#guess who might need eye surgery now

[apocalypsesplease]

No one:

My right eye:

[pathologicalreid]

heart to heart | s.r.

in which hotchner!reader is set to have heart surgery, and Spencer can't help but be concerned for her

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x hotchner!reader category: angst content warnings: fem!reader, chronically ill!reader, spencer is anxious, inadvertently made jack hotchner a glass child, hospitals, medications, surgery, heart transplant, hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, mostly medically accurate, rejected proposals, spencer's pov, mentions death and dying and wills, howl's moving castle word count: 2.51k a/n: this might be my favorite margotober post of the week. i don't know. it's very introspective. twas a request!

Ironically, his heart was racing. Spencer made his way through the cardiac unit with nothing but his imagination to guide him. He had just left the building a few hours ago when you insisted that he sleep in a real bed, and now he was back.

Your dad hadn’t told him what was going on, he just told him to get to the hospital. It was an hour’s drive from his place in D.C. to Johns Hopkins in Baltimore—you could already be dead by now.

He didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye to you. Not a real, proper goodbye. He told you he’d come back in the morning, which felt ridiculous now.

The sterile fluorescence of the intensive care unit only added to his irritability as he washed his hands upon entry, the CVICU had been your home for the past two months, and in a way, it had become Spencer’s as well. He couldn’t be shocked, you’d been in heart failure for nearly two years, and there was no way he could ignore the worried glances between your doctors and nurses.

You slept more than you were awake most days, Spencer and your dad took turns staying behind on cases, and you usually didn’t have the energy to hold a conversation.

That’s why he’s so surprised to see you sitting up in bed with a cap over your hair, talking to your cardiologist. You looked drained, dark circles gave your eyes a haunted look, but Spencer’s chest filled with relief at the fact that you were still very much alive. “Hey,” Spencer said, looking around the room for even the slightest clue as to what was going on.

Sluggishly, your head turned to look at him, “Hey,” you said back, a weak smile on your face.

He wanted to tell you to lie down, sitting up was obviously draining you of what little energy you had, but more than that, he wanted you to tell him what was going on—he couldn’t guess, he couldn’t bear to be wrong. “What is it? What happened?” His questions were frantic, your father had never called him in the middle of the night like this.

“I’m getting a heart, Spence,” you told him, your voice was gentle.

So, the sky wasn’t falling. The feeling of impending doom that he’s had for the last two years was potentially going to be lifted away, “When?” He asked, stepping further into the room and setting his bag in the chair, crossing his arms as he joined the conversation between you and your doctor.

You took a deep breath, in through your nose and out through your mouth, “Tonight.”

He needed to sit down.

“We’re just waiting on some final pre-op labs,” your doctor confirmed, nodding at the both of you. “It’s a good match,” he assured Spencer, “I’ll let you two talk.”

As soon as you were alone, Spencer guided you down to the pillows. Too weak to resist, you leaned back until your shoulders hit the pillows, “Where’s Hotch?”

You hummed in response, “Jack freaked out when we told him I was getting a new heart, dad’s with him until our aunt gets here.”

“He’s worried about you,” he observed, sometimes it was hard to put the age difference between you and your brother into perspective, but at times like this, he remembered just how young Jack really was.

Clearing your throat, you shook your head once, “He’s scared that my new heart won’t love him the same.”

Spencer nodded in understanding, “So, what did you tell him?”

You smiled softly, “I told him it was like in Howl’s Moving Castle.” Pausing for a moment to catch your breath, Spencer took your hand in his, “They’re not taking my love away, I’ll be able to love him even more with a new heart.”

“So, now he thinks your heart is on fire,” Spencer pointed out, tucking a stray hair underneath your cap.

Sighing, you shut your eyes for a moment, “Sometimes it feels like it.”

His chest tightened in sympathy while watching you try to catch your breath, vaguely aware that this was the last night that tonight would be like this, “Are you scared?” It seemed like a foolish question to ask, knowing that you’d had more procedures than most people your age, but this was a big one. This was the big one.

You nodded gently, there were so many things to be scared of, surgical complications, transplant rejection, but you looked at Spencer with pity in your eyes. You were pitying him, “My will is in the top drawer of my nightstand,” you started.

“No,” Spencer interjected, denial creeping up on him.

You sighed, it took everything in you to hold back your tears, “Spence, we have to talk about this.”

He shook his head, “No, we don’t. You’re going to be fine.”

“I need you to be rational,” you pleaded. The irony of the situation was not lost on him, you were begging him to think rationally as refusal crept over him. “You know the statistics. In fact, you probably know them better than me,” you said pointedly.

He sniffled, “You have good odds,” he insisted. “Even if you didn’t have good chances, you’ve always been good at beating the odds,” he reminded you. The two of you had said goodbye before, a nasty battle with bacterial endocarditis had put you in a coma, but you had come out of it, sending you even higher on the UNOS transplant list.

Issues with your kidneys had knocked you out of the running for some hearts, so your only hope was a direct donation. It seemed like you were getting your wish. “My heart won’t be as big,” you murmured, not having the energy to debate Spencer on probability.

“No,” he affirmed, “It’ll be a bit smaller.” Your heart muscle was thick as a result of your cardiomyopathy, and your pacemaker wasn’t able to keep up with your deteriorating health. A transplant became your only hope.

You sighed contentedly, “You always made me feel so lucky.”

“Stop trying to say goodbye,” he told you, tilting his head to the side.

Nodding, he could tell that you understood him, “You’ll never get rid of me, I’ll come back and haunt you.”

Spencer shook his head dismissively, “No dying, sweet girl. We’ve got to take care of your new heart.”

A peaceful silence blanketed the two of you, sitting and waiting for someone to tell him it was time to go. He didn’t want to go. He’d go with you to the operating room if they’d let him.

He said goodbye to you in the hallway, watching you get wheeled away before shoving his hands in his pockets and walking to the waiting room, stopping in his tracks at the sight before him.

A majority of the BAU had gathered in the waiting room, taking up all of the chairs on the right-hand side, settling in for the long haul. “Hey,” JJ was the first one to speak, giving Spencer a quick embrace before stepping back, “How was she?”

“She’s good,” he answered absentmindedly, still looking around the room, a few familiar faces nowhere to be found. “She was tired,” and a bit morbid toward the end.

Jack was curled up on one of the loveseats, a blanket tucked over him. Spencer continued looking around, confusion settling in until Emily spoke up, “He’s in the chapel. Rossi and Morgan are with him.”

Hotch was in the chapel, likely lighting a candle for Haley while Rossi and Morgan said a prayer for you. Oddly enough, it brought Spencer comfort to know that his friends were pulling for you in the ways they knew how, especially when he didn’t believe in it himself.

Spencer looked at the bracelet that you had placed in his hands, it was one of your most prized possessions, and should something happen to you, he was under strict instructions to hand it over to your father.

You were still a teenager when you were first diagnosed, and you were scared of having a big scar from open heart surgery, so your mom went out and bought you a charm bracelet. For each procedure after, you’d gotten a new charm for the bracelet with Hotch continuing the tradition after your mother had passed away.

There was no doubt in his mind that there would be a special charm for this surgery, Hotch usually had Penelope and JJ help him pick it out.

Penelope walked in, handing Spencer a cup of coffee. The average heart transplant takes six hours, but you have so much scar tissue that he wouldn’t be surprised if it took longer than that.

You were two years younger than him, and he found himself enamored with you from the moment you met. Your disease had forced you to leave college early, but your dad had set you up with a job in records at Quantico, both to give you something to do and to keep you nearby.

Until you just kept getting sicker, you were the best person they had working in records, but eventually, you had to leave that too.

The rest of the team caught on to Spencer’s crush, but you found yourself avoiding him like the plague. You turned him down eight times before you finally acquiesced, come to find out the only reason you said yes is because Hotch pushed you in that direction. Of all people, your father had just wanted you to continue living your life—he didn’t want you to become a hermit.

You would be one now though, with all of the immunosuppressants you’d be on post-transplant, you’d be spending a lot of time at home.

Rejection became a trend in your relationship when Spencer proposed to you last year. He’d done it properly, asking your father and Jack for permission, but you’d said no, rattling off some excuse about how he shouldn’t shackle himself to someone with one foot in the grave.

That night, after you had all but broken up with him, you’d collapsed and ended up in the hospital. The two of you made a promise to each other. If you ever got a new heart, you’d finally say yes.

The promise had been your idea, claiming that karma had caused you to collapse in your apartment because you turned him down. Spencer didn’t believe in karma and fate the way you did, but he did believe in you. That was enough for him.

Hotch came back up first, setting a comforting hand on Spencer’s shoulder before he walked back to where Jack was sleeping, your Aunt Jessica was back there with the two of them.

They hit the two-hour mark with no update, and Spencer convinced himself that no news had to be good news.

Derek and Rossi had made their way up to the waiting room, pulling out a deck of cards from the hospital gift shop and dealing around the table. Spencer just watched, he’d played more than enough card games in this hospital before, and he’d likely be playing many more in the future.

You’d have to stay in the hospital post-transplant for approximately a month, but it was some comfort to Spencer that instead of your health declining, you would begin feeling better. It hurt to hope, but he found himself excited at the prospect of you regaining your strength.

By the time five hours had passed, JJ and Derek had fallen asleep in their chairs, but everyone had committed themselves to waiting for you.

Spencer wanted to take you home, settle you into your shared apartment together, and let you heal, but you weren’t going to come home with him. When your month in the hospital was up, you’d go home with your dad and Jack. Your apartment didn’t have an elevator, and he worried about you having to use the stairs all the time. Your dad’s apartment had an elevator, so it became the obvious choice.

You told him you didn’t even remember what home looked like anymore. He couldn’t wait to bring you home.

He’d started to worry after six hours had passed, but just before hour seven hit, your cardiothoracic surgeon came out to the waiting room.

Careful not to wake Jack, Hotch stood up from his chair, approaching the surgeon with a wariness that Spencer had never seen from him. He waved Spencer over, silently inviting him to join the conversation.

“Everything went well, she’ll be in the CVICU still for a few days before she’s strong enough to be transferred,” the doctor explained, garnering the attention of some of the other people in the room. “Visiting hours don’t start for a few hours, but if one of you wants to stay with her until she wakes up, then I’d be willing to arrange an exception.”

You’d be waking up in a bright room with a tube in your throat, and having someone that you knew with you when you woke up would hopefully ease some of your fears. As soon as Spencer was about to offer to keep an eye on Jack so Hotch could sit with you, Hotch interrupted his train of thought, “You should go.”

Spencer frowned, glancing over your father, “Are you sure?”

Nodding, Hotch looked back at Jack, still sleeping on the loveseat. “I need to stay with him, and she wouldn’t want him to see her first thing,” he explained.

If Jack’s fear from earlier was any kind of forewarning, Hotch probably had a point when it came to wanting to stay with his youngest. Even still, Spencer protested, “I can stay with Jack.”

There were a number of people in the room who could stay with Jack, but Hotch clearly wanted to stay, “Don’t keep my daughter waiting, Reid.”

He did not have to be told twice, turning around and following the doctor to your room, scrubbing his hands before approaching the door. Faltering slightly at the doorway, Spencer found himself staring at you. There were so many wires and tubes connected to you that he’d have to take his time doing inventory of them all, there was a tube breathing for you, but your heart—your heart was beating steady.

“You can take a seat here,” a nurse said, gesturing to a chair for him to use. He sat down obediently, setting his bag on the ground next to him.

You wouldn’t come out from under the anesthesia for hours yet, but Spencer found comfort in knowing that he’d be here for you when you woke up. He could let you squeeze your hand when you felt pain, and he’d be there to wipe your tears away. At this point, he’d do anything you asked of him.

For now, all he had to do was wait. He clasped your hand in both of his and sat at your bedside, a ring box burning a hole in his messenger bag—waiting for you to be ready for it.

[mmogurl]

Daddy Issues Part 2: Baseline

18+ | 2k | Homelander X Reader |  protective homelander, reader’s back story is a little dark, reader might be a bit of a nympho, mentions of suicide, rape, assault, alcoholism, emotional child abuse.

My Own Writing Prompt: What if Homelander became your Daddy and was really good at it? I'm really enjoying this story so far and found myself eager to write more the next day, even after proofing a 7k chapter for my Daemon story! If you haven't read the first part yet, it's here. Part 1: Savior | Part 2: Baseline | Part 3: Spoiled | Part 4: Comfort

The first thing that strikes you about Homelander’s penthouse in Vought Tower, is how impersonal it is. It has just about as much character as the sterile white walls of a hospital room. You might even confuse it for a museum given the sheer volume of aged paintings on the walls, but most exhibitions would have more color and identity than this drab space.

You can’t help but wonder who Homelander is, because this environment certainly doesn’t tell you much. There are no pictures of him, save for the massive American flag that spans the wall behind you, and the only gaudy knick-knacks present are nonsensical shapes coated in gold. In fact, everything is gold, except for the milky white of the statues peppered throughout the floorplan, the dusky blue walls, and the brown leather couch you sit upon.

Homelander stands across from you next to the giant television screen, staring at you with an unease that you cannot place. In fact, just like his living space, he is quite difficult to read. The lingering effects of traumatic shock make this whole encounter feel even more surreal, your mind and body seeming almost disconnected from reality.

“Is this real life?” you blurt out, remembering that poor kid whose parents recorded him after he’d had dental surgery, still under the effects of anesthesia.

“What the fuck kind of question is that?” he spits back with an incredulous sneer.

You quickly realize that Homelander is one of the few men in this world that actually looks kind of hot when he’s being petulant. You tuck this fun fact to the side for now.

“It’s just…” you continue as he glares at you impatiently. “I’m sitting in your home… In Homelander’s home.” The similarity between your locale and his supe name makes you laugh pointedly, an inside joke you’re sure he won’t care for. “It’s kind of far fetched, isn’t it?” you finally state rhetorically, because really it is a stretch that you would ever find yourself here and under such circumstances.

“What? I’m the Homelander. Of course I save people. It’s kind of my fucking job,” he shrugs your observation off as his brow furls in reproach.

“Ok, sure,” you agree tentatively. “But, is it also your job to take the people you save home with you?” It seemed like a valid question, but he certainly doesn’t seem to agree.

“What did you expect me to do?” he marches towards you, holding his hands up to the ceiling. “Leave you there like that?”

“Well, no…” you consider in your slow state of comprehension. “But you could have taken me to the hospital I guess.”

He scoffs with a big huff of air through his lips as he stops in front of you, his arms now crossed against his chest.

“Fat chance. They would just let you out again the moment your physical health was cleared,” he replies in an almost gloating manner, his expression now softening slightly with condescension. “Oho, no,” he waggles a finger from side to side as if to enhance the denial further. “You need someone to save you from yourself. Someone to keep you from fucking up.”

“What?” you ask, quirking your brow and crinkling your nose at him.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he cocks his head to the side slightly, clasping his hands behind his back as he begins to pace to the side, keeping his deep ocean eyes glued to you. “You’re going to stay with me for awhile. Get your act together.”

“Get my- What!? What do you even know about my life? You literally just saved me off the street and you’re making assumptions?? Acting like you know me or something?” You can’t help but get emotional. After all, being judged always makes you feel defensive.

“Oh, I know plenty, doll… Plenty,” he stops for a moment, facing you before turning directions and walking back the way from which he came. “First you’re gonna stop the drinking. Maybe we’ll even get you into some fucking therapy or a Sexaholics Anonymous support group, because there’s obviously something going on up there that’s causing you to act like this.”

“Oh yes, while I’m there, I’ll tell them how I’m being held hostage by fucking Homelander! I’m sure they’ll get a kick out of that.” You can’t help but roll your eyes and shake your head.

However, you do not expect the swift retribution that comes as he closes the gap between you both and grabs your chin, your jaw in his hand. “Do not test my patience,” he sounds furious, his voice grating against his teeth as he speaks with his lips no farther than an inch away from your face. “I’m trying to help you, you ungrateful little shit.”

He closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath, abruptly releasing your chin so swiftly that your head lurches back from the motion. A whirlwind of thought floods your mind. How does he know so much about you? Are you really trapped here with him and how does he intend to keep you here? Will anybody even notice your gone or bother to come looking for you? All of these questions coupled with the feeling of being seen in your rawest form by a stranger is enough to make you want to fall apart. And you certainly try your best to never cry in front of anyone if you can help it.

“And why do you give a shit?” you ask, already feeling the telltale heat of tears forming in the corners of your eyes. God damnit! “Nobody else ever has.”

The hurt in your voice is evident and you're surprised when Homelander breaks away from you. He walks off down the hall until he’s out of sight and you can hear a drawer open and shut. He returns with a somber expression on his face and a couple of tissues in his hand that he holds out. You take them swiftly, resenting that he has seen you cry, but appreciating that he has given you a way to dispose of this irritating sign of weakness.

“And how could you possibly know that? Hm?” he asks finally breaking the silence, save for your sniffling. “That nobody gives a shit. Clearly I do.”

Something twists inside your gut at being brought so low. You do not like to dwell on these feelings. You don’t want to face them if you can avoid it. But, Homelander, America’s most powerful supe, is seeing you for who you are and despite that is still claiming to care about you. Oddly enough, the disturbing nature of his rationale and how he intends to force you to change against your own wishes does not seem to linger in your thoughts.

What does stay is that he cares. For you. You cannot help the flood of unwanted leaking that spills from your eyes.

“Shh, shh,” he is suddenly consoling you. “I know what’s good for you. You’re going to be alright.” His voice is reassuring as he pats you on the shoulder and rubs soothingly in small circles. You wonder if this line is rehearsed from one of his movies because it sounds familiar and so natural, unlike everything else about him.

Regardless, you can’t help but bury your face into his stomach, turning your head to the side as you wrap your arms around his waist. You have not felt a sense of comfort like this in a very long time and you almost forget that you are weeping like a baby.

“I don’t deserve it,” you find yourself whimpering against his torso, leaving wet tear stains on his suit. “Even my parents didn’t think I was good enough to love.”

He scoffs against his lips once more. It’s not a sign of annoyance this time, but disdain for the lack of kindness you’ve received in your life. “Fuck your parents,” he says with contempt. “I’ll take care of you. Hell, I’ll be your fucking Daddy, and show you what your father clearly failed to.”

You’re blown away by his proclamation. My Daddy? What the fuck is he talking about?

You pull back and look up at him, your eyes wide and wet from crying. He looks down at you without a hint of doubt in his expression. He is completely serious.

“What didn’t he show me?” you ask almost dumbstruck by the situation. It is the only thing you can think to utter.

“That you should stop selling yourself short.” His blue eyes were clear without insinuation as a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “That you’re worth more.”

Homelander’s gloved hand slid along the line of your jaw, softly, almost tenderly. And then, just like that, he snapped out of his sympathetic trance and gave you one of those camera ready grins.

“Whelp! First things first,” he said keeping that blithe expression with his cheekbones raised high as he gained some distance away from you. “I’m gonna have to get you a copy of the key card and get you some new clothes. And, I guess until I can get you your own bed, you can just sleep with me.”

He rattled all of this off as though it were perfectly normal. You know you should keep your mouth shut, but you can’t help but ask the obvious questions. “If I get a copy of the key, then what’s to stop me from leaving and going home?”

“Hah! Don’t even think about it, sweetheart,” he says with a deriding laugh. “I know where you live for one. And let’s face it! There’s nowhere you can hide from me. So taking off without permission would only serve to piss me off.” You listen as his tone mimics the ups and downs of a particularly peaked roller coaster ride, going from warning to jovial. “So, let’s not do that, alright?”

“Alright,” you agree because what else are you really going to say to the man who can laser you in half just like he did to your attempted rapist not long ago. Besides, he is being rather nice and you do hate your fucking job so much. “Do I still have to work?” you ask chaining off of that thought.

“God no,” he sneers as though the idea were outlandish. “No, you don’t have to work. In fact, I’d prefer you didn’t. You can sit around and do whatever you want. Go wherever you want. As long as you let me know and make time for me when I require it.”

You have to admit, this is sounding better and better. “What about my stuff? Can’t I just go and get it then?”

Homelander winces almost mockingly. “No can do,” he offers his feigned condolences. “I think it’s better to just start off fresh, hm? Besides, I can get you anything you want. Why bother holding onto any of that junk?” It sounds like a question, but once again is clearly more of a demand.

“What about pictures? My collectibles?” you ask, because in truth, the only things you really care about, your only good memories from your childhood, can’t easily be replaced.

He rolls his eyes as he crosses his arms, raising one hand to his chin in contemplation. “You really want to remember those assholes?”

You consider his words and begin to think he might be right. Maybe a fresh start would be best. It seemed looking back at old pictures of your mother only ever served to make you upset and bitter.

“Fine,” you acquiesce, “But I want my video games. I have a small fortune in vintage Playstation discs that I’m not letting go.”

Homelander gives you a torn little grimace, shaking his head until he’s nodding. “Fine,” he capitulates without anger.

And now it seems like you’re finally striking some kind of accord together. A baseline for how things will be between you both. It seems clear that he is a bit of a control freak and you understand that quite implicitly because you’re one as well. The only thing left to be discovered is whether or not the two of you will enjoy each other’s company or be driven crazy by it. Continue to Part 3

[junrenjun]

Catharsis

omega!jeonghan x beta!reader (part of ot13 x reader understand series)

genre: angsty i guess? fluff too

wc: 1.2k (short and sweet)

warnings: fem reader, implied member x member, hannie is sad, mention of injuries

summary: sometimes jeonghan needs a little reminder that it's okay to take care of himself too.

a/n: i've been wanting to write a jeonghan installment forever. i feel like this really didn't do his and mc's relationship justice, but i hope it is enough for now. i did have an anon send me this idea, so shoutout to that anon.

Jeonghan was…apprehensive about you joining the pack. Not because he didn’t like you. No, you were everything he could possibly ask for. But he’s nothing if not an attention whore and he’s already sharing with 12 other packmates. Another one would surely do him in.

He stands corrected though. Especially right now, when you’re giving your best attempt at nesting for him. He’s fresh home from the hospital after his ankle surgery and everything hurts. Obviously his ankle but also his heart. All he wants right now is to make a nice big nest and share it with his pack. But they’re in Japan and he’s in Korea. And he can’t even walk. He couldn’t be more useless as a pack omega right now.

At least your nest making is a bit of a distraction in the meantime. It’s haphazard and rushed, but it’s clear you are trying your best. It makes Jeonghan laugh because it reminds him of the first nest he ever tried to make as a freshly presented omega. 

You might not have the omega nesting instinct to help you out, but you do have the beta calming instinct guiding you. It’s cute, the way you fuss over where to put each item, sniffing them lightly to test the scent.

Your cuteness doesn’t distract him for long though, because soon he’s reminded once again that he left the rest of his pack in a foreign country to finish out a tour without a pack alpha, beta, or omega. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he lets out a sniffle.

The sound has you whipping around, abandoning your nest building with Seungkwan’s jacket still in your hands. You urge him into the nest gently and he tries his best to not disturb your hard work. Once he’s settled, you raise a hand to wipe his tears away. 

“I abandoned my pack,” he cries into your shoulder. 

You attempt to shush him again, but it only makes the sobs worse. “No you didn't, Hannie. You had to come home for this surgery and they know that. They’ll be okay for now.”

While your words were meant to soothe, it only makes his mind race more. “But what if Vernon eats something with peanuts in it?” he asks.

“He has an epipen there,” you respond. You can tell he’s starting to spiral because he just keeps asking questions. You do your best to fend them off. 

“Who is going to watch him and Seungkwan when their cycles hit?”

“There’s literally 9 other pack members there to do that.”

“What if Jihoon has an episode?”

“We have FaceTime for a reason.” “What if taking care of everyone is too much for Joshua?”

“Wonwoo will help him.”

“What if…”

You cut him off. “Can you stop worrying about them for 5 seconds and worry about yourself for once?”

Jeonghan snaps his mouth shut. You regret your words instantly, because his scent goes infinitely sour. You scrunch your nose in response. “I don’t want to worry about myself,” he whispers. 

You take a deep breath. His scent is mixed with frustration and hurt and it makes your heart ache. At least he’s being vulnerable with you. It’s a start. 

“I’m sorry you have to be away from them right now Jeonghan. But you’ve taught them how to take care of themselves, just like any good pack omega,” you tell him.

You can see the distress in his eyes as he searches for his next words. “I just…feel like I’m letting them down.” You cuddle yourself further into his side, reaching to rub your wrist against his. 

“You aren’t,” you tell him firmly. “They want what’s best for you right?” 

He nods in response and you take it as a sign to continue. “Right now you’re injured, and what’s best for you is to be here with me and Cheol, okay? You’re not doing this alone.”

His tears have started to subside and you let him take a few minutes to compose himself. Once he does, you instinctively run your wrist over his neck, spreading your scent over his to neutralize the distressed smell. He sinks further into the nest and you take his relaxation as a sign that he’s okay. “Are you hungry?” you ask. “I told Cheol I would grab him some food once you were settled in.”

“A little bit,” he murmurs. It may not be an honest answer, but it’s better than a refusal. 

“Okay” you tell him. “I’m just going to be out for a few minutes. I should be back soon. Text Cheol if you need something.” You press a kiss to his forehead and try your best to not ruin the nest as you scoot out. 

He watches as you go and has a hard time tearing his eyes off the open doorway once you are out of sight. What did he do to deserve you? When he finally does look away, his gaze lands on the picture frame sitting on his bedside table. It’s a somewhat recent picture. One you made them take in a professional studio right before they left for tour. Matching clothes and everything. You had done it thinking you would be home without them most of the time, not knowing two of the boys would join you months later. 

He reaches for the picture, grabbing it to get a closer look. Wonwoo looks funny without his glasses. Seokmin’s smile is wide as usual, reaching all the way up to his eyes. Vernon has his arm slung over Seungkwan’s shoulder, unsurprisingly. Jun’s hair is parted unevenly and Jeonghan remembers his concerned reaction when the photographer showed them the final product. Everyone looks happy. Trying to cherish these memories for as long as possible, he pulls the frame to his chest, hugging it lightly. He doesn’t even realize how tired he is and, eventually, lets sleep take him. 

He wakes up a half hour later to you gently pulling the picture frame from his arms. “Don’t want this to break,” you whisper to him. He lets you grab it and pushes himself further up in the bed. That’s when he notices the bag on the table where you carefully put the photo back. 

“You got food from the cafe?” he asks, eyes already brimming with tears. 

You look up at him hesitantly. “Oh, yeah. Is that okay? It seems to be a comfort meal for most of us now.”

He’s immediately grabbing the bag from the table, answering your question without saying anything. When he looks inside, it’s full of only his favorites. “It’s weird that you know me better than I know myself,” he mumbles loud enough for you to hear. 

You smile fondly at him. “That’s because you take care of everyone else before you take care of yourself. Now eat.”

The first bite is heavenly. And while it doesn’t make him forget that half of his heart is all the way in Japan right now, it does remind him that he’s got a piece of it here with him.

[suzukiblu]

excerpt from the one where Clark is trans and Kon isn't, but no one actually knows this:

Cadmus didn't know Superman was a trans man before they stole his dead body, but considering how many total assholes were on staff at the time they were surprisingly respectful of his gender identity. Not so much his bodily autonomy or his DNA or his potential feelings about being cloned against his will, but like, they used his preferred pronouns and whatever. 

So like . . . diversity win, Kon guesses? Or . . . whatever that'd be? 

So when they made . . . him . . . 

Kon got educated and socialized as male, when they made him. They called him "he" and "him", at least when they weren't calling him "it". They couldn't figure out how to synthesize effective hormone treatments for half-Kryptonian genes, but they had plans for surgeries they were gonna do when he was physically mature enough. Like–before the yellow sunlight could really kick in, effects-wise. Apparently they tried just tweaking the sex on a few earlier models, but by the time they got to Experiment Thirteen, they'd figured out that they couldn't work out what an actual AMAB Kryptonian's genes should look like and had just planned for the surgeries. 

Kon's not really sure how to take that. Like . . . is it good that they wanted him to be comfortable in his body? That they cared about what the fuck he'd want to look like? 

Or is it bad that they didn't ask him if he'd even want any of that? 

Kon wears a binder and a packer and acts like he thinks boys are supposed to act, tries to take charge and be tough and be confident and hit on pretty girls and not look at pretty guys, and Kal tells him he doesn't have to try so hard. Tells him to just act natural. Kon doesn't know how to do that, though. 

Acting "natural" would be . . . 

Acting natural would be a problem. 

Cissie has really long hair. Sometimes Kon watches how it moves and pretends to be checking her out when she catches him. Like the same way he pretends that he's perving on her ass when he's actually looking at the swish of her skirt, or that he's making eyes at her tits when he's really just wondering what his own would look like without the binder that he wears . . . more than he's supposed to, to be honest. 

Serling gets on his ass about it when he forgets to take it off every eight hours. She's working on synthesizing actual hybrid hormones for him, she says, but it's technically a backburner project right now because everything is always on fire and the world keeps trying to end in increasingly ludicrous ways. 

Which, well–he appreciates it, really, but that'd all be more helpful if he was actually "forgetting" to take the binder off, and if he wasn't terrified that she's actually gonna manage those hormones someday. Serling's, like, a crazy genius, after all. She might be able to pull that off. 

But Kon doesn't want the hormones. Doesn't want the surgeries he's been told Cadmus will give him as soon as he's physically mature enough. Doesn't want . . . 

Kon doesn't actually hate his body, is the thing. He doesn't feel bad or weird in it. He kind of just . . . he likes it the way it is. He doesn't even want to wear the binder or the packer, honestly. 

Literally every single fucking person who knows he’s trans has been respectful about it and has given him everything he could ever need to present as male and never, ever said anything to belittle or question his gender or his right to consider himself a man or even slipped up with his pronouns or anything. Even fucking Westfield never said anything shitty to him about it, for fuck's sake. Fucking Westfield, of all people! 

Which would all be great and good and very fucking validating, if Kon weren't fucking cis. 

There is something extremely, extremely bullshit about the fact that Kon is getting all the acceptance and support and medical care that every actual trans person deserves without even asking for or needing it. But she has no idea how to tell anyone that she's not what they think she is. Or who. Or . . .

Seriously, who else's life has ever been weird enough that they'd need to come out as cisgender? Like, who else ever?

Young Justice thinks Kon's a cis guy. The public thinks she's a cis guy. The superhero and supervillain communities both think she's a cis guy, except for the handful of people that know about Kal not being one, and even most of Cadmus does, depending on clearance levels and whatever. Tana and Roxy and fucking Knockout all thought she was a cis guy, even. Robin might "know" she's actually a trans one, being a Bat and all, but he's never said anything that's made her think he might.

Hell, the fucking Agenda doesn't even "misgender" her.

So everyone who knows has been absolutely fucking great and respectful about it and otherwise Kon passes fucking perfectly, and no one's ever once looked at her as anything but a guy. Anything but Superboy.

Except all Kon wants is for someone to look at her and see a girl. To see Supergirl.

So she doesn't really like to talk to Kara when she doesn't have to.

Or . . . ever, really.

Unfortunately, right now they kinda do have to talk.

"Well, your evil twin remains evil, no surprise," Kara says with a sigh, eyeing the walls of the containment cell that the Agenda has stuffed them into and is for some inexplicable bullshit reason slowly filling with water, who even fucking knows why. There's gotta be faster ways to kill them, especially considering Kon isn't even sure how much Kara needs to breathe at all. Like, she definitely does? But as for Kara, who knows. "Match is the worst possible version of a Superboy, I swear to Rao."

Kon has the weird urge to snap about how maybe Match isn't a boy and has anyone even asked?

No one ever asked her, for fucking sure. She didn't even know she wasn't a boy for way too long. Everybody'd always told her that she was, after all, and she'd just thought it'd felt weird to get called a boy because she wasn't a fucking little kid, she was Superman, or because she was trans and like, felt fake about her gender because she'd somehow accidentally internalized some stupid bullshit, or because of any number of other reasons that would've all made perfect sense and had all turned out to be perfectly wrong.

So yeah. Kon does kinda identify with the trans experience, ironically enough.

"Yeah, Match is usually a pain in the ass," she says instead of telling Kara how much she fucking hates her for getting to be what she can't, then starts looking for a way out of the stupid containment cell. It's not Kara's fault Kon hates her, for one thing, and also she doesn't wanna die here. Like, she definitely doesn't.

She wonders if Match might have reacted to her differently, if when they'd first met she'd known enough to ask if they were sisters.

Probably not, whether they're sisters or not. Match still seems pretty married to "I don't have free will" as a coping mechanism for all the psychological damage that being cloned and force-grown and told your only value and entire reason for existence lies in replacing someone who doesn't actually need to be replaced, it seems like.

Not that Kon would know anything about that, obviously.

Like, why would she?

She feels along the walls with her TTK and finds a frustrating lack of structural vulnerabilities to exploit. Kara punches them a few times, though they've already tried that. Kon doesn't blame her, at this point. The water keeps steadily pouring in and makes its way up to their thighs.

It is not reassuring. Like, at all.

Kon is gonna be so annoyed if she dies and gets buried as Superboy.

Though she was always going to do that, wasn't she. Best case scenario might've gotten her to Superman, maybe, but . . . yeah.

What else was she ever gonna do?

Cadmus made her to be Superman. Kal told her she could be Superboy, and named her after a boy, and named her like a Kryptonian boy would've been.

Although she guesses to have a femme-style Kryptonian name, she'd have needed to have a father.

She wonders if Kal would've named her at all, if he would've had to give her a name with a father's name attached to it. Maybe he would've just gone with Jor-El's, since technically Jor-El is the paternal donor of her Kryptonian DNA.

Or maybe he would've gone with . . .

Kon stops thinking about stupid shit she knows better than to be thinking about and feels out with her TTK again.

[genderqueerdykes]

I (21 AFAB) honestly feel like my femininity is more like transfemininity than cisfemininity. I'm autistic and intersex(ish? I've got hypoestrogenism) and spent a lot of my life (10 to 20) identifying as transmasculine. I've had top surgery and I was on testosterone around 3 years. I was cis male passing at 14 and 15, and again at 19 through...uhh... now sorta. I still pass as a young man (although people might think I'm a trans boymoder) if I speak in "guy" voice. I'm seen as female enough to not have any issues in women's restrooms since I started using them, but I stay quiet and use the men's room if I look too masc. I identify I guess as a girl, but not as a cisgender one, and not in the way that a binary woman would call herself one. I also identify as androgynous (or an androgyne). I'm submitting this ask sort of hoping that it makes sense how I feel connected to transfemininity and not cisfemininity. I'm also wondering if anyone else feels the same?

heya! that's actually almost exactly my experience, and many other peoples'. i've been wanting to explain this for a really long time so i hope this will make sense

often times when someone afab or transmasculine transitions and either pauses or stays on a lowish dose of T, our genders get garbled in the eyes of strangers. i don't know how to say it any other way than: often times when trans people who have taken testosterone for long enough have gotten deep voices, 'masc' faces, facial hair, etc. are dressed in a feminine way they will get read as a transfeminine person. like this is an extremely common phenomenon

we instantly become fags and "those type of girls". like it really doesn't take much for queerphobes to perk up. a little 'gay/tranny voice'. a little too limp wristed. when they see strong jaws, Adam's apples, strong cheekbones, and long hair they assume MtF. if the trans person is packing or had phallo things can escalate further, especially if they have breasts.

it's poetic and a bit silly but sometimes people's experiences are so deviated from the standard definition of "man" "male" "female" "woman" that they have to, in a way, transition into that identity for the first time. a lot of intersex people, poc, gender non conforming, people, gay folks, non binary people, lesbians and butches have gotten heavily misgendered as children. sometimes you just were not allowed to be that gender you were assigned at first and it's okay if you feel you're transitioning into that, especially given where you're coming from and where you're headed

i identify as transfemme for many reasons, but this is one of them. i was NOT allowed to be a girl as a child. i was deemed too masc. my nose was too big. my hooded eyes were too masc. i didn't wear flowery or feminine clothing. i acted like a boy. i had a very shitty haircut because my hair was causing me dysphoria. my mom kept calling me butch and a bulldyke. nobody saw me as a girl. i never was one until i transitioned into womanhood as an adult. there i found out i love being a butch woman- but i've had to fight for it.

i also use androgynous and androgyne :)

it's okay if you feel like youre headed on that path. i have met so many people who fall under this umbrella of experiences. many people use transfemasc or transmascfem, some people just call themselves whatever. folks who feel the same feel free to share input. thanks for stopping by, let us know if you need anything else

[oliversrarebooks]

Augusnippets Day 27: Chronic Pain

Human Resistance Masterlist

Augusnippets Masterlist

tw: chronic pain, brainwashing, drugging, involuntary surgery, intrusive thoughts

Zach knew it was going to be a bad knee day as soon as he woke up.

It was the first time it'd happened on the ship, probably because he spent so much time sleeping, being "trained" in pods, or being carried around in tentacles. The alien "medication" also dulled his senses enough that his usual knee pain was distant and bearable. But all that sedentary time had caught up to him, causing his knee to grow stiff. Now, even moving it a millimeter caused pain to shoot up his leg, bringing tears to his eyes.

He'd been injured not long after the apocalypse began, running from his superiors on a mission to get supplies. His friends in the human resistance had patched him up as best as possible, but he couldn't afford to sit around and let it properly heal. They were already looking to Zach to be a leader. And so he dealt with his injury as best as he could, took painkillers whenever they could be spared, and tried to avoid strenuous missions on the days when things were really bad.

Zach could remember all of this, but it seemed strange and faraway, like something that happened in a movie. He'd risked so much just because he'd been convinced that his superiors were the enemy. If he'd known then what he knew now…

The training pod opened, and one of the trainers greeted him.

How are you feeling, human?

Zach should know the correct answer, given that he'd just had it hypnotically drilled into his brain, but he went blank. All he could think about was the radiating pain from his knee.

"Obedient…?" he guessed. Shit. It was going to be able to tell the training didn't take and make him do another round in the pod, which would only make his knee more stiff and sore. Or worse -- his superiors might not even want to deal with a human with an injury like his. After all, they had so many able-bodied humans to choose from, the entirety of humanity.

You're injured.

It didn't carry judgement. It was a simple statement of fact. But Zach tensed.

You're really gonna cry over that? Suck it up, said a voice from a long time ago, back when aliens were just a sci-fi concept, back when he was a child. I know that didn't hurt. Quit being a drama queen.

"It's nothing," said Zach reflexively. "It's an old injury that flares up sometimes. If I could just be allowed to stretch it…"

Now he felt actual judgement. I can feel your pain, human. It drowns out everything else. Your training was not absorbed.

Oh, right, it could read minds. At least it believed he was actually in pain, then, which was more than he could say for a lot of humans.

He was scooped up into tentacles before he could respond, and they were swiftly moving out of the training area and through the labyrinthine corridors of the ship. Zach couldn't tell what the trainer was thinking. Hopefully he wasn't being taken to be disposed of.

"Where are we going?" he asked, wondering if he even should.

The infirmary.

"Oh." He probably should have guessed that. He was still getting used to the fact that the infirmary on the ship had a seemingly endless amount of supplies. He'd spent too long at the resistance base making sure their extremely limited supplies were prioritized to those who needed them most, and that meant there was rarely anything left for his chronic pain.

But here, he was swept into the infirmary and placed in a medical pod, with two more of his superiors coming over to fuss over him. They were chattering to each other in their own language, which sounded like a low, melodic drone in his head when they were near. It was… comforting, in a way.

Tentacles reached out and manipulated his knee gently, so very gently, but he still winced at it. "It doesn't hurt that bad," he said on instinct before remembering they could feel his pain.

His trainer was in front of him, now, its eyes blooming into radiant colors and quieting his thoughts. You will tell the truth.

"I will tell the truth," he said helplessly.

Why didn't you inform your superiors about this problem?

He didn't even know what his answer was going to be until "I didn't want to be in trouble" spilled out of his mouth. "I didn't want you to think I was faking or being dramatic or trying to get out of responsibilities. Or so weak that I can't handle a little pain."

More chatter amongst themselves as Zach stared into the eye, losing himself.

Humans will not be in trouble for experiencing pain. Its tone made it sound like something obvious.

"That's not always the case where I'm from."

This is your home now. You will report to your superiors when there is a problem. You will not be in trouble for making this report.

"That's… good to know…"

Zach was vaguely aware of strange instruments brushing against his knee very gently, an action that still caused pain to travel up his leg and into his hips, even with his mind occupied by the hypnotic eye. A tentacle pulled on his arm and stung his inner elbow. More medication, but this felt different from the usual, cold and numb.

Unaware.

"Unaware…?" said Zach, confused.

Unaware.

"What are you…?" He felt so strange, almost like he was falling and the room was fading away. He needed to shut his eyes just a moment to get rid of the sensation.

He opened his eyes again. "What are you doing?"

The superiors in front of him beamed amusement into his head. It has been finished, little human. Your confusion is endearing.

"Finished? What do you mean?"

We have replaced your defective joint.

"Replaced?" He felt strangely woozy and out of it. Tentatively, he moved his knee. It didn't hurt any more. It wasn't just the sharp pains that were gone, but the background radiation of pain that had accompanied him for years had vanished.

It was impossible. He'd just closed his eyes for a second, he'd thought. "How long was I out?"

Three cycles, little one. We measured your joint. Produced the replacement. Installed the replacement. All while you were unaware.

"I… see." His superiors had knocked him out and replaced his knee without even consulting him on it. Not that he would have objected to having his knee fixed, but he still felt strange about it, even as it was settling in that he might not have to experience that pain ever again. Even as he thought this, the programming that had been drilled into his mind began to wash over him, encouraging him to be docile and agreeable and obedient.

It was good that he had been fixed. He would be a better human.

The trainer picked him up again. You have been asleep. You will eat. You will then redo your previous training until it absorbs.

"Until it absorbs… yeah, okay."

Human Resistance Masterlist

Augusnippets Masterlist

@augusnippets

[themultifandomgal]

Matt Casey- Hospital Hostage

"What have we got?" I ask Brett who's pushing in the gurney

"John Doe. Gunshot wound to the abdomen. Intubated in the ambo"

"Maggie?"

"Trauma room 2. I'll page Dr Rhodes" Maggie tells me. Before I know it my brother is in the room

"3, 2, 1" he says and we move the victim onto the bed. Connor assessed the wound "we needs to get up to surgery" Connor pulls the railings up on the bed

"YN can you come to the nurses desk?" Maggie asks peaking her head in

"Errm..."

"It's fine go. We'll be ok" April says taking my spot

"If your sure"

"Yes go" I leave trauma room 2 and head to the nurses desk when I see my ex Jordan. Confused I walk over to him him

"What are you doing here?" I cross my arms over my chest

"To bring you home"

"Home? I haven't lived there for 2 years. Since you were having sex with my best friend in our bedroom"

"Come on baby it was a mistake"

"Leave. Now before I call security" I turn around and start to walk away when I hear a click and screams

"Turn around and face me" slowly I turn around to face him "well at least you still fucking listen"

"Oh my god" Maggie gasps putting her hands up as Jordan points the gun at her

"Phones now" Jordan shouts. Everyone in the room pushes their phones towards us "pick them up!" Jordan nods towards Maggie who quickly picks the phones up and walks to the nurses desk

"YN lock the front doors"

"I can't do that. There's sick people on their way here. Put the gun down and we can talk"

"No!" He now points the gun towards me "no it's to fucking late for that. You had your chance to come home"

"So what's your plan here? You gonna shoot me? Because if you do you'll be going to jail for a very long time. You don't want that. So put the gun down" Jordan looks panicked. He looks around the room and grabs a young girl, late teens maybe

"Get down. All of you" he shouts putting the gun to the girls temple

"Ok. Ok" we all lower ourselves slowly. Maggie and I sit next to one another "why are you doing this? Why now?"

"You've moved on. Your fucking someone else. Your meant to be my girlfriend"

"Ok ok you have me. I'll break up with my boyfriend and I'll go with you" Jordan starts laughing like a mad man. He pushes the teenage girl down who crawls back to a woman who I'm guessing is her mother

"No because the only reason you want to come with me is because of this" Jordan waves his gun around

"Fine. Then just take me hostage. I'll go with you quietly wherever you want. The police won't find us, but if you carry this on the police will arrive and there's only one of you"

"Fuck" he groans

"Look around there's so many sick people in here who will die without treatment"

"I can't do that! Fuck!"

"I pressed the emergency button. Intelligence will be here soon" Maggie whispers

"Shut up shut up or I'll shoot"

Sirens are heard, getting closer and closer

"Who the fuck rang the police!" Jordan yells

"Your not letting people into the hospital. Someone outside probably rang them"

"Shut the hell up!" Jordan points the gun to me again

"Mags we gotta get people out of here"

"Got anything in mind?"

"I'll distract him, you get people out the front"

"Ok be careful" Maggie squeezes my hand. I get up and slowly walk over to Jordan

"Jordan please. People are going to die if you carry on. Look I'll go with you, wherever you want to go. I might not be in love now but I'm sure if you took me away somewhere I'll fall in love with you again"

"You don't mean that"

"I do. I promise you I do. Just put the gun down and we can leave together" Jordan holds the gun towards the floor and pulls me into a hug. I wrap my arms around him and look at Maggie who's letting intelligence in. Jordan may not be pointing at anyone now but he's still holding the gun. I pull away from him and take a step back

"Put the gun down!" Voight shouts

"You bitch" I close my eyes and hear a gun shot, but no pain. Slowly opening my eyes I look at the floor and see Jordan's lifeless body

"YN you ok?" Jay walks up to me slowly

"Yeah" I nod my head a little "I'm ok"

"Erin let Matt in he's going bat shit crazy out there" Erin walks out and in runs Matt. I run towards Matt, wrapping my arms around his neck. Tears run down my face as I burry it in his neck

"Shhh shhh your ok. Your ok" he runs a hand in my hair trying to calm me down

"YN take the rest of the day off" I hear Goodwin say to me but I don't acknowledge her

"How did you know what was going on?" I ask Matt

"Voight rang us to be on stand by just in case things escalated. Come on let's get you home" I give a little nod but cling on to Matt as he carries me outside

"Phone if you need anything" I hear Severide tell Matt

"Thank you. See you tomorrow"

With that Matt carries me to his car and drives us home.

[wosoluver]

To undo a mistake

Part 4/17 - previous - next

Lena x Bayern player!reader, Ana Guzmán x Bayern player!reader

Lena Oberdorf Masterlist

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

That therapy session was... something. To say the least. Your eyes puffy once again.

We didn't talk much. I practically just dumped all my problems to her. But it felt good to get everything out, to someone who wouldn't judge you but also wasn't allowed to give too much of her opinion.

When you walked out, Ana wasn't there yet. So you just decided to sit and wait.

It took her around 10 minutes to show up.

"Hey. Have I made you wait for too long?"

"No, not at all. So do you want to go get some coffee? I'm out of practice today and you probably don't have many friends here yet."

"Your the one that looks like you could use a friend. Let's go. You drive, I don't have my license yet."

"First of all, ouch. Second of all, let's go. You'll be my passenger princess." - You said it excited.

Lena never really let you drive, you were always the passenger princess.

And you quickly tried to wisk the memory away.

You were both in comfortable silence in the car. Only the sound of Ana's music playing in the back. And yes you were forced to give her the rights to dj. Passenger princess' rule number 1.

You stop at your favorite place. It was never too crowded, which you were thankful for.

"I'll go order, what do you want?"

"Whatever your having, is fine."

After ordering and getting your coffees you go sit on a quiet corner.

"So, how are you adapting to Germany?"

"Oof- it's so fucking cold here. Not even in the coldest winters we get this temperature in Colombia."

"You'll get used to it after some time. A few jackets and coats and you're good."

"And you? Had a nice time in therapy?"

"Oh yeah. So much fun!" - you answered equally as ironic.

"I can tell by your puffy eyes.

I think today was my first time not crying in there."

"Must be hard. I've never had a bad injury. But it seems like the worse. Lena went through-" - you cut yourself off before you could say anything else. Your face dropped. Here you were again. Everything you think of, brought up Lena, one way or another.

"And Lena is-"

"My ex. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking when I said that."

"It's fine. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." - but then you proceeded to dump everything that had happened into the conversation. - "It's just, my head is still trying to wrap around everything. She already has a new girlfriend. And I'm still dealing with my feelings.

She broke up with me, over the phone can you believe that? I never felt so meaningless, so betrayed. Our five month relationship thrown into the trash. All of that, because Munich is too far from Wolfsburg for her taste."

"Wow, you had a lot to say for someone that didn't want to talk about it." - she said that hoping it would easy the anxious face you had going on. - "It's okay. Time works differently for different people. You have the right to mourn your relationship.

Is that what has been driving you down?"

"Yeah, I just wasn't ready to see her. I'm still in love with her. I mean was. After what happened Saturday, I think it might be time to except it's over."

"You still had feelings for her? Even after what she did?"

"Yeah. I guess I was just hopeful. I felt like in some way things weren't over yet. I just- It just didn't make sense. Lena is not that type of person. She would never do that."

"But she did. Look, if she meant to hurt you or not, you'll probably never know. Unless you talk to her."

"I am not going to talk to her."

"Then you'll have to settle for the unknown."

"I think I will. Can we talk about your feelings now? I've humiliated my self enough."

"Fine. You were right when you said I needed friends." - she let out a deep breath. - "When I first got injured. I was very hard on myself. Specially after hearing the diagnosis and that I'd have to go under surgery. I stressed my self over when I shouldn't have.

I pushed everyone away.

The hardest thing, when we are hurting, is to remember others are most likely going through something too."

"But that's kind of natural I guess. To be so into your own head you forget about others. It's just- there is such a thin line between being compassionate towards people and putting their needs and feelings before yours. To be honest I've never been good at navigating though it either."

"Yeah, I've been getting better about it I think. Therapy has helped me understand a lot of things. The most important of them, I think it was acceptance.

I feel so much better since I accepted that I have no control over this type of things. I couldn't change it even if I wanted to. I just have to go through it. And soon enough I'll be back playing once again."

"It's good to know your coming out better from this one. Sometimes things happen for a reason, and sometimes it's for the better"

"It's getting late, we should get going."

"Yeah. I'll give you a ride home."

For the rest of the day all you could think about was what you two had talked about.

Maybe you could use some acceptance yourself. Of how things were, and not what you think they should be.

And stop worrying so much about what you had no control over.

That's how it works when you live right? Life happens.

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

Have you guys been wondering what's been like for Lena? Well next chapter is Lena's pov!

It's still an Obi fic I swear.

I think from this chapter on, it's finally going to be good writing. I wasn't liking how things the previous parts came out.

[chibinightowl]

Today has been a day. Just a lot of hospital stress this week between my mom and my husband's surgeries and this is how it's coming out (they're both fine and are recovering well).

~~~

Dick finds Tim in a waiting room at Gotham General, slumped in a faded blue plastic chair that's seen better days. At some point during the day, his brother had been immaculately dressed for the office. But now, his blue pin-striped suit is wrinkled, his collar is unbuttoned, and his shirtsleeves have been rolled up. There was a tie somewhere as Dick knows Tim never leaves home without one on an office day, but it's anyone's guess as to where it currently is.

"Hey. I got here as fast as I could," he says, taking the open seat beside Tim. He did too, calling Wally as soon as he got the news from Barbara. "How's Jason?"

Tim opens his eyes, giving him a look that is more dead than alive. "Still critical."

Pain lances through Dick at the two words. He'd lost Jason once before and the guilt from being off world when his Little Wing needed him the most still ate at him in the darkest parts of his psyche. And now, here he is sitting with another brother he never thought he'd have, one who's been through so much trauma and loss of his own--and who is on the verge of possibly losing another loved one.

A car-pedestrian accident. The gall of something so normal and mundane having the potential to take out the Red Hood--or any of them for that matter--is enough to make Dick want to punch the taupe wall of this dreary waiting room.

To be honest, he's rather surprised none of the others are here yet. Well, expect Bruce. He's off world with the JL and...

Oh.

Oh.

"Do you think Bruce knows yet?"

Tim's shrug is so minute Dick might have missed it if he wasn't watching closely. "Can't say I care right now. He and Jay got into another of their big fights before he left. Said if Jay can't clean up his act, then don't bother coming back."

Dick winces and easily reads between the lines of what Tim isn't saying given their semi-public place. Even in Bludhaven, he'd heard about the execution-style murder of a known pedophile--and that it was the Red Hood who'd done it.

"He didn't do it, Dick," Tim whispers, catching his gaze as tears build in his eyes. "I was there. I know he didn't. But Bruce didn't listen to either of us, said I was covering for him because he's in my pants." Those last words are practically spat out. "I think this is the first time I've ever felt like I hate him. He just doesn't listen!"

That's a feeling Dick knows all too well. He also knows now why the others aren't here--that Barbara called him first because Tim doesn't need just comfort.

He needs his big brother.

Dick slides from the chair to kneel on the floor in front of Tim. "Now that is something I know a lot about." He takes Tim's hands and squeezes them firmly. "I'm not going to tell you it'll get better. I'm also not going to say you need to be the bigger person and forgive him. What I am going to tell you is that I believe you and that I believe in Jason."

Tim's breath hitches and he falls into Dick's open arms sobbing. Thank yous fall from his lips and into Dick's jacket. Tears fill his own eyes as he remembers another time where he didn't believe this little bird, his first Robin.

Time hasn't necessarily dulled the guilt, but it has given him perspective. He'd done what he thought best at the time and owned up to it when he'd been proven wrong--a trait not shared by their mentor and father-figure.

"We'll get through this together," Dick soothes, running a hand up and down Tim's back. "You, me, and everyone else. We're all here for you and we're all pulling for Jason."

As he speaks, he glances up and spots Alfred hurrying down the hall with Damian and Duke in tow. Both boys are still dressed in their school uniforms, so Alfred must have pulled them out early. Behind them are Cass and Steph, hands held tightly.

"We're all here," he repeats, nudging Tim's chin to make him look up. "And we're not going anywhere."

[vivakitkt]

I love you, why can’t you love me?

Synopsis: You love Xiao. But he doesn't like you. What will it for him to notice you? To notice your love? Than a chance comes to put an end your feelings for him. To relieve yourself from the pain. Do you take it?

Warnings: angst/ maybe comfort, !hanahaki reader, reader is implied as adepti(immortal, etc), not proofread,

A/N: guess whos finally decided to post after 3 months... :') im back though! Decided to randomly make this!

Will make a part four with other ending!

Enjoy reading!<3333

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3(this story is pt 3)

As Xiao continued to look at your bloody body, he felt more guilty.

Was it his fault that you got hurt? The first thing he swore that would never happen to you? He couldn't believe it. He just stood there, almost lifeless, eyes blank. Staring at the ex-archon's arms where you layed.

As more chatter and gossip filled the room, a man with green hair entered the room, gesturing Zhongli into a room and flicking his hand to disperse the crowd surrounding your still body.

Xiao still hadn't move, that was until the traveler shook his shoulders.

/Xiao! You are you alright?/ the traveler spoke, tilting their head, worried that Xiao was feeling sick seeing how he hadn't moved.

/ah, ahem, nothing out of the ordinary./ Xiao replied back, clearing his throat

Right. Nothing out of the ordinary, other that the fact that you got hurt. Even while you had called out his name, he just ignored it.

He didn't deserve you. Not after this. Xiao would just make sure you were okay recovering. That's it. Then after that, he would leave you.

Y/n pov

Slowing opening your eyes, you heard a soft humming noise and people talking in the back. What had happened in the time you were unconscious?

/ah, it seems our patient is awake now./ A strange man with green hair spoke out

/I was the one who treated you while you were injured/ the man said placing a hand over his chest, taking a bow respectfully

/oh, thank you very much./ you said trying to push yourself up, but felt a throbbing pain in your ribcage

Instantly, Zhongli ran to your side, carefully holding your shoulders, placing you down gently onto the mattress.

/You should rest up for a while before standing up once again, not after that stunt you pulled off/ Zhongli said, scolding you to make sure you didn't hurt yourself more.

/Thank you Zhongli./ You lightly chuckle and smiled at the (ex)archon infront of you in

/However, there might be something you want to listen to./ As Zhongli gestured to the doctor.

Now you would be hearing of the bad news.

It seemed like you still had a couple of months before the disease took a large toil on your body. But now after your accident, you only had a couple of weeks, maybe even days left.

The news shattered your heart, you had to make the decision now. Remove the disease by surgery, forgetting about Xiao, or die. At this point isn't there a clear option?

To die. You could have a peaceful death now. Even though Xiao didn't reciprocate your feelings. You didn't need to date him to make your life better. Sure that would have been amazing, but being able to see him every day and slowing being able to see him smile, was all worth the suffering you could feel now.

/no thank you doctor, I don't think I'll be needing the surgery!/ You smiled towards the man.

/I see then, that person must be very important in your life then/ the man said as he chuckle at bit then glancing at the ground.

/I'll be on my way then/ packing his bags, the man finally left. Leaving only you and Zhongli in the room.

/Are you sure you really wish to live with this pain until you part?/ Zhongli asked you with concern

/Theres nothing more I wish to achieve in life./ You said as you slowly exhaled

/Being able to love Xiao already was the greatest choice I could have made, no matter how the result was. He made me happy/ As you sadly smiled back to the man. A couple of seconds later Zhongli replied back.

/I see then, I will support your decision./ Zhongli smiled towards you then slowly turning towards the door.

Time skip

The flowers were finally in bloom, although there weren't many, they were beautiful. Especially the qingxins around the mountains, they reminded you of someone.

However despite all good going on, the disease that ran through your blood was starting to cause heavier damages to your body. You coughed more, more flowers and blood, and you were having these head splitting headaches. But somehow it all went away when he came near you.

Even though you decide to not remove the disease contaminating your body, you didn't regret it any bit. At that moment you could have lost him. Forgetting all of the precious memories you made together.

At least you got to spend a few more days with him, so that made the inevitable death that would happen to you soon, less painful.

Usually your days would go as normally as they always would. You would go vist Xiao, Zhongli, grab lunch with him, and part your ways to go to the doctors office. However today was a bit different. You decide to head to the flower fields. Maybe cause you knew it would not be long till you parted ways with Xiao.

You took a small walk to the fields and made your way to your spot you would always go with Xiao and sat down. The flowers were beautiful this time of month and seemed to glisten and shine in the sun. But after a while, you started to feel a bit sleepy.

/Just a few minutes/ you said as your eyes started to droop down.

/just for a few minutes.../

Xiao pov

Y/n.

It seems like he always took you for granted. It was always you making the meetings, and taking charge to make sure he ate and without you, Xiao probably would have never made any friends.

Where were you? You were later then usual. You would have met him here about now.

What if something had happened? Like last time. Xiao suddenly felt the urge to go and find you. But where could you possibly be? Maybe you were with Zhongli? Right, you probably were. After all, you loved tea. He quickly teleported to Zhongli's tea spot. But when he got there, you were no where to be seen.

/Rex- Zhongli, have you seen y/n at all?/ Xiao said clearing his throat

/You haven't seen them?/ Zhongli replied, taking a sip of his tea, looking rather sorrow.

/No, I haven't./ But Xiao being quick, he caught on that something might had happened. Something he didn't know about.

/Is there something I should know about?/ Xiao said quirking his head up

/I seemed to have made a promise with them but I think they would have you wanted to know./ Zhongli said placing down his cup.

/Hanahaki./ the man spoke out.

/What? What do you mean-/

/Y/n had hanahaki./ Zhongli said closing his eyes inorder to avoid Xiao's eyes.

Xiao stood there. Silent.

/What do you mean they had hanahaki?/ Xiao said, cluching his fist staring at the ground.

/A deadly disease, a very rare one in particular although./

So you had hanahaki and didn't tell him?

Who was it? Who was the person who cause you this pain. Once Xiao knew, he would never allow that person to talk ever again.

Ah. But once this never crossed his mind. How long have you had this disease?

/Zhongli. How long has it been since y/n got hanahaki?/ Xiao stared at the ex-archon's eyes.

/Six months./ The man in front of him said

Six months. Most people who caught hanahaki only lived for four months. Four months? And you caught it six months ago? If anything...

As Xiao realized, he began to panic. Immediately he teleported away, however the archon stopped him before he could disappear.

/Before leaving Xiao, you should know that y/n had feelings for you./ Zhongli said, stirring his tea

/They could have forgotten about you with a surgery, relieving them of the pain but they chose not to/

Xiao realized his mistake he quickly teleported to a empty field leaving Zhongli by himself, reminiscenting of your memories you spent together.

With no stop, Xiao continued to search around for you until he felt a presence that felt like yours.

As he got there though, he realized he was too late. You were gone.

He walked over slowly, taking your beauty in as you layed there. Surrounded by the flowers and the sun setting behind you.

/Greetings y/n. This meeting is a bit different than usual. Isn't it?/ Xiao said as he choked back tears. Tears he held in for years.

He was too late. He was always too late. He couldn't catch you in time. He didn't come in time for your death, so much that you couldn't even tell him of your disease. And too late to recognize his feelings toward you, and your feelings.

Better late than never, as they say. Right? But why did it hurt so much?

As he sat there with your lifeless body. Limp in his arms. Xiao started to weep as he held you, to make up for the times he didn't.

/Im sorry./ He murmured

Im sorry...

[ovaruling]

i know everyone’s tired of me talking abt this but bc i’m on the subject now—once more on cosmetic surgery complications: let me clarify what i mean when i have said in the past “it’s rarely if ever a matter of ‘if’”—when you see “after” pictures on a cosmetic surgeon’s website, do you ever see ones that are “2 years after,” “5 years after,” “10 years after”? how often have you seen or spoken to a woman 20 years after her cosmetic surgery? do you think the surgeons do?

no. you know why? because, unless you’re getting more surgery, you stop mattering to that surgeon after your last post-op appointment. they do not give a shit about your long-term results. when you call in 2 years later, wondering why you’re experiencing xyz difficulty—guess how much they’re going to care? at most, if they even TAKE your call, they’ll tell you to go see your primary care provider.

most people have no way of knowing when their surgery is going to start causing problems. it might be a year. it might be 2. it might be 5. it might be 10. it might be 15. it could be 30. but trust me, you do not undergo major traumatic surgery to your body and get away with absolutely zero consequences.

i’m tired of people thinking they’ve got an argument when they tell me, “but EYE had xyz surgery, and i’m fine!”

tell that to the women en masse removing their breast implants due to complications that didn’t arise until years later. tell that to the women who are trying to remove gluteal implants and reverse gluteal injections because 5 years later and they’re showing signs of inflammation and infection (Blac Chyna, most recently). to women like me who’ve had nerve damage and spinal damage and muscle damage and infections and autoimmune conditions develop out of thin air after having that last post-op appointment.

i think a large number of we women who have had major cosmetic surgery are mentally unwell to begin with—or else we wouldn’t have gotten surgeries. but what i want to focus on is that we have grown up, as girls, being taught to ignore our discomfort, to minimize our pain, to get over our illnesses. i cannot in good conscience discount this phenomenon when i take into account why it is that YOUR surgery went so perfectly.

are you really recovered? or are you just ignoring the side-effects? did you already make up your mind that you’d bear the hardships of major surgery for the visual you wanted?

have you ever actually taken a moment to think about what you went through to have this surgery? have you forced yourself to adapt to the discomforts, just brushing them off as understandable collateral for something far more valuable to you (how you look)? how did the anesthesia affect you? how long were you on the table? how did your body respond to being given what it thinks is a mortally deep wound for no reason? how much pain medication did you need after? could you go to the bathroom by yourself? could you walk? how’s your scar tissue? is it still there, years later? what about your scars? have you lost sensation at the surgical site? is it still numb, years later? can you brace your core anymore? can you lift your arms above your head? how long? can you twist at the waist? what about your organs? did they suffer strain? what about your circulation? and can you draw in a truly deep breath after your breast surgery? how’s your oxygen intake after your elective rhinoplasty? or after your breast augmentation? have you felt any tingling numbness or dead zones or back pain after your BBL? or have you even thought about that? about any of this? stomach- and side-sleepers who’ve gotten breast augmentations, are you feeling rested these days?

how many of us have brainwashed ourselves into thinking we aren’t experiencing any unusual level of pain? how many women have died because of their practiced ability to shrug off extreme inflammation as “regular wear and tear”?

and you’re trying to tell me there’s NO chance of you or your tiktok faves having suffered even 1% of a change to your health after undergoing a major surgery?

no one knows it better than i do. you can lie to everyone else who’s never had cosmetic surgery, but you can’t lie to me. i know what you went through. and you don’t have to lie just to preserve your integrity.

i know women go through hell for this. and if they have, they need to pay attention to their bodies and watch for signs of long-term damage. or else you are also going to risk waking up one day and going, “hm. weird that i can’t feel my clitoris anymore. wonder why. it’s not like anything’s ever happened to—oh, wait.”

no one tells you what it all looks like 5-10+ years down the road. all you’re thinking about is the next year, at most. you aren’t thinking about lifelong consequences. you aren’t thinking about being 60, telling your doctor you had a tummy tuck when you were 27 or extreme liposuction at 18. you aren’t thinking about it. and that’s my whole fucking point, because neither was i.

[theyanderespecialist]

Yandere Velvette X MtF Reader Headcanons: Velvette's Trans Woman (Hazbin Hotel)

[Hello, My Sexy Muffins! I am back, back Again~ Queen is Back, tell a friend, Guess who's back~~~ Dananana~ This one is Velvette X Male To Female, Trans Woman! Now please do enjoy this!] 

(Disclaimer: Velvette is not yandere in canon! This is just for fun and Not to be taken seriously at all! Simping for fictional characters and yanderes is fine! Just do not be illegal or gross about it! Yanderes are not ideal partners to have in real life! Also, remember to separate fiction from reality and headcanon from canon!) 

(DISCLAIMER: TRANS WOMEN ARE WOMEN AND TRANS MEN ARE MEN AND NON-BINARY ARE THEY/THEMS but can also be considered trans cause yes some Non-binary do transition as well!

RESPECT MY TRANS MUFFINS Or You will be blocked if you spread hate or bigotry on my page you are done! You can keep your belief to yourself thank you!) 

-Yandere Headcanons With Velvette X Trans Woman Reader- 

.Velvette is a woman who does not mind her friend and the love of her life, also being a woman. 

.She also was very supportive of helping dress you, gurl she cannot let the woman of her dreams not be styling. 

.Even if you are a basic bisch pumpkin spice-loving type of girl, she is going to make you a sexy-ass basic bitch! 

.She also LOVES to go on dates with you and show you off. 

.She supported you when you came out. 

.She supported you when you started to socially transition. 

.She made all your clothes by hand, taking extra care of love into them. Being so proud when you break out into a smile of wearing the dresses. 

.She also loved when you had your first spinny dress moment. 

.She also loves making dresses with pockets for you. 

.She would be the type to make trans-inclusive dresses and suits, such as built-in padding or binding and or tucking for the trans muffins that need it. 

.With you as her model for MTF clothing. 

.She also would be helping you get your hormones. 

.ALL The bills for transitions, will be paid for, from clothes, to hormones, to surgeries. 

.If you did not want bottom surgery. 

.She would understand, and you would be no less of a woman in her eyes. 

It just means you and her can do extra sex stuff. 

.She would be BRUTAL With anyone that EVER misgenders you, you are walking down the streets with her and someone says something. 

.They are dead on the spot right then and there. 

.Girl she is protective of her little lady you. 

.She is the dommy mommy in the relationship and loves and adores you. 

.Of course, she does get a wee bit jealous when people notice how much of a sexy woman you are! 

.Like that sexy ass belongs to her thank you very much. 

.So she will not want you to go out without her. 

.Another reason she wants you not to go out alone is because of transphobia. This is hell and there is for sure A TON Of transphobes in hell. 

.So she would get you security guards. 

.If they fail to protect you? 

.Well Valentino can do whatever he wants to them. 

.To her you are the most precious thing and she will slaughter anyone who hurts her little lady. 

.Some would say that you were besties, pals, even roommates! Heh, But you are full-on lovers. 

.It is beautiful! 

[YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS the headcanons are done, Now I might record this and if I have time do an audio scenario for YouTube! I hope you all enjoyed all my sexy muffins whether you are trans or not! Stay Sexy, all My Sexy Muffins!] 

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

🩸BLOODY TROPES FOR YOUR (FAN)FICTION🩸

tw: blood drinking, blood, obviously, also mentions of violence, body horror.

🩸whumper licks the blood off of whumpee’s face

🩸whumpee ends up with a cut on their finger, whumper slowly puts whumpee’s finger in their mouth and, without breaking eye contact, sucks whumpee’s finger clean.

🩸vampire! or nonhuman! caretaker struggles to contain and control themself as they take care of whumpee’s cut when the sight / the smell of whumpee’s blood awakens that raw instinct within them (caretaker).

🩸human! caretaker and vampire! whumpee; whumpee needs blood, so caretaker offers whumpee their own, by pressing their inner wrist to whumpee’s lips. whumpee doesn’t want to drink from caretaker in fear of hurting them, but they don’t have a choice.

🩸whumpee tries to hide their injuries from caretaker. they were doing so well until the front of their white shirt begins to turn red right in front of everybody.

🩸whumper hunts whumpee down by using the scent of whumpee’s blood, visibly sniffing the air before they smile creepily once they smell the blood.

🩸gotta love me a good old classic blood seeping through the bandage trope!

🩸a stubborn whumpee insists they’re fine (they’re not); “you’re bleeding through your bandage,” says caretaker. “I am fine,” whumpee insists. “no, you’re not. I told you to let me do it, but you were too stubborn to accept my help. now stay still as I take care of the cut and the bandage for you. and no, I’m not taking no for an answer this time,” caretaker’s voice is stern and final.

🩸whumpee choking on their own blood is such a criminally underrated trope. caretaker has to turn whumpee on their side so they don’t choke on their own blood!!!!

🩸caretaker rushes to save whumpee from whumper, the second they kick the door open they find whumpee and whumper lying side by side on the floor, both covered in blood. caretaker quickly rushes to kneel next to whumpee, expecting the worst, before whumpee slowly opens their eyes and says (referring to the blood), “don’t worry, it’s not mine.”

🩸whumper, who is covered in the blood of whumpee’s friends, walks into whumpee’s cell, and they make whumpee guess whose blood these belong to.

🩸whumper tells whumpee how pretty they look “in red”

🩸vivisection? vivisection.

🩸caretaker cleans up whumpee’s blood off the floor / off the walls, after what happened (a murder? a success or failed surgery? the choice is yours).

🩸there’s also something very painfully angsty about caretaker having to eventually clean whumpee’s blood off of the wall or the floor where whumpee died, because it’s not the process of cleaning up that hurts but the realization / the acceptance (whether or not caretaker want to accept) that whumpee is gone, and by getting rid of these blood stains, caretaker is saying goodbye to whumpee for good.

🩸caretaker is visibly trembling as they look down at their shirt that’s still covered in whumpee’s blood after whumpee a.) died in their arms, b.) got taken into surgery where they’re trying to save their life (the choice is yours).

🩸that soft little “oh” whumpee lets out when they realize how severe they’re bleeding, when they start feeling dizzy, like they might faint.

🩸field amputation!!! field amputation!!! field amputation!!!!!!

🩸caretaker applies a tourniquet on whumpee to try to slow down the bleeding, though it is hard to ignore whumpee’s crying out in pain each time caretaker tightens the tourniquet around whumpee’s limb.

🩸or, whumpee is alone, so they have to apply the tourniquet on themself. they may find something to bite, maybe their own shirt, to stop themself from screaming in pain as they tighten the tourniquet.

🩸maybe it doesn’t have to be an act of slowing down / stopping the bleed at all, maybe whumpee is alone where they have to perhaps remove the bullet from their own shoulder / leg / arm by themself? or maybe they have to stitch up their own wounds because they’re on their own?

🩸it’s so sexy when a wounded, bleeding and whimpering whumpee has to be their own caretaker.

[massivedrickhead]

Bechloe Week Day 2: “You’re up early”

Words: 1694

Notes: Trigger warning: an eating disorder is alluded to. 

Read on AO3

-

“Hey,” Beca said, entering the kitchen that morning, her hands pulling her hair into a ponytail. “You’re up early.”

“Hmm?” Chloe said, blinking as she looked up from her phone. “Oh, yeah, I guess I am.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Chloe said. “What are you doing up? I thought you were off today?”

“I was, but they want me to go in and meet a potential new artist for the label,” Beca said, turning on the coffee maker. “Which apparently can only be done at the ass-crack of dawn.”

Chloe nodded but offered no more conversation, which was extremely unlike her. The coffee maker beeped, Beca poured some into her thermos and then poured a mug for Chloe. 

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” Beca asked, setting the mug down in front of her.

Chloe opened her mouth to say yes but then closed it. “It’s nothing,” she said, after a few more seconds of silence. “Just family stuff.”

Beca’s shoulders slumped. “Your Mom again?”

“It isn’t important,” Chloe said. “You’re going to be late.”

Beca pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and looked down at her watch. “We’ll talk later?” 

“Sure,” Chloe said, trying her best to give Beca a reassuring smile.

Beca kissed Chloe goodbye and grabbed her keys from the kitchen counter. 

“I shouldn’t be too late,” Beca said. “I’ll see if I can score an early finish since I had to go in at this time. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Chloe replied, wishing she could take hold of Beca’s hand and stop her from leaving. Wishing she could pull her close and cling to her. But she knew Beca would stay if she asked her to, and she couldn’t do that to her career. Not when they were finally starting to take her seriously as a producer. 

At the sound of the door closing, Chloe let her shoulders slump. She twisted the engagement ring around her finger and picked up her phone again. 

Chloe scrolled up through the barrage of texts she’d received from her Mom since 3 am. 

Some of them seemed perfectly normal - a text about a friend of a friend who was a wedding photographer who might be available for their chosen date, or an update on how her uncle was doing after his knee surgery, or pictures of her cousin’s new puppy - but then every so often there would be a jellyfish sting amongst the calm water. A new diet she’d heard about, because Chloe would need to fit into her wedding dress. A photo of her neighbour’s newly single son who apparently had a thing for redheads. A lamentation about not having any grandkids yet, and how now it was unlikely that she’d ever get one. 

Her relationship with her Mom had always been difficult, and she’d done bouts of little to no contact before, but when Beca had proposed last week, Chloe had decided to extend an olive branch.

It was something she was regretting now. 

Her phone buzzed with a new message.

Mom: Well? Aren’t you going to reply?

Chloe: I’ve only just woken up, give me a chance to read through them.

Mom: It’s 10 am! Why are you only just getting up now?!

Chloe: It’s 7 am in L.A., and it’s my day off. You’ve been texting me since 3, I had to put my phone on silent.

Chloe decided a lie was better than the truth in this situation. She didn’t want her Mom to know that she’d crept out of bed at 3 in the morning and had sat at the kitchen island, her stomach full of dread and anxiety, as she’d watched each message come in.

Mom: What if it had been an emergency?!

Chloe: I assumed you’d have called if it was. Me being too fat for my wedding dress doesn’t really seem like it needs an urgent response.

Mom: You’re too sensitive! I’m only telling you that because I’m worried about your health. If no one else is going to be honest with you about this, then I’ll have to be the bad guy. I usually am anyway as far as you’re concerned.

Chloe sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She could feel a headache beginning to push at the backs of her eyes.

Chloe: I’m not fighting with you about this. We’ve had this conversation a million times, please just keep the comments about my body to yourself.

Mom: I don’t know why you have to take everything so personally. Anyway, did you see my text about Alice’s puppy? 

Chloe: Yeah, it’s super cute. I need to head out so I’ll talk to you later.

Chloe locked her phone and closed her eyes, wishing more than anything that she could just have a normal relationship with her Mom. 

Her phone continued to buzz, and Chloe switched it to silent. She was exhausted both physically and mentally, and she didn’t think she could read another text from her Mom without snapping and uninviting her from the wedding.

She made her way back to bed, crawled under the blankets, and fell asleep in seconds.

-

It was close to 2 pm when Beca made it home. She was pleased with how the meeting had gone and was even happier about being able to get home before 5. Being home in time for dinner felt like a rare occurrence these days, and Beca was excited to spend the rest of the day with her fiance. 

She frowned when she walked into their home and saw that Chloe wasn’t in the kitchen or lounge like she’d expected her to be. Her coffee mug from that morning was still on the counter, and it was still as full as it was when Beca poured it.

“Chlo’?” She called out, wondering if she’d gone out for the day. 

She went to their bedroom so she could shower and change into some sweats, and she saw Chloe curled up in bed.

Beca sat on the edge of the bed and gently put the back of her hand against Chloe’s forehead.

Chloe didn’t seem to have a temperature, but Beca assumed she must be sick. It was the only reason she could think of for Chloe being asleep in the middle of the day since she never napped. 

Not wanting to wake her, Beca stood up from the bed and went for a shower. 

Chloe was just beginning to stir when Beca was pulling on her sweats, her hair still damp. 

“Hey,” Beca said, her voice quiet.

“Hi,” Chloe mumbled back, rubbing her eye with the heel of her hand. “Time is it?”

“Two-ish,” Beca said. “Are you okay?”

Chloe nodded and settled back against the pillows again. “I didn’t mean to sleep for that long.”

Beca climbed onto the bed beside her, and Chloe turned to cuddle into her side. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Beca asked, her arm wrapping around Chloe. “You aren’t sick or anything?”

“Not sick,” Chloe said, stifling a yawn. “Just tired.”

Beca pressed a kiss against the top of her head.

“How was the meeting?” Chloe asked.

“Pretty good,” Beca said. “The kid was really talented, I think he has a good shot at being signed. How was your day?”

Chloe shrugged as best as she could, and Beca knew that something was definitely wrong. 

“You gonna tell me what had you up so early this morning?”

Chloe sighed. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand and opened up her text thread with her Mom. She scrolled back up to where it had started that morning, and she handed the phone to Beca.

She could feel Beca’s anger increase with each message she read. She could feel the tension in her arms, the way her breathing changed, could see the scowl on her face becoming more and more pronounced.

“I know,” Chloe said when Beca handed the phone back. “You don’t need to say it, I already know.”

“Okay,” Beca said, trying to soften herself. Trying to shift the anger out of her bones to a place where Chloe couldn’t feel or see it anymore. “I won’t say anything. Just… You know she’s wrong, right?”

“Yeah, I do,” Chloe said. “And I’m gonna tell her that if she wants to come to the wedding - if she wants to be in my life at all - then she needs to change.”

Beca stayed silent. It was a conversation Chloe had had with her Mom before, and the outcome was always the same. Tears, pleading, and promises to do better, but it never lasted, and Beca was tired of seeing Chloe get hurt by the one person who was supposed to love her unconditionally. 

“I know you think she’s already had enough chances,” she said. 

“I do,” Beca agreed.

“But she’s my Mom,” Chloe said. “I want at least one parent at our wedding.”

“I know,” Beca said. “And I know it’s not my place, I just…” Beca trailed off. “I want you to be happy, and she doesn’t make you happy. She’s… You’ve worked so hard to get to where you are now, and I’m terrified that, I don’t know, like, one afternoon dress shopping with her will have you spiralling again.”

“That won’t happen,” Chloe said. “I’m not a kid anymore. I know that everything she says comes from a place of jealousy and insecurity, and it actually has nothing to do with me.”

Beca wasn’t convinced, but she nodded anyway. “I’m sorry that your Mom can’t see you for the amazing, incredible, beautiful person you are,” she said. 

“I love you,” Chloe said. “Thank you for asking me to marry you, even with all my Mom issues.”

“I love you too,” Beca replied. “You’ve got Mommy issues, and I’ve got Daddy issues. I’d say we make a pretty great pair.”

Chloe laughed and felt some of the tension in her shoulders loosen.

“She gets one more chance,” Beca said. “Right?”

“Right,” Chloe agreed. 

They lay together in silence for a little while longer before Chloe spoke up again.

“Bec?”

“Hmm?”

“Can we get pizza for dinner?”

Beca smiled and squeezed Chloe tighter. “Absolutely we can.”

[ghostsvacuumcleaner]

Hello! i was wondering if you could write me a req bc i saw your reqs r open (bc I ✨respectfully✨ suck booty at writing)

basically, reader made friends with Ghost while working together on deployment, and became friends, they hang out sometimes bc they live kinda close, blah blah blah. then, Ghost doesn't hear from reader in months (which isn't normal, bc they text like once a month, just to make sure one another is okay when they can). then, one day, in the middle of a meeting Ghost gets a call from an unfamiliar number and almost ignores it until he sees that the area code is the one reader lives in, so he decides to answer it. boom, guess what? the reader is in the hospital, sustained r/srs injuries, and is in need of emergency surgery, and the reader made Ghost the emergency contact (lets also say they traded dog tags bc fluff?)

homie gets all sad bc Reader might die and is in a mini coma, blah blah blah, realized he r in love w the reader, and uh

you can decide whether or not the reader dies and what happens next

i fr scream YIPEEE when i saw your req open, i adore your writing, like top tear, makes me cry but laugh and scream bc how are you so good?! srs, im so jelly of your writing! okay anyways, hope you have a lovely day, you dont have to do this is you dont want or if im jus a silly fucker and mis read and your reqs r closed or sum

Hellloooo! Thank you SO MUCH for the beautiful compliments and for this request <3 I loved it so much I started writing the day you sent it to me. But since it's very emotionally charged, it took me a little while to finish and I'm sorry bout that, and I rly hope you're still around and eager to read it!!! Well, there it is, my take on ur req, hope you like it.

Take me back (to the night we met) | Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

✦Word count: 2.1k ✦ Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley xf!reader ✦Summary: Simon gets a call from the hospital saying that you are hospitalized, in a coma and in great life risk. ✦ TW and general warnings: sensitive topics, lots of angst, fluff though, death implications, open ending, sad af read at ur own risks cuz i'm crying in my room rn;

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met

“Johnny and I make our entrances fast. I clear the way, he goes front, three of you get in by the back and we surround the site to get enough space for the hostages to come out. Any questions?” Ghost asks sternly, as is the usual of his tone especially coming down to work. He was being brutally professional at the moment - if there was rather a sign of an existing Simon, it was gone the moment he got inside the briefing room. Silence follows for the next seconds while the crew seems to be pondering over what he said, analyzing the map over the big round table sticking to the center of the room.

As it is expected, no questions. He nods with his head assuming by the silence that they’re all understood.

“Our orders are to neutralize any individual we find on the site whose face doesn’t match with our hostages, which means we do it fast before they get the chance to call for reinforcements. We don’t wanna make a mess out of this.” Price then continues his own talking, marking X’s over the tactic map and giving the next orders to every one of them. It is when Gaz opens his mouth to say something, that Simon’s phone rings for the third time in a row. He curses mentally - he muted his phone the first time; now, it was vibrating in his pocket. Awkwardly, the vibration itself is heard by everyone in the room and they turn their eyes on him almost instantly.

“Hell.” He curses out in a low voice before shaking his head. “My apologies, Captain.” His voice tries its best not to come out too annoyed, but he fails and it does; despite the timing being inconvenient, no one seems to be bothered. Johnny furrows his brows in concern, and looks over at Price, who seems to have the same, perhaps even more intense, look on his face.

Ghost mentions to pull out and turn off his phone once again, but Price is quick to intervene.

“Riley.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Third time in a row; seems like somethin’ serious, get out and pick up.” He states comprehensively.

Despite being slightly reluctant, Ghost agrees - it must be something serious. What, he couldn't come to imagine - but if for a moment in his life he had something close to a hunch, it was now, and it said he should take that call.

“Alright, one minute. Move on without me.” He nods and leaves the room, phone in hand and a worried sigh leaving his nostrils. When the door closes behind him and he walks a bit further down the hallway, he picks up.

“Yes?”

“Is this Lieutenant Simon Riley?” A feminine voice asks from the other side. Sounds in the background, beeps and small, muffled voices.

“Affirmative, who’s this?” He frowns.

“This is from the Special Forces Manchester Hospital, are you familiar with the name- hmm…” She seems to be taking a couple seconds to read, and continues saying your name. 

He freezes in place.

How long has it been since he last heard this name? How long has it been since you vanished like thin air, disappeared, stopped calling or answering? Busy. That’s what he thought. Busy with work, busy with anything. The two of you had always been two busy people, in a desperate need for time.

For a moment, in those torturous seconds of silence, Simon found himself praying to a God he wasn't even sure he believed in, that this nurse wouldn't tell him you’re dead.

“Yes.” It’s all he manages to say, with his eyes running down to the ground in a dead stare. Dead eyes. He gulps, after the despair in his chest makes him speak once again, “Why?”

“Well- sir, you’re her emergency number, we’re calling because we couldn’t manage any family members… She’s in a coma. She was severely injured in combat, and [...]”

His heart stops, like it never did before. He doesn't react, his eyes look around as if he's searching for something - as if searching for his own reaction hidden somewhere within that empty hallway. The weight of your dog tag around his neck seems to be suffocating him now. 

To his silence, the woman continues.

“[...] it’s… currently sort of impossible to predict her state within the next few days, she’s fighting but struggling lots; can you come over?” 

“Yes.” He sharply replies, immediately. His eyes are still on the ground as he closes his eyes, and nods. “I’ll be on my way, yes.” 

“Good.” She replies, and he turns off.

For a moment, he stops to breathe; Ghost wipes his hand over his mouth in a somewhat guilty expression, he should have reached for you. He should have reached you the instant he missed you, your calls. 

“Hell…” He shuts his eyes for a moment, his heart stings like he’s poisoned, it hurts - some sort of pain he swears to god, he probably never felt before. Not when he lost his training dog, nor when he lost friends before - maybe because there were always a lingering possibility between the two of you. It was nothing but a friendship, never had been - but every word, every phrase was full of underlines of sentiment, an immense desire to reveal his interior and spit out the fears he refused to speak about to anyone else.

It's the possibility that kills him now. Even after all this time, not for a second did you cease to exist in his troubled and saddened mind. Suppressed by all the worries and feelings he thought were more important than you.

Not for a moment did he stop thinking about that pleasant end to his career, the retirement he knew he deserved, a house at least isolated from the rest of the world with trees and streams, the snow falling when winter comes and the sun scorching the land. land when summer finally arrived. You, on the front porch. 

You.  You.

When the night was full of terrors And your eyes were filled with tears When you had not touched me yet Oh, take me back to the night we met

You were leaning back on the sofa, your legs stretched out by the small table that marked the space between you and the balcony railing of his apartment.

The rain fell calmly, some thunder, but few drops. The sound of them falling against the roofs of the houses below the level where you were was echoing in your ears, and he seemed busy drawing patterns among the heavy clouds that covered the sky. 

He gave up trying to find any stars in that rainy sky and found comfort in finding your eyes instead. They were already watching him, almost expecting him to say something, even though the silence between two of you usually speaks volumes more than words itself; you’ve never been good with them, much less him. 

Simon looked down at your dog tag, lying brightly on your bust exposed by the tank top you wore. 

“What do you want to do after retiring?” He asked, his voice calm, his eyes almost closed. He took your necklace between his fingers calmly, and watched your shiny name exposed on the icy metal.

“Gotta be honest with you, can’t see myself retiring.” You replied, with your usual brutal honesty - something he particularly always liked so much about you. “What about you?” 

You don’t mind him, you allow.

“Don’t know.” He was, too, brutally honest. “Seek fuckin’ forgiveness for my sins before I die and end up in hell, I suppose.” 

You laughed.

“Oh, fuck. Gonna die trying to find that, mate.” You admit, raising your eyebrows in another big sip of your beer. “We’re all going to hell… At least we’ll all party there together.” You sounded fun, and your eyes turned into little lines with the genuine smile you let out when noticed that he too laughed at your joke. 

“We’re partyin’? Tell me Johnny isn’t going…”

“He’s my first guest.” You laugh harder.

“Thought that’d be me.” 

“You hate parties.” You raised your eyebrows.

“I don’t hate you.”

You silently smiled and looked away. 

“Fair enough.”

When it came to the two of you, there was nothing but connotation.

You could spend hours in that apartment alone with him - and you did. Did plenty of times, and yet, among subtle touches and heartfelt conversations, the end would be the same. Not in his bed, not in yours: by the door, with a rueful look and smile on your face. 

With a held back hug you never gave, a held back kiss you never allowed and an uncertain goodbye before departing on a mission that could take your or his life.

There was a phone call, once.

He called you late in the night. He was drunk. Too drunk. 

“I’m scared.” His voice was low, fluttering, like those cold days he’d be waiting for his dad’s arrival in his bed, under the covers, terrified and alone. “I’m scared. Can- can I see you? Can I come over, please?” 

As you hugged him on the couch in your own apartment now - that huge, strong, self-sufficient man collapsing in your lap like a baby in need of comfort, your heart was never right about anything like it was right about loving him. In that moment you knew it, you were fucking lost, taken, desperately in love.

You departed; you gave him your dog tag, he gave you his. A memory, an attempt. Do not forget me, you said. Don’t you dare forget me if I die, Simon Riley.

“I didn’t.” 

He looks at you with regret. The devices that help you breathe keep him from seeing you fully, whole - but still behind all those hospital beeps and sounds, you're still as beautiful as the first time he saw you.

He wants to go back to the past. Reverse everything he did, redo it from scratch; the first time he saw you, the first time he felt his heart ache listening to you talk about another man, all the times he repressed his feelings and swore not to love you.

“I want to be with you.” He mutters, his eyes emptily stare down your almost lifeless hand resting over his. “After I retire. I want to be with you.” He says again, closing his eyes, shutting them tight like he’s trying his very best to repress the tears he wants so bad to let fall. 

“I fuckin’ need you- I- how did this happen, how did you…” He gasps as the clock ticks, low, the sound of the hands ringing like doomsday inside his head. Every second that passed was one less with you. There are twenty minutes left for you to enter that operating room, and maybe you’ll never leave it again.

His eyes water and his legs give out, he kneels beside the bed, his suppressed voice sounding like a low, painful moan. The cry of a child who lost everything he had; of a confused teenager who would become a soldier, cold, dead inside, incapable of love - who loved you. Who loves you. “I’m scared. I’m scared- I love you.” He’d mutter, praying to all known gods to not take you. Take anything, anything from me; anything but her.

When the doctors came into the room and hurriedly moved your gurney to the ward in a desperate attempt to get your heart working again with the transplant, Simon sat in the waiting room with his face buried in his hands, his legs trembling. and the false hope that you would come back.

That you’ll be on that front porch, resting ever so happily, a bottle of beer in your hand and the dogs running around. He will have gotten rid of the mask and the habit of wearing it and you’ll be happy. You’ll be happy. You’ll be alive.

“God, please.” He mutters. “You’ve taken so much from me, now please, not this.”

He stands up as the doctor calls his name, with his heart on his hand and regret flashing his face off, he just wants another minute with you, another second with you, enough seconds so he can tell you he love you - he had, for most of his life and now, and he will, for the rest of his days with or without you.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met.