#i need surgery to pass so i can save for things again

[skunkes]

someone needs to give cheye a lot of money so he can buy more art supplies to play with

[mapileonxputellas]

A Blast From The Past (Part 2)

Thank you for all the love on the first part. I hope you enjoy x

Part 1 can be found here.

TW: mentions of surgery, car accident

2.5k

Unknown Number: Meet me tomorrow at 7.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t expecting a message from her. What you wasn’t quite expecting was for it to come within mere hours of your meeting.

She didn’t need to put a location, the two of you had a place all those years ago, somewhere you hadn’t been since. You’d walked past it many times, the cute little bar where the two of you met sat on a little quiet street not too far from where you live. In fact you’d contemplated going in, no-where else in the city quite made your favourite drink like they did. But it was too much for you to handle, too many good memories tainted in sadness.

At least now you could close that door from your past, the two of you were ancient history and this would confirm that.

….

“Ale. Alleeee. ALEXIA!” Friday night had been family night for as long as Alexia could remember. Providing she didn’t have a game, it was spent with her mum and sister and tonight was no different. “ALEXIA!”

Her mother’s voice broke her out of her thoughts, “Sorry. What were you saying?” Tonight though was not like any other night, in just under 24 hours she would be meeting you again.

She couldn’t help herself having sent that text, for years afterwards she’d carried some mixture of anger, sadness, loneliness whenever she thought of you. That soon turned solely to longing and now, well it was something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“What’s the matter with you tonight? Your head is somewhere else.” Eli questioned her eldest daughter as they shared her famous pasta bake. “Is it training?”

“No mami, everything it fine.”

“Well is it the game tomorrow?” Eli pushed further.

“No, no. I’m just thinking.” The sigh that followed let everyone know that it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows in the footballer’s mind.

“That’s never a good thing.” Alba teased. “What’s going on?”

“Do you remember Y/N?”

Had Alexia not been so far in her own head she might have noticed the look shared between Eli and Alba, both their eyes portraying a hint of panic at that name being brought up. “That girl you were with for a few months?” Eli tried to mask any sort of memory she had.

“Yeah, I saw her today.”

“Where?”

“She’s a surgeon now, she’s part of the team working on Kika. I went to a meeting with them and she was there.” Alexia explained.

“Wow, she always took me for quite a free person. I never thought she’d stay in Barcelona.”

“I don’t know, I’ve never seen her before today and that was the team that worked on my ACL. Maybe she hasn’t been here.”

“Good for her.” Eli told her daughter. “Young love is a funny thing, 13 years you’re probably two very different people now.”

“Yeah.” Alexia had always been close to her family about everything but for some reason she felt like keeping this private – plus at the moment she was true. They were very different people. “I guess it’s not like I’m ever going to see her again.”

“No.” Eli breathed out a sigh of relief. “Lets have some desert.”

….

Everything had gone wrong today.

You’d woken up full of apprehension about your meeting with Alexia that night but then the rest of the day was meant to be clear. Your plan was to go and do some shopping, go for a walk. Anything to take your mind of it.

Instead you found yourself scrubbed up and in theatre. Your mind focused only on the job at hand.

At 11 you got a call that a serious trauma had been brought into hospital, multiple broken bones, internal bleeding, a head injury. Spanning across five people. The conclusion of a truck on car collision.

That meant they had to put an extension surgical team together and who were you to say shopping was more important than saving a family.

By 12 o’clock you were stood in theatre, passing on instructions to a surgical team and about to operate on a 17-year-old. In orthopaedics you often performed surgery on young people, those in sport who often came in with broken ankles or arms. This felt different, there was a panic to this one. Not least because you and your partner in the surgery would be operating on multiple limbs, whilst down the hall their other family members were also fighting for their life.

“Let’s get started then.” You instructed the team, looking down at the patient on the operating table as you always do. “We’ll get you sorted.”

Surgery was a long process, it was tiring and mind-numbing. For over six hours your mind had been filled with all the information you could occupy. The processes you had to complete, the numbers you’d been told as they deteriorated and then eventually improved, what came next. In the end it had been a success, a lot would depend on their recovery but you’d done all you could for them.

It wasn’t something you could just switch off from either. You always made sure the patient was settled in the ward, checked in with the team and gave them a debrief before completing all the paperwork.

That’s how you found yourself sat in the office staring into space, suddenly remembering you had plans tonight.

“Shit.” You whispered, your head whipping round to find the clock at the opposite end of the room. It might have been dark but it was light enough to show it was already past 8. “Shit. Shit.”

The hospital and bar were a good fifteen-minute drive apart, not to mention parking. Panic built as you quickly logged off your computer, just about managing to grab your keys and phone before practically running to your car.

You probably broke every speed limit trying to make it across the city, parked on double yellows and then it was only when you were walking up to the door that you remembered you were still wearing the sweats and hoodie you pulled on this morning. It definitely fulfilled the brief of shopping attire more than ‘meeting with your ex for the first time in over a decade’ attire.

“Fuck it.” You sighed, it wasn’t like you could turn away now. She might not even be here at this point, you were already nearly 2 hours late.

But there she was, she may have had her back to you but you knew it was her. Sat at your table, a glass of presumably water in her hand with a glass of wine opposite. She was still here.

She hadn’t noticed you were there yet as you snuck up behind her, noticing the phone stuck to her ear.

“It was stupid – I thought if I made the effort then maybe I might get some answers. But she didn’t show….” Alexia told whoever it was she was on the phone to. “Nothing. I mean she could have at least text…… No I’m going to go-“

“Don’t.” You rounded the table stealing her attention. “Give me five minutes and I’ll explain.”

“I’ll call you back.” She didn’t give the other person the time to answer before putting the phone down, her eyes not leaving yours as you sat down. “You’re late.”

“I’m really sorry about that.” You answered, taking what can only be described as a large gulp of wine. The bitter taste of the red calming some of your nerves.

“It feels like this is becoming a habit now.”

“What is?”

“You leaving me stranded.”

You’d be lying if you said that one didn’t hurt. It was true – at least superficially and to her. “I’ve been in surgery all day.” There was no point in sugar coating it – you would never have left her stranded otherwise. “I was planning on being here on time but when you get the call it’s not exactly something you can avoid. I didn’t realise what time it was but I came straight from the hospital when I realised.”

She wasn’t heartless, you knew Alexia and you could see the relief on her face even now. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. But as soon as I realised the time I raced here, I wouldn’t have left you hanging otherwise. I obviously also didn’t plan on wearing this.” Your sweats were nothing in comparison to the turtleneck and blazer Alexia was sporting.

“You look beautiful.” She always had a way with words – there was no doubt in her voice as she complimented you. “I do need to go though.”

“Alexia – just…”

“Not because of you. I have a game tomorrow, it wouldn’t be a good look for me to stay out this late the night before. If any fans see….”

“I understand.” Maybe it just wasn’t your day, nothing was going right.

“I don’t want to be too forward but how about you come back to mine.” Before you could protest she shut you up. “We can talk without being seen. It doesn’t have to be weird – we’re just old friends.”

You worried if you didn’t agree then you would just have this conversation hanging over you for the next few days and for your own sake you needed for everything to be over with. That’s how you found yourself agreeing and driving over to Alexia’s – the two of you taking your own cars after she provided you with her address.

The drive was nowhere near long enough before you found yourself parking up outside the gated house, her car though nowhere in sight. You genuinely thought you’d been the one ditched this time before her car came in sight maybe ten minutes later, opening the gates as you followed on foot.

“I thought you’d given me the wrong address.” You tried to break the awkward tension as she got out of her car. She didn’t exactly give you any answers before reaching behind her, her hands revealing a paper bag and extending it to you. “What is it?”

“Food – I figured you hadn’t eaten and I don’t feel like cooking at this time.”

You looked in the bag to find three polystyrene boxes – the smells suggesting a burger and chips must have been the contents of at least two of them. “But you can’t have any.” You might not have been a nutritionist but you know enough that it wasn’t exactly night before a game’s food.

“It’s a good thing it’s all for you then. You always did like greasy food after a shift.”

“Thank you.”

Your words went unanswered as she opened up the door to reveal what could only be described as the sleekest house you’ve ever seen. Everything was black and white, the majority of the space open plan as she led you into the kitchen.

“Would you like a drink?”

“A water please.”

The whole house was silent as she pulled out a plate for you, indicating you could plate your food up as she got the drinks and led herself over to the sofa. You plated up the burger, half of the chips and a mini garlic bread not quite realising how hungry you were until this point. The last thing you could remember eating was your porridge this morning.

The tension was still in the air as you sat down, practically gulping down the burger before turning to the footballer, her eyes already on you.

“Why did you ask to meet me Alexia?” You had to ask her the question, her answer would lead this conversation.

“Why? I turn up to a meeting expecting to find an old surgeon and I find the girl who broke up with me 13 years ago and never bothered to even give me an explanation. I need answers.”

“Alexia it was 13 years ago.” You hadn’t been in this house too long and already you’d noticed that the majority of the picture frames dotted around contained either Eli, Alba or both of them. “It’s not worth it.”

“It is to me. You left without a word – I loved you and all I got was this text spouting about how you ‘couldn’t do it anymore’. What about me?” When you were together you loved Alexia all the time, but you especially loved her when she was passionate about something and even now as she raised her voice you couldn’t help but admire her. “I deserve answers.”

“I wasn’t good enough for you.” You admitted, not daring to look at her and instead focusing on the food. “Our lives don’t mix. You’re the best footballer in the world and I spend my life either sleeping or working.”

“We were making it work.”

“No you were spending every weekend watching me in that café – you could have been spending it with your teammates.”

“Because I loved you.” The tears building in your eyes spilt over the edge as you took in her words. “I might have loved football but my highlight of the week, every week, was sitting in my car after training with you or  spending your lunch break eating those soggy chips.”

“You said you loved those chips.”

“I did.” Why did you have to fall in love with someone so perfect? She was everything you wanted, even now and yet you couldn’t have her. “Then you left and I was left wondering if I even meant anything to you.”

“Of course you did.”

“Then why leave?”

“Because I loved you more than anything.” You shouted this time. “Because the thought that I could have been distracting you was too much for me to handle. You spoke every day about being the best Alexia and I couldn’t be the reason that didn’t happen.”

“It didn’t have to be one or the other.”

“Didn’t it? You did it, you became the best.”

“And I did all of it being lonely. I’d watch my teammates fall in love, celebrate with their partners and I was alone.”

If your heart wasn’t already broken it was then. “Alexia….”

“I was angry at first, I hated you for not saying it too my face. But I never stopped loving you. In Turin I looked for you, in Eindhoven you were the first person I thought about. When I had my ACL surgery I wished more than anything for you to appear.” The two of you were a sobbing mess on that sofa and without realising you’d gravitated towards each other, your hands intertwined and shoulders pressed together. “I wanted to be the best but I also wanted to be loved.”

“I-“ But before you could answer you were stopped by the sound of the door opening.

“Alexia! I bought your favourite…”

And your world came plummeting back down.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Save You Again

Requested Here!

>> Part 2: Reminiscent of Us

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!veteran!doctor!wife!reader (you're like Barbie)

Summary: Years after meeting on a battlefield, you have to save your husband Tim again. This time, you're married and in the hospital where you work.

Warnings: canon typical warnings, injuries and medical treatment, Nolan slander, fluff

Word Count: 1.5k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“Tim!” Nolan calls. When Tim turns, already glaring, he slows and amends, “Sorry, uh, Sergeant Bradford. As your union rep-”

“Cut to the chase, Nolan,” Tim implores.

“Yeah, of course. LAPD is hosting an event for military veterans on the force, and I’ve been tasked with electing a few of those vets to speak about their experience and the legacy they want to leave.”

“No,” Tim interjects.

“But you fit the bill exactly and surely you have a lot of wisdom you can pass on. I mean, you were a TO.”

“I’m not giving a speech, Nolan. I’ll go if forced to, but that’s it.”

“Not even for your fellow vets?” Nolan tries.

“Nice try, Nolan, but he’s going to say no,” Wade says from his office doorway. “Tell him why, Bradford.”

Tim turns toward Wade, then sighs. “Most vets that join the force try to keep the two separate. The ones I know, at least. The military was a job – a hard one – and this is too. But they’re different. Celebrate the vets, thank them, but don’t undermine the work they did or what they’re doing now by comparing the duties.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Nolan murmurs.

“Shocking.”

“Well, I’m going to go talk to some other reps and try to make this right. You have my word.”

“Seem to have a lot of words.”

“If you know any vets who would be willing to speak, let me know.”

“I will,” Tim assures him, thinking of one veteran in particular.

“Tim, we got a hit on our San Vincente killer from this morning,” Angela alerts. “You with us?”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Tim agrees, following behind Angela.

“I’ll keep you updated!” Nolan calls after him.

“On behalf of Bradford,” Wade deadpans. “Thanks. Now get back to work, plan parties on your rep time, not my time.”

“Yes, sir.”

“He’s hemorrhaging!” someone alerts.

“How is he still hemorrhaging?” another asks. “There’s a tourniquet.”

You slip your fingers under the tourniquet and feel the stabbing patient’s pulse fading. Pulling the band tighter, you use your weight to stop blood circulation. After it’s secure and the bleeding has slowed, you look at the residents around you.

“Somebody clip that tourniquet, so it stays in place,” you demand.

“That’s not hospital policy,” a recent hire argues.

“This man is bleeding out, tell me about policy after I’ve saved his life,” you snap. “Gauze!”

Within seconds, someone places an entire pack of gauze in your hand. It’s been cut open already, so you murmur your gratitude and put the end of the gauze over your dominant hand. The doctors and nurses around you slow as you pack the wound. Holding the gauze against the wound, you watch your watch. It’s been a while since you used your tactical medic training, but if this procedure works, it will have saved yet another life.

“Get a trauma surgeon here stat,” you instruct. “I suspect he has a nicked brachial artery. He needs a blood transfusion now; estimated 35% of blood volume has been lost.”

“Surgeon’s five minutes out,” a nearby doctor replies.

“Prep an OR,” you say as you begin wrapping the temporary fix.

As the man is wheeled away to go into surgery, you remove your bloody gloves and sigh as you wash your hands. Being a medic in the military was stressful, and despite working a civilian job that entails many of the same job elements, you love being an ER doctor in Los Angeles. You’ve been state-side for years, and you wouldn’t change a thing about your life post-deployment.

“Dr. Bradford!” a nurse yells as she runs down the hallway. “Three cops were just attacked, ambulance is en route.”

You don’t hesitate to run after her, nearing the ER entrance with your heart pounding in your ears.

“Who’s the president?”

Tim blinks against the harsh light above him as his surroundings come back into focus.

“Sir, can you hear me? What’s your name?”

There are people – two, from the number of hands he feels – working around him.

“I’m not concussed,” Tim groans, then immediately regrets speaking.

“You were blown up, Sergeant,” the second EMT points out. “We’re just doing our jobs.”

Tim remembers it then. The arrest should have been easy, but the San Vincente killer had wanted it to seem that way. His plan was to go out in a blaze of glory and take as many people out with him as he could, and it would have worked if Tim hadn’t seen the crude device tucked beneath the dining room table. He, Angela, and Nyla had barely managed to get out before the house blew apart behind them.

“Lopez and Harper?” Tim asks.

“Better off than you,” the first man answers. “They’ll meet you at the hospital.”

Tim falls silent for several breaths, grateful that they’re okay. “Which hospital?” he asks.

He hears the answer, thinks of the last doctor he saw in the Middle East, and loses consciousness again.

“Detective Lopez!” you call as she enters the emergency room. “Are you alright?”

She raises her fingers to her cheek, following your line of sight, and says, “Yes, I’m fine. Is-”

Before she finishes her question, two EMTs wheel Tim Bradford in on a gurney. You rush to his side and listen to their findings and opinions.

“…no sign of concussion or penetrating ballistic injuries,” they conclude.

“Got him,” you assure them as your team takes the gurney. “Thank you.”

“Take care of him!” Angela says as you push through the double doors into the treatment area.

“We’ll identify the degree of blast injuries for treatment and stabilization,” you announce.

“What comes after quinary injuries?” Tim groans.

“Nothing,” you answer, running your gloved hands carefully over his arms and legs. “No such thing as senary blast injuries.”

“I’m fine.”

“You were blown at least ten feet, Sergeant,” you argue. “There are – minimum – some contusions that we need to find.”

Tim begins to argue, but you shush him as you press your stethoscope to his chest.

“Ingest anything?” you inquire softly.

“Not that I know of,” he answers. “My wrist hurts, but otherwise, I’m just sore.”

You radio for radiology to prepare an x-ray before you lift his arm carefully. His wrist is bruising and swelling, so you assume it’s likely broken, but there are no exposed bones or blood, so it’s not a compound fracture.

“Should I prep tetanus prophylaxis?” a nurse inquires.

“No, he’s up-to-date for the last three years,” you answer without looking away from Tim’s wrist. “I’m going to stabilize this for now, Sergeant.”

“Nurse Lisa!” you call. “Can you bring the detectives in here? Thanks.”

“What are you doing?” Tim asks.

“They’re worried about you,” you explain. “They watched you get slung by an explosion; you know what that can do to people.”

Tim reaches his uninjured hand across his body to lay on your arm. He whispers, “I’m okay.”

“Your wrist is broken,” you argue. “And you still could have a minor head injury, which is why you’re getting a CT.”

“Oh my gosh!” Lucy exclaims as she enters the room.

“What are you doing here?” Tim asks.

“We heard the radio call and were nearby,” Aaron explains. “Are you okay?”

“I’d rather hear your opinion on that, doc,” Nyla requests.

“He got lucky,” you answer, setting his wrist down on a pillow before placing an ice pack over it. Tim hisses in pain, and you frown. “Aside from a probably broken wrist and a potential concussion, which would be minor based on his lack of symptoms, he should be fine after a few days of rest.”

“And his horrible facial disfigurement?” Angela asks.

Tim’s brows raise at her teasing, and he shakes his head. His hand moves to the side of the pillow, and you quietly ask that he place it back in its elevated position.

“Yeah, sorry,” Tim murmurs before looking back at his fellow officers. “What?” he asks when he sees the shocked look on their faces.

“I’ve never heard you apologize,” Aaron points out.

“Yeah, you’re acting different,” Nolan says.

“Oh!” Lucy exclaims before bouncing.

“Head trauma,” Tim reminds her.

“You’re the wife he refuses to show pictures of, aren’t you?” she asks.

“The wife is real?” Aaron inquires. “I thought it was some kind of scare tactic he used to make sure you had his six. You know like I have to get home to someone.”

“He does have to get home,” you interrupt. “And, yes, I’m Sergeant Bradford’s wife.”

“Radiology’s ready,” someone alerts from the doorway.

“He’s all yours,” you say, helping to turn the gurney as you request a CT with the x-ray. “Behave,” you tell Tim.

“You don’t all have to wait around,” Tim says.

“We’re taking your wife to dinner,” Nyla responds. “You can get an Uber when you’re released.”

You wink at him, a silent promise to be here when he returns. He knows he’ll be out of work for a few days, and if this is anything like the last time you saved Tim Bradford, you’ll be by his side until he’s healed and for a very long time.

“I’ll get you back to work as soon as I can, Mr. Bradford,” you promise. “If you listen to me, it could be even faster.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles. “I love you.”

Lucy gasps, but all Tim hears is your honest reply, “I love you more.”

[scarletttries]

Write A Kiss Request: Gun Woo (Bloodhounds) x Reader ...a kiss on a scar

(prompt list here) & 2025 Request List - requests open

...a kiss on a scar for Gun Woo

You could never get used to seeing Gun Woo around the house of the older gentleman you worked for. It was like seeing an angel in your own home, a statuesque Greek god walking past you on the street, like the most beautiful idol you could imagine saying good morning to you day after day. And he was so sweet about it too, so unassuming, so timid. You almost had a hard time believing this was the same man who could take out whole gangs of criminals with just his fists.

Maybe the most difficult part about seeing Gun Woo every day was that it slowly became clear that he couldn't see his own beauty for himself. Despite being as close to perfection, inside and out, as a man can be, you could tell he averted his gaze every time he passed a mirror, so fixated with the one recent blemish on his otherwise boyish face. It was hard to watch him flinch away from your gaze when you found yourself staring his way for a little too long, Gun Woo naturally assuming the lingering looks were for completely the wrong reason. Where you saw a sweet, brave, handsome man, he could only see a disfigured scar he was sure would haunt him for all his days. There was only so long you could let him think like that for.

It was a normal morning of him arriving at your philanthropic boss's home, waiting for an audience with the older man and standing in the hall by the time you arrived for the day. As you stepped through the door he didn't sense your presence, letting himself stare deeply into the small mirror opposite and running a finger firmly over the jagged scar that ran down his cheek and along his jaw. You couldn't tell if his slight flinch was from the feel of it under his fingertip, or from you appearing in the mirror, stepping behind him so your reflection could offer him the gentle smile you thought he might need today.

"When I've settled all my family's debts, and my mother's cafe is fixed again, I'm going to save up for the surgery to fix this scar." Gun Woo mumbled the words quickly, speaking to your reflection rather than turning to face you, sure he knew what you were thinking and that you didn't need a closer look at him. Without breaking your concentrated gaze you stepped a bit closer to him until you stood shoulder to shoulder, really taking in his reflection despite how it seemed to make him squirm.

"Why do you want the surgery?" You asked softly to his mirrored form, hoping he wouldn't find it offensive that you wanted to understand a little more.

"I think this scar will stop me from getting some of the things I want in life." He shook his head before adding in a nervous chuckle, "I don't think I will be able to get a nice, pretty girlfriend if I look like this." In the small silver screen you saw him raise his hand slightly, as if gesturing towards you as the definition of pretty, enough encouragement for you to say what needed to be said.

"For what it's worth, I think it suits you." Gun Woo's head jerked to the side, no longer looking in the mirror and instead focusing solely on you, "It shows who you are, you know? That you're brave, and strong, and loyal, and fearless." As you let each compliment spill from your lips, Gun Woo edged closer to you, leaning forward slightly to be closer to your eye level, scanning your soft expression for any sign of deceit and coming up empty. He looked at you so adoring as you spoke, so awestruck by your kindness, that you couldn't help but edge a little bit closer yourself. "I think the world would be a much better place if everyone carried their scars the way you do." And with that final sweet sentiment you placed a soft kiss on the marked cheek, one hand gently holding the opposite side of his face to keep him from moving out of reach before you could.

Body frozen and mind racing Gun Woo just blinked at you in disbelief, mouth hanging open slightly as you quickly pecked the scarred edge of his jaw for good measure and then skipped off into the home to start your day, letting him stew on your words and affections in his own time.

Turning back to the mirror Gun Woo ghosted his fingertips over the slightly glistening places your lips had touched, finally processing what had happened enough to let out a beaming smile at his own reflection. Maybe he didn't need to worry about saving money to cover his scars, he thought, watching the blood flush his cheeks a rosy pink. Maybe he should use that money to take you out to dinner instead.

***

If you enjoyed this, check out my bloodhounds master list for more Gun Woo!

[moody-alcoholic]

Hurt

Summary: 2.7k words. Ghoap x Reader, throuple. Reader is female (she/her), army nurse, non descript physical features, names used: Ashe.

CW: descriptions of injuries, medical procedures, mentions of surgery, medical inaccuracies, hurt/comfort.

AN: Next part is the last part... It's a beefy one though.

Previous parts - masterlist - next part

Enjoy <3

Simon is scared, more then he has ever been. He’s watching his husband bleeding out while someone else he loves is trying her best to save him. She’s no combat medic but as soon as Johnny’s body hit the floor she was by his side shoving her gauze covered fingers into his wounds. She barked orders at Price while he called an ambulance. 

“Ambulance should be here in 15 minutes.” Price says his phone still pressed up to his ear keeping the dispatchers updated. Gaz has been running round the house looking for first-aid kits, clean sheets anything she can use to make bandages. Her hands are shaking blood running down her face. Johnny nicked her ear when he shot at Jack, could have been worse at least he’s down. 

Ghost is angry, pacing the room his eyes burning into Jack wondering which would be more satisfying to break his legs or his arms? Ghost is listening to every word Price is saying waiting for new orders. It’s easier to be Ghost then Simon right now. 

“Here, I’ve got this!” Gaz says as he rushes back in the room. Price helps him open the green first aid kit pulling out bandages and handing them to you. 

“How long until the ambulance?” you ask your voice shaking, as you instruct Gaz to keep watching Johnny’s breathing. 

“They’re coming.” Price replies not giving a time. A lump forms in Ghost’s throat he swallows to get it away. Price moves over to stand next to him. 

“Pass me your phone I need to call someone to deal with all this.” Price says leaning in. Ghost reaches into his vest pulling out his phone passing it to Price. He pats Ghost on the shoulder then moves back to the other side of the room. A moan comes from the floor, Ghost’s head snaps to see Soap moving. That’s good right. 

“Hey, Johnny keep still.” You say as his arms make their way to the source of the pain. “Keep his head still.” You say to Gaz. He was shot in the back he could have spinal damage. Gaz moves so he can hold Johnny’s head. He’s come too that has to be a good thing you think as you he moans. There is no telling how aware he is but he know’s he’s in pain. You have to fight to keep his hands away so he won’t pull the dressing out. He’s mumbling incoherently as you hear the ambulance sirens that makes you relax a little.

“Ghost go get them.” Price says, you hear Simon leave the room. You look over at Jack. He’s stopped screaming and shouting. Price patched his shoulder up he should be fine. He should be dead. You push the thought away you need to focus on Johnny. His hand has found your thigh, you reach down with your free hand to squeeze it. His eyes find yours and he smiles as you hear footsteps running. The door bursts open and paramedics flood in. You hear Price hang up on the dispatcher as two of them come over to you. 

“What’s happened?” The male one says as he bends down opposite you unzipping his bag. 

“He was shot from behind, through and through. I’ve tried my best to stop the bleeding.” You explain squeezing Johnny’s hand, you hear more sirens as Simon leaves the room again. The paramedic is trying to get Johnny’s attention as the second paramedic comes to take over holding the gauze from you.

You let go of Johnny’s hand moving out the way as the paramedics talk with each other. You stand up as another set of paramedics and police pile into the room. Price goes over to talk to the police as he points the other paramedics over to Jack. You turn and watch as they look at his shoulder. Gaz gets up on his feet as you watch the paramedics work on Johnny, getting an IV in, giving him oxygen, pressing more bandages into his wound.

Your cheek starts stinging and it takes everything in your power to not touch it. Gaz comes over to you leading you out of the way and over to a chair, Simon and Price are talking with the police. Everything was starting to feel like a blur. You look down you’re sat next to Marks body, you keep watching the paramedics work on Johnny and Jack.

You hear the paramedics say there is a doctor here for Johnny. You can see biased on the equipment he’s hanging on. He’s put under and they intubate him. The doctor arrives a few seconds later he wants to do an en-route blood transfusion. Jack leaves first with the other ambulance crew and some officers following behind. He’s formally arrested, his eyes burn into you as you hear the charges read out. The rest of the officers start collecting evidence. 

“Do you need medical attention?” Someone says to you. You look up from Johnny to see an officer stood beside you. You shake your head looking back as the paramedics move Johnny onto a spinal board. Simon is by your side now. You’re crying, each tear that falls in your wound stings. At least the bleeding as stopped you think. 

“Go with Johnny to the hospital and get patched up. We’ll meet you there as soon as we’re done here.” Simon says. You can’t look at him, not with his mask on not while Johnny is still fighting for his life. You get up off the chair though and he squeezes your shoulder. You look round the room as you follow the paramedics out. Jack is gone, Mark is dead. The body in the hallway the person who shot Johnny has been moved and covered up. You look at Price who nods at you then goes back to talking to the officers. Ghost follows you out to the ambulance. You get in the front, you don’t even remember the drive. 

  ——————————  

Your body moves on autopilot. When you make it to the hospital Johnny is taken through to triage. You’re in the waiting room, you refuse help from the nurse who comes to see you. You just sit and wait, using tissues to dab your wound, if you move in the wrong way it starts bleeding again. You’ll need stitches but you want to make sure Johnny is okay first. You don’t want to miss the updates. You need to be somewhere Simon can find you when he gets here. You’re waiting nervously when a doctor comes over to you, he introduces himself and you stand up.

“We’re going to be taking him through to surgery, to remove the bullet fragments. We won’t know the extent of the damage until after we can open him up. I’ll send a nurse through to take a look at your face, you were also involved in the attack from what I understand?” You nod not having the energy to fight with him. 

“I’m okay, I would like to wait for-” you stop yourself, what do you even say? You want to wait for his husband? For Price and Gaz who you barely even know. How much does the doctor know? You realise you’ve not been paying attention to whats been going on since you were hands deep in Johnny’s abdomen. 

“The other people involved in the incident, they’re his squad mates, from the army. They would like to know he’s okay.” 

“I can update them as well if you give me their names but I do think that wound needs looking at, cleaned and bandaged up at the very least.” The doctor says. You don’t want to you don’t want anyone to touch you. 

“I would rather wait.” You say sitting back down. The doctor relents and tells you someone will be out to update you. You feel sick your stomach in knots. You wish you had your phone so you could text Simon. You don’t know how long Simon is going to be or how long Johnny’s surgery is going to take. He’s going to be okay. You tell yourself.    

He’s going to be okay.

  ——————————  

You’re woken to someone shaking you. You don’t even remember falling asleep it makes you jump and you almost fall out the chair. You look up it’s Simon, he doesn’t have his mask on. You look at him confused the pain coming back to your face. 

“You need to get that checked out.” Simon says kneeling down in front of you. 

“Johnny’s in surgery.” You say. 

“I know, the doctor filled us in, Price is talking with him now.” You touch Simon’s cheek. 

“I’m sorry I got Johnny hurt.” You say, you’re too exhausted to cry. 

“It’s not your fault.” Simon says reaching up holding your hand on his chin squeezing it. He stands up. 

“C’mon, Price bullied the doctors into finding a private room for Johnny, we’ll wait in there. And I’ll find a nurse to take a look at that cheek.” Simon says. You let him lead you too your feet as he wraps his arm round your waist. When you make it to the room it’s nice even has a sofa in the corner which Simon leads you too. He leaves and comes back a few minutes later with a nurse who cleans your wound. She says it’s going to need stitches, you reluctantly allow her to do them. By the time she is done and bandaging your ear and cheek up Price walks into the room. 

“The police need a statement from you.” He says looking at you. You look at the nurse and thank her as she tides up to leave. 

“Christ, can’t she have a rest they can talk to her tomorrow.” Simon says from the other sofa on the other side of the room. 

“It’s just a statement 5 minutes tops. They’ll bring you in for a proper interview later in the week.” Price says. You nod getting off the bed heading back over to the sofa where Simon is. You lay up against him he wraps his arm round your shoulder. 

“Thank you for rescuing me.” You say. He kisses the top of your head. 

“I’m sorry it had to come to this, we should have stayed at the house with you.” He says. You can hear the guilt in his voice. You don’t know what he’s more guilty about. You being kidnapped or Johnny being shot. You don’t want to leave his side wrapping your arms round his stomach. When the police officers come in they ask you a few questions take a quick statement then leave.

You see Price and Gaz at the door. You’re exhausted leaning on Simon’s chest. You pull your feet on the sofa a shiver runs through your body. You close your eyes breathing Simon in but all you can smell is blood.

  —————————— 

Simon looks over at you still asleep on the sofa tucked under the blanket he threw over you. They wheeled Johnny in from surgery a bit ago, said he might need a few minutes to come round. Simon moved from the sofa to a chair by the bed so he could hold Johnny’s hand.

He hates seeing Johnny like this, he hates seeing him hurt. His eyes periodically flick back to you, what if Johnny’s vest didn’t stop the bullet. What if it kept going all the way through to you. Simon pushes the thought away, he can’t think about that, losing the both of you is just too much. You’re safe, Johnny is safe, he’s safe. Johnny murmurs and Simon’s head snaps up, he sits up pulling his chair closer to the bed and squeezing Johnny’s hand.    

“Hey,” Simon says as Johnny turns to look at him blinking. 

“Christ, I feel like shit.” Johnny says pulling himself up in the bed. Simon gets up helping him arrange the pillows. 

“Stop getting shot then.” Simon says, Johnny smiles leaning back down in the bed. Simon kisses him on the forehead before sitting back down. Johnny looks past Simon to see you curled up on the sofa.

“How is she?” He asks, Simon looks back for a second squeezing Johnny’s hand. 

“She’s fine.” Simon says, Johnny sighs. 

“What about..” Johnny trails off, Simon knows who he’s talking about. 

“In custody, he’ll live.” Simon says.

“Should have aimed for the head.” Johnny says. Simon smiles, if he had aimed for the head he could have killed her.  

“How ‘bout you? You good?.” Johnny asks, Simon rolls his eyes, bringing up Johnny’s hand and kissing it.

“I’m good.” Simon says, Johnny looks doubtful. Simon Squeezes his hand, looking away, he’ll deal with his emotions later. 

“Si,” Johnny says forcing his eyes to meet Simon’s. “I love you.” 

“I love you too Johnny.” Simon says smiling.

“Johnny?” Your voice cuts through the silence and Simon turns to see you sitting up on the sofa. He gets up bringing over another chair for you. 

“Good to see you lass.” Johnny says enthusiastically, he’s awake and smiling. It’s all you need walking over to him and throwing your arms round him.

“Easy love, still got holes in me.” Johnny says wrapping his arms round your back.

“I know I’m so sorry.” You blurt out you can feel yourself welling up again. It’s happy tears this time. You feel Simon’s hand on your back as you pull away. 

“You ain’t got anything to be sorry ‘bout.” Johnny says his face serious.

“We’re sorry we left ya, didn’t think anyone knew where you were.” Johnny says. Simon’s hand leaves your back pulling on your wrist for you to sit down. You look at Simon, he looks tired. You take his hand and squeeze it. 

“I should have fought, you gave me the gun.” You say looking at Simon. “I tried to run instead.” 

“It doesn’t matter now, you’re safe he’s gone.” Simon says. You know there is more to it, with so many people involved it’ll be a while before their all punished. You’re almost happy Chloe isn’t around to see it. She would have had a lot to say watching her family be arrested and court marshalled for their involvement. You take Johnny’s hand in yours rubbing it with your thumb. 

“Thank you for saving my life love.” He says pulling you back to relativity, you feel yourself blushing. 

“Well I wasn’t going to let you die.” You say feeling embarrassed for some reason. Johnny brings your hand up to his face and kisses it. 

“I know, I love you.” He says. It warms your heart and you find yourself leaning up against Simon. You smile at him as Simon wraps his arm around you kissing the top of your head. 

“I love you too.” You say. 

“So how much medical leave do you think I’ll get this time?” Johnny asks looking at Simon.

“Pff, with the way you’re acting I bet you’ll be ready to go by next week.” Simon scoffs. 

“Aw, not even a week, you’re such a tight ass. You hearing this captain. Si said I’m only allowed a week off.” Johnny says as you see Price walk into the room. You sit up straight so you’re not leaning on Simon. 

“If you’re lucky.” Price smiles. Johnny shakes his head and you squeeze his hand. 

“Well then, making sure I’m fit and ready for duty?” Johnny asks.

“Thought I would give you an update.” Price says crossing his arms. 

“Jack, he’s out.” It’s like someone sucked all the air out the room, your head starts to throb where you were hit earlier. You squeeze Johnny’s hand. 

“How? It’s only been a few hours.” Simon asks.

“His lawyers work quick and they’re good.” Price says, he sounds sympathetic.

“But he kidnapped me, what about all the evidence you got?” You say looking up at Price, eyes wide. This can’t be happening.

“They did a good job at destroying it all, it’s going to take the police time to go through everything.” Price says. You feel sick, no way he’s going to get away with it. No way. Your ears start ringing as you hear Johnny and Simon talk asking questions Price does not have the answers to.

This can’t be happening.  

—————————— 

Next

I am very much aware that the police would have reasonable evidence to hold Jack and not let him out but hey it's just a story.

# fuckjack

[occultbooks]

Please tell me all your trans Wilson headcanons OP

oh my goodness is this.... an excuse to talk about trans wilson...? oh my goodness ok let me get my affairs in order, no pun intended. I dont know what you want specifically, but a lot of these are just thoughts about how the idea of wilson being trans ties into canon

I think being trans is where a lot of wilson's comphet comes from. not only will being with a woman make him look "normal," but also like a man, and by extension, he will be viewed as a "normal man"

he absolutely would have done the legit porn part of feral pleasures if he had had the equipment at the time. in fact, there are a lot of things he would have done if he were a cis man. but, c'est la vie

he's stealth, but told cuddy because they're besties and wilson felt like he could actually trust her, despite having known house for longer. house found out accidentally, but doesn't tell anyone because (his words) "I'm not a monster, jimmy"

he went off T in his 30s because he thought it would dampen his sex drive and save his marriage (it only worked for a little while). he didn't get back on T until around 2005, which is why he looks so twinkish and young in the first season.

he was in girl scouts as a kid. yes, this is me projecting.

house did his phalloplasty and wilson still does not know how he let that happen. both of them, however, are happy with the result.

before top surgery, he used to fall asleep with his binder on all the time. its a miracle his ribs are intact.

he gets dysphoric about random shit. his paranoid ass looks in the mirror and goes "do you think my teeth are too feminine?" and it gives house a headache

the mcgill sweater was absolutely his chest dysphoria sweater

he used to go on trans internet forums and soak up all the insane information about "how to pass," like shaving peach fuzz, or not eating chocolate because there's too much estrogen in it, or standing in a superhero pose, and he did it, even though he knew it wasn't scientifically sound. again, I am projecting

taub is the only other person who knows because wilson approached him about facial masculinization surgery. he opted not to get it because the way taub said "no offense, but why do you need that?" made him feel like it probably wasn't necessary

he shaves his face for professionalism reasons, but he's actually a very hairy man. being hairy is important to him, mostly because its another arbitrary thing that makes him a "normal man," but also because he knows that people (women and house) find it attractive.

his family is not super duper understanding, but they try their best. his mom beats herself up because she thinks he didn't have a strong enough female role model in his life. they're trying.

that's all I can think of right now. I hope this is sufficient :3

[wordsbyrian]

Surgeries and Surprises - Alex Morgan x Reader

Summary: "Skater!R gets injured", "Skater!R skates in XGames", "IDK but more Skater!R"

A/n: Look, I finally wrote a thing you guys! From multiple request for more Skater!R

Despite popular belief, skateboarding is an incredibly multifaceted activity.

There are so many different disciplines: street, vert, park, freestyle, downhill (and its variation street luge), and cruising.

For the first four, there are different competitions that skaters can compete in if they are so inclined. And in all honesty, you are usually not inclined to compete, preferring the unpredictable nature of actual street skating to the polished finish of comps like Street League, XGames, and Dew Tour.

But the chance to be one of the first skateboarders to compete in the Olympics.

Well, that’s not really something you can pass up on.

Which is why you’re skating in your 5th comp of the summer.

Not the worst schedule but you’re an idiot and made the choice to also try and get clips for your next video parts in your very limited free time.

Free time, that was only made more limited by the way you were constantly flying back and forth to France to support your wife in the World Cup.

All of this is to say that your body is currently going through it.

And, unluckily, it’ll keep going through it because XGames comps are not set up in a way that plays to your strengths, with only three 45 seconds runs to string together a line and show the judges what you can do.

Luckily, on the other hand, your flight out of Minneapolis is booked for immediately after the contest ends.

Your first two timed runs went pretty well but you know you can do better which is why you saved your best stuff for your final run.

And for the most part, your final run goes pretty well until you get to your last trick with 10 seconds remaining.

You had planned it out perfectly so that you had enough time to take a breath before giving it a go. A necessary precaution for a trick you're familiar with but not a master at, a frontside flip noseslide to fakie, especially since you’re trying it down the biggest obstacle, the 4-block rail.

A little homage to Reynolds, something you’ve been doing throughout the contest season.

Except there are a couple of problems.

The first is that, unlike Reynolds, you are not a master of the frontside flip.

The other is that after a long day of being skated by just about everyone, the rail had picked up the wax from everyone’s boards, making it slicker than you need it to be for your noseslide.

Which is why you aren’t very surprised when you hit the ground. The only surprising thing is how much it hurts.

You immediately roll over and begin to stand up and take a few steps, only to drop to one knee after barely making it anywhere.

As you try to gather the strength to stand again, you’re stopped by someone placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Stay down, Y/N/N.” It’s Reynolds. “You just used your head as a basketball and your arm is fucked. They’re bringing out a stretcher.”

“I’m fine,” you say, trying to get up again. “I don’t need a stretcher.”

His hand gets firmer and you feel him pushing you to sit down properly.

“I’m serious, Y/N, I’m serious,” he says. “I’m telling you this as your friend, not as your boss. You need to go to the hospital, your shit is fucked.”

It’s at this moment that you realize how quiet the arena is.

It’s almost as if you can hear the individualized breaths of everyone in the building and honestly, it's making your head pound in a way that you wish you weren’t familiar with.

Then you see the EmTs rolling the stretcher towards you.

“Fuck dude,” you groan, resigning yourself to your fate. “Just don’t call Alex, man, she’s gonna freak out.”

“It’s too late, she already texted me she’s trying to get on the next flight out.”

“Shit.”

The entire process of letting the EMTs do their jobs is a hassle because it’s painfully obvious that they don’t deal with skateboarders often. And it takes a lot of convincing for you to even let them strap you to the backboard.

Your memory blurs out a bit after that.

The only thing you really remember besides waking up in the hospital is telling Reynolds to make sure that they don’t give you anything stronger than a Tylenol (that didn’t happen).

When you regain consciousness it’s to the sound of voices, two you recognize and one you don’t.

“She should be coming out of the anesthesia soon,” the recognizable voice says, a doctor maybe. “In addition to her mild concussion, there were some moderate tears to her deltoid that were repaired in surgery. Unfortunately, there’s not much we can do about the fractures to the humeral head as we can’t cast the area.”

“She’s not going to like the sound of that,” you hear Alex say, “Not going to like that at all.”

“Unfortunately, whether she likes it or not doesn’t really matter. She needs to be in the sling for a few weeks at least,” the doctor says.

“Alright, thanks doc,” Reynolds' loud voice makes the headache you forgot you had worse. “Don’t worry Alex, she’s been through worse. Besides, the medal will make her feel better.”

“Not now Andrew.”

The door to your room opens a tiny bit and through squinted eyes, you watch as both your wife and mentor slip through the crack, closing the door behind them.

When they get close enough that you can make out the details on their faces, you stick your hand out to Alex and attempt to pull her into the hospital bed with you.

She doesn’t let you though and instead releases your hand to pull the only chair closer to the bed.

“Not so fast, hotshot,” she says, keeping her voice low.

“I told Andrew to tell you that you didn’t need to come all the way out here. You should be at home resting,” you tell her.

“And I told him that I was already on my way to the airport.”

“And I told you,” Reynolds says, frowning at you, “that I wasn’t going to risk having your wife mad at me.”

You roll your eyes at him.

“Now here’s your medal, silver’s not too bad considering you knocked yourself out,” he says, placing the item on the edge of the bed. “I’ll see you around bro.”

Both you and Alex watch as he quickly exits the room, moving sort of like his ass is on fire, and leaving the two of you alone.

The second the door fully shuts behind him you turn back to Alex and see more than her sigh deeply.

“How do you feel…”

“Why weren’t you…”

You both try to speak at the same time.

“No, you go ahead,” you tell her.

“Well, first of all, were you just about to ask how I’m feeling while you are literally laying in a hospital bed,” she asks.

You shrug somewhat sheepishly and say, “I mean you just flew halfway across the country and I know you haven’t been feeling the best lately.”

“Y/N/N, you’re ridiculous.”

“Anyway,” she says, rolling her eyes at you, “Why weren’t you wearing a helmet? You can only smash your head so many times before the damage is irreversible and I don’t like constantly being called to hospitals wondering if this time is the one.”

You take a second to let her words sink in.

She’s right.

Ever since the two of you reconnected and subsequently got together roughly 4 years ago, you’ve been injured quite a bit.

This is your 3rd concussion and 4th broken. You’ve also ruptured your achilles, cracked a few ribs, had one of your lungs collapse, and gotten over 50 stitches from various gashes gained from getting cut open skating some sketchy spots.

That’s not even counting the smaller ones that you haven’t told her about, like when you sprained your ankle visiting her during the Rio Olympics.

But admitting that Alex is right has never been something you’re great at.

So instead you just scoot over in the bed and ask her to lay down with you again.

It takes a bit of pleading but you do get her to join you and when she does, you’re quick to wiggle around into a position that's comfortable but still allows you to hold her.

With the knowledge that your current position makes it impossible for her to see your face, you can’t help but crack a joke.

“C'mon, babe, you know that helmets are for hills and hills only,” you say, finally answering her question, only to immediately recoil as she pinches you. “Okay, I’m sorry. I know I really freaked you out today and I hate that I keep forcing you to come see me in hospitals. And I…” she cuts you off.

“You’re not forcing me to do anything,” she protests, keeping her voice light. “I love you even though you seem dead set on destroying your body.”

“It’s not really on purpose,” you say, pulling her impossibly closer. “I don’t know how to explain it but sometimes when I skate it’s like an out-of-body experience. Nothing matters except how good it’s gonna feel when I roll away. I can barely even think straight when I’m on my board but that obviously means I don’t think about how my choices affect others and that’s not fair to you.”

When you finish speaking, the first thing you hear from your wife is a sigh that can only be described as annoyed.

“What,” you ask.

“You’re an idiot,” she says.”

“Babe,” your voice is indignant, and too loud even to your own ears.

“I’m sorry but you’re so dumb,” she says. “I’m not concerned because of how it affects me, I care about how it affects you. You’ve been acting strangely all summer and I don’t really want to see where this path takes you.”

Once again Alex is right.

And her pointing out your recent odd behavior, something you hadn’t noticed yourself, is like a bucket of ice water over your head.

Taking a deep breath, you nod even though she can’t see you and say, “I think I need to call my sponsor.”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

Unfortunately, between your concussion and having to travel back to Orlando, the call to your sponsor had to wait a few days.

And in those few days, you begin to really notice the behaviors Alex had mentioned.

Even before your injury, you were stressed and anxious but you had ignored it, believing it was tied to the comps and upcoming deadlines.

But now with those things mostly out of the way, the intensity of these feelings is familiar and you aren’t very fond of the places you ended up the last few times you felt like this.

And the isolation of being trapped at home, unable to do much more than stare at the walls and wait for Alex to get back from training, only made those feelings stronger.

When you’re finally able to make that call and the first words finally come out of your mouth, it’s as though the weight of the world comes off your shoulders.

Recovery isn’t an instant process but you do instantly feel a little better as you explain your recent behaviors that you now recognize as somewhat erratic.

And when the call ends, you have a list of dates, times, and locations so you can go to a meeting whenever you need to.

The only thing that's really left for you to do is talk to your wife when she gets home but that might be the hardest part.

So you wait, completing as many boring household tasks as you can to make the time pass more quickly.

It doesn’t really work that well because you only have one arm to work with. And you're just unlucky enough that it's your dominant hand out of commission.

You’re in the middle of unloading the dishwasher when you hear the front door open and shut.

It doesn’t take long for Alex to find you and in the back of your mind, you know that the only reason she didn’t shout your name across the house like she normally does is because of your lingering headache.

“Hey babe,” you hear her greet as you bend over to place a pot in its designated cabinet.

“Hi,” you respond, standing back up and turning to face her, only to see that she’s already taken a seat at the island. “Oh, that’s the serious conversation chair,” you note, going to lean on the counter opposite her.

“I mean it is serious but it’s nothing bad.”

“If it’s nothing bad, do you mind if I go first,” you ask, “Mine isn’t bad either but I finally got around to giving Noah a call.”

When you say that it's almost as though you can feel the energy in the room shift.

“How did that go?”

“It definitely went.”

“Are you going to elaborate or…”

Sighing deeply, you shuffle your feet, focusing on the way your socks slip over the tile.

“Apparently, when you’re really stressed and overly tired your brain chemistry changes,” you tell her, now looking up at the ceiling. “Which makes people look for things to relieve the stress, which can be a bad thing for addicts. And between the video parts, qualifiers, and flying all over the place, I haven’t actually had a chance to sit down and think, much less attend a meeting. But now, when I would’ve had a chance to, I can barely be in a room with lights on for more than 15 minutes.”

There’s a moment of silence before Alex responds and as it passes, you can feel your heart sink further and further into your stomach. This is the moment that she finally decides that being with you is far more work than it's worth.

Your downward spiral is broken by the sound of her voice.

“I guess that means that we have to come up with ways for you to handle stress when you're busy,” Alex says, “because you’re only about to get busier.”

“What? No, I’m not, the next two competitions are at the end of the month and I literally can’t skate for the next month and a half.”

“3 months,” she shoots back, “and yes you will.”

“You’re not making any sense Alex.”

Alex gets up from her seat and makes her way toward you. Before you know it, she’s reaching out for your good hand, which to this point has had a death grip on the counter behind you, not that you’ve noticed.

With a confused look on your face, you watch as she pulls your hand to rest against her stomach before covering it with both of her own.

Still confused, it takes you longer than you’d like to admit to figure out why she would do that.

It’s only when you remember the seemingly never-ending nausea Alex has been dealing with that you connect the dots.

“Oh shit.”

[shuugumi]

❥ "𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄?"

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: gojo satoru is admitted into the hospital after a deadly accident when out on a mission. you, his wife, rushes over and something…heartbreaking happens.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: amnesia, hospital, gojo x reader, angst(?), 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, established relationship, 1k653wc

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐣𝐚𝐝𝐞'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: something for the best boy after these manga leaks. akutami you bitch!!!

right now you were running through the tokyo train station. the urgency to make your way to the hospital, thought after thought made you rush even more. “Please be okay..” you whispered to yourself as you got onto one of the train carts.

thankfully for the technological advancements, you were able to get to the hospital in no time. but you still rushed over. definitely gaining the attention of the other civilians.

“hi my husband, Gojo Satoru. was admitted into the hospital at uh—” you uttered, looking at your watch before telling the time when you got the phone call. “gojo-san is in surgery right now. you can sit in the lobby until he’s done.” the receptionist who looked like she didn’t want to be there said emotionless before showing the lobby. you sighed before sitting down on one of the cold metal chairs.

bouncing your leg nervously and unconsciously. you shouldn’t be bouncing your leg due to superstition reasons but in this case, it was the only thing that helped you. who cared who gave you werid looks. 貧乏ゆすり… the other visitors whispered under their breaths but you couldn’t help it. it didn’t help either when the claimed strongest sorcerer was in the hospital, getting a life depending surgery.

time passed and you swore you fell asleep just sitting in the chair. maybe the exhaustion from running from your school to the hospital finally caught up to you. but you were awoken by a woman lightly touching your shoulder. “excuse me? you’re here for gojo right?” she spoke softly and you desperately exhaled a “yes” and the nurse told you to follow her. there you were brought to his hospital room. “before we enter..he’s sleeping so you may want to be quiet..” the nurse spoke again and awiated for your nod before the nurse opened the door.

the sight was heartbreaking. he was attached to wires connected to many machines. his eyes were red and bruised. did he feel like this when i was in the hospital? you thought to yourself as you walked closer to the man who was in his slumber. the nurse excused themselves but told you to call them when he awoke..

“satoru…” you whispered under your breath as you grabbed a chair to sit over next to him. slowly and gently did you touch his hand, rubbing your thumb over the top of his hand. “i am glad they were able to do everything in the surgery and to help heal everything…what went wrong on the mission? but it doesn’t matter anymore..as long as your breathing i’ll take it.” you whisper as you rest your head on the edge of the hospital bed, swabbing your thumb on his hand.

“eh, i needed saving this time..” you heard that voice. the voice that you found to be your safe place rasph out, here and there coughing you jolted your head up. “satoru! you’re up!!” you exclaim, quickly wrapping your arms around him and resting your head on his chest.

“who-are you?”

the man who had just woken after god knows what spoke aloud. Immediately you looked up at him, “what do you mean?—” you said perplexed as you released your arms around from his shoulders, allowing distance between the two of you. you were still situated sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. “satoru? i am your wife…y/N?” your voice faltered as a shiver traveled down your spine and the crystal blue eyes man just stared at you with confusion and when you went to grab his hand he immediately pulled back there, you felt your heart crack. 

“i- i don’t have a wife..” he spoke softly and you felt the two broken pieces of your heart shatter into a million more infinitesimal pieces. “satoru this isn’t something to joke about…” you reply rather sternly, still looking at a confused filled face. you sighed before getting up from the bed to call one of the nurses in. 

“it seems that he suffered a severe brain injury, hence the foggy memory loss..there isn’t much that we could do but what i may suggest is that, you can show him pictures of significant memories? like a wedding day picture. things that will spark these foggy memories?” the nurse mused before she went to type something on the computer that was in the room. 

your heart sank at the words the nurse said. tears had begun infiltrating the surface of your face. nerves tingle at the thought of everything you built with the man who currently laid in the hospital bed was demolished in his head. as the nurse finished up the hourly report and excused herself, leaving the two of you alone. you sat in one of the empty chairs that was in the room, sitting with your head down and the palms of your hands joining each other resting in your lap. “mrs?” the nurse called out, gaining your attention and you stood up. “we’re gonna run some more tests on him to see if there are any other underlying conditions…if you could, give us a few minutes.” the nurse said rather happily and you took a step outside the room. 

when you took that step outside, everything came crashing down. trying your absolute best to keep your composure in and out of the hospital room finally came undone when you weren’t in the same room with your husband. 

y/N?” a familiar voice exclaimed and wrapped their arms around your shoulders as you blubbered into them. “y/N what happened? is satoru okay?” the man asked and all you did was shake your head and held the man closer and tighter. “kento..satoru—he doesn’t remember me.” you shout into his chest which had already gained a big wet spot in place of your face.

“what do you mean he doesn’t remember you?” he says, grabbing your shoulders and forcing you to look at him. "he’s taking tests right now…i can show you after…”

“you’re able to go and visit him again!” another nurse who exited out of satoru’s hospital room beamed with a smile. “come on.” you blurt walking into the room to see satoru sitting down comfortably, taking small sips of seaweed soup. “gojo.” nanami stated, starting satoru from his meal. “woah! nanami you came to see me!—eh that same lady is also here too..”

“that ‘lady’ is your wife satoru.” nanami clarified before taking a steps closer to satoru and his bed. “pft—that’s what they all said too…but i don’t remember having a wife…” satoru side eyed you before looking back at nanami. “she’s out of my league…no ways she would settle for less..” he then added with a breathless sigh.

you stood back, listening to the two exchange words when you heard him saying, “she must be someone elses wife…they hit that jackpot that’s for sure..” and it made you laugh at his words. you knew that this other “man” he could have been thinking of was a actual other man but actually, the man laying in the hospital is the one who hit the jackpot.

excusing yourself and taking a step outside of the room, you brought your phone out and opened the photo app. maybe show him a picture that could spark the memory of you two? and as you scrolled through your ablum of photos with satoru you landed on one that made you unconsciously smile ear to ear.

the photo was when the two of you vacationed in hawaii. the first time the two of you were able to spend time away from work; the first ever stress free vacation. the photo displayed the two of you taking a selfie on the shore line in waikiki. the golden hour of the sun hitting your slightly reddish skin from the sunburn with a yellow hibiscus behind your left ear. satoru holding the phone with the same sly smirk that he always worn whenever he was with you.

could it really work? you thought to yourself as single tears dropped from your eyes to the screen of your phone. clutching the phone close to your heart you collected yourself before walking back into the room.

“satoru?” his name rolled off your tongue smoothly and it caught his attention; you walked closer to him before showing him your phone with the photo displayed on it. “—that’s me…and is that…you?” satoru spoke with confusion in his voice, you nod, “yes that’s me and you…my name is y/N, do you remember what happened during that vacation?” satoru pricked his lips as he looked from the phone back to you, to the phone, back to you and so forth.

“you proposed to me right after we took that photo…” informing him and as he processed your sentence, he lips turned into an o shake. his face heating up and his cheeks became a slight tinge of red. “i…proposed to you? so i am the man who hit the jackpot?” he exclaimed, grabbing the phone from your hand and bringing it closer to his face. doing the same motions of looking from the phone then back to you, repeating.

laughing at his sentence, you nod once more. “yes you are silly. you’re the man who hit the jackpot…” you say as you push loose strands of his white locks behind his ear. “you’re favorite color is green…and you’re allergic to cats..” satoru whispers out, the shock took your breath away. he does remember certain things about you.

“looks like we’re getting him back.” nanami commented, startling you as you forgot he was even in the room with the two of you. “i am gonna be taking care of you…and also helping you restore your memories of us.” you declared as you grabbed one of satorus’ hands and bringing it up to kiss the top side of his hand.

“i l love you, satoru.”

© 𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐦𝐢 ; do not translate, copy, plagiarize or upload elsewhere!! all content is owned by me unless stated otherwise.

[thezombieprostitute]

Unwanted - Part 3

Summary: Your life is no longer yours. You've been forced into becoming a different species of human. Bought and paid for, what can you do but follow orders and obey your Alpha?

Warnings: Allusions to surgery, human trafficking, kidnapping; Angst; Depression; Suicidal thoughts. Let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Reader is described as big & tall, is female. No other descriptors required.

Part 2 -- Part 4

Unfortunately, upon landing, you found it was another empty promise from Ari. Instead of a meet and greet, like you expected, you were escorted into what looked like an interrogation room, but slightly less scary. Ari sends Johnny to get you some water while he sets up a recorder and notebook.

"We need to get some information from you," he tells you flatly. "You have inside knowledge of Hansen and Kemp's operation that we can use to save others. So please tell me everything that happened. Spare no detail." You give him a pained look and he sighs. "I know you've been through a lot, and not just today. But this information could save a lot of other lives from having to go through what you did. Or at least save them from being tortured to death by the process."

"For someone who smells like fire you can be ice cold," you snap at him.

"I'm trying to save people," he growls.

"By fucking things up for others," you snarl. "I was kidnapped off the street, a bag thrown over my head, by the man you called Hansen. I know because I recognized his voice earlier today. He had a lot of not-so-nice things to say about me and my body. But that's nothing compared to what happened when he gave me to Dr. Kemp. It was operation after operation after operation. My body didn't always have time to heal between them! I was in pain all the time! I was crying for someone, anyone to come help me and I'd just get laughed at by him! I couldn't breathe, couldn't stop hurting, couldn't...I couldn't..." you collapse into a ball on the floor, gently rocking and holding yourself like you did in your cell. Your world turns dark as you pass out.

You wake up wrapped in the arms of a woman with red hair and green eyes. Her scent makes you think of a river, slowly, but successfully, changing the environment around it by always moving. It's oddly comforting, but that could also be the fact that you're being held. In the background you're vaguely aware of a shouting match.

You try to lift your head to get a better sense of things but the woman gently places her palm on your forehead, "it's okay. You've been through a lot. More than you should have. Just get some rest for now."

"Who are you?"

"I'm Nat," she smiles. "I'm the lead Omega, for lack of a better term. I'm responsible for all the Omegas in the community, yourself included. You were supposed to be brought directly to me but apparently Ari didn't want to wait for you to catch your breath before pushing you too far." She looks towards the shouting match and you can hear a small growl in her voice. "Thankfully Johnny let us know what was going on and Steve, my Alpha, and the Pack Alpha, is putting Ari in his place."

"I think I understood what you're saying..."

She smiles at you again, "don't worry. We'll get you properly taken care of and the social aspects can be learned later. Right now, we gotta focus on your well-being. Do you think you can stand up? Walk with me to the kitchen area? If not, we can either keep laying here or I can get someone to carry you there."

You snort, "no one can carry me so easily." She makes a noise and shrugs her shoulders in a way that indicates it might not be so clear cut. "Do I actually have a choice in this?"

"Of course you do," she affirms. "You will always have a say in what happens to you."

Tears start pouring again, "I think I just want to be held for a while longer. If that's okay."

"I wouldn't have offered if it wasn't okay," she assures as she gives you a gentle squeeze.

Part 2 -- Part 4

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @lokislady82; @peyton-warren; @ronearoundblindly; @startcarvingdarling

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🤸🏼‍♀️🤸🏼‍♀️*jumps into the asks* HI it's me again🤸🏼‍♀️🤸🏼‍♀️

🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️🧜🏼‍♀️

😇😇💋

YAY! Hi!

120 for or 1k for 🧜🏼‍♀️ - whatever I hit first:

---

“It wasn’t me that almost drowned,” Buck says. “Even though they think that. I can’t drown. I think? At least not easily. But, uh, no… It was Bobby.” 

“Bobby?” Eddie asks. 

“He was trying to rescue the last living passenger on the plane,” Buck says. “Her leg was pinned. The plane was beginning to sink.”

Eddie purses his lips. Like he’s imagining the whole picture. 

“They weren’t going to make it, Eddie,” Buck says. “I tried to go back for him… But I wasn’t strong enough, and… And Bobby was going to die, right there. He was in a really bad place, then. He wouldn’t have saved himself.”

“Oh,” Eddie whispers. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah,” Buck says. “It was… It was different.”

“So, how did that end up with your sprouting a tail?” Eddie asks. 

“When I thought he was going to die, and there was nothing I could do, I just started wishing,” Buck says. “I wished he would be okay. That I could save him somehow. I remember specifically thinking, I can’t lose Bobby, I’ll do anything, give anything.”

Eddie furrows his brows. 

“And then,” Buck continues. “I was in a lot of pain and confusion and… And then I was this.”

He motions at his tail. 

“And you saved them? Bobby and the passenger.”

“Yeah,” Buck says. “I saved them.”

“And he has no idea?” Eddie asks. 

“No one does.”

For months he’s been entirely alone in this. The better part of a year. 

“Wow,” Eddie says. “That must have been scary.”

“It was,” Buck says. “I didn’t know how to change back. Took me close to a day. I was frantic.”

Frantic actually doesn’t begin to cover it. Buck had been terrified. Completely confused. He was all alone. No idea what had happened to him. No idea if he could ever shift back. He’d had to hide after rescuing Bobby and the passenger, because he knew he couldn’t be seen in this condition. He’d panicked for hours and hours until his body just quit, and he passed out. When he woke up, search and rescue was looking down at him, and he was completely human again. Clothed and everything. 

He still doesn’t really know anything about himself. All he knows is that with enough practice, he has some control over himself. But it’s hard. Exhausting and hard and confusing. Especially changing back or resisting change once he’s in the ocean. But not changing? Not allowing himself time every week or so to shift? Not only does it drive his brain crazy, but it hurts his body as well. He needs the ocean. Sometimes, now, it feels like it owns him. 

“My turn to ask you a question,” Buck says when he sees Eddie thinking a little too hard.

“Right,” Eddie agrees. 

“What made you think I was trans?” Buck asks. “Not that I am bothered by the assumption. I’m really not. Just, there’s a big jump from transgender to merman.”

Eddie sighs. “I think there were just a few coincidences, and I wanted to be right. I was really hoping…”

“To find someone like you?” Buck asks. Eddie nods. “Yeah. Me too.”

“You just said enough things that made sense,” Eddie says. “That you know what it’s like to feel different. That you had to leave a bad situation at home to find yourself. That you don’t feel in charge of your own body.”

Buck thinking about it for a second.

“Oh, yeah. I can see how you’d think that.”

“But the real kicker were the gills,” Eddie says. “I saw the way you hide yourself to change, like me. I saw what I thought were chest scars. I guess I thought that was solid evidence.”

“Chest scars?” Buck asks. 

“From top surgery,” Eddie says. Eddie runs his hands along the lines of pectorals, over his shirt. “Makes it pretty obvious, if people know what they’re looking at.”

“You hide them?” Buck asks. 

“Well, yeah,” Eddie says, like that should be obvious. Buck doesn’t know why it’s supposed to be obvious, though. He doesn’t know enough about anything.

“Hmm,” Buck says. “But aren’t scars kind of bad ass on men?” 

Eddie’s cheeks go pink. “Not these ones.”

“Why not? Is that a rule?” Buck asks. 

Eddie’s lips tightened. “It’s just different.”

“I guess I don’t know enough to argue, but I think it’s still cool,” Buck says. 

Eddie shrugs, blush deepening. “My turn to ask.”

“Go for it,” Buck agrees. 

“Why do you chest gills stay but your neck ones don’t?” Eddie asks. 

Buck touches his neck absentmindedly. The tissue there is always sensitive when he’s like this. “I don’t actually know,” he admits. “I don’t always fully change back. Sometimes a scale or something is left behind. The chest gills always are.”

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Jessica Valenti at Abortion, Every Day:

I remember the feeling of hands inside me. Pulling, tugging, moving things aside. My emergency c-section wasn’t painful, but that feeling of being invaded was somehow worse than physical hurt. For years, the thought of the surgery would send me into a PTSD panic, my knees literally buckling and vomit coming up the back of my throat. In my memory, my arms are tied down while I’m being cut—but I know that’s not true. It’s just my brain’s way of making the powerlessness of the moment seem tangible. 

Because I was so early in my pregnancy, just 28 weeks along, doctors had to cut me both horizontally and vertically, making it life-threatening for me to have a vaginal birth in the future and increasing my risk for uterine rupture. I didn’t know it then, but I would never have another child.  So when I see anti-abortion groups blithely suggesting that women with life-threatening pregnancies should be forced into c-sections rather than easier, safer, and less traumatic abortions—it feels personal. Because I chose my medical nightmare; it was necessary to save both my life and my daughter’s. I can’t imagine the horror of going through such a thing unnecessarily, or at 16 weeks pregnant instead of 28. What if my tied-down arms weren’t a post-traumatic illusion, but a legal reality?

For nearly a year, I’ve been tracking this growing strategy: Some of the most powerful anti-abortion organizations in the country are using carefully-worded legislation and seemingly-credible clinical recommendations to codify medical atrocities—pushing doctors to force pregnant women into unnecessary labor and c-sections, even before fetal viability and sometimes even when a fetus has died. Why would anyone do such a thing? The answer is as simple as it is awful: Anti-abortion groups and lawmakers want to prove that abortion is never necessary to save a person’s life. The problem is that they know pregnancy can be deadly, especially in the United States. Rather than admit abortion can be life-saving, their solution is to force doctors to end deadly pregnancies in any other way—even if it means torturing women in the process. 

Anti-abortion lawmakers and activists are so desperate to divorce abortion from health care, they’d prefer to see us dead than allow critically ill women to get care they disagree with.  I mean that literally. This is how they kill us. With the sly shifting of medical standards and surreptitiously-placed legislative language. Because while these people are cruel, they’re certainly not stupid. Anti-abortion extremists know the only way to normalize medical torture is to move quietly and slowly.  After all, dystopias aren’t created in a day. They’re built, law by law and talking point by talking point, through medical regulations, bureaucracy, and fear. From a Supreme Court ruling in Idaho to timid guidance from hospital administrators in Louisiana—anti-abortion groups don’t need to own up to their grim vision when they have others embedding the nightmare bit by bit. 

That’s not to say they haven’t been busy themselves. Using extremist groups with credible-sounding names—like American Association of Pro-Life OBGYNs or the Charlotte Lozier Institute—the anti-abortion movement has carefully disguised radical calls to hurt women as simple scientific recommendations. They’ve inserted the nonsense term ‘maternal fetal separation’ into legislation, court cases and conservative talking points, removing ‘abortion’ in an attempt to further the lie that the procedure is never necessary. They've published papers and trotted out ‘experts’ who claim it’s “medically standard” to force women into c-sections or vaginal labor when their lives are at risk. Again, even when it’s too early for a fetus to survive.

Anti-abortion legislators have done their job too, passing laws that allow their state to define what conditions are life-threatening during pregnancy and the best course of action for doctors. They’ve written mandates that emergency terminations be performed in a way that “provides the best opportunity for the unborn child to survive.” If states must be forced to save women’s lives, it appears, they’ll make sure we suffer greatly for the trouble.  It’s not a coincidence that reports coming out of anti-abortion states show a sharp rise in c-sections. With their license and freedom on the line, doctors and hospitals are falling in line. One Texas OBGYN who was directed to give a septic patient a hysterotomy told researchers, “The morbidity is going to be insane.”

To people who value fetuses above women, that’s a price they’re willing to pay. Indeed, all of this cruelty starts to make morbid sense when you understand that the broader anti-abortion goal goes beyond forced c-sections or redefining medical standards. They are trying to make Americans numb to women suffering and dying during pregnancy. They’re treating it as unpreventable—natural, even—so that voters don’t bat an eye when the maternal mortality numbers skyrocket. 

Jessica Valenti reports on the rise of c-sections post-Roe and dishonest efforts to divorce abortion from healthcare by anti-abortion zealots in her Abortion, Every Day blog.

[depressopax]

Before it's too late

Nacho Varga x gn!reader

Fandom - Better call Saul

Yoo! I haven't posted in ages, been feeling down and mentally exhausted 😭 Also been writing on my very own novel for a school project AHHH Basically been writing, procrastinating, writing, etc etc... But so far so good!

Now then... ✨Angst time✨

Pairing: Nacho Varga x gender neutral reader Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort Warning(s): BCS SPOILERS! Based on s4e3 “Something Beautiful”. Major character injury. Mentions of death and violence. Blood. Guns and bullet wounds. Cuss words. Mentions of surgery. Reader is gender-neutral and has they/them pronouns Words: 1.6K Summary: Based on s4e3, in which Nacho gets shot by Victor and is left in the desert. After being saved by the Cousins, reader rushes to the vet office to see him.  English is not my main language, if I make any spelling mistakes please let me know so I can improve my writing! <3 || AO3 link || Masterlist || Request ||

The sun is burning in Albuquerque today, making the concrete and highways threateningly warm. It’s an early morning and will only get hotter. The streets are empty and people are either sleeping safely in their beds or avoiding the burning morning-light. It’s a perfect day to stay in the shadows or - for those who have the option - close to the fresh breeze from the AC. 

Not everyone has that option. 

But bleeding to death in the desert is a rare case, too. 

This is how I die. 

Nacho thinks. He’s lost track of time. The man is lying on his side, facing away from the sun and hoping it will protect him from a sunburn. It’s the last thing he needs right now. 

The wounded shoulder is enough. His hands are bloody and so is the warm sand he is facing. 

Dehydration and blood loss. - That was not the way he thought he’d go down.

If it weren’t for the sharp pain in his shoulder - that’s slowly spreading throughout every inch of his body - he’d feel angry and humiliated.

Gus and his men left him to bleed out in the middle of nowhere. The damn Chicken Man. 

Arturo is dead. 

Nacho? About to join Arturo in the afterlife. 

His mind is bitter and he’s losing the battle of patience. 

“Do it quick, before you pass out” - That was the words of Gus’ lap dog, Victor. He was quick. Directly after he was left bleeding, he dialed the number to them. The Cousins. 

Where are they? 

He’s lost count if it's been days, hours or minutes since he got shot. All he knows is that he is slowly going insane. The sun burns his neck and he lets out a grunt, opening and closing his dry mouth. There's a taste of iron on his tongue due to his dry, chapped lips. 

Water. His vision gets blurry and with gloomy eyes he looks at the wet, red sand under him. 

They’re not coming. Those fuckers aren’t on their way. 

I’m dead. 

The realization hits Nacho, fueling the pain he’s already feeling. 

Dad. 

Guilt washes over him. What will happen to his dad if he dies? That, and…

He whispers your name hoarsely. 

You. His beautiful partner. The one who’s always been by his side, the only one that knows about and doesn’t judge him for his fucked up choices and his chaotic life. The person he’s been so distant and cold towards lately. Worst part is… 

They have no idea how much I love them. 

“I love you” - A sentence yet to be said. So many emotions are left unspoken, so many things left unsaid. 

Without thinking or caring about the consequences, Nacho reaches for his phone. With shaky, bloody hands, he dials your number and listens to the waiting tone. 

“Ignacio?” A soft voice filled with concern says. Nacho smiles. 

“Did I wake you up?”

“Yea… But don’t worry. What’s up, Nacho?”

The silence lingers. What the hell is he supposed to reply? 

“I gotta tell you something.”

“Nacho… What is going on? Are you ok?”

“No… But listen, mi amor.”

“Ignacio…-”

“I love you.” Silence again. His voice cracks from the emotions “...I love you so fucking much.”

“Why does it feel like you’re saying goodbye?”

“...Because I am.” His voice is barely a whisper anymore. “Take care of my father for me, will you?” 

Your voice breaks on the other line. 

“Where are you?”

No reply. You realize it’ll stay that way. He is too stubborn to let you help him. As if accepting defeat, you break apart.

“Don’t cry, mi vida…” He whispers.

“Please don’t die. Please.” 

I promise. Nacho wants to reply. But the last thing he wants to do right now is give you false hope. So he stays quiet. His ears are ringing and he wonders how he still has blood left in his body. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I love you, Ignacio. I love you…”

He smiles in relief. That was all he needed to hear. 

It’s all said and done and now he can at least die with some peace.

“And I love you.” 

He hangs up.

When a character faces death in movies, they see their life flash before their eyes. 

A cliche. Nacho thought up until now.

He envisions the few happy and peaceful moments he’s had in life. Most of them involve his dad Manuel, and you. The first date, first kiss, first time… 

Maybe it’s the sun or maybe he’s actually walking into the light, when suddenly a shadow covers it. He grunts. 

In the distance, he can hear two men talking to each other in Spanish. Someone lifts him from the ground. 

Exhaustion catches up with Nacho and everything fades to black. 

You almost kick open the door to the Veterinary Office. 

How you even got the address is a miracle.

Maybe because you’ve called Nacho’s phone at least twenty times within the last hour, or maybe because they know Nacho has a partner? That seems unlikely. Nacho has made sure to keep the relationship secret from everyone, to protect you. Only people that know that he is your boyfriend are Manuel Varga and your family. 

The last explanation… Maybe, somehow, Nacho’s Cartel colleagues are humane enough to let family and friends say farewell to their dying loved ones… 

Apart from an elderly lady and her cat, the waiting room is empty at this time in the morning. The receptionist looks startled when she sees you. But then again you can’t judge her. With puffy and red eyes and the almost wild expression on your face it’s no wonder people are concerned. Without waiting for her to greet you, you rush to the office whilst the woman shouts after you. 

Nothing can prepare you for what you see. 

It’s your boyfriend - lying down half-naked on a metal table whilst the vet, Caldera, performs surgery. Two men in suits stand next to the tense vet, watching over his every move with caution. As the door shuts behind you, the three men turn to look at you. One of the twins raises their guns. 

“What happened to him?!” A voice barely noticeable. The man lowers his gun as his brother mumbles something to him. The vet goes back to work and Nacho squirms on the table. They’re killing him. 

You know that's not true and makes zero sense. 

But what makes sense about this situation either way? 

You don’t realise that you’re shouting allegations until someone grips you and drags you out of the room. Before you get kicked out of the office, a weak voice calls your name. 

Nacho. 

Minutes turn into hours, morning turns to day and then afternoon. You remain seated on the cold tile floor hugging your knees against your chest. The anxiety grows stronger and it feels like you’re about to drown in worry. When the door to the office finally opens, you can barely stand up. 

It’s impossible to read the expression on his face. The scrubs he’s wearing are stained red. You can feel your stomach twist. 

“He’s alive.” 

Nacho wakes up from his feverish dreams. His mind is foggy and his eyes feel heavy. The sedatives are wearing off and his whole body aches, especially the place where the bullets penetrated his shoulder. 

He is in a cold room with his bare back resting against an even colder metal table. He feels like shit. With a raspy voice, he repeats the only word he’s been able to say lately. Your name. When a warm hand intertwines fingers with him, he finally breathes out. 

Your sobbing wakes him from his trance. He opens his brown eyes and looks at you through heavy eyelids and black eyelashes. He manages to give you a weak smile and in a raspy voice, he greets you.

“Hey, mi vida.”

“Hey, my love.” You reply and manage to smile through the tears. “You’re alive…” 

With those words said, you burst into tears again. The cousins and Caldera look uncomfortable with the emotional outbursts and the scene between the two lovebirds.

“...Let’s give Varga and his partner some time to talk.” the vet says. He’s quick to leave and the twin men don't protest. 

Once finally alone, Nacho brings a weak, trembling hand to your cheek. He feels the soft skin against his palm and feels a sense of relief. When you lean forward he doesn’t think twice before pulling you into a kiss, and then another one. 

He’s alive. 

“I love you. I should’ve told you earlier, I… I’m sorry.” 

Your boyfriend tries sitting up and winces in pain. 

“You don’t need to apologize.” 

He can no longer hold back the wave of emotions. The shock of watching Arturo die, the stress Hector and his nephews have caused him, for years. The worries for his own life, but mostly for his dad, and you. It all comes crashing down. And now… Gus is a threat.

Nacho knows his life just got more complicated and a lot more dangerous. 

He’ll have to tell you everything. 

But for now… 

He cries. He lets you hold onto him. 

Nacho squeezes you close to him, to make sure you can’t slip away. 

Once he’s healed, he’ll go back to duty. He’ll protect you.

But for now… He lets you protect him. 

When you whisper “I love you”, he feels at peace. 

You’re his shelter and his home.

Did my mentally unstable a- cry when writing this because I love Nacho so damn much?? Yes. 2am emotional damage

[sirfrogsworth]

I like how the activity page truncates bad takes.

TERFs are so efficient that their argument turns to shit almost immediately and you literally only need a sentence and a half to see it.

Who said there is no biological sex?

Also, another person said "my numbers were wrong" because I didn't post the number of people on blockers and hormones.

Because I was talking about surgeries.

Those are different things.

But even if I did include teens on blockers and hormones, you're looking at about 6,000 folks. That is still statistically nothing. My point would have held just as true.

And then they said my surgery numbers were wrong because they only included people who used health insurance.

Yes, I'm sure there are tons of extra uncounted surgeries from independently wealthy trans teens.

They said there are 42,000 diagnosed with gender dysphoria every year. Which, again, is minuscule. There is no reason an issue this small should be getting the attention it is.

Like, 42,000 is almost exactly the number of auto accidents that kill people each year.

We do almost nothing about it.

We still get in our cars every day. We don't try to ban driving. There isn't really any effort to decrease that number. As a society, we have accepted that number of people is worth losing so we can get from place to place.

But with trans youth NO ONE IS DYING from gender affirming care. The parents and the kids/teens *want* this healthcare. They are satisfied with the outcome. And when they finish their transition as adults, nearly all of them have no regrets.

Yet we are passing laws banning everything from going to the bathroom, to kids playing soccer, to a few *thousand* teens taking medications, to a few *hundred* getting top surgery, to even wearing the wrong gender clothing out in public.

We do almost nothing about 40,000 dying in auto accidents.

But this is the reaction to gender affirming care?

The priorities are ridiculous.

They are trying to save people who don't want to be saved.

And we could totally reduce that auto accident figure. If we put the same time and energy and money into that, we could lower that number. We could fund research for safer cars. Build safer roads. Create smarter traffic systems. Fix road infrastructure. Treat alcoholism more aggressively.

But no. We need to hold weeks of legislative sessions on gender affirming care. We need to pass hundreds of laws. We need to ban 8 kids from playing sports. We need to stop 300 teens from getting top surgery. We need to prevent 4000 from getting hormones and another 1400 from getting blockers.

Meanwhile, those same politicians are voting against free school lunch programs. 11,000,000 kids are food insecure. Why in the hell did we spend months stopping 6,000 young people from getting healthcare they want and need instead of feeding MILLIONS of kids?

Make it make sense.

[sculien]

okay, another little update on the kitty (i was finally able to get him to the vet)

so the vet finally called me back this morning and after i told her what was going on she goes "oh...okay yeah you need to bring him in now, we have an opening at 10"

so i went and they did an ultra sound and found that the lining of his bladder is insanely thick, which isnt normal, (its supposed to be as thin as your eyelid, but it was the size of like 3/4 fingers) and that he has crystals/stones in his bladder. it could also be a uti, but she's sure the bleeding is from the stones. they might dissolve on their own (male cats cant pass any type of stones) but she wouldnt be able to give me more info without an x ray and more testing

SO after 2 hours of being there and discussing what needs to be done, i went ahead and left him there so they could neuter him, do more xrays/tests and microchip him while he's sedated to make it easier for them

he'll also be prescribed special food for a little while and he'll probably be on some type of anti-anxiety meds bc they think he might have an anxiety issue, which is probably my fault, i wasnt expecting to be homeless and moving up and down the east coast for the last 4 years and i could NOT make myself give him away :/

anyway. i get to pick him up in 2 hours if nothing horrible goes wrong, if the stones are bigger than they think, they might have to go in and remove them, which i hope to whatever entity that thats not the issue bc i can NOT afford 3 thousand dollar surgery 😶

so once again, thank you to everyone who reblogged and donated, you literally saved my cats life. if this would have gone on any longer, it would have caused a blockage (or a number of other horrible things) and would have made things so much more worse, and it wouldve gotten worse quickly

if i ever win the lottery..........ill pay everyone back and maybe buy everyone a new car or something 🙄😂

[wolfertinger]

he did say the one thing he really wanted from low dose t was a deeper voice. maybe hes needing to cope with his dysphoria less with non-op/hrt trans masc characters due to it not working as well anymore. the 5+ hrt post top op gnc guy from the butch doe ask to clarify, while i would still present very very masc and only wear makeup in absolute privacy (the thought of anyone seeing my body without a binder/baggy top and masc clothes at the time would make me physically ill from the dysphoria let alone with makeup) i would also find comfort in characters/fursonas who were non-op and either early, pre, or no hrt. the affirmation of "yes he's hyper femme and non-passing but hes still a guy and he/him or he/they was a life saver when my dysphoria was at its peak from nearly two decades of repression and only just accepting i was in pain from it, and i didn't even look like those characters nor could i ever live looking like them. i also hate how theres a big crowd of people-the same ones who act like your crazy if you do have an issue with pre everything gnc trans men (mascs arent apart of the salem convo cause he has so little nb rep and i think its just trans femmes that hes made nb if i rememebr right) due to it making you dysphoric as a tboy-who will call you transmisogynistic for trying to offer the same relief to tgirls. like, that shit was life saving to me but trying to help some trans girls/fems who feel the same kinda way (who most likely can't present femme as easily mind you) i did cope similarly is pure evil? and salem, "king of gnc trans rep" from what i can tell seems to cater to that crowd? make it make sense.

either way it might be best to avoid ragging on him for the starting low t thing. that's not gonna help him feel better about doing whatever feels right for his transition, and gives him fairly baseless ways to discredit this blog. my experience as a gnc trans guy-the mix of masc and femme type of gnc-makes me think hes most likely not going to regret it but none of us truly know whats in his head. maybe a couple years from now he'll be regretting not starting higher or increasing sooner since most doctors would want you to start low anyway. maybe hell be completely happy in a couple years while staying on a low t dose. hard to predict without knowing salems feelings on his gender on the level a therapist would

agree, with the last part. i only wish, for him to be fully educated, on what t does. he constantly flips, between describing severe dysphoria, to going "jk, my dysphoria went away, trans men should let their boobs hang!" to going, actually i am very dysphoric, and i want surgery. to again, going back and acting as if wanting surgery is the "default" of trans men, and resenting other trans mascs, for making him feel he "has" to transition. that latter part, is what i am most uncomfortable with. but, again. salem is an adult. and i am all for exploration, of identity. if it is what HE wants. not, anyone else.

[abrushwithdeath]

((So, long awaited life update on why I haven't really been around in the last couple months:

I've been working full time all year when I was only supposed to be doing part time- this is fine, though, because the extra money is good and my sister and I finally booked a trip for next summer that we've been trying to save money for for 8 or 9 years, so that's great! But that does mean that I have a little less time than anticipated, and as a night owl who now has to be used to being up between 5:30 and 6 in the morning to get ready for work, that adjustment hasn't been easy ^^; But it's been made even LESS easy by the fact that about a month ago we took in a tiny kitten who was crying underneath our house. We named him Remy (after the one and only Remy LeBeau <3) and I love him dearly... but kittens are also a lot of work because they get into EVERYTHING. And they're so small that they can fit in small spaces that you didn't expect. On top of that, he's had to be quarantined since we got him because he still hasn't been tested for FIV (he had an appointment for his shots and a check up at the beginning of the month and my sister was supposed to ask them to test for FIV while she was there but she didn't... so now he has to wait until I take him next Tuesday for his second round of shots and see if they can do it while he's there THIS time). Being quarantined has meant we've had to keep him in one room at all times (which is what we would have done, anyway, while he's this little- it also allows for slower meetings of the older cats which will help them possibly get along better when they're finally around one another more). We will also be getting another kitten if he tests negative for FIV because it's not good to have just one kitten under 6 months, even with older cats around (there's something called "Only Kitten Syndrome" and it can lead to a lot of behavioral issues). Anyway- because of watching him, I've been only getting 4 or 5 hours of sleep a night every night for a month and it's running me a bit ragged ^^; Then there's the worse stuff (tw: death, cancer, for those who want to avoid those and stop here): Early last month my grandmother passed away pretty unexpectedly after a week or two in the hospital recovering from a fall. Come to find out she'd had a stroke (and had been having a lot of mini ones that she didn't know were strokes and kept playing off as just "old age") and every time they stabilized her, she got bad again soon after. There was no funeral or anything, which somehow feels worse and has consistently given me this weird feeling of "did this really happen or not?" because I didn't even get a chance to see her in the hospital before she passed. My father also had a bunch of polyps removed from his intestines over the summer and the largest one came back testing positive for cancer. They just this week ran more tests and, thankfully, they cancer hasn't spread to his heart or lungs, but they DO need to do a pretty big surgery to remove a piece of his intestine very near to his colon which is a risky procedure because patients are more likely to bleed out when the surgery is done in that area. After the surgery, he'll be in the hospital for a few days to recover and for them to keep an eye on him, and then he'll have 6 weeks in which he can't really do anything except rest because he'll risk injuring himself and/or internal bleeding. Last week, my aunt's partner (they weren't married, but they had been together for 7 or so years) passed away and, while that didn't have a big impact on me (because I didn't know him well), it was still rough on her and some other family members, so that was also... not great.

But, yeah. It's been a rough couple of months and I'm very, very, tired. I do want to come back because I miss writing Rogue, but it's gonna be a little bit longer, especially with all the things going on with my dad. Thank you all for your patience and understanding in the mean time <3))