxers – the only remaining vestige of modesty he has remaining. You listen a little longer, hearing the tearing of a condom packet and the snap of the lid to the bottle of lubricant. Before long, you feel Leonard’s weight on the bed between your legs and your eyes widen as he lines the head of his cock up with your core.

“Going to make you feel even more full, darlin’,” he explains.  “With that nozzle in your ass and all that water in your belly, my cock’s going to fit inside you nice and snug.”

You bite your lip as you feel him press forward, pushing just the tip of his cock into your wet and waiting pussy.  It’s already more intense than anything you’ve ever felt before and you can’t help but let out a wordless cry as he pushes in deeper, filling you beyond your wildest imaginings.  You clench around his cock, panting as you adjust to the stretch and squeeze.

“Fuck,” you hiss, reaching down to finger your clit, adding to the maelstrom of pleasure you’re already feeling.

“You’re so tight, angel,” Leonard growls.  “Is it too much?”

His concern warms but doesn’t surprise you and you shake your head. Clearing your throat, you reassure him aloud.

“No,” you promise.  “Just… go slow.”

And so he does.

At first, the thrusts are very slow and short, just teasing more than anything, allowing you to get accustomed to the feeling of having something in both of your orifices.  As you start to respond, however, bucking your hips back and bringing your ass flush up against Len’s pelvis, he lengthens the thrusts, increasing his tempo and grabbing onto your hips for stability.

“Oh God,” you moan.  “I’m going to spill, Len!  I can’t hold it like this!”

“You’re going to be just fine, sugar, trust me,” he soothes, slowing his rhythm for just a moment.  “I know how to take your body apart piece by piece and put it back together again, and I know that you’re not going to spill so much as a drop.  Not with this in.”

He pointedly reaches out and presses on the plug-shaped nozzle in your ass. The movement of the smooth plastic against your stretched and spasming hole makes a shudder go through you and you know your orgasm is close.  The tightening of everything inside of you as your climax draws nearer is amplified by your fullness and you’re powerless to stop the onslaught as Leonard starts to move in earnest again.  The rasping of his cock against your g-spot combined with the rhythmic thrum of your fingers against your clit has starbursts popping behind your close eyelids and you gasp for air as your climax hits you.

You cry Leonard’s name as the spasming starts up and grip the sheets beneath you for dear life.  All you can hear is the whoosh of your heartbeat in your ears, the sound in perfect synch with Leonard’s thrusts inside of you.  Within moments he’s coming, too, and the suddenly erratic thrusting helps to bring you down a little bit.  You feel like you’re going to burst but you stay still as he finishes, gritting your teeth as he finally slumps forward, pressing his forehead to the spot between your shoulder blades.

“I’ve got to go,” you rasp.  “Now!”

Though he’s still loose and boneless in the wake of his own orgasm, your comfort is paramount and Leonard quickly slips out from inside of you and climbs to his feet.  With one hand on your lower back to brace you, his other hand goes to the nozzle and grasps it firmly.

“Relax, darlin’,” he says roughly, his voice gravelly in the aftermath of his climax.  “I’m going to pull this out and you can go on ahead.”

You nod frantically, breathing in short, staccato gasps as you feel him tugging on the nozzle.  You wince a little as he pulls it out, the widest part of it stretching you deliciously before popping out with ease.  The second it’s removed, you scramble of off the bed and all but run to the bathroom, closing the door behind you as you reach the toilet just in time.

The next twenty minutes are equal parts relief and living nightmare as you release the contents of the enema.  It’s even more fluid than you thought and you’re weak and shaky by the time it’s finally over.  Your groan of relief and flushing of the toilet attract Leonard’s attention from outside of the room and you hear a gentle knock on the door.

“Why don’t you get into the shower?”  He suggests.  “I’ll join you in a minute.”

It sounds like an amazing idea and you agree easily.  Waiting a moment before standing to get your bearings, you pull a few extra fresh, fluffy towels out from under the sink and set them on the counter for afterward.  Eventually, you get to your feet and step into the shower, pulling the glass door closed behind you and turning on the spray; real water, not the sonic jets that you usually use.

As the heat of the water eases any remaining tension in your muscles and washes away the prickle of sweat on your skin, you hardly notice Leonard climb into the shower with you until his arms wrap around you, his hands coming up to cup your breasts.  His thumbs graze your nipples and you sag back against his chest, groaning contentedly.

“So what did you think?”  He asks, dipping his head to press a kiss to the side of your neck.

“It was intense,” you summarize.  “I think I’d like to try it again some time.”

“Yeah?”  Leonard murmurs hopefully.

You nod, tipping your head to the size, nuzzling his cheek.

“There’s something else I’d like to try, too,” you continue slowly.

“What is it?”  He asks as he pulls away a little, reaching for the soap.

You watch him as he pours a bit of it into his hands and works it through his fingers before reaching up to start lathering you up.  The massage feels heavenly and you fall silent for several long moments, enjoying the sensation of his fingers on you.

“I want to feel your cock in my ass,” you say a few moments later, breaking the companionable silence.

Leonard’s massage doesn’t stop, but you can feel the wanton need radiating off him.

“You’re all nice and clean inside now, sweetheart,” he murmurs, suddenly pressed flush up against you again, sudsy hands trailing down your arms to grasp your wrists.  “Do you think you can handle coming for me again?”

You feel lust coil in the pit of your belly at the thought of having him inside of your ass and even though you’re spent from the evening’s activities, you find your body ready and raring to go again in an instant.  Nodding, you press your ass back against him, wiggling it just a little to rub at his heavy, slowly-hardening cock.

“Yes,” you say emphatically, dislodging his hands and leaning into the spray to wash off the soap so you’re not covered in slippery suds.  “I’m ready, Len.”

He chuckles softly, leaning forward with you and settling his hands on your hips, pulling you back up against him even more.  You can feel his cock stiffening and straining against your buttocks and you reach for the grab bar at the front of the shower. Originally designed in case the gravity failed while one was in the shower, it makes a great hand hold for sex, too, and you plan on making good use of it.

“Stay just like that for me, darlin’,” Leonard instructs, pulling open the shower door and quickly stepping out.  “I’ll be right back.”

You watch him cross over to the medicine cabinet and roll on a condom before pulling out a bottle of lubricant different from the one he’d used in the bedroom.  From its more viscous, silky texture you know it’s silicone-based and you groan inwardly at how good you know it’s going to feel on your asshole.  You shift your weight from foot to foot as Leonard applies a generous amount of the lubricant to his cock and fingers, and you reach up to angle the showerhead down further as he makes his way back over to you.

Seconds later, Len is back in the stall with you and closing the door with his lube-free hand.  You feel the other one brush the cleft between your cheeks and you reach back, pulling one cheek aside to give him better access.

“God damn, sweetheart,” Len growls.  “You’re going to make me cum before I even have a chance to touch you if you keep that up.”

You flash him a coy smile and wiggle your hips a little to tease him.

“Now,” he says, slipping his fingers further into the cleft and pressing one up against your anus.  “Let’s get you lubed up.  Don’t want to hurt you, darlin’.  Want to make you feel good.”

You nod and brace yourself, relaxing into his touch as one finger slips easily inside of you right up to the hilt.  It feels good – so warm and vital – but it’s not enough.  Leonard can tell you’re ready for more just by how comfortable and relaxed you are around his finger and he doesn’t leave you waiting for long before slipping a second one in alongside the first.

“You really are ready,” he says with a groan.  “You’re going to feel so good on my cock.  Going to take me nice and deep, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” you rasp, letting go of your cheek so you can hold onto the grab bar with both hands again.  “Please. I need you.  Now.”

He’s usually the one giving orders, but in the state you’ve worked him into with your desperate pleading and your clenching around his penetrating fingers, he’s in no mood to argue or put you off any longer.  Withdrawing his scissoring digits, leaving you empty and wanting, he steps in so his cock is probing at your opening.  One hand goes to your hip and the other to his cock, guiding it slowly into you.  As soon as his head slips inside, you let out a strangled cry of ecstasy and feel the blood rush to your head as arousal washes over you.

“I’m going to go slow, baby girl,” Leonard assures you.  “Going to watch my cock disappear into you one inch at a time.”

You desperately want him to just get on with it already, but at the same time you’ve heard horror stories about people taking it too fast with anal – especially their first time – and so you’re happy to let him ease into it.  So far it feels incredible and you don’t want anything in the world to change that.

You breathe slow and deep as he starts to push deeper, feeling your heart hammering in your rib cage as his cock presses forward, filling you up and stretching you more than you’ve ever felt before.  The burn of the stretch is a little bit uncomfortable but far too exciting to be bothersome and it only adds to your arousal.  The thought of Leonard’s cock entering your ass is dizzying and you grip the grab bar just a little bit harder to compensate for how weak in the knees you suddenly find yourself.

“I want you to film us sometime,” you blurt, unable to hold back the thought.  “I want to watch you penetrating me.”

“Christ, sugar,” Leonard growls.  “You’re going to kill me.”

You laugh softly, though it turns to a gasp a moment later as you feel him bottom out inside of you, his pelvis flush against your backside. Reaching back, you run your fingers over the spot where the two of you are joined, groaning at how taut you feel around him.  Leonard echoes the noise with one of his own as he runs both hands up your sides to cup your breasts.  He pinches at your nipples gently, just enough to send a shock of arousal through you as he allows you to get used to having him inside.

“You can move, Len,” you grind out after a minute or two of stillness. “You’re not going to break me.”

Leonard gives no indication that he’s heard you until you feel him pulling back a moment later.  The sensation of friction is incredibly sexy and you cant your hips forward a little to speed him along.  You’re desperate to increase the pace, to feel the drag of his cock against your sensitive walls.  Submitting completely, you drop your shoulders so that your ass is well presented, all the while keeping your hands on the grab bar to keep the two of you stable.

You realize that Leonard needs no more encouragement as he starts to thrust.  It’s a leisurely in and out at first, comfortable but teasing, though it quickly becomes so much more.  It’s wildly different from having him in your pussy and it feels incredible.  The lubricant makes the slide of flesh on flesh effortless and heightens the sensation.  Leonard’s harsh breaths and groans of ecstasy only add to the rush and it’s all you can do to grit your teeth so that you don’t splinter apart in a climax just yet; you want this to go on forever.

You aren’t sure how long it goes on as the thrusts become raw, carnal. All you know is that you’ve never felt a climax as big as the one you have building coming before.  Your legs are shaking from the effort it’s taking not to come apart at the seams and you’re sure Leonard can feel the thundering of your heartbeat against the palm he’s got beneath your breast.

One more deep, hard thrust and it’s all you can take.  You scream Leonard’s name as you tip over the precipice, climaxing so hard you can barely breathe.  The shower water has long since gone cold but your skin feels like it’s on fire as you spasm around Leonard’s cock, thankful for the support he’s providing with his grip on your ribcage.  

As your orgasm rages on, you can feel Leonard’s cock thickening inside of you and within second you’re coming together.  You wish you could feel him coming inside of you without the condom, feel him filling you to the brim with his seed, but for this time just the feelings of his hips bucking against you and his fingers gripping your skin almost too tightly have to suffice.

As the two of you come down you sag, your grip on the grab bars slipping and nearly sending you sprawling if not for Leonard’s hands on you.  He rights you easily, holding you tight against his chest until you can find your balance.  As he shifts so that you’re out of the cold spray, his cock slips from inside of you and you hiss at how sensitive you’re left in its wake.

“Alright?”  He asks softly.

“Yeah,” you reply, smiling tiredly, satiety clearly evident on your face. “I’m fine.”

Leonard nods and loosens his hold on you as you pull away, giving you the chance to lean forward and turn off the water.  The two of you take your time stepping out of the shower, and you luxuriate in Leonard’s hands on you as he carefully towels you off.  The room air is cool on your post-coitally warm skin as you step into the bedroom and you order the computer to increase the temperature just a little, and you can’t help but smile as you catch sight of the now-empty enema bag hanging on the IV stand beside the bed.

“Scotty’s going to have a fit when he sees we’ve maxed out my weekly water allowance,” Leonard says wryly as he steps up behind you and places his hands on your shoulders.  “What am I going to tell him?”

“The truth,” you tease with a wink over your shoulder.  “He’ll never question it again.”

Leonard barks out a laugh as he steers you toward the bed and ushers you in under the covers.  You sigh contentedly as he climbs in next to you and turns out the lights before shifting around so that you can lie on his chest.  He rubs a hand up and down along your back as you lay your ear next to his heartbeat and let it lull you into a state of total relaxation.

“Did you really have a good time tonight?” Leonard asks in the otherwise comfortable silence.

Turning your head a little, you press a gentle kiss to his pec before going right back to listening to his heartbeat to help reassure him.

“I did,” you promise.  “And I can’t wait to do it again some time.”

You can feel a tension you didn’t even realize was there leave Leonard’s body as he pulls you in just a little closer, just a little tighter.

“I’m so glad,” he whispers.  “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Len,” you reply.

Leonard drifts off to sleep very quickly afterward, but you lay awake for a little while listening to his soft snores and enjoying the clean and empty feeling inside the enemas have left you with.  When you do finally doze off, it’s to fantasies of all of the other kinds of things you’re desperate to try now that you’ve had a taste of how good doing something unconventional can be.

Click here to see my masterlist!

[braindamageforbeginners]

In Case of Emergency

Cycle 9, Day 4

So, welcome if you’re here from the Gryt article (the-gryt-blog/patricks-story-of-gryt-fefee6dd6a27), feel free to root through the archives, which cover parts of Tumor #2 (2014) forward through the current crisis (which is about eight months of progression-free according to my calculations). Speaking of the current crisis, even though I can’t speak for everyone, most people would consider getting a tip of the hat and take a day off. Sadly, I am not most people. I mean, I’ll take encouragement or adulation, but there are no days off when you’re sick; even if you’re on disability (if you do have brain cancer, or any other serious, debilitating illness, check out the federal government’s list of “compassionate allowances”). This is also why, even though I’d love to fictionalize or novelize my experiences (Hey Zoe)(and Zoe)(yes, two separate women named “Zoe” have asked me about that, which is probably a sign), I honestly don’t have time - the disease-based stuff just comes so fast and constantly that it’s all I can do to manage the situation as best as I can (the verb “manage” implies far more agency and control over the situation than I actually have, but I don’t think English has an appropriate verb) and take careful notes. Speaking of which, for those of you wondering if anything about my overall health has changed, I don’t think so, although I have had something of a brief hiccough today.

So, if you start chemotherapy, everyone - your doctors, nurses, friends who recently figured out how to spell “chemo,” random taxicab drivers - will warn you that chemo causes constipation. The Warlocks warned me from day 1, and gave me a few recommended drugs available over-the-counter that I could use to, ah, “alleviate” the situation, with the addendum that, I should fee free to call them if I needed any further help, recommendations, or prescriptions regarding that particular problem. I shrugged and made a note of it; however, further interactions with these guys (yes, I refer to my physicians a “The Warlocks”), suggested that my first impression - that they don’t screw around, and go straight for the nuclear option if there’s any doubt (again, bless him, Warlock Sr had my knee x-rayed after I got wobbly and sprained it on an elliptical). So far, that’s excellent oncology policy, but you want a somewhat softer-touch when it comes to your GI system.

I noticed, ah, occasional irregularity somewhere during the initial treatment, and just changed my diet to keep everything in me moving at high speed, along with lots of protein because I know, based on previous experience (at the recommendation of a neurofeedback specialist). Good news, a diet that’s good for the Fluten Gator, as Dad calls it (it’s German for “flood gate,” which I only discovered this afternoon, which is eerily accurate, as it turns out) is pretty easy to lose weight on (all it takes is eating 10 kilos of fruits and vegetables a day; you can keep anything else you manage to pile on top of that - realistically, that is the only dietary change I’ve made). What was only hinted at prior to this - which you also should know if you ever have to undergo chemo - is that the side-effects from chemo seem to get worse and more intense with repeated cycles (that’s been my experience)(although I should say the “chemo brain” has gotten better, with CBD and getting more sleep). And that kept me going until last night, when things reached a head.

In order to tell today’s tale properly, I should point out that my disinclination to laxatives has nothing to do with any sort of opinion about what’s natural or healthy (at this point, “natural” would be dying from cancer by March of next year), it’s because I have a rather sordid history on the subject (of course I do). Way back in 2002 - at the end of the last Ice Age - I had Tumor #1 removed. There were an awful lot of side effects and long-term mental/cognitive issues I attributed to that (Not that I’m a paragon of sanity and rationality now, but this is all in comparison). At that time, most doctors on my team were not only fine prescribing various opiates and narcotics for pain, I’m not sure they’d be above anaesthestising me  to get me to stop complaining and/or griping (in my defense, the next time you take a hatchet to the frontal lob, you’ll have a lot to moan about, too). The second that you’re out of the OR and somewhat alert, the nurses were giving me laxatives with every dose of various steroids, pain-killers, anti-seizure drugs, etc. Unlike McConnell’s next SCOTUS pick, I will admit that I blacked out. A lot (although I’m not sure it’’s “blacking out” if you’re just so exhausted you fall asleep every 10-20 minutes).. However, one of the fragments of memory is waking up at some late hour, realizing the nurses’ fiendish laxatives were about to start working, and screaming into the bathroom (possibly literally, which would be no mean feat, since I think I still had an IV in my arm). I’ve rather successfully repressed most of the rest of that memory and replaced it with the warning, “DON’T USE LAXATIVES.”

Cut to last night, when I realized that I hadn’t moved my bowels in over 24 hours (there’s more than a few women with kids who are reading this and thinking, “He doesn’t realise how easy he has it.”)(which is not inaccurate, but I’ll swap an eventually-terminal disease for permanent pooper problems any day of the week, if that’s a swap I’m allowed). Anyway, after taking last night’s bedtime meds (including Temodar), I made a mental note to address  the issue if it was still unresolved this morning. So, instead of descriptions, let me just give you the hour-by-hour-break-down of current events. 9 am - wake up, after ten-ish hours sleep (that’s my recommendation for Temodar nights). While noting sharpness of focus and memory (NO CHEMO BRAIN, HOORAY), note odd cramp-y feeling in guts that’s still unabated. 9:30-10:30 - standard mega high-fiber breakfast. Nothing. 11 am - take dose of Warlock-approved OTC laxative, which, oddly, starts like an “S.” Make there are clear lines of sight to the closest bathroom.

11-12:30 - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uMyCa35_mOg 12:45 - Look up how long it takes for - 8 hours?! Jesus, GI surgery would take less time. 1:00 pm - Take small dose of second laxative recommended by Warlocks (also a stimulant laxative). 1:30 pm - sensation of impending doom, rush to bathroom, memory cuts out 1:45 - Regain control of mind and body (which is feeling almost-normal again) while closing bathroom door. Privately vow never to use that bathroom again, which, given how badly I just got burned after breaking my own rule about laxatives, seems fair. 2 pm - While looking up laxative antidotes, realize I have five hours before the first laxative hits the system: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k9IfHDi-2EA

[kayetaz1]

You Be the Anchor that Keeps My Feet on the Ground (Ch. 2) | Newt x Reader

Summary: Newt is recovering and the reader is afraid he no longer needs her anymore. Another Glader takes advantage of their distance from each other but Newt is there to help her like she helped him.

 Warnings: Sexual assault/mention Word count: 3,017

 A/N: This chapter was a little difficult for me to write and I apologize if it upsets anyone. I’m estimating this imagine will have about three more chapters but we’ll see where we can take this. Again, any comments/suggestions for future chapters and imagines are greatly encouraged and I really hope you enjoy this chapter!

Ch. 1 | Ch. 3

The next few weeks go by in a blur. I spend pretty much every day in the Med-jack office with Newt, where we teach each other how to play card games that we had learned in our old lives before the Glade. I win almost every hand, but Newt just laughs and swears he lets me.

As we’re finishing up our sixth or seventh round of a game Newt calls ‘Black Jack’, the blonde groans in frustration.

“I really need to get out of this room.”

It has been a little over two months since the incident, and Newt’s ankle has set, albeit at a slightly awkward angle because I couldn’t tie the splint tight enough. We have been talking about letting Newt start being on his own, but, truth be told, I’ve gotten really selfish with my one-on-one time with him. I’ve been reluctant to give it up.

However, I can tell he’s getting anxious, and I’m more afraid of him returning to that dark place that caused him to jump than spending less time with him.

“Okay,” I say, getting up to grab the crutches Gally had made for when this day came. “Remember how to hold them?”

“Yes, love. I broke my ankle, not my head.”

I smile at the name again, even though it has become a much more frequent occurrence.

“I’ll help you down the stairs and then maybe you could go for lunch?”

Newt frowns. “You’re not going to come with me?”

I laugh at his child-like expression. “Well, the point of you getting around on your own is that you don’t have to be stuck with me all the time.”

“Stuck with you?” he exclaims. “(Y/N), these past two months with you have been the most fun I’ve had in the Glade. Ever.”

I feel my cheeks go pink as I smile wide. “Likewise, Newt.”

“So, join me for lunch?”

“I’d love to,” I answer as I hold out the crutches to help him get situated.

Newt jumps to his feet, smiling, and settles onto his crutches. He keeps most of his weight on them as he walks on both feet with a very noticeable limp from the new unnatural curve of his ankle.

I’m slightly amazed but a little disappointed at how well he does on his own. He doesn’t need my help getting down the stairs or even opening the front door of the Homestead. I should have known though. He’s a stubborn one.

The Gladers all seem genuinely thrilled to see him out and about again. Many come up to him, slapping him on the back or shaking his hand when it’s not being used for holding the crutches. Newt beams at them all in return, easily engaging in conversation as if he had just seen them yesterday. It was easy to forget how popular he was while we were living in our own little bubble.

We finally make it to the kitchen and despite his protests, I get him to sit down while I grab the trays.

By the time I make it back with the food, Newt is surrounded by people on all sides. As unwilling as I was to be sharing him only a few minutes ago, the sight really warms my heart as I see how many people really care about him. Hopefully he sees that now too.

I place his tray in front of him and he smiles up at me in thanks.

“I’m going to go eat in the Med-jack office,” I tell him and his smile fades.

“No! Sit, love!”

I laugh in response as there is no longer a free space within ten feet of him.

“I’ve hogged you for over two months, Newt. Spend some time with your other friends.”

Before he can answer, I turn and retreat out the door into the Glade.

“(Y/N)!” I hear an unfamiliar voice call and turn to see Ivan, the second newest Greenie whose party is what got Newt and I talking again.

“Hi, Ivan,” I say politely as he jogs over to me. “How have you been getting on?”

“Pretty good. Except there’s this one girl I never get to talk to because she spends all her time locked in a tower,” he laughs.

“Speaking of, I was just on my way back,” I reply and begin heading toward the Homestead.

“Mind if I join you, actually? It’s not a huge deal, but I kind of almost cut off my finger while working on one of the chickens this morning.”

“Sure,” I say, looking down sadly at my lunch after being reminded it was running around its pen only a few hours ago.

We reach the Homestead and climb the stairs, entering the room that now seems too empty without Newt.

I set my tray down and take a look at the cut, which is pretty bad and almost down to the bone. I first wrap it in some tiger grass so it doesn’t get infected, and then wrap it in a clean bandage instead of the dirty rag he had used previously.

“Good as new,” I smile at him, as he flexes his fingers and beams back at me.

He looks briefly around the room, taking in the surroundings. “I don’t get the allure of this place that makes you want to spend all your time up here.”

“Well, it is my job,” I snort. “Plus, someone had to keep Newt company or he probably would’ve went mad and ju-“ I stop abruptly. I almost said, ‘jumped out the window’ until I was quickly reminded of why he was here in the first place.

Ivan just smiles like he wasn’t listening anyway. “Well, remind me to trip and break my ankle then if it means I get your hospitality.”

I continue to smile at him but I’m definitely forcing it at this point. I have been flirted with countless numbers of times, being that I am the only girl in the Glade, but this just felt a lot more uncomfortable than any of those times. Not to mention, we are all alone in a room of a building that no one else is occupying at the moment.

“Well, I really should get back to work. I’ve got inventory and other stuff to do,” I finally say to break the awkward silence that ensues while he continues to stare at me.

“Aw, you can’t take a break?”

“Rule number one: no freeloading,” I remind him as I turn and grab for my logbook to break our eye contact.

I only feel him scoot closer to me in his chair. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“Ivan-“ I begin to say but my voice fails me when his hand touches my thigh.

He shushes me and leans closer and closer. My face stays pointed directly at my book, so his lips connect to my neck.

“Ivan!” I yell, trying to push him off but it has no effect, except that when I turn towards him he collides his lips with mine.

I try to stand and back away but his hand moves up to my waist and the other snakes along my back, holding me in place.

I turn my head away and his lips reattach on my neck. After another unsuccessful attempt at trying to push him away, I ball my hand into a fist and aim it directly at his crotch. He yelps and his hands go slack enough for me to get up and run. I don’t even make it to the door before he grabs a hold of my hair and pulls me to a stop.

“Help!” I scream as loudly as I can, and his hand comes up to cover my mouth as the other pushes me down onto the cot next to where Newt’s was.

Tears pool in my eyes as I realize what’s happening. I remember vague stories about this kind of thing from before the Glade, but I never thought it would happen to me. Especially not in the Glade.

He straddles me to keep me down on the cot, and with one hand still covering my mouth, his other goes to the button of my pants. With one last shred of hope, I bite down on his hand and scream as loud as I possibly can once it’s removed.

The last thing I remember is a hard punch to the side of my head and everything goes black.

 --

 When I wake up, I see stars and faceless blobs surrounding me. I hear noises that feel so loud but I can’t make out a single word. I immediately remember what happened and I feel completely dirty in my body.

I spring up into a sitting position so fast that it makes me nauseous. Hands go to touch me, but I just scream even though I can’t hear if anything comes out. I never want to be touched by anyone ever again.

When the world finally comes into focus, I see that Jeff and Clint were the ones who were trying to stabilize me. Alby is to my left, with his brow furrowed and his arms crossed, staring at me with almost paternal concern. And to my right, I see Newt with the same hopeless expression I saw on his face the day he jumped.

There is a blanket draped over me, and when I take it off I can see that the straps of my tank top have been cut with a knife or something like it, and the first two buttons of my pants are undone. Otherwise, it doesn’t seem like Iv-

I can’t even think of his entire name before I lean over the side of the bed and vomit into the trash can placed there for exactly this reason.

A hand finds it way on my back but I shriek at the contact and it is removed.

When I finally sit up again, I can’t meet anyone’s eyes.

“What happened?” I ask no one in particular.

“Nothing, (Y/N). Newt got here before…,” I hear Alby’s voice next to me say. I almost sigh in relief but at the same time I feel so disgusted with myself. With what they know happened, or almost did. “Ivan-“

“Don’t say that name!” I yell.

“That bloody shank is in the pit,” Newt says angrily, and when I look at him his eyes are black with rage. “Until tomorrow when we banish him to the maze.”

“(Y/N),” Alby says and I turn to look at him again. “All of your stuff has been brought up. You’re going to sleep in the Med-jack office so you can lock the door and no one can get in at night. Clint, Jeff, Ben, Minho, Newt and I are also going to sleep on the first floor to keep a look out. And I want you to start working in the gardens, so you’re safe in the public eye.”

I want to be angry at the demands, because it somewhat feels like I am getting punished. But then I think of how his hands felt on my skin and I never want to feel that way again, so I just nod my head, staring at the floor.

“Okay, guys. Let’s give her some space,” Alby says and everyone heads to the door, including Newt using only one crutch.

“Newt,” I call but it only comes out in a shaky whisper.

He turns to me and his eyes are back to being his usual kind and caring ones. “Yes, love?”

“I don’t want to be alone.”

My voice breaks on the last word and tears finally begin pouring down my cheeks. He’s back in his chair to my right in a split second with his hands lying cautiously on the cot near my hand.

“It’s okay, love. I’m right here, yeah? I’m not going anywhere.”

I want to grab his hand. I want to hug him and cry into his chest like I did the night of the bonfire. But I can’t because every touch feels like knives on my skin.

So, I just sit there and cry while Newt sits closely but not close enough to touch and whispers reassuring words every few seconds.

When I finally calm down enough, Newt stands and hobbles on one crutch again to pour a glass of water from a pitcher on the side table. I take a huge gulp. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was and I vaguely wonder how long I was knocked out for.

“What happened to your other crutch?” I ask him once I drink almost all of the water.

He fills my glass again and returns to his chair. “Broke.”

“How?”

His eyes look at the floor for a moment and I see anger flash in them before glancing back up to me. “Smashed it into a bloody Slinthead.”

“Good,” I respond with a small smile, which he returns.

After a few seconds, a sad expression graces his features. “God, (Y/N), I am so sorry.”

“You are the last person in the world I need to hear that from, Newt.”

“I shouldn’t have let you leave Frypan’s. I should’ve followed you back sooner,” he says and I see tears line his chocolate eyes.

“Sooner?” I ask quizzically.

“Yeah. I only stuck around like ten minutes after you left and then came back to find you. I heard you screaming as soon as I opened the Homestead door and bolted up the stairs, not even bothering to use the crutches and I saw…” he looks away with his eyes closed, shaking his head at the memory. “I smashed one into that shank so hard his ears bled.”

“Thank you,” I say quietly, absorbing his words.

“You don’t need to thank me. Beating the klunk out of him was the easiest decision I’ve ever made.”

“Regardless, I’m thankful. For being there then and for being here now.”

“Anytime, love,” he responds, beaming at me. “Really. Anytime.”

A comfortable silence follows as we just look at each other, grinning. Newt eventually gazes out the window and his smile falters slightly.

“It’s getting late. You should get some sleep,” he says.

My heart drops. Even though I’m exhausted, the thought of being alone in this room, especially after what happened, is extremely unsettling.

“Could you-“ I glance at the cot he’d been sleeping on the past nine weeks, and then back at him, wanting to ask him to stay the night but not having the courage to do so.

Luckily, I didn’t have to finish.

“Of course, love,” he says, first taking the glass of water from me and putting it on the table, and then standing and getting onto the cot to the right of mine.

We both lie down, facing each other, and eventually I drift off with his gentle eyes as the last image in my mind.

 --

 “(Y/N),” a British voice whispers and my eyes flutter open.

Newt is still lying on the cot next to mine, watching me with a small smile.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi,” he responds. “Alby just came up to tell me there is going to be a Gathering in an hour. He would like you to come, but you don’t have to if you’re not up for it.”

As much as I don’t want to, I know Newt will have to because he’s second-in-command, and I’d rather go than be stuck here alone.

“Okay,” I say and sit up, wincing a little when I feel some pain on my left hip.

I lift up my shirt to see fingerprints from where I was being held down. Newt sees and I hear a low growl escape his throat. I look to see his eyes as black and angry and they were last night, but when our eyes meet, they soften again.

“Here,” he says and offers me his sweatshirt.

I’m confused at first until I go to put it on and see more fingerprints lining my arms, and I’m thankful for being able to cover them. I’m also grateful that once it’s on, I inhale and smell Newt. Everything about the boy is comforting, even his scent.

We make our way to the council room and I sit in the back with the crowd while Newt joins Alby and the Keepers in the center. I get a lot of weird looks from the boys which makes me self-conscious and I hold on tighter to Newt’s jacket.

After a minute or so, Alby tells everyone to be quiet and stands in the very center, gesturing to me.

“I’m just going to be blunt. The rumor about Ivan-” I flinch at the name, “-is not a rumor. He attacked (Y/N) last night, in such a way that even banishment does not seem like a fair enough punishment.”

Everyone is looking at me now, many with their mouths open. Some people start yelling out suggested punishments, like torture and dismembering. It makes my stomach twist.

Alby shushes them. “We need to stick to the Glader code. Ivan will be banished at sunset tonight. However, I wanted to gather everyone so we could go over a new rule that will hopefully stop something like this from ever happening again.”

Everyone is quiet now. Even Newt and the Keepers look shockingly inquisitive. For the two years most of us have been here, there has only been three rules. Adding another is not something anyone seems to take lightly, especially because breaking those rules results in banishment.

“No one is to have a relationship with (Y/N) that is anything more than friendship.”

I feel eyes on me all over the room. Many of the guys don’t seem to be phased but there are some with disappointed expressions which freaks me out a little.

I turn away from their gazes and my eyes find Newt’s, which look almost a little sad. And that’s when it hits me. I’m sad too because I was really starting to like Newt. As more than a friend.

And it just became illegal.

Next chapter.

[sunshinedaisiesandmoonlight]

Lost and Found (Part 3)

The third installment of Lost and Found Part One Part Two

CassianXFem!Reader

Summary: Cassian is assigned to watch a new recruit and he doesn’t trust her until he doesn’t have a choice.

Warnings: Mentions of torture

Reader’s POV

 A week had passed since you first woke up in captivity. You couldn’t count how many times the black droid had tried to coerce the location of the memory card out of you. The Imperial Officer came to visit you at least once a day to see if you changed your mind about betraying the rebellion, but you weren’t breaking easily. Your voice hurt from screaming and you hadn’t had a shower in days so the grime of the past week’s events seemed like a permanent layer on your skin. You lifted your head and looked at the cell walls before resting your head back on the seat’s uncomfortable headrest. You wanted to think it was just a nightmare and that you would wake up in your room at the rebel base, but every morning you woke up to the harsh reality of being a prisoner of war. Not for the first time, you thought of Cassian, if he had made it out and back to the base, whether he got the memory card to the rebels, whether he thought of you. It had occurred to you that you may have developed feelings for him, despite your best efforts. You knew it was dangerous to form attachments to people in a war. You knew things like this could happen, and you could lose them. But you couldn’t help it. Cassian had become a constant in your life, someone to lean on, and it hurt that he didn’t trust you. It hurt that he would never know how much he meant to you. You started to cry as you realized that no one was going to come rescue you.

“I’m sorry Cassian.” You whispered. The tears leaked down the side of your face, leaving visible trails in the mix of dirt and blood. As if on cue, the door opened and in walked the Imperial Officer, the black droid accompanying him.

“Well, it seems like we finally made some progress with you.” He smirked as he approached you. Bending down so that his face was level with yours, he made the same request that he did every day, “Tell us where the memory card is.” You looked at him through blurry vision and said nothing, your mouth clamped shut. The officer waited a few moments with an expectant look on his face, then he sighed and waved over the droid, which was already ready for the torture planned for this response from you. As the droid got closer, you started to squirm, dreading what was coming. The officer backed against the wall and watched as the droid hovered closer, your squirms and whimpers seemingly enjoyable to him.

“Alright, Alright!!! I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you!!!” You shrieked before the droid made contact. The officer grinned menacingly before stepping up to shut the droid down. He looked over at you expectantly as you sighed in relief. “You have to come closer; it hurts to talk.”  The officer stepped closer to you, the greed in his eyes evident. “Closer.” Your voice was so hoarse from the past week. He leaned in to hear you.

You had no intention of telling him where the rebel base was. If this was to be your last act of defiance against the Empire, then you may as well deafen one of its prized officers.

“GUESS AGAIN YOU FILTHY PIECE OF FODDER!!!” The officer lurched back at the loudness of your voice. You glared at him with every scrap of defiance you had left, smiling ever so slightly. He rubbed his damaged ear drum as he glared back. He walked suddenly over to you and before you had time to register what was going on, he knocked you out with a swift punch to the side of your head.

 Cassian’s POV

 Cassian had requested permission to rescue you immediately after he heard the transmission. General Draven denied the request twice and so Cassian had to appeal for an audience with Mon Mothma for permission. Because she was so busy with government diplomacies in the Galactic Senate, she was a hard woman to meet with, even as a Captain. Cassian had to wait three days until he could finally meet with her.

“Captain, I don’t think we can send a team out to rescue Y/N. It’s too risky and we don’t have the amount of people or resources to support a rescue mission like this.” Cassian’s heart felt like it dropped about ten feet at this news, but he wasn’t done trying to save you.

“I’ll go alone. I don’t need a whole team to do this, just K2. She got us the memory card, we have to try to get her out.” The argument had a small bit of merit, but it was the pleading look present in Cassian’s eyes that convinced Mon Mothma to let him go. She knew that he would most likely try to save you anyway. At least this way she could keep an eye on him.

 Cassian ran back to his quarters and grabbed the necessities: the coordinates of where you were, a blanket, a spare shirt, and two jackets before alerting K2 of the plan.

“The statistical probability of us being caught is around 88.3%. I don’t think this is a good idea.” Cassian ignored this information and continued on his way to his ship. K2 sat down with Cassian in the cockpit and began to start up the ship as Cassian closed the door. Soon they were on their way to the Destroyer you were imprisoned on.

Cassian switched on his radio once they were at light-speed and tuned it to the frequency of the bug the rebellion had planted on you. He got the frequency just as you screamed in the ear of the officer.

“GUESS AGAIN YOU FILTHY PIECE OF FODDER!!!” Then Cassian heard the sickening sound of bone hitting bone and silence. He flipped off the radio and sat back down in his seat trying to focus on how he was going to get you out.

 Awhile later, they pulled out of hyper-speed and saw the massive Star Destroyer looming in before them.

“I hope you have a plan.” K2 muttered.

“Yeah, me too.”

 Reader’s POV 

You woke up in a daze, still in the chair. The flickering lights hurt your eyes. The thought flitted through your mind that you may be concussed, but it hurt to think that hard. Everything was out of focus.

You weren’t sure how much longer you were stared at the wall in front of you when the door opened. They are here to kill me, was the only thought that crossed your mind. A figure appeared at your side and you flinched away from it.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay it’s me.” The soothing voice seemed familiar and too good to be true.

“Cassian?” You asked weakly. You felt the restraints on your wrists and ankles pop open and you began to fall forward but were caught by a strong arm.

“Yeah it’s me, it’s Cassian. Let’s get you out of here.”

“Okay.” You mumbled as your arm was hoisted around Cassian’s neck and his other hand held you up from around your waist. The two of you made your way out of the cell and down the hallway. The officers and troopers that noticed the two rebels escaping didn’t make it very far. K2 wasn’t far behind Cassian, and while he didn’t have a blaster, he could toss the Imperial troops around like rag dolls. You made it back to the ship with virtually no problems, but before you could say anything else, you passed out from the effort it took to get to the ship.

 The next time you woke up, you were in the med-bay of the rebel base. You had an IV in both of your arms, and your head was wrapped up in white gauze. Your stomach ached, but it didn’t matter; you were overjoyed that you were out of the horrible dark cell. Turning your head, you noticed a person sitting in the chair who was watching you. Cassian jumped out of his chair when he saw you move your head.

“Thank the maker, you’re okay. How are you feeling?” He asked with intensity. The look in his eyes shocked you; it was almost desperate.

“I’m okay, a little banged up but hey, could have been worse right?” Your voice sounded scratchy but it was much stronger than before. “Thank you, for coming back for me.” Your eyes met again. Cassian grabbed your hand in his and leaned on your bed.

“I’m sorry for not trusting you. And…  I’m sorry for not coming to get you sooner. I just. I didn’t realize what it would be like to lose you until it happened. I…” Cassian seemed to be at a loss for words. You smiled.

“It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re okay. I hoped you were. I couldn’t stop thinking about you—“ Before you could finish your sentence, Cassian leaned in and kissed you. Your free hand found its way to Cassian’s hair as you kissed him back. When he finally pulled away, you both were grinning.

“Do you trust me now?” You said with a playful hint to your voice.

“Completely.”

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! :)  This was my first fic I’ve written and I am really excited about how it turned out. 

[mari-beau]

GIVE ME A REASON: PART FOUR - A Rogue One Fanfic

So this part/scene got a little out of control. Ironically, since I only had the base idea of when it would take place until I started writing it. You can also find/read this story on AO3 now.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Title: Give Me A Reason: Part Four

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Characters: Jyn Erso POV, Cassian Andor

Pairing: Cassian/Jyn (mostly pre-ship?)

Spoilers: Rogue One; Episode IV A New Hope

Setting: Post-Rogue One AU (Cassian & Jyn live); Also during/post A New Hope

Warnings: Some sappiness?

Words: 2,978

Story Summary: Jyn’s entire universe has been turned on its head, so maybe she’s clinging a little too hard to the one thing she feels certain of (strangely enough) as she tries to figure out her place in the galaxy. And maybe she’s being a little overprotective of a wounded captain.

Also can be found on AO3.

...

“Ms. Erso, it is time for you to vacate the infirmary.”

Jyn jerked, jarred from sleep and reaching for the knife she no longer had on her person. Her situation settled back around her surfacing consciousness, calming her immediate fight-or-flight response but keeping her on edge.

“No,” she told the medical orderly droid. “I already told the doctors, medical staff and you lot that I’m not leaving Captain Andor. I don’t want him to wake up alone.”

“Yes. You were most clear regarding your intransigence, Ms. Erso.”

Droids had the worst attitudes. Shouldn’t med ones be programmed with a better bedside manner?

“But the bed is needed,” the droid went on when she just wanted it to go away so she could wallow in the overwhelming mix of emotions drowning her; loss, guilt, relief. “There are numerous incoming casualties from a skirmish in the Za’dan sector.”

Jyn scowled, but didn’t budge.

“What difference does it make if I leave? It’s not like I’m taking up an extra bed.” As if to prove her point, she shifted closer to Cassian in the infirmary cot, making her already petite body take up even less room.

“Captain Andor is to be processed for discharge. So you will keep your superfluous vow that he won’t wake up alone. Even though he wouldn’t be alone anyway. There are medical staff and med-droids present.”

Jyn was too alarmed by the droid’s revelation to mind the griping typical to its type.

“You’re discharging him?!” Jyn shifted, pushing herself up to study the unconscious man.

How well she knew every bruise and injury visible and many hidden by the white medical tunic and pants. She’d passed out herself from exhaustion as they began treating her injuries, but as soon as she’d woken up, she’d bullied, threatened and pleaded until they brought her to Cassian, making her wait outside the operating room, only able to watch as they finished the surgeries and treatments. They’d let her curl up in a chair next to the Bacta tank they’d stuck him in afterward, and no one even questioned by the time he was relocated to an infirmary bed when she climbed in beside him.

She’d seen the bandages, bruises, burns and scars. And she knew how they’d changed as the hours, the days had passed. Barely days, just three days since Scarif. Were they insane? They were just going to turn him out, in his condition?

Apparently, they were.

The med-droid was already injecting him with something, and Cassian was rousing. Jyn’s heart beat faster and she practically held her breath, on her knees on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with anticipatory anxiety, clutching at her kyber crystal with one hand. His past few hours of sleep had been strained. He’d been unconscious but also tense, in pain. She’d felt it in the rigidity of his muscles, the periodic hitches in his breathing.

“Did you give him more meds for the pain, too?” she asked the droid. How could they ask him to get back on his feet when he was in so much pain just lying still?

“Yes. And the stimulant should keep him awake until he gets settled back into his quarters.”

Jyn sagged in relief slightly until Cassian came crashing back into reality with a gasp and a jerk, and bewildered, began to thrash. She threw herself on top of him, placing her hands on his shoulders to hold him down, hoping he wouldn’t hurt himself worse, but understanding how confused and frightened he must feel.

“Cassian, It’s Jyn.” As if that would make a difference to him, if he even remembered her upon waking from a days-long practically-a-coma, someone he’d only met far less than a week ago and since had suffered devastating traumas. “You’re safe. You’re on the rebel base on Yavin 4. In the infirmary.”

Almost instantly, he went still, calmed, like a switch had been thrown. But she supposed the man did have quick reflexes, was highly adaptable to various situations. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have made it so long as a rebel spy.

“Jyn?” His eyes found her face. They were a little glassy and unfocused but were still, well, captivating, dark, intelligent and expressive. “What happened?”

“We did it.” She shifted back to kneeling beside him, gave him a smile, a genuine one albeit bittersweet. They had succeeded in their mission, but at a tremendous cost. “The plans to the Death Star were received by the fleet.”

“Are they planning an attack?” Cassian pushed himself up to a sitting position, wincing and inhaling sharply, making Jyn picture the freshly healed surgical incisions that were doubtless strained by the movement.

“I…” Jyn had never thought to ask. The moment she realized they weren’t going to die on that beach, making sure Cassian survived had become her only concern. “I don’t know.”

“I should report to Command.” Cassian moved to get out of the infirmary bed, but Jyn stopped him, grabbing his arm to hold him back. She shimmied across the bed and hopped off it to stand in front of him.

“If they needed any more information or intel, they would’ve asked me.” It sounded plausible, even though if they’d tried it, she couldn’t rightly say she would’ve cooperated (they hadn’t listened to her the last time she tried to convince them of the truth), but especially if it meant leaving Cassian’s side. Even for a moment. How had someone else become her primary, her only concern, that she now cared only for his welfare? “And you’re not in any shape to help. Give yourself a little more time to heal.”

She reached for him as he was already trying to stand, stiffening and wobbling for a moment when he was fully upright. But Jyn would support him without him needing to ask, slid her arms around his waist and tucked her shoulder under one of his arms. He leaned into her, likely without even realizing it. From what Jyn could tell, Cassian was an independent sort of person, like herself, but unlike herself, was not too proud to accept help, being more of a team player than she ever had been.

His fingers went to pinch the bridge of his nose and his eyes squeezed shut. He took a long, deep breath, swaying a little.

“How far are your quarters from the infirmary?” she asked.

He sighed. That close, was it?

“Can you make it? If I help you?” Jyn looked around, but the droid had already stripped the bed and skittered off. She would go find whatever he needed for assistance because maybe he was a little proud, too, and had sacrificed a good portion of his independence by leaning on her. She waited, letting him decide, despite her wanting to wrap him up in soft warm blankets in a fluffy bed of pillows and keep him safe.

“Let’s try it. I should probably find out how bad the damage is sooner than later.” His expression had gone tight and unreadable, and her heart broke to think of the justified fear he must be feeling, that he may have suffered permanent damage that could affect the rest of his life, that might take away his purpose of serving the rebellion.

“They healed the blaster wound easily, but you’ve got an impressive scar,” she said as he took a tentative step, using her like a crutch, not questioning why or how she knew his wounds and medical diagnosis and treatments. “The fractures in your vertebrae and ribs probably haven’t completely knitted yet but the prognosis is good.”

Well, this wasn’t so bad. His weight was a burden making her own steps difficult, but Jyn didn’t begrudge it, not when it meant he was alive, and on his feet even. And they were already at the infirmary door. The medical staff hadn’t given them even a second look, but Jyn steeled herself for the possibility of stares as they entered the rest of the base. She couldn’t care less but these were Cassian’s fellow soldiers and he deserved their respect and not pity.

“They replaced your hip and part of your femur,” she said when they entered the hallway.

“Is that why it feels like I’ve been sliced open from my ribs down to my knee?”

“They sealed you back up.”

A light chuckle escaped him. “Things could be worse, then.”

They could, they really could. If Jyn were to make comparisons, it wasn’t just the fact that they hadn’t died on Scarif like it seemed they should’ve, but this situation she found herself in, saddled with a wounded spy (by her own choosing), on a rebel base, a Death Star out there somewhere in the galaxy… It was still the best place she’d been in since… Since she was abandoned by Saw at 16? Since her mother had died and her father had been taken?

Part of her that enjoyed the warmth of Cassian’s body beside hers, the feel of his wiry flank beneath her hand, the smell of his skin, even the weight of him he placed on her shoulders, that part proposed that this was the best situation, the best time in her entire life.

How pathetic did that make her?

She enjoyed dragging a severely wounded man around some giant old ruins half-reclaimed by the jungle converted to a military base… sort of base… The Alliance was so loosely confederated, everything seemed slapped together and piecemeal.

But hopefully the medical facilities had been up to par… They had seemed nicer than anything Jyn had ever experienced. But that wasn’t saying much at all.

“You need a minute?” she asked, finally realizing Cassian’s steps and breathing had become labored. She maneuvered him towards a wall and leaned up against it with him, nodding to a passing rebel soldier of indeterminable rank and unnotable appearance.

“Maybe it would’ve been better if you’d left me on Scarif,” he said, his voice low, quiet and pained as he almost-panted, sagging against the ancient stone wall.

“No,” she said. “You don’t mean that.”

“I was ready to die.”

She didn’t want to hear this. The meds and the strain were making him say things. She told him as much.

He shook his head.

“Listen to me, Jyn.”

What could she do? What could she say? That she didn’t want to hear how he valued his life so little, that he’d throw it away just for the slim chance of providing an opportunity for the rebellion to destroy some Imperial weapon, a terrifying one, but one weapon of many. She-

“I felt peace. For the first time in my life, probably.” His voice had gotten even lower and quieter, almost a whisper, wistful even. Jyn didn’t dare look at him, had to concentrate on breathing normally when she felt his fingers slip into her hand. It was easier to consider her unsolicited affection for the man when he was giving no indication of whether or not he returned it. “And I think it was because you were there. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I didn’t feel alone.”

Oh, Force. He was getting delirious, saying things that, from what she knew of him, he would never share even if he did feel them.

“Come on, let’s get you back to your own bed.”

He didn’t say anything else as they traversed several more halls, and Jyn wondered if she’d hurt his feelings by not responding to his raw, quiet confession. But he continued to lean on her without any hesitation and the silence between them felt comfortable. It was strange. He’d made her so tense in the beginning, the way he watched her, how secretive he was, so guarded. But somehow, somewhere along the way, she grew to not only feel comfortable with Cassian Andor, but to trust him as she’d never trusted anyone else before.

And she thought, maybe he trusted her in return. He followed her on a suicide mission, let her support his injured, vulnerable self on Scarif, let her drag him off that cursed planet, and now lead him across the rebel base, passing by people who really amounted to the only family he’d ever had.

There weren’t many, however. And none stopped. Or stared, too much. The med droid must have been right about the incoming survivors of the skirmish, everyone seemed a little rushed and mission-oriented. Or maybe there was more going on…

“Stop. Stop.”

Jyn immediately froze.

“Are you okay?” she asked, shifting beneath Cassian’s weight to try to get a good look at his face. “Do you need a break?”

“We’re home,” Cassian said, his eyelids sliding nearly shut before they shot open again.

“Oh,” Jyn said, ignoring the way something fluttered inside of her over his choice of words. “Which one?”

“Left side of the hall.” He indicated the door directly to their left with a nod of his head. The stimulant must be failing to combat the pain meds, and his body’s need to rest, to heal. Because he was getting heavier and more slack in her arms.

They staggered over to the door to his quarters and he was at least coherent enough to punch his code into the lock. His room was by no means large, barely larger than Jyn’s cell on Wobani. But at least he didn’t have a cellmate, er, bunkmate… Well, not officially…

She basically dumped him on the narrow bed, which he didn’t seem to mind at all, making a groaning sound of relief and taking several deep breaths, his legs hanging awkwardly off the side. Not knowing what else to do, she bent to lift his legs and slide them onto the bed, forcing him to lay down in a less uncomfortable position. She pulled the white slip-on infirmary shoes off his feet and tossed them in a corner, feeling only a flash of contrition over sullying the pristine room. It was so austere, even with two of the walls comprised of the old stone of the ancient temple. It could’ve been anyone’s quarters. No. That was wrong. It’s nondescriptness, everything hidden away in the meager storage units, only Cassian would keep his personal space in such a spartan manner.

“Cassian…?”

He mumbled something she took to imply he was listening and not passed out yet.

“Do you have extra bedding? A blanket or something?” She could do without. She had, many times. But it would be a little bit better than sleeping on the bare hard stone floor.

“No… Jungle moon… Already too hot… Why?”

“I was going to sleep here, if you don’t mind,” Jyn said. Why was this an awkward conversation to have? Why was she so afraid he’d say no, send her away? “On the floor.”

His eyes opened and that furrow formed between his brows as he studied her with a gaze that seemed to be having trouble focusing. But then he was scooching over until he was almost touching the wall.

“I think this is a nanometer larger than the infirmary cot,” he said. “What do you think?”

Jyn tried not to smile as she kicked off her own flimsy infirmary shoes and climbed onto Cassian’s bed to stretch out beside him. Something inside her sighed, content. She didn’t let it out.

“I don’t know…” she said. “But I guess if they made the infirmary beds nicer than the barracks, they’d have sick rebels all the time.”

A chuckle escaped through his nose.

“I don’t think they usually offer an ángel as a companion, either.”

“What?” Jyn shifted onto her side to study his face. His eyes were closed and he seemed content. The pain meds must be working.

“My mother was a believer in an Ancient Festian religion that worshipped a creator god. I don’t remember very many specifics...” Jyn didn’t dare breathe out, afraid of interrupting the story, softly spoken with hints of nostalgia, sharing a childhood memory, an intimacy she knew Cassian permitted, well, probably no one. “Except, there were these creatures that did the creator’s bidding, guiding people, aiding them, saving them… Angeles… I don’t know the word in Basic…”

He looked at her, and her apprehension about breaking the spell ebbed. Cassian knew full well who he was talking to, even if the pain meds had loosened his tongue, broken down the rigid walls he kept around his private self.

“I don’t know the word, either,” Jyn said. “I’’ve never heard of such creatures, mythical or otherwise.”

Cassian laughed, a soft little rumble that was accompanied by that rare smile of his that was brighter than a yellow dwarf sun and warmed her just as well. But, “What’s funny about that?”

“You…” His hand found hers, fingers sliding against her palm to curl around hers, engulfing her smaller hand. He shifted to face her, wincing a little, but his expression was soft if serious and . “Jyn, you saved me, guided me, are still coming to my aid… You’re my angelita…”

Oh, shit, he was so tired and drugged up he was becoming incoherent. Hopefully, he wouldn’t remember saying such emotional things- oh.

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her knuckles, making her swallow a gasp of surprise, and fight the sigh when he held her hand to his chest as he lay back, his eyelids finally losing the battle and sliding shut.

Oh, Cassian…

“Don’t worship me,” she whispered to his sleeping form. “I’m nothing worth venerating.”

Of course, was she behaving any different when it came to him?

They were quite the mess, the two of them.

She wriggled her fingers in his hold until she was able to interlace them with his and feel the warmth of his palm against hers. Jyn closed her eyes, immersing herself in the quiet, safe moment.

[chloes-pirate-booty]

whats been your experience with top surgery? did you like your doc and all

Yeah! Top surgery went well for me! I mean, I would have liked a friendlier doctor - the guy I went to was pretty dull and quiet and was all business so at times I felt kind of uncomfortable with him. But he knew what he was doing. He seemed shady when I asked him to show me pictures of past patients’ results, but I realized that the reason he was hesitant was because almost all of the photo comparisons he had were of patients who had far more complicated chests than mine so it wouldn’t have been an accurate reference for me anyway. A couple of them had previous damage from improper binding so their results didn’t look too good but it was not the doctor’s fault, it was their fault for binding with tape.

So here’s the story of the actual surgery: My surgery was done at around 7:30 AM on October 3rd 2016. I was honestly pretty relaxed going in there. It wasn’t too busy or noisy at the little surgical center I went to (which was connected to a larger hospital) so I didn’t have to lay there on the cot waiting and waiting and waiting to go in. I went in the little curtained room thing, answered some questions, they had me change, the doc marked up my chest, they hooked me up with an IV, sat for a couple minutes, and then they pumped that happy drug in and rolled me through the doors. I remember getting into the surgical room. I was too high off that relaxant at that point to even be bothered by the fact that they’d already started strapping my arms down like Jesus on the cross. I remember looking around and seeing like 20 people which was not what I expected at all.  Then I was out like a light. The surgery took about 2 hours, and I woke up high as a kite in the same curtained room. There were two nurses. I remember being so fucking happy looking down at my chest and seeing it bandaged up. I lifted up the lip of the bandages and honestly couldn’t see anything underneath because it was so tight but I knew my chest was flat as a board. Nothing hurt (yet). I didn’t even notice the drains. I was just chilling there all loopy and I kept waving at people when they passed by the open curtains. Pretty sure I asked the same nurse how the surgery went like 10 times. Then my doctor came in and said everything went well and that he did need to put drains in (he told me to plan for them but it was never a promise that I’d need them.)At that point, I was awake enough that they moved me over to a big chair, switched me from the johnny to my flannel shirt + sweatpants, and gave me some water. I wasn’t nauseous, thank god. And I wasn’t loopy anymore either. I could feel the drains now that the hospital-strength pain meds were wearing off.Then I was literally ECSTATIC when I saw my Mom, Dad and (surprise) Grandma coming towards me. (Yes, Grandma was a surprise. I did not know she would be visiting. I guess my Mom and Dad went to hang out with her at her house nearby until I was done, and so she figured she’d come visit.) I was so excited and showing them how flat my chest was even with the bandages on and showing them how weird the drains looked. I’m really chill with my family. They were nervous about me getting the surgery, obviously, but there was definitely a good vibe in the room now that I had made it past the ‘big’ part. My Grandma impulsively bought my family the biggest party tray of cookies I’ve ever seen. After my Grandma left, the nurse showed my parents and I how to empty the drains and measure the drainage. They gave the little drainage chart and a little study guide about how the drains worked. Every 12 hours I would have to empty the fluids from the drains into a little measuring cup [PHOTO - blood warning] Then my parents helped me get my sneakers on and the nurse wheeled me out to the car. I was given my cell phone back at this point, of course, so I spent the whole ride home messaging my friends that I survived, lol. One unusual thing that happened though is that my seatbelt was too tight on the external portion of my right drain. About 5 minutes away from home, my right side started feeling very warm. And then I didn’t note anything of it until we were parked in the driveway and I unbuckled my seatbelt to find a gigantic patch of blood on the bandages. I went into panic mode thinking I broke the drain (I didn’t think something was wrong with my chest because there was no obvious pain). But after figuring out that nothing was actually wrong and that the blood was just unable to travel downwards through the drain (therefore traveling back into the drain port and leaking out from there), I was fine and just mildly pissed off that my ace bandages had a blood stain. [PHOTO] Thankfully, my Mom had foot surgery 3 months before and she had extra ace wraps that I just used instead. Be careful with seatbelts, guys.  

So once I was in the house, I basically stayed there for the next 5 days. I was upstairs 24/7 pretty much. The only time I went outside during that time was when my rat Ozzy died 3 days after my surgery and I went with my Dad to bury him in the yard. That fucking sucked. But aside from the dead pet, those 5 recovery days were aesthetic as fuck. Since it was October, I made sure to decorate the shit out of my room while I could still lift my arms. I had Halloween lights up every where [PHOTO], and I had a bunch of Halloween candy to pig out on [PHOTO]. I ate like a fat ass when I was hungry, but I wasn’t very hungry due to to percocet (oxy) that I was prescribed for pain. I actually ended up losing 5 pounds in 5 days due to not eating big meals (plus my high metabolism) even though I certainly ate a lot of cookies, candies, and Frostys (my aunt kept calling me and insisting she come visit and bring me Wendy’s, lol. She’s an occupational therapist and so she was very intrigued by how I was recovering and visited almost every night to talk with me). I’d also bought a new TV a few days before the surgery too. So I had my TV and PS4 set up right in front of my bed so I wasn’t ever lacking entertainment. I watched Breaking Bad during the day and then Bob Ross before going to sleep. The pain meds made me so sleepy so I usually would just pass out watching Bob Ross, haha. I made a habit of it too. 10/10 would recommend passing out while watching Bob Ross. Usually the end credit music would wake me up and remind me to turn the TV off, haha. Also, @xrdpan gave me this very cute little guy as a gift - [PHOTO]And yeah, this is getting a little off topic. But I definitely had a memorable week of recovery. Sometimes I wish I could do it again for another day or two. Cause despite how uncomfortable the drains were and how much weight my scrawny ass lost, I was so relaxed and got to watch a LOT of TV.

So back to post-op care - I was not given a binder after surgery. I had to use the ace bandages while I still had the drains in, and then I was given a prescription for a compression tank top (that i literally had to go to this lingerie store to get) once the drains were out. That was kind of annoying. I had hoped for a decent surgical vest like what most people get, but yeah. 

My drains were in for 10 days. They were uncomfortable, but I didn’t have any bleeding complications or any complications at all so they definitely did their job. It didn’t hurt when they came out either. It felt awesome once they were out and I could really get a good look at my chest. The drains caused snake-like lumps all throughout my chest and it looked weird. Drains in - [PHOTO]Drains out - [PHOTO]

And as for sensation, my chest was very numb for about 1 month including the nipples, and then was half-numb for another couple months. But after the 3 month point (which was around the time I didnt have to wear anymore compression), the sensation was coming back on it’s own very well. I’m 7 months post-op now and have all sensation back except for my right nipple which isn’t 100% numb but doesn’t really react to touch. I have a couple small fleshy spots, mainly on the left side, where they almost have too much feeling and are tender if pressed down on. It feels like a muscle thing. 

Uhhh so that’s an essay if I ever saw one! Hope you got something useful from it! I’m always down to talk about my experience and make everything more clear and possibly less scary for everyone who’s interested in top surgery. I had a good experience overall! No complications! 

Here’s some recent pics if you’re interested!

2 months - [PHOTO]4 months - [PHOTO]6 months - [PHOTO]

[penandwind]

Personal update.

Hey all, its been a while hasn’t it? Well I’ll give  you the quick version of things because I’m still very groggy due to pain medicine.  Yesterday I had surgery on my knee for an injury at work over 9 months ago. Its been a pain both literally and figuratively. Hopefully this will fix the issue. All I know is that I’m bedridden for the next few days, out of work for two weeks, and that even though the pain medicine feels nice the trade off is not exactly worth it. I look forward to my recovery, I’ve been unable to exercise and have put on a lot of weight. I want to get back down for my health’s sake. So here’s to a speedy recovery and if anyone knows of any way to help manage the pain while I recovery, please let me know. 

For the past few weeks work has been extra stressful. I have a new supervisor who is the kind of person who should never be given any power whatsoever. They have so little in their lives that they take their small modicum of power over other people way too seriously. Constantly harping on one person or another over the smallest issue, sometimes contradicting what they have said days prior. I could give horror story after horror story, but at the end of the day its just a lot of extra stress on my plate that I don’t need. I wish I had some way of dealing with them, but plenty of experience in the past has told me you can’t get rid of a bad boss. But if anyone has any suggestions, I’m open to it. 

I’m also having to still fight tooth and nail to get health insurance. Its kind of ridiculous but what else can I do but jump through the hoops?

On the brighter side of things though, a poem I wrote is going to be published! I’m really psyched, as this will be my first major publication for my creative work (I had one paper of mine published in an academic journal). I’m going to set aside some time in my recovery period to try and submit another one to some journals so I can go for two, keep my momentum going! 

Also while recovering I’m playing some fun games while bedridden. Currently marathoning Shin Megami Tensei IV. It is challenging and pure craziness that fulfills my love of innovative plot/storytelling, my mythology nerd side, and use of postmodern media for new methods of storytelling. Love this game and if you want to know more feel free to talk with me about it!

Also, feel free to hit me up! I’ve got nothing but time on my hands and would love to talk with people. Even if you’ve been following me for a while but we’ve never talked, now would be the perfect time to start up a convo. But fair warning: the pain meds make me a little goofy, so I’ll probably be more entertaining than I usually am. lol 

Anyway, that’s the Cliff’s Notes version of how I’ve been doing . How about you my fair friends?

[chrissyhoover75-blog]

Today I saw my OB Doctor for my hysterectomy Pre-Op appointment. I have to be at the hospital Sept 27th at 5am and surgery will begin at around 7AM. My husband went with me so he’s in the loop about everything. I warned him my Dr is direct, descriptive, and very informative of everything he will do. It’s his job to give me an honest breakdown of the surgery steps that will be performed, their desired outcomes, and possible risks involved. I could tell by my husband’s face  he was confused at times, grossed out at times, and worried in the end. He looked visibly sad in the end, but my doctor reassured him he would do everything in his power to keep me safe during and after surgery. I signed all the papers for surgery consent and got a two week follow up appointment made.

Before surgery plan: I have to keep doing my pelvic floor relaxation exercises and heat therapy (sit on a heating pad 20 min) twice a day. The day before surgery, I can have a light breakfast and then nothing, but liquids all day. No solids or milk products. I also have to drink 2, 8oz Bottles of Magnesium Citrate to clear out my colon. Because I have Diverticulosis (severe), my doctor does not want any stool in my colon that could burst my intestines when they move them around to get to my Uterus (more on that soon). I can’t have anything to eat or drink after 3AM except a small drink in the morning to take my medications. I am to shower the night before and the morning of surgery, but use no make-up, nail polish, perfume, hair products, deodorant, or lotions. I am packing an overnight bag just in case I stay overnight and to have clean clothes to go home in.

Day of and during surgery: I will arrive at the hospital at 5AM. I will meet my anesthesia team and sign their consent forms. Since this is a “dirty surgery” (the vagina is cleaned, but still considered dirty), I will be given antibiotics through an IV during the surgery. I will be given a catheter and be taken to the operating room where the Da Vinci robot and my surgery team will be waiting for me. My doctor chose the robot because he can see my insides and move around my organs better than with regular, hand held, laparoscopy surgery. Since I have diverticulosis, the robot can go around my colon much easier and lower my risk of damage.

Once I am put under, the whole table I am on will be tilted back towards my head a little. A small incision will be made in my belly button or right above it and the robot arms will be placed inside me (see pictures below). My intestines will be moved to one side and might be exposed. Yes, that’s gross and scary, but that’s what my doctor said he would have to do to make sure they have a clear path to my uterus. The doctor will be looking at both of my ovaries and only remove one or both if they look abnormal. If they look good, just my tubes, uterus, and cervix will be removed through my vagina and the top of the vagina (where the cervix was) will be sewn shut. If any damage was thought to be done to my bladder, they will perform a Cystoscopy to look inside and make sure everything is ok. As with any surgery, organs have a risk of being damaged and blood loss could occur. I will be given a CBC before surgery to check my blood levels and to check my blood in case I might need a transfusion. A transfusion is only done if I lose a lot of blood. I will be sewn up after and sent to the recovery room. The whole process, I am told, is 3-4 hours long if no complications occur. My organs will be sent to pathology to 1: Make sure the doctor removed what he said he would remove, 2: Make sure extra items were not removed, and 3: to check for any cancers.

  I signed a consent form for them to take picture and video if they find anything out of the ordinary once inside. I will be given photos I can share if they take them, but only allowed to view the video on the office.

Recovery Room: If everything went ok, I can either choose to stay overnight, or go home after 6-7 hours. 6-7 hours after surgery, I will have my catheter taken out, asked to walk and use the bathroom. As long as there were no complications, I can walk enough to go to the bathroom, am urinating ok, and able to hold down food, I am allowed to leave that night if I wish. I will be given acetaminophen with oxycodone to go home with and am told I can do my pelvic therapy as tolerated to help heal faster. I am to take the narcotic pain meds only if the pain get’s very bad and regular Tylonal for minor pain. I will be given after care instructions I can share later, but told it will take 6-8 weeks to fully heal and I have to follow instructions to the T in order not to hurt myself after.

I forgot to ask two questions today: How will I know when I hit menopause after? What happens to my ovaries? Do they just float around on their own? Do they stay in one place? It’s kind of weird to think of them just free floating inside me.

A note on keeping my ovaries: He told me it was up to me to keep them or not since I am so close to 45 years of age (43 this year). He said studies show women have less of a chance of cancer who keep their ovaries, but it’s still up to me in the end. I asked him if it would help my Hidradenitis to remove them since my hormones flare me up. He said, no. I was told that it may help some, but not make the HS go away. He said that keeping my ovaries will actually help calm it down anyway because there is no signal being sent to my uterus and ovaries to start trying to make a baby or have a period. My hormones should even out and be lowered with them kept. If they remove them, I will be thrown into menopause and have a whole host of other symptoms to deal with. Keeping the ovaries allows me to gradually go into menopause, even out my hormones, and lower my risk of breast and other cancers. I chose to keep them if they look healthy. I also made an advanced directive and had that scanned into the hospital files. All my doctors and hospital will see that from now on. If something bad happens, I don’t want to be a vegetable.

I know I promised a while back I would take after pictures of my hidradenitis. I had surgery May 31st, 2018 and had 9 areas opened up in my left arm and both sides of groin. I started Humira July 24th because the HS started coming right back. Since then, I have some small, new areas and slight pain, but everything in about 90% better. I am posting the new pictures here for you to see as promised. You can see some new areas, but that’s mostly due to the fact that I have been bleeding for 22 days due to the fibroids and had to constantly wear a pad because tampons hurt my uterine prolapse and fibroids. I plan on staying with Humira once a week unless the HS gets bad again. My hopes is that not having a period will help with at least not having to wear a pad and being irritated so much.

Pre-Op Visit & HS Surgery 5 Months Later Today I saw my OB Doctor for my hysterectomy Pre-Op appointment. I have to be at the hospital Sept 27th at 5am and surgery will begin at around 7AM.

[braindamageforbeginners]

A Moment of Introspection (or, Why Positive Thinking is Actually a Bad Thing)

Since starting the whole end-stage brain cancer thing, I’ve gotten a variety of messages from assorted friends and acquaintances wishing me well - it's quite heartwarming, actually - and, although it's universally well-intended, a significant percentage (about 20-40%, I'd estimate) have the glaring subtext, “Cheer up, for Chrissakes.” I appreciate that, for most people, that's intended as a sincerely well-meaning sentiment, but, uh, no; no thanks. I was never a cheery person, I'm unlikely to turn into one under current conditions. All of this reminded me of why I'm fastidiously documenting this whole process. We tend to see dying people as “the great other,” (believe me, we really do, you just don't experience it until you're on the wrong side of the equation), and that colors a great amount of my interactions - you can kind of simulate this experience, by spending a day where you don't discuss, or do, anything pertaining to a time frame after the next six months. It'll be easier for some of you than others.

The ClifNotes version of this rant is how to properly respond when you hear bad news about a friend or neighbor, and why positive thinking isn't such a good idea. We’ll tackle the second one first, because I'm a Star Wars fan.

When you develop a dangerous disease, you will be overwhelmed by many things, but the most annoying are people telling you to remain positive. This is a bad idea on many levels, not least of which because it could kill you. When I first found out about the latest tumor in July, I was told not to panic, that this was a fairly slow-growing tumor, and I had some time to deal with it. When my tumor was removed in November - that's about 4 months, for those keeping score - the tumor had leap-frogged from stage II to stage IV.  If I had freaked the fuck out the minute I heard the word “tumor” and had it removed immediately; I would be in a completely different diagnostic category, with a completely different prognosis and life expectancy. And that wasn't even positive thinking, that was just relying on well established medical facts and/or probability. So you can understand why, perhaps, I'm suspicious of positive thinking at the moment; it’s demonstrably dangerous to me. So, you'll forgive me for operating under the assumption that this will be my last Christmas. That may or may not be accurate, it's simply an inference based on current events (speaking of which, there's an excellent chance I’ll eventually lose my insurance if that despicable tax bill becomes law, which will result in blocking access to care, which will inevitably end in a sub-optimal result for me). I suppose you could take that the other way, and assume, “Well, the disease behaved unpredictably already, that could swing the other way, too,” but it's still not a bright idea to bet on a team on a losing streak. Also, I already beat the odds - for fifteen years. This is just the law of averages catching up to me.

We are also an outcomes-oriented society - no one’s about to show up and give me gold star for living 30-odd years as a decent, kind human being who never really achieved anything of import; it's unlikely I'll get credit for weathering this particular shitstorm with grace and dignity (BTW, dignity is the very first thing that gets jettisoned in these situations; I think I left any remaining scraps of that on the floor of the shower when I had to have a nurse physically support me throughout the entire shower/basic hygiene process). I should get credit for not strangling any of the nitwits who try to cheer me up the wrong way.

THE PROPER WAY TO CHEER ME UP: Tell me about your aunt who beat brain cancer (I’m actually being sincere). Maybe leave out that epilogue about her living a full three years past what the doctors expected; I'm not in a position to refuse any extra time, but I'm ambitiously hoping for more than five years. Call me crazy! Or, y’know, just treat me like a regular person who's in the middle of a bad divorce. I'm aware that my situation is much worse, but I can not escape the constant reminders that I'm in a really bad way (I'm taking very strange meds that give me insomnia and heartburn; I'm on the phone with my doctors, nurses, and insurance company every hour or two; I could go on), so it's nice to be treated as a person, and not a disease bound in human flesh. I love Oprah, I love Oscar Wilde, but until they're sitting in a waiting room next to a man with literally only half a face, please don't spout inspirational garbage unless you want to make it onto the “To Stab” list.

Speaking of being an outcome-oriented society; a great deal of my (and probably most other cancer patients’) dread and anxiety is based on the uncertainty of outcomes. We tend to be of the mind-set that our fear of an event is much worse than the event itself; and, normally, I'd agree with that sentiment. Except, at almost every single step in the diagnostic/discovery process, the outcome has not only been far worse than my worst fears, it's outstripped my doctors’ predictions. True, I have gotten slightly lucky in a few ways (the surgery went far better than expected, I do have a mutation that gives me a 40% chance of survival with conventional treatment, I'm in a drug trial that should improve those odds, and I might be able to get insurance next year), but even those all come with caveats and qualifications. And they're weighed against an uncertain future in which even death isn't the worst possible outcome (remember Two Face in the waiting room? Yeah, it's not likely to happen to me, but neither was stage IV brain cancer). So, you might understand why, with a future that's decidedly more S. King than B. Potter, even with the rosiest predictions (and not a whole lot of future, at that). The happiest baby rabbit photo in the world isn't going to improve those odds, so keep the motivational posters to yourself. If things are looking better in a few weeks, yeah, sure, I'll be cheerier, but I haven't even started treatment yet.

I realize that most of these misfires come from the human impulse to do something to help each other (again, knowing that people are just well-intentioned idiots has saved a few of those idiots from a much-needed eyeball gouging), and it just comes out wrong. I try to preface everything I write with the warning that I don't speak for all cancer patients, just me. Today, I'm going to abandon that stance and speak as Cancer Man (but not the cool, X-Files one), patron saint and mouthpiece for all patients with terrible afflictions, and give you, dear reader, the perfect response when you hear that unimaginable tragedy has struck someone you care about. I'm so confident in its efficacy, that it will work not only for cancer, but for almost all diseases, and, indeed, tragedy in general, from unexpected weight gain to a neighbor losing their child. However, before we get there, let's look at the very best, and very worst, reactions (there's only one of each, I won't hold you in suspense for too long).

So, far and away the best response to my situation came from a former boss in the biotech industry, who had heard of several promising clinical trials, and offering some advice about trial eligibility. I knew I was a decent employee, I didn't think I was that good.

Now, the very worst response - and the one I've possibly received the most - is, “"I could get hit by a bus tomorrow.” Or something similar. Usually this is whenever I bring up the odds of me making it five years (about 40%), because Americans don't understand how probability or basic math works (this also explains our economic policies). Fortunately, most people realize it's kind of a dickish thing to say, “I can completely empathize, because I am also mortal.” It took me a while to figure out the proper response to that, which is; “"I'm so glad you agree, let's play some Russian Roulette.” Once I break it down that way - that I'm in a life or death situation over which I have absolutely no control - most people back off.

Anyway, here's your go-to response whenever tragedy strikes someone you know; “"That's awful. I am so sorry, and I have no idea what to say. Is there anything I can do?” That will work for every unpleasant disease you can imagine, I'd wager my life on it (another phrase that used to mean something).

And the only person who's inquired - unprompted - about my emotional state was my radiation oncologist. She was sort of double-checking that I was depressed (or trying to figure out if the cancer was causing it, I'm not sure). Either way, the implication was the disease could be directly influencing my emotional state and/or outlook. If you're still having trouble understanding why I'm slightly upset, imagine having an alien parasite in your brain that can alter your very perception of reality - what we usually call our sanity - and knowing that, if science fails, things will get much, much worse, and eventually, you will die. That's not a problem if you're Kirk or McCoy, but let's say you're slowly becoming aware - like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern - that you're a nameless red shirt. BTW, if Spock doesn't synthesize an antidote in time, these dispatches are going to become very surreal as I descend into madness and pain.

Finally - and don't worry, I'm mostly done with self-pity - you'll have to be patient, I literally found out about all of this five weeks ago. It's all a little much to adjust to in less time than it takes to establish residency in most places. Hell, just for comparison, my chemo/radiation course is - minimally - six weeks. Which brings up my final point (hang in there, we’re almost done), why I'm writing these things. In our society, we tend to view dying people (or those in grave situations) as The Great Other. We want Morrie Schwartz, or we want sick people to shut up and go away (BTW, the feeling’s mutual on the other side of the fence, sick people just want you to give us morphine and let us die in peace). I have not heard of anyone undergoing this, uh, process, while maintaining their surliness and cowardice (and you would be, too, if you were only getting a few hours of sleep every night) - not that I'm dedicated to those traits, but they come naturally to me in crisis (or this particular crisis; I don't know what I'd be like if I was sleeping well and didn't have to call some specialist or billing department or coordinator every hour or so) - and I think future cancer patients should be assured that a bit (or a lot)(or even massive amounts) of griping and fear is fairly normal and has no real effect on the outcome (it doesn't, I haven't seen a study conclusively showing any correlation between attitude and patient outcomes). And this whole writing project will help me keep track of my efforts to find the world’s funniest cancer joke. It has to be out there, somewhere; I've been unable to shake the feeling that I'm somehow involved in some horrible, tasteless joke (and I've crunched the numbers; this whole thing is so statistically outlandish that finding out I am some sort of fictional character in an elaborate story about end-of-life issues would not be the most surprising (or upsetting) discovery I've made this month), and damned if I'm going to leave before figuring out the punchline (of course, I'm about to be damned, anyway; my mother described the radiation waiting room as “the line to cross the Styx”). And finally, I'm doing this because I still can; there may well come a time when I'm unable to write - a thought that scares me far worse than dying. And it may very well may happen; after all, we live in a universe rich in possibilities.

In conclusion, if you feel the need to cheer someone up, there are other cancer patients you can bother. Some of them are probably serene and wise, even (those are the patients with personal assistants to wade through the vast pile of BS that is the bureaucracy of the modern medical-industrial complex). If, on the other hand, you're interested in seeing how far down the rabbit hole goes, with a host who isn't afraid to ask, “This is really fucked up, right? This isn't just me, is it?” I'm your man. For good or bad, my life looks the way it does because I'm too lazy to pretend to be someone I'm not (well, that, and life-long neurological disease); and I'm certainly not going to work on that skill while simultaneously trying to survive what promises to be the very worst (possibly even the very last) two months of my life. Speaking of which...

UPDATE: I met with the researcher running the neurocognitive assessment trial, which is kind of fun (the neurocognitive tests are kind of like some sort of therapy for dementia patients (which, I suppose, could describe me soon enough); you get to draw things (sort of), you play word games (sort of), and you get to play with blocks (sort of)). And then I got to fill out some forms to assess my current neuropsychiatric state. I realize I use synonyms for “fear” a lot on this blog, but the questions on the psych form were deeply upsetting in their implications (”Have you had recent troubles articulating your thoughts or feelings?” YOU. MOTHERFUCKERS. Writing is the last thing I have any real control over; don't you dare take this from me). Good news; the researcher assured me that current radiation treatment is much less nuclear holocaust-y than old fashioned radiation treatment, and the goal of this study is to demonstrate just how much better it is for patient cognitive abilities. She was less happy about my constant pestering her about specifics (”Have I experienced balance problems in the last week? Yes, but since someone was sawing through my somatosensory lobe a month ago, I don't think it was a psychiatric issue.”), so she eventually told me to shut up and scribble any notes or caveats in the margins (I don't think anyone will be amused that, after I rated the statement “I am afraid of dying” (I very strongly agree with that statement, obviously), I wrote, “There is about a 60% chance I'll die in the next five years, it's not a fear, it's just basic math.” Still, it was reassuring when she told me that she does see most patients again at the three month follow-up, and that most of them are mostly-intact. And, in surprising news, I finally saw the psychooncologist; and she seemed remarkably empathetic and intelligent (I guess it's just the administrative staff that are cruel and incompetent). I guess I have adjustment disorder (no shit, Sherlock)(also, there's probably a few readers who saw that coming). But, bigger news, the antidepressant I was on is linked to anxiety, insomnia, and, wait for it... seizures. So, I will be transitioning to a less dangerous (for me, anyway) antidepressant over the next few weeks, so things might get a little odd around here during that time. She (the psychiatrist) also said something to mull over; (and I'm paraphrasing), “Any time you cut into the brain, you permanently change the neurochemistry. And we've done that to you three times since you were 17.” I also got a call from my original mad scientist oncologist in Northern California (or one of her Igors, anyway), reminding me that she wants an MRI a month after starting radiation, which is reassuring. I have no illusions about her investment in me; it makes for a much better case study if the patient lives longer, and I am a once-in-a-lifetime medical specimen (I don't mean that in a sleazy, “Welcome to the gun show” way; I once calculated that there are fewer than 250 people with similar medical histories... on planet Earth). Still, the more people who want me to live, and are in a position to help make that dream a reality, the better. Now for the bad news; the radiation department is still haggling with my insurance company, and that's holding up this whole process. However, they're expecting to hear back in a day or so, and, as Dad noted, the insurance company has been quite generous and almost-mammalian during this whole process. All I want for Christmas is chemo.