#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

[emma-needs-attention]

I don’t shave every day. It’s not that I don’t “need” to; I have very dark, dense facial hair that grows quickly and remains pretty visible after shaving. When I do shave, I don’t try to cover it with makeup (beyond some powder to reduce redness). In most other ways I present very feminine, but I always have fairly obvious facial hair.

And it makes me feel terrible.

I started electrolysis a couple months ago. It’s excruciatingly painful, expensive, and it takes forever. In an hour-long session, my electrologist is able to remove hair in only a small region (about 1 square inch). A few weeks later, much of that hair comes back. I am told that it will take two to three years of regular treatments to remove it entirely. On top of that, I apparently have a condition called Post Inflammatory Hyperpigmentation, which causes the skin in affected areas to darken after treatment. For nearly two months after completing a single pass over my upper lip, my mustache was more visible than it had ever been, despite having significantly less hair.

And it made me feel terrible.

I know this is the best way for me to permanently remove my facial hair, but I just canceled all of my upcoming sessions and at the moment I have no plans to begin again.

If I could pay to have my facial hair instantly and completely removed I would empty my savings account. I am intensely aware of it any time I go out in public. If it makes me so uncomfortable, why do I not do more to hide it?

I feel incredibly privileged for a trans woman. I have a loving, supportive family. I have a well-paying job. I live in a very accepting area. I have never had a single person say anything negative to me about my gender identity, which was certainly not what I was expecting when I came out. It is important to me that I be visibly queer, and in my privileged position I am able to do that without fear. A year ago I didn’t think I would ever transition; now I want people to know that I’m trans.

I am disappointed with myself for wanting to remove my facial hair, for changing my voice. I am determined not to have to do more work than a cis person does. Cis women don’t have to shave their face every day. Cis men don’t have to shave their face every day. Why should I? This is who I am, what my body does. Shouldn’t I be proud of that? Am I not supposed to love myself the way I am?

But by that logic, why am I even transitioning in the first place?

I am doing more work than a cis person does. Cis people don’t transition, and transitioning takes effort. I know that there are cis people, both men and women, who do shave every day. Am I lying to myself? I’m a trans woman; aren’t I supposed to want to get rid of my facial hair? Shouldn’t I be trying harder? Doesn’t this give me dysphoria? Am I pretending not to have dysphoria so I don’t have to put in the effort? Does the fact that I’m not trying harder make me… I don’t know, less trans? Non-binary? Is it ok for me to call myself a trans woman? Am I lying to myself?

As a woman who was a man until thirty, there are things about my body that I must accept, that I won’t be able to change no matter how much money I dump into my transition. I’m tall, I have broad shoulders, I have large hands. No amount of surgery or hormones will change these things.

But there are many things that I can change, and while none of them are requirements for being a woman, they may still be changes that I want to make. Where do I stop? Am I finished transitioning when I’ve done everything that is physically possible? My goal isn’t to “pass,” at least not in the way that word is generally used. In a time when cis women are being assaulted because people think they’re trans—because they don’t “pass” as women—the idea of what it means to pass becomes blurry. Often when we say that we want to pass, what we really mean is that we want to be conventionally beautiful.

I am a woman. Therefore, I look like a woman. My transition goal is to pass as myself. I’ve spent the last year trying to figure out who I am so I can look like her. I don’t care whether people see me and think “that’s a woman.” I want to be able to look in the mirror and think “that’s me.” But it can be extremely difficult to separate your own image of yourself from society’s idea of what you should look like. Am I self-conscious about the size of my body because it doesn’t feel like me, or because I’ve been told that women should be smaller? There are tall cis women, there are broad-shouldered cis women, there are cis women with large hands. Those traits don’t make them less womanly.

For the aspects of my body that I do have control over, I am stuck wondering whether I am changing things to become myself, or changing them because I have internalized that the way I am is wrong. At the moment, facial feminization surgery is something that I think I might like to do. But how do I know that I want to do it for the right reasons? I don’t hate my face, but when I catch a glimpse of myself from certain angles I can’t help but think that it isn’t feminine enough. What I should be asking is if it’s Emma enough, but how can I know that? How do I know who I’m supposed to be?

I feel like I was supposed to be a cis woman, but… why? Who am I to say that I wasn’t supposed to be trans? That I wasn’t supposed to transition at thirty, to have both a male puberty and a female one? Being trans has made me more self-aware, more open-minded, more empathetic. The totality of my experience is what makes me who I am. Maybe there’s a world in which I was assigned female, maybe there’s a world in which I was put on puberty blockers as a kid. But the girl in those worlds isn’t me.

Loving yourself and wanting to change are two feelings that can coexist. I tend to think of body positivity as simply accepting yourself as you are, but it is more nuanced than that. As a trans person, who I am inside is not the same as who I am outside. Which one am I supposed to love? I do love myself, but I also love who I could be. I’m transitioning so that someday they’ll be the same person.

Over the past year I have become both my biggest supporter and my biggest critic. I constantly tell myself how pretty I am, how brave I am, how fucking cool I am (hey, nobody else is saying it and it’s true). This forced positivity has been fantastic for me. I can confidently say that I truly love myself for the first time in my life. But I sometimes feel guilty that I don’t love myself more.

I can’t help but stare at myself in the mirror all the time now. I actually bought a new mirror so I didn’t have to walk as far to do so. I’ve taken more selfies than I did in my entire pre-transition life. After many months on HRT, I finally see myself in my reflection. But my eyes refuse to focus on my stubble. Sometimes I catch myself thinking “I’m going be so beautiful once I get rid of this facial hair,” and it feels like a betrayal. Fuck you Emma, I’m already gorgeous.

[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.”

[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

[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

[bardic-inspirjaytion]

Why do you call your cat piss king? Is he really good at it or something?

hi anon!

we're gonna learn a bit about cat urinary systems and issues! it may be a bit TMI for the scope of the question but, given how few cat guardians know about this, I'm always looking for chances to educate since being informed can literally save a cat's life.

the main takeaway: if you notice that your cat cannot pee, HEAD TO THE EMERGENCY VET NOW, DO NOT PASS GO! full stop.

if they cannot pee, that is one of the few true emergencies in a healthy cat, and you NEED to treat it as such.

usually you'll see a blocked cat straining and vocalizing in the box, licking themselves, whining and highly reactive to being touched on the lower belly, and - of course - you won't see any proper urine in the box. there may be dribbles or blood, but no pee. this is a problem that escalates really fast, and can easily be lethal. do NOT fuck around with it.

what qualifies me to talk about this? it's exactly what happened to pekoe (peek for short) about three years ago.

proper Storytime and more detail below the cut.

see, the thing with cats is that their bladders are tiny and their kidneys are, uh, bad! so if they can't pee, not only is it incredibly painful, but the liquid and toxins building up in their system can do a LOT of organ damage in a VERY short amount of time. this can get very bad, very fast, and it is very easy for them to die from it if the issue can't be fixed easily and promptly.

usually, the vet will be able to get a catheter into the blocked cat to relieve the pressure, flush out their bladder if there's a physical blockage (ex, if they've made bladder crystals/stones, we gotta get those out of there!), and give them medication to prevent spasms and infection as they heal. a cat then needs to go on urinary-friendly food to prevent additional blockages for the rest of their lives, and some other lifestyle adjustments should be made to treat any underlying risk factors that the animal might have.

sometimes, however, that doesn't resolve the issue, and they block again. and if you're extra unlucky, they'll block AGAIN after that. and maybe again, for extra spice. if you're extra extra unlucky, this will all happen in the same week.

this is the situation that peek and i found ourselves in.

picture the urinary system of a cat as a funnel, with the external bits being the tip of the funnel. when you ultimately need to make a funnel bigger because it can't drain anymore, what do you do?

you remove the tip.

this is an operation called a perineal urethrostomy, or a PU for short. it's a last resort salvage procedure that essentially removes the external genitalia of a male cat to widen the exit of the urinary tract and prevent future blockages. it's a difficult and delicate operation with a very long recovery time. it was also the only option left to save peek's life.

real talk before this next bit: i will never judge pet guardians for impossible decisions made in good faith based on qualified medical advice, in the interest of trying to do what's best for their pets. flat up, i don't stand for that shit.

okay? cool, let's keep going.

a PU is definitely not a surgery that has any guarantees, it can be very painful, it needs a very skilled vet to do it, and it's both expensive and difficult to see an animal through it safely. it was also the one option we had left to save peek, who was very very VERY sick at that point. the vet told me that she was also willing to do euthanasia, if the PU was not right for us, with zero judgment - the little guy had been through a lot of pain and several surgeries already, and doing this operation would be asking a lot more from an animal that was already very weak, with no guarantees of success.

he was briefly stable so i took him home to think about it and sat with him overnight. hours in the darkened living room, with my fluffy best friend sleeping fitfully in my arms like a sick baby. in the morning when he woke up he gave me a little lick on the face, and then a headbutt with a weak but undeniably hungry little meow. he hadn't had an appetite in a week, but now he wanted breakfast. in that moment, i knew he was letting me know that he wasn't finished fighting yet, so i knew the right decision for me was to keep fighting for him.

i called the vet, and we went ahead with the surgery.

i'll spare you the rest of the grisly details - the procedure was a success, and i was lucky enough to be able to work remotely and nurse him through the recovery. it was long and difficult and stressful. it sucked! it was crazy making. i would break down weeping with relief every single time i saw a dirty litter box for WEEKS. if you're reading this and going through it yourself, please feel free to reach out to me any time, okay?

but we persevered. i took care of him, and he rallied like a goddamn king. and hey. anon. guess what?

that was almost three years ago. his life went fully back to normal after he healed. you wouldn't know that this had happened if you didn't already know, because that fluffy little king still pisses like a champion race horse.

so, that's the story of how pekoe became

THE PISS KING.

[em-prentiss]

Oneshots 

I’ve got this anxious feeling (but it goes away for a minute when I’m with you, breathing): Aaron has a nightmare.

all of me a wound to close (but I leave the whole thing open): Emily struggles to sleep after Doyle.

every page that I wrote, you were on it: Emily is in Paris, she’s alone, and she’s drowning. So she writes letters.

when you hold me, it holds me together: Emily is stranded at a bar. She calls Hotch.

sweet nothing: Aaron and Emily’s daughter finally says her first word, but when she does, he’s not there. 

and when I break, it’s in a million pieces: Emily has a panic attack. 

I love you, it’s ruining my life: Emily's life is hardly okay after Doyle. Coming back and finding the man she loves with another woman doesn't help matters. 

you put me on and said I was your favorite: A closer look at Aaron and Emily's relationship.

I used to float (now I just fall down): Emily has a bad day and Aaron tries to help her through it. 

you can see it with the lights out (you are in love): Aaron and Emily, through different lenses. 

I know I don’t speak your language (but I wanna know more, baby): It's no secret Emily knows multiple languages. Sometimes, Aaron likes to show them off more than she does.

it always leads to you (in my hometown): Unrelated snippets of hotchniss based on every song in evermore. 

touch me with a kiss, feel me on your lips: In which Aaron and Emily have a no strings attached kind of relationship. 

I didn’t know if you’d care if I came back (I have a lot of regrets about that): Scratch is finally down, but Aaron doesn't come home. Not until Emily runs into him by accident.

my sleepless night, my winless fight: It’s Emily’s first case as Unit Chief and she struggles to sleep with Aaron miles away.

to leave the warmest bed I’ve ever known: It’s JJ’s wedding, and Aaron knows Emily is leaving. He tries to stop it. 

amaranthine: Aaron takes care of Emily while she’s on her period.

this is where I wanna be (where it’s so sweet and heavenly): Aaron, Emily, and the small steps they take towards each other (infinitesimal, tentative, but they get there). 

passed down like folk songs, our love lasts so long: Unrelated snippets of hotchniss based on every song in folklore.

if you’ve bled, I’ll bleed the same: Aaron looks after Emily in Colorado.

that old familiar body ache, the snaps from the same little breaks in my soul: How Aaron deals with Emily's death. 

got lovestruck (went straight to my head): Emily brings a cat into the BAU.

oh can we just get a pause? (to be certain we'll be tall again): Hit and Run with established hotchniss.

I hope I never lose you, hope it never ends: How the team finds out about Aaron and Emily.

strange what desire will make foolish people do: Alaska is cold, and their joint room has only one bed.

when you know, you know: In celebration of Aaron and Emily's engagement, the BAU takes a trip to the beach.

Retrouvaille: It's Morgan's wedding, and Emily makes the trip from London.

everybody wants you, you can have them all (but I got what you need): Mick Rawson flirts with Emily. Aaron doesn’t like it. 

is there someone else or not? (cause I wanna keep you close): Aaron meets Beth. Emily won't admit she's jealous, but she definitely is.

these hands had to let it go free and this love came back to me: A Route 66 fic where Emily finds out about Aaron's surgery.

you could call me babe for the weekend: Emily comes back to help save JJ. She may or may not spend the rest of the weekend at Aaron's.

one single thread of gold tied me to you: Aaron visits the BAU after he gets out of WITSEC. 

say my name and everything just stops: Aaron and Emily go on an undercover date. 

Redamancy: A soccer mom pays extra attention to Aaron. Emily doesn't like it - and she does something about it. 

hold me, love me, touch me, honey (you'll be the first who ever did): Aaron looks after a concussed Emily. 

Soft Sundays

(aka the soft fics where nothing happens, really—some of my favorites to write and read)

till our fingers decompose (keep my hand in yours): Aaron and Emily take a late night trip to the grocery store, and a secret she's been stifling finally bursts free.

drunk in love: Aaron is drunk. And really unable to contain his love for his wife.

Persuasion: Emily finds a stray cat. She wants to take it home; Aaron does not.

this love is glowing in the dark: Emily comes home drunk. Aaron is more than happy to take care of her. 

have I known you twenty seconds, or twenty years?: Two mornings, twenty years apart. They are parallel to each other; mirrors. 

no, I didn’t see the news (cause we were somewhere else): Emily opens the door to Aaron's apartment and finds her whole team waiting for her. She's not exactly fully dressed. 

burnt toast, sunday (you keep his shirt, he keeps his word): Emily needs a midnight snack. Whilst preparing it, she accidentally wakes Aaron.

in another life, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you: Emily and Aaron let the laundry pile up. Tackling it is a joint effort, one neither of them wants to do. 

Back to main masterlist

[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.

[weebsinstash]

I'm so angry. They told me to wait so Allister could pass things on his own and so little has come out of him they want me to come back but they want me to come in through an appointment in the afternoon instead of the urgent care and, they're literally having me come in 3 hours before they close.

That's not enough time for them to do anything, to monitor him, administer multiple enemas, anything. I'm not even sure the deobstipation is worth it because i guess I need to clarify, that's just a fancy word for "digging stuff out by hand so you can like only get so much out as far as your fingers can reach anyways despite how risky the procedure is"

They genuinely should've just done it like weeks ago if they thought he would need it at all. They kept having me come back over and over and over and over despite me literally telling them I had to crowdfund his veterinary care and now I'm going to be spending almost 2 grand in payment plans over the next year. They could've just spent one day giving him as many enemas as possible until he was empty but then we have to give them time to even work, so....

I kept telling them over and over that there was a risk I would spend so much money on vet care that I couldn't euthanize him and all of these treatments have almost completely drained my funds and then they tell me "oh jsyk constipation is like an extremely agonizing way to die uwu". I would have to forward money and completely empty out my savings account to afford rent and his treatment if they want surgery today. My rent might even be late and unlike my last landlord who was an individual unit owner, this is a management company that will charge you $75 late fees after so many days

Every appointment has been over 100, 200, 300 dollars and I've had like 5 or 6 of them at this point and he's still not pooping, at least not a lot; he's dropping marble sized pieces kind of, everywhere. I just. Jesus fucking christ if he isn't getting better like??? I can't??? Do anything else? I can't be homeless in this area; there are literally homeless addicts breaking into my locked apartment building to sleep in our laundry room and the stairwell. I cannot be homeless again.

I just also. There's trauma there too. I can't do what my mom constantly did and drive myself into debt over an animal and risk my housing if there's not a good prognosis. That abusive crazy cunt literally stopped trimming her aggressive dog's nails until the poor thing literally started becoming paralyzed and then she was working 12, 16 hour shifts and leaving this poor thing along in an apartment to pee on pads and her carpet. And SHE'S the one who has Allister's mom :(

I just. Have to see. Maybe I'll give them a phonecall and see if I can come in earlier. I'm just so mad. They never even gave me a quote for how much it would cost to euthanize him. I might have to put down my happy cuddly baby or wait for him to conpletely deteriorate. I can't wait to open up commissions no one will want or be happy with so I can financially recover from my cat dying.

[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

[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 🙄😂

[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.

[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))

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Do you think William's reputation will survive? I feel so sorry for him and Catherine, I had to take a break from social media, the affair rumors are everywhere, everyone is now believing he had an affair, foreign media is now talking about him fathering an illegitimate child with Rose, they are even accusing him of domestic violence and people take it all as a fact.

In the long term big picture, William will be fine. A lot of this is going to be just a paragraph or two when he’s Charles’s age and we’re celebrating a jubilee or the birth of George’s child or Louis’s wedding or Charlotte leading the Lionesses to Olympic Gold and World Cup medals.

But in the short term, yes, William’s reputation will take a hit. What he does next will determine how long it takes for his reputation to climb back up. There are three things that he can do:

Prove that everyone is wrong, that his marriage is fine and he does not have anger management issues.

Go away and not be in the news for a few weeks or months till everyone’s forgotten.

Work. Really crank out the engagements, get his numbers up to spitting distance of Edward’s, and maintain them at that baseline from here on out.

#1 requires becoming more public, and we know that’s not going to happen for the Waleses. That’s fine. History will have to judge on that one. But there is some good news on this front - the Chumleys have had enough and they’ve begun taking legal action on the rumors involving them and their children.

#2 is not happening. William can’t just peace out and not work or be seen for 3-4 months. He’s the heir, it’s his job to be seen and to work, especially when Charles can’t do much because of his own health.

Which leaves us with #3 - work. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again. William (and Kate) both need to work more. Their numbers both need to go way up once Kate’s current health crisis is over and she’s back to top form. If they’re not going to work more, that’s fine but they need to show us more of the in-progress work that they’re currently doing and not save it all for the bow-on-top end-result. There’s a reason why the photos and videos of The Queen and Charles working through the red boxes are popular and, at times, iconic - because it shows that they’re working. If just every other week we got a photo of William in a meeting or Kate reading the reports that the Early Years Foundation says she’s been reviewing.

However, the issue with William’s work is that it can’t be a one-and-done. What ever changes they make and whatever the new number is after they’ve scaled up, that has to be the new baseline, the new standard. It must be maintained, otherwise it becomes clear that it was just a PR exercise to distract from these scandals.

Something else I’ve been thinking of a bit lately is the Waleses’ engagement numbers, particularly Kate’s and since accession in 2022. There was a lot of talk throughout 2023 of how disappointing it was that the Waleses turned in the same numbers for 2023 as they did while they were Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, at the bottom of the list. There was an idea on the blogs that everyone understood William and Kate to keep a lower profile through the spring so the attention was rightly focused on Charles and the coronation, but then they’ve should’ve scaled up from late summer onwards, after the anniversary of The Queen’s passing to demonstrate their ability to be heirs and show acceptance of their future.

But now I wonder if Kate’s numbers have been affected by her condition. They haven’t said a whole lot, but what I know of bowel/stomach issues is that they’re usually chronic and people can suffer symptoms for a long time before surgery becomes an option. So with that, perhaps Kate’s numbers didn’t change much last year because she was dealing with these issues? And to save face, the palace made the usual “for the children” excuses until it became emergent and the surgery essential. Just something to think about.

[writing-for-the-gays]

ermm i have another request to make :3c if thats ok :3c

billy loomis and stu macher (both of em, in the poly way :3c) x reader with all of the specifications i had in my last request with uhmmmm :3c knife play :3c and predator/prey dynamics :3c

again, reader being fat nd hairy being central to the story :3c

also again, do whatever format and length you want ^_^

-🐛 anon

'Can I get a kiss? And can you make it last forever?'

Billy Loomis x trans male! Stu macher x trans male! hairy! reader

Again with these things being self indulgent, reader is a disk jockey and a radio host who spreads misinformation Abt the lads so they can fuck two serial killers for a lil longer .

Brought to you by ovulation and weed.

I'm a Stu fucker so Billy is a little neglected.

I read hairy and ran with it.

You can pry my trans male stu hc out of my cold dead hands.

I wasn't sure how to end it but I did it.

Up to my usual bullshit

- You were supposed to be a victim, a little bit of a trial run before everyone else.

- you were a generally quiet guy, they didn't think that anyone would really notice you disappeared. Save for the fact the news station would have to get a new host, but who even really listened to it. Billy and Stu definitely didn't listen to it.

-they probably should've though. Desensitize each other to it. But they didn't.

- so when they called you Stu's face instantly turned red and he hung up. Which confused the hell out of Billy. ("Stu, what the hell was that?!" "His voice, man! It's making my fucking head foggy-!" "Fine I'll fucking do it!")

- Billy wasn't any better, but at least he was talking to you unlike Stu.

- he's palming himself through his jeans just listening to you try to tell him off for calling, but then he starts talking about fucking you with a knife to your throat and you go quite.

- he keeps going and he hears you panting on the other end, and he doesn't assume you're touching yourself at first.

- but then you fully moan while listening to him talk about fucking you balls deep and he's not dumb so he can put 2+2 together.

- he asks what room you're in and you give it too easy (he knows where you are, he can see your shadow from the window.)

-and soon you have two strangers fucking you so hard you can't think!

- Stu finds out you're trans too and starts rubbing your t-dicks together, and Billy fucks into Stu's hand, and you watch as they make out and-

- you cum so hard you literally pass out.

- Stu thinks he's killed you, and honestly, if he had you would've died happy, but he didn't and so you wake up to a very concerned Stu and a cackling Billy.

- You're fine obviously. But Stu still tries to be gentle with you, Billy keeps teasing your t-dick though, more fascinated with it than anything else, it's different than Stu's bc he's gotten surgery to make it appear bigger so he's just seeing how it's different, and he finds out you're significantly more sensitive!

- you three become semi regular fuck buddies, and when the official killings start you pretend you have no idea who's doing them, you pretend that when stu and Billy come over covered in blood to fuck your brain out you don't almost cum in your pants.

- then fuck buddies become something more. Somewhere in-between that first call and being bent over the bed as stu pegged you and Billy fucked your mouth 6 months lster you'd fallen in love with them.

- in the heat of the moment as you come moaning their names you say it.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

"Fuckfuckfuck! Fuck right- right there please right there- Stu " your fingers sink into the sheets as you pull away from Billy, whose cum you'd just finished swallowing; mouth finally free to beg like the good boy you where.

"so good- so good Stu it's- ngh- haah please please more, need you to touch my cock~." The double ended dildo you were oh so familiar with fucked into you.

"Gonna cum- Please Please- Please-"

Normally you would fake it with penetration, there wasn't that much pressure in it... but with Stu- oh Stu was special, he knew exactly what to do with it, what to do to make your toes curl and your eyes roll back.

He denied your request with a simple scoff.

"No- not yet, I'm not even close, you can cum when I cum got it?"

You nod desperately, needing to submit to the look in his eyes. Filled with hunger, the urge to hunt. His hands travel up your body to your neck, resting on your Adam's apple.

Gently pressing down and cutting off your air Stu lets out an airy chuckle. "You don't even put up a fight... Fuck- don't even get the thrill of the chase with you, I just fuck you so good you forget that you're rubbing dicks with the big bad Ghostface..."

He grinds his hips, the dildo inside of you lets out a wet noise that makes your eyes squeeze shut and face go bright red.

"Fuck-! Pretty boy you're so wet, Jesus, it's the prettiest fuckin thing I've every seen, just glistenin' and shit-"

His free hand goes to your thigh, massaging the flesh and playing with some of the dark coarse hair that covered it.

He places his hand flat and plays with the fat on your thighs, watching as it jiggles with every harsh thrust he gives you. He admires the way they look powerful, dark hair covering your body, he admires the way you look different from him.

The way your body was covered in thick hair, starting from your face (a light stubble, and the starting of an already well maintained moustache)

to your chest (dark hair covering two mounds of mouth wateringly hot flesh, softer and bigger version of Billy's pecs.)

to your cunt (fuck the way your hairy cunt rubbed against his clean shaven one made him weak, he didn't know something like that could even turn him on that much.)

to your legs (You wore a pair of shorts mid summer once and both Billy and Stu couldn't keep their eyes off your legs).

Stu was thin and almost totally hairless, what hair he had was sparse and blonde, it hadn't changed with T for him, and he wasn't mad. He generally likes being hairless, a preference.

He was always at least trimmed if not fully shaved down there. (To show off his t-dick, that surgery was expensive. Wasn't as expensive as full Phalloplasty tho.)

A Twink in all regards making his big handsome bear fall apart on some silicone, it made his dick throb, twitching in-between his folds.

He locks eyes with Billy who's staring at you intently, focusing on the way you seem completely out of it, face flushed, mouth hanging open and eyes squeezed closed in concentration. Trying not to cum until you where told.

Your cunt flutters helplessly against the dildo in you, It's slick, not just with your juices but his as well, the double ended dildo didn't have any barrier to prevent your juices from mixing, or your t-dicks from grinding together with each thrust.

Billy's once softening cock perks right back up when stu brings his hand in-between your bodies to rub at both of your cocks. finally.

Your mouth hangs open and Billy doesn't hesitate to take the opportunity to thrust into your mouth, leaning over you to capture Stus lips in a heated kiss, tongues sloppily rubbing against each other as they use you. Billy's hands rests on your chest, running his fingers over the thick dark hair and massaging your boobs while playing with your nipples. He's not in your mouth long, mind you, still overly sensitive. He jerks off slow and steady as he watches you two.

Then you're cumming, eyes rolling back mouth hanging open. It's like your body is lit on fire, thighs jolting and quivering

you babble "Fuck! Fuck I love you- I love you your cock is so big- your so fucking hot, both of you, need-need both of you-!" Your hips are rolling wildly, right against Stu's clit. Which sends him over the edge face scrunching up before it relaxes and his mouth hangs open.

Billy comes on your face with a low growling noise slumping over as his cum decorates your cheeks his cock twitching with every shot of jizz.

After a moment Billy lets out a soft chuckle, breath heaving.

"Stu... I told you they'd say it first."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

- you three are basically inseparable.

- the girls think you're just best friends, and considering the fact you're a disk jockey with the school radio station they don't put if past the boys to just be using you to play their favorite songs more often.

- you also did the morning news, and you always reported on the ghost face killings. Billy would sit under the desk and suck particularly hard on your dick if you said something that would throw the investigation off.

- Billy loves playing with your ass, he's such an ass man it's almost funny.

- he gets hard just watching you walk away. Especially if you have a particularly large ass. (His nickname for you is booty.)

- he just grabs a handful of your ass.

- both of them are constantly horny have fun trying to keep their hands off of you.

- y'all's sex playlist is mostly disco